Patricia Hagan

by Loves Wine

  He left, and Holly lay down, staring at the ceiling. She had a great deal to think about.

  Roger hurriedly left Magnolia Hall. He had one last errand. Find Barney Phillips and explain that he’d had no choice but to shoot Alex Wellman for not following orders and attempting to go too far with hurting Holly.

  In her room in the converted barn, Sally pleaded with Norman not to interfere, to do as Holly had asked.

  Holly stirred restlessly in her sleep, as though already aware, somehow, of the way the four of them were about to come together.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wine dimmed the pain, and Holly took another sip and stared at her reflection. She had managed to camouflage the bruises with several layers of powder. She looked pale, but the fresh bruises were invisible.

  Her gown was of gold satin, the ruffled skirt dotted with blue sequins. Her mother’s gift to her was a sheer hair covering studded with tiny diamond chips. When the light caught the net, it gave the illusion that her auburn tresses were studded with stardust.

  Yes, she told herself, a bit woozy as she sipped the rich Burgundy, she looked very nice. But where was Sally? She hadn’t been in since earlier in the afternoon. Even Claudia was complaining about her absence.

  There was a soft rap on the door, and Holly frowned at the sight of Roger’s beaming face. Where was Sally? “You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “I not only gain a lovely stepmother this weekend, but a gorgeous stepsister, as well.”

  Holly thanked him, said that he was outstandingly handsome in a waistcoat of red velvet, a white ruffled shirt, and black cord pants. And he was, too, she told herself. “Excuse me,” she said bluntly. “I’m not quite ready. I was hoping Sally would come in and help me with the finishing touches.”

  His eyes were vaguely shadowed. “You don’t need any finishing touches, my dear. One can’t improve on perfection. I came to escort you downstairs.”

  Holly shook her head. “No, I’ll wait awhile longer for Sally, Roger.” She thought about the bottle of wine waiting on her dresser, wanting another glass to still the nervousness, knowing that gossip about her attack would have spread. People would be staring. She hated needing the crutch of alcohol, but forgave herself at once. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  “I’m saving every dance for you, Holly. I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am.”

  She couldn’t speak, warned herself against giving him false hope. Walking to the door and opening it, she managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Roger. I’ll remember.”

  Alone once more, Holly paced up and down her room, drank another glass of Burgundy, and finally decided Sally was not going to arrive. She left and made her way down the stairs, holding tightly to the banister.

  The great hall was decked in ivory magnolia blossoms and red, yellow, and white roses. The fragrance was divine. A string quartet filled the air with soft, romantic melodies, and along one wall in the parlor, pink linen-covered tables offered rare and tasty appetizers—smoked oysters, pickled clams, fish baked in a batter of meal and cheese, lemon and peach pastries, olives imported all the way from Greece. Jarvis had told her proudly that all of his ships were busy that week just unloading the specialties for the wedding.

  Her mother was standing inside the foyer with Jarvis, greeting their guests. Radiantly lovely, she wore a gown of beige lace and satin. About her neck was her wedding gift from Jarvis, an elegant choker of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Holly grinned at her, then joined her for a while in the receiving line.

  It was a lovely evening, and Holly began enjoying herself immensely, despite curious stares from some of the guests. People were scrutinizing her for evidence of violence. No matter. With Roger constantly refilling her champagne glass, she was far too happy to bother with nerves. She wasn’t the least self-conscious, she found.

  At one point, her mother touched her arm and said, “Dear, maybe you’re drinking too much champagne. You seem a bit tipsy.”

  Holly giggled. Funny to hear her mother say such a thing. “I’ve never been ‘tipsy,’” she responded saucily. “So I wouldn’t know how it felt. How would you know, anyway, Mother? You can’t know unless you’ve been that way, now can you?”

  Just then Roger appeared with another glass, and Claudia snapped, “Please stop drowning her, Roger. She’s practically reeling as it is.”

  Holly didn’t hear. She was talking to a man who’d just entered. “Claudia, I will look after Holly,” Roger said angrily. “You look after my father.”

  “I’ll see that your father speaks to you about your behavior,” she said, just as angry.

  He faced her, so furious that she drew back. “Do that,” he whispered, so quietly that no one heard except the two of them. “Make trouble, Claudia, and you’ll have more trouble than you will believe.”

  In her happy stupor, Holly was oblivious to the fireworks between Roger and her mother. It was a wonderful feeling, being in her own world, not worrying about anything. When Roger approached and took her arm, handing her the glass of champagne, she was perfectly content to let him lead her around the room. She had dismissed all her worries, even dismissed the haunting memory of dark, tantalizing eyes, powerful arms, warm lips.

  With a startling jolt, time ran together and she found herself staring right into those eyes, the eyes that tortured her dreams. She swayed. Beside her, Roger did not notice, engrossed in conversation with an acquaintance. He dropped his hold on her arm and moved a little away.

  She continued to stare at Scott, who was smiling in a mocking sort of way. Did he know she was “tipsy”? Lord, she hoped not. How devastatingly handsome he was in his full-dress uniform—black coat with double rows of brass buttons, gold cord trimming the high collar and cuffs. Braided gold epaulets at the shoulders, light blue trousers with bright red stripes down the sides, a red-fringed sash at his waist.

  Finally, he spoke, so low she had to strain to hear him. “You look good, Holly. Neil said you had a few bruises, but you seem to have concealed them.”

  He started on by, but Holly grasped at his shoulder, bewildered by this casual demeanor. “Is that all the concern you have for me?” she challenged angrily.

  He was expressionless. “If Captain Davis isn’t doing a good job with his investigation into your welfare, then I would certainly be interested in hearing any complaints you might have.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Am I just an investigation? Someone to turn over to one of your officers? A pesky, bothersome assignment?”

  He shook his head, still expressionless. “That’s not the way I would like to think of you, but you’ve left me little choice, don’t you think?”

  Suddenly, the room was spinning, the air stifling. Cigar smoke made her feel nauseated. The laughter of the others was deafening. “Never mind, Scott,” she said miserably. “Just forget I said anything at all.” She turned and made her way through the crowd, hurrying as fast as she dared through the kitchen, out the back door and into the cool night.

  Lifting her billowing skirts, she ran through the side yard and down the gently sloping land, not stopping—she’d made her way often enough, Lord knew—until she reached a bank overlooking the river. Moonlight filtered down through the graceful, sweeping boughs of one of the few weeping willows Yankee fires hadn’t destroyed. She sank to her knees, running her fingers through a thick bed of cool clover. A teardrop splashed on the back of her hand, then another. The happy, buzzing glow of the champagne had left her.

  She’d made a mess of her life by making a promise she couldn’t really have understood. She missed Grandpa unbearably. She cared far too much for Scott Colter, when it was too late to do anything about it. Everything that mattered was gone.

  “You can’t keep running away from life, Holly.”

  She gasped, jerking around to see Scott staring down at her in the moonlight. “Go…go away,” she stammered. Oh, why had she said that?

  He sat down beside her but made no move to touch her.
“No. I’m not going away. And neither are the other things about your life that are worrying you. You’ve got to deal with them and with me.”

  She hiccupped, crying again. ‘I haven’t got any worries. Everything is fine, thank you. And if you would stop bothering me, I’d be completely happy.”

  He tried to conceal his amusement, but he couldn’t. “Are you happy out here on the ground, searching for four-leaf clovers, while a party’s going on inside?”

  She sniffed, nodding, still staring at the ground. “I was till you came along.”

  He laughed then, long and loud. “Why, you’re drunk. Really drunk. I ought to throw you down and rip off your clothes and have my way with you. You probably wouldn’t remember a thing about it tomorrow. Then you wouldn’t accuse me of seducing you—like you did the last time.”

  She finally decided to face him. “You bastard,” she declared, looking at him steadily. “You conniving, sneaky, Yankee bastard. I think I made it perfectly clear that I hate you and never want to see you again.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve made nothing clear except that you’re the most stubborn female I’ve ever run up against. You’re also a liar, and not a very good one. You care for me. You care a lot. You’re just too pigheaded to admit it, even to yourself.”

  She started to get up, to flee the words and him, but his hand snaked out to grab her arm. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to sit here till you sober up. I’m not going to waste my energy in trying to convince you you’re wrong about me, us, but you’re not going back inside to make a fool of yourself. So keep looking for four-leaf clovers like the little girl you truly are.”

  She sighed, sitting back down again, and he released his hold. He was right. “I guess I made a fool of myself,” she admitted. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things…including that day in the woods,” she said softly, praying he wouldn’t make it harder for her. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. I wanted you to make love to me, but I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself. I was always told it was wrong before marriage. And you turned out to be a Yankee, on top of everything else.”

  Tenderly, he brushed a wisp of hair back from her face. She was the loveliest creature he’d ever seen. “I’m not entirely blameless. I should have told you from the beginning who I was, but once I saw how fanatically you hated all Yankees, I didn’t want reality to spoil a beautiful day.”

  “Reality,” she laughed bitterly. “Reality? How much nicer life would be if we could just drink champagne and stay warm and live in a dreamworld. No pain, just lots and lots of champagne. And dreams.”

  “How would you know when real happiness came to you if you walked around in a stupor?” he asked quietly, and she shrugged, wordless.

  There was a silence while she thought, and then she blurted, “Reality is my father being killed by Yankees, my grandfather dying of a broken heart, having bastards try to run me off my land and beat me up.”

  “Face it, Holly,” he sighed. “You must move off the land—at least for now.”

  She jerked her head up, moonlight illuminating red flashes in her cinnamon eyes. “Give in? Never!”

  Scott sighed, stared pensively out at the gently rolling river, a wide black ribbon in the shadows. How he wished he could confide in her, tell her the truth, but he couldn’t. Finally, he said, “Maybe it will be over soon.” And maybe it would. A few more pieces of evidence, and he could make his move.

  Holly stared at his perfect profile as he gazed at the river. Why did it have to be this way? How could it have been wrong when she’d been so happy with him? How could it?

  With a sigh, he turned from the river, looked down at a patch of clover illuminated by moonlight. With a laugh, he reached and plucked a four-leaf clover and held it out to her. “Here. Maybe your luck will change. Maybe you’ll have a life filled with champagne days.”

  In that instant, Holly knew what she wanted, and throwing everything else to the winds, she took the clover, pressed it to her lips, then tossed it into the night. “I don’t want champagne, Scott. I want you, your love. Now.”

  Startled, Scott hesitated, but only for an instant. He gathered her close to him and she yielded, her soft breasts thrusting against his chest. His kisses came down, warm, devouring with passion.

  He carried her to a small grouping of trees off to the right of the riverbank, a perfect shelter, a safe place for star-crossed lovers who had, at last, found each other’s arms. Gently, he placed her on the sweet-smelling grass and lay down beside her, kissing her neck, her shoulders. He moved the bodice of her gown down past her breasts, stopping to rain kisses on the firm, hungry flesh. “Be sure, sweetheart,” he whispered fiercely. “Be sure this is what you want, because this is all I can give you for now. I can give you no dreams, no illusions, just this moment.”

  She understood. No marriage, no future, only there and then. She closed her eyes and pulled him down to her. His breath was hot, ragged, as he said, “I’m not letting you go tonight, Holly. I’m going to make love to you all night long, as long as you want me inside you…”

  “All night, all day,” she whispered tremulously, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Boldly, she caressed his swollen member, cupping his firm, rounded buttocks with the other hand, pulling him closer. She opened her legs to receive him.

  He entered her, a sword of victory, devouring her hunger with his own till they found, together, the ultimate glory…

  Afterward, he held her tightly in his arms. She broke the silence by whispering, “I’m not sorry, Scott. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. Yet, you promise me nothing.”

  Gently, he reminded, “You haven’t asked me for anything.”

  They both knew they were skating around the subject. “I think we should just say what we mean, Scott. We should be talking of romance and love, yet we speak only of desire.”

  He gave her a teasing smile. “Do you expect me to say I love you and I want to marry you?” He shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, Holly, not you. A husband is the last thing you want now—especially a Yankee soldier for a husband. As for love, I think we can both admit we feel something for each other.” When she didn’t answer, he said bravely, “I do. I feel a great deal.”

  Holly nodded mutely. After all she’d been through with him, it was too hard to say “I love you.”

  Finally, she drew in a deep breath and ventured, “I care for you. I admit I’ve fought against it, fought hard, too.” She turned to meet his warm gaze. “I’m still bitter about the war, yes. It does matter that you’re a Yankee. But…I’m not so stubborn as to say I hate all Yankees. I certainly don’t hate you.”

  She pressed her fingertips against his lips, and he kissed her palm, then clutched her hand against his cheek. Oh, how he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but the pain of betrayal was still too strong.

  Wordlessly, they moved apart to dress, both surprising themselves with sudden shyness. Neither glanced at the other while dressing.

  As Scott was buttoning his shirt, he looked up, froze. “Oh, no! Holly! It’s your cabin, I’m sure of it…”

  She whipped around, half dressed, and saw brilliant orange flames against the black night sky. They seemed a couple of miles away—on her land. Grandpa’s land.

  Scott quickly put his uniform in order, and she threw herself into her clothes. They reached the house. No one inside had seen the fire. As they rushed through the front doors and into the foyer, all eyes were upon them. The musicians stopped playing as Scott yelled, “Fire! I think it’s the Maxwell cabin! Any of my men here, come with me. Anyone else who wants to help, get moving.”

  He turned to leave, but Holly clung to him. “You have to take me with you,” she cried. “It’s my home.”

  Scott stared down into Holly’s anguished eyes. An ordinary woman had no business going along, but damn it… “Come on,” he snapped, pulling her along with him.

  Jarvis got to the foyer too late to stop them. Claudia, sobbin
g, saw Roger coming in from the rear of the house and rushed to clutch the front of his ruffled shirt. “Go bring her back, Roger. She shouldn’t be there. Please, go get her.”

  Very carefully, Roger removed Claudia’s clawing fingers from his shirt. He smoothed the front of his coat, lifted his chin ever so slightly and said, “Colonel Colter always thinks he can have his way, Claudia. It’s too late to stop him in this instance, but”—he gave her a tight, cold smile—“I assure you, this is the last time.”

  Roger followed the other men outside, then. After all, it would look most peculiar if he didn’t go along to help put out the fire. Actually, he had seen the fire before Colter did, because he’d been standing a way down from where those two animals were thrashing around on the ground. He had a perfect vantage point from behind a tree, having followed them in the shadows from the time Colter had left the house. The fools. He’d seen Holly drunkenly, brazenly, flirting with Colter.

  So be it, he decided with bitter resignation. At least now he’d learned there was another obstacle in his way. Scott Colter. And, like all the other obstacles, Scott Colter would be removed.

  As for Holly, well, this changed the picture a little. He still wanted her, but now he wouldn’t have to be so gentle in his quest.

  Roger Bonham was angry. Anyone who knew him understood that he was hell to be reckoned with when he was angry.

  Scott and Holly would find out what hell was very soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scott and the three other officers who had been at the party sped off on horseback toward the cabin. Scott led the way with Holly riding behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, head pressed against his back, the picture of misery. Knowing what she would see, he warned, “There’s probably nothing left, sweetheart. All we can do is try to stop the fire from spreading to the woods.”