Forever Read Free

frilled evening shirt. His skin was olive-toned, the bones of his face almost abrasive in their masculinity. His dark eyes swept the room disinterestedly, and her heart ceased to beat for a second as his gaze slid over her and away.
    She knew now why he excited such talk: such gossip. There was a brooding restlessness about him that was palpable: a fearlessness, a daring; an insolence towards life that was almost frightening in its intensity. She wanted to touch him more than she had ever wanted anything before in her life.
    Her father’s cousin, Tina Lafayette, was approaching him, undeniably chic in a sleek fitting gown of black lace that stopped short just above her pretty knees.
    Augusta suddenly felt gauche. Her dress was long, as was the dress of every other woman in the room. Only the delightful Tina could have got away with such a breaking of social rules.
    â€˜Gussie, darling!’ Her aunt had seen her, was facing her across a vast expanse of polished floor and dancers, Beauregard Clay at her side.
    Augusta’s heart began to beat in slow, thick strokes. They were walking towards her. A slight smile hovered at the corner of Beau Clay’s mouth as Tina laughingly whispered up at him. They were in front of her. Gussie gasped. Felt the blood pound in her ears.
    â€˜Gussie, darling,’ Tina said, lustrous lashed eyes sparkling, ‘do meet the most notorious breaker of hearts New Orleans possesses. Beau Clay.’
    Her hand was in his. His touch was like fire: she was aflame, burning with heat and longing.
    â€˜Beau, meet my cousin, Gussie Lafayette.’
    Did she speak? She couldn’t remember. His eyes held her prisoner. The music changed to a slow, slumberous waltz.
    â€˜There are the Villeneuves,’ Tina was saying. ‘I must have a word with them before they get lost in the crush. Do excuse me, darlings.’
    They were dancing: his body so close to hers that she could smell his skin and feel his heart’s strong beat. His grasp was firm: decisive.
    â€˜So you’re little Gussie Lafayette?’
    His voice was deep, rich-timbred, a lazy Southern drawl that sent her spine tingling.
    She raised her head to his: his eyes were amused, slanting under winged brows.
    â€˜Augusta Lafayette,’ she corrected, holding his gaze challengingly. ‘I’m not a child, Mr Clay.’
    Beau threw back his head and laughed and around the crowded room eyes turned in their direction. Red-lacquered nails tightened jealously on the stems of champagne glasses. Fathers frowned, glad the girl was not their daughter. Bradley Hampton, who had asked Gussie for a dance and been so summarily refused, helped himself to a large glass of rum punch, his young jaw hardening, a nerve throbbing at his temple.
    â€˜You’re certainly not,’ Beau said, black eyes gleaming.
    She was a beauty all right. Hair pale-gold and water-straight, hanging in a silky sheen to her waist: eyes violet-dark, with something in their depths that told him she would be worth paying attention to in a year or two.
    Above her head, his eyes met Tina Lafayette’s and his expression turned to one of heat. Tina Lafayette was thirty-two, five years his senior. But she was a woman in every sense of the word – mature, sensual, and with a sexual appetite that nearly matched his own. The dance had ended. White teeth were flashing in a smile. He was moving away from Augusta.
    â€˜No,’ Gussie cried, stretching out a restraining hand.
    Her plea was lost as the sound of jazz filled the room. Her desperate fingers caught only air. She was hemmed in on all sides by pulsating, gyrating bodies. Beyond them she could see his dark head, see her aunt’s pretty blonde curls, and then they were gone.
    She moved dazedly to the side of the vast room and sat down on a gilt and velvet chair.
    â€˜Beau Clay?’ Mae asked in wonderment as they sat drinking Coke by the side of the Lafayette pool. ‘You can’t