LoverforRansom (4 page)

“Please, Mr. Byrne,” she said aloud this time. She turned to
the two protesting women. “Even if the dog proves to be trouble, it will be
worth it for Jenny’s sake.”

“I agree,” Ransom said, finally finding his voice. The puppy
cradled in his arms, he started up the stairs.

Jenny’s face brightened and she squealed with delight at the
sound of the puppy’s whimpers. She thrust her arms out, waiting, and when
Ransom transferred the dog to her hands, she gathered the animal close to hug
him and breathe in his scent. “Oh, he’s so small!” she exclaimed. “Thank you,
Ransom. Thank you, Sissy.”

Ransom chuckled. “This is all Miss Ryan’s doing. Thank her.”

Bottom lip stuck out in a pout, Aunt Chloe tapped the broom
on the floor, whirled and stalked away. Ransom made out the words “Yankee girl”
and “mongrel dog” as she disappeared.

Gathering her skirts, Miss Ryan rushed up the stairs.
“You’ll have to take good care of him.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Or else Aunt Chloe might feed him to the hogs,” Ransom
added with a playful lilt in his voice. He turned to Miss Ryan. “By the way, no
one’s ever defied Aunt Chloe and gotten away with it.”

“I’m not sure I’m in the clear yet,” she said and smiled.

Ransom stared a little longer than was polite, wondering
what she’d look like with her hair loose and flowing and wearing a brightly
colored frock. He was so tired of seeing women in black. The war was over, and
yet it seemed women wanted to cling to the bitter losses despite every
veteran’s longing for some sort of normalcy.

Jenny kissed the puppy, laughing when she was rewarded with
a wet lick to the face.

Ransom turned to her and scratched the little dog’s head at
the same time Miss Ryan reached to pet him. Their fingers collided before she
snatched back her hand, her slightly shocked expression not lost on Ransom.

“What are you going to name him?” he asked Jenny. He tried
to concentrate. He really did. But his brain refused to entertain anything
except this irritating attraction for a woman who was hardly the type he
usually courted.

Admiration. That was it. He admired her for her patience and
skill with Jenny. That was it. Nothing more. There never would be anything
more.

As for Miss Ryan, she obviously intended to live out her
days as an old maid schoolteacher. Why else would she hide what could otherwise
be attractive features behind that severe façade?

Ransom held no qualms about who and what he was. His
reputation as a philanderer and ladies’ man preceded him wherever he went. When
he wished it so, no woman was immune to his charms. He’d simply have to be
careful where this teacher was concerned, lest she get the wrong idea.

“I’ll leave you two to your lessons.” Realizing he hadn’t
slaked the edge off his lust in a while, he started down the stairs. It’d been
too long since he’d had a woman.
That’s doubtless why that Yankee woman has
me all flustered.
Otherwise, he’d never have entertained salacious thoughts
about such an irksome creature. He rubbed his jaw, mulling over which widow he
intended to pay a visit. That was one good thing that had come out of the war.
There were plenty of lonely, willing widows who didn’t wish to remarry, but who
did enjoy his company from time to time. A smile played on his lips as he
thought of Harriet Bostick. Today would be her lucky day.

“Mr. Byrne,” Miss Ryan called from behind him. He turned and
looked up at her. The sun filtering through the window on the landing
illuminated her like some sort of dark angel.

“Thank you for your help,” she said before she took Jenny’s
arm and started up the stairs.

Ransom gazed down at the lovely widow below him. Slender
arms stretched above her head, she clutched at the sheets, her face contorted
in ecstasy. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his own pleasure. His cock
plowed into her juicy heat. Her inner muscles gripped him, struggling for a
hold as he defied them to pull back and plunge in again.

His chest raked her pebbled nipples and his belly skidded
across hers. He drove in then ground his groin against her body. Silky legs
spread and alternately entwined with his.

He should be lost in this moment, in her willing body and
soft sighs of pleasure. He wasn’t. Images roiled in his head. Cathleen Ryan’s
plush lips drawing back to reveal straight white teeth… Black eyes scrutinizing
him over the tops of those ridiculous spectacles…

He shook his head and opened his eyes, forcing himself back
to the present and the sensual fair-haired woman coming undone beneath him. But
the moment was lost. Gone.

And so was his erection.

Harriet’s light brown lashes fluttered open and she gave him
a lazy smile as she stroked the line of his jaw. “I hope you derived as much
pleasure from this as I did.”

Not today.
“Yes,” he muttered before rolling off her.

Kicking free of the sheets, he lay on his back and stared at
the green fabric lining the canopy of her tester bed. Clapping a hand over his
forehead, he blew out a breath.

“Are you unwell?” Harriet asked, twisting onto her side to
burrow her fingers through the sparse hair at his breastbone.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just…preoccupied.”

“With what, pray tell?” she asked flirtatiously. “I’d like
to know what could possibly take precedence over my lavish attentions.” Her
fingertips trailed lower.

He resisted mentioning the newcomer to Byrne’s End, her
no-fuss hair and clothes, her pushy Boston ways—and the fact that he’d seen his
sister smile for the first time in two years.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. It was
indeed foolish to be thinking about that bookish Yankee teacher when he had
this beautiful creature at his beck and call.

“Horses,” he lied. “My father and Morris are on their way
home with the horses.”

“Have you thought about setting up your own farm?” she
asked, and Ransom couldn’t escape the winsome but unspoken plea in her voice.
Sooner or later, they always wanted more than he was prepared to give—or even
capable of giving, for that matter. He needed to let her down easy, to make
certain she had no ideas about a future that entailed more than what they
already had.

“No. In fact, I’m thinking of traveling. Maybe to Mexico or
out West. I want to go somewhere that hasn’t been spoiled by war.”

“Out West?” she asked. “Permanently?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he admitted and then looked into her
eyes so there’d be no mistaking his point. “I’m not the kind of man who wants
any sort of ties, to any place or anyone.”

She lowered her lashes, undoubtedly sorting through her
disappointment before she met his gaze again. “Neither am I. Not really.”

He sighed inwardly before rolling out of the bed and pulling
on his breeches.

Harriet turned onto her stomach and propped herself on her
elbows. “I heard Jenny’s tutor arrived.”

Ransom’s muscles jerked involuntarily. He hesitated but only
a moment before he slipped on his shirt. “Yes.”

“What’s she like?” Harriet prodded. “Is she pretty?”

“Not in the least,” he offered, immediately wondering why
he’d been so quick to reject the teacher. Without her glasses, she might be…

He shook off the thought. “She’s half-blind herself, but
seems to know what she’s doing. She’s already made rather a bad enemy of Aunt
Chloe.” He chuckled at the memory of Aunt Chloe’s disgruntled rumblings after
Jenny was given the dog.

Harriet’s eyes darkened at the sound of his laugh. “In spite
of what you say, I think you like this Yankee teacher,” she teased.

Ransom snorted. “I like what she’s done for Jenny.”

Harriet snickered. “Half-blind or not, the half that can see
can surely see
you
.”

“I doubt she can see all the way to the old house, because
that’s where I’ve moved my things,” Ransom said with a grimace. He sat on the
edge of the bed to pull on his boots. A vision of the teacher in his old bed,
wearing nothing but her nightgown, with all that black hair stretching across
the pillowslip, assailed him and he turned back to Harriet to obliterate the
unwanted image.

Harriet’s fingers slid over his thigh. “I just hope she
doesn’t turn your head. Losing you to some little ol’ gal out West would be bad
enough, but I just don’t think I could stomach being beaten by a Yankee girl.”

Ransom laughed. He stood and bent to kiss her. He’d intended
to peck her lips and be off, but she circled his nape and burrowed her fingers
into his hair, holding his mouth captive as she staked her claim.

This time, he didn’t fight the scenarios in his head. He
gave in, unbuttoned his fly, dragged his quarry to the edge of the bed and
impaled her, thrusting roughly…

Imagining breaking through Cathleen Ryan’s hard shell and
bending her to his will.

* * * * *

Cleaning up after a rambunctious puppy was more difficult
than Cathleen had thought, but the dog’s presence had aided greatly in Jenny’s
instruction. At least she was up, out of her room and excited about the
prospect of learning.

Cathleen had taught her to count her steps to familiar
places and then drilled her on the numbers. Jenny was quick and smart, but
easily distracted by the playful dog. Once an hour, she’d practiced traversing
the stairs to take the dog outside.

It was late afternoon by the time Cathleen finally dropped
into one of the ladder-back rockers on the porch while Jenny sat on the steps,
wrestling playfully with the puppy.

Because the sky was overcast, Cathleen slipped off her
glasses and put them in her lap. She’d never spent any time to speak of in the
country before and she absorbed the sights and sounds appreciatively. Monstrous
silver-tinged clouds gave the sky the illusion of expansiveness. The stifling
humidity caused perspiration to bead between her breasts and trickle down
underneath her stays.

By all accounts, life at Byrne’s End seemed as if it should
be slow and lazy. It was anything but. Aunt Chloe and Mrs. Byrne worked
tirelessly, beating dust out of rugs, hauling tubs of laundry outside to be
starched, boiled and then hung on twin clotheslines stretched parallel between
two poles to dry.

Mouthwatering scents wafted up from the wooden outbuilding
that served as the kitchen where Sally, the cook, had toiled all day to can
produce that had been delivered from the garden. Cathleen had learned the
garden serviced several families who lived and worked at Byrne’s End.

She’d had an idea of plantation life from the books she’d
read back in Boston. Seeing it in action, however, was an entirely different
thing.

Jenny’s head lifted and turned toward the sound of
hoofbeats. Cathleen leaned forward in her rocker and squinted at the rider.

“Ransom!” Jenny squealed as Cathleen realized the stunning
figure in the saddle could be none other than Mr. Byrne.

The puppy tore free from Jenny and raced toward Byrne as he
swung easily down from the saddle. Cathleen pocketed her glasses as she stood.

He patted his red mount on the hindquarters and the beast
loped off toward the stable. He scooped up the puppy in midstride and started
toward them.

Cathleen didn’t like the way her stomach clenched at the
mere sight of him. She cleared her throat. She hated to admit he was a handsome
man. She had an agenda. She should be immune to those sparkling eyes and those
dimples and that heat radiating from his body. She had better things to do than
fall at his feet like the simpering belle she’d seen at the depot.

She had resolved not to marry, not to shackle herself to a
man and become his chattel. What would a staid, committed-to-purpose woman such
as Mrs. Stanton think of her if she knew what scandalous notions Mr. Byrne
aroused?

Cathleen sighed. At least she’d learned one thing about
women, if not only about herself. Staying strong and resolute in a world where
a handsome smile or flattering word could reduce a woman to a quivering mass of
nerves was imperative.

She steeled herself as he approached. “Good evening, Mr.
Byrne.”

“Miss Ryan,” he drawled with a polite incline of his head.
He avoided her gaze.

All the better.

He eased the puppy back into Jenny’s arms.

He stepped onto the porch, causing it to vibrate. Realizing
he intended to sit, Cathleen sank back into her rocker. He took the one next to
her. His long legs sprawled, making the normal-sized chair look ridiculously
small and making him seem incredibly close. “Is that how it happened for you?”
he asked.

Unable to think clearly, she blinked. “How what happened?”

“Your senses. Were you able to hear better when you lost
your sight?”

“Oh,” she remarked, feeling stupid. “Yes. But it’s not so
much
better
as it is
more
.”

“How so?”

The scent of lemon verbena wafted on the warm breeze.
Cathleen absorbed the knowledge that he’d been in the company of a female who’d
obviously bathed in the stuff. A shard of jealousy pierced her but she refused
to give in to the unwelcome emotion. “When deprived of sight, the ears will
begin to notice distinctions that would have otherwise gone unobserved.”

“Are you saying I have lazy ears?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

A smile played at one corner of his mouth and then those
twin dimples deepened, sending heat into Cathleen’s cheeks. The back of her
neck flamed. She averted her gaze and began to rock.

“Does that hold true for touch as well?” Laced with an
almost husky edge, his voice dropped in timbre.

Her eyes flicked to his and she realized he was toying with
her. And yet she couldn’t do anything but answer truthfully. “Touch most of
all.” She cleared her throat.

This time, it was his turn to look away.

Cathleen tried to steer the conversation back toward
something less intimate. “In a short time, I’ll begin to teach Jenny braille.”

“Will it be difficult for her to learn?”

“It won’t be nearly as hard for her as it would be for you,
Mr. Byrne. It’s practically impossible for a sighted person to learn to read
braille by touch.”

“Well then,” he said. “I’ll be happy to see Jenny reading
again. She so loved her books.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued until Byrne eyed her skirts.
Cathleen drew her feet back to hide the scuffed toes of her boots.

“Might I ask you a personal question, Miss Ryan?”

Dread pervaded her. “Of course.”

“For whom do you mourn?”

The question came as a surprise, especially from him. A
scant two years ago this man had been her brother’s enemy, and though it had
been South Carolinians who’d put a bullet in her brother, the animosity of the
times remained the same. “My…my brother.”

“A brother.” Was that relief or something else that crossed
Byrne’s handsome features? He cleared his throat. “Was he killed in the war?”

“Yes, at Fort Wagner.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said and stared across the
lawn in thought. “In what unit did he serve?”

“The 54
^th
Massachusetts.” The 54
^th
was
renowned for its heroism on the beaches of South Carolina, but mostly known
because it had been one of the first regiments made up of black soldiers.

Mr. Byrne’s eyes indicated no surprise. “He was an officer?”

“Indeed, he was,” Cathleen said proudly. “He was appointed
by the governor himself.”

“That regiment’s officers came from prominent abolitionist
families, did it not?”

Cathleen nodded. “Yes. Our family was hardly prominent, but
Arthur and I did vehemently support the movement.” A bolt of righteousness
blazed through her veins as she awaited confrontation. Doubtless, he would
chide her or tell her she’d been wrong—even though the South had been
unquestionably defeated.

But instead of raising a defense, he merely pursed his lips
and nodded. His chair creaked as he rocked. After several minutes, he muttered,
“Too many good men died in that war.”

He rose and inclined his head, “Miss Ryan, I will see you at
supper.”

“Yes,” she said as he bounded down the steps, stopped to
ruffle Jenny’s hair then trekked toward the stable.

Jenny laughed when she’d given her brother time to get out
of earshot. Wrinkling her nose, she turned in Cathleen’s direction. “Ransom
smells like the Widow Bostick.”

* * * * *

Mr. Byrne did not return to the house for supper. In fact,
Cathleen ate supper alone in her room because the elder Mr. Byrne and little
Charles’ father, Morris Hunt, had returned with no less than five armed riders
and a herd of horses.

By no means was Cathleen an expert on horses, but the
animals she’d viewed from the window rippled with muscles. Some looked
half-wild as they snorted and stomped, obviously wishing to run faster than
their wagon train permitted.

Announcing their arrival, Charles had fled through the house
as hard as his little bare feet would carry him, and all the family, including
Jenny, had rushed out to meet the returning family members.

Sally had brought Cathleen a plate of fried chicken, boiled
potatoes and pole beans accompanied by a stick of buttered cornbread. The fare
here was nothing like the seafood dishes and soups Cathleen had eaten in
Boston, but it was tastefully seasoned and palatable enough. Her glass of sweet
tea had included a few chips of ice and she had to admit the cold beverage was
refreshing in the stifling Southern heat.