Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  “Yes.” Ryan all but snarled. “Get my bath ready, and get the carriage ready. We’re going into town. I have an appointment with a lady friend.” He turned to glare at Arlene for emphasis.

  While she waited for his servant to leave, she creamed her tea, dropped in two lumps of sugar, then stirred with a tiny silver spoon. Finally, she looked up at him to offer her most demure smile and sweetly say, “Since you seem to be busy this evening, Mr. Youngblood, we’ll expect you to call tomorrow to discuss the wedding arrangements. Shall we say—tea at four?”

  Chapter Seven

  Ryan had not gone into Richmond. After getting absolutely nowhere with Mrs. Tremayne, who’d made it very clear when she finally left that if he didn’t show up the following afternoon by four, her husband would be banging on his door by five, he was in no mood for either revelry or sex.

  He’d consumed two pots of strong black coffee to clear his head fully, as he spent the next few hours railing at himself for being in such disreputable shape when she’d confronted him. Unshaved, unkempt, just a few drinks short of being totally drunk and incoherent, he hadn’t been in a condition even to attempt to defend himself.

  It wasn’t like him to drink himself into a stupor, anyway. Sure, he imbibed now and then, but could count on one hand the number of times he’d crossed the line to utter intoxication. The first had been the year he turned twelve. One of his friends found a jar of home brew, and they had hidden in a hayloft to guzzle it down and wound up being sick for two days afterward. The next binge was the night his father died. And again when he’d learned the truth about that bitch, Simone.

  Now, misery over the beauteous Erin Sterling had provoked a bender, and as he sobered, he realized things were even worse than he’d first imagined.

  It was all a scheme. He knew that beyond a doubt. Erin had planned to make him so crazy with wanting her, he’d ask her to marry him. She hadn’t counted on his offer, instead, to be his mistress. So she and her mother came up with the contrivance about his attempted seduction and subsequent dishonor to her virtue.

  The more he thought about it, the madder he got. Who the hell did they think they were dealing with, anyway? Did they actually think he’d be intimidated by an unprincipled scoundrel like Zachary Tremayne? If the fool challenged him to a duel, he’d blow him away in the blink of an eye. And he sure as hell didn’t care about embarrassment to either himself or his family. His mother had nagged him for years about his disregard for social mores and wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he’d had another dalliance. Neither would Ermine, who probably suspected he had other women and would continue to do so after they were married and wouldn’t give a damn as long as he was reasonably discreet about it.

  Why, then, he asked himself over and over as the miserable night passed, was he even upset about Mrs. Tremayne’s imperious and ridiculous demand? Yet, when anger and indignity finally began to cool, he was washed with the reality that the idea of marriage to Erin was not totally repugnant. She was, he acknowledged, everything any man could desire in a woman—certainly all he had ever dreamed of possessing. Had she come from the right kind of family, made a proper debut, nothing would have stopped him from pursuing her with matrimony in mind from the instant he laid eyes on her.

  It was not, he rationalized, altogether her beauty that triggered such emotions. Neither was it her sensual aura that made him want to take her in his arms and carry her off to the nearest bed. Oh, no, there was much more—like her wit and sense of humor and her spirit and zest for living. No question but that she was keenly intelligent, an interesting conversationalist.

  With a wry grin, he was forced to realize how much more he’d have to share with Erin than with the cotton-headed fluff chosen by his mother. Something told him that he wouldn’t need, or want, another woman with Erin in his bed every night. Taking her with him on his travels would be a pleasure. And maybe, he dared envision, if they both tried, his jaded opinion of a possible utopian marriage would crystallize into reality.

  Yet, despite the positive waves, he was still infuriated by all the conniving. Erin, like her mother, was obviously the sort who’d stop at nothing to get what she wanted, and he’d be damned if he’d put up with their blackmail.

  By sunrise, Ryan had made up his mind to settle the matter as soon as possible. He’d be damned if he was going to stew about it all day. He saddled his horse himself, because the grooms were all still asleep, and headed for the Tremayne plantation. The air was sweet and cool, and gentle mist was rising from the dew-kissed meadows. A doe and her fawn curiously watched him galloping along from where they drank at a stream. Ryan, in his determination, was oblivious to everything around him.

  The ride took nearly twenty minutes at a moderate gait, but he slowed as the house came into view. It wasn’t so grand, he thought, certainly nowhere near the opulence of Jasmine Hill, but then it was highly unlikely Zachary Tremayne’s wealth could compete with the Youngblood fortune.

  He found himself wondering if Erin was aware of her stepfather’s real source of income. It damn sure wasn’t from cotton. Ryan had made some discreet inquiries after the ball, wanting to learn exactly what kind of background she came from. He had learned that Keith was quite correct in the gossip about Tremayne being suspected of illegal slave trading. Tremayne had frequently been seen in the company of Nate Donovan, one of the most brutal slave handlers and traders in the South.

  Since the law had passed prohibiting the importation of Africans for slaves, a vast black market had emerged. Virginia was up in arms over the situation, and its dynasty in the White House had sent several messages to Congress calling for more effective legislation against it. Evidence had been mounting for some time that outlaws, some of them organized into bands of pirates, were operating in the Gulf of Mexico and pouring slaves through southern borders into the union. The British naval blockade during the War of 1812 had stopped much of it, but it was still estimated that in the past five years, over ten thousand Negroes had been smuggled in. Those who owned rich spreads, like himself, Ryan reflected, were opposed to the African slave trade, but for rather narrow reasons. They preferred to breed and trade their own, selling at auction to farmers with smaller operations. The danger came from those who bought illegally more slaves than they needed. Parvenus, like Tremayne, drove the price beyond the reach of most men. That hurt the smaller farmers, who still needed slave labor to survive with the demand for cotton increasing. Vigilante groups were constantly searching for the bands of traders smuggling slaves in from forbidden cargo ships, but it wasn’t an easy discovery to make. Many a body had been found in a swamp or coastal area where traders who didn’t like being spied on came ashore.

  Tremayne, it was said, did his dirty dealing in another state. It was rumored he’d get the illegal slaves somewhere along the Virginia coast, then quickly transport them down into the Carolinas for auction. By moving out of the area fast, there was little chance he’d get caught. No doubt, he was a slick operator.

  It was still quite early, and Ryan was sure no one was up and about inside the house. He circled to the rear, to a detached building that served as the kitchen. It was a precaution against rapid spreading should there be a fire.

  Slaves eyed him curiously. They stood in line, tin plates in hand, as they awaited their breakfast of hominy grits and lard biscuits.

  Other plantation owners gave their slaves Sundays off, but not Tremayne. His Negroes were obviously overworked. Ryan could see that in their weary faces, the way they shuffled doggedly along with shoulders stooped, as though every movement was an effort, even so early in the day.

  The smell of fresh boiled coffee was in the air, and suddenly he wanted another cup desperately. What he had to say to Mrs. Tremayne wasn’t going to take long, but he had been awake all night, and he wasn’t feeling very alert at the moment.

  A slave, obviously a stable worker, hesitantly approached, unsure as to what he was supposed to do with such an early morning guest. Ryan waved him aw
ay, tied his horse to a nearby post himself, then headed toward the kitchen as the others moved aside for him.

  He was almost to the door when he heard it—the sound of broken sobbing coming from inside. Entering the small brick structure, he saw the woman sitting on a stool in a far corner, crying pitifully. A few other women hovered about her, but at the sight of a stranger in their midst, they began to disperse. The woman, however, was far too broken up to be aware of anything around her.

  One of the others dutifully asked, “Suh, you need somethin’ here?”

  “Coffee,” he replied, and she got him a cup at once. He took a sip, still watching the hysterically sobbing woman. He couldn’t keep from asking, “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Well, suh,” she began hesitantly, then fell silent as there was a commotion outside. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and above it all, he could hear a woman shouting to let her through.

  Ryan blinked at the sight of Erin charging into the kitchen, but she didn’t see him standing to one side; she was oblivious to everyone and everything about her, even the fact she was wearing only a thin, and very revealing, nightgown.

  He drew in his breath sharply. God, she was exquisite. Silhouetted against the light streaming in from the door behind her, he could see the sculpture of her full, rounded breasts, her shapely thighs, and the shadowed treasure between. He’d envisioned how she’d look naked, and with a sudden wrench in his loins knew his fantasies were reality. And, for the moment, he forgot why he was even there.

  He was, however, abruptly yanked back to the present as Erin ran to the woman, dropped to her knees, grabbed her hands in hers, and fiercely demanded, “When did you find out, Rosa? How long has the bastard been gone with her?”

  Rosa choked on a fresh sob, and Erin patted her back to calm her.

  “Jus’ befo’ I sent ’em to fetch you. I got up this morning, and she won’t in her bed, so I thought she was with Ben, and when I went to his shack to tell her she better get up and get busy, that’s when I saw what they’d done to him.” She looked at Erin in horror, shook her head as though still unwilling to accept it was so. “They musta hit him while he was asleep, bashed his face all in, and then took her. There was blood all over the floor, so I know she put up a fight.” Covering her face with her hands, she began to wail as her body rocked to and fro in quaking misery. “They took my baby girl. Jus’ like they took my boys. And I ain’t never gonna see her again.”

  At that, Erin protested, “No, Rosa! I won’t let them get away with it. I’m going to ride after them. There has to be a trail. I’ll track them down and get her back, I promise, and—”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind! You aren’t going anywhere!”

  Erin was jolted by her mother’s unexpected entrance. Unlike her daughter, Arlene had taken time to put on her robe. Walking across the room, she seemed in complete control as she continued. “What’s done is done. You’d never be able to find them. Now Rosa—” She started also to kneel but began to cough, and had to back away as a spasm took over. Turning, she saw Ryan and gasped, coughing even harder in her sudden shock.

  Erin followed her gaze and exploded at once, “What are you doing here? How long have you been standing there eavesdropping on things that don’t concern you?”

  She started to advance, but Arlene threw out a feeble hand in protest. It wouldn’t do, she knew, for there to be a scene, here, now, in front of the servants. “Erin. Go make yourself decent!” To no one in particular, she desperately begged, “Water, quickly, please.”

  In horror, Erin glanced down to realize how she might as well have been naked, standing there in the sheer gown. Further enraged to know Ryan was staring at her, she lashed out at him as she hurried out. “I warn you. You’d better not be here when I get back.”

  With Erin out, and after a sip of water from the glass she’d quickly been handed, Arlene gathered her composure. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” She glanced about, spotted Roscoe anxiously watching from a side window, and called, “Take Mr. Youngblood to my sewing room. Get him coffee or whatever he wants. Put his horse away.”

  Turning back to Ryan, she advised she’d meet with him after she was dressed. Then, with a sweeping gaze, she gave the orders. “Miss Erin is not to be told that Mr. Youngblood is still on the premises. Is that clear?”

  Assuming it was, Arlene gave her attention to Rosa.

  Ryan hung back only for a moment. All he could gather was that Zachary Tremayne had spirited away the heartbroken woman’s daughter to sell her. A sad situation, but not out of the ordinary. Erin, however, had been strangely upset by it all.

  He didn’t have to wait long, hadn’t even finished his coffee when Mrs. Tremayne came in, very calm and collected. Her hair was no longer streaming down her back but braided about her head. She was wearing a simple cotton dress of pale yellow that did nothing to complement her sallow complexion. He hadn’t noticed the previous evening just how unhealthy she looked, but then he’d been drinking—and also got mad pretty damn quickly after her arrival.

  She didn’t offer her hand, which was just as well, because he probably wouldn’t have taken it.

  She crossed to the cabinet where Roscoe had left the silver service and poured the coffee he’d left for her. After a quick sip in an attempt to quell her nervousness, she said, “You were invited for afternoon tea, Mr. Youngblood, not morning coffee.”

  He was equally curt. “Well, I knew if we didn’t get this settled, everything in between would sour my stomach.”

  “Which means you’re ready to set a wedding date?” She walked over to the divan, head held high and knees shaking violently, praying he wouldn’t notice.

  Ryan actually started to tell her she was crazy, to recite everything he’d planned, how there was no way he’d be cajoled, coaxed, coerced, blackmailed, whatever it might be called, into marrying Erin. Yet, as his lips parted to vehemently inform her of his feelings, the vision of Erin in that damn nightgown danced before his eyes. Her body was sculptured to perfection—breasts like honeydew melons with nipples as succulent and sweet as wild mountain berries. And the thought of those long, graceful legs wrapped around his back made his heart slam right into his chest.

  He had never been a man given to impulse or irrational behavior, but with the familiar flames of desire starting to rage, he knew, beyond all doubt, he had to have her. To hell with his mother and her determination that he breed with aristocracy. Breed! The word rolled around in his brain amid waves of contempt. That was what his horses did, for God’s sake. And cows and hogs and other animals. He didn’t want to breed!

  He just wanted to be inside Erin, feel her velvet warmth wrapped around him.

  He was also jarred to realize how the thought of being saddled with Ermine for the rest of his life had become unbearable in the wake of his passion for Erin.

  Finally, in a voice he hardly recognized as his own, he surprised even himself by declaring, “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Arlene’s hand flew to her throat, as she swayed ever so slightly in astonishment. When he’d appeared unexpectedly, she figured on an ugly scene of refusal. She hadn’t had time, in the wake of the terrible situation concerning Letty, to plan her next course of action. Now, for him to yield so easily, she could only stare at him in wonder.

  He saw that she’d been caught off guard and couldn’t resent goading, “Well, it seems you’ve amazed even yourself, Mrs. Tremayne, that you were able to actually pull it off.”

  “Pull it off?” she echoed, slowly regaining her composure to pretend innocence. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course, you do.” She was good. Damn good, he mused, and if Erin inherited her talent for acting, heaven help him if he wasn’t forever on his toes. “Come now, Mrs. Tremayne, do you take me for a fool?”

  “Are you denying you asked my daughter to meet you with the intention of seducing her, intending to ultimately take her for your mistress?” She stared at him, muster
ing an indignant expression.

  “I’m not denying anything. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t have to, because I’m not guilty of anything. You, on the other hand—” he sat down beside her, eyes twinkling—“have only one thing on your mind, and that’s getting your daughter suitably married. And you’re willing to do anything to accomplish that, even if it means blackmailing me.”

  “Call it what you will,” Arlene snapped, not liking his arrogance. “I’m merely a mother protecting her daughter’s good name. What chance do you think she’d have to marry a decent man after it was known you’ve been trifling with her?”

  He raised an eyebrow, couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle as he countered to challenge, “What chance does she have of marrying a decent man when her stepfather is an unscrupulous rogue?”

  Arlene gasped, not at the effrontery but at his audacity in speaking the truth. “I resent that, sir.”

  He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “The fact of the matter is, I am willing to marry your daughter, Mrs. Tremayne, but not because I’m intimidated by your ridiculous threats. The fact is, Erin happens to be the most beautiful and exciting woman I’ve ever met. Had I met her sooner, under, shall we say, normal circumstances, I would have wanted to court her without any prompting by you, or anyone else.

  “I want her,” he concluded. “It’s that simple.”

  Arlene fought the impulse to clap her hands together and scream with joy. Instead, she gave a satisfied nod and calmly said, “Justify if you will, Mr. Youngblood. I’m interested only in my daughter’s good name and continued respect in this community.”

  “Oh, of course.” He bit back a laugh. “And now that you’ve got what you wanted, how about telling me what’s going on around here so early in the morning?”