Queen For A Night (9 page)

Across the wide room, the secretary whistled and waved at Caroline and Ross. It was time.

The routine was simple enough. As the master of ceremonies announced their names and titles, Caroline was supposed to place her hand and wrist on Ross's rigidly held arm. They would enter the ball room side by side, pause long enough for the spotlight to find them, then walk forward to receive the bow of the captain. They would then present themselves to their subjects with regal salutes of their scepters, promenading up one side of the room and down the other. Returning to the center dais before the gazebo, they would turn and stand in royal dignity to bask in the homage of the krewe members and their guests numbering in the hundreds.

Afterward, there would be the first dance, with the king and queen circling the floor in solitary splendor to officially open the ball. They would be joined by the court for another number, and then the general dancing would begin. When that was done, they would be free to slip away to remove the royal regalia, if they wished, making themselves more comfortable for the remainder of the evening.

Simple. Nerve-wracking, but simple.

“Don't look so worried,” Ross said as they stood waiting to be dismissed after the final round of instructions. “If you trip on your train, I'll be there to catch you.”

“You're such a comfort.” The words had a noticeable lack of appreciation.

His lips twitched. “It's not too late to back out. Say the word, and we'll make a run for it. The boat's windscreen has been replaced and wiring checked, so she’s good as new. We can be out in the gulf in no time.”

She searched his face, entranced by something warm and promising she saw mirrored there. “I think you’re serious.”

“Never more serious in my life.”

The thought of going with him, now, this minute, of facing into the wind, breasting the waves and never looking back, had such a powerful appeal that it took her breath. “Is—is that what you really want?”

“One of many things, but I'm willing to wait if the time isn't quite right.”

What, exactly, was he saying? She was trying to decide when there came the sharp click of a woman's heels on the wood floor.

Murielle's voice, quiet yet layered with irony, flowed around them. “Good Lord, Caroline, if you're going to seduce him again, at least take him somewhere not quite so public.”

Caroline whipped around to face her cousin. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Ross who recovered first.

“Again?” he asked with a dangerous note in his voice.

“Yes, well, I’d have thought what went on out on the boat was enough,” Murielle said with an arch smile. “But I suppose it isn't easy keeping a king satisfied, even for a queen. And the ball isn't until tomorrow night, after all.”

“Don't.” That single word was barely above a whisper as Caroline forced it from her throat. “I told you it wasn't that way.”

“No, no, of course not. It just happened, that's all. The time and the chemistry were right.” Murielle's voice dropped to a suggestive murmur. “And so convenient, too.”

“You told her about last night?” Ross asked as he turned his dark blue gaze on Caroline.

“No, not—” she began in distress.

“She didn't tell me anything,” Murielle broke in. “She’s too cagey for that. But I guessed without too much trouble. I have to say I'm surprised at you, Ross, falling for such a trick, especially after threatening to throw me off your boat, naked in a crowded marina, for the same thing. It just doesn't seem like you.”

“What you wanted was a trophy, not me,” he said, his voice as hard and brittle as the fiberglass shell of his yacht as he watched her.

“And Caroline wanted something different?” Murielle's voice conveyed equal parts of irony and pity. “Ah, well, I suppose the price was right this time. I should have known you two worked it out between you.”

Caroline, sick with embarrassment and distaste, put out her hand to clasp her cousin's arm. “Why?” she demanded. “Why are you doing this? If you wanted your crown back, all you had to do was say so.”

“It isn't about being queen except indirectly,” Ross said, stepping between them. “And it isn't you. I'm the problem.”

Caroline frowned. “Because you didn't want her on your boat?”

“Because I declined a little more than her company.”

“Why, you—” Murielle began.

“I know, so low-down of me to say so, but you're the one who brought it up.” His hard gaze raked her cousin. “You suggested I take Tony's place to get back at me, because you knew I would hate being king but agree for his sake. You sent Caroline to ask because you thought she might as well take the heat since she was going to get the crown.”

“Ridiculous,” Murielle said. “It was Daddy's idea, and I had my hands too full seeing after him to worry about a fake crown.”

“But not quite so full you couldn’t come here tonight to crow,” Ross answered.

“Crow?” Caroline said. “About what?”

“My fall.” he said in tight tones as he turned back to her. “She thought it would be suitable if I had a little damage done to my ego in exchange for her injured pride.”

“You mean she decided she could get to you because I let her guess that I—that we—”

“I think “made love” are the words you are looking for. And she was exactly right.”

His blue gaze was silvered at the edges with some repressed emotion that might have been rage or pain. Caroline, caught in its snare, felt the blood drain slowly from her face.

“Oh, dear,” Murielle murmured. “I didn't know things were quite like that.”

Caroline, turning her gaze to her cousin, said, “Would it have made any difference?”

Murielle shrugged. “Maybe, I don't know. We'll discuss it further when you're in my shoes.”

“Caroline will never be in your shoes,” Ross answered the other woman. “She has more class, if not more heart.”

“I'll tell Daddy you said so,” Murielle said. “He'll be so pleased.”

Ross's gaze was level. “Don't bother. I'll tell him myself.”

Murielle's smile took on a strained look. Turning on the heel of her black Italian pump, she walked away.

“The question now,” Ross said, his voice implacable as he met Caroline’s gaze, “is just exactly what did happen out there on the boat. I don't really mind being used—in fact you had my fullest cooperation. But I do like to keep the reasons straight.”

It seemed what had taken place last night had meant something special to him. If so, it obviously did no longer. The ache inside brought on by that knowledge might be bearable, Caroline thought, if she breathed with extra care.

She tested the theory and found a problem or two with it, but refused to let Ross see her pain. She had learned that much from her marriage.

“You got what you wanted from me,” she said tightly. “I got what I wanted from you. What does the rest of it matter?”

“It doesn't, if you put it that way.” His lips curved without humor. “Never mind. It seems what we have here is a simple business transaction, one more friendly than most, but tit for tat after all. I never shirk on a deal, so let's play at being king and queen. Tomorrow night will be here and gone in no time. And I expect I can stand it if you can.”

L’escapade
was docked at the lake marina when Caroline arrived at the civic center on the following afternoon. Even without seeing the name spelled out on the stern and its shiny new double windscreen, she would have known it. No other boat had the same sleek lines and appearance of polished care, but most of all, none had the size and seaworthiness. Compared to the other small crafts tied up at the civic center dock, Ross’s yacht looked like a clipper ship among rowboats.

So he would be at the ball. There had been some doubt in her mind, in spite of his terse comment the night before.

She was so relieved she felt giddy with it. Her greatest fear, among the many plaguing her about this evening, had been that she would be left standing forlorn and ridiculous at the ball room door, a queen without a king.

It could not have been necessary for him to come in his boat. The trip must have taken at least three hours, maybe more, since he had to thread his way through Calcasieu and Grand Lakes, along a section of the Intracoastal Canal and up the Calcasieu River to reach the small lake below the city. If he had gone to all that trouble, there must a reason, probably something to do with his transport business.

The moment Caroline stepped off the elevator at the center's third floor she could feel the tension in the air. A pair of off-duty policemen had already taken up guard duty opposite the doors. Women in high heels and close-fitting sequin dresses were hurrying back and forth waving lists. Two young guys wearing voice communication head sets were looking at a timetable and checking their watches. The cash bar set up in the foyer outside the ballroom was doing a thriving business, dispensing drinks to a motley collection of men in everything from coveralls and cut-off jeans to tuxedos and sequined costumes.

A woman hurried past carrying a garment bag, heading toward the suite of rooms given over to the members of the court for dressing rooms. Caroline had delivered her own costume earlier in the afternoon, as she brought the decorations and favors to be placed on the table she would share with Ross after the presentation. She turned and made her way toward the dressing area.

“Excuse me, Miss? I have to see your pass.”

It was one of the policemen, tapping her on the shoulder.

“Oh, I don't have mine yet,” Caroline said in quick, nervous explanation. “I'm supposed to pick it up at the door.”

“Should be right over here, then,” the guard said, and led the way to a small table where passes written out in gold lettering and covered by plastic sleeves were laid out in a row.

There was no pass with her name on it. There was one for Murielle, however; Caroline saw it before it was flipped aside.

A hard lump gathered in her throat, blocking it. She felt like an imposter, a fraud who didn't belong.

“Got a problem here?”

The cheery, carrying voice belonged to the krewe secretary. Beautifully coifed and encased in sparkling green sequins, she looked efficient and slightly harried with the wires of a head set entangling her diamond earrings and a battery fanny pack hooked into the plunging back of her ankle-length dress.

“I don't have a pass,” Caroline said with strain in her voice.

“Lord, somebody slipped up again. Not to worry; I can fix it.” The other woman whipped a fat gold pen from behind her ear, snatched up a spare badge and scrawled Caroline's name on it. Slipping the card into a plastic sleeve, she handed it over. “There you go. Now find yourself a drink, sweetie. You look like you could use it.”

Caroline gave a shaky laugh as she watched the woman hurry away to deal with the next crisis, her green sequins waving and shimmering like the scales of a mermaid in a mad rush. Murielle must have forgotten this last small change, or else left it undone on the off chance she could take over as queen at the last minute. Caroline refused to think it might have been a deliberate oversight. With a nod and small smile for the guard who now stood respectfully to one side, she turned once more toward the dressing room.

The scene inside was relaxed and friendly with an undertone of excitement. It was also dazzling with the gleam of silk and satin, metallic ribbon, gold lace, and acres of spangles and sequins in shockingly brilliant colors. A makeup woman was applying gilt eyeliner to all and sundry, while an assistant lifted hair for fullness and held it with bursts of glitter spray. There were many wisecracks, laughter and high exuberance.

In one corner was a private bar for the members of the court who were getting dressed. Presiding over it was the good-looking young grandson of one of the members. He glanced at the pass pinned to Caroline's blouse and tossed a plastic glass painted with the krewe logo in one hand while giving her an engaging grin. “What'll it be?”

It seemed the verdict was unanimous: she needed a drink. It was apparently an idea with universal appeal in any case, since everyone else in the room had glasses in hand and rollicking hilarity in their eyes. She asked for a wine spritzer, light on the wine.

The drink might have been the bartender's idea of light, but it certainly wasn't hers. She could feel the alcohol coursing along her veins, spreading through her and leaving ease in its path. She was glad she had the glass to hold on to a moment later, however, as she turned her head and saw Ross coming toward her.

He saluted her with the drink in his own hand. “Wasn't it Freud who said there are times that only some kind of intoxicating substance can make bearable? I think he had Mardi Gras in mind.”

“It can't hurt,” she said, and took a swallow of her spritzer in a show of nonchalance.

His gaze narrowed to intentness as he scanned her face, stopping on the shadows under her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” She added dryly, “And I can see you're just super.”

He had come from a civic dinner for the occasion, she knew, so was wearing the style of black-tie that made men look either like waiters or statesmen. Ross definitely fell in the latter category. It was amazing how handsome he was with the bright contrast of his white shirt turning his skin a deeper bronze, and the dark cloth emphasizing his height. The gold doubloon ringed with brilliants on a chain around his neck, royal order and symbol of his position in the krewe, was the final, perfect touch for the occasion.