Wild Star

by Catherine Coulter

  “Because, you stupid fool, she’s a child, and like most men who have the slightest claim to honor, I tend to protect children.”

  Byrony whirled around to see Brent standing in the open doorway, his eyes as cold as his voice.

  “She’s a slave, damn you, Hammond. I’ve always had my pick of them. You know how they are, hot and ready for a man—”

  Byrony heard a roar of fury. She saw Josh hurl himself past Brent.

  “Dammit, Josh, stop.”

  She saw Brent grab the huge black man’s arm with such force that it jerked him around. For an agonized moment, she thought Josh would strike Brent to get to Paxton.

  She blinked at the very brief struggle. Josh was held firmly, his arm twisted behind his back, panting with pain and rage.

  “He’s not worth it, my friend,” she heard Brent say quietly to Josh. “I’ll handle it, I promise you.”

  Brent turned his attention to Paxton. “I believe,” he drawled, “that I heard my wife give you a suggestion.” He paused a moment, then continued in a very soft voice, “Consider it an order. You will be gone from Wakehurst by the morning, Paxton, or I’ll kill you. Do you understand, you scum?”

  “Just where do you think you’ll find another overseer? Don’t be a fool, man. The little slut is nothing.”

  “No, Josh,” Brent said quietly to his friend, feeling his rage at the overseer. “Actually, Paxton, I’m a bit disappointed that you could be so stupid. You see, I’ve just begun to dig into your activities. I would have preferred to see you in jail for your cheating. But no matter. Not to see your ugly face again will have to be enough. Byrony, keep your rifle pointed at him until I give Lizzie my jacket.”

  Byrony stood quietly as she watched Brent walk to the cowering girl and cover her with his jacket. She heard him say very gently, “You’ve no reason to be scared now, Lizzie. Everything will be all right.”

  “You’re a stupid fool, Hammond. What man lets a woman tell him what to do?”

  Brent smiled, actually smiled. “You know, Paxton, you’re becoming a complete bore. I have a suggestion for you now: shut your mouth and start packing. I intend to remain here until I see the last of your dirt.”

  “Brent, I—” Byrony paused as her husband’s eyes met hers.

  “You will return to the house with Lizzie and Josh. I will see you in a couple of hours. Go now, Byrony.”

  He sounded abrupt, angry, and she didn’t understand him. But she felt too grateful to him to worry about it at the moment.

  “Yes, Brent,” she said only. Lizzie scurried to stand beside her, but Byrony was looking at Josh. “You will accompany us back, Josh. I need your protection.”

  The big man looked undecided, his black eyes darting back to Paxton.

  “Please, Josh,” Byrony said again. “Brent will handle everything.”

  The bedroom was bathed in early-morning light. Byrony doused the lamp, then returned to her chair to wait. She’d slept a bit during the long night, only to jerk awake after a few minutes, straining to hear Brent.

  When she finally heard his steps in the corridor, she jumped to her feet.

  Brent walked into the bedroom, drawing to an abrupt halt at the sight of his wife.

  “What is this? You waited up to see that I kept to my end of the bargain? Yes, Paxton is off my property. He’s gone. It’s over, all of it.”

  She saw he was tired—bone-weary, as her Aunt Ida used to say. Even though his words put her back up, she nonetheless walked to him and lightly laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Brent. I appreciate what you did, what you’ve done. You’re a fine man.”

  He shook off her hand and walked away from her. Without a word, he stripped off his clothes, shrugged into a dressing gown, and sat down in the chair she’d recently vacated. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me what you were doing in Paxton’s house.”

  “I woke up and you weren’t here. I couldn’t sleep so I went out onto the balcony. I thought I heard someone and went down to the garden to see. I saw Paxton drag Lizzie onto his horse.”

  “Yes, I’m listening. Continue.”

  “I got dressed and got one of your rifles. I went to see if Drew could help me, but no one was there. I had no choice but to go to Paxton’s house. He was trying to rape Lizzie when I stopped him.”

  Brent cocked an eyebrow at her and slowly opened his eyes. “I see. Such a heroine you are, my dear. I suppose it never occurred to you that Paxton could get that rifle away from you? Perhaps even rape you also? No, I see that such a logical flow of mental thought never went through your little mind. Of course, you are a woman. How could I expect logic from you?”

  Byrony could only stare at him. She hadn’t known what to expect when he returned, but not this attack, and done so calmly, with such a display of disinterest. “How did you know where I’d be?”

  “Ah, an excellent question, one, I’m certain, that just occurred to you. You see, my dear, Josh is a man, and thus reacts with logic. It’s true that he was waiting for Lizzie, but evidently she was early and Paxton got her. I was returning from Natchez with Drew and came upon him. It didn’t require an excessive amount of thought to determine what had happened, particularly when we discovered that you and a mare were missing.”

  “I did try to find help, Brent, but of course, you weren’t here. You were doing whatever men do. I really didn’t need your interference. I simply would have taken Lizzie and left his house.”

  “Ah, I can just picture what comes next. Had you managed to leave his house with your lovely hide intact, Paxton, filled with righteous indignation, would have confronted me the next day. And I’m really not certain that I would have ordered him to leave. But of course, since I witnessed the man’s foolishness, I really had no choice.”

  “Foolishness? That’s what you term his attempted rape of Lizzie?”

  Brent suddenly rose and stretched his arms above his head. He looked at her thoughtfully a moment, then said, “Byrony, listen to me. You aren’t used to the ways here. It’s probably very true that Paxton has taken any and every black female slave he wanted. Or hasn’t it occurred to you to wonder why there are so many light-skinned slaves around?”

  “It’s evil and disgusting. Why, you would never—”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Byrony. I had my share of slaves when I was young. Didn’t I mention that to you once? But, of course, they were all willing.”

  “Unlike me.”

  She saw his body clench. “Enough. No more from you. I’m bloody tired. And don’t back away from me. What you did, Byrony, was stupid as hell. Now, leave me be. I’m going to bed.”

  THIRTY

  Brent stood quietly in front of the portrait, unable to stop staring at it. It was nearly life-size, the colors so warm and vibrant that he wanted to reach out and touch them. Byrony was seated on a marble bench beneath a rose arbor. He recognized the evening gown immediately. It was a pale violet silk, trimmed with narrow ribbons of lavender. She wasn’t wearing the lace-and-ribbon headdress and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose curls. But it was her face that drew him, her air of sweetness. He’d seen that small, impish smile about her mouth, but it seemed so long ago. Drew hadn’t gotten the color of her eyes precisely right, but they invited him to share a naughty secret. She looked utterly delicious, he thought, a beautiful confection that was his alone. How could that feminine confection be the same woman who had flung herself on a horse at midnight to ride off and rescue Lizzie? And face down Paxton with a rifle? Slowly he forced himself to turn away and say, “It’s fine, Drew, very fine indeed. Has Byrony seen it yet?”

  “No, I wanted you to be the first, though she’s been after me since I set down my brush. It’s for your birthday, Brent. Won’t you be an ancient twenty-eight soon?”

  Brent grinned. “In four months, to be exact, but don’t let Laurel hear you use the word ancient. She’ll go after you.”

  “Drew? Are you there?” />
  Both men turned to see Byrony come into Drew’s studio. She came to an abrupt halt, staring at the portrait.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “I don’t look like that, do I, Drew?”

  “Actually, Byrony,” Brent said, “you look better. Drew here is something of a beginner.”

  Drew cuffed his brother’s shoulder, then turned in time to catch Byrony in his arms.

  “It’s so lovely. Thank you, Drew. I did wonder about that dress—all that lavender. I thought I’d look like a sallow chicken. But it’s beautiful.”

  He gave her a quick hug, and at her kiss on his cheek, he felt a gentle flow of warmth go through his body.

  “You’ve made me look so acceptable.”

  “I’m glad you like it, Byrony. It’s for your husband.”

  Byrony turned slowly, her eyes meeting Brent’s. “Do you like it, Brent? Really?”

  “Yes,” he said. “As I told Drew, it’s fine. Now, what are you doing here?”

  “Laurel said there were some business matters you had to attend to,” she said.

  “You two go along,” Drew said. “I’ll be up to the house shortly. Doubtless, Brent, you’ll need my assistance.”

  They left Drew’s apartment, and Byrony turned to walk toward the house.

  Brent caught her arm. “A moment, Byrony.”

  She turned to face him.

  “We’re going this way. There’s a very pretty spot I want you to see first.”

  She cocked her head at him, but fell into step beside him. “One of your boyhood haunts?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Are you recovered from the excitement of last night?”

  Byrony frowned up at his profile. Why wouldn’t he look at her? He was still angry, of course. “Yes, I am quite recovered. Indeed, I really didn’t feel the need to recover from anything. My delicate nerves weren’t overset, Brent.”

  He saw her in Drew’s portrait in his mind’s eye. “The expression in your eyes was almost wicked.”

  “What?”

  “The portrait. How did Drew manage to get that look?”

  She said without hesitation, “I thought about you on one particular night aboard the steamboat. You teased me and fondled me and loved me until I thought I’d die of it. And then I seduced you. I thought perhaps you were beginning to love me.” She shrugged, “But of course, coming back here put a stop to that.”

  He looked surprised but didn’t say anything and they walked along silently for a while. “Brent, we’re going quite far from the house.”

  “I know. Be patient.”

  She thoughtfully kicked a stone from her path and watched it jump in front of her. “What will you do about Lizzie? And Josh?”

  “I spoke to Josh this morning. He wouldn’t tell me how he’d made that rendezvous with Lizzie, but I suspect Mammy Bath is somehow involved. Josh is her grandson, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  Brent sighed. “What can I do? Josh loves the girl and wants to marry her. Lizzie, I gather, feels the same about Josh.”

  “But she’s only thirteen years old.”

  “Actually, she’s now fourteen as of two days ago. Josh thought it was time.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “He can have her, of course. Actually, if our very closed society would allow it, I’d be tempted to make Josh overseer of Wakehurst.”

  “Oh no.”

  The distress in her voice made him stop abruptly and turn to face her. “You have no liking for Josh?”

  “The people would still be slaves, possessions, your possessions, Brent. It’s not right.” She saw him frown, saw his eyes narrow. “What of Paxton?” she asked.

  “I would imagine that fool is in Natchez at the moment, drinking and telling everyone who will listen what a bastard I am. Lord only knows what he’s saying about you.”

  Byrony had wondered the same thing. “When will we be at your boyhood haunt?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  The boyhood haunt was a very secluded, very private spot, Byrony saw. It was nothing more, actually, than a tiny clearing surrounded by thick maple and elm trees. A curtain of nearly impenetrable summer leaves blocked out the outside world.

  “It’s lovely, Brent.”

  “Yes, very lovely.”

  “I meant this small glade, Brent.”

  “That also.”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “To make love to you, of course.”

  When, after a very long time, he lifted himself on his elbows and studied her smiling face, he said, “You look pleased with yourself.”

  “I am,” she said. “I’ve brought you to your knees, so to speak.”

  “Hussy.”

  She kissed his chest, hugged him tightly, savoring the moment. She wanted to tell him that she adored him, would do anything for him, but she imagined that he would use such voiced sentiments against her later. And he’d never told her he loved her. She wondered if he were capable of such an emotion, after nine years of denying its existence.

  “Do you love me, Brent?”

  “You are my wife,” he said, his voice fierce.

  “But do you love me?”

  He withdrew from her and came gracefully to his feet. She stared up at him.

  “Leave it be, Byrony,” he said as he leaned down to retrieve his clothing. What did she want from him? But he knew what she wanted—ah yes, he knew.

  She looked at him with bitter eyes. He was a fine lover, at least she assumed he was from the incredible pleasure he gave her. He probably gave her all the sexual feeling and pleasure he’d given for years to his mistresses. So what was a wife anyway? Someone to berate when the mood struck him, someone to blame when things didn’t go the way it suited him.

  From the corner of his eye Brent watched her slowly rise and begin to pull on her clothes. So many clothes, he thought inconsequently, so many petticoats and ribbons and ties. It struck him suddenly that she wasn’t wearing a corset. He started to ask her why not, when she walked silently away from him into the cover of the trees.

  “Byrony,” he called after her.

  She turned slowly and took the snowy white handkerchief from his hand.

  He finished dressing, then leaned against a maple tree to wait for her.

  Byrony heard them arguing, but she couldn’t make out their words. Drew had left the house some half-hour earlier, and the servants had gone to bed. She frowned and walked quietly toward the closed library doors.

  “Dammit, Brent, I tell you that your father hated the man.”

  “Come, Laurel, you’re saying that because he probably didn’t praise your eyebrows.”

  What man?

  “You’re a fool, Brent,” came Laurel’s voice.

  “A fool simply because I don’t necessarily believe you, my dear?” Brent said in a mocking voice. “Now, Laurel, why don’t you tell me the real reason you wanted to talk to me.”

  There was a deadening silence for several minutes.

  “I want to know what you’re going to do about Wakehurst. Now that Frank Paxton is gone, we’ve no overseer, no one to make those lazy slaves do their work.”

  Byrony wanted to stay, but her past experiences with eavesdropping had been too painful. She’d already committed half a sin by listening to as much as she had. Slowly she walked away from the library and back up the stairs. At least, she thought, they were arguing and that was good.

  Lizzie had finally gone off to bed. If Byrony had had to endure any more ecstatic chattering about Josh, she would have screamed. Byrony fiddled with the bows on her dressing gown, then walked out onto the balcony. It was so warm, the night still and dark. Not as warm as her lusty afternoon in the woods.

  She saw herself astride Brent, crying out with abandon as his fingers caressed her. Oddly, she wondered if Aunt Ida had ever made love with a man. Silly thought. Byrony couldn’t imagine Aunt Ida even taking off her clothes in front of a mirror. But Au
nt Ida had to feel, didn’t she? Byrony shook her head, suddenly feeling so fatigued she could hardly stand. She stared a moment at the empty bed. How she wished Brent would spend the night with her. She missed his warmth, his occasional snoring that made her poke him in the ribs, his gentle kisses that made her wake up to absolute joy.

  She fell asleep alone, and awoke the following morning alone, with Lizzie standing over her, chattering away. She felt so tired, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. It was Lizzie’s wedding day. Brent had paid the Reverend Fletcher a goodly sum to come to Wakehurst to perform the ceremony.

  She smiled, yawned, and quickly drank a cup of tea before she went about her dressing.

  During the brief ceremony, with Lizzie now silent as a stone as she stood beside Josh, Byrony felt Drew’s eyes on her. She swatted at a fly and tried to pay attention to the service. There were at least fifty slaves crowded into the garden to witness the wedding. One woman with six children had run to her and nearly fallen to her knees to kiss Byrony’s feet. “De Lord bless you, missis,” she repeated over and over. Byrony felt deep embarrassment. No human being should ever be placed in such a position.

  Byrony felt absolute relief when it was over and the slaves had dispersed and gone back to their compounds. Brent was in conversation with Josh, Laurel with Drew. Byrony made good her escape and went upstairs to change into her riding habit.

  Thirty minutes later, she was riding down the long drive, enjoying the breeze in her face. It was with some surprise that she heard pounding hoofbeats behind her. She turned to see Brent, and a smile lit her face.

  Brent reined in beside her, took in her smile, but refused to allow himself to smile in response. “You’re not to ride out alone,” he said. “I thought you understood that.”

  “I wasn’t going far,” she said. “You were busy with Josh and all the other slaves had left to celebrate.”

  “Josh clearly had other things on his mind. He and Lizzie will live in Paxton’s house for the time being. He wanted nothing more than to deflower his bride.”