Caprice (13 page)

of it. Not even once did she guess the truth, as she quickly showered

and slipped on a pale mauve dress which had tiny thin silver stripes

running vertically and slimmed her figure even more. Silver sleek

pumps, and three thin silver necklaces completed the outfit and, after

touching up her make-up and brushing her hair, she. slipped back

downstairs.

Only as she strode easily for the den did her own stupidity crash in

on her, making her face quiver with the shock of it, making her steps

falter and then stop as she heard the unmistakable nuances of Pierce

replying to her mother's light chatter. Later, the only reason that she

could think why she had simply not considered him as a possibility,

however remote she might have thought it to be, was because he

never commuted to Virginia to visit the family. It was one of the

principle reasons why she'd never met him before that last weekend.

Recovering sluggishly, she slowly approached the small, private

room the family invariably met in before supper, and rounded the

corner.

He sat on the couch, dressed as usual with casual elegance in black

slacks and blazer, with pale blue sweater underneath. His dark head

had been turned attentively to Irene, whose eyes were avidly eating

him up as she talked. They both looked up at her entrance, Pierce's

expression unreadable as he gave her a meaningless, flashing white

smile, her mother's expression full of enjoyment.

'Good heavens, Pierce, whatever are you doing here?' Caprice asked

composedly, her churning emotions calling that composure a lie. She

let her lips pull into a slight, cool, answering smile before she turned

to her mother. 'Hallo. Is Dad home yet?'

'No, dear,' replied Irene, rather impatient with the small talk. 'Pierce

stopped by to see you and, as you were out, I invited him to stay for

supper. Where did you go?'

She broke out of that immobility that had held her fixed to one spot

in the room, making smoothly for the bar. 'I went for a drive. Tell

me, Pierce, isn't it rather unusual for you to come south for the

weekend?'

'Yes,' he replied, speaking for the first time. His voice shivered into

her, and she nearly dropped her glass. 'Usually I go to the lodge when

I wish to get out of New York. It's much more quiet.'

Caprice splashed gin into her glass carelessly, and then tonic. She

forgot to add her favourite twist of lime or to stir it, so when she

sipped at it some moments later, the drink tasted terrible. She then

turned, and casually leaned back against the counter, gently swirling

her glass.

Irene said gaily, 'He's been telling me all about his work in the family

business! It's so fascinating.' Her dark violet eyes widened at that,

almost imperceptibly. Her mother was never fascinated by business

in her life.

A quickly shot glance to Pierce, who was quite relaxed with one arm

along the arm of the couch, showed that he held a faint, but

unmistakable, gleam of amusement in his eyes. Then he was looking

at her, hard and flashing bright, and their eyes met with an almost

audible clash. She wiped hers free of expression and let her gaze

wander blankly away.

Then Ricky entered the room, nodding to Pierce pleasantly,

responding to Irene's cheerfully warbled greeting, smiling a bit

secretively to Caprice. By the time Richard had arrived home from

work, changed and joined them, it was nearly seven.

Unsure of Pierce's motives for being in Virginia, let alone at her own

home, she retreated into an aloof silence, determined not to give him

any encouragement. Of course, she was angry that he had come.

Never mind that the candles, lit and burning in subdued elegance on

the supper table, looked sparkling and brilliant and reminded her

oddly of golden hung lanterns. Never mind that she had her ear tuned

for everything he had to say, whether it was directed at her, or one of

her family. Never mind that the delicately flavoured salmon nestled

in thin-shaved almond slices tasted like sawdust, all her senses

attuned and leaping at the dark lean man opposite her at the table.

She felt every thoughtful, searching look of his, dark eyes reflecting

the flickering light of the candles. She remembered vividly his scent,

which clung close and light to his body. She remembered every

mannerism of his expressive hands, recalling each as he made them,

astonished that she had noticed that much of him from last weekend.

The expressions he wore, the quick-changing mouth, that mobile left

eyebrow, the maturity of his features; she greeted them all like old

friends.

She was in big, big trouble.

She was also quite aware that each of her family were sending her

assessing glances in varying shades of speculation. At least her father

and Ricky were discreet about it, but Irene had a terrible habit of

glancing from Pierce, to her, back to Pierce again, in the most

obvious way.

Irene, growing impatient with Caprice's continuing silence, said

archly to their quiet guest, 'You know, when Caprice got back from

New England last weekend, she wouldn't say a thing about what

happened to her. We're all dying to hear about it.'

In an agony of distaste for her mother's obvious coyness, she

carefully set aside her utensils, put her elbows on the table, and rested

her chin on her folded hands. Beyond her sight and to her left, Ricky

closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Richard was frowningly

silent.

Unable to refrain from seeing how Pierce reacted to her mother, she

glanced up, eyes hard, and met his dark gaze resting on her. He

looked gentle, which shocked her more than anything else would

have, and then he turned to Irene and answered, scrupulously polite,

'Perhaps Caprice didn't speak of it because she had such an

unpleasant time. Our lodge is by a lake. She—had a bit of an

accident, and went underwater when she least expected it.'

Her mother said, in quite a different voice, 'Oh! Oh, dear. Well, she

never could abide that.'

Ricky touched her knee with his right hand, under the table, and she

turned to have him give her a sympathetic smile. Smoothly, Pierce

was replying, 'Far from simple dislike, Mrs Hagan, she came up

terrified.' He turned to Richard, then, and commented easily, 'I hear

you're thinking of expansion.'

She looked quickly to her father. He just smiled. 'That's right. Who

told you about it?'

Successfully the conversation turned to other things, leaving her

mother momentarily nonplussed, and herself feeling quite odd. No,

tell it like it is, Cap, she told herself, you're feeling grateful. At all

accounts, at least he could handle her mother.

Ricky excused himself over the coffee and dessert, and it seemed

soon after that her parents were making some pretext to leave them

alone together, too. With a furious disgust, she thought it no better

than when she had entertained her boyfriends at home when she was

in high school, instead of sitting across from a fully adult, fully

capable man.

She sat quite still, an unconscious remnant of her childhood days

when she would hide in the most ridiculous places and think that no

one could see her. Though he had been quite smooth and comfortable

when keeping the conversation light, now he didn't say a thing, and

the silence stretched until the atmosphere was thin and nearly

unbearable.

Her screaming nerves made the slight sound of his chair scraping

back almost intolerable, like nails screeching on a blackboard. She

refused to look at him, struggling to keep her expression a still, calm

mask.

He walked away, to the end of the room, and then back, in slow, slow

footsteps. Then, with that quiet anger she'd come to know so well, he

said, 'There's no need to be so acutely embarrassed, you know.

Would you rather I just left?'

That had her head jerking up and her eyes widening. Only then did

she realise how frustrating he, too, had found the evening. It gentled

her expression into ruefulness. 'I didn't think it showed so obviously.

Would you like to leave?'

He looked deep into her eyes, bending over her seated figure. 'I

would like to know what you're thinking. I would like to know how

you felt when you knew I was here.'

She bent her head, and put a hand to her forehead. 'I guess I'm

wondering why you came over,' she admitted.

His hand came out, and she watched it with the fascination of one

hypnotised. Then he touched her, warm fingers moving against the

side of her face, a light and shivery caress. He whispered, 'You

should be asking instead why I came to Virginia in the first place.'

She began to tremble, and closed her eyes against it, and him. 'Oh,

no. Don't say it.'

His fingers turned hard, slipping under her chin and giving her a

yank. 'Look at me. You asked, but you don't want to know. I left the

office early, took a flight down, and drove over to see you. I want to

spend the weekend with you. Are you free?'

She shoved his hand away, and stood. 'No. Go back to New York.'

'Is that what you want?' He was quite near, and not backing down.

When she had stood, she'd meant to slip from him and put distance

between them, but somehow got tangled into a confused desire to

step towards him instead of away.

She lifted heavy eyelids to stare at him without flinching. 'Yes.' Her

mouth drew tight.

Incredibly, he grinned. 'You're lying.' He drew even closer, put both

hands lightly to her upper arms to coax her into leaning to him, and

brought his mouth down. His whisper tickled her lips. 'You're lying

through your delectable teeth.' His tongue slipped into her parted

mouth to run tantalisingly over them, lightning fast.

Her mouth parted even further on a shocked gasp, and she leaped

back as if stung. She brought her forefinger up, sticking it stiffly

under his nose. 'Stop it. Stop it.'

Glee danced then in those sparkling eyes. He snatched at her hand,

brought it near, and nipped at her fingernail with his own strong

white teeth. She curled it in protest. 'Admit it. You liked it.'

'Quit teasing me.' She was horrifyingly close to tears, and cursed

herself for a fool.

'But you're so painfully serious around me.

Not with anyone else, just me.' He had not let go of her hand despite

her none too gentle tugs, and he bent his head, resting his cheek

against her knuckles, while searching her eyes from under his brows.

'Have dinner with me tomorrow. Have breakfast, too. Let's spend the

day together.'

'Go away,' she gritted, longing to say yes, knowing she shouldn't.

He let her go so fast, she blinked. 'All right,' he agreed. She felt a

stupid desolation. 'On one condition. You really want me to go away,

you tell me why. No lies, no prevarications, just the unvarnished

truth.'

A quick, bitter twist of the lips. 'How would you know if I did?'

'I'd trust your integrity.' That shook her, and he could see it. A weary,

unamused smile creased his lips.

She turned away, and looked blankly over the dining room. It stayed

the same through the years, still, untouched by time. She was the one

that changed. Her back to him, her head turned sideways so that she

could hear his movements, she sighed. How bizarre. So few people

ever asked for the truth from her. And she would give them an

acceptable version, and they would be satisfied. She wondered if any

of them realised the many layers of truth that existed, as many as the

people populating the earth.

'I overheard you and your mother last weekend.' Yes, that was true.

He was still, like unmoving stone. 'But I'd already come to the same

conclusions. You and I, we're too different.'

I'm afraid of you. 'Perhaps at first we'd enjoy being with each other.

But then you would want something from me that I couldn't give, or I

would want it from you.' You make me feel stranger than I've ever

felt before. You make me feel.

He came close, put his hands on her shoulders, fingers curving

lightly, and he pulled her back to him. With his head bent, he

whispered into her ear, 'Do you think people have to be alike before

they can enjoy one another? If you overheard our conversation, then