Linda Castle (14 page)

Her fingers kept straying to the necklace, while doubt and suspicion about why he had given it to her flitted in and out of her mind.

“It suits you,” Brooks said in a voice that was smoother and more potent than Clell’s aged whiskey.

Marisa stared at him, mesmerized by the liquid blue of his eyes. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” He cocked his head and squinted one eye. She wondered if his vision was impaired by the swelling of his other one.

“Agree to be my escort?” She cleared her throat, but the lump remained. “And give me this necklace?”

He took her hand and led her to a stone bench. It was secreted in a nook, surrounded by leafy plants and almost invisible. He pulled her down beside him, shoving the fullness of her skirt away so he could sit very, very close. She found herself staring at the strong muscles of his thigh as it nudged against her.

“Don’t you understand, little spitfire, I would give you much more than that.” He drew her near and covered her mouth with his lips, and suddenly Marisa knew with a sharp wrenching in her chest exactly what she wanted from Brooks James.

She wanted his heart. A heart that was pledged to another.

S
he smelled of gardenias and she tasted like…

Sugar cookies.

The thought made Brooks smile inwardly as he kissed her.

He was in love. Truly in love. Now all he had to do was win the object of his affection and quell the rumors that clung to him like dust to a cowboy’s boots.

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. There was a wash of tears behind her obsidian orbs.

“Marisa? What is it?” Concern flowed through him.

“You are as crazy as a lovesick polecat.” She sniffed.

“What?” Confusion raced through him. She had returned his kisses with the same passion he felt. “Why?”

“Why are you doin’ this to me? You ain’t—aren’t—free. Why are you torturing me like this?” She jerked from his hold and smoothed a wayward curl with her palm. Her chin tilted up in the stubborn O’Bannion way that always signaled trouble.

“Yes, Brooks darling, tell us, why
are
you torturing her?” Violet Ashland stood staring at him with her cold eyes. “We both want to hear the answer to that one,” she said as she walked toward them.

A strangled sound escaped Marisa’s lips. She cast one last look full of hurt and longing toward Brooks, and then she stood and ran from the garden.

“Damn you, Violet!” Brooks stalked to her, murder in his heart as he grasped her upper arm. “What is your game?”

She shrugged and met his gaze, unblinking, unrepentant. “Sorry, Brooks, but it is necessary.”

“Why? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He released her arm as if she were poisonous. “When you left with that English duke I thought I had seen the last of you.” He turned away and dragged in a deep breath, determined to hold his temper in check, but the memory of Marisa’s eyes burned his flesh like embers.

“And I intended to remain gone. Alas, the English bastard found a woman of comparable beauty and greater fortune.” Violet spoke matter-of-factly.

Brooks whirled back to her. “You don’t seriously think I will marry you!”

“Of course not. In due time I will be the one who changes her mind, as is a woman’s prerogative. Until then you will continue to be my fiancé, to keep my pride, my reputation and my chances of making a proper match intact and unsullied.”

“You’re a liar and a bitch!”

“Because if you do not, I will wire Daddy and he will call a halt to the merger and your family will be ruined.” She smiled at him, a cold expression full of wrath. “So now that we have all that settled, let’s return to the party. And, Brooks, please, no more of this foolishness about that little country mouse. It just isn’t seemly.”

His arms dropped to his sides. Should he laugh in her face? Or should he snap her swanlike neck in his two
hands? Brooks shook himself. “Do you really think that scandal could destroy my family?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps not, but even a delay would upset your parents. Do you want to take that chance?”

When Brooks saw Marisa standing alone by a darkened window, the wary, pained look in her eyes clawed at his heart. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. He longed to tell her the truth, longed to take her in his arms, take her to his bed.

Forever.

With a jolt he realized that was what he truly wanted. He wanted forever with Marisa. He wanted to marry her.

He loved her, the prickly parts and the soft feminine parts as well. If only he were free to convince her of it.

By midnight Marisa felt as if she could no longer hold back the tears. She longed to speak to Ellen, to ask her advice about leaving tomorrow. But Leland stood like a sentry at his daughter’s side, discouraging all but Cyril, who smiled at Ellen and ignored Leland’s dark scowl.

At least her friend, appeared happy. Ellen’s clear tinkle of laughter reached Marisa’s ears where she stood by a tall carved column. She blinked and realized she was near the front entry. She could slip away and nobody would be the wiser. Patricia was deep in conversation with a portly gentleman with thick chin whiskers, and Brooks…

Brooks stood straight and tall across the dance floor, with Violet clinging to his arm. Marisa glanced up and her breath caught in her throat. From where she stood it had almost appeared that Brooks was watching her. But that was just foolish fancy.

She turned and took a step toward the door, but ran smack into a young man in a tailored gray uniform. He
touched the brim of his hat, apologized and went to the liveried butler. After a moment of conversation the butler pointed directly at Brooks. The young man nodded and made his way through the crowd to Brooks. Marisa watched while Brooks opened the cable he was handed.

A wide smile broke across his handsome face. She allowed her eyes to linger there, memorizing every aspect of that smile, while her heart bled.

Brooks held the paper in trembling hands and reread the message: “Merger finished. Father advises to do your worst.” In Rod’s usual terse style he had set his brother free.

Brooks tipped the delivery boy and turned to Violet. He whispered something in her ear. Marisa watched the blond beauty’s face contort as if in a rage. She tried to move away from Brooks, but he clamped his hand on her arm.

Possessively?

With no regard for her lovely gown or the crowd, Brooks appeared to drag Violet Ashland through the tangle of dancers, past the long table set in silver and crystal, to the entryway where Marisa stood.

“Marisa, darling.” His voice was as smooth as summer rain. “Miss Ashland has something to tell you.”

Marisa searched his face, and when she could find no answer there she looked at Violet. Tears shimmered in her cool blue eyes.

“Tell her,” Brooks demanded. “Tell her, or I swear I will shout it for all to hear.”

Violet looked at him and her eyes were full of hate. Marisa didn’t understand.

“I lied,” she whispered.

“Louder,” he ordered.

“I lied—about the engagement. I broke it off nearly two years ago.”

“What?” Marisa whispered.

“She lied, sweetheart. We are not engaged. God help me, I can’t believe I ever wanted to marry this creature, but I had given her a ring. But practical Violet wanted more than what I had to offer. She jilted me, and that is when I came to the Territory—and met you.”

Marisa swallowed hard. “You mean…”

“I mean that I love you, only you, and now there is no obstacle between us.”

“Let me go,” Violet muttered. “People are beginning to stare.”

Brooks glanced around the ballroom. “So they are. You had better hurry, Violet, if you intend to salvage any shred of your reputation.”

She turned away and was soon surrounded by a crowd of women with fluttering fans.

“She will lie again, of course,” he said easily. “By morning a story will have been concocted that paints me as a royal bastard.”

“Don’t you care?” Marisa asked.

He turned to her and smiled. The warmth of it flooded over her. He reached out and pulled her to his chest. “Not one damn bit, not as long as you know the truth.”

“Are you…sure?”

“What I feel for you is a passion so strong, so hot and deep, a lady with no more backbone than the likes of Violet could not affect it.”

Marisa blinked and the shimmering wash of tears lessened. “What the hell does that mean? I never understand what you are saying. Damn it, can’t you speak plainly?”

He grinned at her. She was an enigma. Emeralds winked seductively at her smooth slender throat while
curses trickled off her tongue. “It means, little lady, that you are mine. You always have been, and you always will be.”

He reached out and traced the outline of the necklace with the tip of his index finger. “This feeling I have for you would scorch the skin off the kind of woman you think is a lady. I have a longing inside me that burns so blisteringly hot, only a woman with grit could ever dream of standing up to it, much less answering it with a craving of her own.”

She shivered as his finger continued to draw an invisible line.

“I need a woman with backbone. I want a woman with a special kind of fire. I need you. Only you can quench this thirst I have.” He slipped his hand around her neck and rested his palm against her nape as he drew her closer. “And by all that is holy, I will have you, Marisa O’Bannion.”

He twirled her in a wide circle while waves of his deep warm laughter rippled over her. Marisa let the strains of the music and Brooks’s strong arms guide her. He directed her through the maze of couples without ever allowing his gaze to leave her face. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the thrumming of her pulse in her ears, trying to ignore the flutter inside her middle.

“A penny for your thoughts.” His voice rubbed over her body like satin against freshly washed flesh.

“I was trying to decide if you meant what you said, or if you were funning me again.”

The melody ended, but he did not release his hold on her.

“I meant every word, Marisa.” He slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her toward a long table.
Among arrangements of fresh fruit and flowers, and trees made from oranges, there were several liquids in silver bowls. Ice cubes floated on top of something bright pink, next to slices of lime and slivers of lemon.

“Ready for a drink?” he asked.

Marisa’s mouth suddenly felt as dry as desert sand in August. She couldn’t seemed to find her voice, so she nodded.

While Brooks used a ladle to fill two cups, she scanned the crowd.

“Clair looks lovely tonight.” Her soft brown hair was held in place by a garnet-studded tiara and complemented by the crimson velvet gown she wore.

“Mmm. Mother did not want her to attend, but Clair felt she has been cooped up too long. You are the loveliest woman here tonight,” Brooks said as he placed a cup of punch in her hands, lingering to fold his fingers over her own.

“Brooks, Marisa, how wonderful to finally see you both,” Clair said as she reached them. Her cheeks were flushed, her pale eyes brighter than normal. She fanned herself vigorously. “I need a cup of punch.”

“Allow me.” Brooks ladled liquid into a clean cup.

“Clair, you look a bit feverish,” Marisa said.

“Now that you mention it I do feel somewhat warm.” Clair took a sip. “That tastes good. Maybe I need to rest.” She gave Brooks a beseeching look. “Could you find me a chair?”

“Consider it done.” He turned away and went in search of one.

Marisa watched his wide back, encased in fine black cloth, until he was out of sight. Only then did her pulse return to anything near a normal cadence.

Brooks found a chair and his mother simultaneously. She was in a small sitting room off the ballroom.

“Mother? What are you doing in here?” Brooks scooped up a chair by the back.

“I just needed to take a breather. I have smiled until my jaw is aching.”

“Did you get the endowment?” Brooks was sure she had or she wouldn’t allow herself a respite.

“Yes. Thank the Lord, I don’t know how much longer I could be charming to that man with his cigar smoke curling about my head.” She glanced at her son’s hand. “Who is the chair for?”

“Clair.”

“What?” Patricia sat a little straighter. “Is she ill?”

“She says she is a little warm.”

Patricia was instantly on her feet. “I knew she was overdoing it. With Rossmore out of town she hasn’t had anybody to make sure she is taking proper care of herself. I told her not to come.”

“Perhaps you should come and attend to her,” he said with a wide grin. Being a prospective grandmother was a position Patricia was going to relish, that was obvious.

As soon as they found Clair and Marisa, Patricia reached out and felt her daughter’s forehead.

“Clair?” She moved her palm to Clair’s cheek. “Are you ill?”

“No, of course not. I think I have just underestimated the effect my condition would have on me. I find I tire easily and need so much extra rest.”

“Of course you do. You are more delicate now. You must take care of yourself. Remember, an ounce of prevention…”

“I think you are right. I nearly yawned in Commodore Butler’s face.” Clair grinned mischievously.

“We must get you home at once.” Patricia stood up. “I’ll call the carriage, if Marisa would collect our wraps.”

Brooks was a little amused at his mother’s reaction. Images of how she would spoil the child upon its arrival flashed through his mind.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Clair protested. “I will not allow you all to cut your evening short on account of me. I refuse to budge an inch.” She folded her arms beneath her bosom and pouted prettily, an expression Brooks had watched her practice when he was just a child.

Patricia glanced at Brooks.

He shrugged. “Don’t ask me to get involved…”

Patricia worried her bottom lip.

“Not an inch, Mother,” Clair repeated, and turned her nose up.

“Oh, very well.” Patricia looked from Marisa to Brooks, and a tiny smile began to play at the corners of her mouth. “However, I am tired myself, and since Rod and Donovan are out of town as well, there is no reason in the world why I can’t come home with you, Clair. You should not be alone in that big, rambling house.” Patricia smoothed her skirt and gave Brooks a triumphant look.

“Brooks, please call the carriage. I am taking Clair home. I will be staying at her house until Rossmore returns from Australia. May I rely on you to see Marisa home and keep her company until I return?”

A wicked grin spread across his face beneath the mustache. “Of course, Mother. I will make it my special mission to see she is kept from being lonely.”

Slivers of moonlight painted the trees and lane an electric blue. Marisa pulled the wrap closer about her shoulders, suddenly chilled not so much by the temperature,
but by the knowledge that she and Brooks were alone as they approached the front door of the brownstone.

Of course, they were not truly alone—Tilly was asleep in her room off the kitchen. But Marisa
felt
alone. Every step up to the door seemed to remind her of that fact. When Brooks closed the door behind them, the sound echoed through the empty house. He grinned at her and she felt the impact of his smile arc across the space between them like a bolt of summer lightning. Her heart starting skipping beats inside her chest.