Whispers from the Past (25 page)

Gabrielle drew back and then fumbled around on the couch for her tablet. I stared back at my mother. “Yes?”

“Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

“Be right there.”

“Do that.” She spun on her heel, her body language shrieking
pissed off
.

“Is she mad?” Gabrielle whispered.

“Yeah. She’ll get over it. Just compliment the food, but don’t overdo it.” I pushed up off the couch and held out a hand to help Gabrielle up.

She stood and then slipped her arms around my waist. “Are you excited about Friday?”

“Yeah.” I was, actually. The prom would be way better this year than last. I’d still have the hottest girl in the school on my arm, but this time she wouldn’t be dumping me in the middle of the dance floor. Too many paparazzi around, even if Gabrielle
did
manage to get mad at me over something.

“You know when to be at my aunt’s?”

“Five.” She had this all scheduled down to the last minute. I was about to throw a wrench in the plan. “We have to drop by my parents’ house after eating.”

She scowled. “No time.”

I gazed back at her mildly. “Find the time. My grandparents are coming over to take pictures.”

“They could come to my aunt’s. That’s what Jesse’s family is doing.”

“Gabrielle.” I shook my head. “It’s my prom, too. You can find fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be late getting to the ballroom.”

“I suspect that all of the photographers will hang around until we show.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Actually…that could be good. I’ll let Olivia know.”

“Anything else?” I was looking forward to it too, but not enough to review every detail five times.

“Your tux?”

“It’s ready.”

“White shirt, black bowtie?”

I smiled. “White shirt.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Black bowtie?”

I shook my head. There would be no tie. Just a stud at the neck. It would make Olivia crazy. I couldn’t wait.

“What kind of tie are you wearing?”

“Are you going to tell me about your dress?”

“No. It has to be a surprise.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting a surprise, too.”

“Really?” She pouted.

This was one of the funny things about going out with Gabrielle. She acted like a spoiled kid half the time. Not in an obnoxious way. It would probably piss her off to know that I found her behavior amusing, but I knew she couldn’t help it. Since she was little, she’d been completely surrounded by people who indulged her.

I liked
not
indulging her. “You can wait until Friday to see, just like I have to wait for you.”

“Does Jesse know?”

I shook my head.

“Benita?”

I smiled. “My mom knows. You could ask her.”

Gabrielle glanced quickly toward the kitchen. “Your mother doesn’t like me,” she said, lowering her voice.

“Not true.” Well, yes, it was, but that was one of those statements I had to deny.

“Mark, do you…?” She hesitated.

“What?”

Her gaze dropped to my throat. “Do you have any plans for afterwards?”

“After prom?”

She nodded but didn’t look up. “You could come over.”

What did she mean by that?

Okay, I had an idea. And I…

Damn. It had only been… I’d been single for five weeks. I wasn’t ready for anything more than what Gabrielle and I already had. I liked things the way they were.

Wait. Was I jumping to conclusions? It could be an innocent question. Maybe she just wanted to hang out quietly, and I was reading way too much into it.

Yeah, that was probably it. I needed to relax.

Gabrielle was staring up at me now, her eyes big and round in her face. “Mark?”

“Oh, sorry.” I took a casual step back out of her arms. “I won’t have a curfew, but I don’t think I’ll want to stay out too late.”

“Okay.” She reached out to reclaim my hand, eyes watchful. “So, the bowtie? It’s not red, is it?”

Good. Back to a comfortable topic. “All I’m saying is that the bowtie isn’t black.”

She frowned. “I’m wearing a white dress.”

Wow. She wanted this information bad. “Backless?”

“No. I’ve done enough of that.” Her eyes widened. “Your turn.”

“I’m not wearing a red bowtie.”

She made a choking sound. I shook my head and led the way to the kitchen. Not going to say any more.

I helped her into a chair, thinking that this conversation had been mostly fun—which made it hard to understand why I was feeling a little sad.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-O
NE

U
NWANTED
A
TTENTION

It had been an unpleasant morning.

My brother had been masterful in his handling of my “arrest.” He had turned me over to Mr. Worth after parading me through town and bragging to all of our most prominent townspeople about turning over his fugitive sister.

We made a stop at the Fosters’ store, where Deborah Pratt Foster had exchanged a sly smile with me. Her role in this gave her great, secretive pleasure.

Mr. Worth had been furious at my scheme, but there was naught he could do about it. As magistrate, he had to ensure that I arrived safely in Raleigh. With many villagers watching as he dithered over what to do, he ordered me to spend the night in an empty stall in his stables rather than the tiny jail shack.

However, it did not take him long to find another way to punish me the best he could. He sent for Jethro Pratt.

I sat on a low stool, both hands in my lap, my wrists tied loosely to an iron ring against the wall. Mr. Baxter, the jailer, drowsed in the corner, a heavy stick on his lap.

The door to the barn creaked open and someone shuffled in. It took only a few moments for a young woman to appear in the open entrance to my stall.

“Dorcas,” I said with joy.

She came toward us with her oddly rolling gait and then knelt at my side, throwing her arms about me.

“How I have worried over you,” she said, her voice soft and dear.

“No more than I have worried over you.” I ached to smooth her hair or hug her, but it was impossible, tied as I was.

“Here, Miss Pratt,” the jailer said, offering his stool to Dorcas.

“Thank you.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Perhaps, Mr. Baxter, you would like to stretch your legs.”

“Yes, miss.” He bobbed his head and then exited the stall.

Dorcas drew her stool close to mine and lowered her voice. “Susanna, Uncle Worth has told Papa that you are here.”

“I know.”

“Papa wants you released into his care.”

I was satisfied with the arrangements we had, for I would never be without protection in Worthville. “My brother has arranged to have my nephew Josiah stay with me here during the night. Mr. Baxter and my nephew James will travel with me to Raleigh in the morning.”

Dorcas laughed. “I am surprised that Uncle Worth permitted arrangements so accommodating to you.”

“Mr. Eton’s letter has given me a measure of protection. I do not think Mr. Worth is likely to stir unwanted attention from a senator.”

“Must you go tomorrow?”

“We expect the case to be heard Monday.”

“Will there be witnesses from Worthville?”

“Indeed. My case cannot survive without it. I have asked Mr. Worth to have you there, and Jedidiah.”

Her expression became troubled. “Papa will not permit me to come.”

“He must, I assure you.” I gave her a confident nod. “Let us not talk of the case anymore. What have you been doing when you are not helping me?”

“I stitch on handkerchiefs and linens, although not with the delicacy that Phoebe had. I instruct Drusilla in reading and writing. I enjoy taking long walks, and I do partake of the rare social engagements that are to be found in Worthville.”

“And you kiss young gentlemen when they ask you.”

She tossed her head. “One young gentleman only, and I am not a bit anxious to try again.”

“There will be others.”

“Others? More than one?” She frowned. “Have you kissed more than Mr. Lewis?”

Heat flooded my face. Mr. Pratt had forced a kiss on me long ago. It had been a depraved act, and I did not wish to ponder it. “I have offered kisses to Mark and no other.”

“You miss him.”

“I do.” My gaze met hers with clear intention. We would leave this subject now. “Tell me. Does your injury hinder you?”

“Not much. It keeps me from performing some chores, but they are chores I wouldn’t wish to do anyway. My injury is the excuse Joan repeats when she denies me any voice in the running of the household.” Dorcas patted my arm. “That one will be most displeased when she learns of your return.”

“Why?”

“You are a specter in our home, Susanna. Although he does not speak of you much, you are never far from Papa’s mind.”

Even though I didn’t like this assessment, I would not argue. Dorcas might be cheerful, but her wisdom was unquestioned. The knowledge that I continued to lurk in his thoughts alarmed me. How would such a man handle the humiliation that would surely come from my court hearing? “I had expected him to forget me after nine years.”

“My injury made it worse. Where you are concerned, he is not a good or rational man.” Her face clouded over. “Truly, Susanna, Papa did not mean to harm me. Every limping step I take reminds him that my future has changed because of his lack of perspective over you.”

“Have there been any gentleman suitors since Mr. Timmons?”

“I fear that no one in Worthville or Ward’s Crossroads will be brave enough to pursue a young lady such as I. But this too is a blessing, for there is no one nearby that I should wish to marry. I have no interest in being the mistress of a farm or the wife of a shopkeeper.”

A horse galloped toward the stables and stopped abruptly.

Dorcas gasped, watching me with despairing eyes. “Papa has arrived.”

I schooled my features into a mask of calm. “Do not worry. I shall be fine.”

She shook her head rapidly. “I do not think that is true. He is…different with you. I shall stay.”

“He will not let you.” It hurt to speak through a throat so constricted with fear.

Rapid footsteps approached. “Where is she?” Mr. Pratt asked in a clipped voice.

“That open stall there, sir,” Mr. Baxter replied.

A moment later, her father appeared before us. He had the look and air of a man of importance—except for his eyes, and they gleamed on me with an unholy light.

“Dorcas, leave us.”

“Papa, no. It is not right.”

He flicked his wrist dismissively.

“Papa. Truly—”

“
Go
.”

Stricken, she patted my arm, stood, and then hurried from sight.

“Baxter, you may go. I wish to have a private word with Susanna.” He spoke my Christian name with an intentional disrespect.

I stared at Mr. Baxter with pleading eyes.

“I don’t know, Mr. Pratt—” the jailer started.

“
Now
.”

Mr. Baxter scurried away, his sound of his shoes disappearing into the day.

Mr. Pratt strode up to me until his boots brushed my skirts. “Do you fancy yourself a proper lady?”

I kept my face averted and did not respond.

“What? You will not speak to your master?”

“You are not my master,” I murmured.

“We shall see about that in court.” He chuckled with the confidence of someone who had no worries. “Stand.”

When I made no attempt to obey him, he placed hard fingers at my waist, hauled me to my feet, and forced me against the side of the stall. With a flick of his foot, he knocked my stool out of reach.

“Release me,” I said, my voice serene despite my revulsion at his touch.

“We both know that I have no intentions of letting you go.” He smiled lazily. “And we both know you can do nothing about it.”

Movement was futile. The press of his body did not permit sufficient movement of my legs to kick him.

I turned my face away until the coarse wooden boards of the wall grazed my cheek.

“I like your eyes on me,” he said. His hand grabbed my chin and wrenched my head around until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “That’s better.”

I willed myself to breathe evenly. I commanded my body to hide its trembling.

“Susanna, I do like the fashions of today.” His gaze deliberately lowered to my chest. “They display enough to entice without giving away all secrets.” He laughed. “I, of course, learned your secrets long ago—even before Mr. Lewis.”

Mr. Pratt had trapped me like this once before—only, that time he’d torn my bodice and ogled me. What he could not know was that Mr. Lewis had yet to learn my “secrets.”

It grieved me greatly in this moment to realize that Jethro Pratt had knowledge of me that Mark did not. “You are a loathsome man,” I said in the conversational tone of someone stating a fact.

His hand left my chin to caress my neck and jaw. My breathing quickened. Never had I imagined he would be so bold, so despicable in the middle of the day where anyone could stumble upon us. Merciful heavens, had I made a miscalculation in coming here?

Echoes of the past whimpered in my mind. His voice, his smell, the power he exuded—all sought to wrap me in their grip. I had obeyed him for so long. Might old habits steal my resolve?

I could no longer hide my fear. “Mr. Pratt, please release me.”

“It has been nine years since you were in my employ, and you seem to have hardly aged a day.” His smile widened. “I cannot wait until you are in my household again. For however long it lasts, I shall enjoy myself immensely.” His fingers probed along my shoulder until they reached my gown. Once there, the slow exploration changed direction to trace the neckline.

Outrage flashed through me. I might not be able to flee, but I would not permit this violation without protest. I spat in his face.

He roared a curse, mopped his face with his sleeve, and then backhanded me across the mouth.

“You will pay for that bit of defiance,” he hissed. He reached for the rope binding my wrists and tightened it until the discomfort to my arms was extreme. Unless someone freed me, my only choices would be to stand or to kneel with my arms stretched high above my head.