Reflections Page 8

  “Have you?” Something seemed to happen to Lindsay when he was close. It was as if many threads, thin but impossibly strong, wound their way around her until she was helpless. “I’ve never been very good at practicalities. I’m better at dreaming.”

  He twisted the end of a strand of her hair around his fingers. “What sort of dreams?”

  “Foolish ones mostly, I suppose. They’re the best kind.” Quickly she pushed the door open and stepped outside. Closing her eyes, she waited for her system to drift back to normal. When she heard his door shut, she opened them again to study the house. Casual, friendly, she reminded herself and took a deep breath.

  “Do you know,” she began, “the last time I walked here, it was about midnight and I was sixteen.” She smiled, remembering, as they moved up the narrow walk toward a skirting porch. “I dragged poor Andy along and crawled through a side window.”

  “Andy.” Seth paused at the front door. “That’s the weight-lifter you were kissing in front of your studio.”

  Lindsay lifted a brow, acknowledging the description of Andy. She said nothing.

  “Boyfriend?” Seth asked lightly, jiggling the keys in his palm as he studied her.

  Lindsay kept her look bland. “I outgrew boyfriends a few years back, but he’s a friend, yes.”

  “You’re a very affectionate friend.”

  “Yes, I am,” she agreed. “I’ve always considered the two words synonymous.”

  “An interesting outlook,” Seth murmured and unlocked the door. “No need to crawl in a side window this time.” He gestured her inside.

  It was as awesome as Lindsay remembered. The ceilings in the entrance hall were twenty feet high with the rough beams exposed. A wide staircase curved to the left, then split in two and ran up opposing sides of an overhanging balcony. The banister was polished mirrorlike, and the treads were uncarpeted.

  The dusty, peeling wallpaper Lindsay remembered had been stripped away to be replaced by a new fabric of rich cream. A long, narrow Persian carpet was spread on the oak-planked floor. The sun was muted, reflected on the prisms of a tiered chandelier.

  Without speaking, she walked down the hall to the first doorway. The parlor had been completely restored. There was a bold floral print on one wall, offset by the lacquered pearl-colored tones of the others. Lindsay took a slow tour of the room. She stopped by a small, eighteenth-century table, touching it lightly with a fingertip.

  “It’s wonderful.” She glanced at the thinly striped brocade of the sofa. “You knew precisely what was needed. I could almost have pictured this room with a Dresden shepherdess on the mantel—and there it is!” She walked over to study it, moved by its delicacy. “And French carpets on the floor. . . .” Lindsay turned back with a smile that reflected all her pleasure with the room. Hers was a fragile, timeless beauty suited to the antiques and silks and brocades that now surrounded her. Seth took a step closer. Her perfume drifted to him. “Is Ruth here?” she asked.

  “No, not at the moment.” He surprised them both by reaching out to run a fingertip down her cheek. “She’s at Monica’s. This is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down,” he murmured, moving his fingers from her skin to her hair, where he tangled them in its length. “It suits you.”

  Lindsay felt the threads of desire reaching out for her and stepped back. “I had it down the first time we met.” She smiled, ordering herself not to be foolish. “It was raining, as I remember.”

  Seth smiled back, first with his eyes, then with his lips. “So it was.” He closed the distance between them again, then trailed a finger down her throat. Lindsay shivered involuntarily. “You’re amazingly responsive,” he said quietly. “Is that always true?”

  Heat was rushing through her, pulsing where his flesh touched hers. Shaking her head, she turned away. “That’s not a fair question.”

  “I’m not a fair man.”

  “No,” Lindsay agreed and faced him again. “I don’t think you are, at least not in your dealings with women. I came to see the house, Seth,” she reminded him briskly. “Will you show it to me?”

  He moved to her again but was suddenly interrupted. A small, trim man with a dark, silver-speckled beard appeared in the doorway. The beard was full, beautifully shaped, growing down from his ears to circle his mouth and cover his chin. It was all the more striking as it was the only hair on his head. He wore a black, three-piece suit with a crisp, white shirt and a dark tie. His posture was perfect, militarily correct, his hands at ease by his sides. Lindsay had an immediate impression of efficiency.

  “Sir.”

  Seth turned to him, and the tension seemed to slip from the room. Lindsay’s muscles relaxed. “Worth.” He nodded in acknowledgement as he took Lindsay’s arm. “Lindsay, Worth. Worth, Ms. Dunne.”

  “How do you do, miss?” The slight bow was European, the accent British. Lindsay was captivated.

  “Hello, Mr. Worth.” Her smile was spontaneously open and friendly as was the offering of her hand. Worth hesitated with a brief glance at Seth before accepting it. His touch was light, a bare brushing of her fingertips.

  “You had a call, sir,” he said, returning his attention to his employer. “From Mr. Johnston in New York. He said it was quite important.”

  “All right, get him back for me. I’ll be right in.” He turned to Lindsay as Worth backed from the room. “Sorry, this shouldn’t take long. Would you like a drink while you wait?”

  “No.” She glanced back to where Worth had stood. It was easier, she decided, to deal with Seth when he slipped into a formal attitude. Smiling, she wandered back to the window. “Go ahead, I’ll just wait here.”

  With a murmur of assent, Seth left her.

  It took less than ten minutes for Lindsay’s curiosity to overpower her sense of propriety. This was a house she had explored in the dead of night when cobwebs and dust had been everywhere. It was impossible for her to resist exploring it when the sun was shining on a polished floor. She began to wander, intending to limit her tour to the main hall.

  There were paintings to admire and a tapestry that took her breath away. On a table sat a Japanese tea set so thin, she thought it might shatter under her gaze. Too intrigued by the treasures she was discovering to remember her resolution to keep to the hall, she pushed open the door at the end of it and found herself in the kitchen.

  It was a strange, appealing mixture of scrupulous efficiency and old-fashioned charm. The appliances were built-in, with stainless steel and chrome glistening everywhere. The counters were highly lacquered wood. The dishwasher hummed mechanically while a quiet little fire crackled in a waist-high hearth. Sunlight poured through the window illuminating the vinyl-covered walls and planked floors. Lindsay made a sound of pure appreciation.

  Worth turned from his activity at a large butcher block table. He had removed his jacket, replacing it with a long, white, bibbed apron. An expression of astonishment ran across his face before he folded it into its habitual placid lines.

  “May I help you, miss?”

  “What a wonderful kitchen!” Lindsay exclaimed and let the door swing shut behind her. She turned a circle, smiling at the shining copper-bottomed kettles and pans that hung over Worth’s head. “How clever Seth must be to have blended two worlds into one so perfectly.”

  “To be sure, miss,” Worth agreed crisply. “Have you lost your way?” he asked and carefully wiped his hands on a cloth.

  “No, I was just wandering a bit.” Lindsay continued to do so around the kitchen while Worth stood correctly and watched her. “Kitchens are fascinating places, I think. The hub of the house, really. I’ve always regretted not learning to cook well.”

  She remembered the yogurts and salads of her professional dancing days, the occasional binges at an Italian or French restaurant, the rarely used refrigerator in her apartment. Eating had been something often overlooked in the
crammed course of a day. Cooking had been out of the question.

  “I’m baffled by anything more complex than a tuna casserole.” She turned to Worth, still smiling. “I’m sure you’re a marvelous cook.” Lindsay stood just to the side of the window. The afternoon sun shone strong on her face, accentuating the fine bones and delicate complexion.

  “I do my best, miss. Shall I serve you coffee in the parlor?”

  Lindsay held back a sigh. “No, thank you, Mr. Worth. I suppose I’ll just wander back and see if Seth is finished.”

  As she spoke, the door swung open and Seth walked through. “I’m sorry that took so long.” The door closed soundlessly behind him.

  “I barged into your kitchen without thinking.” After casting a quick, apologetic glance at Worth, she moved to Seth. “Things have changed a bit since the last time I was here.”

  Some silent male message passed over her head between Seth and Worth before he took her arm to lead her through the door. “And you approve?”

  She pushed her hair off her shoulder as she turned her face up to his. “I should reserve judgment until I see the rest, but I’m already captivated. And I am sorry,” she continued, “about just walking into the kitchen that way. I got involved.”

  “Worth has a policy about women in the kitchen,” Seth explained.

  “Yes,” Lindsay agreed wryly. “I think I know what the policy is. Keep out.”

  “Very perceptive.”

  They moved through the downstairs rooms; the library, where the original paneling had been restored and polished to a glossy finish; a sitting room stripped of wallpaper and as yet unfinished; to Worth’s quarters, spartan in cleanliness.

  “The rest of the main level should be finished off this winter,” Seth commented as they started up the staircase. Lindsay let her fingers trail over the banister. How could wood feel this smooth? she mused. “The house was solidly built, and there’s generally only small bits of repair and redesigning to do,” Seth continued.

  The banister, she reflected, would have known the touch of countless palms and an occasional bottom. She grinned, thinking what a thrill it would be to slide all the way down from the third floor.

  “You love this place,” Seth stated, pausing at the landing, catching Lindsay between the banister and himself. They were close, and she tilted her head until she could meet his eyes. “Why?”

  It was obvious he wanted an answer that was specific rather than general. Lindsay thought it through before speaking. “I think because it’s always seemed so strong, so eternal. There’s a fairy tale quality about it. Generation after generation, era after era, it endures.”

  Turning, Lindsay walked along the railing that overhung the first floor. Below, the line and space of the main hall ran parallel. “Do you think Ruth will adjust to living here? That she’ll come to accept being settled in one place?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Shrugging, Lindsay turned and began to walk with Seth down the hall. “Ruth interests me.”

  “Professionally.”

  “And personally,” Lindsay countered, glancing up at his tone. “Are you against her dancing?”

  He stopped at a doorway to fix her with one of his lengthy looks. “I’m not at all certain your definition of dancing and mine are the same.”

  “Maybe not,” she acknowledged. “But perhaps Ruth’s definition would be more to the point.”

  “She’s very young. And,” he added before Lindsay could retort, “my responsibility.” Opening the door, he guided her inside.

  The room was unmistakably feminine. Pale blue Priscilla curtains fluttered at the windows, and the shade was repeated in the counterpane. There was a white brick fireplace with a brass fan-shaped screen in front of the hearth. English ivy trailed from a brass pot on a piecrust table. Lining the walls were framed pictures of ballet stars. Lindsay saw the poster Seth had spoken of. Her Juliet to Davidov’s Romeo. Memories flooded back.

  “There’s no doubt about whose room this is,” she murmured, glancing at the pink satin ribbons on the bureau. She looked up to study Seth’s chiseled features. He is a man, accustomed to seeing things exclusively from a man’s perspective, she realized. He could easily have settled Ruth in a boarding school and sent her generous checks. Had it been difficult to make room for a girl and a girl’s unique needs in his life?

  “Are you a generous man on the whole, Seth,” she asked curiously, “or is it selective?”

  She saw his brow lift. “You have a habit of asking unusual questions.” Taking her arm, he began to lead her back down the hall.

  “And you’ve a talent for evading them.”

  “This is the room that should interest your ghost,” Seth smoothly changed the subject.

  Lindsay waited for Seth to open the door, then stepped inside. “Oh, yes!” She walked to the center and turned a quick circle. Her hair followed in a slow arch. “It’s perfect.”

  Deep, curved window seats were cushioned in burgundy velvet, the shade picked up in the pattern of a huge Oriental rug. The furniture was old, heavy Victorian, gleaming from Worth’s attentiveness. Nothing could have suited the high, wide room more. There was a blanket chest at the foot of the four-poster bed and pewter candlesticks on either side table.

  “It’s because you’re an architect, I suppose,” Lindsay said, admiringly. “You seem to know exactly what’s needed.”

  The fireplace was stone and massive, sending images of thundering flames through Lindsay’s mind. On a long, dark night the fire would roar, then crackle, then sizzle as the hours passed. She had a vivid flash of herself curled in the huge bed with Seth’s body warming hers. A bit stunned by the clarity of the vision, she turned to wander about the room.

  Too soon, she told herself. Too fast. Remember who he is. Silently she juggled the unexpected and unwanted emotions. At the French doors she paused, pushing them both open to step out. A rush of wind met her.

  There was the raw sound of water against rock, the scent of salt in the chilling air. Lindsay watched the clouds scrambling across the sky chased by the wild wind. She walked to the rail and looked down. The drop was sheer and deadly. The fierce waves battered the jagged rocks, receding only to gather force to strike again. Lost in the wild excitement of the scene, Lindsay was not fully aware of Seth close behind her. When he turned her toward him, her response was as unrestrained and inevitable as the moving clouds above, the pounding surf below.

  Her arms reached up to circle his neck as he drew her close. They came together. Her mouth molded to his, the hunger instant. She didn’t hesitate but answered the intimacies of the kiss, exploring with her tongue until his taste mixed with hers. When he touched her, she trembled, not from fear or resistance, but from pure pleasure.

  His hand slid under her shirt, trailing briefly along her ribcage. He cupped her breast; she was small and his hand was large. Slowly, while he took the kiss deeper, he traced his finger over the swell. As she had longed to do, she tangled her fingers in his hair. There was an impossible surge of need. It ran through her quickly—a river changing course. The current was irresistible, dragging her along into more turbulent waters. His fingers warmed against her skin as they roamed, spreading waves of delight.

  When he took his mouth from hers to ravage the cord of her neck, Lindsay felt her body suffused by a sudden heat. The chill of the wind was a shock to her face and only increased the excitement. His teeth brought tiny ripples of pain to blend with the pleasure. The sound of the surf echoed in her brain, but through it she heard him murmur her name. When his mouth returned to claim hers, she welcomed it eagerly. Never had desire been so quick, so all-consuming.

  Seth tore his mouth from hers, bringing his hands to her shoulders to keep her close. His eyes locked on hers. In them, Lindsay recognized anger and passion. A fresh tremor of excitement sped up her spine. She would have melted back into his arm
s had he not held her away.

  “I want you.” The wind tossed his hair around his face. His brows were lowered, accentuating the slight upsweep at the tips.

  Lindsay could hear her heartbeat increase to roar in her brain like the waves below. She was courting danger and knew it, but the extent of it began to seep through. “No.” She shook her head even as she felt the flush of desire on her cheeks. “No.” The ground was unsteady under her feet. She moved away to grip the rail and breathe deep of the cold, sea air. It left her throat raw and tingling. Abruptly, Seth took her arm and spun her around.

  “What the hell do you mean, no?” His voice was deadly low.

  Lindsay shook her head again. The wind threw her hair into her eyes, and she tossed it back, wanting to see him clearly. Something in his stance was as untamed and fierce as the surf below them. This was the volcano. It drew her, tempted her. “Just that,” she said. “What happened just now was unavoidable, but it won’t go beyond that.”

  Seth came closer. A strong hand took hold of the back of her neck. Lindsay could feel the weight and texture of each separate finger. “You don’t believe that.”

  His mouth lowered swiftly to hers, but instead of demand, he used persuasion. He traced his tongue between her lips until they parted on a sigh. He plundered, but gently, devastatingly. Lindsay gripped his arms to keep her balance. Her breath was as trapped as it would have been had she tumbled over the edge of the balcony to cartwheel through the air to the rocks below.

  “I want to make love with you.” The movement of his lips against hers shot an ache of desire through her. Lindsay struggled away.

  For a moment she didn’t speak but stood, catching her breath and watching him. “You have to understand,” she began, then paused for her voice to steady. “You have to understand the kind of person I am. I’m not capable of casual affairs or one-night stands.” Again she tossed her hair from her eyes. “I need more than that. I haven’t your sophistication, Seth, I can’t—I won’t—compete with the women you’ve had in your life.”