Disguised Enchantment Page 2

  "Get out of my face, Marsha!" he growled, angrily pushing her away.

  "Not until you tell me what you're hiding!" she spat back, and delved into the front pockets of his leather pants. Instantly, her hand closed around the card and the tag and she yanked them out before he had time to stop her. "Now what do we have here?" She walked to where a candle sat on the mantel and held them to the glowing light, then promptly burst into uproarious laughter. "A fake business card and a name tag ... Wait, wait! Don't tell me," she continued to cackle as the Marquis angrily approached her. "This ... this Shannon from the Tapestry Boutique..." she glanced back at the tag, "...had this card claiming the Chateau was a dating service, so she came here and had a run-in with you!"

  "It's not funny," he snarled, snatching the small mementos of Shannon's presence from her fingertips. "The poor girl was nearly scared out of her wits."

  "Good for her," Marsha quipped haughtily. "We don't need troublesome little chits like her coming here."

  The Marquis stuffed the card and tag back into his pocket and promptly presented her with his back. Marsha watched curiously as he sauntered back to the window and gazed down at the lot below. She had never seen him so affected by a client before and the distinct possibility that he had become emotionally attached to this girl put a dent in her indomitable ego. He belonged to her, body and soul, and she wasn't about to let some angel-faced waif steal his heart.

  "My God, you're really upset about this!" She flounced across the room and grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face her.

  "Damn it, Marsha! Of course I'm upset! She was just an innocent victim in someone's cruel idea of a joke, and I feel sorry for her. Sorry for a lot of things," his voice trailed off wearily.

  "Nonsense!" Marsha scoffed, tossing her mane of hair. "Forget her. She's a nobody and you'll never see her again. Besides," she tugged loose the tie of her overcoat revealing her voluptuous naked body underneath, "she certainly couldn't appreciate your, how shall I say ... well-endowed attributes ... the same way I do." Lying back on the bed, she crooked her index finger at him. "Come here, big boy," she licked her lips wantonly. "It's high time you earned your keep."

  CHAPTER TWO

  The persistent ringing of the alarm clock permeated the depths of Shannon's slumber, stirring her idled senses to semi-wakefulness. Groping for the offending object on the table beside her bed, she finally silenced its ear-splitting clamor and with a loud groan, opened her eyes. She had spent a fitful night tossing and turning, haunted by a black-masked demon who pursued her relentlessly and ravished her over and over. It was near dawn when she finally closed her eyes in sheer exhaustion and now, much too soon, she had to get up and begin another day. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she started to get out of bed, but quickly discovered that every muscle in her body was stiff and sore, and in a flash all the details of the night before came crashing into her mind.

  She remembered going to the Chateau and her frightening encounter with the Marquis. She remembered, too, how struggling with his hard, unyielding body left her utterly fatigued, yet his lips seemed to ignite a strange, undeniable desire in her that she found strangely appealing. Mostly though, she remembered admonishing herself for going to the Chateau in the first place and getting into a situation that could only be chalked up as one of life's hard-learned lessons.

  With a dispirited sigh, she gingerly pushed herself out of bed and hobbled over to her vanity. Tears welled in her eyes as she stood staring in horror at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was a ghastly mess. Deep purple circles from the lack of sleep rimmed her eyes, intensifying an ugly bruise on her cheekbone that spread outward into the right side of her face, and her lips were puffy and extremely red from the Marquis' many impassioned kisses. God, how she wished it wasn't her Saturday to work and she could crawl back beneath the covers of her bed and die.

  * * * *

  It was nearly an hour and a half later when Shannon scurried through the stock room entrance of the Tapestry Boutique. Donna, who was preparing merchandise for that day's business, eyed her maliciously as she rushed into the brightly lit shop. "Well it's about time! I'd just about given up on you."

  "I know I'm late," Shannon gushed, trying to catch her breath, "but..."

  "My God! What happened to your face?" Donna exclaimed cutting her off in mid-sentence.

  Shannon groaned inwardly through gritted teeth. Apparently, the extra time she'd taken to apply her makeup in an effort to cover the bruise had been in vain. "Oh, that," she laughed nervously. "I-I was putting away the dishes after dinner last night and must have put one of the heavier plates in the cupboard improperly because it fell out and clobbered me."

  The truth was she knew Donna not only disliked her but was terribly jealous of her designing abilities, and Shannon suspected that Donna had purposely subjected her to the Chateau and one of its infamous residents in the hope of sending her running back to Virginia. But it wasn't going to happen. She wasn't about to give Donna the satisfaction of knowing she'd been stupid enough to fall for her "business card" trick.

  The morning hours of the day passed slowly for Shannon as few customers visited the shop. She found herself flitting from one small task to another just to keep busy. Finally, she pulled out her own project, an elaborate rose and butterfly sampler she had designed and hoped to one day sell to a needlecraft manufacturer, and set to stitching. The very act of laying down the small cross-stitches, one after another in a glorious array of color, was immensely satisfying. She could spend hours lost in a world of floss and fantasy while her mind was filled with a sense of well-being and tranquility.

  It was from this serene place that she was abruptly seized by the sound of a polite, male voice speaking above her. Jerking her head up, her eyes came to rest on a ruggedly handsome face grinning down at her. "I-I'm sorry," Shannon stammered, blushing profusely. "I-I was concentrating so hard I didn't hear you. C-Can I help you with something?"

  "I certainly hope so," he laughed. "I need a birthday gift for my sister and I don't have the slightest idea what to get."

  Shannon rose from her chair, ever mindful of his masculine presence beside her. He was at least half a foot taller than she, with a powerful, stocky build carefully packaged in a blue plaid shirt and snug-fitting blue jeans. His rough-hewn features were framed with long, shaggy locks of chestnut colored hair that tumbled to dark, thickly etched brows above piercing blue eyes. A well-formed, slightly wide nose and full, sensual lips that readily curved into an impish, dimpled grin accentuated his high cheekbones and firm angular jaw. He had an air of self-confidence about him that bordered on arrogance, and the potent sexuality he exuded was quite disconcerting.

  Struggling to maintain her composure, she stepped toward the yarn goods section located at the far side of the shop. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Donna's animated expression and flapping arms, but chose to ignore her, focusing instead on her brawny customer.

  "Do know what she likes to do? Perhaps working with yarn--like crocheting or knitting..."

  "Ah ... what was that you were doing?" he asked capriciously.

  "You mean counted cross-stitch?"

  "Yeah, that's it! That's exactly what she likes," he professed. "Maybe I could buy her the same thing you were working on."

  "Don't I wish," Shannon frowned. "I'm sorry," she glanced up at him, "that particular piece is my own design and, unfortunately, isn't for sale."

  "I see," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he followed her across the room to the cross-stitch section. "Could you pick something out for me then?"

  "Of course," she smiled. "How about this?" She handed him a brightly colored pattern leaflet depicting a small Victorian teapot filled with assorted flowers. "This is one of our newest charts. I could assemble the material and floss for you and put everything together in a box. It would make a lovely gift."

  "Yes, it certainly is," he sighed wistfully.

  Puzzled by his odd reply, she looked up and disc
overed his gaze was fixed on her and not the leaflet.

  His twinkling eyes held hers with a fervent look that almost curled her toes, and then slowly narrowed in concern. "Looks like you went a few rounds with George Foreman there." Gently, he brushed the bruise on her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Shannon eased back from his touch. "Just a little accident," she muttered, and then quickly pointed to the chart he still held in his hand. "Have you decided on that?"

  "Oh, yes, this will do nicely," he nodded, giving it back to her.

  She smiled at him approvingly, and then scurried off to collect the materials for the needlework. A few moments later, she brought them to the cash register where he awaited her.

  "Thanks for all your help," he smiled as he took some cash from his wallet. "I'm sure my sister will be delighted with this."

  Shyly she returned his smile. "You're very welcome ... and I hope she has many enjoyable hours working on it."

  He held her gaze briefly, and then lifted the package from the counter top. "You have a nice day now," he winked, and disappeared into the crowded mall corridor.

  As soon as he was gone, Donna came rushing over to her agog with excitement. "I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" she shrieked, jumping up and down, her blonde, corkscrew curls bouncing about her long, thin face.

  Shannon rolled her eyes in disgust as she closed the register drawer. "What don't you believe, Donna?"

  Donna halted her ranting and stared at Shannon in utter astonishment. "You mean you don't know who that was?"

  "No, should I?" Shannon quipped sarcastically.

  "My God, girl! Don't you ever watch TV? That was Ben Tate! He plays Trevor on that nighttime soap, 'Seaside Paradise'!"

  Shannon shook her head. "I spend most of my evenings working on the computer designing or stitching. I'm afraid I've never seen it."

  "Oh, you don't know what you're missing," Donna crooned. "He's such a hunk and sooo sexy. Don't you think?"

  "Frankly, I wasn't paying much attention to how he looked. I was more interested in helping him find something for his sister."

  "His sister!" Donna made a face. "Is that why he came in here?"

  Shannon glanced over her shoulder at Donna's baffled expression. "Well, yes. He was looking for something to give her for her birthday. What's so strange about that?"

  "Nothing, I suppose. I just thought maybe there was a more exciting reason for him showing up here. Like asking you for a date."

  "Hardly," Shannon laughed. "I'm definitely not part of the Hollywood crowd. Why would he be interested in me?"

  "Well, someone sure is," Donna huffed. With a look of unmistakable envy in her eyes, she whipped out a long-stemmed white rose surrounded with small, pink flowers wrapped in green tissue paper from where she'd concealed it behind her back.

  "Where did that come from?" Shannon gasped, taking the floret from Donna's hand.

  "Beats me. A delivery boy brought it in while you were helping Mr. Gorgeous. Guess you must have a secret admirer--or something..."

  Shannon ignored Donna's blatant attempt to get a rise out of her and glanced back at the flowers where she noticed a card nestled among the pink blooms in the green wrapping. Carefully removing it, she flipped it open and read the neatly printed message inside:

  In the language of flowers,

  the white rose means I am

  worthy of you. Please come

  back and let me prove it.

  Dinner tonight? About seven?

  Yours,

  The Marquis

  Shannon's mouth fell open and her face turned a ghostly white. Receiving flowers from the Marquis was certainly the last thing she expected--let alone an invitation to return to the erotic world he lived in. How dare he harass her like this! How dare he! Rife with anger, she tore the card to bits and stuffed the pieces into the pocket of her slacks, and then twisting the delicate petals from their stems, she promptly deposited the bouquet in the nearest trashcan.

  Donna, who had been watching her with intense curiosity, shrieked in horror at her action. "My, God! What did you do that for? That rose was beautiful! Someone went to a great deal of trouble to make sure you received it."

  "I don't care!" Shannon spat, marching off toward her worktable.

  Donna hurried after her. "Why? Who was it from?"

  Shannon spun around and glared at Donna, her eyes fairly smoldering with ire. "None of your business! Now drop it and let me alone!"

  "Okay! Okay!" Donna threw up her hands in frustration. "I won't bother you anymore. But I assume whoever sent you that rose doesn't meet with your approval either..."

  Shannon responded to Donna's flippant remark with an indignant glower before flopping down on her chair. She tried to resume her stitching but all she could think about was the Marquis and his damn rose. Did he really believe she would gladly accept his invitation to spend another evening partaking of his brand of fun? Or was it simply meant to be a mockery of her naïveté? Either way, she had no intention of going back to the Chateau, no matter how romantic his request.

  By the time Shannon left work at six, she was wound tighter than an eight-day clock. The events of the afternoon had frazzled her nerves and her head thumped with a dull ache. She planned to stop at a local supermarket for a few groceries, then go straight home, make herself a cup of soothing mint tea, take a long, hot bath, fall into bed, and sleep well into Sunday morning. Neither the Marquis nor his presumptuous invitation was going to rob her of her rest tonight. As far as she was concerned, they didn't exist and she intended to keep it that way.

  When she came out of the market, the evening sky was leaden-gray and threatening. A spattering of raindrops danced upon her windshield as she set her purchases on the front seat of the car and climbed inside. Quickly firing up the old junker, she headed for home. As she pulled into the driveway beside her little white stucco house in the San Fernando Valley, the rain was beginning to come down harder. Glancing skyward, she grabbed the bag of groceries from the car and hurried up the flagstone walk to the back entrance. She fumbled momentarily with her keys before finding the correct one for the lock, and then let herself inside.

  The kitchen was dark, except for a small, orange night-light she kept plugged into the wall receptacle above the counter top near the stove. Its pale glow lent an eerie feel to the room and for an instant she thought she heard footsteps behind her.

  "Who's there?" she called out in a trembling voice as she slid the grocery bag onto the counter top.

  No one answered but the footsteps came again, and this time they were louder and much closer. Fear surged through Shannon like a wind driven wildfire, and a scream rose in her throat. Suddenly, a large masculine hand clamped firmly over her mouth and hauled her back against an equally large chest suffocating any further sound that might have risen from her. Twisting sideways, she tried to free herself from the intruder's ironclad grip, but he only squeezed harder, pressing her securely against his stalwart body as he lifted her up so her feet no longer touched the floor, and carted her across the kitchen to the door.

  Outside the rain was falling steadily, yet it did not deter him. He continued holding her tight against him as he carried her down the walk and across the back lawn to an alley where a large, black sedan was parked. Throwing open the rear door, he started to place her inside on the seat, but the toe of her shoe caught on the floor mat, sending her sprawling onto its leather surface instead. Her dignity assailed, she quickly righted herself and smoothed her damp clothing, then recoiled in horror when she saw the Marquis slide into the seat beside her.

  "You!" she seethed. "How dare you kidnap me from my own home?"

  "I do believe we had a date." His voice was decidedly smug, enhancing the evil glimmer in his eyes.

  "Why? So you can finish what you started last night?"

  The Marquis studied her trembling figure as she sat huddled against the door on the other side of the car. "Only if that is what you want," he replied dryly, the
n promptly tapped on the darkly tinted glass partitioning them from an unseen driver, signaling him to start the car.

  The large vehicle moved off into the night, allowing the Marquis to settle back in his seat and focus his attention on Shannon. She could feel his eyes on her, but she certainly wasn't going to return his gaze. She sat with her head bent so that her hair fell over her face, hiding the tears that silently streamed down her cheeks. The headache she'd developed at work was now pounding at her temples with the force of a sledgehammer and the motion of the car was making her nauseous.

  As soon as they arrived at the Chateau, the black sedan proceeded to the rear of the mansion and pulled into an underground garage. The Marquis assisted Shannon from the car and promptly escorted her to a waiting elevator that carried them to the second floor. Shannon's legs felt like rubber bands as he led her from the concealed lift and down the hallway toward his chamber. She hesitated momentarily to merely recapture her strength, but the Marquis, believing she was trying to resist him, abruptly stopped and scooped her up in his arms. The feel of his body against her reignited the fear she held of him, but she was too ill to fight him and let him carry her inside.

  The interior of the dungeon-like entry room was dark as they passed through it, making Shannon's skin crawl at the thought of its possible significance. The Marquis, sensing her discomfort, quickened his pace and hurried into the drawing room section of his chamber where he sat her down on an oyster-white settee. Shannon raised her head and gazed at the room's splendid furnishings. Like the parlor downstairs and the Marquis' bedchamber, candles provided the only light. She remembered the room from the night before when she raced through it, but its details were nothing more than a blur in her mind. Silently, her eyes traveled over the mustard flocked, cream-colored walls, darker-hued velvet draperies at the windows, and the beautiful cream and gold Aubusson carpet covering the floor before settling on the small, delicately carved mahogany dining table in the center of the room. Several tall white tapers illuminated two place settings of fine crystal and china dishware. A bouquet of white roses similar to the one she received at the Boutique adorned the center place. On either side of the table stood a cane-backed Louis XV chair awaiting two dinner guests.