Chapter 14
It took Savanna several more days before she could bring herself to tell her mother and Bodene. She had hoped that she had been mistaken, that her morning attack of illness had been merely an aberration, but such was not the case; and on the twelfth morning in a row when she woke to the now familiar dizzy sensation that preceded the horrible gagging which inevitably followed it, she knew that there was nothing to be gained by keeping her mouth shut.
Neither Elizabeth nor Bodene seemed surprised when she finally admitted her condition that evening as they all sat in the back parlor, the ladies sipping a final glass of lemonade, Bodene nursing a tumbler of whiskey. Elizabeth paled at the news, but patting Savanna's hand gently as she sat on the sofa beside her, she said bracingly, "Well! My very first grandchild! I shall look forward to its arrival."
Bodene, lounging in the chintz-covered chair across from them, sent a sour look in their direction. His gaze locked on Savanna's rigid features, he asked, "Have you written to Adam?"
"No!" she stated tightly. "And I don't intend to." She looked down at her hands clenched in her lap, and in a tone of bitter unhappiness, she added, "What happened between us meant nothing." Honesty forcing her to say, "At least to him; I see no reason to write to him. If there wasn't going to be a child, you could wager The Golden Lady on the fact that Adam St. Clair wouldn't ever come within a crooked mile of me. Just because I'm going to have his child—a child he never planned on or wanted in the first place—doesn't change my mind about him—or his about me. What happens now is no concern of his."
"He's the child's father, for God's sake!" Bodene exploded. "Don't you think that gives him at least the right to know of it?"
Savanna's chin jutted stubbornly. "We've been here at Campo de Verde for a month—if he were the tiniest bit interested," she said painfully, "don't you think that he would have made some attempt to write or find out for himself?"
"If I remember correctly," Bodene replied with an effort, "he asked that you write him."
"Yes, darling," Elizabeth broke in gently, "I remember distinctly, the evening you explained everything to me, that you and Bodene both mentioned that Adam had asked that you send a message to him." Peering into Savanna's unhappy face, she added softly, "Don't you think that would be a good idea? Now that you know for certain you are carrying his child? At least to let him know of it?"
Savanna's eyes closed in anguish. She had no ready argument to fling back at them and miserably she admitted that their questions were both logical and valid—hadn't she been struggling to answer those same damnable questions since the moment she had discovered that she was pregnant? One part of her acknowledged fairly that Adam should be informed of his impending fatherhood, but there was another part of her that shrank from such a step. Every fiber of her being cried out against telling Adam, because she knew that once he learned of the coming child, he would move heaven and earth in his attempts to force her to marry him... and she was very aware that in a moment of weakness she might give in, making an unhappy situation utterly unbearable for all of them.
Realizing that the others were waiting for a reply, she stared at her hands and muttered, "I'm sorry! I know you both want what you think is best for me and the child, but I don't believe that informing him is the best solution. I—I don't want to be forced into marriage by anyone, not you, not Adam St. Clair." She raised her eyes and stared at Bodene. "And I want your promise that you will not tell him."
Bodene fixed a long, speculative look on her, noting again the fine-drawn loveliness of her face, the fierce, stubborn pride that was evident in every stiffly held line of her body. It was obvious that further argument was useless, and equally obvious from the glint in her eyes that she wasn't going to leave him alone until he gave his word. His mouth hardened. "Very well," he muttered at last, his eyes not meeting hers.
Savanna didn't trust him, and leaning forward, she demanded, "Say it!"
Bodene took a long swallow of his whiskey and, slamming the tumbler down on the oak table, growled, "I will not say a word to Adam St. Clair—there, are you satisfied?"
She wasn't quite satisfied, but she could tell from the set expression on his face that he had offered her all the reassurance he was going to, and she would have to be content. Some of the tenseness drained slowly out of her body and she sank back against the sofa. "Thank you, Bodene," she said softly. "I know you think I'm wrong"—she glanced fondly at her mother—"and you, too, but nothing has changed. Adam never cared for me—nor I for him," she added hastily. "Even though I am pregnant, all of the reasons I stated in the beginning about why I didn't agree to marry him when he asked me are still valid."
Bodene snorted and, rising to his feet, said grimly, "Well, if you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to spend a few hours in the office and see just what I can do to make the next generation's future a bit better than ours has been so far."
Twenty minutes later, he glanced up from the letter he was writing to see Elizabeth peeking around the doorframe. A distracted expression on her face, she came in quickly and shut the door behind her.
The office had originally been a small storeroom at the side of the house, but under Elizabeth's guidance, it had been transformed into a pleasant and functional place to handle the affairs of the plantation. A couple of oak bookcases were situated along one wall; a wide, long table with various small farming implements scattered across it, as well as a tray with glasses and liquors, graced the other; and at one end of the room were the big desk and leather chair where Bodene sat. There were two comfortable chairs in worn velvet in front of the desk, and slipping into one of them, Elizabeth fixed worried aquamarine eyes on Bodene's face.
She looked, he thought tenderly as he stared at her, very lovely in her gown of blue sprigged muslin, the strawberry-blond hair caught up neatly in a bun which lay on the nape of her neck. But instead of the normal tranquility he usually saw in her eyes, they were full of anxiety; and ever ready to shelter her from any blow that he could, Bodene said softly, "Don't look so worried, Liza—everything will be just fine. You'll see."
Elizabeth stared at him, biting her full lower lip. "Oh, Bodene! How can you be so certain? I've prayed and prayed that she would find a nice, ordinary man and marry and live a happy, respectable life. And now this! I don't think that I can bear to watch her suffer the contempt and scorn of all of our friends and neighbors once the truth comes out."
Elizabeth glanced away, tears glistening in her eyes. "It is horrible to have people look at you as if you were some sort of filthy rubble beneath their feet. And the men! They think that you are a shameless slut—always ready for a tumble and eagerly craving their crude advances. I simply cannot endure the thought of Savanna having to go through that. There must be a way that we can spare her the shame and degradation that will come. We must!"
Moved by her words, Bodene came to kneel on one knee at the side of her chair. Taking one of her slim hands in his, he murmured, "Liza! Don't fret so! I promise you that no one is going to dare put Savanna through what you suffered. I wasn't old enough to protect you in the beginning—but let one man dare treat Savanna that way, and he'll have me to answer to."
There was such savage determination in his deep voice that Elizabeth regarded him with love and dread. "Bodene, I know you would lay down your life for both of us, but you cannot always act as a buffer for us against the world." She sent him a searching look. "How do you think Savanna would feel if you were to die in a duel because of her?"
Bodene smiled wickedly. "I'm very good with both the pistol and the sword, my dear—in my business one has to be—and so I think it nlikely that I would be the loser in any contest on the dueling field. But to set your mind at rest... I don't believe that I am going to have to risk my life for Savanna's honor. Savanna will not face what you did—rest assured of that."
Puzzled, she stared at him, his words ringing with clear conviction. "How can you be so sure?" she asked. "If Savanna will have nothing to do with t
his Adam St. Clair, I cannot see anything but unhappiness ahead." Suspicion suddenly narrowing her gaze, she demanded, "What do you know that I don't?"
Rising to his feet, Bodene grinned, and crossing his arms over his broad chest, he said, "Savanna has given you a distorted idea of the relationship that exists between her and Adam. You didn't see the pair of them together—they're both half in love with each other, and I'd be willing to wager a considerable sum on the fact that once Adam learns that he is to be a father, he'll make Savanna marry him. Propinquity will do the rest. If all goes as I suspect, your daughter will soon be married to a wealthy, well-bred, well-connected gentleman. He won't be the ordinary fellow you may have wished for her, but I think that you will find your future son-in-law to be just the sort of man every woman longs for her daughter to marry. When you meet him, you will like him very much, Liza."
Elizabeth sent him an exasperated glance. "That's all very well, Bodene. But tell me—how am I ever to meet him if Savanna is unwilling to let him know of the child, and if she has made you swear not to tell him?"
Bodene's grin widened and, a dancing light in his eyes, he drawled, "I'm taking care of that little detail right now. Savanna made me swear not to say a word to him—she didn't say a damn thing about writing to him!"
Elizabeth's eyes grew round. "Oh, Bodene!" she finally said with a soft chuckle. "You are a sly boots! Is that what you are doing? Writing to Adam?"
He nodded. "Yes. The letter will go by Isaac on one of my fastest horses, at first light tomorrow. If I have judged Adam right, before another month passes, your daughter will be Mrs. St. Clair."
Bodene wasn't quite as optimistic as he sounded. It was possible that, once Adam had returned to his usual friends and surroundings, he would prefer to forget about the whole incident with Savanna and would merely read the letter and carelessly toss it aside. Many men in his position would; after all, what did the pregnancy of some little backwoods baggage mean to them? They would shrug their shoulders and go about their business, conveniently putting the matter from their minds. Bodene didn't think Adam would treat the news of impending fatherhood that way, but then again, what did he really know about the man? And then there was Savanna.... She was going to be furious with both of them and she had made it blazingly clear that she had no intention of marrying Adam St. Clair. Changing Savanna's mind when she was set on something was such a formidable task that most men would quail and walk away. Bodene grinned. He didn't in the least envy Adam the wooing of a stubborn, prideful, hot-tempered virago like Savanna.
* * *
Adam received Bodene's letter at dusk on August the ninth, and for a long time after he had read the blunt message, he stared out the window of Belle Vista's elegant library at the purple-shadowed lands across the Mississippi River, torn between jubilation and angry despair. Bodene had written explicitly that, in spite of her condition, Savanna was as adamantly opposed to marriage with him as she had been when he had first broached the question. Adam's mouth twisted wryly. Savanna's continual aversion to marriage with him shouldn't have surprised him, but to a certain extent it did. Without conceit, he knew his own worth; for years scintillating, sophisticated women from some of the finest families in the area and beyond had been vying for his hand, and he found it ironic that when he had finally asked a woman to marry him, she wanted none of him—even when she was carrying his child.
The idea that he was going to become a father was unsettling and his feelings about the child were ambivalent. He was joyful at the news, but he admitted with brutal insight that most of his joy had to do with the knowledge that the pregnancy gave him a weapon—enormous social pressure would be put on Savanna to accept him in marriage. The letter made it obvious that both Bodene and Elizabeth were firmly in his camp as far as the necessity to have Savanna respectably married was concerned, which gave him another, more powerful weapon—society aside, even Savanna's loved ones were going to push his suit. He shook his head disgustedly, wondering how he had gotten to this point—eager to use any weapon or method he could to have Savanna in his arms.
Wandering away from the window, he poured himself a snifter of brandy from a crystal decanter, and savoring the bouquet as he swirled the amber liquid around, he sat down in a tufted red leather chair and stared off into space, brooding over the irony of fate. A sardonic grin broke across his lean cheeks. Adam St. Clair married and the father of a child! Five months ago he would have sworn vehemently that that was impossible... but, of course, that had been before a certain beguiling, red-haired, witch-eyed temptress named Savanna O'Rourke had thrust herself violently into his life.
Tossing down a swallow of the brandy, Adam contemplated the past several weeks and the aching emptiness that had been his constant companion since he had watched Savanna ride away from him. The journey to Terre du Coeur had been uneventful. The reunion with Catherine had been a tearful—on her part—ecstatic moment, but, beyond being glad to be alive and safe and back amidst his own world, Adam was bitingly aware that, for him, something vital was missing. He discovered to his dismay and fury that the future seemed bleak and unexciting and he did not have far to look to uncover the cause of his singularly apathetic state—Savanna! It was a galling admission, and seeking escape from anything connected with her, hoping desperately that a return to his home and his usual pursuits would bring back his normal sanguine outlook, he had stayed only long enough with Jason and Catherine to convince his sister that he had suffered no lasting harm, before he had mounted a fresh horse and left for Belle Vista.
Getting up from his seat, Adam poured himself a second snifter of brandy and walked once more over to the long windows which graced the library. Staring moodily out into the deepening shadows of night, he conceded that several weeks of frenetic activity, of days jammed to the brim with the many details of running an estate the size of Belle Vista, of evenings filled with visiting and entertaining friends and attending glittering social events, of even later nights which he had spent in reckless abandon, drinking and gaming, had done nothing to alleviate the painful hollowness that Savanna had left within him.
She bewitched me, he admitted reluctantly, from the first moment I regained my senses and stared up into that unforgettable face of hers. Bewitched me and has made my life untenable without her. He walked over to where he had tossed the letter and read it again, a grim smile curving his full mouth. From the terse quality of Bodene's letter, it was clear that getting Savanna to marry him was going to be a monumental undertaking, but Adam spirits rose at the prospect.
Actually, the arrival of Bodene's letter made little difference to Adam's immediate plans. Having decided some days ago, about the time he realized that drowning himself in liquor was folly, that he was not going to let the situation with Savanna remain in its unsatisfactory, unresolved state, Adam had been busy making plans to leave Belle Vista for New Orleans and a confrontation with the red-haired spitfire who haunted his dreams. Bodene's letter only brought that date closer, and doing a swift calculation of what needed to be accomplished before he could once again leave his plantation and affairs in the hands of his very competent overseer and agent for an indefinite period of time, Adam concluded that he could depart for New Orleans no later than Monday. In the meantime, after a day of rest, he would send a letter with Isaac on a riverboat back to Bodene, who would be awaiting a reply at The Golden Lady. Adam's mouth twisted. How wise of Bodene to suggest that all communication between them take place at the gaming establishment in New Orleans. At least that way there would be no chance of Savanna getting a whiff of what was in the wind.
* * *
Several days later, as Bodene sat in his office at the rear of The Golden Lady, he glanced up at the sound of an altercation just outside his door. He was on the point of rising from his chair when the door was pushed open and Adam strolled in, looking every inch the wealthy, assured gentleman that he was. His elegant appearance was quite a contrast to the grubby, hard-eyed rogue whom Bodene had first met, and he gawk
ed at the difference. From the crown of his top hat to the soles of his gleaming black boots, Adam looked to be the very picture of sartorial excellence, his dark blue coat fitting his broad shoulders superbly, the pale-blue-striped Marseilles waistcoat blending attractively with his gray pantaloons. As was fashionable in New Orleans, he carried a short cane, which concealed a small sword; strolling over to stand in front of Bodene's ornately fashioned walnut desk, he smiled and murmured, "I'm afraid some underling of yours wanted to announce me, but I, er, convinced him that I needed no introduction."
Bodene laughed and, glancing at the man who bobbed in the doorway, nursing an obviously sore jaw, said dismissingly, "There is nothing to worry about, Jake. This gentleman is a friend of mine, and until I tell you differently, he has free access."
Jake nodded and, grumbling something about "the gent being right handy with his fives," shut the door.
Making himself comfortable in one of the brass-studded leather chairs scattered about the spacious room, Adam leaned back and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Well? Has the situation changed since I received your letter?"
Bodene shook his head disgustedly. "No! She is just as opposed to your knowing about the baby as she ever was, and I've had the devil's own time keeping my hands off her and beating some sense into her."
Adam grimaced and said, "It doesn't change the outcome—she is going to marry me before the month has ended, but it would be pleasant to start out life together in something less than all-out war."
"Would you mind telling me how in hell you're going to accomplish that fact?"
Each Time We Love Page 22
