Arabella flashed him an outraged glance. "And I will have you know that my brother is no murderer—even if he hadn't gotten his vowels back. How dare you say such a thing!"
Tony smiled. "Do you know that you are very loyal to those you love?"
"Loyalty," she said gruffly, "is part and parcel of loving."
The first uncomfortable silence of the trip fell between them, and several more miles passed before Tony commented on the passing scenery and Arabella returned a light reply. After that, conversation flowed more easily between them, but they carefully avoided personal topics.
It was well after three o'clock in the afternoon when Arabella at last turned the brown gelding down the winding drive that led to Greenleigh. She was uneasily aware of the passage of time and mindful that she and Tony were to have met at two o'clock at the lodge to officially consummate their bargain. She was not quite certain how to bring up the subject.
She didn't have to. As she began to guide the horse around the graceful curving driveway in front of the house, Tony said abruptly, "I think we shall have to postpone our rendezvous today." He glanced at his gold pocket watch, and said, "It is now past the hour we set to meet and I am sure that you are tired after the long drive and in no mood for dalliance. We shall have to decide upon another day and time."
Arabella didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. In the time since she had made her rash bargain with Tony, there had been much opportunity to consider precisely what it was she had agreed to do. It had not seemed demeaning at the time, and she had even admitted to herself that she wanted to become Tony's lover for reasons that had nothing to do with Jeremy's vowels. Unfortunately, Tony's reasons for suggesting the bargain had everything to do with Jeremy's vowels, and she could not escape the reality that no matter what sort of face she tried to put on it, she was selling her body—whatever the reason. That knowledge left her feeling decidedly tawdry.
It was true they had made love yesterday afternoon, and she had felt nothing but gloriously, wondrously alive in Tony's arms, but that event seemed, in her mind, totally separate from the bargain they had made. Their lovemaking had been unplanned, untainted by any thought of trading her body for Jeremy's vowels. Such was not the case today. Today's planned meeting had seemed cold-blooded in comparison, and she did not like knowing that she was selling her favors as boldly as any woman of easy virtue. And yet, she thought unhappily, she could not renege on her word; the bargain had been struck, and Jeremy already had the paper that would return his vowels to him. She had no choice but to continue as she had begun.
Her face averted, she muttered, "Whatever you think is best. After all," she said bitterly, "I am at your disposal."
Tony bit back a curse and grasping her shoulders, swung her around to face him. "And that," he snapped, "is precisely how I do not want you feeling." He thrust her away from him, and growled, "I must have been mad to have made such a witless agreement."
"Are you saying you regret our bargain?" she asked stiffly.
He sent her a twisted smile. "Regret making love to you? Never that, sweetheart, never that."
His words made her heart jump, but before she could question him further, Tidmore came down the stairs and approached the cart. For the moment private conversation was ended between them.
Tony declined Arabella's invitation to come inside for refreshments. In fact he refused to come inside at all, bidding her a cool adieu and waiting impatiently on the front steps of the house for his horse to be brought round. With confusion evident on her face, she watched him ride away, wondering if she would ever understand him... or ever stop loving him.
There. She had admitted it. She loved Tony Daggett and probably always would. That he didn't deserve her love, she was well aware, but it still didn't change the fact that she did love him—in fact, had never stopped loving him.
It was unpalatable knowledge and did nothing to help her resolve the situation between them. Actually it made her all the more determined to resist any attempt by her rebellious heart to make excuses for him—or to let herself be seduced by him again. She might love him, that she had no control over, but she was not going to allow her silly heart to believe in him once more. He was only a charming rascal, too handsome and rich for his own good, and she had better not forget it. Nor forget the pain she had felt when she had discovered him in Molly Dobson's arms.
* * *
Someone else was also thinking of Molly Dobson, and Boots awoke the next morning determined to find her. He had not kept track of Molly, but it took him only a few minutes of casual conversation with a few friends the next morning to discover her lodgings. It didn't surprise him that the house where Molly was living was nearer the notorious Silver Street of "Natchez-under-the-hill" than the elegant mansions perched high above on the bluffs. She had, he thought, as he ascended the worn plank steps and knocked on the unpainted door, come down in the world.
A slattern wearing a ragged mobcap and apron answered his knock and, seeing a gentleman on the porch, bobbed and invited him inside. It appeared that Molly was entertaining any man who could pay for her services rather than being kept exclusively by one gentleman.
Having been shown in to what passed for a parlor, he held his shallow-brimmed hat in his hands and wandered around the room. There were a few nice pieces scattered about the area, the blue-satin sofa, a pair of dainty satinwood tables, and a fine carpet thrown on the rough floor, but there was a forlorn air about the cramped room. He wondered what she had done with the handsome sum he had settled on her five years ago.
He hadn't long to wait. Molly, wearing a blue-silk gown that revealed a great deal of her lush charms, came tripping into the room with a welcoming smile on her still-pretty face. The smile faded when she saw who had come to call.
Her mouth took on a sullen droop, and she shut the door behind her. Facing him, a wary flicker in the sky-blue eyes, she asked belligerently, "What are you doing here?"
"Why, Molly, my dear, why else would I be here but to see your own sweet self?"
"Still the silver tongue, I see," she said dryly, crossing her arms over her magnificent bosom.
He had not seen her in five years and thought that the time in between had not been kind. Oh, she was still a tempting armful to be sure, but nearer thirty-five than thirty. The signs of time, and a life of debauchery, which was her stock-in-trade, were apparent. That golden hair was not quite as bright as it once had been, and those melting blue eyes had acquired a calculating cast; there was a hardness to her delicate features that had not been obvious previously. But that stunning figure had changed little.
If anything, it had improved, the waist still girlishly narrow, but above and below there was a ripeness that he found appealing.
He laughed at her words. "Come now, sweet, let us not spar." He dropped his gaze and crossed his booted feet. "I have a proposition for you. I'll pay you well for it."
Her hostile manner vanished. "How well?" she asked eagerly.
He cast a contemptuous glance around the room. "Well enough for you to find better quarters for one thing."
She seated herself in a chair across from him. "What do I have to do?"
"A few questions first," he said easily. Steepling his fingers in front of him, he regarded her. "I heard an interesting rumor a few months ago—that you were in the keeping of Daniel Leyton. Is it true?"
At the mention of Leyton's name, she started and looked uneasy. "So what if it is?" she demanded. "The money you gave me ran out, and a girl has to keep herself. I can't see that it is any concern of yours."
"Ran out? I seem to recall that it was enough to keep you and that brat of yours, indefinitely—if handled properly."
Molly sniffed and shrugged.
"You squandered it, didn't you?"
"I had gaming losses," she muttered. She looked at him archly. "You never struck me as a jealous man. I never suspected you'd care if I took up with someone else."
"Well you are wrong there, my
dear," he said softly.
"Very wrong when the gentleman in question approaches me with a letter that he could have only gotten from you."
She paled. Weakly she asked, "Why, whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, the letter I wrote to you five years ago—the letter I remember distinctly telling you to destroy."
"Oh, that letter!" she said nervously. Pleating her gown with restless fingers, she added, "I meant to destroy it, I really did, but things were so confused just after... well you remember how it was. It, uh, slipped my mind." She smiled beguilingly at him. "Since everything had worked out as we planned, it didn't seem so important. I just, um, stuffed it away in a drawer and forgot about it. Really."
"I see. And how did the letter end up in Leyton's hands? He just happened to find it? When he was going through your things?"
She swallowed. She had always been a little afraid of him—even when she had briefly been his mistress. Briefly because while he was handsome and generous, he had tastes that were cruel and degrading, even for a woman in her position; with little regret she had brought their liaison to a swift end. He had been quick with his fists in those days, and she didn't relish feeling them again.
Nervously watching him as he sat across from her, Molly turned the situation over in her mind. She had not heard from Leyton in almost a week... and sitting right there in her parlor was a gentleman whose fortune was far more secure than Leyton's. A gentleman who owed her and a gentleman, who for all his faults could be generous when it suited him. Far more generous than Leyton ever thought of being.
Her mind made up, she asked slowly, "How much are you willing to pay me to tell you about Leyton?"
His lips thinned. "As much as I think the information is worth."
It wasn't the answer she wanted, but deciding she would rather have money than a beating, she shrugged, and admitted, "He accidentally discovered the letter and wanted to know who had written it. I told him."
"Did you now? And why was that, hmm? Didn't I pay you enough to keep your mouth shut? You swore yourself to silence and vowed never to contact me again—for anything. It seems that I spent my money poorly, doesn't it?"
"It was an accident, I tell you! I never meant for him—or anyone to know about it," she said hastily, alarm in her blue eyes. "He came to visit when I had just moved here from my last lodgings, and he was teasing me about all the fripperies I had scattered about the place—I had not finished unpacking. He was pawing through one of my trunks and came across the letter—I swear I didn't know it was there!" The expression on his face was not encouraging, but she rushed on, "He teased me when he found it, he thought it was just a love note from a former lover, and he began to read it aloud—"
"And discovered it was a very odd sort of love letter, yes?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"And so you told him everything," he stated with an outward calm that belied the fury in his gaze.
She shook her golden head. "Not everything." Her eyes dropped from his, and she admitted in a low voice, "Just enough."
"Just enough for him to try to blackmail me," he snapped, his temper riding him. "And what," he demanded, "were you to get out of this scheme?"
Too frightened of him not to tell the truth, she muttered, "Enough to let me leave for New Orleans and set myself up there."
With an effort he quelled the urge to beat her. The stupid bitch! He took a deep, calming breath. He needed her just now. She had a job to do for him.
Dusting an imaginary bit of fluff off his immaculate jacket sleeve, he said casually, "I will match his offer and raise it. Not only will I arrange for you to go to New Orleans, my dear, but you will have enough to set yourself up there in a far nicer house than Leyton could afford. I shall also see to it that you have ample funds to keep yourself until you find a new protector. And since I am feeling particularly generous this morning, I shall add several new gowns for you." He smiled attractively. "You will be able to display your charms to great advantage."
Molly's eyes brightened. To her astonishment, he was proving to be reasonable about what amounted to blatant betrayal. She was even beginning to wonder why she had been afraid of him. She should have, she decided regretfully, approached him first and not allowed Leyton any part of the spoils. The thought of Leyton brought a little frown to her forehead.
"Er, what about Leyton?" she asked. "He might cause trouble—and he has the letter. He took it from me weeks ago."
Well, that answered one very important question for him, and he hadn't even had to ask it. "Do not worry your sweet head about Leyton. He won't trouble you... or anyone else again."
Molly stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Haven't you heard? Poor Leyton was murdered just the other night. Tragic. Just tragic."
Like a bird mesmerized by a snake, Molly stared at him. His features revealed nothing but polite regret, but she was aware of an icy tingle down her spine.
"M-M-Murdered?" she finally got out.
He nodded. "Yes. So sad. But then that is the way of the world, isn't it? Here one day and gone the next." He smiled gently. "It is a good thing for you that I came along with my proposition just now, isn't it? With Leyton dead, you no longer have any sort of protector at all, do you?"
A sickly smile crossed her face. Surely he had not murdered Leyton? It was an unnerving thought, but she told herself that it was no concern of hers what happened between the gentlemen who paid for her favors—as long as money fell into her outstretched palm. With a shrug, Molly pushed aside her uncomfortable musings.
"Your offer is certainly better than Leyton's and"—she flashed him a seductive smile—"could not have come at a better time for me. Now what is it you want me to do?"
He quickly laid it all out for her.
She made a face when he had finished speaking, but nodded her agreement.
Rising to his feet, he stopped in front of her. Pinching her chin with more force than necessary, he said softly, "Do not fail me, Molly. I make a very bad enemy."
She swallowed, her fear of him returning. "I know. I swear I shall not fail."
He smiled. "I knew I could count on you, my sweet. Get the boy, and I shall let you know when we shall spring our little surprise on Tony."
* * *
Arabella got a surprise of her own that same morning—one she could have done without. The hours after she had returned home from Natchez on Friday had passed uneventfully and she had walked upstairs to her bedroom, looking forward to a good night's sleep. Which to her great pleasure she received.
She woke on Saturday morning to brilliant yellow sunshine and clear blue sky, and having enjoyed a sound night's rest, the first in some time, she rose refreshed and eager for the day. After enjoying a leisurely breakfast in the sunny morning room, she and Mrs. Tidmore began to consider the various changes to Greenleigh that they both felt were necessary.
Greenleigh had been built to her maternal grandfather's specifications thirteen years earlier, when he and his wife had left England and moved to Natchez in order to be near Arabella, their only grandchild. It was not a pretentious house. It was a comfortable home rather than a mansion like Highview, but the rooms were large and spacious.
Arabella had always enjoyed staying at Greenleigh when her grandparents were alive, but she had never considered the day when she would own it. Her grandmother had died three years before from one of the prevalent fevers in the region, and Arabella had barely come to grips with that loss when it had been followed the next winter by her grandfather's unexpected death caused by congestion in his lungs.
She had missed both of them dreadfully and for a great length of time had not been able to think of Greenleigh without pain. She certainly never thought of it as belonging to her. Hence she had installed the Tidmores and given the house and plantation little thought beyond necessary upkeep.
All that had changed, and it amazed her how quickly her life was revolutionizing itself. She had never considered not living at Highview, but in a ma
tter of days, she had not only considered it, but moved from the only home she had known since she had left England as a child.
True, the departure from Highview had been originally viewed as temporary, until Cousin Agatha's visit was over, but every day she was away from Highview confirmed Arabella's opinion that it was time to strike out on her own—past time.
At first Greenleigh had seemed too quiet and small after Highview, but she was coming to enjoy those very aspects of the place and she was excited about rejuvenating the house. Already she could picture the long windows of the main salon draped in soft, misty green fabric, and lying on the polished plank floors, a woven wool carpet in pale greens and rose shades.
She and Mrs. Tidmore were discussing that very thing when Tidmore entered the room, and said, "Miss, a carriage has just arrived. It is your stepmother."
"Mary? I wonder—" Arabella made a face. Hoping her surmise was wrong, she smiled and said, "After you have shown her in here, will you see to some lemonade for us?"
He bowed and departed.
Mrs. Tidmore stood up, and remarked, "I shall see if cook has finished baking those pound cakes I ordered this morning. If she has, I shall have one sliced and sent in with some raspberry preserves." Arabella smiled gratefully at her.
After Mrs. Tidmore had left the room, she rose and nervously patted the skirts of her amber gown of glazed cambric. She had worn an older garment because she had planned on going through some of the storage rooms once she and Mrs. Tidmore had finished their discussion. In anticipation of that, her hair had been caught back in a tidy chignon that rested on the back of her neck, and she was wearing a yellow-chintz mobcap. She felt dowdy and in no mood for visitors, but she could hardly tell Tidmore to state that she was not at home to her very own stepmother.
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