The Barefoot Bride (43 page)

Saxon pounded on the door again, anxious to get her out of such squalor. There was still no answer, so he reached for the knob and turned it.

"Saxon, wait. Let me thank on what I'm gwine say."

"You've had eighteen years to think about it. We're going to get this over with right now. I don't like seeing you in this filth. Disease might jump out and get you." He attempted to smile but failed. Instead, he pushed the door open and lit another match. The weak light slithered into the small, fetid room.

Inside, a man lay on the floor in his own vomit. Beside him were dozens of empty whiskey bottles. He was dressed in a suit that must have cost a lot of money, but was now torn and filthy. His thinning hair was stark white and crawling with lice, his frame horribly thin, his skin so transparent his veins seemed painted on it.

Chickadee's breath caught in her throat when she saw him. She reached for the door frame for support.

"I'd say you've got your revenge, little one," Saxon ventured. "A man can't get any lower than this." He took her arm and led her closer to Barton.

"I... I changed my mind," she stammered, her eyes stricken with horror. "I cain't do it, Saxon."

His face creased with confusion. "What do you mean you can't do it? Look at him, Keely. There he is, at your feet, just like you wanted him to be. Remember your mother's heartache. Her death. You've avenged it now."

She had to force herself to look at the man on the floor. Whatever sins he'd committed, this pitiful old man was her father. Her mind reeled. "I... Saxon, I was wrong," she said, so softly Saxon almost couldn't hear it.

"You were wrong?"

She covered her mouth tightly to keep from being sick, staggered from the room and out into the dark, littered street. When Saxon caught up with her, she reached for him and threw herself into his arms. "Saxon, you got to hep him! Git him a doctor-man afore he dies in thar!"

He thrust her from him. "You had me destroy him, and now you want me to save him?"

Chickadee looked back at the horrid building that was her father's home. "I was so wrong. I didn't have nary a right to do this to him. What he did to Mama—Saxon, it warn't my place to punish him. I didn't understand that. I didn't figger on a-feelin' this way till I seed him in thar all drunk and sick. Afore today, I allus seed Barton in my mind as jist some rich blackguard. I never had a face to put with what I had him figgered out to be!"

"But he was a rich blackguard!"

"Saxon, we jist cain't let him die in thar! He's already a-gittin cold from the feet up, and iffen—"

"Keely—"

"Saxon, please do this fer me!" She grabbed his hands and brought them to her mouth, kissing them many times before she spoke again. "I ain't never begged fer nothin' in my whole life, but I'm a-beggin' now. Please don't let him die!"

*

Barton Winslow did not regain consciousness to see his daughter, but the doctors were confident he would recover. Upon his release from the hospital, a man representing Blackwell Enterprises would see to his well-being, providing him with a job and a clean place to live.

Saxon, without another word of argument, had done everything Chickadee had begged him to do for Barton. She knew he was baffled over her change of heart, but her love for him had taught her many things, and forgiveness was at the top of the list. The way she saw it, her father had been punished enough for what he'd done to her mother. He'd lost everything he had, and though he was assured of a job, he would never be able to amass another fortune. He'd paid sufficiently for his misdeeds.

Now she could forget Barton Winslow and concentrate on the most important person in her life.

But Saxon gave her little chance to do that in their hotel room that night. He wasn't cold toward her, but neither was he warm. And though he slept beside her, she felt she slept alone. The worry that had begun the moment he'd told her he'd found her father grew steadily within her.

It blossomed to full-fledged foreboding during the trip home the next day. Saxon remained aloof. She felt a tremendous urge to ask him what he was thinking, planning, but her fear of his answer kept her from inquiring. The entire trip passed in silence.

As the train screeched to a halt at the Boston depot, Chickadee could bear the silence no longer. "I love you, Saxon."

He only stared out the window.

"I love you," she said again as the Blackwell coach carried them home.

He carefully avoided meeting her eyes.

"I love you," she repeated as he helped her from the barouche. "I love you," she said one last, desperate time when they entered their bedroom.

Saxon shut the door behind them. He couldn't face her, couldn't allow her to see the echo of her words in his own eyes. "Keely, you hardly said a word during our trip to New York. You were unusually pensive both in the hotel room last night and during our trip home. Therefore, I've reason to believe you realize what our journey to New York signifies, do you not?"

Dread enveloped her. "I... I love—"

"So you've said. But it's over now. Everything we set out to do has been done. You're going home."

Chapter 23

"No, please no!"

Saxon turned to look at her, saw her panic, and escaped to the window. "I've already made the arrangements for your return. The
Sea Siren
is ready, my bankers are seeing to the money you'll need for the trip, and—"

"Saxon, don't make me go!"

He still couldn't face her distress, for to see it would be to see his own.

Her cold palms began to perspire. She wiped them on the front of her gown but could not seem to dry them. "I ain't gwine go, Saxon. I love—"

"Stop!" He whirled on one foot, the heel of his shoe digging into the thick carpet. "You
are
going, Keely! The agreement we made has come to an end."

Her mind exploded with the fervent hope that this wasn't happening. "You... Saxon—the day you come up with that bargain, you said you needed me and I needed you!"

Dear God, if only he could tell her how true that still was! "I'm well aware of what I said, and it was very true at the time. But it is true no longer. I began divorce proceedings several days before we left for New York."

"Divorce!" The word was like poison in her mouth.

His eyes stung as he continued. "Keely, as I made the arrangements for your departure, I belatedly realized that staying married to you would mean condemning you to a life of loneliness. I humbly apologize for not thinking of that when we first made our bargain. Wed, you wouldn't be free to find another husband. Divorce is the only answer."

"But thur ain't nobody I want but you, Saxon!"

"We are not compatible. We never will be. I want you to find someone who will love you. You need a man who—"

"I need you!" She ran and threw herself into his arms. "Saxon, don't do this to us!"

"There is no
us,
Keely," he said, trying to pry her from him. "There never was. We've completed all our plans, and it's over."

"But Araminty's will says you got to be married to—"

"I'm aware of that!" he snapped, his guts twisting at the prospect of having any other wife but the girl clinging to him. "I will remarry, as will you."

The thought of him married to another woman, lying in someone else's arms, having a child with... "No! Lord o' mercy, Saxon, please—"

"I'm not the man for you!" This time he succeeded in thrusting her from him. He glared down at her, hoping she saw only the feigned indifference in his eyes and not the love he could barely conceal. "I'm cold. You're warm. I'm held fast to my money, and you want no part of it. I crave all things elegant; you're the epitome of simplicity. I'm a bitter, suspicious man. You're innocent, trusting. We are as opposite as a raging fire and a glacier."

Fire and ice. She saw them both in her mind. If the flames were hot enough, big enough, wouldn't they melt the wall of ice? The question reverberated through her brain. "You ain't got to be so bitter, so cold. You—"

"I've been like that for almost thirty years," he choked. "If you stayed in Boston, you would become as poisoned as I." It was true, he realized then.

Boston. There was no freedom here. Yet he was tied to the city forever. He would not allow it to be Chickadee's prison too. He left the window and stalked to the bed.

"But you was a-comin' around! Saxon, you was a-warmin' up to all the love I been a-givin' you. You—"

"I had a good time with you, and that is the extent of it, Keely. You were different. A nice change from normality. What has that to do with love? People can enjoy something without loving it, can they not?"
Dear God, how many more lies will I be forced to tell you, my love?

She hurried to him, desperate to get a hold on this situation before it was too late. "Saxon—"

He took her by her shoulders. "Keely, I am not who you think I am. You only see the man you want to see. You want me to be warm and loving and full of happiness. Therefore you believe me to be that way. But I am nothing at all like the man you want me to be!"

Releasing her, he began to pace. "There are bitter things inside me. I can't explain. You would never understand. There's nothing either you or I could ever do. You," he said and stopped to look at her, "would never understand."
At least that is no lie,
he fumed, and crushed down the age-old pain.

Her eyes widened when she heard the chilling truth in his voice. She understood a lot more than he thought she did, and one thing she comprehended fully at that moment was that she'd underestimated the power of his demons. Before now, she hadn't realized just how profound were the wounds Araminta's hatred had inflicted upon the boy she'd glimpsed that night in the library so long ago. She'd mistakenly thought
she
could reach that frightened child inside him. But she realized now that only Saxon himself could do it. Only by remembering, defying, and conquering his ghosts would he ever be truly rid of them. Love had surely weakened them but had not overcome them. Not yet.

The final, bitter battle between love and hatred would be waged here and now, she decided. Her love against all the hatred tucked away within him. Tonight would determine which of the two fierce emotions was the stronger. And then... maybe then...

But how would she make Saxon fight? He'd been running from his childhood memories for years. She had no doubt he'd do the same now.

He saw the contemplative gleam in her eyes. "If you're trying to come up with a way to change my mind, Keely, don't. My decision is final." He snatched off his neckcloth, crushed it in his fist, and then unwadded it.

She watched him lace it between his fingers and knew he was trying to avoid looking at her. She walked to where he stood, reached for his hand, and closed her own around it.

The contact jolted Saxon, spiraled through him, filling him with an urgent yearning to take her into his arms and tell her he loved her now, would love her tomorrow, would love her for all eternity.

But that same love gave him the strength to yank his hand out of hers. He returned to the bed, tore off his shirt, and flung it at the door. "Do we understand each other now, Keely?"

She joined him and ran her hands down his chest. "Make love to me, Saxon." Lightly, she traced his collarbone with the tip of her tongue. "Make love to me." Her arms went around him, her fingers slipping into his hair as she brought his face down to hers. "Make love to me," she whispered in the breath of the second before their lips met.

He crushed her to him, kissing her deeply, thoroughly. Dammit, he would have all of her before the night was over! Have her and live on it for the rest of his miserable life. "Leave," he mumbled into her mouth. "You will leave, Keely."

She pulled away from him, reached for the fastening at his trousers, and made quick work of undressing him. Saxon, caught fast in the magic web of desire, was helpless as he watched her hands slither sensuously over his hard body.

"Sorceress," he hissed and then moaned when her mouth began the journey her hands had taken. "But your spells, too, must come to an end." He reached for her, pulled her to her feet, his stormy gaze aimed into her smoldering one. "End, mountain girl. Tonight is our last."

Her auburn brow rose before she went to a table and poured two brandies. She handed him one and toasted him. Neatly, she drank hers and then smiled slowly, meaningfully. "Then let's make the mostest of it."

It never entered his mind to question her sudden acceptance of his decision. His burning need for her consumed every thought in his mind except his passion for her.

With an air of mystery about her, as if she were unveiling a secret treasure, she reached for the silken ties of her bodice and pulled at them with agonizing slowness. The heavy satin rustled to the floor, drowning her feet in a turquoise sea. Her creamy undergarments followed, creating white-capped waves upon the vivid blue. She stood before him then with only her earrings on. The exquisite diamonds glittered, the reflection of the firelight dancing within their facets. She reached for them and, one by one, slid them off her ears. In cupped hands, she held the shining pieces of ice for one brief moment before she let them splash into the satin pool at her feet.