Each Time We Love (44 page)

That Savanna might feel uncertain about plunging into his
world had never crossed Adam's mind and it didn't now—he was still
angry at Betsey's blatant maneuvers. Even if they weren't just married,
and under less than the best circumstances, Betsey Asher was the
last
woman he'd want to introduce Savanna to! Cursing Betsey's presence and
concentrating on ways to avoid crossing her path during the remaining
hours she would be in New Orleans, Adam didn't pay as close attention
to Savanna's words and tone of voice as he might have done normally.
Smiling, he replied heartily, "Oh, I don't think we'll meet anyone I
know—no one ventures into the city this time of year. We'll have it all
to ourselves!"

Unaware that he had inflicted further hurt, Adam hustled her
along the banquettes in the direction of the French Market. Usually
Savanna would have enjoyed a stroll through the raucous, vivid,
bustling market, but not today. Her thoughts were turned inward and she
was only vaguely aware of the multitude of languages that assaulted the
air. French, Spanish, Indian, English, American and even German could
be heard as shopkeepers and customers haggled amiably over the abundant
selections for which the market was already famous. Live poultry, tied
in threes by the legs, quails, freshly caught fish, shrimp and crabs
lined the front of the stalls in one section of the huge market hall;
in another, an appetizing selection of produce lay ready for
purchase—-peas, beetroots, tomatoes, Indian corn, ginger, dewberries
and artichokes. It was a colorful, shifting crowd— quadroons garbed in
lovely scarlet-and-yellow gowns; slaves in drab clothing; half-naked,
filthy Indians. A few gentlemen in dark blue and their ladies in
pastel-hued frocks drifted around, and through it all, moving with a
quick grace, black women offered bouquets of roses, violets, Spanish
jassamine and carnations for sale. But Savanna hardly noticed any of
it, and when Adam, with a little frown at her air of distraction,
guided her away from the bustle and urged her steps in the direction of
a discreet little shop on Chartres Street, she went without demur.

She puzzled him, instinct telling him that something was
wrong, but he couldn't figure out what! Hadn't last night proved
anything to her? She'd been warm and pliant in his arms and he knew
that he had brought her pleasure, just as she had brought him untold
ecstasy. So what was wrong? Surely she still wasn't angry with his
high-handed actions in forcing her to marry him? His frown increasing,
Adam suddenly realized that if their positions had been reversed and
he
had been the one compelled to marry her, perhaps he wouldn't be
precisely in a cheery mood either. He'd have been furious! And bitter.
And resentful.

Uneasily he eyed Savanna's closed expression. She didn't look
furious, or bitter, or resentful, but somehow that didn't make him feel
any better, and he realized belatedly that last night hadn't really
proved anything—except that he could make her want him and that he
could give her pleasure. By the time they entered the little shop of
Chartres Street, Adam was scowling blackly, and considering the way he
had dragged her away from first the Ashers and then the French Market,
Savanna was thoroughly convinced that he did not want to be seen with
her. He was, she decided miserably, ashamed of her and already
regretting that he had married her. When she discovered the purpose of
this visit to Chartres Street, it only confirmed everything that she
was feeling.

A breathtaking, dazzling array of beautiful, luxurious
materials and patterns were laid out for her inspection by the owner of
the shop, Madame Galland, well known for her excellent needlework and
flair for color and style. Small and dark, her black hair caught neatly
in a chignon at the back of her head, Madame Galland waved Adam and
Savanna to the comfortable settee covered in pale rose silk damask. If
Madame noticed that her clients seemed unusually dour and
silent,
she kept it to herself and
began
to
display the nearly finished garments that Adam had ordered from her
when he had first arrived in New Orleans.

Smiling, her liquid brown eyes alert and friendly, Madame
Galland draped a charming pelisse of Prussian blue silk across
Savanna's lap and murmured, "If Madame would like to try it on, I can
make any adjustments that might be necessary,
oui?
I have several other garments that are almost ready—they only need your
approval and perhaps a petite tuck here and there to make them fit
perfectly." Running an expert eye over Savanna's voluptuous curves, she
added lightly, "Monsieur was quite specific in his measurements, and
except for very minor changes, I believe that you will be pleased with
these initial garments."

Savanna remembered little of the visit to Madame Galland's.
She knew that Madame had led her to a small fitting room and
efficiently whisked on and off her what seemed like innumerable gowns
and shifts and various other pieces of feminine apparel. Afterward a
grim-faced Adam had helped in the selection of more items and patterns
and fabrics and trimmings to go with the fabulous wardrobe Savanna was
acquiring, but through it all, she was only half aware of what was
going on around her. She was dying inside. Every lovely garment, every
wisp of lace, every expensive trifle added to the growing heap before
her made Savanna cringe and cruelly emphasized the vast gulf that lay
between her pleasant little gingham gown and the fashionable, luxurious
garments that Adam was buying for her.

The trip to Madame Galland's seemed to sum up the fathomless
chasm that lay between them and intensified all of Savanna's fears.
That Adam's good humor had disappeared only added to her despair, and
it stiffened her resolve to make him understand that while she would
bear his child and try to be a dutiful wife, it would be folly for them
to even pretend that theirs would be a normal marriage, and that meant
no
repeats of last night!

After making arrangements for some of the finished garments to
be delivered that afternoon, with the air of constraint almost tangible
between them, they left Madame Galland's and returned to the hotel.
There was little conversation between them, each one busy with his own
decidedly unpleasant thoughts, but once they had reached their rooms,
Savanna said stiffly, "I suppose I should thank you for all the things
you are buying for me."

Angry and baffled by the situation in which he found
himself—who would have ever thought that he would fall in love with a
woman who didn't care a farthing for him?—Adam stared grimly at her. A
mocking twist to his mobile mouth, he murmured,
"Should?
Most women would be over the clouds if their husbands were as
generous." His gaze narrowed. "But then you're not like most women, are
you?"

"No," Savanna replied sharply, further mortified that he
seemed to think he could
buy
her good graces.
"And ours is hardly a marriage that
most
people
embark upon!" After the humiliating morning she had spent, determined
to make the situation clear, she went on bitterly. "I have no choice
but to bear your child and carry your name—you made certain of that—but
I will not be used simply to satisfy your lusts… and from now on, I
insist
upon my own bedchamber and privacy."

Adam's face went white, a muscle jerking in his cheek. For her
to dismiss so cavalierly what they had shared last night hurt him more
deeply than he had thought anything ever could, and he reacted with
Adam-like predictability. Mouth tight, he grasped her arm and gave her
an ungentle shake. "Lusts?" he snarled softly. "Is that all it was for
you last night? Simply lust?"

Savanna could not meet his furious gaze. Telling herself this
was necessary, she turned her head away from those piercing blue eyes
and remained stubbornly silent.

Adam stared at her averted profile for a long minute and then
anguished rage got the better of him. "Very well, madame!" he snapped
in an icy voice. "You have made your wishes clear! And since I am to be
denied my marriage bed, you will excuse me if I go and find some other,
more amiable woman with whom to slake my
lusts!"
Contemptuously flinging her aside, he slammed out of the room, the door
banging shut behind his tall form with a thunderous crash.

Savanna stared in mute misery at the closed door. It was for
the best, she reminded herself valiantly. After all, they came from two
different worlds, and it had been obvious this morning that he had been
ashamed to publicly acknowledge her as his wife and had even found
disfavor with the very clothes she wore. Dispiritedly she wandered over
to the sofa, telling herself not to let his actions distress her—it
would only have been a matter of time before he sought other women
anyway. She was
really
better off that they had
gotten things straightened out right at the beginning! Oh, but it hurt,
she thought piteously. It hurt almost unbearably.

Sinking down onto the sofa, she stared blindly around the
room, tears sliding unheeded down her face as she wondered how she was
going to survive the terrible, empty years that stretched out before
her. How long she sat there, the tears drying on her cheeks, she had no
idea, but suddenly it dawned on her that someone was knocking on the
door.

Hastily wiping away any telltale signs of her pain, she
hurried to the door and opened it. Betsey Asher, a sweetly anxious
smile on her face, stood there staring back at her.

Betsey was a vision. Her gleaming blond curls peeped
attractively out from the charming chip straw hat she wore, an enormous
bow of deep lavender silk tied beneath her chin. She was wearing a
lovely high-waisted gown of finest muslin in a shade of pale lavender
with little puff sleeves. Pristine white gloves were on her small hands
and she carried a most fashionable reticule. Painfully aware of her
height and the shabbiness of her gown, Savanna felt like a huge lump of
coal.

"Oh, I know this is
most
forward of me,"
Betsey cooed with soft sincerity, "but since my time in the city will
be
so
limited, I did want to call on you before
we left for Oak Shadows and offer my congratulations on your marriage."
Beaming up at Savanna's dumbstruck features, she went on gaily. "I saw
Adam leave, and knowing you would be here alone, I was wondering if
perhaps you might like to join me for a glass of lemonade in that
darling little tearoom downstairs."

Stunned by Betsey's presence and invitation, Savanna merely
stared at her for a long second, her thoughts churning wildly through
her head. Visiting with Miss Asher was the last thing that Savanna
wanted to do—Betsey's elegant garb and genteel air painfully driving
home to her the great differences that lay between them. And coming as
the invitation did on the heels of the morning she had just spent and
the ugly exchange with Adam, Savanna was hard-pressed not to have a
case of screaming hysterics. But what had happened wasn't Miss Asher's
fault, Savanna reminded herself fairly, and it really was very nice of
the young lady to be so thoughtful. Forcing herself to put away her
misery for the time being, a tentative smile on her lips, Savanna
finally said with blunt honesty, "I appreciate your invitation, but
unfortunately, Adam didn't leave me any money—I could not pay for my
lemonade."

Betsey gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh, don't let that stop you! It
will be my treat! Next time you shall pay! Come, now, I do
so
want to talk to you!"

Reluctantly Savanna let herself be charmed by Betsey, and
opening the door wider, she said politely, "Won't you come in for a
minute? I shall have to leave Adam a note."

Unaware of the hard glitter in the green eyes that watched her
so closely, Savanna began to write her note to Adam. While she sat at a
delicate cherry-wood writing desk, Betsey wandered around the opulent
room, enviously comparing its luxurious size and appointments with the
smaller, less expensive set of rooms that she and Charles had procured.
It wasn't
fair
¹
,
she
thought furiously. Adam was hers! She should be Adam's wife and staying
here with him in these spacious rooms! Not this hulking
nobody!

A fixed smile on her lips, Betsey said lightly, "I must
apologize for my behavior this morning—it was
such
a shock to hear of Adam's marriage! He was always so adamantly opposed
to matrimony! Whatever did you
do
to make him
change his mind?"

Savanna flushed, wishing desperately that she possessed a glib
tongue. Concentrating fiercely on what she was writing, she muttered
distractedly, "Um, I don't know. We, we, uh, just d-d-decided that it
would be a good thing."

"Do you know, I don't believe I ever heard your name mentioned
by any of our friends. 'Savanna' is such an unusual name, isn't it? I'm
sure I would have remembered it if someone had said it aloud, and
certainly if Adam had!" She sent Savanna a kind glance. "Do not feel
uncomfortable—Adam and I are such very good friends—he tells me
everything! Have you known him long?"

"N-n-no. Not long," Savanna mumbled, feeling slightly winded.

"Your marriage… it was rather
sudden,
wasn't it?"

Savanna's flush increased. Uncertain in her new role as Adam's
wife, feeling just a little in awe of and inferior to this beautiful
young woman who had obviously been on close terms with Adam and who
moved in the highest society, Savanna was at a loss. Despite
everything, she didn't want to embarrass Adam by being rude to one of
his friends and she certainly didn't want to offend Miss Asher—the
notion having innocently occurred to her at first that perhaps she and
Miss Asher could become allies. With Miss Asher's help, with someone
more worldly and sophisticated than she to show her the way, the
transition from Savanna O'Rourke, backwoods tavern owner, to Mrs.
Savanna St. Clair, wife of a wealthy, aristocratic gentleman like Adam,
might be less arduous. But as the minutes passed, she did wonder if
Miss Asher wasn't just a little too nosy and if there wasn't some other
reason for her seemingly kind invitation. Rapidly Savanna began to
revise her initial favorable thoughts about the young lady.