After the Music (13 page)

"Hi, yourself," he said lovingly.

Watching them, Sabina felt like crying. If only Thorn could look at her that way, talk to her that way, just once. But that was a pipe dream. She'd learned to her sorrow that reality was painful. Thorn would never be hers. The most she could hope for was that she might linger in his memory as the one woman who got away.

That night, the house was filled with guests enjoying a catered buffet supper and dancing to a live band. It was the Saturday night before Easter Sunday, and Sabina thought she'd never seen such elegant clothes before. Her own strappy gown looked simple by comparison, which was probably what Thorn had intended. She might buy one expensive used dress, but her budget didn't allow her to buy several. This was the one she'd worn to Al's party, and she wondered if Thorn recognized it. He gave her a mock toast from across the room, and she turned away, hurt.

"He did that deliberately, didn't he?" Jessica asked. They escaped for a minute alone in the ladies' room.

"Baiting me," Sabina said with a sigh. "You can't imagine what it's been like. If I didn't like you so much..."

"I love you," Jessica said fervently, and hugged her. "Someday, somehow, I'll make it up to you."

"Are you happy, my friend?" Sabina asked with a tiny smile. In her black satin dress, with her flaming red hair cascading over her shoulders, Jess was a vision. "Deliriously. I only hope it happens for you, too, one of these days."

"It would be a pity if it did," she replied carelessly. "I don't want marriage, and an affair is out of the question."

"But, Sabina, one day you'll want a family."

She winced. "No."

"With the right man, it would be different," Jessica assured her. "Your children would be wanted, loved."

Sabina's soft gray eyes widened as she thought about having a little boy with dark, waving hair and ice-blue eyes. Her heart skipped wildly. It was pure unadulterated stupidity. She had to stop thinking about Thorn that way.

"Are you all right? You're very pale," Jessica said softly.

"All right?" She was remembering the way it felt to kiss Thorn and she burned all over. "Yes. I'm all right. Let's go back."

Al came up to them, fighting the urge to stare at Jessica. "Well, let's see if we can throw the wolf off the track, shall we?" he asked Sabina. "Jess, I wish there was some other way.

"We could leave the country," Jess murmured. "There wouldn't be an easier way, with Thorn."

"Miss Cane?"

Thorn's deep, slow voice rang out and all at once Sabina noticed that the crowd had stopped dancing and everyone was looking at her. She felt like a criminal being fingered, not like an up and coming celebrity in the entertainment world. But despite her modest dress, she held her head high and moved toward him gracefully. His eyes followed her movements with a tangible hunger and something oddly like pride.

"I've told our guests that you have quite a talent with music. How about doing something for us?"

"I'd be delighted," she said, approaching the small combo, which boasted two guitarists, a drummer and a pianist. They were much younger than The Bricks and Sand Band, but the pianist had style. She went straight toward him.

Thorn was expecting some raucous tune, so that he could embarrass her in front of his elegant guests. But the joke was going to be on him. She smiled secretively as she told the pianist what she wanted. And, fortunately, his training enabled him to provide the accompaniment she needed. Otherwise, she'd have had to sing a capella.

She turned to face the group. "I don't think I have to introduce this piece," she said with a faint smile in Thorn's direction. "I'm sure most of you will recognize it immediately." She nodded toward the pianist.

Thorn settled back against the door with a brandy snifter in his lean hand, his face mocking, challenging. Conceited little girl, he was saying without words, you expect these very elite people to know your pitiful rock songs?

She nodded toward Thorn then smiled at Jess and Al, who were almost jumping up and down with glee.

The pianist began, and she drew in a deep breath and suddenly burst into the exquisite aria from Puccini's "Madama Butterfly." The crowd stood completely still in the large room, as if every breath was suddenly held. Eyes widened as the piercingly clear voice rang out, as the sweep and flow and dramatic intensity of her voice told the well-known story in classic operatic style. When the melody broke into the high, achingly sweet notes near the end, tears were rolling down the cheeks of two of the women listening. And as she held the final note there was a shattering as if of glass. She finished. As she was bowing, she looked toward the back of the room, where Thorn had been standing. Only a tiny pile of broken crystal attested to the fact that he'd even been there at all.

"Bravo!" came the cries from the guests. "Bravo, bravo!"

"My dear," one tall matron said as she rushed toward Sabina. "I understood Thorn to say that you were a rock singer!"

"Yes," Sabina said with a smile. "You see, I couldn't afford to go to New York to study. It was my dream, but I'm finding a niche for myself in pop music. At least I can still sing the arias."

"And beautifully," the matron said, tears still in her eyes. "So beautifully. It was a privilege to listen to you."

"Thank you." With a final smile for the older woman, Sabina joined Al and Jessica as the band started up again.

"He broke the glass," Al said quietly, nodding toward the crystal on the floor.

"Did he hurt himself?" Sabina asked, concerned.

"I don't know."

Without thinking she rushed out the door and down the hall toward his study. The door was ajar. She pushed it open and walked in, her eyes searching for Thorn. He was at the window, smoking a cigarette.

"Thorn?"

He turned, his eyes dark and threatening, his face hard.

"Your hand..."

"Hand?" He lifted the free one and stared at it. He seemed not to have noticed that it was cut.

"I'll dress it for you," she said quietly. She went ahead into the half bath beyond the desk and riffled through the cabinet for antiseptic and a bandage.

He joined her, filling the small room, glaring down at her. His presence overwhelmed her, but she didn't speak. She bathed his hand, loving the calloused feel of it, the dark beauty of its leanness, its flat nails. She washed away the smear of blood and checked the cut for slivers of glass.

"I've never heard anything so beautiful," he said absently. "Your voice is a gift."

She laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. I wanted a career in opera, you see. But I never had that kind of money. Training is expensive. I scrimped and saved to get what I could, but...circumstances made it impossible for me to continue."

"I knew you were penniless. I didn't know about the operatic aspirations, though," he said blankly.

"Don't try to cut me up, please," she said quietly. "I'm not nearly the threat you seem to think I am." She looked up as she put the bandage in place. "My life hasn't been easy. Don't make it any harder for me."

He reached out and gently touched her cheek, and his eyes narrowed. "Then get out, while you can. I've got a trump card. Don't make me play it in front of Al."

She smiled gently. "Trump card? You make me sound like a public enemy."

"You are," he said under his breath. His jaw tautened. "You're the most dangerous woman I've ever known."

She sighed as she put away the bandages and antiseptic. "Well, I'm glad to know that."

"Give Al back the ring, now, and we'll call it quits."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

"Because you'll be cheating him. And me." He tossed the cigarette into the sink, where it hissed going out in the residue of water. "Sabina, we can't live under the same roof without sleeping together. Al's my brother. I love him. But I want you. And, God help me, wanting you is a fever I can't put out. One day, one night, it will be the way it was in the woods," he said huskily, watching her blush. "Except that I won't be able to stop in time. You know that, damn you!"

She searched his eyes. "You really care about Al, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes, I care," he said harshly. His eyes were devouring her face. He started to touch her and then drew back. "Sometimes I almost forget what kind of woman you really are, for all that soft innocence that drives me mad." He drew in a sharp breath and turned away from her. "Forget it. I must be going soft in my old age. Let's rejoin the rest. I'll even announce the engagement for you."

He strode ahead of her with his face set in rigid lines, his long legs making short work of the hall. Cutting straight through the crowd, he poured himself a glass of whiskey. When he turned, with a reckless, do-it-or-die look on his face, Sabina knew immediately that the war wasn't over. It was just beginning.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to make an announcement," he said, lifting his glass to get everyone's attention. "My brother, Al, has chosen a fiancée. May I introduce to you his choice, Miss Sabina Cane," he said, toasting her, his smile deliberately cruel as he concluded. "Sabina Cane, the illegitimate daughter of a New Orleans lady of the evening and one of her many paying admirers."

Sabina felt the blood drain from her face, but she didn't falter. She merely stared straight into Thorn's eyes. She didn't glance over her shoulder, where Al's expression was murderous, or to her side, where Jessica's face was contorted with pity.

The crowd split, clearing a path for her as she walked toward Thorn. She didn't miss a step. Her face was white, her eyes dark with pain and hurt, but she faced him bravely.

She didn't know where the courage was coming from, because inside part of her had died. All the long years she'd kept her secret, held it back, forbidden Jessica even to mention it aloud. And here the oil baron was, producing it like an incubus, taunting her with it in front of his elegant guests.

"Congratulations," she said unsteadily. "You've found me out. But let me tell you all of it, oil baron. My mother was in love with a boy who went away to Vietnam and didn't come back. He left her pregnant and her family threw her out into the streets. She wasn't eligible for welfare because she made a few dollars too much in tips from a waitressing job. Her earnings were just enough to pay the rent, but not much more. When I was born, she took on a night job as well, to support us. But after a few years of that, her health gave out." She straightened, aware of the hush around them, aware of the frozen expression on Thorn's dark face.

"The one thing she had in abundance was beauty. So when she couldn't get any other kind of job, she accepted a date with a wealthy merchant. He was the first. He bought my first pair of shoes, and other trinkets," she added, watching the word register in his narrow eyes. "The second was a shipping tycoon, a friend of the merchant. He paid off the overdue rent and bought us a whole week's worth of groceries as well. We'd been getting scraps from the butcher to make soup until then, because we didn't have enough money for anything more." Thorn's face was so drawn by now that it looked pasty. "There were other men after that. She'd discovered the luxury of having enough to eat and warm clothes and necessities for her little girl. Then she met Harry. Harry was rich, but he had this one little idiosyncrasy. He liked to beat her until she couldn't stand up...." Her voice was beginning to tremble now, as it all came back. She swallowed and straightened again. "She loved him desperately, and when he was sober, he seemed to love her, too. But one night, he had too much to drink. And he beat her to death. Right in front of me."

"Oh, God," Thorn whispered, his voice tormented, his eyes wild.

She drew in a slow breath. "So I was sent to the local orphanage, where I learned how to work for a living. I've been doing it ever since. And trying to live down the past. Ironically, until tonight, there was only one other person in the whole world who knew it. Now," she turned to the guests, who were staring helplessly at her, "I suppose I'll be dragging it behind me like a chain as long as I live. There's just one other little thing. This is what you wanted, I believe, Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third."

And she tugged off her ring and turned to hand it to Al.

"Just a minute," Al said, coming forward. He faced his taller, older brother with venom in his eyes. "That was unwarranted, and unworthy of you. And if you don't apologize, I'll knock you down, big brother."

Thorn gave him a considering look and nodded. "Yes, it was unworthy," he said in a subdued tone. "And damned cruel. Miss Cane, I apologize for my lack of manners," he added, looking straight at Sabina.

Her eyes were so clouded with unshed tears, she was unable to see the lancing pain in his icy blue eyes. She only nodded, turned and left the room.

Thorn hadn't apologized for his insolence, only for his lack of manners, she thought hysterically. She packed quickly, dragging clothes from drawers and stuffing them into her carryall. She felt poleaxed. Devastated. Apparently, he'd done some checking into her past and come up with this-what had he called it-his trump card.

She laughed through tears as she finished packing. It was so cruel to throw that in her face, in front of all those people. So cruel!

The door opened and he was standing there. His eyes were dark, his face unsmiling, his posture stiff and strange.

"Did you bring a knife?" she asked. "I can only assume you intend to finish me off in private."

"I shouldn't have done that to you," he said in a tone she'd never heard him use. He had one hand deep in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. "It was like tearing the wings from a butterfly, and about as satisfying. I had no right."

"Why bother about rights?" she asked, smiling bitterly. "Nobody else ever did. I wasn't even a person when I was little. I was that love child down the street, Bessie's yard child. At the orphanage it was a little better. At least I didn't have to watch her with men." Her eyes clouded at the memory and Thorn actually flinched. "I knew she was doing it for me-I even understood-but that didn't make it any easier." She ground her teeth in an agony of remembrance. "I hated her for a long time. Until he killed her." Her eyes closed and she shuddered, trying to blot out the memory. "It took years to get over that, and I was so alone. I missed her then," she whispered. "But I hated what she had to become, and I hated rich men dangling expensive gifts to lure her in, to tempt her. If her health had held out, maybe it would have been different. But she had to support us, and that was the only way she could find. Still I'll hate what she became until the day I die, and I'll hate rich men who made her that way. I won't be like her, I won't, I won't!"