Nan Ryan (39 page)

The party continued and more and more couples took to the smooth dance floor as the sumptuous meal was finished and servants cleared away the dishes. Nevada finally coaxed the reluctant Malcolm onto the floor. He was an adequate if not superb dancer and Nevada, who adored dancing, began to enjoy herself.

Until her bare back bumped into someone else’s jacketed back. Apologizing and turning, she saw that it was Johnny. In his arms was an entranced, incredibly silent Denise Ledet.

“All my fault,” Johnny said, then added, “What about it, brother Malcolm? Shall we switch partners for the remainder of the dance?”

“I think not,” said Malcolm.

“No, Johnneee, please!” Denise came out of her stupor long enough to protest.

Nevada said nothing, just moved closer to her partner. But she couldn’t keep from cutting her eyes to Johnny and Denise as they danced away. Denise was doing exactly as she had boasted. She was clinging to Johnny as though she would never let him go and pressing her tall, slender body as closely as possible to his.

Nevada felt her throat constrict. She swallowed and closed her eyes. And told herself she didn’t care or that if she did care it was solely because Denise was her dear friend and she hated seeing her get involved with a heartless man like Johnny.

Her eyes came open and she hazarded one more glance in their direction. At that moment she read Denise’s lips as she said, “Johnny, would you like to take a stroll in the moonlight?” Malcolm spun Nevada around before Johnny replied, but as the dance continued Nevada looked all about and could not locate the other couple.

The hour grew late, but few of the two hundred invited guests had left the fabulous party. The dancing continued. The champagne drinking continued. The fun continued.

It wasn’t all that much fun for Nevada, however. She noted with disgust that the simpering Denise was not the only woman who was drooling over Johnny. Responsible married ladies who should have known better were casting covetous glances at the tall, dark man. Despite all the stories she’d heard about Johnny being unwelcome in the finest homes, none of the interested ladies present seemed to mind that Johnny was nothing more than a handsome river rogue.

Added to Johnny’s annoying presence was the annoying heat, from which even the lateness of the hour seemed to offer little relief. Toss in the fact that Malcolm had spent half the night across the broad yard engaged in conversation with a couple of earnest young academic types and it spelled a tedious evening.

It was shortly after midnight when Nevada and Miss Annabelle decided they would try some of the strawberry ice cream everyone was raving about. The two women stood before a long serving table, smiling as a black servant dipped up the frozen delight into crystal pedestal bowls.

“It certainly looks delicious,” said Miss Annabelle, as she took the ice cream from the servant.

Nevada dipped a sterling spoon into hers, took a small taste, and nodded her approval. “The best thing I’ve had all night,” she said.

“So far, but the night is young” came a deep voice nearby, followed by low laughter when Nevada’s snapping blue eyes met his. Johnny stood beside her.

“Cap’n Roulette,” said Miss Annabelle, “you simply must have some of this delicious dessert.”

“I intend to have some, Miss Annabelle,” he said dryly, immediately cutting his black eyes at Nevada, leaving little doubt the sentence had double meaning. He then said, “Miss Hamilton, may I have this dance?” and bowed extravagantly.

“No,” said Nevada, calmly. “Can’t you see I’m eating ice cream?”

Johnny unceremoniously reached out, took the pedestal bowl from her hands, and set it back on the table. “You
were
eating ice cream,” he told her, drawing her into his arms. “Now you’re dancing.” And he spun her away and onto the floor.

For a time neither said anything. Furious, Nevada refused to look at him. Johnny, holding her lightly but firmly, grinned when finally she lifted her angry eyes to his. “Isn’t it time you left? I should think the master of monte would want to go in search of a game,” she said sarcastically.

“Perhaps later. Care to join me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Would you like to join me for a game? Doesn’t necessarily have to be three-card monte. As I recall, you rather enjoy the spinning wheel.”

“Will you keep your voice down!”

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Would you like to join me? You’ve never been down to the Stardust Club. You’d like it—plum silk walls and gold velvet chairs and—”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m an engaged woman and I’d thank you to remember that.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Johnny said, lifting her small white hand to study it thoughtfully. He sighed sadly. “Such a pretty little hand and soon it will be rocking the cradle.”

She replied evenly, “I can think of nothing better for it to be doing.”

His familiar black eyes on fire, he said, “I can. It could toss the dice”—he paused, folded her hand back to his chest, and guided it downward a little—“or bring a man to ecstasy.”

She stiffened and tried to pulled her hand away. Johnny wouldn’t let her. The arm at her waist tightened and he drew her closer.

Angry, she said, “You’re both arrogant and vulgar. You think all women want you—”

“All but you, sweetheart,” he cut in smoothly and momentarily stopped dancing. “Why don’t you want me?” His fiery black eyes were on her mouth and Nevada nervously wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Show me you want me too. Come to my—”

“I don’t want you. I don’t. I don’t.” But she did. Oh, God, she did! And Johnny knew it.

“I want you, darlin’,” he said. “I want to—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Her heart was pounding and her knees were weak. “If you don’t let me go immediately I shall scream my head off!”

Johnny merely smiled and once again picked up the steps of the dance, molding her small, trembling body to his, pressing her pale cheek to the width of his chest and murmuring next to her ear, “See how you’re making my heart beat rapidly. Is yours beating fast too, pet?”

“Stop it, damn you,” she managed weakly, pulling her cheek away form his chest.

“All right, I’m sorry.” Johnny’s eyes dropped to the diamond-and-sapphire necklace resting on her smooth ivory flesh. “I’m flattered,” he said. Nevada glanced down, then back up questioningly. He explained, “I supposed that since it was I who gave you this necklace you’d never wear it again.”

Her haughty spirit returning, Nevada tipped her head back, looked straight into his teasing eyes, and said, “To the contrary, I do wear it. I wear it often. I wear it all the time. I wear it so I’ll never forget how much it cost me.” She held his gaze and he knew she was not referring to money. “So I’ll never be tempted to pay that price again.”

37

“Wait, Malcolm,” Nevada said, when the carriage had pulled up in front of the Lucas Place townhouse. He had helped his mother and Miss Annabelle out and was reaching for her. “Let’s not go in yet. Let’s drive down to the riverfront and watch the moon set over the water.”

Shaking his head, Malcolm said, “Dear, it’s after one in the morning and—”

“And it is Sunday.”

“No, it wouldn’t be wise,” said Malcolm decisively. He put his hands to her waist and lifted her out of the landau.

“You don’t know how wise it would be!” she said.

“Why, dear, what is it?” He waved to old Jess, motioning him to take the carriage away.

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing, I—” Something caught her eye. She looked up to see a lone horseman cantering up the pebbled drive. Nevada shivered and said almost frantically, “Let’s don’t go inside just yet, Malcolm. Let’s go someplace and—”

“Darling, I told Mother we’d join her in the library for a brandy before bed.”

“No, not tonight.” Nevada grabbed his arm and drew him toward the front walk, looking nervously over her shoulder at the approaching rider. Inside the big yard she hurriedly guided Malcolm to a sheltering elm and maneuvered him about so that he was standing with his back against its broad trunk.

“What is this, darling?” said Malcolm, puzzled. “You’re not yourself this evening.”

Nevada put her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Malcolm. Really kiss me.”

Malcolm laughed nervously. Then lowered his face to hers. He kissed her, but it was his usual soft, gentle kiss. No hunger, no fire, no burning passion.

Nevada tried again. She pressed kisses to his throat, his jaw, his ear. “I want you to hold me, touch me.” Her lips met his again and she kissed him anxiously, eagerly, kissed him the way she wanted to be kissed. She got only a moderate response. Her eyes tightly closed, she distinctly heard the clatter of horses’ hooves striking pebbles. Feeling as though Satan himself were mounted atop that big black stallion, Nevada said frantically, “Malcolm, Malcolm, save me! Darling, please, I want you to make love to me!” And she kissed him again.

Taking his mouth from hers, Malcolm swallowed, set her back, and trying to make light of the situation, said, “I’ve heard girls say that before.”

“And may I ask what you’ve done about it?” she instantly demanded.

“Why, I did the right thing, dear.”

Heart sinking, she said tiredly, “And what was that, Malcolm? A pat on the head and a promise not to mention that they had behaved so abominably?” Sighing, she dropped her arms from him and walked away.

He caught up with her, grabbed her hand, squeezed it, and said, “Don’t be upset, Marie. Come morning, you’ll be glad we abstained.”

“Will I?” she said flatly. “Will you?”

“Yes, yes, we will. Now, smile for me and let’s go inside and have a nightcap.”

Nevada didn’t smile. She said, “No, Malcolm. I don’t want to smile. And I don’t want a nightcap.” They had reached the porch. A rectangle of light from the open front door framed them. Uncaring, Nevada put her fingers beneath her fiancé’s lapels, moved them up to his neck. She stared at his mouth and said, locking her hands behind his head, “Last chance.”

Malcolm said accusingly, “Dear, you sound like a gambler. That’s the way John would express himself.”

Her irate gaze met his. “Is it? Then perhaps I’d get farther betting on him.” She smiled ruefully.

“Don’t speak such nonsense, not even in jest, Marie. John’s no good. He has no principles, no morals. He’s not fit to be in the same room with a lady like you. A lowborn riverboat ruffian, that’s all John is.”

While Malcolm and his mother shared brandy and small talk in the library, Nevada, still wearing the blue silk gown, the elaborate coiffure, the diamond-and-sapphire necklace, edgily paced her darkened room upstairs. A caged animal, she prowled and fought the dark temptation waiting just beyond the open French doors.

But not for long.

Not waiting until everyone had gone to bed, Nevada stepped out onto the broad balcony and looked directly toward the white
garçonnière
. He was there, just as she’d known he would be. Johnny, his evening jacket cast off, his white shirt open down his dark chest, restlessly paced in the bright moonlight, a glowing cigar stuck between his teeth.

He paused and stopped, at once aware of her presence.

He turned and looked straight at her across the distance of the vast yard. He stood then, still as a statue, his feet apart, hands at his sides. Waiting.

Without another thought or a backward glance Nevada moved toward the back stairs, her eyes never leaving the tall dark figure who was so compelling she was powerless to stay away from him. Hurriedly descending the steep stairs, Nevada was not certain what she’d say. Would she beg him to mercifully leave her alone? Or never to leave her alone?

While the lights from the library made elongated patterns on the lawn and Malcolm Maxwell’s soft voice and Quincy Maxwell’s light laughter carried on the still night air, Nevada, blind to the light and deaf to the laughter, lifted her blue silk skirts and ran headlong across the moon-splashed lawn toward her waiting destiny.

Johnny didn’t come to meet her. He stayed as he was, unmoving, the cigar still planted firmly between his lips, the silvery moonlight glinting on his coal-black hair.

Watching her flying across the vast yard like a small, excited child, he too wondered which it was to be. Would she demand he stay away from her? Or would she fall into his arms?

Suddenly his heart pounded with excitement and he realized that the best memory of his somewhat blasé and checkered love life had been his rather drunken initiation of this enchanting girl, who was both sweetly innocent and amazingly sensual.

Nevada reached Johnny.

Out of breath from the run, she stood looking up at him, a hand at her breasts, her heart hammering with tumult. His handsome face was in shadow, she could not read its expression. But the powerful muscles of his shoulders and arms were flexing and unflexing beneath the white silk shirt Beads of perspiration dotted the thick dark hair covering his broad chest. He looked so big, so dangerous, so overwhelmingly male.

Johnny lifted a dark hand, took the cigar from his lips, and forcefully tossed it away. He moved closer but did not touch her. Nevada stared up into those dark, flashing eyes and trembled.