Rebel Waltz (7 page)

She would forgive him for what he would have to do to her. But she would never be able to forget.

The merry lunch was over. The guests were gone, the horses stabled for a night's rest before those belonging to the guests would be trailered or ridden home. Banner had vanished to her room, silent, troubled, withdrawn. And Rory changed from his costume before leaving his own, still- scented room.

He wandered for a while, restless, his mind working keenly but finding no solution. He heard Jake's voice once and deliberately took a hallway angling away from that sound; he didn't want to talk to the older man just yet.

He wanted to think.

Rory knew now why the idea of depriving Banner of a home was so painful to him. He had known since he'd heard the jealousy in his own voice that morning when he'd been confronted with what he'd feared to be a rival. It had been a
shock to him to realize what he felt for Banner was much more than simple desire.

Dear God, so quickly? He didn't know why it had happened—not specifically. If asked, he could only have pointed to absurd little things brought into focus by his bemused mind. The vulnerable little quiver of her lower lip. The way she rubbed her nose in a rueful, unconscious gesture. The drawling lilt in her voice. The sight of a Southern lady riding sidesaddle on a prancing horse named El Cid.

Unseeing, Rory stopped in the middle of the hallway, his gaze fixed absently on a painting hanging on the wall. He couldn't, he knew, bear to be the man who took her home away from her. Nor could he disclaim responsibility and walk away, leaving her future and that of Jasmine Hall unresolved. He wanted to be a part of her future, but would she want that after losing her home?

She didn't want to be a part of a package deal. Her pride. He couldn't blame her for that. What
would she say if he said, “Marry me and live with me here at the Hall”?

She could say any number of things. She could attribute the proposal to a guilty conscience— and say no. She could think that he'd chosen to forego his mother's advice and mix business and pleasure—and say no. She could decide quite realistically that she hardly knew him—and say no. She could wear her pride like her name and vanish from his life—without even saying no.

Rory swore softly, tonelessly. Boxed in, trapped. Damned, no matter what he did. After a long moment, his unseeing gaze sharpened. His mind churned violently, then settled down. Rap idly, he considered his sudden thought. Would it work? Maybe. It was a chance. His one chance.

He swung around and went quickly down the hall, heading for the front door. Couldn't use the phone here. Might be overheard, and it wouldn't do to let anyone in on his idea until he was sure it would work. She'd probably be mad as hell even if it did work—at first, anyway.

He'd have to chance it.

“Rory?” Jake, coming out of the library, was clearly startled to see his guest making for the front door as if he were being chased by something large and carnivorous.

“I have to go to town for something,” Rory explained rapidly without explaining a thing and not pausing for a reply.

Jake stared rather blankly at the door as it closed behind his guest. His keen eyes cleared after a moment. “Wonder what that boy's up to?” he murmured to himself thoughtfully.

“Are you talking to me, Jake?” Banner was coming down the stairs.

“Hmmm?” He looked at her. “Oh—no, lass. To myself.” Having already been on the receiving end of a lecture from Rory on the merits of keeping his nose out of other people's business in general and his granddaughter's in particular, Jake decided to keep his speculation to himself. He'd seen which way the wind blew, and was content to allow the younger man to manage his own affairs. It would most likely be very interesting—to say the least.

“Where's Rory?” she asked lightly.

“He had to go to town for something,” Jake reported faithfully. “I'm sure he'll be back soon.”

Banner was too preoccupied to notice her grandfather's overly innocent tone; her mind was on something else. “Jake, this morning Rory mentioned a slight problem with his room.”

“Which is?”

She leaned against the newel post and stared at him wryly. “The scent of jasmine. He thinks he may be allergic to it.”

“The scent of— Oh. Well, well.”

“It's not funny, Jake.”

“Tell Sarah that.”

“I'm more interested in what we're going to tell Rory. How am I going to explain to him about Mother? Especially when I don't know what she's up to.”

“She's obviously keeping an eye on him.”

“But why?”

Jake looked at her guilelessly. “Could be she's interested because he wants the Hall.”

“I suppose.” Banner was faintly dissatisfied, but resigned. “Anyway, what do I tell Rory?”

“The truth.”

“Jake, I've told him about the blond man and I've mentioned that there are others. He isn't going to be happy when I explain that my mother—who happens to be a ghost—is visiting him and drenching his room with the jasmine scent.”

The old man shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. “Then just ignore the subject and hope it doesn't come up again,” he suggested.

“You're a lot of help.”

“Sorry.”

Banner shelved the problem for the time being and headed for her cottage studio. She had a great many things on her mind, and work had always helped her to think. However, once in her studio with brush and palette in hand, she found that her work in progress did little to distract her from thinking about Rory.

Twenty-four hours, and the man was becoming an obsession with her.

She frowned at the portrait of a blond gentleman. Rory had assumed the painting to be of her “friend.” When he had taken a closer look, he'd seen only similarities between it and himself.

But the portrait was of Rory. It was he, and she'd never laid eyes on him when she'd begun it.

Now, however, she found herself deliberately and consciously painting from her mental image of Rory. And from more than her mental image. She tried to paint blond hair that was silky soft to the touch. She tried to paint the feeling of strong arms beneath smooth material. She tried to convey that firm, curved lips felt like warm satin …

When she realized what she was doing, what she was feeling, Banner hastily laid the palette aside, swearing softly.

“Dead end,” she said aloud in the still room. “No matter how… how interested he is, it's a dead end. I'd always wonder which was more important to him: me or the Hall. I'd always wonder if he wanted one because it was a part of
the other. He won't walk away. He'll buy the place. And after I leave… what will I have?”

She knew what she'd have. Nothing. She was trained for nothing except managing a large house. Painting was a hobby, but could she fill her time with only that? With no vast home to manage, no century-old garden to tend lovingly … what then?

Banner was a practical woman. There could be other gardens. There could be a smaller house to manage. She and Jake were hardly destitute; it wasn't as if she would be cast out penniless into a cold world.

But her place would be gone. It was selfish, she knew; the most important thing was to preserve the Hall. No longer as her Hall, though. No longer her home.

And then there was Rory. He was clearly sensitive to the fact that his buying the place would uproot her. They had only… only a beginning. A sense of simpatia. Of understanding. A desire she didn't deceive herself into thinking was not mutual. Shared humor.

What would happen to them? He had posed the question bluntly: “What will you think of me when I've taken your home away from you?”

After a scant twenty-four hours, she knew that Rory could become important to her. Left to themselves, with no pressure from plantations or decisions, he could become vitally important to her.

And she wanted that.

But how would she feel about him when he took over the home that was in her blood? Whether he turned the Hall into a guest resort or lived in it himself—which was, she thought, likely—how would she feel? She thought of her grandfather's blatantly obvious desire to marry her off to Rory, a man who could afford to maintain the plantation until he could turn it into a paying concern in some way, and winced.

Were that unlikely event to take place, wouldn't she always wonder? Wouldn't she always think, at some deep level within herself, that Rory had taken the easiest way out? Assuming
he would want to marry her, of course. Marry the girl and get the house as well…

Automatically, Banner cleaned her brushes and scraped the palette. She reminded herself silently, fiercely, that the point was moot. There would be no future with Rory, because all they would ever have would be this tantalizing beginning. It would stop there.

Jasmine Hall stood immovably between them.

She went to the house through the rose garden, as usual, pausing and taking a few moments to savor the scent and the colorful profusion of blooms. As she entered the vast entrance hall, she heard the sounds of voices coming from her grandfather's library; then, when she was farther along, she noticed that the door was ajar, even as she recognized Rory's deep voice.

“Like I said, Jake, ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. Just accept that I know what I'm doing. Do I get the favor?”

Jake replied, clearly amused and faintly puzzled. “You get the favor. I won't ask any questions. But are you sure—?”

“I'm sure.”

Before Banner could absorb the curious conversation, she was caught unintentionally eavesdropping when Rory strode briskly from the library. He didn't seem the slightest bit upset to find her there; instead, his face lit up in a way that caused her heart to leap alarmingly.

“There you are,” he said cheefully. “I was wondering where you'd disappeared to.”

Uncomfortably aware both of her eaves dropping and of the depressive lingering of her earlier thoughts, Banner's voice was a bit subdued when she answered. “I was in my studio. Um, I didn't mean to listen in, but you asked Jake for a favor?”

“More time,” Rory told her firmly. “There's no great hurry, after all. Jake just agreed to give me time enough to think things over carefully.”

Banner was torn. She was faintly resentful that he could be so cheerful at the thought of
possibly buying her home; she felt an irrepressible surge of elation that whatever decision was to be made was still in the future. But she wondered… “Will you be staying?”

“If that's all right with you.”

The suddenly gentle tone and intent gaze brought a flush to her cheeks in spite of all her efforts to control it. “Gentlemen give notice of loaded questions,” she managed lightly, even though both of them knew it hadn't been a question.

He laughed, then looked her up and down quite thoroughly. “And ladies should give due warning whenever they're going to wear jeans and a T-shirt. Rhett definitely wouldn't have been patient.”

Unconsciously, they had both wandered from the foyer and out into the rose garden. Banner wondered dimly why she suddenly felt as cheerful as he seemed to be, but decided not to probe too deeply into the matter. The pressures had been lifted—if only for the time being—and her
nature was too optimistic to allow her to remain depressed for long.

“Thank you,” she said gravely. “I assume that was a compliment.”

“Don't fish,” he chided severely, taking her hand in a casual way as they strolled along one of the paths.

“I was not fishing.” She decided not to make an issue of this hand- holding business; he didn't seem aware of what he'd done anyway. Besides, she liked it.

“Are you kidding? I can see a hook when it's damn well dangled under my nose.”

“Just because I didn't want blood in the rose garden last night,” she warned, “doesn't mean I don't think it might do the plants some good this afternoon.”

“All right, all right. I'll be a gentleman and pretend you weren't fishing.”

“That graceful concession lacked something,” she noted thoughtfully.

“Diplomacy, maybe?”

“I'd say.”

“Sorry.”

“Right. Um—listen. Are we going somewhere?”

“We're walking in the rose garden, wench. Where's your sense of romance?”

Banner was a bit bemused by this Rory. He was definitely at odds with the troubled man of a couple of hours before, and a far cry from the cool, businesslike man of yesterday. It was a puzzle, but one she didn't really want to solve. She liked this cheerful, bantering man who held her hand absently and teased her. He seemed to have shed years and cares, and she was quite willing to postpone tomorrow.

“My sense of romance,” she said solemnly, “is fine, thank you very much. I just wondered if we were going somewhere in particular, that's all.”

He sent her an amused look, then changed the subject slightly. “Speaking of which, what say we plan a barbecue for next weekend?”

She blinked. “A barbecue?”

“Sure. I'll spring for it.”

“What has that to do with romance?” she asked bemusedly.

“The delights of cooking, eating, and mingling under a starry sky aren't romantic?”

“Mingling?”

He rewarded her laughing query with a mock frown, then went on briskly. “We can start the thing in the late afternoon and go on till whenever. Invite the friends and business associates we have in town—I'm not exactly a stranger to these parts, you know. We'll have music and tons of good food and— There is a pool back behind the garden, isn't there? I thought I saw one this morning.”

“There is a pool,” she agreed.

“Terrific. We'll combine a barbecue with a pool party. I'm dying to see you in a swimsuit anyway.”

Banner tried valiantly to ignore his last comment. “Well, I'm game. It'll take some arranging, though. Invitations, food, musicians, and so on. Is there any particular reason you want to have a party? We just finished one, as I recall.”

“I told you. I want to see you in a swimsuit.”

Very dryly, she said, “You don't have to drop a bundle on an expensive party for that reason. Whenever not occupied by parties, I tend to swim early every morning.”

“I'll get up early tomorrow,” he commented promptly.

Banner laughed, but shook her head. “None of this makes sense. However.” She shrugged. “You've talked to Jake about the party?”