Kane (12 page)

Not that it was any of her business. Wondering about the people of Turn-Coupe and the lake was counterproductive. The last thing she needed was to get involved.

Still, as she stood there, watching the play of warmth and affection across Lewis Crompton's face, seeing the esteem in which he appeared to be held by the people around him, she was swamped with guilt. To all appearances, he was a genuinely good man, one she liked very much. He had been everything that was kind and helpful to her. In return, she was going to betray him, to search out the scandals and secrets of his life and expose them for all to see.

She hated it, she really did.

The only thing she hated worse was the growing fear that he would prove to have no shame or disgrace in his blameless life, no secrets she could expose. What in the name of heaven was she going to do then?

K
ane, returning from setting up the fireworks beside the lake, watched the emotions that chased themselves across Regina's expressive face and wondered what she was thinking. Something had disturbed her, he thought, for she had been smiling with every sign of pleasure just moments before. There was no cause that he could see. She was with his grandfather, and Pops could be depended on to keep the conversation running in smooth and well-worn channels, with only pleasant surprises along the way.

She was holding her own among his friends and relatives, he'd give her that much. She and April had seemed to be getting along with amazing ease just moments ago, talking ninety-to-nothing with their heads together in the secretive way women had that could drive men to drink. He'd give a lot to know what they'd been discussing.

Regina sent a quick look his way, then glanced away again. In that brief instant, he thought he saw active fear in her eyes.

He whispered a curse. In spite of her attempts to be forthright and brassy, she was always anxious when around him. That she was not that way toward other people, other men, made his hackles rise. He wasn't
used to feeling like some kind of fiend who frightened women.

So he had held her, had used his superior strength to force her to remain beside him, had kissed her in a coffin. He'd goaded her, subjected her to interrogation, yes, but all in a good cause. It had been a stupid miscalculation, but hardly criminal. He hadn't hurt her or anything near it. Besides, he'd apologized, hadn't he? And she had seemed none the worse.

Why, then, did he still feel so bad about it?

Yes, and why did he keep wondering if it was the coffin or the kiss that had upset her that first day? So much so that he could think of nothing except trying the second part of it again just to see.

It was also possible that was a self-serving excuse of gigantic proportions. He couldn't get the luscious softness of her mouth out of his mind, or its sweet, delicate flavor. Just looking at the coral curves of her lips, like some rare and succulent fruit, made him feel reckless with repressed need.

He wondered if she had any idea of what she was doing to him. And if she was being so elusive just to keep him off balance.

On the other hand, it seemed she might be a little more approachable tonight. He wished he knew why, as well as just how far it went. The urge to find out was irresistible. Before he could have second thoughts, he moved toward her.

“How are you making out?” he asked, leaning close enough to inhale her soft, feminine scent. “Had about enough of the Clan Benedict?”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” she answered, shift
ing to put a small space between them, not looking at him.

“We can be a little overpowering in large doses, or so I'm told.” The racket and family habit of talking back and forth across each other in several different conversations at once sometimes got to him, if the truth was known.

“I'm fine. I rather like watching everybody, especially the children.”

Kane thought she meant it, which surprised him. Benedict brats were fairly well behaved as far as manners went, but were always exhaustingly healthy, which meant they had more energy than they knew what to do with. Everyone would suspect they were sick if they weren't chasing each other up and down the galleries or hanging by their heels from the stair railing.

“I expect you could use a break anyway,” he suggested. “Have you seen the house and grounds? If not, I could give you the grand tour.”

“I haven't, no.” She looked up finally to meet his gaze.

“You're not wearing your contacts.” He spoke without thinking, startled out of his normal prudence. It was as if she had removed protective shields, twin layers of hard, sea green plastic that had prevented anyone from seeing what she was inside. The change was startling, much more so than he'd imagined from his brief glimpse before. It also affected him more drastically than he would have dreamed.

“They made my eyes uncomfortable,” she said. “Something to do with the extra humidity, possibly.”

“I like it,” he said simply.

Her slow smile was a sight to behold. It was also the first time she had directed such unshadowed warmth in his direction. He needed no other encouragement, which was a good thing, he thought, since it was all he was likely to get.

Kane made their excuses, not that anyone noticed. Then he took the wine Regina had hardly touched from her and set it aside. Tucking her fingers into the crook of his arm, he led her from the room.

The house was old and historical and it looked it. The draperies in the living room were heavy, faded silk and original to the house though astonishingly well preserved due to decades of good care and an outdoor kitchen that prevented the deterioration caused by cooking fumes. The floors had been cut from heart pine in random-width planks, the walls carried the original plaster in most rooms, and most of the furnishings were original, if ramshackle, antiques.

Outside, the hand pump was still in place in the cistern house, the summerhouse-type structure built above the underground cistern. The covered “whistler's walk” between the dining room and old outdoor kitchen, so-called because footmen who carried the food from the kitchen in the old days were required to whistle to make certain they didn't sample it on the way, was still usable, one of the few left in the state. An oyster-shell path led down to the lake where a gazebo covered by the rampant vines of wisteria provided a cool place to sit during the day and a hidden trysting spot at night.

Kane felt a couple of drops of fine rain as they paused outside the gazebo. He stepped inside, pulling
Regina with him. She came readily enough, but stopped near the door.

Night had fallen with semitropic suddenness. The music from the house, a slow blues piece, made a rich, lulling background for the other evening noises: the sweeping sigh of the wind in the trees, the whirring of insects, and the insistent calls of frogs anxious for spawning time promised by the rain. The house lights penetrated the lattice of the gazebo and the mass of vines overhead in errant gleams. A windblown leaf rustled across the cypress floor, while the ripple and slap of waves and forlorn call of a waterbird could be heard from the direction of the lake.

Kane stood a moment, letting the thundery coolness of the night seep into him. If he breathed deep enough, he discovered, he could catch the faint perfume caught in the shining, copper-bright hair of the woman beside him, brought out by the dampness. He should fight the enticement, he knew. He didn't want to, lacked the fortitude, right this minute, even to try.

“Dance?” he said, and stepped closer, offering his arms. She watched him a single instant, there in the moist darkness, then she put out her hand and let him draw her close.

Perfect.

They fitted together like yin and yang, nut and bolt, plug and socket. For a single, stunned instant, Kane was beyond thought or intention, certainly beyond judgment. The darkness deepened around them. The mist from the rain that sifted down stronger now beyond their cover was warm.

Regina swallowed, an audible sound in the stillness. Voice stilted, she said, “It's a lovely party.”

“It is,” he agreed in deep tones, torn between sympathy and amusement for her obvious nervousness. Inhaling as he collected his own scattered thoughts, he said, “You seem to hit it off with April.”

“She's easy to talk to, a nice person, very real. But then, everyone is so open and friendly that I'm…overwhelmed.”

“Somebody been asking too many personal questions?” he queried in dry humor.

“Oh, it isn't that. I just keep wondering why they aren't more self-protective, why they aren't afraid people will take advantage of them.”

There was a note in her voice that intrigued him. “Who would do that?”

“I don't know. Somebody, anybody.”

“You think they're naive, is that it?”

“Maybe,” she agreed hesitantly, “a little.”

“You're wrong. They know very well there are people in this world with hidden agendas. They only prefer to believe everyone is aboveboard until they prove otherwise. But once a person trespasses, there are few second chances.”

She put a little space between them as they swayed to the music. “Is that your philosophy, too?”

“You could say so, up to a point.”

“The point being that you aren't half so trusting as most? Or half as forgiving?”

He was silent a moment, turning her words over in his mind. Was she right? It was possible. Still, the lawyer in him automatically took the offensive. “I thought that was your role.”

“Mine?” she asked, her expression suspended there in the dimness. “What makes you say that?”

“You're still holding a grudge over the coffin.”

“Not at all.”

“No?” he queried, the word husky as he stepped close and caught her against him. “Then I suppose you didn't mind this, either?”

She shivered as he lowered his lips to hers, for he felt it. Whether it was from pleasure or disgust was impossible to say. Then he ceased to care as he was lost in the warm honey taste of her, the satin-smooth surfaces of her mouth, and the startling magic of her skin against his own. It was a homecoming, a physical fusing of hollows and planes so exact, so consummate, that his mind reeled with the need for more.

He delved deeper, growing feverish with the tantalizing textures and sleek abrasion of his tongue against hers. Intent vanished, leaving only pure sensation that spiraled into impure instinct. His grasp tightened and he pressed closer. He couldn't get near enough, not with layers of clothing and civilization between them. He would never be near enough until they were alone somewhere and he was inside her, matching his hard urgency to her hot, wet softness, his strength to her willing welcome.

She moaned in distress. That low sound struck him like a bucket of cold water. He dragged air into his lungs, then released her and stepped back in a single sharp movement designed to keep himself from clinging. He came up against the opposite side of the doorway. Setting his backbone against it, he clenched his hands into fists, then slowly, carefully, relaxed.

Voice hoarse, he said, “You did mind.”

“I was just surprised.”

He tested the breathless quality of her voice and its
quiver, then shook his head. “No, or at least that's not all of it. What I want to know is why did you come out here with me if my company is so repulsive?”

“It's not. You don't understand.” She swung away, hugging her arms across her chest.

It was barely possible, he conceded. There had been a few seconds when he felt her response. It was, just possibly, what had driven him over the edge. But he also remembered her shudder.

“I don't believe you,” he said with deliberation.

“You wouldn't, of course. Everything is cut-and-dried with you, yes or no, right or wrong, isn't it? You were born to such comfort and privilege that you have no idea of the complications of other people's lives or the things that move them in ways you can't begin to understand.”

“So what moved you just now?” he said in trenchant willingness to be convinced.

She turned her head to stare at him. Before she could speak, however, there came a small explosion from down beside the lake. Suddenly, the night sky burst into brilliant light. It spread, exploding into colors of red and blue and gold that went off with rocket blasts, then sprinkled down in shooting stars falling toward their own reflections in the rain-dimpled surface of the lake beyond the open doorway. It was Roan setting off Luke's fireworks before the rain made them useless. In their glow, he saw pain darkening Regina's eyes, and limitless despair.

He whispered her name, stepping toward her in alarm.

“No!” she cried with the tightness of tears in her voice. She whirled from him then, running through the
falling raindrops and sprinkling stars of fireworks, back toward the house.

Kane took a step after her, then stopped, afraid he would only make things worse. At least he knew now that it had not been the coffin alone that she had hated. He swung around, bracing himself stiff-armed against the gazebo column as he muttered a heartfelt curse.

“Lost your touch, Counselor?”

Luke followed his question out of the darkness. Stopping near the gazebo entrance, he followed the burst of another rocket overhead before turning to look at Kane.

“Who says I ever had one?” Kane asked in rough tones.

“You used to have finesse. At least enough not to scare off your women.”

Kane heard the undercurrent of censure in the other man's voice. He didn't much care for it. “You don't know anything about it.”

“I know women are fine company if you don't treat them as if they're on the witness stand and you're the prosecution, judge and jury in a neat wad.”

“That wasn't the problem,” he answered shortly. “Regina was fine as long as we were fighting tooth and nail.”

Luke was silent a moment. When he spoke again, there was repressed amusement in his voice. “She wasn't thrilled with the cease-fire? Dixieland delight didn't go over too well?”

“Something like that.” Kane rolled a moody shoulder.

“A fine old custom, making out in the gazebo, but you must be rusty.”

“Apparently.”

Luke tilted his head back, a shadowy movement as he followed yet another rocket barrage whistling heavenward to blossom into red and yellow. “She's getting under your skin, isn't she?”

Kane gave him a hard stare. “Don't you have better things to do than meddle in my business? Like minding your fireworks?”

“It's under control,” Luke said with offhand confidence. “You know, I could give you some competition.”

“This isn't a sporting event.” It was a warning.

Luke shook his head. “Sure it is, Kane, the oldest on record. You just lost heart a while back and dropped out. But that doesn't mean no one else is on the field or keeping score.”