The Gentling (19 page)

Standing on the patio, among the group of gaily dressed, laughing people, Katy was filled with a strange sense of unreality. That she could smile and talk, or even function at all, after the miserable week she had just endured, seemed something of a miracle.

Taking a sip of her drink, she let her eyes wander. Like a homing device, her gaze automatically sought out and zeroed in on Trace. He was with a group of people on the other side of the pool, his back to her. How symbolic, Katy mused bitterly.

The pain that followed that thought almost made her cry out. Determinedly, she jerked her gaze away. This was neither the time nor the place to indulge in a fit of self-pity. Tonight marked her debut as mistress of Green Meadows, and pride, if nothing else, demanded that she give a good accounting of herself. Mentally squaring her shoulders, Katy exchanged her watery drink for a fresh one, pasted a stiff smile on her face, and started toward the nearest cluster of people.

Somehow she managed to carry out her duties as a hostess. Moving from one group to the next, she made introductions, saw that everyone had a drink, and exchanged inane small talk, not one word of which she could recall five minutes later. And through it all she was vitally aware of Trace and the fact that he seemed deliberately to be keeping a careful distance between them.

And that, much to her dismay, was exactly what he had been doing for the past week. Katy had expected, or at least hoped, that Trace would return to their bed, once passions had cooled and they had both recovered from that debacle of a reunion. It had not happened. Trace still slept in the dressing room, while night after night she tossed and turned alone in that huge bed, sick with unhappiness and the steadily building fear that she was losing him.

On the surface nothing had changed. As always, Trace treated her with great care and consideration and was unfailingly pleasant. Yet there was a subtle difference in their relationship. There were no more warm, teasing looks, no more gentle bantering conversations, and worst of all, no more attempts at lovemaking. Trace hadn't so much as touched her, even accidentally, since the night he returned from California. They were polite strangers, occupying the same house.

Katy knew the situation could not continue for long. The strain was intolerable. Aware also that the solution to the problem lay in her own hands, she was consumed with guilt and self-disgust.

Dozens of times during the past week she had steeled herself to face him and tell him exactly how she felt. But each time her courage had failed her at the last moment. It was maddening! She wanted to tell him. Knew it was what he wanted to hear. But she just couldn't!

Katy absently twirled the ice cubes in her drink and pretended to listen as Trudy Bledsoe described her teenage son's latest football injury in great detail. Trudy was the wife of one of Trace's old college buddies. Even listening with only half an ear, Katy had already learned that Trudy's whole life revolved around her husband, John, and their three children. In a sudden fit of self-torment, Katy idly wondered if she would be around long enough to become friends with the talkative, but otherwise pleasant, woman.

From across the pool, Trace's deep laughter rang out, drawing Katy's gaze like a magnet. Her mouth tightened when she saw the way a willowy blonde was clinging to his arm as though she couldn't stand without his support. Katy turned away sharply, and when Trudy paused to draw a breath she quickly excused herself, saying that she wanted to speak with Mattie about serving dinner.

Once inside the house, Katy ignored the kitchen and went directly upstairs to the master bedroom. In the adjoining bath she rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the aspirin, and finding them, downed a couple with a glass of water. After two hours of watching that woman drape herself all over Trace, the dull ache in her temples had become a full-fledged tension headache.

The moment she arrived Monica Traverse had thrown her arms around Trace and kissed him full on the lips. Much to Katy's chagrin, he hadn't objected in the least. When the lo;.g, passionate embrace was over, Trace had laughing!^ disentangled the woman's arms and told her to behave herself. Then, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, he had turned to Katy and introduced her as his cousin, a relationship which the lovely Monica had quickly discounted as having no importance.

"Fourth cousins, darling," she had drawled seductively. "That hardly constitutes next of kin. Anyway, our relationship has always been more in the 'kissing cousin' category, wouldn't you say?" Giving him a heavy-lidded look that spoke volumes, she smiled slowly and purred, "Don't tell me you've forgotten all those long summer afternoons we spent in the hayloft?"

The sly innuendo sparked an instant reaction in Katy. Anger, hot and strong, surged through her, and for the first time in her life, she felt an urge to commit physical violence. The dislike she had felt for Saundra was nothing compared to the hostility this woman aroused. Hayloft indeed!

But if she found Monica's remark offensive, Trace certainly didn't. Throwing his head back, he let out a bark of delighted laughter.

"You little devil. You haven't changed a bit, have you? Stirring up trouble is obviously still your favorite pastime." Trace grinned at the blonde in a way that made Katy's heart lurch painfully. "Well, this time it won't work, sweetheart. My wife isn't in the least jealous. Now, mind your manners and say hello to Katy."

"Hello, Katy," Monica parroted, smiling archly as her green eyes swept over Katy in a quick, head to toe inspection. "I really should hate you, you know, for stealing this gorgeous man the minute my back was turned. If I hadn't been touring Europe this summer, you would never have gotten away with it."

Ignoring Katy's startled expression, Monica slipped her hand through Trace's arm and gave him a reproachful look. "And I really shouldn't even speak to you, you naughty man. How could you marry someone else, when you know I've been lusting after you for years? I'm heartbroken!"

"Maybe I just got tired of waiting to catch you between husbands," Trace teased.

"Oh, you! Just for that I'm not going to let you out of my sight all evening."

And she hadn't either, Katy reflected grimly.

She tried to tell herself she had nothing to fear. After all, Trace loved her. He had proven that in a thousand different ways. But still a niggling doubt persisted in the back of her mind. She kept remembering that when she had pointed out to Trace the possibility that the marriage might never be consummated, he had told her that was his problem. He hadn't, however, explained how he would deal with it. The mere thought that he might have the marriage annulled, or take a mistress, made Katy sick at heart.

Giving herself time to regroup her forces, she sank onto the bench in front of the dressing table and began to brush her hair with slow, soothing strokes. Then she swept it back high over her temples and secured it with two amethyst-studded combs. After she had touched up her lipgloss, Katy stood and surveyed her reflection. She adjusted the full sleeves of her gauzy, burgundy blouse and tucked it more securely into the waistband of the long, matching skirt? Then, with no further excuse to delay, she made her way back downstairs to the party.

When Katy stepped outside, she discovered that during her absence a space had been cleared at one end of the patio for dancing, and Trace and his "kissing cousin" were now wrapped in each other's arms, swaying to the slow, seductive music that poured from the outdoor stereo speaker.

The tightness in Katy's chest increased. Pivoting on her heel, she stalked back into the kitchen and informed Mattie, rather curtly, that it was time to serve dinner.

"Who's the blond bombshell?" Jane asked her a short time later, when Katy joined the Cawleys at one of the tables scattered around the back lawn.

Katy didn't need to ask who she was talking about. Her eyes went immediately to the table where Trace and Monica were seated, and her set expression became even stiffer. The woman was practically sitting in his lap!

"That's Monica Traverse, Trace's cousin," she replied, striving for indifference, then completely spoiling the effect by adding, "she's been in Europe for the last six months and now she's making up for lost time."

"She certainly is," Jane agreed heartily, not even bothering to comment on Katy's incensed tone. "And if I were you, my girl, I'd put a stop to it. Pronto!"

"What am I supposed to do, threaten to scratch her eyes out if she doesn't back off? I'm sure Trace's snooty relatives would love that. I get the distinct impression they're all just waiting for me to make some horrible social blunder."

"Well, you'd better do something, sweetie, because that woman has got the hots for your husband. And if he decides to take what she's so obviously offering, you won't have anyone but yourself to blame."

Frank's scandalized "Jane!" had no effect at all.

"I mean it!" his wife continued pugnaciously. "It's time Katy realized that she's married to a passionate, virile man, and if she continues to keep him at arm's length she's going to lose him."

Katy didn't need Jane to tell her something she already knew. The same worrisome thought had been running through the back of her mind all week, like some biurred, flickering film. Tonight's little episode merely brought it into sharper focus.

Eyes fixed on her plate, she listlessly poked at the savory barbecue with her fork, and murmured, "I know."

The wavering note in Katy's voice brought Jane's head around with a snap. After a search of her face she quickly changed the subject.

The meal seemed interminable. Seated not more than ten feet away from Trace, Katy couldn't miss the provocative gleam in Monica's eyes whenever she looked at him or the way she seemed to be plastered against his side. Every time the woman's husky laughter rang out, Katy's jaw clenched tighter. By the end of the meal her teeth were aching.

Later, when Trace and his cousin returned to the improvised dance floor, and the woman literally melted against him, Katy watched through narrowed eyes and indulged in a delightful fantasy in which she shoved Monica, fully clothed, into the deep end of the pool.

Katy was slow to anger. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had truly lost her temper. But that was not to say she didn't have one. When pushed long enough, and far enough, she could explode into a magnificent fury that was all the more shocking for its rarity. An evening of watching Trace accept the cloying attentions of another woman, while virtually ignoring his wife, had her doing a slow burn. By the time the party began to break up, she was nearing flash point.

Predictably, Monica was the last to leave. Katy had just closed the front door after saying good night to her father and the Cawleys when Trace strolled into the entrance hall with the woman clinging to his arm.

'Tm going to walk Monica to her car, darling," he announced in a casual tone that set Katy's hackles up. "I won't be but a minute—why don't you go on up to bed. Mattie and the others just about have everything cleaned up, and I know you're tired."

His solicitude grated on Katy's nerves like a fingernail scraping on a chalk board, but her blistering glare was wasted. His attention had already returned to the woman at his side.

"It was a lovely party, Katy," Monica cooed. "I can't remember when I've had such a good time."

It was all Katy could do to restrain herself. Gritting her teeth, she barely managed a tight, "Thank you," before pivoting on her heel and stalking up the stairs. If Trace thought her behavior rude, that was just too bad! At that moment polite platitudes were beyond her.

Katy marched into the master bedroom and, in a very childish, but totally satisfying fit of temper, slammed the door with a force that rattled the pictures on the wall. Seething, she began to pace the room. Every time she passed the bedside table her eyes went to the clock. How long did it take to say good night, for heaven's sake! Imagination stoked the fire of her jealous anger, and with every tick of the clock the pressure built higher. Twenty minutes later, when Trace strolled into the room, she was ready to let fly.

He stopped just a few feet inside the door and stretched, flexing his broad shoulders and giving vent to a huge yawn. "Boy, am I bushed," he commented lazily. Releasing a long sigh, he gave Katy a friendly smile and headed for the dressing room, absently unbuttoning his shirt on the way. "All things considered, it was a nice party, don't you think?" he tossed over his shoulder.

He didn't seem to notice that Katy had jerked to a halt at his entrance, or that she now stood in the middle of the room, still fully clothed, glaring daggers at him.

"Oh, just terrific!"

Trace had taken two more steps before he caught the snapping sarcasm in her voice. Faltering to a stop just as he reached the dressing room door, he turned slowly and shot her a quizzical look. The beginnings of a puzzled frown creased his forehead.