Every Time I Love You (11 page)

He laughed and leaned against the picket fence. The sunlight caught his eyes and his hair. He inclined his head slightly toward the fence.

“You'll be back, my love, I promise.”

“Never!” she spat.

He turned around, resting a booted foot upon the fence. “My, my,” he murmured. “Seems the lady has been caught.”

Katrina could not help but follow his gaze to the corral, and then she gasped in dismay, for the mare was no longer teasing the stallion, but bearing the full brunt of him, caught, his creature.

“Oh!”

“Come, Katrina, you cannot be so shocked!”

She did not dignify his comment with an answer. Tears stung her eyes again. What did he think of her? No gently born woman would not be shocked at such a sight! How she hated him.

How she hated his effect upon her...

She started to run. She heard his laughter following her. “Come to me, my love! Anytime.”

Her cheeks burned. She forgot that she had come out to see about glass for the window. She ignored the mud in the road and kept running. The bone stays of her corset tightened around her, threatening to rob her of all breath.

She came back to the house at last, and then she knew that she could not enter it. Not then. Not until she could breathe again, not until the color left her cheeks. Her brother was back. His carriage, with the gilded initials on the door, stood in front.

Katrina walked around to the back and entered the carriage house. She leaned against the wall, then sank to sit upon a pile of red bricks. She heard the motion from the cool darkness in the back and jumped to her feet once again.

“Henry?”

“Aye, Katrina, it's me.”

He walked toward her. He was a striking man with a neatly queued and fashionable white wig and tight fawn breeches that he wore very well. He was smiling as he approached her. Smiling and tapping a riding crop against the palm of his hand. She realized then that someone was behind Henry. It was Lord Charles Palmer, tall and elegant in a blue satin waistcoat and white breeches. Like Henry, he was smiling, and she did not like his smile.

She tried very hard to calm her breathing, knotting her fingers together behind her back. Henry came closer and closer, until he smiled down at her.

“Say good day to Lord Palmer, Katrina.”

She offered up a small curtsy and murmured a proper greeting to the man. He returned it very pleasantly.

“You're out of breath,” Henry commented.

“Am I?”

“And alas! You've mud spattered all over your skirts and upon your new slippers.”

“Have I? Well, it is spring, you know. And the roads are so very bad with all the rain.”

“Where have you been?”

“I was—looking for ribbons.”

“Elizabeth said you went to see about replacing the panes of glass.”

“Um, yes, well, I intended to do so.” She looked past her brother and offered Lord Palmer one of her most dazzling smiles. “I am afraid I was waylaid, looking for ribbon.”

“Liar!”

Katrina screamed, stunned by the force of her brother's attack as he raised the crop high and brought it down viciously upon her shoulder. She fell to her knees and stared up at him, blinded by her tears.

“You were with that piece of odious rabble, Percy Ainsworth.”

She tried to rise. He struck her again. “Henry!” she screamed in dismay, placing her hands before her to defend herself, seeking help from the man who stood behind him. She could not believe that Henry would treat her so before anyone else, especially Charles Palmer.

But then she saw that Lord Palmer was smiling more fully, that his breath now came more quickly than her own and that his eyes held a curious excitement. He was enjoying it, she thought bleakly; he would love to be the one beating her himself. He would not help her.

“You were with him!”

“Henry, please!”

Katrina swallowed quickly and lowered her head, thinking desperately. Elizabeth would help her. Elizabeth would help her if she could. But she had to get to Elizabeth first.

“Henry, I saw the man in the street. He spoke to me; I spoke back. That is all.”

“Nay, that is not all! You followed him. You went with him, alone, like a bitch in heat.”

“No!”

The crop fell upon her once again. Her back stung as if a thousand needles were embedded in it. “Please, Henry!” Prone upon the floor, she bit her lower lip so that she would not cry. He reached for her, wrenching her to her feet. He pulled her close to him, glanced at Lord Palmer, and then smiled.

“Katrina...” Softly, he stroked her cheek. “Katrina, my dear sister. At last, long last, I think I have found a use for you.”

CHAPTER 7

“Details!” Tina insisted. “I want details!”

“Come on!” Liz pushed.

Gayle sat back, stretching slightly, a slow, lazy smile curling her lips automatically. She couldn't help it. The mere mention of his name made her smile, made her blush, made her feel warm and delicious all over.

The three women were having dinner together seated at a little booth at Trader Vic's, an establishment not far from the Confederate White House. Gayle hadn't talked to either of them in two weeks, but then she hadn't really talked to anyone in two weeks. Brent had wanted time alone together, and she had wanted time alone together. She had barely met Brent's charming, motherly housekeeper before the woman had been sent off for a vacation to help her daughter and grandchildren. Mary Richardson had been delighted with the unexpected holiday, if a little bit startled by the suddenness of it all. Geoffrey, on the other hand, hadn't seemed surprised when she had called to ask for some time off. “Just so long as we all know where you are, kid, huh?”

Gayle swirled her swizzle stick against the salt that rimmed her margarita glass.

“Come on!” Liz repeated. A glass of white wine sat untouched before her. Gayle shrugged, sitting comfortably back in her seat. She licked her swizzle stick, grinning at Liz. “Okay. Okay. It was the best time I've ever had in my entire life. He is the best thing to have ever touched my life.”

“Oh...” Liz breathed, smiling. “That's so romantic.”

“Romantic,” Tina agreed, complaining. “But there's not one lousy detail in it. I want the whole story—from the beginning.”

Unperturbed, Gayle leaned back again, sliding against the seat. Her eyes were vague, as if she relived her dreams. “That's like starting with the beginning of—life!” she murmured.

Tina glanced at Liz. This was bad. This was so much more than a crush. Gayle—dependable, practical Gayle—seemed star struck.

“Two full weeks,” Liz said dryly.

Gayle focused her eyes upon them both.

“I'm going to marry him, you know.”

Liz choked on a sip of wine, exchanging a shooting glance with Tina one more time.

“You—ah—you mean in the future.”

Gayle laughed, the sound delightful, her eyes radiant. “Well, of course, in the future. I'm having dinner with you two here in the present.”

“No, no—” Tina began.

Gayle leaned forward. “He's built just like an Adonis.”

“All over?” Liz interrupted mischievously.

“Liz!” Tina protested.

“Hey—you're the one who asked for the details. All the heavenly little intimate details.”

Gayle smiled, completely serene, and then she was halfway laughing again and very excited. Her smile deepened and she told Liz in a low, husky voice, “All of him. Oh, Liz, he's gorgeous. From head to toe and in between.”

“Oh...” Liz said on a soft note again. “How romantic.”

A waitress appeared with their dinners. Gayle played with her food, and the dream quality was back in her eyes.

Tina sat back uneasily. “It's nice to be in love with being in love,” she murmured. “But Gayle, honey, you've got me worried.”

“Why?”

“I don't want you to get hurt, that's why.”

“You wanted me to date him.”

“Date, yes! Dates are things that you have on Saturday nights. He takes you out—dinner, dancing, maybe a movie. Then he takes you home. Sometimes it's a handshake and sometimes it's a kiss and sometimes, it's a night in the hay. But you left one night and disappeared for two full weeks! With Liz and me in a dither, I might add.”

“I'm so sorry about that—”

“I'm more worried now!” Tina proclaimed.

“Oh? Why? You shouldn't be. Details, huh...?” Gayle curled some linguini around her fork and looked at Tina innocently. She set down her fork, and she was like an excited child all over again. She leaned forward, speaking in a hush.

“When we got out there, it just happened that his housekeeper had been called away—”

“Now that figures,” Liz stated dryly.

“Uh-huh,” Tina agreed.

“And I almost chickened out,” Gayle continued as if she hadn't heard them. “I wasn't going to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Model!”

“Hmph! And I'll bet you never did!” Liz stated.

“Cynical, cynical!” Gayle chastised. Then she sighed again, lost in the rose-tinted mists of memory. “Brent...he didn't intend what happened—”

“Of course, he didn't!” Tina murmured with sweet sarcasm.

“Surely, he wouldn't,” Liz agreed, and they both rolled their eyes.

“Oh, you doubting Thomases!” Gayle laughed happily, her eyes flashing with brilliant amusement. “He didn't. He really didn't. But I was standing there and he was standing there—”

“Right there in his studio? Did you ever pose?”

Gayle flushed. “Tina! Yes! I mean—no, not that first night. We started in the studio. You two are terrible! And then he carried me into his bedroom—”

“Oh, man!” Liz murmured. “All that time, huh?”

“No, of course not.” Gayle grinned. “A lot, though. I've never—I've never had such a wonderful time in all my life.”

“What did you do?”

“We didn't really do anything—”

“Oh, is that romantic!” Liz interrupted. “You walked around in robes and you sat before the fire and he filled your wineglass and then his eyes would touch yours—”

“Liz! I want to hear this from Gayle. Remember? The girl who was actually there?”

“I did pose for him,” Gayle said. She was smiling again. “I posed for him and”—she paused to offer Liz a special smile—”we did sit before the fire and we did walk around in robes. We went out a few times, into the forest around his house. We cooked some wonderful meals and we sent out for pizza and Chinese. And we talked. We talked and talked.” She hesitated. “I told you, I'm going to marry him.” They both stared at her, stunned. Gayle looked from one stunned face to the other and laughed again, reaching out across the table to squeeze their hands. “I thought you both liked him.”

“We do,” Liz said automatically.

Gayle smiled at Tina. “You're the one who told me to go out and get him.”

“I know. I did. But—” she broke off, looking at Liz helplessly. Liz didn't give her any help. “I think that he's fabulous. But—” She paused again, then plunged in. “Gayle, I really think that a good relationship in bed is very, very important in a marriage.”

“But it isn't everything,” Liz plunged in too, finally determined to give Tina some assistance. But now she looked at Tina helplessly. “You're kidding, aren't you?” She asked Gayle. “I mean, about this marrying bit?”

“Oh, no. I'm going to marry him.”

“But you mean in a year or so, right?”

“No. I mean in one month.”

Tina gasped. Liz choked on her wine again. “Gayle, you're not listening. You have to
think
about marriage. I mean, you can be—you can be—”

“Passionately involved?” Liz tried.

“Sure, sure, passionate, in a matter of two weeks. But Gayle, how can you be sure that you want to marry someone?”

“And him! It's Brent McCauley,” Tina reminded Liz. She curled her fingers around Gayle's this time. “Honey, are you sure? Maybe he wasn't serious.”

“Why don't you ask him?” Gayle suggested.

“Ask him?” Liz murmured.

Gayle smiled serenely at them, gazing past them. Liz and Tina turned to see that McCauley was coming toward them, sleek, bronzed, and handsome in a navy Izod and jeans. He wore that same silly, dream-quality grin that seemed to be permanently affixed to Gayle's features.

Gayle stood. “Brent!” She whispered his name so softly. In the mere voicing of it, she spoke volumes of love with such a force of tender sensuality that it was almost like watching the two of them in bed. Liz cleared her throat and stared down at her food. Tina still stared at them, caught by the emotion.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Brent reached her. He did nothing more overtly sexual than kiss her hand and stare into her eyes, but Tina felt herself grow hot all over. They were beautiful, she thought. Beautiful together. She was so blond; he was so dark. She was tall and shapely, and he was tall and muscular.

It couldn't have gone on forever, just the two of them standing there, staring at each other. Brent was too polite a man for that, pleasantly sensitive to those around him. He and Gayle broke eye contact. She slid into the booth, moving in far enough to give him room, and Brent smiled at Tina and Liz. “Tina, Liz, how are you? Has Gayle told you about the wedding yet?”

He laughed. Their mouths fell open, quite literally open. Brent looked at Gayle and she shrugged, circling her fingers over his hand, and then they both stared at Tina and Liz like a pair of Cheshire cats.

Gayle reached across the table and tapped Tina's chin, shutting it. “I did tell you,” she said reproachfully. Tina swallowed and stared at Brent. He was every woman's dream of a lover. She liked him very much; she had encouraged Gayle to go after him. It was just too soon for the two of them to be talking marriage.

“It's okay,” Brent told them softly. His eyes fell adoringly on Gayle. “It's okay. I'm not marrying her for her money, you know. I have plenty of my own.”

He was rich. That much was true.

Tina shook her head. “Ah, Brent, you know how much I like you. We like you. Liz and I—we both do.” Her words didn't seem to be coming out right, but Brent McCauley didn't notice. He was watching Gayle again. She had never seen a gaze of such fierce and protective tenderness. “And not that it is any of our business—but I really want both of you to think about what you're doing—”

The waitress came by, interrupting their conversation for a moment. Even though the table was full of food that no one seemed to be touching, Brent ordered a cheeseburger and fries and a large Coke, and when the waitress was gone he slipped an arm around Gayle and she lay back against him as sleek as a Persian cat.

“You two are so happy that it's—disgusting!” Liz blurted out. “And it's soooo romantic.”

“Liz, you know, you're no help! This is serious!” Tina wailed.

“Yes, it is. Very,” Brent agreed. “I love Gayle; she loves me. We're going to be married in about a month—three Saturdays from last—and you're the first to know. Well, other than my parents and my great-uncle Frank.”

“And Geoff,” Gayle reminded him softly.

“Oh, yeah, and Chad.”

“It was nice to be right at the top of the list!” Tina laughed.

“I meant you to be!” Gayle cried, stricken.

“It's okay, it's okay,” Liz assured them.

“You are going to be my attendants, though.”

Liz clapped her hands. “Oh! You're having a real wedding?”

“If they're legal, they're real,” Brent reminded them, but Liz shook her head impatiently.

“How perfect! How romantic. A traditional wedding?”

Gayle smiled happily. “Neither of us has been married before. We talked about it. I want a church wedding and I want to wear white. I want to throw a bouquet, and I want lots and lots of rice thrown at us. Will you congratulate us, please?”

“Of course!” Tina murmured. She and Liz jumped up and they came around to kiss them both.

“You do like the idea of the Bahamas?” Brent asked after Tina and Liz had left.

Gayle, leaning against his shoulder while he finished his cheeseburger, smiled. “I love the idea of the Bahamas. I love the idea of the Out Islands. Sand, sea—and the two of us.”

“We can go anywhere you want.”

“I know,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

They both fell silent. Gayle stretched and moved away from him to take a sip of the coffee the waitress had just brought her. She smiled again affectionately, thinking of Liz and Tina and how much fun it had been to tell them this way. Then she frowned because, with the two of them gone, the conversation at the next booth began to come to their table, painfully loud.

A woman was talking to a man. She was very attractive, thin, svelte, dark. Gayle couldn't see the man's face; he seemed older, with graying hair.

“I don't want anything,” the woman said. “Nothing at all.”

“That's commendable, Mrs. Willows, but you want to be realistic too. If there is anything that you do want, we need to list it so that the papers are entirely clear when they are served.”

“Oh, I don't want anything—just out.”

The beautiful woman brought her napkin to her lips and her eyes grew damp. “Well, maybe I do need a few things.”

“Fine. I'll list them.”

“Well, the house, I suppose. I should have the house. And the Ferrari. I do drive it most of the time. The house, the car—oh, the little beach bungalow out on the Cape. My jewelry, of course. And the van and the furniture and...”

She kept on going. Finally the man—her lawyer, obviously—interrupted her. “Mrs. Willows, ahem, maybe we should do this differently. Let me rephrase the question: Is there anything that you intend to leave him?”