Night Whispers Read online

  Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room, she checked her appearance with the Polaroid snapshot. The light blue-purple silk skirt was long and straight with a slit to the knee, and the matching top had a wide cowl collar that was meant to be worn off the shoulders, according to the snapshot. Sloan felt a little odd with bare shoulders, but when she tried to tug the collar up, the soft silk slid back down to the tops of her arms, so she left it that way.

  She checked the picture again and fastened the matching belt around her waist; then she stepped into the silver sandals that were in the picture. She clipped on the silver earrings and the bracelet she was supposed to wear; then she picked up the silver choker that was in the photograph and put it on, too. She felt as if she was wearing an awful lot of jewelry, but she was a fashion neophyte, while Sara and her mother were experts on the subject, so she decided to adhere to their pictorial advice.

  Paul’s reaction to her appearance was so flattering that Sloan was instantly glad she’d adhered to the layout in the picture. “You look stunning,” he said with a smile of pure masculine appreciation. “What do you call that color?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because it’s the same color as your eyes.”

  “In that case, I would call this color ‘blue,’ ” Sloan told him with an unaffected smile.

  • • •

  At the bottom of the staircase, a uniformed maid was waiting to show them to the living room, where cocktails and hors d’oeuvres were being served to a gathering that included the three members of the family and a man who was talking to Paris, his back to the doorway.

  Her father looked up as soon as they walked in and put his glass on the coffee table. “Right on time,” he said with a welcoming smile as he stood up.

  He introduced the stranger as Noah Maitland. Sloan’s first reaction had been surprise that a guest was included in such an awkward family situation, but when Noah Maitland turned and looked at her, she felt like a dazzled teenager.

  Tall, tanned, and black-haired, he had a smile that could heat a room, eyes the color of cold steel, and a cultured baritone voice that had the same effect as a beautiful piece of music. He was such a study in contrasts, he had so much sex appeal, and he looked so fantastic in his impeccably tailored dark suit and striped tie that Sloan lost her concentration when he reached out to shake her hand. “Beautiful women certainly run in this family,” he said, his gray eyes warm with admiration as they looked straight into hers.

  “How do you do?” Sloan managed. “Thank you,” she added awkwardly, hastily withdrawing her hand and her gaze from his. He was Sara’s “Mr. Perfect” in the flesh.

  On the way into dinner her father quietly confided, “Paris and Noah are practically engaged.”

  “They make a beautiful couple,” Sloan said honestly, watching her sister walking beside Noah into the dining room. She felt a little sorry for Sara’s missed opportunity, but as soon as the meal began, she had larger problems because Paul and she immediately became the focal point of the conversation.

  “This is a momentous occasion for our entire family,” her father intoned with a glance around the table that specifically encompassed Noah Maitland, who was seated directly across the table from Sloan. “Sloan, tell us all about yourself.”

  “There isn’t much to tell,” Sloan replied, trying not to notice that Noah Maitland’s entire attention was now focused on her. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Start with your career,” Carter prompted. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an interior designer.”

  “Artistic women also seem to run in the family,” he observed with a smile at Paris.

  “I am not artistic,” Edith pointed out bluntly from her position at the foot of the table. “Did you go to college?” she demanded of Sloan.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you study?”

  The time had come to portray herself as the frivolous, not-too-bright woman Paul Richardson needed her to be. “Oh, I studied a lot of things,” Sloan said, staying as close to the truth as possible so she’d be less likely to accidentally contradict herself later. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do with my life. I kept changing my major.” She paused for a spoonful of the soup that had been put in front of her.

  Her great-grandmother didn’t see a need to eat. “How were your grades?”

  “Fair.”

  “Are you a good interior decorator?”

  Sloan took petty gratification in correcting her. “Interior designer,” she said.

  Paul Richardson spoke up then. Smiling fondly at Sloan, he said, “I think she’s very good.”

  Edith Reynolds refused to be convinced. “All the interior decorators I hear of are homosexuals,” she announced. “In this day and age, I would have hoped young women like Paris and you would do something more useful with your lives.”

  Sloan stole a look at Paris to see how her silent sister was reacting to this not-so-subtle criticism that encompassed both of them, but if Paris felt anything, she didn’t show it. Wearing a red sarong-style dress with a mandarin collar and her dark hair swept up on the top of her head, she looked beautiful, exotic, and composed. “What sort of career would you choose?” Sloan asked the white-haired woman.

  “I believe I would be a tax accountant,” Edith declared. “I know I could have done a better job and found more deductions than my accountants find.”

  “Unfortunately, Sloan doesn’t have a head for figures,” Paul said proudly and patted Sloan’s hand.

  “What about sports?” Carter asked her. “Do you play golf?”

  “No.”

  “Tennis?”

  Sloan played tennis, but she knew she wasn’t in their league. “A little. Not much.”

  He switched his gaze to Paul. “Do you play, Paul?”

  “A little.”

  “Let’s get together tomorrow morning at nine, Paris and I will help you polish up your game. You should have some golf lessons while you’re here, too. Paris is an excellent golfer.” He looked at Paris. “Will you take Sloan out to the club tomorrow afternoon, make sure she has whatever she needs, and give her some pointers?”

  “Yes, of course,” Paris instantly replied, flashing Sloan a quick, polite smile.

  “I really don’t like golf,” Sloan began.

  “That’s because you don’t play,” he argued. “What about hobbies? What do you do with your spare time?”

  Sloan was beginning to feel a little badgered. “I, um . . . I read.”

  “What do you read?” he asked, sounding a little disappointed in her.

  “Magazines,” Sloan told him, intending to add to his disappointment. “I just love House and Garden. Don’t you, Paris?”

  Her sister looked startled to be included and Sloan was certain she was lying when she replied, “Yes, very much.”

  “What about your other interests?”

  The interrogation had gone on too long, Sloan decided. She was hungry and broke off a piece of her dinner roll. “What do you mean?”

  “What about current affairs?” he pressed.

  Lowering her eyes to hide her laughter, Sloan buttered her roll. “I love current affairs. I watch the Entertainment channel on cable all the time, just to find out who is having an affair with who. Or is it ‘whom’?” Affecting an expression of innocent confusion, she raised her gaze and caught Noah Maitland’s look of amused disgust before he hid it. He had just written her off as an idiot, she realized with a surprising twinge of regret.

  Evidently, her father had decided not to let her disgrace herself further or add to his guest’s boredom. “What do you think is going to happen to the market?” he asked, looking at Noah.

  When Sara referred to “the market” she meant the semiannual introduction of new products at the design centers in Dallas and New York. “At the Dallas market, rose and gold tones were really ‘in,’ this year,” Sloan said with sham delight, knowing perfectly well Ca