Charlene’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils began to flare ever so slightly, ominously. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, and Colt realized he’d never seen her look that way before. How could he have thought her beautiful? She looked like a demon, her lips curling back in a snarl, her face contorted with rage.
“You will marry me, John Travis Coltrane! You have used me like a wife and so you will make me your wife. I will not have my honor defiled. I will not walk the streets of the town I grew up in with my head hung in shame because of you. You owe me marriage. I will have marriage, or so help me, you will rue the day you were born!”
Colt shook his head slowly. Images flashed before his mind’s eye, images of her writhing beneath him, begging him to take her…begging him to penetrate her…over and over. She had wanted it as much as he had, by God, but he’d never promised marriage, never even told her he loved her. He hadn’t used tricks to get her into bed, and he didn’t figure he owed her.
Voice icy, he looked her straight in the eye and announced, “No. You can take your honor and go straight to hell!”
He was immediately sorry he’d been so harsh, but it was too late. The scream that ripped from Charlene echoed throughout the house.
“Charlene, wait—”
He held out his hand to her, but she turned and fled the room. Her sobs were not of pain, he knew, or of sorrow, but were the sobs of rage of a woman scorned.
Colt slammed his fist into the wall, and didn’t feel the skin tearing or see the blood. What in hell was going to happen now? There was no telling what she would do. Damn it, it was his fault for blowing up, but she had pushed him over the brink.
He heard crashing hoofbeats and looked out the window in time to see Charlene on her horse, whipping the animal mercilessly into a furious gallop, headed for town. God only knew what she meant to do.
Colt sighed. He knew what he had to do. Face up to it. Be a man. Ride into town and talk to Carleton Bowden. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he couldn’t stay on the ranch as though he were in hiding. He’d have to tell the truth, then let the chips fall where they might.
Be a man. That’s what his father had always told him. Right or wrong, be a man. That way, no matter what happened, he could hold his head high.
Travis Coltrane, Colt well knew, had never lowered his head in shame in his whole life.
But in that moment, his son was having a hell of a hard time lifting his.
Chapter Four
Alaina Barbeau deBonnett appeared serene as she sat in her favorite chair, an oval-backed Louis XVI with tapered round legs. But she was not serene. In fact, she hadn’t been so upset in longer than she could remember.
She fingered the elaborate tufting, tassels, and braids of the chair arms, absently thinking that no matter what color gown she wore, the warm, ivory brocade upholstering never failed to enhance her and her gown.
Claude had hated the chair as much as she abhorred his taste. He had furnished the rest of the drawing room in the Biedermeier style, in vogue in the earlier part of the century. But Alaina knew that vogue had been confined mainly to middle-class homes. Alaina had never considered herself middle class. She found the classic simplicity of the furniture much too severe, and she detested the rosewood tables with metal inlays, considering them cheap.
Her dream had been to redecorate the entire château in rococo. A beautiful style, it borrowed the curvilinear elements of the French Louis XV, especially the cabriole leg, which was reinstated in heavier idiom. Entire suites were available in walnut, rosewood, and mahogany. The more intricate the carving on the frames, the more expensive the piece, of course.
After Claude’s death, she had been forced to sell almost everything of value—paintings, silver, jewelry. Now, with the heavy burden of unpaid taxes, it looked as though the entire château might have to be sold.
“Oh, Claude, I hope you’re burning in hell,” she whispered to the empty room. She wished now that she had never married him, but his proposal had been the only way out of another desperate situation.
And all because of Travis Coltrane. She hoped one day she could see Travis writhing in fire and brimstone.
She closed her eyes, taking herself back to those golden years when her life had been paradise. The image came to mind of her magnificent home in Kentucky. Oh, it had been the grandest house in all the county. Built of gray fieldstone, it stood four stories high, with a turret at each corner. Even the landscaping had been extraordinary. There were six separate gardens, each laid out in a different pattern. And so many trees—maples, oaks, pecans, stretching regally to the sky. It had been glorious, and remembering it brought tears to her eyes.
Yes, life had been good. But Poppa was involved with the Ku Klux Klan, and had become their secret leader. The government sent Travis Coltrane, a federal marshal, to Kentucky to investigate the Klan. When he finished, a tornado ripped through the Barbeau empire, destroying everything in its path.
Her hands gripped the armrests tightly as she remembered the day Travis killed the only man Alaina had ever truly loved. In a blind rage, she had tried to kill Travis, but she’d blown off her father’s arm when he leaped in the way.
God damn you, Travis Coltrane, for all the misery you have caused me in my life!
Poppa lost his spirit and withered away. She made a mess trying to salvage what was left of the family enterprises after it was discovered that Jordan Barbeau had been the leader of the infamous Klan. To add a final insult to the hell he had already wrought, Travis had married Marilee and taken her off to that godforsaken wilderness in Nevada where she died giving birth to the child they had conceived before the wedding.
When they married, Alaina recalled with a surge of nauseous resentment, she had hated her sister, hated her because Alaina too had known passion in Travis Coltrane’s arms. True, she now believed Stewart Mason was the only man she’d truly loved, but Travis had made love to her in a way that still haunted Alaina. It had been grand, glorious, magnificent. There had never been anyone before him or since who could take her to that pinnacle. Damn Travis.
When Marilee died, Alaina had seized upon a way to make Travis pay for what he’d done. Plotting carefully, she succeeded in stealing her niece’s love and loyalty. Oh, how sweet was revenge! Never would she forget the look on Travis Coltrane’s face the day she triumphantly took Dani away from him.
Soon afterward, Claude came along and solved her financial woes. Spineless, weak, unattractive, Claude was no real challenge. In a short time, he was on his knees proposing to her. Then they were off to France for what she thought would be a lifetime of opulent luxury.
Now, she told herself dismally, she was right back where she’d started. This time there would probably be no easy solution. True, she was still attractive, still had a shapely figure, but any eligible, wealthy man was seeking a young woman, not a matron.
She pressed trembling fingertips to her throbbing forehead. Oh, dear Lord, what to do? When the château was sold, what did not go for taxes would be seized for Claude’s debts. There would be nothing left. Nothing. How could she support herself? Become a servant? To the very people she had recently entertained so lavishly? She would sooner die. Prostitution? She was too old to command a good price. And, she reminded herself proudly, she’d always felt it was the man’s place to service the woman, not the other way around. That would be as degrading as servitude.
There had been one last hope, the letter from Travis informing Dani that she could claim her inheritance. But Dani, damn her, had dashed that hope with her damned religiosity. Where did the girl get such craziness from? Certainly not from Alaina. Religion had never meant a thing to her.
“Oh, damn you again, Travis Coltrane,” she cried vehemently. “You’re torturing me again—this time through your daughter!” She covered her face with her hands and began to weep. She did not hear the movement at the door, did not know anyone had entered until the soft, hesitant voice spoke.
“Aunt Alaina,
please don’t cry.”
Her head jerked up, eyes narrowing as she stared into Dani’s serene face. She looks like a Madonna, Alaina thought bitterly. Why, there’s almost an unearthly light around her. She saw the small bag Dani was carrying, and snapped, “What have you packed? I thought you had to give up all your worldly goods,” she said spitefully.
“Just my personal toiletries, Aunt Alaina,” Dani replied. “I suppose they’ll take them from me when I get there and give me whatever I’m supposed to have. But it’s a long trip, and I didn’t know what I’d need in the meantime.”
Alaina turned her face toward the window, as cold and hard as marble. Dani set her bag down and dropped to her knees before her. She tried to caress Alaina’s hands, but Alaina snatched them away. “Please,” Dani beseeched her, eyes filling with tears, “don’t let us say good-bye this way. Be happy for me, Aunt Alaina. I’m doing what I am called to do. God has spoken to me, and I’m giving my life in service to the church. I’ve never been happier. Won’t you share in the glory of my decision?” She searched her aunt’s face hopefully.
Alaina continued to stare out the window. “Just go,” she said icily. “You’ve made your decision, turned your back on me and all the love and care I gave you. If you can find happiness in breaking my heart, do.”
“I’ll never forget all you’ve done for me, Aunt Alaina. I love you. Please remember that,” Dani begged.
“This is how you show love? By entering an order of fanatical nuns who turn their backs on their families, on the entire world?” She turned around for long enough to give Dam a look of loathing. “You are insane, Dani. You should be entering an asylum, not a convent.”
Dani sighed. They had been through all of this before, and she’d tried over and over to explain the deep peace and joy she felt, but Aunt Alaina had not understood, and nothing was going to change her. But, oh, how she hated leaving this way!
She got to her feet and picked up her bag, saying quietly, “I will pray for you, Aunt Alaina.”
“And we will pray that you come to your senses,” sneered a mocking voice. Gavin stood in the doorway, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He swayed slightly, then downed the rest of his drink. He moved accusing eyes over Dani and sneered, “You selfish bitch! You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Doesn’t matter that your aunt and I will have to beg in the streets, doesn’t matter that you’re turning your back on a fortune—to say nothing of my marriage proposal. Just desert us, and spend the rest of your life counting rosary beads. Don’t forget to pray for your soul, which,” he hiccupped, “I hope burns in hell for your sin of being so goddamn ungrateful.”
Dani winced. “The fortune you mention means nothing to me. I won’t claim it. If I should die, I’ve directed that anything meant for me should go to the church.” She paused and eyed him carefully. “And as for your proposal, we both know what inspired that.” She turned once more to Alaina. “Please. Wish me well, Aunt Alaina. Give me your blessing.”
Alaina remained rigid. “You have my curses, you ungrateful bitch!”
Pressing a hand against trembling lips, Dani ran from the room, out of the house, and into the twilight.
Alaina began to weep. Gavin took his silver flask from his coat and, not bothering with his glass, drank directly from it. He then slouched into the chair opposite hers.
They sat in brooding silence for a long while, and then Alaina sighed. “Will you stop that?” Gavin snapped. “I’m sick of your making those little noises all the time. You don’t hear me moaning, for heaven’s sake.”
Her eyes flashed. “I should like to remind you of your place, Gavin.”
“My place!” He barked a laugh. “How long will I have a place? Or you, either? Six months? Can we keep the hounds at bay that long? Maybe we can sell the furniture, piece by piece, to keep from starving. Or maybe we should save it to chop up for firewood when winter comes. Shall I take a cup now and go out on the street and start begging? My place is about to be taken away, my dear.”
“Shut your insolent mouth!” Alaina rose and began to pace the room, speaking more to herself than to him as she railed. “Damn Travis Coltrane! Damn him for getting the last laugh! I am to grovel in poverty while he and his wife live in splendor in Paris!”
Gavin tipped the flask once more, drained it, shook it, then sent it sailing through the air. It landed against the fireplace hearth, and Alaina jumped, startled. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?” she shrieked. “I won’t tolerate drunken behavior. Your father was a man. Why can’t you act like one? Can’t you go out and get a job? You’ve never done a thing in your life but live off my money, chase harlots, and—”
She stopped as she caught sight of Briana in the doorway, nervously fingering the hem of her apron.
“What do you want?” Alaina snapped. “You know I hate servants eavesdropping.”
Briana stared at the floor, miserable. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, madame.”
Alaina regarded her coldly. “Well? What do you want? I didn’t ring for you. We don’t want to be disturbed.”
Briana took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to say what she had spent the past hour rehearsing. Finally she plunged ahead. “I wanted to ask you to please be kind to Dani when she comes to say good-bye. Her heart is breaking because of the way you feel about her entering the convent. It will do no good to harbor ill feelings, and her last memories of you should be happy ones. She loves you so much.”
Alaina stared incredulously. Who did she think she was, interfering in their personal affairs? She was a servant! Alaina knew she should have put her foot down long ago about Dani’s treating Briana like a member of the family.
Alaina pointed to the doorway with an angrily quivering finger. “Get out of here! And don’t you dare ever speak to me of things that are none of your business.”
Briana shook her head. She had to try, just once more. “Please, madame. Dani has talked to me about this. She is hurting so badly. Please, please, try to be kind to her when she comes to say good-bye.”
Gavin laughed, a nasty sound. “She’s already gone. Left a while ago, crying her pious little heart out. Too bad you missed it. Quite a performance.”
Briana gasped. Dani must have been terribly upset to go without telling her good-bye.
“Well, don’t stand there with your mouth hanging open,” Gavin ordered irritably, holding out his empty glass. “Make yourself useful. Get me another bottle of whiskey.”
“Get out of my sight,” Alaina chimed in. “You even remind me of Dani.”
Briana turned and ran from the room.
Alaina began ranting again, but Gavin ignored her, staring at the spot where Briana had stood. His eyes were narrowed, his brow tense with concentration. Slowly, ever so slowly, a thought began to take shape in his mind. A scheme. It was absurd, of course it was, he told himself. But still, it was something, a light in the darkness.
Would it work? He didn’t know, couldn’t plot clearly because his thoughts were fuzzy. He’d been drinking all afternoon. The cobwebs had taken over. He remembered what he’d been planning to do to get his mind off his troubles. He needed a woman. A few hours in the loving arms of a hot, eager jeunesse was just what he needed.
He looked at Alaina, who was still stomping around, talking. “I need some money,” he said.
She turned and looked at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. “What do you think I’m screaming about? Are you so drunk that you don’t understand how desperate our situation is, you ninny?”
His temper exploded. Later he would blame his whiskey-soaked brain for his feeling so outraged. But just then, he knew only that she was railing at him, God damn it, and he didn’t take that from anyone, especially a woman. Leaping to his feet, he caught her wrists, squeezing so tightly she cried out with pain. And then he was shaking her, hard, until her head was bobbing uncontrollably and she was screaming that he had gone crazy, was going to kill her. He kept shaking he
r, yelling all the while for her to shut up, leave him alone, stop goading him.
She wrested one hand free and slapped him, but that only incensed him further. He slammed his fist at her in a stunning blow, and she fell backward, knocking over a table. A lamp crashed to the floor in a shower of crystal and glass.
He advanced toward her, maniacal fury in his eyes, and she held up her arms to fend him off. “You stupid bitch!” he roared. “You challenged me to act like my father! Do you think you could ever have slapped him and gotten away with it? I’ll show you how a man reacts—”
Suddenly he fell to his knees, unconscious, sprawling forward onto the floor. Behind him stood Briana, holding the footstool she’d hit him with.
Alaina scrambled to her feet, sobbing, looking from Gavin’s body to Briana’s shocked face.
“Oh, madame,” Briana whispered tremulously, backing away. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought he was going to kill you.”
“You may have killed him,” Alaina cried. “Go and get help!
“Madame!”
Alaina and Briana turned toward the stricken face of Gerard, the elderly butler, whose eyes held pity as he looked at Briana and said, “It’s your brother.” He spoke quickly, nervously. “He’s been taken to the hospital. Go at once.”
Briana ran from the room, dismissing Gavin from her mind, terror over Charles blotting out everything else.
Alaina beckoned to Gerard, commanding, “Help me get him to his room, then go for the doctor.”
Gerard, elderly and frail, bent over Gavin. Just as he was about to lift him, Gavin moaned and looked around.
“Shall I go for the doctor now?” Gerard asked, relieved that Gavin was alive.
Alaina decided there was no need to bring an outsider in to witness the family’s problems. There had been quite enough gossip and scandal about the deBonnett family, thanks to Claude’s death and debts. “No. Help me get him upstairs, Gerard. And then bring me cold towels and brandy.”
They struggled to get Gavin onto his feet, but once he was standing, he irritably shoved them away from him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he growled, “Where is she? I’m going to kill the bitch. I know it was Briana. I recognized her voice.”
Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4 Page 5
