Leyton jerked as if she had stabbed him, and leaning forward, he spit, "If you were a man, I would run you through for what you just said! As for the other, it is Jeremy's name, my dear young woman, that will be bandied about." His flash of temper lessening, he warned, "Bring action against me, and it is your brother who will be shunned and disgraced for going back on his word as a gentleman and for not honoring his debts. A gentleman's word is his bond, and if he goes back on it, it is your brother who will suffer."
"Will he?" Arabella asked interestedly, her eyes innocent as she considered her next move. Inwardly she was quaking at her boldness. Jeremy would kill her if he ever found out what she was doing. She bit her lip, reminding herself that it had to be done—else they would all suffer the consequences. "I wonder?" she mused aloud. Shrugging her shoulders, she murmured, "Of course, you may be right, and naturally I would hate to put my family through all the scandal such an action would bring."
She smiled benignly at him. "Fortunately, Jeremy would not be the only one to suffer. The notoriety would certainly do you no good—your reputation is already somewhat, ah, tarnished." She tapped her lips consideringly with one gloved finger. "It will be fascinating to see what does happen, don't you agree? I suspect that the community will rally behind Jeremy and that he will garner a great deal of sympathy. You, naturally, will be painted a villain. Who knows, Jeremy's action may cause others that you have duped in the past to come forth. What do you think?"
"Are you blackmailing me?" he demanded, astounded at her audacity.
Arabella shook her head, the vibrant red-gold curls peeping out from around the broad-brimmed straw hat she was wearing. "Not exactly. I am offering you a bargain: Greenleigh for my brother's vowels and our silence."
"This is ridiculous!" he snapped, running an agitated hand through his tawny hair. "Even if I were in a position to make such a bargain, I would be mad to do so. Highview and the other lands are worth ten times what you are offering. You have come to me with a damned paltry exchange." His face darkened, and his expression was suddenly furious and resentful. "The Montgomery slaves alone are worth a small fortune."
Something in his words made Arabella's heart sink. She had never considered that he would just flatly refuse her offer, and yet that was precisely what he was doing. And yet why did he seem so angry? He held the power.
Trying to understand his manner and also to give herself time to think, she glanced around the room. She saw nothing that gave her clue, just a genteelly shabby room with faded draperies that needed a good airing. Her gaze paused as she stared at the drapes hanging on the right side of the French doors. A pair of gleaming black boots was protruding from the beneath the hem of the gold fabric. Someone was hiding there, listening to them!
Her breath caught. Leyton's visitor had not left! He had been concealed all this time behind the drapes. No wonder Leyton had been so uncomfortable—he knew someone else was privy to this unpleasant conversation.
Agitated now herself, not liking the notion of being spied upon, she stood up. There was something nasty and sinister about the odd situation that made her eager to be gone from the room. She wasn't afraid, exactly, but she was wary. Hands clenched tightly together, she forced herself to make one last plea. "Mr. Leyton, won't you please reconsider? It is not the act of an honorable man to make an entire family suffer for the folly of one young fool. You are partially to blame for what happened; left to his own devices, you know that my brother never would have gambled for such high stakes, nor have gotten so drunk that he did not realize what he was doing. You and Walcott deliberately set out to fleece him. And, unfortunately, Jeremy was silly enough to let you."
Her words stung him, and Leyton sprang to his feet and fairly shouted, "Don't you understand? I cannot return the damned vowels even if I wanted to—I do not have them any longer!"
Stunned, Arabella stared at him. "W-what do y-you mean you do n-not have them?" she managed to stammer.
"Because, you stupid little chit, I lost them in a card game!"
"B-but how can this be? Jeremy only pledged his vowels Monday morning. You can't have lost them so soon."
Leyton sank back down into his chair. Sardonically he muttered, "But I did indeed, Miss Montgomery. I was unwise enough to gamble last night with a man who possesses the devil's own luck, and I ended up throwing Jeremy's vowels on the table." He smiled nastily. "You will have to make your pretty little speech to him. Perhaps he will prove more amenable. Now, for God's sake, leave me in peace! And take your damned deeds with you." He made an angry gesture that sent the opened portfolio, her reticule, and a cloud of paper spinning to the floor. Her reticule flew open, spilling its contents across the scattered documents.
Arabella stared at him dumbfounded, and then at the mess upon the floor. Obviously there was no dealing with him. Eager to be gone from his unpleasant presence—and the hidden listener—wordlessly she began to gather up the scattered documents, heedlessly stuffing them into the portfolio and her reticule.
Her jaw set, ready to leave, she looked at him and forced herself to ask, "Who? Who has the vowels now?"
Malice glinted in his hazel eyes. "A gentlemen you once knew very well—Tony Daggett."
How she remained upright, she never knew. Leyton's words hit her like a blow. Tony Daggett! If he held Jeremy's vowels, they were well and truly ruined.
With a great effort she kept her expression fixed, though she knew her face was white with shock. "I did not realize that he had returned," she said with what composure she could summon. "Where is he staying?"
"At Sweet Acres. Allow me," he added with malicious enjoyment, "to give you the directions." And scrawled something across a scrap of paper.
"That won't be necessary," she said stiffly.
"Oh, but I insist," he said almost gaily, and thrust the paper into her nerveless hand. "Go see Daggett. I am sure that he will prove far more amenable to your offer than I ever would—even if I still possessed the vowels. After all," he added cruelly, "you do have a history together, don't you?"
Her back ramrod straight, she turned and walked swiftly to the door. She hurried from the house, dazed and shaken, hardly able to understand the ramifications of the calamity that had overtaken her. She had been so certain she could get the vowels back. So certain she could save the family from ruin. So certain she could convince Leyton to prove himself an honorable man that she had never considered what failure would mean. And if Tony held Jeremy's vowels, then she had truly failed.
The room was silent for a moment once the door had closed behind Arabella's departing form. Then Leyton sighed, and said, "You can come out now. She is gone."
A tall, slim man garbed in the height of fashion strolled out from behind the drapes. A smile on his mouth, he murmured, "Such a passionate little creature, I am surprised you were able to withstand her pleas."
"You know very well that I had no choice," Leyton snarled. "Daggett has the vowels."
"Um, yes, that is so. It was very stupid of you to gamble with him last night. You know that he always wins."
"Have done! And get on with your bloody errand. I am in no mood to be polite."
"So I see. Very well then." The man steepled his long slim fingers, and said, "A curious thing has occurred—someone actually tried to extort money out of me the other day."
"Really? What have you to hide?"
His eyes watchful, the other man said slowly, "It seems a letter that I was foolish enough to write some years ago has come back to haunt me." He looked thoughtful. "It was, I admit, silly of me not to have made certain it was destroyed, but at the time I did not think that someone would be stupid enough to keep it." He glanced across at Leyton. "I want the letter back. It would no doubt cause me some—er—embarrassment if it were shown to a certain person. I am sure you know of whom I speak."
Leyton looked bored. "I am afraid that you are talking Greek to me. And I fail to see why you think I should care about your problems—I have enough problems of
my own."
"Well, you see that is the odd thing about it," the gentleman said gently. "It was unfortunate for the—er—blackmailer, but I happened to be home when the message arrived and had the good sense to immediately send my man to follow the boy who delivered it. The boy was very good in making certain that he was not followed when he left my place, but..." He smiled. "My man knows it is worth his very life if he fails me, and so of course, he did not."
Leyton shrugged. "I still fail to see why you think I should be interested in this tale."
"Ah, well you see, this is where it gets most interesting. My man followed the messenger here to your plantation."
"And you think I had something to do with it?" Leyton demanded. "This is an outrage! Are you accusing me of trying to blackmail you? Only our long friendship prevents me from calling you out this very minute for such a statement."
The other man continued to stare at Leyton for several seconds, then he sighed. "Very well, have it your way. I apologize. But I should tell you—I intend to have the letter back. And attempting to blackmail me could be dangerous—it could even prove fatal."
Their eyes met and held, but it was Leyton's gaze that fell first. Shuffling some of the papers on his desk, he said carelessly, "It is an interesting tale, but I still fail to see how it affects me. Your man was, no doubt, mistaken."
"Unlikely, but I believe we have lingered enough on unpleasant subjects and should move on to more diverting topics." Leaning comfortably back in the chair and crossing his legs, he murmured, "That was a most entertaining interview between you and the fair Arabella. Ah, what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when the sprite confronts Tony and demands those vowels back. It should be most amusing, don't you agree?"
* * *
Arabella was never certain how she managed to get out of the house and into her cart. Instinct must have guided her because she had left the track to Oakmont behind and was driving down the main trail to Natchez before she became aware of her surroundings. Suppressing a sob, she pulled her mare over to the side of the road and halted the cart.
Dear God! Tony Daggett. Just his name still had the power to fill her with the most exquisite longing and despair—and five years had not lessened the pain of his betrayal.
Blindly, Arabella stared into the lush, green undergrowth that pressed close to the dusty trail. When Thomas Stockdale had died a decade ago from an infected wound suffered in a skirmish with Indians, she had thought she would never love again. Her life, she had been certain, was over. At barely twenty-one she had been determined to spend the rest of her days as a spinster, her heart buried in Canada with Thomas.
Thinking back on her reaction, Arabella smiled faintly. What a dramatic little twit she had been. But her feelings for Thomas had been real, and his unexpected death, only weeks before they were to wed, had devastated her.
She had loved Thomas for as long as she could remember. The Stockdales had lived next door to the Montgomerys in Surrey, England, and even her father's decision to emigrate to the Americas in 1783 at the cessation of the American war with England had not lessened the affection between the families. All his neighbors and friends had thought her father mad for leaving the safety of England for an uncertain future in the New World. But William had been adamant—he wanted broader horizons and so, having sold all his holdings, placed his family on a ship sailing for America. The move had not broken the bond between seventeen-year-old Arabella and twenty-one-year-old Thomas. They wrote to each other incessantly, declaring their undying love and, with both sets of parents' blessing, when Arabella turned eighteen, they had become engaged.
But while both families welcomed the engagement, the elders urged the young couple to wait until Thomas was better situated in his chosen career in the Army. Since they had weathered the previous separation, and there was a great deal of wisdom in their parents' urgings, Arabella and Thomas had reluctantly agreed to wait to wed until she became twenty-one and came into her mother's fortune. Neither of them ever dreamed what that delay would cost them.
Arabella's expression softened as she thought back on the bittersweet memories of Thomas. Their love, she realized now, had been a gentle, undemanding emotion and, no doubt, if Thomas had lived they would have enjoyed a comfortable marriage. Certainly she would never have known the whirlwind passion and fierce ardor Tony Daggett had aroused within her heart.
A shudder went through her. Tony. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him who held Jeremy's vowels? She would rather be confronted by a horde of painted, howling savages than face him. Her generous mouth twisted. And she would probably receive more kindness from savages than she would from Tony Daggett.
Oh, what a fool she had been over him! And it wasn't as if she hadn't known his reputation—everyone in Natchez did. His dead wives and scandalous behavior were the topic of conversation everywhere one went. Of course, he couldn't have cared less—which only infuriated everyone and made them gossip more. If anything, he baited the polite folk of Natchez with his outrageous antics—driving his horses up the steps of the governor's residence on a wager, and engaging in a drunken shooting contest right in the middle of town.
There had been nothing gentle or comfortable about Tony Daggett, Arabella admitted with a little smile. He entered a room like a March wind, full of power and promise, his indigo blue eyes glittering brightly, his black hair wildly tossing, and his hard, arrogantly carved features alight with expectation.
Why his fancy had lit on her, Arabella had never known. But once he had set his sights on her, she had been lost, overwhelmed by him, dazzled by his handsome face and tall, lean form, just a little excited by his reputation and utterly beguiled by the way a single touch of his hand could transform her entire body into a vibrant flame.
Of course, she should have listened to everyone who warned her about him. Her father had nearly had a fit of apoplexy when it had dawned on him that his daughter was being pursued by Tony Dagget and that she was not trying very hard to escape. Even Tony's cousin, Burgess, had tried to steer her away from certain disaster. But she had been in love, she thought disgustedly. The emotion she had felt for Thomas was a pale weak thing compared to the way Tony made her feel.
Even now, nearly five years later, she couldn't believe that she had been so mad, so reckless, and so very, very foolish. At twenty-seven, she had been well on her chosen path to becoming a sedate spinster—much to her father's dismay. There had been a few young men who had paid court to her in the years following Thomas's death, but Arabella had gently repulsed their advances, determined to be true to Thomas's memory. Until Tony Daggett.
Tony had not been the least repulsed by her aloofness, in fact, she had discovered afterward, it had been a challenge—a wager between him and his good friend, Patrick Blackburne, whose reputation was almost as notorious as Tony's. Her eyes darkened with remembered pain.
It had been bad enough that Tony had captured her heart for his own amusement and to win the wager. But did he have to declare himself wildly in love with her and beg her to marry him, knowing full well that he had no intention of ever wedding her? Had it been part of that infamous wager to seduce her? To take her innocence? To leave her nothing?
Miserably, Arabella reminded herself that it had all happened a long time ago, that it shouldn't matter any longer. But she lied, and she knew it; there were still nights when she lay alone in her bed, her body burning for Tony's caresses, on fire to experience again the pleasure of being possessed by him. Oh, she couldn't deny it—despite all the reasons not to, she longed fervently to know again the heart-shaking pleasure she had discovered in his arms one, unforgettable time. She had given him her innocence, and he had thrown it away—for a wager!
Angry with herself for mooning over a man who had proven himself to be a cruel betrayer, who had chosen the most brutal way possible to reveal to her just how little she had meant to him, she picked up the reins and urged her mare forward. She would have much preferred to drive immed
iately to Highview and accept defeat, but she could not. She really only had one choice, painful and uncomfortable though it would be—she had to see Tony and try to get back Jeremy's vowels.
A crackle of paper caught her attention, and she stared down at the slip of paper still clutched in her hand. She snorted. She needed no directions to Tony Daggett's plantation. Contemptuously tossing the paper onto the cart's floorboards, she slapped the reins and urged her mare into motion.
Though she tried to remain calm and focused on what she had to accomplish, with every mile that brought her closer to Sweet Acres, she could feel herself growing tenser and more nervous.
By the time the drive to Sweet Acres came into view, the place she had once thought to come as a bride, Arabella had herself whipped into a fine temper. You silly chit! she chastised herself. You were the one who was wronged. Why should you be agitated about seeing him again? He is the one who should be uncomfortable! He is the one who wooed and seduced you for sport! And let you discover how little you meant to him by allowing you to find him in the arms of his mistress.
Thanks to Tony, she was no foolish virgin to be snared by a flashing smile and teasing indigo blue eyes, she told herself fiercely. Oh, no. She was thoroughly immune to the many charms of Tony Daggett. She knew him for what he was—a black-hearted scoundrel, and he would never take advantage of her again.
Chapter 3
As Arabella was reluctantly wending her way to Sweet Acres, Tony Daggett, his booted feet propped up on a fine mahogany table, was staring moodily at the charming expanse that greeted his eye. Until it disappeared into the tangled wood on its border, a broad, gently sloping lawn, interspersed with live oaks and magnolias, flowed almost endlessly before him. There were patches of gaily colored flowers planted here and there, and, from the open French doors of the study where he was sitting, the heady scent of roses, heliotrope, and pinks wafted to him. The handsomely appointed room was silent except for the sleepy drone of insects, but Tony found no pleasure in their song or the scent of the flowers, nor even the sight of the agreeable view before him.
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