by kps
She was wedded, Dev thought to himself, that much of her claim was true, anyway. "And I have a wife, but neither of our partners seems to be much in evidence."
So, he did have a wife. That might have been a complication but for the callous manner in which he'd referred to her. Generally she would have immediately changed the subject.
Other men's wives were a nuisance and not a fit topic for discussion, but she was terribly curious about this particular woman. "And why didn't your wife accompany you East, Devlan? I am curious about the woman who could entice you into marriage … she must be very beautiful."
A distant, shuttered expression had chased the amusement from Dev's face. Certainly he owed no fidelity to Jenny; she'd agreed to that before they pronounced their vows, yet he could almost feel her presence beside him now, watching the game he was playing with his seductive cousin. "It was a ... mutual decision. Jenny had just lost a ... our child and her health was not up to a long trip." Dev abruptly changed the subject, reminding Cathy that she was going to show him the house.
"Of course, I'd almost forgotten!" Cathy rose, still wondering why the subject of his wife had made Dev's mood change so drastically and determined to find out more about the mysterious Mrs. Cantrell. "Do come along ... I promise not to bore you with all the details about our family skeletons, but there are some interesting portraits in the gallery." She took him in arm once more, pressing more closely than was proper or polite, but at this point she didn't care to keep any distance between them.
The gallery was a long, high-ceilinged room lined with beautifully framed oil paintings.
Christine St. Marin. Devlan smiled down at her descendants from her portrait placed between that of her son-in-law, the handsome, dark-haired Ryan Nicholls, and her oldest daughter, Catherine-the notorious and breathtakingly beautiful Cat Devlan. The heavy draperies hanging at the gallery windows were only half-open shading the room from the afternoon sun, but even so Dev could see the resemblance the present Cathy bore to Cat.
It was more of a physical similarity than one of the spirit. Dev had the ridiculous feeling, staring up at Cat, that, had he been alive then, he would have battled Ryan for the love of her. Her eyes, the same color as Cathy's but not near as worldly-wise, seemed to snap with animation, warning that she was not one to be taken lightly. Despite the difference in color, they reminded him of Jenny's eyes.
Cathy had been watching Dev closely. He was obviously taken by the portrait of their ancestress, Cat DevIan. That would make seducing him all the more easy, for she had been told repeatedly in the past of her likeness to the lady. The first true measure of desire she had felt in many months was beginning to warm her blood, but she would have to curb her impatience. It would not do to appear too bold to Dev. She sensed that he would have to make the first move.
"Jenny is a lovely name," she said now, deciding to probe further into the depth of his feelings for his wife. "I'll wager she's a redhead with, let me see ..." She finally had Dev's attention and posed, with one plump finger at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, blue eyes-a fiery redhead with blue eyes! Am I right?"
Dev stepped closer. There was only a matter of inches between their bodies. "Only partially.
Her eyes are blue, but Jenny's hair is very rich and black, as black as a raven's wing. Is there anything else you'd like to know about her?"
"If you're in love with her."
The bluntness of her very direct query took Dev by surprise. "With my wife?" The cynical sound of his laughter denied that he was even before he spoke. "It's nothing more than a marriage of convenience, made more agreeable by the fact that Jenny is perfectly happy to let me go my own way and do as I please."
Cathy was satisfied with the answers he'd given, yet she couldn't resist one more question.
"And is she also free to do as she pleases? That would only be fair, wouldn't it?"
Dev thought a moment before he replied. It had never really entered his mind that two could play at the same game, that Jenny would even want ... he dismissed the idea as foolish, but the fact that two thousand miles separated them and he really didn't know what was going on was unnerving. Nothing in his manner betrayed him, though, as he calmly answered, "Yes, all's fair in love and war, isn't that how the saying goes? Jen is as free as I am to ... indulge."
Dev cut off any further disturbing questions by taking Cathy into his arms. His mouth touched" hers tentatively at first, as he tested the willingness of her body, then with increasing sureness as she melted against him. When they broke apart moments later, Cathy was breathless and more than content with the way matters were proceeding.
"That was rather forward of you, Devlan," she commented at last, tilting her head to one side as she gazed into his eyes and tried to discern his mood. "You don't waste time on the subtler points of courtship, do you? I'm not sure I like that."
A rogue's grin surfaced on Dev's face. "Sure you do," he asserted, slipping an arm around her waist to draw her close again, "your body just doesn't lie as easily as those sweet lips of yours. Besides ... why waste time when we both want the same thing?"
With Dev's hand boldly fondling her breasts and his mouth pressed to her throat, Cathy found she couldn't think of an answer to his question. She couldn't think at all, so she took the only logical action under the circumstances ... she let her body answer for her.
Eleven
Two months had passed since Dev had gone East with Erasmus Paisley; and with each day, Jenny grew more lonesome for his company. She had plenty of time to consider her feelings.
Isa, with little enough to do for her mistress, had withdrawn further into her shell. The girl was terribly homesick and spent increasingly more time at her daily devotions, perhaps praying, Jenny thought, that some miracle would occur to send them on their way back to the sunny coast of Spain.
Sally, when she wasn't busy with housework or cooking, had occupied herself with the task of repairing Luke Marlow's small wardrobe of threadbare shirts. She and Luke were courting or, as they called it here, sparking. Even though the romance was blossoming slowly, Jenny was sure they would be wed by spring. Luke's rough manner softened considerably as his regard for the dead preacher's daughter grew. Sally, in tum, became warmer and more lively.
Winter closed in abruptly following a short, dry autumn, and deep snowdrifts often surrounded the house, isolating its occupants until the weather cleared. It was snowing again, and now, though they'd just finished an early supper, darkness was already settling over the landscape. Jenny was safely tucked in bed, wearing one of the flannel nightgowns a winter-wise Sally' had loaned her. The constant blaze in her fireplace, the gown, and several layers of quilted comforters were the only buffers between Jenny and the unremitting chill, and she'd developed the habit of retiring each night after supper to read in the solitude of her room.
Despite the multitude of books in her father's library, she was beginning to feel the loneliness more now. She had read most of the interesting material, the novels and old fashion books, and she was faced with nothing but dull, dry texts on economics and science.
There was still one book left, resting now on her nightstand, that held her attention. She'd discovered it by accident· this morning, during a frustrating search of the shelves. It had been shoved behind some larger books, and when she spied it and pulled it forth, a heavy layer of dust covered its spine and gilt-edged pages. The title, Dreams and Visions; Portals of the Future?, intrigued her and she tucked it' under her arm and brought it upstairs. Even more intriguing was the fact that her mother's name was written on the inside cover-it didn't seem the sort of subject that would interest Mariah.
Since early childhood Jenny had possessed an ability to dream the events to come. Generally her dreams concerned the health or welfare of someone she held dear.
Her father had always teased her about what he called her "gift," claiming it was an inheritance from her Indian forebears. They came less often as she grew to adulthood; she hadn't been bothe
red by such a dream for at least a year or more now.
Jenny reached for the book and as she opened it, a folded slip of paper fell onto her lap.
When she unfolded and opened it, she immediately recognized her mother's neat penmanship. There were only three words written down, "dreams, premonitions" and her own name, "Jenny." In addition, two page numbers had been noted, underscored with ink and marked by an asterisk.
Her curiosity piqued, Jenny quickly flipped to the first page. There her mother had underlined several sentences. "... this natural ability to predict future happenings, through a trance-state or through dreams, is thought to be an inherited trait. Though 'civilized' society frowns on such revelations, they are an accepted part of the religions of more primitive cultures, a communion with the elements ..." On page seventy-six, Jenny found another sentence underscored. "Children must be reassured that they have not 'caused' an event by premonition; to dream of the death of a beloved grandparent or other relative and then see the realization of the same within a short time can be terrifying to the young mind."
Mariah had never made an issue of Jenny's dreams. Was her restraint due to what she'd read in this book? Jenny nodded to herself, yes ... that sounded like her mother. While Papa had teased her about the sometimes scary predictions she'd made, Mama had made light of them, assuring her they were common to everyone. Most people, she'd insisted, just simply didn't remember what they'd dreamed.
Before she'd met Rodrigo, Jenny had dreamed of a tall, dark man ... but didn't all girls envision a future lover who would sweep them off their feet? But then there was what she always thought of as the Sun Dance dream and the vivid memory of the light-haired warrior she'd later recognized as Dev, Jenny spent the next hour skimming the book's contents.
When she finally laid it aside, she understood a bit more about this mysterious "power" of hers to predict. A part of the book had delved into the theories about the origin of such abilities; a part detailed their place in the history of religion; and one very speculative chapter stated a commonly held belief that prophecy and precognition were developed through multiple existences-a succession of reincarnations on earth with each incarnation intensifying such powers.
As a Catholic convert, Jenny knew she should reject such an idea, that in the eyes of the Church, it was a heretical blasphemy, but for some strange reason she wasn't alarmed. In fact, she found it an entirely logical evolution, consistent with her belief in God.
"What would Dev think of all this?" Jenny wondered aloud, breaking the silence of her room with her thoughts. If he knew about her tendency to guess at the future, would he think she was strange? She didn't think so; Dev had grown up with the Blackfoot. They believed in a controlling, supernatural force of nature. With that background, he would more than likely consider her gift of second sight as perfectly natural.
Dear Lord, how she missed him! If only he were here .. if only she hadn't been so rash as to suggest an annulment ... so many ifs; but there was no sense in regretting her actions, she couldn't change them now for all the wishing in the world.
Did he like living at his country estate? Didn't he miss the wild, open beauty of Montana?
She'd had only one cryptic letter since he'd arrived at Canterbury Hill, and it revealed little of his feelings. He'd signed the legal documents that gave him control of the inheritance and was surprised to find himself a rich man, he wrote in a bold scrawl that had nearly defied deciphering. His cousin Cathy had done her best to make him welcome, despite the shock his sudden re-appearance must have dealt her.
The letter had mentioned nothing of any annulment proceedings, and he closed with the hope that Luke was working out well and that their weather had not been too severe. He could have asked if she'd missed him ... if he cared at all, Jenny thought dismally. What a predicament she'd gotten herself into-she'd fallen in love with a man whose only purpose in marrying her had been to spare her parents the heartache of a grandchild born out of wedlock!
A nagging little imp of suspicion prodded at her mind, making Jenny wonder just how cousin Cathy had made Dev feel at home. The girl was near to Dev in age and had probably developed into a beauty from the pretty child he recalled. Despite the fact that she had a husband, mightn't Cathy be attracted to Dev? Wouldn't any woman in her right mind find him handsome? What did it matter that they were first cousins--close relatives had fallen in love before.
Jenny yawned just as the clock on the mantel struck twelve. Where had the time gone? She was usually asleep by ten o'clock. Well, at any rate, it would do her no earthly good to stay awake longer, fussing over something she couldn't change.
Jenny was dreaming by the time the clock chimed the hour of one. Her face was peaceful in the firelight's reflection as her unconscious mind strained to catch the first, faint notes of music, then the soft, misty glow of light grew clearer until she was dazzled by the refracted luminescence of the crystal chandeliers that hung above the elegant ballroom. She felt a gentle breeze caress her cheek and turned to watch as couples whirled by, dancing to the strains of a Viennese waltz. Her gaze swept over the crowded floor, searching for one particular face, one tall, lean-figured gentleman among the many well-dressed couples. It was not difficult to spot him ....
Dev was dancing, sweeping his partner effortlessly around the ballroom even though his thoughts were far removed from the pretty, young woman who was his current partner. This party Cathy'd planned to introduce him to the "cream" of Whyren County's society was obviously a success. He was, too, or so a thoroughly pleased Cathy had assured him during their last dance.
There were some fifty people in attendance, and mote than just a few had come to satisfy their curiosity about the new master of Canterbury Hill. Cathy was more than pleased; her extravagant reception for Dev was a triumph! Occasionally, in her guise as the concerned hostess, she'd circulated amongst her guests to eavesdrop on their reactions.
Dev had been accepted, and, considering the exclusive company attending, it was a triumph of major. proportions. The banquet tables, spread with a variety of meats and salads, had drawn compliments. The special dessert table boasted an enviable display of pies, tarts, petit fours, and as piece de resistance, an exquisitely decorated, five-layer iced lemon cake that towered three feet above the snowy damask lace covering the table.
Bentley, thank God, had abstained for the day. Cathy had kept a close watch on his liquor this evening, and she was happy that he was only moderately tipsy now, off in a corner somewhere trying to persuade several of the younger men to join a game of high stakes in one
of the drawing rooms. The musicians hired for the evening were playing nicely, but Cathy had noted an occasional sour note during the course of their set. With a bit of bravado when she paid their fee, she might be able to skim twenty or so dollars off the top. Her allowance for the affair had been generous, but every bit she saved could be tucked away and spent on something she wanted, with no one the wiser. "You're looking extremely self-satisfied, madam!" Cathy turned to find Charles Vandermeer at her side. They'd been lovers almost four years ago; now he was merely an old friend--one of the' few she could confide in without worrying about his judging her. "Your cousin seems to have all the ladies battling for his attention. Would I be correct in assuming that he is already yours?" Cathy's smile was noncommittal as she followed Dev's tall figure around the floor. He was dancing with Anne de Lorimere for the. third time this evening; that was one time too many, Cathy thought irritably before she replied to Charles's rather blunt inquiry, "I'm not one to kiss and tell, Charley. You, of all people, should remember that!" With one feathered brow arched in appraisal, Cathy surveyed his appearance. Even though his black hair was silvering, her former lover had never looked more fit or dashing.
"Is there a reason you look so debonaire tonight, darling?" she teased, smiling coyly. "Or dare I believe that I'm responsible for that roguish gleam in your eyes?"
Vandermeer, who knew Cathy as well as anyone, even as well as Bentley, was
taken aback by the underlying, seductive invitation in her manner. She was sparkling this evening-no doubt due to this new alliance with her handsome relative. "Of course you are," he allowed with a gallant half-bow. "I always primp on your behalf, little good that it does me anymore!
Actually, Margaret is indisposed again and will be for some time to come." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "She's big as a cow again with another brat- this makes the sixth ... or is it seventh?"
Cathy laughed at his deliberate vagueness, "You make it sound as if you'd had nothing to do with her breeding, dear! For the sake of your own vanity, you should at least keep an accurate count."
Charles grinned sheepishly. "Well, I can tell you it's deucedly annoying to put up with it all.
Here you're occupied with a new beau and I have to fend for myself. I must confide, I'm getting too old for much of a chase." For a moment his cool gray eyes swept the assembly of guests, reviewing the available females, before his gaze returned to her. "Feeling particularly loyal tonight, sweetheart, or could you find it in your heart to take pity on an old friend in need?"
Cathy tapped her fan against his arm, playfully chiding him for the bold request. "You, sir, are a rake for even making such a suggestion! It's only my deep regard for our friendship that requires me to remain patient with you." She used her fan to gesture to the room in general.
"Look what an array of beauty is yours to choose from. Surely there's one bit of feminine fluff to suit your fancy among all those present?"
Charles leaned close to her ear, whispering, "But not with your charms, Cathy, nor with your talent for making a man feel like a man!" He gently applied pressure to her arm and added,
"Come away, dear-for auld lang syne; we won't be gone long enough for your new love to miss us!"
