“I hardly ever wear panties,” Paulette said, shrugging. “You can ruin a perfectly good outfit with panty lines, you know?”
Lucy stared at her sister. They couldn’t possibly be related. No good Southern woman talked about her panties at the dinner table, let alone in front of guests.
“My friend Tom’s wedding will be a little like Halloween, except the groomsmen will look like Mr. Darcy and the girls won’t look like kitty cats. Right, Lucy?” Jem wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Lucy gets to dress up with me.”
Regan shot her a look. “Why are you going?”
Lucy resisted saying that it was none of Regan’s business. “Because I’ll be a bridesmaid.” She poked her green beans with the tines of her fork. There wasn’t much more to say. “The girls are going to be in Regency dresses.”
“Tom called me twice, just to make sure I hadn’t changed my mind. I’d already agreed, I was really happy for him, but he thought I might bow out when I heard what the men had to wear.”
“Oh. White stockings and fancy slippers?” Lucy thought she might be tempted to drop out, too, if she were a guy and had to wear tights.
“No, thank goodness. We’re going to be in blue jackets and riding boots.” Jem shrugged. “Tom has zero interest in Regency costumes, but it’s amazing what men will do for the women they love.”
Lucy nodded, dropping her gaze to her plate. She wished she knew firsthand what a man would do for her, but she didn’t, and she had only herself to blame.
“I think Mr. Darcy is so handsome, especially when he’s coming out of the lake in that movie. I love how you can see his nipples through his shirt.” Regan gave a little giggle. “Maybe after the wedding, the groomsmen can take a little dip in the pond.”
“Ooooh, good idea,” Paulette said. “That would be amazin’. A whole bunch of Darcys.”
Lucy gripped her fork to keep from throwing a biscuit at her sister’s head. There was a fine line between an elegant Regency wedding and a tasteless nod to a movie scene.
The faint sound of the oven beeping caught her attention. “I almost forgot the cobbler,” she said. “Excuse me.”
It was a relief to leave the table and head toward the kitchen. She forced herself to take long, slow breaths. The kitchen was stifling and she slid open a window to let out the hot air. Grabbing the pot holders, she slid them on and opened the oven. The cobbler was perfectly browned at the edges, dark-purple blackberries dotting the surface, melting into the batter with a lighter shade of pink. Lucy carefully set the pan on the stove top and took a pinch of sugar, sprinkling it over the whole thing. It smelled like summer and her childhood and her mama. Everything good was wrapped up in the smell of this dish straight out of the oven, but Lucy felt drained and sad.
A meal this good should have been the focus of an evening of friendship and family, but between her sister and Regan and Jem, she had no appetite.
She shut her eyes for a moment and whispered a silent prayer. I made my choice a long time ago, and it’s not Jem’s fault that I regret it. I don’t like Regan, but that doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t make him happy. Help me to be happy for him.
“Can I carry anything?”
She turned to see Marcus filling up the doorway. He seemed bigger, somehow, than he had in the living room. The sleeves of his polo strained over his biceps. He smiled, completely at ease in the kitchen. She couldn’t help returning his smile just a little bit. The dinner was a disaster of complicated emotions, but she was glad to see Marcus.
“I think you have an ulterior motive for coming in there,” she said, keeping her face straight.
He frowned. “And what would that be?”
“Stealing all my recipes, of course.” Dropping the oven mitts into a drawer, she put a hand on her hip. “Admit it. Your mama sent you here to spy on the Crawford family cooks.”
He laughed out loud. “I’ll have you know that my mama has her own arsenal of recipes, and she’s not afraid to use them.” Coming closer, he leaned over the cobbler, inhaling deeply. “But that should be considered a secret weapon. You could bend any man to your will with this cobbler.”
“Really now?” She looked up at him, letting a sly smile touch her lips. It felt good to flirt, just for a moment.
His eyes went half-closed and he shifted closer. “Mmm-hmmm. But I think you do just fine on your own. You should only bring out the cobbler as a last resort.”
A second too late she realized he meant to kiss her. Lucy felt his hand touch her back and he leaned forward. She turned, his lips landed at the corner of her mouth, and she froze. Her mind was waging a battle between her Southern upbringing and the knowledge that Marcus had her backed against the stove, not even giving her a chance to agree.
“Wait a minute,” she said, putting a hand to his chest.
He didn’t respond, but moved his mouth across hers. Marcus wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her closer still. She pushed against him, feeling the bar of the oven door against her hip, the sharp pinch of his teeth pressing against the lips she had clamped shut. Lucy felt a spike of panic. The others would be chatting over dinner and have no idea that she was fending off this stranger in the kitchen.
“Lucy?”
At the sound of Jem’s voice, Lucy felt a wave of pure relief, followed by absolute despair.
It was another second before Marcus raised his head. “I think we took too long to get the dessert.” His voice was full of laughter.
Lucy swallowed, gaze darting between Jem and Marcus. If they’d been alone, she would have read him the riot act. A man doesn’t just grab a woman and push her against the stove. But then as her eyes met Jem’s, she remembered a kiss from long ago that was just as unexpected and was entirely welcome.
“Paulette asked me to tell you to bring the dessert plates,” Jem said, his eyes locked on her face.
“She could have told me that when I left,” Marcus said.
“But you said you were going to the bathroom.” Jem’s gaze went to Marcus, and Lucy saw a flicker of disgust.
“Oh, true. But I decided to stop here on the way back.” He winked at Lucy. “I think your sister is the jealous type.”
Lucy didn’t know whether Marcus meant Paulette was jealous of her or of him. Only an hour ago he’d implied that he’d be bringing Paulette on a trip to New York, but now he was in the kitchen, kissing Lucy. Either way, Paulette’s jealousy was warranted.
Lucy went to the cabinet and reached for the dessert plates. Her hands were shaky and she felt sick to her stomach. Women talked a lot about setting boundaries and not being taken advantage of and standing up for their personal space, but kicking a stranger on the street was a whole lot easier than to perform self-defense in one’s own kitchen against one’s own guests. Add in Jem’s presence and she was completely unnerved.
Just as she was setting the tiny stack of plates on the counter, they slipped from her hands with a crash. She let out a cry, blinking at the shards of china that had once been part of her mother’s wedding set. The dogwood blossoms on a cream-colored background, the shining gold edges, were now shattered beyond repair.
“Are you all right?” Jem was beside her, reaching for her hands, scanning her palms for any cuts.
“I’m fine.” She took her hands back, feeling the sweat on her skin. Her eyes filled with tears, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d broken her mama’s china or because Jem was worried about her hands. That said everything about him and the kind of man he was. She didn’t think there was another man in the world who could walk in on his ex-girlfriend making out with some guy and then, seconds later, be compassionate enough to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
“I think I only broke the bottom two. Maybe I can find replacements.” Her voice wavered on the last word but she kept her gaze down.
“Let me rinse these off. We don’t want anybody t
o ingest bits of porcelain.” Jem carried them to the sink and started to run them under the water one by one. She set the broken pieces in a pile on the counter and sighed.
“That’s too bad,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “A real shame.”
Lucy wanted to respond, but when she looked into his face, all she felt was anger. She would never have dropped the dishes if Marcus hadn’t forced that kiss on her. Even though it was Jem’s arrival that had made her want to cry, Marcus’s behavior had started it all.
She turned without a word and carefully brought down two more plates. “Could you carry the cobbler to the table, Marcus?”
“Sure can.” He retrieved a few hot pads from the drawer and a moment later was gone.
She glanced at Jem and saw the tight line of his mouth. She didn’t know what to say. Thanking him wasn’t quite right since he hadn’t done anything except arrive in the kitchen.
“Do you have a clean dish towel?” he asked.
She took a tea towel from the hook and started to dry the plates. Now she should tell him how she hadn’t wanted to kiss Marcus, but the words were stuck in her throat. Every time he handed her a plate, his face grim and shuttered, she lost her nerve. It didn’t matter anyway, not really. Jem probably thought she was stealing Paulette’s date, and if she tried to explain, it would only seem as if she were embarrassed at being caught.
“We’d better get these to the table,” she said, and was proud that her voice was clear. Her face felt heavy with unshed tears and her chest was tight. If she could just make it through the dinner, she could crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend the world did not exist. But for now, she was still expected to sit down at the table and eat some blackberry cobbler. She would sit quietly, avoiding both of them. She didn’t think she could meet the eyes of the man who’d kissed her against her will, and then the eyes of the man that she still loved, but could never have.
He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect and devotion.
—SIR WALTER ELLIOT
Chapter Thirteen
Jem clenched his fists in his lap. The alcohol in the martini was working its way through his system, pushing him toward actions he would never have considered otherwise, and he wished he’d never touched the stuff. He wanted nothing more than to drag Marcus outside and punch his handsome face. He hadn’t liked the guy before, but when he’d seen Marcus kissing Lucy, Jem had felt hatred rise up in him, hot and powerful. It wasn’t a kiss between lovers, or even between people who had just met and were attracted to each other.
Paulette was in the middle of a story about an Italian purse that was ripped on the inside and how she’d convinced the seller to replace it and throw in a complimentary wallet that cost almost as much. Jem let Regan carry the weight of the other side of the conversation and tried to slow his heart rate.
When Marcus had announced he was headed to the restroom, Jem had seen him turn right, not left. His mama had warned him to stay out of Lucy’s way, but this was different. He’d known Marcus was going to the kitchen and shouldn’t have cared, but something about the guy’s slick smile and the way he played the women in the room had set off all Jem’s alarms. He’d made some excuse and followed . . . just in time to see Lucy backed up against the stove, turning her face, eyes open wide in fear.
The memory of her expression flashed bright, and all his muscles tensed. He wished his head were clearer. His control wavered every time he thought of her face. God, I don’t want to hurt anybody. I want to be a man of peace. His mama hadn’t raised him to “take it outside and settle it.” She had raised him to think first and fight only when necessary. Even though he wanted to put his fist through Marcus’s shiny smile, now was not the time. He was a guest in this house, and if Lucy wasn’t asking Marcus to leave, there was no reason to drag the guy down the front steps.
But, oh, he wanted to.
He put a bite of cobbler in his mouth and chewed, hardly tasting the soft berries and sweet cake. Lucy had been turned, her shoulder against Marcus’s chest, elbow raised. She should have used her knee, stomped on his instep, bitten his lip, anything. He wondered whether she knew self-defense and whether it was possible to bring up the topic. She was so beautiful that surely she had encountered unwanted attention before. Then again, she’d stayed close to home. She was known and respected here, probably didn’t have to fight off men in the kitchen very often.
He shot a look at her face. Her gaze was on her plate, and she turned her fork over and over in her fingers. He wanted her to stand up and yell at Marcus, tell him to get out of her house and never come back, but she sat silent.
“I think Daddy’s home,” Paulette said, and leaned over to peer out the window.
Jem saw a bright-red Miata park in the driveway. Willy Crawford took several minutes to get his feet on the ground and edge out of the car. Jem wondered if he’d been drinking. It was common for the members to drink at the club and then drive home. Most of the town knew it and tried hard to stay out of their way.
The slow steps of Lucy’s father were like the thudding of Jem’s heart. He’d met the man a few times. None of those meetings had ended well. Maybe Jem had changed enough that if they came face-to-face now, Willy Crawford wouldn’t even recognize him.
“Well, what do we have here?” Willy appeared in the doorway, surveying the scene. His eyes were red, but he seemed steady on his feet.
“Come on in, Daddy,” Paulette said. “I want to introduce you to some friends of mine.” Marcus stood up at the same time that Jem did.
“I remember Regan real well.” Willy flashed a smile. “Hard to forget a girl as pretty as you.”
Regan beamed, one hand touching her blond hair. “How are you doin’, Mr. Crawford?”
“Just fine.” His eyes took in Marcus at the head of the table and Lucy at the other end. Jem could see him consider the implications, and a small smile touched Willy’s mouth.
Paulette introduced Marcus and the men shook hands. Willy said, “Your family owns Global Pleasures Travel and Vacation, is that right?”
“Yes, sir. Started right here in Tupelo, but we’ve got call centers in twenty states and our Internet site does more business than Orbitz.” The statistics were impressive, but Marcus managed to look humble.
“And you’re part of the business now?”
“Yes, sir, I am. Just graduated from Duke with a master’s of business administration.”
“It’s good to see a local boy come back home after getting his education.” Willy nodded his approval. “I saw your daddy at the club a few weeks ago, but I was pressed for time. The next time I see him, I should let him know that Crawford Investments could bring a lot to the table if we entered into a partnership. We’re a solid business, long history.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jem saw Lucy lift her head, but she said nothing. He wondered how Willy Crawford thought any of the businessmen in Tupelo had missed that he was near bankruptcy.
“Daddy, this is Jeremiah Chevy. He’s working with the Free Clinic, the ones who’ve leased out the back of the house,” Lucy said.
Willy raised his chin. “Oh, I think I remember you. Kid from that trailer park, came to one of our parties once.”
In the awkward silence, Marcus raised his eyebrows and a smile spread over his face.
“Yes, sir. That was me.” There was nothing to do but acknowledge that he had once brought a foil-covered dish of cornbread to a catered formal party.
“Daddy, that was a long time ago,” Paulette said, sighing. “Jem is a doctor now.”
“Good for you.” Willy headed toward the hallway. “You’re a testament to hard work. If you made it to college, anyone can.”
“Daddy,” Lucy started to say, but he didn’t turn to look at
her as he passed through the doorway.
Lowering himself into his chair, Jem tried to shake off the slight. He hadn’t expected a hug and the keys to the car, but the backhanded compliment was irksome.
Marcus sat back down. “Your father is a real fine man. You can tell he comes from good stock. Paulette, didn’t you say your great-grandfather fought in the Civil War?”
“I think so. Right, Lucy?”
Everyone at the table turned to look at her, and Lucy glanced up. “What?”
Paulette sighed. “Marcus was wondering if our great-grandfather fought in the Civil War. Didn’t he get the Purple Heart?”
Lucy looked confused and Jem almost smiled. Paulette brought clueless to a whole new level sometimes, and it was hard to know where to start when you had to answer her questions. “The Purple Heart wasn’t really around until the 1930s. Our great-great-grandfather was in the Fourth US Colored Troops and fought at Chapin’s Farm. He was given the Medal of Honor.” Lucy looked down at her plate for a moment. “He didn’t need to enlist. He was the son of a wealthy man, but he wanted to fight.”
“I’ve never understood that,” Regan said. “If I had the choice to fight or to stay home, I’d stay home. It’s just bloodthirsty the way so many men run to sign up when there’s a war. Maybe it’s all the video games and violent movies, but you’d think they’d have more sense.”
Lucy put a hand to her head and squeezed her eyes closed. She looked as if she was counting to herself, or praying. She looked up, her lips turned up in a grim smile. “I’m getting a bit of a headache. I think I’ll go lie down.”
Paulette didn’t acknowledge Lucy’s statement, but nodded vigorously to Regan. “I know. And then when you think about women joining the army or whatever, it just makes no sense. They must want to be men deep down. No real woman would want to wear a uniform and learn to shoot a gun.”
Lucy stood up abruptly and took a breath. “Nice to meet you, Marcus. Nice to see you again, Jem and Regan.” She didn’t meet Jem’s eyes as she left the table.
Persuasion, Captain Wentworth and Cracklin' Cornbread Page 17
