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Brad merely nodded, his expression grim.

‘I do hope you’re not going to over-indulge and embarrass all of us tonight,’ Monica reprimanded gently.

‘How unkind of you to say such a thing!’ Marc’s hand went to his heart. ‘Especially in front of a lady I’m trying so very hard to impress.’

‘I apologise, dear,’ Monica leaned down and kissed his cheek. ‘But sometimes you can be trying.’

‘I have heard that women consider men with faults to be challenging,’ Marc quipped. ‘That should give me quite an advantage with the ladies over paragons such as Brad.’

Sara’s eyes darkened cynically, but she held her tongue. Marc’s behaviour was embarrassing enough without her entry into the fray to offer a few indiscreet insights into Mr Brad Garwood’s character.

Glancing at the object of her silent hostility, black ice greeted her and as if he could read her mind, Brad said drily, ‘I have my faults, but I prefer not to advertise them.’

‘Now I’ve been properly chastised,’ Marc sighed. ‘That calls for another drink.’ Turning slightly sideways, he raised a hand to signal the waiter.

Monica threw her brother a perturbed glance, then turning towards Brad said, ‘I believe our table is ready.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, his disapproving gaze shifting from Marc to Sara.

‘I hope you have a pleasant evening, Miss Manderly.’ Monica forced a strained smile as the waiter appeared to take Marc’s order.

‘And I hope the same for you,’ Sara returned, determinedly avoiding meeting Brad’s eyes a second time.

‘Don’t let Monica upset you,’ Marc winked mischievously as the other couple moved out of earshot. ‘She’s still a bit snippy about the ball.’

‘You mean about the railing coming loose? I’m sorry if I dampened the party,’ Sara said, then as an even more horrible thought occurred to her she demanded anxiously, ‘She hasn’t recognised me, has she?’

‘No, she hasn’t recognised you, and as for the railing, while I found it to be the highlight of the evening, it was an inconsequential occurrence to my sister ... Except, of course, for the sudden loss of Brad s presence for a period of time.’

As Marc spoke, Sara glanced past his shoulder in the direction in which Monica and Brad had departed, only to discover that they were now seated at a table not far away. To add to her discomfort, Brad was positioned directly in her line of vision. At the moment, he was smiling at something Monica was saying, and she pulled her attention back to her escort as a sharp stab of pain hit somewhere near her heart. If she couldn’t get hold of herself, she was going to have to leave Charleston. Feeling snippy herself, she said with a touch of acid, ‘Then I don’t understand why Monica is upset. I thought all the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves.’

‘But it was not at Cyprus Point,’ said Marc, pitching his voice a couple of octaves higher in an effort to mimic his sister. Then in more normal tones he added with grudging admiration, ‘And you wouldn’t believe the concessions people were willing to make to please Hanna.'

'Concessions?’ Sara questioned.

‘The night of the ball only candlelight and torches were allowed in the grounds at Cyprus Point,’ he started to elaborate, then paused as the waiter came to take their orders for dinner. It wasn’t until after the man was gone that he continued. ‘As you might have guessed, that was a fire hazard. As a consequence the local fire department provided a truck and men who sat out there all night in case they were needed. Of course they had to be parked out of sight because only horsedrawn vehicles were allowed within visible range of the house. The guests had to park their cars in the meadow near the gate and wait to be transported to the ball in carriages Hanna had hired for the occasion. And then there were the costumes. Can you imagine grown men and women allowing themselves to be bullied by an old lady for fear of being permanently excluded from her segment of society?’

‘It would seem,’ Sara noted drily, her gaze travelling back to the table where Monica was holding court as nearly every guest present paused dutifully to greet her, ‘that your grandmother was not the only Fallon people are willing to treat with deference.’

‘True,’ he agreed, a spark of admiration lighting his eyes as he too turned to look in his sister’s direction. ‘Sometimes I actually feel sorry for Brad.’

Sara’s jaw tightened and she forced her attention back to her own table. ‘Your family still owns Cyprus Point. Why didn’t Monica have the ball there this year if it was so important to her?’

‘Our father wouldn’t allow it.’ Marc’s expression darkened, as if he was suddenly haunted by ghosts from the past. ‘He hates Cyprus Point. Or more accurately, he hated his mother and the place reeks of her. You see, old Hanna never approved of Monica’s and my mother. She badgered her constantly, telling her she wasn’t good enough to bear a child of Halloway blood. After one of their more heated confrontations, my mother went driving to blow off steam and died in a car crash. My father never forgave Hanna and refused to set foot in Cyprus Point ever again.’

‘If there was so much hatred between your grandmother and your father, why did she leave the plantation to him?’

The waiter arrived with their salads and Marc waited until the man was gone before answering. ‘She had no choice,’ he said, dipping a piece of cold boiled shrimp into the hot cocktail sauce. .

‘Didn’t have a choice?’ Sara frowned.

‘My grandfather knew that Hanna loved Cyprus Point as deeply as my father had loved my mother. As a punishment for the accident or maybe because he knew that Hanna had only married him to keep Cyprus Point, he set up his will so that my grandmother had the use of the place during her lifetime, but on her death it would automatically go to my father. Still, Hanna tried. She knew my father would sell the place as soon as she was gone so she worked on Monica and me. She tried to make us love the place as much as she did.’

‘And do you?’ Sara questioned between bites of shrimp. ‘Not with old Hanna’s ghost hanging around.’ A crooked smile curled Marc’s mouth. ‘I think that’s really the reason Father refused to allow Monica to have the ball out there this year. He didn’t want any more ghost stories to circulate. Last year one of our guests swore she saw Hanna standing at the top of the stairs admiring the proceedings. Of course, the woman had been at the champagne all evening and even her own nose was a fog to her. Still, it did cause quite a stir.’

‘And what about Monica? I gather she’s still very attached to the place.’

‘Yes, Hanna had a great deal more success there. My sister is obviously even willing to marry a Yankee in order to retain the family home.’

The chiding quality in Marc’s voice provoked Sara. ‘Marrying Brad Garwood isn’t a sacrifice,’ she retorted, then wished she had held her tongue as Marc’s eyes flashed. He had laid a trap and she had fallen into it.

During the remainder of the meal, she kept the conversation on less personal ground. Marc insisted on having champagne with the main course and drank nearly two full bottles, while Sara had three glasses. This was one more than her usual limit. But the flash of green from the table beyond, combined with a continuing sense of anxiety, caused her to imbibe a little extra with the hope that it would help her relax. It didn’t.

‘I’m not in the mood for dancing,’ Marc announced, as the waiter cleared away their dishes. ‘Why don’t I take you for a moonlight cruise on our yacht?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she rejected the offer. The man’s speech was slurred and she doubted whether he could negotiate the room, much less navigate a large vessel.

‘I insist on at least showing it to you. It’s my favourite toy.’ He was rising. Not wanting to create a scene, Sara smiled demurely and followed.

Amazingly, he managed to move through the crowded room without incident. As they left, she saw several large and medium-sized yachts moored along either side of
a
long, wide wooden pier. A breeze was blowing in over the water bringing with it the tangy smell of the ocean.

‘I really think we should be going home,’ she suggested as he guided her along the plank surface.

‘After you see
Wandering Lady'
he remained adamant, retaining a firm grip on her arm.

‘Marc, where are you going?’ Monica’s voice sounded from behind them and Sara breathed a sigh of relief.

It was, however, a short-lived relief as Marc pivoted her round and she came face to face with Brad’s angry scowl and Monica’s less than kind frown.

‘Surely you and Miss Manderly were not planning to go for a sail?’ Monica questioned disparagingly.

‘My dear sister, may I remind you that we’re both past the age of consent.’ Marc’s manner was deliberately provocative, and Sara flushed.

‘You’re in no condition . . Brad growled.

‘No Yankee is going to tell me what condition I’m in!’ Marc interrupted. Releasing his grip on Sara, he balled his hands into fists and drew his arm back.

Anticipating the blow, Brad blocked the punch with his forearm, inadvertently causing Marc’s forcefully delivered swing to change direction and catch Sara in the eye. Losing her balance, she staggered backwards. Suddenly there was nothing solid beneath her feet and she was falling. Black depths enveloped her as she hit the water and went under. Coughing and spluttering, she surfaced to find Brad in the water beside her forcing a life-preserver into her arms.

‘Is she all right?’ Monica was calling from above. ‘Shall I go for help?’

‘I’m fine,’ Sara managed to choke out, not wanting a crowd of people summoned to witness her humiliation.

‘Sara, I’m truly sorry,’ Marc apologised from the pier.

‘Next time I’ll remember to duck,’ she muttered.

‘There won’t be a next time,’ Brad growled, guiding her to a ladder Monica had lowered from the yacht.

Minus her shoes, which were now at the bottom of the harbour, Sara managed to climb to the deck with Brad close behind. Her dress clung like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination, but she was past embarrassment.

‘Here, let me wrap this round you,’ Marc insisted as she reached the deck. Producing a blanket, he carefully arranged it around her shoulders. ‘And I really do apologise.’

‘I think you’d better get Miss Manderly an ice pack for her eye,’ Monica instructed as she handed Brad a duplicate blanket. ‘It looks as if it’s beginning to swell.’

Holding the blanket securely around herself, Sara tenderly touched the area near her eye. Monica was right: it was tender and it was swelling. Too humiliated to cry, she simply stood silently wishing she could melt into the deck.

‘Luckily this fell on the pier.’ Monica handed Sara the purse that matched the lost shoes. ‘And I also want to apologise for my brother’s behaviour. I don’t know what’s got into him lately. He’s never been violent before.’ Although her manner was polite, she could not completely hide the distaste with which she viewed the proceedings, and Sara couldn’t blame her.

Marc returned momentarily with an ice pack and a brandy. Sara accepted the ice pack but refused the drink.

‘It will help remove the chill,’ he encouraged.

‘I just want to go home and take a warm shower,’ she said as firmly as her shivering body would allow.

‘Since I’m in no condition to return to the dance, I’ll take Sara home,’ Brad stated, his manner holding no compromise.

‘I brought her here. I’ll see her home,’ Marc glared.

‘No,’ Monica interjected before a new scene could develop. ‘I’ll drive you home, brother dear, and put you to bed before you can do any more damage.’ There was an authority in her voice that quelled any further protests Marc might have been considering.

As the foursome walked towards the parking lot, Brad fell into step next to Monica. ‘I’m sorry the evening had to end so abruptly,’ he apologised.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she returned, flashing her brother a look of pure fury.

Stepping on a sharp object, Sara breathed in sharply to stifle the cry of pain that threatened to escape.

Glancing down, Brad seemed to realise for the first time that she was barefooted. Barely pausing, he swung her up over his shoulder with his good arm.

‘Put me down!’ she snapped, her entire body scarlet with indignation.

‘Stop squirming,’ he ordered. ‘With my sprained wrist, this is the only way I can get you to the car safely.’

‘I’ve always suspected that there was a great deal of caveman in Yankees,’ Marc muttered.

‘Be quiet!’ Monica admonished, and no more was said by anyone before they parted company.

However, as soon as Sara and Brad were in his car and on their way home, he was quick to break his stoic silence. ‘What in the hell did you think you were doing going down on the pier with that man?’ he demanded.

‘Don’t curse at me,’ she retorted. ‘And I wasn’t going down there willingly—he was dragging me. But I wouldn’t have got on the yacht!’

‘How in the world did you survive this long on your own?’ he growled.

‘I was doing just fine until I became associated with you and your friends,’ she returned hotly.

‘Marc Fallon is not one of my friends.’

‘Monica is,’ she pointed out sharply, then feeling snippy she added, ‘even if you are an uncultured Yankee.’

‘Sara!’ His voice held a warning note and she retreated into silence, wishing she had held her tongue.

Arriving back at the house, she was out of the car and on her way to the door before he had turned off the engine. She wanted to give him no chance to pick her up again in his most unceremonious fashion.

Dropping the ice pack in the kitchen sink, she went straight into her bedroom and discarding her soggy clothes, climbed into the shower. The sense of security she experienced in this house, combined with the soothing water and the remaining effects of the champagne she had consumed, took the edge off of her nerves. By the time she climbed out of the shower, she was beginning to feel almost relaxed until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. A dark circle was already starting to form around her eye. Groaning aloud, she blew her hair dry. Then dressing in a light, short nightgown, she pulled a robe on over it and went out into the kitchen to fix herself a fresh ice pack.