Karen Robards: Desire in the Sun

"I don't want to talk about him, Betsy! Do you think I'll have a scar?"

Betsy shook her head as she brushed out the shining strands. "From that little scratch? I can cover that right up with a little rice powder. No one will hardly know it's there."

Lilah watched in the mirror as Betsy twisted her hair up into an elegant coil at the back of her head. The little curls that had framed her face so charmingly earlier that evening were irredeemably lost for the night. Her hair was as naturally straight as a poker. But the effect of this more severe hairstyle was just as pleasing, she decided, surveying her reflection from first one angle and then another. The cool upsweep of silvery hair enhanced the high-cheekboned beauty of her face, showing off her shell-like ears and the delicate lines of her features. Except for the angles created by her cheekbones and a certain pointiness to her chin, her face was a perfect oval. Her eyes were large with the faintest tilt at the corners, their soft gray-blue enhanced by the thick black sweep of her lashes (which, if the truth were told, Betsy usually darkened with the end of a burned stick). Her nose was straight and finely shaped, and her lips were full and soft yet delicately made. All in all she was quite happy with the face looking back at her-except for die scratch. She hoped Betsy was right about the rice powder.

The silver faille dress was similar in style to the one she had discarded. Lilah stood before the mirror as Betsy pulled the dress over her head, then buttoned up the back. The long satin sash that passed just beneath her breasts to tie in a bow in the back was of a silver just a shade paler than the dress. The gown was styled in the fashion of the French empire that was so popular, with short puffed sleeves, scooped-out neck and high waist. The skirt was slim and devoid of ornamentation of any kind. It was a simple yet stylish costume that depended for its impact on the beauty of its wearer's figure. On Lilah, with her slender waist and hips and high, full breasts, it was breathtaking. Betsy smiled as she surveyed her mistress in the mirror.

"He's gonna think he died and gone to heaven," she said with satisfaction, reaching for the box of rice powder.

"I told you…" Lilah began severely, only to be interrupted by the hare's foot whisking over her face and returning to pass more carefully over her cheek.

"I know what you tole me. I also know what I know."

There was no point in arguing with Betsy, Lilah knew. The maid was exactly as subservient as she wanted to be, and no more. Lilah took one last look at herself in the mirror as Betsy clasped a single strand of pearls around her neck, and then she was ready.

"Oh, Betsy," she said, as butterflies suddenly started to do cartwheels in the pit of her stomach. "I-I think I'm nervous."

"It takes us all like that sometimes, Miss Lilah. You're just later getting to it than most."

"I am, aren't I? Well, I must go." Taking a deep breath, amazed at the quivering anticipation that made her feel as if she were, in truth, sickening for something-she was normally the most serene person in the world-she went back downstairs.

Lilah still felt absurdly nervous as she walked along the narrow back hall to the out-of-the-way room that her Uncle George used as his office. The door was shut. She hesitated for a moment, then she tapped softly and waited for an answer. When she didn't hear anything, she opened the door and stepped inside. For a moment she feared that he wasn't there. Disappointment struck her like a blow. Her eyes swept the candle-lit room with its cluttered bookcases and leather-topped desk. The remains of a meal were on the desk, but Jocelyn San Pietro was nowhere to be seen. Then she saw him as he got to his feet from a deep wing chair, and she felt a rush of relief.

"I didn't think it would be possible for a woman to look any lovelier than you did earlier. I see I was wrong." He smiled slowly at her. Lilah returned his smile, feeling the magic spark the air between them again. She hadn't imagined it, it wasn't too good to be true. There was an attraction between them so strong that it drew her toward him like a magnetic force.

"You're very good with compliments, Mr. San Pietro. It almost makes me think that you've had a great deal of practice handing them out." She held on to the knob of the open door to resist the urge to walk toward him. His smile broadened. He had shed his driving coat.

The black swallowtail coat he wore clung to his broad shoulders and followed the line of his body down to his narrow waist. The knit breeches revealed slim hips, a flat belly, and long, muscular thighs. Lilah caught herself looking at him in a way she had no business doing. A blush stained her cheeks, and she jerked her eyes back up to his face again, hoping that her expression was not as self-conscious as it felt.

"Can it be that you are accusing me of being a flirt, Miss Remy?" The easy banter was all on the surface. The real conversation was silent, and was conducted by their eyes.

"I fear it may be so." Her voice was faintly breathless, despite her best intentions.

He shook his head and came toward her, his walk as lithe as an Indian's. "I never flirt. I'm much too direct for that. If I see something I want, I do my best to get it."

He stopped when he was very close to her, and stood looking down into her face. Lilah felt her pulse quicken at the obvious implication: he had seen her, wanted her, and would try his best to get her. She looked up at him, up at that dark handsome face bent toward hers, and had to fight the urge to sway toward him. He was tall and strong and handsome, and she was shocked at the sudden longing she felt to have him take her in his arms.

"We-should go join the others. My great-aunt will be wondering where I am." That urge to be held by him unnerved her. She had never expected to feel such a thing with a man. Certainly she never had before. Ladies were supposed to be immune to that. Being alone with him was intoxicating, and being intoxicated with him could be dangerous.

"Perhaps we should forgo joining the others."

"Oh, I can't."

"Why not?"

"It-it wouldn't be proper. Besides…"

"I have to be on a ship that leaves Washington harbor at dawn the day after tomorrow. I'd like to get to know you better, and if we're surrounded by dozens of people I won't be able to. I know that your relatives won't like the idea of you being alone with a man you barely know, but I can assure you that you've no reason to fear me. Whatever else I may be, I'm a gentleman-or at least I promise to be with you."

"I know that," she answered, surprised because she did. Being afraid of him hadn't even occurred to her. He was wildly attractive, with those predatory eyes and that gleaming smile, but she'd sensed from the first that he'd never hurt her. As he'd said, he was a gentleman- at least with her.

"Well then?"

She hesitated. The idea of spending the rest of the evening with him alone was dazzling. Her aunt would scold for days; the assembled guests would gossip for weeks. But she suddenly found that she didn't care. She gave him a glimmering smile.

"I suppose I could show you the rose garden."

"I've always had an intense interest in horticulture."

"All right then." She smiled at him again, feeling suddenly very carefree. She would show him the rose garden and be hanged to them all if they didn't like it. For once in her life she was going to do what she wanted to do, whether it was the proper thing or not.

"How is it that you are living here at Boxhill with your aunt and uncle? Do your parents live here too?"

"Shhh!" Half laughing, she held a cautioning finger to her lips. They were walking along the back hallway with Lilah in the lead. The sounds of dancing and laughter from the front rooms were faintly muffled, but clear enough so that there was no getting away from the fact that Amanda's party in her honor was still going on. Lilah felt absurdly guilty, like a child sneaking out of a schoolroom. This sensation of illicit freedom was delicious. She felt more alive than she ever had in her life, happier, even daring. Reckless…