Lost Lady (18 page)

With one look at Travis—his eyes dancing, his delicious body so near—she started laughing, her arms going out to him, pulling him to her as they began to roll about the bed, laughing gleefully, while Travis quite expertly tore away the remnants of her clothes. Never seeming to leave her, he took his boots off, and a loud crash of breaking china as one of the boots landed somewhere in the room caused new hilarity.

Sharp, teasing, nipping little bites on her shoulders and arms made her stop laughing and turn serious as she gave herself over to his lovemaking. Their first passion was gone, and they could spend more time reexploring, rediscovering each other. As Travis's mouth traveled down her body, she closed her eyes, gave herself over to her senses. Running her hand down his arm, she caught his hand, raised it to her lips, and began to taste those broad fingertips that gave her so much pleasure. Scraping them against her teeth, gently chewing on the soft pads, running her tongue across his knuckles, she was so aware that this was the hand of a man—scarred, hard, callused, broad, yet delicate and sensitive. She bit hard in the palm, wanting to devour him.

Travis pulled his hand away to run it over her legs, to massage, to kiss and caress, until she kicked her legs in impatience, wanting him again. When he brought his head up again, she pulled his mouth down to hers and threatened to swallow him whole.

Travis gave a low, seductive laugh and pulled her to him, both of them on their sides, facing, as he manipulated her legs around him and groaned when he entered her softness. Holding him tightly, staying with him as he moved her body, he prolonged her ecstasy for minutes, days, weeks, years, a century, as her head lolled backward, rolling, unaware of who or where she was.

When she thought she would go insane, he abruptly pushed her to her back and thrust into her long and hard until their bodies at last found release.

Without a word, exhausted, sweaty, sated, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Regan was the first to awaken, surprised to see the sun setting outside her window. Stretching, moving away to look at Travis sprawled across the bed, she wondered if she'd ever have any sense when it came to him. For the first time in years she'd completely forgotten her responsibilities to her daughter, her friend, and her business. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she left the bed and dressed, grabbing what was left of her mutilated garments from the furniture. Before she left the room she planted a kiss on Travis's hair and covered the lower half of him with a light quilt.

Silently, she left the room and headed toward the kitchen. Brandy must be wondering what had happened to her.

 

Travis awoke slowly, feeling as if he'd slept well for the first time in years. With a smile on his lips, he turned his head to look at his wife, but, instead of Regan, he encountered a pair of solemn brown eyes watching him intently.

“Hello,” Travis said quietly to the little girl. “What's your name?”

“Jennifer Stanford. Who are you?”

Even before she spoke, Travis had an idea of who she was. There was a look about her of his younger brother, and the arch of her eyebrows was very like their mother's. “Is your mother's name Regan?”

Seriously, the child nodded.

Sitting up on the bed, pulling the quilt across his lower half, Travis was also serious. “What would you say if I were your father?”

Jennifer traced a pattern on the bedspread. “I might like it. Are you my father?”

“I think it would be safe to say I am.”

“Are you going to live with us?”

“I was planning for you to live with me. If you were to come sit by me I could tell you all about where I live. Last year I bought four ponies just the right size for my daughter.”

“You'd let me ride a pony?”

“It would be yours to care for, to ride, and to do whatever you wanted with it.”

After just a moment's hesitation, Jennifer climbed onto the bed beside her father, far away at first, but as Travis's storytelling increased, soon she was sitting in his lap.

And that is how Regan found them, cuddled together, fascinated by each other. It was a charming picture.

As soon as Jennifer saw her mother, she started bouncing on the bed with glee. “This is my daddy, and we're going to go live with him, and he has a pony for me and pigs and chickens and a treehouse and a swimming pond, and we can go fishing and everything!”

After one quick look at Travis, Regan held out her arms for her daughter. “Brandy has supper ready for you in the kitchen.”

“Can Daddy come too?”

“We need to talk,” Regan said sternly. “He'll see you later—that is, if you eat what Brandy gives you.”

“I will,” Jennifer promised, waving to her father before scampering out the door.

“She's a beauty,” Travis said. “I couldn't be prouder….” He stopped when Regan turned to look at him in fury. “Did I do something?”

“Did you do something?” she mocked, trying to control her temper. “How dare you tell
my
daughter we're going to live with you!”

“But of course you'll return now that I've found you. It just took me a while, that's all.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I've always known where you were?” she fumed. “At any time that I wanted, I could have returned to you and that monstrosity of a plantation of yours.”

“Regan,” Travis said, his voice low. “I don't understand why you left, but I can tell you that you and my daughter are returning home with me.”

“Right there is why I left,” she said. “From the moment I met you you've told me what to do and how to do it. I wanted to stay in England, but you wanted me to come to America, so I came to America. You initiated a wedding ceremony without even asking me if I wanted to marry you. And then at that plantation of yours! I was left in charge of a hundred people who did everything they could to defy my authority. And all the while you were…out chasing horses with your dear Margo.”

At the last, Travis smiled. “Jealousy, was that why you left me?”

Regan threw up her hands in despair. “Haven't you heard anything I've said? I don't want you to run my life, or Jennifer's. I don't want her growing up and being told when to do something and how to do it. I want her to learn to make her own decisions.”

“When have I ever stopped you from making decisions? I gave you half a plantation of decisions to make, and I never interfered.”

“But I didn't know how to make them. Can't you understand? I was so afraid, in a new country around strangers who constantly told me I didn't know how to do anything. I was
afraid!”

Travis's eyes were twinkling. “From what I've heard, you've done very well here. You didn't seem to be afraid of Americans here, so why were you there? I admit I have a fairly harsh group of judges working for me, but if you did it here, why couldn't you have done it then?”

“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “Here I had to do something or starve. At your place I could have stayed in my room and never come out.”

“Which you did most of the time, if I remember correctly.”

She gave him a sharp look because she'd had no idea he'd known what she did during the day. Had he any idea how terrified she'd been during those months?

He continued, “After starting from scratch and buying and building a whole town, my place should be easy to run. I have a wagon here. We could pack Jennifer's clothes and yours and leave tomorrow. Or, better yet, let's leave now. You have clothes at home, and I'll buy my daughter everything new.”

“Stop it!” she shouted. “Right this moment! Do you hear me? You are
not
going to start running my life for me again. I like having some power of my own. I like deciding what I want to do rather than having you or my uncle or even Farrell making my decisions for me.”

His head came up. “Who's Farrell?”

With a look of disgust, she answered, “The man you so blithely tossed across the room this morning.”

“So what's between you two?” he asked, his eyes in a hawklike gaze.

“I knew Farrell in England. In fact, I was engaged to him once, and he came to America to find me.”

For a moment, Travis was quiet. “You said you'd been in love with a man once. Was he this Farrell?”

She was startled at his memory. “I believe so. I was lonely, and he paid attention to me for a while, and I thought I loved him. It was so long ago, and I was a different person then.”

“And how do you feel about him now?”

She walked about the room. “I don't know how I feel about anything right now. For years I was scared of everything, and then I suddenly was totally alone, and I had to sink or swim. For the last four years all I've done is balance ledger sheets and buy and sell property. Men have not been part of my life. Now all at once Farrell turns up, and I'm reminded of that unloved little girl I once was, and here you are, just like always, making me ache to touch you yet terrified you may make me into a crying child as I once was. Can't you understand, Travis? I can't return to your plantation and be smothered by you. The only way I can be myself is to stay away from you.”

In spite of her best intentions, she began to cry. “Damn you!” she said. “Why did you have to come back and upset me like this? Go away, Travis Stanford! Go away and never, never come near me again.” With that, she slammed out of the room.

Leaning back against the headboard, Travis smiled. When he'd first met her, he'd seen just a hint of the woman she could be, but he wasn't sure how to help her become that woman. Maybe she was right and the plantation was too much to handle. When he'd heard how the staff was treating her, it was all he could do to keep from throttling the lot of them, but he knew she needed to find her own strength.

Now, closing his eyes, thinking about her, he was overwhelmed at the woman she'd become—sure of herself, sensible, her dreams put into action, made into reality. She'd taken what was little more than a wide spot in the road and built a thriving town, and she'd raised an intelligent, sensible little daughter. No one need worry that Jennifer was going to retreat to her room and cry.

With a loud laugh of pure happiness, he tossed aside the quilt and began to dress; at least his pants and boots were in one piece. Although Regan thought she'd matured enough to resist him, he knew she hadn't. What was that old saying? Age and treachery will win out over youth and talent every time. He planned to use every means, every aid ever learned to win her back. With resolve, he left the room, wearing only the snug dark pants and tall boots.

T
RAVIS STOPPED AT THE OPEN KITCHEN DOOR, DRAWN TO
the smells coming from within. Chuckling, he remembered how Regan had always made him miss meals. With one glance about the room, he knew the luscious bit of curves and blonde hair in the corner was Brandy Dutton. He'd heard a lot about her from the weasel he'd met in Richmond.

“Excuse me,” he said loudly. “I wonder if I might get something to eat in here. I'm not exactly dressed for dining in public.”

“Oh my,” Brandy said in such a way, smiling openly at Travis's wide chest and brawny arms, that Travis knew what he'd heard about her was true; Brandy was far from celibate.

She recovered herself. “So, you're the man who put roses in Regan's cheeks,” she said heartily, coming forward.

“I put roses somewhere,” he said quietly, for Brandy alone and not her staff, who were gaping unabashedly.

With a throaty laugh, Brandy took his arm. “I think we're going to get along quite well. Now sit down, and I'll get you something to eat. Elsie,” she called over her shoulder. “Run down to the mercantile store and get Mr. Stanford a couple of new shirts, the biggest Will has. And take your time getting back. We have a lot to talk about.”

Brandy fed Travis a meal such as he'd never had before. The more he ate of her food, the more she liked him, and between his shirtless state, the food, and his answers to her questions, she was practically in love by the end of the meal.

“Yes, she's lonely,” Brandy said in answer to Travis's question. “All she does is work. It's like she's been driven to prove something to herself. For years I've tried to get her to slow down, but she'll never hear of it. She goes and goes all the time, buying more and more. She could have retired a year ago.”

“No men?” he asked, his mouth full of mince pie.

“A few hundred have tried, but no one has succeeded. Of course, when you've had the best….”

He smiled at her, took the new shirt from the chair back, and rose. “Regan and Jennifer are going to leave Scarlet Springs to return with me. How is that going to affect your partnership?”

“There's a new lawyer here from back East, and he could handle selling the properties and investing the money. With my half, I might like to travel, maybe see Europe. Tell me, have you told Regan she's leaving here?”

Travis only smiled in such a way that Brandy laughed. “Good luck,” she called as he left the kitchen.

 

For two days Regan managed to avoid Travis, or at least she was able to avoid another out-and-out argument. But no one could miss him physically. Jennifer seemed to think her father was her personal playmate, and the two of them never left each other's sight. Travis even took over the task of washing his daughter's long, snarled hair, and Regan was disgusted not to hear one screech of pain or protest from Jennifer. He took her riding and tree climbing, and she was impressed at her father's agility. Jennifer showed him the whole town, announcing that he was her daddy and that she was going to go live with him and his horses.

Regan did her best to ignore Travis and his seduction of her daughter, as well as the countless questions from the townspeople.

Regan had not seen Farrell since the day Travis had arrived, and she was startled to realize, when he reappeared, that she had not thought of him in his two-day absence.

“May I speak to you privately?” he asked.

He looked tired and very dirty, as if he'd been traveling for days without sleep.

“Of course. Come to my office.” When they were inside the office, door closed, she turned to him. “You look as if you have something important to tell me.”

Collapsing into a chair, he looked up at her. “I have been all the way to Boston and back in two days.”

“It must have been urgent business,” she said, pouring him a drink. “I take it I and my father's money are involved.”

“Yes, or at least your father's will. There was a copy filed in an attorney's office in Boston. I had it made and sent to America some time ago, just in case I did find you. I thought I was sure of one point in it, but I went to Boston to have it confirmed. I have here a letter,” he said, removing an envelope from his inside coat pocket.

Regan took it, held it for a moment. “Perhaps you could tell me what it says.”

“Your parents died when you were very young, and perhaps you don't remember, but at that time your father's brother was still alive. He was to be your guardian, and you did stay with him for a few months, but he died soon after your parents.”

“I remember only Uncle Jonathan.”

“Yes, he was the only other relation you had, so the executors of the will, your parents' bank, put you into his care. They, of course, had no idea what sort of a man he was. At the time the will was written, your parents thought you would be safe with your father's brother.”

“Farrell, please get to the point.”

“The point, my dear, is that you could not get married without your guardian's permission. Perhaps they didn't want you marrying a fortune hunter, or perhaps they didn't want to see you go through the hell they did when they were cut off by her family without a penny.”

“Is that all? Surely there's more to this,” she said.

“Regan, you don't understand. You were married to Travis Stanford without your guardian's written permission, and you were only seventeen.”

“Seventeen! No, I'd been eighteen for months.”

“In the letter is your actual date of birth. Your uncle tried to forge the date ahead so he could marry you off and get his money.”

Feeling a bit stunned, Regan leaned back against the desk. “You're saying that my marriage to Travis isn't valid, aren't you?”

“Worthless. You were underage, a minor without your guardian's consent. You are not, nor have you ever been, married to anyone, Miss Weston.”

“And Jennifer?”

“I'm sorry to say that she is illegitimate. Of course, if you were to marry again, the husband could adopt her.”

“I don't think Travis would like someone else adopting his daughter,” she said quietly.

“To hell with Travis,” Farrell said, jumping up to stand before her. “I've waited for you for years. I've loved you for years. You can't blame me for shying away from a seventeen-year-old child. Instinctively I must have sensed your tender years, and you can't blame me for not wanting a child for a wife. At least I didn't force you to my bed as that man who is Jennifer's father did.”

He paused, taking her hand in his. “Marry me, Regan. I'll make a good, faithful husband to you. Haven't I loved you for many years already? And I'll be a good father to Jennifer.”

“Please, Farrell,” she said, pulling away from him. “I must think about this. It's come as a shock finding out I've lived in sin with a man for so many years. And this could hurt Jennifer badly.”

“That's why—,” he began, but she put up her hand and cut him off.

“I need to be alone to think about this, and you,” she smiled, “need a bath and some rest.”

It was several more minutes before he left and Regan was finally alone to read what was inside the packet Farrell had brought her. A half-hour later, when she put it down, she smiled. It was true she'd never been married to Travis. How he was going to rage at this news! For the first time in years she lapsed into one of her daydreams, imagining how he'd react when she told him he had no power over her, that, legally, Jennifer was no man's daughter. For just once in her life she was going to win over Travis Stanford, and it was going to be a wonderful experience.

As for Farrell's proposal, she dismissed it. The silly man thought Regan really believed his protestations of love. He wanted her married to him before her twenty-third birthday when she would come into her parents' fortune. He'd learn soon enough that she was going to live her own life.

With a smile, she began to write Travis a note, asking him to join her for a private dinner that night.

 

The private dining room was set with tall, fragrant candles, cut crystal glassware from Vienna, porcelain dinnerware from France, silver from England. The wine was a delicacy from Germany, and the food was American.

“I'm glad to see that you've come to your senses,” Travis said, buttering a biscuit. “Jennifer will be much better off around friends instead of all these strangers. Has she always been given the run of this place? I can't see that it's good for a child playing in the corridors of a public inn.”

“And you have such a vast experience with children that you, of course, know exactly what is right for them,” Regan retorted.

He shrugged, enjoying his food. “I certainly know enough to be certain there is a better place for a child than this. At my place you can spend more time with Jennifer and”—he smiled—“our other children.”

“Travis—,” she began, but he interrupted her.

“I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was when you finally came to your senses. But really, I was expecting more of a fight. You've grown up more than I thought.”

“What!” she sputtered on her wine. “Finally came to my senses? Grown up? What are you talking about?”

He caught her hand in his, caressed her fingers, and when he spoke his voice was deep and low. “This dinner was such a surprise to me because I knew what you wanted to say.” He kissed her fingertips. “I want you to know that I realize how difficult a decision it's been for you, and I'll never use it against you. You've done a brave and generous thing in agreeing to return with me. Perhaps you'd like to stay here in your little town for a while longer, but Jennifer needs more than a houseful of strangers—she needs a home, which I can, of course, give her.” Again, he kissed her fingers. “You've made a wise decision.”

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, as well as a deep drink of wine, Regan gave him a radiant smile. “You vain, pompous farmer,” she said conversationally. “I do not plan to return to your house, and my ‘little town,' as you call it, is home for my daughter.”

In spite of her good intentions, her voice was rising. “I invited you here, not to tell you I was returning with you as you so arrogantly assumed, but to tell you that I am not and never have been married to you.”

It was Travis's turn to sputter. Regan, for the first time during the meal, began to eat. It felt good to win over Travis!

Grabbing her wrist, he started to pull her from her seat.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I assume you have a preacher in this town. He can marry us now.”

“He will not!” she hissed. “And if you don't sit down I just may take Jennifer away again.”

Hesitating, but not wanting to risk such a punishment, he sat down. “Tell me the whole story,” he said bleakly.

Regan lost some of her cheerfulness when she saw Travis's look, and when she told him his daughter was not legally his, she almost said she'd marry him then and there. But it was at the mention of Farrell's name that his look changed.

“That two-bit piece of scum told you this?” he demanded. “He's certainly gone to a lot of trouble. What's in it for him?”

Regan was well aware that Travis knew nothing of the money she was due to inherit, money that would mean nothing to Travis but meant everything to Farrell. But, truthfully, she didn't like Travis's insinuation that Farrell had a motive besides love.

“Farrell wants to marry me,” she said haughtily. “He says he loves me as well as Jennifer and wants to adopt my daughter.”

“You wouldn't be such a fool,” Travis said smugly. “Why would any woman want a weakling like that?”

The implied second part of that statement was, “When you could have someone like me?”

Glaring at him, Regan almost snarled. “Farrell is a gentleman. He knows how to make a woman feel like a lady. His courting is…exquisite,” she said with feeling. “All you Americans know is how to make demands.”

Travis snorted. “Any American can outcourt any weakling Englishman.”

“Oh Travis,” Regan smiled serenely. “You know nothing of courting. Your idea of seducing a woman is to drag her about by her hair.”

“There've been a few times when you've liked being dragged about,” he answered.

She lost her serenity. “That is an example of your Colonial crudity.”

“And you, my dear, are an English snob. You said your birthday is in three weeks. You'll marry me on that day, and you'll do it willingly.”

With that, he left the room before he heard Regan gasp, “Never!”

 

Early the next morning, Regan, in her office, was bombarded with news from Brandy. First there were accusations because Travis had left the inn last night, and this morning he still hadn't returned. Brandy's looks showing her opinion that Regan was in the wrong were followed by a word of warning, for a tall, red-haired woman had just registered at the inn and was asking for her fiancé, Mr. Travis Stanford.