As You Wish (28 page)

“But what about the ball?” David pleaded.

She shook her head. “Don’t come back. Ever.” She turned to finish the improbably long climb up the stairs.

“You heard her, David,” Beatrice said.

Over the roar in her ears, Patricia heard the door click, and then she heard Rita turn on Bruce. She should try to settle Rita down before she ruined the best thing in her life, but Patricia decided she didn’t have the energy. Instead she closed her bedroom door and stretched out across the foot of her bed.

She had lain in this bed with Ryan, sometimes making love, sometimes just being held by him, safer and happier than she had been since childhood. They had cuddled, watching television while they were both sick. When her aunt came back to Well Spring, Patricia had been eager to go home at the end of the day because she knew Ryan would be here waiting. It became home again after so many years of just being the place she lived. The place where all her things were. Not even Aunt Beatrice had made it feel so much like home. Ryan made this home.

When her grandparents died, Patricia had cried because she knew she had lost something even if she didn’t realize how much. When her parents were killed years later, she had cried because she had a better idea of what she had lost.

Now she knew exactly what she had lost, and the sheer magnitude of it left her incapable of crying.

Chapter Eighteen

At seven, Patricia dragged herself off the bed. She didn’t remember much of the past two hours, but she doubted she’d slept. Every muscle in her body ached. She stood under a hot shower, hoping to rinse the daze out of her head. She’d felt better three weeks ago when she’d been feverish and delirious. Of course she’d felt better then. Ryan had been here.

Her costume hung in the closet. The dress was a low-waisted, sleeveless evening gown made of pale orange georgette with four rows of long fringe made of bright yellow glass beads that clinked as she walked. Pulling it over her shoulders, she twisted to watch the beads glint in the light. Then she draped the yellow-beaded sash over her shoulder and tied it at the opposite hip before stepping into the ruby-red slippers.

Ryan had found the dress in the attic. He’d shown it to her with shining eyes, so she’d tried it on. She hadn’t made any plans for a costume, and the dress fit so perfectly she couldn’t resist. Ryan had told her she looked glamorous. It never occurred to her to wonder what David would think. Ryan couldn’t find period-appropriate shoes, but he’d located a pair of
Wizard of Oz
ruby-slipper replicas at a fashion museum and convinced the director to loan them to her. He’d covered the buckles with bows so she would stop laughing and clicking her heels together.

If she clicked her heels together now, could she go home? Which home? The home of the past week, where Ryan met her at the door? Of the week she’d been sick, when she woke up every morning wrapped in Ryan’s embrace? Of her childhood, where her parents and grandparents made all the decisions and she did as she was expected?

She slicked her hair into a neat bun at the back of her neck. Ryan had been horrified by the idea that she might bob her hair to complete the look. He’d also refused to try on the suit he’d found belonging to her great-grandfather, a tailcoat with pleated trousers, a double breasted waistcoat, and a bowtie. It looked like it might fit, but he’d said he wasn’t going to be at this party anyway.

And he wasn’t.

Patricia studied her face in the mirror. She doubted any amount of makeup would cover the pallor of her skin. Would everyone know she’d just ruined her life? If she hadn’t known Ryan, she would have been able to marry David and fulfill her destiny. She might have wondered if something was missing, but she might not have. She’d been six before she realized everyone didn’t live in a mansion. It had been two more years before she realized everyone didn’t have a cook and a full-time housekeeper. Without Ryan to compare to, she could have believed David’s touch was passion and his actions were love. She’d have never known what was missing. But she would have felt it. She would have listened to Rita talking about her marriage to Bruce and wondered why hers didn’t feel the same way.

At least she wouldn’t have to marry David now.

She walked downstairs stiffly. Her heart beat heavily. White-coated caterers wandered the halls, waiting for guests to serve. They stared at Patricia as she passed. Patricia ignored them as she made her way toward the ballroom. It looked just like she remembered it: glittering chandeliers, and huge ferns on plaster pedestals positioned between the long doors that opened on the patio. None of it meant anything.

“Hey, Trish.”

Patricia found she had to move her whole body to move her gaze. She feared if she turned her head, everything would come apart. She turned to Rita, who was standing inside the door of the ballroom. Rita was dressed in an outlandish pirate costume with a huge purple plume sticking out of her black hat. The plume matched the hollows under her eyes.

“Nice costume. You look like the sun.” Rita’s voice was subdued.

“Where’s Bruce?”

Rita turned back to the ballroom. “He went home. Men are scum. He’s known David was sleeping with this waitress at Firenzi’s for a month, and he didn’t tell me.” She sighed. “Shit, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Your fault?” Patricia heard the door chime. The guests were arriving. She hoped the museum had someone to answer the door because Ryan wouldn’t be.

“The night you had the dinner party, and he came in to light the fire. I asked him to watch you.” Rita closed her eyes. “You were so worked up about David, and I knew I wasn’t helping things by fixing you up with every eligible man in reach, but I couldn’t stand to see you chained to that jackass. If I hadn’t interfered, you might not have gotten involved with him.”

Patricia turned with the requisite smile to greet the first guests. How was she going to survive the rest of the evening? Somehow she remembered the names of the people in front of her and introduced them to Rita, who was also automatically cordial. Judith Haddix showed up with her husband, and then Beatrice came in. They took up the first positions at the head of the reception line, allowing Patricia to relax and stop racking her brain for names.

“It started before then,” Patricia said between arrivals.

“It did?” Rita asked.

“Remember that day in August when you talked to him?”

Rita frowned. “No.”

“You asked him to allow you to study his perfect anatomy. I went to talk to him after you left.”

Rita stared at the floor. “So it is my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault but my own.” Another rush of guests arrived. They were all excited, smiling and chattering, looking around with appreciative eyes. Patricia managed to smile, thanking people who complimented her costume and telling them where it had been found, but not by whom. She didn’t think she could say his name without crying. They were all so excited no one noticed both she and Rita looked half alive.

After half an hour, when most of the guests had arrived, Patricia knelt beside her aunt’s chair. “How are you doing, Aunt Beatrice?”

“I would be better if we hadn’t had the scene this afternoon,” Beatrice said, patting Patricia’s hand.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m afraid I didn’t use very good judgment.”

“That’s not what I meant. That greedy Hoess family has wanted to move in here for years. I’m not at all surprised by young David’s actions, but I’m not pleased.”

“But what about—” Patricia’s throat closed over his name. She could still see the pain in his dark eyes as he closed the door.

“Ryan?” Beatrice said. “I have a hard time believing Ryan did anything wrong. And if he did, it was a long time ago. I’m going to call the lawyers tomorrow and get him rehired. If that doddering fool of a senior partner is here, I intend to get it taken care of tonight. Unless you object.”

“No, Aunt Beatrice, I don’t object at all. I promised him he wouldn’t lose his job because of me.”

Beatrice took Patricia’s hand in both hers. “Patricia, if you really love someone, someone who loves you back, you should never let them get away. You don’t want to end up like me.”

“Dressed up as an old woman at a masquerade ball?” Patricia smiled. Someday she was going to be Beatrice. Old and alone. Only she would spend the rest of her life watching Ryan out her windows and knowing she couldn’t talk to him.

“A spinster,” Beatrice said. “I had someone who loved me, and I let other people force us apart. Now I’m an old woman without even my son. I don’t want you to be like me. Don’t let other people dictate your life.”

“Your son?” Patricia asked. More guests stopped in front of them. She knew she should tend to them, but she wanted to know about this son. Ryan had found something in a journal about Beatrice being called a disgrace. Had she gotten pregnant with Dickie who was then sent away?

“Patricia.”

Patricia expected for some reason to see the doddering senior partner of the estate law firm. Instead she saw David’s parents. They looked sad and upset. “Hello, Andrew, Georgia.” She used their first names deliberately. She had always spoken to them formally before now, and it succeeded in disconcerting them. She stood, holding her neck stiff. It ached from the effort.

“David called and told us you’d had an argument. I hope you can work things out soon,” Georgia said as if Patricia wouldn’t find a better catch than her son and whatever the problem was it would be easily dismissed because it was probably Patricia’s.

“I don’t think it will be worked out.” Patricia’s back stiffened too. Her spine seemed to be fusing. Emotions started to surge through her, a spreading heat of fury.

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.” Andrew shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t.” Patricia met Andrew’s eyes. She’d heard stories about the Whitmer temper, but she’d never felt it. Now she wanted to punch David’s father right in the nose in front of a ballroom full of people.

“But the two of you made such a lovely couple.”

“No, we didn’t,” Patricia informed them. “I believe David would be very good at whatever he decides to do or whatever office he decides to seek, but I do not believe he would make a good husband for me.”

“That’s a shame, Patricia, because your parents believed you two would marry someday,” Andrew intoned like a wise elder.

“Like hell,” Beatrice snapped. “Ben and Margaret were being polite. My brother always hated you, and I’m sure he’s turning in his grave at the idea of his precious granddaughter marrying your son. It gave him indigestion enough when he was alive.”

Andrew and Georgia Hoess paled and glanced around to see who had heard. Rita started to laugh. She cackled louder when they hurried away.

“Excuse me.” Patricia ducked out of line. Her rage was still at a full boil as she strode down the hall and out the front door. Now that she could feel again, she had a burning desire to know the truth about Atlanta.

The wind swept across the manicured lawn, bringing cold rain droplets that would have been snow if it had been just a few degrees colder. Her ruby slippers sounded loud against the concrete driveway. The rain had to be ruining them. The fashion museum would be angry.

Cars were parked all along the length of the drive. Valets dodged around her on their way to the door for another car to park. At the bottom of the drive just inside the twelve-foot-tall wrought iron gates, his house was lit all over. She stopped at the door and pounded with her fist.

Ryan jerked open the door, stiffening when he saw her outside.

“I need to know,” she demanded in her most imperious tone.

“What?” he shot back.

“I need to know about Angela McGuinness and the Ladies Club of Buckhead.”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

Ryan swallowed and looked at the floor. “Come inside before somebody sees you. Have a seat; it’s a long story.”

“I’ll stand, thank you.” Patricia glanced around his living room. He’d already started packing. A low wall of boxes lined the front of the room.

Ryan sank down on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head buried in his hands. His shoulders stuck up around his neck like a protective barrier. The room was small, and his knees butted against the coffee table. “When I turned eighteen, my last foster family kicked me out before I finished high school, and I had to get a job. I got a landscaping gig, but the money wasn’t really steady. Then I got another job laying tile and doing odd jobs with an interior decorator. One of his clients was watching me work one day, and she started hitting on me. We sort of got involved. She didn’t exactly pay me for sex, but she fixed my car when it broke down, and she paid my rent a couple of months when I came up short. She was a domme. She liked to tease and humiliate me. I needed the money, and I thought I was in love with her, even though she liked to make me cry. She told me there was this club she and some of her friends went to, and she could get me a job there. The money was a lot better than what I was getting, so I checked it out.”

Patricia’s fingers tightened on the back of the chair. She could imagine Ryan as a strapping, not quite out of high school boy falling for a strong older woman.

“It turned out this club, this Ladies Club of Buckhead, was a bondage club. These high-powered society types who liked to be spanked and humiliated. Sometimes the other way around. They just wanted a nice, safe place to do it in. From the outside, you’d think the place was a garden club or something. The first floor looked pretty proper and genteel, and they actually had little parties there occasionally. It didn’t get weird until you went upstairs or downstairs to the basement. Anyway, I got a job at this place, and they discovered that I had a gift for being a dom. I told Theta I didn’t want to play anymore, and she got pissed off. She slashed my tires and put sugar in my gas tank before I got her kicked out of the club. I swore I’d never be the submissive again after her. I never wanted to be anyone’s slave ever again.”

“You called me Mistress in the garden,” Patricia whispered. Her anger had drained away sometime during his story. “You said you would obey me.”