Thursday, June 15, 2006
The Party's Over; The Work Continues
The party's over, the clean-up's all but finished, and I need to bury myself for a couple of weeks to finish a book...although I may return to ask a question re an article I need to write (if I have time!) Meanwhile, I'm posting a little excerpt from The Bought-And-Paid-For Wife (Aug 06). Tristan had chosen a table at the end of the terrace, where, in secluded peace, he could pretend to enjoy the food and the shimmer of reflected moonlight off the darkened waters of the sound. Where he wouldn't be scanning the door for the distinctive shimmer of moonlight blonde hair.
Still, he sensed her arrival several minutes later. Without turning he knew her footsteps and felt the quickening of anticipation in his blood. When he started to rise from his chair, she waved him back down. Her warm smile was all for the waiter who fussed over seating her--not opposite but catercorner to him.
"So madam, too, can enjoy the view."
She thanked Josef and while he took her order for some ridiculous frou-frou coffee, Tristan kicked back in his chair and tried not to notice that she still wore the same pink sundress.
Because she hadn't yet gone home? Because she'd spent all this time at Old Poynton...doing what?
Only walking? Only talking?
The questions--and the possibility in the answers--snarled through him, sharp and mean. For a long moment he continued to stare at her, waiting for Josef to leave. Waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Waiting for the impulse to ask those questions to pass so he could speak with some civility.
He took a sip from his very civilized sauvignon blanc. "Traffic bad?"
She'd been fussing with her purse, setting it just so on the table, but she looked up sharply.
"You said an hour."
"Have I held you up?" Her expression was polite, her voice as cool and dry as his wine. "If you have another appointment, you should have said when I called. I didn't mean--"
"My only appointment is upstairs, with my bed. It's been a long day."
Across the table, their gazes met and held. Comprehension flickered in her eyes, like an unspoken wince of sympathy. "I'm sorry. You must have started the day yesterday, in Australia."
And didn't that seem a long time ago? He should have been wiped out but instead he felt energized. By her presence, by her proximity, by the subtle drift of her perfume in the still night air. But mostly by the promise of another skirmish in their ongoing battle.
"I'm sure you didn't come here to talk about my long day." And there was something in her eyes or in his primed-for-combat blood, that pushed him to add, "Or my current need to get horizontal."
"No." She answered without pause, without dropping eye contact, without responding to his deliberate provocation. "I didn't."
"So. What do you want?"
"I want to see the letter."
Tristan arched a brow. "You don't believe it exists?"
"Is there any reason I should?"
"I've flown ten thousand miles today on the strength of it."
"So you say."
Rocking back in his chair, he met the steady challenge of her gaze. "If the lover doesn't exist and the letter doesn't exist, why are you worried?"
"Do I look worried?"
"You're here."
Irritation flared in her eyes but before she could respond, Josef arrived with her coffee. She smiled up at the young waiter, her annoyance instantly concealed by an expression as warm and friendly as when she'd opened the door that afternoon. Then Tristan cleared his throat and the subtle reminder of his presence wiped all the warmth from her face. Exactly the same as when she'd found him on her doorstep.
"I am here," she said tightly, "to see this letter. If it exists."
"Oh, it exists, duchess. Same as your lover." Turning the wine glass through his fingers, he waited a second before continuing. "A little young, isn't he?"
A frown marred the smooth perfection of her face. "Josef?"
"Loverboy. At Old Poynton."
"How do you..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as the inference took hold. "You followed me this afternoon?"
"Inadvertently."
"You accidentally followed me? For fifty miles?"
Read rest of excerpt
posted by Bronwyn Jameson @ 6:40 AM   |
