Tears of the Renegade (3 page)

“That shack!” Preston's voice was full of disdain.

Cord shrugged. “You can't account for tastes. I prefer shacks to mausoleums.” He grinned, looking around himself at the formal furniture, the original oil paintings, the priceless vases and miniatures that adorned the shelves. Though called a library, the room actually contained few books, and all of them had been bought, Susan sometimes suspected, with an eye on the color of the dust jackets to make certain the books harmonized with the color scheme of the room.

Preston eyed his cousin with cold, silent hatred for a moment, an expanse of time which became heavy with resentment. “How much will it cost us?”

From the corner of her eye, Susan could see the lift of that mocking eyebrow. “Cost you for what?”

“For you to leave this part of the country again.”

Cord smiled, a particularly wolfish smile that should have warned Preston. “You don't have enough money, Cousin.”

Imogene lifted her hand, forestalling Preston's heated reply. She had a cooler head and was better at negotiating than her son was. “Don't be foolish…or hasty,” she counseled. “You
do
realize that we're prepared to offer you a substantial sum in exchange for your absence?”

“Not interested,” he said lazily, still smiling.

“But a man with your…lifestyle must have debts that need settling. Then there's the fact that I have many friends who owe me for favors, and who could be counted on to make your stay unpleasant, at the least.”

“Oh, I don't think so, Aunt Imogene.” Cord was utterly relaxed, his long legs stretched out before him. “The first surprise in store for you is that I don't need the money. The second is that if any of your ‘friends' decide to help you by making things difficult for me, I have friends of my own who I can call on, and believe me, my friends make yours look like angels.”

Imogene sniffed. “I'm sure they do, considering.”

For the first time Susan felt compelled to intervene. Fighting upset her; she was quiet and naturally peaceful, but with an inner strength that allowed her to throw herself into the breach. Her gentle voice immediately drew everyone's attention, though it was to her mother-in-law that she spoke. “Imogene, look at him; look at his clothes.” She waved her slender hand to indicate the man lounging beside her. “He's telling the truth.
He doesn't need any money. And I think that when he mentions his friends, he isn't talking about back-alley buddies.”

Cord regarded her with open, if somewhat mocking, admiration. “At last, a Blackstone with perception, though of course you weren't born to the name, so maybe that explains it. She's right, Imogene, though I'm sure you don't like hearing it. I don't need the Blackstone money because I have money of my own. I plan to live in the cabin because I like my privacy, not because I can't afford any better. Now, I suggest that we manage to control our differences, because I intend to stay here. If you want to air the family dirty laundry, then go ahead. It won't bother me; you'll be the only one to suffer from that.”

Imogene gave a curious little sigh. “You've always been difficult, Cord, even when you were a child. My objection to you is based on your past actions, not on you personally. You've dragged your family through enough mud to last for four lifetimes, and I find that hard to forgive, and I find it equally as hard to trust you to behave with some degree of civility.”

“It's been a long time,” he said obliquely. “I've spent a lot of time in Europe, and too long in South America; it makes a man appreciate his home.”

“Does it? I wonder. Forgive me if I suspect an ulterior motive, but then, your past gives me little choice. Very well, we'll call a truce…for the time being.”

“A truce.” He winked at her, and to Susan's surprise, Imogene blushed. So he had that effect on every female! But he was a fool if he believed that Imogene would go along with a truce. She might appear to give in, but that was
all
it was: appearance. Imogene never gave in; she merely changed tactics. If she couldn't bribe or threaten him, then she would try other measures, though for the moment Susan couldn't think of anything else that could be brought to bear on the man.

He was rising to his feet, his hand under Susan's elbow, urging her up also. “You've been away from your guests long enough,” he told Imogene politely. “I give you my solemn promise that I won't cause any scandals tonight, so relax and enjoy yourself.” Pulling Susan along with him like a puppy, he crossed the floor to Imogene and bent down to kiss his aunt. Imogene sat perfectly still under the touch of his lips, though her color rose even higher. Then he straightened, his eyes dancing. “Come along, Susan,” he commanded.

“Just a moment,” Preston intervened, stepping before them. Imogene might have called a truce, but Preston hadn't. “We've agreed to no open hostilities; we haven't agreed to associate with you. Susan isn't going anywhere with you.”

“Oh? I think that's up to the lady. Susan?” Cord turned to her, making his wishes known by the curl of his fingers on her arm.

Susan hesitated. She wanted to go with Cord. She wanted to laugh with him, to see the wicked twinkle in his eyes, feel the magic of being held in his arms. But she couldn't trust him, and for the first time in her life, she didn't trust herself. Because she wanted so badly to go with him, she had to deny him. Slowly, regretfully, she shook her head. “No. I think it would be better if I didn't go with you.”

His blue eyes narrowed, and suddenly they were no longer laughing, but wore the sheen of anger. He dropped his hand from her arm. “Perhaps you're right,” he said coldly, and left her without another word.

The silence in the library was total, the three occupants motionless. Then Imogene sighed again. “Thank heavens you didn't go with him, dear. He's charming, I know, but beneath all of that charm, he hates this entire family. He'll do anything,
anything,
he can to harm us. You don't know him, but it's in your best interest if you avoid him.” Having delivered her graceful warning, Imogene shrugged. “Ah, well, I suppose
we'll have to suffer through this until he gets bored and drifts off to hunt other amusements. He was right about one thing, the wretch; I do have to get back to my guests.” She rose and left the room, her mist-gray gown swaying elegantly about her feet as she walked. Imogene was still a beautiful woman; she hardly looked old enough to be the mother of the man who stood beside Susan. Imogene didn't age; she endured.

After a moment, Preston took Susan's hand, his ingrained sense of courtesy taking control of him again. His confrontation with his cousin had been the only occasion when Susan could remember seeing Preston be anything but polite, even when he was disagreeing with someone. “Let's relax for a moment before we rejoin them. Would you like a drink?” he suggested.

“No, thank you.” Susan allowed him to seat her on the love seat again, and she watched as he poured himself a neat whiskey and sat down beside her, a small frown puckering his brow as he regarded the glass in his hand. Something was on his mind; she knew his mannerisms as well as she knew her own. She waited, not pushing him. She and Preston had become close since Vance's death, and she felt strongly affectionate toward him. He looked so much like Vance, so much like all the Blackstones, with his dark hair and blue eyes and lopsided smile. Preston lacked Vance's sense of humor, but he was a formidable opponent in business. He was stubborn; slower than Vance to react, but more determined when he did.

“You're a lovely woman, Susan,” he said abruptly.

Startled, she stared at him. She knew she looked good tonight; she had debated over wearing the cream silk dress, for her tastes since Vance's death had been somber, but she had remembered that the medieval color of mourning had been white, not black, and only she knew when she put on the white dress that she did so with a small but poignant remnant of grief.
She had dressed for Vance tonight, wearing the pearls that he had given her, spraying herself with his favorite perfume. But for a few mad moments she had gloried in the knowledge that she looked good, not for Vance's sake, but because of the admiration she had seen in another pair of eyes, strange lodestone eyes. What would have happened if she had gone with Cord Blackstone tonight, instead of playing it safe?

Preston's eyes softened as he looked at her. “You're no match for him. If you let him, he'll use you to hurt us; then he'll leave you on the trash pile and walk away without looking back. Stay away from him; he's poison.”

Susan regarded him steadily. “Preston, I'm a woman, not a child; I'm capable of making my own decisions. I can see why you wouldn't like your cousin, since he's so totally different from you. But he hasn't done anything to harm me, and I won't snub him.”

He gave a rueful smile at her firm, reasonable tone. “I've heard that voice in enough board meetings over the past five years to know you've dug in your heels and won't budge without a good reason. But you don't know what he's like. You're a lady; you've never been exposed to the sort of things that are commonplace to him. He's lived the life of an alley cat, not because he had no choice, no way out, but because he preferred that type of life. He broke his mother's heart, making her so ashamed of him that he wasn't welcome in her home.”

“Exactly what did he do that was so terrible?” Deliberately, she kept her tone light, not wanting Preston to see how deeply she was interested in the answer, how deeply she was disturbed by Cord Blackstone.

“What didn't he do?” Sarcasm edged Preston's answer. “Fights, drinking, women, gambling…but the final straw was the scandal when he was caught with Grant Keller's wife.”

Susan choked. Grant Keller was dignity personified, and
so was his wife. Preston looked at her and couldn't prevent a grin. “Not this Mrs. Keller; the former Mrs. Keller was entirely different. She was thirty-six, and Cord was twenty-one when they left town together.”

“That was a long time ago,” Susan pointed out.

“Fourteen years, but people have long memories. I saw Grant Keller's face when he recognized Cord tonight, and he looked murderous.”

Susan was certain there was more to the story, but she was reluctant to pry any deeper. The old scandal in no way explained Preston's very personal hatred for Cord. For right now, though, she was suddenly very tired and didn't want to pursue the subject. All the excitement that had lit her up while she was dancing with Cord had faded. Rising, she smoothed her skirt. “Will you take me home? I'm exhausted.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, as she had known he would. Preston was entirely predictable, always solicitous of her. At times, the cushion of gallantry that protected her gave her a warm sense of security, but at other times she felt restricted. Tonight, the feeling of restriction deepened until she felt as if she were being smothered. She wanted to breathe freely, to be unobserved.

It was only a fifteen-minute drive to her home, and soon she was blessedly alone, sitting on the dark front porch in the wooden porch swing, listening to the music of a Southern night. She had waited until Preston left before she came out to sit in the darkness, her right foot gently pushing her back and forth to the accompanying squeak of the chains that held the swing. A light breeze rustled through the trees and kissed her face, and she closed her eyes. As she often did, she tried to summon up Vance's face, to reassure herself with the mental picture of his violet-blue eyes and lopsided grin, but to her alarm, the face that formed wasn't his. Instead she saw
pale blue eyes above the short black beard of a desperado; they were the reckless eyes of a man who dared anything. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the touch of his warm mouth on her shoulder, and her skin tingled as if his lips were still pressed there.

Thank heavens she had had the good sense to ask Preston to bring her home instead of going with that man as he had asked. Preston was at least safe, and Cord Blackstone had probably never heard the word.

T
he Blackstone social circle ranged in a sort of open arc from Mobile to New Orleans, with the Gulfport-Biloxi area as the center of their far-flung web of moneyed and blue-blooded acquaintances. With such a wide area and so many friends of such varied interests, Susan was amazed that the sole topic of conversation seemed to be Cord Blackstone's return. She lost count of the number of women, many of them married, who drilled her on why he was back, how long he was staying, whether he was married, whether he had been married, and endless variations on those questions, none of which she could answer. What could she tell them? That she had danced two dances with him and gotten drunk on his smile?

She hadn't seen him since the night of his return, and she made a point of not asking about him. She told herself that it was best to leave well enough alone and let her interest in him die a natural death. All she had to do was do nothing and refuse to feed the strange attraction. It wasn't as if he were chasing her all over south Mississippi; he hadn't called, hadn't sought her out as she had half feared, half wanted him to do.

But her resolution to forget about him was stymied at every turn; even Preston seldom talked of anything except his cousin. She decided that all Cord had to do to irritate Preston was to breathe. Through Preston, she learned that Cord was
working on the old cabin at Jubilee Creek, replacing the roof and the sagging old porch, putting in new windows. Preston had tried to find out where Cord had borrowed the money to repair the cabin, and found instead, to his chagrin, that there was no loan involved. Cord was paying for everything in cash, and had opened a sizable checking account at the largest bank in Biloxi. Preston and Imogene spent hours speculating on how he had acquired the money, and what his purpose was in returning to Mississippi. Susan wondered why they found it so hard to accept that he had simply returned home. As people grew older, it wasn't unusual for them to want to return to the area where they had grown up. It seemed silly to her that they attached such sinister motives to his smallest action, but then she realized that she was guilty of the same thing. She'd all but convinced herself that, if she had allowed him to drive her home that night, he would have taken her to bed over any protests she might have made…if any.

If any. That was the hard part for her to accept. Would she have made any protest, even a token one? What had happened to her? One moment her life had been as serene as a quiet pool on a lazy summer day, and she had been satisfied, except for the hollowness left by Vance's death. Then Cord Blackstone had walked in out of the night and everything had shifted, the world had been thrown out of kilter. Now, suddenly, she wanted to run away, or at least smash something…do anything, anything at all, that was totally out of character.

And it was all because of Cord. He was a man who lived by his own rules, a man who lived recklessly and dangerously, but with a vital intensity that made every other man seem insipid when compared to him. By contrast, she was a field mouse who was comfortable only with security, yet now the very security that she had always treasured was chafing at her.
The priorities that she had set for herself now seemed valueless in comparison with the wild freedom that Cord enjoyed.

She had been a quiet child, then a quiet girl, never according her parents any of the worries that most parents had concerning their children. Susan's personality was serene, naturally kind and courteous, and the old-fashioned, genteel upbringing she'd had merely reinforced those qualities. By both nature and practice she was a lady, in every sense of the word.

Her life hadn't been without pain or difficulty. Without resentment, she had left school to help care for her mother when a stroke left the older woman partially paralyzed. Another stroke later was fatal, and Susan quietly supported her father during his grief. Her father remarried within the year, with Susan's blessing, and retired to south Florida; she remained in New Orleans, which had been her father's last teaching post, and reorganized her life. She took a secretarial job and dated occasionally, but never seriously, until Vance Blackstone saw her gracing her desk at work and decided right then that she should be gracing his home. Vance hadn't swept her off her feet; he had gently gained her confidence, gradually increasing the frequency of their dates until she was seeing no one but him; then he had proposed marriage by giving her one perfect rosebud with an exquisite diamond ring nestled in the heart of it.

Imogene hadn't been thrilled that her son had selected his wife from outside the elite circle of their social group, but not even Imogene could really find fault with Susan. Susan was, as everyone phrased it, “a perfect lady.” She was accepted as Vance's wife, and for three years she had been blessed with happiness. Vance was a considerate lover and husband, and he never let her forget that she was the most important thing in his life, far more important than the Blackstone empire and traditions. He demonstrated his faith in her by leaving every
thing to her in his will, including control of his share of the family businesses. Devastated by his sudden death, the terms of the will had meant nothing to Susan. Nothing was important to her without Vance.

But time passed, and time healed. Imogene and Preston, at first furious when they learned that she intended to oversee her share of the businesses instead of turning them over to Preston as they had expected, had gradually forgotten their anger as Susan handled herself well, both privately and publicly. She wasn't a woman on an ego trip, nor was she prone to make irresponsible decisions. She had both feet firmly on the ground…or she
had
had, until another Blackstone had entered her life.

As the days passed, she told herself over and over how silly she was being. Why moon over a man who hadn't shown the slightest interest in her since the night they had met? He had just been trying to irritate Preston by playing up to her, that was all. But as soon as that thought registered in her mind, a memory would surface, that of a hard, aroused male body pressing against her, and she knew that Cord hadn't been playing.

She couldn't get his face out of her mind. Odd that she hadn't noticed the family resemblance, but for all the blue eyes and dark hair, nothing about Cord had seemed familiar to her. When she looked at Preston, she was always reminded strongly of Vance; Cord Blackstone resembled no one but himself, with his black brigand's beard and wicked eyes. His personality overshadowed the similarities of coloring and facial structure.

Stop thinking about him!
she told herself sternly one night as she dressed to attend a party with Preston. She had been looking at herself in the mirror, checking to see if her dress fit as it should, and had suddenly found herself wondering if Cord would like the dress, if he would find her attractive in
it. With rare irritation, she whirled away from the mirror. She had to get him out of her mind! It had been almost three weeks since she'd met him, and it was obvious that she was in a tizzy over nothing, because in those three weeks he'd made no effort to see her again.

It was just as well; they were totally unsuited. She was a gentle spring shower; he was thunder and lightning. She had let a simple flirtation go to her head, and it was time she realized that there was nothing to it.

Glancing out a window at the gloomy sky, she reached into the closet for a coat. The capricious weather of the Gulf states had reminded everyone that it was still only March, despite the balmy weather they had been enjoying for most of the month. The temperature would be close to freezing before she came home, so she chose the warmest coat she owned, as well as wearing a long-sleeved dress.

Preston was always exactly on time, so Susan went down a few minutes early to chat with her cook and housekeeper, Emily Ferris. “I'll be leaving in a few minutes; why don't you go home early today?” she suggested.

“I might at that.” Emily looked out the window, watching the wind whip the giant oak tree at the edge of the yard. “This is the kind of day that makes me want to wrap up in a blanket and sleep in front of a fire. Do you have a coat?” she asked sternly, looking at Susan's slender form.

Susan laughed. “Yes, I have a coat.” Emily watched over her like a mother hen, but mothering came naturally to Emily, who had five children of her own. The youngest had left the nest a year ago, and since then, Susan had received the full intensity of Emily's protection. She didn't mind; Emily was as steady as a rock, and had been in Susan's employ since she had married Vance. It was in Emily's arms that Susan had wept her most violent tears after Vance's death.

“I'll leave the heat on, so the house won't be cold when you come in,” Emily promised. “Where're you going tonight?”

“To the Gages'. I believe William is planning to run for governor next year, and he's lining up support and campaign contributors.”

“Hummph,” Emily snorted. “What does a Gage know about politics? Don't tell me that Preston's going to support him?”

Susan lifted one elegant eyebrow. “You know Preston; he's very cautious. He'll have to look at every candidate before he makes up his mind.” She knew from experience that every politician in the state would be burying the Blackstones under an avalanche of invitations. Susan had tried to stay out of politics, but Imogene and Preston were heavily courted, and Preston invariably asked her to accompany him whenever he attended a party with either political overtones or undertones.

She heard the doorbell at the precise instant the clock chimed the hour, and with a smile she went to greet Preston.

He helped her with her coat, arranging the collar snugly around her throat.

“It's getting really cold,” he muttered. “So much for spring.”

“Don't be so impatient.” She smiled. “It's still only March. It's just that these last few weeks spoiled everyone, but you knew it couldn't last.”

It began to rain as they drove to the Gages' house, a slow, sullen rain that turned the late afternoon into night. Preston was a careful, confident driver, and he made the thirty-mile drive in good time. Caroline Gage met them at the door. “Preston, Susan, I'm glad you could come! Would you like a drink before dinner? William's playing bartender in the den.”

Despite Caroline's easy manner, Susan caught a hint of tension in the older woman's expression and wondered if Caroline wasn't enthusiastic about her husband's foray into politics. Following Preston into the den, she found the room
already crowded with friends and acquaintances, the usual social crowd. Preston was promptly hailed by William Gage, and with a smile for Susan he allowed himself to be drawn aside.

Susan refused anything to drink, since she hadn't eaten anything, and wandered around talking to her friends. She was popular with both men and women, and it took her quite a while to make a circle of the room. It was almost time for dinner and she glanced at her hostess, frowning when she saw Caroline watching the door, anxiety clearly evident on her face. Was some special guest late?

The doorbell chimed and Caroline paled, but didn't pause as she went to greet her late-arriving guests. Susan watched the door curiously, waiting to see who it was; Caroline was usually unflappable, and it must be someone really important to have her so on edge.

Her brows rose when George and Olivia Warren came into the room; the Warrens were part of the social hierarchy, but Caroline had been friends with them for years. Cheryl Warren followed them, her ash-blond hair a mass of carefully disarranged curls, her svelte body outlined in a form-fitting black dress…and behind her, towering over her, his bearded face sardonic, was Cord Blackstone.

So that was why Caroline was nervous! She'd known that Cord would be with Cheryl Warren, and she was on pins and needles at having Cord and Preston in the same room.

She needn't have worried, Susan thought, glancing at Preston. He wouldn't like it, but neither would he make a scene in someone else's home. If Cord just behaved himself, the evening would go smoothly, though she was acutely aware that Cord would behave himself only if it suited his own purposes.

But, surprisingly, he was a perfect gentleman throughout the long dinner. He was politely attentive to Cheryl, a fact which made Susan's stomach knot. She tried not to look at him, and
told herself wryly that she shouldn't have been surprised to see him with another woman…any other woman. He was a man who would always have a female companion. She
was
surprised, however, by the jealousy that jolted her whenever she heard Cheryl's clear laughter, or caught the dark murmur of Cord's voice under the noise of the general chatter.

Caroline had cleared the large living room for dancing, and after dinner she put a stack of easy-listening albums on the stereo, keeping the volume low so her guests could dance or talk as they wished. Susan danced a few dances and talked with her friends, wishing that Preston would cut the evening short and take her home, but he was effectively caught in a group of men earnestly talking politics, and she knew that it would be hours before he was free. She sighed and absently watched the slow-moving couples swaying to the music, then stiffened as her gaze accidentally locked with Cord's pale, glittering eyes. Cheryl was held securely in his strong arms, but he wasn't paying any attention to her as he stared at Susan over Cheryl's bare shoulder. He didn't smile; his gaze slid down her body in a leisurely journey, then returned to her face, staring at her as if he could pierce her thoughts. She paled and looked away. Why had he done that? He'd made it plain by his silence these past three weeks that their flirtation hadn't meant anything to him; why look at her now as if he meant to drag her away to his lair? How
could
he look at her like that, when he held Cheryl in his arms?

Susan pushed her thoughts away by entering into a conversation about vacation cruises, and kept her back turned to the center of the room. It was a tactical error, but one she didn't realize until she felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, the age-old warning of danger nearby, and she knew that Cord was behind her. She tensed, waiting for the contact that she knew was coming. His hand touched
her waist at the same time that his dark, husky voice said above her head, “Dance with me.”