Her gaze drifted through the door, over the crush of well-dressed guests who danced, strolled, and mingled with their peers.
“Yes,” she said with a brisk nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
The polished pine dance floor was shrunken from the ground floor by four steps. Her grip on Drake’s arm tightened and she wondered if her knees would sustain her long enough to reach the bottom. Already their presence had attracted the attention of those closest to the door.
The servant on the left stepped inside the doorway as the music drew to an end. Clearing his throat, he attracted only a small amount of attention. The handsome couple behind him, however, silenced any tongues that continued to wag.
“Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Drake Phillip Frazier.”
Cutting a half-bow, the young boy with the intimidatingly loud voice swept away. All too quickly, there was nothing to block Drake and Hope from the sea of curious eyes that greedily devoured them.
Chapter 16
Rage shot through Charles Frazier’s blood. Angry fingers raked through his dark blond curls as his steel blue gaze narrowed on the man introduced as his brother. The fingers encircling the stem of a crystal snifter grew white-knuckled from strain.
Drake had changed severely in the last three years, but not so severely that his finely honed features were unrecognizable. The shoulders were broader. The rigidly sculpted cheekbones that matched Charles’s own, or the long, straight nose that branded him a Frazier.
Charles downed the rest of the brandy in one fiery gulp, then reached for another glass. He could feel the crowd’s attention shifting anxiously between himself and his brother, its curiosity tangible. With dogged determination, he commanded his features to remain impassive, but that did nothing to alleviate the anger festering within him.
Drake was supposed to be dead. Tubbs had wired him from some godforsaken town in California telling him the unsavory job had been completed. Charles had even included a bonus in the money he’d wired Tubbs, for a job well done!
But the bastard wasn’t dead, Charles thought as he tossed back the second brandy. The liquor seared down his throat, settling in his stomach to mix with his ever-increasing ire.
He turned to place the glass on a tray, and scowled when there was none to be found. “Damn!” he muttered as his eyes encountered the orchestra leader’s. He sent the man a curt nod, and the air was quickly filled with the gay notes of a waltz. No one danced.
The ice blue eyes watched as Drake leaned close to the woman by his side and whispered something in the fetching creature’s ear. She gave a vibrant smile and nodded. Together, the two moved as one to the dance floor. Like the Red Sea, the gathering parted to let them pass.
The rustle of skirts reached Charles’s ears a split second before an insistent hand tugged at his sleeve. Turning, Charles found himself looking into the narrow brown gaze of his wife. A shimmer of distaste flicke
red in his eyes, as he unconsciously summed up a comparison between the woman at his side and the one at his brother’s. Again, Drake had won the prize. Angelique, though beautiful, paled in comparison to the woman who danced so gracefully in the circle of Drake’s arms.
“I was strolling in the garden when I heard—” Angelique stopped abruptly when a servant passed close by her side. She grabbed a glass of fruited wine off his tray and downed the contents, all the while holding on to the lackey’s arm. With trembling fingers, she replaced the goblet, took another, then waved the astonished servant away. “Is it true?” she hissed in her husband’s ear.
Her breath reeked of liquor. Charles wrinkled his nose in distaste and nodded to the dance floor. There was small satisfaction to be had in the way of his wife’s face drained of all color. The grip on his arm became painfully tight as she struggled to remain upright.
“Oh my god,” Angelique sighed, careful to keep her voice lowered in case anyone close by heard. She leaned weakly against Charles, her shocked gaze searching the intense blue eyes she had long ago learned to despise. The color was slowly returning to her cheeks. “You told me Drake was dead,” she spat. “You said he died in an accident in,” she shivered delicately, “California.”
“So I was told,” Charles growled throatily. His eyes glistened like hard, cold slivers of ice beneath his sardonically arched brows. “Apparently, my informant was mistaken.”
“Mistaken?” she gasped. She pulled away from his side as though his sleeve had just burst into flames. Her features were pinched with fury. “Is that all you can say? Good Lord, Charles, how could you be so stupid? The man is hardly dead. Even a fool like yourself can see that.”
Through no fault of my own, he thought, but did not say. His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her flesh as he drew Angelique hard against his side. Her yelp of surprise brought more than a few inquisitive glances.
“Watch your tongue, wife,” he hissed in her face, “or you’ll find yourself lacking it come morning.”
Her lips turned up in a smile that had no foundation in humor. “Do not threaten me, Charles. Drake is back now, where he belongs. He won’t appreciate you threatening the woman he was once engaged to marry.”
Charles’s face tightened into a mask of pure rage. The powerful grip he had on her arm came threateningly close to snapping the bones in two. “Three years ago, wife. A lot has changed since then. You married me,” he paused, his nostril flaring with contempt, “and he married her. Not the act of a man who pines for another.”
Angelique’s jaw hardened as she averted her gaze to the dancing couple. The two seemed as oblivious to the people milling around them as they were to the curious mumbling their presence created. Their self-absorption pierced her heart.
Shaking off his hand, she glanced back at her husband. No attempt was made to conceal the hatred she felt. “He may have married her, but he loves me. Just look at her,” she scoffed, sipping thoughtfully on the fruited wine as Charles snatched another glass of brandy. “I find the reason Drake married her glaringly apparent, even if you do not. Her coloring, her bone structure. Why, she could pass for my sister! Yes,” she stated with conviction, “the woman is a substitute for me—and as a substitute she will be easily overshadowed.”
“You are deluding yourself again, dear wife. Drake won’t care to have you back after the reckless way you treated him. As much as I hate him, even I cannot blame him for that.”
A cold, calculating glint entered Angelique’s eyes as she pressed the chilly rim of her glass against pursed lips. “Would you care to wager on that, husband?”
“Let me put it another way.” His eyes darkened to a rich, vibrant shade of turquoise as he drew a finger across the long taper of her neck. To an observant onlooker, the gesture might be mistaken for a loving caress. To Angelique, it was anything but. “Deceive me once, with my brother or any other man, and I will slit this lovely throat.”