Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed (19 page)

She touched the side of his cheek, gazing up at her cousin as though she'd committed the worst imaginable sin. "Say you will, or I shall perish from embarrassment!"

Erasmus felt his stomach chum. He'd had enough of the girl's sugary display of fragile femininity for now. If he withdrew for a short nap in his room, there wouldn't be too much she could do in the span of an hour or so.

"Hrrghumph." He cleared his throat to draw their attention and asked Cathy if she would mind his absence. "The perquisites of age, m'dear. It was a tiring journey."

"Of course, I don't mind," Cathy replied, smiling with genuine delight as she assured him she would look after her cousin's welfare. "Take as long as you wish, Erasmus dear! After I see to it that Devlan has a cool drink to quench his thirst, I'm plannin' to give him a little tour of the house. I really want him to feel welcome."

There was no doubt that Cathy had the innate ability to make any man feel welcome. She rang for the butler, and as Erasmus followed the servant from the room, he found himself wondering how long she would maintain the relationship on a family level. The two were undeniably attracted to each other; how soon would she drop her cousinly attitude and approach Devlan woman to man? Whichever way she handled the seduction, the lawyer was sure of one fact-Dey would think it had been his idea.

When he returned from showing Master Paisley to his room, the butler served Dev his brandy, observing the startling resemblance he bore to the picture of Master Rian Nicholls.

There had been rumors flying lately that Paisley had found the true heir, and his appearance today with this young man confirmed the tales. Maintaining his air of polished reserve, Creighton retired as unobtrusively as possible.

Cathy continued to ply Dev with a breathless rush of questions designed to flatter his vanity, employing every artifice to keep his attention upon her. What had he done for a living? Was the West truly as wild and untamed as rumor painted it? Wouldn't New York seem dull and insipid after such an exciting life?

"Just listen to me--how I do run on!" she finally exclaimed with a properly contrite expression. "If I don't let you get a word in soon, you'll let me bore you t'death!" Her eyes were wide, deep pools of green framed by gold as she smiled and demurely awaited his protest.

"A woman with your looks could never be boring, Cathy," Dev replied galIantly. Rewarded by a brightening of her smile, he paused to take a sip of the brandy.

"You've forgotten that we once knew each other, though. I remember a spoiled little girl who was particularly spiteful when she wasn't given her way. Has that changed or do you just hide it better now?" For the first time in a long while, Cathy was unsure of herself with a man. There was a stirring deep within her, an answer to his animal magnetism, but as she gazed into his warm golden eyes, a warning bell tinkeld in her brain. She sensed a will of steel beneath his smile. "We were much younger then, Dev," she answered at last, and a charming dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. "You often tugged at my curls ... and you never let me join in your games! I am a woman now, and you are ..." "A man who's grown up to realize that the best games played are those between opposite sexes. You'll find my attitude has improved, cousin. What sort of game did you have in mind?" Cathy found herself enjoying the repartee with Dev and arched her head back as a low, inviting ripple of laughter bubbled from her throat. "Why, Devlan-I swear, in another moment you will have me blushin' from head to toe! After all, I am a wedded lady!"

She was wedded, Dev thought to himself, that much of her claim was true, anyway. "And I have a wife, but neither of our partners seems to be much in evidence."

So, he did have a wife. That might have been a complication but for the callous manner in which he'd referred to her. Generally she would have immediately changed the subject.

Other men's wives were a nuisance and not a fit topic for discussion, but she was terribly curious about this particular woman. "And why didn't your wife accompany you East, Devlan? I am curious about the woman who could entice you into marriage … she must be very beautiful."

A distant, shuttered expression had chased the amusement from Dev's face. Certainly he owed no fidelity to Jenny; she'd agreed to that before they pronounced their vows, yet he could almost feel her presence beside him now, watching the game he was playing with his seductive cousin. "It was a ... mutual decision. Jenny had just lost a ... our child and her health was not up to a long trip." Dev abruptly changed the subject, reminding Cathy that she was going to show him the house.

"Of course, I'd almost forgotten!" Cathy rose, still wondering why the subject of his wife had made Dev's mood change so drastically and determined to find out more about the mysterious Mrs. Cantrell. "Do come along ... I promise not to bore you with all the details about our family skeletons, but there are some interesting portraits in the gallery." She took him in arm once more, pressing more closely than was proper or polite, but at this point she didn't care to keep any distance between them.

The gallery was a long, high-ceilinged room lined with beautifully framed oil paintings.

Christine St. Marin. Devlan smiled down at her descendants from her portrait placed between that of her son-in-law, the handsome, dark-haired Ryan Nicholls, and her oldest daughter, Catherine-the notorious and breathtakingly beautiful Cat Devlan. The heavy draperies hanging at the gallery windows were only half-open shading the room from the afternoon sun, but even so Dev could see the resemblance the present Cathy bore to Cat.

It was more of a physical similarity than one of the spirit. Dev had the ridiculous feeling, staring up at Cat, that, had he been alive then, he would have battled Ryan for the love of her. Her eyes, the same color as Cathy's but not near as worldly-wise, seemed to snap with animation, warning that she was not one to be taken lightly. Despite the difference in color, they reminded him of Jenny's eyes.

Cathy had been watching Dev closely. He was obviously taken by the portrait of their ancestress, Cat DevIan. That would make seducing him all the more easy, for she had been told repeatedly in the past of her likeness to the lady. The first true measure of desire she had felt in many months was beginning to warm her blood, but she would have to curb her impatience. It would not do to appear too bold to Dev. She sensed that he would have to make the first move.

"Jenny is a lovely name," she said now, deciding to probe further into the depth of his feelings for his wife. "I'll wager she's a redhead with, let me see ..." She finally had Dev's attention and posed, with one plump finger at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, blue eyes-a fiery redhead with blue eyes! Am I right?"

Dev stepped closer. There was only a matter of inches between their bodies. "Only partially.

Her eyes are blue, but Jenny's hair is very rich and black, as black as a raven's wing. Is there anything else you'd like to know about her?"

"If you're in love with her."

The bluntness of her very direct query took Dev by surprise. "With my wife?" The cynical sound of his laughter denied that he was even before he spoke. "It's nothing more than a marriage of convenience, made more agreeable by the fact that Jenny is perfectly happy to let me go my own way and do as I please."

Cathy was satisfied with the answers he'd given, yet she couldn't resist one more question.

"And is she also free to do as she pleases? That would only be fair, wouldn't it?"

Dev thought a moment before he replied. It had never really entered his mind that two could play at the same game, that Jenny would even want ... he dismissed the idea as foolish, but the fact that two thousand miles separated them and he really didn't know what was going on was unnerving. Nothing in his manner betrayed him, though, as he calmly answered, "Yes, all's fair in love and war, isn't that how the saying goes? Jen is as free as I am to ... indulge."

Dev cut off any further disturbing questions by taking Cathy into his arms. His mouth touched" hers tentatively at first, as he tested the willingness of her body, then with increasing sureness as she melted against him. When they broke apart moments later, Cathy was breathless and more than content with the way matters were proceeding.

"That was rather forward of you, Devlan," she commented at last, tilting her head to one side as she gazed into his eyes and tried to discern his mood. "You don't waste time on the subtler points of courtship, do you? I'm not sure I like that."

A rogue's grin surfaced on Dev's face. "Sure you do," he asserted, slipping an arm around her waist to draw her close again, "your body just doesn't lie as easily as those sweet lips of yours. Besides ... why waste time when we both want the same thing?"

With Dev's hand boldly fondling her breasts and his mouth pressed to her throat, Cathy found she couldn't think of an answer to his question. She couldn't think at all, so she took the only logical action under the circumstances ... she let her body answer for her.

Eleven

Two months had passed since Dev had gone East with Erasmus Paisley; and with each day, Jenny grew more lonesome for his company. She had plenty of time to consider her feelings.

Isa, with little enough to do for her mistress, had withdrawn further into her shell. The girl was terribly homesick and spent increasingly more time at her daily devotions, perhaps praying, Jenny thought, that some miracle would occur to send them on their way back to the sunny coast of Spain.

Sally, when she wasn't busy with housework or cooking, had occupied herself with the task of repairing Luke Marlow's small wardrobe of threadbare shirts. She and Luke were courting or, as they called it here, sparking. Even though the romance was blossoming slowly, Jenny was sure they would be wed by spring. Luke's rough manner softened considerably as his regard for the dead preacher's daughter grew. Sally, in tum, became warmer and more lively.

Winter closed in abruptly following a short, dry autumn, and deep snowdrifts often surrounded the house, isolating its occupants until the weather cleared. It was snowing again, and now, though they'd just finished an early supper, darkness was already settling over the landscape. Jenny was safely tucked in bed, wearing one of the flannel nightgowns a winter-wise Sally' had loaned her. The constant blaze in her fireplace, the gown, and several layers of quilted comforters were the only buffers between Jenny and the unremitting chill, and she'd developed the habit of retiring each night after supper to read in the solitude of her room.

Despite the multitude of books in her father's library, she was beginning to feel the loneliness more now. She had read most of the interesting material, the novels and old fashion books, and she was faced with nothing but dull, dry texts on economics and science.

There was still one book left, resting now on her nightstand, that held her attention. She'd discovered it by accident· this morning, during a frustrating search of the shelves. It had been shoved behind some larger books, and when she spied it and pulled it forth, a heavy layer of dust covered its spine and gilt-edged pages. The title, Dreams and Visions; Portals of the Future?, intrigued her and she tucked it' under her arm and brought it upstairs. Even more intriguing was the fact that her mother's name was written on the inside cover-it didn't seem the sort of subject that would interest Mariah.

Since early childhood Jenny had possessed an ability to dream the events to come. Generally her dreams concerned the health or welfare of someone she held dear.

Her father had always teased her about what he called her "gift," claiming it was an inheritance from her Indian forebears. They came less often as she grew to adulthood; she hadn't been bothered by such a dream for at least a year or more now.

Jenny reached for the book and as she opened it, a folded slip of paper fell onto her lap.

When she unfolded and opened it, she immediately recognized her mother's neat penmanship. There were only three words written down, "dreams, premonitions" and her own name, "Jenny." In addition, two page numbers had been noted, underscored with ink and marked by an asterisk.

Her curiosity piqued, Jenny quickly flipped to the first page. There her mother had underlined several sentences. "... this natural ability to predict future happenings, through a trance-state or through dreams, is thought to be an inherited trait. Though 'civilized' society frowns on such revelations, they are an accepted part of the religions of more primitive cultures, a communion with the elements ..." On page seventy-six, Jenny found another sentence underscored. "Children must be reassured that they have not 'caused' an event by premonition; to dream of the death of a beloved grandparent or other relative and then see the realization of the same within a short time can be terrifying to the young mind."

Mariah had never made an issue of Jenny's dreams. Was her restraint due to what she'd read in this book? Jenny nodded to herself, yes ... that sounded like her mother. While Papa had teased her about the sometimes scary predictions she'd made, Mama had made light of them, assuring her they were common to everyone. Most people, she'd insisted, just simply didn't remember what they'd dreamed.

Before she'd met Rodrigo, Jenny had dreamed of a tall, dark man ... but didn't all girls envision a future lover who would sweep them off their feet? But then there was what she always thought of as the Sun Dance dream and the vivid memory of the light-haired warrior she'd later recognized as Dev, Jenny spent the next hour skimming the book's contents.

When she finally laid it aside, she understood a bit more about this mysterious "power" of hers to predict. A part of the book had delved into the theories about the origin of such abilities; a part detailed their place in the history of religion; and one very speculative chapter stated a commonly held belief that prophecy and precognition were developed through multiple existences-a succession of reincarnations on earth with each incarnation intensifying such powers.

As a Catholic convert, Jenny knew she should reject such an idea, that in the eyes of the Church, it was a heretical blasphemy, but for some strange reason she wasn't alarmed. In fact, she found it an entirely logical evolution, consistent with her belief in God.