Bride in Barbados (25 page)

Travis's expression was portentous. "Now you know what
I've been going through, watching you spend more and more time with him
and unable to make you see that you should stop. I've given Wicksham
one week to leave Barbados for an extended vacation or face being
charged with assault against you. Abraham will testify against him. We
might not be able to get a conviction, but Wicksham doesn't want the
publicity of a trial and his name spread all over the newspapers."

"I—I'm glad you finally told me everything."

He smiled ruefully. "That may be the first thing we've
agreed on in months." He unfolded his long length from the chair,
standing with an abrupt movement. "I'll let you rest now. We have to
have a long talk, though, when you're fully recovered."

She watched him go and, for a brief moment, she saw him as
the man she had met in Miami, the man she had fallen in love with, the
man she had thought to be everything she ever dreamed of in a husband.

A wave of infinite sadness overwhelmed her. How, in so
short a time, could everything have gone so wrong?

Bank business took Travis to New York a few days later
and, from there, contacts he wanted to make as a representative of his
political party took him to Washington. He was gone for more than three
weeks, checking in with Susan by phone every day or two. These long
distance conversations dealt mostly with the baby and his progress.
Travis apparently felt, as she did, that they couldn't discuss their
personal lives satisfactorily with so many miles between them.

Susan used the time to good advantage. A daily routine for
the baby was established, but with Mala and Dot on hand to help with
him she still had a good deal of time to herself. Much of it she spent
walking on the beach, thinking and renewing her strength. She was
sitting in one of her favorite spots near the plantation's private cove
on a promontory overlooking the sea when she decided it was time to
give serious thought to her future and that of her son. She had come
almost every day to this spot to watch the lashing waves batter
themselves on the jagged reef that ran out from the land for several
hundred yards. The unending roar of the surf was in tune with the
stormy confusion that thundered in her brain.

Today, as she gazed out at the foaming crests, she felt a
stilling of her inner turmoil, and the new serenity brought tears that
overflowed and trickled silently down her cheeks. She sat there for
more than an hour, long after the tears had stopped, her thoughts
following the alternatives open to her, one by one, to their logical
conclusions. When she rose, she felt depleted, but composed. Not fully
recovered emotionally… it would take a little more time for
that to be accomplished, but ready to set out on the only course that
would lead to that recovery.

The birth of her son, the days since then and her tears
had raised a wall between herself and her resentment. For the first
time since she had learned about Harris Sennett's will, she was truly
strong enough to face whatever had to be… and knew it.

She walked back to the old Sennett mansion with a straight
back and a lifted chin. Now she knew what she was capable of
doing—and what she could not do. She had plans to make and a
fresh start to prepare for. At last she could face Travis calmly and
talk everything out with total candor.

In the days that remained until Travis returned, she went
about her activities with a readier smile and a lighter step than
before. For long, quiet times she held her son in her arms as he nursed
and slept, and she never tired of wondering at the beauty and
perfection of this child that was a part of her and of Travis. There
was no longer any feeling of pressure or urgency. Decisions would have to be made when Travis returned, but
until then the days were for renewal and building inner strength.

She also began to make use of the kitchen as if she had a
right to do so and not as a guest. She and Mala worked side by side for
hours, planning and cooking meals, and chatting as friends. And each
afternoon she prepared an elaborate tea tray which she shared with Dot
Howard in the nursery as her son slept nearby.

In her eyes there was a mature serenity that had not been
there before. She had known passion and love and heartache and
betrayal, and now she knew that her life would go on and that she would
find fulfillment and satisfaction again, perhaps not soon, perhaps not
easily—but with her son to give a focus to her life, it could
be good once more.

On the last evening before Travis's expected return, she
took a thermos of coffee down to the cove. She sat on a sea-scarred
rock, as battered as she had felt not long ago. She poured coffee into
the thermos's plastic screw-on cap and cradled its warmth between her
hands. She leaned back against a water-smoothed section of the rock and
felt the wind-carried salt spray on her face.

The pale sliver of a quarter-moon glimmered far out over
the water near the horizon. The ceaseless swoosh of the waves created
an almost chantlike background to her thoughts as she sipped from her
cup and felt her body relax.

Inexorable. Travis had used that word to describe the sea,
and for the first time since coming to the island she felt a part of
the inexorability of all things. Life was inexorable; in spite of
individual pain and disillusionment, it went on, and the pain dulled,
and eventually went away when the sufferer learned to let it go. When
at last she left the rock and walked back to the house, she felt purged
and free.

Travis pulled his car into the garage, got out wearily and
lifted his suitcases from the trunk. In the house the lights were on in
several of the second floor rooms and in the ground floor study. His
plane had been delayed and the dinner hour was long past; he had eaten
a meal that tasted like cardboard on the last leg of the flight. The
lines fanning out from his eyes were more than squint marks; tonight
they were deep slashes of worry and strain. He had welcomed the hectic
pace of the past three weeks and the business that had kept him away
from home. The time had provided a respite before the inevitable
confrontation. But now there was no more possibility of delay, and his
face was the face of a man who knows that everything that matters to
his future will be decided before the sunrise. He no longer fought
against the knowledge.

He gripped his suitcases and walked slowly toward the
house. He had had many sleepless night hours during the past weeks to
wonder if he had ultimately destroyed Susan's ability to trust and love
him, or any man, again. What price had he made her pay for his arrogant
decision to take all that she had to give, while deceiving her?

He had hoped to force her to love him again by keeping her
with him until the baby was born, but now he was dreadfully afraid that
he had succeeded only in driving her so far away that he could never
hope to reach her. What if she still wanted the divorce? What
if…

He shook his head as he stepped onto the back veranda,
trying to clear his mind of the guilt that had burrowed into the secret
crevices of his brain to mock him at every turn. His body ached with
more than tiredness. It ached for her as strongly as it had ever ached
during these last, lonely months. Sometimes at night he still dreamed
that he was holding her and awoke to the empty spaces—in his
arms and in his heart —as he called her name.

He had kept her with him physically, but in every other
way she had shut herself off from him. It was slowly killing him, and
he had only himself to blame. As selfish and greedy as Harris Sennett
had ever dreamed of being, he, Harris's grandson, had grabbed what he
wanted with no thought for the consequences to her or to himself.

He set one of the suitcases down and placed his hand on
the door knob. He opened the door, retrieved the suitcase and walked
into the back hall, which was dark and still. Leaving the luggage
there, he moved down the hall, finding his way without the aid of
lights from years of familiarity with the house. Instinctively he went
toward the study, where the door stood open and light spilled out into
the hall. He stopped in the doorway, staring, unable to speak, afraid
to speak for fear that what he saw was merely what he wanted to see.

Susan sat at his desk, bent over one of the plantation
ledgers, a pen in her hand. She wore a pale blue silk robe with wide
sleeves, and her hair, unrestrained by combs or pins, fell forward,
half covering her face like a silver-white veil in the lamplight.

Travis's starving senses drank in the sight of her slender
figure, the graceful lines of her half-hidden profile, the creamy ivory
skin. There was a calmness and maturity in the concentrated expression
that had not been there three weeks ago.

Then, perhaps sensing that she was being watched, she
looked up at him, coolly and directly.

"Hello, Travis."

He watched her soft lips form the words and heard the low
syllables.

"Susan." It was all he could say immediately. He felt as
uncertain as an adolescent experiencing puppy love for the first time,
and his voice stuck in his throat. There was so much that he wanted to
say and, in spite of all his carefully prepared speeches, he suddenly
had no idea where to start. For a moment, it was enough just to look at
her.

Susan saw the haunted look in his eyes, the lines of
strain in his face, and knew that these past months had not been easy
for him, either. She had been too centered in self-pity to see it
clearly before.

"You're working." The statement sounded foolish; Travis's
voice stumbled on the words as if he were unused to speaking at all.

"The baby will sleep for a couple of hours yet, and I
wanted something to do." She spoke casually, composedly. "You've
arrived much later than we expected. You must be tired."

"Yes," he replied, coming farther into the room, then
hesitating.

She closed the ledger and folded her arms on the desk in
front of her. "We have some decisions to make." She said it so quietly
that it took a moment for her meaning to strike him and when it did, he
lowered himself into a leather armchair, knowing that his reprieve was
at an end. Then he met her steady, emerald eyes and braced himself.

Susan saw his expression change from apprehension to
hardening resolve, and she felt a slight tightening of all her muscles.
Did he still think he could force her to live by his rules? Hadn't he
yet learned that there was a world of difference between a life freely
chosen and the same life pursued under duress?

"You look well," he said, forcing a semblance of
detachment into his tone. She looked so feminine and beautiful that it
made his throat ache with immense pain. He longed to touch her, to kiss
her, to lose himself in her soft, sweet flesh.

"I've been caring for the baby and the house and going for
long walks," she informed him. "And I've been thinking a great deal."

"So have I," he muttered, only half aloud. He looked at
her and came abruptly to his feet and began to pace back and forth.
"Oh, God, Susan, I've missed you!" He stopped pacing and faced her,
legs spread, jaw hard.

He might have come around the desk, but the implacable
green fire in her eyes stopped him. "I have some questions to ask you,
Travis."

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and waited.

"When you came to my dressing room that first time in
Miami, had you already made up your mind to marry me?" Her words were
hard.

"No!" He rubbed the back of his neck, then looked around a
little helplessly. He gestured toward the couch. "I—I think
this may take some time. Can we sit on the couch?" He smiled slightly,
but his eyes were sad. "I promise not to touch you if you don't want me
to."

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded, then followed him
to the couch, where she curled up in a corner. Travis sat down at the
other end and ran his hands through his hair. Susan watched him
silently as he lighted a cheroot.

He drew on the cheroot, then said, "I came into the Top
Hat the first night merely for a meal and a drink. Then you came on
stage and sang and I was intrigued by you. No, more than intrigued. I
thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and I wanted
to know you. I came back the second night just to see you again. When I
asked you to have dinner with me, I wasn't thinking about the will or
marriage or anything except that I wanted to spend some time with you
alone."

The words were rough and hesitant at first, and then they
came faster, surer, as he continued talking. "After that, I couldn't
stay away from you. I found you more sexually exciting than any woman
I'd ever known, and when I began to suspect that you might feel
something of the same thing for me, I wanted you so badly I could taste
it."

He leaned forward, took another drag on the cheroot, put
his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor between his feet.

"It was all I could do to walk away from you the first
time I kissed you, but I was afraid of coming on too fast. I didn't
want to rush you or make you think I was only interested in getting you
into bed."

She responded quietly, with a wry smile. "I was glad that
you walked away—but I wanted you, too."

He looked up, meeting her rueful gaze. "I know. I sensed
your mixed feelings, and that's why I backed off. I meant to give you
more time to get to know me, but the next night, when I held you in my
arms, all my good intentions went right out the window."

He got up, walked to the desk and stubbed out the cheroot
in an ashtray. He returned to the couch. "During the night, while you
were sleeping, I lay awake and tried to make some sense out of what was
happening between us. I knew it was too fast, but I decided to ask you
to marry me. I wanted to tell you about the will then, but I was sure
you would think that was the reason I proposed. I thought that if I
could get you to marry me, bring you back here, give you a chance to
get to know me better, I could prove myself to you before you found out
about the will." He laughed gratingly. "Instead, you learned about it
at the worst possible time, and in the worst possible way—and
drew the worst possible conclusion."