Fitzsimmons came up behind her. “I’m sorry for being so late, sir,” he said to Griffin. “There was an inordinate amount of traffic—”
“And I wasn’t quite ready when Fitzy arrived at my place,” Allegra said. “Like my new dress?” She spun around, lifting the already short hem even higher. “I wore it just for you.”
Griffin went hot and cold by turns. “Miss…Allegra,” he said hoarsely, “I hope you realize that this is a young lady’s birthday party, not a—”
“Two-bit dance hall?” She strolled toward him, the fringes along her hemline swinging with every step. “Scared that my obviously bad breeding will send the old biddies and their offspring straight to the fainting couch?”
Griffin held himself very still. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”
“I’m not offended. You invited me against your better judgment, but you did it anyway.” She walked around him, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. “I think you wanted to see me again.”
Griffin had no ready retort. After a long silence he said, “Most of the guests are outside, but Starke will see that you receive everything you might require in the summer parlor.”
Allegra stopped in front of him. “Convenient, isn’t it? The desirable guests are outside, and I have to stay indoors.”
Griffin wanted nothing more than to seize her arms and give her a good shake. “You won’t be left alone. Either I or Gemma will keep you company.”
“Ah. Now I understand.” She looped her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Takeme to this summer parlor of yours. I can’t wait to see how the other half lives.”
Together they walked through the hall and the music room to the summer parlor. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and French doors. The guests in their airy dresses could be seen circling about the refreshment tables like flocks of gaudy butterflies. Allegra paused where the edge of the light crossed the carpet.
“Very nice,” she said, gazing about the room. “I’d expected horsehair sofas and clawfoot tables.”
“Even I have become aware that we live in the twentieth century.”
She smiled up at him. “There’s some hope for you yet.” She threw herself into an antique Stickley chair. “Well? Where’s the birthday girl?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her know you’re here.” He signaled to Starke, who waited in the doorway, and then stepped out through the French doors into the garden. No one who greeted him would have guessed he was less than tranquil. As soon as he informed Gemma about Allegra’s arrival, she broke off her conversation with the Pemberton boy and rushed into the house.
Griffin began circulating again, the back of his neck prickling at the thought of his sister alone with Allegra. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Hewas just about to go in and fetchGemmawhen the French doors swung open wide and Allegra sauntered out onto the garden walk.
“Ah,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, “what a beautiful day!”
Seldom had Griffin felt so astonished or so gripped with sheer terror. In his mind’s eye he saw not smooth, pale skin but blistering flesh, red as Allegra’s frock, turning sere and black in the harsh light of day. He abandoned Mrs. Higgenbotham and charged toward Allegra, ready to cover her body with his own and push her back inside the house.
Her face, cool and unmarred, turned toward him. He skidded to a halt seconds before he reached her, his legs trembling with reaction and relief.
There was nothing wrong with her—no burns on her cheeks, discolorations of her hands or peeling skin on her bare arms. She regarded him with a half smile as if to ask what the fuss was all about.
“Allegra,” he said. “What—”
“When can I open my presents, Grif?” Gemma asked, emerging from the house to take Allegra’s arm.
He stared at his sister, trying to make sense of her words. The party came crashing down around him like rotted timbers in an abandoned house, all chattering voices and screeching violins. The smells of human sweat and rank perfume overwhelmed his senses.
“Oh,” Mrs. Dearing cooed next to his ear, “is this the entertainment, Mr. Durant? Are we to have a Vaudeville show?”
It took Griffin a moment to realize that Mrs. Dearing was referring to Allegra, who examined the curious guests as a tigress might study a herd of plump, pampered deer in a royal park. “I’d be happy to give a little performance,” she said, licking her lips. “What would you like to see?”
Mrs. Dearing started, as if she hadn’t expected such a creature to speak. Her daughter, Elvira, drifted to her side, staring at Allegra with open fascination. Several of the young men began to converge around the garden walk. A group of Gemma’s friends whispered and exchanged looks of amazement and distaste.
Mrs. Higgenbotham approached with her neck extended like a goose about to snap up an insect. She raised her lorgnette to her faded blue eyes.
“Do I know you, dear?” she asked Allegra. “You seem very familiar…”
Griffin came back to himself. “Mrs. Higgenbotham,” he said, “may I present Miss Allegra Chase?”
“I do know that name,” the older woman said. “Or something very like it. It was in Huntington, wasn’t it? Yes, I do believe—”
“You must be mistaken,” Allegra interrupted. “I’ve never been out here in my life.” She made a show of admiring Mrs. Higgenbotham’s overly snug Vionnet tea gown. “What a lovely dress.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Higgenbotham’s gaze fixed on Allegra’s bare knees. She made a faint choking sound, and Griffin found it advisable to lead her to one of the chairs under the awning. As soon as she was gone, others arrived to take her place. One of the boys gave a low whistle, while Jane Pomeroy looked Allegra up and down with the subtlest of sneers.
“The poor thing ran out of fabric,” Jane said in a stage whisper to a pair of her favorite confidantes. “Do you think we should give her enough money so she can finish the dress?”
Gemma stepped forward, fists clenched. “There’s nothing wrong with her dress,” she said. “So you can keep your catty remarks to yourself, Jane Pomeroy.”
Jane fell back in affront. Her mother dragged her away toward the tables. Griffin watched them go, his vision hazed with anger that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere at all. He turned in a slow circle, his gaze traveling from face to face. The young men who’d been ogling Allegra with wolfish grins had the sudden urge to return to the punch bowl. The matrons with their cold, rigid faces beat a dignified retreat.
Griffin would have been glad to banish them all. Instead, he moved closer to Allegra, close enough to drown in her intoxicating scent.
“Gemma, go join your guests,” he said.
“Did you see how they looked at Allie? I—”
“This would be a good time for you to open your gifts.”
Gemma blew out her breath and stalked away. Griffin stood toe to toe with Allegra, his heart beating madly against his ribs.
“Are you mad?” he demanded.
She met his gaze with a raised brow. “They all survived the sight of me, didn’t they?”
He gripped her arm. “You know what I mean.
You’re in full sunlight. You could have been—”
“Mr. Durant!”
Mrs. Julia Pomeroy strolled up to join them, the crepe georgette skirt and sleeves of her mauve gown fluttering about her arms and legs as if to emphasize the youth she had lost and sought so desperately to recover. She linked