Nan Ryan (21 page)

Johnny was sound asleep. He slept all the way to London and Nevada, far too excited to sleep, enjoyed every lovely mile of the trip. After leaving the industrial area of Southampton behind, the train wound its way across the lush green countryside of England and Nevada Marie Hamilton thought she had surely never seen anything more pleasing to the eye.

Unless it was the dark handsome face in repose only inches from her own. She spent as much time admiring Johnny as she did England. It was wonderful fun to sit there on his knees and to leisurely study the dear face that looked almost boyish in slumber. She examined him with an intensity he would never have tolerated had he been awake.

Nevada noticed, for the first time, that there was a tiny white scar an inch below Johnny’s right ear. And still another just beneath his strong chin. Instinctively puckering her lips, Nevada conquered the temptation to kiss the tiny white scars. Other than those small imperfections, he was without blemish.

Jet-black hair, an errant shock adrift over his forehead, his smooth olive complexion, his well-shaped nose, his beautifully sculpted lips beneath the sleek mustache, Johnny Roulette was nothing short of beautiful to the adoring young woman wrapped carelessly his strong, sleeping arms.

Johnny never roused until the train pulled into the London station and Nevada had to firmly speak his name.

“Johnny, we’re here. Wake up.”

His eyes still closed, Johnny automatically hunched his wide shoulders and slid lower down onto his spine, hugging Nevada closer to him and licking his lips. Her own mouth was now no more than a couple of inches from his. Nevada trembled.

“Johnny,” she said again more loudly.

“Hm?” he murmured, and slowly started coming awake. Bunking to focus, he said, “Where are we?”

She smiled and, gently pushing on his broad chest, levered herself back a little. “Johnny Roulette, you must be the soundest sleeper in the world!” Her fingers itched to push back the rebellious black hair from his forehead.

“So I’ve been told,” was his response as he straightened, loosened his hold on her, and raised a hand to run it through his dark, disheveled hair. “We here?”

“Yes, we’re in London.”

Yawning, he said, “Did you enjoy the ride through England?”

“More than you can imagine.”

At the station King Cassidy said good-bye but promised he’d come to call within the week and Nevada, noticing how Miss Annabelle colored when King kissed her hand, wondered if she too had enjoyed the train ride.

Johnny swept her and Miss Annabelle into a cab and Nevada, smiling happily, rode through the London streets with the now rested Johnny pointing out famous landmarks.

Her smile widened when the carriage rolled to a stop before the imposing hotel on Brook Street and Johnny lifted, her down to the sidewalk. A liveried footman stepped forth to greet them and welcome them to Claridge’s, bowing and hurrying to hold the hotel’s heavy doors open wide.

Inside, they were warmly welcomed by the hotel’s suave manager and Nevada, her sweeping gaze examining her lavish surroundings, felt certain she was going to like London.

But then she stepped into Claridge’s perfumed lift and came face-to-face with a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with hair the color of summer wheat and eyes like emeralds. Nevada’s heart sank when she whirled about to catch Johnny looking over her head, smiling engagingly at the pretty blonde.

By the time they reached their apartments on the hotel’s third floor, the joy as well as the sun had gone out of Nevada’s world. Intuitively she sensed great danger. She glanced again at the well-dressed woman whose flashing green eyes were staring with frank admiration at Johnny Roulette.

“Dear me,” said Miss Annabelle, when the short, smiling bellman showed them into a high-ceilinged suite with walls of ivory and gleaming furniture and tall front windows, “it’s begun to rain. I didn’t see a cloud in the sky on our ride into the city.”

“Only a short summer shower,” assured Johnny pleasantly. “It won’t last.” He peeled some bills off for the bellboy.

“You’re wrong,” said Nevada, moving dispiritedly to a window. Sporadic drops of rain hit the polished glass and trickled down, streaking the panes. Nevada, lifting a forefinger to follow the path of one slow-moving droplet, said prophetically, “It will rain all afternoon.”

Miss Annabelle, removing her hat and gloves, said, “Well, it will make little difference to me. I want nothing more than a warm bath and a nice long nap.”

Nevada turned around. Hopefully she said, “Johnny, why don’t we find a game? With the rain, there’s nothing else we can do.”

“No,” he replied, without explanation. But then he didn’t have to explain. Nevada knew. Sadly, she knew.

When, half an hour later, Johnny stepped from his adjoining room, freshly shaved and bathed and changed, Nevada prayed he would ask her to go with him, wherever it was he meant to go, and knew he would not. He didn’t.

Nevada jumped up, hurried to him, and asked, “Will we be having dinner in the hotel this evening?”

“Why don’t you and Miss Annabelle have supper sent up.”

She swallowed hard. “What about you?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.” And he was gone.

The afternoon was never-ending for Nevada. She restlessly paced the large sitting room, anxiously listening for the sound of his footsteps in the corridor. The rain continued to fall slowly, steadily. Nevada never knew when sunset came, because there was no sun to set. Just bleak gloomy skies and a big dreary room and a lonely young girl sitting in the window seat, hugging her knees and wondering where Johnny was.

And what he was doing in the rain.

“I simply adore making love in the rain,” said Lady Ashley. She stood at the tall windows in the well-appointed sitting room of the suite directly above Nevada. The elegant blond beauty turned about and smiled at the tall dark man. “Don’t you, Roulette?”

“Rain or shine, Lady Ashley, so long as it’s with you,” Johnny replied gallantly. Yawning, he lolled lazily in an easy chair of rich plum velvet, his dark eyes half closed. Adam-naked, he stretched his long, bare legs out before him, unashamed, gladly going along with Lady Ashley’s charade, whatever it might be.

No sooner had he knocked on her door than she led him into the parlor, introduced herself, and asked, “Did you have difficulty finding me?”

“Not really,” said Johnny, seeing no need to say more.

She smiled. “I’m glad. I wanted you in the elevator. I want you now.”

“I’m here.”

She stepped closer, swept her well-manicured hands over the breadth of his shirtfront. Her eyes met his. “I want to undress you. May I Mr—”

“Roulette. John Roulette.”

“Ooooh! A Frenchman. Do you make love like—”

“Half French, on my father’s side,” Johnny cut in. “My mother was Irish.”

“I see. May I undress you, my handsome half Frenchman?”

“If you like.”

She said no more. With a swift dexterity that amazed him, Lady Ashley Wellington stripped him bare, then slowly walked around him, openly admiring his dark male nudity.

“Would you like a drink, Roulette?” she said, laying his folded clothes over the sofa’s back. She inclined her golden head toward, a well-stocked drinks trolley.

“I’ll join you in a small brandy. Nothing stronger,” said Johnny. “Then perhaps you’d like to get undressed.”

Lady Ashley smiled, gave his mouth a playfully biting kiss, and said, “Not just yet.”

Now, half an hour later, the beautiful blond noblewoman standing before the tall, rain-splattered windows still had on the expensive beige silk afternoon dress she was wearing when she had let him in. She had not removed so much as the long rope of pearls from her throat or the handmade kid slippers from her feet.

Never a man to rush or to question a woman’s unique desires or tastes in lovemaking, Johnny lounged there in the chair, comfortably naked in the shadowy room, neither embarrassed nor nervous. Obviously the lovely Lady Ashley was playing her own special kind of love games, and that suited him fine.

She was, even fully clothed, a very provocative woman. She exuded a sexuality so strong he had picked up on it in their brief encounter in the elevator earlier. That sophisticated seductiveness was even more pronounced now and Johnny looked forward to a long, rainy afternoon of enjoyable sex.

Lady Ashley, her emerald eyes transmitting a potent heat, slowly advanced on Johnny. When she stood directly before his chair she said huskily, “Do you know what I want to do, Roulette?”

“Tell me, dear.” He smiled and reached for her hand.

Her fair face flushed and she said, “I could never actually say it aloud.”

His thumb gently stroking the back of her hand, he pulled her down onto his lap and encouraged her. “Then whisper it to me, Lady Ashley.”

Smiling, she cupped his smoothly shaven jaw in her hand, leaned close, and whispered into his ear. Told him exactly what she wanted to do to him, and in the most graphic of terms. Johnny felt the half arousal he’d worn for the past half hour become painfully complete.

Before he could speak Lady Ashley pulled away, looked at him hungrily, and slid off his lap to kneel between his spread legs.

She wrapped delicate fingers around him and smiled like a pleased cat about to take its first taste of rich cream. “You’re so much a man, Roulette. So beautiful.” Her green eyes glazed with passion. “Soooo big!”

She bent her perfectly coiffed blond head to him and Johnny’s hands gripped the chair arms.

In minutes Lady Ashley was rising to stand before him once more. Smiling down at the limp, sated man, her soft laughter competed with the sound of the raindrops peppering the tall windows.

Lady Ashley reached behind her head and unhooked her cultured pearls. Dangling them down to tickle Johnny’s bare belly, she said, “I’m going into the bedroom to get undressed.” She released the pearls; they fell and lay there on Johnny’s lower stomach. She looked pointedly at his flaccid groin and said, “Stay here until you can wear the pearls on it. Then bring them to me.” She licked her lips suggestively. “And join me in bed.”

Lady Ashley, lying naked against the satin-cased pillow, clapped her hands with glee when Johnny walked into her bedroom minutes later. He slowly advanced, the pearls draped around his rigid erection.

Lady Ashley happily crawled across the soft bed, reached out to reclaim her pearls. Johnny stood statue-still while she leisurely eased the long luminous rope from him. Then he pulled her up into a kneeling position, kissed her hotly, and lowered her to the bed, following her down.

The pearls, soon forgotten, slipped from Lady Ashley’s opened hand and she sighed breathlessly. “I do so enjoy making love in the rain.”

21

“There are times,” said Miss Annabelle, “when elbows can go on the table. Which is when?”

“When no one’s looking?” Nevada said, grinning from ear to ear.

Miss Annabelle glanced at her sharply. “The gesture is strictly taboo at formal dinners,” she said. “It is, however, acceptable at formal gatherings between courses or while resting.”

Dauntlessly guiding her extremely bright but annoyingly cavalier charge through the confusing how-to’s and social graces she needed to master in order to become a true lady, Miss Annabelle sat across a pink damask-draped table from Nevada. The table, on wheels, had been rolled into their Claridge’s suite by a white-jacketed steward. He stood, his gloved hands folded before him, waiting to serve lunch.

On this surprisingly sunny September noon in London the day’s lesson centered around table manners. Nevada, in the role of a visiting luncheon guest, had entered the sitting room with its ivory walls and Chippendale furniture and deep rust-hued carpet, smiled at Miss Annabelle, and said, “Hello. My name is Nevada Marie Hamilton. It is nice to meet you.”

“Well done!” Miss Annabelle praised her. “Except I think we must drop Nevada and become simply Miss Marie Hamilton.”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?” Nevada’s hands went immediately to her hips.

Miss Annabelle’s fine brows lifted. “I notice, dear, that when you become upset you still swear. You must learn to control your temper. Swearing, at any time, is out of the question.”

“I’m sorry, but good Lord … ah … why would I want to drop my name?”

“
Nevada
sounds flamboyant and untamed and, frankly, rather
déclassé.
”

“It does?”

“I’m afraid so, dear.”

Nevada sighed with frustration. “This becoming a lady is really a big pain in the—” She caught herself. “Fine, in public I’ll be Marie. Here I’m still Nevada. All right?”

“Very well. Now, Miss Hamilton, won’t you have an appetizer?” offered Miss Annabelle.

The white-jacketed steward stepped forward, held out a tray to Nevada. She stared at a silver canapé tray and made a face. Lifting her disapproving eyes from the oysters and clams within miniature tartlike pastries, she said, “Ugh. That’s disgusting!”

Miss Annabelle scolded, “If the hors d’oeuvres tray is passed to you, simply say, ‘I don’t care for any, thank you.’”

Nevada nodded.