Bayou Bride

by Bobbi Smith

  Luther's passions were ruling him as he prepared to take Jordan by force. The feel of her satiny skin and the sight of her heaving breasts had sent him over the edge. He couldn't deny himself. She was his for the taking! He was reaching for her skirts, ready to claim her.

  Jordan could feel the increasing intensity in Luther's actions and her panic became very real. She groped blindly about on the desktop, hoping to find something with which to fend him off. Her hand closed over something round and heavy, and without thought she swung up at his head with all her might.

  There was a sickening thud as she struck him on the temple, and then Luther went limp on top of her. The wound was a gory one, and Jordan knew only fear and desperation as the hot, sticky blood ran from his head onto her bared bosom. Repulsed, she shoved him off her and watched in stunned terror as he crashed to the floor and lay unmoving.

  The only thing Jordan heard as she stood there staring down at Luther's limp body was the harsh, raspy sound of her own breathing magnified by her own terror. She waited, frozen, expecting his servants to come running into the room at any moment, but there was only silence and a terrible sense of being completely alone. Blood seemed to be everywhere... all over her and the desk and now pooling on the floor by Luther's head.

  Jordan could see no sign of life in her tormentor. There was no movement to his chest, no indication that he was alive, and she knew in that moment that she'd killed him. Mortal fear swept through her. She was a murderer!

  For a fraction of a second Jordan considered calling for help, but there was enough logic left in her to know that that was no solution to her problem, Who would believe that she'd killed him in selfdefense, especially after they found the papers telling of her involvement with the slave trade? There was only one thing she could do, and that was to get away as far and as fast as she could.

  Jordan started to flee from the room but then stopped. Once the police started to investigate, they would find the incriminating papers right away. Realizing she could take them now and save both Philip and herself, she snatched up the folder from the desk. They might find out she was the one who'd killed Luther, but she would never let them hurt her brother. As long as she had the papers he would be safe. With one last terrifying look at Luther, she pulled her clothing back together as best she could and raced from the room into the darkness of the London night.

  Philip had stayed up late reading in the parlor. When he heard the front door open he was puzzled, and he hurried out into the hall to investigate.

  "Dear God!" Philip exclaimed as he confronted his sister in her terrible state of disarray-her jacket undone and stained with what looked to be blood, her blouse ripped, her face flushed and her breathing ragged from the exertion of her flight. "Are you hurt? What happened? What were you doing out of the house?"

  "No...no, I'm not hurt ...Oh, Philip!" she cried, throwing herself in his arms. She was more scared than she'd ever been in her life, and she was completely exhausted from running almost all the way home. "Hold me! Please, just hold me!"

  He cradled her protectively, murmuring soothing words to her until she calmed a little. Then, determined to find out what had happened, he led her into parlor and drew her down to sit next to him on the sofa.

  "Jordan, I want to know what happened." Noticing that she was clutching something tightly in her hands, he took it from her. "What's this?" He glanced at the crumpled folder and immediately recognized it as Luther's. "You didn't go to Luther's...?"

  She nodded, her eyes silently relating the horror of what she'd just been through.

  "If he's the one who did this to you, I swear I'll..." Philip jumped to his feet and started for the door, but Jordan stopped him.

  "No! He didn't hurt me. I'm all right!"

  "Thank heaven," he breathed, sitting down beside her again and giving her a reassuring hug. "But what happened? Is that blood? And what about your clothes?"

  She couldn't hold it back any longer. Philip was the only one she could trust. She hurriedly explained her reasons for going to Luther and then told him of the outcome of her fateful visit. "I killed him, Philip! He was trying to hurt me, trying to force me to..." She couldn't finish the thought, so ugly was it to her. "I had to get away from him, so I managed to grab something heavy off his desk and I hit him with it. I think it was a paperweight ...I don't know..."

  "He's dead?" he repeated in disbelief.

  Jordan nodded. "It was awful. I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted him to stop ...to let me go...

  He gathered her close again, "It'll be all right."

  "How? How can anything ever be all right again?" she demanded, knowing the price for murder was death. "I've killed a man...I'm a murderer!"

  "You're no such thing! You were just defending yourself," he told her. "We'll go to the police. We'll tell them what happened. They won't punish you for saving your virtue!" He was ardent in her defense, wanting to reassure her that everything would be fine.

  "No! We can't go to the police!"

  "We most certainly can. You're not thinking clearly, Jordan. The police will help."

  "No they won't, Philip! You're the one who isn't thinking clearly! If we go to them they're going to find out about us! Even if they did believe me about defending myself, they'd still be curious to know why I went unchaperoned to Luther's in the first place!"

  "What would it matter? You could make up anything. We've got the papers now," he countered.

  "But we don't know that there aren't other copies of those documents, and Luther may have confided in someone else about us. All the authorities would have to do is find that person, make the connection between my visit there and the illegal smuggling, and then they'd be after us."

  Philip suddenly realized she was right. They couldn't go to the authorities. Even though they had Luther's papers, they were trapped.

  "Did anyone see you at his house?"

  "Just the butler when he let me in. There wasn't anyone around later, though, when he attacked me."

  "And when you left, did anyone follow you?"

  She shook her head. "Not that I know of."

  Philip nodded in acknowledgement, lost deep in thought.

  "Philip, I have to get away from here right away. When they find Luther, they're going to know I was the one who killed him. They're going to know it was me! I have to escape!"

  "If you think I'm going to let you face this all alone, you're crazy. Whatever happens, we'll handle it together."

  "Then we've got to get out of here! They're going to be here any minute!"

  Philip stood up and began pacing the room in agitation. He took one last lingering look around at the comfortable furnishings and familiar book-lined walls that were their home, then turned to Jordan. "There's nothing to hold us here any more. We'll go to America."

  "But how? We don't have any money..."

  "Well go over as indentured servants, it's the only way." He'd read all about how the homeless poor would trade a few years of their lives as laborers for the cost of the overseas fare.

  "Indentured servants? Won't the police still be able to find us?"

  "We'll sign on using different last names so no one will know we're related."

  "All right. Just give me time enough to change and pack a few things."

  "Be quick, and only take what you can carry with you in one small bag. I'll do the same."

  "I'll be right back," she promised, rushing from the room, eager to strip off the garments that reminded her so vividly of her horrible encounter with Luther.

  Philip watched her go, his heart heavy with sorrow. He knew this was going to be difficult for them. It would be foolhardy to think that it wasn't. They were used to a quiet way of life, to an existence surrounded by books and gentleness. He feared what they might come up against, but as much as their decision frightened him, he knew they had no other choice. They would do it, simply because there was nothing else they could do. The poor indentured themselves to get a second chance at life, a
nd that was exactly what he and Jordan needed-another chance. They'd lost everything they'd ever owned, but at least they still had each other. Philip believed that with love and a firm, abiding faith they could make it. He would protect Jordan with all his might. He would never let anything or anyone harm her, and somehow he would see that they got through this.

  Thoughts of Luther and his criminal dealings rekindled Philip's fury. Luther had been a truly evil man. What he'd almost done to Jordan was unforgivable, and had she not killed him herself, he would have taken great pleasure in doing the deed. Satisfied that the businessman had paid for his wickedness, Philip began to gather his own few precious belongings together in readiness for their flight.

  Meanwhile, in New Orleans, Rose Brandford, a petite, gray-haired widow of indeterminate age, sat at the side of the dance floor with her close friend and long-time ally, Elizabeth McKelvey.

  "I'm telling you, Liz, there's something strange going on with the Kane boy," Rose declared, keeping an eagle eye on Nick as he danced by with yet another beauty of marriageable age. He'd danced every dance with a different girl tonight, and she couldn't ever remember him acting this way before.

  "Oh, pooh, Rosie. You're just jealous, is all. I know you've always had a sweet spot for Dominic. You think I don't know these things, but I do," the white-haired, sixty-five-year-old Liz declared with an authority that came from long familiarity.

  "Everyone knows I care about Nick. He's a good boy," Rose replied, knowing Liz was right. She did have a particular fondness for Nick, and she'd felt that way ever since he was little. He'd been a beautiful child, and it had been a real tragedy when he'd lost his mother, her dear friend Andrea. She'd always admired the way Charles Kane had gone on to raise his son to be such a fine young man, and she believed that Andrea would have been very proud of the way he'd turned out, too.

  "He's hardly a child anymore," Liz came back, her blue eyes twinkling with devilish delight as she watched the tall, handsome young man dance.

  "Compared to my age, he's still a boy." They exchanged looks, then laughed together.

  "And isn't it a shame?" Liz mourned, longing for the time when she'd been the belle of the ball with crowds of eager suitors gathered around. Being an elderly matron doomed to a life of overseeing the morals of the young was not her idea of a good time, but she knew it was necessary. Lord knows, she certainly would have been much wilder in her younger days had the old women not sat on the sidelines and cast condemning glances her way every so often. It was a terrible cross to bear, this growing more mature.

  "I'll tell you, Liz, except for my Everett, there weren't many men who looked as good as Nick when I was young." Her gaze sought him out once more among the crowd.

  "What about my Darrell?" Liz countered, insulted that Rose obviously hadn't thought her husband attractive.

  "You were already married to him," Rose pointed out. "And you know darn good and well that if I'd mentioned him you'd have gotten mad. You would have told me that he was a married man and that I'd had no business looking at him then."

  Liz primly straightened her skirts, trying to ignore her remarks.

  "Well? Am I right?"

  "Yes, you're right," she replied, trying not to smile at the friend who knew her so well.

  "Thank you."

  "Rose ...why do you think something's going on with Nick?" Liz asked, finally getting back to the original conversation.

  "I'm not sure, but I've never seen him so intent on dancing with so many girls. Why, it used to be that he'd arrive late and leave early. You know how those footloose, good-looking bachelors are. He'd meet his friends and then spend most of his time playing cards and drinking with the men in the library."

  "You're right about that, and now that I think about it, you're right, too, about him acting different. Why, just last week at the Devol's barbeque, he looked to be flirting with a whole passel of girls."

  "I wonder if he's finally decided to get married?"

  "Lord knows, it's time. What is he? Twenty-five or twenty-six now? By the time my Darrell was his age, we'd already been settled down for five years and had three babies."

  "That was then, darling. This is now. You know how this younger generation is."

  "I'm afraid I do," Liz complained, just about ready to launch into the latest gossip she'd heard regarding some scandalous behavior on the part of some of the girls.

  "Well, I just hope he doesn't choose that silly Milicent Rogers he's dancing with now. The girl has nothing but fluff between her ears. No, she'd never do. Nick needs a nice girl, someone who's smart enough and pretty enough to keep him on his toes, someone who's his equal in every way."

  "Pity I don't have a granddaughter his age."

  "I was just thinking the same thing."

  While Rose and Liz were discussing the merits of the eligible women they knew who just might be good enough for Nick, the object of their devoted attention was silently praying for the music to end so he could escape from Milicent Rogers. Pretty though she was-in a vapid, blond, fragile sort of way-the vacant look in her brown eyes should have warned him right from the start. As far as he could tell, she didn't possess one spark of intelligence. Her interests ranged widely from herself to herself. She was a simpering, spoiled child in a woman's body, and he couldn't wait to be free of her clinging presence.

  "Don't you think so, Nick?" Milicent asked sweetly, honestly believing that he was listening to her every word.

  Nick was jerked back to the present by her question. "I'm sorry, I was enjoying the dance so much that I missed what you said."

  She gave a pretty little pout as she repeated, "I was saying that I just think big families are wonderful. I'd like to have lots and lots of babies when I get married."

  Babies? Marriage? Nick thought in a panic. How had they gotten on such topics? Why in the hell hadn't he paid more attention to what she was saying? He knew why, he reflected sardonically. He hadn't been paying attention because he'd found her incessant chatter tedious in the extreme.

  Hurrying to discourage any thoughts Milicent might have that he was interested in marrying her, he replied, "I've never really given any thought to marriage or children yet."

  Nick saw her expression falter at his last brazen statement, and he was thrilled when the music came to an end right then. With as much grace as he could, he escorted Milicent to the side of the dance floor and deposited her with some of her friends. Then with a deftly offered excuse, he made his getaway.

  Nick was feeling not unlike a criminal making a desperate jailbreak as he headed for the sanctuary of the library. After Milicent and her fantasy of living happily ever after with a hundred children, Nick knew he couldn't be held responsible for his actions if he was forced to make conversation with any more marriage-hungry maidens. He needed a stiff drink, quickly, and he didn't breathe any easier until he was safe in the haven of his host's library, where many of the men had gathered to indulge in their favorite masculine pursuits.

  Nick mingled easily with the gentlemen gathered there as he made his way to the bar and poured himself a half tumbler of bourbon. Its fiery warmth eased the tenseness that had gripped him, and at last he was able to take a deep breath and smile wryly over his own misadventures. Though he'd balked at his father's command that he marry, Nick had never in his wildest imaginings ever thought it would be so difficult to follow through on it.

  The fact of the matter was, up until now, Nick had never really given matrimony much thought. The few occasions when he had-and that was very seldom-he'd considered it a distant pleasure, something that would happen only after he'd met the woman of his dreams and fallen in love with her. The thought of marriage now invariably reminded him of Slater and Francesca. His friend had been grief-stricken over losing his wife and was only beginning to recover from the trauma of her death. Slater had loved his wife deeply, and Nick wondered if he himself dared to fall in love and marry and risk leaving himself open to the possibility of that kind of pain.


  Nick had never, ever thought that he'd be forced to actively pursue connubial bliss. Since true love was not something one could go out and drum up on the spur of the moment, Nick had come to the conclusion that a marriage of convenience was the only answer to his problem.

  Still, no matter how simple the idea of a mutually beneficial marriage seemed, the memories of the last long weeks and his fruitless search at each party, barbeque, and ball for a girl who would fit into his plan made him grimace inwardly. He'd expected to be able to find a woman who needed him just as much as he needed her without too much trouble, but each encouraging prospect had eventually proved a false hope. His frustration was growing.

  "Nick!"

  The sound of Slater's call interrupted his agitated musings, and Nick looked up to see his friend just entering the room.

  "So you finally got here, did you?" Nick chided.

  "I was following up on a lead I had about the slaver. Rumor had it that one of the owners was from the area."

  "And?"

  "As far as I can tell, there was nothing to it, but I'm going to keep digging."

  "Good."

  Slater helped himself to a drink of his own, then cast his friend a mocking glance. He was enjoying his friend's search for the perfect woman. "And how have you been doing?"

  Nick turned a thunderous look on him. "Fine, just fine."

  "Somehow, judging from your tone, I find I don't believe you," he chuckled. "What's the matter? Won't any of the lovely young ladies have you?"

  Nick finished off his bonbon before answering. "I wouldn't know. I haven't asked," he replied brusquely.

  "Well, why not? You haven't got much time left, you know."

  "Thanks for reminding me," he growled.

  Slater only laughed again and toasted him with his glass. "You're welcome, but what happened to that tall, pretty, dark-haired girl you were paying particular attention to at the barbeque last week? She was one nice looking woman."

  "Then you marry her!" Nick retorted sarcastically, and immediately regretted it when he saw the fleeting look of pain in his friend's face.