Nobody's Angel

by Karen Robards

  Out of breath and red-faced, Susannah scrambled quickly out of his reach.

  "You are never to put your hands on me in such a way again, do you hear? And you may gather the rest of the eggs yourself. I have things to do in the house."

  His eyes narrowed on her, but Susannah did not wait to hear what he might reply. Turning on her heel, she fled.

  15

  Speculation narrowed Ian's eyes. He watched Susannah retreat in disorder, well aware of what caused her flustered withdrawal—she wanted him. He had known too many women not to recognize the signs.

  The dowdy little dab of a female who had bought him at auction was eager for him. Eager and resisting of the notion at once. The situation should have been laughable, but it was not.

  Ridiculous as the admission undoubtedly was, he would not be averse to bedding Miss Susannah Redmon. The lady had unexpected depths.

  To begin with, she was not nearly as plain as she appeared, The night he had awakened to find her in his bed, she'd been surprisingly alluring. In his dreams he'd been making love to Serena, and to find that the silken thighs he'd parted and soft breasts he'd caressed so enthusiastically belonged to Susannah instead had been quite a shock. What had been an even bigger shock was to discover, unless his mind was playing tricks on him, that Susannah's body was as enticing as her day-to-day appearance was not. Though he had not been quite himself on that never-to-be-forgotten night, his hands still burned with the shape of her. Hard as it was at first for him to believe, the prim minister's daughter seemed to have a figure that a courtesan would kill for. Her breasts were full and beautifully shaped, soft and rounded and womanly, crowned with nipples that had stiffened to instant attention as soon as he had touched them with the balls of his thumbs. Her hips were as lushly female as her breasts. And that was where the deception came in. Her gowns were cut almost straight from breasts to hips. He suspected that she deliberately disguised the asset that would have made her figure breathtaking—an unbelievably tiny waist.

  Looking back on those few minutes when he'd had her beneath him in his bed, he'd thought that her waist had felt amazingly small and supple beneath his exploring fingers. Today, when he had lifted her, he'd had his suspicions confirmed—her waist was so small that he could span it with his two hands.

  He burned to see her naked.

  To think she worried about his seducing her pretty sister. The notion was almost funny. Little Miss Mandy was lovely, but he had known many lovely women. His own Serena was a diamond of the first water. Beside Serena, Mandy's beauty blazed about as brightly as a candle's light when compared with that of the sun. He didn't lust after Mandy.

  He lusted after Susannah.

  The contrast between what she was and what she appeared to be intrigued him. With her hair scraped so tightly back into that hideous knot that it seemed practically colorless, her square face pale and unsmiling, and her figure hidden by those truly atrocious gowns, she looked plain to the point of being homely. But he had seen her with her hair loose so that it tumbled past her fanny in a wild riot of gold-shot curls. He had seen her face flush with temper and her hazel eyes turn to bright green-gold with it. And he had discovered the luscious woman's body that she concealed beneath her gowns.

  He had discovered something else, too—the lady was not quite as resigned to aging spinsterhood as she liked to appear. He didn't remember everything about that night, but he remembered how she had responded to him.

  He remembered the smell of lemon that clung to her hair, and the clean taste of her skin, and the incredible softness of her.

  And he was curious.

  He hadn't felt this way about a woman in years.

  There was no hurry about returning home, after all. His enemies would still be waiting, smug in the mistaken belief that they had rid themselves of him at last. He could take a few weeks to satisfy his curiosity about this most unexpected turn of events.

  "Miss Redmon! Miss Redmon!"

  The cry, with its clear note of distress, jerked him out of his introspection. Ian's head came up, and he strode to the door. A tow-haired boy burst from the woods that lay beyond the henhouse, racing right past Ian as he stood in the doorway to run pell-mell down the hill toward the house. The youth looked vaguely familiar, but before Ian could even attempt to cudgel his memory for a name, Susannah stepped off the back porch into a blaze of bright sunshine, her hands outstretched to catch the boy.

  "Jeremy! Whatever is the matter?" Her hands closed over Jeremy Likens's thin shoulders. The child was shaking, his eyes bright with unshed tears, his chest heaving with some combination of emotion and exertion as he struggled to get the words out.

  " "fis Pa! He's killin' Ma! He's hit her with the shovel, and she's bleedin' bad! You gotta come, Miss Redmon! You gotta come!"

  "I'm coming, Jeremy." Susannah stepped back up on the porch and hurried into the kitchen. Seconds later she emerged with her father's old fowling piece in her hands. Jed Likens was no good, a violent, brawling man who frequently beat his wife and seven children. Annabeth Likens, Jeremy's mother, was a meek, colorless little woman who attended church when she could, with bunches of her children in tow. Susannah was often impatient with her quiet acceptance of the abuse that darkened her life, but Annabeth had no notion of how to end it. Susannah had dispensed advice and comfort and practical assistance to her many times over the years, and the whole family—with the exception of Jed—had come to regard her as a friend.

  "He hit Cloris with the shovel, too. I think she's dead. You gotta hurry, Miss Redmon! You gotta hurry!" Jeremy was sobbing, dancing from one foot to the other as he waited for her. Cloris was his oldest sister. At thirteen, she was notorious around Beaufort for the way she made up to men, and Susannah guessed that it was just a matter of time until she had an illegitimate baby growing under her skirts. But for all her waywardness in that direction, she was good to her mother and tried to help with her brothers and sisters. There was not a mean bone in Cloris's body.

  "Go on, then. I'll follow you."

  Jeremy tore back up the hill. With her skirts caught up in one hand and the fowling piece tucked beneath her arm, Susannah followed at a run. She was panting by the time she reached the wood but did not slow her pace even when a stitch hit her side. For Jeremy, to whom familial violence was an everyday occurrence, to run for help, the situation must be desperate.

  The Likens place was just on the other side of the hill, across Silver Creek, where Susannah and the girls waded in summer. The path crossed the stream at a narrow section, and Jeremy leaped it easily. Susannah, not quite as limber, splashed through the cold water, wetting her shoes and stockings and the hem of her dress. Even as she struggled up the bank, she could hear shouts and screams from Jeremy's family. Their rundown farm lay in a muddy field at the bottom of the hill.

  Following Jeremy, Susannah emerged into cleared ground and bright sunlight. In the moment it took her to absorb the scene, she was nearly upon it. Cloris Likens, in a muddied white dress, her blond hair darkened around the forehead with blood, was screaming as she tried to crawl up the steps of the ramshackle house. Her father had not killed her, Susannah realized with relief. Annabeth Likens lay on the ground a short distance away. She was on her back, with her shouting husband astride her. Both his fists were in her hair, and he was pounding her head into the hard ground. Like Cloris, Annabeth was screaming. Two young children huddled together, crying loudly, while a third boy, Timmy, who was seven, pulled at his father's shirt, trying to get him off their mother. A vicious sweep of Jed Likens's arm sent Timmy flying. The boy's head hit a stump, and for a moment he lay stunned. Then he, too, started to cry and sat up. Jeremy rushed to take his little brother's place in defending their mother. Likens, looking around at his older son with a snarl, sent him reeling back with a vicious shove.

  "Jed Likens, that is quite enough!" Susannah barely had the breath to speak, but she leveled the fowling piece at Likens and held it steady. He glanced around, saw

  S
usannah and her weapon, and let loose with a string of curses that would have made St. Peter blush. His hands left his wife's hair. Annabeth's head fell back, and her screams turned into wrenching sobs. Weeping noisily, she implored the good Lord and Miss Redmon to help her.

  "This ain't none of yer business, you old busybody! You get yerself back to yer damned church, and let me manage my family!"

  "Let Annabeth up. I mean it, Mr. Likens."

  "She's a lyin' bitch, and she deserves every lick she gets! Did Jeremy there run blabbin to you? You gonna pay for that, boy! Jest you wait!"

  "If you so much as lay a finger on Jeremy, or any of the rest of them, again, I'll have you arrested, and so I warn you."

  "Cain't have me arrested. I'm the bleedin' master around here. You spew out all them fancy words, and you don't know nothin' about nothin'. This here's my family, and I can learn em like I see fit. Ain't no concern of yours what happens to em, and I mean to see that you remember it in the future." With that, he got off his wife's body and stood glaring at Susannah, fingers flexing, an evil smile playing around his mouth.

  "You take one step toward me and I'll blow you clear to the next county, Jed Likens."

  "Don't you hurt her, Jed! Don't you go hurtin' Miss Redmon, now!" The wail came from Annabeth as she turned over on her side and sought to lock her hands around her husband's ankle. Likens kicked her in the stomach without even glancing down. Annabeth cried out, and curled into a little ball with her arms cradling her stomach, keening loudly.

  "You won't shoot me." Likens took a step forward.

  "What makes you think I won't?"

  "You ain't got the stomach for it, church woman."

  Susannah kept the fowling piece pointed at his middle, while inwardly she fought the urge to take a step back. He was calling her bluff, and both of them knew it. To her horror, she discovered that she could not, in cold blood, shoot the man.

  He took another step toward her, then another, his confidence increasing as she didn't pull the trigger.

  "I'm gonna whip your ass for you, bitch," he said, gloating.

  "Oh, no, you're not," said a gravelly voice from behind Susannah. To Susannah's surprise, the fowling piece was plucked out of her hands. Connelly moved to stand beside her, the weapon cradled familiarly in his arms, its mouth pointed directly at Likens, who stopped in his tracks.

  "You'd best get out of my sight in a hurry. If Miss Redmon here can't blow you to hell, I sure can."

  "Who the hell are you, and what business is this of yourn?"

  "I said get, and I mean get." Connelly moved the fowling piece almost casually, but the gesture's effect on Likens was galvanizing.

  "I'm goin', I'm goin'!" He looked around at his frightened family, his expression ugly. He spied his hat on the ground, picked it up, and slapped it against his thigh before clapping it on his head.

  "There'll be a reckonin' for this day's work," he said, his eyes fixing on Susannah for a moment before sweeping his family again. As Connelly jerked the fowling piece, he turned and shambled off.

  "Ma! Ma, are you bad hurt?" Jeremy and the younger children ran to cluster around their mother. Susannah sagged, momentarily weak with relief. An arm came around her waist, supporting her, and she glanced up to find Connelly frowning down at her.

  "Are you all right?"

  For a moment, just a moment, she permitted herself to rest against him as she closed her eyes. He took her weight with ease, sheltering her against his side. The sheer impropriety of the situation occurred to her, and she straightened. His hand continued to ride her waist. The warm strength of his fingers was comforting, but of course she couldn't allow him to hold her like that. He was her bound man, not her beau.

  "Tell me that in another minute you would have blown a hole through him." There was a roughness to his voice that made her glance up at him again.

  "I couldn't just shoot him," she confessed.

  His eyes darkened, and a curse seemed to hover on the tip of his tongue. "If you couldn't shoot him, then you had no business getting yourself in the middle of something like this. What do you think would have happened if I hadn't followed you over here? Hell, the bastard nearly killed his own wife."

  "Don't swear," she said automatically.

  "An occasion like this calls for some swearing. You could have been badly hurt, you little fool."

  To be scolded was a new experience for Susannah. She had ruled the roost at home for years, with none to say her nay. Connelly's words put her back up, but they warmed her at the same time. It was a novel sensation, to have someone looking out for her.

  "But I wasn't," she said quietly, and stepped away from him. As she went to help Annabeth and Cloris, she was conscious of Connelly's eyes boring into her back.

  With the big-eyed children clustering about, Susannah set about putting the mess to rights. Annabeth had a cut on the back of her head and numerous bruises, but she was not seriously injured, despite the copious amount of blood that stained her gown. Cloris, who'd taken a hard blow with the sharp side of a shovel while coming to her mother's defense, was dizzy and had to be carried inside. At Susannah's direction, Connelly lifted the girl as if she weighed no more than a feather and carried her in to lay her in the middle of the one big bed. Annabeth fussed over her daughter, while Susannah sought to comfort the frightened children.

  "Jed will be back, you know," Susannah said to Annabeth at last. Despite the bruises that were beginning to discolor her face and the already present black eye, from what Susannah suspected was a previous beating, Annabeth behaved as if nothing had happened, tending to Cloris, whose head was bound up in a towel, and starting supper at the same time.

  "He'll be different when he does come back. He's always like that. Jed's not a bad man, Miss Redmon. He just —explodes, and then he's sorry for it."

  "For your own sake, and your children's, you should think about leaving, Annabeth. You know we have those old slave cabins out behind the barn. You and the children can move into one until you can get things straightened out."

  "I know, and I thank you for the offer. But I'll stay. It'll be all right, you'll see."

  In the end, there was nothing to do but leave them there. Susannah only hoped that Annabeth was right about her husband's probable change of mood.

  "Do you always take on everybody else's troubles?"

  They were on their way home. Connelly had been mostly silent since he had called her a little fool, and

  Susannah had been content to have him remain so. He was far from properly respectful toward her. Even if one totally disregarded their infamous encounter of two nights before (and how she wished she could disregard it!), he had laid his hands on her person more in the brief time she had known him than had any other man in her entire life. Yet even in so short a time as they had had together, she knew she liked him, especially when she forgot about his staggering good looks. She felt comforted to have him by her side. If he had not been there to stand between her and Jed Likens, the Lord alone knew what might have happened. But he had protected her, in a mastexful way that was quite foreign to anything she had ever experienced. How then was she to set him in his place when next he stepped beyond the line, as he was certain to do?

  "Susannah."

  She had known he would do it.

  "Miss Susannah," she said. They were nearing the stream. She was in front, Connelly behind. His hand on her arm stopped her. The sleeves of her dove-gray linen dress were turned back to the elbow in deference to the heat. The garment was loose, as were all her dresses. A plain white apron was pinned to her waist and covered most of her bell-shaped skirt. She wore neither bonnet nor gloves, and his hand curled around her bare forearm.

  She felt the warm strength of his fingers clear down to her toes. Hadn't she, not an hour before, ordered him never to put his hands on her again? She ought to remind him, she knew, but to do so might only make him aware that she had reasons other than propriety for wanting to avoid his touch. Turning, she glance
d up at him, to find that he was looking down at her intently, a frown drawing his brows together over his nose.

  "Do you always take on everybody else's troubles?"

  "I try to help people when I can." It was shady in the woods, and cool. Tall pin oaks draped with thick gray curtains of Spanish moss blocked the sun. The path beneath her feet was slippery with vines. Behind her the stream tinkled. Birds called overhead.

  Susannah felt as though the whole world had suddenly fallen away, leaving the two of them alone.

  "Is that why you bought me? To help me?"

  "I bought you to work the farm." She had trouble getting the words out. He was close. Far too close.

  "You made a mighty poor bargain, then."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. That's up to you, isn't it?" Unobtrusively, she tried to pull away. His hand tightened on her arm, slid caressingly down to her waist.

  "You have the softest skin. Almost as soft as your heart."

  Susannah caught her breath, for a moment unable to believe what she had heard. His fingers circled her wrist, his thumb tracing a slow arc over the translucent skin where her veins showed blue. It was all she could do not to shiver.

  "Are you flirting with me, Connelly?" she asked in her sternest voice. Steeling herself, she looked up at him with a frown.

  He grinned, a wide grin that showed even white teeth and that danced in his eyes.

  "Yes, Miss Susannah, I am," he said, lifting her hand to press it against the warm smoothness of his freshly shaven cheek. "Your bound man is flirting with you. So what are you going to do about it?"

  Then, still grinning, he turned his head so that his lips seared her palm.

  16

  Susannah's breathing stopped. That warm, soft mouth crawling over her palm sent shivery tremors racing through her body. For a moment she could only stare up at him, as mesmerized by the laughter that still lurked in the depths of his gray eyes as she was by the heat coiling to life deep inside her body. Grabbing at the tail end of her good sense before it could disappear completely, she yanked her hand free.