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Whatever she was saying had been like a match to paper for Stephen had ignited into a tempestuous answering volley and for several minutes they had been toe-to-toe in a super-heated exchange. It had ended when Terri threw out her arms and turned away in disgust
, only to have Stephen catch her hand and spin her back, jerking her against him for a furious kiss. Reduced to the role of reluctant voyeur, Kalera had felt a rush of embarrassment as she’d watched their angry bodies clash in hostile passion. They had quickly broken away from each other, but she’d been left with a distinct impression of unfinished business.
Kalera had waited until well after the silver BMW had zoomed angrily away before she’d ventured in. Taken aback by her unexpected arrival, Stephen had been distinctly edgy, but he’d soon relaxed when she’d presented him with his engraved gold cuff-links and tie-pin, sufficiently for her to do some gentle probing that finally elicited a casual mention of his ex-wife’s visit.
‘Did Michael come, too?’ she had asked innocently.
‘Yes, but they didn’t stay long. Terri knows our engagement party is tonight so she chooses today to insist I perform my fatherly duties. She knew I wouldn’t have time to spare for the boy. She just wanted to make trouble—’
‘And did she succeed?’
Stephen’s light brown eyes had been soothing, but his smile was forced. ‘Only if she causes us to get into an unpleasant discussion about her, and, believe me, I find every discussion about Terri unpleasant.’ That had been an oblique reference to her attempts earlier in the week to encourage him on the subject, when he had simply told her, without the slightest trace of irony, that she had no need to be jealous. ‘Forget about Terri. This is supposed to be our day…’
Any chance for further serious discussion had been denied as the party designer arrived, twittering about last-minute alterations to the decor requested by Madeline, and the caterers and florist had begun to-ing and fro-ing. Amidst all the bustling activity, Kalera had been discreetly made to feel not only superfluous, but in the way. Stephen had shooed her back home, advising her to spend the afternoon quietly resting so that she would be fresh for the big night ahead.
‘Kalera?’ Stephen had finally found her and with an obedient smile Kalera moved forward to take his extended hand.
‘What are you doing over here? I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Well, I’m here now,’ she said, letting him tuck her arm through his and guide her back into the throng.
A passing matron jogged her elbow and she gave a tiny cry as a few sparkles of champagne bounced out of her glass and beaded on the tight bodice of her dress.
‘Oh, no, I hope it doesn’t mark the silk,’ she murmured anxiously, flicking them away with a finger.
‘Since you won’t be wearing that dress again I wouldn’t worry about it,’ said Stephen tersely, and Kalera bit the inside of her lip to stop a hasty reply. What could she say?
The dress had been another unfortunate omen for the evening.
She had been stunned when it had been delivered to the house that morning in a tissue-lined black box embossed with the gold symbol of a leading couturier along with a small slip of paper printed in a flowingly ornate font.
I know you’ve already bought a dress, but when I saw this one I just knew it was for you. I don’t want you to thank me, this is not my engagement gift, but please, wear it for me tonight—so that everyone can appreciate the richness of your beauty as I do…
The dress she had already bought for the occasion was a long, shimmering, beaded blue creation, which Kalera had thought would fit the understated elegance that Stephen liked to project.
But when she’d opened the box and lifted out the red taffeta dress she’d found that he had a very different image of her in mind. She had never worn red before but the knee-length dress with its draped skirt and ravishingly low sweetheart neckline and small, stand-up ruff at the back of her neck proved a dramatic foil for her pale blondeness. And—the most thoughtful and romantic touch of all—he had sent her matching shoes, exactly the right size for her small feet. Her hesitancy about accepting such an extravagant gift when her feelings about her engagement were becoming increasingly ambivalent had dissolved when she had tried it on for the mirror. The silk felt sleekly sensuous against her skin and the dress itself was pure fashion—dashingly sexy yet with loads of class. Wearing it had made her feel almost defiantly confident and she had put the blue creation back in her wardrobe with scarcely a qualm.
But when she had proudly descended the stairs to meet a few of Stephen’s close friends for drinks before the party proper began the look on Stephen’s face as he’d crossed the foyer to meet her had not been one of delighted admiration.
‘I thought you said you were wearing a long dress?’ he’d said through his teeth as she’d reached the bottom of the curving marble staircase.
‘You must have known I wouldn’t be able to resist this.’ She had smiled back, disconcerted by the white rim around his compressed lips. ‘Especially after I read your note.’
‘What note?’ His hard gaze had shifted to the curving expanse of creamy flesh revealed by the dramatic plunge of red silk between her tightly encased breasts. ‘I’ve never seen you wear that colour,’ he’d accused, shortening their steps to keep them out of earshot of the early guests gathered around the sideboard of drinks in the library. ‘Or a neckline so low it’s almost indecent. What on earth got into you to think it was suitable?’
It had hit her then—the drama of the dress, the whimsy of the impulsive gesture that was so totally unlike him! ‘Oh, God,’ she said, her hand on his arm bringing him to a full halt. ‘You didn’t send me this dress?’
Underneath the blandly handsome façade he was furious. ‘No, I didn’t send it to you! Are you telling me you let someone else buy you a dress?’
‘It arrived this morning. The note asking me to wear it wasn’t signed. I—well, naturally I thought it was from you,’ she protested, aware of his friends’ amused glances from the library. No doubt they thought the murmured conversation in the hall was a romantic exchange of sweet nothings.
‘A dress that gaudy and you thought it was from me?’ Stephen heaved a stentorian breath through his nose.
Gaudy! Her newly defiant confidence helped her field that punishing pitch. It was not so much his taste that was offended, but his pride.
‘It’s not gaudy, it’s a very expensive designer dress.’ She didn’t dare mention the shoes!
Nor did she care to mention the only person who would dare send her a horrendously expensive designer outfit with an anonymous note that implied it was from her fiancé.
