With her trunks filled and locked, Angela left her room. She encountered no one on her way to the stables, where she found Zeke pitching hay to the horses. He looked up and smiled at her.
“Zeke, I want you to go to my room and bring down the two trunks you will find there. And do it quietly. The rest of the family is still sleeping.”
“Is you goin‘ somewhere, Missy?” he asked, scratching his head. “I ain’t been told—”
“Just to the city, Zeke,” she interrupted him with a weak smile. “I’ve put on a little weight lately and just about all my dresses need to be altered. I might as well get it done with.”
“Yessum,” he said and strolled off toward the house.
She was in an agony of suspense as she waited for Zeke. At last, he returned with the second trunk and they left for the city.
But where was she going? Where in this world was there a place for her? Maybe she could find her mother, Angela thought wildly. Yes, she would find her mother and live with her! Why, she even knew someone who was going West. Grant Marlowe. She would pay him to take her with him.
Angela turned back for a last look at Golden Oaks. The huge white mansion gleamed in the midday sun. And then Zeke turned onto the river road and she couldn’t see it any longer.
She refused to let herself think of Bradford, but as she rode farther away from Golden Oaks, she knew she would never see Jacob again. And that was when her heart began to break.
Bradford burst into his father’s room with a greater fury than he meant to show. It was not Jacob he wanted to strangle, but Crystal.
He had realized that he could not accept anything she said. She was lying, she had to be. She had made up that letter herself! She must have!
“You wanted to talk to me about Candise, Father, and I’m here to tell you I can’t marry her.”
Jacob was silent, knowing something was terribly wrong with his son.
“I didn’t think you would,” Jacob said at last. “I have the distinct impression that your interest lies elsewhere.”
“Damn right it does,” Bradford said belligerently. “I’m going to marry Angela next week. What do you say to that?”
“I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“What?”
Jacob grinned. “Did you think I would object? I have always hoped you and Angela would marry someday, but because of the difference in your ages, I was afraid you would marry before she even grew up. Object? My boy, I couldn’t be happier.”
Bradford sat down slowly and began to laugh. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop laughing. Damn Crystal anyway. The little bitch should have known her lying scheme would be quickly disproved. Jacob could not allow him to marry Angela if she were his daughter. But Jacob was delighted. The last laugh would be on Crystal, next week, when he walked Angela down the aisle and made her his forever. He was so happy that his anger disappeared almost entirely.
Chapter 31
ZEKE halted the carriage in front of Madame Tardieu’s little shop. After he carted her trunks inside, she sent him on his way, telling him she would hire a carriage later on to bring her home, since she didn’t know how long she would be. She hated lying again, but there was nothing else she could do.
Madame Tardieu, the little Frenchwoman who created such lovely gowns for the Maitland women, came out of a back room and greeted Angela cheerfully. “Mademoiselle Sherrington, I trust the ball last night was a splendid success?”
“Yes, very much so,” Angela answered uneasily.
“Good, good. But what is this?” Madame Tardieu asked, noticing the trunks on the floor. “Have you purchased material somewhere else for me to work with?”
“No, madame,” Angela assured her. “I—I had planned to have some of my dresses altered, but I have changed my mind. Fashions change so quickly. I think I would rather have a complete new wardrobe.”
“Ah, oui, this new bustle. It requires so much more material. Will you select the materials now? I have a new shipment of silks from Paris.”
“Not just yet, Madame Tardieu. I will take my old dresses to the church first, so they can be given to the poor. And I have one or two errands. I will return shortly,” Angela replied.
She regretted having to lie again. Why did one lie always have to lead to another and another?
“You must be excited to have a wedding so soon after the ball,” the Frenchwoman continued as she walked Angela to the door.
Angela caught her breath. No one had known there was to be a wedding.
“Where did you hear of this?”
Madame Tardieu laughed in delight. “Ah, but it is the talk of the town. News of this sort travels quickly. But it is too bad the lovely bride could not have arrived in time for the ball last night.”
Angela stared uncomprehendingly.
“You did not know? Mademoiselle Taylor arrived this morning with her papa. Ah, Monsieur Maitland must be so pleased to have his son marry the daughter of his best friend. I understand they have been engaged for a very long time.”
Angela let the words sink in slowly. Candise Taylor and Jacob’s son? But Jacob had only one unmarried son. Angela’s eyes flashed with sudden awful understanding. Bradford had proposed to her, made love to her, when all the while he was engaged to marry the daughter of his father’s best friend.
“You will need a new gown for the wedding,” Madame Tardieu was saying. “Perhaps a light green? It will be lovely with your hair.”
“No!” Angela snapped, then took hold of herself. “Blue, or maybe pink. But now I really must go.”
“Of course. We will decide later.”
“Yes,” Angela answered quickly. “Later.”
Standing outside the dress shop, Angela’s whole body shook with outrage. Bradford had wanted only a convenient bed partner while he waited for his fiancée to arrive! And Angela had been too willing to oblige him.
She refused to let herself think about it any longer, but hurriedly found a carriage. She knew that Grant Marlowe would be leaving that afternoon on a ship bound for Louisiana. Finding the ship and then its captain, she learned that Grant was already aboard. It was not difficult to find Grant. What was difficult was convincing him to escort her West.
They stood by the rail watching the last of the cargo being loaded. Grant was unaware that her trunks were already on board and that she had paid for her passage.
“You have to understand, Miss Angela, that I’m travelin‘ to Texas alone. It’d be different if others were comin’ along, with wagons and the like. No—I just can’t do it.”
“I would be no trouble, Grant. I’m not asking for your protection. I just need a guide.”
“And who’d protect you then if not me?”
“I can take care of myself,” she replied with a tilt of her chin.
He looked down at her with amusement, a disbelieving grin on his lips. “You’re talkin‘ about Texas, ma’am. It’s a wild land, full of Indians, Mexican bandits, and outlaws who wouldn’t think twice about killin’ a woman. And like I said, I’m travelin‘ alone. Takin’ a wagon along for a lady’s comfort would set me back at least a month and I can’t afford to lose that much time.”
“I wouldn’t need a wagon. If you can ride horseback, then so can I,” Angela said.
He looked at her curiously for a moment, the sun reflecting in his eyes, making them shining green pools. “Why do you want to go West so badly?”
She had anticipated the question. “I want to find my mother.”
“Is she in Texas?”
“I have reason to believe she is,” Angela answered.
“You mean you’re not sure?”
“All I know is that she traveled West twenty years ago. But I intend to comb the country until I find her.”
“As I understand it, Brad will be comin‘ to Texas in four or five months. Why don’t you wait until he brings you?” Grant ventured. “Or, better yet, have him hire someone to find your mother for you.”
Angela cleared her throat and
lowered her head. “I—I think you should know that I have decided not to marry Bradford. We—aren’t—suited.”
Grant wrinkled his brow. “Brad didn’t hurt you last night, did he? I mean, have you changed your mind about him ‘cause of what happened in the garden?”
“No,” she replied quickly, avoiding his eyes. “No, of course not. My reasons have nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t understand. Last night you swore your love for Brad.”
“I can’t deny I love him,” Angela said in a weak voice. It was true. She would always love him. “But I can’t marry him.”
“So you’re really runnin‘ away from Brad?”
“You might say that.”
“He’ll follow you.”
“He won’t come after me, I’m sure of that,” Angela said simply, trying to hold back tears. “When he finds that I have gone, he’ll know why, and he’ll know it’s best. So— will you take me with you?”
“On one condition,” he answered earnestly. “And that is that I take you as my wife.”
“You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed, but saw quickly that he was.
“I asked you to marry me last night and I’m askin‘ you again now.”
“I can’t marry you, Grant. I’ve told you I love Bradford,” she said ruefully.
“But you say you can’t marry him either. You just don’t make sense, Miss Angela.”
“I will pay you to take me,” she said.
“I gave you my condition, ma’am, and that’s the only way I’ll agree to take you with me. You’re just too pretty to travel alone with, and I’m not made of steel.”
“Grant, please—”
“The answer is no, but with regrets.”
He tipped his hat and walked away, leaving her standing alone at the rail. But she would make him change his mind. She had to.
Chapter 32
IT was nearing dusk as the two riders wearily approached the outskirts of Nacogdoches.
“You’ll be able to get passage on a stagecoach there, and then I want nothin‘ more to do with you,” Grant grumbled. How had he let himself be talked into taking her this far?
Grant tied their horses in front of the only building with a sign reading “Hotel.” They went inside and Grant pounded on the front desk until a short little old man with gray whiskers came running from a back room.
“Alrighty, I’m comin‘. Hol’ your horses,” the little man called in a crackly voice.
“When’s the next stage out?” Grant asked impatiently.
“Jest missed it, sonny. Left today at noon.”
“When is the next stage due?”
“Not fer a week. Kin put you an‘ the missus up, though,” the man replied, smiling at Angela with an admiring eye. “Got a nice room facin’ the street kin let you have real cheap.”
“You can give the lady that room, and find another for me for the night,” Grant said, then turned to face Angela. “Looks like you’ll have a week’s wait. I’ll be movin‘ on in the morning.”
“But—”
“We agreed I’d take you this far. I’ve done it.” His abruptness and the realization that she was on her own again threw her. “Thank you, Mr. Marlowe, and goodbye,” she said with equal abruptness, then turned and followed the old man up the stairs, leaving Grant staring after her with an angry scowl. With a growing temper, he turned and stormed from the hotel in the direction of the nearest saloon.
It was quite early in the morning when Grant pounded on Angela’s door, then barged into her room without waiting for an answer. She was sitting up in the large double bed, fully alert.
“May I ask why you need to present yourself at this hour?” she asked coldly.
“I’m leavin‘ now, ma’am.” His courtesy held more than a touch of sarcasm.
Grant’s harsh attitude was a defense against his desire for Angela. He wanted her, but she loved Brad.
“I believe we said goodbye last evening, didn’t we?” she said archly.
“You did. And now I will,” he replied and crossed to her bed in two quick strides.
He bent down, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and covered her lips forcefully with his own. The harshness left him and he became increasingly tender. Slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her gently against him.
Angela did not try to push him away. She did not return his kiss wholeheartedly, but it was a pleasant kiss and she felt secure in his arms. She did not feel the stirrings that Bradford’s touch induced, but kissing Grant was rather nice.
She moaned softly for what she could never have again, but Grant mistook misery for desire.
“Angela, say you will marry me,” he said deeply, kissing her neck. “You are like a prairie flower—too delicate to touch, but too beautiful to leave behind.”
She was deeply moved by his poetic words. And he was such a handsome young man, far more striking than Bradford. He was taller, stronger, and he would probably be a gentle lover.
He would make a fine husband, one she could be proud of. But she didn’t love him, nor did he speak of love.
“Why do you want to marry me, Grant?” she asked gently.
“I want to make you my wife,” he answered simply.
“But why?”
He stared into her eyes, dark pools of violet, near blue in the morning light. “I want you,” he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.
“But you don’t love me. And I don’t love you,” Angela argued.
“What I feel for you is near to love,” he returned.
“Be honest with me, Grant,” she said in a level voice. “What you want is to make love to me.”
“Well, of course!” he said, astonished, flustered by her frankness.
“And if I were to let you make love to me, then there would no longer be the need to marry me. Am I right?”
“If you ain’t the damnedest woman I ever met!” he exclaimed, shocked now. He got quickly to his feet. “That ain’t the way it’s done, Angela.”
She laughed at his expression. “Come now, Grant. I thought you Texans threw convention to the winds.”
His expression changed abruptly. A sparkling glint appeared in his dark green eyes and he gazed down at her appraisingly. A grin crossed his lips and, without another word, he started unbuttoning his shirt.
Now it was Angela’s turn to be startled. “What—what do you think you’re doing?”
His grin widened. “I plan to take you up on your offer, ma’am.”
“Grant, no!” she gasped. “I was not offering myself to you. I was just trying to explain something. You don’t want me as a wife, you just want me in your bed.”
“That’s true enough,” he returned without taking his eyes from her. “I always assumed you fine ladies wanted the two to go together. But you’ve showed me different.”
“Get out of her, Grant Marlowe!” Angela shouted. Apprehension was turning to fear and she started to leave the bed on the opposite side.
Grant caught hold of her arm and jerked her back to the center of the bed. He held her wrists securely against the pillow as he leaned over her, pure rage on his features.
“I’ve no intention of rapin‘ you, Angela,” he growled. “But in the future, watch what you say to a man. If you weren’t a damned virgin, I’d take you here and now!” Then he smiled at the fear in her eyes. “Goodbye, Miss Angela.” He released her hands then and left the room without a backward glance.
Angela stared at the closed door for long moments after Grant left the room. She just plain didn’t understand Grant Marlowe. His moods changed as quickly as the sky on a windy day.
Well, Grant was gone now and she was on her own. She sighed and left the bed to begin dressing. She had a lot to do today and in the days before the stage came. She wanted to purchase a small weapon that she was determined to keep under her pillow and to wear strapped to her leg during the day. She could not allow herself to be helpless.
And
she would begin asking questions about her mother. Perhaps someone in this very town knew of her. Yes, she had a lot to do.
Chapter 33
THE first knock on Angela’s door was so light that she didn’t hear it. The second knock was like thunder and she bolted upright, completely awake, leaving behind her troubled dream.
With wide, startled eyes, Angela glanced quickly about the darkened room. A continuous hammering began and she jumped from the bed, pulling the sheet with her, and struck a match to light the candle on the bedside table. But before she could get it lit, her door crashed open.
Angela stood paralyzed, the sheet clutched against herself. There was only a dim light coming from the outside hall.
The intruder stumbled into the room and then suddenly fell to the floor. Angela could see only his large frame silhouetted in the dark. He clumsily struggled to his feet and she ran to the bed and searched frantically under the pillow until her hand touched the little derringer she had purchased only that afternoon.
With the slim weapon firmly in her hand, Angela gained her courage. “S-stay where you are or I’ll have to shoot you.” Her words did not sound as brave as she had wanted them to.
“What?”
The voice was all too familiar, and with the sudden recognition, Angela exploded into rage, so furious that she slipped back into her old speech.
“Grant Marlowe! Just what in hellfire do you think you’re doin‘ bustin’ in here? I oughta shoot you just for the scare you gimme!”
“Damn—I knocked—first!” he slurred. “Whyn’t you answer?”
“You didn’t gimme a chance to! And you’re drunk!” she yelled, further enraged.
“Yes, ma’am—I’m drunk,” he replied. “With—with good reason.”
He sounded like a proud little boy. Relief finally taking over, Angela began to laugh. She placed the gun down carefully on the table by the bed, wrapped the sheet firmly about herself, then leaned over to light the candle.
GLORIOUS ANGEL - JOHANNA LINDSEY Page 16
