Chasing Midnight. Susan Krinard
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only a hint of strain. “The silk is…lovely. And the color…” She smoothed the long skirt over her legs. “Shall I wear it to the party?”
He returned her smile, knowing how embarrassed she would be if she suspected that he’d seen through her pretense. “That’s your decision,” he said.
She folded the dress, replaced it in the box and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Of course I’ll wear it,” she said. “In fact, I think I’ll go upstairs and try it on right now.”
“By all means,” Griffin said. “You have plenty of time before the first guests arrive.”
With a brief, self-conscious move, she touched her short hair. “Griffin, do you think—” She shook her head, gathered up the box and headed for the staircase.
Griffin rose from his chair. “Gemma…”
She paused at the foot of the stairs. “Yes, Grif?”
“I hope you understand why I don’t want you to go into Manhattan alone.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Sure. I understand.”
“Members of the pack believe in their absolute right to behave like animals when it suits them. I will not have that become your fate.”
“It’s not as if they go around killing people.”
“But the temptation is always there.”
Gemma pushed the toe of her foot against the carpet runner and sighed. “If you say so, Grif.”
“I do.” He waved his hand. “That’s all. Go and change.”
She ascended the stairs with elaborate dignity, leaving Griffin to stare after her with sadness and frustration. Only recently had Gemma taken up the idea that she had to radically change in order to claim her adulthood. She lacked a mother who could give her the counsel he wasn’t equipped to provide…who could explain that the sort of dress she might have liked to wear on her birthday would not be in the least appropriate.
He walked to the window, looking out at the preparations Starke and Brenda, the maid, were making for the party. The lawn was a vivid green, the formal garden was in bloom and the weather could not have been more perfect. Soon the limousines would begin to arrive, spilling out the socially desirable young men and women who would be Gemma’s peers when she married. Their parents had also been invited, though Griffin didn’t expect many of the fathers to put in an appearance. They weren’t the ones who generally made the crucial decisions about marital alliances.
Starke entered the room and inclined his head. “Everything is on schedule, Mr. Durant,” he said. “Shall I ask Fitzsimmons to collect Miss Chase?”
Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you’d better. I’d rather that she showed up early than make a grand entrance in the middle of the party.”
Starke, who had been told something of Gemma’s escapade and Miss Chase’s part in it, assumed a sympathetic air. “I quite understand, sir. I deeply regret that I was not aware of Miss Durant’s plans that evening, and that I failed to hear—”
“I told you not to blame yourself, Uncle Edward. Any culpability belongs to Miss Spires, who was willing to accept a bribe from a child.” And to me, for failing to be an effective guardian. “I expect Miss Chase to spend most of her time indoors, so perhaps we can encourage the other guests to take advantage of the fine weather.”
Starke nodded and left to find Fitzsimmons. Griffin dropped by the kitchen to look in on Demetria, who was up to her elbows in tea sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres, and then went upstairs to change his clothes. He didn’t ordinarily spend a great deal of time on his appearance, at least not beyond what was required to look neat and respectable. But now he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the simplest activities. His collar refused to stay in place, his tie wouldn’t knot and his hair flew every which way no matter how carefully he brushed it.
It was all because of Allegra Chase. He couldn’t forget the way she’d stood so close to him that night…the throaty sound of her voice as she’d challenged him to speak her name…the fact that she was about to show up in the one place he would have thought safe from her and her wild ways.
Seeing her again had simply confirmed what he’d been afraid to admit even to himself: he still felt the same overwhelming desire as he had that evening in the alley. Even his anger with her hadn’t quenched his hunger. But she seemed to have changed her mind about him between their first and second meetings. Instead of fobbing him off with cynicism and prevarication, she was making an active attempt to seduce him.
And that made it all the more vital that he resist her blandishments. She had seen the worst of him; he had no desire to see the worst of her. In any case, everything she did was obviously a game to her, so he would simply refuse to play.
Committed to his fresh resolve, Griffin finished dressing and went back downstairs to read the Times and wait for Fitzsimmons and Miss Chase. Presently Gemma came down to join him, wearing the disappointing tea dress that fell so decorously to her ankles.
The limousine had still not returned when Mrs. Betancourt and her daughter, Clarice, arrived from Kings Point. Clarice was two years older than Gemma and had already made her debut; Mrs. Betancourt viewed Griffin with a predatory eye as he and Gemma ushered them into the garden and offered refreshments. There were any number of mothers who still considered Griffin fair game; he wasn’t married, he was rich, and—as far as anyone knew—he had no peculiar proclivities.
As always, Griffin was unfailingly polite, but also careful not to give the girl and her mama the least bit of hope. The musicians finally made their appearance, and Starke supervised their disposition on the walkway between the lawn and garden. One by one the other guests drove up, elegantly alighted from their vehicles and left their gifts with Brenda to be displayed on one of the tables outside. Mal walked in at half past three. Almost everyone had arrived by four, and there was still no sign of Fitzsimmons and Allegra Chase.
Griffin instructed Starke to inform him immediately upon Miss Chase’s arrival and did his brotherly duty, circulating among the guests. He asked Mrs. Dearing about her prize-winning rose garden, complimented Miss Groves on her afternoon frock, shared a mild joke with the elderly Mr. Nordstrom and had a brief discussion of polo ponies with young David Scribner. Gemma smiled and laughed and accepted birthday wishes with the poised bearing of a well-bred young lady. The women stared at her hair, but no one offered a comment on its altered appearance. The string quartet played Lehar waltzes in the background, while Starke and Brenda replenished the punch bowl and kept the trays of sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres continuously supplied with fresh delicacies.
Two hours after the party began, Starke approached Griffin with a too-blank expression on his impassive face. “Fitzsimmons has just pulled into the drive,” he said. “Shall I detain Miss Chase in the hall?”
“I’ll be right there, Starke.” Griffin smoothed his expression to match Starke’s for sheer blandness, offered some excuse to the matron with whom he was speaking and hurried back into the house. He’d passed through the summer parlor and was halfway to the vestibule when he heard her voice.
“Don’t apologize, Fitzy. I don’t mind being late, and I’m sure Mr. Durant feels the sa—” She stopped as she saw Griffin, and a grin spread across her face. “Speak of the devil.”
Griffin came to a halt, his mouth gone dry. “Miss Chase.”
She wagged her finger. “Allie, remember?”
“Allegra.” He examined her from the crown of her dark head to the high heels of her scarlet patent leather pumps. His first response was dismay at her choice of garments: an elaborately beaded, sleeveless red party frock that actually fell above the knees, rolled fleshcolored stockings, and a blazing orange bandeau embellished with an enormous aigrette. But he was horrified by his own reaction to the sight of her—the violent rhythm of his heartbeat, the almost unbearable awareness of her warm, womanly fragrance, the hungry