WORDS OF LOVE
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you you’re absolutely beautiful?”
Delilah shook her head. “Pretty, but not absolutely beautiful.”
“That he lies awake at night thinking about you?” She shook her head again.
“Then I’m certain no one ever told you what wonderfully expressive eyes you have.”
“No.”
Nathan moved closer. “Or that to have you within reach and not be able to caress your skin is a temptation almost greater than a mortal man can endure.”
“No.”
He moved closer still. “That your lips are an irresistible invitation to kiss you.”
“No” Her response was a little breathless.
“I’ve spent days thinking of ways to get you out of the kitchen so I can see you as much as possible. Every beautiful woman should know she’s appreciated.” He reached out and touched her cheek.
“How would you do that?”
“It’s very simple.” He drew so close she could almost feel the heat of his body. “You let her know what you like about her.”
Delilah felt paralyzed. She had never had a man court her this way.
“I particularly like your lips,” Nathan murmured. Their lips were now so close they almost touched. “They are so full and red and wanting to be kissed.” His fingertip traced the outline of her mouth. Then he leaned closer and kissed her….
Other books by Leigh Greenwood:
THE RELUCTANT BRIDE
THE INDEPENDENT BRIDE
SEDUCTIVE WAGER
SWEET TEMPTATION
WICKED WYOMING NIGHTS
WYOMING WILDFIRE
SCARLET SUNSET, SILVER NIGHTS
THE CAPTAIN’S CARESS
ARIZONA EMBRACE
The Night Riders series:
TEXAS HOMECOMING
TEXAS BRIDE
BORN TO LOVE
The Cowboys series:
THE MAVERICKS
JAKE
WARD
BUCK
DREW
SEAN
CHET
MATT
PETE
LUKE
The Seven Brides series:
ROSE
FERN
IRIS
LAUREL
DAISY
VIOLET
LILY
Rebel
Enchantress
Leigh Greenwood
Copyright © 1992, 2011 Leigh Greenwood
Rebel
Enchantress
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Chapter One
Springfield, Massachusetts, 1786
The closer Delilah came to Maple Hill, the more nervous she became. Public opinion labeled Ezra Buel a mean, sour-tempered, stingy old man, a River God, one of the rich men who’d built their mansions along the banks of the Connecticut River, but his reputation had never mattered to her before. Nothing he did had touched her directly. But that would no longer be so.
Gossip had it Ezra built the mansion from profits made during the War of Independence, but it was the sheer size of the white clapboard structure that overwhelmed Delilah. It sat atop a hill overlooking the river, dominating the countryside like a sleeping giant.
Odd that a house could be so intimidating. Even more unusual that it should give the people inside an importance they wouldn’t have had by themselves. She might tell herself Serena Noyes and her daughter were ordinary people like herself, but as she stood gazing at the house, an outsider about to ask for something they could give or withhold, they didn’t seem like ordinary people.
Still, she couldn’t afford to give in to her fears now: Only Reuben’s oxen stood between them and hunger.
She stopped at the bottom of the shallow steps. Who would answer her knock? Did rich people open their own doors, or did they get somebody else to do it for them? It seemed a waste of time to set anybody such a simple task, but then, rich people were different. They couldn’t live in a house like that and not be changed.
She would be if she lived in such a house. She’d stay in bed until noon. That pleasant thought soothed her nerves until she found herself on the porch. Then she started to tremble. Hundreds of reasons why she should go back home flashed through her mind. She didn’t want to be here, she had fought against it most of the spring and summer, but die thought of her two little nephews wondering why they should have to leave the table hungry, die fear on their faces at die tense silences between their parents, stiffened her resolve. She might be afraid—well, she was afraid—but she wasn’t a coward.
Her first, tentative knock made almost no sound. The massive door appeared to have been sculpted from a single piece of wood, though Delilah knew it had been pieced and carved by skillful hands. Taking hold of her courage, she grasped die brass knocker and gave it a strong whack. The report of metal against metal sounded so loudly she involuntarily jumped back. But after several moments passed and still no one came, Delilah began to wonder if anyone was home.
Was she supposed to go to the back door? If a farmhouse had a second door, it led to me barn or the cow pen, and no one expected a guest to use it. But these people were different. Maybe their front door was just for other rich people.
Well, she might be poor and she might be offering herself to do a servant’s work, but until they offered her a job and she accepted it, she would enter by the front door or no door at all. Pride bolstering her courage, she reached for the knocker once more. The door opened without warning.
“Can I help you?”
Delilah felt as if she’d been turned to stone. The most attractive man she had ever seen stood before her. For the moment not even his heavy British accent registered. She frantically searched her mind for who he might be. She had prepared herself only for Ezra Buel, his sister, or his niece. She didn’t know what to say to this man.
He had beautiful eyes. Light blue and clear as a summer sky. His gorgeous mouth, full lips smiling now, parted to show strong white teeth. He had a splendid face—clean-shaven, clear-skinned, handsome.
He was tall, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and was dressed in a style unlike anything Delilah had ever seen. Rather than the usual brown waistcoat and plain coat, he wore a white embroidered waistcoat with a blue broadcloth coat. Instead of a carelessly knotted cloth at his throat, his silk neckcloth was tied into a small, neat bow. His blond-brown hair was not long and garnered at the back of the neck by a ribbon, but was cut short in a style she found new and most attractive.
Whereas the men Delilah knew wore rough boots and loose or ill-fitting breeches, he wore low-cut leather shoes decorated with silver buckles, stockings which clung to his muscled calves, and tight-fitting fawn-colored breeches which emphasized his muscular thighs.
And everything else!
Delilah felt a rush
of heat surge through her. Good God, his breeches were indecent. The English must be depraved to go about dressed like that.
He looked her over with a critical eye, his expression becoming less welcoming as his gaze took in the quality and cut of her dress, the dusty condition of her shoes, the absence of any means of transportation or an accompanying servant. He scrutinized her exactly as Ezra Buel would have done.
“Are you certain you have die correct house?” he asked.
Delilah bridled instantly. The implication was unmistakable: No one at Maple Hill could possibly have anything to do with the likes of her.
“I’m certain,” she said with a confidence she didn’t fell. “I wish to come in.”
For a moment she thought he was going to close the door in her face. But after a slight pause, during which Delilah was sure he wondered if she had come to steal the silverware, he stepped aside to allow her to enter.
As his gaze wandered over her person—Delilah had undergone this kind of scrutiny too many times before to misunderstand—his expression began to indicate curiosity, even speculation. Delilah refused to let herself think about what must be going through his mind. She could deal with that later.
Her step was firm and confident, even though her mind still grappled with the unexpected meeting. A slight feeling of uneasiness settled about her when he closed the door and plunged them both into near darkness. A moment later he opened the door to a sunlit drawing room.
Delilah had never even imagined such a room. An Aubusson rug echoed the delicate pink of the tinted walls. Three circular inlaid mahogany card tables, separated by mahogany side chairs upholstered in pink damask, stood against the wall. The windows were adorned with mull curtains crowned with pink, blue, and gold brocade swags. A massive rolltop desk stood between the far windows. A table bearing a Sèvres tea set stood in the center of the room, surrounded by four brocade-covered chairs. An enormous gilt mirror over a pink marble fireplace magnified the splendor of the room. The heavy fragrance of tuberoses, underlaid by a hint of lemon-oil beeswax, filled her nostrils.
“My aunt and cousin are away from home at the moment,” the young man said as he helped her to a seat.
Staggered by the double shock, Delilah had to fight to regain her wits. The young man didn’t help. His gaze never left her. Having finished his study of her body, he focused on her face as though by sheer force of will he could unlock the secrets of her mind. She felt breathless, distracted.
“I came to see Mr. Buel,” she managed to say.
“My uncle is quite ill,” the young man said. The doctor won’t allow anyone to see him at present.”
“But I must see him,” Delilah replied, reeling from still another shock. “It’ll only take a moment.” She was so nervous she felt nauseated.
“You could come back in a few weeks.”
“That’ll be too late. I’ve got to see him now.”
His gaze was unrelenting. How was she supposed to concentrate when she felt the barriers to her mind were being burned away by the heat of it?
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Ask him.”
“No.”
The word was short and sharp, uncompromising, his expression only slightly altered. Delilah decided he looked vaguely apologetic, interested, less censorious.
“I’m sure if you tell him Delilah Stowbridge is here to see him on a matter of utmost importance he’ll see me.”
“He won’t.”
The change in the man’s voice and expression shocked Delilah. No longer did a physical heat, maybe even a sensual interest, live in his gaze. The coldness in his eyes would have daunted a much more intrepid heart than hers.
A desperate fear of failure made Delilah’s temper flare. “How do you know? Where is he? I’ll ask him myself.”
“He’s upstairs in the front bedroom on the left, but he won’t answer you.” The man stood when Delilah started to rise. “My uncle fell from his horse three weeks ago. He’s been in a coma ever since.”
Delilah sank back into her chair. “Will he recover?”
There’s no way to tell. The doctor says he looks sound of body, but his mind is gone. He could be like this for months.”
“That’ll be too late,” Delilah groaned. “I’ve got to talk to him now.”
“Maybe I could help.”
Delilah looked at him, and her mind faltered. Why had she never before noticed the way a man’s breeches clung to his body? She averted her eyes. If she kept looking at him, she’d never be able to think.
“How?”
“I’m Nathan Trent.”
“So what does that make you?” Delilah asked before she realized what a rude question it was. She expected him to be angry, but she saw a look of melancholy briefly cloud his eyes.
“Nothing much, I’m afraid. It’s not much of a name.”
“I’m sorry,” Delilah said, a blush turning her cheeks quite hot. “I didn’t mean to say that, but Mr. Buel’s illness has upset all my plans. I can’t think what I’m about.” Not as long as she looked at him, she couldn’t. “How can you help me?”
“I can’t possibly know until you tell me why you’ve come.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Delilah said, a trifle more impatiently than she wished. “I mean what can you do about his affairs?”
“Quite a lot as it happens. I’m my uncle’s heir.”
Delilah didn’t know how many more shocks she could endure in one day. Everyone had assumed Ezra Buel’s estate would go to Serena Noyes and her daughter.
Nathan seemed to be cynically amused by her discomfiture. “I’m his nephew,” he explained. “I was about to have tea. While you compose yourself, I’ll have Lester bring in the tray.” He walked over to the bell pull but turned as his hand reached out to grasp the long silken rope. “You colonists do drink tea, don’t you?”
Between the effect of his smile—so condescending, so intolerable—and the sight of his handsome face and taut body, Delilah quite forgot her good sense.
“Every day.” She meant it to be sarcastic. She’d never had tea. She and Jane drank coffee. Reuben drank ale or cider. But apparently her companion took the remark for irritation.
“What kind would you prefer?”
Good God, were there different kinds? “Whatever you prefer” she replied. And sit down, she pleaded silently. Seeing the lower half of his body, encased in those skin-tight breeches, was making her utterly distracted.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Nathan did take a seat, but Delilah continued to feel the need of a fan. She suspected a telltale blush might have stained her cheeks. Nathan cast her a look which showed he was puzzled, and her tension increased when a black man entered the room and placed a Sèvres teapot before her.
Delilah would have kicked herself if she could. She should have asked for coffee, but no, she had had to be sarcastic. Now they were both staring at her, waiting for her to do something. Did he expect her to make me tea? She didn’t know how, and she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself by proving it.
Fight fire with fire. She folded her hands in her lap, settled back on the chair, and brazenly stared back at Nathan. When it became clear that she didn’t intend to make the tea, Lester made it for them.
“Sugar and cream?” he asked.
Delilah nodded her head. She had no idea what one was supposed to put in tea, but she wasn’t about to let them know that either. She noticed Lester eyeing her askance. He knows I’ve got no business drinking tea with the likes of Nathan Trent, but he has to treat me as if I belong here. She took courage from mat.
“Not too much cream,” she said. Lester had already put two large lumps of sugar in the cup. Delilah hoped it wouldn’t taste like syrup. She waited until Nathan had been served, then took a sip. The tea was hot and strong. The bitter taste made her wish she had asked for more sugar. She would have much preferred coffee.
“Now tell me why you need to see my uncle ” Nathan said.
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Delilah was distracted again, this time by his hands. They were so slim, his fingers so long and elegant. So different from Reuben’s massive paws with their thick, hairy fingers. Suitable for a thin-blooded English aristocrat but terribly attractive.
Speculation was back in his eyes, and Delilah knew it had nothing to do with Reuben’s oxen.
“It’s about my brother’s debt.”
“Forty shillings, isn’t it?”
Delilah’s expression showed her surprise.
“I have become acquainted with my uncle’s affairs,” Nathan explained.
“Reuben can’t pay it.”
His expression turned wintery; and the speculative glint disappeared. “Then I shall have to ask the sheriff to fetch his oxen.” His words were like pinpricks in her skin.
“You can’t do that,” Delilah exclaimed. She started up from her seat, spilling tea on her dress. Nathan rote from his seat as well, but Delilah didn’t pause. “He won’t be able to nut in the crops or anything,” she told him as she dabbed at her skirt with unconscious skill. “He’ll lose the farm.”
“I can’t do him any more favors. My uncle has already extended the debt twice”
Delilah’s pride turned to anger as she watched him settle back in his chair, the expression on his face even more cold than before.
“I’m not here to beg for special favors. I mean to work for Reuben’s debt.”
Nathan was in the midst of a swallow. Delilah saw that the hot liquid caught in his throat before it went on down.
“How?” he asked when he could talk.
“Here, in your house.”
“Doing what?”
She didn’t know whether he was stalling or he really wanted her to tell him what work she could do. His expression was beyond interpretation.
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