Christie (10 page)

Their dance was nearing its end, and Christie was

conscious of a wish for it to end even sooner. This was a topic she wasn't yet ready to discuss with her father. How could she? She wasn't even sure herself of the complex reaction Garrett Randall caused
her.

"Well enough, for the fact that he's your guest, Father. Beyond that, I—I fear I don't know the gentleman," she said, avoiding looking him in the
eye.

The music had stopped, then, and Christie accepted Charles's arm as he led her off the floor.

"I see," he said, finally. "Hmm—I see. . . . Thank you for the dance, my dear. I spy Beau across the room, making his way toward us, so I'll leave you to his company while I go and mingle with some of our guests. Until later, darlin'."

But Christie hardly heard him as she took in a fascinating scene in another part of the room, near the main doors.

Without any arresting of music or fanfare of any kind, Garrett Randall had made "an entrance." He was taller than anyone else in the room, but that was not the only aspect to make him stand out in the crowd. The formal clothes he wore bespoke a casual elegance as he stood there, taking in the entire room in a confident, easy manner. He wore a deep blue velvet jacket, so dark the color appeared almost black against the snowy white cravat and cuffs of his ruffled shirt. His tightly fitting formal breeches were also white, impeccable against the shiny black of the high boots he wore; and there was a kind of symmetry for the eye that traveled his length, for one could begin with the shiny black of his hair and end with the shiny black of his boots. Everything
about him was magnetic, to the point of stopping the attention of most of the people in the room, not least of all, the women.

To her left she heard the MacTavish girls whispering to each other. "Oooh, did you see him? Isn't he the handsomest thing you ever saw, Lydia?"

Lydia's response was a long, maidenly sigh.

And behind her Merideth Brighton was tugging at the sleeve of her mother's gown as she tittered, "No, no, Mama, not there—over there, by the door . . . See that beautiful head of black hair? Wait until he turns around," which Garrett proceeded to do at exactly that moment, causing the older woman's eyebrows to raise.

"Hfflm," she remarked, "I wonder who he is and if he's . . . attached. Let's ask our host to introduce us so I can see if this warrants closer consideration."

Hurriedly she nudged her pink-cheeked daughter in the direction of Charles, who was now at Garrett's side.

Beau Richardson claimed Christie for their dance, then, and she was actually glad of it—anything to avoid running into Garrett tonight.

But the dance was over all too soon, and, without wanting to, she found herself looking around the room to determine where Garrett was. As she chatted casually with Jamie Burton, who had the next dance, she noticed Garrett talking with Charles and Laurette Mayfield, who was back to playing the coquette again; but, no, it wasn't Garrett at whom she was directing all those looks—it was Charles!

"Good Lord!" thought Christie. "Father's old enough to be
her
father! I hope he realizes what he might be getting into! That woman's husband-
hunting, for sure!"

"May I fetch you a glass of punch before our dance, Christie?" asked Jamie. "I see the musicians have been offered some punch themselves and won't be playing for at least a few minutes."

"Why, yes, Jamie. Thank you. I'll wait for you right here," she replied, and as Jamie went off in the direction of the punch bowl, Christie felt her gaze once again drawn toward Garrett Randall. What was there about him that still drew her attention thus?

Then, as she felt herself staring at him, he turned, and their eyes made contact. She felt a tingle emanating from the pit of her stomach, and flushed hotly before squirming and turning away. But her control was incomplete, and although she had intended the action as a step toward moving swiftly away and out of his range of vision, she hesitated and found herself turning once again to steal a look, hoping to catch him with his attention focused elsewhere. But luck would not have it so, and once again she found he had caught her staring. A slow smile spread over his lips as he returned the favor, staring directly at her. Quickly, she turned away, almost bumping into Jamie as he returned with her punch.

"Oh, Jamie, you're a dear," she said gratefully. "You're also one of the most thoughtful men I know."

Jamie flushed, obviously smitten. He had just turned twenty-one last winter, and to be called a man by Christie Trevellyan was more than flattering.

"It isn't difficult to be thoughtful about
you,
Christie." He grinned nervously. "It's my pleasure to make you comfortable in any way I can. I do wish
those musicians would hurry up, though. I'm looking forward to our dance."

"Yes, the sooner you get on with yours, the sooner I'll have my turn," said a deeper young voice behind them. They turned to find Aaron Kingsley smiling broadly at both of them, his handsome head of blond, curly hair set off nicely by a bright crimson jacket.

"Good evening, Aaron," smiled Christie. She couldn't help liking Aaron. Of all the young gallants who came to call these days, he had the easiest personality, and it was helped along by a warm sense of humor.

"Jamie, old man," said Aaron, "I don't suppose I could induce you to give up your dance to me? That way I'd get a bigger block of time with Christie than I've had all year."

"Not on your life, Kingsley," laughed Jamie. "I still remember how you inveigled me into losing my turn with her at your sister's birthday ball. Tonight I don't care if you tell me my horse is
dying!
I'm not leaving Christie's side until I have my promised dance."

Just then, the music began again, and a pleased-looking Jamie led Christie toward the dance floor.

"See you around, old boy," called Jamie. "Oh, if my horse gets sick while we're dancing, be a good fellow and go tend to him for me, will you? I'll be glad to cover your dance with Christie."

Unfortunately, Jamie was not to complete his patiently awaited turn with her. About halfway through their dance, Jamie slipped on a pool of champagne someone had spilled on the floor and hurt his ankle. Amid profuse apologies for his

his clumsiness, he hobbled off to a chair someone hastily found for him.

"Not at all," said Christie with mild annoyance in her tone. "Langston," she said to the worried-looking butler who had appeared at their side. "Why wasn't that spill mopped up before someone got hurt? Poor Jamie!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Christie," said Langston. "The lad in charge of mop-ups is new. It won't happen again, miss. Are you in great pain, Master Jamie?"

As Langston tended to the disappointed-looking Jamie, Christie looked up to find Philip Stanhope strolling toward her.

"Christie, my dear," said Philip, "I don't like to appear to be taking advantage of another's misfortune, but I cannot ignore an opportunity. Will you allow me to finish the young man's dance with you? It's likely to be the only opportunity I'll have all evening." He smiled.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the tall figure behind him, "but I'm afraid Christie promised any open dances to me." Garrett Randall smiled as he addressed her uncle.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, sir," said Philip.

"Isn't that strange?" muttered Christie, still in a mild state of shock over this, Garrett's latest impertinence. "Both of you live in, or near, Charleston, and yet you don't know each other. Uncle Philip, this is Mr. Garrett Randall. His plantation is in the Charleston area. Garrett, my Aunt Margaret's husband, Mr. Philip Stanhope."

Garrett made a polite bow in Philip's direction before grasping her firmly by the waist and whisking

her off to the dance floor with graceful ease, but as Christie glanced apologetically in her uncle's direction, she noticed the strangest, almost alien expression on his face—alien, at least, to Philip's mild features. Why, he almost looked furious!

But she had little time to think about her uncle's disappointment; right now, it was time to deal with Garrett Randall. Fuming, she shot him a look of pure poison.

"This time you presume too much, Garrett. I promised you no dances," she said, trying to appear to smile through clenched teeth.

"No," grinned Garrett, "but that's probably because I never asked you for any."

"Oooh," she seethed. "Well, if I'm so hateful to dance with, just tell me why you cut in on Uncle Philip for this one. I surely would have preferred being with him!"

"On the contrary, lovely. I'm enjoying every moment of this. You dance beautifully, my lady. It's just that I knew, when I
desired
to dance with you, I would. So here we are."

"Are you in the habit of just taking what you want, whenever you want it?"

"I usually get what I want, sweet," he answered. The amusement in his eyes caused them to sparkle and throw tiny gold flecks as they reflected the light of the hundreds of candles that burned in the chandeliers above their heads.

They were out in the center of the floor, and nearby Christie caught sight of Rebecca Kingsley dancing with Bruce Carlton. At her glance, Rebecca gave a brief incline of her head in Garrett's direction and, smiling broadly at Christie, rolled her eyes up-

ward in comic imitation of a romantically smitten maid.

Christie glanced impatiently away, lowering her voice as she questioned Garrett, "And exactly what is it you want of me now?"

"Why, Christie," replied Garrett in his most mocking tone, "I thought you'd never ask. Two things, sweet. First, I have in mind a business agreement involving that stallion of yours. But we needn't discuss such matters now. Tomorrow, before I leave, will be soon enough. For now, the night is still young, and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Ah, that brings me to the second thing I want from you—but I would have thought you'd have guessed
that,
my dear."

The warm gaze he bent on Christie at this last comment made her flush from the crown of her head to the tips of her delicate toes, and this lack of her own self-control angered her even more.

"You insolent bastard!" she spat, almost choking in helpless rage. "What will it take to be rid of you? Do you think, because you have me again at a disadvantage, I'll continue to allow you to—"

"Temper, temper! Where did a lady learn such language? Now, calm yourself, sweet. You never let me finish. What I was about to say, is that in the matter of finding you desirable, I encounter that rare thing:
not
getting what I want."

She looked at him quizzically.

"You see, my dear, I've made up my mind to put your lovely charms out of my mind and give them no further thought. But come, I can tell you more of what I mean in privacy. Let's find some."

He stopped dancing with her then, and began to
lead her toward the double doors near the terrace.

Panic in her voice, Christie resisted futilely as she spoke. "No, I don't want to go out there with you. I—"

"Don't be a silly girl, Christie. I assure you, I'll be a complete gentleman." His tone denoted strained patience.

The cool evening air on the terrace greeted them beneficently, and Christie calmed a bit as he led her to the far end. The music drifted from inside more faintly now, and overhead shone a sky brilliant with stars. As she looked out over the soft shadows of the trees and gardens of Windreach, Christie could feel his presence behind her. They stood there for several moments, neither of them speaking. Finally, Garrett spoke, his voice low. "You see, you have nothing to be afraid of, Christie."

"That remains to be seen," she said, on her guard. "Why have you brought me out here?" She turned to face him.

"I have in mind a bargain," he said, his gaze directly on her.

"Bargain? What sort of bargain?" she asked, eying him narrowly.

"As you may have noticed, we two have been at odds with each other during the past two weeks. This could continue," he grinned, "right up until the time I leave tomorrow. But perhaps, given the fact that it's your birthday and such, we might find a way to say good-by without leaving a sour taste in our mouths. Are you interested?"

"Go on," said Christie warily.

"I should like to know what it's like to feel my arms about you—and yours about me—without your

struggling against it—in a respectable fashion, of course. I desire a good-by kiss without the attendant rebuffs you seem to think so necessary, Christie."

Christie blanched at the brazenness of his request. "Is—is that
all?"
she asked with not a little sarcasm. "And what is it you're prepared to give in return for this so-called bargain?"

The grin broadened as he took a step closer to her and reached out to finger a stray lock of hair and tuck it softly behind her ear.

"Why, my promise in the future not to bestow upon you any unwanted attentions, of course."

"That's some bargain!" said Christie sarcastically. "I have little to gain, whatever I decide."

"Now, you don't know that, my dear. It could be you'll find my mouth . . . pleasant to taste. Others have found it so."

"Don't speak to me of your lecherous escapades, Garrett. I am no amorous widow!"

"Ah, yes!" said Garrett, his eyes hardening. "I'd almost forgotten your little meddling in that affair. Well, it seems you're not interested in my attempt at ending things on a friendly note. What a pity! Do you realize I could make you beg for my favors if I so chose?"