The bitterness was unmistakable, coupled with a cynicism Cash didn’t think one so young should know. But then, he had known it at a much earlier age. Lifting his shoulders in a shrug of resignation, Cash turned around.
She was almost fully dressed and struggling with the hooks at the back of her skirt. He spun her around. She was no bigger than a sack of meal and easily punished in his hands. Yet she accepted his touch without cringing, accepted it with all the trust and innocence of earlier. His rage dwindled, replaced by a tiredness in his soul as he placed each hook in its proper place.
“I don’t know how long ago this happened or what you looked like then, but if you in any way resembled what you are now, the man had to be blind, pet. I’m not in the habit of troubling to seduce prune-faced old maids.”
His reassurance was given as firmly and matter-of-factly as his hands on her hooks and fastenings.
“I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Wickliffe, and I will try to keep it in mind for future reference. Perhaps when I see you seducing other women, you would be so kind as to rate my appearance with theirs so I might better gauge my attractions.”
Finishing his task, Cash caught her shoulders and shook her before swinging her around to face him. Those mesmerizing eyes stared back up at him without a hint of emotion, and he grimaced. “I ought to slap you, Miss Laura, but that’s not exactly what I feel like doing right now.”
She flinched at the sarcasm in the “Miss Laura,” but he wanted to hurt someone else besides himself right now. When she fully realized what he wanted to do, her eyes widened and she stepped back.
The temptation to reach for her was great. He had just possessed her body, touched her as no man ever had, and he had the need to reassure himself of that miracle by repeating it. Even fully garbed in yards of that damned material, she was wholly desirable, but he’d had enough torture for this day. Cash released her.
Laura’s shoulders sagged with the removal of his hands, but then she straightened her spine and faced him squarely. “I didn’t mean to trick you, Cash. I knew you thought me something I wasn’t, but things just happened so fast. . . . I’ll not do it again, I promise. I just thought . . . Well, men do it all the time, and it wouldn’t hurt just this once, for a good cause.”
Cash’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “For a good cause? That’s a new one, sweetheart. Since when is an itch like ours a good cause?”
Laura glared at him for this rudeness. “To you it was just an itch, perhaps, although that’s certainly a crude way to put it. But to me it was freedom. What are the chances that Doc Broadbent would marry me if he thought I wasn’t a widow?”
He’d been shot once, and the shock was much the same, jolting through him with a force that knocked him backward. Cash glared at the little asp who had gone for his jugular, then marshaled his considerable resources, and placing his hands on his hips, fought back. “One in a million, brat. The Doc prefers whores. Now, tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
It didn’t take long and it didn’t taste sweet, but when she was done, Cash held her in his arms and let her weep, then gently kissed her good-bye. It was the very least he could do for his fair rescuer, for the Doc was a far better man than he would ever be.
Chapter 10
Laura washed the evidence of her sins from her body when she returned to the house, but she couldn’t cleanse her mind or soul. In the dim light of the lantern that night, she removed all her clothes and stared down at herself with some wonder, touching the aching points of her breasts, feeling them respond to her touch as they had to Cash. Daringly she splayed her hand across her abdomen, and she tried to imagine how they had fitted together to create that miraculous harmony. She didn’t allow her hand to stray any lower. It seemed somehow a sacrilege to touch that place where they had joined. She was glad she had not seen the male instrument he had used to enter her. It was better that she did not know the details.
But after she had drawn on her nightdress and climbed between the sheets, she couldn’t help but wonder about the night when she must share a bed with her husband. At least now she wasn’t ignorant. She could come to Jonathan with all the experience of a married woman. But somehow she could not get the picture right in her head. It ought to be Jonathan’s slender shoulders and light hair bending over her, not the black hair and sharp features of the quadroon’s son.
It was easy to stay too busy to think about it during the day. The daily household chores would keep an army of women busy. But Laura was also Ward’s eyes and ears outside the house, and with the harvest only a short time away, she was riding out to the fields more often than ever. And then Jonathan visited more frequently now that she wore his ring, and they entertained more than ever.
The day that Jonathan rode out in the company of Cash, Laura felt her insides lurch, but after making the first polite greetings, the men closeted themselves in the study. Laura closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief that she did not have to meet Cash’s eyes in casual conversation.
She was a woman and entitled to her own decisions. If she wanted to take a lover, she harmed no one but herself, and she was old enough to accept that fact. But she was somehow not quite ready to converse with a man with whom she had been physically intimate while in the company of her fiancé.
After they departed, she found Ward sitting at his desk, staring out over the fields that eventually led to the stone fence separating this farm from the Watterson place. He looked up at Laura’s approach, and smiled faintly. “Somehow I always thought I would climb higher than the white-trash product of a union between a drunkard and a whore. Did Jonathan tell you that Cash is buying the Watterson property?”
Laura winced at this bluntness, but she replied with a modicum of calm, “Does that bother you?”
She met Ward’s sharp look with equilibrium. Sallie would have been outraged at the notion, had she been here. She would have ranted and raved about the state of the world that it could allow such riffraff to pretend to society.
Apparently Ward didn’t think she understood the delicacy of the situation. He frowned and tried to phrase the question properly. “I know Jonathan took Cash in as his ward, but we know his true origins. And from all I hear now, he hasn’t fallen far from the tree. I admire and respect Jonathan, Laura, and I’m proud to know you’ll be his wife, but I’m uneasy about having to entertain neighbors like Cash Wickliffe. Sallie won’t take it well.”
Laura wanted to inquire as to whether Ward knew her origins. Her father was a gambler and a drunkard as much as Cash’s. Her mother was a French actress. But because she was a Kincaid, she was acceptable and Cash was not?
But she had learned the folly of rash reactions long ago. Men ignored the opinions of women when it suited their purpose, and they certainly never heeded the opinions of women in a fury. She would get nowhere by telling Ward just exactly what she thought of him and his bigoted, hypocritical family. There were other ways that were more successful, if not as satisfying.
“It’s not Sallie’s choice, Ward. Uncle Matt accepted Cash out of respect to Jonathan. You need only do the same. You’re the man of the house. Sallie will have to respect your decision.”
Those were apparently words Ward wanted to hear, and he nodded. Both knew Sallie would rant and rave if she wanted, but Laura was promising that she would blunt the sharp edge of her cousin’s wrath.
Not that Laura wanted Cash underfoot every time she turned around. The prospect of meeting him over a dinner table was enough to make her insides quake. But that fear had nothing to do with his origins or his new property. It had more to do with not knowing how she would look Cash in the eye while Jonathan sat by her side.
She didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to her before. Perhaps she had thought Cash would never stay, that he would return to whatever life he had led these past years. But that fallacy was easily seen as the activity on the old Watterson farm commenced, and all the town could talk about was Cash Wickliffe and his fortune.
Looking up into her fiancé’s intelligent face and concerned expression, Laura allowed herself a small smile. “Sometimes it is just so good to know that there is one person in this town with a head on his shoulders. Why aren’t there more of you around, Jonathan?”
The concern didn’t instantly evaporate, but Jonathan relaxed his grip and set her fingers on his arm to lead her toward the carriage. “Can you imagine a world with nothing but old cynics sitting around carping about the state of the world? No, it’s much better to have a variety, my love. We just have to learn to take the good with the bad.”
“But why can there not be more of the good? Look at what those ignorant Raiders did to those poor families over at Tobaccotown. There was no excuse for that. The wages they make doing white people’s laundry and hoeing fields wouldn’t feed a single man in this town. What was the point in burning those shacks and trampling their gardens? Don’t they think the world big enough for black and white?”
“There’s nothing you can do about it, Laura, so there’s no use in fretting. If it gives you any satisfaction, the Regulators strung up one of the men who did it, not that that will stop anyone.”
He assisted her into the two-seated carriage and climbed up beside her. “Now, there is something you can do for someone else if you would like. Old Bessie Whitehall is down ill, and I need to stop by and take a look at her. She doesn’t cotton much to me seeing her with her clothes off, and it’s not easy to examine her through six layers of musty underpinnings. Could I impose on you to act as my nurse just this once? I promise I’ll not ask it often.”
There was a hesitancy in his question that made Laura examine Jonathan’s expression. Seldom did they have long or weighty conversations. They fenced around each other like two stray dogs in the road, both careful to stay off the other’s territory.
Laura thought she knew Jonathan as well as anyone could, but then, she had thought she had known Cash too. She was realizing she had been seeing only the surface. So she examined the question, understanding that he was touching on subjects that had never before come between them. Just the mention of “underpinnings” in polite conversation was taboo, but if they were to be married, they would need to do more than discuss them. He was offering a glimpse of the intimacy that would have to develop between them if they were to have any relationship at all, and in so doing, he was offering a piece of himself.
That had to be hard for the solitary doctor to do. Touching Jonathan’s hand as she had never done before, Laura nodded. “It’s not an imposition. I want to help you whenever I can.”
He squeezed her fingers in gratitude. “You may regret that offer someday, but I’ll hold you to it now.”
By now the whole town knew of their engagement, and people smiled in approval as the carriage rolled through town. It was as if they all enjoyed a secret that the newly betrothed lovers did not, and Laura felt vaguely embarrassed by their knowing smirks. If Jonathan noticed, he gave no sign.
The thunderstorms of the previous weeks had not cleared the air as usual, but left it hot and humid for this late in the summer. Puddles of rainwater ruined the fields and muddied the ruts of the roads. Rain barrels overflowed and sat in mossy mud that stank as the heat of the day climbed. The odor was more rancid than sweet as it had been with the earlier rain.
There hadn’t been a big storm in ten days or more, but still the moisture clung to the clay ground and pooled in green puddles where the sun didn’t go. Laura swatted at a mosquito disturbed by the carriage’s passing and pulled the wide muslin sleeves of her gown tighter at the wrist. She wished she had updated the gown by making cuffs from the rows of ruffles running the length of the sleeve, but she had never found the time. The loose sleeves were cooler, but they didn’t prevent flies or mosquitoes from finding her arm.
At least she had on one of Sallie’s crinolines and looked respectable as she entered the modest house of one of the matriarchs of the community. Signs of economy were everywhere: in the faded horsehair of the sofa that would have been replaced in better times, in the presence of only one servant in a shabby uniform, and in the tarnish of the tea tray that no one had the time to polish. But the stuffy air of respectability still permeated the crowded rooms, and Laura felt almost an impostor as she entered the sickroom on Jonathan’s arm.
The old woman watched Laura suspiciously through wire- rimmed glasses. Despite the fact that the patient was burning up with fever, all the windows in the tiny bedroom were closed and draped, and a coal fire burned in the grate. Steam practically inundated the room as Jonathan tried to examine his recalcitrant patient.
By the time he and Laura between them had persuaded the old lady out of her robe and parts of her nightdress and the chemise she wore beneath it, perspiration poured down both their faces. Jonathan frowned as he began his examination and hastily withdrew Laura from the room after a quick question to the maid.
Slamming shut his bag and cursing under his breath, he gave the maid orders for caring for the fevered patient, then briskly took Laura’s arm and walked her from the house. He was silent as he helped her into the carriage and set the horse at a furious pace toward the farm,
Laura didn’t dare catch his arm, but clutched her reticule in her lap. “I didn’t finish the shopping, Jonathan. I need to go back to town.”
Grimly he lashed the reins. “You won’t be returning to town soon. I want you and Sallie and Ward to stay away from town until I come for you. I should never have taken you with me. Damn, but you’d better stay away from Sallie and Ward for the next few days. If you feel any sign of fever, get word to me as quickly as you can. Hell and damnation, but I’m a fool. You’d think I was some lovesick adolescent with mush for brains. I’m sorry, Laura, Forgive my ranting.”
He was talking to himself as much as to her, but his words were sufficient to knot Laura’s stomach. Tightening her clasp on the beaded bag in her lap, she said stiffly, “It’s yellow jack, isn’t it? I didn’t think this late in the season . . .”
“Neither did I.” He gave her a quick look. “What do you know of yellow jack?”
“I had it once, in Cairo. The summers there are horrendous. The river is practically at everyone’s door and you can swim through the air in the summer. Everyone gets it. You’d better take me to town. I don’t know if I can give it to Ward, but there’s no sense in taking chances. You’ll need me before this is over with.”
Jonathan slowed the horse and stared down at her. Laura knew her hair had loosed in wisps from the knot at her nape, spoiling the severe effect she had attempted earlier. She supposed in the swathes of white muslin adorned with delicate roses, she appeared too fragile to have survived a disease that killed over half of its victims. But she met Jonathan’s eyes with the steel of experience, and he nodded acceptance.
“I don’t like it, but you’re right. If you’ve had it once, you won’t get it again, but it’s likely to be a long fight, Laura. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I told you, I’ve lived through it. It doesn’t go away, the memory. I’d rather it would. I’d rather hide at the farm and pretend nothing is happening, but I can’t. If Bessie has it, there will be others. We can only hope it won’t be severe. It is late in the season, after all.”
Jonathan stopped the carriage in a nearby drive. On impulse, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him. He felt her surprise at the kiss, but he imagined there was a warmth for him there, and he indulged himself a little further. His first wife had been younger than Laura when they married, but her kisses had tasted much the same. The
innocent sweetness after all these years of professionals made him feel masculine and invulnerable.
For a moment Jonathan almost forgot Laura was a widow and wise to the ways of the world. When he remembered, he grasped her more firmly. There had never been a time when this had seemed possible before, and there might not be time again in the next weeks. He would steal just these few minutes for himself.
The shock of Jonathan’s demanding kiss and the strength of his hold kept Laura from thinking of anything else. His cheek was smooth-shaven, and his lips were fuller and softer than the ones she remembered so clearly. When she brushed Jonathan’s hair, it was cropped short and her fingers became entangled in nothing more satisfying than the stiff collar at his nape. But still, she did not find his touch repulsive, and when his hand brushed the side of her breast, she felt a jolt of anticipation.
The sound of horses coming down the road forced them apart. Two men Laura remembered from her uncle’s dinner table rode up with knowing grins, greeting the doctor with joviality and hiding their smiles as they made polite bows. When they rode on, she hid her flush behind her hands while Jonathan turned the carriage around.
He gave her a quick glance as he urged the horse toward town. “I seem to be spending the day apologizing, Laura. But this time I’m not really certain I’m sorry. They know we’re betrothed and that neither of us is exactly inexperienced. It’s not quite the same as if you were still a debutante.”
“I know. Just be patient with me. It’s been a long time.” Laura told herself she wasn’t lying. It had been a long time since her presumed husband had kissed her. That was all he meant.
Shelter from the Storm Page 11
