Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

He turned on his heel, crunching beneath his shoes loose gravel on the flagstone walkway, and with some effort to tactfully get away from me, from the specialness of this night, he gave me his

congratulations again from ten feet away, then wished me a good night. He strode very fast toward the maze and the cottage beyond.

"Troy," I called, half running after him, "why are you going inside? It's still early, and I'm not the least bit tired."

"Because you're young and healthy and full of dreams that I can't possibly share. Good night again, Heaven."

"Thank you for coming to my graduation," I called, deeply hurt and trembling, because it seemed I'd done something wrong and I didn't know what it was.

"The least I could do." And with those words he disappeared into the darkness. Now clouds obscured the moon, and quickly the stars disappeared, and a drop of rain fell on the tip of my nose. And here I was, long past midnight, sitting on a cold stony bench in a deserted rose garden, allowing the softly falling rain to drench my hair and ruin the prettiest dress in my closets. It didn't matter, it didn't. I didn't need Troy, any more than I needed Logan. By myself I'd come out on top. . . by myself.

I was eighteen years old, believing Logan was gone forever. And the need for romance was filling all my thoughts; love had to blossom for me soon, or I'd never be able to survive. Why not me, Troy? Why not?

Alone in the garden, quivering all over, my heart hurting, my graduation day didn't seem such a great achievement after all. It was just a step in the right direction. I had yet to prove myself in college. I had yet to manage to keep a man in love with me. I gazed down at the ruins of my white clothes that no woman in Winnerrow could ever hope to own.

Pity, that's all any man could feel for me, just pity! Cal had taken pity on me!--and ruined my chances with Logan. Logan wanted only the pleasure of bringing into my blighted and deprived existence his material blessings! Now that I wasn't deprived or blighted, his philanthropic urges were thwarted. And Troy--I understood him least of all! I had thought many times lately that I had glimpsed something more than friendship burning in his dark eyes.

What flaws stood out on me that overcame all the beauty that I saw reflected in my mirrors?

More and more I was resembling my dead mother --and Jillian--but for my hair, my betraying dark, Indian Casteel hair.

Twelve Sin and Sinners

. EARLY ONE JUNE EVENING, BEFORE JILLIAN AND Tony returned from London, I heard from the music room the lilting notes of Chopin on the piano. The kind of music I'd heard only in Miss Deale's Friday music appreciation class, the kind of romantic melody that could charm and thrill me, and fill me with such longing that

I was pulled to the stairs and drifted down to see Troy seated at the concert grand piano. His long, slender fingers rippled over the keyboard with such mastery I marveled that he could keep so much talent hidden from the world.

Just the sight of him touched me. The set of his shoulders, the way his head bowed over the keys, the passion and longing he put into his music, seemed to tell so much. He was here, where he had to know I'd hear. He needed me, he just didn't know it. I needed him. As I stood trembling in the archway, leaning against the frame in my nightgown and robe, I allowed the music to persuade me of so many things. He wasn't happy, nor was I. We had so much in common. From the very beginning I had liked him; he was like some fantasy man I'd created long ago, even before Logan appeared in my life. A man so sensitive he could never hurt me. Bigger than life I made Troy. Better than life, too good to be true. But he was true.

He seemed in some vague way younger than Logan, ten times more sensitive and vulnerable, like a young boy who expected to be loved on sight--so he struck out so as not to be loved for his looks or his wealth or his talents. And even as I thought this, Troy sensed my presence, and instantly he stopped playing and turned to shyly smile my way. "I hope I didn't waken you."

"Don't stop, please."

"I'm rusty now that I don't play every day." "Why did you stop?"

"I don't have a piano in my cottage, as you

know."

"But Tony told me this was your piano." His smile was slight and twisted. "My brother

wants to keep me away from you. Since you came I've

not used this piano."

"Why does he forbid our friendship, Troy?

Why?"

"Oh, let's not talk about that. Let me finish what

I started, and then we'll talk."

On and on he played until I grew so weak I had to sit, and only then did I stop trembling. As he played on, I fell into a romantic reverie, pretending we were

together, dancing as we had on my graduation night. "You're sleeping!" he cried when the music

ended. "Was it that bad?"