Where the Heart Chooses Page 5

  “But not for long, I’m sure,” Father mused. “Some man is going to take one look at you, decide you’ll be his perfect hostess, and snap you up.”

  Jefferson opened his mouth, and I wondered if “someone” had told him about the time I had spent with Folana, and if he was going to say anything about it, but then the corner of his mouth crooked in a grin, and he reached for his glass.

  “Here’s to them all, the men and women who’ll love us, in spite of what we do.”

  We finished our sherry and went back to discussing the Venona Project.

  * * * *

  True to his word, Tony never brought a date home. I ran into him a time or two when I was on the town myself, and I’d met some of the women he squired around the D.C. area. I wondered if he realized how much alike they were. Whether blonde, brunette or redhead, they were all cool and emotionally distant.

  I came home from a date one Saturday night to find him sprawled on the sofa. His eyes were closed, and he had a glass of scotch in one hand while the other was folded behind his head. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons was on the stereo.

  “You’re home early.”

  “And I’m in a miserable mood,” I snapped and threw my little clutch bag on the coffee table, where it bounced before it skidded off onto the carpet. I shoved his legs off the end of the couch, dropped down, and took his glass from him.

  “Hey!” he protested as I took a healthy swig.

  I glowered at him over the rim of the glass before lowering it. “Why are men such asses?”

  “Problems in paradise, little sister?”

  “I thought Thomas Winston was a gentleman.” He cocked a brow at me as I handed his drink back. He had introduced us. “The first time we went out, he was so sweet. And then tonight we went to see the latest Hepburn and Tracy at the Valencia. He took me up to the balcony, and all of a sudden he grew octopus arms! When I told him I wasn’t interested in being deflowered in the balcony of a movie house, he got nasty.” The fact that I hadn’t been a virgin since my last year in Tidewater—Sebrings might love only once, but we dallied where we chose—wasn’t something Winston had needed to know. And neither did my big brother. “He wanted to know if I thought I was Princess Grace and had the temerity to call me an ice princess!” Which was his way of saying he thought I was frigid.

  Tony bolted upright, spilling some of his scotch. “Son of a—!” He bit off the epithet; he never swore in my presence. “I’ll black his eyes and break his nose!”

  “Are you insinuating that I couldn’t?”

  A slow smile replaced his scowl. “Does he have his teeth left?”

  “Yes, but only just. Mother would have been proud. I didn’t raise my voice, much less my hand.” I began to pull the pins from my hair. “Tony, have you heard anything regarding me?”

  “Regarding what about you?” he hedged.

  “You know, I hate when you answer a question with a question.” I ignored the fact that I did that even more often than he. “Lately, I seem to be hearing this quite a bit, that I’m an ice princess.”

  He suddenly looked pensive. “You know, Richardson is in D.C.”

  “Should I know the name?”

  “Under-secretary to the under-secretary to the British Ambassador.”

  “The name still isn’t ringing a bell.”

  “That’s his official cover, little sister. He actually works for the Special Intelligence Section of the Foreign Office.” Sir Joseph Bowne’s Section. “He was in London around the same time you were.”

  I scrubbed my face, and then stared at my palms, irritated that they were now covered with Elizabeth Arden. “No good deed goes unpunished,” I muttered. I had told him how Folana Fournaise had attempted to throw up a smoke screen to keep the SIS away from me.

  “Well, Folana seems to have done an excellent job in portraying you as emotionally frigid. Is there a possibility we can get her to work for us, do you think?” He saw my expression and held up his hands. “No, I imagine not. Why don’t you wash that war paint off your face and get some sleep? Tomorrow we’ll take a ride home and see what Father has to say about this turn of events.”

  “Very well,” I sighed, “but it’s a waste of a perfectly good Saturday night.”

  “You could always reread War and Peace in the original Russian. It’s much less complicated!”

  “Perhaps.” But it was still a waste of a good Saturday night.

  * * * *

  Father volunteered to vet my dates. “I know some rather nice young men in State, Portia.”

  I knew exactly the sort of men they would be—cold, undemonstrative, and so wrapped up in their careers they were about as sexually exciting as a bowl of tapioca.

  I sighed. “No, thank you, Father. I think I’ll take a respite from the dating scene.” I was surprised when he didn’t pursue the matter.

  Tony knew better than to offer.

  I wouldn’t have had the energy anyway; things in the intelligence community had suddenly heated up. It was a rare night that I arrived back at the apartment I shared with Tony before midnight, only to return to Arlington Hall by eight the next morning.

  Of course it wasn’t as bad as the previous autumn, Tony hastened to assure me, when, on October 4, the Russians had launched their Sputnik I into space. All hell had broken loose, with the American public terrified that the Communists would be able to fire nuclear weapons from Europe to the U.S. They were almost rabid in their demand to know how the government could have missed such crucial intelligence.

  In a joint effort with the CIA, the NSA had intercepted a code that revealed the Soviets would be launching Sputnik II early in November, and this time the payload would be the passenger it carried, a dog named Laika. It lit a fire under the Defense Department, who provided funding for Wernher von Braun and his team to begin work on the Explorer program.

  Still, with Kruschchev becoming Premier of the Soviet Union and Castro’s army attacking Havana, I thought we might have more to worry about down on the ground.

  I was working a code that I’d been given earlier when the in-house phone buzzed. “Yes, Tony?”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I laughed to myself, knowing full well what he meant. I could tell unerringly when my oldest brother was on the line.

  “Never mind. Listen, I need you in here right now. Jefferson’s forwarded a new code to us, and there’s something about it that’s driving me out of my mind.”

  “I’m on my way.” I pushed my chair away from my desk and stood, digging my fists into the small of my back and arching to work out the kinks. Then I made sure my blouse was tucked neatly into my skirt. Just because it was nine at night, and everyone else had gone home, there was no reason for me to appear looking sloppy.

  His door was closed. I tapped briskly and walked in. “What have you got, Tony? Oh!” I halted abruptly. He wasn’t alone.

  The other man had one hand braced on Tony’s desk, his attractive face tight with impatience.

  I had seen him occasionally in Arlington Hall, in the corridors, on the stairs. We’d passed each other with nothing more than cool glances. Occasionally I’d wonder if his glance concealed as much fascination as I knew mine did.

  He was about average height and appeared to be a number of years younger than my brother, which would make him about twenty-nine. A lock of sable brown hair spilled onto his forehead, and eyes a changeable hazel regarded me with interest. His vest was unbuttoned over a flat stomach, his shirtsleeves had been rolled up revealing muscular arms dusted with dark hair, and his tie loosened.

  Abruptly, I was reminded of the seascape that I’d purchased in that little London bookshop. I couldn’t decide to whom I should give it, and I’d wound up hanging it on my bedroom wall, where it was the last thing I saw every night.

  There was something about this man that spoke to me of that expanse of sea, aloof, alone, contained, stretching to meet turbulent clouds…

  I shook that fanciful notion
out of my head.

  He gave me a slow, deliberate smile and straightened, and my knees went weak with desire.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached up to make sure my hair was tidily confined in its French twist, something I never did, and I felt my cheeks heat. I touched my tongue to my lips.

  His eyes seemed to catalogue each of my movements.

  “Portia, this is Nigel Mann. He’s been vetted to us from Bryan’s department. Nigel, my sister.” He became aware that Mr. Mann was staring at me. “Yes, we’re aware there’s a resemblance, so—”

  “Actually, she’s much prettier than you or either of your brothers, Sebring. Miss Sebring, it’s a pleasure.” He crossed the geometrically-patterned area rug that took up most of the floor in Tony’s office, his hand held out.

  “Please, call me Portia.” I’d overheard the secretaries in Arlington Hall discussing him in the ladies room, calling him Mr. Freeze because apparently he’d turned down a play made by one of their number who was decidedly pulchritudinous.

  “Portia. And I’m Nigel.” The skin of his palm was smooth and warm, free of calluses, and I fought back a shiver as I wondered what it would feel like stroking over my skin. His eyes, suddenly green, remained fixed on mine, and I was lost in their depths.

  Tony cleared his throat. “People?”

  How long had I stood there, staring into those mesmerizing eyes?

  Nigel turned to my brother with an absent smile. “Sorry, Sebring. You were saying?”

  “I was saying that if you’d let go of my sister’s hand, maybe she could take a look at this code and make some sense of it.” But he looked taken aback rather than irritated. He’d never seen me react that way to anyone. Ever.

  Nigel slowly…reluctantly?…released my hand, and a line from Romeo and Juliet crossed my mind…and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss…

  I shivered and stared down at my palm, certain I would see my heart line glowing.

  “Mann,” my brother growled, “would you stop distracting my sister so she can see if she can make heads or tails of this code?”

  I shook myself out of my daze and approached his desk. “What is it, Tony?”

  “There’s something about this line…” He handed me the paper, and I studied it. After a moment, I spoke the Russian words aloud.

  A soft sound came from Nigel Mann, and when I looked at him, there was an expression on his face that took me by surprise.

  “Do you find my pronunciation amusing?”

  “Not at all. I haven’t heard anything that flawless outside of Mother Russia.”

  “Mother Russia?” I read it over again, and it hit me all at once. “That’s it! The key to this code is in Tolstoy’s War and Peace!” I went to the bookshelf and pulled down the huge tome.

  “Portia, are you sure?”

  “Tony, I’m more than sure—I’m positive!” I was almost vibrating with excitement as I thumbed through the book and found the passage I wanted. “There! See, there! Oh, that sneaky so-and-so! This is Sidorov’s work, isn’t it? He did something very similar with Anna Karenina. The man has a weakness for Tolstoy.”

  “Nicely done. Nothing like a fresh pair of eyes!” My brother had a satisfied grin on his face. “I’ll give this to the team to finish deciphering.” He cleared his throat and looked at his watch. “Mann, why don’t you and my sister go out and grab a bite to eat?”

  I frowned at him. Was he trying to set us up on a date? “That’s quite all right—I still have a few hours of work left to do.” I could hardly offer the excuse of having a sandwich at my desk, since I didn’t, and the cafeteria was long closed. However, I was reluctant for my brother to see how eager I was to spend time with this man. Was this what Barnabas Sebring had felt when he’d first seen his Rachel? “Besides, I’m sure Mr. Mann…Nigel…has plans of his own.”

  “Portia.” Tony growled at me this time. “It’s been a long day, and I think you could do with a break. Consider it a reward for a job well done.”

  “I never say ‘no’ to the man in charge.” Nigel rolled down his sleeves and fastened the cuffs, took his suit jacket from the back of a chair, and slid his arms into it.

  Nigel couldn’t see, but I crossed my eyes at my older brother. He ignored that and reached for the telephone, pausing to say, “Just remember, you both need to be back here bright and early in the morning.”

  “Miss…Portia?”

  “Just let me freshen up.” I needed a moment to get myself back under control. Where had the ice princess gone? “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  I went back to my office for my purse, locked my desk, and hurried to the ladies’ room. I patted some cold water onto my wrists. My nipples were tight, and I felt as if I were burning up from the inside out. However, my reflection in the mirror showed just a hint of color high on my cheekbones. I took the compact from my purse and smoothed the powder over my cheeks. My hands were shaking slightly as I applied a fresh coat of lipstick and blotted my lips.

  I made sure I didn’t have any lipstick on my teeth, drew in a steadying breath, and blew it out. I stared coolly into the mirror and tucked a stray strand of hair into place. “You are a Sebring. You will behave as such.”

  Giving a decisive nod, I returned to my office to collect my coat. Once I had the door locked behind me, I went to meet Nigel Mann.

  * * * *

  He drove us to a little Italian restaurant in Baltimore called Casa del Vitello, and we dined on veal saltimbocca, which was delicious, and I told him so.

  “Perhaps…perhaps you’d like to return sometime?” He smiled into my eyes. How could this man ever have gotten a reputation for being cold? Or was he simply that good an actor?

  “Yes, I would. I’m so glad Tony suggested we go out to dinner.”

  “So am I.”

  But the evening was almost over. Our waiter was approaching with the check. Nigel glanced at it, took his wallet from his inner jacket pocket, and I looked away as he withdrew a number of bills. There had been no prices in the menu, and it would have been crass to seem curious as to how much he’d spent on me.

  “I’ll return with your change, sir,” the waiter said.

  “No, keep it.”

  The waiter’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yes. Your service was excellent.”

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome.” He took the violets from the vase at the center of the table and came around to me. “Darl-Portia?” He offered me the violets.

  I accepted them and brought them to my nose, inhaling the delicate fragrance and thinking for a moment of Folana.

  “Did I do something to sadden you?”

  “Not really. I was just reminded of someone else who gave me violets.”

  “Hmm.” He gently pulled my chair back. “I…I hope you don’t mind if I say I don’t want this evening to end.” My gaze flew up to meet his. “Would you like to go dancing?”

  “I’d love to go dancing, Nigel.”

  “There’s a club just down the street. They have a trio – piano, bass, and sax, and they’re very good, I understand.”

  “You understand?”

  “I don’t usually go dancing in the middle of the week.” He looped my arm through his, and we strolled to the coat check.

  “Neither do I.”

  “Shall we go see how good they are?”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  * * * *

  Other than the bartender and the band, the club was empty of patrons.

  “Oh!” I said. “Perhaps we’d better go.”

  “Nah, we don’t close until two, and we have to stay either way.” The bartender grinned and shrugged. “What can I get you folks?”

  “Portia?”

  “A Manhattan, please.”

  “A Manhattan and a vodka tonic,” Nigel said, and while we waited for him to fix them, Nigel took my coat and draped it over a bar stool, then held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

&nb
sp; I placed my hand in his, and he led me to the dance floor. The leader smiled and nodded to the other men, and the band began playing “It Had to Be You.”

  Nigel hummed along softly, and I shivered as his breath tickled my ear. His arms were strong about me, and his body was warm and firm, and although the “ice princess” would never have rested her head on his shoulder, Portia Sebring did.

  When the song finished, Nigel said, “Excuse me a moment.” He went up to the bandstand, spoke with the leader, and then took out his wallet once again and handed the man a bill.

  He looked at it, grinned, and murmured something to his bandmates. And Nigel returned to me as once again they played “It Had to Be You.”

  * * * *

  It was almost three A.M. when Nigel brought me home. He stood by the elevator, watching as I searched for my key in my purse. I smiled at him over my shoulder, and he muttered something under his breath, strode purposefully to me, and kissed me a final time. My lips were throbbing when he eventually raised his head.

  “Nigel,” I murmured, cradling his cheek.

  “You know, I’ve always hated my name. But I love the way it sounds when you say it.”

  I smiled into his eyes. “Nigel.”

  He shivered, and I wondered if it would get me kissed again. It did, but it was just a brush of his lips over mine. “You’re wearing Tabu, aren’t you?”

  “Should I be alarmed that you’re familiar enough with it that you recognize it?”

  “No.” He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my fingertips. “You wear it well. But…”

  “But?” I caressed his cheek with the fingertips of my other hand.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Keep tomorrow night available for me.” He refused to move until I sighed my agreement, and then went back to the elevator. The operator, who was pointedly studying the carpet, held it open for him.

  Humming softly, I let myself into the dimly lit foyer of the apartment I shared with my brother. Tony had left a lamp on for me.

  I smothered a yawn. I’d just turn it off and go to bed.

  “Have a good time, little sister?”

  I jumped. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his pajamas slightly rumpled and his hair standing out every which way. I should have realized the sound of the key in the lock would awaken him.