Part 7 (1/2)
He pushed open the door, irritated that he should want her so badly, determined that he would control himself. She was probably late, women always were. She was probably trying to pin up her hair, or fix her skirts or petticoats.
She wasn't. She was standing s'fiently by the small fire that burned in the hearth. She didn't need to change a thing about her hair--it was tied back from her face with a blue ribbon, then exploded in a froth of sun-colored and honey ringlets. The tendrils curled over her shoulders and fell against the rise of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
Her gown was soft blue, with a darker colored velvet bodice over a skirt of swirling froth. The sleeves were puffed, baring much of her arms, and the velvet bodice was low, but just low enough to show the risc of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the beautiful texture of her flesh, the fascinating way the soft curls of her hair lay upon it. She was even more beautiful than he had seen her before, her eyes bright and fascinating with the light of challenge, her smile soft and untouched by tragedy this night.
”You're ready?”
”Yes, of course. You did say sunset, didn't you?” He nodded. She reached for a blue silk stole and handed it to him. Woodenly he took it from her fingers and set it around her shoulders. The sweet scent of her hair rose against his nostrils, and the essence of it seemed to fill him.
d.a.m.n.
He'd tried so hard to gain control before entering the house. Now the scent of her was tearing through his senses, exciting his temper as well as his pa.s.sions.
”Shall we go?”
”Yes, of course.” Her smile, he decided, was a wan- toh's. Miss. Stuart was not entirely innocent, but rather a woman completely aware of her power. She hadn't become a fluttering belle. Her intelligence was apparent, along with her rock-hard strength, in her steady gaze.
And still . her beauty, her femininity . they were breathtaking. Jon had seen it even when Jamie hadn't.
”Where is the dance?”
”In the alehouse,” he said curtly.
”But then he determined that he knew the game himself; he would play it, too.
He smiled graciously, capturing her hand and slipping it around his elbow.
”The rest seems to have done you quite well. You're looking wonderfully--healthy.”
”Why, thank you, Lieutenant. With such flowery compliments a girl could surely lose her head.”
”What a little liar. You wouldn't lose your head if the entire Apache Nation was staring you down, would you, Miss. Stuart?”
”There you go again, Lieutenant, what a dazzling compliment.”
”Do you need compliments?”
”Maybe.”
They had reached the open doors to the alehouse. Already music could be heard, the strains of a lively jig. The notes of the fiddle seemed to be loudest, and for a moment Jamie thought that Tess's smile wavered. He was suddenly displeased with the night, and with himself. She had gone through a harrowing experience, and she had come through it with tremendous spirit.
No more plat.i.tudes for this chit! he warned himself. But her eyes met his in the dim light spilling from the open doorway. So deep a blue they were mauve in the darkness, so wide and unwavering upon his. He wished suddenly that 65 she hadn't been young, that she hadn't been beautiful.
That she hadn't been different from any other woman he'd ever met in his life.
”Maybe you shouldn't have come tonight,” he said sol fly She smiled.
”I'm fine, Lieutenant, truly I am. Shall we go in?”
He nodded and escorted her on into the room. Dancers filled the floor, soldiers in uniform, officers with epaulets and brightly colored sashes, women in their sparkling fin- cry. The floor seemed alive with the blue and gold of the uniforms, and with brilliant reds and greens and soft pastels, lovely silks and brocades, satins and velvets.
But none compared with the blue gown that Tess Stuart was wearing. No other garment seemed to so fit a woman, to cling to her shape, to conceal and enhance, to so artfully combine both purity and sweetly simmering sensuality.
Like the touch of her fingers upon his arm. Like the scent of roses that seemed to fill him and make him mindless of what else went on.
Jamie saw Jon Red Feather coming toward them, and he swore softly beneath his breath. Normally the darned half breed was as silent as the night. Suddenly these days he was expounding away with his Oxford eloquence.
”Miss. Stuart! Jamie. Ah, you've made it at last. Miss. Stuart, please don't think me too bold--Jamie! I dare demand the first dance!”
”Jon” -- he began in protest.
”Jon! Good evening!”
The delight in Tess's voice was so obvious that Jamie wanted to spit.
If the two of them were so d.a.m.ned all-fired eager to be together, Jon should have escorted her tonight. It wouldn't have made the least bit of difference to him.
The h.e.l.l it wouldn't. She was his.
He'd found her, he'd touched her and he'd brought her back here. It might be a trap, but he was deep within it now, and there was no crawling out. Still, he had to he civil. Too bad they weren't out on the plain. He and Jon could go to it like savage kids. They'd done it before.
He smiled and bowed with the best of the Southern chivalry he could remember from the days before the war.
”Jori--Miss. Stuart, please. Just return her in one piece, Jon.”
”He's trying to pretend that I take scalps. I don't, you know,” Jon informed her gravely.
Tess smiled again--brilliantly. Everything about her lit up. Smiles for him, and taunts for me! And still, Miss. Stuart, we are irrevocably bound, aren't we? ”Evenin', James,” the colonel addressed him.
”Evenin', sir.”
”I see that Miss. Stuart has been whisked away.” He nodded toward the dancers.
”Well, she's lovely. A very welcome addition to our little soiree, eh?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Ah! Well, you shall't be lonely long. There's Eliza coming to whisk you away, I dare say.”
Eliza was on her way over. She had stopped to chat at the punch table, but now, with her fan fluttering against the heat of the night, she was hurrying around the dancers to greet him.
He hadn't seen her since he'd come back with Tess.
But she knew. She knew that he'd come back with a woman, and she knew that he was with Tess tonight. He could see it in her velvet dark eyes.
She was smiling, but it seemed that the curve of her lip hid a snarl.