by Stuart, Anne
“Yes, you warned me,” Sybil said quietly.
“The man,” said Leona, “is trouble.”
Sybil sighed. She’d taken the shortest shower on record before Leona arrived, trying to wash the scent and sight of him off her body. She couldn’t wash away the feel of his hands on her thighs, his mouth on her breasts, his hips . . .
“And you’re not the only one who’s suffered at his hands,” Leona continued.
The flush that had heated Sybil’s cheeks paled as an emotional fist slammed into her stomach. “He’s been seeing someone else?”
“I hadn’t even realized, dear girl, that he was seeing you. No, Professor Fitzsimmons has other interests. Unfortunately, I seem to be one of them.”
Guilt swamped all of Sybil’s other tangled emotions. “What do you mean?” she asked innocently.
“Your friend seems to think I have something nefarious in my past. He’s been making inquiries.”
“How do you know?”
Leona kept her face turned firmly toward the road as they crept along at a snail’s pace. “Friends,” she said mysteriously. “Friends told me people have been asking questions.”
“But there’s nothing to find out.”
“I’m afraid there is,” Leona corrected her with a sigh. “I haven’t lived a blameless life, Sybil. No one can live to my age and make that boast. I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve paid for them. They were long in the past, I thought gone forever, but your professor seems determined to rake them up.”
“Not my professor,” Sybil said firmly. “Er, what sort of mistakes, Leona?”
“Nothing dreadful. I have many gifts, and I haven’t always used them wisely. I’ve been manipulated by other people, evil men out for gain, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late. When they were caught, I appeared guilty, and in a way I suppose I was. I should have realized what they were doing.”
“Who? What were they doing?”
“Cheating people out of their money,” she said simply, and for a moment Sybil’s heart sank. “Exactly what your professor thinks I’m doing now.”
“Not my professor,” Sybil corrected absently. “What happened?”
She sighed. “It was all so long ago. My husband, and I’m afraid he was a major part of it, was convicted and sent to jail in New York. He died of a heart attack before he had served even two years of it. It was so long ago I don’t even like to think about it,” said Leona, dabbing a plump hand toward her dry eyes.
“Oh, Leona, I’m so sorry,” Sybil said, trying to stifle her sudden doubts. She’d been around Nick too much—she could feel herself questioning Leona’s story, and her guilt doubled.
Leona shook her head. “Don’t be. I don’t often think about it, only when something unpleasant comes up and reminds me. It was a sad time in my life, but I’ve put it behind me. Sybil, I wouldn’t think of cheating my friends. You know me—I’m not that kind of person. I don’t have a ruthless bone in my body.”
She knew very well that Leona had a great deal of ruthlessness when it came to small matters, but she dutifully shook her head. “Of course you don’t,” she soothed. “Nick must be crazy.”
“But will he convince the others? He’s a very persuasive man.”
“Not that persuasive,” said Sybil, ignoring the previous night.
Leona spared an instant’s attention from the road to cast a surprisingly cynical look at Sybil’s attire. “Isn’t he?”
Sybil blushed. “We won’t let him do this to you, Leona,” she said firmly. “We won’t let him railroad you.”
“I’m afraid it might be too late. If he’s started rumors . . .”
“I don’t think he has. And we can fight back.”
“I can’t imagine how, my dear,” Leona murmured with uncharacteristic fatalism. “I’ll just have to move away from the first place that’s felt like home—”
“You will not,” she said firmly. “We’ll think of something.”
“Of course, we could always distract him,” Leona suggested.
“Not the way you’re thinking.”
“Of course not!” Leona was affronted. “I wouldn’t think of trading your purity for my peace of mind.”
Sybil was feeling definitely impure that morning, and not averse to a good enough excuse to continue that particular impure pastime, but she accepted Leona’s protests. “Then how do we distract him?”
“Let me put my thinking cap on,” Leona said. “A wild-goose chase might be just the thing-keep him so busy with phony clues that he won’t have any time to spare for harassing me.”
“Or me,” said Sybil, trying not to sound mournful.
“Especially not you, my dear,” Leona said firmly. “We don’t want you falling prey to his entrapments any more than me. Between the two of us, my dear, we’ll put up a maze that no one could get through.” She pulled to a stop in front of Sybil’s snowed-in house. Thirty-five minutes that day, Sybil thought wearily. An all-time record.
“Wonderful,” Sybil said morosely. “You can count on me.”
Leona gave her her kindest smile. “I knew I could, dear. I’ll head back to the office, shall I? It wouldn’t do to have the place unmanned.”
“You do that,” she said, setting her high-heeled, stockingless feet in the deep snow and repressing a shiver. “I’ll be in tomorrow.”
Leona nodded. “We’ll plan something then.”
There were no dogs to leap about, greeting her with their usual doggy enthusiasm when she opened her unlocked door. The kerosene space heater wasn’t adequate for the house—the most it could do was keep the heat above freezing so the pipes wouldn’t burst. She had snow halfway up her thighs, her silk dress was soaked, her feet were blocks of ice and all she wanted to do was throw herself on her couch and weep.
But Richardsons, even changelings, were made of sterner stuff than that. She kicked off her shoes, headed straight to the bedroom and changed into warm long johns, baggy jeans and a thick wool sweater. Pulling on her leg warmers and her warmest pair of wool socks, she headed for the living room and the wood stove.
It was an hour before the chill was off the house, an hour Sybil spent huddling in front of the hot cast-iron stove, shivering. She was too cold to call Dulcy again, too cold to read, too cold to do anything but stand there, hopping from one foot to the other, trying to get warm.
Her stocking foot landed on something hard and metal, and she let out a curse that would have done Nick at his most angry proud. It was a small brass pendulum she’d lost months ago. She picked it up, holding it in one freezing hand, watching it with unconcealed fascination as it twirled aimlessly.
Did unbridled lovemaking interfere with one’s psychic concentration, as Leona contended? There was nothing to do but conduct a little experiment.
She ran the pendulum through a series of standard questions, and for once it was surprisingly responsive. Eyes brown, water running under the living room, snow falling, all of these things the pendulum agreed with.
“Am I going to live happily ever after?” She asked the question softly, half embarrassed.
The pendulum dangled, refusing to answer. “Will I ever find someone to love?”
It gave her an enthusiastic yes. Encouraged, Sybil pushed onward. “Will he love me?”
Another enthusiastic yes. “Will I meet him this year?”
The pendulum dropped, hanging there, and for one crazy moment Sybil had the odd impression that the pendulum was disgusted with her obtuseness. All right, the time for being coy was over.
“Is it Nick?”
The pendulum once more began its clockwise spin.
She stood there, watching it, biting her abraded lip as it spun, around and around and around, higher and higher. She must have thrown it. It couldn’t have spun
out of her hand, winging itself across the room. It was simply because she was tired and overwrought that she couldn’t remember hurling the damned thing.
It was only because she was miserable that, search as she tried, she couldn’t find a trace of it in the corner where she saw it land.
DULCY ARRIVED WITH the dogs sometime in midafternoon. Sybil hadn’t called her again, but with her usual sixth sense Dulcy somehow got the message, not only about Sybil’s return, but about her morose state of mind. She brought the dogs, she brought take-out Chinese food from St. Johnsbury, and she brought the largest size bottle of Courvoisier the state liquor stores offered.
Together they ate the food, giving the extra egg rolls to the dogs. Together they made a respectable inroad on the bottle of cognac. Dulcy left promptly at five o’clock, refusing to stay longer or to protect her from Nick’s probable return.
Not that Sybil told her what she was trying to avoid. She’d been remarkably discreet, but Dulcy had gathered up her cape and her trailing scarves, taken one look at Sybil’s face and laughed.
“Lost your innocence, have you?”
Sybil’s back stiffened. She was sitting on the living room couch, surrounded by dogs, and she had no intention of moving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. I can read between the lines. You smashed up your Subaru late last night and waited until the next afternoon for a ride home. You must have been doing something all that time.”
“I was sleeping on the couch.”
“Sybil,” Dulcy protested, shocked. “Don’t lie to me. For one thing, it’s a complete waste of time. For another, it hurts my feelings. I’d rather you told me to mind my own business.”
“Mind your own business.”
“Don’t throw him away, Sybil.” She blithely ignored the order. “He’s worth the effort.”
Sybil gave up fighting. “I offered him to you first.”
Dulcy shrugged. “He didn’t want me. He’d already seen you.”
“I’m hardly the type to overshadow you, Dulcy.”
“You aren’t the type, my friend. You were the one. Nick wasn’t looking for a roll in the hay, a pretty face, a gorgeous body.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Not that he didn’t get all three,” Dulcy said hastily.
“Who says he got them?”
“Your face does.”
“Well, he’s not going to get them again. Not if I can help it,” Sybil said, leaning against the couch.
“Why not?”
“There are a million reasons.”
“Name one.”
Sybil leaned forward, intent, and one of the puppies slid onto the floor with a startled yip. “I’ll give you two excellent ones. For one thing, he’s out to get Leona. He’s had her investigated, he’s harassing her, trying to railroad her—”
“You’re breaking my heart,” said Dulcy, never a great fan of Leona’s. “Don’t you think Leona can take care of herself? You’re not her mother, for goodness’ sake.”
“I don’t like to see helpless old women victimized,” Sybil said stiffly.
“Neither do I. But Leona’s never struck me as the victim type. She’s the sort who’ll always come out on top. If I were you I’d spend my energy worrying about the Muller sisters and Mary Philbert. They’re the real victims.”
“Damn it, Leona didn’t steal their money!”
“Is that what Nick thinks?” Dulcy murmured, fascinated. “I hadn’t considered that possibility.”
“It’s not true.”
Dulcy merely smiled. “Give me your second excellent reason for avoiding Nick.”
“He’s everything I came here to get away from. I’ve spent my entire life running from people like him, from perfect lives and brilliant people and complicated, stressful life-styles.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she wished she could call them back.
Dulcy smiled, seeing the unhappy recognition in Sybil’s warm brown eyes. “Do I even have to say it, Sybil? Isn’t it time you stopped running away? Isn’t it time you face what frightens you? Maybe then you’ll realize that there’s nothing there to make you feel inadequate.”
“Go away, Dulcy.”
Unfortunately, Dulcy left. Sybil looked around her, depressed. It was getting nerve-rackingly; she needed to get back in the Christmas spirit. Any lingering anxiety over the holidays usually vanished once she’d finished her duty in Princeton, but for some reason she couldn’t throw herself into it with her usual abandon.
Think Christmas, she told herself. Think peace on earth, goodwill to men . . . to all, she corrected herself absently. To all but Nick Fitzsimmons.
Each time the phone rang she jumped a mile. Steve at the garage called to say the Subaru was bloody but unbowed, her parents called to make sure she’d made it through the storm safely, Leona called to tell her she’d drive her to work tomorrow morning and they could discuss a plan she had. Even Edla Muller called, to tell her she was glad she was back.
But there was no word from Nick.
Well, of course she didn’t want there to be. The problem with men, she thought as she glared at her recalcitrant knitting, was that the moment you fell in love they disappeared. As long as the sensible female fought it, the man responded to the challenge. As soon as she was fool enough to give in and lose her heart, he lost interest.
Well, she could lose interest, too, she promised herself grimly, ignoring the unfairness of her generalizations and rationalizations. She wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t fight it once more. If he kept away, she wouldn’t be as obsessed tomorrow, she’d be less so on Wednesday, and by Christmas she’d have forgotten all about it. Maybe.
The dogs were lying all over the living room in various attitudes of doggy complacency. They did no more than raise their sleepy heads when Nick walked into the living room, silent and unannounced and Sybil froze.
During the day she’d managed to blot out just how good-looking he really was. His face was captivating, almost haunting in its beauty, from the thick black hair that came forward in a widow’s peak, the satanic eyebrows, the narrow, almost austere mouth and mesmerizing eyes. If she looked into those eyes, those hungry, hypnotizing eyes for a moment longer, her resolve would vanish. Then who would protect poor Leona from him? And who would protect poor Sybil?
She jumped up before he could reach her, scampering behind the chair. He stopped his forward stride, his eyes met hers and his mouth curved in a cynical, resigned smile. “I don’t suppose you’re skittering away from me like a scared rabbit because I was a few hours late.”
“Are you?” Her voice was husky and breathless.
“It’s eight. I thought I’d be back by five or six at the latest, but the Jaguar had been plowed in at the airport and it took a while to get it out.”
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
His sigh was loud, long-suffering and bordering on irritated. “Is it because I took off this morning? Believe me, I tried to wake you up. You were sleeping like the dead. I left you a note.”
“So you did. As I recall, it said, ‘Be here.’”
“Is that the problem? I can be dictatorial, I know. You’ll have to cure me of it.” He smiled at her, and her heart began to melt.
Think about Leona, she warned herself sternly. “That wasn’t the problem. I just ignored it.”
“Then what is it?” He advanced upon her, pushing the chair she was clinging to out of the way, and then his hands were on her, his long fingers caressing her arms through the heavy sweater, and she could feel her knees tremble.
“Nick, this isn’t going to work.”
“Sure it is,” he murmured, enfolding her in his arms, ignoring the token struggle.
“You’re not the kind of man I want.”
/> “Sure I am,” he said, and she could feel him against her, the heat and hardness of him, and miserably she had to agree. “And if I’m not, I’ll change.”
“Nick . . .”
His mouth caught hers, mid-protest, in a slow, lazy kiss that was as thorough as it was arousing. Desperately she clung to the last shreds of her resistance, but it was fading fast, disappearing like wisps of wood smoke on a frost morning. One of his hands had slipped beneath her loose sweater and was already cupping her breast, and she could feel the tight curl of desire deep in the center of her, twisting outward.
He lifted his head for a moment, looking down at her, and his eyes were glittering with desire. “So what else is the problem?”
It was time enough for the last bit of common sense to intrude. If he hadn’t stopped, if he’d just kept kissing her, she would have ignored her worries and concentrated on the moment at hand.
“Leona,” she said.
He held himself very still, his arms still holding her, but she could sense the withdrawal, the slowly building anger.
“What about Leona?” he said with deceptive mildness, but the fiery depths of his golden eyes had turned flat and opaque.
“I can’t have you railroading her.”
“Are you telling me you’ll sleep with me if I leave Leona alone?” The question was gently worded, but there was no way she could ignore the tight lash of anger beneath his even voice.
“No,” she said with deceptive calm, ignoring the fluttering nervousness that had replaced, or almost replaced, the wanting. “I’m telling you to leave Leona alone, and that I won’t sleep with you anyway.”
He was very angry, very angry indeed. He pulled away, slowly, and with the withdrawal of his heat she felt cold, deep in the very heart of her. “I don’t think,” he said, “that I’ll even bother to ask why. You’ll just come up with more crap about how I’m not the kind of man you want, and it’ll be a waste of time. Anyone who could dismiss what we shared this morning, ignore that rare kind of magic, is a fool. If that’s true, then, when it comes right down to it, Saralee Richardson, you’re not the kind of woman I want.”
