Night Whispers

by Judith McNaught

  “I’m not the one you have to convince; you need to call the old man and convince him.”

  “I’m on vacation at the moment. When I make him a hero, he’ll calm down. In the meantime, I’m here and conducting myself like a perfect guest who is vacationing at someone’s home. I play tennis, lounge around by the pool, have dinner, go dancing. I haven’t opened a drawer or even a photo album without being asked to look inside it. I’m not telling Sloan where to search or what to look for. I’ve never told her Reynolds is using his bank to launder money, and I’ve never told her whose money he’s laundering. I won’t have to, because fate has stepped in and put her exactly where I wanted her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that my gorgeous traveling companion has acquired a very persistent admirer, and no federal judge alive could rule out any evidence she gets on him, because I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Noah Maitland.”

  The agent drew a long breath and expelled it in a triumphant whisper. “Bingo!”

  26

  Sloan stood at her balcony railing, mesmerized by the sight below. The entire back lawn was lit with torches and dotted with tables covered in white linen and decorated with flowers and candles in glass bowls. Tuxedo-clad waiters were passing trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres among what appeared to be at least two hundred guests. Banquet tables with huge floral arrangements had been set up on the right side of the lawn, and on the left, near the swimming pool, an orchestra was playing near a portable dance floor. On a separate table in the center of the lawn was a huge ice sculpture of graceful soaring gulls.

  “Ready to make your grand entrance?” Paris asked, walking through Sloan’s bedroom and joining her on the balcony.

  “I didn’t think this was going to be such a big, elaborate party,” Sloan said.

  “Noah’s secretary is a magician,” Paris decreed, surveying the gathering with approval. “I could never have pulled off anything like this on such short notice. Let’s go.”

  “I’m nervous,” Sloan admitted.

  “So am I,” Paris said with a shaky laugh. “No one has ever worn one of my designs before. Let’s see the total effect.”

  Sloan turned from the railing and followed her into the bedroom, where she did a slow pirouette for Paris’s inspection. The lemon chiffon dress had a multilayered skirt that floated around Sloan’s knees with each step she took and a tightly fitted halter bodice with a square neckline and a jeweled clasp at the nape. “I will never look this good again,” Sloan declared half seriously.

  “The color is perfect with your tan,” Paris said, standing back and studying the entire effect. “And the dress is a wonderful fit. I feel very—professional.”

  “You are professional,” Sloan said with solemn sincerity.

  “Father doesn’t think so. He said I was wasting my time last month when I made these. . . .”

  “Don’t let him do that to you,” Sloan said with quiet force. “Please don’t let him do that to you. He isn’t right. Look at me. Look at us,” Sloan emphasized as she walked into the dressing room and stood in front of a full-length mirror. “You designed both of these dresses.”

  Side by side, they stood in front of the mirror, Paris in embroidered peach silk with her dark hair held back on the sides with gold clips, Sloan in pale yellow with her hair falling in a cloud around her shoulders.

  “After this, my wedding gown will be an anticlimax,” Sloan declared.

  “No it won’t,” Paris said, shaking off her insecurity with a toss of her head. “Because I’ll design that, too!” She turned away from the mirror. “Come along, Princess Sloan, it’s time to go to the ball. Father is going to meet us on the patio, and I’ll stay with you while he takes you around and introduces you to everyone.”

  Noah was standing near the patio, listening to a group of men who were trying to persuade him to buy into a stud farm they were planning to purchase as a joint venture.

  His back was to the house, but he knew exactly when Sloan made her appearance on the lawn, because the men in his group stopped talking and started to stare. So did many of the people around them.

  “Good lord, look at that!” one of the men breathed.

  Noah turned slowly, prolonging the anticipation, but when he saw her, he found it hard to stay put and let her mingle with the guests. He stood there for nearly a half hour, watching as Carter moved about the guests with Sloan on one arm and Paris on his other. He saw Sloan smile as she was introduced to each person; then she listened attentively to whatever they said to her, and he watched her win everyone over with her natural poise and unaffected warmth.

  Courtney, however, was running out of patience. “I think I should rescue her,” she announced. “Carter has dragged her through the entire crowd.”

  “Stay put,” Noah ordered her. “He’ll bring her here in a few minutes.”

  “Here she comes, and without Carter, thank heavens!” Courtney happily announced a few minutes later; then she scowled as several of Noah’s friends figured out Sloan’s destination and began heading toward them. “And here come the wolves right after her, including our father. It’s disgusting.” She solved that problem by turning her back on the pack of men, including Noah; then she stepped forward and put herself between Sloan and everyone else.

  “Hi, Sloan,” she said with a grin. “Noah said you wanted me to come, so here I am. I even got dressed up for the occasion, did you notice?” she asked, holding her skirts out to the side to give Sloan the full effect.

  Sloan took in her ensemble, which consisted of an old-fashioned prom dress trimmed in lace, long satin gloves with no fingers, and a pair of army combat boots. She looked so outrageous, and so adorable, that Sloan burst out laughing and enfolded her in an impulsive hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “Yes, but how do you like my outfit?”

  “It’s—it’s you,” Sloan replied.

  “Mrs. Reynolds said I look like an overdressed refugee.”

  “She’s very old and I don’t think she sees well,” Sloan said, choking back a horrified laugh.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello to Noah?”

  Sloan had been thinking of little else since the party began, but now that the time was here, she felt self-conscious. Raising her eyes to his, she said softly, “Hello.”

  “Hello,” he replied, his gray eyes glinting with admiration.

  “You really ought to give Noah a hug, too,” Courtney prodded. “You won’t believe what he did to pull off this whole party just for you.”

  “What do you mean?” Sloan knew he’d urged Carter to have the party and she knew his secretary had worked very hard to make the arrangements, but she had no idea he’d done more than that until Courtney provided her with more of the details:

  “Noah shut down the main restaurant in one of his hotels, because we needed the tables and chairs over here, and you can just bet there isn’t a flower left in that hotel either. See that huge flower arrangement over there on the banquet table where all the food is?”

  With an effort, Sloan tore her gaze from Noah’s amused gray eyes and looked in the direction Courtney was pointing. “Yes, I see it.”

  “Well, this morning, that giant bouquet was on a big table in the lobby—”

  “Stop it, Courtney.”

  She ignored him. “It’s the truth. And I’ll bet there’s not a napkin or a waiter or a fork left in the whole pi—”

  Chuckling, Noah reached behind her and gently put his hand over his sister’s mouth, muffling the rest of her enthusiastic recitation. “The last time I asked you to dance,” he said to Sloan, “you turned me down. What do you think my chances are tonight?”

  Sloan was profoundly touched by all the trouble he’d gone to for her, and she was already sinking into the spell of his deep voice and silver eyes. “I’d say they’re awfully good,” she said softly.

  • • •

  As S
loan stepped into his arms on the dance floor, she had her first clear, full-length view of him in the torchlight, and her breath stopped. His elegant, midnight blue suit fit his tall, splendid frame to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and narrow hips, and outlining his long legs. Against the bronzed tan of his throat, his shirt was as dazzlingly white as the smile that drifted across his face when he slid his hand around her back and moved her close against his full length. “Are you pleased with your party?” he asked as the orchestra began to play “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

  “Very pleased,” Sloan said softly, trying not to notice how his legs felt against hers, or how solid his arm was beneath her hand, or how much his deep voice was affecting her. “I don’t know how to thank you for it.”

  His heavy-lidded gaze fixed meaningfully on her lips. “We’ll have to think of a way.”

  Sloan sought desperate refuge in humor. “I suppose I could give you self-defense lessons.”

  His silver eyes returned to hers, and his lips quirked in a half-smile. “Am I going to need them?”

  “It’s possible. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

  “So am I.”

  Sloan’s mouth went dry.

  She was so confused by what was happening to her that she scarcely noticed how easily she danced with him or how effortlessly their bodies moved in rhythm to the sweet, familiar melody. She told herself her attraction to him was dangerous and had to stop, but when Noah’s hand slid down her back and his fingers splayed on her spine, shifting her closer to him, she forgot the danger. She told herself it was only a dance, and that he probably didn’t realize what he was doing.

  Noah knew exactly what he was doing, and he was already thinking of doing much more. He watched the torchlight turn her hair to molten gold; she smelled like flowers, and dancing with her was like dancing with a cloud. As the music ended, she moved a little away from him and looked up, and Noah gazed at a face that was beginning to mesmerize him with its delicately carved cheeks, dainty nose, and dark-lashed, violet eyes. “After the party is over, I’ll take Courtney and my father home, then I’ll come back. Meet me on the beach.”

  “Why?” Sloan asked shakily.

  “We’ll invent a reason when we’re there,” he told her with a mocking smile.

  His “reason” was as clear to Sloan as her realization that he wanted her to understand it in advance.

  Paul and Paris had been dancing together, and when the couples met near the edge of the dance floor, Paul suggested they change partners.

  “Noah—” Sloan said as he started away.

  Startled by the sound of her soft voice saying his name, Noah stopped and turned. “Yes?”

  “It would be nice if you’d ask Courtney to dance soon.” “Courtney?” he repeated, the thought of asking her to dance having never, ever occurred to him. With amused dread, Noah contemplated Courtney’s combat boots, but he nodded. “I will.”

  When the dance was over, he located Courtney nearby. Fully expecting her to scoff at his invitation—and half hoping she would—Noah said, “Miss Maitland, would you like to dance?”

  She gaped. “With you?”

  “No, with the waiter,” he said dryly; then he realized she was already bending down and unlacing one of her boots. Before she unlaced the second boot, she hesitated and looked up at him. “You’re serious, right?”

  Guilt tugged at his heart when he realized how much she’d wanted to be asked. “I’m serious.”

  On the dance floor, she was surprisingly adept. “Where did you learn to dance?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s a girl thing. We’re born knowing how to do it. Are you going to try to get Sloan into bed?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Do me a favor—let her go. You’ll only end up dumping her like you always do; then she’ll be hurt, and then we won’t see her anymore. She’s nice. I’d really like to have her for a friend.”

  Noah gazed at his sister’s earnest upturned face, and he felt humbled by Sloan’s generosity of spirit, the compassion for other people that had caused her to worry about Courtney’s feelings in the middle of a party where she herself was under constant pressure and relentless scrutiny. With quiet certainty, he said, “Sloan is already your friend.”

  He spent most of the balance of the evening chatting with friends and wishing they would go home. Time seemed to drag, so he hit upon the idea of reintroducing Sloan to some of his friends and managed to keep her near him in that way, but only between the dances she gave to his father and every other single man at the party. He danced twice more with Courtney.

  27

  Sloan stood at the front door with Paris and her father saying good night to a couple who were close friends of his and who’d remained to discuss politics long after Noah and everyone else had left. Edith had retired much earlier, and Paul had evidently foreseen that Senator and Mrs. Thurmond Meade were going to linger, because he’d excused himself and gone up to bed a half hour before.

  “Good night, Sloan,” Mrs. Meade said. “I’m so happy to have met you. I’m going to try that recipe for key lime pie you gave me—it helped my sore arm immensely tonight.”

  She turned to Paris, leaned forward, and almost touched her cheek to Paris’s in a now-familiar gesture that Sloan realized passed for a good-bye kiss among the fashionable Palm Beach set. “You naughty girl,” she told Paris. “I can’t believe you’ve kept your talent a secret all this time. If Sloan hadn’t told all of us that you designed her dress and yours, none of us would have ever known! I heard Sally Linkley ask you to show her your sketches, but I want to see them first. It’s only fair that I get first choice—I’ve known you longer than Sally has.”

  Senator Meade stepped forward and said more formal good-byes to Paris and Sloan, but when he shook hands with Carter, his compliments were enthusiastic and genuine. “You’re a lucky man, Carter. You have two beautiful daughters. Paris has always been a credit to you, but you can be very proud of Sloan as well. She won everyone over tonight.”

  Carter smiled and shook hands with him. “I know she did.”

  When he closed the door and turned to Sloan, Carter was every bit as sincere as Senator Meade. “Sloan, I cannot tell you how proud of you I was tonight.”

  He truly liked her very much at that moment—not because she was likable, Sloan suspected, but because he was a narcissist and she’d added to his prestige by favorably impressing his friends. To her surprise, she had liked many of his friends tonight. She could not like him, however, and she tried hard to hide it as she smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  When he started up the stairs, she glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the foyer and her heart plummeted when she realized how late it was. By now, Noah would no longer be waiting on the beach for her. Fate—and Senator Meade—had interceded and saved her from doing a very foolish thing. She should have felt relieved. She felt terribly disappointed.

  Paris didn’t share her disappointment over the lateness of the hour. Wrapping Sloan in a fierce hug, she said, “You were a smash! Everyone was talking about how lovely you are, how charming, how witty—and the party was a huge success, too. That’s why people stayed so late.”

  Sloan made it all the way to her bedroom door before she began to lose the battle against going down to the beach to see if Noah might still be there.

  “Good night,” Paris whispered.

  “Good night,” Sloan said, but she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob.

  Paris noticed. “You’ve been up since early this morning. Aren’t you tired?”

  Sloan shook her head, and then she confessed the rest of the truth: “Noah asked me to meet him on the beach after the party,” Sloan confessed.

  “He did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you up here?” Paris asked with a smile.

  That was all the encouragement Sloan needed.

  • • •

  The back lawn was brightly lit and swarming w
ith activity as men and women from the hotel worked to pack up and reload everything they had brought for the party. Some of the staff who worked for Carter were helping as well, Sloan noted as she said hello to two of the maids she recognized.

  No one acted as if there was anything peculiar about her apparent desire to go for a moonlight stroll on a deserted beach at one A.M., wearing a fabulous chiffon dress and dainty high-heeled sandals, but Sloan felt incredibly conspicuous, nonetheless.

  She was relieved when she finally reached the beach and turned out of their view, but her relief immediately gave way to an overwhelming sense of disappointment when Noah was nowhere in sight.

  She looked in the direction of his house, but unless he was blocked by someone’s shrubbery, he had obviously gone home. She took off her sandals and wandered slowly down the shore, the sandals dangling from her fingertips, half expecting him to materialize from somewhere in the shadows.

  The closer she got to his house the more dejected she became. Her traitorous heart reminded her of how it had felt to dance with him and the way his gaze had fixed boldly on her lips when she said she didn’t know how to thank him for the party. “We’ll have to think of a way,” he’d said. And when she asked why he wanted to meet her on the beach after the party, his answer had made it stirringly plain. “We’ll invent a reason when we’re there.”

  She stopped at the edge of his back lawn, her eyes searching the terraces in the moonlight, seeing only vague shapes and dim outlines.

  It was just as well, she told herself bracingly. Noah Maitland was too sophisticated, too jaded, and much too sure of himself for her. He thought nothing of trying to seduce her on a dance floor, and only two days after meeting her. He would break her heart if she gave him the chance.

  She was very, very lucky to have had a second narrow escape from certain disaster tonight.