Rexanne Becnel (6 page)

Lacie pushed a damp tendril of dark hair from her brow, then rubbed her aching temples. What a terribly trying day it had been!

She had gotten through the graduation ceremony with all the parents only to be faced with Dillon Lockwood. Then had come their confrontation in the parlor, followed by that dreadful supper. She thought she had come through it all fairly well.

But only by lying continuously.

She was living a big lie and supporting it by more and more small lies. Her head pounded anew at the thought of what she was doing. Lying. Stealing. Forging legal papers. What other terrible deeds would she do in the future?

Lacie pressed her fingers against her eyes for a moment, trying to recoup her strength. Then she straightened up. What else
could
she do? she asked herself. What were her options? She was only doing what she must.

At that thought she determinedly buried any feelings of guilt and donned her nightgown and wrapper. She was tired and had a dreadful headache. A long soak in a cooling bath would go far in restoring her spirits.

The house was quiet as she slipped out of her room. The second-floor central hall, which functioned as a library when school was in session, now loomed empty and dim. Only a solitary lamp near the head of the stairs lit the wide, book-lined space.

It was clear that everyone was abed: Ada in her room, Mrs. Gunter in her room, the servants in their quarters near the stable, and Mr. Lockwood in Monsieur Fontenot’s vacated room. Lacie could not help tiptoeing as she crept past the narrow hall that led to Monsieur Fontenot’s room. Above all, she did not wish to alert Dillon Lockwood to her presence outside his chamber.

It had always been Frederick’s habit to let the students and female teachers use the hall if they were up after dark, while he and Monsieur used the outside gallery. But she knew she could no longer count on such privacy. She held her soft slippers in one hand and two squares of toweling in the other as she silently made her way down the broad curving stair.

Downstairs there were no lamps burning, but that did not slow her progress. She could have walked the entire school blindfolded, so familiar was she with the placement of every table, chair, and desk. Only when she had to cross the small stretch of gallery to the bathhouse did she hesitate.

Was that the aroma of tobacco? she wondered as her nose caught a faint scent. Then a light breeze moved the air, and she shook her head softly. It was nothing, only the tensions of this horrible day playing tricks with her mind. Still, she gave a sigh of relief when she finally closed the wood-paneled door behind her.

There were two wall-bracketed oil lamps on either side of the door in the bathing room, but once again Lacie opted for darkness. The three high windows let in the faintest glimmer of moonlight, and that was all she needed. She entered the center of the three curtained bathing alcoves, then turned the water spigot on. The water, collected in the huge copper-lined cistern just outside, was cool on her fingers, but she didn’t mind. It felt good to be chilled, and she didn’t want to be bothered with heating water tonight. She just wanted to lie back in the tub and let both mind and body go lax.

She hung her plain cotton wrapper and nightgown on a brass hook on the wall, then wound her sable brown hair into a thick coil on her head. Once it was tied in place with a thin strip of pale blue ribbon, she stepped into the enameled tin tub.

After the heat of the day, the cool water was a shock, but she quickly became accustomed to the temperature and with a sigh of relief, she leaned back in the tub. Normally she was efficient in her bath, using a minimum of water and time to accomplish her cleansing routine. But tonight was different. Tonight she let the tub fill until all but her shoulders and head were immersed. Tonight she let the soap and the cleansing cloth lie where they were while she enjoyed the luxury of her solitary soak.

Lacie lost track of time as she lay there. She had feared that her worries would dog her thoughts and that she would not be able to relax. But she had not considered her complete exhaustion. She had actually begun to doze off when a firm step awoke her with a start.

Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard the outside door open, then heard heavy, booted footsteps inside the bathhouse.

Lacie was too startled to move. Her first thought was that Yankee soldiers were back. Only one time had the school suffered unwelcome visitors and that had been at the beginning of the Yankee occupation. But that notion disappeared at once, for she knew the Yankee presence in northern Louisiana was slowly waning. Then her eyes widened as an even worse realization struck her. Dillon Lockwood had come into the bathhouse. Any minute now, her humiliation would be complete!

She sat motionless, listening to the sound of his movements as he felt his way in the darkness. Then she heard the sound of a sulphur match striking, and a weak glow lit the unadorned rafters of the room. The glass globe of one lantern was removed and then replaced, and at once the room was bathed in golden light.

Through it all Lacie remained as still as a stone, staring in fright at the whitewashed wall before her. Never had she been in such an awful situation! Only a slight turn of his head would make him realize that someone occupied one of the tubs. If he were a gentleman, he would leave discreetly, and nothing would have to be spoken of it. Neither of them would ever be forced to embarrass the other by referring to this unfortunate incident.

But it was not to be. A soft “I’ll be damned” brought the horror of her predicament out in the open, and she cringed where she sat.

“What in hell are you doing taking a bath in the dark?”

“Get out,” Lacie muttered from between clenched teeth. She did not dare look at him, for that would simply be too mortifying. It was scandalous enough that her bare shoulders and back were exposed to him. To twist about in the narrow tub would display even more of her anatomy to his view.

For a moment he was silent, and she wildly hoped he would accede to her demand. But then she heard the thud of one heavy boot against the wood-plank floor, then the other, and her heart turned to lead. He was an uncivilized barbarian without a shred of decency! And she was trapped in here with him!

“Please get out!” she demanded anew although this time her voice sounded shrill and unnatural. “Are you so crude that you would embarrass a lady like this?”

“Ah, you want me to treat you like a lady? And here I thought we were getting along so well, just like family is supposed to. But then, we’re not really family at all, are we?”

With every fiber of her being she wished to deny having any familial relationship with this ruffian. Yet she clamped her lips tight against her angry retort. He would not goad her into saying anything rash, she vowed.

“Yes, we are. We are family. But even true brothers and sisters do not bathe together,” Lacie managed to reply as she sank as low as she could in the chilly water. “Now do as I say and get out of here!”

This time when he spoke his voice was low and rumbling, a quiet taunt just beyond her ear. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily. And do you know why? Because I don’t believe one word of your story about marrying Frederick.”

It was what she’d feared all along, but hearing him say the accusation out loud caused her to shrink in despair. Then he slid his finger insultingly down her back from her neck to somewhere beneath the water, and she jumped as if she’d been scalded.

“Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” she squeaked as she huddled against the far end of the tub.

“Such soft, pale skin,” he murmured. Then his voice sharpened. “No one would ever guess that under that rigid, corseted facade you wear like armor there is such a woman. But then, that’s probably just one more part of this farce of yours. I suggest you leave off this act of innocence for me, however. I don’t buy it.”

Outraged by his callousness, Lacie felt her fear give way to fury. She clasped her arms before her breasts and twisted herself around just enough to see him.

“You are positively the most ill-bred clod I’ve ever laid eyes on! This is hardly the place for you to air your absurd accusations!” She stared at him with flashing eyes and as much affronted dignity as she could muster. When he only met her angry gaze with his own glittering stare, she took a deep breath. “If this conversation absolutely cannot wait till morning, so be it.” She clenched her teeth before continuing. “Just vacate this room, and I shall meet you in the parlor as soon as I finish.”

She expected an answer from him, but Dillon Lockwood once again proved to be unpredictable. Before her horrified gaze he began calmly to unbutton and remove his shirt. And all the while the smirk on his face grew more and more taunting.

“I’m not leaving this room until I get to the bottom of this. You can tell me right now”—he slipped off his shirt and flung it onto a bench—“or you can wait until I’m stripped down and sitting in the tub next to yours. But one way or another, we’re going to have our talk.”

So saying, he began to unfasten the buttons of his black buckskin trousers. Lacie was so stunned that she could hardly do more than stare at him while he unashamedly removed his shirt. His pants, however, were another matter altogether. With a gasp she jerked her head around and concentrated earnestly on the rolled edge of the enameled tub. But the speckled blue finish before her could not dispel the disturbing vision that lingered in her mind’s eye.

She’d never seen a man’s bare chest. Never. Frederick had even censored the art books that his students used. Consequently, she wasn’t certain just how men were formed. But somehow she knew without a doubt that this man was formed perfectly. Even with her eyes tightly closed she could not escape the image of his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms. His chest rippled with muscles, only slightly concealed by dark hair liberally sprinkled there. That hair narrowed along his belly into a dark ribbon that disappeared—

Lacie wiped that picture from her mind with brutal determination. She dared not look around for fear of seeing his state of complete undress. Instead, she looked desperately over at her gown and wrapper hung so carelessly upon the small hook on the wall. Did she dare reach for them? Could she do so without completely baring herself to his view?

The answer was a disheartening no, but then she considered her towel. It was nearer and would afford her some protection.

As if he had read her very thoughts, Dillon reached for the white cloth. But Lacie grabbed it too. As they pulled the cloth between them, she glared at him furiously.

But her glower only caused his grin to widen. It was absolutely the last straw for Lacie, and with reckless determination she tugged harder on the towel. “Let go of my towel, you horrible beast!”

With a mocking wink he fed it to her slowly. But with every inch of cloth that she gathered in her arms, he moved nearer and nearer, still holding tightly to the other end. As furious as she was, his presence just inches from her was nonetheless intimidating. With a frustrated oath she abandoned any further thoughts of escape. Both fear and fury fought for dominance, but she wisely kept her silence. As his eyes captured hers, glinting like emeralds, she knew she could do nothing but wait for whatever it was he planned to do.

“There, that’s better,” he remarked as he released the towel with a casual flick of his fingers. He squatted beside her tub, his face level with hers. His grin turned up slightly on one side as he watched her gather the now-soaked towel before her. “Now that you’re feeling a little more docile, perhaps we can have that talk.”

“
Docile
is not the word for what I’m feeling!” she snapped, frustrated by how easily he had put himself in charge of the situation.

“Too bad. You’d get a lot further if you were a little more agreeable.”

Lacie straightened up with a start. “You have your nerve! I’m not the one who’s behaving so abhorrently! If you want an agreeable, docile woman, I suggest you go back to wherever it is you’ve come from!”

There was a pause. His eyes fell briefly from her angry gray eyes to her pursed lips, then farther still to her barely concealed breasts, heaving now with the force of her anger. Then his eyes met hers again and this time a different expression showed in his vivid gaze. Even his smile changed as he gazed at her. But it was his words that caused her stomach to tighten in a new, more violent emotion.

“I’ve never found docile women to be of much interest.”

Lacie’s eyes widened at the disturbing tone of his voice. What did he mean? she wondered. But she feared she knew and she began to shiver uncontrollably.

“Is your bath too cold?” he asked almost solicitously, letting his fingers play carelessly on the water’s surface. She knew his interest was insincere and that he had asked the question only to unnerve her more. But far from feeling chilled, she suddenly felt uncomfortably warm as a slow, heated flush crept up her chest and neck.

“I—I would like to get out of the tub now,” she whispered in a small, strained voice. She turned her eyes determinedly toward her knees, which lay just beneath the water’s reflective surface.

“Suit yourself.”

When he stood up, she turned in surprise at his unexpected cooperativeness. She tried not to notice his scanty attire of only silkaline drawers, but it was hard to ignore such a blatantly virile specimen of the male gender. To her complete dismay, a blush quickly colored her cheeks.

But instead of stepping away to give her privacy, he only pushed back the plain curtain that separated her tub from the next one. Then he proceeded to doff his last garment and step into the empty tub.

Lacie’s cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment as he turned on the water, then leaned back in the tub. Never in her entire life had she been confronted with so impossible a situation! Never had any man so completely shaken her self-confidence—not even that horrible Yankee colonel who’d threatened to set fire to Sparrow Hill School and had torched the old barn. No, Dillon Lockwood had more gall than ten Yankee colonels!

She struggled to contain her myriad warring emotions—outrage, resentment, and defeat among them—from showing. Her only satisfaction would come in besting him at his own game. But no matter how she twisted and turned the matter around in her mind, she could see no escape that would not bare even more of herself to his view. Her dark brows lowered in a furious frown as she admitted he had her bested. But this was just one battle, she told herself sternly, not the whole war. His strong-armed bullying only strengthened her resolve to keep Sparrow Hill out of his greedy clutches.