Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  Ryan came in a short while later, and it was Annie who came to tell her so. She went immediately to the study and knocked on the closed door.

  “What it is?” he called.

  Erin turned the knob, then stepped inside.

  Seeing her, he shook his head in apology for his abruptness. “I thought it was one of the servants. They know not to bother me when that door is closed.” He was sipping brandy and held up the glass to ask with quiet, almost mocking eyes, “Would my bride like to join me?”

  “It seems I’m too far behind to catch up.” She could not resist the sarcasm, but seeing the way his face darkened, she wished she had taken a glass. The last thing she wanted to be was a nagging wife, but it seemed they grew farther apart with each passing day. “As a matter of fact,” she said hurriedly, “I wanted to talk to you about one of the servants.”

  At that, he gave a short, brittle laugh. Leaning back in his leather chair, he propped his booted feet on the edge of the desk and pretended to be in deep contemplation before retorting, “Let me try and guess. It wouldn’t happen to be Eliza, would it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you want to complain about how she told you that she answers only to my mother.”

  Erin sank into the chair opposite. It looked as if she would be there awhile. “I see she cornered you the second you walked in—”

  “No, no,” he was quick to correct, “You don’t understand, Erin. Eliza didn’t have to tell me anything. I figured sooner or later you would come to me with this, because that’s the way it is. And she probably told you it wouldn’t do any good to speak to me about it, and she’s right. It won’t. I can’t drag her outside and have her beaten. I can’t haul her off to the auction and have her sold. She belongs to my mother, and if there’s any disciplining to be done, my mother will do it.”

  “Did your father have the same lack of authority?” she wanted to know.

  “You better know it.” He grinned. “Maybe,” he softened his tone a bit, “when you meet my mother, you’ll understand why. She can be a very difficult woman.”

  “Well, thank you for warning me.”

  “Would you have refused to marry me if I’d told you what an ogress she can be? I think not. But don’t worry. As you can see, it’s a big house. Her quarters are now way in the other wing. If you keep on having trays sent to your room, you’ll hardly ever see her.”

  Erin again yielded to sarcasm to match his. “I might say the same for you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Ah. You noticed.”

  Their gazes locked in silent challenge as they came to the brink of yet another battle of wit and will. Erin gave herself a mental shake and was reminded of the other purpose for the meeting. “I’d like to talk about something else,” she began, folding her hands in her lap. “My mother.”

  He lowered his feet then and sat up straight. “Is there a problem?”

  Erin admitted she could not be sure. “She’s never been one to complain, but she certainly looks weaker to me than when we left. I’m sending a carriage for her tomorrow, because I want her to come and spend the day here.”

  “That’s fine,” he agreed; then, figuring she didn’t want her mother to see how things were between the two of them, he assured her, “I’ll tell Eliza we’ll have dinner in the dining room.”

  “Are you sure that will be all right with her? Maybe I’ll need to have Annie fix something.”

  “Eliza will always obediently do what my mother has told her to do, and she knows serving meals is part of her duties. It’s when she’s asked to do something out of the ordinary by someone other than my mother that she balks.”

  Erin brushed over that unpleasant subject to get to the heart of the matter. “Ryan, I’m worried about Mother, and frankly, I’d like for her to come and live here with us.” She searched his face for some hint of reaction but could not detect anything. “You said yourself it’s a big house. You wouldn’t even know she’s about.”

  Ryan was struck by his inability to deny her anything. Yet he felt it was to his advantage not to let her know that, and hedged, “Does your stepfather know about this?”

  “He ought to,” she replied quickly and angrily. “As I said, Mother has never been one to complain, but I know she’s miserable. I think he’s taking out his anger on her over our getting married while he was gone. She told me he was furious when he found out, because he said it made him look like a fool, and that we went behind his back.”

  It was Ryan’s turn to yield to derision. “But according to your mother, he was the one I was going to have to answer to if I didn’t marry you right away.” Then, seeing the way her face tightened and her cinnamon eyes grew stormy, he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. I’m sorry. No more. And, yes, if you and she both want it, I really don’t see why it can’t be worked out.”

  Erin fought the impulse to jump up and run around the desk to throw her arms about him in a hug of gratitude. Instead, she thanked him and added, “I promise you. She won’t be a bother.”

  He stared at her. Lord, he wanted to get up and walk around to draw her into his arms and hold her and kiss her and then make love to her right then and there on the sofa, the floor, the top of the desk—wherever. It was not just lust that was firing his loins. Oh, no; more and more of late he was being forced to come to terms with the cries of his heart. What he had denied and fought against so long was coming to pass—he was truly falling in love with her.

  Refusing to yield to the impulse, he again asked if she’d like a glass of cognac, and this time she accepted.

  It was a mellow time, and Erin started feeling as she had on that other occasion when closeness dared surface.

  They talked of mundane things—how the weather was really starting to turn cool, and autumn would soon be upon them. She said she’d seen some pumpkins in the fields on her way to visit her mother earlier in the week. He remarked he’d noticed the gardening she had been doing around his grandmother’s grave. She told him she was only looking for something to do, because it was boring to be in the house all day by herself.

  He astounded her then by saying, lips curving in a secret smile, that perhaps she would like to ride over to Quincy Monroe’s farm the first of the week and see her new filly. He didn’t mention the night he had originally planned to surprise her with the news. He didn’t want to stir the memories of his disappointment over her rejection of his invitation to his bed.

  “You’re going to give me my very own horse?” she cried, and when he nodded, she did get up and rush around to fling her arms about his neck. “Ryan, I don’t know what to say,” she cried, laughing at the same time.

  “Don’t say anything,” he commanded huskily, holding her close. “Just show me.”

  It was so hard at such moments, Erin thought wildly, to hold back, lest he discover how very much she was starting to care. Yet, as long as he wanted her only for his physical needs, she wasn’t about to let her feelings be known.

  His touch was gentle. He captured her mouth with his, exploring, tasting, caressing, in a tender seduction that sent her senses reeling. She moved closer still, offering herself eagerly, welcoming his hands over her body, yielding to his touch. He lifted her skirt to slide his hand along her bare leg, dancing slowly upward between her thighs, and she began to move, her arms twined about his neck to hold him tight against her.

  Sudden pounding on the partially open door caused them to spring apart.

  Erin almost tumbled to the floor, and as Ryan quickly grabbed her, they looked at each other and tried to keep from bursting into laughter at the sound of Eliza’s irate voice. No doubt but that she’d spied on them before knocking.

  “Master Ryan. Will you be taking your supper in there or at the table?”

  His gaze lustily locked with Erin’s, he called back, “Mrs. Youngblood and I will both be having dinner in the dining room tonight. Have Ebner bring up a bottle of my best wine from the cellar.”

  They h
eard only the furious shuffling of her feet as she retreated. As usual, she did not acknowledge her orders.

  “I still don’t see how you put up with her,” Erin couldn’t help saying. “She isn’t even civil.”

  “I just don’t pay her any mind, Erin. You’ve got to learn to do that with my mother, too.”

  His voice had a bit of an edge to it, and she wondered whether the irritation was directed at her, for being annoyed, or if he himself was dreading the time when his mother returned. She did not ask, did not want to engage in any kind of serious discussion for the remainder of the evening, fearful of bursting the happiness bubble that had suddenly appeared.

  It was later, while she was bathing and preparing to dress for dinner, when Annie suddenly burst into the dressing alcove. Obviously excited over something, she didn’t speak but quickly glanced around as though making sure they were alone.

  Just as Erin was about to ask impatiently what it was all about, Annie reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew one of the few remaining roses that were still in bloom.

  Erin felt her pulse quicken. The rose could only mean that Mahalia would be in the center of the labyrinth at midnight.

  She, too, had memorized the diagram and was positive she could find her way in. The trick would be slipping out of bed if Ryan was beside her, and after their torrid embrace in the study, that seemed a certainty. She told herself there was no need to get nervous now. All along, she’d known that sooner or later the nocturnal rendezvous would begin. She’d just have to take them in stride and not give herself away by being anxious.

  Despite her resolve, dinner seemed to take forever. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time they went upstairs, and it was all Erin could do to keep from shaking, because she was so nervous. Sometimes Ryan would torture them both by prolonging their ecstasy, and she hoped this night would not be one of those times.

  She need not have worried.

  So ravenous was he that he apologized afterward for not being able to hold back, even though she was pleasantly satisfied. “Later…” he murmured, lips pressed in the hollow of her throat as he held her. “Later…again, and again…”

  She had not responded, for she was afraid he would hear the lie in her voice if she attempted to be as eager as he was for more passion later in the night. Instead, she lay very still, pretending to fall asleep right away.

  They were lying in his bed. When she finally heard his even breathing, she moved carefully to untangle her arms and legs from about him. By the time she stealthily crept from his room, the hour was quite late. She knew she would have to hurry.

  She did not take time to dress but pulled her robe on over her gown. With hair tumbling about her shoulders, she slipped on her shoes. Taking the small amount of money she had been able to get her hands on to give to Mahalia, she was on her way.

  She let herself quietly out the French door leading to the terrace. The light of a half-moon in a cloudless sky illumined the way as she ran across the lawn. The wet grass licked at her ankles as she lifted her hem. Her heart was pounding, and she prayed Ryan would not awaken to find her gone from his bed. If he happened to glance out the window, he would be able to see her running in the moonlight.

  The labyrinth loomed ahead like ghostly sentries joining hands to hinder entrance to the netherworld. Erin supposed she should be frightened. After all, one wrong turn, and she might possibly find herself confused and trapped in the maze. And who would find her? Not Mahalia, for never would she dare call out for help and maybe trap her accomplice as well. What would be her explanation to Ryan when he did, at last, have to go in to lead her back out? So many terrifying contemplations, but all she had to do was think of Letty and Ben and Rosa and all the other tormented souls, and she felt brave enough to continue. If she could help only one runaway find peace, then her efforts would not be in vain.

  Within the intricate shrubs, there was scant light. Erin was concentrating so hard to remember the diagram, she broke out in a cold sweat. Groping along, arms straight out on either side, she would reach an opening and, by memory, count which one it was and determine whether to turn left, right, or keep on going.

  She had practiced reaching the center twice in the past days, closing her eyes to simulate the darkness she knew she would have to cope with. She would have liked more rehearsals but was afraid of arousing suspicion. She felt as if Eliza was trying to spy on her all the time, anyway.

  She was sure she was going in the right direction, and when at last she stepped into the square and saw the benches and the fountain softly gleaming in the moonlight, she gave a soft gasp of relief.

  Mahalia was nowhere around, so she sank down on the bench to wait. She felt deeper anxiety to think how Mahalia might become lost on her side of the maze. Erin thought she had memorized that part too, but hoped it would not be necessary to find out for sure.

  Finally, when she heard the sound of cautious footsteps approaching, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to freeze in instant terror as she heard a man’s voice softly call her name. “Miss Erin…Miss Erin…don’t be afraid…”

  Shakily, nervously, she got to her feet and stammered, “Who…who are you?” She began to back up toward the other side, preparing to dart back within the shrubs to hide, even if it meant becoming lost.

  Quickly hearing, sensing, her rising terror, he called, “Mahalia sent me.”

  He stepped into the clearing, and Erin strained to see him in the silvery shadows. He was white. She could tell that much. Tall. And he wore a wide-brimmed hat. No facial features could be distinguished from where she stood, but as he also made her out in the shadows and approached, some of the tension began to fade. After all, she reminded herself, the only way he could have known and used the right path to the center was if Mahalia had shown him the diagram. That meant she trusted him.

  “My name is Sam Wade, and I’m a Free Soiler.”

  “A Free Soiler,” she echoed in relief, then stepped forward to hold out her hand and warmly greet him. “Did you have any trouble coming through the maze?”

  “No. The diagram you drew was very clear. I committed it to memory, then took a rowboat from across the river. I spent all day yesterday scouting around to make sure that area, as well as the banks around the dock, was isolated. It’s perfect for our needs,” he finished, sounding satisfied and impressed.

  Erin took the money out of her pocket, suddenly self-conscious to be standing there in her nightclothes with a strange man. “Well, you know the plan. When you’re going to be here, have someone leave a rose at the grave. I think every two weeks will be sufficient, and there might even be times when I don’t have any money to give you, but this is the best I can do.

  “So…” She allowed her voice to trail off, signifying there was nothing else to say. She did not want to tarry and knew she could not begin to breathe easy till she was back inside the house.

  But Sam had other ideas. With a quick shake of his head, he protested. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Miss Erin. It isn’t the best you can do. There’s a lot more you can do for the cause.”

  As she listened warily, he proceeded to explain that the Free Soilers had to ask something of her besides money. “This is the perfect spot for fugitives on this side of the river to hide and wait for a boat to pick them up at the dock. They can slip inside the entrance to the labyrinth during the night. Annie can check every morning to see whether a rose has been dropped there. She’ll know then there’s a runaway in there, and she can get word to you. You can slip out that night, at midnight, and take them through. Leave a rose on the dock. We’ll have someone checking every day. They’ll drift by, like they’re just out fishing, and when they see a rose, they’ll know to make a pickup at midnight.”

  Erin listened dizzily, amazed he had it all planned so carefully, but she was hesitant. “It’s too risky for me. And how do you know Annie, anyway?”

  “Annie is already involved. She knows all about the Free Soilers, just like a lot of other
slaves, but not one of them is going to tell the wrong person anything.”

  Grimly, Erin informed him, “The head housekeeper, Eliza. She’ll tell in a heartbeat. The other slaves despise her.”

  He said he was well aware of that. “But everything will take place at night. The only risk is your being able to slip out of the house at midnight without being seen. I know it’s a chance, but it’s one you’ve got to take. There will be a lot of people depending on you for their lives.”

  “But if I get caught—”

  “You won’t. Besides, you can teach Annie the way, and nights you don’t dare try to go out, she can make the run for you. You can take turns. We need your cooperation,” he persisted in near desperation. “We need to know we can count on that rose being placed on that pier to let us know there’s a runaway slave who needs to be helped on his way north.”

  Erin bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She had wanted to help but had not realized just what it would entail, how deeply she would be swept into the underground.

  She stepped closer to try and distinguish his features in the faint light. She guessed him to be in his late twenties, early thirties. He was startlingly tall, appeared to have powerful shoulders, as best she could tell. His face was ruggedly handsome, she decided. His eyes were dark and piercing as he tried to gauge what she was thinking of him. His hair was also dark, touching his collar. He was dressed in slouchy clothes, as would be expected of someone prowling around riverbanks in the night. “Just who are you?” she asked slowly, evenly. “How is it you’re able to travel about and talk with the slaves and find out so much? And why is it I’ve never seen you before, since you know so much about what goes on here at Jasmine Hill?”

  “I used to sell elixir, but now I’ve broadened my offering of merchandise,” he told her in his deep, mellow voice that was so strangely reassuring. Inclining his head in the merest hint of a mocking bow, he grinned. “At your service, of course, madam, but the fact is, I don’t ordinarily deal with slave owners, just their overseers and their head housekeepers, butlers, and such.”