Chapter One

 

He might have been shocked if someone had pointed out that he was stalking the woman, but it was probably the truth. He stopped a short distance away when she paused at another counter to inspect an item displayed there.

He'd actually been watching her for some time as she prowled from table to table, display to display, looking at everything with simple, unabashed interest. Touching, her fingers sometimes lingering with thoughtless magnetism over a particularly attractive piece of craftsmanship. She touched cruder items as well, if more tentatively.

He'd noticed her because, like himself, she was different to every other individual at the exhibition, meandering solo through the leather and latex clad crowd, visible yet unseen in her long black woolen coat. Her brown hair was undyed, un-sprayed, un-set, and styled only in that it was brushed, the short layers falling into natural shapes around her head.

From that point, beginning with her upturned coat collar, the ensemble descended into pure black - trouser cuffs, socks, flat, black jazz oxfords. And, emerging from all this black, delicate white hands, extending from slender, fragile wrists. These hands, so quietly graceful, handling this rough, cruel intentioned equipment with surprising strength and assurance.

Now she was distracted by a small, simple item, not the first of its kind she had looked over, sort of frozen there, lost in some thought. She'd done the full circuit. This was the last counter. She could only make another circuit or leave. He wondered which she would do. She'd appraised everything and yet she had purchased nothing.

She was attractive and mysterious in the coat, although not in a way that would be described as glamorous. The tailored lines of the coat were strong and persuasive, lending her stature and authority, but he perceived a certain delicacy in her movements and in the items she chose to handle. A betrayal of the fawn inside the panther's skin.

He found himself standing beside her, completely unwilling to let her leave without at least some word or indication of who or what she was.

"Some of these displays are a little bizarre," he remarked.

She glanced up briefly, no doubt to make sure he wasn't some freak or, perhaps, to be sure she wasn't being taken for one. "Yes," she said. She may have registered a mild surprise at his appearance, but it was difficult to tell since she looked immediately away again, back at the thing that had held her interest before he broke into her privacy.

"That's beautiful craftsmanship," he said.

"Yes," she agreed, straightening up and glancing around. "Some of the work here shows real class."

Her face was fully visible now and across its regular planes he read intelligence and frankness. He was even more intrigued to see it was not the face of a woman just developing into adulthood but that of a woman of maturity. Someone close to his age.

It was quite likely she was married, although he'd noticed no rings on her hands. He saw, also, that she was not entirely clad in black. The gap in the open coat revealed a white tailored blouse, complete with pin tucks and lace, the collar of which stood up around her neck. It was buttoned right up to the top in classic Edwardian style. Her face was made up, although very lightly.

Yes. Attractive in a natural, uncluttered way, a stark contrast to the women he was used to, but she was quality. She spoke well in a dialect that defied categorization. Her eyes, although unremarkable in coloring, were clear and direct and, when they finally refocused on him, he felt a sudden heat.

"They're the best craftsmen in the area," he said.

"That's apparent by the pricing," she said and smiled, a reserved yet satiric smile.

He smiled back. "Did you come a long way to the exhibition?"

"I was in town for the evening," she replied. "I just happened by." She shrugged, her hands now sunk into the pockets of her coat.

"Those would look good on you," he said softly, his eyes audaciously reading hers for a reaction.

She broke off with a swift, cursory glance at the brown leather manacles she'd been studying so intently." That's probably so. Well..." she murmured without really looking up and he knew she was about to leave.

"Please," he said, almost fumbling into the pocket of his jacket. "My card..."

"I don't think..."

"Please," he said, proffering it.

She extracted one pale hand from her coat pocket to accept the card. Looked at it briefly. An understated, white linen card introducing 'J. Stroud' with a single phone number claiming to be neither business nor residence.

"Well, J. Stroud, nice meeting you-"

"A fair exchange?" he begged with his most charming smile.

"I don't have a card," she said flatly.

"But you have a name," he persisted.

She glanced up once more with those questioning eyes, as if to find the evidence on which to base a decision.

"Ever," she said softly.

"Beautiful name."

"Thank you," she said, tucking her hand and the card away in her pocket. There was a radiating flush of color in her cheeks.

"Call me," he said.

"I don't know-"

"We'll have dinner."

"Oh, well, I-"

"You eat dinner with a man occasionally, don't you?"

Her blush deepened.

"Call," he reaffirmed. "Please."

She made a half nod and stepped off and, as she walked away, he was already convinced he would never see her again.