Wolfe's Lady (3 page)

“How old are you? Have you ever taught before?”

“Class, please.” She strove to sound teacher-ly but felt that she fell short of the mark. “I came from the Kansas City area and as far as I know, Mrs. Brennan retired to enjoy her grandchildren more.

The rest is really none of your concern. Let me hand out the class syllabus and go over the basic classroom rules.”

“Aw, gee, Miss Raines, it’s just the first day.” A freckle faced boy in the front row protested. “Let’s get more acquainted.”

“Yeah, let’s get to know each other,” another student chimed in and the noise rose again, spiraling beyond her control.

With her hands on her hips, Stella struggled to call them down but her loudest voice vanished under the torrent of sound.
Great
, she thought,
the first class decides to try out the new teacher and I have
no control over them.
Any minute, Mr. Sanderson would be here and her teaching career would be over before it began.

“Please, class, quiet down!” Stella shouted but nothing changed. Exasperated, angry, and almost ready to cry, she stomped her foot and searched for something to say. Two boys began playing catch with a baseball one of them must have smuggled in their backpack while a girl, whose spaghetti string top failed to meet the student dress code standard, rubbed her sandaled feet against a boy’s cowboy boot.

The classroom door burst open and slammed back hard against the wall, with such force Stella feared it might crack the glass. She expected to see Mr. Sanderson, irate and red-faced, but it was Darien who stood there, arms folded across his chest with a stern expression on his face. His topaz eyes burned like kindled fire and when he opened his mouth, he roared.

“Enough of this nonsense, class! You will be silent and you will sit down. Mr. Brown and Mr. Egan, please hand me the baseball.

Thank you. Miss Garcia, you must report to Mr. Sanderson because your garments fail to meet the moral standards set for dress in this school. I expect every single one of you to show Miss Raines complete courtesy and your full attention. Should my presence again be required, each one of you will serve Saturday detention until Christmas. Is that understood?”

By the time he uttered the last three words, the noise died, faded away, and silence reigned. It was so quiet by the time Darien stopped that Stella could hear the clock on the wall tick and the voice of another teacher lecturing down the hallway. Darien bowed to her, from the waist in a courtly fashion and faced her. He grinned, turning away so no one else could see his expression.

“Carry on, Miss Raines,” he said as he retreated.

After that, the class was a model of manners and decorum.

Stella passed out the syllabus she had slaved over, checked out textbooks to each student, and made her first efforts to match names to faces. By the end of the hour, she was calm and assumed the control she lost so early.

When lunchtime arrived, Stella sighed with relief and pulled out the chair to sit down at the desk for the first time all morning.

Her feet ached and she slipped off the pretty shoes. She pulled her simple lunch bag from the bottom drawer of the now organized, neat desk. She opened her simple sandwich and debated if she wanted to go down to the teachers’ room to buy bottle of iced tea just as Darien strolled into the room, as always, confident and lithe.

“Dear Stella, please put away that plebian food and come with me. No need to hide that concoction that some call tea from me but please leave it here. I have a lovely dinner waiting for us in my classroom.”

Plebian? She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted; her simple lunch must be beneath his standards. Even so, she was curious enough to follow him into his classroom. Every desk was in linear order and the top of his desk was empty save for two plates and a platter of food. Sliced roast beef, thin shaved turkey breast, pastrami slices, assorted cheeses, black olives, green grapes, and strawberries lay in an artistic, appetizing fashion. Stella gaped at the food, delighted with the array.

“Darien, it looks delicious! Where is the bread?”

He laughed and then put a mock frown on his face.

“Surely you would not pollute such fine meats with bread, Stella. There will be no sandwich making here. I prefer meats and the occasional cheese to grains. I thrive on protein.”

Maybe he was on the famous no-carb diet, she thought, although she had never seen a man who seemed not to need a diet more than him. Darien was well made, lean and yet muscular.

“Thank you,” Stella said, as she selected a few slices of meat, some olives, and cheese. The meats were tender, delicious, and just right for the hot, humid day. “It’s a pleasant lunch; all that could make it any better would be champagne.”

Darien grinned. “And we would have that, my lady, if we could but alas, Mr. Sanderson has a policy against alcoholic beverages on school property. How did your morning go after I settled your first class?

“It went very well, actually. I think the word spread that I have your protection.”

His eyes raked over her, with something like hunger as he nodded.

“You do, my dear Stella, in more ways than you know.”

She would have asked him what he meant but the bell rang and she had to hurry back to her classroom for three more classes.

Her planning period was the last hour of the day and she looked forward to it with zeal. Still, she had to face the next class first. With a sigh, she sat down at her desk to find the lesson plan she had prepared. But Stella forgot all about lessons when she saw the gift box on her desk.

It was small, wrapped in silver paper with a bright red bow.

Intrigued, Stella picked it up and gave it a slight shake. Hoping that it wasn’t a prank gift with a live frog inside, she opened it with careful fingers and found the beautiful cameo she had admired in the shop window.

Here in her classroom, the pearls shimmered against the black onyx behind the cameo and she touched it, amazed. No one could have given it to her but Darien but she could not quite figure out how he had placed it on her desk without her notice. With delight, she pinned it onto her blouse and met the next class with a new authority.

It was as if the pin provided her with courage and confidence, because Darien gave it to her. She felt cherished, something she had never known with a man before.

When that last period began, she put her classroom to rights, straightening desks and picking up stray papers. She wanted to thank Darien but she could tell he had class—she could hear his splendid voice down the hallway. So she waited and after the mad rush of students out the doors ended, she walked down to his classroom. He sat at his desk, writing, and did not look up until she spoke.

“Darien, I wanted to thank you for the cameo. It is lovely but you shouldn’t have. I’m sure it cost a great deal.”

He came to his feet with one swift motion and beamed.

“No, no, no. You are most welcome, Stella. It is far too beautiful to languish in a shop window. Do you have plans for this evening? No? Then might I invite you over to see my behemoth of a house?”

Stella could not say no. She wanted to see his house although it was strange he called it a behemoth. That made it sound like it was alive.

“I would love to see your house. I need to change, though.

These shoes are killing my poor feet.”

He moved closer, standing so near that she swore she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her skin. His proximity titillated her and she took another step forward so that they stood so close that if she raised her hand, her fingers would brush against him.

Darien’s eyes met hers and she felt some invisible electrical charge pass between them. He moved and his hand rested against hers, skin-to-skin, warm against it.

“Of course you can change. If you like, I will even banish the bad shoes forever.” Come with me and I’ll drive you by your apartment.” As he spoke, he shifted position so near now that his body heat radiated out toward her in waves. That made her want actual contact.

Stella shifted just enough that their bodies touched, shoulder to hip. His warmth on contact filled her with a rush of desire but she struggled to remain focused on their polite exchange despite their growing physical flirtation.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Darien Wolfe leaned toward her, his lips scant millimeters from hers.

“I want to do it.” His breath, sweet smelling, wafted against her cheek and Stella thought he hinted at far more than giving her a ride home.

“Let’s go, then,” Stella said, stepping back before she drowned with desire or yielded to temptation.

“I’m delighted!” he said, crooking his arm for her to grasp so she did, hoping that Mr. Sanderson might be gone for the day.

He wasn’t. When they sauntered past the principal’s office, Mr. Sanderson exited and almost bumped into them. His eyes scanned them, top to bottom, and he grunted his disapproval but said nothing.

In the parking lot, she tried to guess which of the remaining vehicles might belong to Darien. Stella rejected the pickup truck, the Volkswagen Beetle, and the fire engine red Camaro. That left a vintage sleek black Packard, a silver Corvette, a well-worn, high mileage Chevy, and an El Camino. It had to be the Packard or the Corvette so she was not surprised when he led her to the Packard.

“What do you think of my automobile?” he asked, with a sideways grin.

“I like it. What year is it?”

He opened the door for her. “This is a 1939 Packard.

Everything is restored to the original quality.”

After a brief stop, when she dashed upstairs to change into black denim jeans and a bright scarlet blouse, to slide her aching feet into a pair of huaraches, they headed toward Darien’s home in the Packard.

It was a classic car and a class ride, smooth as sailing on a calm sea. The seats were leather and everything screamed luxury.

The well-tuned engine was almost silent as they drove to the far edge of town, then down a long lane lined on either side by beautiful evergreens. At the end of the drive, Darien pulled up before a huge square house with a native stone chimney on one end. She recognized it immediately as being from the American Craftsman movement, the once popular style that downsized the Victorian Queen Anne to a large but comfortable family home. In recent years, such homes, bungalows and the larger so-called cottages, found a new fan base in urban couples and anyone who appreciated vintage anything. Stella liked their unique touches, so different from the suburban ranch style home where she grew up, where every home on the block was virtually the same.

“That’s a Craftsman home!” Stella gasped with appreciation.

“Oh, Darien, it’s wonderful. I love Craftsman homes. They are such a perfect shift from the larger Victorian styles like the Queen Anne down to a more friendly but still large size. I don’t suppose at the time it was built that anyone realized how famous the whole Craftsman movement would became or how many people would seek them out more than a century later. They have so much more style than the later homes, the ones all built so much the same.”

“I am honored that you like my humble house. It was built in 1906 and you are correct, my dear historian, it is indeed Craftsman although until now, I had no idea just what that meant. It boasts two fireplaces, a book-lined library, a carved walnut grand staircase, a full dining room, front and rear parlors, five bedrooms, a narrow back servant’s stair, full basement, large attic, three full bathrooms and two half baths. It’s far more space than I require but it was a bargain and besides, I like the setting.”

For the first time, Stella realized that the house sat in the midst of thick woods, aged trees with broad trunks that isolated it from the road. Not one neighboring house was visible through the thickets and in addition, the lawn ran wild with forsythia bushes, rose of Sharon trees, evergreens, and even dogwoods. Flowers bloomed everywhere, some in neat, tended beds but others rampant across the lawn. Most were old-fashioned flowers, storybook blossoms like hollyhocks, roses, lilies, and more. The sheer wild beauty of the scene caught her breath for a few moments, and then she turned to Darien with honest enthusiasm.

“This is absolutely lovely, Darien. It is like something out of a storybook or fairy tale. It reminds me of Sleeping Beauty’s castle when the prince found it, a jewel tucked away in a verdant wood.”

Darien offered her his hand, chuckling with pleasure as they mounted the broad stone steps to the wide covered porch that ran the front of the house. There, too, clematis and moonflower vines climbed trellises, adding to the air of privacy.

“You approve; that’s very good,” he said. “Let’s see what you think of the interior.”

He threw open the heavy carved door and let her walk ahead into a huge room with many windows. To her right, a carved staircase ascended, as graceful as an Edwardian lady waltzing would.

A chandelier with multiple prisms sparkled from the very center of the ceiling. Each doorway that led from the room – into a dining room, a hallway, and the library – each had dark walnut trim. Even the furnishings, crushed velvet crimson sofas and chairs, added to the air of mystique and yesteryear.

“Darien, this is amazing. This room is stunning.”

“No. You, my dear, are stunning,” he said. Darien stood beside her and then turned her to face him. Stella’s heart pounded faster as he bent and kissed her, unhurried, his lips burning against hers, warm and soft as melted candle wax. Her body kindled at his caress and she leaned against him, letting the fever that spread over her body consume her. Stella felt his powerful body surge against hers, masculine and vital. His passion, his desire was a living thing between them. When he released her, she almost fell, her legs weak but he caught her.

“Stella, dear heart, you are a delight. Come have a drink with me in the library before I lose my head. Will champagne do?”

Her mouth refused to work so she nodded, trailing in his wake into the library, tucked behind the foot of the stairs. This too was a marvelous room, cozy with a granite fireplace, each block carved with intricate designs, and the walls lined with books. Most appeared to be antique volumes but among them Stella recognized a few more modern works. A small bar stood opposite the hearth and after he pointed her to the black leather loveseat, he brought out two fragile flutes and filled them with Dom Perignon. Darien handed her a flute and raised his glass to touch hers with a soft, ringing sound.