by Brenda Joyce
“Grace,” he said, his tone no longer light but husky. “You’re beautiful.”
She knew it wasn’t true. It was on the tip of her tongue to protest. Instead, she said nothing, held enthralled by the magnetism of the man before her.
“More champagne?”
“No, thank you,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “I’m feeling a little euphoric as it is.”
“Euphoric?” He chuckled. “I love the way you use words, Grace. I also like seeing you so relaxed.” His gaze slid casually over her.
It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to. Not just their easy conversation and camaraderie, but to the fact that she was sitting in a very improper manner—she was slouching! Had she been slouching all afternoon? She sat abruptly upright, shocked. She darted a glance around the room, but no one was paying them any mind. “Oh, dear!”
He took her shoulders in his hands and pushed her back against the chair. “Relax. Today is for you, Grace—solely for you. For your pleasure. No one here cares that your spine isn’t straight. Doesn’t it feel good?”
She hesitated. “Yes,” she admitted. “It does feel good. To be like this, with no cares. But Rathe, this isn’t real. The life we left in Natchez is real.”
“Oh no, Gracie,” he said softly. “This is just as real, and just as important. Crusading is fine. But so are idle afternoons, and that’s something you have to learn.”
She blinked at him, thought of arguing, then decided against it. Not only was she feeling too fine, but maybe, just maybe, he had a point.
He was studying the tablecloth, his face downturned, his long fingers stroking the linen. Grace looked at his thick, gold hair and had the insane urge to touch it. She stared at his hands, at his strong fingers, moving so lightly now, toying with a spoon. She knew the strength he harbored in those hands—and the gentleness. She found herself wishing he would cover her palm with his again.
“Grace,” Rathe said, raising his gaze to hers. The intensity of his tone commanded her full attention. “You do things to me.”
She stared, perplexed.
He leaned forward. “My life hasn’t been the same, not for a moment, since I met you.”
Every fiber of her being tensed, and at the same time, her heart was beating with sudden joy.
“Do you realize that?” It was a demand. “Do you realize I finished my business in Natchez last week? Do you know why I’ve stayed?”
She was wide-eyed. “You can’t mean…” She couldn’t even say it. He was being the charmer again; nonetheless something inside her was full with yearning.
“Yes, I’ve stayed because of you.”
Her hand touched her heart.
“I can’t sleep at night, my thoughts are so full of you.”
She managed to recover. “You can’t sleep at night because of your various paramours.”
Despite himself, he grinned, then sobered and reached out, touching one thumb to her cheek. “There’s been no one since I met you.”
Grace knew her disbelief was written all over her face.
“I mean it,” he said urgently. “I want you, Grace. I want to hold you and take care of you, day after day and night after night. I want to clothe you in the finest silks and satins and the most beautiful jewels. I want to provide for you, protect you. I want to take you with me, to New Orleans, to New York, to Paris.” He smiled. “I want to lose myself in loving you.”
Grace’s heart was lifting uncontrollably against her breast. She could not believe that this gorgeous man was proposing to her. “You want to marry me?” she heard herself ask incredulously.
For a faint instant, his eyes went wide. “Darlin’,” he said huskily, his balance instantly recovered, “I’m not ready for marriage, not yet. But I’m mad for you, completely mad for you. Let me take care of you. I want to take care of you.”
Confusion had risen tumultuously, only to suddenly be replaced by stunned insight. “You don’t mean…”
“I’ll make you so very happy, I promise,” Rathe said, cupping her face. “Look at today, how good it was. As my mistress, you won’t lack for anything, not ever. And you’ll also have my protection, a man’s protection, which is even more important. Grace, you won’t be sorry.”
Grace found she was clutching the edge of the table for support. She wished she hadn’t drunk the champagne, which she wasn’t used to. It was dulling her reflexes, making it difficult for her to react.
He leaned forward, still cupping her face, his eyes brilliantly blue. “Say yes,” he said hoarsely.
Despite the anger—and disappointment—unfolding within her, there was also a tightening in the deepest pit of her belly. He pulled back to regard her searchingly. Grace’s hand closed around her water glass. “You bastard,” she hissed, tears filling her eyes. “How dare you! I would never be your mistress!” And then she flung the contents of the glass right into his face.
Chapter 11
Grace ran out onto the deck, almost falling on the stairs in her haste. She was suddenly very sober. She was also spitting mad and completely upset. Instinct made her glance over her shoulder—to see Rathe leaping down the stairs and coming after her with pure determination. Instead of continuing her flight, Grace stopped short, whirling, fists clenched, ready to do battle.
“I do not think,” Rathe said, his voice tight, “that there was any cause to throw the water in my face!”
Her brows shot up. “No? You insulted me! You made me the most indecent offer! I have never been so outraged in my life!”
Somehow, Rathe doubted that. “I insulted you?” He was incredulous. “To the contrary.”
They glared, their eyes blue and violet fires, flaming inches from each other, so close their noses almost touched.
“It’s not an insult when a man wants a woman, Grace, especially when he wants her the way I want you.”
“I am not flattered,” she snapped.
“Should I be a hypocrite and deny my feelings? Pretend to you, and even to myself, that they don’t exist? That’s not my way, Grace.”
“And your way,” she said glacially, “is not my way, Mr. Bragg!”
His face went dark. “Do you think I make that kind of offer every day? Well, let me set you straight! I’ve never kept a mistress before,” Rathe informed her tersely. “I meant my offer as a compliment, Gracie.”
“A compliment?” She could not believe her ears. “You, Mr. Bragg, are the most antiquated specimen of the philandering male sex I have ever had the misfortune to come across!”
His jaw clenched. “Just tell me something, Grace. I know you need money. I can give you all you need. It would be my pleasure. And believe me, you would find pleasure in our relationship, too. I can make you happy, Grace.”
“You?” She wished she could laugh in his face, but she was too distraught. “You are entertaining some grand illusions if you think a man like yourself could ever make me happy!”
“I see.” Rathe gritted his teeth, his eyes gleaming coldly. “You have no trouble showering Allen with your kisses. Do you love him?” he demanded. “Are you going to marry him?”
She blinked. “I do not shower Allen with anything.”
“Don’t lie to me, I’ve seen the two of you together.”
She stared, speechless.
“Grace, I know you’re no fool. You haven’t even bothered to think about this. There are other benefits to such an arrangement besides money.”
“Other benefits!”
“Such as protection,” he said stubbornly. “You need me, Grace. Today proved it.”
“All today has proved is that you are one callous, arrogant, bigoted male, ruled by your basest needs!”
Rathe inhaled. “That wasn’t very nice, Grace. Was I ruled by my baser instincts this afternoon? I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me? By getting me into your bed? Hah!”
He grabbed her chin. His eyes were cold. “I haven’t called you names, Grace. But maybe I shoul
d.”
She shrugged free. “Go right ahead,” she said, but something inside her tightened with dread. She knew what he would say. Prude, shrew, spinster. The words she hated most.
Rathe opened his mouth, then closed it. “I could awaken the passion in you, Grace.”
She actually felt relief that he hadn’t used those detestable words. “I do not intend to give you a chance.”
“Are you going to give Allen a chance?”
“That,” she retorted, “is none of your affair!”
“I’m making it my affair. If I hadn’t made you my affair today, Grace, you would have been raped. You think about that!”
“I have. And I think that’s a gross exaggeration.”
“And that is why you need me,” Rathe said grimly. “That attitude of yours is going to get you killed!”
“I will take my chances.”
“I think, Grace,” Rathe said slowly, deliberately, “that you’re afraid of me.”
She froze.
“I think you’re afraid of me because I am everything your dear Allen is not.”
She clenched her fists, hard.
“I think you’re afraid of me because you want me.”
She was so furious she could barely think. “I care for Allen because he is everything you’re not!”
“That is your mind speaking,” Rathe said, “not your heart.”
“I could never want someone like you!”
“Liar.”
“No.” Tears came into her eyes. “You’re the liar! This evening was a lie! Nothing but a lie—it was all leading up to this!” She lifted her skirt, and began running down the deck.
For a moment Rathe stood and watched her, his expression agonized, and then he turned to the railing. With his fist he hit it, relishing the pain. Then he went after her. He had to.
She was at the stern, staring blindly at the paddlewheel, ignoring the spray of water that touched her face and neck and arms. His heart tightened at the sight of her tears. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but knew with certainty that she would not let him. He went to the railing beside her, standing half a dozen paces away. He too watched the river. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
She sniffed.
He handed her a handkerchief, but she wouldn’t take it. “This evening was not a lie, Grace.”
“Yes it was,” she said, not looking at him.
“It was not a lie,” he repeated firmly. “I wanted you to have fun. Such a little, simple word: fun. And you had fun. You can’t tell me you didn’t.”
She brushed away a tear and gave him a quick glance. “You were trying to make me relaxed enough so that I would accept your scandalous proposition.”
Rathe had to smile. “If I hadn’t asked you to be my mistress today, I would have asked you tomorrow, or last night.” His tone softened. “I wanted us to share this day, to enjoy it together. Don’t take away what we’ve already had.”
She clutched the rail and looked at the banks of the river, thick with swamp and cypress. “It was a nice day,” she admitted.
“There will be more nice days for us, Grace.”
“No.”
“Why not? We had fun together.”
“Because it isn’t right.”
He came closer. “No? Why? Because I’m honest? Because I’ve told you I want you? Now you know the truth. I said I was sorry, Grace, and I am—for upsetting you. But not for asking you to become my mistress. I’ll ask you that again and again.”
“And I’ll say no again and again.”
He smiled slightly. “I have incredible patience.”
She looked at him, and wished her anger hadn’t evaporated. He smiled and touched her chin. “Your face is stained,” he said, wiping the tears gently away. “The one thing I never want to do, Grace,” he said, very seriously, “is make you cry.”
She looked at him. “Then try to understand who I am,” she said.
“Gladly,” he replied.
He gazed at her as she slept.
The instant they had entered the carriage after they’d left the Mississippi Queen, Rathe had watched, amused, as Grace took the seat across from him. He had patted the spot next to him. “No?” he had asked hopefully.
She smiled at his tone. “This is quite fine, thank you.” Moments later, she was asleep.
Her nose and cheeks were pink from the sun, even though they had spent most of the late afternoon indoors. Her head was on the back of the seat, where it joined with the side of the carriage. It looked distinctly uncomfortable. The carriage hit a rut in the road, and Grace shifted without awakening. Rathe began removing his jacket.
He rolled it into a pillow of sorts, then knelt in front of her, lifting her head with his big hands. Her eyes fluttered open. She started to protest. “Shh,” he murmured, slipping the garment beneath her neck. “Better?” He smiled.
She smiled back sleepily and closed her eyes.
She had rejected him. He supposed he should have expected it. But, as he had said, he was patient, or he would force himself to be so, at least where she was concerned; and he had every intention of waiting for the one word he wanted to hear from her. But how best to convince her to accept his proposition? So far logic hadn’t worked. There was always seduction.
He started to feel guilty. Rathe knew he should forget about her. He knew he was being a cad. Grace was right—he was selfish, ruthless. Yes, she needed his protection and she needed his money, but she was an aging, very proper spinster, and he should leave her alone. The problem was, he couldn’t. In fact, he wanted her now more than ever.
He could never leave Natchez now, not as long as Grace was here. Until she gave in, he decided he had better keep a very close eye on her. He thought about the close call she’d had this afternoon and shuddered. He thought about what she’d said about the sheriff. More trouble was coming, he could feel it. Ford was a bastard, and an evil one at that. But if Grace tried to change things, she was going to wind up seriously hurt, if not dead. Ford was not a man to take lightly. It was one thing to organize the ladies into a Christian Temperance Union; it was another to try and turn the town upside down by stirring everyone up and taking on the sheriff.
He thought about the way she had smiled at him this afternoon, not once, but many times. A riverboat ride—such a simple thing. You’re going to loosen up, Gracie, he thought warmly, and I’m going to be the one to teach you how to enjoy life and yourself.
Grace was such an enigma. She didn’t act like any woman he had ever known. He was fascinated.
The carriage hit another rut and Grace moaned softly in her sleep, shifting again, the bundle that was his jacket slipping from beneath her. Her head was tilted at what had to be an uncomfortable angle, yet still she slept, exhausted from her long day of job-hunting, the events of the afternoon, and the champagne.
Rathe suddenly moved to the seat beside her, replacing the ledge of the backrest and window with his own body. Grace blinked once. “Go back to sleep,” he crooned, one of his arms around her and his fingers stroking her shoulder. He gently pushed her head to his chest. She snuggled against him, sleepily seeking the best position, and then her head was on his lap and she was curled up on the seat. Rathe adjusted her shawl more securely around her shoulders, his thumb moving across her temple. There was no doubt about it. This woman moved him in a way no other ever had.
She slept for the entire trip. There was no way Rathe himself could sleep, not with Grace warm and soft against him, making him hard and hot, making him want her, making him fantasize about what the first time would be like. He tried to think other thoughts, gazing out the window, but it was impossible.
They approached Natchez after midnight. Rathe shook Grace gently. “Wake, up, sweetheart. We’re almost home.”
She blinked, sitting up groggily. Rathe smiled at her. He still had his arm around her. As sleep left her, she realized how they were sitting. She drew back, away from him, to the other side of the seat. “Have I been sleeping on
your lap?” she gasped.
“I make a very comfortable pillow.”
She went red. She turned to stare out her window, into the purple starlit night. “Good heavens!”
“You were very tired and the road is very bad. I was afraid you’d get a stiff neck, the way you were contorted.”
She looked at him. It was dark in the carriage, with only one lantern casting dim illumination. Dark and intimate. She had just spent several hours sleeping with her head in a man’s lap. Grace didn’t know what to think. And now, now it was worse, for she was awake, and the distance between them was so small she could smell his masculine scent. He was no longer touching her, but she could almost feel him. She realized her heart was racing madly. And he was staring at her.
She glanced out the window, clearing her throat. “Today was very nice, thank you.”
He didn’t answer.
She wrapped her shawl more firmly around herself, suddenly very grateful that she had been asleep for the past few hours. How else would she have survived the trip back to Natchez? She didn’t dare look at him, but she knew he was still staring at her. “I wonder where the Mississippi Queen is now,” she said, unable to think of a single intelligent thing to say. She knew she sounded foolish. But why didn’t he respond?
“How far are we from Natchez?” She dared a glance at him. His blue eyes were so intense. He was golden and gorgeous in the lantern’s soft light. She swallowed and looked away.
“A few miles,” he said, his tone lazy and languid and distinctly sensual. Suddenly she felt short of breath.
“A few miles,” she echoed. “I can’t believe I slept the entire way! How long did I sleep?” She turned her head to look at him.
It was a mistake. The way he was gazing at her made her heart stop. His beautiful mouth was parted, and he touched his middle finger to her cheek. The lightest of touches—but Grace trembled.
A sound escaped him, a sound of need, a hoarse groan.
Grace found herself in his arms.
For one instant, with his arms around her, he looked into her eyes with blazing intensity. Then he pulled her against him, against his hard, warm body, his mouth seeking hers. In that first instant, Grace put her hands against his chest and turned her face away.
