When Next We Love (22 page)

Trying not to think, she rose slowly, tilted her chin, and headed back for Derek’s room. If she was lucky, she could slip in quietly and grab her negligee …

But she wasn’t lucky. Derek was no longer in the bed. He was standing by the window in his dressing gown, gazing down upon the moonlit lawn. His eyes turned to her as soon as she entered the room.

“Back already?” he drawled.

“Just for my clothes!” Leigh hissed, snatching the gown from the floor. “My door is locked,” she snapped.

The sardonic brow raised. “Again?”

“Yes!”

“My, you do have problems with doors!”

“Only in this house,” Leigh replied sweetly, “so I imagine I won’t be worrying about it anymore.” Hastily slipping back into the gown and trailing the robe over her shoulder, she smiled a sarcastic “good night” and spun for the door to make a regal exit.

“Where are you going?” Derek inquired politely.

“To find a couch.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Derek sighed. “Sleep here.”

“You don’t listen—”

“And I thought you weren’t a hypocrite. You’ve slept in my bed before—one more night isn’t going to kill you.”

“I—”

“No,” Derek said softly, leaving the window to walk toward her with the quiet tread of a cat. He touched her cheek just briefly with a single finger. “I won’t get into anything else tonight. We’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

Leigh was tired. It had been an incredibly long day, long and traumatic. Her lashes fluttered over her eyes and she fought the urge to cry. “All right, let’s go to sleep.”

“I thought you might see it my way.” Derek chuckled.

Leigh was already crawling into bed, pulling tensely to the far side.

“That’s the problem,” she retorted bitterly. “You refuse to see
anything
my way!”

Derek doffed his robe and climbed beside her, encircling her protesting form and drawing her against his warmth. “You know, one of the first rules of marriage is never to sleep apart. I heard that from a wise old friend.”

“We’re not married, Derek, and I don’t think it’s a likely prospect for the future,” Leigh said stiffly, but she was no longer fighting the comfort he offered. It might truly be their last night together. She had been a partner once in a marriage that lacked communication and understanding. Not even for Derek would she contemplate such a thing again.

He didn’t answer and within minutes she found herself yawning. “By the way,” she murmured drowsily, “who was the wise old friend who gave you advice on marriage?”

His arm tightened securely around her. “Your father,” he whispered smugly.

A
PARK IN CORAL
Gables had been chosen for the picture-taking session. Acres of rolling green grass and high-arched, vine-covered pathways gave credence to a scene from the medieval days of jolly old England.

Derek was a terrific Henry VIII—with his costume, a fake beard, and generous padding, and his own imposing height, he could easily pass for a reincarnation of the arrogant king.

Roger was dressed as the Archbishop of Canterbury, Shane, John, and Bobby as various noblemen of the court.

Leigh was to portray Anne Boleyn, and as the day went on, she was sure Derek had chosen her role with malicious intent. She spent an hour of posing on her knees by his feet, beneath his royal foot on the chopping block, then tearfully clutching his robe abjectly begging for mercy.

Despite the fact that it was fall, the temperature readings were closing in on ninety. Dripping with the heat, Leigh found it harder and harder to keep her temper in check. Derek, she knew, although he seemed entirely nonchalant and easygoing to all other eyes, was still angry. She had warned him again that morning that she was leaving, and his attitude had infuriated her further. He seemed as if he just didn’t care. Now he was taunting her, all prefaced with smiles, as if all were well between them and he was any teasingly tender lover.

“Just one more by the block, Leigh,” Bernie, the potbellied photographer called out cheerfully. “Then we’ll wrap it up.”

Gritting her teeth, Leigh once more folded her hands in prayer over the block, her knees sore now from grinding into the dirt. She forced a smile as a young makeup man powdered perspiration from her nose. Derek strode into position behind her, the others took their places in the background.

“I know it’s hot,” Bernie apologized, pushing his glasses back up his sweat-slick nose. “So we’ll hurry the best we can.”

“Take your time,” Derek responded pleasantly, leaning on a knee and wedging his foot farther into Leigh’s back. “We want to get it right,” he added, “and besides, I think Mrs. Tremayne looks rather nice on a chopping block.”

“Someone should have assassinated the king!” Leigh retorted.

To the left of her Roger started chuckling. Damn men altogether! Leigh thought. Always sticking with one another. Roger knew something was up between them, but he didn’t take her seriously either!

“Too bad the Tower of London isn’t handy,” Derek commented dryly. “We could have gotten a few nice shots of Leigh behind bars.”

Leigh opened her mouth for a nasty retort, but this time it was the frazzled photographer who interrupted her. “You have to stop talking or I’ll never get
this
shot!” he moaned.

Then the work was finally over. Derek asked the band to join them on Star Island for a “task completion” drink. “Love it!” Roger agreed, his eyes dancing merrily. Leigh smiled grimly. Company was not going to prevent her from driving off the island.

She had packed her bag that morning, so once she returned to the house—in Roger’s car—all she had to do was change. But she didn’t get a chance to change right away. Roger affectionately pulled her into the game room. “I know you’re leaving,” he told her. “Derek mentioned it this morning. But you have to have one drink with us.” He swept his priestly hat from his head and playfully bowed. “After all, my dear Lady of the Lake, this is your venture we have just completed. You and Derek
are
the London Company now.”

Leigh chuckled at his antics, still objecting. “No, Roger, I am now retiring from the London Company. And you all are the London Company. Every one of you is important. I’ve been the hanger-on.”

“Today I shall not argue, Lady,” Roger said gallantly. “We shall resume this ethical question on another occasion. Today is a victory. What can I get you to drink.”

“Oh … white wine, I guess,” Leigh acquiesced. Sadness was slowly creeping through her. She would miss them all so much! In the last months she had learned to love the band and the work that they did. She was a part of their camaraderie, of their family.

And even more a part of Derek. She blinked as tears welled behind her eyelids. It would be so easy to give way and just stay—agree with Derek and be his wife on any terms.

But such a relationship couldn’t last. By his attitude he was calling her an out-and-out liar. And he refused to listen to a word from her!

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!” Bobby called, filing into the game room with John, Shane, and Derek behind him. “Break out the booze!”

“Too quick for you!” Roger laughed, throwing beers on the counter. “Leigh and I are already indulging!”

It was a happy party. Tina, Lara, and Angela appeared to join in the celebration and gleeful, gay conversation filled the room. Feeling as if she were amputating a part of her body, Leigh joined in with the fun for a while. Then she singled out Roger and kissed his cheek. “I have to go now, Roger,” she said quietly. “Thanks for everything.”

“For what?” Roger scoffed, giving her a brotherly kiss back. His eyes were still dancing away. “You’re special to all of us, Lady, and very talented at that. And I have a strange feeling you won’t be gone long.”

Leigh smiled doubtfully and moved away. Unable to resist, she looked for Derek. He had removed the beard and padding, and looked much as Henry must have as a young king—tall, strong, impeccably noble. But he wasn’t watching her. His warm eyes, sparkling with their golden glow of interest, were on Tina, who was telling him something with a great deal of animation. Leigh closed her eyes and forced herself to spin around toward the door and the road out of his life.

She was reaching for the knob when she was abruptly and literally swept off her feet. Stunned, she stared in Derek’s eyes.

“You should have told me you were ready sooner, darling,” he said complacently, twirling in another circle to stride easily with his burden for the patio doors. “Tell everyone good-bye. A nice wave will do.”

“Derek, I don’t know what kind of a stunt this is,” Leigh hissed as she was jostled in his arms. “But you can put me down this instant.”

“I will put you down in a moment,” he promised. Raising his voice, he called, “Hey, Roger! Are the bags on the boat?”

“James just put them in,” Roger called back jauntily.

They were passing through the crowd, and everyone was innocently smiling at them. Tina, Angela, Bobby, Shane, and John. All smiling and waving as she protested.

“Do something, someone!” Leigh wailed, astounded. “This man is abducting me! He’s taking me against my will. He’s—”

They were out on the patio and Derek was moving calmly but swiftly down to the dock and the boat. Roger—Roger of all people!—trailed a few feet behind them.

“Don’t be mad, Leigh,” he pleaded, chuckling as he watched her angry features. “We really think we’re looking after your best interests.”

“Oooooooooh!” Leigh spat, before exploding into a stream of oaths. She squirmed and pounded at Derek uselessly. He merely shifted so that she hung ineffectually behind his back, her costume helping to keep her prisoner.

And on the dock, releasing the ties on the
Storm Haven,
was James. Staid James, proper James, grinning away. “Have a nice trip, Mr. Mallory, Mrs. Tremayne.”

“I don’t believe this!” Leigh moaned as Derek skillfully hopped onto the boat with her in his arms.

“Bon voyage!” Roger yelled. He and James stood waving like a mismatched Laurel and Hardy as the
Storm Haven
drifted from her berth.

“What now, Errol Flynn?” Leigh snapped from her ignominious position. “You can’t hold me and drive the boat or maneuver the sails!”

“I’ll leave the sails for a while and we’ll motor,” Derek replied evenly. “And yes—I can hold you and turn on an ignition and steer!”

He went on to prove that he could do so while Leigh sputtered away vigorously until she realized she was wasting her breath. Then she hung limply, gathering strength for the moment when he would have to set her down.

They were out of the channel by the time he finally did, miles from shore. Leigh clamped her lips on a threat that she could swim. Dusk was falling and the shimmering lights on the horizon, blending together in the distance, informed her clearly that she would be a fool to attempt such dramatic bravado as a dive overboard.

Derek was watching her, a smile twitching on the grim set of his lips as he read her thoughts like a large lettered book. Drawing a deep breath for a rush of abuse, Leigh exhaled instead. “Why?” she demanded simply. Lifting helpless hands, she repeated, “Why? Why the dramatics?”

“Because,” Derek informed her, his hand on the helm and his eyes scanning the ocean, “I have my faults, and I’ve been wrong—we’ll go into that later—but you have a very major problem.
You
think running away solves everything. I want you in a spot where you can’t get mad and take off.”

“I didn’t just run away! I warned you—”

“What about last night? You get mad so you hop out of bed and go running out stark naked!”

“I came back.”

“You had to,” Derek acknowledged bitterly. Cutting the engine with a flick of his wrist, he nimbly brushed past her to the aft of the
Storm Haven
and cast the anchor overboard with a whistling swing. If the situation were not so tense, Leigh would have laughed. Henry VIII balancing perfectly by the jinny mast of a twentieth-century yacht.

He turned to stare at her, his form tall and proud against the violet-streaked sky of the dying day. “Get into the cabin and sit,” he ordered her curtly. “You wanted to talk—we’ll talk. But you’re going to get to hear why I didn’t want to listen to your version of anything that happened.”

“My version!” Leigh exclaimed.

“Go on down!” Derek demanded. “I’ll be right there. Oh—and make yourself useful. There’s wine in the refrigerator; you should find it easily. It’s a small galley.”

Squaring her jaw and clutching her long skirts around her, Leigh carefully climbed the wooden ladder down to the cabin. It was dark, but by groping along the wall she found a switch that gently illuminated the galley and adjoining dining room-den. The sailboat, Leigh decided, fitted her captain well. The galley was compact but complete down to a dishwasher; the den area simple but tastefully elegant, pleasingly paneled in a dark wood and decorated with silver gray drapes and matching seat covers. Stooping to reach into the waist-high refrigerator, Leigh found that it had been stocked with more than wine. Carefully shelved were rows of meats, cheeses, fruits, and various other staples. Derek, it seemed, was prepared for a long voyage.

The sound of his feet upon the ladder informed her that he had joined her just as she finished pouring the wine into the chilled glasses she had found beside it. Ignoring her, he drew the drapes to allow a cooling sea breeze to waft into the cabin while he impatiently began to jerk pieces of the Henry VIII costume from his body until he was down to the tight form-fitting pants and the knee-high boots. As he strode back to Leigh, she could read the tension in his face and sense the extent of his anger from the tautness of the muscles that bunched across his back.

“What the hell are
you
mad about?” she demanded crossly. “I’m the one who has been abducted!”

Derek picked up both wineglasses and set them at the mahogany table that flanked the starboard side. Reaching into a cabinet, he extracted an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes. Sliding into the seat, he motioned her next to him. “Sit down. Start talking. I’m listening.”

Nervously, Leigh took the seat he indicated. She took a swallow of her wine and accepted a light for a cigarette, growing increasingly uneasy beneath the relentless intensity of his dark glower. “Go on,” he prompted.