“Mrs. Fitzpatrick, do you consider Mr. Patrick a man of honor?”
“Well, of course,” she snapped.
“Mr. Patrick, will you give Mrs. Fitzpatrick your word as a gentleman that you will not defile her granddaughter tonight as you lie beside her?” Steele asked formally.
“Why, certainly! I wouldn’t think of taking such liberties!” Brandon replied solemnly.
“Then, I’ll bid you both a pleasant goodnight,” Steele said, controlling his urge to chuckle because he knew that Brandon Patrick would, indeed, keep his word—the fool!
A short time later, Brandon eased himself under the covers on the bed next to Lilah. She slept deeply, but he could feel a coolness coming from her body. It had yet to regain its normal temperature. He inched over toward her, trying to keep the cornshuck mattress from crackling too loudly. His movement aroused Lilah slightly and she turned her back to him. He hesitated for only a moment before he slipped close to her, letting the curve of her buttocks fit into his midsection.
Amply covered by one of Jonathan Fitzpatrick’s red woolen nightshirts, Brandon still had never been so intimately close to Lilah. She sighed and moved back, pressing against his welcome warmth.
Cold sweat broke out on Brandon’s brow. He ground his teeth, but he could not control his body. Blood coursed hotly through his veins, soon bringing with it a full erection. Nightmare visions of what he had done to Rhea swam in his head. No! He would control his lust! He had given his word!
Brandon turned his back to Lilah. But no relief was in sight. Once more she clung to his heat, pressing her firm breasts tightly against his back. The night progressed through a series of tortures for Brandon Patrick.
When the sun came up, warming the room, he crept thankfully from the bed. He had not closed his eyes all night. But one thing he was sure of—their wedding night would be a magnificent triumph for him. Never had he wanted a woman more. And his night of forced celibacy had primed him for the coming event.
Quickly he slipped out of the red nightshirt and into his own clothes, offering up a silent prayer of thanks that the long night was over and he had endured.
Granny sat nodding in her rocker when Brandon exited from the bedroom. She sat up straight and leveled an eagle eye at him.
“Brandon Patrick, you kept your word, didn’t you? Didn’t harm my baby?”
“No, ma’am. But I thought it best if I left before she awoke. It might have startled her to find a man, even her future husband, in bed with her. Virgins can be skitterish about such things.”
“You’re a wise thinker and a plain talker, Brandon Patrick,” Granny nodded. “I like that. You’ll make my Lilah a fine husband.”
“I hope so, ma’am.” He smiled back at her.
Lilah was startled to awake to Brandon’s voice from the next room. What was happening? Then she remembered—the bundling! But there sat the board, propped up in the corner. Still, the evidence was there—a man’s nightshirt folded neatly on the bureau. Why couldn’t she remember anything? She did recall fragments, a dream perhaps. A warm body next to hers—man smells close to her. She ached all over, but there could be several explanations for that—not the least of them her afternoon with Steele Denegal and then her struggle in the bog. She turned and buried her face in her pillow What was she going to do? She loved Steele as she would never love another man. But she’d promised so many others—even Saralyn. She’d have to think about it later. Her mind wouldn’t focus at the moment.
Brandon could feel himself coloring from the hairline down when he returned to Fortune’s Fancy to find his father, Jeremy, and Steele Denegal seated together in the library. He tried to tiptoe upstairs before they saw him, but his father had heard the front door, and called out, “Brandon, come in here. I need a word with you, son.”
Ames Patrick seemed to find nothing odd about his son’s staying out all night. He’d often slept at the octagonal house by the beach.
Steele Denegal looked at Brandon calmly, with no hint of accusation in his gray eyes.
Only Jeremy taunted, “Out prowling all night, eh, brother tomcat? You should have saved yourself. Papa’s about to send us to the most sporting town on the coast—Brunswick! There are more ladies of the evening there than you can shake your stick at!”
“That’s not why I’m sending you two to Brunswick, Jeremy! It’s business with one of the planters from Saint Simons, Mr. Thomas Butler King of Retreat Plantation. With all this war talk, the coastal planters are making some plans. We’ll be most vulnerable to federal navy ships. Of course, even if war does break out, which I doubt, those Yankees will have one hell of a time overrunning us down here. But the navy may pose a threat to our shipping at some point. So a number of representatives from along the coast are meeting in Brunswick at the Oglethorpe House to discuss possible defenses. The lighthouse on Saint Simons may be a prime target, so the planters of that island have taken charge. I think it’s all a bunch of poppycock, myself!”
“I still say you’re wrong, Ames,” Steele replied seriously. “I attended one of the meetings of the secessionists in Key West last month. The final decision will be made in Tallahassee in a few days. With South Carolina already broken away from the Union and others threatening, I don’t see how war can be avoided. President Lincoln won’t stand for the dissolution of the United States.”
“Bah! Don’t even mention that ape’s name in my house, Steele! What does he know about anything? A backwoodsman! A hick! You know he comes of bastard stock. I’ve heard,” Ames added confidentially.
Brandon blanched at his father’s words. He hated that accusation now that the same could be said of his bride-to-be.
Ames rose to signal an end to their discussion. “I’ve had Blue pack a bag for you, Brandon. Kingdom is waiting at the dock. He’ll drop Steele off in Savannah first and then proceed down the coast to Brunswick with the two of you.”
“But, Father,” Brandon protested, “my wedding is in three days!”
“All the better,” Ames replied. “You can stop in Savannah on your way home and pick up a preacher. Save us an extra trip. Then we’ll get this thing over with, if you’re still determined to go through with it.”
Brandon rose to his full six feet. “I am!” he announced.
Ames waved aside his son’s answer. “You’re of age. Nothing I can do to stop you.”
Steele thought recklessly to himself that he could stop the marriage in a minute. But then Lilah might hate him forever.
“If he doesn’t marry her, Papa, I’m going to,” Jeremy piped up, tossing his brother a challenging glance.
“Hogwash!” Ames Patrick growled. “At least your brother’s got a mite of sense. You know nothing but whiskey and women! You’re going to have to find a fine wife to add some credibility to your name, Jeremy Patrick. And high time you were looking into that! Not a thing wrong with that little Darcie Metcalf—good family, lots of property.” He slapped Jeremy on the back. “Think it over, son.”
Steele found a quiet moment alone with Brandon to ask him about Lilah before they got to Rainbow Landing.
“You think she’s going to be all right then?”
“A day of rest and she’ll be as good as new,” Brandon answered, looking tired and drawn.
“Bad night, eh?” Steele asked.
“The worst!”
Back at the overseer’s cabin, Lilah’s mind snapped with a sudden decision. She wanted Steele Denegal! And she would have him!
Ignoring her weakness from the struggle with the quicksand, she pulled on a mauve cashmere morning dress with a becoming lace collar, combed her hair and tied it back, then threw a cloak around her shoulders.
“Where you going, child?” Granny asked as Lilah raced past.
She received no answer.
Lilah tore down the shell road, letting her mind luxuriate in the memories, sensations, and love of the afternoon with Steele. Her heart pounded, but not entirely from the
exertion of her running. She felt free—determined to make the best life she could with the most wonderful love anyone had ever offered her.
In the distance, she heard the bell ring at Rainbow Landing. A strong gust of wind caught her cape and whipped it up, causing her to lose her balance. She fell to her knees and sharp shells cut into her hands.
The tolling bell sounded again—a death knell, announcing the demise of her dreams.
She watched the boat pull away, Kingdom’s long, smooth strokes slicing through the waves.
“Steele!” she called frantically. The wind mocked her, throwing the name back into her face.
Chapter 19
Steele Denegal arrived in Savannah that afternoon, his spirits ebbing to their lowest point since Rachel’s death. He was alone again. But then, hadn’t he been for a number of years… most of his life, in fact?
He stood in the cold drizzle on the dock and waved the Patrick brothers off on their trip to Brunswick. He felt tempted to find passage back to Rainbow Hammock and spirit Lilah away before she could make this match with Brandon. Better yet, he pictured himself arriving back at Fortune’s Fancy with the wedding in progress, and standing to give his evidence when the minister said, “If there is any man who can show just cause why this man and this woman should not be joined…”
Steele laughed grimly at the thought. “You’re tilting at windmills, old boy! Forget it!” he said aloud.
He turned toward Factor’s Row to check with Oscar Ryan before he decided on his next move. The man seemed surprised, but pleased, to see him back so soon.
“Short visit, Steele,” he commented, offering his guest a brandy to take the damp chill off. “Rainbow Hammock losing its magic?”
“No,” Steele answered. “I suppose I’m just a vagabond by nature. Time to be moving on.”
“And what about the special surprise you promised, my boy?”
Steele felt a stab of pain, thinking back to his high hopes when they’d spoken only the day before. “One more dream dissolved,” he sighed.
“Want to talk about it? You look upset.”
Steele shook his head. “No. It will pass.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot again today,” Oscar said, abruptly changing the subject. “This came for you from Key West the day before you arrived. Don’t know where my brains were when you came in the first time.” He handed Steele an envelope sent through the military mails. “Looks official,” Ryan observed.
Steele frowned and started to tear into the letter. “Do you mind?” he asked, thinking first of his curiosity and second of his manners.
“No! Go right ahead and read it. It might be something important.”
Steele quickly scanned the page. Captain James M. Brannan, commanding officer of Fort Taylor, was getting nervous. The local secessionist newspaper, Key of the Gulf, was printing incendiary articles, inflaming the citizens, creating havoc in the tropical paradise. Guns and reinforcements were needed, but hadn’t been sent yet.
Then came the captain’s plea:
… “Mr. Denegal, you are well respected by the citizenry of this island. While here, you spoke with me of your intentions to join forces with the Union if this situation came to war. We seem to be on the very brink of conflict. I have written ahead to Major General Hunter at Headquarters, Department of the South, Hilton Head, Port Royal, South Carolina, advising him to prepare a commission in your name, and requesting that you be sent immediately to Key West. I hope I have not presumed too much from our discussions. Your country needs you….”
Steele looked up from the page to find Oscar Ryan peering at him, his face oozing curiosity.
“Business,” Steele answered in reply to the older man’s expression. “I have to get to Hilton Head immediately. Is there a boat that runs between here and there?”
“One can always be hired.”
“Then, I’m off again,” Steele said.
That evening while Steele Denegal, dressed in federal blue, took his oath and received his rank of captain, the brothers Patrick pursued far less serious goals. Their conference with the coastal planters over, Jeremy led Brandon to Estrella’s Starlight House for a last fling before his marriage to Lilah Fitzpatrick.
“I really don’t see the point in this,” Brandon protested as his brother hauled him down Bay Street, red lights gleaming on all sides of them like beacons to sailors adrift.
“Just a couple of toddies to toast your coming marriage, Brandon. What will it hurt?”
“You know I’m not a drinking man, Jeremy. And I hardly think Lilah would approve of my visiting an establishment of this sort.”
Brandon glanced up to the open window of the second story. Two girls, scantily clad, sat on the sills.
“Hey, you with the yellow hair,” Jeremy shouted. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
“Frenchie,” she yelled back.
“Well, Frenchie, I’ll be calling for you later, and maybe your little friend could be of service to my brother.”
“Just say the word, mate,” the brassy-haired one answered.
“Honestly, Jeremy!” Brandon scolded. “I won’t be a party to any such action, and you’d do well to watch your step. Her technique may not be where that woman got her name!”
“You worry too much!” Jeremy laughed. “I’ve been to any number of parties here at the Starlight. Estrella runs a clean house. You won’t catch the French pox from any of her girls.”
“No chance of that! I won’t be participating in any sport, Jeremy!”
A large woman, her face powdered and her eyes and lips painted, opened the door at Jeremy’s knock. She wore a peacock-blue wrapper with great, scarlet peonies painted on it. Underneath, Brandon noticed, she wore nothing at all.
“Jeremy, mi enamorado!” Estrella shrilled. “Where have you been, muchacho?”
Jeremy gave the woman a hug then a kiss before he answered, “Alone and dying on my island, love of my life, and missing you every minute!”
“Oh, you lie!” she scolded playfully. “But I got some new stuff to show you. Here, take this booth.” She showed Jeremy and Brandon to a sheltered table away from the rowdies at the long oak bar. “Bertha!” she boomed in her foghorn voice. “Come get the gentlemen a drink.”
“Make it champagne,” Jeremy ordered.
“Ho-ho! You celebrating something?” Estrella asked.
“Yes. My brother, Brandon, is being married the day after tomorrow.”
Before Brandon could speak or move the madam planted a wet kiss of congratulations on his mouth. “You a lucky man! You keep that little wife of yours happy. Make sure she got a baby in her belly the first night, then you stop pestering her and come to the Starlight. My girls’ll make you happy, sí!
The black servant, Bertha, arrived at the table with a bottle of champagne and poured three glasses. Jeremy insisted that Estrella join them in a toast to the betrothed couple. Brandon drank thirstily. Although he didn’t care for strong liquor or its effects on him, he did enjoy a good glass of champagne. The bubbles rushed directly to his head, however. Jeremy refilled their glasses.
“Another bottle!” Estrella boomed, and Bertha quickly complied.
The heat from close bodies and a roaring fireplace at the end of the room began to take its toll on Brandon. But the more he drank, the hotter, the thirstier, he got. Soon the candles in the chandelier over the bar were spinning. He could still hear Jeremy chatting with Estrella, but their voices were strange, distorted imitations of human speech.
“Now don’t go to sleep on me,” Jeremy said, poking Brandon in the ribs. “The show’s about to start.”
“Not sleeping,” Brandon answered, making a great effort to sit up straight and find his lips with his glass.
Tables were cleared from the center of the room, and a black fiddler took his place before the fireplace. He struck up a lively tune, and Brandon watched several girls dance out across the floor. His vision blurred,
making the number vary from moment to moment. He could tell that they were dressed in brightly striped pantelettes and skimpy basques, which displayed full breasts as the dancers whirled and jiggled.
“How do you like it so far?” Brandon heard Jeremy’s question from the depths of a black pit.
“’S nice,” he slurred.
Two of the dancers spun away from the others and came to the table where the Patrick brothers sat. Frenchie took Jeremy’s lap and fondled him suggestively. He retaliated, caress for caress.
Brandon became aware of a warm presence next to him on the red velvet settle. Rose water cologne engulfed him, reminding him of Saralyn. He felt hands touching him, then his own were gently squeezing soft flesh. Brandon groaned at the spinning of his head and the rise of desire it spawned.
“Poor fellow,” Jeremy laughed. “We should put him out of his misery.”
“No!” Brandon pushed the dark-haired girl away.
“Please, señor!” she whispered into his ear. “I am new here, just from Havana a week. If Madam Estrella thinks I do not please you, I will lose my job or worse. She might have Big Juan beat me!”
The terror in the girl’s voice touched a chord somewhere in Brandon. He let her snuggle close again.
“Wha’s your name?”
“Carmelita.”
“Well, have some champagne, Carmelita,” Brandon offered gallantly.
“That’s more like it, brother,” Jeremy encouraged. “Carmelita’s a pretty little thing. You be nice to her.”
Brandon bobbed his head. “Always nice t’ ladiesh!”
Carmelita moved closer and let her hand slide up his leg. “Madre de Dios!” she exclaimed. “He needs a woman, this one!”
“He won’t die from it,” Jeremy laughed. He ignored the two for a time and went back to playing with Frenchie’s breasts, which he had freed from her basque.
Carmelita pulled Brandon’s head down to her bare shoulder and stroked his temples. He looked up at her, trying to focus well enough to see her clearly. Only her dark hair and golden eyes came through the fuzziness. Something about these features made him ache with longing.
Rainbow Hammock Page 23
