Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

“I came to see you,” she answered simply, much to his astonishment.

  “To see me?” he reiterated. “I don’t even know you, Rebecca. What could you possibly have to say to me?”

  “I love you.”

  He laughed outright at the ingenuous declaration, the naked honesty that nevertheless gave him pause. What the hell is this? An adoring adolescent pouring out her heart and soul? He groaned with the thought of her tagging after him now, appearing at inopportune times, as if her ardent proclamation gave her that right. Well, there was an easy way to deal with this. “You love me.”

  “Yes.”

  The green eyes shone brilliantly in the lamp-lit room. If she weren’t so young, he’d taste the fruit right here in the kitchen, but he was certain she’d never been with a man. If she had, she wouldn’t be standing here laying bare her feelings. He preferred an experienced wench, anyway.

  “And what do you intend to do about this?” he asked, commencing a stroll along the perimeter of the room.

  “I wanted to tell you,” she answered evenly, her eyes following him.

  “To what end?”

  “To the end of becoming your wife,” she declared, eliciting another hearty laugh. Undaunted, she held her head high. He’d never be hers without a fight. The battle would require time, but time was on her side. Tonight was a victory.

  “As I pointed out before, Miss Remmen,” Paul rejoined, “I don’t even know you, and I needn’t indicate the difference in our ages. What could you possibly offer me that would make me consider marrying you?” He assessed her rakishly, his eyes boldly running over her body, certain this approach would quell her amorous overtures. However, if she remained open to his advance, he’d be a fool to deny his manhood, especially with such an exceptional prize.

  “I don’t understand … ” she faltered in that all too familiar innocence that fanned his ire.

  Damn, it was his own fault his pursuit of Charmaine had become so complicated. He’d lost control of the game when he’d begun playing it her way. We shall see who is the better player. Had he but stayed the normal course … Maybe John was the better player. No— I am!

  He abruptly closed in, towering over the girl. He’d always been victorious in his romantic conquests; she proved it. He could have her now if he wished.

  The green eyes were watching him, her head craned back to meet his regard, her composure shaken. But she was too proud, or perhaps wanted him too much to back away. For the moment, he savored this delectable bit of femininity, fought to ignore the young girl he knew lay beneath this deceptive display of blooming womanhood. He leaned forward to kiss her ruby lips, to possess her body, ripe and ready for the plucking.

  The door slapped open and the quiet kitchen was violated with a barrage of noise, stale air, and Anne London. With artful timing, he stepped back and was straightening his jacket before she spotted him.

  “Here you are!” she bubbled, seizing his arm and prodding him toward the door. “Everyone is looking for you. You’ve abandoned your own celebration!” She glanced in Rebecca’s direction, but turned back to him so swiftly, he wondered if she’d noticed Rebecca at all. He had no chance to protest, and thoughts of Rebecca Remmen were left behind with Anne’s fulsome laughter.

  Charmaine relished the momentary peace of the terrace. John was perched on the marble balustrade, his arms folded across his chest. He was so close—so alive. A soft breeze tousled his healthy crop of hair so it fell enticingly low upon his brow, just a stroke away from her aching hand, if only she braved the wifely caress. Instead, she stepped into the breeze, moving toward the end of the colonnade where it would be more plentiful.

  John grasped her hand to hold her back. “You are lovely tonight, my Charm.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Why haven’t you accepted my brother’s marriage proposal?” he abruptly asked, his eyes unusually stormy.

  The answer thundered in her head: Because I’m in love with you!

  Suddenly, someone was calling from the French doors. “Charmaine? Charmaine is that you?”

  Charmaine turned. A young woman stood in the archway, silhouetted by the bright light of the ballroom. “There you are!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been searching for you since I arrived, but nobody knew where you were!”

  Gwendolyn Browning stepped into the circle of torchlight.

  “Gwendolyn!” Charmaine laughed, rushing forward and hugging her. “What are you doing here? When did you get back?”

  “Mother wrote to me, bragging over Father’s unexpected invitation, and of course, I wouldn’t miss this for the world! We should have been here ages ago, but there was a mix-up at the livery. All the carriages had been dispatched with you-know-who’s guests, and we were forced to wait until one returned. Mother worked herself into a dither, telling Father he should have secured a coupé for us. Father insisted he was the hired help and the guests came first. Before I knew it, they were arguing. I thought we’d never get here!”

  John chuckled and walked to the end of the terrace, allowing Charmaine some time with her garrulous friend, who gesticulated emphatically with her hands.

  “Oh, this is so wonderful, Charmaine, isn’t it? This house is beautiful. And look at you! You’re gorgeous! Oh, Charmaine, you are so lucky!”

  “Yes, Gwendolyn, you’ve said that before. I am very fortunate.”

  “Charmaine, some of my friends from Richmond are here. They’ve heard about you-know-who and are jealous.”

  Charmaine wasn’t surprised Gwendolyn’s talk turned to Paul. It never took her more than a few minutes to get around to her favorite topic.

  “They didn’t believe me when I told them the real man is ten times as handsome as the rumor. Anyway, tonight they know I wasn’t lying.”

  “Gwendolyn … ” Charmaine chided, casting a sidelong glance at John. He was leaning against the railing some distance away, but still within earshot. For the moment, he seemed inclined to allow her this reunion with her friend.

  “When word about the banquet started to circulate, I told them I’ve known about it for months. When they expressed doubt, I told them I could prove my story—my best friend actually works in the mansion where you-know-who lives—and the next letter I received from you, I read to them. You should have seen them turn green with envy!”

  “Gwendolyn!” Charmaine expostulated in embarrassment, “you didn’t!”

  “I did!” she averred unabashedly. “Have you seen you-know-who tonight?”

  “Of course, I have,” Charmaine answered, “but I—”

  “Lord, I nearly swooned when I saw him,” she bubbled. “I thought perhaps my memory had exaggerated how fine he is, but I swear, Charmaine, he is the most beautiful man my eyes have ever been blessed to see! His broad shoulders and muscular chest, his narrow waist and finely tailored unmentionables … Mother had to scold me three times when my eyes lingered on his manly bulge—”

  “Gwendolyn!” Charmaine admonished sharply. “With whom have you been associating? Mrs. Harrington would be appalled—”

  “Oh, don’t be a prude, Charmaine!” she laughed in naked happiness, ignoring Charmaine’s shocked expression. “All my friends whisper about such things, and of course I’ve told them you-know-who is the most perfect specimen to behold! Why, he’s the best part of being home. If only I could dance with him tonight. Oh, those girls would just shrivel up and die! It would be a dream come true for a fat, ugly girl like me!”

  “Really Gwendolyn!”

  “Ssh … !” the girl warned, her eyes cast down the veranda. Charmaine turned round and jumped. John was standing right behind her.

  “Are you ready, my Charm?” he asked with a grin, his eyes twinkling.

  Gwendolyn became tight-lipped, cowering slightly in John’s presence, and Charmaine realized her friend did not know who he was. Likewise, Gwendolyn surmised Charmaine knew this man quite well.

  “Miss Browning,” John greeted bracingly, his voice sharp and masculine in the s
tilted silence. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “How—how do you know my name?” Gwendolyn stammered.

  “Oh, I remember you. You’re Harold’s daughter,” he replied. “You used to tag along after your father in the cane fields when you were a little girl.”

  Confused, Gwendolyn blushed. “Who are you?” she demanded, now feeling quite foolish.

  “You don’t remember me? Well, now that you’ve shared your most coveted secrets, introductions are in order.”

  Gwendolyn’s eyes flew helplessly to Charmaine.

  “This is John Duvoisin, Gwendolyn.”

  John’s brow lifted devilishly. “You-know-who’s brother.”

  Gwendolyn’s eyes grew wide as saucers. Never before had Charmaine seen a face so red, not even in a mirror.

  Wiping his hands clean, John returned to Charmaine’s side. He considered the couple dancing a few feet away and could scarcely suppress his mirth.

  “I can’t believe you managed to do that,” Charmaine declared with the shake of her head, watching her radiant friend in her glorious moment, dancing in Paul’s arms. “How did you get him to agree?”

  “He wasn’t about to say ‘no’ in front of two important business prospects and their wives.”

  Charmaine giggled gaily as Gwendolyn and Paul glided by, Gwendolyn actually tearing her eyes away from the man to smile happily at her. “It was kind of you to do this,” she said. “You’ve made her dream come true.”

  “I did it for selfish reasons,” he confessed.

  “Selfish reasons?”

  “I’m dying to see her swoon in my brother’s arms!”

  The statement had barely left John’s lips when the room resounded with a loud gasp of: “Dear Lord!” and fell into a hush. The crowd edged away from the dance floor, and the band tuned down, disparate violins carrying fading strains of the melody. The circle of bodies burst open, and Paul labored toward them, a lifeless Gwendolyn in his arms and accusatory eyes leveled on John. Out of breath, he deposited her in a chair. Caroline Browning appeared from nowhere to angrily shoo him away. She produced a fan from her purse and flapped it wildly in her daughter’s face. Charmaine’s eyes shifted to Paul, who was shaking his head.

  “What happened?” someone had the courage to ask him.

  “How in hell am I to know?” Paul expostulated gruffly. “Obviously she’s of a rather weak constitution.”

  In the time it took John to snicker, Caroline turned on Paul. “Her constitution was fine until you accosted her! She is of fine stock, sir, descended from an established bloodline!”

  “Do you have her papers?” John demanded loudly. “Fine breeding requires official certificates. My brother always demands certificates. He loves the little seals, you see.”

  If there were a hole nearby, Charmaine would gladly have crawled into it, for each and every eye had turned upon them. Even Caroline Browning was speechless. Mercifully, Gwendolyn sighed.

  “What happened, Gwendolyn?” Charmaine probed.

  The bewildered girl sighed. “I swooned!”

  John’s hearty laughter brought the unfortunate episode to an end. Taking Charmaine’s arm, he led her back to the dance floor, muttering, “I told him his pantaloons were too tight.”

  “I wanted to prompt your recollection, John. You will permit me to call you John, won’t you?” Geoffrey Elliot asked rhetorically. “I’ll be making my departure tomorrow and do require your autograph on the legal instruments I proffered to you on Monday.”

  “Did you write those contracts?” John asked.

  “Why, yes, I did.”

  “I gave them back to Richecourt,” John lied.

  “To Mr. Richecourt?” Geoffrey asked. “Why?”

  “They need to be translated.”

  Geoffrey’s face twisted into a confused frown. “Translated?”

  “Into English.”

  “But—they were in English,” he stammered. “I don’t understand … ?”

  “Neither did I, Geffey. But, that’s neither here, there or anywhere. There’s a lovely young lady I’d like you to meet. Her bloodlines rival your own … ”

  They’d danced their last dance of the evening, and John escorted Charmaine to her bedchamber door. The clock tolled one, but music and voices still resounded in the corridors. She stood against the door with arms clasped behind her. “Well, my Charm,” John said, “I suppose this is goodnight.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied with a smile. “I have to check on the girls,” she added, suddenly nervous. “I hope they’ve stayed in their room … ” The words caught in her throat as John closed the short distance between them, looking down at her, so very silent. “Thank you,” she murmured, her head tilted back.

  “Thank you?”

  “For a wonderful evening—for escorting me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His voice was low, his eyes inviting as his head dipped forward, his lips stopping shy of hers, his breath buffeting her face. She closed her eyes to the moment, awaiting his touch. His hands closed over her shoulders and she fell willingly against him, her heart throbbing when his mouth initiated a long sultry kiss that tied a knot of pleasurable pain deep inside of her. With limbs trembling, she savored the pleasing warmth of his body, the strong arms that held her, his wet lips moving over hers, and without thought or hesitation, she grasped him tightly. Regret marred the sweet sensations when his arms dropped away. “Goodnight,” she whispered hoarsely.

  In a rush, she pushed into her room, closed the door between them, and collapsed against it. By dint of will, she held rigidly to that spot, for the urge was strong to turn around and fall back into his embrace.

  With the sweet memory of Charmaine in his arms, John escaped to the stable and settled on a bale of hay in the corner of Phantom’s stall, a bottle of wine in hand. The injured stallion watched him impassively as he took a swig. But the spirits had little effect.

  After a time, he stepped out of the barn and looked up at the house. Lights still burned bright in the ballroom and on the terrace. His eyes found Charmaine’s room. A lamp glowed there, softly penetrating the leaves and branches of the oak tree. Is she awake? Best not to think about her or you’ ll never sleep tonight.

  He slumped back against the doorframe. Seconds accumulated into minutes, and he willed his mind blank, breathing deeply of the cool night air.

  Paul and Anne stepped out of the house and ambled along the portico, descending to the lawns. When they were a discreet distance from any onlookers, Anne wrapped an arm around Paul’s waist, and pressed her hips and breasts into his lean body. She raised a champagne glass and toasted his success. He bent down and kissed her long and passionately. Her hands moved over him brazenly, intent upon bringing the evening to the close she desired. Paul pulled her to him again. Abruptly, they stopped. “Not here,” he muttered. “There’s a boathouse not far away.” He grabbed her hand, and they rounded the deserted north terrace, disappearing into the night.

  “Damn you!” John cursed, walking back to the house unnoticed.

  Charmaine had no desire to retire once she had slipped into her nightgown. She turned the lamp down, and sat in the wing chair, wide awake as seconds grew into minutes and minutes approached a full hour. Why hadn’t she let him in?

  Ashamed, astonished, and ultimately dismayed, she set her mind on the ball, reliving every splendid moment of it. She could feel John’s warm hand on her back, see his crooked smile, hear his resonant voice, smell the pleasing scent of light cologne and flesh, taste his kiss. Each sensual recollection evoked such sweet yearning she jumped from the chair and stepped through the French doors.

  Two figures emerged from the veranda below. In the torchlight, she recognized Paul and Anne, arms entwined. Anne raised a glass of champagne and lavished him with blandishments. “You are the toast of the evening, the envy of the shipping world.” She tossed her glass aside and boldly looped her hands around his neck. On the tips of her toe
s, she drew his head forward, kissing him squarely on the mouth. He responded by pulling her hard against him. The sound of heated kisses and murmured endearments soon punctuated the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Charmaine’s cheeks burned as Anne touched him in places a wife might hesitate to venture. “Not here,” he murmured, “there’s a boathouse not far away.”

  Charmaine stepped back. No need to watch. She knew where they were headed. At first, she wanted to cry, not out of disappointment, but innocence lost. And then, even that impulse vanished. She was a woman now and ready to leave the naïve girl behind.

  She turned her face into the breeze and luxuriated in the cool night air. She had already recovered from the lascivious scene, for she knew the truth about Paul. Hadn’t he told her so himself? I’m a rogue, Charmaine … But it didn’t matter! She didn’t care! A half hour passed, perhaps more. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, reveling in the lightness of her mind.

  She returned to her room and paced the floor, once, twice, and once again. She was still wide-awake; the fresh evening air had dusted all the cobwebs of sleep from her head. She settled into the chair, but she couldn’t close her eyes. Not now … not tonight … She sprang up and circled the stifling, oppressive room again, this room where she didn’t feel whole.

  John couldn’t sleep, so he started reviewing Geoffrey Elliot’s contracts. They took his mind off Charmaine. The thought of her accepting his brother’s marriage proposal would drive him mad if he dwelled on it any longer.

  He came up from his contemplation with the rap on his door. The rap came again. Who could be knocking at this hour? The ball had broken up long ago. He left the bed and the many papers strewn over it and opened the door, indifferent to the fact he was clad only in his swimming breeches. It was more than likely Paul, back from his romp.

  He was astounded to find Charmaine there. “What is it?” he queried softly, worried by the look on her face.

  She stood mute, then breached the distance between them, encircling his waist in a tentative embrace. Her cheek caressed his naked chest, triggering a quickening in his loins.

  They stood that way for a time; she, apprehensive, yet savoring the sensation of his sturdy body against her own; he, dumbfounded, wondering what had prompted this uncharacteristic display of sensual affection. Was this what he thought it was? He stroked her hair and asked again, “What is it?”