Kary, Elizabeth (5 page)

"How
could you tell her that?" she hissed, amazed that he could be so unruffled
after what had passed between them. But then, she noticed, his eyes were oddly
alight and his breathing did seem a little unsteady.

"What
I told your mother was the gospel truth," he said evenly. "I've
wanted to kiss you from the moment I set eyes on you this afternoon with your
hair tumbling down and your gown stained and dirty. And now that I know you
better, there are several other things—"

"Let
me go!" she demanded in a whisper as she struggled against his encroaching
hands, certain that if she allowed him even this slight advantage, she would be
powerless to hold him off. And in making that concession, she acknowledged to
herself that her desires ran perilously close to his. He had taken her by
surprise at first, but now with the full weight of rationality behind her
actions, Leigh knew she must resist him.

"Don't
put me off, Leigh," Hayes coaxed, keeping his tone light. "You
enjoyed kissing me every bit as much as I enjoyed kissing you."

"I
most certainly did not!" she protested in outraged pride.

"Liar,"
he returned without reproach.

"And
even if I did, it's not something I'm particularly proud of," she argued,
unwillingly admitting that she was not indifferent to his charm.
"Unmarried ladies of breeding are not supposed to enjoy any man's kisses,
much less the kisses of a stranger."

"Are
we strangers, Leigh? I feel as if I've known you all my life." His voice
was as soft and gentle as the spring night that surrounded them, and Leigh went
weak and weightless at his words. But before she could think beyond the
realization that she felt the same, he continued. "Besides, that's pure
bunk, fed to those susceptible, well-bred young ladies by a bunch of old
biddies who've never been properly kissed."

In
self-defense she turned his words against him. "The kiss you gave me was
hardly proper!" she snapped, trying to muster anger and outrage to defeat
him. "And besides, there's my fiancé, Lucas—"

"Lucas?"

"Yes,
Lucas Hale. Surely my behavior this evening does not speak well of my loyalty
to him." At the thought of Lucas, a prisoner in the Federal arsenal
tonight while she was blithely kissing another man, Leigh was overwhelmed by a
new wave of guilt.

"Lucas
Hale? From out at Camp Jackson?" Hayes demanded. Half a dozen scraps of
conversation came together as the connection between Leigh and the
"friend" she had been on her way to visit at the Confederate camp
began to dawn on him. "You didn't tell me you were betrothed!"
Banister seemed inexplicably furious.

"Yes,"
Leigh answered, flushing red in the darkness. "Yes, I am. I was on my way
to see Lucas and his brother when I was overtaken by the crowd."

"Without
even setting eyes on your Lucas I know his type," Hayes blustered.
"I'll warrant he's one of your mother's gallant Southern cavaliers. And it's
abundantly clear from your response to me that he's always been too much of a
gentleman to kiss you as you deserve to be kissed."

While
Leigh should have been infuriated by Hayes's assessment of Lucas Hale's
abilities, it was the fact that he found her lacking that spurred her response.
"How dare you complain about my deficiencies in an area where knowledge
and experience mark a woman as little more than a strumpet!" she cried,
leaping to her feet. "And what makes you such an expert on just how a
woman should be kissed?"

"What
a forward question for a well-bred young lady to ask," he observed as he
rose to stand beside her on the steps. His anger had vanished as quickly as it
had appeared, and he was clearly amused by her outburst. "I confess that
there are some women who might express a certain appreciation for my kisses,
but modesty prevents that. And to be precise, I never said you were deficient
in your response to me, only untutored. It's just possible that I could be
convinced to remedy that situation if given the right incentive." His
dimpled smile shone in the darkness, and there was an unmistakable twinkle in
his eyes.

Leigh
was stunned by his blatant proposition when she had made her own position so
clear: repelled, angry, and at the same time perversely curious about what he
might see fit to teach her.

"You
incredibly conceited, ill-bred boor!" she gasped when she had found her
voice. "How dare you say such a thing to me? I want you to leave this
house! Now! This minute! And don't come back. I've made more than adequate
recompense for your help this afternoon. Now, get out!"

Gently
but determinedly, Hayes gathered in the hand that had indicated the gate at the
front of the garden as the speediest route of departure, and with it the rest
of her body as well. For a moment he caught a glimpse of her incredulous face
as he lowered his mouth to claim hers. The kiss was slow and leisurely but
sultry and provocative as well, demanding a response. It aroused in Leigh a
devastating need, white-hot and sweet, that melted her bones and turned her
knees to water beneath her. His caressing tongue circled her lips then dipped
into her mouth, tasting again and again, until the intimate intrusion became a
thing she craved. She could feel his broad, hard hands moving on her back,
confining her but gentling her as well. A shiver of response swept through her
as she conceded the battle to resist him.

Hayes
instantly recognized her surrender, but he wanted so much more from this woman
than submission. Exercising considerable self-control, he stepped away to wait
for her reaction.

Leigh
swayed unsteadily for a moment, watching him in confusion, uncertain of his
motives. Her first impulse was to throw her arms around him and kiss him back,
giving him the response he sought. But even as she yearned to reach out to him,
she knew she could not. For Lucas and honor and her own self-respect, she must
spurn him. As she spun away, frustration and anger flamed inside her, fueled
not only by the unwelcome emotions Hayes aroused in her, but by the unwilling
choice he was forcing her to make. She felt his hand stroke along her bare arm
as a final assault on her senses, and in reaction she swung back to face him,
striking out blindly, with tears in her eyes. Her palm met his cheek with a
resounding smack, and they stood for a score of heartbeats without moving.

Then
with slow, deliberate motions Banister claimed the hand she had used to strike
him and brought it to his lips. "Are you sure you want me to go?" he
asked very softly.

Leigh
wrenched her fingers from his grip, feeling shaken and ashamed. "Yes! Yes,
go! Get out!" she shouted, heedless of her mother's presence in the next
room. "I never want to see you again!"

Hayes
gave a curt nod and turned to address the woman in the parlor. "Good
night, Mrs. Pennington," he called through the open window. "Thank
you for a fine meal and a pleasant evening."

He
paused, watching the lovely, auburn-haired young woman for a moment longer,
with something akin to regret in his eyes. "And good-bye, Leigh," he
said.

With
what seemed like galling nonchalance he shambled down the steps and across the
garden, letting the gate slam behind him. Before he was out of sight down the
street, Althea was beside her daughter. "Why did Mr. Banister decide to
leave so early?"

"I
sent him away, Mother," Leigh confessed. "He—he was very forward with
me."

Her
mother gave Leigh a long look, noting that her lips were smudged with kisses
and that her eyes were unusually bright. How well Althea knew the signs, and
she recognized them in her own daughter with a twinge of mingled envy and
concern. How clearly she understood the way Leigh must be feeling now.

"Somehow
Mr. Banister's behavior doesn't surprise me, Leigh. He seems to be a man who
goes after what he wants; nor do I think he is likely to deny himself for the
sake of convention. Yet I believe he is a man capable of great tenderness and
understanding."

"How
can you be so sure, Mother?" Leigh asked almost wistfully.

Althea
laughed. "It's the wisdom of my years, I suppose. Has Mr. Banister upset
you, dear?"

The
younger woman straightened resolutely. "No, Mother, I'm fine. I'm just a
little tired after all that's happened today. Perhaps I'll go right upstairs to
bed."

How
like Horace she is, Althea found herself thinking. It was obvious that the
encounter with Hayes Banister had unsettled her, but Leigh was clearly
unwilling to discuss her feelings, even if it might have helped. Althea
smoothed one hand along her daughter's cheek, then kissed her.

"Very
well, Leigh. Good night and sleep well."

"Good
night, Mother."

There
was the sound of the young woman's tread upon the stairs inside, and Althea was
left alone on the veranda. She stood for a very long time watching the clouds
skulk past the moon, smelling the dust in the wind and wondering if there would
be a storm. Concern for her husband's safety plucked at her, and she listened
to the sounds in the distance, trying to determine if they were threatening or
benign. She knew she would not rest easy until Horace returned, and she cursed
the conflict that had driven her from her husband's bed and made them
strangers.

Finally
she stirred and went inside, locking the door behind her. As she turned down
the hall to the stairs, she noticed Hayes Banister's hat hanging on the hall tree.
Taking it from its peg, she turned it over and over in her hands, brushing the
heavy felt until the nap lay smooth and shiny. There was something she liked
about the big engineer from Cincinnati, and she had hoped for Leigh's sake that
he would come to call often.

In
spite of the differences between them, Althea Pennington knew her daughter
well. Leigh was a straightforward, headstrong girl, and her mother feared for
her as she went out into the world alone. Leigh would never be content in the
role society prescribed for her, and she needed a special kind of man to stand
behind her in the inevitable battles she would face. Hayes Banister was just
such a man, secure enough in his own strength that he would not be intimidated
by Leigh's intelligence and determination. Banister would be neither
condescending nor contemptuous of her ambition, would allow Leigh the freedom
to seek her own success, and would never undermine her efforts to accomplish
what she must. Althea well understood the consequences of thwarted dreams and
would not stand idly by and let her daughter face that same kind of
disappointment. Yes, she hoped that Mr. Banister would see fit to visit again,
in spite of Leigh's sharp words and her betrothal to Lucas Hale. And now, with
Hayes Banister's forgotten hat in her hands, Althea was sure he would return.

Smiling
to herself, she hung the hat back on its peg and went into the parlor to wait
for her husband.

Back
in his suite of rooms at the Planters' House once more, Hayes Banister prowled
aimlessly from the plush parlor, through the bed chamber, into the dressing
room and back again, making the circuit with long, impatient strides. Through
the open windows he could hear the ramble of discontented voices from the men
who were milling in the pool of every gas lamp on the street below. In spite of
the rain that had begun to fall, the crowd had grown as he approached the
hotel, and he had run a gauntlet between banks of dissidents to gain the safety
of the lobby. Nor did he relish the idea of braving their unpredictable temper
a second time for the sake of walking off a little restlessness. Still, he was
aware of his own pent-up energies and the need for release.

Pausing
at the parlor table, he uncorked the bottle of bourbon that had been provided
for his use and poured a generous glassful. He took a long swallow of the
whiskey, wandered to a chair at the far side of the room, and sat down,
stretching his long legs before him.

The
incidents of the past twenty-four hours stood out in sharp relief against the
pattern of everyday life, filling his head with a jumble of impressions,
observations, and feelings. Some of the occurrences were the stuff of destiny,
and he knew that today's events, both public and private, could mark the
beginning of something that would consume his energies for months to come and
change the plans he'd made for his future. There was no doubt that the
bloodshed at Camp Jackson was a promise of other, larger and more devastating
battles to be fought throughout the country, and it confirmed that men were
indeed ready to fight and die over the questions of slavery and union. His
meeting with Nathan Travis and the report Hayes was to write for him about
James Eads's proposed ironclad flotilla might well involve him in the coming
war in ways that he had never considered. For a moment Banister sat stunned by
the latitude of the possibilities before him. Was he prepared to meet whatever
challenges the future might hold? He stared down into his half-empty glass,
then tossed off the contents. Yes, by God, whatever fate had in store for him,
he was ready.

Removing
his coat and opening his collar against the heat in the room, he poured himself
another drink. When he returned to his seat, he brought the open bottle of bourbon
with him, set it on the floor beside his chair, and stretched out comfortably
to contemplate the warm, vivacious woman he had met, rescued, and kissed
tonight with such delicious abandon. Leigh Pennington was unquestionably the
most beautiful woman he had met in months. Her sweet oval face, pale and
petal-soft, was etched so plainly in his mind that he might have known her
always, rather than just one day. He remembered how the sunlight had caught in
her cinnamon hair as he held her this afternoon, and the way the curves of her
body had flowed beneath his hands. He had been unwillingly captivated in that
first moment, staring into her dark eyes, the mysterious blue, gray, green of a
spruce tree in the snow. But it had quickly become evident that there was so
much more to her than a fair face and seductive body. She had been
compassionate and gentle in tending the injured outside Camp Jackson and both
articulate and zealous in expressing her hopes and fears for the future. Lord,
she was young, Banister thought, viewing her from the prodigious achievement of
his thirty-two years—not more than twenty-one or twenty-two. And Leigh was
still bursting with the untarnished idealism that made her think she could
challenge the world and win.