by Cora Seton
They swayed in time to the slow ballad the live band was playing, and Nora revelled in Clay’s comforting smell, the beat of his heart and the careful way he held her. “No, it wasn’t,” she agreed. “But Riley loves Boone, and I think he loves her, too.”
“He definitely does,” Clay assured her. “I think the two of them are proof that any problems between people can be worked out if they both make an effort. Don’t you?”
Nora was too smart to walk into that trap, but she couldn’t entirely disagree with him, either. Too many times she’d seen relationships in which one person made the effort and the other person didn’t. “If two people are willing to do whatever it takes, maybe, but that’s rare, don’t you think?”
“Rare, but not unknown,” he countered. As he guided her gently around the dance floor, Nora felt the play of his muscles under her hands. Clay was doing it again—holding her with such confidence she felt absolutely safe with him. Did he have any idea how often she dreamed about his hands on her bare skin?
A girl could fall for a guy like him.
Even if she knew she shouldn’t.
“When I set my mind on a goal, I give it my all,” he said lightly.
Nora glanced up at him and found him looking back down at her. She was finding it difficult to breathe again, her ribs hemmed in by the boning of her corset, but unlike down at the creek, this had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man who was holding her. “Have you set your mind on a goal?” Her throat was dry, the words hard to form.
His arms tightened around her. “Yeah. I have.”
A wild hope fluttered inside her chest that he’d decided to renew his attempts to be with her. Immediately she shut it down. Clay was off limits. He needed to stay that way.
“What do you think about that?” he asked when she remained silent, their two bodies moving rhythmically together in a way that didn’t satisfy her cravings at all. Nora wanted to be closer to Clay. She wanted to push aside the heavy lapels of his redcoat uniform, unbutton his white shirt and splay her hands over his chest. She wanted to kiss him. Taste him. But she only shrugged.
“You know what my goal is, don’t you?” he whispered in her ear. Nora shivered as his breath tickled her, and she inadvertently tightened her grip on his shoulders.
“I want to be with you,” he said. “Forever.”
Nora realized she was trembling. Caught between desire and common sense, it was hard to know how to proceed. Every time she came near Clay she lost her head, but it was far too soon to talk about forever.
If Nora was ever to think of marrying Clay, she needed time to get to know him—to fall in love with him…
Because whatever this was, this warm, encompassing excitement she felt whenever Clay was near, it couldn’t be love. It had to be infatuation, or lust, or…whatever you called it when you were alone too long, and someone finally paid attention to you. Love—true love—took time to grow.
Clay refused to give her time…or rather, he didn’t have it to give.
“Nora?” Clay said softly when she didn’t answer.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to kiss you.”
No. She needed to say no. But she couldn’t force herself to say the word, not when her whole body wanted him to. She lifted her chin to look up at him again. He bent down and brushed his mouth over hers, and Nora was lost. She went up on tiptoe and clung to him as he kissed her. Time slowed and the moment went on and on until Nora wasn’t sure where they were anymore. She was dizzy, and happy, and… in love, despite what she told herself. When Clay stopped dancing and began to move toward the door, she took his hand and hurried after him, not minding that he bundled her out of the barn and into the deep shadows outside.
Just this once, she told herself. Just this one night she’d relax her rules and enjoy herself. Circling around the barn to the back of the building, he found a place hidden from prying eyes. Clay pressed her up against its wooden walls, hemming her in with his body, and gathered her into a tight embrace. His kisses deepened, grew hungrier, and Nora met him willingly, trailing the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, then nipping at him, wanting something she knew she couldn’t have.
When he tilted her head back, traced his lips down her neck to the dip between her breasts, Nora finally regained her senses and stopped him.
“No. We can’t,” she gasped.
He searched her face. “Can’t?” His breathing was uneven. Nora knew he wanted her and knew she was close to giving in to him. She wanted him, too, so badly it was like a physical pain. But she was already playing with fire, and if she made love to him she’d start a blaze that could end up burning everyone at Westfield. She didn’t intend to marry Clay—not when his actions were being governed by Fulsom’s rules. Not when she didn’t really know him.
“Just kissing,” she made herself say.
His gaze raked her up and down. “I…”
“Clay. That’s all I can do.”
She watched him struggle to get himself under control. He had a hard time of it and Nora knew many men would stride away and leave her standing alone in the shadows. She’d danced with him, kissed him, come out here with him…
“That’s a tall order,” he confessed with a lopsided grin, and Nora’s heart throbbed again. Damn it, Clay was such a good man. Why couldn’t she give in and let his timetable call the shots?
Because she couldn’t, Nora knew. Not and be true to herself. “It is for me, too.” She hoped he had the self-control to pull it off. She wasn’t sure she did.
“Just kissing,” he agreed. “But a whole hell of a lot of it. How’s that sound?”
“Heavenly.” She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Clay’s expression softened.
“Someday I’m going to make an honest woman of you, Nora Ridgeway.”
“Clay—”
“Shh. Just kissing for now.” But the look in his eyes told her he thought he’d won a victory. Nora knew she should set him straight. It wasn’t fair to lead a grown man on when she knew her heart.
Although her heart didn’t quite seem to be getting the message. As Clay made out with her like they were teenagers, pressing her back against the wall of the barn, his fervor leaving her breathless, she knew he was right; she wanted forever.
She simply couldn’t have it.
An hour later, when Clay walked her to the manor, Nora ached so badly to be made love to her nerves thrummed with desire.
“I won’t get to sleep tonight,” Clay said when they paused outside the manor’s front door. “I’m going to be thinking of you.”
She knew what he meant. “I’ll be thinking of you, too,” she said honestly. She couldn’t even pretend otherwise. No way she could sleep in this state.
“We could help each other,” Clay suggested, leaning toward her.
Nora angled away. “No, we can’t,” she said sadly.
“Why not?” He pressed a kiss to the base of her neck and Nora felt herself slipping, wanting to give in.
“Because if you touch me much longer, I’d have to beg you to take me,” she confessed.
“I want to.”
“I want you to, too.”
“Nora…”
She knew all that Clay wanted to say. This was crazy. It was agony. It wasn’t fair.
But it was the way it had to be. In the morning they’d still be at Westfield. Clay would still have to marry within six months. That still wouldn’t be long enough for them to really know if they could make a go of it forever.
Would it?
Nora wavered. Her body seemed to think it would all work out just fine.
Clay kissed her again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He took a step back.
Disappointed, Nora almost went after him. “Tomorrow,” she echoed. For one long moment she teetered on the precipice, ready to ask him to stay despite all her fears, but she waited a second too long, and Clay, like a gentleman, backed away.
“Be thinking of
you.” He saluted her and turned away, a redcoat returning to his regiment.
“I’ll be thinking of you, too,” Nora answered softly and went inside, an honorable maiden who hadn’t slipped up before her wedding.
Not that she was a Regency virgin, she thought as she trailed slowly upstairs. So why was she acting like one?
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she knew all she needed to about Clay in order to marry him.
Maybe everything she wanted was right here at Chance Creek.
Chapter Three
‡
“Clay? You up? We’ve got a problem.”
Clay woke the morning after the wedding when Jericho’s voice pierced the thin fabric of his tent. Reluctantly, he turned over, grabbed the nearest pair of jeans he could find and a few moments later scrambled out of his tent to find Jericho and Walker outside.
Jericho handed him a tablet. “Take a look.”
Clay took it from him. “What…” He cut off as he registered the images on-screen. All ten men of Base Camp in uniform. Clay wondered how Fulsom’s people had gotten hold of the military photographs. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. The photos had been altered, manipulated somehow so that instead of normal men they looked like… superheroes. “What the fuck?” He looked to Jericho for an explanation.
“It’s the website for the television show,” Walker said.
Clay scrolled up to see the title of the site. Base Camp. He scrolled down to take in the rest of the site. There were vital statistics listed for each of them, along with a description of the show, complete with video-game-like icons representing each of the goals they had to reach.
Clay scrolled down a little farther and spotted Edward Montague’s self-satisfied face. A developer intent on carving Westfield into a cookie-cutter housing tract, Montague made the perfect villain. Fulsom had pulled him into the game to give the viewing public more reason to watch the show—and to care if Clay and his friends met their goals or not.
If they didn’t, Fulsom would give Base Camp and the entire ranch to Montague to be decimated and turned into a suburb of McMansions. Not just their community, but the manor, too. Clay and his friends would lose their home and their chance to demonstrate that a good life could consume far less resources than most Americans did. Nora and her friends would lose their B and B.
Clay wanted to succeed. Needed to. But Fulsom wasn’t making it easy.
“We knew this was coming. Fulsom is going to advertise the hell of this show, and he’s going to do whatever he can to make it controversial and newsworthy,” he said to the others as he read farther down the page, stopping when he got to a comment section.
“That’s not the problem. Look at the run dates.” Jericho grabbed the tablet back before Clay could read more than a few messages. Probably for the best given what he’d seen so far. Several comments denied climate change altogether. A couple of others were more concerned with his friends’ looks than the message of the show. One woman said she’d do Boone.
Riley wasn’t going to like that.
When Jericho faced the device toward him again, Clay read the text he was pointing at. “That’s a full year.” He blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and read it again. “It has to be a mistake.” The show was only supposed to last six months.
Jericho shook his head. “Fulsom doesn’t make mistakes. He just plays God. Our commitment to the show just went from six months to a year. Which means Savannah and the rest of them are going to flip their lids.”
“And leave,” Clay finished for him. Now the truth of the matter finally sank in and he understood why Jericho had come to get him. “We could refuse.”
“Really? How do you think that will play out?”
Jericho was right; Fulsom held all the cards. If he wanted the show to last a year, it would last a year.
“We have to warn the others before Fulsom arrives.” Clay’s gaze swept the horizon. He figured it was just after six in the morning. Fulsom and his film crew were due at seven.
“I’m not sure that will matter. Savannah has always hated the idea of this show.”
Clay understood his friend’s concern. “So does Nora. What do you think Avery will say?” he asked Walker.
Walker shrugged. “She won’t like it because her friends won’t.”
“Yeah, but she won’t be as pissed as Savannah will be.” Jericho handed the tablet to Clay and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I was getting somewhere with her before everything happened with the show. Now every time Fulsom fucks with us, he sets me back.”
“You two looked pretty cozy last night. I saw you slow dancing at least twice.”
Walker nodded in agreement.
Jericho shrugged. “So were you and Nora. You got a ring on her finger yet?”
“No.” But after last night he felt closer. “You know, this might work in our favor,” he said. “If we can get them to stay, we’ll have twice as long to convince them to marry us.”
“If we can get them to stay,” Jericho said.
“We’ll tell them the truth—we had nothing to do with it. Fulsom’s the one who keeps changing the game.”
“I guess that’s the only thing we can do.” Jericho didn’t look convinced that it would work, though. “Let’s try to head this off before things get out of hand.”
When they reached the back door of the manor, lights were on in the kitchen, and he could hear women’s voices coming from the interior of the house. He wasn’t sure if they normally got up so early, but everyone at Westfield knew Fulsom and his film crews were coming today. He supposed the women wanted time to get into their complicated Regency outfits.
He knocked and a moment later Avery appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in a green gown with a white apron over it, and her eyebrows rose when she saw them. “What’s wrong?”
Jericho took the lead. “We just checked out the website Fulsom put up for the show, and it looks like he intends to change the format.”
“Website?”
Avery’s sharp question must have carried, because Savannah and Nora appeared beside her a moment later. Nora hadn’t put her hair up yet in the old-fashioned twist she wore these days, although she was dressed in a blue gown and a neat white apron. With it down she looked softer, sweeter, and Clay’s body responded like she’d flipped a switch on him.
“Fulsom’s advertising the show online, and his team has built a slick website to showcase it,” Jericho said. “We came to warn you.”
“I guess I expected something like that,” Savannah said.
“Does it say… Does it mention where we are?” Nora interrupted her, concern drawing her brows together.
“It doesn’t give the address, but I don’t think we’d be too hard to find if someone wanted to. I’m sorry.” Clay realized how unsettling that had to be for her. “Nora, are you all right with this?”
“Of course I’m not all right with it, but it doesn’t matter, does it? What Fulsom wants, Fulsom gets.” The bitterness in her voice struck Clay deep down. If the show put Nora in danger, he had to—What? Stop it? Tell Nora to leave?
He didn’t like either of those options.
Jericho looked confused. “What am I not getting here?”
“The stalker,” Walker said curtly. Clay was surprised Walker remembered; Boone had mentioned it to them weeks ago after Riley told him what had happened to Nora. Clay had gotten a reminder the other morning, but Walker hadn’t. He didn’t let much slip by him, though.
“Stalker? He’s back in Baltimore, right?” Jericho said. “He won’t follow you here. Besides, it was just some kid doing crank calls. He’s probably moved on to someone else by now.”
Clay could have socked him for his callousness. “It’s a little more serious than that.” Nora’s lips thinned, and he couldn’t blame her for being angry. It didn’t matter who was behind the calls. From what he knew they’d been very disturbing, and after the way she’d reacted the other morning, he knew her stalker was s
till on her mind.
“Okay, you’ve warned us. We’d better figure out what we want to do about it,” Savannah said, clearly wanting to move on from this sensitive topic.
“What can we do about it?” Nora demanded.
“There’s more,” Walker said quietly.
“More?”
Clay frowned at the note of desperation in Nora’s voice. He understood it unnerved her to think her stalker might know where she was, but like Jericho had pointed out, a kid with a grudge wasn’t likely to follow her here. Still, he valued gut feelings, and Nora’s gut obviously was telling her she was in danger. Was she overreacting? Or was something more at work here?
First things first. Time to break the bad news. Or the good news, depending on how you looked at it. “We’re not sure yet, but we think Fulsom has decided to extend the show,” Clay said carefully. He wished he could take Nora’s hand, or better yet, put his arm around her and assure her it was going to be all right, but he instinctively knew that wasn’t the right move.
“Extend it?” Her eyes widened.
“On the site it says the show will run for a year,” Jericho said, handing her the tablet. Nora took it, scrolled down and scanned the screen. Clay’s heart sank as he took in the tightness of her expression. When she gasped, he leaned in to see what part of the site had upset her so badly.
She must have clicked on a link because she’d gone to a page he hadn’t seen before. “The Ladies of Base Camp,” the headline proclaimed. Beneath it were images of Riley, Savannah, Avery, Nora and Win Lisle, another member of the community. Their photos were as manipulated and showy as the ones of Clay and the other men on the front page, making them look like some sort of Regency pin-up models.
He felt the tremor running through her and bit back a curse. Fulsom was going to hear about this.
