by Cheryl Holt
“And second, I don’t understand why you’re pestering me. There must be others who can entertain you. Why must it be me?”
“If I ever determine the cause of my obsession, I’ll apprise you as to what’s fueling it.”
He wedged his horse a bit nearer, and he leaned down and extended his hand. She stared at it, but didn’t reach for it.
“Coward,” he taunted.
“I didn’t think I was afraid of anything, but I might be afraid of you.”
“What a ludicrous comment. Why would you be afraid of me?”
“You have wicked intentions. Are you a scoundrel? Is that your reputation?”
“No, but you’re spurring me to behave in new ways.”
“I don’t want to be friendly with you.”
“I don’t care, and my opinion is the only one that matters.”
He’d been telling the truth when he’d claimed he didn’t understand his fascination. In his stultified world of naval officers and upper-crust families, everyone carried on pretty much the same. She was the sole person he’d met in ages who provided any variety.
At least he was pretending that was the basis for his fixation. He refused to accept that he was desperately attracted to her. A man of his station never fraternized with a woman of hers. There was no position for her to occupy except that of mistress, but an immoral liaison had to be pursued in the city where rural sensibilities weren’t considered.
He could never trifle with her in the country where gossip abounded about his every move. He was pushing his luck simply by trotting after her.
Due to her odd skills and independent style of living, she was already a strange creature who generated stories. If he coaxed her into a scandal, she’d be crushed by the weight of rumor and innuendo. He would never be able to repair any damage, even if he vigorously defended her.
He’d about given up on escorting her, figuring she’d stomp off in a huff, when she grabbed his wrist. With a quick lift, he had her seated in front of him on the saddle.
He bent in and ruffled his nose in her beautiful hair, saying, “You smell so good. Like flowers and sunshine.”
“It’s probably because I’m so often out-of-doors.”
“It’s not a special perfume you produce to entice men?”
“No.”
She laughed, her voice sweet and sultry in a manner that tickled his innards. He dipped in and kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. Since he’d kissed her the previous day, he’d yearned to repeat his folly. He’d told himself the prior embrace had been committed in a moment of temporary insanity. If so, what was his current excuse? Could there ever be one?
There were always people in the woods, so there could be witnesses to his foolishness, but he wasn’t concerned. Why was that exactly?
He had a fiancée lodged in his home. She was busy, planning their engagement party. She was eager to speed up the schedule, to rush the wedding, yet he was loafing in the forest with another woman.
What was wrong with him? Was he hoping he’d be discovered? Was he hoping Roxanne would find out and cry off?
It couldn’t be that. He was fully prepared to become her husband. Or was he? Every time he pictured himself speaking the vows, his anxiety would spiral, and he’d feel as if he couldn’t breathe.
He had a sneaking suspicion that it was his guardian angel warning him to back out. Did he believe in guardian angels? He was fairly certain not.
When he drew away, she looked extremely exasperated, and she said, “What shall I do with you, Captain?”
“Why would you have to do anything? And it’s Jacob, remember?”
“You can’t keep kissing me. What, precisely, are you expecting to achieve by it?”
“It makes me happy. Must I have more of a reason than that?”
“I suppose you always get your way.”
“Of course. What would be the point of life otherwise?”
He urged his horse forward, and the animal lumbered off at a slow pace. She relaxed into him, her petite frame nestled to his much larger one. He liked how she fit against him, as if she’d been created to sit right where she was and in no other spot in the world.
They rode along in a companionable silence, and he studied their surroundings, trying to recollect any fond experiences as a boy. There had rarely been other children at the estate—not any with whom his mother would permit him to socialize anyway—so there had been no building of forts, no swimming in the streams, no playing of Robin Hood and his merry band of criminals.
As a sea-faring man, if he’d been pressed to supply his view of the property, he’d have declared it landlocked, so it couldn’t appeal to him in the slightest. But it was a balmy summer day, and he had a fetching temptress snuggled on his lap. The interval was as perfect as it could be.
They reached her gate, and he lifted her down, then dismounted himself. He tied the reins to the fence, and she said, “I assume you’re coming inside.”
“Yes, and you should be a tad more gracious about it. I doubt you have many visitors, so you should be glad I’ve bothered.”
“Have I told you that you’re a menace?”
“I’m sure you have.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
She started up the walk, and he followed like a puppet on a string.
“Where is Clara?” he asked.
“She’s at school. There’s a widow in the village who teaches a group of girls.”
“You have money for that?”
The nosy question popped out before he could swallow it down. She wasn’t offended though. “Her grandmother left it to us, to pay for incidentals.”
“Who was her grandmother?”
“I don’t know.”
He scowled. “I thought she was your niece.”
“I tell that story about her, but she’s not a relative. My Aunt Pru attended her mother at the birthing. The family didn’t want her, so we kept her.”
“Why didn’t they want her?” he inquired like a dolt.
“I’ll let you ponder the answer. I’m positive you’ll deduce it without too much heavy contemplation.”
“Oh. I’m guessing her mother was young and unwed.”
“You’d be guessing correctly.”
They entered the residence, and he was annoyed to see that the door was unlocked.
“How long will I have to nag at you about this situation?” he asked. “It’s not safe for you to be so trusting.”
“It’s futile to badger me about it. I’m very stubborn, so I would never listen.”
“I understand why you have no husband. What man would tolerate such blatant disrespect? Weren’t you ever informed that men are your masters? You’re required to heed them in all matters. It even orders it in the Bible.”
“I have to confess to being a terrible sinner. Most every man I’ve ever met is a fool.”
“What about me? Am I a fool?”
“You’re the biggest one of all.”
“Why would you believe that? Everyone agrees that I’m a brave, industrious, and smart fellow. Why is your opinion so different?”
She didn’t reply, but yanked off her bonnet and shawl and hung them on a hook. Then she lit a lamp and tugged open the curtains. The cottage was tucked away in deep woods, so there was never much sunshine to filter through the trees. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, it felt like dusk was about to arrive.
Finally, when she had the room adjusted, she spun to face him. “You’re engaged to be married, Captain. Your fiancée is ensconced in the manor and planning your betrothal party, and you should be helping her, yet you’re here with me instead. When is the wedding to be?”
He’d been wondering if she’d heard, and he coolly fibbed, “Next year, so you see, Miss James, I remain very much a bachelor.”
“What wo
uld she think if your mischief with me was exposed?”
“My activities are none of her business.”
“Spoken like a true cad.” She gestured to the door. “Would you go?”
“No. I’m too amused by you to consider departing.”
“How about if I feed you? Might you then have your fill of me?”
“You already admitted you can’t cook, so I’m not keen to accept your offer.”
“I can’t cook, but I can pick blackberries. My servant baked me a pie.”
She went to the kitchen and drew out a chair for him. He sat down, and he watched her as she bustled about, pulling out plates and dishing up two slices. She put them down, then seated herself across from him.
They didn’t dig in immediately, but were content to stare, and he was irked to find himself drowning in her pretty green eyes. It occurred to him that he might be in a great deal of trouble with her.
There appeared to be something he wanted, something he needed her to give him. Until he discovered what it was, he probably wouldn’t be able to leave her alone. What would it turn out to be? How much mayhem would he stir before he settled on the answer?
She began to eat, and she ignored him completely, which was interesting to witness. He simply took up too much space in any room, and he was always the center of attention.
“What will happen between us?” she asked after they’d finished.
“I can’t imagine. What do you expect?”
She rested her elbows on the table, her chin on her hand, and she studied him in an absorbing manner, as if she could peer down to his tiniest pore. It produced the strangest sensations, as if she was creeping through his veins, and he didn’t like it one bit. He wouldn’t tell her that though. Nor would he let her realize she was having such a deleterious effect on his equilibrium.
He was much too manly to be undone by a look.
“Why are you studying me so intently?” he asked.
“I’m trying to figure out your purpose.”
“So am I.” He motioned around the kitchen. “When I was waiting for you yesterday, I snooped in your cupboards and drawers.”
“You poured yourself a glass of wine too. You are so rude.”
“This is the most intriguing little house, and you are the most intriguing person.”
“I’m not really. You’re just bored, so you’re imbuing me with traits I don’t possess.”
“You have jars of herbs and flower blossoms and plant roots. Your workroom could belong to an apothecary, and it’s obvious you boast of many bizarre skills. Where did you learn them?”
“From my Aunt Pru.”
“And where did she learn them?”
“From her mother.”
“Why didn’t your own mother teach you. Have you skipped a generation?”
“My mother died when I was very young, so she didn’t have the opportunity to teach me. Aunt Pru had to step in.”
“How old were you when you were brought to live with your aunt?”
“Five.”
“Are you part of a secret society? Are you a sect of pagans or are you witches or—”
She cut him off. “You’re not uttering that word around me. You promised, remember? The women in my family have simply accumulated an enormous amount of ancient wisdom, and we pass it down from one daughter to the next.”
“How far back can you trace your lineage?”
“A thousand years.”
He chuckled, certain she was jesting. “It’s impossible to track that far.”
She smiled coyly. “I might have exaggerated just a tad.”
“Would you do me a favor?” he asked.
“That depends on what it is.”
“You have those magical cards. The Taro cards? I’m curious about them. Would you read them for me?”
It was the type of exploit one might engage in at a fair or with a gypsy at his roadside wagon. He’d seen sailors using them. Elderly matrons occasionally displayed them too, as parlor entertainment. They were made for sport, so what could be the harm?
“I never read them for anyone,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It’s a kind of divining, where we can learn how our path will unfold. Some people find it threatening.”
In explaining her reservations, she was so serious, as if she actually assumed she could predict his future. Could she? And if she could, should he let her? Should any man know his future?
Even as he debated the issue, he scoffed. He didn’t believe in pre-destiny or that a man’s fate was written in the stars. He especially didn’t think a few colorful cards could tell him anything relevant, but he was eager to discover what she might say, to watch her slender hands as she fussed and contemplated.
She hesitated, and the wheels were spinning in her head as she tried to devise a reason to refuse. He raised a brow. “Will I have to call you coward again?”
The taunt was too much for her. She pushed back her chair, marched into her workroom, and returned with the deck. She kept them in a wooden box that had strange symbols carved on it. She removed them and gently placed them face down, as if they were fragile or perhaps even hot to touch. Then she went through the house, closing the curtains and shutters so no spies could peek inside.
She lit a candle and put it on the table, then she sat across from him. Shadows danced on the walls, and she appeared eerie and ethereal—as if she was about to wield great power. Her furtiveness made the whole endeavor seem illegal and perilous.
“I will oblige you this one time,” she said, and she was very somber, “but you have to swear you won’t ever talk about it. If you can’t swear, I won’t proceed.”
“Why would it matter if I talk about it?”
“Can it be our secret or not?”
She was so earnest that he could only say, “Fine, Joanna. I swear.”
She must have been reassured because she nodded and shoved the deck over to him. “Rest your palm on them, then shut your eyes and ponder the question you’d like to have answered.”
“Out loud or to myself?”
“To yourself—and be precise or you might have a different question answered, and the reply will confuse you.”
He was glad he didn’t have to speak his query aloud, for he’d have been incredibly embarrassed. His approaching marriage wasn’t a topic he should mention in front of her.
As she’d instructed, he shut his eyes and thought, Will I be happy in my marriage? Should I go through with it? Or will I be miserable forever?
It was three questions rather than one, but what the hell? It was a circus game, so no pertinent information would be revealed.
He’d decided to wed that year, but he hadn’t felt competent to select a candidate himself. His mother had arranged the match—practically on her deathbed. She’d picked Roxanne, as had always been the plan, and Roxanne had traveled from Italy to bring it to fruition. He should have been ready to walk to the altar, but he couldn’t picture it.
He eased away, and Joanna shuffled the cards, then pulled out six of them and laid them in a line. They were peculiar, but mesmerizing, awash with vibrant patterns and characters that were probably demonic.
The first was titled, The Lovers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
There were others though, filled with swords and violent scenes that seemed to indicate it would involve strife and conflict. The final one showed an imperious woman sitting on a throne and staring out arrogantly. She had red hair that curled over her shoulders, and it took him a moment to realize she looked exactly like Joanna.
A shiver slid down his spine.
She studied the display, and he studied her, and the tension was nearly unbearable. He broke the silence. “If I didn’t divulge my question, how can you know what my answer should be?”
“The cards will tell me.” It was a response that made no sense. She pointed to them, clarifying their general purpose, then she said, “I recognize that you’re a very masculine man, so what I’m about to say will sound odd, but the main message being delivered is that you’re about to fall madly in love. She will be the woman you’ve waited for all your life, the one created just for you. There will be enormous struggle and jeopardy as you battle to win her, but in the end, you’ll wed her and be happier than you ever imagined.”
“Huh . . .” Another shiver slithered down his spine.
“Do you understand what I’ve told you? Have you received your answer?”
His cheeks heated. He wasn’t about to admit that his inquiry had been about his pending marriage. She’d just insisted he’d be fantastically happy with Roxanne. Somehow, he didn’t see that conclusion winging toward him with her as his bride.
Roxanne was aloof and beautiful, but they were both detached and reserved. It was the Ralston blood flowing in their veins. They simply weren’t affectionate. How could two such stiff, taciturn people find the sort of contentment Joanna had described?
She had no idea what he’d asked, so it couldn’t be a trick she’d performed to make him believe she was very astute. He’d probed for advice about a private nuptial matter, and the reply was spot on to the subject he’d raised, but it felt completely in error too.
Him? Roxanne? Madly in love? The notion boggled the mind.
“I must have done it wrong,” he fibbed. “I wasn’t curious about . . . ah . . . love, but about a different issue entirely, so your comments might be gibberish.”
“Would you like to try it again? You could reflect for a bit, then reword your query.”
“I think that will be my one and only attempt at the occult.”
“It’s not the occult.” Her tone was scolding. “These cards are ancient and prophetic. They’ve been utilized for hundreds—perhaps thousands—of years so human choices are clearer.”
“So you say. As for myself, I won’t claim to be impressed.”
Appearing dubious, she scrutinized him, then she pushed away from the table. She bustled about, opening the shutters and curtains, blowing out the candle. Order was restored, the perception of sorcery vanishing as light flooded in.
