Garden of the Moongate (6 page)

Logical as that thought was, it did little to reassure her. As she entered the large, high-ceilinged dining room and stood waiting to be seated she felt very much alone. A nervous little smile hovered on her lips as a somber-looking maitre d' approached. With a cool flick of his wrist he indicated that she should follow him. Luckily, he didn't parade her across the entire dining room. Instead, he led her to a corner table near the balcony, next to the wall, where she at least felt less exposed to everyone's view.

"Will someone be joining you, miss?" the maitre d' asked aloofly, his accent unmistakably British. "Or will you be dining alone?"

"Alone," she murmured, adjusting her skirt as she sat down in the chair he pulled out for her. "Thank you."

"Enjoy your meal, miss," he said, but before he turned to go his gaze drifted down in discreet appreciation of the slender length of leg exposed by the slit of her straight skirt.

So, despite his very proper demeanor, he was human. Allendre was amused, but she suppressed her smile until after he had turned away. As she took a small sip of ice water she glanced around the dining room, dismayed that she didn't see anyone else who was sitting alone. Most tables were occupied by young couples, probably honeymooners. A few family groups were scattered around here and there, and there were a few pairs of older ladies, like Myrtle and her friend, who smiled and waved at Allendre when she looked their way. She waved back, nearly tempted to go ask if she could join them. But she decided against it, not knowing whether or not they'd really want her company. Ah, well, if she could make it through this first meal alone without feeling too self-conscious, she would feel much more comfortable the next time. She was sure of it.

A few minutes later, as she nibbled a tiny bite of the smoked salmon appetizer, she glanced up curiously when she became aware of someone standing just behind her chair.

"Good evening, Allie," Ric Shannon said, his voice low as he pulled out the chair on the opposite side of her table. "Mind if I join you a moment?"

The bite of salmon seemed to lodge itself in her throat, and she took a quick sip of water to help it along. "No, of course I don't mind. Please sit down." A slight warmth crept into her cheeks as his eyes swept over the creamy skin exposed above the moderately low-cut bodice of her dress. Determined not to appear as flustered as she felt, she forced herself to examine him carefully, too. Ric's sand-colored suit was perfectly tailored to the broad sweep of his shoulders, its color accentuating his dark tan. Disconcerted by the direction her thoughts were taking, she dragged her gaze from the strong contours of his face. His expression was one of smug pleasure. He had been well aware of her inspection—and her apparent approval.

"I wanted to apologize personally for this afternoon," he said, relaxing back in his chair. "I hope everything was satisfactory after you were finally shown to your room."

"Oh, yes, I only had to wait a few minutes before my luggage arrived," she assured him, though she was somehow disappointed that his inquiry was only a business courtesy. "And of course I think the room is perfectly lovely."

He nodded, unsmiling. "Even so, if you have any more problems with any of the staff, I want to hear about it right away. Okay?"

"Okay, but I'm sure there won't be many problems as long as you're here," she said wryly. "Maybe they were just having an off day today."

"They've been having far too many
off
days," he responded grimly. "In fact, that's why I'm here." Shrugging then, he grinned at her and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Of course, after meeting up with you, I almost didn't get here at all."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," she protested weakly, wishing his smile didn't make him so attractive. "I only stepped on you two times."

"And when I managed to survive, you tried scalding hot coffee." His teasing look changed as something like concern narrowed his eyes. Reaching out, he lifted her left hand, frowning as he examined her faintly red fingers. "I thought you said you didn't burn yourself. Do they hurt?"

As the ball of his thumb brushed slowly back and forth over her tender skin she did feel an odd sensation that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was more an exquisite ache than pain, and she didn't delude herself by thinking it had anything to do with the spilled coffee.

"They don't really hurt," she finally managed to say, trying to withdraw her hand from his. Her eyes widened in slight surprise when he wouldn't release it. He really was the most confusing man, she thought. But before she could analyze this latest attitude switch, the maitre d' stepped up to the table.

"Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Shannon, but Miss Hopkins asked me to tell you that she's arrived for your dinner date," he announced. "She's waiting at your table."

Nodding, Ric smiled mysteriously at Allendre. His thumb continued that disturbing stroking of her slender fingers as he glanced up at the maitre d'. "Thank you, Harrison, but would you ask Miss Hopkins to join us here? We can't allow Miss Corey to dine alone her first evening with us, and since she's already begun her meal…"

"I understand, sir; I'll relay your message to Miss Hopkins," Harrison said, then slipped away as quietly as he had come.

"Really, you don't have to keep me company," Allendre felt compelled to say, though in reality she was inordinately pleased that he had made the offer. "If you and Miss Hopkins had a date for dinner, she might not be too pleased if I intrude."

Ric dismissed her words with a careless shrug. "Nonsense. Deb and I would undoubtedly spend the evening discussing Shannon House, and, frankly, I'd rather relax this evening. All the problems will still be here for me to tackle in the morning."

"But I—"

"But nothing. You're having dinner with us." He gave her a slow, easy smile as he toyed with the sensitive tips of her fingers. "I'm sure you'll keep my mind off business."

Now he actually seemed to be flirting with her, and she couldn't disguise her confusion. "You're a very unpredictable person," she said without thinking. An appealing blush tinted her cheeks when he laughed softly. "No, really, you are. I never know what to expect of you. Sometimes you're nice, but sometimes you're downright…"

"Ill-tempered?" he finished for her, his eyes narrowing, but not in anger, as they held hers. "You're right. I do tend to get a little impatient when my mind's on business. And this morning before we… er,
met
in the line at the ticket counter, I had just begun to scan the quarterly financial statement for Shannon House. It didn't put me in a very good mood, to say the least, so I lost my temper instead of appreciating the fact that the feet that tangled with mine belonged to such an attractive young woman. But if you'll forgive me for that error in judgment, perhaps we could begin again? How about it? Are you willing to start over?"

With warm lean fingers still evoking that strange quickening of excitement in her, she couldn't possibly say no. Though she didn't quite trust his present friendly mood, she had no desire to refuse. After all, he was a very attractive man, and when he made a concerted effort to be nice, as he was doing now, he was almost irresistible. Nodding finally, she smiled. "I'm willing to start over if… you really want to."

He smiled back, a somewhat disturbing glow warming his eyes to dark blue. But before he could answer, Debra Hopkins joined them at the table. With a swirl of her yellow chiffon handkerchief-hemmed skirt, she sat down. Ric released Allendre's hand and rose to his feet. A smile thinned Debra's coral-glossed lips as she assumed a nonchalant pose, draping her arm over the back of the chair. "Ric, you're always thinking of your guests," she drawled, "aren't you? I know you hate to think of any of them being lonely, and it's so sweet of you to want to keep Miss… er…"

"Miss Corey," Ric provided. "Allendre Corey."

"Oh, Miss Corey." Debra transferred her weak, insincere smile to the younger girl. "Well, as I was saying, it's sweet of Ric to want to keep you company, but I'm afraid all our shoptalk will only bore you to tears."

"It's been a long day, Deb. I think we can postpone our discussion about Shannon House until tomorrow," Ric announced, giving Allendre an unabashed smile. "And Allie's promised to help me keep my mind off business this evening."

"Oh, has she?" Deb asked, a hint of sharpness in her tone. "I didn't realize the two of you knew each other so well—or at all, for that matter."

Ric grinned at Allendre. "Oh, we've been bumping into each other quite a lot recently, haven't we, Allie?"

An answering smile tugged at the corners of Allendre's mouth as she nodded. "Yes, quite a lot."

"But if you came to Bermuda as Ric's
companion
, Miss Corey, I'm surprised you're staying at the hotel," Deb said bluntly, emphasizing the word
companion
with a suggestive sneer, "and not at Ric's cottage."

Allendre's cheeks flamed at the insinuation. "Ric and I have just recently met," she replied in a tone of composure she didn't really feel. "My stay at Shannon House is just… a coincidence, actually."

Allendre dared a quick glance at Ric—her eyes meeting his just long enough to interpret his look of private amusement.

"Then you
are
here alone?" Deb questioned, her tone warmer but still far from friendly. "I must say, that surprises me. People rarely come to Bermuda alone."

"A friend had planned to come with me," Allendre replied hastily, repeating the story she had told Ric on the plane. "When she had to cancel out, I decided to come anyway. This was the only time I could get a vacation."

"A vacation from what?" Deb persisted. "What do you do in New York?"

"I'm not from New York," Allendre corrected her. "I'm from Chicago, and I work in an office."

"Oh, I just assumed you lived in New York," Deb said, obviously glad she had been mistaken. "But since you are all alone here, we'll have to see to it that you have plenty to do. There are three other single girls who are staying here together, and they seem to be enjoying themselves. I'd be glad to introduce you."

"I don't know…"

"I could introduce you now, in fact," Deb went on a little too eagerly. "They're just over there, four tables over."

"It's nice of you to offer, but not tonight, thank you," Allendre said as diplomatically as possible. "It's been a long day for me, too, and I'm rather tired."

"All the more reason to go out and relax. It will certainly be nice for you to have some company after dinner," she added, making it very clear to Allendre that Deb looked forward to having Ric all to herself for the greater part of the evening.

"I don't think so," Allendre said hastily. "I think I'll just make an early night of it."

"Maybe tomorrow night, then," the older girl said, the icy impatience in her tone belying her unconcerned shrug. "Or whenever. I'm sure they would be delighted to have you join them. Now, Ric, I'd just adore a cocktail before dinner. After the kind of day I've had, I certainly could use one. How about you?"

During dinner Deb kept up a steady chatter, mainly reminding Ric of escapades they had shared as children when he had come to Bermuda in summers to visit his grandparents. Though he hardly recalled many of the incidents she related and actually seemed rather bored, he listened, smiling politely. Allendre was relieved Deb was dwelling on the past. Even her inane, ceaseless chitchat was preferable to a discussion concerning the problems of the hotel, which would have made Allendre feel very guilty, though she wasn't sure why. She was only doing a job, one that many people did without feeling they were contemptible spies. Travel writers often evaluated hotels without the staffs knowledge simply to avoid getting any preferential treatment the average guest might not receive. Allendre saw the logic of such a practice but felt it would be utterly unethical if she heard, even inadvertently, any inside information about Shannon House. The inner workings of the hotel were really none of her business. She was only supposed to evaluate the end result, the quality of service provided for the guests; and for that reason she was delighted Ric had decided not to discuss business during dinner.

Unfortunately, before the meal ended he changed his mind. As coffee was served and as Deb finally began to wind down, a middle-aged couple was seated at the table directly behind Ric, and it was obvious they weren't pleased with the service in the hotel.

"Well, we finally made it," the man said grumpily, his voice carrying as he glanced at the menu. "I was beginning to think I'd starve to death before you decided to wear another dress."

"Now, don't you try to blame me, Hal," his wife snapped back just as grumpily. "I gave the maid my blue linen early this morning, and she promised it would be pressed and returned long before time for me to dress for dinner. It's certainly not my fault she never brought it back."

Hal grunted. "Maybe not, but when it wasn't there by seven o'clock, you should have decided to wear something else instead of making us sit in our room for an hour waiting for it to be delivered."

"But when I called down to complain, the girl at the desk said she was sure the dress was on its way. I called down three times, and she kept telling me that. And since I particularly wanted to wear that dress…"

"You're too gullible, Martha, and far behind the times," her husband pronounced, though his tone was somewhat gentler. "You still expect things to be the way they were ten years ago, but they're just not. It's nearly impossible to get good service anywhere these days. And this place is no different. No siree, you don't get what you pay for anymore, even in an expensive hotel like this."

"Maybe you're right," Martha conceded sadly. "But still…"

The tense silence that had commenced at Allendre's table seemed almost stifling, and her eyes darted from Ric's tight face to Deb's, then back to his again.

"I hope you can give me a good excuse for what we just overheard," he finally said to the older girl, his voice ominously low, his eyes icy gray again. "Can you, Deb? Can you tell me exactly what the devil's going on here?"