Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (36 page)

“Quite,” Pat said. Part of her wanted to retreat for some unknown reason, and the rest of her, her stubborn side, told her to stand fast—which she did.

She opened the bag to find a pretty navy and white wraparound dress with a soft floral design. She hadn’t worn it in years. What made Angelica pick this? she wondered, glancing up suspiciously at Blaise, who smiled at her innocently. “Angelica didn’t pick this out,” she declared. “You did.”

“She showed me where your clothes were,” he said. “That counts for something.”

Pat sighed. Well, there was no harm in it, she supposed. “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” she said, stepping into the adjoining office, which had been hers before Roger had died and she had inherited the bigger office with her new title.

“Need any help with those buttons?” Blaise offered considerately.

She glanced down at the simple shirtwaist she was wearing. “The buttons are in front,” she pointed out.

“Yes,” he said, “I know.”

Pat was more than a little unsettled as she shut the door firmly behind her.

He took her to one of Albuquerque’s most elegant restaurants, where the plush decor and subdued lighting bespoke intimacy and romance. But Pat’s mind was occupied by problems at the plant and the upcoming court battle contesting Roger’s sanity at the time that he “chained” her to this commitment. Then she looked into Blaise’s intense eyes. The butterflies in her stomach turned into Hamilton jets and kept growing, though she kept reminding herself that she was a mature woman and that he, after all, was merely a man.

Merely a man.
 

That was like saying that the Grand Canyon was just a hole in the ground, or that the Taj Mahal was just a building. Roger had once told her, with obvious affection for his cousin, that while Blaise was regarded as a black sheep by the family, his rugged, almost perfect good looks had made him a subject of female prey since the first grade. A giggling, pigtailed girl had eluded her mother and followed him home, hiding in the back seat of the family car when Blaise’s governess had picked him up. He had been a beautiful child and had grown up to become probably the handsomest man most people had ever seen.

“Well, it’s been a long time,” Pat said finally, hating the stilted way that sounded. She had hostessed huge parties for Roger, keeping conversation flowing among scores of people. Why was she so tongue-tied now? She resented Blaise for the effect he had on her. But then, no woman except for Mother Rose could resent Blaise for long. He had that inordinate charm about him that made women from six to sixty forgive him countless trespasses.

“Ten years,” Blaise said. “And you’ve gotten more beautiful.”

“And you’ve gotten even more honey on your tongue,” she countered, toying with her wineglass.

“Honey is to catch flies,” Blaise said. “I’m not after flies.”

“Oh?” she asked, cocking her head. “Just what is it you are after?” There was no coyness in her voice. She wanted a straight answer.

He looked as if he were about to respond, then hesitated. Finally he replied, “Right now, to help you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” he said with a guileless smile.

“I asked first,” she persisted. She didn’t want to play games. The project was too important.

“I believe in fighting for the underdog—no physical comparison intended,” he said mischievously, his eyes playing with the decolletage created by the crisscross pattern of the wraparound dress. The fullness of her breasts was emphasized by the tininess of her waist, a feature she was proud of after bearing two children. A feature that she had earned from hours of rigorous exercise at the gym—another method of filling her lonely life.

“None taken,” Pat said, a smile creeping across her lips.

“Good, you’re smiling. I always liked your smile.”

“When did you have time to notice it?” Pat asked in surprise. Since that time when she was eighteen, she had seen him only a handful of times, always at family gatherings, never for long. In a way, that had been merciful, for his presence had unsettled her, despite her so-called happy marriage. He seemed to carry the promise of excitement within him, awakening Pat’s nearly forgotten unfulfilled dreams.

“You’d be surprised,” he said in a whisper, making her feel as if she were eavesdropping on a private conversation between Blaise and himself.

“You’re being polite,” she said.

“I’m being honest.”

Pat shifted uncomfortably and was grateful that the waitress chose that instant to come by for their dessert order.

But soon they were alone again, sitting at a table that was, for the moment, their own inviolate world. Two candles stood on either side of the tiny flower arrangement on the lace-covered table and their yellow flames flickered hypnotically.

Into this mesmerizing moment floated Blaise’s voice. “If I have any regrets in my life,” he said softly, “it’s that I let a delightful eighteen-year-old pixie slip through my fingers.”

Pat jerked her head up.
Oh no, he wasn’t catching her with any well-rehearsed lines. If he thought he was descending on some love-starved widow who would fall into his lap at the sound of a few carefully chosen words, he was in for a rude awakening.

“I was never in your fingers,” she said pointedly, her voice firm as she looked straight into his eyes. She was a big girl now, and not to be taken for a fool by anyone.

“That’s because I didn’t try.” His candor took her totally aback.

Pat’s eyes narrowed. “I was in love with Roger,” she said sharply.

“Nobody was fonder of Roger than I was, but he wasn’t a romantic. He was a meat-and-potatoes man, and you, Lady Pat, deserved filet mignon and gypsy violins. You deserved someone who would pick flowers to tuck behind your ear.”

She studied him coldly. “Well, you’re certainly not the shy, retiring type.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me if I was,” he said simply.

Her brows shot up. “Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I just know women,” he said, reaching for her hand.

She pulled it back, annoyed. “Why, you egotist. You think you’re so special that—“

“You tell me,” he said softly, touching the outline of her face with the back of his fingertips, gliding them sensuously along her cheek. “I know I could make you feel as special as you really are.”

He did know how to turn a phrase against a person, Pat thought, annoyed with him yet strangely intrigued. She felt as if her wit had been yanked away as she searched for a reply. Eventually, almost grudgingly, she said, “You certainly don’t leave much room for argument.”

“I never argue with a beautiful girl,” he corrected.

“I told you before,” she said firmly, “I’m not a girl.”

He leaned forward, and the flames from the candles danced in his eyes. “Inside every young girl is a woman and inside every woman is a young girl, yearning for romance and eternal love.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Hamilton, for your brilliant thesis, but all that I yearn for is to finish Roger’s project and begin to turn out those Eagles. As a matter of fact, with Mother Rose so staunchly against me, nothing in the world would give me greater pleasure,” she said, accepting the ice-cream sundae the waitress placed in front of her.

“Oh, I think something else can,” Blaise told her with a smile, “but for now, on to your quest.”

“Are you serious?” Pat studied him, her brown eyes revealing nothing of her anxiety. “About helping me with the project, I mean,” she clarified before he could read any other meaning into her words.

“Really,” he said.

And as she looked into his eyes, eyes that normally held the look of a mischievous boy, she saw that he was telling the truth. Either that, or he was an awfully good liar—which he probably was, she thought, considering the types of people he encountered in his work.

“What can I do to help?” he asked, his hand slipping across the table to grasp hers. She had been the recipient of this friendly gesture countless times. But now it sent a shiver down her spine, a warm, tingling, delicious shiver that a woman her age and in her position had no business feeling, she told herself.

“You wouldn’t have an unlimited source of money, would you?” she asked laughing.

He responded in kind. “No, not in my pocket— but if money is your problem, I know I can help.”

“Money is only one of my problems, but we’re not talking five or ten thousand dollars, Blaise,” Pat said earnestly, the thought of the eventual hopelessness of the situation wearying her. She allowed herself to think of the venture only one step at a time. One test at a time. They worked on a tight, tight budget, with many of the workers taking a cut in pay, turning the project into a labor of love, risking their necks along with hers.

“Madam, I never talk about five or ten thousand dollars. I stopped thinking that small a long time ago,” he said with a wink. Anyone else saying this would have sounded like a braggart, but Blaise was reporting the simple truth.

“I need someone to finance this,” she said honestly.

“What about Roger’s money?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“It has all been reinvested in the company,” she said. “I’ve sold nearly everything of value. The cars are all gone, except for Roger’s beloved Mercedes. I’d hate to sell the house, but ...” She let her voice trail off. If she had to, she would.

Blaise patted her hand affectionately. “You hang on to that house, Lady Pat. A princess should always have a castle, even if it doesn’t have a moat.”

“Before you jump into this, oh gallant knight,” she said dryly, “don’t you think you should know exactly what you’re championing? A lot of people who should know say this isn’t going to work.”

He looked into her eyes, catching her off guard and making all her practical, careful words stick in her throat. His blue eyes smiled at her as they washed over her warmly. “What do you say?” he asked.

“Roger knew everything there was to know about flying. He had faith that this thing would work. And I have faith in Roger,” she said simply but firmly.

“So it shall be written, so it shall be done,” Blaise said with a flourish of his hand. “Yul Brynner, The Ten Commandments,” he added with a grin.

“Does that mean that if the plane lands in the ocean, you’ll part the waters for me?”

“That might require a little more money than I can raise quickly, but I’d give it my best shot,” he promised.

“Well, don’t worry about it. That won’t be necessary.” Her tone was serious once again. “But I would appreciate any financial assistance on the Eagle’s behalf.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Lady Pat. Of course you’ve got a deal.” His level gaze held hers for a moment. Then a playful glint crept into his expression. “Well, now that we have that settled,” Blaise said, “how about going dancing with me?”

“Oh no,” Pat protested, glancing at her watch. “I couldn’t.”

“Sure you could,” he insisted. “All you do is mold your body to mine and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m sure you would,” she said, eyeing him, “but body molding is another thing I’m not into.”

“Another thing?” he echoed. “What else aren’t you ‘into’?”

“Dancing.”

“As I remember, you dance very well,” he said.

“But—“ Her strength to resist was beginning to fade. Perhaps it would be fun to be in his arms— safely dancing, of course.

“I didn’t get where I am today by taking no for an answer,” Blaise said, rising and taking her hand. “Waitress,” he called, “check, please.”

Within minutes, Pat found herself whisked off to a popular night spot and enfolded in Blaise’s strong arms, the envy of every woman she drifted by.

The song that floated around them suddenly made her smile: “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.” Yes, the memory of their first dance resembled a dream now. Blaise had indeed looked like a prince when he had swept her away from Roger, claiming a waltz with his cousin-to-be. There had been a strange, electric charge between them, which Pat had cautiously chalked up to the two glasses of wine she had drunk earlier in the evening.

They had hardly spoken, or at least she hadn’t. He had murmured polite words, but his eyes—his eyes had said something entirely different, something terribly unsettling. She had felt more . . . intimate was the word, she supposed now, with Blaise in those three minutes than she had with Roger in the three years they had known each other.

When the dance was over, she had been almost relieved to return to Roger’s side. But there had been a sense of disappointment as well. She had shrugged off the disturbing feeling, although she had been aware of Blaise’s eyes following her throughout the evening.

“Remember the first time we danced together?” Blaise asked, his words touching her hair. The feel of his closeness excited her.

“My engagement party,” she said, once she was sure her voice would not betray her. Had he read her mind?

“Yes, when that lucky son of a gun swept you away in front of all those approving people,” he said wryly.

“You never liked the Hamilton family, did you?” Pat asked as he whirled her around the floor. Another song was playing now, its beat getting under her skin and making her feel wonderfully alive.

She was enjoying herself, actually enjoying herself, without any worry lines tugging at her brow. It was delightful. She had heard that Blaise had this effect on women. For what it was worth, she was grateful. But as to any other effects he might have, well, she was too wise to be caught up in that! She tried not to stare at his dark head while she waited for him to reply.

“Delia’s a sharp little lady. Wouldn’t want to match wits with her. And Roger was a good sort, but as for the rest,” his face clouded slightly, as if he was recounting hidden memories, “icebergs, all of them.”

“Even your parents?” she asked, surprised at the bitterness of his words.

“Worst offenders of all,” he said without emotion. “Hardly saw them long enough to learn their names.” Blaise’s shining eyes examined her more closely, and he cocked his head slightly. The gesture made him look even more appealing, if that was possible. “I often wondered how someone like you managed to find her way into the Ice Dynasty. Someone so warm and vibrant, so full of life.”