Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," he replied coolly. "But since you find my offer not to your taste, I assume that you will be willing to pay your debt to me, in gold, before the week is out."

  Melissa took a steadying breath, her hand itching to slap the smug expression from his arrogant features. Trying not very successfully to keep her temper under control, she said icily, "You know that what you request is impossible. There is no way I can raise that amount of money in such a short time."

  He raised a slender eyebrow. "Would you like me to give you an extension? I am a reasonable man, so shall we say by the first of July?"

  Aware that she was being baited, she lifted her chin and snapped, "You already know the answer to your question."

  "I'm afraid that I do, and if you do not have the money by then or are unwilling to take the alternative course I have offered you, then on that date I shall begin proceedings to have Willowglen sold under the gavel." Smiling mirthlessly, he added, "I always get my way, Melissa. One way or another... and if you would rather see your home sold out from under you"—he shrugged carelessly—"well, then, that is your choice."

  Hopeless rage churned in her breast as Melissa glared at him. Either one of the choices offered to her was unthinkable. She could not bear to consider what would happen to her and Zachary and the others if Latimer carried out his threat, but the other avenue open to her was equally unthinkable. Whatever liking she might have had for the elegant Mr. Latimer had vanished the instant he had made his despicable suggestion; the thought of becoming any man's mistress, let alone a man she despised, was repellent. Yet what could she do? The Manchesters could not give her the money, and a bank would not loan such a large amount to her. She laughed bitterly. Even if she could find a man willing to marry her in an instant, the trust could not be ended and dispersed in less than two weeks. Wild, impracticable schemes whirled dizzyingly in her brain as she sought some escape from the trap she saw closing in on her. There was only one way that she might be able to salvage the situation. Swallowing an acrid taste in her mouth, she said, "Folly is worth a handsome sum, although not as much as my father's voucher. I could give him to you as partial payment."

  "A horse? Partial payment, my dear?" Latimer drawled. Shaking his head, he said, "No, that won't do. And I think you overestimate the value of your horse. But that aside, the entire debt must be paid—either in gold or by you—and by the first of July."

  Melissa was almost relieved that he had turned down her desperate offer of Folly, and she wasn't at this moment certain which would be more terrible to contemplate—the loss of the horse which represented the only hope of keeping their home or the loss of her virtue. Despair filled her. What was she to do? In need of time in which to think, she asked reluctantly, "May I have some time to consider your offer?"

  Relaxing, Latimer smiled. "Of course, my child. I am not a heartless monster." His voice dropped and he muttered, "Lissa, I want you very badly and I would treat you well. Our time together would be only a few months... I would be discreet—no one need ever know of our arrangement." When she remained silent, her face turned away from him, he grew bolder, sidling closer to her. "There is a cottage, not a mile from here. I could secure it for us and you could meet me there... it would be for our secret rendezvous."

  Choking back the bile that rose in her throat, Melissa horrified herself by actually considering what he was saying. The greatest threat to her and Zachary's security would be gone, and since she didn't ever plan to marry anyway, what did it matter whether she remained a virgin or not?

  It was Latimer's touch upon her arm that brought her back to the present and with growing revulsion she stared at his slim, pale-fingered hand, imagining it upon her body. Violently, she threw his hand away. Driven by fear and anger, she snatched up a quirt that was lying nearby.

  "Get away from me!" she raged, striking him soundly on the shoulder. "You're vile, and I will not listen to your wicked proposition any longer!"

  He fell back in furious surprise, but he made no attempt to fight with her. Eyeing the quirt held ready in her hand, he said grimly, "I would be careful how you deal with me. I am not easily thwarted and I will give you allowances by being surprised by my offer, but strike me again..."A dangerous gleam in his cold blue eyes, he promised, "I can make you very sorry, Melissa. There are so many things that can go wrong... a fire... a lamed horse... a word here, a word there...."

  Melissa's face was white and she stared at him as if she had never seen him before. He was, she realized, utterly ruthless.

  There was an ugly silence and then Latimer said, "Think about what I've said, Melissa. You may have a week to come to a decision, but on the first of July, either I have the gold owed to me... or you become my mistress." He bowed politely, murmuring, "Good day, my dear. Pleasant dreams."

  Stunned and sick, Melissa watched him walk away, unable to believe the repulsive scene that had just passed. Weakly she sagged onto the stool on which she had been sitting only minutes before. Despairingly she dropped her head into her hands. Dear God! What was she to do?

  It was not her nature to allow others to rule her fate, but she seemed unable to think of any way in which she could avoid Latimer's plans for her... unless she was ready to sacrifice everything she and Zachary had worked for. So desperate was her situation that she seriously thought about what Latimer had offered, his comments drearily spinning in her brain.

  Perhaps it wouldn't be too terrible, she thought miserably. He had said it would be for only a few months... he would be discreet... no one would know.... She and Zachary would finally be free of the crushing burden of debt left to them by their father.

  Appalled at the nature of her reflections, Melissa shuddered and her mouth tightened. There must be some other way out of her dilemma!

  But by the end of the week, she discovered that if there was another solution, she hadn't found it.

  Swallowing her pride, she dressed in her best gown and rode into town to talk to the local banker. She could not reveal why she suddenly required such a large sum of money, and in view of the circumstances, it was not surprising when Mr. Smithfield, who had known her since birth, said kindly, "Melissa, you know that if I could help you, I certainly would. But what you ask is impossible. A small loan, yes, especially since you have been so diligent in paying off your father's debts. But the amount you ask for today is simply out of the question." He shook his head. "Even offering Willowglen as collateral would not be enough. If the plantation were productive..."

  "What about the horses?" she asked helplessly. "Folly is worth several thousand dollars by himself, and we have eight fine mares."

  "My dear, I know that you have great hopes for your horses, but I am in the banking business, not the horse-breeding business. While Folly and the others are a good investment, you simply do not have enough assets to support a loan of the size you request."

  Hiding her agitation, she bent forward across Mr. Smithfield's wide oak desk. "What about the trust? If I could prove that I intend to marry soon—could I have a loan against the trust?"

  Worried about the desperation he sensed lay just under the surface of her lovely face, Mr. Smithfield frowned. "Melissa, are you in serious trouble? I thought that the plantation and your horses were doing well for you and Zachary. Perhaps I could personally advance you a few thousand dollars."

  Melissa bit back a bitter laugh. Mr. Smithfield was a good man—he had been extremely understanding while she had struggled to bring Willowglen's finances into order. As her banker, he knew of the money owed Latimer and also how the Englishman had not previously demanded payment. Telling fat old Mr. Smithfield about Latimer's demands would accomplish nothing—except to create scandal on a large scale. He would be outraged at Mr. Latimer's suggestion, but he would still be unable to loan her the money. And if the solutions offered to her were known, she couldn't bear to think of the speculation that would come about when July came and went and Latimer had still not been paid.

  It wa
s an ugly situation, and with a slump to her slim shoulders, she left the banker's office. There was one other place to try, and with little hope of success, she guided her small black buggy down the red dirt road to Oak Hollow.

  Smiling bravely, she sat sipping a tall glass of lemonade in her uncle's study. Josh was pleased to see her, and she was conscious that much of his pleasure was in her changed appearance, his fond gaze lingering on her tawny hair curling gently around her face and on the fairly stylish cut of her sprigged muslin gown. She had laid aside the large straw bonnet with its wide green satin ribbons that she had worn to avoid the heat of the sun, and setting down her glass on the table where the hat lay, she began quietly. "I suppose you wonder why I am here."

  Josh smiled at her waggishly. "Come now, Lissa. Have we gone so far that you have to have a reason to visit us?"

  A small smile curving her soft mouth, she shook her head. But her smile faded the next moment and her beautiful eyes fixed beseechingly on his. She asked breathlessly, "Could you lend me twenty-five thousand dollars?"

  "Merciful heavens, Lissa, have you taken leave of your senses?" Josh bellowed, his air of joviality vanishing. "You know that I cannot lay my hands on that sort of money right now." Peevishly, he added, "If I could, do you think I would be badgering you to marry as I have these past months?"

  "No, I don't suppose you would... and... I didn't really think that you could help me, but I had to try."

  Josh stared at her closely, seeing the lines of strain that were about her eyes and the pinched look to her mouth that had not been there the last time he had seen her. Something was wrong. Gently, he asked, "Lissa, what is it, child? I know that we have argued considerably of late, but you must realize that I have only your best interests at heart and will do anything within my power to help you."

  For one long moment, Melissa actually thought of telling Josh everything, of throwing herself across his broad chest and sobbing out the terms of Latimer's despicable offer. But she could not. The words would hardly leave her mouth before Josh would be bellowing for Latimer's hide, and although she was certain that her uncle was a competent shot, she was equally certain that he would be no match for Latimer. Besides, she admitted tiredly, she couldn't take the chance. If Josh knew of Latimer's plans, then Royce would, too... and so would Zachary. The image of her young brother facing Latimer on the dueling field sent a shudder of fear through her. No. She dared not tell anyone.

  Hiding the terrors that beset her, she smiled warmly at Josh. "It is nothing, Uncle. I was just hoping that perhaps your own affairs were in better condition than my own and that you could forward me enough money to truly set up my stud farm."

  Josh was too familiar with Melissa to be entirely convinced by her statement, but Melissa could be beguiling when she wanted and she set out to put his mind at ease. She succeeded admirably, and a scant hour later, a beaming and affectionate Josh escorted her to her buggy. She was even able to flash him a smile and say teasingly, "I think I shall do as you say, Uncle, and catch me a rich, rich husband! I find I do not like being poor." She dimpled. "Especially when such a simple solution is at hand!"

  Gratified, Josh helped her into her seat, approval showing in his blue-eyed gaze. Watching as she picked up the reins, he asked, "What did you think of young Slade? I understand he rode over to Willowglen and talked to you about buying Folly."

  Glad that her uncle didn't know of the other time she had seen the infuriating Mr. Slade, Melissa replied, "He seemed precisely what you said—a rake and a bounder."

  "Eh?" Josh spluttered, dismayed. "Didn't like him?"

  "Not in the least!" Melissa said with a snap of her perfect white teeth.

  Wondering if he had overplayed his hand in blackening Dominic's character, Josh watched Melissa drive away, his mind already considering ways to rectify the situation. He'd have to be careful, he thought as he walked back into the house—couldn't, after warning her about Slade, start singing the fellow's praises to the skies.

  Josh was a single-minded man, and by now he was so intent upon having Melissa marry Dominic Slade that his personal reasons for desiring the marriage had slipped his mind. Melissa, he decided doggedly, needed to marry a man like Dominic Slade! Aside from the fact that Dominic was handsome, charming and wealthy, there was another compelling reason for the match as far as Josh was concerned—the chances of another eminently suitable suitor appearing so providently on their doorstep were few. A good businessman wouldn't waste this opportunity, and Josh was going to see to it that Melissa didn't either—whether she wanted to or not.

  Settling himself behind his desk, Josh reached for ink and paper. A letter to Royce wouldn't come amiss... and he could just ask, very casually, of course, when Royce intended to return and if Mr. Slade would be coming with him.

  Early the next morning a servant rode to Thousand Oaks with Josh's letter tucked in his saddlebags. But Josh's letter to Royce would not be the only one arriving at Thousand Oaks, Melissa, her desperation great, was writing to Dominic.

  It wasn't a decision that had come to her easily, and even as she stood at the long windows of the library at Willowglen the same afternoon composing the sentences in her mind, she doubted if this last frantic gamble would work. Time was running out, the first of July creeping closer and she was nowhere nearer to raising Latimer's money now than she had been the day he had first suggested she become his mistress.

  She had not slept well since the visit from Latimer, and whereas once she had been certain that she would never become his mistress, she now no longer believed that she could escape the trap he had set for her. It was obvious to her, in retrospect, that he had deliberately bided his time; that his overtures of friendship, the consideration in not pressing for payment, had been to lull her into a false feeling of security. It also, she thought with bitterness, had given him time to ascertain the situation at Willowglen.

  Even if Willowglen were sold, Melissa doubted that its sale would raise the amount owed to Latimer. Oh, the land and the house were well worth a small fortune, but under foreclosure, the best price could not be gotten. Those prospective buyers bidding on the place would want to buy it as cheaply as possible, and she and Zachary would not get a quarter of what their home was worth. And Latimer, she realized with a quiver of helpless rage, knew it! He knew how she felt about her home, knew that she would do just about anything to save it. But become his mistress?

  Shuddering, Melissa turned away from the window. Keeping feelings of fear and defeat at bay were becoming increasingly difficult, but gallantly, she endeavored to think clearly, to not overlook any possible way out of her dilemma.

  If only it were just herself to consider, she'd throw Latimer's words in his teeth! But there were Zack and Etienne, and Frances and Ada and... Without Willowglen, they would all be homeless; their fate rested on her slim shoulders. In time, once Zachary turned twenty-one, or she married, their troubles would be lessened, but right now...

  Her hands clenched in fists at her sides. She would not allow Latimer to ruin everyone else's life! As for her, what did it matter? Women had been bartering their bodies for centuries, and at least she would have the satisfaction of knowing that those dearest to her had benefited.

  Melissa longed to tell Zachary, longed to share the terrible burden, but just as she had dared not tell Josh, so she could not tell Zachary. It would put him in grave danger—his reaction would be far more violent than either of the Manchesters.

  There was one frail hope, she had admitted tiredly. Mr. Slade had made it clear that he was interested in Folly. Would he be foolish enough to buy the stallion for an exorbitant sum of money? She didn't believe that he would, and as she remembered her own insolent words that Folly was not for sale at any price, a wave of humiliation swept through her. But she had to try, it was the only path left to her and the first of July was only five days away....

  Chapter 8

  The Feliciana parishes of Louisiana, where both Willowglen and Dominic's Thousand
Oaks plantations were located, were a vastly different area from the half-drowned marshes and swamps that inundated the lower reaches of the state. Away from the low land, the ground rose quickly into thickly timbered slopes, beautiful green valleys and fields. Here there were no murky bayous, no sluggish canals moving lazily between knobby-kneed cypress, only clear, sparkling blue creeks and lakes. An upland forest of thickly trunked beeches, yellow poplars, gloriously perfumed magnolias and spreading oaks flourished in the rich red-clay soil.

  This was also fine cotton-growing country, and even before the Revolutionary War, the English had begun to settle on this lush, fecund land. When the War for Independence had broken out, many more English, loyal to the crown, had fled to the Felicianas; bewitched by the luxurious vegetation and the fruitfulness of the soil, they had been pleased to stay and build their homes and plant their cotton. Even when Spain had gained control of the area and it had been known as West Florida, the English had stayed, quietly and doggedly clearing and planting the land, their productive endeavors outstripping the French and Spanish settlers in the swampy lowlands.

  The Felicianas had not been part of the historic Louisiana Purchase of 1803. Spain had retained ownership of the land, but, feeling strongly that their future now lay with the fledgling United States, the English settlers had thrown off the indifferent yoke of Spanish rule. For seventy-four days the tiny area had been an independent republic, but when, somewhat belatedly, the Americans had arrived to annex the fertile pocket of land, the citizens of the Felicianas had thrown in their lot with the upstart Americans and the country blossomed.

  It had been the idea of growing cotton that had originally drawn young Morgan Slade to the upper regions of the Felicianas, and the house he had built for his first wife was situated much like Bonheur, on a high bluff which overlooked the brown Mississippi River far below. Morgan had owned thousands of acres, some of his holdings stretching along both sides of the wide, muddy river and although he had had great tracts of the land cleared in those early days, the majority of it was still in virgin wilderness, filled with wild game and teaming with flitting birds in brilliant shades of scarlet, yellow and black.