You Belong to My Heart by Nan Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

resonant music; the mellow light from a colorful Japanese lantern spilled down from overhead. He held her properly in his arms, as a young gentleman was supposed to hold a young lady. Carefully adhering to the rules of propriety, Clay was mindful of decorum. And of her parents keeping a watchful eye on them. He left the correct amount of space between them, but he longed desperately to hold her closer. Much closer. So close he could press his lips to her ear to reassure her, to murmur how much he loved her.
    “Mary, dearest Mary,” he said, speaking softly so that only she could hear, “you have no need to be jealous of Brandy Templeton. Or of any other girl.”
    “Then why were you with her? Where were you two going? What would have happened if the music hadn’t ended when it did and I came searching for you?”
    “I told you, I wasn’t with Brandy. I was alone. Just relaxing. She came to join me.”
    “And…?”
    “And…nothing. She said she was overwarm and needed a rest from the dancing. That’s all.”
    “That isn’t all. She was holding your arm. I saw her. Where did she want you to go?”
    Clay felt himself flush, said sheepishly, “To the summerhouse.”
    “The summerhouse?” Mary Ellen’s voice lifted and her perfectly arched brows shot up.
    “Shhhh.” Clay frowned. “Not so loud.”
    “But the summerhouse!” she lamented. “That’s our spot, yours and mine. You would go there with her?”
    “No. No, I wouldn’t. And I didn’t.”
    “But you thought about it. You considered going—”
    “If I did,” he cut in, “it was because you were in Daniel Lawton’s arms when Brandy suggested we go down there. You danced four times with Lawton, and you smiled and simpered and allowed him to hold you too close.” His silver eyes had turned frosty.
    Mary Ellen’s feet stopped moving. She quit dancing. She stared at his dark unhappy face and was swamped with overwhelming feelings of love and affection for him. Longing to throw her arms around him and kiss him and keep on kissing him forever, she put her hands atop his shoulders, rose on tiptoe, and whispered into his ear, “I can’t stand Daniel Lawton. He’s spoiled, arrogant, and boring.”
    She pulled back a little, looked up at Clay. Unconvinced, he said, “He’s also rich, handsome, and educated.”
    “I don’t care if he’s—”
    “Mary Ellen, the guests are starting to leave now,” John Thomas Preble interrupted them. “Mind your manners and come bid them good night.”
    A half hour later John Thomas Preble closed the heavy front doors. The last of the guests had finally departed. Only Clay remained.
    John Thomas turned and said, “Son, it’s late. Time you went on home now.”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Preble.”
    “I told Sam to bring the brougham around,” said John Thomas. “He’ll drive you home.”
    “Thank you very much, sir.”
    “Mary Ellen”—her father turned to her—“say good night to Clay and then get on up to bed.”
    “I will, Papa,” she said. And stayed where she was.
    “Well, good night, children.” John Thomas Preble, yawning sleepily, climbed the stairs to join his wife, who had already retired to their suite.
    Neither Clay nor Mary Ellen made a move until they heard the door to the master suite open, then close. Even then a full thirty seconds elapsed before Mary Ellen tiptoed over to Clay and whispered, “I’ll walk you to the carriage.”
    He nodded.
    Outside, a full white moon floated in and out of some high, scattered clouds. Down on the river a steamer sounded its whistle. Katydids and frogs croaked a loud summer chorus. The hot, sultry air had cooled, and a pleasant breeze blew out of the south.
    The young in-love pair sauntered slowly toward the waiting carriage, Mary Ellen’s golden head on Clay’s shoulder, her hand firmly enclosed in his.
    Harnessed to the big brougham, the matching blacks snorted and blew. One lifted his hoof and pawed at the pebbled drive. The trappings jingled. Old