Morning Song (25 page)

The fireworks, she was beginning to fear, came only with Stuart.

Could she wed a man whose kiss made her want to scrub her teeth afterwards? No, she could not. But how was she to tell Mitch—and everyone else? Like a snowball rolling downhill, her engagement was getting bigger and bigger, and more impossible to deny, with each minute that passed.

Even after Mitch had gone and Jessie went upstairs to bed, her mind was so troubled that she could not sleep. Finally she gave up the attempt altogether, pulled her wrapper on over her 214

nightdress and went along the corridor. She would sit on the veranda until the night air induced sleepiness—if it ever did. The house was dark except for the fairy lights that were left burning at the top and bottom of the stairs and at the end of each corridor. The servants had long since retired to the quarters, and Stuart and Celia were clearly abed. Jessie estimated the time at just gone midnight. On other nights the sound of quarreling from the rear of the house had persisted long after this. But tonight the house was quiet. Jessie might as well have been the only one in the wide world who was awake.

Tugging open the heavy oak door, Jessie stepped onto the veranda. Immediately her attention was caught by the midnightblue velvet of the sky. It was ablaze with stars that twinkled like diamonds, so many that Jessie was briefly dazzled. Pulling the door shut behind her, she stepped to the rail. Her hands closed around the smooth carved wood, and her chin tilted back. The moon was huge and as round as a wheel of cheese, surrounded by millions of blinking stars. A slight breeze blew from the east, sending small dark clouds like wisps of veiling scudding across the glittering sky. Foliage rustled, locusts sang, and night birds and their prey shrieked and called. The sneer breathtaking beauty of the night bestowed its own serenity upon Jessie. For the first time since she'd promised to wed Mitch, she felt a degree of peace.

Then, mixed with the delicate scent of lilacs and mimosa, Jessie caught a whiff of pungent cigar smoke.

Her head snapped around. At the far end of the veranda she could plainly see the tip of a cigar, glowing red. It was only slightly more difficult to make out the massive dark shape of the man, but as her eyes adjusted from the brightness of the sky to 215

the gloom at the corner of the veranda, she could see him well enough. He was tipped back in a rocking chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the rail in the posture she had favored before he had masterminded her metamorphosis from harum-scarum girl into lady. Despite the chill, he was in his shirtsleeves, the elegant brocade waistcoat he had worn at dinner hanging carelessly open and his neckcloth absent. As Jessie watched, he took another drag at the cigar so that its tip glowed, then let hand and cigar drop to dangle at his side. "Hello, Stuart." He smiled at her. She could clearly see the baring of his teeth.

"Too excited over your forthcoming nuptials to sleep?" A sneer underlay the question.

"Yes," Jessie said defiantly, all thought of the night's beauty having fled. One hand still rested on the rail. The other clenched beside her.

"So you decided you could stomach his kisses after all/'

"Yes."

"Looking forward to them, are you?" "Certainly." Stuart chuckled, the sound low and fairly unpleasant. "Liar."

"At least he's free to marry me!"

"That," said Stuart, "is undeniably true." The cheroot glowed briefly again. Then, with his other hand, Stuart lifted something else—a bottle-to his lips, tilting his head back to meet it. Jessie watched in dismay as he took a long swallow from the bottle, then set it on the floor again and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Never before had she seen Stuart drink, or for that matter behave in such an ill-mannered way. But at least the spirits explained his unaccustomed disarray and the biting undertone to his words.

"You're drunk!"

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"Just a trifle well to live. And why not, pray? A man don't get news of his stepdaughter's engagement every day."

"I'm going to bed."

"To dream of darling Mitch?" The sneer was pronounced. Stuart lifted the bottle to his lips again, tilted it, and drank.

"That's certainly better than dreaming of you!" "Undoubtedly." Stuart set the bottle on the floor and got to his feet, then flicked the remains of his cheroot over the rail. Jessie stood her ground as he came toward her, his movements carefully precise but not unsteady, which she would have expected if he'd been truly drunk. Although a tiny voice deep inside her urged her to flee, she did not. Back straight, head proudly erect, she stood her ground. Only she knew how tightly her hand was clenched on the rail.

He stopped directly in front of her. It was only at times like this, when he stood so close and she had to look up at him, that Jessie realized just how tall Stuart truly was. He was taller than she by several inches more than a head, and so broad of shoulder and wide of chest that his shadow on the ground completely dwarfed her much slighter one.

His hand came up to rest against the side of her neck. The warm strength of his fingers curled around her nape under her hair, which was freshly brushed and allowed to hang loose for sleep. Even at that slight touch, her foolish heart began to pound.

"Nevertheless," Stuart said softly, "I prefer that you dream of me."

And he lowered his head to her mouth.

He kissed her softly, tenderly, his lips promising her the world. Jessie's eyes closed, and her hand clenched even tighter over the rail as she fought the urge to succumb to that tender assault. 217

Their bodies didn't so much as touch, and the only hold he had on her was his hand curved around her neck. But her blood turned to lava in her veins.

It was only when he parted her lips to deepen the kiss that she tasted the whiskey on his tongue and lips and remembered that he was, if not drunk, the next thing to it. Would he be kissing her so if he were sober? Or would he be wishing her well in her marriage to Mitch?

Her guess as to the answer gave her the strength to push him away.

"You're nothing but a dog in the manger," she said bitterly, and to emphasize her disillusion she drew her hand across her mouth as though to wipe away the taste of his kiss.

"What does that mean, pray?"

He was looking down at her, his face in shadow but his eyes glittering as brightly as the stars.

"You don't want me yourself, but you don't want anyone else to have me, either."

"Whatever gave you the notion that I don't want you?" Even as her heart speeded up at that, his lips curled into a nasty, mocking smile. Then, shocking her into immobility, his hand lifted to cup and squeeze her left breast. The soft globe nestled into the palm of his right hand as if it belonged there. Jessie could feel the heat of his skin burning hers through the double layers of her wrapper and nightdress. For a moment she couldn't so much as breathe.

"I do want you. And it's clear"—his thumb ran suggestively over the nipple, which sprang to desperate attention at his touch—"that you also want me."

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"How dare you!" Immobile no longer, Jessie made an inarticulate sound of rage and knocked his hand away. It was plain from the obnoxious smile with which he met her outraged eyes that he'd meant merely to demonstrate her helpless response to his touch. And of course he'd succeeded, in spades.

"I'd be willing to bet that your nipple doesn't do that for darling Mitch."

"You," Jessie said through gritted teeth, "can go to hell!" It was one of the few times in her life that she'd ever sworn aloud, and it felt good. Triumphant, she turned away, to seek shelter in the safety of her bedroom. But Stuart, the devil, was laughing.

"Ah, how fickle is woman! Was it only the other night that you said you loved me?"

Jessie couldn't have been stopped faster by a punch to the stomach. She drew in a sharp breath, then felt a rushing tide of red surge up to cloud her vision. How dared he mock the most profound confession she'd ever made in her life! Her hands clenched into fists, her teeth ground together, and she turned on him with a sound of pure rage—to find him laughing still.

"You cad!" she hissed, and flew at him, feet flailing, fists swinging. He grabbed her upper arms and held her off—and continued to laugh.

"Now, now," he cautioned her, the glint in his eyes belying his smirking mouth. "You love me, remember?"

If she'd had a gun, she would have shot him. Fortunately she was weaponless—except for a long-ago piece of advice that Tudi had given her on how to defend herself against a man. 219

'Let—me—go! she spat, and when he did she gave a little smirk of her own, drew back her arm, and drove her doubled fist as hard as she could into his groin.

XXXI

Then she ran. She left him doubled over, cursing like a stevedore, and ran as if her life depended upon it, which it probably did. She had no doubt at all that if Stuart could get his hands on her at that moment, his first impulse would be to put them around her neck and squeeze the life from her.

The stable was her goal. She would saddle up Firefly and ride for her life, ride until she was exhausted, until her head was clear enough or her body tired enough to sleep, ride until Stuart had had time to recover from the black temper that her blow was certain to have put him in. It didn't matter that she wore only her nightdress and wrapper, or that her feet were bare. It didn't matter that it was gone midnight. Her impulse was to get away, far away, from Mimosa—and Stuart. She would ride until she felt like coming home again, however long that might be. The grass was cool and damp against her feet, with an occasional rock to bruise the tenderness of her sole. Jessie stepped on a spiny holly leaf as she neared the stable door, and had to stop to pull it from her foot before she could proceed. She was bending down, her wounded foot on the opposite knee while she yanked the leaf free, when she be-came aware of Stuart running as lightly as an Indian in pursuit of her.

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Hurt foot or no, Jessie sprinted for the stable like a wild thing. It was dark as a cave inside, the horses all quiet in their stalls, Progress asleep high above in the loft. Jasper sprang up from his bed of hay with a "Woof!" only to quiet down when he discovered the intruder was his mistress. With Stuart so close behind, Jessie knew that her chances of escaping his vengeance were slim. But she hoped that, with the advantage of darkness and her superior knowledge of the stable, she might be able to get a saddle on Firefly and then ride the mare out right under Stuart's nose. Once she was mounted, he wouldn't be able to stop her. If she had to, she would run him down.

The tack room was at the far end of the barn. With Jasper galloping at her heels, clearly under the impression that this was a new game, Jessie pulled the door open and rushed inside. The door shut on its own behind them, barely missing Jasper's tail. Sacks of grain littered the floor, some full, some half full. Saddles were slung over sawhorses in the middle of the room. More saddles hung from pegs, as did bridles and brushes and the countless other pieces of paraphernalia necessary to properly care for horses. A tiny window opposite the door let in moonlight. The silvery beam helped Jessie to avoid tripping over any of the various obstacles in her way as she snatched Firefly's bridle from the peg where it hung.

The bridle dangled from one hand while she scanned the pegs for her saddle. Jessie found it, and was stretching up to unhook the stirrup from the peg that held it when the door to the tack room opened on its silent leather hinges. Jasper woofed, then bounded toward the newcomer. Jessie whirled, swallowing hard. 221

Stuart was silhouetted in the aperture, a darker, more solid shape against an infinity of darkness.

"Get him, boy!" Jessie hissed, only to be confounded as the traitorous hound jumped up on the man, tail wagging furiously. Stuart didn't even stagger. He gave Jasper a quick pat on the head, said, "Down!" in the voice of a master, and was immediately obeyed. Then Stuart gave the dog a shove through the door, said, "Go to bed, sir!" and closed the door with Jasper on the other side of it.

To Jessie's dismay, the dog didn't even whimper for

readmittance. Her loyal protector was clearly as much butter in Stuart's hands as were everyone and everything else at Mimosa.

"Now, then, Jessie," Stuart said. From the silky tone of his voice Jessie knew that he was every bit as angry as she'd feared he's be.

"If you lay so much as a finger on me, I'll scream the rafters down!"

Despite her threat, her words were a harsh whisper. Sne could not be the cause of a confrontation between Stuart and Progress, and she knew it. Indeed, even if she screamed and Progress, who in his later years slept like the dead, heard her, whether he would then be on her side was doubtful. He too had succumbed to Stuart's charm long since. Was there no one who was immune to the crafty devil?

"Scream all you like, because I intend to lay much more than a finger on you."

Although tlwre was not enough light to permit her to see his face clearly, Jessie was sure from the sound of his words that his teeth were clenched. As he approached her, looming large in the darkness, her hand fell away from the saddle and she moved 222

back, away from him. He continued to stalk her until her back was against the wall and there was nowhere else for her to go.

"Trapped, Jessie?" The words were very soft, but no less menacing for all that. Jessie knew Stuart wouldn't harm her, but still a frisson of fear shivered up her spine. He looked so very tall and menacing in the darkness. His eyes, the only part of him that was clearly visible, glittered through the gloom like the stars in the sky outside. Her back was pressed so hard against the rough plank wall that she could feel the texture of it clear through her garments to her skin. Her bare toes curled against the grittiness of scattered bits of grain and straw. Her eyes were wide and fixed on his face—and her fingers were wrapped around the cool leather straps of the bridle.

The bridle. She was not quite defenseless, after all.

"Get back!"