Wicked Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (35 page)

      
They finally broke apart as Alex approached. While the two men embraced each other, Joss studied her father-in- law. Despite the fact that one fourth of his blood was Indian, he looked no more like Pig Sticker than did Alex. The resemblance between father and son was amazing, as if she was seeing in Devon what Alex would look like in thirty years. His thick, dark gold hair was threaded with silver at the temples, his face seamed with fine wrinkles around his remarkable dark eyes, which were the very likeness of his son's.

      
"So, this is my new daughter-in-law," Devon said as he reached out and took Joss's hand, saluting it with a kiss. "I am very pleased to meet you, Jocelyn."

      
"And I to meet you, Mr. Blackthorne," she said, instantly liking him.

      
"Please, call me Dev. Everyone does—or at least everyone who doesn't call me less flattering names," he said, merrily winking at her and Barbara.

      
"He's an utterly incorrigible rogue," Barbara said, taking his arm.

      
"As your son, I've had to strive mightily to best your notorious reputation," Alex said to his father.

      
"Ah, but now you're the same as I am, a married man. Your days of debauchery are over," Dev rejoined as they walked over to where an open carriage awaited them.

      
"How did you know we were arriving?" Alex asked, neatly sidestepping his father's allusion to wedded bliss.

      
"Jeb Sewell came in from Tybee after he sighted the
Maiden
. I was obliged to listen to Seth Wainwright's complaints about how our new warehouse will spoil his view of the river, so I sent Pig Sticker as a welcoming party."

      
At this juncture the cousins exchanged a flurry of words in Muskogee with Alex joining in now and again. Barbara said to Joss, "They're discussing the situation on the frontier. Please don't feel left out. You know how men are about politics."

      
As he helped the women into the carriage, Devon apologized to Joss. "I did not intend to be rude. Please forgive me."

      
"I'm certain you and Alex have much to catch up on since he's been away for nearly two years," Joss replied easily.

      
Pig Sticker did not join them but bade farewell to his family before turning to Joss and saying, "Welcome to our land, wife of the Sun Fox. We shall meet again."

      
Were his words an invitation... or a threat? She wondered.

* * * *

      
While Joss was settling into the Blackthorne's big city house and meeting her new family, another far less pleasant meeting was taking place at a plantation house upriver.

      
"I've waited in this pestilent wilderness for nearly two days—two days of swatting mosquitoes and perspiring so heavily I've ruined all my clothes," Cybill Chamberlain said furiously, swiping her hand across her damp forehead.

      
Wilbur Kent ignored her outburst as he brushed the dust from his coattails. He was bone weary after his long ride from Charleston and thirsty as the very devil. Pouring himself a generous tumbler of brandy from the decanter sitting on the sideboard, he took a sip and said, "I came as soon as possible after receiving word you were in Savannah."

      
"You bungled matters abysmally, getting thrown in prison and losing all that money," she snapped.

      
"Have you brought more? I'll need it for weapons. The Red Sticks can't fight without guns and ammunition."

      
"It was no simple matter, I can assure you, but yes, I was able to convince the foreign minister to advance the funds again, although it took considerable prevarication on my part. I could scarce admit that you allowed yourself to be overpowered by a single opponent. Hardly the sort of tale to inspire confidence," she sniffed.

      
Kent laughed nastily, then downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp and reached for her. "I well know how easily prevarication comes to you, don't I, dear lady?" He pulled her roughly against his chest and kissed her.

      
She endured the crude mauling for several moments, then twisted away with a startling oath. "Rupert would slice you to ribbons for that."

      
"If your husband were to kill all the men who've swived you, the British Army's ranks would be sadly depleted. Old Boney could walk into London with scarce a shot fired," he replied as he refilled his tumbler.

      
Cybill observed the vile American lout, making an invidious comparison between his pale, long face and lank tan hair and Alex Blackthorne's chiseled features and golden head. How had she ever borne Kent's touch? One did what one had to for king and country—and one's husband's promotions, she thought grimly. Kent was useful to their cause and for now that was of paramount importance. "When will you be able to report your success to Rupert? He awaits word in Mobile."

      
"In a month I shall have the entire Creek Nation doing the Dance of the Lakes."

      
She scoffed snidely. "Just so they step to the beat of a British drummer."

* * * *

      
Joss sat on a dainty cushioned chair in front of the oval mirror in her dressing room, brushing her hair before retiring for the night. Poc snored blissfully on a Duncan Phyfe armchair by the fireplace. Devon and Barbara's home was as gracious and charming as were they themselves. The rooms were beautifully furnished with pieces by the finest colonial cabinetmakers. It was a testament to the wealth Devon and his foster brother Quintin had accumulated for the Blackthorne dynasty.

      
Her head still swam with all the names she had to put to new faces. There were four of Alex's siblings and their husbands, including six lively children and a new baby, not to mention Quintin and Madelyne and three of their five offspring with attendant grandchildren.

      
Alex's family was indeed large and boisterous, the very sort of warm, welcoming group to which she had always dreamed of belonging. But they were intimidating, too, so brashly open and informal. Joss was certain that her British sense of decorum had made her appear stiff and reticent. She wanted so desperately to belong, yet felt like an outsider, a fraud entering the family under false pretenses. She was not truly Alex's wife—never had been as far as he was aware. After her wretched indisposition aboard ship, Joss was certain he could never desire her.

      
As yet they had had no chance to discuss sleeping arrangements. While Alex remained downstairs with his father and uncle Quint discussing the tense political situation, she hurriedly readied herself for bed. His large, masculine bedroom had an oversize bed obviously designed for a tall Blackthorne male. He could sleep in it. She intended to make use of the big leather sofa next to the fireplace. When he came in she would be swaddled demurely in blankets a dozen feet away from him with all the candles doused.

      
She had observed Alex laughing and playing with his nieces and nephews that afternoon. Small wonder he had so easily charmed the children at her school. He'd certainly had a lifetime of practice, surrounded by little ones. Did he never dream of having children of his own? Or would he one day regret his precipitous arrangement with her and wish for a real marriage?

      
If only things could go the way Barbara believes they will
, she thought wistfully, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Who was the woman in the glass looking back at her? A stranger she scarcely recognized, attractive enough, she supposed, thanks to Barbara, yet obviously not the woman for Alex.

      
Alex stood in the doorway, transfixed by Joss. His wife, yet not his wife. Elusive. Beautiful. Distant. When had he started to think of her in those terms, she who had been his faithful companion, as comfortable as a pair of old shoes?

      
His mother had wrought a marvelous physical transformation in her. She sat with that magnificent tawny mane of hair spread over her shoulders, partially concealing the body of an Amazon queen, slim and strong yet generously curved. In spite of the heavy brocade robe she wore, he remembered only too well her body silhouetted by candlelight. But for all the unwelcome lust her appearance evoked, his discomfort with her was much more profound.

      
She had changed, Joss herself. She was aloof and tense, withdrawn from him. The only member of his family she seemed attuned to was his English mother. Had it been a mistake to bring her to America? In England he'd been the carefree rake, a lovable scoundrel for her crusading Methody soul to reform. But here he was the Sun Fox, a Muskogee mixed blood. God, he could still see the expression of horrified incredulity on her face when she'd first laid eyes on Pig Sticker.

      
What does that make me—a mongrel to shrink from—or the sort of exotic savage who appeals to women like Cybill Chamberlain ?

      
He did not much care for either alternative, but that was of no immediate consequence. He would be leaving in the morning. Angrily he strode into the room and closed the door.

      
Joss whirled around, startled from her reverie, clutching her hairbrush to her breasts. "Oh, Alex, I did not expect you so soon. That is—I had planned to be in bed—er, not in bed but—"

      
"Planning sleeping schedules again, eh, m'dear?" he said as he slipped off his jacket and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

      
"I had thought to take the sofa and leave the bed for you...if that is all right."

      
Just bloody lovely
, he wanted to shout. Instead he took a deep breath and said, "The bed is quite large enough for the two of us." What insane impulse had made him blurt out such an untenable idea! He'd meant to chivalrously offer her the bed and take the sofa himself.

      
"I don't think that would be a wise idea," she equivocated, her mouth gone dry at the prospect of actually sleeping in the same bed with him again. She looked away as he continued to shed clothing, tossing waistcoat, boots and hose, then his cravat and shirt helter-skelter. Soon he'd be as naked as that Pig Sticker person!

      
"Wise idea?" he echoed. "We're married, Joss. It would be a deal more remarked upon if we did not sleep together. Remember, the servants will come in tomorrow to gather up the linens."

      
"Oh, I had not thought of that," she said in a subdued voice.
Why are you making this so difficult, Alex?

      
If he'd heard her silent question he could not have answered it. "It will only be for one night, Joss. I'm leaving at dawn for the Muskogee towns."

      
Startled by his casual announcement, she forgot her quandary over the sleeping arrangements. He was leaving her alone in this strange new country! "But we've only just arrived—your family—"

      
"Papa is going with me. Pig Sticker has already started ahead. We have to see if Tecumseh is really returning to Muskogee land."

      
"Who is this Tecumseh?" she asked, stumbling on the foreign name.

      
"A great Shawnee leader from far to the north—the land of the Great Lakes. He has dreams of a vast confederacy of Indian tribes stretching from Canada to the gulf. A noble idea, but one which is doomed to fail. The United States government will use the rebellion as an excuse to slaughter Indians and take even more of their land."

      
"And the British are merely exploiting your people for their own political aims," she ventured, wondering if in spite of what he'd said back in London, he blamed her for being English.

      
"Your mind is as keen as ever, Joss," he said with grudging admiration. "Uncle Quint has learned from his agent in Virginia that an American traitor is planning to rendezvous with the Red Stick leaders, supplying them with guns. We mean to stop him."

      
"Will this be dangerous?"

      
He shrugged. "The Red Sticks—they're Muskogees who favor a war to drive out the whites and mixed bloods who live like whites—their faction has been violent, but my father has considerable influence with the Muskogee leaders. He's been a government-licensed trader among them for thirty years. Many of them will listen to him rather than Tecumseh."

      
The sleek bronzed muscles in his shoulders rippled as he flexed his arms and stretched. She could not tear her eyes away, much as she knew it was prudent to do so. He was so splendid to look upon.

      
He glanced over to her as his fingers began to unfasten the top button of his fly. "I would suggest, Joss, to preserve your maidenly modesty that you douse the candle and climb into bed like a good girl, for I intend to sleep at once. I'll be leaving before dawn and it will come all too quickly."

      
She blushed fiery red, remembering all too well that he slept without a nightshirt. "I shall wrap one of the sheets about me and you may have the other... so our, er... limbs do not touch," she said, scrambling to rearrange the covers.

      
Alex chuckled in spite of his frustration. "My ever practical and always resourceful Joss."

* * * *

      
The night was hellishly long for both of them, lying stiffly and silently alongside each other, afraid to move, virtually afraid to breathe, lest the acute and uncomfortable awareness humming between them trigger a reaction neither could control. Joss hugged one edge of the large bed with her slender body. Alex, in spite of his much larger frame, clung to the opposite side.