growing commotion at the entryway as more and more guests arrived.
“I am frequently a visitor here,” Robert Trent was saying, “yet I had no idea that we might expect a newcomer this evening.”
“I just arrived this afternoon on Jarrett’s ship,” she told him.
“Are you staying with us long?”
“I … I’m not sure.” He waited patiently with a pleasant smile for her to continue. “My father—my stepfather—is with the army. He summoned me to join him, but apparently he became embroiled in some action when he was to have come for me. I am to receive an army escort from here to join him.”
“Who is he? For the vast distances you will find here, it can be a curiously small world.” She hesitated. “Michael Warren.”
“Warren!” Robert gasped. Then, very quickly, he tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry—”
“So am I!” she admitted softly. Even as she spoke, she heard musicians from the center hallway tuning their instruments. Guests had wandered into the parlor. A waltz was struck, and Robert bowed very deeply to her again.
“Shall we?”
“Indeed, thank you.”
He swept her out to the floor. Just moments ago she had been alone in the parlor with the strangely intriguing James McKenzie; now the dance floor was filled with swirling couples.
“Warren!” Robert repeated softly. “A monster, I know.”
“Well, thank God! I’d feared to hurt your feelings by betraying what ill will I bear the man. Yet I must say, I cannot imagine him as the father of any creature so exquisite and refined!”
Teela smiled. His compliments were bold, but sweetly spoken, apparently sincere. “Thank you,” she told him. “He’s my stepfather.”
“Still, a crime.”
She was smiling again, enjoying the exhilaration ofbeing swept around the floor. It had been a long time since she had been at anything remotely resembling a party, a very long time since she had had her ego stroked by such kind words. Robert Trent was charming. And handsome. And she was enjoying his company very much.
Yet suddenly she was no longer spinning. Robert had stopped at a tap upon his shoulder.
James McKenzie was there again, eyes burning their blue fire as he spoke politely to Robert. “May I cut in, sir?”
“Indeed,” Robert said with a sigh. “Alas, such is life! I cannot sweep you away for the evening!”
He released his hold on her. Teela found herself swirling across the floor once again, guided by the commanding touch of the striking half-breed.
He was an excellent dancer. Lithe, graceful, skillful. She might have floated on air. She was painfully aware of his touch, of his gaze upon her. Curious, intrigued, and still, after all, seemingly touched with a hint of contempt. Because she was white? Because she had suffered his improprieties without slapping his face?
“Is it just me? Or all white women?” she found herself asking.
She was startled by his rueful smile. He hadn’t expected the question.
“All white women,” he assured her.
“I’m so glad.”
“But then … you especially.”
“Then why are you dancing with me?”
“I’m still after your hair.”
“But you wouldn’t take a scalp in your brother’s house.”
“Perhaps I’ve no interest in removing it from your head.”
“Just what is your interest?”
“I’m not quite sure…” he murmured, his voice strange. “Indeed, I’m not just exactly sure myself.”
The music stopped suddenly. They remained before each other, staring at one another.
Then Teela heard her name called. “Miss Warren! Ah, there you are!”
It was her host. Jarrett McKenzie, moving through the now crowded dance floor, coming nearer and nearer.
“James! Ah, well, I see you’ve met our guest.”
James stared at his brother. “The, er, child to whom Tara referred?” he asked, his question for his brother, his eyes still on Teela.
“She was a bit older than we expected.”
“You just called her Miss Warren.”
There was a deadly chill
“I am frequently a visitor here,” Robert Trent was saying, “yet I had no idea that we might expect a newcomer this evening.”
“I just arrived this afternoon on Jarrett’s ship,” she told him.
“Are you staying with us long?”
“I … I’m not sure.” He waited patiently with a pleasant smile for her to continue. “My father—my stepfather—is with the army. He summoned me to join him, but apparently he became embroiled in some action when he was to have come for me. I am to receive an army escort from here to join him.”
“Who is he? For the vast distances you will find here, it can be a curiously small world.” She hesitated. “Michael Warren.”
“Warren!” Robert gasped. Then, very quickly, he tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry—”
“So am I!” she admitted softly. Even as she spoke, she heard musicians from the center hallway tuning their instruments. Guests had wandered into the parlor. A waltz was struck, and Robert bowed very deeply to her again.
“Shall we?”
“Indeed, thank you.”
He swept her out to the floor. Just moments ago she had been alone in the parlor with the strangely intriguing James McKenzie; now the dance floor was filled with swirling couples.
“Warren!” Robert repeated softly. “A monster, I know.”
“Well, thank God! I’d feared to hurt your feelings by betraying what ill will I bear the man. Yet I must say, I cannot imagine him as the father of any creature so exquisite and refined!”
Teela smiled. His compliments were bold, but sweetly spoken, apparently sincere. “Thank you,” she told him. “He’s my stepfather.”
“Still, a crime.”
She was smiling again, enjoying the exhilaration ofbeing swept around the floor. It had been a long time since she had been at anything remotely resembling a party, a very long time since she had had her ego stroked by such kind words. Robert Trent was charming. And handsome. And she was enjoying his company very much.
Yet suddenly she was no longer spinning. Robert had stopped at a tap upon his shoulder.
James McKenzie was there again, eyes burning their blue fire as he spoke politely to Robert. “May I cut in, sir?”
“Indeed,” Robert said with a sigh. “Alas, such is life! I cannot sweep you away for the evening!”
He released his hold on her. Teela found herself swirling across the floor once again, guided by the commanding touch of the striking half-breed.
He was an excellent dancer. Lithe, graceful, skillful. She might have floated on air. She was painfully aware of his touch, of his gaze upon her. Curious, intrigued, and still, after all, seemingly touched with a hint of contempt. Because she was white? Because she had suffered his improprieties without slapping his face?
“Is it just me? Or all white women?” she found herself asking.
She was startled by his rueful smile. He hadn’t expected the question.
“All white women,” he assured her.
“I’m so glad.”
“But then … you especially.”
“Then why are you dancing with me?”
“I’m still after your hair.”
“But you wouldn’t take a scalp in your brother’s house.”
“Perhaps I’ve no interest in removing it from your head.”
“Just what is your interest?”
“I’m not quite sure…” he murmured, his voice strange. “Indeed, I’m not just exactly sure myself.”
The music stopped suddenly. They remained before each other, staring at one another.
Then Teela heard her name called. “Miss Warren! Ah, there you are!”
It was her host. Jarrett McKenzie, moving through the now crowded dance floor, coming nearer and nearer.
“James! Ah, well, I see you’ve met our guest.”
James stared at his brother. “The, er, child to whom Tara referred?” he asked, his question for his brother, his eyes still on Teela.
“She was a bit older than we expected.”
“You just called her Miss Warren.”
There was a deadly chill
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