Captive Bride

by Carol Finch

  Captive Bride

  by

  Carol Finch

  A NOCTURNAL VISIT

  "I should not have come back," Dominic murmured, but his footsteps took him around to the edge of her four-poster bed.

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” Rozalyn agreed.

  Her gaze settled on his gaping shirt, taking in the dark matting of hair she had begun to explore earlier. Her brief investigation had only served to pique her curiosity. Now, in the flickering lanjbern light, she realized she would never overcome her infatuation for this powerfully built rogue until she proved he was only a man, not some image from an illusive dream.

  Dominic sank down.on the side of her bed as if he belonged there, and he reached out to tunnel his fingers through the silky tendrils that cascaded over her shoulders. "I tried to leave you, you know," he whispered huskily. "But I could not bid you adieu so abruptly. I need to apologize."

  "Apologize for what?" Her brow arched questioningly.

  "For doing this . . ." Dominic's head came deliberately toward hers. His eyes focused on her lips as if they were the first pair he had ever seen, as if the sight of their soft, sensuous curves fascinated him. Like summer rain they melted beneath his kiss, and for a long breathless moment he was content just to taste her honeyed response, to inhale the enticing scent of her. But just as before, a kiss was not enough, would never be enough . . .

  To the hero at home

  Part 1

  By the time you swear you’re his,

  Shivering and sighing,

  And he vows his passion is

  Infinite, undying –

  Lady, make a note of this:

  One of you is lying

  – Dorathy Parker

  Chapter 1

  St. Louis, September 1836

  Rozalyn DuBois rearranged her clothing after Jeffrey Corday had practically twisted it about her neck in his insistent attempt to detain her. Forcing a pleasant smile, she then swept into the oversized solarium where her grandmother sat amidst a jungle of prized potted plants. Although the grande dame of Rabelais was a mite hard of hearing she would be able to detect Rozalyn's irritation. Rozalyn told herself she must approach Lenore with a cheerful word of greeting, and she hastily ran her hand across her mass of unruly raven hair, settling it back into place as best she could.

  Lenore caught sight of the blue-eyed lass who sailed into the sunroom to mingle with the pastel flowers lining the glass windows and dangling from the ceiling. Twisting in her wheelchair, she surveyed her granddaughter and then frowned bemusedly at Rozalyn's somewhat ruffled appearance. Her perceptive gaze ran the full length of Rozalyn's velvet green riding habit, noting a few telltale wrinkles and the renegade strands of ebony hair that had come free of the bun atop Rozalyn's head. Lenore was certain her granddaughter had not employed a carriage to transport her to the stately manor that overlooked St. Louis for Rozalyn's coiffure was in disarray and bright pink stained her creamy cheeks. Judging by her appearance, Lenore concluded that the girl had straddled her flighty steed and thundered across the meadow to reach the mansion.

  Heaving a disapproving sigh, Lenore once again scrutinized her lovely, but disheveled granddaughter. If Aubrey DuBois had spent more time with this child he would not have such a feisty misfit on his hands, Lenore mused sourly. Rozalyn's father was so engrossed in his fur trading ventures and speculative expeditions into the Rockies that he had permitted Rozalyn to run wild. There was nothing this hoyden hadn't attempted since she had returned from finishing school in New York four years earlier.

  The child came and went as she pleased, cavorting with all sorts of unsavory characters. They had taught her a multitude of things a sophisticated young woman from a prominent French family should have known nothing about.

  Indeed, Rozalyn DuBois was a fun loving adventuress, a free spirit who insisted upon living life to its fullest, no matter what the consequences. She breezed through St. Louis like a devastating whirlwind, leaving no stone unturned, setting the gossips' tongues to wagging with her wild antics and madcap adventures.

  Each time Aubrey grumbled that his daughter had become rebellious and unmanageable, Lenore scolded him for not taking a hand in the child's upbringing. She insisted that Aubrey's lack of interest in his daughter was the true cause of her scandalous behavior, but Aubrey considered himself the reigning royalty of St. Louis. He refused to be lectured on any subject, especially one that centered around his high-spirited daughter. So, though he would not become involved in Rozalyn's life, he frequently complained about her unruly behavior.

  What Rozalyn needs, Lenore surmised, is a strong-willed man to curb her wild shenanigans and to mellow her temperament. With scrutinizing eyes, Lenore watched Rozalyn glide up to her, looking very much like a cherub who had just flitted down to Earth. But she was not! Rozalyn DuBois, the most-sought-after debutante in St. Louis, had a bit of the devil in her. An endless string of young men came to her doorstep, for Rozalyn was always between fiances, one beau after another having fallen from her good graces and been shuffled out with the clutter. Yet another would-be fiance was always itching to pursue her.

  To say this blue-eyed temptress was fickle was an understatement, Lenore begrudgingly admitted to herself. Rozalyn seemed to know what she expected and desired in the man who would become her husband, but she, quite simply, could not latch onto a man who fit her rigid specifications. The child was virtually impossible to please.

  Lenore had informed her capricious granddaughter that she was making a grave mistake by searching for a custom-fit in a tailored world. Rozalyn had never been able to stroll into a boutique to select a gown to fit her curvaceous figure without necessary alterations. Why then did she expect to meet a man who perfectly matched her expectations? Rozalyn had sniffed distastefully at her grandmother's comparison. She'd further declared that if she could not secure a custom-fit in a husband she would have no qualms about becoming a spinster. At least, Rozalyn rationalized, that way she would remain happy. Her friends had made the tragic mistake of attempting to reform the irresponsible rakes they had married, and Rozalyn refused to follow in their footsteps.

  An argument had ensued between grandmother and granddaughter, and when Lenore had informed Rozalyn in no uncertain terms that she would see her properly wed before she departed from this world, Rozalyn had insisted that there was no great rush since her grandmother was going nowhere. Then, with plain-spoken eloquence, Rozalyn had announced that she would not marry until she was damned well ready and she was not ready yet!

  Since that heated exchange six months earlier, Lenore no longer bothered with a greeting when Rozalyn faithfully came to check in on her. She simply cut to the heart of the matter, firing the same tiresome question. It was her hope that Rozalyn would select a husband, if only to end that constant badgering.

  "So tell me," Lenore demanded. "Have you lighted upon a man to your liking? Pray say yes and give this crippled old woman an ounce of peace." Lenore drew attention to herself by tucking her lap quilt around her legs and clasping her bony hands over her chest. Her melodramatic gesture was meant to remind Rozalyn of a lifeless soul lying in state, eyes fixed in a sightless stare. "I am not getting any younger you know. This aged body of mine is deteriorating so quickly that I may not be alive when next you come to call. My dying request is to see you wed."

  Rozalyn's gaze soared toward the ceiling. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she silently muttered at the beldame who had acquired a single-minded purpose these past few months. Every other day Rozalyn paid Lenore a visit, and every other day she was met with prying inquiries about her love life ... or lack of it. She would have been in a huff if anyone but her grandmother had dared to hound her so relentlessly, but out of respect for the aging grande dame, Rozalyn bit her
tongue and swallowed the caustic rejoinder that ached to fly free.

  She had had her fill of scheming fortune hunters like Jeffrey Corday. It was easy to spot a man who was courting her solely for the DuBois fortune. Indeed, Jeffrey had been so obvious the past month that Rozalyn had become cool and aloof when he approached her. She had hoped he would take the hint and pursue some other heiress, but Jeffrey had only pressured her for an answer to his marriage proposal. Since this mule-headed man had not responded to tact, Rozalyn had been forced to tell him exactly what she thought of him. She had vehemently protested his underhanded strategy of trying to snare a wealthy young woman who could afford his expensive tastes and his feather-weighted coin purse.

  Jeffrey Corday was a prime example of the kind of man Rozalyn detested. She had lost what was left of her patience with him that very morning, and their confrontation had left her smoldering. The nerve of the man, Rozalyn thought furiously. Did he honestly believe she could be swayed with humble apologies or deceptive excuses? Rozalyn was a great many things, many of which her grandmother did not approve, but she was no man's fool.

  Her overzealous suitor's first mistake lay in making a grab for Rozalyn when she was on horseback, after she had requested that he leave her be. His second blunder was his lack of ability to keep his seat when Rozalyn had retaliated. Her temper, already sorely put upon, had burst loose when Jeffrey had clutched at her clothing to keep his balance, and she had given him a forceful shove that toppled from his perch into the shrubs.

  He has fallen head over heels for me, Rozalyn mused with wicked amusement. But he has received his just reward.

  Jeffrey was up to his neck in debts, and he saw Rozalyn as his salvation, but her association with him had only given her another bitter taste of the hazards she faced in courting. There seemed to be not one man on God's green earth who could look her in the eye without seeing dollar signs.

  "Well, have you no encouraging news for your decrepit old grandmother?" Lenore queried impatiently.

  "Grand'mere, I hardly consider you in your dotage," Rozalyn chortled good-naturedly. "Inside the body you label as decrepit is an energetic young woman who will undoubtedly outlive us all."

  "No, my dear child, inside this body is a brittle bag of bones and a shriveling heart that aches to see you happily wed," Lenore contradicted.

  "I do wish just once you would greet me with something other than 'Where is the man of your dreams and why haven't you married him yet?'" Rozalyn grumbled, her tone harsher than she'd intended. The morning had not gone well and Lenore's badgering was not improving her disposition.

  "Someone has to remind you that you are sorely in need of a husband," Lenore countered. Wagging a thin finger in Rozalyn's unconcerned face she continued. "If your mother and grandfather were alive they would be appalled by your impulsive shenanigans and your stubborn refusal to take a husband. You are twenty years old, for God's sake! You need a man to care for you, one who will look after you. Your father is too busy counting his money to see to your future, so I am left with no choice but to intervene."

  With great difficulty, Rozalyn dragged in the trailing reins of her temper. Lenore never had kind words for her son-in-law; Aubrey DuBois had barely met with Lenore's approval while Jacqueline was alive. After his wife's death, he had completely devoted himself to his work, having no regard for anyone but himself. His obsession for making money preoccupied him, and Lenore considered it disgraceful, that he ignored his daughter after his wife's death.

  Aubrey freely admitted his penchant for making a fortune in furs by selling them to the trading companies in New York. He had never taken time for anything else, not even for his wife. Nonetheless, Lenore constantly belittled Aubrey for neglecting his daughter, who was sorely in need of guidance.

  Rozalyn had been hurt by her father's disinterest, but she had come to realize there was no changing him. Now she amused herself while Aubrey spent every waking hour at his warehouse on the waterfront, conversing with the trappers, river men, ex-soldiers, and drifters who swarmed in the taverns and grogshops. He employed these rowdy adventurers to trap beaver and mink, and he encouraged his employees to trade with the Indians in exchange for the valuable furs that brought high prices in the East. His only goal in life was to monopolize the fur trade west of the Mississippi. Rozalyn had no doubt that her father had already accomplished his aim, for he set his own prices and virtually controlled the fur business.

  Each summer Aubrey led a caravan, heaped with merchandise, to the rendezvous at the foot of the Rockies. He bought pelts from trappers and sold them necessary supplies for the following year. DuBois also enlisted ex-soldiers to construct trading forts in the wilds in order to promote trade with the Indians. It seemed to Rozalyn that her father had sewn up every facet of fur trading and that he reigned supreme, thwarting all competition that sought to cut into his vast profits.

  Aubrey was known as the king of fur trade, but he could not relax and enjoy his prestigious position. Something drove him, some ambition that Rozalyn had never quite understood. But she had been forced to accept his obsession, along with the depressing fact that he had no love to offer anyone, not even his only child.

  "Father is a very busy man," Rozalyn said defensively. "And I am quite capable of fending for myself. I have learned to adjust to the situation and I have no complaints about my life," she added with a careless shrug.

  "Of course you don't!" Lenore railed. Then she wheezed, unable to catch her breath after her over-zealous outburst.

  Damn that Aubrey. He's never cared a fig for his wife or his child, Lenore thought bitterly. It seemed he had felt it necessary to take a wife and produce an heir, but his family meant no more to him that the rest of his possessions.

  "You have been left to run wild and your father has conveniently forgotten that he has a daughter. He was married to his business long before he wed Jacqueline, and he shut both of you out of his life. I firmly believe Jacqueline died of a broken heart, rather than from the grippe, but I will not be satisfied until you find a husband and begin to lead a life of your own."

  Lenore's overheated rebuttal seemed to drain her failing strength, and she collapsed in her chair, exhausted and out of breath. Rozalyn peered at the grade dame with growing concern. It was obvious the dowager was ailing since she had taken to her wheelchair the previous month, claiming she no longer trusted her wobbly legs to support her, and her health had deteriorated drastically the past few weeks. Her face had become chalky and her shoulders drooped noticeably. It was apparent that Lenore's health was escaping her; she seemed to grow steadily worse with each passing day. The old woman was prone to violent coughing spasms, and her strength failed her when she exerted herself to give boisterous lectures. Although Rozalyn considered Lenore to be overdramatic at times, certainly the dowager had enjoyed better days.

  Rueful gray eyes lifted and focused on the shapely maiden who was poised in her velvet riding habit. "Do you wish me to rest in peace when the heavenly chariot comes for me, child?" Lenore inquired in raspy spurts. "Answer my only prayer, Rozalyn. Find a man who can fill the emptiness in your life, the emptiness you disguise by gallivanting all over town in those outlandish breeches. You scare the wits out of good citizens when you thunder down the streets on that barely manageable stallion you insist upon exercising in the most unlikely places," Lenore drew a shuddering breath and then plunged on before she lost her raspy voice. "And for heaven's sake, stop cavorting with the undesirables who swarm the streets."

  When Rozalyn compressed her lips to prevent a guilty smile from blossoming on her lips, Lenore mellowed slightly. It was difficult to remain angry with this lovely sprite, and Lenore found herself basking in the warmth of her granddaughter's impish grin. "This city is thick with kidnappers and thieves, Rozalyn, I do wish you would be more careful of the company you keep. One day you might find yourself held for ransom by those who live a hand-to-mouth existence. The riffraff you dare to call friend could easily turn on you."

&n
bsp; Suddenly the beldame's wrinkled face assumed a strange, pained expression, and she seemed to have great difficulty drawing a breath. Rozalyn fell to her knees and clasped her grandmother's hand in her own, becoming more concerned by the minute. Could it be that Lenore's condition was far worse than Rozalyn had allowed herself to believe? How could she deny the dowager her dying request when it seemed to mean so much to her? She would never forgive herself if she were the cause of Lenore's distress. The beldame of Rabelais was one of the few who fussed over her, and Rozalyn dearly loved the old woman, despite her tendency to harp on the same annoying subject.

  "Does it mean so much to you to see me happily wed?" RozaSyn reached up to smooth silver strands of hair back into place; they had tumbled loose during Lenore's violent coughing spasm.

  "It means everything to me, child," Lenore breathed hoarsely. Then she gave her granddaughter's hand a weak but loving squeeze. "You are all I have left in this world. My last wish is to see you wed to a man you respect and admire, one who will not cast you aside for the sake of his fortune, one who will shower you with love. You have been so long deprived of true affection."

  Rozalyn noted the sentimental mist that clouded Lenore's eyes, and she could not bring herself to disappoint her grand'mere, not in the woman's weakened condition. Indeed, she would have promised Lenore the world if she'd thought that would boost her failing spirits. Lenore had lost her husband and her daughter, and her son-in-law had been no comfort to her in her declining years. The beldame fussed over Rozalyn to fill her lonely days, insisting that her granddaughter behave like a proper lady, and she chastised Rozalyn each time a talebearer came to the door to tattle about her lively granddaughter's latest prank. Although she gave lectures aplenty, the grade dame also showered Rozalyn with love, the only affection she had known since her mother had died nine years earlier.