Nan Ryan (35 page)

“He won’t be here, Denise,” Nevada said, still standing, her hands on her hips.

Ignoring her remark, never taking his eyes off Denise’s glowing face, Johnny said, “Perhaps I can come along with Marie and Malcolm.”

Nevada was fit to be tied. Denise sat mesmerized. After half an hour, Nevada insisted to Denise that they return to the house. Reluctantly Denise agreed. But she said to Johnny as they left, “Now you won’t forget my party.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” he replied gallantly.

“Wait here just a minute,” said Nevada when she and Denise were several yards away. “Stay right here!”

She turned and hurried back to where Johnny still stood in the entrance to the shadowed gazebo, his long arms lifted, hands clinging to the white beam above his dark head. Nevada stepped up to him and said under her breath, “You’ll miss her party, Johnny Roulette! Soon as her parents find out. Everyone knows you’re not welcome in the city’s best drawing rooms.” She gave him a triumphant look.

One of Johnny’s raised arms slowly lowered. He grinned, reached out, gave the bow at the center of her bodice a gentle tug. It came undone. He said, “But I’m always welcome in the city’s best bedrooms.”

“Oh!” She whirled around and stormed away.

33

By six o’clock, when the black Ledet carriage came to collect Denise, Nevada had developed a headache from hearing the excited redhead carry on about Johnny Roulette.

“Never in all my life have I seen a man like that!” Denise had exclaimed as they walked away from the gazebo. “I had no idea such gorgeous male creatures existed—”

“Now, Denise!” Nevada scolded.

“And right here in the house with you … wish I lived here … I’d slip out to his
garçonnière
and beg him to make a woman of me … He’s just the kind of man I
must
experience my first taste of passion with …”

“Denise, please!” Nevada cautioned again.

“Very important to choose a man who knows what he’s about … and Johnny is a sexual animal if ever there was one … Wonder if he found me attractive …? I’ll buy a daring new dress for the party … are you aware how his heavenly lips look as if they have kissed dozens—no hundreds—of beautiful women …?”

“Denise, Denise—”

“… has the blackest eyes and blackest hair I’ve ever seen in my life … so suave and charming and gallant … Did you notice how his sleek body is brown all over … bet if he took off those short pants, that skin would be just as—”

“Denise June Ledet!” Nevada had finally shouted. “Will you please shut up about Johnny Roulette!”

Denise looked at her, startled. “What is bothering you, Marie? You’ve been a real crab all afternoon.”

“I’m sorry.” Nevada sighed. “It’s the heat. I think if doesn’t rain soon and cool things off, I shall go quite mad.”

“Um, well, I think if Johnny Roulette doesn’t kiss me at my party—or before—I shall go quite mad.” Denise laughed then and pressed her cheek to Nevada’s. “Bye, Marie. I’m so glad to be back home. Shall I come over again tomorrow afternoon?” She wore a hopeful expression.

“Ah … no, no, Denise, I was planning to go shopping. I still need several things for my trousseau.” Denise looked disappointed. Nevada touched her arm. “Come along if you like.”

“Yes! I would like. What time? I’ll have Edgar drive me over—”

“That isn’t necessary. We’ll come by and pick you up.”

“Oh. All right; then, until tomorrow.” She hugged Nevada again, gave one last longing look toward the white lattice gazebo, climbed up into the landau, and was gone.

Heaving great sigh of relief, Nevada turned and went back to the house.

It was still uncomfortably warm when Nevada descended the stairs that evening at a quarter to eight Malcolm’s Shakespeare Society was to meet in the library at eight o’clock and Nevada was guiltily wishing she could plead a headache and remain upstairs. She
did
have a headache and the prospect of spending two hours discussing Shakespeare with a bunch of snobbish scholars sounded dreadful.

Nevada sighed as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Malcolm’s learned friends—of course she did—but she wished occasionally Malcolm would take her out for a madcap evening on the town. Alone. Just the two of them.

The thought occurred to her, while she was preparing to endure a boring evening of Shakespeare, that Johnny was right this minute dressing to go out for an exciting night in some plush gaming hall. Hating herself for being a traitor, she suddenly wished desperately that she was going with Johnny. She had suffered through so many dismal dinner parties and ballet performances and poetry readings with Malcolm and his mother.

Preoccupied, Nevada stepped into the dim, silent library where earlier the straight-back striped silk chairs—an even dozen—had been carefully arranged in a large semicircle before a small podium. Stopping, she stood on tiptoe and tried to reach the darkened gold wall sconce just inside the door.

Straining, her arm outstretched, she found to her annoyance that she was too short to reach the gaslight. Already out of sorts, she sighed with disgust, lunged, jumped, and finally muttered, “Damnation!”

Deep masculine laughter froze Nevada in place, but she gasped with shocked outrage when a pair of strong hands gripped her waist and easily lifted her from the floor.

Johnny said against her ear, “Hellfire, honey, I thought you quit cursing.” He clucked his tongue. “And after all those elocution lessons!”

“You put me down this minute and I’ll thank you to quit spying on me!”

He laughed again, wrapped one long arm around her small waist, the other across her flat stomach. He said, “Darlin’, you better light that lamp before old Malcolm comes in here and gets the wrong idea.”

Her fingers plucking impotently at the steel band of his imprisoning right arm, Nevada said acidly, “Gets the
right
idea, you mean, don’t you?”

“Maybe I’m a little dense. You’ll have to explain that statement.”

She strained feverishly against her bonds. “Now that you can’t have me, you want me.”

His reply was a good-natured chuckle and a pressing of his dark cheek to the smooth, undraped flesh of her slender back. “You think so? Switch on the light, Nevada, before the darkness makes me lose control.”

With a shaky hand, Nevada turned on the lamp. As honeyed light flooded the spacious library, Johnny lowered her to her feet. Her face red with anger, she immediately whirled about to glare up at him.

“It’s getting late, you’d better be on your way.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Johnny and with his little finger brushed back a wispy black curl from her cheek.

“You’re not going … but you’re dressed up. Aren’t you going out to gamble?”

“What? And miss the poetry reading?” His heavy black brows lifted incredulously. “Why, I wouldn’t think of it!” He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest.

Nevada felt a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? You wouldn’t really stay and … and … You just came by to dole out a bit of misery before you go.”

Johnny’s handsome face took on a wounded expression. “Dole out misery?” He shook his dark head. “Isn’t it amazing how we see ourselves so differently than others see us? I like to think I’m the kind of person who spreads sunshine and happiness wherever I go and—”

“I’m warning you, Johnny. If you stay around here this evening, you’d better not make one false move!” The fury in her blue eyes told him she meant what she said.

He said, “Or you’ll do what, sweetheart?”

Nevada opened her mouth to give him an earful, but his black eyes lifting over her head signaled her that they were no longer alone.

Malcolm came quietly into the room, put an arm around her waist, and said, looking at Johnny, “If she’s angry, I’m certain it’s something you’ve done. What is it, John? What have you done to my Marie?”

Johnny simply smiled at his stepbrother, drew a long thin cigar from the inside breast pocket of his crisp linen jacket. “Best ask your Marie.”

“Darling?” Malcolm’s questioning eyes met Nevada’s. “What happened here? What did John say to upset you?”

“Nothing! Not a thing,” she snapped, and was immediately contrite. “Oh, Malcolm, forgive me. I’ve a headache from the heat and it’s made me irritable.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“If that’s all, then …” He turned his attention back to the taller man. “But what are you doing here, John? Isn’t it time you go in search of one of your endless card games?”

Johnny struck a match on his thumbnail and lighted his cigar. “I think I’ll pass on cards tonight. Sit in with your little group.” He grinned with the cigar stuck between his lips. “Unless you object.”

“Object? Why should I?” Malcolm gave Johnny a patronizing smile. “I suppose even you have heard of Shakespeare. You’d likely be quite stumped were I to mention Lord Byron.”

“Byron? Byron?” Johnny repeated thoughtfully. “Didn’t he deal faro down at Blackie’s last season?”

The smile left Malcolm’s face. “You are not amusing, John, and if you insist on—”

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted.

“They’re here,” announced Malcolm, smiling once more and went eagerly to meet his guests.

Johnny and Nevada were left there facing each other, Johnny grinning broadly, Nevada frowning angrily. She took a step closer to him and said, “I mean it. Not so much as the lifting of an eyebrow. You hear me?”

“I’ll make you proud, darlin’” was Johnny’s smiling reply.

When all the guests had assembled in the library, the group consisted of—in addition to Malcolm and Nevada—Father Leonine, the Catholic priest just returned from the Vatican; Bess Thompson, the plump, pink wife of a bank president; small, dark Richard Keyes, Malcolm’s dear friend and concert pianist; Professor Douglas Hammersmith, a nervous little man who taught drama at the university; Jane Williams, a hard-of-hearing eighty-year-old widow; Bonnie Jackson, Katherine Holmes, and Agnes Roberts, a trio of extremely intelligent, extremely shy, extremely thin spinsters.

And Johnny Roulette.

Within moments everyone was seated in the striped silk chairs. Nevada had assiduously avoided taking her place until Johnny had chosen a chair. And when finally everyone had taken a chair, Johnny had—and Nevada was not at all surprised—ended up in the one directly before the podium. There was, not surprisingly, a female on either side of him.

Malcolm stood proudly at the podium.

“Let me warmly welcome you all to what I hope will be a rewarding evening of studying and enjoying the literary genius of William Shakespeare. As you recall, when last we met …”

Nevada, from beneath veiled lashes, allowed her gaze to drift from the speaker. She noted the simpering, nervous reaction of the females to Johnny. His strong masculine presence was undeniably potent. He was so big, so dark, he seemed to eclipse everything and everyone around him.

He sat there staring straight ahead, behaving himself for the moment, not even attempting to attract attention, acting as though he was exceedingly interested in what Malcolm was saying. Yet the blackness of his hair and mustache, the width of his shoulders beneath the custom-tailored suit, the twinkling black eyes, the preemptive air of command made it impossible for the ladies to focus fully on Malcolm and William Shakespeare.

That unsettling presence further caused more than one lady taking a turn at the podium to recite her favorite sonnet, to stumble over the words and flush and become flustered. And when midway through the evening Johnny, having asked permission of the ladies, shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie, the twittering and shifting about and fluttering of fans increased dramatically. They happily overlooked his rudeness when he yawned with boredom as a recitation dragged on too long.

It was Nevada’s turn to go to the podium. She had chosen very carefully the passage she would recite. She had rehearsed it over and over again in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She could have recited it backward.

She stepped up to the podium and began, her voice firm and sure:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds,

Admit impediments. Love is not love …

Johnny slowly slid down in his chair. His knees were wide apart. He lifted his hands and laced them atop his head. He grinned. And winked impudently at her.

Nevada stumbled badly and felt panic overcome her. She couldn’t remember the next line! The sonnet she’d spent all week memorizing had gone right out of her head. She stood there, all the color drained from her face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. Her eyes on Johnny’s dark face, she read his lips as he silently prompted: “Which alters …”

Which alters when it alteration finds.

She quoted anxiously, memory returning. And when it was over and she reclaimed her chair, she heard Malcolm say, “John, you’ve not yet recited.” He smiled, expecting Johnny to have to admit he knew no Shakespeare.

Johnny came to his feet.

He walked to the podium, clasped it with both hands, looked out over the group and smiled. Then his deep, sure voice filled the library as he said, his dark gaze fastened boldly on Nevada: