The Scandalous Miss Howard

by Nan Ryan

  “No!” her inborn spirit rose and she declared hotly, “No. You can’t just wander in and out of my life and expect me to—”

  “There was a very good reason for my prolonged absence,” he said.

  “Fine! I’d like to hear it.”

  “And you will, as soon as we’ve made love,” he replied as he bent and pressed his lips to her exposed throat. She felt the flick of his tongue against her flesh and it made her gasp.

  Trying very hard to keep her wits about her, Laurette said, “Don’t, Sutton. Stop it. Either you tell me why you—”

  But his masterful lips silenced her and she soon surrendered to the searing passion he had aroused in her. Within seconds she was as naked as he and glad that she was.

  While the sleet tapped against the windowpanes and the winter darkness engulfed the river city, Sutton stretched out on his back and drew her to lie atop him.

  For the next half hour Sutton made love to Laurette the way he knew she best liked it. His weight supported on stiffened forearms, he watched her beautiful face change expressions as he teased and aroused her.

  Finally, he flexed his firm buttocks and drove deeply into her. She sighed with building ecstasy. He changed the tempo of his lovemaking, thrust more seekingly until he totally possessed her. She responded with a wild sweetness that gave him the same kind of pleasure he was giving her.

  The lovemaking was incredible. Their shared orgasm wrenching. But when at last both were satiated and drowsy, Laurette said, “I’m still very angry with you. You should leave now. Go home.”

  Never raising his dark head from where it rested comfortably on her breasts, he said, “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do,” she said as she made a halfhearted attempt to rise.

  He tightened an arm across her waist and accused, “You’re behaving like a child.”

  “What would you know about being a child?” was her retort.

  “Even I was a child once,” he said with a yawn. “And I remember my childhood well.”

  “And yet you’ve never spoken of it.”

  “Some other time,” he said as he lifted his dark head and looked at her. “I thought you wanted to know why you haven’t seen me lately.”

  Laurette, snared by his merciless blue eyes, held her breath. “I do and this had better be good.”

  He rolled over onto his back beside her, drew her close and put a supporting arm beneath her head. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to lie about it. I stayed away from you because I am afraid.”

  “Afraid?” she murmured, incredulous. “You? Afraid of what?”

  “Of falling hopelessly in love with you,” he whispered against her temple.

  Laurette’s heart immediately pounded with joy. She was elated by his honest and touching confession. She understood exactly how he felt because she felt the very same way.

  She didn’t see the smug look of satisfaction in the depths of his eyes when she hugged him and purred, “Don’t be afraid to love me, Sutton. I want you to love me.” She raised her head, pushed her wild golden hair out of her eyes and said, “Darling, I love you, oh, I do.”

  To which he said, teasingly, “I hope you mean it, but I’m still not certain. Could you try to convince me?”

  Wildly happy, Laurette laughed, kissed him and lovingly reassured him. “Darling, don’t be afraid. Let yourself fall in love with me. You will never love me more than I love you. You’re all I want, now and forever and I’ll try to make you happy. As happy as I am now. I will never hurt you, my love. I love you, I love you! I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

  “No one?”

  “No one.”

  “Not even your husband?”

  “No one, ever,” she sighed. “Please, say that you feel the same.”

  “I do,” he said, “I love you, Laurette. I’ll never stop loving you.”

  Thirty-One

  The unusually chilly winter of 1881 finally turned to a warm, beautiful spring in Mobile. The sweet heavy scent of magnolia and wisteria drifted in through the open windows of Laurette’s home and the maidenhair ferns just beyond the veranda were a bright, brilliant green.

  Laurette was a content, happy woman.

  Since his admission that he was falling in love with her, Sutton had insisted that Laurette spend her every free minute with him. She sometimes wondered how Sutton passed the time while she was working at the hospital or calling on old friends. He had remarked that on occasion he played cards with Colonel Ivy at the Camellia Club.

  When he was not with her, Sutton was occupied. But he never mentioned anything about his business to Laurette. He spent a great deal of time working quietly behind the scenes, meting out his brand of justice to those who had betrayed him.

  His philosophy was that if a man—or a woman—had made you suffer for an untold number of years, then you did not wish to avenge yourself instantaneously. He believed you should make your enemy endure prolonged suffering.

  Sutton was intensely frustrated that he had not been able to locate Gilbert LaKid. However, he had no intention of giving up the chase. If it took the rest of his life, he would find the cruel Captain of the Guards. And when he did, he had a very special punishment in mind for the monster who had tortured, beaten and branded him.

  While Sutton believed in punishing his enemies, he was just as intent on helping out old friends who had been wronged or were in need. At the top of that list were Melba and Lydia Adair who had been swindled out of the money they’d made from the sale of their home.

  Sutton suddenly smiled with satisfaction.

  His team had been successful in locating Jackson Tate, the unprincipled cad who had bilked the trusting Adair ladies out of their meager savings. The thief had been returned to Mobile, stood trial and was now cooling his heels in the state penitentiary at Montgomery. Mr. Tate would be a guest of the state for at least the next ten years.

  Unfortunately, Tate’s apprehension and punishment had been of no help financially to the Adairs, since he had spent all of the stolen money within a few short weeks of getting his hands on it. Sutton felt very sorry for the Adairs. He wanted to help them while carefully allowing them to maintain their pride and dignity.

  He had given the situation a great deal of thought and had finally come up with a suitable solution. He would build and open a floral shop with a green-house—and hire the Adairs to operate it. Beautiful gardens had always been the ladies’ passion and Laurette had told him that the impoverished pair now lived in rented quarters with no place to plant flowers or bushes.

  Construction had already begun on the greenhouse, and when it was nearing completion he would have an agent visit the Adairs. The agent would offer them the position of running the floral shop for salaries that would be quite generous.

  Sutton knew what their answer would be.

  He rubbed his bearded chin and his eyes crinkled at the corners. His scheme for offering his old music teacher, the dear, patient Miss Foster, a helping hand had been even more successful than he’d hoped. As it turned out, nearly all the children at the Orphans Asylum had been eager to take piano lessons. It had been reported to him that Miss Foster, when approached to teach the children, was so overjoyed by the offer that tears had welled up in her eyes. It had happened again when the aging music teacher arrived at the orphanage and was shown the brand-new cherrywood piano upon which she was to give the lessons.

  Sutton always had several irons in the fire, but his most important campaign, the one that took up the majority of his time and thoughts, was the justice he had planned for the deceitful Laurette Howard Tigart.

  He had to be absolutely certain that Laurette had fallen deeply in love with him before he made his move. When that time came—a time to which he was eagerly looking forward—he would coldly leave her and quickly marry another woman. Any other woman.

  So long as she was young and beautiful.

  But the time had not yet come. It was too soon. Laurette was falling more in love
with him each time they were together, but she was still not completely in his thrall. He wanted to be certain that his leaving her would completely break her heart. Just as she had broken his.

  It was springtime and he was seeing to it that the golden days and silver nights they spent together were filled with fun and laughter and intensely pleasurable lovemaking. He made love to Laurette often and everywhere. At his Government Street mansion. At her Dauphin Street home. On his private yacht in the middle of Mobile Bay.

  She was, he had learned, a very sexual being. She had never refused him, no matter how often he took her. No matter how he took her.

  Sutton leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. His eyes clouded slightly.

  By summer’s end, it would be finished.

  “Looks like you’ve been cheated, boss,” Bones said as he stepped into the shadowy study carrying his leather journal under his arm.

  The statement snapped Sutton out of his deep reveries. He had been, for the past several minutes, mulling over the end of his affair with Laurette.

  “I don’t follow,” Sutton said, looking up at his trusted lieutenant. “What has happened?”

  “Somebody beat you to the punch. Gilbert LaKid was found murdered on the streets of Washington, D.C. His throat had been cut from ear to ear.” Bones paused, took a seat and waited for Sutton to speak. Sutton, staring into space, said nothing. Bones continued, “Evidently you were not the only enemy he had. Somebody else wanted a piece of him. Makes sense. LaKid was obviously a sadistic bastard, so I imagine he tortured other prisoners the way he tortured you.”

  Sutton continued to sit, unmoving, unblinking, as if he hadn’t absorbed what Bones was telling him. Bones grew slightly nervous. Should he repeat what he’d said. Had Sutton heard him? Understood what he had said?

  Finally, Sutton looked up, focused and said softly, “LaKid is…dead?”

  “Dead and in the grave,” confirmed Bones, explaining that the news had come from reliable sources and the facts had been double-checked for accuracy. “It’s all over, Sutton.”

  For a few more minutes, Sutton continued to sit quietly in his chair, saying no more, not moving a muscle. Bones remained silent, but he was growing increasingly nervous.

  Sutton’s hand lay atop the desk. Without a change of expression he closed it into a fist. When the knuckles were white, Sutton slammed his tight fist down against the desk with such intensity, Bones jumped, startled. As he watched, wide-eyed, Sutton shot up out of his chair so abruptly, the chair turned over.

  His blue eyes gleaming as an animal’s, his lean body coiled as tightly as a watch spring, the consistently calm, reserved Sutton Vane went into a rage. He kicked the overturned chair out of his way and charged the tall mahogany cabinet behind the desk.

  He yanked open a drawer, reached in, scooped up a number of files and threw them to the carpeted floor. He reached for more, cursing loudly with frustration.

  “That lucky son of a bitch!” he snarled, his face a dark mask of anger. “That cruel, evil bastard didn’t deserve to die so easily!”

  “I know,” said Bones, on his feet now, “but maybe it’s best this way. At least he—”

  Sutton turned on his friend and bellowed so he could be heard throughout the mansion, “No, dammit, no! Hell, no! He deserved to suffer! Don’t you understand, I wanted that bullet-headed, one-eyed bastard to suffer and suffer and suffer!”

  Sutton whirled around and drove his fist into the cabinet, breaking the wooden drawer and bloodying his knuckles. The remaining files spilled out onto the floor.

  “Stop!” said Bones, who hurriedly circled the desk and grabbed Sutton’s fist in midair as he pulled back to throw another punch at the ruined file cabinet. His strength superior to Sutton’s, Bones gripped Sutton’s wrist, held it firm and said, “Sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down, damn you,” said Sutton. “Get the hell out of here and leave me alone!”

  “I’m not leaving,” Bones said calmly. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  “I don’t want a drink!” shouted Sutton. “Let go of my wrist!”

  Bones refused. “Hit me if you must hit something,” said Bones. “Hit me, my friend.”

  The two men stood toe-to-toe, the shorter, stockier Bones firmly gripping Sutton’s wrist. Finally, the wildness left Sutton’s eyes. His tall body slumped with relaxation. Bones released his wrist.

  “Jesus, Bones, I’m sorry,” Sutton said, shaking his head.

  “No apology needed, boss,” said Bones. “Believe me, I can understand your frustration and disappointment.”

  Bones went directly to the small bar in the study’s corner. He took down a decanter of bourbon and two shot glasses. He filled the glasses, came back and handed one to Sutton.

  “Drink up,” he coaxed. Sutton nodded and downed his whiskey in one long swallow.

  “Another?” inquired Bones.

  “No, I’m fine now, really I am,” Sutton assured him. “Better go upstairs and clean my bloody hand.”

  “Sure. I’ll help,” said Bones.

  “Thanks, but I’d like to be alone for a while.”

  Bones, plucking nervously at the white crossbones stitched on the front of his shirt, said, “You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?”

  Sutton finally flashed that million-dollar smile. He laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “No, I’m not going to hurt myself, so stop your worrying.” He turned and walked away. In the door he paused, turned back and said, “I behaved like a child. It won’t happen again.”

  Bones nodded and said, “Look at it this way, Sutton, it is finally over. All over. LaKid was the last of those who—”

  “Not quite,” Sutton interrupted and the smile left his face. “There’s one more.”

  Bones frowned and shook his head sadly.

  Thirty-Two

  It was a perfect evening for an outdoor band concert.

  The temperature at 8:00 p.m. was a pleasant seventy-five degrees and a golden sunset over the Gulf promised fair skies and clear sailing for tomorrow. With the advent of spring, the woods beyond the city were bright with blossoms of wisteria, redbud, dogwood, magnolia, honeysuckle and yellow jasmine. Along the coast, miles of beaches, dunes, swamp, palmetto and moss-hung oaks created a magical world of tropical beauty.

  It was simply the best season of all in the port city; the cold chill and gray skies of winter were gone and the hot, humid heat of summer had not yet set in. After being shut up inside for months, the citizens of Mobile were eager to get out and enjoy the mild weather.

  Laurette and Sutton were among the appreciative crowd gathered downtown on Bienville Square on that warm May evening to enjoy the band concert and to mingle with friends.

  The Old Guard of Mobile had quickly taken to Sutton Vane, something that rarely happened. They liked him and were eager to embrace him as one of their own.

  And, those who knew her best, the friends who cared the most, all agreed that they hadn’t seen Laurette so happy in years. There was a glow about her that had been there when she was a young, carefree girl. Her dark eyes sparkled with sheer delight each time she looked at her handsome escort.

  Laurette made no effort to hide the fact that she absolutely adored this handsome man who had come into her life when she’d thought that there would be no more joy. Sutton had changed everything for her: the sun shone brightly, the birds sang sweetly and music was hauntingly beautiful.

  As Sutton and Laurette moved closer to the band shell, a clearly excited Melba and Lydia Adair anxiously made their way through the crowd toward the hand-holding pair.

  “Laurette, Laurette, dear,” Melba said, reaching out to clasp Laurette’s arm.

  “Oh, hello, Melba, Lydia.” Laurette was glad to see them. “You know Sutton Vane.”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Sutton said with a smile.

  Both women nodded to him and said, “Nice to see you, Mr. Vane.” They turned their attention back
to Laurette. “The most wonderful thing has happened to us, Laurette,” enthused Melba.

  “Oh? Tell us. We can’t wait to hear, can we Sutton?”

  “Indeed, we can’t,” he said.

  “You two just won’t believe what has happened,”

  said Melba. She turned to her daughter and coaxed, “Tell them, Lydia.”

  Lydia, still uncomfortably shy, shook her head and lowered her eyes. “No, Mother, you tell them.”

  Melba said, “Lydia and I have been employed to run that new floral shop and greenhouse on Canal Street! We’re so thrilled, we’re like a couple of kids. The shop opens next week and we can hardly wait to get started!”

  “That is wonderful, Melba,” said Laurette, genuinely pleased for the two women. “I am so happy for you, that’s the best news I’ve heard in ages.”

  “It is, isn’t it? A miracle. A dream come true. You know that nothing gives us more pleasure than tending flowers and…and…just think, with the greenhouse, why we can have all kinds of exotic blossoms. Orchids and gardenias and roses in the middle of the winter. And, we’ll get paid for our efforts! Can you believe it!” Melba finally let go of Laurette’s arm and clapped her hands together.

  “Yes, I can,” said Laurette.

  “I don’t really know how it happened, but I suppose our talent for raising beautiful flowers and plants is well-known and that is why we were chosen to run the operation.”

  Nodding, Laurette said, “Yes, of course, that’s the reason.” She glanced at Sutton and explained, “The Adairs were once famous for their incredibly lush gardens, the most beautiful gardens in Mobile.”

  Sutton said, “Then the owner of the floral shop has certainly chosen correctly.”

  “Who is the owner?” Laurette asked.

  “No single owner,” said Melba. “As I understand it, a big company owns it. The Bay Minette Corporation, I believe it is.”

  “Oh?” Laurette replied and quickly glanced at Sutton.

  His expression never changed, but his blue eyes flickered slightly. Laurette realized, with a rush of affection, that he was responsible for this fortunate turn of events for the desperate Adairs. Bay Minette owned the new floral shop? He was Bay Minette. He hardly knew the Adairs, yet he had done this expressly to help them out. Laurette was deeply touched.