Then he stepped close to her, and as he did, he smelled the heady perfume of her own scent, mixed with the lingering fragrance of her rain-washed hair.
His hands went to her shoulders and, as he grasped her skin lightly, he breathed deeply of the woman.
“I can’t stay, Alana, and we both know why.”
Alana heard his words, but they came from a thousand miles away. Her skin was afire where his hands rested. Everything she had ever believed herself to be was falling apart, and a new reality was fast overcoming her.
Turning slowly to face him, she looked beseechingly into his eyes. “You can’t leave me–us now,” she pleaded.
A muscle trembled in his jaw. “I have to. God in heaven, Alana, I can’t stay near you.”
Her eyes widened as she lost herself within his burning gaze.
“Damn you,” he whispered, pulling her to him. His mouth covered hers, his lips fitting perfectly over hers. His arms went around her, one hand high on her back, the other low.
Fire exploded inside Alana with the kiss. Her lips parted, and his tongue gained entry to dance with her own. Sparks of fire sped through her blood. Then her arms went around him, her fingers digging into his broad back and powerful muscles. Her breath exploded with a cry, and the heat she had been fighting broke free to ravage her body with need and desire, desire she had not known herself capable of. Her entire length pressed to him, and she luxuriated in the feel of his hard, lean body.
Her hips pressed instinctively to him, and deep within her throat, a low moan was born, rising upward with an abandon that shook her to her very core. Her head grew dizzy, and she thought she would fall if not for the support of his arms.
Yet even as she surrendered to Rafe, her mind fought to reassert control. Shame flooded her senses, and as suddenly as her passion had been freed, her shame turned it cold again. She pulled from Rafe’s embrace and, back stepping, held her hands protectively before her.
“No more,” she pleaded, her voice shaky. “This is wrong.”
Rafe, his chest rising and falling with the passions that he fought to contain, finally said, “I must go.”
Senseless terror gripped Alana. “You can’t! I need you!” she cried.
“Can we be together and deny what we feel?”
Alana’s eyes raced across his face. Her confusion was insurmountable, yet her strength was undeniable. “You can’t leave Jason.”
“Damn it, Alana, I can and will. You know what’s happening to us. You can’t close your eyes to it.” His words were forceful, yet as he spoke again, his voice was low. “I made a mistake in coming here.”
“No,” Alana whispered, shaking her head in denial. “Jason needed you to bring him home.”
“Jason needed me?” Rafe asked, his voice self-mocking. “No, Alana, I needed to see you! I had to see in the flesh the woman I’ve dreamed of for two years. Now that I have, I can’t stay here and watch you throw your life away by marrying a man out of the mistaken belief that you owe him yourself.”
“I do,” Alana stated, knowing that she spoke both the truth and a lie at the same time. “He saved–”
“Riverbend. He loaned you the money to pay your debts. He taught you how to run the plantation and to be its mistress. But, that was years ago. It was a different world then, and you were both different people.”
“I gave him my word!” Alana stated defiantly, refusing to accept what Rafe said as the truth.
“Your word? Will your word keep you warm on cold nights? Will your word fill your womb and give you children? Will your word satisfy your desires?” Rafe’s voice was coarse, his tone unyielding, and his eyes filled with longing.
“I will do what I must,” Alana said in a tight voice.
“What you must?” he echoed sarcastically. His voice turned sharp and cutting. “Must you be his caretaker, as you were to your father?”
Alana’s gasp was loud in the room. She stared at him, shocked by his words. “How–?”
“I know you, Alana. I know everything about you. For two years you were all that Jason spoke of.” Rafe paused, determined to find a thread of self-control. As he challenged her with his stare, the muscle in his jaw began to jump again.
Turning away from Alana, he looked at the empty fireplace. He was silent for a long moment, his eyes tracing the joining of stone and marble until he had composed himself. This time, when he spoke, his voice was so low Alana had to force herself to hear him.
“When we were released, Jason invited me to come home with him. I think I was already half in love with you then. The stories he told about you, the descriptions of you and of what you have done with your life....At night, before I fell asleep, I would stare out the window, look at the stars, and picture you above me, smiling down. It was almost an obsession, but it was an obsession I willingly embraced. I was fascinated by you, but I was also afraid to meet you.”
“Afraid?” Alana asked. Unconsciously, she reached out toward him. When she realized what she was doing, she recoiled.
“Because I can’t fall in love with you. You belong to someone else.”
“I belong to myself,” she stated, her words louder than she’d intended. But Rafe went on as if he hadn’t heard.
“And I have people to find–the people who put me in that prison. It’s a debt I must repay before I can rebuild my life. I can’t be in love with you, Alana.”
Alana closed her eyes to block the vision of this wonderful man who was the first to spark her desire–a man who, under other circumstances, she would have given herself to willingly.
“Please, Rafe, you can’t leave, not yet,” she whispered.
Rafe turned suddenly. His eyes locked with hers; his mouth was a tightly drawn line. “If I remain, I will not be able to stay away from you.”
Alana shuddered at his words but refused to heed his warning. “Then we must deal with that when the time comes. I need you here. I need your strength.”
Rafe gazed deeply at her. “You’re asking for too much.”
“I know too well just how much I ask. But I also know I will be married soon, and I will never see you again.” Her voice caught as she spoke, and the truth of her words was like a death knell ringing in her mind. Sadness washed through her, and the loss of something she was never to have. She closed her eyes to ward off the sensation, but its heaviness stayed with her.
“God help us, Rafe, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I only know I can’t let you leave yet.”
Rafe closed the distance between them. Alana’s eyes opened, and their blue depths caressed him. Once again, he was lost to her.
“I love you, Alana, and because I do, you must let me go.” Slowly Alana raised her hand. She cupped his cheek gently and then traced his face with her fingers, impressing onto them every line of his face. It was as if she were trying to capture him for all eternity.
A single tear spilled from the corner of one sparkling eye, and her throat seemed to be closing. Her fingers trembled as they explored his face, and her heart was breaking.
When her trembling fingers left his face, she slowly backed away. Stopping at the doorway, she stared at him. The terrible realization of what she must do broke through.
“I’ve never known a man like you, Rafael Montgomery. You bring out things within me that I never knew existed. I don’t know what’s happening to me: I only know that I must marry Jason. Please, Rafe,” she whispered, “don’t leave me yet.”
Then she was gone.
Rafe stared at the empty doorway. Slowly he turned and went to the serving table and filled a snifter with brandy. Lifting the glass, he drained half its contents. As the fiery liquid burned at the back of his throat and traced a scorching path to his stomach, he released his breath.
Turning, he walked out of the salon and went to the library. He opened the door quietly and stepped inside. Moonlight filtered through the window, and he saw Jason sleeping peacefully. He walked over to him and covered the man’s hand with his.
“Good-bye, old friend.”
He looked at Jason Landow for several minutes. Two years of memories lay before him, and the bond that those memories had created resurfaced.
Jason owed his life to Rafe, but Rafe knew he owed Jason a great deal as well. Even as he had nursed Jason back to health, it had given him something to do besides rail at fate. It had also given him a way to hold back his anger and rage before they could drive him insane.
“Good-bye,” he whispered again.
As quietly as he had entered, Rafe left, closing the door behind him. Five minutes later he was in the guest bedroom, his possessions already packed.
He went to the window and looked out. The sky was clear, as if the storm that had recently battered them all had never happened. Stars dotted the sky in a profusion of diamond-like sparkles. The three-quarter moon shone silver in the night. A traveling moon, Rafe thought, a good moon to ride beneath.
Turning back to the bed, Rafe crossed the room and picked up his bag. Just as he started for the door, there was a soft knock.
Pausing, he stared at the door, wondering if it was Alana coming to stop him from leaving.
“Come in,” he called.
~~~~~
Lorelei had been watching Rafe and Alana all evening. She had seen the way Alana and Rafe had looked at each other, and she sensed that changes were happening at Riverbend. The tension in the air was unbearable. Master Jason’s injury was a terrible blow, but something else seemed to have been born this day: the heady scent of desire that she felt surrounding both Alana and the tall, handsome stranger who had brought Master Jason home—a presence she had never expected to feel again in this house.
Lorelei had seen, too, whenever Alana had looked at Rafe, the glow that suffused her and gave a special sparkle to her large blue eyes. It was a look that Lorelei had always wished to see on Alana but never had until tonight.
Lorelei had been eighteen years old when Alana was born, and she had reared Alana from infancy. At times, although the notion was unthinkable, she had almost felt that Alana was her own flesh and blood–the daughter she could never have. Throughout her life, Lorelei had cared for Alana and loved her deeply. She had suffered through all of Alana’s losses and had been near whenever Alana needed her. And she knew that just as she loved Alana, so did her mistress love her.
Tonight Lorelei’s heart had grown heavy, for she understood what was happening to Alana and Rafe. For years, Lorelei had prayed that Alana would find a man she could truly love, a man who would capture her heart and free the loving woman hidden within the shell that Alana always wore.
Lorelei had known both the pleasures and the pain of love. As a slave, there was little time for love; she had learned early in life to take every moment when it was offered and to use those fleeting moments of happiness to ward off the painful times.
Seeing the unmistakable signs of love that Rafe offered Alana, Lorelei knew that Alana should reach out and accept them. Without this brief chance at love, Alana would never become whole.
Lorelei recognized that loyalty motivated Alana’s actions. Alana’s obligation to Jason would not allow her to do anything other than marry Jason. This, Lorelei understood, would make Alana no less a slave than Lorelei herself had been all her life. This short time before her marriage would be the only chance Alana would have to experience love.
At the door to the guest bedroom, Lorelei willed her trembling hand to knock. She was terrified at what she was about to do, but her love for Alana made her strong. When she opened the door, she saw Rafe dressed, his bag in hand.
“Mr. Montgomery, I be sorry to bother ya’ll–”
“What is it, Lorelei?” Rafe asked, surprised.
“I needs to talk wit’ you.”
Rafe shook his head slowly. “I have to go.”
“Ya’ll cain’t,” she stated, her voice stronger than she felt. Rafe’s eyebrows shot up in response to her unexpected declaration. “Lorelei, Jason will be fine. I’ve shown Gabriel everything he needs to know.”
“It ain’t dat. I knows how to take care of Master Jason. Many’s de slave who los’ his legs. It ain’t dat.”
“What is it, then?”
“It be Miss Alana. You cain’t leave her now.” As soon as she said the words, a ripple of fear slashed through her, but she stood her ground.
“Did Alana send you?” he asked suddenly.
“Nossir, I comes myself. Master Rafe–”
“Don’t ever call me that. I am no person’s master,” he stated sharply.
Taken aback by this, Lorelei continued, “She need your love. De rest of her life be empty. Don’ make her face dat without her knowing what love ken be. She need de memory to survive, Mister Rafe. She surely do.”
Rafe stared at the former slave and saw the love she bore for her mistress. Her words hammered at his heart, but he knew he could not listen to them.
“And what about my future, Lorelei? What about me?” Lorelei blinked and shook her head. “You be a strong man. You be a good man, I ken tell. But you gots to have your memories, too, Mister Rafe, you sure gots ta have dem, too.” Rafe stared at her. He knew he was trapped as neatly as he had been that long-ago night when the Confederates had boarded his ship. But, he wondered, what would happen this time?
With a deep sigh, Rafe tossed his bag onto the bed and nodded his head.
5
The aromas of liquor, tobacco, and salt air permeated the second-floor room above the largest warehouse in Charleston. Three oil lanterns burned, giving just enough light for the two men sitting across from each other to see by, the air in the office charged with an aura of darkness and corruption that no amount of light could lessen.
One man was sitting in a leather wing chair smoking a cigar. He projected wealth, power, and importance in equal proportions. He had a full head of white hair and thick, gray eyebrows that hovered above dark eyes. He had the pasty complexion of an indoors man and the jowly face of one whose exercise comes from too many social occasions.
Yet the forces emanating from him left no doubt regarding his strength. This man was James Allison, the head of Allison Shipping Company, the largest shipping company in America.
Across from him, his face shaded, was another man, from whom vast power also emanated.
Several sheets of paper, discarded moments before lay on the table between them. Allison, drawing on his cigar, nodded at them.
“Very good,” Allison stated. “Very good indeed.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied with our progress.”
Allison leaned back in the chair, his head resting on its soft cushion of leather while he looked at the other man through half-closed eyelids. He drew again on the cigar and, after exhaling a cloud of bluish smoke, spoke again.
“I will only be satisfied when we control all southern ports and all the shipping from them, as we do in the East and the West.” Allison’s voice was hard, his eyes penetrating. “I had expected our operations to be concluded by now. Apparently I must remind you of our timetable.”
“They will be,” the man promised, his words forceful.
“I hope so, for your sake, and for that of the consortium. What is the problem?”
“The Haversham Company is ready to accept our terms. It seems they had a bit of misfortune with their last two shipments. Much of the goods had spoiled on the voyage–vermin, I understand. We’ll have their contracts within the week.”
“But the other?” Allison asked.
“That one has been operating out of Bermuda since the onset of the war.”
“So?” Allison said, impatiently. Little details were not for him.
“I’ve been negotiating with the agent, but he can’t speak for the owner, who was an officer with the rebels.”
“We’ve used other methods before,” Allison said, the reprimand unmistakable.
“This isn’t like that company in San Francisco,” the man said with a dismissing wave of his hand. “And I’ve a
lready accepted the responsibility for deciding against that sort of action. The Montpelier contract is the single richest shipping contract in the South. By itself, it has made and kept the Landows wealthy. And the contracts are family tied. If I had used any of our other methods, it might have endangered our chances to get this important contract. Besides, the Landow ships would make a good addition to any of the consortium’s shipping companies. Taking all of this into consideration, I thought it best to wait for him to return from the war and then approach him directly.
“My people have just informed me that the owner returned home this very week. I have dug into his history. He has always run the shipping company through an agent. It was his grandfather who formed it.”
“What makes you think he will sell the company now?”
The man smiled greedily, his eyes suddenly cold and calculating. “He returned home a cripple. He cannot defy me. One way or another, we will control it!”
“Then get on with it! We don’t want any more delays.” They were silent for several minutes while Allison smoked his cigar. When he spoke again, his voice was far away. “Do you remember when we formed the consortium? Eighteen fifty-nine,” he answered himself. “It was something I had always dreamed of, and when I was certain that war would become a reality, I was certain, too, that my dream would come to life.”
“And it has!”
“Almost. Oh yes, we control the majority of shipping for America, and we own most of the warehouses. But there is more to come.” Pausing, Allison took another draw on his cigar.
“Within the next two years, those independent shipping companies who survived the war will fold. We’ve seen to that by adjusting our rates or denying them warehouse space. Those who remain will live on the leftovers with which we cannot be bothered. We have no need of further shipping acquisitions, save this one company that still eludes us. However, we must start to expand again. South Africa is our next target.”
“South Africa?”
Alana Page 5
