He remained silent, his hands fisted at his sides.
“Samson, I want you to have your way with me.”
“I’m sorry, m’lady, but I can’t—”
“Samson, you misunderstand. It is not a request. I want you to put your rod in me until that is all I can think of.”
“The master—”
“Is weak.”
“My Br…”
“You’re mine for now. Perhaps if I tire of you, I will release you,” she said ominously. She approached him and stuffed the doll in her reticule so he couldn’t take it from her. She pulled him down for a kiss. When he refused to interact, she brought back her hand and slapped him. “Open for me,” she ordered.
“Please, m’lady. Don’t—”
His words were cut off by her voracious attack on his mouth. “My breasts are begging for your touch.” She tugged the front of her dress low so that her breasts sprang free. She grabbed his hands and cupped them over her. Dorothea moaned in ecstasy. She manipulated his hands against her full bosom. “I want you now.”
“No, Lady Hayhurst.”
“Don’t even think of telling me no,” she growled and pulled him down for another kiss while she unbuttoned the placket on his pants. Despite all his efforts, his manhood sprang towards her in anticipation. “Ah, I’ve missed you, too,” she cooed. She grabbed him by his member and led him to a chair where she turned around, bent over the arm, and flipped her skirts over her back. “Take me like the animal you are,” she ordered. When she heard him try to retreat, she said, “Oh, Samson, when will you learn that I control this situation?” Dorothea retrieved the doll again, and spent a very enjoyable afternoon with the man under her control.
Sometime later, she was reclining on the chaise lounge in front of the window, recovering from her and Samson’s afternoon activities. Because of his reluctance to participate, she had been forced to use the doll to manipulate him. While it wasn’t ideal, it had led to some of the most enjoyable sex she had had in years. She watched Samson creep across the study as if trying not to wake her. As if I could sleep with the sensations coursing through me, she thought languidly. “Wait, I have something I need you to do.”
“What?” he asked suspiciously.
“Miss Hayhurst is Robert’s niece and she wants to go exploring around the plantation. I want you to go with her.”
“I have work to do.”
“Yes, to accompany her. You are to call her Miss Hayhurst, and you are not to have sex with her. That is reserved for me. Understand?”
He gave her a look that said he had no time to be a chaperone to spoiled, rich girls, nor a sexual toy for her. He turned to open the door and was halted by her.
“I asked if you understood, Samson.”
“What part? That I shall make sure she takes the teat as a nursemaid would? Does that satisfy you?”
“You don’t have to be so coarse.”
“I’m a coarse man. What do you want me to do, Dorrie?” he let the name she preferred him to call her slip.
She stood up and glided across the room, a smile on her face that made her look as if she were a cat that lapped up the last of the cream. She cupped the back of his neck with her hand and pulled him down for a long, thorough kiss, while the other hand brought his member back to aching life. “See, I’m not even having to use your doll now. He knows who his master is.” Dorothea enticed him into another bout of sex. This time they did not leave the wall.
When they were finished, she lay across the arms of the leather wingback chair, wilted from their physical exertions. She watched him straighten his clothes and was disappointed that all of that manliness was hidden from her sight once more.
“I want to know where all you go and who all she talks to.”
“Who?” he asked, distracted.
“The niece,” she replied.
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Hmph.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’ll do as you wish”
“Oh, and Samson, I’ll expect a report tonight. I believe midnight should be a good time.” When he looked as if he would argue with her she said, “I will be waiting for you. Go out the secret passage. I’ll go upstairs, fetch Circe, and send her to meet you at the stables.”
“Who?” he asked, not having heard her christian name before.
“Miss Hayhurst, the niece. It is a good thing you are so handsome,” Dorothea muttered under her breath. She left the study and walked up the stairs to Circe’s room. She tapped on the door. She didn’t wait long for it to swing open. “Have you had a good rest?”
“Yes,” Circe replied. “I think I might just be caught up.”
“That is very attractive on you,” Dorothea commented on the hunter green riding habit with the gold braid and epaulets. She was also wearing tall riding boots. “Samson is going to accompany you on your ride. He’s waiting for you at the stables.”
“Thank you. Where is Uncle Robert?”
“He was coming down with a headache and went to lay down for a bit.”
“All right.” Circe turned to walk down the hall and out the door when she turned back to Dorothea. “Is Uncle Robert ill often?”
“What? No. He’s usually the picture of health.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, now go and have fun on your exploration.”
“Thank you.”
Dorothea turned and slowly walked up the stairs while Circe practically skipped out of the house in her excitement.
* * *
Circe joined Samson at the stables and after she was helped atop a spirited mare, they set off. They wound their way behind the house where he started pointing out various points of interest to her. He was patient with her questions and she found him to be extremely intelligent and personable.
“What’s that?” she pointed to two large, round metal containers with smaller pieces of metal coming out of it.
“That’s where they distill the sugar cane to make rum.”
“How interesting. Does this plantation solely make rum?”
“No, and not many do. We primarily make sugar and molasses, but rum is a popular export and a good source of money for the plantation. It is a more involved process.”
“I am curious about something, Samson, but I am afraid I will sound rather rude if I ask.”
“I doubt very much an English miss such as yourself could be anything but polite.”
“All right, but if I offend you, I apologize in advance.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“You sound very educated for a slave.”
“I am very educated and I am not a slave.”
“Oh, but I thought Uncle Robert…”
“Yes, Lord Hayhurst owns slaves, but I am not one of them. My father’s family is from Ireland and they have done well on Montserrat, an island not far from here. My mother’s forefathers were both African and Irish, thus my coloring. My father owns his own plantation, but I am not his heir, rather I am the fourth son by his second wife. I did not want to go into business, shipping, or become a priest. So, I left Montserrat and have worked for several plantations on several different islands. I have found Lord Hayhurst the most pleasant to work for. I am currently the steward’s assistant. Eventually, I’d like to own my own plantation.”
“I apologize for my assumption. It is going to take some time to understand who are slaves and who are free.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less. Shall we continue with the tour?”
“Yes, please.” Their horses picked their way along the various trails they took. There were people of all colors and all ages working the fields. “I cannot fathom that such small children are working.”
“They will work off their debt until they are free.”
“But—”
“It’s the way of the islands, Miss Hayhurst. Besides, aren’t young children put to work in England?”
Circe pursed her l
ips and turned her head away from the people toiling among the sugarcane. They made a circuitous route around the plantation. As they grew closer to the main house, they passed smaller outbuildings. “There are so many of them. What are they?”
“Houses for the married slaves and their families.”
“You mean the entire family sleeps in those tiny hovels?”
“Land is precious here, Miss Hayhurst. We use every little bit available for the sugarcane or the harvesting of it. They are lucky to have a roof and four walls to keep them dry. Others aren’t so lucky.”
“What about the single servants?”
“There are both male and female barracks for them.”
They passed one of the little houses where an old woman sat in a rocking chair out front. She sang softly to two babes in her lap while other small children were gathered around her feet playing. The old woman made eye contact with Circe and she felt a tingle go down her spine. She turned her head but could still feel the woman’s eyes on her, assessing her, frightening her. You are being silly, she is just an old woman, she chastised herself.
“You best stay away from Granny Mabel.”
“Why?”
“There are things that the people of these islands believe in that you’ve never heard of in England.”
“Such as?”
“Just stay away from Granny Mabel. Also, while we’re on the topic, don’t make any enemies here and you’ll be fine.”
“Who should I not make enemies of?” When he refused to answer her, she asked another question, “Are you trying to frighten me into returning to England, Samson?”
“Yes,” he replied succinctly.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the stables, and each of them had dismounted, Samson halted her progress.
“Miss Hayhurst, don’t let your curiosity be your undoing.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she countered, crossing her arms beneath her bosom. What had started as such a wonderful day had quickly turned sour. He took her hand and pressed something into her palm.
“Here.”
Circe looked down at the pistol. She looked up at Samson curiously.
“It’s loaded. You do know how to shoot, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Keep it with you at all times.”
“All right.”
“Good evening, Miss Hayhurst.”
“Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to escort me about.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” he said cryptically then nodded and walked away.
Circe watched him curiously as he left. She looked down at the pistol that lay heavy in her palm. Was she reading more into the situation than was really going on? Perhaps life on this tiny island was just vastly different from what she was used to in England. “Yes, that is all it is,” she told herself. She stuffed the pistol in the pocket connected by the belt of her habit, and then went inside the house.
Chapter 10
Circe was in her room after her excursion around the plantation. Uncle Robert was still in his bedroom with a headache, and no one was quite certain where Dorothea was. It was just as well since Circe was not in a mood to visit with anyone. She was beginning to think more and more often that this trip had been a mistake. She removed the hat and jacket of her riding habit so that all she wore was the split skirt, white shirt, and riding boots. She walked over to the balcony and stood there, taking in the sight of the sun casting deep shadows across the land as it set behind the house. Just as she was turning away from the view, a flame shot high into the air.
Perhaps Samson had been correct about her curiosity, but she decided that she had to know what was going on. What if someone were in trouble? She would never forgive herself if something happened to someone and she could have prevented it. Maybe she should tell Uncle Robert about the fire. More than likely there was some sort of protocol in place for these situations. But who would she get? Whenever she attempted to speak to one of the servants, they quickly dropped their eyes to the ground and moved to avoid her as if she had a deadly disease. Besides, what if the fire was not even on Uncle Robert’s property. What if Reese was in danger?
She made certain she had the pistol before leaving her room. She approached her uncle’s room and knocked on the door to be greeted with silence. The same thing happened when she tapped on Dorothea’s door.
“I suppose I can see what it is. I do have a gun for protection, after all,” she told herself. She crept down the stairs and left the house. If anyone saw her, they did not try to stop her. Once outside, she worried her bottom lip as she wondered if she should walk or take a horse. If she took a horse, she would be forced to talk to a servant and one of them would feel obliged to accompany her. She wanted some time to herself and if this turned into nothing more than an evening stroll, then so be it. Her decision made, she turned down the winding drive, allowing the fading light of day to light her way.
She kept the fire in view. The longer she walked, the larger the fire grew so that what had looked big from her balcony was turning out to be huge. Halfway to her destination the sound of chanting and drums could be heard echoing off the hill behind her. She wondered if the fire could have something to do with the sounds she was hearing. Her heart started to race as she considered what she was walking into. Circe stopped and started to turn back but the noise grew louder and seemed to surround her now. She gripped the gun tightly, her trigger finger at the ready, and cautiously continued onward.
* * *
Reese sat and watched the fire blaze on the lonely beach. Once they had everything piled up on the stretch of sand and had touched the torch to various areas, he had sent O’Connor home to his wife and child. He thought it appropriate that he sit here alone and watch his possessions go up in flames. If I ever see Jameson again I’m going to…do absolutely nothing, Reese thought with a sigh. I did this to myself regardless of how much I want to blame someone else.
The faint sound of drumming reached his ears. He closed his eyes and let the sound take him away to another place and another time. He was back in England with Isabella and they were sitting on a high cliff overlooking a private cove so similar to this one. The moon shimmered on the waves and he looked at her, but the strangest thing happened. She did not look like Isabella. Instead, she looked like Circe, her blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind, looking like a halo around her head. When he drew back, it was enough distance to look into her sparkling blue eyes.
He was suddenly showered with sand, dirt, and pebbles, interrupting his dreams. He leaned his head back against the short cliff face when movement above him caught his attention. Someone had come to investigate the fire. He looked closer and saw that the person in his presence was the woman of his dream. Reese rose, took a step to the side and backwards, into a niche that would protect him from the light of the fire and keep him hidden while he continued to observe her. More pebbles and grit rained down from above.
Reese remained patient while Circe investigated the land above him. He could just imagine her looking around, determining if anyone was about. How could he get her down here? He was working out various scenarios when she took care of the situation for him and picked her way carefully down a path to the beach. With unprecedented patience Reese waited until the perfect moment presented itself. Then, while her back was turned, he stepped into the firelight.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, spinning her around.
“Let go of me, you…you…cretin!” she yelled and pushed away from him.
He heard a familiar sort of pop before he felt something burn across his upper arm. He looked down in shock at the bloody streak across his bicep, and then at the smoking pistol aimed at him, if a little off kilter. “Bloody hell, did you just shoot me?”
* * *
“What have I done?” Circe muttered as she stared in horror at the blood on Reese Taggart’s upper arm. She looked at the pistol in her hand as if she had never see
n it before. “I apologize. I feel absolutely wretched. I never meant to hurt you. It was just that…well, I… You see, I…I saw the fire from my bedroom and worried it might be on Uncle Robert’s plantation. He was in bed with a headache and well, I…I could not find anyone. Then I worried it might…well…that it might be on your land…and this place is so different from home…I did not know…well, I—”
“Came to investigate yourself,” Reese interrupted drolly.
“I was worried. Then I heard the drums and the chanting and I was frightened, but I was more frightened to return to Uncle Robert’s because it was louder that way. It felt like there were eyes everywhere. And then when I arrived here I did not see anyone. Oh, why did you not show yourself in the beginning? Now, I have shot you and…”
“And what?”
“I do not know. I ran out of things to say.”
“I was wondering if that was going to happen anytime soon.” He continued before she could gather up enough words for a retort, “Who gave you that pistol anyway?”
“A man that works on my uncle’s plantation. His name is Samson.”
“Oh? Was he as handsome as his namesake was purported to be?”
“I guess he is handsome enough. Why do you even ask?”
“No reason,” Reese said, relieved that she had not taken an interest in the other man. “You were saying he gave you a pistol.”
“He took me on a tour of the plantation today. Then at the end of the tour he gave it to me.”
“What? Like a parting gift to send you on your way?”
“How should I know? He instructed me to keep it with me at all times for protection. He asked me if I could shoot. I told him I could.”
“Yes, I think we can put his fears and concerns about that to rest,” Reese said wryly.
“Does it hurt too terribly much?”
“It throbs and burns, but I’ve had worse. The bullet just scratched me.”
“Oh, why did you not tell me that earlier?” she demanded as she sank to the sand on shaky legs.
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