by Pamela Clare
She fought to still the inner voice that told her to flee. Geoffrey was a gentleman, after all. She could trust him.
“Besides, we shall be betrothed soon enough. Then it will be within my power to silence any wagging tongues.”
“Geoffrey?” What had he said?
“Haven’t I made my intentions clear, Elly, darling? Forgive me. I mean for us to be together.” He poured amber liquid into a small crystal glass and handed it to her. “It will take some time to procure my father’s permission, of course, but he is not an unreasonable man. On the day he gives us his blessing, I shall purchase your indenture and bring you here to be mistress of Crichton Hall.”
“Oh, Geoffrey, yes!” She could scarcely believe her ears.
“Then let us toast our future. To happiness.” He raised his glass, then tossed the contents down his throat in one swallow.
“To happiness.” Heart soaring, she put the glass to her lips and took a small sip. The liquid was sweet, but it burned her throat as she swallowed.
“No, no. Not like that, my dear. You can’t drink to our future with a mere sip. You must swallow it all, as I did.”
Elly looked at the contents of her glass, raised it to her lips again, and swallowed it in one gulp. She could not repress a shudder as it seared a path into her belly. Before she could put the glass down, Geoffrey refilled it.
“To your beauty.” He refilled his own.
The second glass didn’t burn quite as much as the first. By the third and fourth, Elly was quite convinced this drink, whatever it was called, was really quite pleasing. She felt warm all over.
“You are quite lovely, Elly.” He stroked her cheek.
“You really think so?”
“Aye.” He lifted her chin and kissed her.
She wrapped her arms around him and leaned against him for support, her legs feeling rather unsteady.
“Come, Elly.” He guided her across the room, one arm about her waist. “The wine seems to have made you a bit tipsy.”
“Wine? I thought it was Mad . . . Madeira.”
“Madeira is wine, silly girl.”
She heard herself giggle and felt herself being lowered onto something soft. How thoughtful of Geoffrey to realize she was sleepy. She could scarcely keep her eyes open. She felt him lie down beside her, felt his fingers stroke her cheek. “That tickles.” She snuggled against him.
His fingers traced a line to her neck and into her hair. “Yes, indeed, Elly, you are a beauty.”
Then his lips found her throat. Elly felt him wrestle with the laces of her dress. Through a fog, she realized what he was doing.
“No, Geoffrey.” She struggled to push him away. “We cannot.”
“Why not?” He captured her hands in one of his and kissed her throat.
“We’re not yet married.”
“Does it feel good?”
“Aye, but—”
“Then relax and enjoy it.” By then his fingers had found her breasts and were stroking her nipples. Then Geoffrey lifted her skirts to her waist and sought out the folds of her sex with his hand.
Oh, Zach, yes.
“Ah, yes, Elly. You want me as much as I want you.”
But the voice was Geoffrey’s.
She felt him lift her thighs and part them. Some part of her screamed out that she should make him stop. But she could not move, could not summon the right words.
Then she felt a piercing fullness and heard herself cry out.
“Shhh, darling. It will get better.” Geoffrey settled his weight between her thighs.
But it didn’t. Each thrust brought sharp pain. Elly bit her bottom lip and forced herself to lie still. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, but she wanted to please him. His body drove into hers again and again. Then he groaned deeply and sagged limply against her, breathing heavily.
“Don’t worry, love.” He pulled himself from her and rose to pull up his breeches. “I’m told it only hurts the first time. Now I must get you back to your mistress’s rooms so I can get back to my guests. I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.”
Before she realized it, Elly found herself staring at the walls in Miss Cassie’s bedchamber, Geoffrey having vanished without so much as a kiss. Her head throbbed, and she felt sore between her thighs. Geoffrey was going to marry her. He had just made love to her. It was a dream come true.
Why did she feel so miserable and alone?
* * *
Cassie glanced over the shoulder of her dance partner toward the clock in the hallway as he twirled her in that direction. Alec was surely home by now, wasn’t he? Another twirl and she was facing the other direction, a wall of gilded mirrors reflecting a churning sea of powdered wigs and brightly colored silks.
Alec Kenleigh. She repeated the name silently, savoring the feel of it. At first she hadn’t realized she’d used his real name. It had surprised her, even frightened her.
As Cole Braden he was a man who shared her way of life, who worked with his hands in the sun all day, a man she’d come to love. For love him she did, God save her. There was no way to deny that now.
But as Alec Kenleigh he was a wealthy gentleman, a man from another world who would soon be leaving.
Had he gotten away in time?
“Oh!” She gasped, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d tripped over Benjamin Harrison’s feet, nearly colliding with his partner.
“Are you feeling well, Cassie?” Charles Braxton asked, his brow furrowed with concern, his arms reaching out to steady her. “Mary told me about your terrible accident.”
A kind, well-spoken young man only a few years older than she, he’d danced with her once already this evening. Handsome, with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and patrician features, he was precisely the kind of man she’d hoped to marry—before Alec had arrived.
“I’m sorry, Charles. I fear I’m a bit dizzy.” She tried to ignore the pricking of her conscience. Charles did not deserve this. He had never treated her with anything less than courtesy, yet Cassie had been so distracted she had all but ignored him. Now she had fibbed to him, as well.
“Come. Let me fetch you something cool to drink.” He guided her across the crowded floor to a vacant chair, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
“Thank you, Charles. You’re quite kind.”
With a bow, he disappeared, wending his way toward the other side of the room, where bowls of lemonade and cider, as well as cakes and candied fruits, awaited guests. Tapping her foot distractedly to the music, Cassie watched the dancers whirl and curtsy, weave and bow.
Geoffrey was not among them. He’d disappeared just after she’d warned Alec. She hadn’t seen him since. Where was he? Had he seen her with Alec in the garden and gone to ambush him as he rode home?
“Here you are, Cassie.” Charles handed her a glass brimming with fresh lemonade.
“Thank you.” She gave him her warmest smile.
For a moment they sat in awkward silence.
“How is your father’s tobacco crop this season?” He cleared his throat nervously.
“The rains have been good, and, barring disaster, it will be the best in many years.” Cassie searched the crowd for Geoffrey.
“How many acres did he plant?” Charles shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. You must think me dull to ask such questions. Womenfolk find these things tedious, I know.”
“Quite the contrary, Charles. My father and I discuss the details of planting every day, when he’s home. I find it most interesting. It is how we colonists survive, after all.”
“You are a most unusual woman.” Charles smiled.
It was the way he smiled that gave Cassie pause. Was he becoming infatuated with her? Several months ago, she would have welcomed his interest. But now?
“Not all that unusual, I assure you, Charles. I’m as fascinated by silk and frippery as the next woman.”
“Pardon me, Catherine,
but we must speak at once.” Geoffrey appeared from nowhere and took her by the arm, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
Cassie’s heart began to thud sickeningly against her breast. Had she warned Alec too late? Had he been caught? Did he, perhaps, lie injured—worse yet, dead—along the road or somewhere in the forest?
“What is it, Geoffrey?” Sick with dread, she followed him into the hallway, where several of the younger men stood waiting, excitement written plainly on their faces. These were the few who’d agreed to help him entrap Alec, no doubt, and Cassie hated them, each and every one.
“It seems the convict has taken Aldebaran and vanished,” Geoffrey announced.
For a moment she was so overcome with relief she could scarcely speak. He was safe! Alec was safe!
“What’s this?” bellowed the senior Master Crichton, who had come up behind her in the company of King Carter.
“The convict has vanished, Father, the stallion with him.” Geoffrey flicked the lace at his wrists. “We’ve organized several search parties. With the hounds on his scent, he’ll not go far.”
Knees shaking, Cassie willed herself to stand and look Geoffrey in the eye. “You’d like to hunt him like an animal, wouldn’t you, Geoffrey? Fortunately you won’t have that pleasure. I sent him back to Blakewell’s Neck hours ago.”
The shocked look on Geoffrey’s face was almost enough to make Cassie laugh.
“It seems that several young hotheads had planned to do him harm here tonight. To frame him for rape was the plan, wasn’t it, Geoffrey, my boy?” King Carter said. “Landon told me all about it. I was going to intervene if it came down to it, but I see Miss Blakewell has already done what was necessary.”
“What’s this?” Master Crichton glared first at Carter, then his son.
“It’s a misunderstanding, I assure you, Father.” The muscle in Geoffrey’s jaw twitched.
Cassie knew Geoffrey was beyond fury. He’d been bested twice today.
“Yes, a misunderstanding. That’s what it is, I’m sure.” King Carter’s voice said just the opposite.
“Come, Miss Blakewell. I believe Master Crichton and his son have a few matters to discuss.” Master Carter took her by the arm and led her toward the dancing.
“A detestable boy, that one. Your father shouldn’t leave you to handle such things yourself. It is high time you got yourself a husband, young lady, someone to protect you and look after your interests.”
“Yes, of course,” Cassie said, only half listening, giddy with relief. “Thank you, sir.”
“Is aught amiss, Cassie, dear?” Lucy bustled toward them, fluttering her tiny oval fan, her eyes glittering with excitement.
“Nay, Lucy. Everything is wonderful, simply wonderful.”
* * *
Geoffrey swallowed the last of the Madeira and threw the bottle into the fireplace, pleased by the sound of shattering glass. That bastard Landon had run to his father and told him everything. Even Catherine had known. There was nothing Geoffrey could do about it, of course. The Carters were untouchable. His father practically worshiped King Carter and would do nothing to displease him.
And Catherine . . .
Geoffrey had seen it in her eyes. Anger. Hatred. More than anything—more than his father’s threats or the snobbish, accusing look Carter had leveled at him—the loathing in her eyes tormented him. He loved her. He’d always loved her. Didn’t she understand? He was trying to protect her.
Cole Braden might wear gallantry the way a priest wore black, but it was just a disguise. The man was nothing more than a lying convict, a man who sought to steal from his betters. He’d obviously been able to win Cassie’s sympathy with his tale of woe, and now Virginia’s matrons were prattling on about him as if he were a missing prince of England. But Geoffrey saw through him. They were not really so different, he and Cole Braden. Each wanted something, and was willing to do anything to get it.
But Geoffrey had earned it all by the privilege of his birth. Cole Braden was nothing.
It was nearly dawn. Rising unsteadily from an overstuffed chair, Geoffrey walked to his bed and collapsed into its softness. The musky smell of sex drifted up from his blankets, reminding him of the servant girl he’d deflowered hours earlier. She’d been worth the effort, that one. He felt his loins tighten and found himself wishing he’d spent more time inside her and less time arguing with his father.
The old man had hollered and strutted until Geoffrey was certain his heart would give out. At least he’d hoped it would. The damn hypocrite. Had his plan succeeded, his father would have praised him for it. But appearances were everything. It mattered not one whit what he did, so long as he did not get caught and besmirch the family name. It was a lesson his father had beaten into him since he’d grown old enough to wear breeches.
He had another plan, and this one would not fail. Though Henry had not been successful yet, it was only a matter of time. Accidents happened every day. With freedom and fear as his incentives, Henry promised he’d get the job done. Geoffrey simply had to be patient.
Chapter Twenty
Cassie carried the bundle of fresh linens toward Jamie’s room, where Nettie was busy airing the bedding. In the week since they’d returned from Crichton Hall, it had rained almost continually, and Cassie was determined to take advantage of the sunshine while it lasted. Every window in the house had been thrown open, and the sound of children’s laughter rose from the courtyard below. No doubt they were already covered head to toe with mud.
“Here’s the last of it.” She handed the linens to Nettie and moved on toward her own room, trying not to look into her father’s study as she passed.
Alec had been in there all morning reviewing her father’s books in an effort, he said, to help. Why she had decided to let him help, she didn’t know. She was as adept at ciphering as any man and knew a great deal more about running a tobacco farm than Alec ever would. She’d told him so, only to watch him turn his back and walk away angry.
They’d barely spoken these past days. When they had, the words they’d exchanged had been heated. When she came near, he found reason to go elsewhere. When she smiled at him, he looked away. When she spoke to him, he replied with polite indifference. It seemed a thousand years since he’d asked her to dance with him in the moonlight. What had happened to the affection they’d shared so openly that night?
She knew he did not approve of her running the estate.
“It is not right for a man to hide behind his own daughter,” he’d said. “He’s forced you to commit forgery and worse, while denying you the joy of a husband and children. Damn his pride! It ought to be one of your father’s peers carrying the burden of this estate on his shoulders, not you.”
She’d flown into a rage then. “It is man’s disdain for woman that makes my task difficult, not the labor itself. What makes you think I want a husband? Perhaps I find more joy digging in the dirt than I would playing wife to some self-important boor who would view me as livestock to be kept and bred.”
“This is how you prefer it? Perhaps your father isn’t to blame. Perhaps his daughter’s unnatural ambitions have brought this about. Simply trying to prove a woman can do it, Cassie?” He’d walked away.
Why couldn’t he understand?
She spread the sweet-smelling sheets over her bed, trying once again to put aside the sadness that gnawed at her heart. It was undoubtedly better this way, she told herself, not for the first time. The less they spoke, the less likely she would be to slip in front of one of the servants and forget to call him Cole. Besides, Alec would be receiving his reply from London within the next six weeks by her estimation, and then he would sail out of her life forever. She had to find some way to quit loving him, and now was as good a time as any.
If only it didn’t hurt so much.
“Elly!”
It was Nan in the courtyard below. Evidently Elly was missing again.
“Eleanor!”
Elly had not become more tractabl
e since accompanying Cassie to Crichton Hall, rather the reverse. Elly turned up her nose at every chore given her and disappeared for long periods of time without permission. She’d even begun to treat the other servants with disdain and refused to give Zach, who obviously loved her, the time of day.
“That child is going to bring us trouble,” Nettie had said only this morning when Elly had once again failed to appear at breakfast.
“Not when I’m done turnin’ her over my knee,” had been Nan’s reply.
As for Nettie, Cassie had also noticed a change. For the first time in years, she seemed genuinely happy, humming while she worked and sharing unguarded smiles with all who passed. It wasn’t hard to figure out the reason. Ever since Daniel’s bout with the ague, Luke had been a regular visitor at her cabin, carrying firewood, repairing their clapboard roof, doing other chores a husband might do. Nettie fed him each night at her fire and had mended the shirt he’d torn repairing a fence. Daniel adored Luke and followed him about the plantation, chattering like a squirrel. Cassie had kept her observations to herself, sure Nettie would have shared her secret if she’d wanted to.
A child’s footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs, followed by the clickety-click of animal claws.
“Stop, you! No!” she heard Nettie cry.
Cassie ran to help, but it was too late.
Sitting in the middle of the newly made bed was Jamie. With him sat a very muddy Pirate, wagging his brown tail, a trail of paw prints running across the floor and up the white linen behind him. Nettie stood, arms akimbo, glaring at the boy with mock severity, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“What have I told you about bringing Pirate into the house, Benjamin Hamilton Blakewell?” Cassie scolded.
“Sorry.” Jamie clearly understood that the use of his full Christian name meant he was in real trouble.
“And you, don’t you know that good dogs stay outdoors?” Eager for attention, the puppy leapt off the bed and jumped up onto Cassie’s skirts.
She patted its head and scratched it behind its floppy brown ears, struggling to maintain some semblance of anger. Soon the pup would be expecting a seat at the dinner table. “Now scoot along, both of you,” she said, trying to keep a stern tone to her voice.
