One Touch of Topaz (12 page)

Relief poured through her, and with it a rising fountain of joy. He had been thinking of
her
. Surely that must mean he felt something for her. “But I feel wonderfully healthy,” she said eagerly. “I’m starting to put on weight, and I’m rested and—”

“No,” he said, interrupting. “It will be better for you and the child if we wait. So we wait.”

Dear heaven, this was difficult. “I could still come to you.”

“I’ll be busy in the next few months,” he said evasively. “It will be better if you stay at the château and start your lessons. There’s no hurry.”

“No, there’s no hurry,” she repeated dully. “You’re a very patient man. I suppose I should thank you.”

“You’re remarkably lacking in enthusiasm.” He paused. “Did I hurt you that much, Samantha?”

“No, why should—” She broke off. She wouldn’t lie to him. “Yes, you hurt me.” She cleared her throat to ease the painful
tightness. “I didn’t realize I was so egotistical, but you have to admit it’s a little unflattering to have a man go to these lengths to avoid making love to you.”

“Don’t talk hogwash,” he said roughly. “You turn me on more than any woman I’ve ever met. Don’t you realize that? I nearly went crazy when I was loving you. I ache even thinking about how good it was moving in—” He heaved a sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was deliberately light. “You don’t have to worry about whether I want you, if that’s all that’s bothering you.” When she didn’t answer, he asked quietly, “Samantha?”

“That’s what was bothering me,” she whispered. He had enjoyed her body. He wanted her. That could be a lot to build on. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Samantha, for heaven’s sake …” He was silent a moment. “I have to go now. I’ll make arrangements for my lawyers in Paris to give you an allowance for personal expenses. The bills for the château are sent to
them as a matter of course. If you need anything at all, just ask Skip.”

“All right.”

“One more thing. I’m going to make sure news of our marriage doesn’t leak to the press. It will make it safer for you to move around Paris freely if you’re not known as my wife. There are all kinds of kooks who slime out of the woodwork when they scent money.”

“Okay.”

“Samantha, you did the right thing in marrying me. Just leave everything to me and you won’t be sorry.”

“Good-bye, Fletch. You mustn’t miss your plane.”

“Good-bye, Samantha.”

The soft click of the receiver brought silence and loneliness to the room.

She slowly replaced the receiver and stood looking at the ivory-colored phone without seeing it. She had been plunged from nervousness to depression to hope so quickly in the last few hours that she felt dazed.

He wanted her. She had a chance. Marriages like the one they had entered into weren’t really all that unusual. In medieval times, and for centuries later, there had been marriages contracted purely for reasons of convenience. Love often had to come later. She could build on passion and desire as those ladies of the past had done. But she must be very careful. She must not be demanding or make Fletch feel guilty. That would be a terrible mistake.

And she must never let him know how she felt about him.

No, above all, she must not let Fletch know how much she loved him.

“I
F YOU WON’T
give up this life in a garret for yourself, think of me,” Skip complained as he stretched out his legs in front of him and gazed gloomily at the statue of Fletcher Bronson that Samantha was working on. “Fletch won’t let me go back to New York until you move to the château, and I can’t stand this blasted city. Parisians don’t like Americans.”

“I’ve never noticed that.” Samantha took a step back and tilted her head to one side.
“What do you think, Skip? Are the cheekbones a little too broad?”

“No, they’re fine. That’s Fletch, all right.” He glanced away from the statue and back to Samantha to argue, “And the only reason you never noticed Americans are on the Gallic blacklist is that you have a sort of cosmopolitan air. Most of the time they don’t even know you’re an American. If they pretend they don’t understand English, you chatter at them in Spanish. Now when they look at me, they zero in for the kill.”

“Nonsense, Parisians are perfectly wonderful.” Her lips twitched as she gave him a sidewise glance. “But if you don’t want to be recognized as an American, you could get rid of that baseball cap. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Give up my cap?” He gazed at her in outrage as he gave the bill of the cap a protective tug. “No way, that’s carrying things too far.”

Samantha’s eyes danced with amusement. “Just a thought.”

“A damn bad one,” Skip said in a voice like a growl. “Like living in this crummy studio, five flights up. I nearly have a heart attack by the time I reach your front door. It’s idiotic to live here when you could be lolling in luxury at the château.”

“The light is wonderful here.” She motioned to the skylight above her. “And my studio is not crummy. It’s clean and neat and—”

“It looks like a nun’s cell,” Skip said, interrupting her. “And the radiators don’t work half the time, and it’s
five
flights up.”

She laughed. “I thought you liked heights, Skip. After all, you’re a pilot.”

“I like flying,” he said flatly. “That’s entirely different. Flying doesn’t require exercise that would kill a horse. You know damn well that Fletch wouldn’t like it if he knew you’d rented this place, Topaz. I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into letting him think you were living in a decent apartment.”

“That’s why you’re not going to tell him.
Though this is a decent place. My neighbors are all artists and very friendly, and it’s close to the school. It’s certainly all I need right now. I don’t do much but work, anyway.”

“You don’t do
anything
but work.” Skip shook his head. “I thought you’d want to break loose and have some fun after what you went through on St. Pierre.”

“I am having fun.” She looked back at the statue. “I go to museums and coffee shops with the other students, and I work. That’s the most fun of all.”

“You’re hopeless.” Skip grimaced. “And a little crazy. You’re married to one of the richest men in the world, and you live like a pauper. You scarcely touch the allowance Fletch gives you. In the last four months you haven’t bought any clothes or shelled out the money for a respectable place to live. You wouldn’t even eat enough if I didn’t come in every day and remind you.”

“Do I look as if I’m suffering?”

“No,” Skip admitted reluctantly. “You
look …” He paused, trying to see her objectively. It was a difficult thing to do. He’d grown too close to her in the past months. Topaz hadn’t put on much weight, but her skin no longer had that transparency he had noticed the first time he had seen her. The tension that had shadowed her every moment was gone too. She wasn’t blooming with exuberance and vitality, but there was a glow, a quiet serenity, and a strength that appeared to be growing, deepening, with every passing day. “You look good.”

“Then stop worrying about me and tell Fletch I’m doing very well.”

“You could tell him yourself, if you’d get a telephone.”

“Stop nagging, Skip. You can’t expect me to adjust to all these newfangled ideas after six years in the hills. It’s very peaceful being out of touch when you want to be.”

Skip’s expression became grave. “Well, you’re not going to be out of touch for much longer. Fletch is flying in from New York tomorrow evening.”

Samantha quickly averted her face. “Really? The merger is done?”

“I don’t know, but he said there were some loose ends he had to attend to in person here.”

“Like me?”

Skip hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s between the two of you? This marriage is weird as hell.”

Samantha shook her head. “Maybe someday.”

“But I’d bet it has something to do with why you’re determined to accept so little from Fletch and went out and got yourself that part-time job modeling at the atelier?”

“I like the job, and it pays extremely well for only a few hours a week.”

“You’re being evasive.”

She gave him a fleeting smile before turning back to the statue. “Right.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t think you’d tell me.” Skip sighed. “No one tells me anything. All Fletch said on the phone was that he’s having a big party at the château tomorrow
evening, and he wants to see you before it starts.” His gaze traveled over her faded jeans, Docksiders, and stained T-shirt. “Do you suppose you could force yourself to spend some of Fletch’s money on a gown? If you show up like that, he’s going to have some very touchy questions to ask about why I haven’t been taking care of you.”

“You’ve taken very good care of me.” Her tone was abstracted as she stared blindly at the statue in front of her. Tomorrow night. She would see him tomorrow night. These last four months had seemed like an eternity. Yet in a way she had welcomed the separation. She had needed time to establish her own roots, to get to know herself as a person as well as an artist, and she had begun to do all those things. She had gained confidence. In spite of Skip’s skepticism, it had been an exciting period for her.

But not like this excitement … this exhilaration … hunger, brilliance, comets streaking through space. Fletch. “And, yes, I’ll buy a gown.” She turned toward him, a glowing
smile on her face. “I’ll even let you take me shopping tomorrow morning. I’m sure Dior will adore your baseball cap.”

“Let me in,” Skip said, gasping as he pounded on the door. “Quick.”

Samantha tightened the belt of her robe as she hurried across the room and threw open the door. “You’re not dressed. Aren’t you going to the party?”

“No way.” Skip was panting and clutching at the frame of the doorway, struggling to get his breath from the long trek up five flights of stairs. “I’ll drive you to the château and then go out to the garage. Pierre, Fletch’s chauffeur, runs the classiest floating crap game in Paris. I bet I’ll have a helluva better time than you will.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long black jeweler’s case. “Fletch sent this. I think I can make it to a chair now.” He shoved the leather case into her hand as he kicked the door shut and dropped into his favorite easy
chair a few feet away. “I’m glad you’re not dressed yet. It’ll give me time to rest. Tell me, if I find you a
pension
that’s just as cheap on a ground floor someplace, will you
please
move?”

She shook her head. “The light.” She opened the box. Russian topaz and squarecut diamonds alternated on a bracelet of unsurpassed beauty that shimmered with exotic richness under the overhead lights. “It’s magnificent.” She took the slender strand out of the box. “But I’d be afraid to wear it. It looks as if it would slip off my wrist.”

Skip shook his head. “It goes on your upper arm. I think it’s a sort of slave bracelet. When I described your gown, Fletch phoned a jeweler in town and told him what he wanted, and I picked it up on the way here.” Skip’s gaze traveled over her robe-clad figure. “You’d better get a move on. The party is at nine, and Fletch said he’d like you in the study by eight so that you’ll have time to talk.”

“I only have to put on my gown.” She went behind the screen. “I needed someone to help me with the zipper.” She tried to keep her voice casual. “You saw Fletch?”

“I met him at the airport.”

“How is he?”

“He’s Fletch,” Skip said simply. “He never changes. Mr. Powerhouse Incorporated. He looks tired, though. He’s probably been working himself into the ground with this merger.”

“Did he mention me?”

“No, and I avoided the subject like the plague. It’s one thing to evade his questions on the telephone, but it’s an entirely different matter to have to do it to his face. Thank heavens he seemed absorbed with these manufacturing kingpins he’s wining and dining tonight.”

“Fletch told me once he didn’t like parties. Why is he giving one tonight?”

Skip shrugged. “Search me. He does hate entertaining, but the French like to combine
business and pleasure. He must want something pretty badly from these tycoons to go to all this trouble.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Are you nearly ready?”

Samantha closed her eyes. Was she ready? She wasn’t at all sure now that the moment had come. Her hands were trembling, her palms moist, and her heart was racing like a runaway train. She felt as she had that night in the cave, fearful of the future, an uncertain child in a world she wasn’t sure she understood.

But she wasn’t that child any longer. She was a woman, and it was time she started acting like one. She stepped from behind the screen. “I’m ready.” She smiled. “Or I will be, as soon as you fasten this blasted zipper.”

Fletch hadn’t expected her to look so sophisticated.

Samantha, standing in the doorway of the
study, resembled a high priestess in some ancient temple dedicated to the sun god. Her gown left one shoulder bare in the Grecian fashion, and the shimmering gold fabric draped and molded her slim body with a consummate artistry that was both sensual and completely feminine. Her hairstyle was different, too, a long, lustrous flip that, though simple, also displayed a certain sophistication.

He stood up and came around the desk. “You look beautiful, Samantha. I told you that cloth of gold would become you.” Beautiful but … different, he thought with a pain that was curiously nostalgic. His lips brushed her cheek, and he caught a faint, spicy fragrance. He could feel the sudden heat of arousal rush to his loins. So he still couldn’t be in the same room with her without wanting to pull her down on the floor and push up her skirt.

He blocked the thought and quickly stepped away from her. He had been hoping that time would cool, or at least temper, his
desire for her. It would have helped to be able to think with his head instead of the other part of his anatomy that persisted in dominating him whenever she was close. “And the arm band goes quite nicely with your gown. I hoped it would.”

“Thank you, it’s lovely. I feel like a barbarian princess wearing it.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “It’s good to see you, Fletch. How have you been?”