by Ann Cory
Still, if he did have a wife, it would look bad on her character. She shook her head. They were reckless thoughts and ones she shouldn’t act on.
Unable to hold the sturdy man much longer, she thrust the key into the lock and turned it.
“Here we go, sir. Watch your step.”
Rebecca took a brief look along the foyer with its stunning chandeliers overhead. Regal paintings framed in gold covered the creamy lacquered walls. A glossy black piano gleamed in the corner with music sheets stacked neatly. Other than the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner, the house seemed jarringly quiet.
“Shall I call for someone to look after you?” she asked. “A maid or your wife perhaps?”
The man’s face turned ashen. “There’s no one else here. I live alone.”
“No one at all, sir?” She tried to mask her surprise.
“Not a soul,” he answered and took a staggered step forward. “I’ve always been alone. It’s the way things have to be.”
Rebecca wondered what he meant, but didn’t get the chance to ask. She watched him upend an oversized chair and a mahogany end table on his way toward the staircase. His body swayed as he lifted a foot to the steps and then fell onto his side.
With a sigh she went to him. “Let me help you up to your room.”
His hand went to her shoulder and slid down to her breast. She worked hard not to flinch despite the way her body throbbed.
“Nonsense, boy, I can make it on my own.”
Much as she hoped that to be true, she didn’t dare take him at his word. “I fear you’ll tumble down the stairs and injure yourself further, sir. Please allow me to help.”
As if to prove her words, he again slumped and managed to loop his arm through the curved banister.
“Very well, if you must,” he grumbled. “Just know that you’re wasting your time. No one would miss me if I fell to my death.”
“I’m certain you’re a well thought of man,” she reasoned, saddened anyone would think so little of themselves.
His hand reached up and patted the top of her head. “You’re a kind lad. Very well mannered.”
Rebecca half-carried, half dragged the man up the stairs and to the farthest room on the north side. Her breath hitched at the crimson and gold décor of his lavish bedroom. The four-poster canopy stood enormous in the middle, more than adequate for two. Piles of pillows with embroidered tassels occupied the bottom of the bed.
Raumont’s body went slack in her arms and he fell forward onto the mattress. With great difficulty, she positioned him onto his back, arms at his sides. In seconds he started to snore.
“Goodnight,” she whispered and drew over him, her mouth a hairsbreadth away from his. Rebecca couldn’t help herself. There wasn’t a wife to worry about. Her pride would remain intact. She pressed her lips firmly to his and breathed in his masculine scent.
Heat inundated her body, filling her center with scorching flames. She allowed her lips to linger, taste, explore. Never had a man’s touch made her want to give up all sense of control. She should be frightened by his power. The danger grew every second she stayed in his presence. Her mother cautioned her about the risks of the heart, in fact she forbade it. A life of solitude had been her choice. Hadn’t it?
Rebecca rose from his intoxicating hold over her and gathered her composure. Blood pumped through her veins with force, causing her body to tremble. Her mind repeated run but her heart pulsed stay. At least for a short while longer.
She let her gaze travel the lines and angles of his face. For an older gentleman he retained a surprising youthfulness about him. Even the slight brackets around his eyes gave him character rather than aged him. He slept peacefully now that his snoring had ceased, his mouth twitching once into a charming smile. How she ached to know him better. To experience the touch of his palm against her cheek and its firmness against the small of her back.
She moved to the other side of the bed and climbed up beside him, careful to not disturb his sleep. The mattress catered to each curve of her body.
With a sigh, she smoothed her palm along the velvet comforter. Yards of luxury at her fingertips. She’d always admired a rich life from afar. In her dreams, she lived in a spacious but modest home with plenty of acreage to grow all the herbs, vegetables and flowers her heart desired. A place to call home.
Her eyelids grew heavy as her body relaxed into the soft mattress. She’d be spoiled from here on out. So used to a wooden frame or the earth for a bed, she’d forgotten the feel of comfort.
Rebecca made herself get up from the bed and ambled to the window. Her feet reminding her they’d travelled hard. She pushed back the lace curtain and peered wistfully outside. The bedroom faced a bare stretch of grass and soil. Perfect for growing Meadow Sage, Lady’s Thumb, Morning Glory and all the fixings for her tonics. Her view stretched outward beyond the gate. The town in the far distance lay draped in assorted colors against the darkened sky, and it was then she remembered her basket.
Rebecca turned and again swept her gaze at the handsome man who even in sleep had the ability to awaken every fiber of her being. She approached the bed and bent over to kiss his forehead. He stirred, his eyes opening a fraction before closing again. It was best she left now. Her company was no longer required and she had other matters to tend to, even if they still remained elusive to her.
With quiet steps she descended the staircase and slipped out the door.
* * * * *
Barton slapped his good friend and business partner Edward on the back as they enjoyed a joke between them.
“Barkeep, refills please,” he shouted over his shoulder.
“The smug look on his face like he was better than us, I tell you it was priceless,” Edward said. “I knew him to be a fool, but I had no idea to such an extent.”
“Well I knew. Like father, like son. Or to be more exact, every Scarpitta male.”
Barton pulled a watch out from his vest pocket. “I say we give our good friend another few minutes before we visit him.”
“Maybe we’ll be in luck and find him keeled over in front of his door.”
He winced at Edward’s boisterousness and glanced around, hoping no one else had heard. With all the noise in the bar he didn’t wager anyone had. Still, it paid to be cautious. They weren’t the only ones who were looking for an easy way to score. It had been fortunate for them that Scarpitta had been in the bar at the time. They’d gone in knowing someone would point out where Raumont lived. When they’d heard the bartender shout his name they had taken advantage of the whiskey glass and had slipped in some poison.
Barton took another look around the bar and noticed an empty table at the front near the window. Not many people were there and he figured it a place to talk more freely. He elbowed Edward and gestured with his chin. “Follow me.”
His friend grabbed their glasses and kept close to his heels.
He glanced out the window to make sure they were alone. We should make a backup plan,” stated Barton. “It’s best to go into a situation with a couple ways to go about things.”
“Smart thinking. What do you suggest?”
“Well, a couple men said he keeps a collection of guns in the house. Knowing he isn’t too smart, I’d bet he keeps it unlocked with ammunition nearby.”
Edward’s brows arched. “What do we need the guns for?”
Sometimes he questioned the brains of his partner. “To scare him, you idiot. If the poison failed to work, do you think he’s going to open the door and give us the money?”
“I guess not.”
“Of course not, you fool. He’ll fight tooth and nail for it. We’ll have to be ready for anything.”
“But, why not use our swords?”
“If our plan goes downhill, we fire his gun at him and make it look like he killed himself,” Barton replied. “You figure he’s alone in a big house, doesn’t have any remaining family and he gets to thinking dark thoughts. Maybe he drinks himself
silly and decides to end his life.”
“But what if someone hears the shot?”
Barton rubbed his temples. All the questions were giving him a headache. “They won’t. That’s where the fire comes in. Besides, no one pays attention to a Scarpitta.”
Edward’s mouth stretched into a grin. “You sure know how to plan, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes I do.” Barton jutted out his chin. “That money belongs to us, won fair and square, so it’s only right we go in there and get it. If that fool wants to stop us, he’s going to take a few shots to the chest.”
“I’m with you, partner.”
“Good.” He glanced at his watch again. “I propose we have another round of drinks and then pay Raumont a visit.”
Chapter Three
Rebecca returned to the inn for her basket of tonics. She breathed a sigh of relief that no one had taken it. How had she been so stupid? She’d let her emotions take over and blur her good judgment. Her mother never would’ve been so careless. The tonics were essential to her journeys and she couldn’t risk losing them. Realizing the extent of her actions, she sat down on the bench, doing her best to still her trembling limbs.
She rested her head back against the window frame, careful to not push against the one broken pane. Her stomach grumbled and she realized she needed to eat and find lodging before long. Only her feet disagreed, content to stay right where they were. It had been a long walk back.
Behind her, she overhead two men, their hushed voices piquing her interest. They talked of blackmailing and poisoning a man to gain control of his money. She tried to ignore them, certain they were drunk and not in their right minds. Rebecca turned her head and caught a glimpse of the back of their heads. The blond-haired man raised his glass to a dark-haired gentleman. She quickly turned back around and had reached for her tonics when she heard Raumont’s name mentioned.
It triggered a memory.
It had been while she was helping him to his door. His lips had been so close and tempting, yet only the barest hint of alcohol tinged his breath. Certainly not enough to be a reason for his drunken stupor.
The sound of clinking glasses sharpened the memory.
Cinnamon and licorice. That was what she’d smelled on his breath.
Two spices often used to mask the odor of poison. Things snapped into place. Raumont hadn’t been drunk at all.
Careful to not rouse the men’s attention, she leaned her ear closer to the broken pane and listened. They planned to rob him of all his money and leave him for dead. If need be, they’d use guns and burn the house down. Her pulse raced. Raumont could be dying. Was this the reason she’d been summoned here?
Ignoring the jolt of pain up her legs, she hurried back to the house. Rebecca knew the right concoction of tonics to counter accidental poisoning. She hoped that she wasn’t too late.
Raumont forced his eyes open. The ceiling spiraled above him. Both his throat and stomach burned as though someone had used his insides for kindle. He’d been grateful for the help of the young lad who helped him to his bed. He might not have made it home otherwise.
Instinctively he checked his pockets, drawing a breath of relief to find all his money accounted for. The night hadn’t gone at all as planned, though it could’ve ended much worse.
Next time he’d skip the damn whiskey. Not only had it soured his stomach, but it had taken his attention away from the cloaked goddess. Her vibrant beauty and lush, full lips were stained on his memory. He yearned to caress every supple inch of her. To know what her mouth felt like against his. He’d hoped to see her again, or at least speak with her. Learn her name so he could shout it during the night. Listen to her name echo around his room when the fantasies would overtake him.
Raumont groaned as a sharp pain moved through him. He must’ve injured himself when he hit the ground. He tried to sit up, but his legs were unresponsive and his body refused to cooperate. What a fine mess he’d gotten himself into. The curse of the Scarpitta men entered his mind.
His father had warned him of it before the fever took him. The males in his family were successful and rich in all areas of their life, even in love. His mother had been a dancer. Beautiful, vivacious, all hair and lips his father had said. They fell in love right away and he lavished her with anything she wanted. Not long after Raumont celebrated his fifth birthday, his mother took ill and died. Love never came around again for his father.
When he’d looked back at his namesake’s history, it repeated itself. His grandmother, great-grandmother and the women before her all died young, leaving the men to grieve alone. Raumont didn’t want to believe in the curse, but the stories jolted him enough to shun all thoughts of love.
Until tonight.
The woman in the street had mesmerized him. Strength and confidence exuded from her being, wrapping him up in it. She made him want to throw caution to the wind and take a risk. Perhaps the misfortune of his name wouldn’t affect her the way it did everyone else.
He might’ve had a chance, but fate stepped in and sent him on a different path. He’d give anything to have her appear before him one more time.
The creaking of stairs grabbed his attention. His chest tightened and he waited. A shadow appeared in the doorway. Could it be her? The light beside his bed was too dim and his eyes were hazy. He felt foolish to be lying in bed, inebriated to the point he lacked the ability to move.
“Hello?” he called out. “Who’s there? Let me see you.”
Raumont bit back his disappointment at the sight of the lad. He still wore the cloak with the hood propped over his head. For a moment his pulse quickened. What were the odds two people on the same night wore cloaks in this weather? Perhaps they traveled together?
Questions twisted around inside his mouth. If this lad were the key to finding his mystery woman, he’d never drink another shot of whiskey again.
“You’re awake,” said the lad. “This is good news.”
“Ah, yes. My body feels as though it’s been trampled by a team of horses.” He wiped at his damp forehead. “Come closer so I may see you.”
The boy stepped all the way into the light. Through his clouded vision, he noticed the lad carried a basket. Curious, he asked, “What do you have there?”
“Tonics, sir. One is for you.”
Raumont’s brows furrowed. “Why should I require a tonic?”
The lad approached the bed and set his basket down on the table. He turned away and picked up several bottles. A lace handkerchief fell from inside his cloak and floated to the bed. Raumont reached out and retrieved it unseen. The delicate texture made his hand tremble. It was far too feminine to belong to a boy.
He wadded it up in his fist and put it to his nose. An aroma of orange blossoms and magnolias infused his nostrils. Could it be that this lad was, instead, a woman? No, he reasoned to himself, of course not. Between the heat, strong whiskey and the fall, his mind had somehow allowed the lad and woman to marry into one being. He’d seen what he wanted and nothing more. That made more sense to him. The woman must have been a mirage. Maybe he’d see her again in his dreams.
Nevertheless, he shoved the handkerchief beneath the cover and slipped it into his trouser pocket.
“You never did say why I needed a tonic.”
“You’ve been poisoned,” explained the lad and he removed a slender green bottle from the basket. “This,” he continued, holding up the bottle, “will counter those effects and save your life.”
Raumont’s throat thickened. “Poisoned?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But, who—” he stated, though inside he knew the answer.
“There are two men who wish to rob you,” the lad replied and handed him the bottle. “I overheard them at the inn.”
“It would explain the strangeness that washed over me earlier,” he concluded.
The young man nodded and gestured at the bottle. “You’ll need to drink the entire tonic in order for it to work.”
Raumont narrowed his eyes. “Hang on now, how come you know so much about the men and the poison?”
“I told you, sir, I overheard them at the inn. I came straight back when I heard their plans.”
He thought it sounded plausible but didn’t know if he was too quick to trust because the lad had helped him. “How am I to know you aren’t working for them? Maybe came back to finish the job?”
“I assure you that my only interest is to see you get better.”
Raumont looked the bottle over and put it under his nose.
“Where did you get this tonic from?”
“From a healer I met on the road, sir.”
Again he scrutinized the lad. “How can I trust you aren’t giving me more poison?”
“I promise that it will save your life.”
He thought on those words and noted the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m going to trust you, young man.”
“Good decision, sir. Fair warning, it’s potent and works fast.”
Raumont nodded, tilted the bottle to his lips and swallowed every last drop of the cool liquid. At once his body went into a series of spasms. Thinking he’d been duped he tried to reach forward.
“You’ll be fine,” the lad soothed and patted his arm. “You need rest so it can work its magic. You’ll be yourself again by morning.”
“Yes, rest. I shall,” he said. Maybe then the beautiful woman would visit him. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”
He wondered why this boy, if indeed he was a boy, cared enough to save his life. Did he expect a monetary reward in return?
His mind whirred with suspicion. “How may I repay you?”
“A bite to eat would be appreciated, sir. Nothing more.”
Surprised by the simplistic answer, he nodded. “Please, help yourself. There is fresh bread in the pantry and plenty of fruit and cheeses. You are welcome to anything that interests you.”
