The Dangerous Cliffs of Severon by Vickie Britton

Author:Vickie Britton [Jackson, Vickie Britton and Loretta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gothic Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1993-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Our grueling hours of labor, the tenseness of working against the clock, of meeting a schedule, now lay behind Damon and me. Already the exhaustive task had taken great distance and I felt wonderfully free. I was excited about the wonderful evening of celebration that lay ahead. Celeste was completed! Franklin and Brenna had planned a dinner party for the occasion, after which Damon’s music would be played and lines from Celeste read by Corwin and Brenna for final approval by the sponsors, Franklin and Jules.

Looking forward to the evening that lay ahead, I slipped into the fashionable dress Brenna had insisted on lending me. I admired the skirt of golden brown bengaline with its garniture of wine-colored velvet. The warm color of the dress highlighted the golden hues of my hair. Before I left the room, I placed the matching velvet-trimmed cape over my shoulder and hurried to meet Damon.

Damon waited at the bottom of the stairway. His upraised face, his black eyes locked on me, made me feel attractive and desirable.

Damon wore a dark coat that increased the width of his shoulders and added leanness to his waist and legs. I could discern a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched me descend the stairs.

“I was thinking that you and I might walk to the McNeal’s. Jules and Earle will drive over a little later and we can ride back with them.”

“A walk sounds invigorating.”

We strolled past the carriage house and took a wide pathway lined with trees, the one I had taken the day I had walked with Jules. Although I had never been to the McNeals’ residence, I knew it wasn’t far. The trail between the two houses was well traveled, worn by feet and horses’ hooves.

The evening air, stirred by a slight breeze, felt soft and warm. “This is going to be a perfect evening!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t expect perfection,” Damon said dourly, “not with Theodore Kline seated at the table. Jules tells me he has returned from London and will be present tonight.”

“You should like him. The two of you together have created a great work of art.’’

“Only because you were here,” Damon reminded me.

“I had nothing to do with your final agreement,” I said, laughing. “I had been locked from the room, if you remember.”

Somehow I had grown fond of the gruff playwright. I went on with my defense of him. “No one could have written better lines for your music. He writes with such emphasis, such undertones. I am held in his spell and laugh and cry with the characters he creates.”

“I have no quarrel with his talent,” Damon spoke, “only with the man himself.” For a while we walked in silence. “Have you ever seen such egotism? Theodore Kline would draw all the world to himself.’

“Without egotism perhaps there would be no artistic creations.”

As if allowing that, Damon countered, “Kline tries to restore order to the world, but his own life possesses none.”

“You might say that about

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