Paxton Pride (13 page)

Vance's eyes narrowed ominously. “I don't reckon he'd better try,” he said coldly, his words chillingly hard and brittle.

Karen laughed. “Oh, silly. I don't mean really.” She took Vance's hand and the two started toward the house.

“Karen, you're … you're not going to go through with that thing, are you? I mean with Alfred?”

Vance's question stopped Karen in mid-stride. She turned to him, her eyes glinting with amusement as Vance stumbled over his words. “Why, Mr. Paxton, are you so timid at last? Whatever does it matter whom I wed?”

Vance ran his fingers through his long hair, pausing to scratch his head, wincing at her words. Finally he shook his head and gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Ma'am, I know Mr. Whitaker has a lot of money and a real good background. In fact, he'd probably make some girl a real nice husband. But not you.”

“Aren't you being presumptuous, Mr. Paxton?”

Vance suddenly reached out and drew her close to him. He leaned down to kiss her, his tongue parting her lips, darting inside her eager mouth. When he broke away she was breathing heavily, aroused by the ardor of the kiss. “I'm being me, Miss Hampton.”

Karen snuggled to his chest, holding on to him until the whirring in her head stopped. “Vance, what shall we do?”

“First of all I'd better get you inside. We can meet tomorrow. I want to tell you about Texas. I want you to know something about it before I ask you to go there with me. Can you be at the Duelling Wall? Say the middle of the morning?”

“I'll be there.” She looked up at him, eyes glowing in happiness. “I'll be there, my love.”

“Miss Karen? Honey, is dat you?” Retta called
sotto voce
from the back of the house.

Karen jumped, frightened. Vance whirled in a deadly crouching blur. “Who's that?” he whispered, ready to spring at the slightest indication of danger to Karen.

Karen heaved a sigh of relief. “Retta. My maid. Don't worry about her.” She called softly into the night, matching Retta's delivery. “Over here, Retta. By the gazebo.”

It took but a moment for the dusky figure to appear from the direction of the house. Karen ran to her, embracing her happily. The black woman held her tightly, glaring at Vance over her shoulder. “You all right, honey?” she asked, menace clouding her voice.

“Oh, Retta. I'm fine. I'm finer than I've ever been in all my life.”

The black woman held her at arm's length, peering intently into her face. “Well, I'm glad
you
is fine, 'cause nobody else in dis whole house is. Dey's madder'n hornets dat had a rock chunked at 'em. Lawdy, yore papa's gonna tan yore hide de minute he see you. I doan know what you been up to, an' I doan care, but if you is gonna face Mistah Hampton, it better be in de mornin', 'cause right now he's got the conniptions and de meanest fit I ever seed. Now come in heah an' git up to bed. I'll go in 'fore too long and tell him you done ben in de bed fo' some time, dat you was asleep on de couch in yo' dressin' room an' I didn't see you. Dat way he'll go on to bed an' sleep some a' dat bad temper off.”

Vance shrugged his shoulders. “I don't mind facing him now, if you think I should.”

Karen shuddered at the thought. “It's best we do it Retta's way. She can handle Papa tonight and I can in the morning. We're used to him.”

“But.…”

“Don't worry. He'll rant and rave but it will be nothing I haven't seen before. Please. I'll meet you tomorrow. We'll talk then.”

Vance nodded, kissed her again, then disappeared around the corner of the house. Karen turned to the grinning black woman. “Well,” she said a little self-consciously, “are you ready or are we just going to stand here?”

Retta shook her head and laughed low and quietly. “Honey, yo' eyes is lahk a book fo' ol' Retta to read. Lawdy, dis ol' black woman seein' her little girl fell plumb in love. An' ain't you de lucky one! Ooo-wee!” She grasped Karen by the arms and gazed long and fondly at her, then abruptly enfolded her in the great black arms, rocking her slowly. “Honey,” she said tenderly, “I'se glad for you. I'se glad and I'se sad an' I feels lak cryin' but I ain't goin' to.”

Karen hugged the old woman who had raised her. More mother than servant, more friend than anything else. She looked up into the dark kind eyes. “I'm glad too, Retta. I'm very, very glad,” she whispered.

The two women gazed a moment longer until Retta suddenly grinned hugely and looked about. “Sho'… here I is talkin' an' you standin' out here in de chill. You follow me now, girl, an' be quiet whiles I gets you past yo' daddy.” She took Karen's hand and led her through the dark to the back door and into the kitchen, still swimming with sweet, pleasant odors from the party. The night lantern by the sink glowed eerily in the dark, casting huge shadows of pots and pans on the front wall from where they hung over the table in the middle of the room. Copper and brass gleamed in the feeble light, cast their reflected glow on the huge iron pots black with the soot of a thousand fires. Retta led Karen unerringly through the piles of litter on the floor, led to the hall doorway. At the door she turned and put her finger to her lips, peeked out to check the hall and motioned for Karen to follow. The two women crossed the hall carefully. Karen kept away from the glow coming from the library door, ajar and obviously open to afford Barrett an immediate view and entry out of the smoke-filled room. They rounded the ornate newel post, stepping over more litter piled in random stacks and ready to be taken out early in the morning. Seconds later they were up the stairs and safely in her room where they could move freely and relax. Retta helped Karen undress.

“Where you been to all dis time?” she whispered hoarsely.

“In the garden by the meadow.”

“Din' you hear 'em callin'?”

“Yes.”

“Honey,” Retta stopped suddenly, staring into Karen's eyes. “You din'… well, I means, you ain't gone and …”

Karen giggled. “No.” Retta sighed with relief. Karen hurried on. “Oh, Retta, I wanted to. I wanted to so badly but we didn't. I'm in love, Retta. Really in love. It's as wonderful as I thought it would be.”

Retta hung the rumpled gown on a hanger to be put away. “Honey, you sho' gets yo' timin' mixed up all which a way. Sweet baby Jesus, Lawd a mercy, you sure a messy little girl. Imagine, fallin' in love wid a big strappin' boy lahk dat an' on de nite you is announcin' yo' weddin' to Mistah Whitaker. Dat is de spice which takes de cake. Pore Mistah Hampton doan even know half of de reasons why he so upset. I ain't gonna be de one to tell him, neither. No, suh, missy. Not me.”

Retta closed the door to the armoir and turned back to Karen. The girl was already in bed. The black woman stood by her a moment, grinning conspiratorially at her. A work-hardened hand reached down and stroked the golden curls lying on the pillow. “You sleep purty tonight, honey. I'll make yo' daddy glad enuf you is safe and sound he gonna keep away from you till de mornin'.” The black woman turned down the lamp and started out of the room.

“Retta?” Karen called softly.

“Yes, honey,” she answered, looking back.

“Will you kiss me goodnight like when I was a little girl?”

Retta stood unmoving while the tears welled in her eyes in spite of the clenched smile on her face. She finally moved back to the side of the bed and leaned down to kiss the forehead of the little girl she remembered and would never, never forget. “Good night, princess,” she whispered huskily.

“Good night, Retta.”

The black woman stood, her eyes focused blindly somewhere in the past as she walked to the door and out.

Ten minutes later Karen heard Barrett come up the stairs and pause outside her door. She rolled over and feigned sleep, but the footsteps went on and she was left alone. But sleep, chased by a thousand images of Vance, wouldn't come. She rose from the bed, finally, washed her face in the cool water in the basin, stripped the chemise from her and climbed back in bed. The sheets felt cool against her still burning skin, cool and delicious. Suddenly she was tired and yawned mightily. Her life had changed this night. She knew it well and good. She dreamt a girlish dream. Of sleepy fairylands and radiant princes and damsels rescued from their fathers' castles.…

Love was with her.

CHAPTER VI

The morning storm broke furiously within the Hampton house. Karen started from a deep and dreamless sleep to hear the pounding of a fist on her door. A moment of confusion and disorientation ended abruptly as the pounding stopped and Barrett's voice boomed through the panelling. “Karen! You will see me in the library, young woman. You will be there in fifteen minutes and not a second later.” Karen listened as his loud deliberate footsteps receded from the door. The storm would be violent. But brief, she hoped. She sighed in relief. The waiting was the worst part. Now it would be over.

She sat up in bed, turned about and hung her legs over the side, her feet searching for her slippers. She was naked, having slept sans gown. Her hands crisscrossed and she hugged her shoulders, yawning sleepily. Suddenly the memory of the night before leaped full-blown in her mind, vividly in focus, nearly palpable. She lay back on the bed, relishing the newly discovered sense of direction to her life, the contentment of resolution in place of a vague and ambiguous limbo in which she had heretofore merely existed. Vance Paxton. She loved him. Yes, admitted it freely now. A fleeting image of Angie Leighton crossed her mind. She frowned. So he had been Angie's escort. An unwilled image of Angie's smouldering eyes taunted her, but she quickly forced it from her.
At least he didn't leave with her. Nor will he ever again. I'll see to that
.

Vance was so unlike anyone Karen had ever met. Strong yet gentle. Powerful yet considerate. Masculine without being overbearing. The perfect mate. And the Texan felt the same way about her. Hadn't he said she was the only woman in Washington? Hadn't he almost proposed to her? She had wanted him to take her, yet had been so afraid at the same time. She had never given herself to any man, never even let any man touch her where he had, much less with … but when the time was right she knew there would be no holding back. She tried to imagine what it would finally be like. She had never seen a man undressed, knew only vaguely what he must look like, what he might feel like. Inside her … inside her … how big was a man when he … how deep would he go? Would he hurt her? Would he simply use her, take her for pleasure as men were said to do, then discard her, soiled and tainted?

She rejected the thought. The fact he had controlled himself, respected her virtue, wasn't that ample demonstration of his love? She rose quickly from the bed and found a dressing gown, slipped into it, stepped to the dresser and brushed her hair until it hung in soft curling waves covering the twin mounds of her breasts. It was time. She smiled boldly at herself in the mirror, left the room and headed downstairs.

The library smelled of cigar smoke already. Barrett Hampton sat behind his broad desk, cigar firmly clamped between clenched teeth. Ross, impeccable as ever despite the earliness of the hour, held the door for her before carrying a cup of coffee on a tray to the desk. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yeah. Get the hell out of here,” Barrett mumbled angrily.

“Will Miss Hampton …?”

“No. I said get the hell out.”

“Yes, sir.” Ross paid no attention to his employer's mood, merely took all in stride and vanished as silently as he had appeared.

Karen stood mute and unmoving before Barrett's unwavering stare. He blew a cloud of blue-gray smoke into the air, bringing the coffee cup to his lips as soon as the cigar left his mouth, draining the entire cup without taking his eyes from her. Karen returned his stare, grateful for inheriting that one quality from him. Nothing was said. Father and daughter locked in a contest of the eyes, each trying to wear the other down, neither successful.

Barrett certainly looked his fiercest. Karen decided she might as well make the first move and start him off. The longer she waited the more the pressure would build and the more difficult her father would be. “The doctor said cigars and coffee in the morning are bad for your health, Papa.”

“The hell with my health. I have a daughter who is bad for my health. I want to hear where you were and who you were with. And I hope to hell it was just one, or have you taken to it like a mare in heat, servicing all the studs who come around?”

Karen's face drained. Somehow she managed to find the strength to control herself. “That is a vile, horrible accusation, Father, a base canard devised by an evil, degenerate mind. You have no right to speak that way.”

“I have every right. Your actions of last night give me every right. Can you imagine how embarrassing it is to give a party announcing the wedding date of your own daughter and not be able to find that daughter, not be able to announce anything? To have Alfred so insulted he leaves without so much as a good evening, stalking out in a rage and slamming the door behind him in full view of over a hundred delighted guests? The humiliation to your mother after spending so much time and energy in an attempt to make this the most talked-of party in Washington? Talked-of …? Laughing stock is more like it.”

“That's the trouble, Father. Your party. Mother's party. Alfred's party. What the wedding means to you, to Mother, to Afred. What about me? Why hasn't someone asked me, ‘Do you want a party, Karen?' Or ‘Do you love Alfred, Karen? Do you want to marry him?' No one has asked me at all.”

Barrett erupted, rising to his feet so fast he sent his chair crashing back against the bookcase. His face turned crimson, his sideburns stood almost straight out from his head. He did not look funny. “Just what the hell are you trying to say?” he asked in a voice low and horribly calm, like the eye of a hurricane.