Part 19 (1/2)
Amelia Three days pa.s.s. Between ballet cla.s.ses and the endless round of social events, I scarcely have time to think. Although I manage to stay much better focused under Sergei's tutelage, being with him only serves to keep me constantly aware of my feelings for Ian. Yet the hours spent in the dance studio are a rare respite from all the other times when I have to confront the man himself in the formidable flesh.
Contrary to his reputation for being socially aloof, Ian is everywhere. Every event I attend--with the season now in high swing there are so many--our paths cross. He is unfailingly courteous, never attempting to get me alone again. We exchange polite chitchat, nothing more. Yet surely I'm not mistaken about the heat in his eyes when our gazes meet?
Inevitably, the presence at such events of such an eligible and previously elusive man invites speculation. He is, I hear it whispered, interested in someone in particular but no one can agree on who she is. A young debutante, newly graduated from one of the elite universities, is a prime candidate. So is a recently divorced thirty-something with spectacular looks and a rumored predilection for bondage play.
The graphic nature of some of the gossip surprises me But I realize that it shouldn't. These are the people who find nude opera singers having at the very least simulated s.e.x on stage to be high cultural entertainment.
The longer I am in the city, the more aware I become of the heavy layer of sensuality that permeates every aspect of it. Some of that is undeniably appealing--the beauty of the architecture, the ubiquity of music, art, and all the rest, even the exquisite preparation of food paired with the finest wines. But other aspects hint at the indulgence of darker appet.i.tes.
Recreational drugs, legal since the collapse of the war on drugs decades ago, are prevalent. I think back to the charity gala that I attended two nights before with Edward and Adele. The head of the charity's board of directors received a humanitarian award for his work combating drug use among minors. The irony is that the brilliant and darkly handsome Jorge Cruces owns the world's largest recreational drug company. His efforts to keep his products out of the hands of those too young to use them legally merely a.s.sure that he will be left free to sell them to everyone else.
Such indulgences are far from Society's only vice. I hear casual references to clubs where the most beautiful and skilled s.e.x workers--men and women alike--serve every taste. Almost nothing is off-limits or even particularly difficult to obtain.
At a garden party, I stumble across a couple having s.e.x under the branches of a weeping willow. The woman is on her knees, sucking the man off. His hands are tangled in her hair, holding her head in place. As she looks up at him, he gazes down at her with such raw pa.s.sion that I suddenly cannot breathe.
Walking away hastily, wanting nothing so much as to be alone, I run smack into Charles Davos. He catches my arm just in time to stop me from falling. He looks perfectly pleasant, even handsome. Well dressed in pleated wool trousers and a cashmere jacket, he is very fit for his age with the unmistakable patina of wealth and privilege. Yet something about his touch makes my skin crawl.
”I'm terribly sorry,” I say. ”Please excuse me.” I start to go around him but Davos' hand on my arm stops me.
”Amelia, isn't it? Amelia McClellan. I'm Charles Davos. We met at the opera. Is something wrong? You look upset.”
From another person, I might take that as an expression of polite concern. But Davos' yellow-green eyes, seen at such close range, have an almost reptilian cast. He blinks slowly and a s.h.i.+ver runs through me. I really do not like this man even if I can't begin to say why.
”Not at all. I was just distracted. Please excuse me.”
Davos doesn't release me. Instead, he says, ”You're a welcome addition to our social set, Amelia. Seeing the same faces over and over can get wearisome.”
His skin emits a musky, oily scent that makes me recoil. ”If you say so. I really must be going--”
He chuckles. ”So impetuous. I like that.” He leans a little closer. ”A pity about Susannah. She was a lovely woman. I quite admired her.”
I can't help myself. ”You knew Susannah?”
”Why, yes, of course. Everyone knows everyone here, or at least everyone who matters. But in Susannah's case, I have to admit that I had a particular interest. She was so...refined, so cool, so contained. Very refres.h.i.+ng in a world that I'm sure you've already discovered can be quite hedonistic.”
”I'm sorry not to have known her,” I say. Again, I try to extricate myself from his hold. This time he lets me go but he still blocks my path.
”No doubt you are. You remind me of her. Your eyes, most particularly. People say they are windows into the soul. Do you believe that, Amelia?”
I'm too busy staring at Davos to answer. He is the first person to mention my resemblance to Susannah. That's disturbing enough but his remark about seeing into the soul... What does that mean? Is he hinting that he suspects the secret I'm hiding?
A chill slips down my spine. I can't get away from him fast enough but at the same time I don't want to do anything to arouse his curiosity further. Fortunately, I'm saved from trying to figure out what to do by Edward's sudden appearance.
He takes one look at me standing with Davos and comes to my side, putting his arm around me in a display of affection I know is not commonplace for him.
”Charles,” he says in a hard voice that mocks his seeming courteousness. ”You'll have to forgive us. There's someone I want Amelia to meet.”
Without waiting for a response, my brother leads me away. When we've gone a short distance, he sets me on a bench and sits down beside me. Holding my hands, he says, ”You're shaking. What did Davos do?”
Quickly, I say, ”Nothing. He just said that I remind him of Susannah.”
Edward frowns. ”That doesn't make any sense. He scarcely knew her.”
”He claims otherwise. In fact, he says she interested him because she was so cool and refined.”
I take a breath, grappling with a thought I would prefer not to have in my head. ”He was attracted to her.”
My brother's disgust couldn't be clearer. ”He's old enough to have been her grandfather as well as yours.”
”I don't think that makes any difference to him. You don't like him and neither does Ian. Why?”
”Davos has a certain reputation,” Edward says. His eyes are grim. ”I'm not going into it. Suffice to say that I'm certain Susannah never spent any time with him. And no matter what he claims, you are very different from her. There's nothing for you to be concerned about.”
I want to believe him but my doubts linger. Before I can press the matter any further, Ian comes around a curve of the path quickly, as though seeking someone. At once, he is at my side. Ignoring Edward, he bends down so that he can look directly into my eyes.
”Amelia, what's wrong?” His tone is fierce but gentle in a way that I have heard from him only once before, in the studio when I was injured. ”What happened?” he demands.
His presence, the sound of his voice, above all the overwhelming sense of safety that suddenly sweeps over me is too much. My throat tightens as the hard knot of confusion and sadness present in me since those moments in the library becomes unbearable.
”Amelia?” He touches my face with exquisite tenderness and catches a tear as it slips down my cheek. ”For G.o.d's sake, baby, tell me what's wrong!”
”She had a run in with Davos,” Edward says.
Ian curses under his breath. ”G.o.dd.a.m.n it, what did he do to you?”
”He said that I remind him of Susannah.” I take a quick, shuddering breath and try to get control of myself. ”That's all. I'm over-reacting.”
But even as I say that, I wonder if it's true. Davos turning up when he did, at a moment when I was upset and distracted, seems too convenient, as though he wanted to catch me with my defenses down. He has an agenda. I just can't figure out what it is yet.
”I've told Amelia that she has nothing to worry about,” my brother says. His voice carries an undertone of warning, as though he is cautioning Ian not to upset me further.
”You're right, of course,” Ian says, too quickly. He rises. A look pa.s.ses between the two men that I can't help but think doesn't bode well for Davos.
”We should get back to the party,” Ian says.
I rise as well but before I go anywhere, I decide to seize the opportunity to bring up a topic that has been on my mind for several days. My encounter with Davos has only made it more urgent.
Looking at my brother, I say, ”Adele tells me that you're knowledgeable about martial arts training. Can you recommend a beginner's cla.s.s?”
Edward looks taken aback. Clearly stalling while he tries to figure out why I would ask such a thing, he says, ”You're already taking ballet cla.s.ses.”
”One hardly precludes the other,” I tell him. ”Besides, I think it would be a good idea for me to learn how to defend myself.”
The two men exchange another glance. They're communicating again in some way I can't grasp. I entertain the fanciful notion that testosterone can be used to send messages, like flares or signal flags but perceptible only to other males.
Finally, Ian shrugs. ”I'll teach you.”
I can't conceal my shock. This is definitely not what I want. ”You?”