Torn Asunder Read online

  "I was wondering if you might have a dress I could wear tonight." She pressed her lips together, feeling uncomfortable. "There's a dinner party for Dev's colleagues and business associates. He likes me to wear black... and I have a few good black dresses..." Cle cleared her throat.

  "But you don't feel like wearing them, is that it?" Jaime looked at her, amused comprehension on his face. "You are such a quiet thing, Cleora dear, that probably Dev is like the rest of us. He doesn't realize how determined and independent you can be." Jaime waved aside any comment she might have made and stood looking at her, his face expressionless.

  Cle stayed quiet, knowing from experience that Jaime was thinking hard. It was a mortal sin to disturb him in these moments.

  "I think I have the dress for you. Young Mrs. Deerhurst's dress." At Cle's puzzled look, Jaime gave her an irritated glance and explained. "I thought I told you. After I designed it for her, I decided it would not suit her. She was very angry that I wouldn't let her wear it and didn't come to the salon for almost two weeks after our argument." He shrugged. "How foolish she was to think that I would sell her a dress that I knew didn't suit her. Silly female." He stood there, his fist pressed to his mouth. "Yes, this will suit you and I have accessories to go with it." He grinned. "You will be the sensation of the dinner party."

  "Jaime, wait," Cle called to him as he left the studio and strode down the hall toward an even larger work area where many of the creations were locked away and much of the newly designed fabric was kept under lock and key.

  Cle hurried after him, not catching him until he had inserted his key and was unlocking the door. "Listen, I don't want to wear anything bizarre..."

  Jaime stopped so suddenly that Cle crashed into his back. "Are you implying that Jaime Toner would design anything that could be construed as bizarre?"

  "No, of course not, but—" she gasped, a little out of breath and feeling frazzled. "Dev doesn't like me to be sensational. Well, what I mean is..."

  "I know exactly what you mean. Devon Carstairs wishes to hide your light under a bushel for reasons that are known only to himself."

  Cle let her breath out in a hiss. "Just what the hell do you mean, Jaime? If you're saying Dev is ashamed of me, trying to hide me, well then let me tell you you're all wrong. He isn't that way at all."

  "Oh, I don't think he's ashamed of you either, but he certainly likes to play down your beauty. Perhaps he doesn't want you to try and compete with those exotic women his colleagues have in tow." He gave her a very irritated look, then held up his hand, palm outward. "I refuse to stand here and debate the merits of the famous lawyer from England. Do you want me to dress you or not?"

  At the moment, Cle wanted to tell him to jump out the window. "Yes." She glared at the smirk on his face and followed him to the back of the warehouse like room.

  Again, Jaime inserted a key into a lock and they entered a room that was several degrees colder than the outer room. It took only a few minutes for Jaime to find what he wanted. Cle shivered as he shoved boxes into her arms. Then with Jaime leading the way and carrying the dress bag over his arm, they retraced their steps to his studio. Cle staggered a little. The boxes weren't heavy, just unwieldy.

  In his usual autocratic tone Jaime ordered her to dress so that he might make any changes he deemed necessary.

  "Jaime, I haven't time to try these things now. I'll do it later when the salon closes. I have to run through some sketches with Carr and I'm already late," Cle explained.

  Without answering her, Jaime picked up the phone, barked some instructions, then slammed the receiver down on the cradle. "There, now! Will you be quiet? Carr will go over them with Danski and for heaven's sake don't tell me that she doesn't know about the sketches because she's your assistant and if she doesn't know, I'll fire the two of you. Now go. Change!" He sat down on a swivel chair and sent it skidding across the room. In moments he was immersed in the study of some silks that were strewn on a table.

  It took two trips to the dressing rooms to cart all the boxes and the dress bag. Cle glared at the concentrating Jaime, who seemed to be unaware of her existence as she struggled with her burdens.

  She gulped with pleasure as she opened the first box and found silky lingerie that could have floated on air. Her eyebrows peaked in amusement at the peach colored sheerness of the undergarments, what few there were.

  Curious, Cle ignored the other boxes and unzipped the dress bag, anxious to see the creation that Jaime was sure would suit her blue black hair, a shade off the black that was Dev's. Her breath caught when she pulled the sky blue silk dress from the bag. Very narrow sequined braid in navy blue outlined the crisscrossed bodice, the braid becoming a halter for the neck. There was no back to the dress! None! Cle began shaking her head "no" even as she put on the under things and slipped the dress over her head. She didn't need to fasten anything, there were no fastenings of any kind. The bias of the silk made the dress hug her body like stretch fabric. Two pieces of material covered her breasts then came together at her waist to swath her body. The skirt was slit in front to the knee and with every move that Cle made the fabric swirled softly, molding her body. She looked over her shoulder and gasped. The dress was backless all right: it plunged to just below her waist. She twirled. It was a daring gown, but elegant and it matched her eyes to ah incredible degree. Dev called her sky blue eyes rimmed with navy around the irises "heavenly eyes."

  She wrinkled her nose as she gazed down at the shoes that went with the gown. They looked a bit large. She slipped on the navy blue peau de soie sandals and adjusted the straps at the heels, happily surprised that they fit. The training she had had with Toner's made her swing into the traditional model's walk—hips forward, shoulders back, tummy tucked—as she glided out to Jaime.

  He turned when she called to him, but did not betray his thoughts by a flicker of an eyelash until the slow smile began. "I was right again, of course. You will model that dress for me tonight. Tomorrow I will be inundated with women wanting to look like the lissome Cle Orwell, with the wet licorice hair that hangs like a curtain to her shoulders and the porcelain skin that looks like warm cream. My God, Cle darling, you are a beauty with those sapphire eyes. They look so mysterious with that rim around them. You're an angel from another planet, my dear." Jaime breathed, standing and taking her arm to twirl her around. "And you're my creation. You'll knock that assemblage on its collective ass," Jaime pronounced irreverently, making Cle laugh. He put his hand on her arm and leaned over to kiss her. "He isn't good enough for you, Cle. Give him up." Jaime muttered into her cheek.

  She stood frozen, then leaned back, shaking her head. "If you mean Dev, Jaime, he really is good to me. I've been happy with him."

  "He has also made you very sad. Do you think he will ever marry you, Cle? And don't give me that old saw that neither you nor Dev is interested in marriage. You know what I mean. He'll revert to family and the old school tie and, however much he says that it's out of date, he will decide that he needs an heir, that he must marry and continue the fine old name of Carstairs. Then Lord Carstairs will emerge and Dev Carstairs will disappear. . .and so will you from his life."

  Cle laughed even though she felt a shiver of dread crawl along her spine. Jaime was saying out loud what had wriggled around in the deep recesses of her mind. Oh, not all the time, only now and then...when she was away from Dev for any length of time when he traveled or on the rare occasion when she did.

  "Dev doesn't want marriage, nor do I," Cle said staunchly. "As to family, well, he has a brother, numerous cousins, nephews, what have you. If he were interested in heirs, he has them. But he is not interested. Dev is a very modern man. I'm a very modern woman. We fit nicely."

  "I repeat: he isn't good enough for you." Jaime swiftly turned the full force of his attention to the dress. "I don't think it needs a stitch of altering. You must wear only a pinkie ring and earrings with this. Your arms must be bare and so must your throat. Your lovely skin will be the best accessory. D
o you have the jewelry?"

  "I brought the sapphires that Dev gave me, but I don't have a pinkie ring. I thought I'd wear my gold watch

  "No," Jaime thundered, "just the earrings then. Now get changed and get back to work. I don't pay you to loaf."

  Cle shot a playful frown at him. "You're a slave driver and you know it!"

  The afternoon proved to be chaos. Two of the lead dresses in the collection came up missing and the salon was in an uproar as Jaime threatened to behead the modiste who had seen them last. They were found in his vault. By regular closing time he had managed to reduce most of the staff to gasping hysterics and Cle's head was bursting. More, she was an hour late.

  She tried three times to put on her makeup and though she was only wearing the lightest liquid foundation and a touch of blush, it took twice the time it ordinarily would have. Her eye makeup was blue shadow, the color of her eyes and her dark long lashes required no color or lengthening with mascara.

  She heard the outer door of the dressing room open and called out to see who it was.

  "It's Jaime. I've brought you something to wear over your dress and I do not want to hear your views on killing animals to provide coats for the wealthy. I have it on the best authority that these ermine committed suicide." Jaime studied her, the warm look in his eyes disconcerting Cle until she remembered that Jaime always appeared to be in the throes of passion when gazing at one of his creations.

  "You have the look of a devilish madonna. You are at once restrained and wild, shy but flirtatious." Jaime's face changed again. "I think you have given me an idea for a new line. I'll call it... hmm... ah... yes, I'll call it 'Demons in Paradise.' It will be sensational of course!" Jaime stated, lifting the ermine to lay it across her shoulders.

  The fur surrounded her neck like a cloud, outlining her face and the fall of black hair like a frame.

  "You have never looked lovelier." He sighed. "I hate to see it wasted on Dev Carstairs."

  Cle squealed when she looked at the time. "Don't worry, I'm so late, he'll probably be so annoyed that he'll ignore me all evening." Cle moaned, hurrying to the elevator and punching at the button, aware of Jaime behind her.

  "Walk in as though you were royalty and very much aware that everyone there was waiting just for you so the party could begin. If that fool Carstairs ignores you, as sure as my aunt is a lush, the other men there will not!"

  "Jaime, I don't know what your clientele would say if they heard you refer to your aunt in such a fashion," Cle scolded, laughing, as she stepped into the elevator.

  He shrugged and lifted his hand in a farewell just as the doors closed with a whish and she was sped to the lobby area of Toner Fabrics and Design.

  Hailing a cab in the cold rain was an impossibility at any time in downtown Manhattan and tonight was no exception. Cle tipped the night watchman at Toner's a few dollars when he stepped out into traffic and almost bulldogged a taxi to the curb.

  By the time she reached the hotel she was an hour and a half past the time she had agreed to meet Dev. She hurried toward the dining room that the hotel clerk indicated, then stopped in front of the closed doors to take a deep breath. Dev would be angry. She decided to ignore that anger and be serene. At least that was what she told herself she would do.

  Letting her breath go, she grasped the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped through, a smile pinned to her face. She let her eyes rove the room, willing her smile to stay in place as she saw how many people had left the cocktail area and were now seated. It unnerved her as a herd of sleek heads turned in her direction. She knew with a sinking feeling that it would seem to some as if she had deliberately timed her entrance. Biting her lip, she whispered, "To hell with them," and continued to look for Dev.

  The hair raising on her arms was the first signal that he was near her. She turned, her smile in place, looking at a spot over his left shoulder. "Hello. Sorry I'm late. Things were wild this afternoon."

  "Of course. At my place it was much different. We just sat around napping or chatting." His British accent was clipped. As he lifted the swath of ermine from her shoulders his eyes narrowed on the fur. He was still looking at it when he spoke again, the measured words in even softer tones and telling her he was very angry! "I can't remember the number of times you told me never to buy you a fur. That you didn't believe..." He turned to look at her, the faintest widening of his eyes, the trailing voice, the muscle jumping at the corner of his mouth, telling her of his feelings more than words could.

  Cle swallowed when she looked up into the leaping green eyes. "I know you like me in blue, so I wore one of Jaime's new creations." She cleared her throat over the lie. "Do you like it?"

  "Every man here will like it on you." His teeth snapped together, the pallor of his face more pronounced as his hand reaching round her back encountered her skin. "What the hell... Isn't there anything to this damn "dress?"

  "There are many women here tonight wearing much less." She lifted her chin and gazed past him into the room. "I was sick of wearing black. Now, don't you think we should find our table. Almost everyone is seated." She felt the fingers at her waist clench into her flesh and her body arched in response.

  "I'll get you a Perrier first." Dev's voice was wooden as he led her toward the bar.

  "I think I'll have a vodka martini, instead. Very dry."

  "You never drink hard liquor." Dev's voice grated into her ear as he held her even closer to his body.

  "Tonight I'm going to have a martini." Cle silently cursed the squeak in her voice, but the glide in her walk was smooth as she headed for the bar. She was dimly aware of the myriad eyes, both male and female, that followed her movements. She stopped in front of the small bar and put both hands on the cushioned edge, gripping it. The glittering smile she gave the man behind the bar brought him to her at once. "I'd like a vodka martini, please. Very dry."

  "I'll just whisper the word vermouth as I pass you the glass. Is that dry enough, ma'am?" The bronze haired young man grinned at her.

  "Just right." Cle smiled back, feeling Dev behind her, his hand low on her spine. She watched the hand come round her and reach for the drink the bartender placed in front of her. Dev lifted the drink, her eyes following the motion of the glass until it reached his mouth. How she loved those firm lips, the lower one with a sensual fullness that softened whenever he looked at her!

  "If you quaff this, my love, you'll be on your glorious derriere. Did you tell that besotted fool to make you a double?"

  "Of course not, and he isn't a besotted fool. He was just being gracious," Cle snapped, holding out her hand as a demand for the drink. Dev gave it to her and she took a sip, trying not to shudder as the vodka slipped down her throat. She should have told the bartender to serve it on the rocks, then the melting ice could have lessened the kick of the raw liquor.

  The bartender came back. "I made your martini with Balenkov's vodka, ma'am. That's the best we have and the strongest. One hundred and eighty proof! Just as strong as lemon extract, my wife tells me." The bartender moved back down the bar, laughing at his little joke.

  "Wonderful," Cle whispered, blinking to keep her eyes from watering, aware that her vocal cords were being eroded and that her stomach was on fire. She felt the heat rise all the way to her face as she took another infinitesimal sip. Damn, she cursed herself. What a fool she was to have lived to this age without learning how to handle liquor.

  She tried to smile up at Dev but her lips felt like rubber. "I'm ready to sit down now," she announced.

  "You've never said a truer word." Dev ground his teeth, clamping onto her upper arm and leading her to one of the round tables in front of the raised dais and seating her. Oh, Lord, old Mr. Hopewell was sitting just above Cle where he would be watching her all through dinner. It was Cle's turn to grind her teeth as she thought of the interminable speech that the crusty old bear would make. Oh, sweet agony, there was his sister, Corinne, sitting on the other side of the stand where a microphone held center s
tage. As Dev drew his chair close, Cle took a gulp of the martini and started to cough.

  "Will you cool down?" he hissed, patting her in an ungentle way on the back. "You'll be sick."

  "I'll be dead if you don't stop beating me." Cle glowered at him, pulling her body away from him, then almost swaying out of the chair. She felt Dev's arm at once, pulling her back and heard him mutter, "Cle, behave."

  Dev kept his arm around her for most of the dinner. And the dinner was a nightmare for her. The vodka had begun to make her queasy and the broiled lemon sole didn't help. When the dancing began she was feeling miserable, but she was also determined to hide it from Dev.

  They had always danced well together, and she had always enjoyed it, but tonight was an endurance contest as she stumbled over his feet and kept mumbling her pardon.

  When she saw a hand reach over Dev's shoulder to cut in, she turned with a sense of relief that she would be leaving Dev's company, that she wouldn't have to feel what she was sure was his censure.

  As she turned, so did the room. It spun and dipped. "Oh, dear," a voice muttered sounding strangely like her own.

  "What the bloody hell?" she heard Dev ask before the room darkened and fell away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cle surfaced in pain, the whole world in blackness, and knew she had been in an automobile accident that had blinded her, broken every bone in her body, and fractured her skull. She probably had two hours to live. She shouted out Dev's name, wanting to tell him that the king sized bed was now his, but all that came out was a croak. The croak jarred her whole body with pain.

  "Want to go to the bathroom, darling?" Dev was laughing!

  Maybe he was hysterical, Cle thought, trying not to move. "I'm blind, Dev."

  "Blind drunk, I think. Here, let me take the cloth from your eyes. Lord, I haven't seen anyone so cold cocked by a double since I was at Harrow. You look awful, love. The bags under your eyes are blue, yellow, and pink." He looked satisfied.