Anew: Awakened Part 19

Amelia Three days pa.s.s. Between ballet cla.s.ses and the endless round of social events, I scarcely have time to think. Although I manage to stay much better focused under Sergei's tutelage, being with him only serves to keep me constantly aware of my feelings for Ian. Yet the hours spent in the dance studio are a rare respite from all the other times when I have to confront the man himself in the formidable flesh.

Contrary to his reputation for being socially aloof, Ian is everywhere. Every event I attend--with the season now in high swing there are so many--our paths cross. He is unfailingly courteous, never attempting to get me alone again. We exchange polite chitchat, nothing more. Yet surely I'm not mistaken about the heat in his eyes when our gazes meet?

Inevitably, the presence at such events of such an eligible and previously elusive man invites speculation. He is, I hear it whispered, interested in someone in particular but no one can agree on who she is. A young debutante, newly graduated from one of the elite universities, is a prime candidate. So is a recently divorced thirty-something with spectacular looks and a rumored predilection for bondage play.

The graphic nature of some of the gossip surprises me But I realize that it shouldn't. These are the people who find nude opera singers having at the very least simulated s.e.x on stage to be high cultural entertainment.

The longer I am in the city, the more aware I become of the heavy layer of sensuality that permeates every aspect of it. Some of that is undeniably appealing--the beauty of the architecture, the ubiquity of music, art, and all the rest, even the exquisite preparation of food paired with the finest wines. But other aspects hint at the indulgence of darker appet.i.tes.

Recreational drugs, legal since the collapse of the war on drugs decades ago, are prevalent. I think back to the charity gala that I attended two nights before with Edward and Adele. The head of the charity's board of directors received a humanitarian award for his work combating drug use among minors. The irony is that the brilliant and darkly handsome Jorge Cruces owns the world's largest recreational drug company. His efforts to keep his products out of the hands of those too young to use them legally merely a.s.sure that he will be left free to sell them to everyone else.

Such indulgences are far from Society's only vice. I hear casual references to clubs where the most beautiful and skilled s.e.x workers--men and women alike--serve every taste. Almost nothing is off-limits or even particularly difficult to obtain.

At a garden party, I stumble across a couple having s.e.x under the branches of a weeping willow. The woman is on her knees, sucking the man off. His hands are tangled in her hair, holding her head in place. As she looks up at him, he gazes down at her with such raw pa.s.sion that I suddenly cannot breathe.

Walking away hastily, wanting nothing so much as to be alone, I run smack into Charles Davos. He catches my arm just in time to stop me from falling. He looks perfectly pleasant, even handsome. Well dressed in pleated wool trousers and a cashmere jacket, he is very fit for his age with the unmistakable patina of wealth and privilege. Yet something about his touch makes my skin crawl.

"I'm terribly sorry," I say. "Please excuse me." I start to go around him but Davos' hand on my arm stops me.

"Amelia, isn't it? Amelia McClellan. I'm Charles Davos. We met at the opera. Is something wrong? You look upset."

From another person, I might take that as an expression of polite concern. But Davos' yellow-green eyes, seen at such close range, have an almost reptilian cast. He blinks slowly and a shiver runs through me. I really do not like this man even if I can't begin to say why.

"Not at all. I was just distracted. Please excuse me."

Davos doesn't release me. Instead, he says, "You're a welcome addition to our social set, Amelia. Seeing the same faces over and over can get wearisome."

His skin emits a musky, oily scent that makes me recoil. "If you say so. I really must be going--"

He chuckles. "So impetuous. I like that." He leans a little closer. "A pity about Susannah. She was a lovely woman. I quite admired her."

I can't help myself. "You knew Susannah?"

"Why, yes, of course. Everyone knows everyone here, or at least everyone who matters. But in Susannah's case, I have to admit that I had a particular interest. She was so...refined, so cool, so contained. Very refreshing in a world that I'm sure you've already discovered can be quite hedonistic."

"I'm sorry not to have known her," I say. Again, I try to extricate myself from his hold. This time he lets me go but he still blocks my path.

"No doubt you are. You remind me of her. Your eyes, most particularly. People say they are windows into the soul. Do you believe that, Amelia?"

I'm too busy staring at Davos to answer. He is the first person to mention my resemblance to Susannah. That's disturbing enough but his remark about seeing into the soul... What does that mean? Is he hinting that he suspects the secret I'm hiding?

A chill slips down my spine. I can't get away from him fast enough but at the same time I don't want to do anything to arouse his curiosity further. Fortunately, I'm saved from trying to figure out what to do by Edward's sudden appearance.

He takes one look at me standing with Davos and comes to my side, putting his arm around me in a display of affection I know is not commonplace for him.

"Charles," he says in a hard voice that mocks his seeming courteousness. "You'll have to forgive us. There's someone I want Amelia to meet."

Without waiting for a response, my brother leads me away. When we've gone a short distance, he sets me on a bench and sits down beside me. Holding my hands, he says, "You're shaking. What did Davos do?"

Quickly, I say, "Nothing. He just said that I remind him of Susannah."

Edward frowns. "That doesn't make any sense. He scarcely knew her."

"He claims otherwise. In fact, he says she interested him because she was so cool and refined."

I take a breath, grappling with a thought I would prefer not to have in my head. "He was attracted to her."

My brother's disgust couldn't be clearer. "He's old enough to have been her grandfather as well as yours."

"I don't think that makes any difference to him. You don't like him and neither does Ian. Why?"

"Davos has a certain reputation," Edward says. His eyes are grim. "I'm not going into it. Suffice to say that I'm certain Susannah never spent any time with him. And no matter what he claims, you are very different from her. There's nothing for you to be concerned about."

I want to believe him but my doubts linger. Before I can press the matter any further, Ian comes around a curve of the path quickly, as though seeking someone. At once, he is at my side. Ignoring Edward, he bends down so that he can look directly into my eyes.

"Amelia, what's wrong?" His tone is fierce but gentle in a way that I have heard from him only once before, in the studio when I was injured. "What happened?" he demands.

His presence, the sound of his voice, above all the overwhelming sense of safety that suddenly sweeps over me is too much. My throat tightens as the hard knot of confusion and sadness present in me since those moments in the library becomes unbearable.

"Amelia?" He touches my face with exquisite tenderness and catches a tear as it slips down my cheek. "For G.o.d's sake, baby, tell me what's wrong!"

"She had a run in with Davos," Edward says.

Ian curses under his breath. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it, what did he do to you?"

"He said that I remind him of Susannah." I take a quick, shuddering breath and try to get control of myself. "That's all. I'm over-reacting."

But even as I say that, I wonder if it's true. Davos turning up when he did, at a moment when I was upset and distracted, seems too convenient, as though he wanted to catch me with my defenses down. He has an agenda. I just can't figure out what it is yet.

"I've told Amelia that she has nothing to worry about," my brother says. His voice carries an undertone of warning, as though he is cautioning Ian not to upset me further.

"You're right, of course," Ian says, too quickly. He rises. A look pa.s.ses between the two men that I can't help but think doesn't bode well for Davos.

"We should get back to the party," Ian says.

I rise as well but before I go anywhere, I decide to seize the opportunity to bring up a topic that has been on my mind for several days. My encounter with Davos has only made it more urgent.

Looking at my brother, I say, "Adele tells me that you're knowledgeable about martial arts training. Can you recommend a beginner's cla.s.s?"

Edward looks taken aback. Clearly stalling while he tries to figure out why I would ask such a thing, he says, "You're already taking ballet cla.s.ses."

"One hardly precludes the other," I tell him. "Besides, I think it would be a good idea for me to learn how to defend myself."

The two men exchange another glance. They're communicating again in some way I can't grasp. I entertain the fanciful notion that testosterone can be used to send messages, like flares or signal flags but perceptible only to other males.

Finally, Ian shrugs. "I'll teach you."

I can't conceal my shock. This is definitely not what I want. "You?"

"Why not? I have multiple black belts and I've trained Special Forces soldiers in hand-to-hand combat."

In desperation, I say, "Surely, you're too busy."

"I'll make time."

I turn to Edward for help but he's standing a little apart, watching the two of us speculatively.

"I think I'd be better off with someone more attuned to beginners," I say.

Ian grins. With a complete lack of anything resembling decorum, he asks, "Worried about what will happen when I get you on the mat?"

My cheeks aren't the only part of my body that is suddenly hot. Totally forgetting that my brother is present, I blurt, "That is so typical of you. Reduce everything to s.e.x, then use it to control me. You're--"

Softly, with a thread of warning, he says, "I'm what, Amelia?"

"Predictable." Because I apparently have no sense of self-preservation, I add, "Which is dangerously close to boring."

Ian's gaze on me scorches. "In that case, I'll have to see what I can do to surprise you."

The muscles at my core clench. I turn and march off back toward the party without waiting for either of them. I don't know whether I should be more excited or afraid of what Ian will do. But I do know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I'm longing to find out.

The matter of my martial arts training is still undecided the following day when Adele and I join Helene and Marianne for lunch. I tried to get out of it but Adele would have none of that.

"I've known Helene since she was a child," she says in the car on the way to the restaurant where we are to meet. "She hasn't had the easiest life but the past has made her the strong, wonderful woman that she is today."

It occurs to me that my grandmother may have some insight into what happened between Ian and his father. But when I ask her, she says only, "They had a terrible falling out when Ian was sixteen but beyond that I have no idea. I can only tell you that Marcus Slade was an unusual man."

"Unusual how?" I ask.

Adele hesitates. "He was extremely handsome--Ian gets his looks from him--and undeniably brilliant. Starting at a very young age, he built a media empire that made him both immensely wealthy and politically powerful. He seemed to have a knack for getting people do what he wanted. Helene was younger than he, I think by about fifteen years. When she was no more than twenty, he came along and swept her off her feet. It was something of a fairy tale romance--or so it seemed."

I wonder how that fits with Ian's comment about his father driving his sports car off a cliff. Surely, fairy tales never end that way.

"What went wrong?" I ask.

"I'm not sure," my grandmother says. "I do know that my husband, G.o.d rest his soul, avoided socializing with Marcus. He wouldn't tell me why he thought so poorly of him but it was clear that he did."

"Were Marcus and Helene still married when he died?"

"No," Adele says. "She'd left him several years before. The terms of their divorce were kept very quiet but it was generally understood that she came out of it in a greatly reduced state. That didn't seem to trouble her any. In fact, after the divorce, she looked much better than I'd seen her in years. Of course, since Ian took over the family holdings and completely remade them, Helene and Marianne have wanted for nothing."

That doesn't surprise me. I've seen firsthand that Ian treats his mother and sister with impeccable courtesy and gentleness. I can't help but wonder what it feels like to be so cared for by him.

Not that I haven't experienced flashes of his tenderness; I have. Nor can I regret the intense, almost brutal pa.s.sion that we have shared. But a contrary part of me wishes for both. Ian the gentleman and Ian the demanding lover. Now there, I decide, is a truly tantalizing thought.

Adele casts me a shrewd look but she says only, "I hope you and Marianne will become friends. She's a lovely girl." With a smile, she adds, "There may be something going on between her and Edward. I don't know for certain yet but it's definitely worth keeping an eye on."

My attention is caught. I recall the moment at the soiree when things seemed rather intense between them. But if there is anything between my brother and Ian's sister, Marianne gives no hint of it when we join her and Helene at a table in the restaurant's inner garden.

Both the Slade ladies rise as we approach. Helene's smile is warm and genuine as she embraces Adele, who hugs her in turn. Despite the twenty year or so difference in their ages, it's clear that my grandmother and Ian's mother are dear friends.

"So good to see you," Helene says. Her smile includes me. "I'm glad you could join us, Amelia. How are you finding the city?"

Settling into my seat, I search for an answer that is both truthful and diplomatic. The city enthralls and delights me in certain ways. But on another level I'm troubled by the unrelenting display of wealth and power by the elite. Sometimes, I'm even repelled by it.

I haven't begun to come to terms with the brutality I witnessed but I can't shake the sense that the beauty of the city is at best a thin veneer, hiding a far darker and more dangerous reality.

"It's a bit overwhelming," I say. "I'm taking it a day at a time."

"That's very wise," Marianne replies. "This really is a paradise of sorts, at least for some. But living amid so much privilege doesn't always have the best effect on people."

She speaks matter-of-factly, merely making an observation rather than judging. I like her for that and all the more so because her concern suggests that there's a lot more to her than delicate blond beauty. Marianne clearly has both intelligence and strength of character. If Adele is right about what's going on, I hope that Edward has the good sense to appreciate her.

The conversation has moved on to various events that are coming up in the next few weeks when Helene laughs and says, "Marianne and I have a small wager regarding how many more social outings Ian will be able to tolerate. He's already far exceeded his previous quota."

"I did notice him turning up here and there and...well, everywhere," my grandmother says with a smile. "The lucky hosts have been delighted. He's quite the catch."

"He would be if he ever considered settling down," Marianne says. Her voice drops a notch. "If Susannah had lived..."

Adele and I exchange a glance. I accept in that moment that my grandmother knows, not the details but still enough of the truth of my relationship with Ian to be concerned about how I will react to this. It certainly isn't pleasant to contemplate that he and Susannah might have married. I think of what was taken from him--from them both--and feel an overwhelming sense of sorrow for all that they lost.

But at the same time I am all too vividly aware that as much as Ian l.u.s.ts after me, there has never been a hint of anything more. Neither of us has ever spoken of love. I am, as he said so explicitly when he told me how I came to be, her fantasy of the perfect woman. I don't fool myself that I am also his.

"I'm not sure what would have happened between them," Helene says with a note of caution. "They certainly cared for each other but they each had their own reasons for shying away from a deeper commitment. Susannah's was obvious--she didn't allow herself to dwell on a future she might not have. As for Ian--"

His mother sighs and for just a moment I get a glimpse of the shadows behind her eyes. "I'm afraid that when he was growing up, he got a warped impression of marriage and everything that goes with it."

Marianne lays a hand over her mother's. Gently, she says, "That was hardly your fault."

"It was in a way. I should have left sooner." Looking at her daughter, she musters a smile. "At least you seem open to the possibility of marriage, if only someday with someone. I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I have my heart set on grandchildren."

Adele laughs. With a nod to me, she says, "Call me greedy but I have hopes of seeing my great-grandchildren."

Marianne groans. "Be warned, Amelia. These two will hurry us both down the aisle if we aren't careful."

Although she a.s.sumes a look of amused dismay, I have the impression that she isn't really all that alarmed by the prospect. The corners of my mouth twitch. Edward had better watch out for himself.

As the conversation moves on, I remain distracted by thoughts of Ian. Was he as gentle and protective with Susannah as he is with his mother and sister? Given what I know about her, I think he must have been.

The woman in the portrait--beautiful, delicate, poised in an att.i.tude of submissive waiting--is so different from me. I should be rejoicing in that but instead I can only think that he will never feel for me what he did for her.

Determined to shake off my somber mood, I take a sip of water and refocus on my companions.

"Of course tickets to the match are going for astronomical amounts," Helene is saying. "But it's for charity so that's all to the good."