Caprice (5 page)

figure as he tirelessly rowed them back.

She hardly recognised the impulse, or the wistfulness that was too

audible in her voice as she said, 'I suppose we have to go back?'

The faint light illuminated her features, flickering light and dusky

shadow. Her silver hair in wisps around her face blurred her features

like an old photograph, and her eyes glistened at once brilliant and

dark. She thought she saw his black head move sharply, and there

was a moment as he apparently stared at her, his flexing shoulders

still.

He said, rather oddly, 'I don't think there's anywhere we could pull to

shore. It's too muddy, with tangled weeds. You'd never make it in

those shoes, otherwise I do believe I'd be tempted.'

She was appalled at the seriousness with which he had taken that

wistful note, and the seriousness with which she had meant it. She

shook loose of the strange feeling that had gripped her, and laughed

carelessly as though she'd meant it as a joke the whole time. 'Well,

then, if we must go back, we must. Besides, I've finished my wine.'

A pause. Then he picked up rowing again. 'Then by all means,' he

responded, lightly teasing. 'That clinches it. But which is it, to return

the glass or refill it?'

'I haven't decided yet,' she replied composedly.

They glided to the pier smoothly, and Pierce expertly steered the boat

between the two where it had been tied before, giving one last gentle

backward pull on the oars to send the flattened end towards the rope.

She reached it easily, looked up to the pier, and then down,

doubtfully, to her high-heeled sandals. She said hesitantly, 'Ah, I

don't think I'll be able to climb out in these shoes.'

'Hold on,' he said, his voice quiet under the noise of the nearby party.

He stood, balancing easily, and then told her, 'Slide over to the side.

There you go. Now, I'll step out, and then help you, all right?'

'All right.' He lightly passed her, a lean black- clad figure, his hand

going to her shoulder to steady himself. She held quite still. Then he

heaved himself up, and squatted to fasten the rope more securely. He

turned, still bent.

'All set, pretty fairy?' he asked, extending a hand to her. She removed

his jacket, and handed that to him first.

'I'd never forgive myself if that ended in the water,' she told him

wryly, as he took it and laid it aside. His hand was offered again, and

she had to laugh as she laid the wine glass in his palm. She watched

as he set it on the protective cloth of his jacket, and then gave him

both her free hands when he turned to her for the third and final time.

She saw him smile. With his help, she stood in the boat and

attempted the large step to the pier. Her heel slipped on the smooth

wood, catching in the crack, and one of his arms snaked around her

waist to lift her bodily the rest of the way.

Heartbeat, one, two, strong and steady, beating against her breast,

against his shirt. The two of them, utterly still for a moment, his arm

still hard, tight about her, her hands to his shoulders for balance, his

head bent to her while her face was upturned, looking at him

searchingly. Looking for what? She didn't know, but she had a

sudden, powerful impression that it was very important, if she could

only understand. Vital, one might say, like his body warmth under

the white shirt, his light breathing, that lean body flush with hers. She

felt flustered, suddenly too warm, an uncomfortable, uncharacteristic

reaction, and she gently pulled away from him, looking anywhere but

his face. His hand lingered for a moment at the back of her waist, and

then fell away.

She turned, as if at random, and stared back over the dark lake. 'I

enjoyed it,' she said quickly, her hands clasped in front of her. Then

she turned to stare to shore, and she made a sudden bid for escape

from this quiet, unknown man, and her unknown, stirred emotions.

'Thank you.'

He followed just behind. 'You're quite welcome. My pleasure.'

And then she knew a strange and futile anger, one that brightened her

eyes into amethyst stones and brought a light flush to her

cheekbones, for she saw their little excursion for what it really was.

There had been nothing but two people enjoying a brief respite from

the social chatter of a light-hearted party, strangers to each other and

rather indifferent. Nothing but that, and her own foolishness. Her

eyes went over him as they came to brighter light. A youngish man

still, perhaps thirty years of age, already distinguished looking, with

quick observant eyes and an apparent intelligence. There was

comprehension and responsibility in this man. What in the world

would he and she ever see in each other?

Emory and Ralph, talking together languidly, saw both of them, and

they immediately approached. 'Where have you been?' asked Emory

with a smile. 'I noticed you were gone several minutes ago, and

nobody knew where you'd vanished to.'

'We explored the lake!' exclaimed she, with an extravagant gesture,

her eyes sweeping Pierce's but not quite meeting his. She laughed

and then took held of her skirt, trying to twist it so that she could see

the back. Then she mourned, 'And I got my skirt dirty.'

'Quite the adventurer,' said Ralph mockingly, and the two chuckled to

see her turn in a circle. She put her outspread hands behind her in a

concealing fashion, and wore a half guilty, half sheepish expression.

'I'd better go upstairs and see if I can clean this,' she said then. She

turned to a silent, rather reserved Pierce, and told him, 'Thank you

again. Oh, good! You've got the glass. I'd forgotten it. Well, I'll say

good night then. See you all in the morning. If you happen to see

Rox, would you tell her I've gone up?' Then with a smile given to

them all impartially and a flurry of good nights from the men in

response, she abandoned her abashed pose and lightly strode inside to

skip up the stairs and to her room.

The three stared after her. Still laughing, Ralph shook his head and

said, 'Rowing around in a dirty boat, in a dress that must have cost a

fortune!'

'That's Caprice,' said Emory, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Then both the younger men looked at Pierce, who was expensively

clad in his dark sober business trousers, his jacket hooked carelessly

on one finger and draped over one white shoulder. Pierce just twirled

an empty, long-stemmed glass between two fingers and smiled,

imperturbably.

In her room, Caprice stripped and then slipped into a rose silk pyjama

suit. She inspected the back of her white skirt, her lower lip pinched

between her teeth in thought. An obvious streak of greyish brown

marred the top layer, and she then consulted the cleaning directions

on the inside tag. Wouldn't it be just her luck that the dress was to be

dry cleaned? It was indeed, and she had to content herself with

shaking the dress as vigorously as she could before hanging it in the

wardrobe. The material was too delicate. She didn't dare risk wetting

it down.

She then turned her attention to her hair, and took out the pins that

held the braid in place. She loosened it, and then took a brush to her

hair hard, wondering why she felt as though everything that had

happened that evening had gone flat. Sighing, she ran her fingers

through the ripples from the confining braid, and rubbed at the back

of her head.

There was a knock at the door. Curiously, she went to answer it,

thinking perhaps that Roxanne might want to talk about the party, but

as the door swung open, she found an older woman on the other side,

with a smile on her thin face. Caprice smiled back. 'Yes?'

'Miss Hagan? I'm Mrs Vandusen, the Langstons' housekeeper.'

Now she remembered the other woman, and she threw the door open

wide as she held out her hand. 'Yes, of course. What can I do for

you?' she asked as they shook hands, liking the housekeeper's strong

grip. She wondered what on earth the other woman could possibly

want.

'It's actually what I might be able to do for you,' said Mrs Vandusen,

her eyes warming from Caprice's friendliness. 'Pierce mentioned to

me that you needed someone to see to your dress?'

'Oh!' For a moment, she felt quite flustered. Recovering, she

grimaced wryly. 'Oh, yes, well, it was my own fault, I'm afraid. I've

looked at it, and it must be dry cleaned, so I'll have to see to it when I

get home.'

'No problem,' said the housekeeper cheerfully. 'I can get it taken care

of tomorrow, if you'd like.'

'But—You've so much work to take care of, with guests staying the

weekend,' protested Caprice.

That made the older woman smile. 'Bless you, but honestly, I do this

all the time. It's really no bother.'

'Well,' she said, wavering. She went to the wardrobe and drew out the

dress. She said, as Mrs Vandusen inspected the skirt, 'It's not as if it's

stained, or anything. It's just that the skirt is so white, the slightest

dirt shows.'

'That's not bad at all,' said the housekeeper. 'I'll have this done in no

time.' She took the hanger.

Caprice followed her to the door, saying gratefully, 'Thank you very

much.'

Mrs Vandusen turned around as she stepped out into the hall. 'You're

very welcome,' she said, warmly.

Someone was approaching from the staircase. The upstairs floor plan

was a basic 'L' shape, and Caprice's room was on the outside corner

so that she could look down each hall without difficulty from her

door. She glanced towards the stairs as the housekeeper turned away

with her white dress, and Pierce appeared, strolling apparently for

whichever room was his, shirt casually unbuttoned at his throat.

Suddenly, though she was more decently clad than she'd been in her

dress, Caprice felt self-conscious and longed to step quickly back

into her room. But he had already seen them both and was coming

their way, a slight, enigmatic smile touching at those male lips. He

ran his eyes over her, and a light of appreciation touched at his eyes.

For Caprice, it was the first time she'd seen him in full light, and

something hit her midriff with a nearly audible thump. The way he

held his dark head spoke of someone well used to authority, and the

controlled set of his expression, the self-possession in his stance,

revealed his maturity. The glimpses of that lean elegance she'd got

outside hit her full on. A poised man, this.

'I hope everything's been taken care of?' he asked, turning his smile

to Mrs Vandusen, who beamed back.

'Yes, sir. Good night, to the both of you,' said the housekeeper, and

she continued down the hall.

She said, subdued, 'Thank you for sending her up.'

He turned back to her fully, and said quietly, 'I hope she can get it

clean. It's a lovely dress.'

Her heart hammered, her chest was restricted, her mouth was dry.

Damnation, what was wrong with her? She wasn't in control, that was

what was wrong with her. 'Well,' she said, trying to breathe deep. 'I

guess I'll say good night again.'

'Of course,' he said, as if continuing, and he tilted His head to the

side, letting his eyes-linger on her figure. He paused, deliberately,

and. then smiled slowly, devastatingly, and his eyes returned to her

waiting, wary face. Those eyes, those dark eyes. 'There is something

to be said for rose.'

Her cheeks flamed hot, and her eyes flashed brief and brilliant before

she ducked her head and muttered something quick and incoherent.

Then she rushed back inside her room and slammed the door shut

behind her. Appalled by her lack of restraint, her lack of composure

over a simple comment, she pressed her fingers to her face in

mortification.

She didn't hear footsteps outside, but that was probably a

combination of carpeting and her door's thickness. At least she was in

privacy now, to think over the evening and find it surprisingly hard to

get a certain man, a perfect stranger, out of her mind.

Her heart started a slow, hard pounding then, as she turned her head

slightly to catch the sound of quiet footsteps walking away from

outside her door, several moments later.

A SPARKLING clear morning, with sights and smells and sounds

wafting through her open bedroom window, making her breathe deep