Rexanne Becnel (14 page)

But Lacie only shrugged off his touch. Then she gripped the saddle horn and slid down from her perch on his lap.

“You may make what accusations you like about Frederick, but no one will believe you,” she vowed as she backed away from him, then nervously mounted the steps.

Dillon leaned over a little, the leather of his saddle creaking in the quiet afternoon. “You already know it’s true.”

As much as she wanted to deny it, Lacie could not. What he’d said made too much sense. Dear, dear Frederick! No wonder he’d never married. She looked up into Dillon’s unsmiling face and her mind thrashed about on this new, uncertain ground. Would he expose Frederick’s secret in order to discredit her claim? Would he be so cruel as to do that?

Then she remembered what he’d said before: he would fight dirty. He had said he would, and now she believed it was true.

For a moment longer she stared up at him, so handsome, so cruel. But she did not know how to counter his subtle threat, and to her complete chagrin, she could only gather her skirts, turn, and stalk away. It took all her strength not to run.

N
INA WAS CLOSE TO
tears. So was Lacie.

The little girl’s father had sent word that instead of coming himself, he would have a trusted servant come for Nina. She had to be at the station in Kimbell by ten thirty to catch the train to Marshall, Texas. But the child did not want to leave any more than Lacie wished her to go.

Still, Lacie could not keep Nina against her father’s wishes. She knew Nina was no protection against Dillon, only a slight mediating buffer. But she dreaded the child’s absence nonetheless.

To appease Nina’s fear of leaving, Dillon had promised to drive her to town. He needed his horse shod, he said, so it would be no trouble at all. Lacie could not bear the idea of accompanying Dillon anywhere, but she was not able to resist Nina’s tearful plea that she, too, see her off. So it was that the first dawn’s light found the three of them headed toward town, Nina sitting in the middle demanding attention from them both, and the tall black stallion trailing behind the Sparrow Hill carriage.

Lacie was not prepared for all the activity they encountered when they finally arrived in Kimbell. Banners were strung across the main road. Flags fluttered from every balcony and porch, and the streets were crowded with wagons, horses, and people.

“What’s happening?” Nina asked in wide-eyed wonder.

“It must be the Founder’s Day celebration. It hasn’t been celebrated since before the war, but I’d heard it might be held this year since the Yankees have finally ceased occupying this area.” Lacie looked around in surprise. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Oh, can I stay? Can I stay?” the little girl begged, looking first to Lacie, then turning pleading eyes on Dillon.

“I’m afraid your train won’t wait, little one,” he answered. Then he looked over at Lacie. “But we have time to buy you a few treats to make your trip more fun. Let me drop off my horse at the livery first.”

By the time Nina boarded the train with the stout woman who had been sent to fetch her, the child was smiling with delight. She’d already eaten two lengths of taffy and had four huge suckers, a small bag of mints, and an endless loop of licorice wrapped in butcher paper. In addition, equal lengths of red, white, and blue ribbons were tied in her hair, and a whirligig on a stick spun wildly every time she waved it.

“ ’Bye!” she called from the open window of the railroad day coach. She waved the stiff paper toy back and forth. “ ’Bye, Miss Lacie! ’Bye, Mr. Lockwood!”

“Good-bye, Nina. Have a good time!” Lacie called as the train began its noisy departure. She waved her linen handkerchief until Nina’s face was but a blurry speck in the distance. Then her smile faded.

Now she was in for it, she thought nervously. Now there would be no avoiding Dillon Lockwood. She looked at him from beneath the shelter of her thick lashes. On the surface he appeared calm and relaxed, not at all the predator she knew him to be. Perhaps it was the well-cut black trousers and the finely tailored white shirt that he wore with the neck open in the hot May weather. With his hat off and his brow clear, he was an astoundingly handsome man, the sort whose attention any woman would love to have.

Yet when he straightened from where he leaned against a post, put his dark slouch hat back on, and turned his emerald gaze on her, Lacie knew it was all illusion. This same man might decide to destroy Frederick’s reputation in order to get what he wanted, she reminded herself. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she had better be careful.

She stiffened when he crossed to her, then tried to pull away when he took her arm.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, but not so loudly that anyone else might hear.

“Going to the Founder’s Day activities, of course. I think we both could use a little fun. Don’t you?”

“I can’t imagine it ever being fun to spend time with you,” she muttered as she tried once again to yank her arm free.

But his grasp was firm, and he would not let her loose.

“You’re making a spectacle,” he warned in a stage whisper. “People are beginning to stare.”

At once she stilled her struggles and glanced cautiously around. To her chagrin, a grizzled old man was staring curiously at them, but he quickly looked away. No one else, however, seemed to take much notice of them.

“Let me go,” she demanded as quietly as she could.

“No.” His hand moved over hers, and his thumb stroked lightly along her knuckles. “Why don’t you just calm down and try to enjoy yourself? This is my first real chance to reacquaint myself with the good people of Kimbell. You can provide the introductions. After all, you are my sister-in-law.” He grinned that infuriatingly smug grin of his, and Lacie turned her head away in frustration.

“You hardly believe that, so why continue to goad me with it?”

“Because you’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”

Lacie tried to ignore the immediate response that his low, husky words aroused in her. He was lying, she told herself, and making fun of her in the process. Yet even that knowledge could not prevent warmth from flooding through her. Would that his words were sincere! the traitorous thought crept up on her. Would that he were a true gentleman and could be trusted! She might even reconsider Mrs. Gunter’s ridiculous suggestion that she marry him if she thought he could be trusted, for that would solve all her problems. And his.

But he
couldn’t
be trusted, she reminded herself harshly. He’d warned her that he fought dirty, and she knew from personal experience that it was true. What he hadn’t been able to achieve by bullying, he was now trying to gain by flattery and seduction.

But it wouldn’t work—at least not as long as she kept her wits about her and didn’t succumb to his smooth words.

She kept her eyes straight ahead as they strolled down the street. Only occasionally did she nod to someone she knew. She was aware of the curious looks they were receiving, first from the barber and two of his cronies, then from Mrs. Mooring and her son. When they passed a group of young ladies, however, she realized there was another sort of curiosity growing.

“Hello, Miss Lacie,” a shy Jessica Landry called to her.

“Hello, Jessica,” Lacie replied, nodding to the several other young women clustered with her. Two of them were former Sparrow Hill students, while the other three were unknown to her.

But they were all looking straight at Dillon without a glance for her.

“Good morning, ladies.” Dillon tipped his hat to them. Then when Lacie looked over at him, he slowly smiled. “It certainly is a lovely day for a fair.”

At the girls’ quick and animated replies, Lacie felt a sudden hollowness. She quickly shook it off, for good manners demanded that she make the introductions, at least to the girls she knew. After she had completed the introductions, she was obviously no longer needed. Clearly they all knew that Dillon Lockwood was Frederick Kimbell’s brother, though no one alluded to the disparities in their social standing. It was readily apparent that in their eyes his dark good looks completely outweighed any deficiencies in his upbringing.

As Lacie watched a particularly buxom young blonde dressed in a pale blue muslin confection that was the exact shade of her eyes, she could not deny that the dark emotions seething within her were uncomfortably close to jealousy. Why she felt that way, she couldn’t fathom. The girl seemed to be a hussy, she told herself, and she really shouldn’t care.

In irritation she pulled her arm from Dillon’s grasp, and this time he did not stop her. For several more minutes she managed to stand there. Then, after a few brief words to Jessica, she murmured a quick excuse to the group, turned, and left.

She tried not to hurry as she made her way along the crowded street, but Lacie wanted nothing more than to run away from the place. Everyone around her was smiling and laughing and enjoying themselves in the company of people they cared about. She was the only one who was alone, the only one who didn’t belong.

Unexpected tears stung her eyes, yet she refused to give in to them. In a flurry of wilting black bombazine, she stepped down from the plank walk and hurried across the dusty street toward the carriage still parked alongside the train station. She would drive herself home, she vowed. There was no reason why she should not. After all, Dillon’s horse was here being reshod. He would not be stranded. And even if he were, why should she care? Besides, now that he had all those silly young girls flocking around him, he would hardly notice her absence.

When she reached the brett, she was quite distraught. As she was fumbling with the long reins, blinking back angry tears, she was abruptly caught by the arms, then spun around.

“Where in hell do you think you’re going?”

Lacie stared up at Dillon’s angry face, but her blurry gaze would not hold against the hard jade of his.

“I’m going home,” she said stiffly, turning her face away.

“Why?” When she didn’t respond, his grip tightened, and his voice grew harsher. “Why?”

“Because I want to!” Lacie burst out. “Because I don’t want to stand around and watch you flirting with those—those—”

She immediately wished she could take back her words, for an amused glimmer lit his dark eyes. “My, my! If I didn’t know how cold-hearted and calculating you are, I’d almost believe you’re jealous, Lacie.” His lips curved in a mocking smile as he considered her. “But then again, you
have
always responded so warmly to my kisses. Perhaps you are jealous.”

Had it not been for the tears that trembled so perilously on her lashes, she would have corrected his conceited notion once and for all. It wasn’t jealousy at all! It was just—just
everything.
But she could hardly explain that to him, and she would not risk crying before him. She was only able to choke back her tears and mutter under her breath, “I want to go home.”

For a long moment he didn’t respond. Then his brow arched slightly, and a speculative gleam lit his deep-set eyes. “Of all the good citizens of Kimbell, you should feel right at home here today. After all, you
are
the heir to the Kimbell family’s good name and holdings. Why do you feel such a desperate need to flee?” He chuckled when she averted her eyes.

“If you’re going to play the part of Frederick’s widow, Lacie, you’re going to have to do better. I know you’re a liar, but one thing I’ve never suspected you of was cowardice.”

He released her arms then and stepped back. He reached for a thin cheroot and lit it neatly with one stroke of a match against the carriage wheel.

Lacie was caught between tears and an angry retort, between defeat and outrage. Damn him! she thought as she stared at his darkly handsome face and his taunting grin. Yet for all that she wished to escape this place, she recognized the truth of his words. She had proclaimed herself to be Mrs. Frederick Kimbell. Now she must play the part, no matter how painful. With grim determination she set herself to the task.

“I’m no coward, no matter what you may think. I’m sure you are the only one here who would begrudge a recent widow her grief. No one else would find my departure amiss.”

“But it’s not your grief that you’re running from. Why not be honest, at least with me? After all, I already know the truth.”

“What you
know
is only what you
wish
to be the truth!” she retorted as her anger restored her courage.

He gave her an odd look, his expression almost curious. For an instant she felt as if he were seeing all the way inside her. When he spoke, his voice was quieter.

“I know those young ladies made you feel less than they were. You’re a mere schoolteacher, whereas they have socially elite positions in town society as marriageable southern belles.” He paused. “Even though they haven’t yet recognized that their elite society has ended, surely you can see that life in the South will never be as it was before. There’s no need for you to feel beneath them.”

Emotions seemed to catch in her throat as he spoke, and Lacie looked quickly away from his serious face. He had started off by taunting her and calling her names. Why had he now become so perversely compassionate? She took a shaky breath and then brushed at a bit of nettle that clung to her skirt. I can’t trust him, she told herself. I can’t trust his sympathetic tone and reassuring words, for that is precisely what he wants.

And yet…

And yet she wanted to. He knew what it was to be an outsider, never quite belonging. Perhaps for once he was being sincere. Perhaps this one time he was showing his true self.

“I don’t feel beneath them,” she insisted. But her words sounded weak even to her ears.

Their eyes met for a long trembling moment. Then he frowned, tossed down his cheroot, and ground it with his heel. “I suggest you work a little harder at playing your part, then. That way, when I finally find you out, you can at least play to the sympathy of the townsfolk here. They’ll think I’m the horrible bastard brother who robbed the poor widow of all she had.” He gave her a mirthless grin, then reached for her arm. “Shall we go? Our audience awaits.”