Starlight (2 page)

A moment later, she caught sight of her father’s angry stride as he wove through the crowd toward her. Wishing to avoid the taste of his Scottish temper, she hastily sought an escape. A curtained glass door leading to a balcony caught her attention. Unnoticed, she quietly slipped into the dark, leaving her father perplexed by her sudden disappearance.

Peering through the sheer curtain, Karen waited impatiently for Matthew to abandon his search.

“I beg your pardon,” came a deep voice from behind her as she backed into a solid form.

“Oh! Excuse me.” She fumbled and quickly straightened. “I didn’t realize there was anyone out here.”

“Obviously,” came the clipped reply as he stared into the dark. Karen watched him for a few minutes, but he made no effort to meet her gaze.

“Would you mind sharing your hideaway for a minute?” she asked sweetly, and deliberately blinked her long, curling lashes at his impassive expression. Men were usually quick to respond to her expressive brown eyes.

“Suit yourself,” he retorted unenthusiastically, and continued to stare into the night.

Undaunted by his lack of welcome, Karen joined him at the railing and searched the sky to discover what was so fascinating. The night was cold, crisp, and clear; the stars
shone with a brilliant intensity.

“Leave it to my godfather to order a star display for the night of his party,” Karen murmured. Her gaze returned to the stranger’s face and swept his appearance. He wore a trim-fitting, dark wool suit that hugged his slim hips and long legs. The harsh contours of his face remained blank under her examination.

“Look!” Karen exclaimed, pointing her finger to the sky and counting the stars. “It’s Perseus. I can’t remember when I’ve seen the constellation stand out so clearly. You do see it, don’t you?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” he remarked dryly.

“Sure you do. Just look a little to your left,” she persisted.

“Listen,” he snapped impatiently, “whatever your name may be—”

“Karen McAlister,” she interrupted, “and you’re …?”

“Randall Prescott,” he replied in a voice that spoke plainly of trepidation.

“Well, look again. It’s up there plain as day.” She pointed to it again for his benefit. “Really, it’s very clear, if you’ll just look …”

“Mrs. McAlister …”

“Miss,” Karen informed him cheerfully.

“Miss McAlister …” he tried again.

“Please call me Karen.”

Drawing in a breath as if to hold on to his limited patience, he began again. “Karen … Miss McAlister … 
whatever
it is you wish to be called, I cannot view your precious Perseus, and I shall never view it. I’m blind!”

Karen felt the full impact of shock. After a moment of startled silence, she blurted out, “Oh, dear, Mr. Prescott, I do apologize.”

“Randall,” he interrupted.

“I had no idea, Randall. I …”

“Please call me Rand,” he taunted softly.

“All right, Rand,” she replied, a smile evident in her voice, “but please accept my apology.”

“An apology is unnecessary; my blindness cannot be attributed to your faults,” he countered stiffly.

“No, of course not, but I was being obtuse.”

He turned toward her then, allowing for the first time a clear view of his rugged features. He certainly didn’t fit her image of what a blind man might look like. His face was boldly defined, almost ruthless. There was a magnetic quality about his dark brown eyes that captured her gaze.

“I don’t suppose you came out here without your coat to view the stars?” he asked roughly, as if aware of her eyes studying him.

“How do you know I’m not wearing a coat?” she asked. Was this unnerving man playing her for a fool?

A sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I don’t. But I suspect the slight quiver in your voice is from a chill.”

Karen suddenly realized she was cold. Snoqualmie Falls was only a few minutes from the summit of Snoqualmie Pass, over the Cascades. The bitter December wind bit into her.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked, more gently. “Is someone bothering you?”

“Oh, heavens, no!” she quickly assured him, but paused. “Well, yes and no. I routed a persistent widow toward my father and was sure to taste his anger had I remained inside.”

Rand smiled at her predicament, his roguish features relaxing his expression. “I’m sure the whole incident has been forgiven. You can’t stay here. You’ll freeze.”

It was clearly a dismissal, and Karen felt strangely disappointed. She wanted to stay and learn more about this enigmatic stranger. He was the first man to really interest her in a long while. She hovered in the doorway, hoping to find an excuse to remain, but found none.

“Are you coming, too?”

“Later,” he replied indifferently, and appeared bored with her company.

Karen could only leave. “Then perhaps we’ll meet again,” she said softly.

“It’s unlikely,” he mumbled, as if he hadn’t intended her to hear. She watched as he returned to the railing.

Karen didn’t immediately see her father once she’d entered the warmth of the large reception hall. Mrs. Jackson was standing near the orchestra, waving her hand impatiently in an attempt to gain the conductor’s attention.

“Here you are.”

The voice startled Karen, and she jerked around to see her godfather. “Uncle Evan.” She placed a trembling hand over her heart to dramatize her fright. “You’re worse than a thief in the night.”

Evan Forsyth’s eyes twinkled. “Your father’s looking for you.”

Karen lowered her gaze, a little ashamed of her ploy. As much as Matthew irritated her, she loved him and realized he had only her best interests at heart.

“I suppose he’s still angry?” she asked.

“Let’s put it this way,” Evan said, chuckling. “He hasn’t had a free second since
you spoke with Mabel. He’s hiding in the men’s room. I think we’d better dance before he decides it’s safe to return.”

“Oh, dear, I’m in for it now,” she mumbled as her godfather led her to the dance floor. It was a waltz, which gave her the opportunity to speak. “I’m afraid I made a blunder with one of your guests.”

Evan’s eyes rounded, feigning shock. “You seem to be making a night of it, my dear. Want to talk about it?” His position with the university and in the community made him a ready listener to the troubles of others.

Karen felt uneasy. “I’m afraid I literally bumped into Randall Prescott—”

“Ah,” Evan interrupted her. “I imagine he was rude. He tends to be the prickly sort. Damn good professor, though, the finest. We offer the best business program in the state due to him. Prescott could teach anywhere. The university is lucky to have him.” He hesitated, his thick brows knitting his forehead. “Was Cora with him?”

“Cora? No. Who’s she?” It hadn’t occurred to Karen that Rand was married. The thought deflated her.

“That’s unusual. Rand rarely attends any social functions without her.”

“Is Cora his wife?” Karen hoped to hide any telltale inflection of curiosity from her voice.

“No, she’s a business associate. They’ve collaborated together, books and the like.”

Karen felt herself relax, an excitement flowing through her limbs.

Sensing her interest, Evan felt obliged to add, “I wouldn’t discourage you, Karen, but Randall Prescott is a bit of a cynic. A difficult man to get to know. He’s independent and proud, highly defensive of his blindness. He’s not your normal chivalrous hero … tread carefully.”

“Who says I’m interested?” Karen asked defensively.

Evan chuckled. “Karen, I’ve known you all your life. Certainly I know you well enough to recognize that gleam in your eye.”

Several minutes later, Karen saw Rand sitting unobtrusively in the rear of the hall. She had been waiting for his appearance, silently searching faces. Now she wondered how to gain his attention. In answer to her problem, the orchestra conductor turned to face his audience and announced the first ladies’ choice of the evening.

Mabel Jackson, with a satisfied smirk, made a beeline for Matthew, who had recently reappeared. Karen groaned in sympathy and walked toward the back of the reception room and the mystifying Randall Prescott.

Without introduction or preamble, she curtsied. “May I have the pleasure of this
dance?”

Rand sat up abruptly and stiffened. “Miss McAlister?”

“Karen,” she corrected impishly.

“All right,
Karen
. Let’s not go through that again.” A smile threatened the stiff line of his mouth.

He hesitated so long, Karen grew uncomfortable. “You did hear them mention it was ladies’ choice, didn’t you?”

He held his shoulders stiff and formal. “I’m honored, but no.” His mouth remained inflexible.

Karen would have been surprised if he’d accepted. “Well, that’s fine; my feet are beginning to ache, anyway. New shoes,” she explained before taking the seat beside him.

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Have a seat,” he offered sarcastically.

Karen ignored his derision. “Thank you, I have.”

Apparently, he felt no inclination to speak, and Karen was courteous enough not to press. After a dance or two, she discovered that she was completely content to sit with him, not talking, if he wished. She hummed and watched the dancers as they waltzed through the wintry scene. She could almost see Rand relax his guard and accept her company.

“Aren’t the decorations magnificent?” she asked thoughtlessly, then gasped, recognizing her blunder. How stupid could she be? “If my new shoes are tight, I needn’t worry,” she apologized. “After they’ve been in my mouth a couple of times, they’ll fit fine. That was stupid. Please excuse me,” she added soberly.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, almost enjoying her discomfort. “It’s a common mistake. Describe the decorations, will you?”

It was a pleasure to narrate the lovely scene portrayed by the dangling snowflakes. With her natural flair for theatrics, she described the hall in graphic detail. In afterthought, she added interesting tidbits she knew about some of its occupants.

“It’s almost impossible to tell when Uncle Evan is angry or upset, but he has a telltale twitch in his upper lip. If you see it move, watch out. And then there’s Clayton Dunbar, a distant relative of the Forsyths’. He’s about as subtle as a garden serpent and has the sincerity of a used-car salesman. He marks his conquests on his bedpost to brag to his friends.”

“Do I detect a note of mockery?”

“No use hiding the fact that I detest the man. He’s about as obvious as a Sherman tank.” It was unlike Karen to be catty, and she immediately felt guilty. Besides, was she being any less obvious about her interest in Rand? “That’s unfair. I’m sure Clayton has
several good qualities … somewhere.”

Rand gave a hearty laugh. “You’re apt at describing others. How would you depict yourself?”

“I couldn’t,” she protested automatically. “How do you picture me?”

“You have an intriguing voice.” He paused, thinking. “But I’m not referring to the tone quality. You possess an unshakable resolve. I doubt that you’ve ever failed in any pursuit. You’re upbeat, cheerful.”

“Heavens,” Karen said dryly, “you make me sound like a high school cheerleader.”

“Definitely not high school. You must be all of nineteen, maybe twenty.”

Karen laughed lightly. “I’m a whole world away from high school or college. I’m twenty-three.”

Rand grinned, then added, “You must be five-seven, five-eight at the most.”

Impressed, Karen lifted her brows expressively. “Five-seven.”

“Long dark hair and metallic-blue eyes.”

“Short dark curls, equally dark eyes.”

A hand cupped the back of her neck; his fingers twisted the pliable curls. Karen was too startled by the sudden action to protest. Her heart rate soared as a languorous warmth spread from her neck.

He chuckled softly and said, “Yes, short, but soft and inviting. Your eyes must be expressive, promising.” He relaxed against his chair, the dim light illuminating his strongly defined features. Again, Karen experienced the full impact of his masculinity.

“That’s not quite right, but I’m not going to disillusion you with the truth.” She laughed because she’d always thought her dark eyes, the color of bitter chocolate, were plain. Rand made them sound exciting and enticing.

“Give me your hand,” he said suddenly. When she complied, his fingers gently examined hers. “You’re not a secretary, or your fingertips wouldn’t be this smooth. Nor do you walk with the crisp purpose of a nurse.”

“That’s a chauvinistic attitude. All women aren’t secretaries or nurses. I’m not a teacher, either.”

“Aha!” He laughed again. “You’re employed in a man’s field.”

Karen smiled at his novel methods of deducing her occupation, but the smile died quickly as she spied Clayton Dunbar eyeing her from the edge of the dance floor. She stiffened instinctively, her reluctance obvious.

“Is something wrong?” Rand questioned.

“My wicked past is about to catch up with me. Dad’s revenge is here.” Karen had
dated Clayton only once and spent the entire evening fighting off his sexual advances. She hadn’t told her father for fear of offending the Forsyths; now she recognized her error.

“Karen, baby, it’s good to see you. I see you’ve been waiting for me. Let’s dance.”

Karen’s mind whirled, searching for a plausible excuse to refuse as she stood.

Suddenly, Rand rose beside Karen, his imposing frame dwarfing Clayton’s. “Excuse me,” he said stiffly, “but you’ll have to wait your turn. This dance is mine.”

In his eagerness to corner Karen, Clayton hadn’t noticed her formidable companion. His smug expression instantly turned to that of a deprived child.

Karen’s mood lightened immediately. Placing her hand in Rand’s, she led the way to the dance floor. With a devilish gleam, she turned back and smiled cheerfully. “Ta-ta, Clayton.”

Rand took the lead, guiding her firmly but cautiously through the array of dancers. The dance floor was unfamiliar territory, but his movements were made skillfully and with confidence. He held her lightly, and a warmth flowed through her.

“How are we doing?” he questioned.

“Fine,” she assured him. “You don’t like to dance, do you?” He so obviously didn’t, Karen wondered what had made him offer.