Disguised Enchantment Page 7

  Shannon cleared her throat nervously as a sudden hotness flooded her cheeks. "I-I don't know what to say," she stammered.

  "You don't need to say anything now. I want you to think about it for awhile," he whispered, and briefly squeezed her trembling fingers encircling him.

  For an instant, her hand lingered on him, unaware that he had withdrawn his own until the decadent glimmer in his eyes and the smug, satisfied grin spreading across his unmasked features made her snatch it away in utter mortification.

  "You're more than welcome to stay here and touch me all night," he hinted, still grinning at her embarrassment. Shannon shook her head against the silken pillowcase beneath her. "I-I can't ... I-I mean, I think I'd better go home. I have to be at the Boutique early tomorrow. It's my day to stock shelves..."

  A veil of disappointment momentarily clouded his eyes as he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "I'll give you some privacy to dress then ... just remember..." he traced the contour of her jaw with his index finger, "...if you should ever need me--for anything--don't be afraid to come back to the Chateau. I'm here for you Shannon. Always." Reaching down, he grasped the comforter and drew it over her before quickly retrieving his pants from the floor and disappearing into the bathroom.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By the time Shannon arrived home and readied herself for bed, hardly any physical evidence remained of her rendezvous with the Marquis. The seemingly copious amount of oil he'd lavished all over her body had dried, leaving nothing behind but a fine coating of silky, soft-scented powder. Mentally, though, she was acutely cognizant of every last detail. Surges of tingly excitement coursed through her veins as she lay beneath the covers making sleep impossible. She tossed and turned quivering with delight at each vivid recollection of his tender caresses and his open, easy frankness with her regarding his body. Oh, his body! Her heart raced. He was sooo magnificent, so wondrous and, while she found touching him quite unsettling, she knew it was an experience she would not soon forget. Finally admonishing herself for acting like a schoolgirl who had just come home from her first date, she forced herself to settle down and put aside the once quiescent emotions that now dominated her heart. Even at that, it was hours before her eyes closed in slumber.

  The next morning it was a dreamy-eyed, bemused Shannon who ambled into the Boutique. Weaving her way through the jungle of racks and shelves cluttering the center area of the shop, she proceeded to her workstation determined to concentrate on the day's work ahead of her. Yet even with all her determination, she couldn't keep her thoughts from drifting to the Marquis and the romantic events of the previous evening. They were like cobwebs in an old attic. The more she tried to sweep them away, the more they clung to her, entangling her in a secret web that drew her deeper and deeper into a kind of erotic stupor.

  Donna watched her odd behavior with discerning eyes, and by midmorning could no longer contain her curiosity. Sliding off her stool near the cash register, she tiptoed to the floss cabinet where Shannon stood mechanically restocking the empty drawers. "Are you still asleep or just plain drunk?" she snickered, pointing at the piles of misplaced skeins in the drawer in front of her.

  Frowning to herself, Shannon turned and gaped at her co-worker. "Wha-at?"

  "You've put all those colors in the wrong drawers!" she sputtered, still giggling hysterically.

  Shannon glanced down at the open drawers and scowled in dismay. "I-I guess I wasn't paying attention..."

  "You've got that right!" Donna cracked. "What is wrong with you today, anyway? You're really acting weird."

  "Nothing," Shannon shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just a little preoccupied, that's all."

  "Preoccupied? You're floating around in outer space somewhere! In fact," she squinted sagaciously at the wistful look in Shannon's eyes, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you've fallen in love!"

  Donna's words ripped through Shannon's soul like a blast of buckshot. Was that what she was feeling? Was she in love with the Marquis? Nooo! The word reverberated through her head. She could never fall in love with a man who treated lovemaking like a recreational sport, who thrived on wielding his charms to beguile needy, vulnerable women. Oh, God! She winced inwardly. Last night was nothing but a trap! Everything he did and said was designed exclusively to seduce her! He discovered she'd never been with a man before, and his spontaneous way of apprising her of the enormous wonders of the male physique was meant to enthrall her. He wanted her to think about it all right. More like dwell on it! Lose herself in a haze of sexual infatuation so she would come back begging! Well, she would not give him the satisfaction...

  When Shannon finally collected her thoughts, she found Donna was again speaking to her.

  "My God, you really are spaced out!" she taunted. "He must have been a hell of a stud to ruffle the feathers of a little prude like you."

  Quickening anger kindled Shannon's temper and she was tempted to deliver a scathing attack about the questionable origins of Donna's ancestry. Realizing her energy would be better spent elsewhere, she held her tongue and turned back to the task of repairing the mess she had made of the floss drawers, leaving Donna shaking her head in bewilderment.

  Finally it was time for lunch. Shannon gratefully set aside the box of floss and hurried to her workstation for her purse, then sped out of the store before Donna suggested they eat together. Choosing a popular restaurant several doors down from the Boutique, she seated herself at a secluded table and, after ordering a salad and iced tea, took out the small sketchbook and lead pencil she always carried with her and set to work. At first her drawing appeared to be nothing more than lines and abstract shapes, then slowly, skillfully, the rough forms became a complete composition of the haunting images that tortured her so.

  She wasn't aware that the waitress had brought her food or that someone carefully observed her work until a masculine voice sounded in her ear. "That's a very intriguing concept. I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate on the reason behind such inspiration?"

  Shannon looked around at the piercing blue eyes calmly fixed on her then back at the drawing which depicted an exact rendering of the Marquis' hood entwined with a lovely rose that wept dewdrop tears. Beneath the sketch, the word AMBIVALENCE labeled the page in bold lettering. Quickly closing the book, she struggled to maintain a casual air as she smiled up at the dark, contemplative expression on Ben Tate's handsome face.

  "May I?" he gestured idly at the vacant chair at the side of the table.

  Shannon nodded and he slid into the seat beside her.

  "That's quite a drawing you've made there." He pointed at the tablet. "What exactly does it mean?"

  "It's just a mental exercise," she shrugged, hoping he couldn't tell she was fibbing. "We used to do it all the time in art school. Sort of a left side of the brain thing that involves allowing one's emotions to enhance creativity."

  "Is that right?" he grinned incredulously. "Then I may presume..."

  "There you are, you naughty boy!" A throaty, yet decidedly feminine voice interrupted. "I thought we were going to have lunch together before going back to the set."

  Shannon glanced up at the shapely platinum blond glaring haughtily at her through several layers of black mascara and eyeliner, then quickly busied herself with her salad. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ben's perturbed scowl and mouthed apology as he reluctantly rose from the chair, but she pretended not to notice. Now she knew why he had never called like he claimed he would that Sunday afternoon he drove her home from Beverly Hills. He was too busy dating bimbo actresses to bother with her. Still, he had seemed genuinely interested in her at the time and now it hurt to realize his words were only superficial.

  At least, the Marquis had been honest about his intentions, she reflected thoughtfully. He was dead serious last night when he had said he wanted to make love to her and, she had learned from past experience, he was a man of his word. Ben, on the other hand, struck her as a man used to making frivolous promises he never intended
to keep, and it probably never occurred to him that she had believed him that Sunday afternoon when he told her he would call her. "Ahh, yes, the whims of an egotistical actor," she mused aloud, and promptly decided he wasn't worth fretting over.

  * * * *

  Shannon spent the remainder of the week teetering on the edge of insanity. Just when she was certain she'd freed herself of the Marquis' seductive allure, some mutinous image of him would steal into her thoughts and once again she would find herself both wanting and despising him at the same time. Her situation at work was no better. The combination of Donna's contemptuous inspection of her every movement and Mrs. Phillips' distant, oddly secretive behavior, had stretched her patience to the limit. It was little wonder then that by quitting time Friday afternoon, she was more than ready to enjoy a quiet weekend alone.

  She saw the huge box sitting on the back stoop when she pulled into the driveway of her small home and, in the space of an instant, a resurgence of anger and resentment rose up inside her. The entire week had been nothing but one big hassle, and now she didn't need another trying to return a package that probably didn't belong to her. As she stepped onto the small, concrete porch however, she discovered the package carried no mailing label or address. It was wrapped simply in plain brown paper and tied with bright red cord. Curious as to its contents as well as its sender, she picked it up and carried it inside to the kitchen table. She stared at it apprehensively for a few seconds, then no longer able to contain herself, she slid off the cord and tore open the paper. Inside, a mountain of red tissue paper pushed open the inner flaps of the box, exposing a large, heart-shaped envelope.

  Shannon lifted it from the box and with trembling hands, carefully pried loose the strange-looking black wax seal and pulled out the enclosed card. To her astonishment, it was a formal invitation to the Chateau's annual Valentine's Day Ball.

  "Oh, God!" She shuddered as a feeling of disorientation crept over her.

  She'd purposely ignored the romantic significance of the day because it served only to supply Donna with the excuse to scatter Shannon's worktable with little candy hearts bearing ridiculous, insulting remarks about her love life, or more specifically, the lack of it. Now this invitation changed all that, and in the process summoned up all the emotional turmoil she thought she'd buried along with the memory of a certain black-masked being.

  With a remorseful sigh, she glanced back at the envelope lying on the table where a piece of folded parchment paper, sticking out from just inside the opening, caught her eye. Frowning slightly because she hadn't noticed it before, she took it out and flipped it open. Immediately, her eyes fell upon the neat printing of the Marquis' hand:

  It is said that a rose in winter is a

  rare sight to behold. Yet if you would

  do me the honor of wearing this gown I

  have chosen for you and allow me the

  pleasure of your company tonight, I will

  indeed, if only for a short time, behold

  the beauty of that illusive bloom.

  Yours,

  The Marquis

  P.S. I'll send a car for you at seven.

  The paper fluttered to the floor and a small cry of delight slipped from her lips as she flew back to the box and pulled out the most beautiful dress she had ever laid eyes on. Fashioned of bright red satin, the bodice was covered with matching lace and dotted with small red sequins. The same lace and sequin pattern extended around the back and down the arms, forming an attached, long-sleeved jacket. A short, triangular train of the same material fell from the waist of the slim, floor-length skirt. Shannon held the dress before her and hurried into the bathroom to assess the effect in the full-length mirror behind the door. Like a cantankerous child appeased by a new toy, her pledge to remain unsmitten by the Marquis' sensuous charms had been forgotten for the moment. The irresistible thrill of having a beautiful gown to wear and a fancy affair to attend were suddenly all that consumed her thoughts.

  Scurrying into the bedroom, she laid the gown on the bed and began removing her clothes. It was nearly five forty-five. If she was to be ready by seven, she would have to forego her usual shower because that meant getting her hair wet and she didn't want to take the time to dry and restyle it. A quick bath would have to suffice to wash away the staleness of her workday.

  When her bath was completed, Shannon smoothed on a pair of silky, thigh-high stockings and slipped on a clean teddy and then, picking up her hairbrush from the vanity, she returned to the bathroom. After painstakingly applying a glamorous shimmer of night time make-up, she pulled out the pins holding the braid at the back of her head, shook out the plait, and vigorously brushed the long, ebony locks until they fell into a cascade of shiny, swirling waves.

  Moving back to the bedroom, she stepped into the dress and pulled it up, slipping her arms into the lace sleeves. As she carefully closed the back zipper of the dress, she couldn't help marveling at its fit. From the tip of the toe-touching hem to the flattering curve of the bodice, the gown molded itself to her petite form as if it had been fitted on her body, and she wondered how the Marquis could have chosen such a perfect dress.

  Dismissing the disturbing thoughts regarding his knowledge of her body from her mind, she put on the red, satin pumps she also found in the box with the gown, and moved on to her jewelry box setting on top of the dresser. She took out a pair of rectangular, diamond earrings and started to close the box but a beckoning sparkle from the bottom made her stop and re-open it. Reaching down, her hand closed around the large, diamond-studded hair clip that had belonged to her grandmother. She remembered she had given it to her the day she left for Atlanta, telling her to save it for a "special occasion" and, while she knew the elder McAllister would have frowned upon her attending such a frivolous affair, Shannon deemed the circumstances quite suitable.

  Hurrying back to the bathroom mirror with the clip in hand, she quickly unsnapped the sides and placed it beneath the tresses of her dark hair. She slowly drew the sides of the clip together until it again closed with a snap at the top, gently sweeping her hair away from the sides of her face to the center snare of the clip where it hung in a mass of fluffy ringlets.

  Finally satisfied with her appearance, Shannon strode into the living room just in time to see a large, black sedan pull up out front. Immediately recognizing the vehicle as the same one the Marquis used the night he abducted her, she couldn't help wondering if he might have come to escort her to the Ball himself. When an elderly black gentleman, dressed neatly in a chauffeur's uniform alighted from the car, she was mildly disappointed. She watched him amble up the front walk before opening the door.

  "Miz McAllister," he grinned broadly. "His Lordship, the Marquis, asked me to deliver you to the Ball this evenin'."

  "Yes sir, I know. I've been expecting you. I'll just be a moment..."

  Picking up the small handbag and black crepe cloak lying across the back of the sofa, she quickly slipped it around her shoulders, then stepped outside onto the porch, locking the door behind her.

  As he escorted her down the steps and sidewalk to the waiting car, she suddenly felt giddy inside. Her neighbors were probably glued to their windows watching and speculating as to where little Miss Nobody could be going that required a chauffeur-driven car.

  The gentleman helped her into the back seat, then handed her a long-stemmed rose identical to the one she'd received at the Boutique so many weeks before. "This is for you, Miz ... with the Marquis' compliments, of course."

  Shannon lifted the perfect bloom to her nostrils and breathed in its delicate fragrance. The night had become magical. She felt like Cinderella on her way to the Prince's Ball and, although she had no knowledge of what the evening held in store for her, she couldn't suppress the excitement rapidly building inside her.

  The black sedan made its way through the streets of Hollywood toward Beverly Hills and, after what seemed like an eternity to Shannon, finally pulled through the gate and into the Chateau's driveway. Th
e kindly gentleman handed Shannon from the car and walked her up the front steps of the mansion and into the foyer. There, with a polite nod, he bid her good evening and then vanished out the door leaving her to fend for herself.

  "Blessed be the Saints, lass, you sure look like an angel in that dress!"

  Shannon jerked her head around in time to see a stout form scurrying toward her from the direction of the kitchen. "Oh, Mattie, thank goodness! I don't know what I'm supposed to do..."

  "Well, first yer gonna give me that ... an' that," she gestured at the cloak around Shannon's shoulders and then at the rose she still held in her hands. "Then yer just gonna go in there an' enjoy yerself."

  Shannon obligingly slipped off the wrap and handed her the bloom. "B-but..."

  "But nothin'," Mattie bantered. "The lad's in there and he's expectin' ya. So git!" she ordered with an authoritative nod of her head.

  Shannon glanced toward the open doors of the ballroom where the sound of music and laughter emanated. Nervously, she glanced back at Mattie's departing figure then tiptoed over to the mahogany portals and peeked inside. The room was gaily decorated with sparkling red hearts, white Cupids, and yards of glittering streamers. Red heart-shaped candleholders placed strategically around the room lent a soft, golden glow, augmenting the romantic tone of the affair. Yet no matter how cordial the affair appeared, something seemed oddly awry, and it wasn't until she stepped inside the doors that she realized the consequences of the situation before her. The female guests greatly out numbered the Chateau men, and it gave her cause for concern. She didn't relish being thrust into a crowd of jealous, pompous women competing for the favors of a half dozen suitors.

  Drawing an anxious breath, Shannon ventured forth a few more steps, then paused again. She hadn't been able to locate the Marquis from her earlier vantage point, but now she saw him clearly. He stood near the center of the room intently engaged in conversation with a small group of women who surrounded him on both sides.