The Devil and Ms. Moody (22 page)

In the meantime Beth was riffling through the rest of the mail. “Get this! Here’s another one for you, Ed,” she said, handing Edwina a beautiful engraved envelope.

They all went quiet as Edwina opened the envelope and withdrew an orchestra ticket for the opening night of the ballet season at Lincoln Center in Manhattan.

“Who’s it from?” Beth demanded.

Edwina pulled a note from the envelope. “It says, ‘Congratulations! Enjoy yourself. You deserve it. Love, Ned.’ ”

“Your boss?” Katherine exclaimed. “What a lovely gesture. It must be his way of saying ‘well done.’ You’re going, of course.”

“By myself?” Edwina fingered the invitation and shook her head. “No—no, I’d feel awkward.”

Beth smirked. “Wimmpeeee.”

Katherine produced a wry smile. “Life goes on, Edwina.”

L
ATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON
Edwina began her preparations for a gala night at the ballet. She started with a symbolic act that she hoped would free her from the recent past forever. “Out, damned spot,” she mumbled, scrubbing the remnants of Diablo’s tattoo from her shoulder as she stood in the jet spray of her shower. It was time to take her own advice and get on with her life.

Her skin was reddened and tender by the time she was done, but she had a bittersweet sense of victory. Bruised but liberated, she thought. Sadder but stronger. Now that she had done everything humanly possible to wash away the painful memories, she could truly start over. His mark was gone. Edwina Moody belonged to no one but herself.

She sanctified the ritual of renewal by choosing a dress she’d never worn before. The strapless sheath had been given to her by a friend who’d gained some weight, and it had been much too sophisticated for the old Edwina Moody.

Pressing the dress to her body, she faced the mirror and was thrilled with the way the glimmering black taffeta complimented the honeyed tones of her skin and her tousled halo of golden hair. She was dazzlingly blond and tanned from so many hours of riding in the summer sunshine.

“This will be an auspicious night,” she vowed softly, “A night for fanfare, trumpets—and new beginnings.” Edwina had never thought of herself as beautiful, but she did at that moment. She was. Beautiful.

There were other changes, too, she realized, emotional shadings that were more subtle than the obvious physical differences. The woman in the mirror was less innocent in many ways. Her fiery idealism had been tempered by reality. Her eyes held a deeper understanding of the frailties and strengths of human nature, a deeper respect for its amazing resilience. She knew about love now—passionate, transforming love with a man. And she knew more than she wanted to about heartbreak.

It was twilight when Edwina exited her taxi in front of Lincoln Center’s steps. She joined the crowd of bejeweled guests advancing upon the Performing Arts Center and was buoyed by the communal feeling of anticipation. It was opening night. The atmosphere was alive with animated chatter, and the excitement was infectious. The very air was electric.

As Edwina ascended the stairs, the plaza’s fountain came into view, a jeweled tiara in the falling light. Stopping for a moment to appreciate its beauty, she listened to the water’s muted thunder and was reminded of glistening mountain rivers and tumbling waterfalls. Opening night? She touched the satin bodice of her gown and felt a delicate pulse beating beneath her fingers. It was
her
opening night.

Through the silvery music in her head she thought she heard someone saying the word “Princess.”

Her breath caught, but she refused to turn or even to look, because she knew she couldn’t have heard any such thing. It was wishful thinking. She only
wanted
to hear that word,
that voice.
She continued walking and then hesitated, only to hear it again.

“Princess?”

The fountain roared in her head as she searched the crowd. The pulse she’d felt a second before was beating in every cell of her body. A sea of gowns and tuxedos blurred as she turned in a semicircle ... and saw a man across the plaza. Half-shadowed by a colonnade, he was tall, dark, and stunningly familiar in a black tuxedo.

Edwina’s eyes recognized him before a storm of conflicting messages reached her brain. Diablo? No, it couldn’t be. Her senses collided, trying to sort out the contradictions. There was no motorcycle, no flying dark hair.

All the ways she remembered him strobed through her mind, a heartstopping kaleidoscope of images ... the outlaw and his fire-breathing motorcycle ... the pagan, naked in the moonlight, his body streaming with water ... the wolf with luminous eyes.

She strained to see him. Was this the same man?

“Diablo? ...”

He started toward her, and the fountain’s radiance caught the iridescent green of his eyes. He was clean-shaven, but somehow in the play of light and shadow, the contours of his face seemed even more dramatically pared.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t ask the question so much as breathe it.

His mysterious smile held a sparkle of white and tan. “Same thing you are, Princess. Opening night.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the center, and she realized his long hair hadn’t been cut short, as she’d first thought. It was tied back in a ponytail. Not that it mattered. He was beautiful either way.

When he turned back to her, it was as though he couldn’t keep his eyes off her a moment longer. “Black ...,” he said, appreciating her dress. “It’s definitely your color.”

“Yours too.”

They both laughed, and as the tension eased, Edwina realized that it was really he. Her soft laughter held a shimmer of disbelief. “What are you doing here, in New York?”

He glanced at her hair as though the thought of touching it were preeminent in his mind. “I’ve got some business.”

“Business?”

“Legal business, unfinished business ... the will.”

He’d come back to claim his inheritance? Edwina tried not to show her surprise and elation, but restraint didn’t come easy. She wanted to shout with joy. “What made you change your mind?”

“A lot of things,” he said, but his eyes held a different message. His eyes said there was only one reason he’d come back.

Bells started ringing all around Edwina, and for a moment she thought it was her imagination.
Bells?
She scanned the area, bewildered, and saw that the crowd had begun filing into the center. The performance was starting.

Somehow they were in their appropriate seats moments later, waiting for the ballet to begin, but Edwina could barely remember how they’d gotten there. She was still dazed by his appearance. She was thunderstruck. It felt like a dream, an impossibly beautiful dream, and she was afraid to breathe for fear that she would wake up.

Her body was bombarding her with signals. It was telling her to laugh and cry and make a perfect fool of herself by tearing her program into confetti. But she didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she went very still, her brain beginning to whir as she tried to make some sense out of what had happened. She turned to him after a moment and studied his profile.
“You
sent the invitation?”

His eyes twinkled. “You do like
Swan Lake?”

“I love
Swan Lake
.”

“Actually I knew that,” he said, laughing at her soft astonishment. “Ned told me. Nice guy, your boss.”

He took her hand as the curtains parted and the stage went aglow with light. The warmth of his skin next to hers was a catalyst for the physical sensations that Edwina’s brain had been blocking. This time her body did respond. In a big way. For several seconds she was pleasantly awash in soft chills and thrills and tiny streamers of light. She felt like a teenager on her first movie date. She felt alive and radiantly female. There were so many things she wanted to know about him, so many questions that had to be asked, but she couldn’t formulate any of them. Her mind wouldn’t let her think anymore. It would only let her feel.

The performance was already in full swing some moments later when she leaned close to him. “I don’t even know what to call you,” she whispered.

“What would you like to call me?”

“Chris Holt, I guess. That has a nice ring to it.”

He stroked her thumb with his. “Call me whatever you want. I’ll come.”

Edwina was only half present through the rest of the first act. The music and dancing played exquisitely at the edges of her mind, but they couldn’t penetrate. She was suspended in a trancelike awareness of the moment. Her world had spun down to the very air she was breathing and to the man next to her. Everything seemed to be hesitating, even her thought processes. Her heartbeat had slowed to a whisper. As though it were waiting for something, watching to see if Edwina Moody could possibly have everything she wanted. Was she a woman within a stone’s throw of her wildest dreams?

“Chris Holt,” she murmured at one point, as though accustoming herself to the sound of his name.

At intermission they drank champagne, shared soft private laughter. And got lost in each other’s eyes.

He took her empty champagne glass away and held it a moment, touching the warmth where her fingers had been. His gaze turned irresistibly green as he studied her, his smile sexy. “Forgive me, Princess, but you look good enough to eat ... and I’m feeling a little like the big bad wolf tonight.”

Edwina tried to return his smile, but her heart was too erratic. There was no escaping him.

He tilted her chin up. “Your eyes changed when I said that. They darkened. Do you like it when I talk to you like that?”

Like it? Edwina felt a deep clutch of excitement that left her flushed and breathless. It wasn’t a question that required an answer, luckily, because she couldn’t have managed one if it had. Her body was having trouble remembering elemental things like breathing.

“Do you want to stay for the next act?” he asked.

She must have answered because he took her hand and they exited the center in a headlong rush, descending the steps to a waiting limo. It was dark and intimate inside the limo, and again Edwina could hardly believe what she was doing. Or that she was with him. She had to keep telling herself that it was real.

“A limo?” she said as he signaled the driver to pull out.

His laughter was heavy with irony. “They tell me I’m about to be rich. And you’re royalty. I thought we’d go in style tonight.”

The city’s myriad lights flickered brilliantly past them as they glided through streets teeming with nightlife. Fascinated by all the activity, Edwina surveyed the sights happily. When she’d had her fill, she turned to him and voiced the questions tumbling around in her head. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “What changed your mind about coming back?”

He didn’t answer her right away, and as she waited, Edwina realized what she wanted to hear—that he was going crazy without her. Or even that he’d been persuaded by her staunch stand on responsibility.

“Chris?” she said, curious.

He was staring out the window, and Edwina knew a moment of panic as she registered his pensiveness. Harsh lights and shadows streamed over his face, and his eyes seemed fixed on some distant point. “Chris, what’s wrong?” She was terrified that he might be distancing himself, shutting her out just as he’d done in the motel.

His shoulders moved with a deep expiration, and then he reached for the black silk tie that ringed his snowy white collar and pulled it loose. “There are a couple of things you should know about me, Ed,” he said quietly, turning to her. “It’s a messy story. I’d rather not inflict it on anyone, especially you.”

“Do you mean your past, the problems with your uncle?”

“Yes—”

Relieved, she stayed him with her hand. “It’s all right. I already know.”

“You do? ... How?”

She hesitated as it occurred to her that he might not appreciate what she’d done. He was a private man, and she had no way of knowing if he would understand why she’d had to know who Christopher Holt was. “I took time off to do some research after I got back,” she said, praying he wouldn’t hate her for violating his privacy.

“Research on me?”

“Yes.” She met his eyes, an entreaty in her voice. “You forced me out of your life, and I had to know why. I was hurting.”
I was dying,
she thought.

He was silent for so long, she looked away. “You’re angry.”

“No ... I’m sorry.”

He pulled her into his arms and hugged her, burying his face in her hair. “God, I’m such a belligerent bastard. I ought to be shot for treating you like that.”

Edwina closed her eyes, nearly dissolving with relief. His lips were tender and urgent as he feathered her temple with kisses. His long fingers contracted possessively in her hair. He
was
a belligerent bastard, she thought exultantly, but he was
her
belligerent bastard, thank God.

“You never answered my question,” she said after a moment, pulling away to look at him. “You did come back for me, didn’t you?” The question forced an intimacy that made Edwina’s breath catch as she waited for his answer. Luckily he didn’t make her wait very long.

“I came back
for
you,” he said, “and because of you.”

“Oh ...”

His handsome features blurred as Edwina’s eyes suddenly swam with tears. She ducked her head, feeling very foolish and emotional. “You get double bonus points for that one,” she said, laughing against the tremor in her voice.

“It’s true, Ed.” He stroked her hair, unhurried, letting her have her momentary self-consciousness. “You were right about the feud with my uncle being an ancient dispute. It was time I put it to rest. I thought I was free when I walked out of his house fifteen years ago. I wasn’t. The past was a hook that embedded itself deeper, the more I fought it. I finally realized that I could never be free until I came back and dealt with it.”

“And have you dealt with it?”

“I’m working on it.”

“All of it? Even your feelings for your uncle?”

He laughed softly. “I’m working on it.”

Edwina was struck by the total lack of animosity in his voice. There was a quality of quiet resignation in the statement and in his manner that made her believe he was much closer to coming to terms with his past than even he might realize. “So, what now?” she asked.