I was ill?" Not that Celia would care, Jessie knew. Celia would be livid at having her engagement party interrupted—and Jessie would pay for the interruption later.
85
"Celia's your stepmother, Jessie. She's the best one to help you deal with all this. Not me."
"Please don't tell her. Please." Her hand twisted in his, closed urgently around his fingers. He looked down at their entwined hands, then stood up suddenly, freeing himself.
"All right. I won't tell her. Though I think it's a mistake."
"Thank you." Relieved, she smiled at him. He looked down at her again, his hands thrust into his pockets, his expression impossible to read.
"But my silence is going to cost you. If you want me to keep secrets from my wife-to-be, you're going to have to do something for me in return."
"What?"
"Walk back in there like the fighter I know you to be, and pretend to be having a good time until Celia's ready to leave. It'll be hard, but you can do it. And it's for your own good. You don't want that boy you fancy to guess you've been out here sniveling in the dark because he's not interested, do you?"
"No!" The very notion was hideous.
"Well, then, do we have a deal?"
"Yes." But Jessie's eyes flickered, and she chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered the enormity of what she was about to do. To go back inside and pretend that the world was just as it had been fifteen minutes ago would be the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. To face Jeanine Scott, and Mitch . . .
"Mr. Edwards?" Her voice was tiny. He regarded her with eyebrows raised inquiringly. She rushed on before she completely lost her nerve. "When we go in, may I—may I stay with you? I don't really know any of them, and it's so awful, and I look awful and I know it, and—and I don't want anyone 86
thinking he has to dance with me." Her voice trailed off, and she looked miserably at the cobblestones. "If you want to dance with Celia, or anyone, of course I don't mean you can't, but—but the rest of the time." As she finished this garbled speech, her face felt as hot as if she'd stood in front of a roaring fire for an hour. Jessie knew that if there had been enough light to allow him to see properly, her cheeks would have looked as red as the stones at her feet.
She thought that if he laughed she would die, but to her relief he didn't even smile.
"Don't worry, Jessie, I'll look after you," he promised gently, and held out his hand.
Jessie hesitated only a few seconds before she put hers into it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
X
Hold on a minute. We're forgetting something. You can't go back in there with your hair like that. Godonly knows what they'll imagineyou've been doing."
He had drawn her into the full spill of moonlight before
suddenly frowning at her. At his words Jessie tugged her hand from his and raised both of them, self-consciously, to the wayward bulk of her hair.
"Where are your pins?" He sounded resigned.
"Here's one—and another. . . ." Jessie found several still valiantly clinging to long-since-liberated curls and pulled them out. "But I don't have a mirror, or a brush." 87
"Give them to me." He held out his hand. Jessie dropped the half-dozen hand-whittled hairpins she had recovered into his palm.
"Is that all?"
"It's all I can find."
"They'll have to do, then. Turn around, and I'llsee what I can contrive."
"You?" The single word was tinged with disbelief.
"At least I can see what I'm doing. Besides, this won't be the first time I've pinned up a lady's hair. Turn around." As Jessie was slow to respond, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to suit him. His palms were warm and abrasive against her bare skin. The masculine strength of his hands sent a little shiver down her spine. The feeling was not unpleasant, but nevertheless she pulled away. "Hold still, damn it."
From the way he talked, his mouth was full of hairpins. Both his hands were occupied in gathering up the masses of her hair. It
85
"Celia's your stepmother, Jessie. She's the best one to help you deal with all this. Not me."
"Please don't tell her. Please." Her hand twisted in his, closed urgently around his fingers. He looked down at their entwined hands, then stood up suddenly, freeing himself.
"All right. I won't tell her. Though I think it's a mistake."
"Thank you." Relieved, she smiled at him. He looked down at her again, his hands thrust into his pockets, his expression impossible to read.
"But my silence is going to cost you. If you want me to keep secrets from my wife-to-be, you're going to have to do something for me in return."
"What?"
"Walk back in there like the fighter I know you to be, and pretend to be having a good time until Celia's ready to leave. It'll be hard, but you can do it. And it's for your own good. You don't want that boy you fancy to guess you've been out here sniveling in the dark because he's not interested, do you?"
"No!" The very notion was hideous.
"Well, then, do we have a deal?"
"Yes." But Jessie's eyes flickered, and she chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered the enormity of what she was about to do. To go back inside and pretend that the world was just as it had been fifteen minutes ago would be the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. To face Jeanine Scott, and Mitch . . .
"Mr. Edwards?" Her voice was tiny. He regarded her with eyebrows raised inquiringly. She rushed on before she completely lost her nerve. "When we go in, may I—may I stay with you? I don't really know any of them, and it's so awful, and I look awful and I know it, and—and I don't want anyone 86
thinking he has to dance with me." Her voice trailed off, and she looked miserably at the cobblestones. "If you want to dance with Celia, or anyone, of course I don't mean you can't, but—but the rest of the time." As she finished this garbled speech, her face felt as hot as if she'd stood in front of a roaring fire for an hour. Jessie knew that if there had been enough light to allow him to see properly, her cheeks would have looked as red as the stones at her feet.
She thought that if he laughed she would die, but to her relief he didn't even smile.
"Don't worry, Jessie, I'll look after you," he promised gently, and held out his hand.
Jessie hesitated only a few seconds before she put hers into it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
X
Hold on a minute. We're forgetting something. You can't go back in there with your hair like that. Godonly knows what they'll imagineyou've been doing."
He had drawn her into the full spill of moonlight before
suddenly frowning at her. At his words Jessie tugged her hand from his and raised both of them, self-consciously, to the wayward bulk of her hair.
"Where are your pins?" He sounded resigned.
"Here's one—and another. . . ." Jessie found several still valiantly clinging to long-since-liberated curls and pulled them out. "But I don't have a mirror, or a brush." 87
"Give them to me." He held out his hand. Jessie dropped the half-dozen hand-whittled hairpins she had recovered into his palm.
"Is that all?"
"It's all I can find."
"They'll have to do, then. Turn around, and I'llsee what I can contrive."
"You?" The single word was tinged with disbelief.
"At least I can see what I'm doing. Besides, this won't be the first time I've pinned up a lady's hair. Turn around." As Jessie was slow to respond, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to suit him. His palms were warm and abrasive against her bare skin. The masculine strength of his hands sent a little shiver down her spine. The feeling was not unpleasant, but nevertheless she pulled away. "Hold still, damn it."
From the way he talked, his mouth was full of hairpins. Both his hands were occupied in gathering up the masses of her hair. It
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