Authors: Kay Hooper
Rebel Waltz (17 page)
And he knew why laughing eyes kept following him.
Morning sunlight bathed the veranda in the foreground and the rose garden in the background. And on the veranda stood an obviously furious blond man with a brilliant green bed-sheet wrapped togalike around him. His hands were clutching slipping linen, and both his tousled hair and morning stubble indicated a rude awakening of some kind. And if Rory had dared to ignore the similarity between this man and himself, Banner had carefully provided a positive identification by detailing the fire-opal signet ring he always wore on his right hand.
He realized he was grinning, and heard the muffled sounds of chuckles trying to escape. Roll with the punches, Jake'd advised? Hell, the little witch had punched below his belt! But he couldn't get mad, for some reason. He just made an emphasized, capitalized, underlined note to himself never again to get her mad.
With an effort, he managed to get his face straightened out and sober. Shoring up the mental shields around his bruised ego, he turned and stoically ran the gauntlet of those amused faces again, until he was standing before Banner.
She was alone for the first time since they'd come in, sipping a glass of champagne and watching his approach with a meditative air. When he stood staring down at her, she said only, “Want your ring back?” in a very calm voice.
“Milady,” he said carefully, “I don't think I've ever had vengeance wreaked on me quite so thoroughly before now.”
“Thank you,” she responded politely.
“My ego's in shreds.”
“I thought it might be.”
“My pride is in my shoes.”
“These Clairmont women,” she mourned sympathetically.
“I don't think I've ever been so damned embarrassed in front of total strangers.”
“Poor man.”
“And Jake will never again be able to look at me with a straight face.”
She lifted a gently inquiring eyebrow and waited.
“If I were a reasonably sane, self- preserving male,” he said musingly, “I would run like hell from a woman who not only has a talent for devious revenge, but also knows damned well I'm not going to run anywhere at all.”
“Now, how could I know that?” she asked innocently. “I did ask if you wanted your ring back.”
“You're a witch.”
“So you've said.”
“I should walk out that door right now.”
“A sane man would,” she agreed seriously.
“Will you swear never to do this to me again?”
“I'll never do this particular thing to you again,” she said promptly.
“Because you never repeat yourself?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But if I make you mad, you'll still get even somehow?”
“What can I say?”
“I should definitely walk out that door.”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Revenge is childish, you know.”
“Certainly.”
“Still … when I waltz with a Rebel, I guess I should expect to get my toes stepped on from time to time.”
“Only when you step on mine first.”
“I guess I'd better be careful from now on, huh?”
“That might be best.”
“Safer, anyway.”
“Uh-huh. Want your ring back?”
“Are you kidding?” He reached out to take her glass, setting it on a handy table, then pulled her into his arms with a fine disregard for all the people milling around. “I know a good thing when I latch on to one.”
Banner smiled slowly, her own arms sliding
around his waist. “Now I can say it,” she murmured.
“Say what?”
“Thank you for saving my Tara, darling.”
“I didn't save it.” He nodded around at the paintings surrounding them, most with “sold” stickers next to them. “You saved it.”
“I know who saved it,” she said huskily, and stood on tiptoes to kiss him.
At Rory's request, Banner wore an antebellum-style gown for their wedding, in the rose garden of Jasmine Hall. Jake gave her away and Rory's mother, Laura, who had been a guest at the Hall for the past several weeks, was her matron of honor. And the entire neighborhood, along with numerous acquaintances from Charleston, turned out.
Since the couple had decided to defer their honeymoon for a few days and planned to remain at the Hall, there was no great rush to
change clothes for a bridal trip; everyone ended up making a party day of it.
Banner and Rory wandered together among the guests in the garden, she still in her ruffled gown and he in a tuxedo, and it wasn't until late in the afternoon that they found themselves alone together.
“Too late to back out now, Mrs. Stewart,” he told her firmly, rubbing a possessive thumb across the wide band now accompanying her diamond.
“I could say the same for you,” she reminded him. “You're the one who has to put up with my peculiar Clairmont temper from now on.”
“If you know it's peculiar, why can't you do something about it?” he asked, curious.
“Like become rational?”
“It's just a thought, you understand.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, when I get mad I follow my instincts.”
“And they say get even?”
“You should know.”
“Don't remind me.” He sighed. “I can only be
thankful that the damned painting isn't hanging in the main hall.”
“I like it in our bedroom.”
“And I know why. You just want to be sure I never forget how a Clairmont woman gets even.”
“Think of the embarrassment it'll save you in the future.”
He grinned suddenly. “Well, I'm delighted with the way things turned out, milady, but weren't you taking quite a chance with that painting? Were you so certain I wouldn't be furious enough to leave you?”
“I was certain.” She smiled just a little.
“How? Because you were sure I loved you? Because you understand me so well?” He was honestly curious.
She nodded. “Yes. And a… couple of other things.”
“What things?” Rory pulled her down beside him on a garden bench.
“For one…” She rubbed her nose in that rueful little way that fascinated him oddly. “Rory, do you remember that first day?”
“Here at the Hall? Of course.”
“When we were together in the upstairs hallway, and again when we waltzed together that night, you saw some Rebel soldiers and their ladies. Remember?”
“I remember. In the ballroom, they waltzed with us.”
“Yes. Well… I caught a glimpse of them upstairs, but during the waltz…”
“What're you trying to tell me?” he asked— but knew.
“They were ghosts, Rory. In the ballroom, no one but you saw them.”
He'd learned to accept the ghostly presences of Jasmine Hall, and this latest addition hardly surprised him. “All right. And so?”
“I looked up a few of the old legends and ghost stories in the Hall book that night. And according to legend, only those who'll live their lives at the Hall will see the soldiers and their brides. The legend also says that if they dance the midnight waltz with an engaged couple, they're expressing approval of the union.”
“So since I saw the soldiers, you knew I'd live at the Hall?”
“I thought it was a good bet.”
“You saw them, too, you said.”
“Vaguely. Hazily. But you instantly assumed you were looking at guests, so you saw them clearly. Darling, I've known since that night that you'd live in the Hall; I just wasn't sure that I would.”
“Is that why you led me such a merry chase, milady?”
“You know why. I was convinced I'd lose both you and my home no matter what happened. When we took that suicidal jump that night, I was shocked into realizing I had to trust you… because I loved you too much not to.”
He lifted her hand briefly to his lips. “So a legend about ghostly soldiers made you pretty sure I wouldn't leave you?”
“Pretty sure.”
“You said there were a couple of things?”
“Well, the other thing was my Clairmont blood.”
“I'm going to hate myself for asking this, I know, but what did that have to do with it?”
Banner smiled. “Darling, the Clairmonts have been many things, but they've never been quitters. Once you—uh—caught me, I wasn't about to let you go.”
“I'm not sure who caught whom.”
“Is it important?” she murmured.
“No.” He smiled slowly. “It isn't important at all, milady.”
Banner was just about to go into his arms when she stiffened suddenly, gazing past his shoulder. “Rory—look,” she whispered.
Rory turned his head, his eyes immediately finding the tall blond man dressed in antebellum clothing who was standing several yards away from them. He was in the late- afternoon shadows of tall shrubbery, but remarkably distinct for all of that.
As they watched, still and silent, the blond gent made a slight gesture toward them, as a man would gesture politely for another to take his place with a dance partner. Then he bowed
slightly, gracefully, and stepped back, vanishing into the dark shrubbery.
“I didn't believe it,” Banner said blankly.
“What—that I've been seeing him all this time?” Rory asked, turning back to her. Then he realized that she had obviously seen him this time.
“No, I believed that.” She gazed up at her husband. “But it was something else I read that first night.”
“About the blond man?”
“Yes. According to legend, the Clairmont daughters never see their guardian—except once: when he renounces his guardianship of them in favor of their husbands.”
Rory got to his feet and pulled her gently up. “I think,” he said, smiling, “that the final mark of favor has been granted to our marriage, milady.”
“A good omen.”
“If we needed it. But I don't think we do. I think that you and I, wife, will never need more luck than we can make for ourselves. And I
think we're going to have a great many happy years together.” He grinned suddenly. “I also think we'd better provide another generation of Clairmont daughters for that blond gent to guard.”
“You do, do you?” she murmured, gazing up at him.
“Certainly. We wouldn't want him to get bored, after all.”
“I think… that's an awfully good idea, love. But maybe I'd better warn you about the Clairmonts.”
“Oh, God,” he said, sending a plaintive glance upward. “What now?”
Banner's smile was trying hard to hide. “Well, we tend to go to extremes, you see. Either we'll have a very small new generation—or a very large one. And it's about time for a large generation …”
“I
SHOULD BE
there,” Rory said, pacing violently.
“You'd just be in the way.” “That's a hell of a thing to say to me!” “But true. You've been a basket case for months, as it is.”
“Your imagination. And hers.” “Hardly, my boy. How many breakfasts have you skipped?”
“I picked up a bug, that's all.”
“Of course you did. But it only affected you in the mornings.”
“That's nonsense.”
“Have a drink.”
“No. My child won't smell liquor on my breath when we meet.”
“Shawn did,” Jake reminded, amused, from the depths of his comfortable chair as he watched his grandson-in-law pacing the library.
Rory glared at him, still pacing. “Only because you put a drink in my hand and I didn't know what I was doing,” he accused.
Jake sighed. “If I'd had any sense, I would have done the same thing hours ago.” He was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Did you know that Shawn can see Sarah?”
His grim expression softening, Rory halted by the fireplace and gazed down into the low flames. “I know. The pretty lady who smells so good. Do I explain to a two-year-old that she's his grandmother—and a ghost?”
“What does Banner say about it?”
“That he understands without really knowing.”
“She's probably right. She understood at that age.”
Rory's head lifted, his face turning toward the stairs and the silence. “Dammit,” he swore softly, his expression tightening again. “I wish they'd tell us something!”
“She'll be fine, Rory.”
“I should be with her!” He sighed roughly. “She seems to understand that, too, but I feel—”
“You can't stand seeing her in pain,” Jake said quietly. “She knows that, Rory.”
The younger man's haunted gaze met the steady older eyes. “It took so long with Shawn,” he said tautly. “And she's so tiny. We both love kids, but—God, this scares the hell out of me!”
“Raynor would've put her in the hospital if he'd expected trouble,” Jake pointed out soothingly. “He's a damn fine doctor.”
“I know, I know. And Susan's the same nurse who helped with Shawn. I know all that, Jake— but it doesn't help.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made
them both freeze, and they were still in a waxworks position when the cheerful, dark-haired and bright-eyed Dr. Raynor entered the room, rubbing his hands together briskly.
“I could use a drink,” he said firmly.
“Matt?” Rory managed unsteadily, still frozen.
Raynor accepted a glass from Jake and took a healthy swallow. “That little lady fooled me this time,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “Since she carried so small with Shawn and so large with this one, I could have sworn it was twins.”
“Matt!” Rory groaned.
The doctor smiled at him. “Banner's fine, Rory. She breezed right through this time.”
A large part of the tension drained from Rory's face, but he continued to gaze at the doctor in mute inquiry.
“You get to pass out cigars with pink bands this time,” Raynor told him cheerfully.
“A girl?”
Raynor was abruptly solemn, clearly relishing his role of announcer. “Oh, yes, indeed. Like I
said—Banner fooled me. You've got yourself… three brand-new daughters, Rory.”
“Triplets?” Rory was sure he said the word, but heard no sound emerge from his own mouth. Jake handed him a glass, and he found himself swallowing fiery liquid. He tried again. “Can I—can I go up and see them?” he croaked. He barely waited for the doctor's smiling nod before he headed for the stairs.
Susan was coming out of the bedroom just as he reached it, and she was laughing softly. “Banner's amazing,” she told him dryly. “I've never seen a woman have even one baby and still find the energy to sit up. She's in there looking through a dictionary of names. Amazing.” Shaking her head, the nurse went on down the hall.
Rory crept into the bedroom, wary of disturbing three newborns. And found his wife, as Susan had said, sitting up in the bed and frowning down at the heavy book across her knees. She looked not one bit the worse for the past hours; in fact, she seemed wide awake and
rested. And when she looked up, her green eyes were bright.
“I know we wanted a girl, Rory,” she said with a comical look of amazement on her face, “but I think we overdid it a bit.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and put his arms around her, kissing her smiling lips very tenderly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” She was still smiling. “Even if you have been drinking.”
“Jake caught me with my guard down again,” he explained.
“That was your excuse the last time.”
“I swear. Matt said three girls and Jake put a glass in my hand.”
“Well, I'll forgive you. If you can help me come up with three names. And a mixed bag this time—blond, brunette, and redhead.”
He blinked, then shook his head. “I can't think at the moment.”
“I can't imagine why,” she said gravely. “Unless it's because you're exhausted. Go take a look at the babies, darling, then come to bed.”
“With you?” he said longingly.
“I got permission to hold you,” she said, still grave. “Matt was quite firm about saying we could not start another baby for several weeks.”
Laughing a little unsteadily, Rory got to his feet. “The mess you've gotten me into,” he accused, then headed for the connecting nursery.
As he stepped into the dimly- lighted room, Rory noted that the efficent nurse had utilized both the crib and bassinet, along with the old wooden cradle that had been Jake's, in order to accommodate all three infants. And he wasn't really surprised to see the hazy—though clearer than he'd ever seen it—form of the blond gentleman bending to get a look at the babies. Rory stood silently and watched until, apparently satisfied, the gent moved toward the hall door.
Softly, Rory said, “Three more Clairmont daughters for you to guard, my friend. For us both to guard.”
He could have sworn the gent smiled at him.
Smiling himself, Rory went to greet his daughters.