An Unforgettable Lady(76)

Tensions rose as Smith came in from the hall and the men shook hands. As they squared off at each other, she remembered that night at the Congress and wondered what had sparked such friction between them.

"Where's Blair?" she asked, hoping to diffuse the testosterone surging in the air.

Although if that was the goal, she'd probably have better luck giving the two of them a manicure and a makeover.

Jack looked over at her. "Blair cracked a molar and needed a root canal. She stayed behind to have a bonding experience with her endodentist and a hell of a lot of Novocain. She'll be here, on Motrin, sometime tomorrow."

Grace grimaced. "Sorry to hear that."

"And Ranulf?"

"Not here. Busy." The words rushed out of her mouth. "He's been very busy. He's in Europe. Being busy."

Oh, that sounded believable, she thought, remembering wryly that there must have been a time when she'd been articulate.

Jack gave her a wink and slipped a casual arm around her shoulders. "It's just as well. What they don't know, can't hurt them."

Grace watched as Smith stalked out of the room.

It was going to be a hell of a long weekend, she thought.





chapter

15





By the time drinks were served in the library, night had settled in and the temperature had dropped. To cut the chill, Wilhelm had started a fire in the fireplace and Grace stood with her back to the flames, sipping a chardonnay.

The room was one of her favorites in the house because, unlike most of the others, it wasn't cavernous. The walls were covered with bookcases of leather bound volumes and she'd always liked the way the gold lettering on the spines glowed in the firelight. Armchairs and couches, covered in dark red silk, were stationed strategically by the windows for reading and heavy velvet drapes fell to the floor in great sweeps. A dark ruby oriental rug added to the jewel-like color scheme.

When she was younger, she'd been convinced it was a wizard's room, relocated from some fantastic place.

Jack came over to her, looking handsome in a black suit. With his patrician features and hooded eyes, Grace wondered why she'd never been attracted to him. Plenty of women were. Most women, as a matter of fact.

He smiled at her. “So, your friend doesn't say much, does he."

Grace glanced over at Smith, who was leaning up against the doorjamb across the room. He was wearing all black, though not a suit, and in the dim light, his eyes seemed especially dark.

She offered Jack a smile. "You just don't know him."

"And I'm not in a big rush to. As dinner companions go, that guy makes a cold draft seem damn appealing."

"You know, I’m really looking forward to seeing Blair tomorrow," she said, eager to stop talking about Smith. "Tell me, when are you two tying the knot?"

Jack laughed and took a drink from his bourbon. "Changing the subject. Good defensive maneuver and a particularly well-chosen topic, too. Shall we talk about the weather?"

Grace laughed. "You are going to ask her, aren't you?"

Her friend's eyes narrowed as he looked down into his drink, swirling it casually. "I’ll get around to it at some point. Who knows? Maybe even sooner rather than later."

"What are you waiting for? "

An elegant shrug was followed by a wicked smile. "The planets need to be properly aligned. My moon needs to be ascending, but for the past thirty years or so, it's been sinking fast. Or maybe it's the other way around."

"She's a lovely woman."

"I know. And she puts up with me which makes her a saint." Jack looked up. "Just don't ply me with the whole marriage is fabulous routine. My mother's been using that line a lot lately and it's losing its punch."



Grace raised her glass to her lips and remained silent, thinking that would be the last thing she'd tell anybody.

When Marta announced dinner was served, Jack raised his elbow and she took his arm. As they walked through to the dinning room, she felt Smith's eyes boring into her back. She had to fight the urge to wheel around and tell him his intensity was making her nervous. She was in her own home, among friends, for heaven's sake. It wasn't like Hugh Blankenbaker was going to rush at her with his salad fork or something.

Although, as soon as they sat down, she had other things to worry about.

In the middle of the soup course, her mother's voice cut through the conversation like a scythe. "Now tell me, Mr. Smith, what do you do?"