Desire For Revenge

‘I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to desert you,’ Veronica Merryweather apologised with a smile. ‘I’m on the committee organising the ball…and I’m supposed to be on duty downstairs greeting the new arrivals.’

‘See you in the bar later, eh, Ralph,’ her husband suggested, clapping Ralph genially on the back, as he turned to follow his wife.

The ballroom was easily large enough to hold the five hundred guests invited, and off it were three other reception rooms which had been converted into supper rooms for the purpose of the ball, Jane explained to her sister, breaking off her commentary to exclaim, ‘Good heavens…look over there…isn’t that Lady Fentham? Over there in the puce satin trimmed with some sort of fur. No, there, Sarah.’ She tugged her sister’s arm pointing her in the direction she wished her to look, and all of a sudden Sarah froze. She could see the woman Jane was talking about—but she wasn’t the one who held her interest. Just behind her, but clearly discernible to Sarah, was the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon. It was true that now he was wearing a powdered queue of hair, but there was no mistaking that distinctly masculine profile, nor the intense blue of those sapphire eyes. He turned his head and for a moment it seemed as though he were looking directly at her. For the first time in her life Sarah knew what it meant when someone said their heart missed a beat. Hers seemed to stop completely, the world tilting slowly and then equally slowly righting itself again. She could feel the colour crawling up under her skin, mirroring the intense heat building up inside her. She felt both light-headed enough to float and at the same time almost unable to make any movement that might disengage her attention from the man she was watching.

‘Sarah, come back…’

Reluctantly she looked away and met her sister’s exasperated eyes.

‘For goodness sake…stop worrying about work. You’re here tonight to enjoy yourself—remember?’

It seemed impossible to Sarah that Jane had not realised the real reason for her inattention. She heard herself make some absent remark about Lady Fentham’s outfit, and she listened while Jane pointed out other local dignitaries to her. Some of them she recognised from her teens… others were people Jane and Ralph had got to know since Ralph had been in business on his own.

Several people came up to talk to them; more than one commented on the attractiveness of her own and Jane’s costumes, and Sarah had to admit that they were vastly superior to those most of the guests were wearing.

When she made a comment to this effect Jane pulled a slight face. ‘I know it seems trivial and petty, but now that Ralph’s in business on his own, we do have to keep up appearances. Nothing inspires confidence in the business world quite as much as an outward show of success…but our dresses are lovely, aren’t they?’ She smoothed an appreciative hand over her own skirt. ‘Worth every extra penny it cost to hire them. It was Veronica who tipped me off about where to get them. She’s quite an old hand at these charity dos.

‘Where on earth is Ralph?’ she added frowning slightly. ‘He’s been gone ages. He’s probably talking business somewhere in the bar!’

‘He’s coming now,’ Sarah told her, having spotted her brother-in-law making his way towards them.

‘Come on with me, you two,’ he instructed, ‘we’ve got some celebrating to do.’ He was standing closer to Sarah than to Jane, and slipped his arm round Sarah’s waist, hugging her to him and kissed her on the cheek.

Without knowing why she did so Sarah looked across the room. Her heart started to thud with slow heavy beats as sapphire eyes engaged her own. It was as though a message passed between them; hers saying, ‘His kiss means nothing,’ and his replying, ‘No. I know…but mine will.’

She shuddered, only half listening as Ralph enquired anxiously. ‘Are you cold? You shivered…’

Sarah shook her head, her heart beating so fast, she felt as though it might choke her. Ralph had his other arm round Jane now and he was propelling them both towards the door to one of the supper rooms. Sarah felt as though she didn’t want to move; as though she would give anything not to break that contact so recently and so powerfully established.

The sensation she was experiencing was like nothing she had known before; a sexual magnetism so strong that it seemed almost other-worldly. It was as though a rapport had been established that was so strong and direct that no words were necessary. Unwillingly she let Ralph urge her away, amazed that neither he nor Jane seemed to be aware of what was happening to her. She had felt the power of that concentrated sapphire gaze so intensely that she couldn’t believe that no one else was aware of it.

‘This way,’ Ralph directed once they were in the supper room, guiding them in the direction of a table at which the Merryweathers sat.

Tom Merryweather stood up as they approached, pulling out chairs first for Jane and then for Sarah.

A bottle of champagne in an ice bucket stood beside the table, five tulip-shaped glasses waiting to receive the bubbly liquid.

‘Well, Ralph?’ Tom queried jovially. ‘Have you told them the good news yet?’

‘I thought I’d better get Jane sitting down first,’ Ralph grinned. ‘Tom’s just told me that we’ve got the contract for the software program for his new computer.’

After the buzz of excitement had died down, Tom Merryweather signalled to a hovering waiter to pour the champagne, getting to his feet to toast the success of Ralph’s business.

Sarah was thrilled for her sister and brother-in-law, knowing from what they had told her, what a difference this important contract would make to their lives, and Ralph had also confided that where Tom Merryweather led, others were likely to follow.

The bottle of champagne Tom ordered was a magnum, and by the time Ralph was pressing her third glass of champagne on her, Sarah was feeling decidedly light-headed. She had little head for alcohol at the best of times and the euphoria of hearing about Ralph’s success, combined with the dizzying sense of instantaneous recognition that had flashed between her and the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon seemed to have completely removed her normal reticence. She found herself laughing as easily as Jane at Tom Merryweather’s teasing jokes, and even flirting rather mildly with the older man when he praised her outfit.

Veronica Merryweather was quieter than her husband; a pretty rather than elegant woman, who Sarah suspected was a perfect foil for her more exuberant mate. There was no doubt that they were an extremely happily married couple. They had two daughters, Sarah learned, as she drank her champagne, both married and with children of their own now, and it had been as a direct result of one of their grandchildren desperately needing a very difficult heart operation as a baby which had led to Veronica’s heavy involvement in charity fund raising.

Despite the muzzy sensation brought on by the unaccustomed champagne Sarah could see that through Ralph’s business connections with Tom, her sister was also likely to become involved in working alongside Veronica in her fund raising work. It was a role that would ideally suit her sister, who was already beginning to wonder what she would do with her time once the triplets were at school. Jane had a tremendous flair for organisation and Sarah was pleased to see that this gift would find a proper outlet.

They heard the small dance combo striking up a waltz, and across the table Veronica grinned at her husband and instructed, ‘We’re going to dance this waltz, even if it’s the only time I manage to get you on the floor tonight—they played it for us at our reception when we were married,’ she explained to everyone else.

‘And I asked them to play it for us tonight,’ Tom told her with a corresponding grin.

‘What do you think of them?’ Jane asked Sarah when they had gone.

‘I like them. He seems very down to earth, shrewd, but completely honest, not the sort of man it would be easy to fool, or deceive.’

‘No, he’s got no time for what he calls “posers”,’ Ralph told her. ‘A few of the old brigade locally don’t care for him—but I’ve always found him pleasant enough. He’s apt to call a spade a spade, and he’s come on in life the hard way. He’ll have no truck with any pretence but he’s exceptionally kind-hearted—and not because he’s one of these self-made millionaires who’s out to buy himself a peerage, either.’

‘You must be thrilled to bits about the contract,’ Sarah enthused to Ralph. ‘It will make all the difference to the business. The pair of you should be out celebrating alone tonight without having me tagging along.’

‘Oh, we can celebrate in private later on.’

Ralph grinned, laughing when Jane blushed slightly and said reprovingly, ‘Ralph…’

‘But if you’ll excuse us, Sarah, I would like to dance with my wife.’

‘Dancing…is that what you call it,’ Jane groaned, but nevertheless she stood up, pausing only to say to Sarah, ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Don’t be silly. Off you go.’

Slowly sipping what was left of her champagne Sarah sat back in her chair and studied her surroundings. Apart from a disconcerting tendency to sway rather unnervingly whenever she chanced to move her head too quickly, she could find nothing to criticise in the very traditional Adam décor of the room she was in. The walls had panels in the same eau de nil as her gown, a similar colour contrasted with a soft butter yellow used on the intricately plasterworked ceiling, with the plasterwork itself picked out in white and embellished with gold.

At one end of the room was an Adam fireplace over which hung a giltwood mirror. Several portraits ornamented the rooms, and Sarah was studying one several yards away, a mother and daughter study very much in the style of Lely, wondering if it was genuine, when a voice against her ear made her jump and clutch wildly at the stem of her champagne glass, her eyes swivelling from the picture to those of the man bending over her.

‘She was reputed to be one of Charles II’s many mistresses,’ he murmured dulcetly. ‘That was how the family got this land. Lely in his time had a reputation for being the portraitist of the “Royal Whores”.’

‘So it is genuine?’

The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about their hostess’s art collection. Her heart was thumping so loudly it seemed impossible that she was actually able to carry on a normal conversation. How she managed to be so deeply engrossed in staring at the portrait that she had not heard him approach, especially since she had had every sense attuned for him ever since she had seen him in the ballroom, she had no idea.

At close quarters his eyes were even more darkly blue than she had realised, fringed with thick black lashes, his tanned skin, and slightly mocking expression somehow making him look far more at ease in his costume than any of the other men present.

‘I shouldn’t think so…but it’s a passable enough copy. The original was probably sold years ago. Would you care for another drink?’

Sarah grimaced ruefully into her empty glass. ‘I don’t think I’d better,’ she admitted frankly, ‘I have absolutely no head for chamgagne and that was my third glass. At the moment I doubt if I could so much as walk in a straight line from here to the ballroom!’

‘Why don’t we give it a try?’

Before she knew what was happening he was gently tugging her out of her seat, sliding his hands to her waist to support her as she stood somewhat shakily. As he bent to steady her his jaw was on a level with her mouth and she ached to touch her lips to its hard firmness. A sensation of mild shock quivered through her, its intensity muted by the champagne she had consumed, and as he guided her towards the ballroom, it suddenly struck Sarah that here was the ideal candidate with whom to rid herself of the tiresome burden of her virginity. Every female sense she possessed told her that this man would be a lover whose touch, once experienced, would never be forgotten, and above and beyond that there was something about him that reached out to her on the most primitive and intense level of her being. She wanted to make love with him, she acknowledged inwardly; and the admission brought her no shame or shock, merely a sense of rightness. She trembled, and although she knew he must have felt her physical reaction, unlike Ralph he did not ask her if she was cold, merely lifting one eyebrow and smiling down at her rather quizzically.

‘Before I steal you away, I take it the gentleman I saw you with earlier has no prior claim on you that I should know about?’

She liked that in him, Sarah thought muzzily; that he should so clearly and yet so inoffensively make his desire for her plain, and yet at the same time want to make sure that she was free to reciprocate that desire.

‘None at all,’ she assured him. ‘Ralph is my brother-in-law.’