Day Dreamer

by Jill Marie Landis

  He turned his back on her, intent on mounting up but knowing he would have to touch her, that he couldn’t very well ride off without her.

  He was about to put a foot in the stirrup when Celine realized she could not let this go any further without trying to break through his anger and stubborn pride.

  She closed off that accursed portion of her mind that wandered through the embers of memories and reached for him just as he shoved his foot in the stirrup. She was stirred in another more primitive, sensual way by the contact with his heated skin through the fine chambray of his shirtsleeve.

  “Cord, listen …”

  At her touch, heat reverberated through him. He jerked his foot down, widened his stance and, throwing caution to the wind, clasped his hands on her shoulders.

  Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed. A single tear leaked from beneath her dark lashes and spilled off the slope of her cheek to fall lost in the sand at their feet. The sea breeze played havoc with her waist-length hair.

  This woman, this witch, this wife of his, Cord thought, had been slowly weaving her spell around his heart—through his mind.

  “You’re right, Celine,” he said, tightening his hold on her shoulders, forcing her to open her eyes and see him. “We can’t go on like this for the rest of our lives.”

  His driving need overrode his fear. He pulled her even closer, stared deep into the secret depths of her eyes, taunted her with his nearness as he dared her to take another glimpse into his soul.

  “You want to be a voyeur into my past, go ahead, sweet Celine. If that is the price I have to pay to bury myself in you, then there’s nothing for me to do but pay it.”

  He slipped an arm around her and held her imprisoned against him while he reached down with his other hand and began to unfasten his trousers. Half expecting her to struggle, he found her blessedly still, waiting, staring back into his eyes.

  “I want you, Celine. Damn you, but I want you again.”

  She couldn’t argue, not when she was experiencing her own mounting need. He went down on one knee and pulled her down into the shade of the banyan. The sand was surprisingly cool, nothing like it had felt out in the hot sun.

  There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wished his stubborn heart and mind would hear and accept, but she already knew him well enough to know that soft words of love and promises would only become links in a chain that would weigh like a shackle around his heart that he had never wanted to bear.

  He wanted her. She needed him. Giving herself to him freely was the only way she could communicate with him now. Letting him satisfy himself in her was the only way she could reach out to comfort him, to give him solace. Sharing her body with him was the only way she could offer him all the love that he resisted out of fear of abandonment and lack of trust.

  He let her go and drew back long enough to rid himself of his pants and reach for her skirt. The knots in the hem gave him pause, but he soon had them loosened and tugged the fabric up past her hips.

  “Wrap your arms around me, Celine. Close your eyes and slip into my mind, but know this: I’ll only allow it when I can no longer deny myself the pleasures of your body.” He lowered himself over her, throbbing and ready, aching with need and hating himself for it.

  “No,” she said, tossing her head from side to side even as she reached out for him. “I promise. I won’t—”

  He reached between them, found her wet and stretched her gently, silencing her as he forced himself to put aside his anger for the moment. He had not always been an honorable man, but he had never physically harmed a woman.

  He opened her wider, felt the slippery wetness between her thighs, picked up the rhythm of his fingers until she moaned and clung to him. With a thrust of her hips she told him without words that she wanted more, needed this as much as he did.

  The breeze was tinted with salt and mist. The fragrance of frangipani wafted around them. Unable to wait, unwilling to weigh the consequences of his act, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and thrust himself into her. She was hot and tight and wholly his, at least for this one blissful moment in time.

  She raised up to meet him when she felt him enter her, half expecting to feel the tearing, searing hurt of last night. But nothing of the sort happened. Just as he had promised, there was no physical pain, only the bittersweet knowledge that what he felt for her beyond his desire was worse than anger—it was nothing at all.

  True to her promise, she did not slip into his mind, but concentrated instead on the sensations that he aroused in her. Cord began to move to a cadence set by the pounding surf, then, impatient with the slow, even tempo, he quickened his thrusts, reaching deeper with each powerful drive.

  He was doing maddening things to her as he nipped at her neck and shoulder with his teeth. She could feel his warm breath against her neck, shivered as he traced his tongue around the pulse point in her throat.

  She arched against him, wanting more, craving it all—his seed, his surrender, her own fulfillment. She called out his name, demanding he bring her release. Her cry was swallowed by the sound of the sea, carried away on the trade winds.

  Fueled by her hunger, he couldn’t stem his own. He thrust deep, felt her quicken and pulse around him. He could not hold back, could not tempt or tease her, and so reveled in the pleasure of his release as he poured himself into her again and again.

  He didn’t know if it was the surf he heard or the roaring of his own heartbeat. Forgetting his anger, he gathered Celine in his arms and held her close, smoothed her damp curls away from her face, felt the sand clinging to the back of her hair.

  Then memory jolted him out of the idyllic moment. He let her go, rolled off her and sat up. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it aside and, buck naked, jogged across the sand and dove beneath the waves.

  Celine sat up, unwilling to give in to the melancholy that threatened to settle over her. It was insane to grieve over the loss of something she’d never had and never intended to want. She got to her knees and pulled down her skirt, squinting against the sun as she watched Cord swim away from the shoreline with sure, steady strokes. His bare bottom flashed in the sunlight as he ducktailed up and then disappeared beneath the crystal blue water.

  She envied him the freedom to escape into another realm, if only for a few minutes. She knew that as long as her memory was alive there was so much she could never really escape. But she also knew that it did little good to cry over the past—especially when an uncertain future was staring her in the face.

  She stood up and hurried over the sand and then along the shoreline as Cord continued to swim with long, sure strokes, working out his frustration. She pulled up her skirt and waded through the waves at the edge of the beach. The water was warm but refreshingly cleansing as she walked in until it was nearly up to her waist. Juggling her skirt in one hand, she cupped water to splash over her face and neck, used it to tame her hair and then let it trickle between her breasts down the open neckline of the gown.

  She could see Cord striding out of the water as if he did not have a care in the world. She waited until he had time to dress and then, regretting having to leave the water, she slowly waded out and walked down the beach to join him.

  By the time she reached him, Cord thought he had his emotions under control. Still, he avoided looking at her, afraid he would be tempted by her pouting lips or her haunting eyes.

  “It’s time to go back,” he said, holding his hand out to help her mount. She hesitated and then slipped her hand into his.

  “Cord, I give you my word, I’ll never again—”

  “I would prefer you not speak of it,” he said as coolly as he could. He didn’t want her word. He wanted the whole maddening reality of her strange ability to go away until he was able to resolve it in his mind.

  Once she was in the saddle, he mounted up behind her and headed back toward the cane road.

  Celine was conscious of the way he held himself away from her, the cont
rol he used so as not to accidentally touch her as they worked their way across the fields. Thankfully, they were closer to the house than she realized. The cane soon gave way to the overgrown tropical forest and what had once been the garden. Once they were in the yard, Celine slipped off the saddle without waiting for Cord’s help and hurried to the house.

  He didn’t call her name or try to stop her.

  Cord watched Celine hurry away from him, her bare feet slapping against the stones that lined the overgrown path, her heels flashing. Her dark hair, still dusted with glittering sand, swayed back and forth at her waist. He wished he knew what to say to her, but he still felt so damned deceived. It was hard to reckon with all she had told him.

  He had spent a lifetime shielding himself from memories that she could dredge up at will, her will, without his knowledge. Just when he’d thought all was not lost, that he would be able to make something of Dunstain Place and fulfill his promise to Alex, his desirable little wife had informed him she was capable of sneaking into his mind.

  She was so beautiful, so desirable and so convincing that he had been tempted to take her in his arms and forgive her. He couldn’t deny that it must have been painful for her to tell him the truth, to admit she was abnormal, but that didn’t matter to him. What did matter was that he didn’t know whether or not he could trust her not to sneak into his mind again.

  Emotionally, he needed time to think things through.

  Physically, he was addicted to her as if she were a drug.

  Cord retrieved his boots and Celine’s shoes before he handed his mount over to a waiting stable boy.

  He was a few feet from the veranda when Ada bustled out of the house to greet them. Clad now in a gray watered silk gown with a wide lace collar and cuffs, she lingered in the doorway, eyeing Celine’s disheveled appearance. Cord stepped up beside his wife and offered his aunt no more than a nod in greeting.

  “However did you get your pants all wet, Cordero? Celine, you look in need of a bath. I’ll have Edward fill you a cool tub.” She started to turn away and then, as an afterthought, said, “We heard about Bobo’s little boy. I’m so glad he is safe and sound. What a hero you are, Cordero, and what a day we’ve had around here.”

  Cord wanted nothing more than to slack his thirst and change into clean pants, but there were duties he could not dismiss lightly. “No more trouble from the obeah man I hope?”

  Ada fluttered a hand in the air. “No, no. Nothing like that—it’s just something so unexpected. At least, you didn’t remind me to expect any houseguests …”

  “Expect who, Aunt?”

  “Why, the magistrate’s own brother, Collin Ray, along with a bookseller from Barbados. A Mr. Wells, I believe he said. Howard Wells. Celine invited him to visit when they shared dinner in Baytowne. By the way, speaking of dinner, we will be dining in an hour,” Ada said.

  She ran her hand over the flyaway strands that escaped her braids and went on before Cord could comment. “I have Foster overseeing a few special dishes while he works on the silver. One is a pudding with a bit of rum sprinkled into it as it cools. It only bakes for an hour, but sometimes if one isn’t careful—”

  “That sounds wonderful, Aunt Ada,” Celine cut in, coming to Cord’s rescue. “Would you mind sending Edward up now?”

  “There’s just so much to do!” Ada appeared thrilled to have so many details to see to. She bustled off toward the back of the house with a smile on her face and a spring in her step.

  Cord waited for Celine to enter the house first and then followed her up the stairs. He paused outside her bedroom door and when she stepped inside he said, “I didn’t know you met anyone in Baytowne besides Ray. Now it seems you have two admirers under our very roof.”

  “Mr. Wells is old enough to be my father. He’s a kindly gentleman, well-read and interesting. When you were not around to escort me to dinner that night, Foster and Edward chose him as a safe companion for me. I didn’t think you would mind my extending an invitation. If you’re worried that I might be tempted to steal into the guests’ minds, rest assured I won’t. You can trust me with them.”

  Cord watched her closely, weighing her words.

  “We’ll all have to trust you, won’t we?”

  Fifteen

  Thanks to the efforts of Edward and Foster, the Moreau silver glinted against a backdrop of freshly washed, starched and pressed table linens. Afternoon sunlight gilded the room with honey gold hues and streaks of butter yellow that gave even the faded floral wall covering new life. Celine had insisted that Ada reign at the end of the table at Cord’s right hand. She, herself, sat beside Howard Wells, rather than Collin Ray.

  The magistrate’s brother sat stiffly beside Ada. His dress attested to his position as an island aristocrat, the heavy brocade vest, cutaway coat and laced cravat—a stark contrast to Cord’s white, open-throated shirt, with its billowing, full-cut sleeves and buff-colored breeches.

  From Ray’s position, he could—and did—watch Celine unceasingly, lending only half an ear to Ada’s detailed descriptions of the meal preparation. Celine found the man’s speculative leer offending. Cord did not give any indication that he noticed the silent animosity that passed from her to Ray, but her husband only glanced her way infrequently.

  As Celine attempted to ignore Collin Ray, she turned her attentions to Howard Wells. She found that gentleman’s warm humor and ready smile comforting. She was about to ask him what he had read and enjoyed lately when Ray drew everyone’s attention.

  “There is talk in town that your wife is something of a witch, Moreau.” Collin Ray lifted his wine goblet. As he took a sip of the blood-red wine, he stared at Celine over the crystal rim.

  Celine put her fork down and folded her hands in her lap. She refused to back down and look away from the odious man. She wished she truly could wield a powerful curse now and again, for now was certainly the time.

  “My wife is a nag, not a witch.” Cord said. His closed expression suggested he did not favor such talk.

  Celine was thankful he did not go into any explanation.

  “You poor dear,” Ada said, addressing Celine. “I don’t understand all this talk about you being a witch. How ridiculous.” She turned to Ray, obviously impressed by his dress and manner and willing to humor him. “This morning there was quite a scene here with the obeah man.”

  “A scene?” Ray took a sip of wine, easily leading the unsuspecting Ada into detailing the event.

  “I doubt Mr. Ray is interested, Aunt,” Cord said.

  “Why, of course I am. Quite a scene, you say?” Ray took another sip of wine.

  “The slaves were quite upset. Some of them heard the rumors in town and naturally, anything mysterious upsets them.” Ada began to relate the details of the obeah man’s confrontation with Celine and Cord.

  “I wasn’t aware that there were that many slaves left here on the estate.” Ray’s gaze flicked over Celine to Cord. “Now that you’re back, do you plan to allow an obeah man to practice that mumbo jumbo here? Most planters believe those witch doctors are the fastest way to slave insurrection. If you know his identity, you should have him sold off the island.”

  “My father believed different, and so do I,” Cord explained. “He knew how important it was to give the slaves some peace of mind. There is little basis for trust in their lives. Magic fills the void. You might call the obeah man’s work mumbo jumbo, but if the slaves believe he is capable of curing their ills or meting out justice among them, what’s the harm?”

  “But it sounds as if your wife might be in jeopardy.”

  Cord drained his wineglass and waited while Edward stepped out of the shadows to refill it.

  “My wife has proven she is not afraid to stand up to the obeah man. The slaves appreciate a show of strength. Besides, she saved the overseer’s child.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had an overseer up here.”

  “He’s one of the slaves. Also the head boiler and gang boss. Why shouldn’t
he be in charge?”

  “He’s a slave, that’s why. You have actually appointed him overseer?” Ray was stunned.

  “No. He’s more of a manager. Things were running quite smoothly with him in charge before I arrived and I’ve no wish to upset the apple cart.” Cord drained his wineglass again.

  Ray was unable to hide his contempt.

  “I hope to God we don’t find you all murdered in your beds.”

  Celine turned to Howard Wells, hoping he might provide a new topic of conversation, and found him smiling at Ada. Neither of them were paying any attention to the heated discussion. Cord’s aunt was well aware of the man’s perusal and was blushing coyly.

  “Would you care for more chocho, Mr. Wells?”

  “I would. It’s delicious,” Wells said of the mild green island squash.

  Finding no help from that quarter, Celine carefully studied the spacious dining room, with its massive table and its bank of long, wide windows to the sea. Foster and Edward had already made great strides in overseeing the cleaning and refurbishing of the house and after only a day, the place had begun to glow with new life. Every prism dripping from the chandelier above the table had been washed. Candlelight reflected off the crystal droplets and was scattered over the walls.

  Celine sipped her wine, lost in thought, wondering if Cord was still upset with her, wondering if he would set aside his anger when they climbed the stairs tonight.

  “You intend to do what?” Collin Ray’s incredulous shout startled her so much that she spilled her wine on the clean cloth. Edward slipped out of the room.

  “I said I’m going to have emancipation papers drawn up for all the slaves at Dunstain Place as soon as my father’s solicitor returns from England.”

  “You can’t,” sputtered Ray.

  “Why not? There are already many freed slaves established in business here on St. Stephen. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before slavery is abolished in the islands. I predict it will come much sooner than in America.”