Karen Robards - Desire in the Sun

"I'd prefer to wait for you, if I may. As your young friend pointed out, the party is for close friends and neighbors, and I fear I am neither. I confess to feeling a trifle shy. Perhaps your uncle has a room that's not in use tonight where I can wait without disturbing anyone?"

He was about as shy as a barracuda, Lilah guessed as she led the way along the passage to the house, but she was pleased that he wished to wait for her, however nonsensical his excuse. Beulah and Boot followed them. Lilah stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the house.

"My uncle's office should be empty. But you should really go on in and eat something. You said you missed supper."

"Your uncle's office will do just fine. And I'd much rather miss supper than you."

It was a pretty compliment, prettily given. She smiled at him.

"All right then. Boot, take Mr. San Pietro to Uncle George's office and see that he gets something to eat."

"Yes'm, Miss Lilah."

Lilah climbed the steps as she spoke, pausing on the small back porch. Jocelyn San Pietro came up the steps behind her and stopped at her side. She realized that the light from the open door was spilling over her face and hoped that whatever damage had been done did not render it too unsightly. Apparently not, because his eyes were glinting with approval as they met hers.

"Better let me put somethin' on that scratch, honey, so it won' scar," Beulah said as she tried to herd Lilah into the house.

"Don't worry, it's barely visible now. It won't scar," Jocelyn San Pietro said, running a casual finger over the soft skin of her injured cheek. Lilah felt that touch with every fiber of her being. Eyes widening, she stared up into the lean dark face that was so dizzyingly close. The light that revealed her shortcomings showed his as well. Except to her eyes he had none. He had a broad forehead, high cheekbones, a square jaw. His nose was straight and not overiong. His mustache framed a wide, well-cut mouth. His features were hard and masculine, intelligent and compelling. When combined with the extraordinary emerald eyes and that rakish grin, he was handsome enough to make her go weak at the knees. He must realize the effect he was having on her…

"Chile… "

"It's all right, Beulah, I'll get Betsy to take care of it in a few minutes. Boot, you take good care of Mr. San Pietro, you hear?" Then she looked up at him again. "I won't be long," she promised softly. Without waiting for an answer, she picked up her skirts and went into the house.

"Betsy! Betsy!" Lilah called for her maid even as she hurried through her bedroom door. Of course Betsy was not in the room. Why should she be? She would not be expecting her mistress to come to bed for hours yet. Lilah tugged on the bellpull impatiently. She wanted to get back downstairs as quickly as possible. Jocelyn San Pietro was the most attractive man she had ever met, and she didn't mean to keep him waiting any longer than she could help. The refrain "Too good to be true, too good to be true…" kept running through her head.

"What you doin' upstairs so early, Miss-Miss Lilah! What happened?" Betsy came into the room almost at a run, then stopped short just inside the door to stare at her mistress. Betsy was a slender girl with skin the color of coffee mixed liberally with cream. Her aureole of dark hair-which she wore loose at Heart's Ease but which Amanda Barton had decreed must be concealed by a kerchief like those other housemaids wore while at Boxhill-had a reddish tinge. She was very pretty, and was Lilah's friend as well as her personal maid. Betsy was two years older, and had been Lilah's playmate from birth. Lilah's father had officially given the girl to Lilah for her eighth birthday, and Betsy had been her maid and confidante ever since.

"I fell off the verandah," Lilah answered impatiently, as she had to Beulah. The story was too long and involved to go into. "I'm going back downstairs again, so I'll need something else to wear. But first get me out of this dress."

"Yes, Miss Lilah."

Betsy closed the door behind her, then crossed the high-ceilinged room with its elaborate rice-carved bed to unbutton the back of Lilah's dress. Lilah had already untied the sash, and in just a matter of moments Betsy was lifting the dress over her head.

"I don't think it can be mended," Betsy said doubtfully, examining the ruined silk.

"Oh, it doesn't matter." Lilah, clad in petticoat, chemise, and stays, her slippered feet practically soundless on the polished wood floor, crossed to the mahogany wardrobe between the two tall windows and threw open the doors. "Come here, Betsy, and help me pick. Something ravishing!"

Betsy looked at her mistress with a quizzical expression. "You sickening for something? I’ve never known you to worry about being 'ravishing' before."

Lilah smiled tantalizingly, but said nothing.

"It's a man, isn't it? The man? Oh, Lord-a-mercy, it's him at last! You can tell me, Miss Lilah, and you know I won't breathe a word to a soul! Why, I tell you about all my men! And you never tell me a word about yours!"

" 'Cause there's nothing to tell, that's why, and you know it. What about this blue dimity?" She held the dress out and inspected it with a critical eye. "No, blue doesn't show up well at night." She dropped it onto the floor without a second thought and turned back to rummage through the wardrobe again.

"What about the silver faille?" Betsy suggested, reaching around Lilah to find and remove the dress in question. Both girls stared at it with the eyes of connoisseurs.

"It'll do," Lilah decided with a nod, turning away from the wardrobe to cross to the dressing table, where she leaned down to examine her face. "I'll need fresh underclothes, too. Oh, my, I'm a mess!"

As she had feared, her elegant knot was barely anchored over one ear, and the cunning little curls had deteriorated into silvery wisps around her face. A smudge of dirt was on her forehead, and a long scratch marred the creamy skin of one cheek.

"I look dreadful!" she said, appalled.

"No, you don't. You couldn't look dreadful if you tried," Betsy replied placidly, placing the fresh underclothes with the dress on the bed. "You just wash your face, and we'll have you looking good as new in half an hour."

"Half an hour!" Lilah almost wailed, bending over the washstand to splash water on her face. The cold water stung the scratch, but she didn't mind that. She just wanted to hurry downstairs.

"It must be him," Betsy concluded with a chuckle. "I knew Cupid would get you with his arrow one day, Miss Lilah. And from the look of you, you've been hit real bad."

"Don't be silly, Betsy. I told you I fell off the verandah, and I did. Anyway, I've just met the gentleman. I… like him, that's all."

"Honey, you like butter on your biscuits. What a girl feels for a certain particular gentleman isn't called like. It's called love."

Betsy began to untie the tapes of Lilah's stays as she spoke. When they were released, Lilah took a deep breath, the action as automatic as washing her face. She'd been wearing stays for years, and she'd grown accustomed to their strict confinement. Still, it was nice to breathe freely when she could. Next Betsy loosened the ribbons on her petticoat, and lifted the chemise over her head. In minutes Lilah was as naked as a babe, and

Betsy was dressing her again from the skin out. The silver faille dress would be left until last, after Betsy had done her hair, so that it wouldn't wrinkle.

"I bet he's handsome," Betsy observed as she pulled the pins from Lilah's hair. Lilah, seated in front of her dressing table, leaned toward the mirror to examine the scratch on her cheek as the silver-blonde strands fell in a shining mass around her face. Her hair reached down past her hips, and although it had to be coaxed to curl with curl papers it was wonderfully thick and shiny.