"Handled very well."
Krystyna stifled a gasp as she whirled around. Jason was leaning against the wall on the other side of the opened study door. His words coaxed a smile from her that she was unwilling to give. She had thought the same thing. But her triumph faded as she looked into Jason's eyes. They were dark and did things to her she didn't want done.
What did he want of her now? Was there to be no peace from him? She looked around the hall. Where was Lucinda?
He read her mind. "Lu had to go. She asked me to take you under my wing." He saw her puzzled frown and realized he had used a phrase that was probably unfamiliar to her. "I've come to escort you to breakfast. After that, since your charge is busy all day—Christopher," he clarified when she opened her mouth to ask, "perhaps I could show you around our humble lands, which I'm sure don't compare with yours."
The cryptic remark she was going to offer about being able to find her own way evaporated at the mention of her land. Her land. When would she ever see it again? Sweet Jesu, how she missed it.
Jason saw the look of longing enter her eyes. His own expression softened. He lightly placed a hand on her elbow and began to guide her toward the dining room.
Krystyna drew her arm away. "I know my way."
Jason grinned and bowed. "I'm sure you do, Princess." The teasing look in his eyes said far more than his words. He was acknowledging her independent manner. In an odd way, she thought, we understand each other.
Lifting her skirt, she turned and walked to the dining room.
Morgan missed crossing their path by only a few seconds. He walked in on his son as Aaron sat at the desk, busily going over the most recent accounts entered into the ledger.
"Well," Morgan demanded, "what is it now?"
Aaron jerked at the sound of his father's voice. Morgan shook his head. What a weak, disappointing man his son had turned out to be. How could he possibly carry on the McKinley name when he was frightened of his own shadow? His only hope was that Christopher did not take after his father.
"You did send Jeremiah with a message that you needed to see me, didn't you?"
"Yes, yes I did." Aaron repressed the urge to spring to his feet. He felt at a disadvantage with his father looming over him.
When his father made no effort to come closer, Aaron turned the long, thin ledger around on the desk so that the older man could read the figures. "Here." He jabbed his finger at a column of numbers. "Here's where the problem is. I can't balance the book." He looked up at his father, waiting for some sort of enlightenment.
What Morgan said was not what Aaron wanted to hear. "Doesn't surprise me." He turned away from the ledger. "There isn't much you can do," Morgan didn't bother veiling the disgust in his voice.
Aaron tried not to flinch at the remark. Try as he might, even with hatred curdling his heart, his father's snide comments always stung. "There's no profit for the land in the south forty," he pointed out.
Morgan shrugged carelessly, but his expression was one of annoyance. "With those Redcoats telling us how much they want to pay for the tobacco, it's a wonder there's any profit to write in anywhere." He crossed to the window, purposely turning his back to his son, and looked out. He meant to put an end to the question Aaron was trying to ask.
Stubbornly, Aaron wouldn't let it go. Just this once, he wanted an answer. Just this once, he wanted to be treated like a man by his father and not like a lackey. "We've had no crop failure, and no tobacco is left. What happened to the money? Something has occurred. The crop is gone."
Morgan spun around on his squat heel. "That, boy, is for me to know, and it's none of your damn business."
Aaron felt himself growing crimson. "But . . . but I'm supposed to keep the books, Father. How can I do my job if you won't tell me how much we made and who we sold the crop to? Or if we even sold it?"
Morgan pursed his lips tightly for a moment. He didn't like being defied this way. "If I wanted you to know, I would have told you." He waved at the ledger, flipping the book closed. "Now do the best you can without that."
Aaron tried one more time. "But the ledger—"
" — is for entry of the things that I want entered, nothing more! Is that understood?" He glared at his firstborn. "Why don't you get out into the sun more? You're as pale as a ghost, hovering around with these damn books instead of doing a man's work like your brother. Go on, get out," he ordered. "Let the sun see your face. God knows I'm tired of it!"
Anger and humiliation rose up like bitter bile in Aaron's mouth. Someday, old man, you'll pay for this. "Yes, Father."
Aaron left the room. He knew there was nothing he could say that would change his father's mind. He would do the best he could with the ledger. In his hurry to get away from his father's overbearing presence, Aaron almost collided with Savannah. She hardly spared him a second glance as she stormed into the room. It was her father who was the object of her attention. Her father and the woman Jason had brought into their house. She had left the table, angered, her meal unfinished, when Jason had ushered that creature in for breakfast.
"So there you are." Savannah hardly bothered to keep the annoyance from her voice.
"Yes, here I am." One shaggy brow rose as Morgan regarded his daughter and wondered as to the cause of her latest snit. "And to what do I owe this early morning visit? You don't usually get out of bed until noon."
She paid no attention to her father's remark. He wasn't going to divert her from the purpose of her visit. "I want to talk to you about that girl."
"What girl?" He wondered if Savannah had lit into another one of the house slaves. Of his three children, it was Savannah who had inherited his dreaded short temper.
"You know very well which one I mean." She leaned over the desk, emphasizing her point. "The one Jason dragged in last night, like some cat out of the rain."
"I don't recall it raining last night," he said, purposely baiting her. "Oh, you mean the Countess." He knew the title annoyed her, especially since she was so eager for one of her own.
"Countess, ha!" Savannah spat the words out with a toss of her head. Blond ringlets that her body servant had spent half an hour curling bounced madly against her shoulders. "I don't believe any of it. She's probably some tart he found along the way. How can you possibly allow her to stay here—and to teach little Christopher at that?"
An amused smile curved the jowls of Morgan's broad cheeks. His daughter's motives were transparent. "You don't give a damn about 'little Christopher' and you know it. You're just jealous of her. Don't think I don't see through you, miss."
"Jealous?" Savannah's eyes went wide and then drew down into small slits. "Jealous?" she echoed indignantly. "What could I possibly have be jealous about? You're being absurd."
"Absurd am I?" The game was over. He did not care for her attitude or her disrespectful tone when addressing him. "To begin with, she's a damn pretty little thing and that bothers you, being a woman and vain the way you are. I'd rather have you ugly with sense in your head." He shook his head.
Savannah bit her tongue to suppress an angry retort. His pitying glance enraged her. It was demeaning. She hated being treated this way.
Morgan went on. "The Countess seems to have more than a fair share of that, as well as courage. But I think what really sticks in your craw is her title."
"That's ridiculous!" She tossed her head haughtily. "I don't think she's the least bit pretty. And it is unwomanly to parade book knowledge around. As for the title, I shall have one of my own soon enough."
Morgan chuckled as he sat down in the chair and leaned back. He fixed her with a look. "Oh no, you won't."
Savannah squared her shoulders defensively. "Winthrop is almost assured of getting—"
The smile vanished. Morgan sat up. "Winthrop can go to hell! You think I'd really let you marry that disgusting Tory fop?"
Her lips curved into an angry pout. "We are engaged, sir!”
Morgan shook his head with the finality of a magistrate passing sen
tence. "I am letting you think you are for as long as it suits me to cool my heels about the matter. When the time comes to marry you off, girl, you'll marry whom I say, when I say. And, before God, it shall not be some weak-wristed pompous ass who spends his time sniffing snuff when he isn't eating people out of house and home."
"I shall elope," Savannah threatened, leaning over the desk, her eyes level with her father's.
He fought to keep his temper bridled. There was an ace to be played. "You do, and you'll never see a penny of my money." He leaned back again, placated. "That won't suit your Winthrop at all. In case it has escaped your notice, dear daughter, the Rutherfords may have their hooks into future titles, but they're a damn sight short on money."
Savannah clenched her fists angrily, but she was powerless to do anything about the matter, at least for now. She turned the topic away from her pending marriage back to her original purpose for seeing her father. "Then you won't send that wretch away?"
"Winthrop?" he asked mildly.
"No! That girl!" she cried.
"She stays."
Savannah closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to contain her rage, before she spun around on her heel and ran out.
"Good day, daughter," Morgan called out after her, chuckling.
Savannah is far too uppity for her own good, he thought, and wondered where it was that he had gone wrong with his children. If Aaron were a different sort, he would have gladly told him that the tobacco crop his son couldn't trace had been sold to Dutch traders, an act that was expressly forbidden under the law. Colonists were to sell to no one but the Crown. He would also have told him that the money the crop had brought was on its way to Washington for the army. But Aaron was a spineless dolt whose loyalties were misplaced. He wasn't to be trusted.
Morgan hadn't informed Aaron of the land that was not to be planted with tobacco next spring. Instead, it would be used to grow food for the regulars, who were badly in need of supplies. Aaron would have exposed what his father was doing, wittingly or unwittingly, to any one of a number of their neighbors who had British leanings.
Morgan sighed, getting up. One son a Tory, the other a possible coward. And a daughter who gave herself airs and completely forgot her roots. He would be better off not having any children than having these three.
His grandson appeared in the doorway and Morgan smiled broadly. Ah, perhaps there was hope yet.
"You promised to spend the day with me," Christopher reminded him.
"And so I shall." Morgan put an arm about the boy's shoulders, and they went out the door together.
Chapter Twelve
"Would you like to take a tour of the plantation?" Jason asked Krystyna, as one of the house slaves cleared the last of the breakfast dishes away.
Krystyna had consumed a lot more than she normally was accustomed to eating at this early hour. She had lingered over the meal as long as possible. It had never been her way to retreat from anything or anyone, but in this one instance, she thought it would be more prudent if she did not stand in the path of temptation. And he was "temptation" if ever that sin had taken on a human form.
She moved her chair back and rose, but he caught her wrist. Annoyed, she tried to pull away. Jason held fast. "I would rather not."
"You've nothing to say about it," he said lightly. His fingers remained firmly on her wrist. "There're no duties for you to perform today and remember," he grinned at her, mischief in his eyes, "you're my bond servant. I bought you fair and square."
She angrily yanked her hand away. Jason made no move to recapture it. She thought of this morning in the cabin, as well as the other night. "You have already collected your ten pounds worth," she informed him coldly between tightly clenched teeth.
He laughed. "The price was ten and a half," he reminded her. He enjoyed seeing the color rise to her cheeks. It made her even more desirable, and he felt his blood heat in his veins. "Well, if that's what it's going for these days, I believe I might have enough for another bit of heaven right here." He patted the leather pouch that hung from his belt.
Did he think she was some sort of painted whore whose favors could be bought? Anger flashed in her eyes as she picked up her skirts and whirled around on her heel.
"Damn your soul to hell!" she spat out. She was almost halfway down the hall before Jason had a chance to catch up with her.
"Krystyna!"
She had no intention of obeying him, but he grabbed her by the arm and turned her around to face him. When she averted her face, he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger, forcing her to look at him. That was her undoing. The soulful look in his eyes melted her anger like flame softens a candle.
He had gone too far in his teasing and had hurt her. That had never been his intent. "Krys, I'm truly sorry." And he was. When she said nothing, he added, "I didn't mean to hurt you. It was a bad jest on my part."
"A very bad one."
"All right," he conceded, inclining his head. "A very bad one. But I do want you to come with me." He released her. Krystyna was free to go. She stayed where she was, waiting for him to continue. "I'd like to show you around. After all, you will be remaining with us for a while at least. And it is a beautiful day." Her expression softened. He saw uncertainty on her face. She is wavering, he thought. "I've picked out a horse for you, one with almost as much spirit as you have."
She looked at him suspiciously. "No riding together on one horse?"
"No." He smiled fondly. He had liked the way she'd felt against him, unsuspectingly testing his resolve with each step the horse took. "Not unless you want to."
She squared her shoulders. "My own horse will do fine, thank you."
He suspected she was making him pay for Charity. And Charity had never been worth it. Charity's lovemaking was tame and unimaginative, paling before even one of Krystyna's kisses, because in each one of those was a promise he longed to see fulfilled. And would, before long. One didn't need to drain a glass of wine completely to know that it tasted sweeter than another.
Krystyna thought over Jason's offer. After being on board a ship for so long, she longed for open fields, wanted to see an ocean of grass spread out before her instead of an endless sea. It would bring home back to her, if only for a little while.
"All right." Something warned her she was making a mistake. But at the same time, she felt light pinpricks of anticipation.
"Wonderful." She tried not to pay attention to the way his smile seemed to weave its way beneath her skin. "I had the groom saddle the horses before I came to fetch you." He took her elbow to escort her out.
This time, she didn't pull away. "Were you that certain I would agree?" She didn't like the fact that he believed she would acquiesce to his wishes so easily. It reminded her far too much of a master and his bond servant.
There was no cockiness in his smile. "Let's just say I was hopeful."
She had forgotten what it was like, to ride with the wind blowing through her hair, to feel it caressing her skin. Giving in to the joyful energy she felt within, Krystyna urged her horse into a gallop just as they reached a meadow.
For one moment, Jason thought she was trying to run away, just as she had that first night. But then he realized, as the sound of her laughter filled the morning air, that she was just enjoying herself.
He watched the wind whip her hair as she rode, she and the horse one. She had shunned using a sidesaddle and rode astride her mount, despite her wide skirts. He had to work to keep pace with her. She is magnificent, he thought. There has never been anyone like her.
He kicked his horse's flanks. "I'll beat you," he warned Krystyna.
She turned slightly in the saddle to look at him, wondering at his words. It was a moment before she understood that he was talking about the ride and not some physical blow.
"No, you will not!" She laughed, urging her own horse on.
"To the end of the meadow, then."
"To the ends of the world," she cried as her horse began to outdistance his. I
t was a silly thing to say, but it had been months since she had felt like saying something silly, months since she had felt like laughing. He did that for her, she realized. He made her laugh. He made her feel. That was truly dangerous to her peace of mind, and she would have to be careful. She could not allow herself to become involved with him. She had to be free to return home.
She reached the clump of trees scarcely a hare's breadth ahead of him. "I win!" she declared breathlessly, reining in her horse.
"Yes," he brought his horse to a halt next to hers, "you did."
Triumph made her look even more beautiful, coloring her cheeks and brightening her eyes. "I said I would," she reminded him.
He swung a leg over the saddle horn and easily slid off his horse. "Do you always do what you say you will?"
Circumventing his mount, Jason raised his arms to Krystyna, ready to help her dismount. She let him take her waist. Sensations stirred at his touch, just as she knew they would. Their eyes locked for a moment as he brought her down. "Yes, I do."
Then she would be leaving Smoke Tree someday, going where he could not follow. Jason forced the thought away for the moment. "I see."
He turned from her and tethered the horses, tying their reins on a low-hanging branch. "Come, I want to show you something." He took her hand but she didn't move.
"What?"
"A place," was all he said. He tugged gently and she followed, wondering if it was wise, knowing in her heart that it was not.
He brought her to a wide stream just a little beyond the meadow. To their left, twenty feet above them, was a waterfall. The water cascaded with endless enthusiasm down to the stream, a crown of foam forming beneath its drop. The picture was framed in colors of orange, yellow, and gold. Autumn colors. Just to look at the scene filled Krystyna with peace.
One glance at her face told him that she shared his feelings about this place. It gave them a bond, a tie, however small. He would find others.
"I wanted you to see this," he told her quietly. "It's my favorite spot on the plantation. Perhaps in the whole world." Dropping her hand, Jason sank down on the grassy bank, his legs folded beneath him. The invitation was clear.
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