Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(78)
Shanna paused outside the drawing room and her eyes swept the guests within. The French doors were set wide to catch the coolness of the night. A small group of musicians played chamber music, the strains of which floated above the low buzz of voices. The guests were dressed in their finery, the Spanish officers resplendent in their uniforms, the ladies beautiful in silks and satins and wide voluminous skirts. There was a well-dressed stranger with his back to her who reminded her briefly of Ruark, but Ruark was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had had the common sense to excuse himself from this gathering.
Trahern approached his daughter and smiled with pride. “Well, my dear, I had almost begun to despair of your joining us, but as usual you have saved the best for last.
Shanna laughed brightly at his compliment. Then as he led her into the room, she spread her fan before her face and spoke behind it.
“Papa, you did not tell me there would be other people here.” She gestured over her shoulder toward the stranger. He would be the first site she would taunt Ruark with, she thought cleverly. “Would you introduce him?”
Trahern stared at her with an odd look in his eye, and Shanna realized the room had slowly grown quiet as they entered. Glancing around, she saw that all eyes were upon her. The men stared with great appreciation, while the women gazed at her with a bit of envy. A few of the matrons cast worrisome glances toward their own suddenly plain, flat-bosomed daughters and greatly wished that Shanna Beauchamp would find herself another spouse and leave the rest of the men to be duly snared by the lesser-endowed maidens.
Shanna nodded graciously and smiled a greeting and then, in the manner of a hostess, turned to welcome the new—
“Ruark!” The name burst from her lips, and surprise showed on her face for the briefest moment before she could contain herself, fluttering her fan nervously as she felt his eyes wander down her in that slow regard, unclothing her. He wore a deep hue of blue which accentuated his tall, lean, broad-shouldered frame. A bit of lace fell over his brown hands from the cuffs of a snowy white shirt, and the dark silk stockings and finely tailored breeches showed the narrowness of his hips and the long, firmly muscled legs.
“I was certain you had met,” her father’s voice came from her side, and from the sound of the underlying mirth Shanna guessed he was enjoying himself.
At my expense, she mused, but Ruark would not escape that easily.
Renewing her smile, Shanna swept forward gracefully, presenting her hand as Ruark stepped to her.
“Mister Ruark.” Her tone was as bright and shiny as a new coin, and she ignored the slight tremor of pleasure that went through her as he caught her fingers. “I did not recognize you in your finery. I had grown so used to your breeches.”
Ruark’s smile was dazzling and his manner debonair. He showed a fine leg before her in a courtly bow and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, touching his tongue upon it lightly. Shanna gasped and snatched her hand away. She reddened as she realized they had the attention of the entire room. Ruark straightened and gave a lopsided grin to her congealed smile. With an effort Shanna composed herself as the squire, giving her a frown of warning, joined them.
“ ‘Twas a gift from your father, Madam Beauchamp,” Ruark commented as if asked. His voice caressed the name like a treasured possession, and his eyes dipped momentarily to her breasts. In that brief glance, Shanna felt herself almost branded. Demurely she spread the lace fan across the low cut of her gown, now wishing she had worn something that would have given her more protection from him.
“On such short notice,” he continued, eyeing her, “I suppose ‘twas the best that could be done with a bit of thread and a bolt of cloth.”
“Bah!” Trahern burst in. “If that be so, then my tailor has cheated me.” He spoke as if pained as he continued, explaining to Shanna. “This man pleaded poverty until I offered to pay for a brace of suits; then I checked his account. With his miserly ways ‘twill not be long before he owns the island.”
Ruark chuckled at the chiding. “ ‘Tis easier to save a coin than to earn another to replace it.”
“And ‘tis my art to know a bargain, Mister Ruark,” Trahern replied. “Rare enough that I am bested in that game. You may count yourself one of few.”
“Your pardon, sir.” Ruark’s tone was soft in answer, but as he looked at Shanna his words seemed only for her. “But I am one of one.”
It was as if he clearly announced his intention of being the only man in her life. Beneath his stare Shanna bridled and laid her hand upon her father’s arm.