Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  "Efficient as ever, I see," he remarked.

  "I thought we'd want to get an early start back."

  "Right. I'm starved. I imagine you are, too. We never got around to having dinner last night."

  That was the only reference he made to what had happened. It was something both of us accepted, and we were not going to discuss it. His manner was rather brusque and matter-of-fact. The coldness was gone, but there would be no warmth, no intimacy. Things would be as before. He was not going to allow any sort of familiarity, was not going to admit to himself that our relationship had altered in any significant way. I knew that I would have to settle for that until he was ready to face the truth about his feeling for me.

  After breakfast, after both of us had packed, I returnedto the kitchen and arranged to have a lunch made up for us. An hour later we were traveling back to Shadow Oaks, Charles Town well behind us. Derek was immersed in thought, but the silence between us was a comfortable one. I felt I could have spoken to him without the least hesitation. I was content to sit close beside him, lost in a daydream. The horses clopped along at a steady, unhurried pace, the wagon creaking and joggling.

  "Was your business successful?" I inquired, much later.

  "Satisfactory," he replied.

  "It had nothing to do with Shadow Oaks, did it?"

  "No, Marietta, it didn't. I went to see a lawyer."

  "I didn't mean to pry. It's just that I know so little about you."

  "The lawyer in Charles Town corresponds with another lawyer, in London. The man in Charles Town keeps me informed on the progress the man in London is making."

  "A London lawyer? You're involved in a court battle?"

  "Very much so. By rights I should be Lord Derek Hawke. I should possess an Elizabethan manor house, several thousand acres in Nottinghamshire and three dozen tenant farms. I was cheated out of it by an uncle who, with his sons, is currently living in the house, drawing all the revenues."

  "I see."

  "Hawkehouse belonged to my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and so on back to the days of Good Queen Bess. Lord Robert Hawke was one of her favorite courtiers. She gave him the house and lands as a token of her esteem. By the law of primogeniture, it should belong to me, the only son of Lord Stephen Hawke."

  "I know all about the law of primogeniture," I said, remembering my cousin, remembering the way he had turned me out of Stanton Hall. "Do you want to tell me your story, Derek?"

  "I see no reason why you shouldn't know. My father was an avid traveler in his youth and early middle age. He was something of a rakehell, a devil with the ladies. There were a great many ladies and quite a number of illegitimate children but, until he met my mother, no wife. He met her in a small town in Germany. It was famous for its mineral wells. He was into his forties then and already suffering from gout. She was there with a Prussian officer. She was English, blond, bewitching and quite notorious in certain circles. My father was enchanted with her and, shrewdly, she refused to sleep with him unless he married her. He wasn't at all taken with the idea, but he finally gave in—"

  Derek paused, tightening his hold on the reins. When he continued, I detected a certain harsh undercurrent in his voice.

  "They were married there in Germany, with only an eccentric and rheumatic old English duchess as witness. My mother returned to Hawkehouse with him, his legal wife, but relatives, neighbors, and friends of my father weren't prepared to accept her as such. They treated her as if she were a flashy mistress he had installed. She was not accepted. She couldn't have cared less. She had all the luxuries she had always dreamed of, a husband who doted on her. That was enough, at least for a while. I was born a year or so later. For some inexplicable reason, I was never christened, although my birth was duly recorded in the registry office."

  "You grew up in Hawkehouse?" I inquired.

  "I lived there until I was seven years old. Then one night my mother came into my room and told me to dress while she packed a few things for me. We stole out of the house in the middle of the night. A carriage was waiting for us at the end of the lane. A very handsome young man was inside. He and my mother laughed as the carriage drove away. We went to France and then to Italy, and the young man deserted her and she found another man in Rome, a bit older, a bit more dissolute. Two years passed, and I had several more 'stepfathers' before we finally returned to England. My mother took me to a bleak brown school and left me there. I never saw her again. She drowned in a yacht that overturned during a storm in the Mediterranean a few months later."

  "How dreadful for you. What happened then?"

  "I stayed in the school. She had been kind enough to inform my father of my whereabouts. He sent funds, but he never came to visit me. When I left school, he arranged further education at Oxford, where I did quite well. When I left Oxford, he arranged a commission for me in the army. I was sent to the East. Near the end of my term of service, I learned of his death. But when I was finally able to return to England, I found that I had been declared illegitimate. My uncle and his family were firmly entrenched in Nottinghamshire. He claimed he was the rightful heir, and, as no record could be found of my father's marriage, the court agreed."

  "You must have been very bitter."

  "Not bitter. Determined. I contacted a very famous lawyer who had once given a speech at Oxford. He was interested in my case and agreed to take it, although he warned me it would be very expensive and might well take years. I had very little money, and I knew I could hope to earn very little in England, being legally declared a bastard. I went to London and visited a few of the gambling halls. I won quite a lot of money, enough to pay my fare to America where, I had heard, a man could make his fortune in cotton. I had enough left over to buy Shadow Oaks. I was foolish enough to marry, but we won't go into that."

  The wagon bounced as one of the wheels passed over a rock and I caught hold of his arm to steady myself. Trees cast long shadows across the road. The sunlight was even thinner, the sky a darker gray.

  "My lawyer finally found proof of the marriage," Derek continued, "but the documents were declared a forgery. My uncle has a very shrewd set of men working for him. They've had the case thrown out of court repeatedly, but my lawyer hasn't given up, nor have I. I'll win. It may take another ten years and all I can earn during those years, but I'll win."

  "It means so much?"

  The question was a foolish one. I had been unwise to ask it. Derek fell silent, his mouth tightened, and I could see that he regretted having revealed as much as he had. We continued on down the road, rarely encountering another vehicle either coming or going. Hours had passed since we'd left Charles Town. I was beginning to grow hungry, but I wasn't going to be the one to suggest we stop for lunch. I sat silently, swaying with the wagon, savoring his nearness, staring at the long brown road that stretched ahead. The road was lined with beautiful oaks dripping with moss. There was a light breeze, and the moss swayed back and forth like shreds of ancient lace.

  I understood now where all the money had gone, why Shadow Oaks was so shabby, and why he had so few slaves. The case had been a steady drain on his income, but he was convinced that the eventual rewards would compensate for all that. He was a man with a purpose, and I understood what drove him to work so strenuously alongside his slaves, what had shaped him into the grim, sober, embittered man he was today. His uncle's treachery and the disastrous marriage that had followed soon after had left deep wounds. I longed to tend them, but the balm I could offer was the very thing Derek feared most. He had been vulnerable once before. He did not intend to let his guard down again. I hoped that with my new knowledge I might eventually sway his resolution, and, for now, that hope would have to sustain me.

  Derek eventually pulled the wagon over to the side of the road, and we ate the lunch the cook and I had packed. He was still moody and uncommunicative. After we finished eating, I packed away the things and got up to put the basket back in the wagon. Derek was sitting with his back against the
trunk of a tree, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. I could feel him watching me as I moved toward the wagon. A gust of wind caused my skirts to billow. Tree limbs swayed with a groaning noise. Leaves rustled crisply. It was much cooler than usual; the sultry heat and humidity had lifted.

  Derek climbed slowly to his feet and brushed bits of twig from the seat of his breeches. After the meal and short rest, he seemed more relaxed, the tension gone.

  "I think I struck a good bargain," he remarked.

  "In Charles Town?"

  "At the settlement—several months ago. I damn near bankrupted myself in order to buy you, but—I'm beginning to think it was money well invested."

  "Indeed?" My voice was light.

  "I felt guilty for a long time, wiping my bank account out like that for a red-haired wench who'd never be able to split wood or work out in the fields. It was an insane thing to do. I regretted it."

  "And now?"

  "And now I think maybe I got a good buy."

  He sauntered over to me and rested his forearms on my shoulders, looking into my eyes with a thoughtful expression. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

  "I've needed a woman," he said. "I was a fool to wait so long. A man has needs."

  "I know."

  He looked into my eyes, and his lips parted. He ran the tip of his tongue around them, and then he kissed me, casually, without passion or any real tenderness. He was merely savoring his property, appreciating me as he might appreciate a fine Havana cigar he was rolling between his fingers. He wrapped an arm around my waist and, holding me in a loose grip, glanced over my shoulder at the wagon, as though debating whether or not there was time to savor me more fully.

  "We got a late start," he remarked. "We'd better be on our way."

  "I suppose so."

  "There'll be plenty of time later."

  We both knew what he meant. I belonged to him, and in the future I would perform more intimate services, whenever he was so inclined. I would cook and mend his clothes and clean his house and, when he was swollen with need, assuage that need, without question, without discussion. He would welcome no show of affection, would harshly rebuff it. I was his wench, to be used at his convenience. Derek Hawke would not admit to himself that I was anything more.

  He let go of me and moved toward the wagon, throwing his shoulders back and stretching his arms out, a satisfied man, muscles relaxed after the gratifying release of months of sexual tension. He climbed up on the seat and gathered the reins in his hand. I climbed up beside him, trying to resign myself to his attitude, telling myself I could only wait and hope he would eventually recognize the feelings he had expressed this morning with such tenderness.

  The horses swung back onto the road. The wagon rocked. We were soon moving down the road at a steady pace. Derek was still relaxed, very much at ease with himself and the world.

  "Yeah," he said lazily, "I think maybe I got a bargain."

  "Did you really almost bankrupt yourself?"

  "Almost. I never intended to spend that much. I'd just transferred a large sum to my lawyer's account in London. There wasn't much left over. No worry, though. The crop will replenish the coffers. If it weren't for that, I'd be in pretty bad shape."

  I glanced at the sky apprehensively. It was solid gray and there was an ominous stillness. What if it rained? What if something happened to the crop? I couldn't help feeling a certain apprehension, but Derek knew far more about Carolina weather than I did, and he didn't seem in the least concerned. Still, I found myself wishing the cotton had already been picked. Adam had been concerned about it, I recalled, and the other planters had already picked theirs. The fields we passed were stripped of the plump white balls, only the stalks remaining.

  "Tell me about yourself," he said.

  "What would you have me tell you?"

  "Everything. How you came to speak with that educated accent, how you came to end up in shackles on a prison ship."

  "I told you once," I reminded him. "We were on our way to Shadow Oaks after you'd bought me, and—"

  "Tell me again. Start at the beginning."

  So I told him about my life, about my mother, her death, my father and the education he had given me. I told him about being thrown out of Stanton Hall after my father's death, realizing that my story was quite similar to his own, although in my case there could be no question of my illegitimacy. As the horses cantered along, chestnut coats gleaming, as the wagon rocked and creaked, I told him about my job at Montagu Square, about Lord Mallory and the emeralds he had planted and everything that followed until my arrival in America, omitting nothing from the narrative except the relationship I had had with Jack Reed on board ship. I had enough sense to leave that out.

  "An interesting tale," Derek said when I had finished.

  "You don't believe me, do you?"

  "I'm sure much of it is true."

  "You think I—"

  "Does it matter what I think, Marietta?"

  "Not at all," I said crisply.

  "The only thing that matters is that you're my property now. You'll be provided for, protected, fed, clothed—"

  "And you think that should satisfy me? You think I should be—"

  "I think you should be grateful," he interrupted. "You could have been dealt a much worse fate, I assure you. Rawlins could have bought you. You've had it easy these past months."

  "I've been a slave."

  "And I've been a damn good master. I could have beaten you, abused you. I could have raped you that first night."

  "You could have, yes."

  "You've very little to complain about, Marietta."

  "I'm a human being. Human beings have—"

  "This conversation is beginning to bore me," he said, cutting me short. There was an edge of irritation in his voice. "I don't have to justify myself to you. I paid good money for you, a hell of a lot more than I could afford, and you're damned lucky it was me instead of Rawlins."

  "You want me to thank you?"

  "I want you to shut up!" he said tersely.

  I bit back the sharp retort that sprang to mind and lapsed into silence, humiliated and seething with anger. Derek's irritation soon vanished and he seemed as relaxed as ever, but my own anger didn't abate one jot. At that moment, I wished Jeff Rawlins had bought me. I wished I had never heard of Derek Hawke of Shadow Oaks. For a short time I actively hated him, and then, when that passed, I thought how much easier it would be if I could hate him. I... I could escape, I told myself. I could run away to a big city like Charles Town. I would be free to manage my own life, decide my own fate.

  As the wagon bumped down the road, I was lost in revery, stepping into a fantasy world where I was free and affluent, dressed in beautiful gowns, surrounded by handsome men who vied for my attention. Derek would see me and want me, and I would smile at him and then go off on the arm of his rival, disdaining him, leaving him angry and frustrated, sorry he never appreciated me when he had the chance. He would come back again and again, and each time I would reject him. When he was utterly miserable, I would finally condescend to spend an evening with him, and he would...

  The loud rumble startled me, causing my dream world to shatter abruptly. I looked up in alarm. Derek was tense, his facial muscles tight.

  "What—what was that?" I stammered.

  "Thunder."

  "Thunder? You mean it's going to—"

  "It's going to rain!"

  He clicked the reins, urging the horses to go faster. The sky was an even darker gray now, tinged with a deep purple. Ponderous black clouds moved across the sky. There was another rumble of thunder. Derek flicked the reins again, spurring the horses on, and soon they were rushing down the road at a mad gallop, hooves pounding, tails and manes flying like skeins of silk. The wagon bounced and swayed, swerving from side to side as our speed increased. I clutched the edge of the seat, afraid

  I would be thrown off. Derek leaned forward, half standing, c
lutching the reins tightly. His whole body was tense, and he was perspiring freely even though it was almost cold now.

  Trees seemed to fly past us, dancing dark green forms that blurred together, the road a rapidly unwinding brown ribbon that seemed to propel us forward. A strong wind blew up, tearing at my hair and causing my skirts to flutter up wildly. There was a sudden silver flash as a streak of lightning ripped across the sky. I was terrified, but the terror was minor compared to the wrenching realization of what the storm would mean to Derek. The crop would be destroyed. He would be in desperate financial straits. As tree limbs waved like agitated demons and the horses flew down the road and the wagon bounced savagely, I prayed the rain wouldn't come.

  The wheels whirled over a particularly deep rut in the road. The wagon seemed to jump in the air. Losing my grip on the seat, I cried out as I was thrown forward. Derek slung an arm around my shoulder and pulled me back, holding me in a tight grip. The muscles in his arm tightened brutally, but I was hardly aware of the pain. There was another streak of lightning and a distant explosion, and then it began to rain, furiously. Both of us were drenched immediately. Derek shouted to the horses, urging them to go even faster. Through the swirling gray sheets of rain I could see Maud Simmons's fields, stripped of cotton. We were almost home, but it was too late, too late. The brown ribbon of road was already a gleaming brown-black, turning to mud, mud and water splashing as horses and wagon hurtled forward.

  It seemed an eternity before we finally reached Shadow Oaks. Derek halted the horses under one of the oaks in back and leaped from the seat, racing towards the fields. I sat there for a moment, stunned, and then I climbed down and, somehow, managed to unharness the horses and lead them through the driving rain to the stables. Where were the slaves? Why wasn't there someone to help? As I turned to leave the stables I saw Cassie dash down the back steps and rash through the rain toward me. By the time she reached the stables her pink dress was plastered against her thickening body, her hair a sleek wet cap. The girl was terrified, trembling as I led her away from the door.