The Lady's Hand

by Bobbi Smith

  "How did you get so jaded about marriage?"

  "I'm not jaded, I'm just honest. We have no secrets between us. You and I both know what we're getting out of this arrangement. There won't be any surprises for us when the time comes for us to go our separate ways."

  "That's true enough. I'm certainly not going into this marriage harboring any foolish notion that you love me or that we're going to live happily ever after."

  Rafe glanced at her. "Good. Childish daydreams like Merrie's are just dreams for children. Those kinds of fantasies only make real life more difficult to deal with. You and I both know what to expect from each other, so we should get along just fine."

  "Oh, yes. I know exactly what you want from me, and you needn't worry that I'll press you for more than you're willing-or able give."

  Rafe thought she sounded as pleased with the arrangement as he was. Things were working out very very well, indeed.

  Dancing followed dinner that night, and Rafe and Brandy stood together at the side of the dance floor watching the other couples gracefully sweep past.

  Rafe was remembering the last time he'd waltzed. Lottie Demers had been the woman in his arms, but his gaze had been on Brandy the whole time. He'd been wondering what it would be like to be dancing with Brandy instead of the other girl, and now the time had come to find out. He was certain that she would be as light as a feather in his arms and that she would move with more grace and elegance than any other female he'd known. He'd been thinking about this moment all night and he was expecting her to be eager to dance with him. After all, every woman he'd ever asked to dance before had been thrilled by his invitation.

  "Would you care to dance?" he asked, turning to Brandy, his expression pleasant.

  "No...no, thank you," she quickly declined, not looking up at him.

  At her refusal, a black scowl marred his handsome features for a moment, then was quickly masked. "Are you sure I can't coax you out onto the dance floor?" He tried again.

  "I'm just not in the mood tonight. In fact, if you don't mind, I think I'll retire for the evening," she said, turning away from the dance floor.

  Rafe was left to follow, and he quickly trailed her from the room. When they were on deck, he strode angrily after her. He caught up with her and took her arm to stop her progress, for she seemed hell-bent on retreating to her room.

  "Are you feeling all right?" he asked, wondering at her rush to leave.

  "I'm feeling fine."

  "Then there must be another reason why you didn't want to dance tonight."

  Brandy was cornered, and she hated it. Somehow, this man always managed to do this to her. He instinctively seemed to be able to find her weaknesses and zero in on them. She spun around to face him, her eyes flashing fire as she glared down at his restraining hand on her arm.

  "Yes, there is," she told him in a tight, low voice. "If you must know..." It irked her greatly to say the next words, but she had no choice. "I don't know how to dance."

  The confession cost her much. She glowered up at him, daring him to laugh.

  "You don't know how to dance?" he repeated, staring at her incredulously. It had never occurred to him that there was a woman in the world who didn't know how to waltz. He'd thought females were born dancing, ready to use their abilities to catch themselves a husband at the earliest opportunity.

  "No," she repeated tightly, then added in sarcasm, "Would you like me to shout it out loud so the whole world knows too?"

  "Why don't you know how?"

  She couldn't believe he was so slow. Wasn't he the one who'd said she was lacking in social graces? Well, damn it, in this instance he'd been right, and it irked her to admit it, even though it was true. "My mother and I had no money for dancing lessons."

  Rafe stood still, staring down at her in the moonlight. He saw all the pride she clung to and not for the first time thought she was one magnificent woman. Ben had told him just how rough her life had been, and he wondered how he'd been able to forget that. Unable to help himself, he lifted one hand to gently touch her cheek.

  "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. It was not my intent," he said softly, his gaze catching and holding hers. "In all honesty, I asked you to dance because I really wanted to dance with you."

  "Oh..." That was all she could manage. The soft caress of his hand at her cheek thrilled her, and the intense look in his eyes held her mesmerized.

  "Would you like to learn?" he asked in a low, husky voice. "I know we'd talked about hiring someone to help you with etiquette and things, but this is one lesson I would like to teach you myself"

  Brandy felt herself blushing, and she was glad for the cover of darkness to hide that telltale emotion. Her heartbeat quickened as she imagined being held in his arms while they moved together to the melody's sensuous rhythm. It was a heady thought.

  She remembered the night she'd seen him dancing with Lottie Demers and remembered, too, the envy she'd felt toward the other woman. Now it was her turn to dance with Rafe, and she would not refuse.

  "I... I'd like that."

  "My dear Miss Brandy, may I have the honor of this dance?"

  He bowed in a most courtly way, eliciting a soft laugh of delight from her.

  "Why, Mr. Marchand, I would love to waltz with you... if you think you're strong enough to bear up under my ineptitude." She spoke in her most exaggerated Southern belle drawl as she curtsied deeply before him.

  "It would be my pleasure to suffer any pain just to hold you in my arms, my dear," he said gallantly.

  Then, knowing she was nervous and unsure of herself, Rafe held out his hand to her and waited for her to take it. When she did, he drew her to him, holding her lightly, one hand resting at the small of her back. She felt delicate and very feminine beneath his touch.

  "Waltzing is simple actually," he began. "Just put your hand on my shoulder and move with me. I'll go slow so I don't confuse either one of us."

  He began to move about the deserted deck, rhythmically, swaying ever so gently to the sensuous music.

  The melody was slightly muted, but that only added to the intimacy of being in Rafe's arms. Brandy was swept away by the romantic magic of the moment.

  The one fantasy she held in her heart all these years was the memory of watching the handsome men and beautiful women waltzing in the ballroom at the manor house when she was a little girl hiding in the garden. It had seemed the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world, and now there she was on the deck of a steamboat in the moonlight, waltzing with the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

  The magic of the moment let her forget for just that tiny space of time that Rafe was not the love of her life, a hero sweeping her away to a fairy-tale life in his kingdom. She became a creature of her senses, aware only of the warm strength of his hand at her waist guiding her, and the heat of his body searing her whenever they accidentally touched.

  "You're getting it," he told her in a soft, low voice as she swayed back and forth. "I'm going to turn now ... stay with me."

  Rafe moved gracefully for a man, and she was able to follow his lead easily. She lost her step only once, and he covered for her quickly, keeping a steadying grip on her.

  Brandy gazed up at him, studying the hard line of his jaw, and realized there was strength there instead of danger. She stared at the firm line of his lips, and instead of seeing a sneering conqueror, she saw the sensuous lips of the one man she longed to kiss. She lifted her gaze to his and found him staring down at her with a flaming intensity that seared her very soul.

  And then they weren't dancing anymore. Suddenly, she was standing perfectly still, wrapped tightly in his arms, her body pressed intimately to his.

  Rafe gazed down at the beauty in his arms and could only stare at her in amazement. She was a wonder strong, beautiful and intelligent. She could match him word for word, argument for argument, and not give an inch. She was different from any other woman he'd ever met, and he wondered how fate had brought them together this way.


  Rafe felt almost hypnotized as he bent toward her. He was intent only on kissing her. She fit perfectly in his arms. They moved together in perfect rhythm. He had to kiss her or go crazy. His hand tightened instinctively at her waist as he lowered his lips to hers.

  He heard her gasp at the first touch of his mouth on hers, and she stiffened slightly as if to resist him.

  "Brandy..." He drew back just enough to whisper her name in a low groan before meeting her lips in a tentative kiss.

  The moment was ecstasy. The churning of the steamboat, the throbbing of the engines, the sound of the music all faded away to oblivion. There was just the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, standing alone in the moonlight.

  It was a kiss that dreams were made of It was perfection and more. Romantic, breathless, passionate, they broke apart to stare at each other in amazement and confusion.

  Brandy gave herself a mental shake. This was Rafe Marchand the man who'd blackmailed her into marriage with the intent of getting rid of her as quickly as he could. There was no tender emotion behind his sensual assault. There was only lust. There was no point in her trying to fool herself.

  "I have to go in now..." she managed hoarsely, realizing what power he wielded over her. She had never known a man's kiss to move her so dramatically before, and it frightened her to know that he could affect her so.

  With that she turned and rushed away from him, pausing to look back only once before disappearing inside her cabin.

  Rafe watched her run away from him, and, in truth, was glad that she was gone. No matter that he'd wanted to lay her down upon the deck and take her right there and then. He had insisted she act the lady, and he had to treat her like one. He was more than tempted to follow her, but he held himself in tight control, watching from a distance until she was safely in her room. Only then did he head for the bar.

  Marc had been coming out of the men's saloon when he spotted Rafe and Brandy dancing on deck. He'd paused to watch them and had noticed immediately how perfect they looked together, moving in rhythm about the deserted deck, completely unaware of anything save the thrill of being in each other's arms.

  Marc remembered all too clearly how it had been when he'd danced with Jennette. During those precious moments, holding her had been the only thing that mattered; the rest of the world had somehow disappeared.

  It was obvious to him that Rafe was finding that same joy with Brandy, and he was glad for his friend. Every man deserved that special happiness once in his life. When the couple broke apart, Marc went in the opposite direction, not wanting to embarrass them by letting them know he'd seen them. Instead, he made his way back to his own cabin the long way.

  A sadness filled Marc as he bedded down in his solitary bed. He had lost the love of his life and would never again know the joy of holding Jennette in his arms, of loving her, of dancing with her...

  He fought against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. It was getting a little easier to battle the agony as the days, weeks and months passed, but it seemed it would never go away completely. Jennette had meant too much to him. She had been his world. He had loved her more than he'd thought it was humanly possible to love anyone, and she had been taken from him, tragically, devastatingly.

  Marc had to go on. He knew it. And he did, day after day. He got out of bed and faced the world alone-save for their children, his and Jennette's. He sighed as he closed his eyes against burning tears.

  St. Louis loomed ahead of the Pride as the steamboat churned the final mile upriver. The landing was crowded, yet the steamer had no trouble finding a place to dock.

  Brandy was filled with a terrible sense of trepidation as she stood on deck with Rafe at her side. When she next boarded a steamboat to head back downriver, she would be this man's wife and her whole life would be changed.

  She slanted Rafe a sidelong glance. After last night, she wasn't quite sure what to think of him. Kind had never been a word she would have used to describe him, but he had seemed kind last night. Thinking about it now, the whole evening seemed like a dream. Had this tall, silent man at her side really taken her in his arms and waltzed her about the deck in the moonlight? Had he truly not belittled her for her lack of skill? His actions had surprised and pleased her, yet she cautioned herself not to read too much into them. She had to learn to dance. Who better to teach her than Rafe? That way no one else would realize just how backward she really was.

  "Marc and I have several things to take care of right away. Will you be all right here on the boat?" Rafe's question drew her back from her thoughts.

  "Of course," she replied lightly. "Do you know what our plans are going to be?"

  "I'll be registering us at the Planter's House Hotel, but it wouldn't be appropriate for you move in there until the chaperone issue has been resolved. As soon as that's taken care of, we can start making the arrangements for the wedding."

  "That quickly," she said a bit breathlessly.

  "There isn't a lot of time. I'm hoping the priest who married Marc will be amenable to performing the ceremony for us. Well have to see. Some insist on three weeks for the banns to run, but there's no time for that."

  "We could go to a justice of the peace," she offered, thinking there was something sacrilegious about their taking their vows in a church before a priest.

  "No. I won't give the gossips any reason to question our union. Well be married in church." It was a statement that brooked no argument.

  He sounded so fierce that she let it drop. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it really mattered to him, but as he'd said, it was just to keep the gossips from talking.

  When the Pride had finished tying up at the riverfront, Rafe turned to Brandy.

  "I'll be back for you as soon as possible."

  "I'll be waiting," she answered, keeping her tone that of a woman who was going to be separated from her beloved for a few hours.

  Rafe found himself smiling at her as Marc appeared on deck with the nanny and children in tow.

  "Are you ready, Rafe?" Marc asked as he joined them.

  "Yes. I'll see you later, Brandy," he said to her in a more intimate tone.

  She just smiled as she watched them go. Merrie darted back to her to give her an impulsive hug.

  "Be good, sweetheart," Brandy told her.

  "I will," she promised and then ran to catch up with her harried father.

  Rafe and Marc shared a carriage, dropping Rafe at the Planter's House.

  "I'll go on to the Davidsons' house, get the children settled in and then see what I can find out. I'll be in touch."

  "Let me know. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

  "I'll talk to Jennette's mother. I hope she can recommend someone to help us or at least set us looking in the right direction."

  "I'll be waiting to hear from you."

  Rafe went on into the hotel, booking two additional connecting rooms, in the hope that he would need them for Brandy and her soon-to-be-hired tutor and chaperone.

  Claire Patterson stood at the window of her small office on the second floor at the Wellington Girls' Academy, staring out at the busy city street below. There were so many people, rushing about town with so many places to go and so many things to do. Yet here she was at the end of another school year ... and what had she accomplished? True, she had helped another class of young women graduate with sophistication and grace. She had inspired them to read, sing and play a musical instrument. She had counseled them when they'd had problems, dried their tears when they'd been heartbroken and cheered them when they'd succeeded. And now, the school year was just about over, and as had been the case for the last eight years, she would be alone again.

  With a sigh, Claire turned away from the window and went to sit at her desk. Methodically, she began to empty the drawers into her small valise just as she had last year and the year before. Her classes for this year were over. She loved working with the girls, Lord knew she did, for without her students she would have no
life at all. But there were days like today when she couldn't help remembering when she had been one of the young, happy girls graduating from Wellington.

  Claire was not unhappy with her life. Money wasn't a problem, for her parents had left her very well off when they'd passed away. She spent most of her time helping others, and she'd always wanted to do that. It was just on days like today that she wished something exciting and adventurous would happen to her. It was beautiful outside, sunny and bright. The temperature was moderate. It was a perfect day for an impromptu picnic or a ride in the country, but there was no fun in riding or picnicking alone. And she was alone.

  A knock came at her door, interrupting her thoughts.

  "Yes? Who is it?"

  "Miss Cavendish," her headmistress announced as she came into the room. "I just wanted to thank you for another splendid year and wish you a wonderful summer off."

  "Why, thank you," Claire answered. She genuinely liked the headmistress. "I'll see you in the fall?"

  "Absolutely. I'll send you your new schedule in August. Have a lovely summer, Claire."

  "I will, and you, too."

  Miss Cavendish disappeared out the door in a whirlwind of activity, and Claire was once again alone. She smiled ruefully at her own morose mood as she gathered up her things and started home. She glanced back once at her small office the walls bare, the desktop clean-then closed the door quietly behind her.

  "I have an interesting problem that I hope you can help me with," Marc told Suzanne and Roger Davidson that afternoon as he sat having tea with them in the parlor of their spacious home on Lucas Place in St. Louis. He had arrived there with the children several hours before, and now that the initial excitement of their arrival had passed, he had the time to talk to them about Brandy's need for a chaperone.

  "What is it?" Suzanne asked, ready and willing to do anything for Marc. She'd adored him from the first day Jennette had brought him home, and she cherished the close relationship they'd developed and kept over the years.