Free Christie by Veronica Sattler

that would reveal her to be anything but a mature young woman. Drawing herself up into her most elegant posture, she smiled sweetly as she responded.
    "My dear Mistress Mayfield, welcome to Windreach. How courageous of you not to let your state of mourning interfere with your enjoyment of a social life. They say a true observation of mourning can be so boring!"
    As she spoke, she took in the widow's appearance. Laurette was a good three inches shorter than Christie and had a voluptuously well-rounded figure, fully apparent beneath the black clothes she wore. But if they were widow's weeds, noted Christie, it was only their color that made them so, for every line of the brunette's gown seemed designed with only one thing in mind—to draw attention to an amply endowed figure. Her fair skin suggested she never appeared in the summer sun without a protective bonnet, long sleeves, and gloves, for it was white and flawless, and against it the dark eyes that looked out from her beautiful oval face were worldly and knowing.
    Now, as she regarded her, Christie was aware she wasn't the only one looking the young widow over; Garrett Randall's eyes roamed casually over Laurette's black-clad form and Christie was annoyed to find that this irritated her. What she hadn't noticed was how, while she had been taking in the widow, Garrett's gaze had thoroughly surveyed her own lithe form, making no secret he liked what he saw there.
    But Laurette had not missed his appraisal of Christie, and with all the artful winsomeness her experience could muster, she leaned on Garrett's arm and cooed, "Oh, Mr. Randall, I do believe tea is finally served. Won't you tell me how you like yours? I'd love to fix you a cup myself." And shooting Christie a disdainful glance, she brushed directly past her and Charles, and moved toward the tea table across the terrace.
    "Really, Laurette," said Charles, moving after her, "there are servants here well-trained to serve tea—"
    "Never mind, Father," said Christie in a voice loud enough for Laurette to hear. "Some people just naturally find themselves suited for certain kinds of tasks."
    Then Christie looked up to find Garrett studying her. She was feeling good about herself at the moment, enjoying a newly found confidence that stemmed from her success at dealing with the widow's threatening barbs and looks, and this gave her the courage to face him in this, their first encounter since the incident in the woods.
    "I hope you are enjoying yourself, Mr. Randall," she said in her most polite tone of voice. "I'm afraid tea parties have a way of becoming boring."
    "Sometimes one needs the relaxation of quieter recreations," Garrett replied, grinning down at her, "to offset those of a more exciting nature—swim parties, for example, which are anything but boring."
    Christie flushed hotly at the remark, her anger rising, so swiftly to the surface that it threatened to disrupt all her resolutions to behave in an adult fashion.
    "You'd better go and have your tea, sir, for it is readily obvious that its civilizing effects ought be availed of none too soon in your case."
    And with the sound of his low laughter in her ear, she turned and went to join the Seymours as they chatted with her aunt.
    Garrett's grin broadened as he watched her slender hips move beguilingly away from him, and his look was caught by Laurette as she returned with his cup of tea.
    Frowning in the direction of his glance, the widow handed him his cup before picking up her black lace fan and fluttering it rapidly while she gave Garrett a thoroughly coquettish look.
    "Tell me all about the Charleston low country, Mr. Randall. Since its your home, I'm sure it must be a fascinating place."
    As Christie sat down beside her aunt, she churned with fury. She might have known he'd behave insufferably true-to-form. Oh, why had she even bothered to address him at all? And he thought he would give her lessons in manners! The arrogant bastard! Well, she had learned her