He wanted to believe her.
He wanted to trust her.
But, there was still a small uneasy feeling poking at his conscience. What if she was so good at duplicity, that he’d been fooled? What if she’d been deceiving him from the moment they’d met? Visions assaulted him both in sleep and awake…her eyes, flashing and defiant, confident and sure, her lips soft and pliant, her breath hungry and passionate. Her stories were dubious, her explanations, implausible. It was dangerous to believe her. But it was difficult to resist her, and hard, even impossible, to ignore her.
Gus had parted company a mile back. He was to tether Juliet in a secluded copse of trees and hide in the brush closer to the barn until Landon signaled him. The carriage jolted to a stop and Landon jumped down and turned to take Annette’s hand as she alighted.
Carriages clustered in the front of the mansion that belonged to Leon Pratt. The columns in front shone with a coat of fresh paint. Tantalizing aromas wafted from somewhere, probably a kitchen house out back. Beyond the three-story house was a small lake, then rows of slave cabins. A stable stood in the shade of several large trees. Where would Pratt lock up Simon?
He untied Orion from behind the livery coach. Near the stable was another barn and a few additional outbuildings. If Simon was still alive, chances were that he was locked in one of them. He’d need to locate a key, perhaps two, one for the door and one for the manacles, if Simon had been chained.
A stable boy walked up to take Orion. Rather than hand the reins to the boy, Landon nodded to the carriage coming down the lane behind him. “I can take my horse to the stable, it’d probably be best for you to see to that carriage.”
“I’ll wait here for you, Captain Hart,” Annette said, taking a moment to straighten her dress and shake out the wrinkles from the journey.
The boy nodded and released the bridle. Landon walked his horse nonchalantly to the stable. A groom met him at the barn door. He needed more information, but had to take care in the way he inquired.
“I can put your horse up for ya, sir,” the man said.
“I’d be obliged.” He handed him the reins. “This is a mighty fine piece of land. Mr. Pratt has seen it tended superbly.”
The groom beamed with pride. “Yessuh, he do. Dis plantation be the largest in the Low Country.”
“I’m afraid I know very little about working the land. I’m a merchant ship captain and spend most of my days on the water. I see you have several barns and sheds in back.” He gestured and made a show of turning and perusing the area. “A nice lake and two fine barns.”
The groom nodded. “Yessuh, soon filled with the finest rice and tobacco in the Low Country. The tobacco is dried in them barns there, after harvest.”
“Are they filled now, then?”
The groom bit back a smile and shook his head. “No suh, the tobacco ain’t been cut yet, it still growin’ in the field out yonder.”
“I see, so all those tobacco barns and outbuildings are empty now.”
The groom shuffled on his feet. “Well, most of dem is empty. The second one is being used.”
Landon turned his attention back to his horse and loosened the girth strap. “I heard a big commotion on the waterfront today. Something about a big hulk of a slave named Simon finally being caught. Heard he was Pratt’s.”
There was a heavy silence behind him. He turned back to the groom, who was studying his feet. “Dat so?”
Landon glanced out the open back door of the barn, at the sheds. “If I was a betting man, and I bet another gentleman that I would find Simon in the second outbuilding, would I win the bet?” Landon shifted and although he wanted to observe the groom closely for a flicker of emotion that would give him away, kept his back turned during the silence.
The man’s voice hitched up a tiny bit.“Well, suh, I can’t say nothin’ but I’d sure not bet against ya.” He began to brush Orion’s coat.
“How can a wooden barn door hold a big man like that?” Landon asked.
“Oh, he ain’t goin’ nowhere, suh. If he runs, his wife and boy will pay fer it an’ he know it.”
“I see. That makes sense to me.” No need to locate manacle keys, then. Good. “I’d appreciate it if you’d put my horse up in the stall closest to the back door of the stable, if you would,” Landon said, straightening his coat and wiping off his boots.
“Yessuh,” the groom replied, leading Orion away.
He wanted to ask about Ruth, but didn’t want to arouse suspicion with the groom. He’d have to wait until dark to slip away and free them. From his hiding place, Gus should have a good view of the barns and smaller outbuildings; he’d know or at least have a solid hunch, where Simon was being held, and with luck, Ruth as well.
Landon accompanied Annette as she exchanged greetings and gossip with friends and acquaintances while they strolled around the perimeter of the crowded room. He’d avoided Pratt after the initial introductions, but every time he checked, Pratt’s eyes glowered at him, as did those of the men stationed near the doors. Earlier today, it had seemed to be a good idea to travel light; four people on two horses would be miles away before men could be gathered and horses saddled for a chase. An uneasy sensation twisted in his gut.
Something wasn’t right.
Had Simon been forced to tell them about Fynn’s network of freedom runners? Had he told them about Landon’s involvement and the human cargo smuggled to the hidden section of the hold on the Desire?
Gus wouldn’t know to help him if he got in trouble while in the house.
Perhaps it had been a bad idea to accept Annette’s invitation. At the time, he’d seen it as an easy way on to the property. He’d socialize and mingle for a short time, then slip away and find Simon after dark, when the party goers would move outside. An outdoor dance floor had been installed for dancing by torchlight. Annette paused to chat with three elderly matrons seated on a cluster of chairs near a window. Perfect. It was easy to extricate himself from the conversation by offering to bring back refreshments. While doing so, he’d peruse the layout of the house and servants’ entrance, in case he needed a fast exit. If their plan went bad, he’d need to get out of here quickly.
He’d safely hidden away Keelan, thankfully. That woman burrowed under his skin faster than a hungry tick. He’d accepted that he’d married her; Annette had unknowingly confirmed it. To be honest, he’d accepted that fact even before Annette’s verification. There was something familiar about Keelan, although he wasn’t sure what. Her posture? She was small in stature but in unguarded moments, she held her head like a queen. Perhaps it was her courage and determination; although both could be misunderstood for stubborn persistence and pride.
Loyalty? It was obvious she would have defended Daniel Hunter to her death. He paused. Daniel had done the same for her. He’d been jealous of the man, convinced they were lovers. He’d never been so wrong. Daniel saved Keelan’s life.
Keelan. It would be so easy to fall in love with her, so easy to take her into his arms, so easy to give her access to his fragile heart.
If only he could trust her. Had she truly loved him? Did she still? What if it had all been an act? A good spy might be able to fool him in such a manner, if she were as smart and beautiful as Keelan.
He didn’t understand it, but he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her when she was on deck. Fleeting pictures of her invaded the privacy of his thoughts at all hours of the day and night. Keelan laughing and dancing, sparring in her boy’s breeches, naked on his bed, her eyes hooded with passion. The feel of her lips against his felt…right. Her scent drew him to her and when he breathed her in, he was in a familiar place like…home.
One part didn’t fit and it vexed him. Fynn had instilled in Landon a deep seeded repugnance for slavery from the time Landon was twelve years old. So then, why would he marry a woman who owned slaves and a plantation?
Unless…unless she had kept that information from him until they married. He shook his head, confused. U
ntil he remembered everything, he wouldn’t completely trust her.
He couldn’t.
“May I offer you a glass of Madeira, sir?”
His shoulders stiffened at the voice. No, it couldn’t be… He whirled and almost collided with the tray in Keelan’s arms.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he whispered angrily. He’d already been here well over an hour, how was it he hadn’t noticed her before now? Keelan wore a house slave’s skirt and blouse with her hair pinned up beneath a simple, ruffled cotton cap. Not a single tendril was exposed. She lifted a decanter and carefully poured wine into a glass, talking in a low voice as she did so.
“I’m here to warn you that Pratt knows about you and the Freedom Runners. He plans to hang you with Simon and Ruth tonight. You have to leave. I’ve instructed the groom to ready Orion. Go. Now.”
Landon sucked in a breath. “Dammit.” She stopped pouring the wine and reached for the half-filled glass. He gestured for her to fill it, giving them more time to talk. “I might have been able to fight my way out alone, but I don’t see how you can escape with me unless you know how to do something dangerous with that wine carafe.”
“I just might.” A hint of a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “I have a plan for my escape, there’s no need to concern yourself about me.”
“Keelan, you shouldn’t have come here.” How could he possibly focus on freeing Simon if he also had to worry about her?
“Hush and listen to me,” she whispered, placing the carafe on the tray, and handing him the wine. “Ronnie and I have planned a diversion. You’ll have to play along. I must warn you that—”
“Oh, there he is!” The high pitched voice behind him reminded him of Conal’s Great Aunt Celia, a tall, thin woman with a nose like a hawk and a voice that could be heard across the Indian Ocean.
He’d been in the process of taking a sip of his wine the he turned and choked on it. Approaching him and taking mincing little steps was Ronnie…in a gray silk ball gown, a fan dangling from his wrist. Ronnie’s dark hair had been delicately pinned on top of his head, with a slender tendril left to hang on each side of his face. Landon’s gaze moved to the pink cheeks then the bodice. He had some sort of fabric tucked into the front, covering…was that a slight curve of a bosom? A long lace hem brushed the floor, probably covering his boots. Landon took a gulp of wine, at a complete loss for words. It was almost too much to take in.
Behind him, Keelan whispered, “This is your sister, Veronica.” She was silent a moment. “Recognize the dress?”
The smile in her voice made him scrutinize Ronnie. A vision of the same dress on an auburn-haired beauty drifted into his mind. In his vision, she had her back to him and was facing a moonlit lake and sipping wine. Was it her? Was it Keelan? He’d followed her. He had a reason for doing so, what was it?
“Actually…I think I do remember the dress.” They had danced a waltz in the moonlight. She’d been irritated with him. Why?
Keelan caught her breath behind him. Perhaps he’d tell her about the memory later, if he wasn’t dangling by his neck from the end of a rope.
Dr. Garrison. His tall, lanky frame pushed its way to the front of his mind. She’d been avoiding the man. She hadn’t wanted to marry him. A jolt flashed through his chest. Garrison and Keelan had been engaged. Engaged. That meant he’d had every chance to walk away from her; avoid ever seeing her again.
Yet he hadn’t.
No one had forced him to marry Keelan. He must have decided to come back for her. He’d seen her take a glass of wine and disappear into the garden. He needed to prove to her that she didn’t love Garrison. The memory faded before he could see what had transpired from that meeting.
“Landon! You left me behind in the livery to arrive all alone.” Ronnie swatted Landon’s arm with his fan. “Shame on you. I could have been ravaged by highwaymen.”
Landon quickly handed his glass back to Keelan so he could remove his handkerchief and cover his mouth to keep the cough from becoming a bark of laughter. Where did Ronan acquire this sudden talent for dramatics?
“Are you all right, dear brother?” Ronnie’s eyes twinkled mischievously even as he pursed his lips. “You should take smaller sips.” He took Landon’s glass, refilled by Keelan, and handed it back to him. “Maybe this will help calm your guilty conscience.”
“I don’t believe any amount of wine can help me at this point,” Landon mumbled.
“And who do I have the pleasure of welcoming into my humble home?” Pratt’s nasally voice drifted up from behind them. Landon stepped aside to allow him to move in close enough to converse. Leon Pratt, a round shouldered, silver-haired man around sixty years of age, approached and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. He gave Keelan no mind as he descended upon Landon and Ronnie.
Landon gestured to Ronnie. “Mr. Pratt, please allow me to introduce my sister, Veronica Hart. Veronica, I present to you Mister Leon Pratt.”
Ronnie batted his fan at Pratt. “Oh please, Mr. Pratt, call me Ronnie, everyone else does.”
Pratt took Ronnie’s hand and kissed it.
“Oh!” Ronnie jolted as if the kiss had been a lead shot.
Landon coughed into his handkerchief and received a sharp elbow in the ribs from Keelan.
Ronnie blinked. “Uh…goodness. Where are my manners? I was just so taken by your…countenance…that I almost forgot them. How silly of me.” Ronnie sank into a curtsy. “It’s a delight to meet you, sir.”
Pratt actually blushed. He puffed his chest out and gave Ronnie a closed lip smile, mostly because he lacked a full set of teeth.
“The pleasure is distinctly mine, Miss Ronnie. May I escort you to the dining hall? I have a most talented cook who has put out a magnificent spread of culinary delights.”
“I’d love to!” Ronnie smiled and opened his fan. “My, but these summer days are getting warmer, aren’t they?”
Pratt offered Ronnie his arm. “Indeed, normally, we’d be off to Summerville after the party to enjoy cooler climes by now, but I’ve been delayed a few days.” He patted Ronnie’s hand. “I must say, I’m glad to have made your acquaintance.”
“Oh, you flatter me too much, Mr. Pratt.” Ronnie fanned himself almost viciously as Pratt led him away. He turned and glared at the two of them, then jerked his head, signaling for them to follow.
Pratt’s gravelly voice drifted back to them. “Please, Miss Ronnie, I’d be honored if you would call me Leon. After we’ve had a bite, I hope you will allow me to show you my roses, I have a most splendid garden, indeed.”
“Wonderful! I’m sure my brother will agree to be my chaperone.” Another over the shoulder glare.
Landon expelled a deep breath and followed. He could think of no scenarios where this ended well.
None at all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
So far, the charade was working.
Making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, Keelan moved around people conversing in the ballroom and headed for the kitchen, where she could spy on Landon and Ronnie.
“What kind of wine is that, little miss?”
Keelan froze, her heart in her throat. She’d been so focused on getting to the kitchen, she hadn’t noticed Jared and Sarah Grey. She’d known them as her uncle and aunt all her life, because Jared was Commodore Grey’s younger brother. Commodore Grey had raised her. Actually, he had kidnapped her when she was a toddler and brought her home for Daniel and Slaney to raise. Brendan discovered her true identity in Fynn’s diary.
She was Conal O’Brien’s lost sister, Cailyn.
Jared and Sarah Grey were not legally related to her, although they were unaware of that fact, and at the moment, Keelan had no way of proving it to them. She also didn’t know if Jared would stand in the way of her being with Landon as he had in the past. Of course, all this wouldn’t be a problem if Landon would simply remember he’d asked her to be his wife.
And if they’d been married in a church, rather than perf
ormed an ancient handfast ceremony on the Seeker, in the middle of the ocean.
Landon now believed she owned slaves as well as a plantation. Here was her chance to find out if Papa had truly left Twin Pines to her as Uncle Jared predicted, or if she’d been eliminated from Papa’s will, as Papa had said. How should she ask? She could simply inquire if he was the new master of Twin Pines. Yes. That’s what she would do. She opened her mouth, then paused. Her British accent would draw attention here. When she posed as a Persian, folks didn’t question her voice, mostly because many weren’t sure what a Persian should sound like. For that matter, neither did she. Daniel had forged ahead with confident bravado in his disguise and she had followed, in the same confident manner and everything had worked out.
But now, her uncle and aunt would surely notice her voice and would instantly recognize her, even with the dye on her skin. It might be best to change her accent and tone. Why couldn’t she think faster? She poured a glass of wine while she thought about the best tact to take. In her distracted state, she poured the stream of wine over the glass and onto her tray. She pulled the carafe up quickly to cease the flow then tried again, drawing Jared’s attention back to her. Drat. It was even more difficult to ignore Uncle Jared’s perusal, since he stood so close and seemed to be studying her every move.
“You have a familiar face. Do you belong to Pratt?” He bent down to study her more closely.
Belong to Pratt? Absolutely not. Not ever. Not as a servant or a wife or a…
His question drew his wife’s attention and now she was looking at her. Oh dear. Aunt Sarah would certainly recognize her. Refusing to answer would be rude and insubordinate. Keelan kept her head lowered and shoulders rounded. Thankfully, Sarah’s attention was temporarily captured by the wine and she accepted the stem from Keelan and sipped.
A British accent wouldn’t do. Perhaps French? Spanish? Panic began to bubble inside her chest. All she could do was shake her head no.
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