Caprice (8 page)

pressing and uncomfortable, and they never came back.

At least, before now. Now she was dealing out of her league, which

she'd known all along. Now she was dealing with a mature,

intelligent man, who thought quickly, was more secure, who reached

out and grabbed her by the wrist to yank her laughingly back. She

fell into his arms, one of which snaked around her waist and hauled

her hard against him, one of which, curved around her shoulders. She

didn't even see his head as it plummeted.

BUT she felt his mouth drop down hard on hers, she felt that just fine.

And she felt his lips open as he drove deep, pressing her entire body

length, from top, to slim hips, to legs, against his taller, slightly

curved torso. Through her dress, she felt his slim belt and body heat.

Her hands curled into the material of shirt at his shoulders, as her

head fell back, and warmth flooded her.

He took his time as he took her lips, leisurely, with a concentrated,

enthusiastic thoroughness. The sheer sensuality of it had her longing

to respond, but she wouldn't, she wouldn't, not to him, not this man,

not to this. The force of her conflicting impulses sent a deep tremor

through her.

He lifted his head. Through the dimness, she saw him smile, and she

knew he must have felt the shiver also. 'Good night, Caprice,' said

Pierce, serenely, and he let her go to walk down the hall.

Furious, shaking, she watched him leave, and then came to life,

bolting into her room and slamming the door shut behind her. What

was even more infuriating was that she was reacting just exactly how

he wished her to, and she kicked viciously at the end of her bed with

a muttered, 'Damn it!'

It did not help her feel better.

When she slept, she dreamt strange and disconnected images with the

recurrent theme of entrapment threading through them. When she

awoke, she lay for several minutes, thinking over the dreams and

puzzling over their meaning. Her body warmth had made a snug

cocoon between the sheets, and she was reluctant to move and

disturb that. But finally her muscles protested, and she arose, to

shower and dress quickly, and consider how she was to keep herself

busy until the others emerged from their bedrooms.

Avoid uncomfortable situations at all cost.
Yes, she should keep busy

doing that. It was her cardinal rule, especially involving

relationships. But somehow Pierce, either by chance or design,

managed to burrow under her skin, and he kept burrowing until it

hurt. For God's sake, they'd only danced together, rowed on a smelly

lake, and shared a kiss. Or really, she supposed) it had been two. But,

these days, any self-respecting eighteen- year-old should be able to

handle that sort of thing, and she was no teenager, nor was she inept

at dealing with people.

Or manipulating them. A rather tired feeling, one that had nothing to

do with time of day or length of her sleep, descended on her. That

was the crux of the problem. She was used to being the master

manipulator, and having the ability to attract or repel people,

according to the situation and her mood. It was not necessarily a bad

trait, for she rarely used it for reasons other than her own comfort,

but the problem was, Pierce refused to be manipulated. He did not go

away on command, nor did he put a halt to his penetrating

observations simply for her pleasure.

What an awful man he was. She had at first been attracted to him, but

she was thankful she was no longer, for now she knew better.

Feeling much lighter at heart, she left her room and skipped down the

stairs lightly, looking around her as she couldn't decide what to do

with herself. Perhaps the library? She could pick out a light novel,

and then move to the family room to listen to music while she read.

But no, she felt too restless for that, and who wanted to read when

the sun was shining so brightly outside?

Sounds from the library, someone approaching, and somehow,

somehow she just knew who it was going to be. A wild feeling, close

to panic, came over her and she nearly bolted for the front door, but it

was too late. She would not give him such a view of her, scrabbling

to escape. Instead, she turned to smile coolly as Emory came into the

hall.

Almost, she let surprise show ridiculously on her face, but he

wouldn't have been in any state to notice it, anyway. Deep lines of

exhaustion were cut into his face, and he looked older, discouraged;

curiously, heart wrenchingly; not at all the puppy-dog personality

she'd always attributed to him.

'Good heavens, man,' she said quietly, shocked Out of all social

frivolity as she walked towards him. 'What's happened to you?'

'Hm? Oh, good morning, Caprice,' he replied, a heaviness in his

voice which was unusual. He looked around him, as if seeing

everything for the first time. 'I—couldn't sleep.'

She regarded him sharply, frowningly, and then jerked her head

towards the library. 'Why don't you tell me about it?'

He followed her back into the room and, as she turned to stare at him

questioningly, he strolled over to the large windows comprising most

of the far wall, staring out, his blond head gleaming a pale gold in the

reflected sunlight. He looked as if he would like to speak, and then

just bowed and shook his head.

'Come on, Emory,' she urged in a low voice. 'If you'd like to talk, feel

free. I don't gossip, nor do I break confidences.'

He glanced back at her, his good-natured blue eyes dark. 'I proposed

to Petra last night, and she refused,' he said simply.

She blinked once or twice, and tried to fit what he'd said into the

framework of what she had observed of the pair. Petra had shown as

much sincere interest in Emory as he had for her. 'I find that a bit

hard to believe,' she said finally, and she sat in an armchair, crossing

her legs. 'I could have sworn she was in love with you.'

'I'd thought so.' His face shook, and she felt suddenly appalled. This

was was not a man with a sadly bruised ego, or a disappointed heart.

This man was shattered.

'Emory,' she said, as gently as she could. 'Come sit down.' He sat,

leaning forward and staring down at his hands, laced and hung

between his knees. 'Now listen. Several people have noticed you and

Petra this weekend. Even I, who hadn't met her before, could see that

you two must have some son of history together. And I've noticed

how she would look at you. If someone else has noticed, then it can't

be your imagination. That girl does care for you.'

'Then why?' he whispered to his hands. 'Why did she say no?'

'I suppose,' she replied drily, 'you didn't think to ask? No, I can see

you didn't. I don't know; who can say what went through her mind?

Perhaps she was simply afraid of the thought of marriage. God

knows, it's a serious commitment.'

'I have a steady, well paying career. I don't smoke, rarely drink and

never heavily, and my family has an excellent background. I—I'm a

gentle man,' he said. 'How could she be afraid?'

'You'll never know, unless you ask her,' she said, leaning forward to

touch at his hands. He looked up, and into her dark violet eyes. She

smiled faintly. 'Take your time, get your courage up and your

composure back, and then talk to her about it. Ask her to explain. It

might have been nothing more than that she simply needed to hear

what you would say if she refused you. Since apparently you didn't

even question her reply, she may now be as shattered as you are.'

A hope was born in his eyes, and grew. 'Do you really think that's it?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know. Someone once told me, though,

that we never do something without a reason. I didn't say this to him,

but he was right. It's just that sometimes we don't know the reason

ourselves.'

She didn't know why, but she looked up and to her right. In the

doorway, Pierce stood leaning against the doorpost, hands in pockets,

making the material stretch tightly over lean hips, feet crossed. He

appeared as though he had been listening for some time, face quiet,

without a smile.

She was shocked, immensely so, and feeling vulnerable. But Emory

was talking then, and she had to drag her eyes back to him. 'You've

made me feel tremendously better,' he told her, gratitude sincere in

his eyes. 'I think I'll go upstairs to shower and change. Maybe if I can

bring myself to it, I'll talk to Petra later today.'

Caprice touched him again, lightly. 'Let me know what happens.'

He stood, and bent to press a kiss to her cheek. 'Thank you. I will.'

Then he turned to the doorway, and she was able to risk another

glance in that direction. It was empty, for Pierce was already gone.

Or at least she'd thought he was gone. When she followed Emory into

the hall, feeling an absurd relief that Pierce had had enough

sensibility to make himself scarce, she found that he had merely

backed up in the hall and was walking towards them again, as if

having just come down the stairs.

Emory saw him first and said to the older man, 'Oh, good morning,

Pierce. Nice day.' He turned to Caprice, and his expression softened.

She gave him a small smile back, and he touched at her arm before

running up the stairs to his room.

Pierce and she were left looking at each other, silently;' He was in

deep burgundy red slacks, with the cream cardigan she'd borrowed

yesterday over a pale rose shirt. In it he appeared darker than ever,

and for the second time she noticed the beginning of lines which

were carving themselves on either side of his thin nostrils.

'Oh,' she said, deliberately offhand, eyes wary and pebble flat. 'Good

morning, Pierce.' She turned to walk away.

He fell into step beside her, a slight smile beginning at the corners of

his mouth. 'Nice day. Running away again?'

She lurched to a stop, and refused to look at him as she said between

set teeth, 'What do you want?'

She felt, rather than saw him shrug. 'Did I say I wanted anything?' he

asked, limpidly. Then, as she refused to look at him, he said quite

seriously, 'I didn't mean to overhear. You were obviously sharing

something confidential with Emory.'

'You made no quick effort to get away, I noticed,' she said, with a

snap. They entered the dining room, which was empty.

'I'm only human.' That, with another careless shrug.

A quick turn of her head, and she stared at him. 'What does that

mean?'

He went to the other end of the dining room, pushed open a dark

panelled swinging door, and said cheerfully, 'Good morning, Mrs

Vandusen. Would coffee for two be any trouble this early? Thanks.'

Feeling left on a dangling end, she wandered around the table,

touching chairs lightly with her hand. If she'd thought she could get

away with it, she would leave him right then and there, but that, even

for her, would be too appallingly rude. No, that's not true, she

realised, as soon as she'd thought it. She felt a curious desire to thrash

out the rest of the conversation with him.

He turned back, neatly. She knew, suddenly, that he wouldn't answer

her question. People always had a limit to how far they would open,

in social circumstances. God knows, she certainly did.

'I meant,' he said quietly, strolling to the table, 'that I had come to the

doorway at a very enlightening moment and, since I wanted to hear

more, I waited.' His eyes met, and held hers, dark diamond bright.

'No excuse.'

He drew out a chair for her courteously, large, slim hands curling

around the edges of its back, and hers were the eyes to fall first. She

sat, head bowed, and he then took a seat directly to her left, just

around the corner of the end of the table, his knee brushing hers. She

was intensely aware of him so close, and held herself tight because of

it.

'Here you are!' said Mrs Vandusen smilingly, as she backed through

the swinging door, laden with a tray. 'Shall I set it on the sideboard,

or would you like it on the table?'

'The table's fine, thank you,' replied Pierce, and the housekeeper set

down the things close to him, and then poured.

'Would either of you like breakfast?' the older lady then asked.

Caprice, who had been watching silently, reached for her offered cup

and declined with a smile. After letting her reply first, Pierce shook