Bride in Barbados (15 page)

"You should write a history of the island," Susan told
him. "I'm learning more from you than I am from the books I bought in
Bridgetown. You make it seem more real somehow."

"The difference is probably that I truly love Barbados and
grieve for the way it has been plundered by some of those who've lived
here."

"You mean the slaveholders?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid the same sort of people are still
with us today. They're descendants of the old families who nearly
ruined the island's economy by amassing vast quantities of land for
their own selfish purposes."

"Like the Sennetts," Susan murmured.

He darted an apologetic look at her. "Forgive me, Susan.
What abominable manners I have! Here I sit, criticizing your husband's
family after you so graciously consented to share your afternoon with
me."

"No, don't apologize. I really do want to learn what I can
about Barbados—the bad as well as the good. I know that
Travis owns a great deal of land, but why do you disapprove?"

"The problem is, my dear, that Barbados is so
small—little more than a hundred fifty square miles, and not
all of that, even apart from the space the towns occupy, is tillable."
He seemed to speak guardedly, as if he were afraid of offending her.
"Do you understand what I'm saying? In your vast country, thousands of
acres can be appropriated by one person without harm to others. Here,
though, the effect of having large tracts held by a few families is
that the poor are denied land ownership and the pride that comes with
self-sufficiency." He gave her hand a quick squeeze. "Now, that's
enough of dreary polemic for one day. Sam Lord's Castle is just around
the next bend."

The Castle, situated on the southeast coast of the island
facing the Atlantic, lived up to Jonathan's description of it. It was
built of stone with massive walls and crenellated battlements, painted
entirely white, with open verandas all around the building. The lawns
and gardens, with fountains and great beds of bright oleanders,
hibiscus, ginger lilies and other native flowers, created a beautiful
park. The second floor contained guest rooms, but the ground floor had
been kept open for visitors, dozens of whom were touring it at the same
time that Jonathan showed Susan around.

They left an hour later and made several other stops
before dark when Jonathan asked, "Do I dare hope you will have dinner
with me in Bridgetown before I take you home?"

"I'd like that very much," Susan said, imagining Travis,
who should be having his own dinner about now, listening for the sound
of a car and watching the door for her return.

Jonathan took her to a small, intimate restaurant on a
Bridgetown side street where the chef specialized in French cuisine. It
was after ten when they returned to the plantation and Susan said, "You
needn't come in with me. Thank you, Jonathan dear, for a wonderful day."

"I should thank you," he assured her. "I hope we'll be
able to do it again soon."

"So do I." She got out of the car and stood for a minute,
watching the Rolls pull smoothly away from the house.

Travis met her at the foot of the stairs. "Where the hell
have you been?"

"With Jonathan Wicksham. Didn't Mala tell you?"

He snorted with disgust. "She said you left with him at
three this afternoon. What were you doing all this time?"

She shrugged carelessly. "Sightseeing, having dinner. I
really can't give you a minute-by-minute account, Travis. I'm tired and
want to go to bed."

She started up the stairs, but he caught her arm, whirling
her about to face him. "Listen to me! I don't trust Wicksham, and
neither should you."

Her tone was icy. "You'll forgive me if I can't put much
stock in that opinion, considering the source."

His fingers pressed into the skin of her upper arm
painfully. "You can't fool me," he rasped. "I know what you're up to
with Wicksham, but don't waste your time."

It was only with the utmost effort that she held her
ground, glaring at him. She felt taut as a wire and she saw that he
stood in much the same way as she—tight, barely controlled,
an invisible but palpable charge sparking between them. She sensed that
he would like nothing better than for her to struggle to be free of his
grip. That would give him an excuse to demonstrate his superior
strength. The thought helped cool her seething emotions.

She smiled stiffly. "I don't know what you're talking
about."

"Yes, you do," he snapped. "You think that if you traipse
all over Barbados, making a fool of yourself with another man, I'll
give in to your demands. But I won't.
There will be no
divorce
! Is that understood?"

"Perfectly," she retorted sarcastically.

"Fine." He let her go so abruptly that she almost lost her
footing. "Good night."

Susan ran up the stairs and barricaded herself in her
bedroom. She began to undress, flinging her clothes stormily across the
bed.

What a hateful man he was! How could she have been so
blind to his true character in the beginning? Well, whatever had
overcome her intelligence and good judgment, she was seeing things
clearly now. The thought of his repeated refusals to give her a divorce
and allow her to leave Barbados made her burn all over. But she knew
that she
had
bothered him by going out with
Jonathan, no matter what he said. So she would continue her campaign
with renewed determination.

During the next few weeks, Susan went out with Jonathan at
least twice a week. He was a very comfortable companion, and the times
she spent with him became the only bright spots in her life, the only
thing she looked forward to with any eagerness. She had come to think
of Jonathan as a dear friend. At first, Travis met her when Jonathan
returned her to the house, resentful, demanding an explanation as to
where she'd been. Susan always treated his questions with cool disdain,
as if she were dealing with a particularly offensive casual
acquaintance. The rest of the time when she was with Travis, he
remained surly and uncommunicative.

One night, after Susan had gone to Jonathan's house for a
quiet dinner for two and returned even later than usual, Travis stormed
into her bedroom. Since he hadn't met her at the door, she had decided
he'd given up interrogating her about what she did when she left the
house. She should have known he wouldn't give up so easily.

She had already gotten into her gown and was in bed,
glancing through a guidebook Jonathan had loaned her. She hadn't
barricaded her door for more than two weeks, having become convinced
that Travis wasn't going to seek entrance, as she had feared at first.

He began to pace back and forth beside her bed like a
caged animal. She lowered her book and lifted her chin.

"We're going to talk, Susan," he said shortly.

"Oh?" Her tone was disinterested, cool.

"Where did you go with Wicksham tonight?"

"To dinner."

His gold-flecked eyes flashed. "
Where
?"

"Jonathan's house," she snapped. "Does it really make any
difference where we ate?"

"Yes, it does!" he thundered. "Don't you care how this
looks to others—being alone with him at his house? There's
only one conclusion people can draw."

"Frankly, I don't care what people think."

He flushed under his tan. "Are you going to go on
punishing me for the rest of our lives? Do you enjoy watching me
suffer? Or is it just that you've found a bigger goldmine, someone
who's free to dance attendance on you whenever you crook a finger,
someone who has more money than your husband? Are you trying to line up
a husband number two, Susan?"

"You're disgusting!" Susan cried hotly. "You're hateful
and vile to say a thing like that to me! Only
you
would see something self-serving in a simple friendship!"

"Don't make me laugh," he growled. "
Friendship
!
Wicksham doesn't know the meaning of the word."

Seething with indignation, Susan retorted, "How would you
know? The only way you know how to treat people is to use them! You're
the biggest hypocrite on God's green earth! You told me you wanted me
to have friends, you introduced me to Jonathan, and now you're
determined to destroy the only friendship I have here."

"You could have other friends, but you won't give anyone
else a chance. Kay's told me she's called to ask you to lunch twice,
and both times you made up some excuse."

"Did it ever occur to you," Susan cried, "that I don't
want to be friends with your lovers? Your precious, smug Kay makes me
sick! Jonathan is a gentle, considerate man and he understands me,
which is more than I can say for you."

Travis strode toward her, anger tightening the muscles of
his bronzed face. "Gentle! Considerate! You're even more foolish than I
thought. Don't you know that Wicksham is using you to get at me?" He
was leaning over her now, his eyes burning like gold-flecked coals.

Tears sprang into Susan's eyes. "Naturally. Everything
revolves around you, doesn't it, Travis? You never loved me! You don't
even love poor Kay, even though it's obvious she's been eating her
heart out for you for years! You despise any man who befriends me. The
only thing you ever think about is
you
—and
what you want. And you don't care how many people you have to hurt to
get it." Her hand lashed out. She wanted to batter him, to claw at his
face, to hurt him as he had hurt her.

Travis caught her wrist in an iron grip before her hand
made contact with his flesh. He loomed over her, his expression grim
with fury. "Woman, you don't know the first thing about what I think or
want, and you know even less about a man like Wicksham."

"I know that he's my friend," she shot back. "I don't care
what you think he is. Nothing he's ever done could be as bad as what
you've done to me. You've ruined my life!"

He laughed harshly, coming down against her. "I made you
my wife, took you away from a life that you'd become disillusioned
with, gave you my home. Is that how I ruined your life?" She could feel
his muscles through the sheet and their clothing. A betraying tremor
shook her body.

Refusing to acknowledge what she felt, Susan whispered
hoarsely, "I despise you!" She tried to twist away from him, but his
arms came around her, clamping her against him. She pushed at the bulk
of his chest, frantic to free herself.

Heat flamed in his eyes, and for a moment Susan was still,
caught by the fire of his gaze. Slowly, deliberately, his head came
down. His lips brushed hers, at first softly, then with increasing
pressure, until his mouth was devouring hers.

She felt herself drowning, her will dissolving away. He
had not touched her in such a long time, a lifetime it seemed. He had
never said that he loved her, although at first she had accepted tender
words spoken in the heat of passion as expressions of love. He
certainly did not even say that he loved her now, and yet she trembled
in his arms, melted at his touch.

His arms loosened their grip, and one hand slid down to
stroke her neck and roam over her breasts. In a last desperate attempt
to assert her will, she tore her mouth from his and turned her head
away. With a sob, she choked out, "I won't let you do this to me! Get
out! Leave me alone!"

"You want me as much as I want you," he said, his voice
low and throbbing.

"No! I don't want you!"

"Ah, I see." His voice held soft menace. "Are you sleeping
with Wicksham now? Is that why you have no need for your husband?"

She kept her head turned away from him and swallowed hard.
She forced her voice to be steady. If she gave in to him now, she would
never be free of the hold he had on her emotions. "What Jonathan and I
do is none of your business. You wouldn't understand, anyway, so I
won't even try to tell you. But no matter what you think, I don't want
you. I never will again." She turned her head and looked into his eyes.
"You can rape me, but you can't make me respond to you."

He stiffened at her words and his face contorted.
Abruptly, he moved off her, getting to his feet. Then, with a muttered
curse, he turned and left the room. After he was gone, she stared at
the closed door and, inside, she seethed and hurt, feeling empty and
unfulfilled.

After several moments, she picked up the discarded
guidebook and tried to read. But it was no use. She couldn't
concentrate on the words, couldn't think of anything but Travis, the
terrible things he had said to her, and the way he could make her want
him in spite of all that had happened between them. It was much later
when she finally slept.

She awoke the next morning with a slight queasy sensation.
Sure that the feeling was the result of the heated exchange she and
Travis had had the night before and her subsequent inability to sleep
well, she got up, confident that the queasiness would leave when she
started to move about. But the sudden movement made her stomach feel as
if it were turning wrong side out and climbing into her throat, and she
ran to the bathroom where she lost what little remained in her stomach.
Then she was wracked by dry heaves that left her shaking and exhausted.
When her stomach quieted, she crept back to bed and sank down between
the sheets, feeling as if she weighed a ton.

Although her body was incapable, for the moment, of
anything but weak, settling movements, her mind was working
frantically. She had been married for six weeks and, although she tried
desperately to convince herself otherwise, she finally admitted that
her monthly cycle had not come around since her wedding day.

She knew that worry and strain and other emotional
upheavals could throw a woman's system off temporarily. She had even
heard of women who experienced a full nine months of false pregnancy
because they wanted a child so badly. But she did not want a
child—quite the opposite. She might have been able to
convince herself that tension had caused some sort of hormonal
imbalance if it weren't for the nausea. That, added to the fact that
she had taken no precautions against pregnancy, left only one
conclusion, and she unwillingly admitted it into her consciousness,
hearing the words in her mind:
I'm carrying Travis's child
.