Free Savage Heat by Nan Ryan

outside into the hot, still night, where the family carriage was waiting to transport General Kidd to Union Station.
    The two men shook hands in the moonlight, and General Kidd said suddenly, “I should never have allowed Martay to come out here.” Before Dolph Emerson could respond, the general had bounded up into the carriage and departed.
    Beneath one of five magnificent chandeliers lighting the long white ballroom, Martay Kidd turned about on the polished floor in the arms of Major Lawrence Berton. The sweet strains of a waltz came from an alcove where the ten-piece orchestra was concealed behind garlands of cut flowers.
    At half past ten the party was in full swing and dozens of couples were on the floor, the ladies’ colorful gowns contrasting beautifully with the solid white ballroom. Other guests had already hurried into the dining room to sample Regina Darlington’s splendid buffet.
    One of the first shimmering ice sculptures ever to be seen in Denver reigned supreme atop a long, impressive banquet table draped in white damask. An imposing six-foot-long beautiful frozen panther seemed to prowl gracefully down a mountain of white damask amid strategically arranged huge silver platters bearing ribs of beef and sliced spring duck and broiled fresh trout and roast quail with wine sauce and grilled salmon and rosemary-scented lamb. Beyond the many kinds of meats was an array of vegetables, both plain and exotic, and two dozen different desserts.
    White-gloved waiters served the feast to hungry young people holding out fine Limoges china plates. Others who had already visited the buffet sat about on the silk opera chairs in the ballroom, or upon the grand staircase, or outdoors on the stone veranda, balancing the china plates on their laps, dabbing at their mouths with fine Irish linen-and-lace napkins, and washing the delicious food down with vintage French champagne from sparkling crystal flutes.
    The waltz ended, and Lawrence Berton’s hands dropped away from Martay’s narrow waist as he said, “Would you like supper now, Martay?”
    She thought for only a moment. “No, Larry. I’m not hungry, but you go ahead.”
    “Sure you don’t mind?”
    She did, but she didn’t say as much. “Of course not. You go on. I’ll freshen up.” She was surprised he could be interested in food when she was willing to dance every dance with him. Larry was not behaving like himself. Not at all.
    His hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the base of the stairs, smiled down at her, and said, “I’ll see you back in the ballroom in a half hour.”
    She nodded, lifted her white silk skirts up to her slim ankles, and gracefully climbed the stairs, knowing very well that Larry was standing below, watching. Pausing when she reached the second floor landing, she turned to look down, intending to favor him with a smile.
    But he wasn’t there.
    Mystified and half miffed, Martay whirled about and hurried to the beige-and-white salon appointed as the room where young ladies were to retire if they wanted to freshen up and rest for a few minutes. Teeth grinding, Martay was growing more than a little annoyed with Larry Berton. Immediately she realized she was being foolish. After all, it was eleven and they’d not yet eaten a bite. Larry always had a hearty appetite, as did she. Except tonight. For some reason, she had no appetite. None at all.
    Martay was not the only one with no appetite for food.
    Pacing restlessly in the spacious beige-and-white salon, Regina Darlington felt she might never be hungry again. Where was he? Each time an arriving guest had stepped into the white ballroom, she had looked toward the entrance, her heart speeding, expecting to see him, elegant in his evening clothes with his raven hair gleaming under the chandeliers, his cool black eyes seeking her out.
    It hadn’t happened.
    It was almost eleven and he had not shown up. Damn him! Where was he? Why had he promised he would come if he never meant