Fletcher's Woman (36 page)

When he met John's gaze, he saw understanding in his eyes. He turned from it, and walked out of the study, into the hallway.

He would have to talk with Athena. If it killed him, he would be civil, rational—maybe even polite. That would prove to everyone, himself included, that there was nothing left of what he'd felt for her.

Instead of dragging Rachel out of this house, as every instinct warned him to do, he would remain. Suffer through the stupid party. Try to make sense of his thoughts and feelings.

As if anything in the world had made one whit of sense since the day he'd stormed into Jonas's house and laid eyes on Rachel.

With resolve, Griffin squared his shoulders and went off in search of the woman who had so nearly destroyed him.

•   •   •

It was odd, how quickly the romantic spell of the Hollisters' wedding wore off. Standing at her window, Rachel studied the glaring blue sky and felt uneasy again.

On the road below, a carriage clattered into view and came to a smooth stop at the O'Riley's gate. Four men scrambled out, carrying musical instruments in leather cases.

Rachel was instantly alarmed.

Dancing. There would be dancing—she should have known that, would have known it if she hadn't been so stupid. Her heart pounded at the back of her throat.

Except for a few jigs to the brisk tune of a lumberjack's fiddle, Rachel had never danced in her life. What was she going to do if Griffin didn't want to leave before that wretched party began?

What a fool she would look, while Athena swept gracefully around the room, at home in the arms of gentlemen, never missing a step or stumbling over the hem of her gown—

But then, it was as though she could see her father's face again, hear his outraged reprimand. A McKinnon didn't run scared from anything or anybody!

Slowly, Rachel raised her chin. Maybe she would look the fool, maybe people would laugh at her. But she would try—she would watch the others and she would mark what they did and then, as best she could, she would do the same.

Restless, wishing wryly that the McKinnons valued cowardice, Rachel fidgeted at the window. It was then that she saw Griffin striding around the front of the house, toward the garden.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to know what she knew, not wanting to breath or move or even be. But even with her eyes shut, she could still see with her heart, see just as clearly as if she'd been standing at the garden gate.

When Griffin entered that soft, fragrant sanction, Athena would be there.

Grasping the windowframe with both hands, Rachel forced herself to open her eyes. Life wouldn't end if Griffin changed his mind, it wouldn't. She could go on, just as she always had.

Except that her monthly hadn't come when it should have. Tears slid down her face. She still had money, she reminded herself. She still had her mother's building in Providence. . . .

Another carriage rolled in behind the first, drawn by four very
familiar black horses. The door opened, and Jonas Wilkes stepped out, looking handsome in his fine clothes, smiling up at the window.

Impetuously, and against her better judgment, Rachel tugged at the sill until it gave way and squeaked upward. “Hello!” she cried, glad to see someone she knew, someone inclined to be friendly.

Comically, Jonas bowed. “Urchin!” he laughed. “You're going to fall and break your beautiful neck!”

Glad that her tears could not possibly show from such a distance, she smiled. “I'm not going to fall—I think I can fly!”

Jonas tilted his head to one side. “Never mind flying, Urchin—can you dance?”

Blushing, Rachel shook her head.

Jonas solved the problem with swift dispatch. “I'll teach you then,” he promised.

Before Rachel could answer, Griffin came into view, glowering like a storm cloud, his hands on his hips. Apparently, he had already tired of the intrigue in the garden.

“What is this?” he demanded, glancing sharply from Jonas to Rachel. “The balcony scene from
Romeo and Juliet?
”

Standing behind Griffin, Athena dug her nails into the palms of her hands. What was it about this little nobody that made grown men behave like fools? Merciful heaven, Griffin was ready to fight, and Jonas looked blithely besotted.

Once, Athena thought bitterly, their boundless animosity had had its center in her.

Athena raised her chin, deliberately brushed Griffin as she passed. “Hello, Jonas,” she said, summoning up the most engaging smile she possessed.

There was an acknowledgement of her beauty in Jonas's topaz eyes, but nothing else. “Athena,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.

In a sidelong glance, Athena saw that Griffin was paying no attention at all to either her or Jonas—he was glaring up at Rachel. “Get down here!” he shouted, so suddenly that both Athena and Jonas flinched.

Rachel thrust out her chin and shouted back, “I will
not
, Griffin Fletcher!”

The little smile Athena scrounged from her dwindling store felt shaky on her mouth. She and Jonas could have been rolling around in the grass, naked as the day they were born, and Griffin wouldn't have noticed.

Jonas, on the other hand, seemed to be perceiving everything; his lips were taut, and his strange golden eyes were boring into Griffin's broad back.

Athena felt renewed pain. So it was true then—Jonas Wilkes had, at last, succumbed to love.

“Rachel,”
Griffin began, in a voice that would have turned Athena's bone marrow to mush, had it been directed at her. “Now!”

Rachel's head bobbed away from the window, but only for a moment. “You will not tell me what to do!” she yelled. And then a patent-toed shoe came hurtling through the still, lilac-scented air and whistled past Griffin's head. It was immediately followed by its mate.

In spite of herself, Athena felt a moment's admiration for the lumberjack's daughter. It was a pity, though, that her aim wasn't better.

Griffin was outraged; a murderous tremor moved in his powerful shoulders. “All right!” he roared. And then he bounded toward the open doors and into the house.

Athena closed her eyes, wondering why she did not feel comforted to know that the lovers were so clearly at odds.

•   •   •

The sound of Griffin's booted feet clamoring up the staircase gave Rachel pause. She must lock the door; she knew that she must—except that Griffin was towering just inside it before she could coerce her frozen muscles to move at all.

His jawline was taut and white with fury, and his dark eyes snapped. But suddenly, incredibly, just when Rachel was beginning to fear for her life, he began to laugh.

It was a full, rich sound, his laughter, and when it finally subsided to a lop-sided smile, Rachel was struck with the feeling that it had, somehow, been medicinal.

“I love you,” he said. And then, with a courtly bow, he brought her shoes from behind his back and extended them. “Thank God, you couldn't lift the bureau.”

Rachel's emotions churned inside her. “If you love me, Griffin Fletcher,” she said, in a brave and dignified voice. “What were you doing in the garden with Athena?”

“Finding out that I do, indeed, love you. For a while, I wasn't sure what I was feeling, Rachel—lust, maybe. Or spite. So I decided that the only sensible thing to do was face Athena and talk to her rationally, just to see if I could.”

Rachel's heart was spinning in her throat, like some jagged, spiky thing. “And?”

“And all I felt was pity.”

Rachel reached out for her shoes, still suspended in Griffin's hand, and made a great business of putting one of them back onto her foot. Shame pulsed, hot, in her cheeks. “I shouldn't have asked you, Griffin. I had no right.”

Griffin's hands caught her wrists gently, stayed their motion. Rachel was left to stand in an awkward one-shoe-on-one-shoe-off position. “You had every right,” he said. “Now. Do you love me or not, Rachel McKinnon? You've never said, one way or the other, you know.”

Rachel laughed, then flung her arms around his neck and let her face rest against the hard, reassuring expanse of his chest. “Oh, yes—yes, I do.”

He placed an index finger under her chin, lifted gently. A crooked grin contrasted the dark need in his eyes. “I should have taken Becky up on her offer,” he said.

Rachel frowned. “What offer?”

“She was going to give me a thousand dollars to marry you and throw in the brothel, too. Now, if I ask you to marry me and you say yes, I'll be out a perfectly good bordello.”

Rachel laughed again, even though the pit of her stomach was trembling and her vision was suddenly a little blurred. “You should have held out for more—perhaps two horses and a wagon.”

Griffin's eyes swept her face gently. “Is that some kind of convoluted ‘yes'?”

She drew back, just slightly, in his embrace. “Was that some kind of convoluted proposal?” she countered.

He nodded solemnly, though there was a smile lurking in his dark eyes.

“Then I'm accepting. Only—”

“Only what?” he frowned.

“I want you to be sure, Griffin.”

“I am sure.”

But Rachel shook her head and lowered her eyes for a moment, only to have them slide, as if magnetized, back to his face. “Until now, Athena has been far away—out of your reach. Now, she's back and, well, I want you to tell me how you feel after a month of knowing that she's near again, that you could come to her if you wanted.”

His hands were moving on her rib cage, just beneath her
breasts—and making it ever so hard to stick by her decision. If he drew her any closer—

But Griffin stepped back, lowered his hands to his sides. “If that's what you want, Rachel, I'll wait. But there is one thing I need to know.”

“What?”

“How do you feel about Jonas Wilkes?”

The question was so bluntly put that it took Rachel aback, and the look in his eyes revealed that the answer would be important. For that reason, Rachel tried to be honest. “I like Jonas sometimes,” she said. “He can be very kind, if he wants to. Most of the time, however, he is too forward.”

She had not realized that Griffin's shoulders were tight with tension until she saw them slacken. “But you don't think you could love him?”

“Griffin, I love you.”

Griffin's throat worked, and a shadow moved in his eyes, but, before he could say anything more, Joanna came into the room, looking fond and officious and harried.

“Griffin Fletcher, you shameless rounder! Leave this room before I have you horsewhipped. As for you, Miss Rachel McKinnon—it's time you were getting into that magnificent new dress of yours.”

Griffin grinned, leered comically at Rachel for Joanna's benefit, and obediently left the room.

An hour later, when Rachel came down, he was waiting at the base of the stairway, looking so handsome that she was nearly overwhelmed. Had he really said he loved her, really proposed marriage? It seemed incredible.

But his eyes caressed her as she approached, and he extended his arm. “Sprite,” he whispered, his smile comically fixed. “You make a month seem like a long time.”

Rachel blushed, but her eyes were moving over his dark, formal clothes with frank appreciation. “You look like one of those fancy-man gamblers!” she observed, awed.

Griffin laughed out loud. “Field will appreciate that remark, Sprite. This is his wedding getup—didn't you recognize it?”

Rachel stared at him. “Griffin Fletcher, you didn't!”

He smiled suavely, as the first strains of the orchestra wafted in from the enormous dining room-turned-ballroom. “I did, though. Knocked on his hotel room door and demanded his wedding suit. He was so anxious to get rid of me that he threw it out into the hallway.”

“You're lucky he didn't shoot you.”

“That will happen tomorrow,” Griffin replied, blithely.

Rachel's laughter died in her throat. Something
was
going to happen tomorrow—she could feel it. And she was frowning softly when Griffin escorted her into the very center of Athena's grand birthday party.

Griffin surveyed the beautifully decorated O'Riley dining room with a cynical half-smile. “It's amazing what twenty-four hours of dedicated drudgery will accomplish, isn't it?”

Rachel didn't feel very festive herself. Griffin Fletcher loved her, he even wanted to marry her. All should have been right with the world, but it wasn't. Something ominous threatened, just beyond the reach of Rachel's intuition. She looked at all the splendidly dressed men and women and thought sadly, inexplicably, that, after tomorrow, it might be a long time before they wanted to dance again.

But tomorrow belonged to itself, just as it always had, and there was no point in sacrificing this dreamlike evening to it. Raising her chin, Rachel McKinnon threw herself wholeheartedly into the celebration.

Dancing proved easy to master, for all her worry; she had only to follow Griffin's deft lead. It was very pleasurable, and there were no thoughts of an uncertain tomorrow in Rachel's mind as she whirled through waltz after waltz, feeling flushed and exhilarated and even beautiful.

There was only the slightest tension visible in Griffin's face when Jonas approached, during an interval in the music, and smiled at Rachel. Even though his golden eyes were fixed on her, his words were directed to Griffin.

“Have the good manners to dance with your hostess, Doctor,” he said evenly. “If you don't, she's going to start flinging things.”

Rachel wrenched her eyes from the strange hold of Jonas's and smiled up at the glowering giant beside her.

I'll be all right
, she promised, without speaking at all.

Griffin's dark eyes flashed for a moment, but he'd read the message in hers, and he smiled. One of his eyebrows lifted, just slightly, however, as his gaze shifted to Jonas.