He bit out the names. "Trumpet creepers, grapevines, and some sugarcane. How do you know about fences and trellises? I didn't see any around the fort."
"My stepfather told me about things like that. He saw to it I could read, and he provided me with books. He wanted me to know about the genteel side of life"—she winked at him—"because, after all, I'm only half savage, remember?"
He fumed to realize she was trying to be as obnoxious as possible. Well, two could play that game. "You're right. You're only half savage, and that's the half we've got to clean up before you meet your father."
"What do you mean?" Something told her she was not going to like his answer. She'd already had a bath and wore a dress. What more did he want?
"We have to get you a really nice traveling outfit. And a hat. Maybe I'll even hire a carriage in Mobile, to carry you home properly."
Silently she swore she would not let him make her lose her temper. "I don't want to wear a hat, and I don't want to ride in a wagon."
"I didn't say wagon, I said carriage."
"It's all the same."
"That shows what you don't know, Raven. You're no doubt used to open buckboard wagons, like the army uses, with mules to pull. I'm talking about a nice carriage with a top, velvet or leather seats, and good horses."
"Diablo is good enough for me. So are the clothes I have on."
"I disagree. We'll do as I say and really clean you up, whether you like it or not."
Then and there, Raven made up her mind to go one step farther in tormenting Steve into wanting her so desperately she could catch him off guard and escape.
It happened when they were a half day's ride out of Baton Rouge, camped alongside one of Louisiana's many lakes. Steve had managed to catch several nice fish, thanks to Raven producing the necessary tackle from her saddlebag—hooks carved from bone and line made from Diablo's tail.
As she helped clean and skewer the fish for cooking, she was amused by how Steve very carefully avoided touching her as they worked side by side. She had deliberately unbuttoned the front of her dress low enough to display her cleavage. He was trying to ignore her, but she saw him stealing quick, furtive glances every so often and knew her plan to provoke him beyond the limits of his willpower was working. She did not like doing it, for it made her feel immoral, but if that's what it took to get away from him, so be it.
It was still daylight when they finished eating. Raven stood and began to undo the rest of her buttons as she made the casual announcement, "I'm going to go for a swim and take a bath."
Steve stumbled in his haste to get to his feet and walk away.
"Hey, aren't you afraid I'll run away?" she called after him.
"I won't be that lucky," he yelled over his shoulder, careful not to turn around, for out of the corner of his eye he could see her pulling her dress over her head and tossing it aside. Although sorely tempted, he did not look.
She called to taunt him. "That's not very nice of you, because if I decide to stay and claim my inheritance, you'll be out of a job if you aren't nice to me."
He could have told her he had already come to that conclusion, regardless of who eventually took over Halcyon. But what irked him at the moment was what she was trying to do to him. He'd abandon her, if not for his promise to Ned, but he had come too far now and would somehow manage to put up with her the rest of the way. After they reached Baton Rouge, it would take four days of steady riding to reach Mobile, maybe less if they could pick up the pace a bit. Meanwhile, all he had to do was ignore her and not let her get under his skin, not let her make him do something he would later regret.
Thrashing through some weeds and brambles, he found a clearing and sat down. He would not go back where she was until he could be sure she had her clothes on. Maybe he would sit there till after dark to be on the safe side.
She was singing. He could not make out the words, for it was an Indian song, but he couldn't help thinking it was pretty. Her voice was pretty. She was pretty, damn it.
He dug his heels into the soft earth, making tiny ruts in his frustration. In a nice gown, hair coiffed, body oiled and perfumed, she would have men flocking after her like crows to a cornfield. Sure, Lisbeth, with her big blue eyes and golden curls, had her share of beaus, but she was the kind men wanted mostly for a wife, mistress of their manor, mother of their children. Raven, on the other hand, evoked delicious thoughts beyond standard fare. With her dark, seductive eyes, husky, throaty voice, and the supple way she moved, a man couldn't look at Raven and think beyond what it would be like to have her moaning and thrashing in his bed.
Despite her cold facade, there was something about her that promised passion untold to the man she favored with the pleasures she had to offer.
But Steve knew she did not wish to bestow her treasures upon him. She didn't want him—she just wanted him to want her, so she could make him look like a fool when she ultimately rejected him. Maybe she hoped to catch him unawares, best him again and escape. But he was not going to fall into her trap.
He tried to turn his mind to other matters to pass the time and thought of Ned, hoping he was still alive, knowing if he was how pleased he would be to see his daughter at long last.
He thought, too, about the racking horses and how he was looking forward to working with them again... if only for a little while.
Maybe, after Ned died, he would return to Virginia, to the ranch where he had worked before. He was good with horses, could probably get his old job back, and—
Suddenly it dawned on him how quiet it was. Raven had stopped singing, and there were no sounds of splashing. Maybe she hadn't been joking, he thought in a panic as he scrambled to his feet. Maybe she had made that crack about running away to throw him off guard, and right now she was riding away on his horse, instead of Diablo, so he couldn't whistle and get her thrown again. And she would take Diablo also, so there'd be no way for him to go after her.
"Damn the vixen," he cursed, pushing through the brush.
He stopped short.
Raven was still there, standing waist deep in water as she washed her hair. But then she turned, her fingers moving through the long tresses.
Steve watched, mesmerized.
Cupping her hands, she reached down and scooped up water to splash upon her breasts, then began to gently knead them with her fingers as she washed. Her face, turned toward the sky, was bathed in the peach and lavender glow of sunset.
After a few moments, she began to walk out of the lake, and more of her body was revealed with every step she took. Steve could not tear his heated gaze away, though every nerve within him commanded otherwise.
His gaze dropped, and he had one quick glimpse of the dark crowning V of hair above her womanhood before she turned to reach for her clothes.
He had seen her... all of her.
And never had he wanted a woman more.
Chapter 9
Steve angrily shoved his way back through the bushes.
Raven heard him but pretended not to, quickly buttoning her shirt. She was almost done when she felt his hands fasten on her shoulders to spin her about. Adrenaline surged as she prepared to defend herself, for this was the moment she had been waiting for—to make him want her beyond all reason and then humiliate him by overpowering him.
Now, however, as she stared up at him, caught in his burning gaze, she trembled not from fear that he could harm her physically but rather the betrayal of her own body. His eyes had captured hers to imprison them in a building fever of shared desire, and she was powerless to pull away.
Steve could see how unnerved she was and found himself wondering whether she had deliberately made him want her or if she actually was so naive as not to comprehend the effect she had upon him now that she no longer had to pretend to be anything other than what she was.
He could see her pulse beating in her throat, heard the quick, ragged breaths she drew, and saw how her breasts rose and fell as he held her tight against him. He fought against smilin
g to realize that she was shaken by his nearness, and the angry clutching of his fingers melted into a gentle caress.
"Damn you," he whispered huskily, hoarsely, as he drew her against him. "Damn you for making me do this, Raven." His mouth closed over hers.
The kiss ran passionate and deep, and, despite herself, Raven could not fight it. Her lips parted beneath his gentle assault, and she could only yield to the delicious wonder of his exploring tongue. His hands moved to her back, trailing up and down her curves, pressing her yet closer, until they seemed molded together. Through the haze of desire that had entrapped her, she was startled to feel his hardness against her. It was the clarity of desire she had sought to create, but in so doing she had unwittingly caused her own. And now she melted against him in submission as his touch fed the flames within, making them leap higher and higher till she was consumed, devoured, and ready to yield to his every wish.
His hands moved to her breasts, to cup and squeeze, and his hardness against her began to throb, ever so gently, and she thrilled to it and unconsciously leaned into it, but at the same time knew she had to pull away lest there be no turning back. It was madness, weakness, and she had prided herself on never being weak.
Her hands had been clutching his shoulders, and it was all she could do to move, for they seemed to have become leaden, refusing to budge.
With all her strength, she was finally able to place them against his chest and make ready to push him away.
But at that precise instant, Steve released her.
She blinked in stunned disbelief to see his mouth spread into a slow, taunting grin and his eyes no longer glazed with rapture but mocking, instead. "This isn't what you had in mind, is it, sweetheart? You weren't supposed to want it too, were you?"
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered and began backing away from him.
He made no move to stop her. "Sure you do. You've been teasing me so you could laugh in my face, only you didn't figure on catching the fever yourself."
As the distance between them widened, her bravado returned. "You're crazy. I didn't know you were going to spy on me when I took a bath, and I didn't enjoy what you were doing just now. You took me by surprise for a minute, that's all."
"You wanted me to see you bathing."
She shook her head wildly. "That's not true."
"And last night you wanted to make me crazy thinking about you lying there half naked, hoping I'd try to crawl in bed with you so you could scream rape, bring the Hannibals running, and tell them how I forced you to pretend we were married. That would have made me look like a prize fool in front of everybody. Only it didn't work, sweetheart, not there and not here, where you were probably hoping to catch me in a weak moment, bust my head with a rock, and take off. You're quite a little actress, you know that? You pretend to be so shy and innocent, but actually you're a scheming little witch."
Raven could have told him he was wrong. It wasn't to make him look foolish that she had tried to make him want her, it was to get back at him for all those nights she had lain awake wanting him. Only now it didn't matter, because desire had turned to loathing.
"You started all this. You came into my world, I didn't go to yours. And you forced me to come with you, and I told you when you did you'd be sorry. And you will.
"But hear this," she continued furiously. "I didn't want you just now. I could never want a stubborn oaf like you." She finished with a curt nod.
Steve cocked his head to one side. "Now is that a fact? Because I'd have sworn you wanted me just now as bad as I wanted you. Let's find out."
He took a step toward her, but Raven threw up her hands and made ready for combat. She was weak no longer, and anything she had felt for him had dissolved amid humiliation and indignity. "Don't come any closer," she warned.
Steve paused and bit down on his lower lip as it came to him what she had actually been planning. The little vixen probably knew every Indian trick there was and could fight like a warrior. She had no doubt hoped to get him in a vulnerable position and then beat the tar out of him before he knew what happened.
And suddenly it all seemed hilarious, and he threw back his head and laughed long and loud.
"You'll regret treating me this way," Raven warned.
"Well, if kissing me like you just did is a sample of revenge, I'll be looking forward to it. Meanwhile, I suggest a truce so we can get to where we're going." He walked away to leave her standing there glaring after him.
* * *
They endeavored to ignore each other. Steve was intent on traveling as fast as possible, while Raven focused on her surroundings.
She found the countryside beautiful and adequately populated, so there was no shortage of places to stop for food and rest. When meeting someone, and given the opportunity, she would ask questions, wanting to learn as much as possible about her new world but determined not to engage in conversation with Steve unless absolutely necessary.
She kept her distance, riding behind him most of the time. It was understood they couldn't stand each other, but still she was incited by the memories of how he had held her, kissed her. She had only to glance at his mouth to remember how delicious he had tasted, and at his hands to think how they had cupped her breasts and kindled sweet hot fires within her. And sometimes she would dare glance down at him and think of him pressed hard against her. Then she would chide herself and return to concentrating furiously on the scenery.
They passed plantations, and Raven marveled at the huge mansions, set far back, the roads leading to them lined with tremendous live oaks. As they passed one, curiosity got the best of her, and she asked, "What is that hanging from the tree limbs?"
He followed her gaze to the phantasmal cascades descending from the huge serpentine limbs of the oaks. "It's called moss. You'll see plenty of it from now on. It's all over the trees at Halcyon."
"Beautiful," she whispered, awed, "just beautiful."
Steve turned to look at her and saw the wonder on her face. It occurred to him then how strange she must feel after the life she had led, suddenly thrust into a different civilization. And with so much more yet to be seen and experienced, he knew she was either in for a delightful treat or the greatest despair she'd ever known. It remained to be seen just how her new life was going to affect her, but he sharply reminded himself it made no difference to him. He would soon be through with her. Eventually he would leave Halcyon, and never see her again, much less give a damn what happened to her. Still, despite the raging within, he could not dismiss the reality that he was drawn to her... which was all the more reason to get her out of his life as soon as possible.
Raven marveled at fields of cotton that stretched as far as the eye could see, with black people dressed in rags bent double as they crept between the rows, dragging huge picking sacks behind them. She knew they were slaves and thought it terrible but said nothing. It was a culture new to her, a way of life she did not understand and wanted no part of.
Now and then they would pass open carriages with finely dressed ladies out for an airing on a sweltering hot afternoon. Always the horses were driven by a black man dressed in a bright red coat. The ladies would look at Raven and Steve from the corners of their eyes but never turn their heads. Once, on impulse, Raven waved and called gaily, but the women pretended not to notice.
At the inns where they stopped to eat, Raven was introduced to new foods, which she found she liked, such as chicken that had been rolled in flour and fried; big green leaves called mustard, boiled with hunks of fat from a hog; potatoes mashed and fluffy and covered in a thick brown sauce called gravy; and big chunks of a baked crispy bread made from ground corn. Most of all, however, she liked the foods known as desserts, especially a light and fluffy cake covered in fat juicy strawberries and topped with a dollop of whipped cream, made from the risings of fresh milk.
So far, Raven had not felt anyone was looking down on her but then she realized Steve was not stopping at the fancy places, where t
he ladies she had seen riding in the elegant carriages would go to eat. The furnishings where they went were sparse, and they ate off chipped dishes and drank from glasses with tiny cracks. It was only when they passed a place where the customers dined outdoors beneath little umbrellas to shade the sun that Raven noted there were nicer restaurants.
"I suppose you don't take me to places like that because they won't let me in," she remarked. Then, not giving him time to either confirm nor deny, went on to sadly reminisce. "One time when Seth took me with him to San Antonio to get supplies, we passed a cafe that had a big chocolate cake in the window, I wanted a piece so bad. I had a little money in my pocket, so while Seth was busy in a store, I went back to the cafe and went inside, but some men threw me out. Seth got mad when he found out about it and said maybe I could finally understand why he tried to keep me away from white people."
"Were you dressed like an Indian?"
"Of course. My mother always dressed me in a pretty beaded dress made of nice soft deer hide. She wasn't ashamed of the Indian part of me. Neither was Seth."
"Well, here, wearing the kind of dress you've got on, folks will never suspect you're part Indian."
"Do you really think so?"
She looked at him with so much hope it made him feel guilty. She did have dark skin—cinnamon-colored skin. There would probably be a little prejudice, but something told him she had the spunk to cope with it, especially with Ralston money backing her. "You'll do fine," he said, turning away so he wouldn't have to see the doubt in her eyes, adding, "and the reason I haven't taken you to the fancy restaurants is because neither one of us is properly dressed for them right now."
She settled back and felt a little better about everything.
Raven's first sight of Mobile was the huge waterfront, with its docks and wharves and warehouses.
"See those?" Steve pointed to a row of brick warehouses. "They belong to your father. Ten of them. They're capable of storing over seventy thousand bales of cotton. He also owns presses that can compress a million bales in six months. He owns fourteen wharves that can be reached by a channel twenty-two feet deep.
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