Wilde, Jennifer (26 page)

"Come
on, love," he said pleasantly, tugging at the reins, "that's no way
to be. You're carrying a load of nice trinkets in those packs and I aim to sell
the lot of 'em. We're late as it is. No nonsense now—"

I
recognized
him immediately. I remembered the soft, pleasingly slurred voice, the amiable
brown eyes, and the shaggy sandy locks that fell across his brow in a heavy
fringe. He was wearing the same brown boots and buckskins he had worn before,
the jacket adorned with long, leathery fringe. When the mule refused to move,
Jeff Rawlins shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh, and then he caught hold
of one of the mule's ears, took it between his teeth and bit down forcefully.
The mule brayed angrily.

"Serves
you right, actin' like a bloody prima donna. Why can't you behave yourself like
your brother here?
He
never balks. You ready to move along now?"

The
mule actually nodded. Jeff Rawlins gave it an affectionate pat on the nose, and
then he turned and saw me standing beside the wagon. He looked dismayed, then
delighted. A wide grin played on his lips.

"If
this don't beat
all,"
he exclaimed. "I was thinking about you
just a little while ago—God's truth I was. I thought seein' as how I'll be in
the neighborhood for a while I oughta stop by Hawke's place, see if he needs
any thimbles or thread or knives or things like I'm sellin', see if he still has
that magnificent wench he beat me out of."

"Hello,
Mr. Rawlins," I said coldly.

"You
remember me? 'Course you do. Once they encounter Jeff Rawlins, the ladies can't
get him outta their minds—it's these cursed good looks and my carefree charm.
There's been many a time I've wished a few of 'em
had
forgot, I don't
mind tellin' you."

"I
remember you well."

"I
'll bet you were
disappointed when I lost out to Hawke, weren't you? Come on, wench, confess
it."

"Actually
I was—at first. Then I learned about your affiliations in New Orleans."

Rawlins
looked hurt. "I say, has Hawke been bad-mouthin' me? That ain't no way to
do. I'm just an honest peddler travelin' around with my pack mules, trying to
make an honest living. Anyone can see that."

He
spoke in a light, jesting tone, grinning all the while. Rawlins had charm, all
right. I had never encountered such charm. Breezy, engaging, he had the manner
of a raffish little boy. He wasn't really handsome, the mouth too wide, the
nose slightly humped, but there was a magnetism far more potent than good looks
could have been. Those eyes and that grinning, sensual mouth would have stirred
the coldest breast. I knew what he was and I detested him for it, yet I felt an
attraction in spite of myself.

"Surprised
to see me?" he inquired.

"A
little," I admitted.

"I
finished my business in New Orleans and came back along the Trace to do a bit
of tradin' till the next auction. Me and the mules've been going around the
county, visiting various plantations to sell my goods. I 'spect I'll sell the
rest this afternoon."

"I
wish you luck."

"Really?
That's mighty nice, knowin' you care."

Rawlins
strolled over and stood before me with his hands resting on his thighs, his
head cocked slightly to one side. He was so close I could feel the heat of his
body, smell his musky male odor. I should have been uneasy. I wasn't. Sure of
myself, sure of my feelings for Derek, I felt immune to Rawlins's seductive
charm.

"I
must say, wench, you look even more appetizing than I remembered. I
do
adore
redheads. I fear I've a weakness for 'em."

"That's
too bad, Mr. Rawlins."

"Hey
now, you ain't going to be unfriendly, are you? And me such an engaging
chap." He shook his head in mock sadness. "That's no way to
act."

"I
couldn't help but smile. It was impossible not to like him, impossible not to
respond to that affable manner. I found it hard to believe he was as vile as he
was painted. Too, it was flattering to be found attractive and appealing. Jeff
Rawlins made me feel exceedingly feminine.

"That's
more like it," he told me. "I say, what're you doin' all by yourself
out here?"

"I'm
waiting for Hawke," I lied. "He should be joining me any minute
now."

"Damn,
just my luck. I was hopin' we could have a quick tumble under the wagon—or
somethin'. Today just isn't my day."

"I'm
certain you'll find several amenable women at the fair, Mr. Rawlins."

"Probably
so," he teased. "I usually do. Gets to be a bit tiresome after a
while—all this charm, all those women. None of 'em will be anything like you,
though. Hawke happy with you?"

"Very."

"Don't
reckon he'd be interested in sellin'?"

"I
doubt it, Mr. Rawlins."

"Be
a fool if he
was.
I'm headin' up to the auction in a couple days. On the
way back I might just stop by Shadow Oaks on the off chance I can persuade him
to change his mind. Be wastin' my time, probably, but I got plenty of time to
waste."

"Another
prison ship has arrived?"

Rawlins
nodded. "I don't expect to find any prizes, I might as well confess it.
Truth to tell, I'm beginning to lose interest in that particular little
enterprise. It's a helluva lot of trouble for damned little profit."

He
glanced around. There was still no one in sight. We were alone, surrounded by
empty wagons and carriages. Tree limbs swayed gently in the breeze. The deep
shadows danced over the ground. His wide pink mouth spread in another grin.

"I
say, Hawke's certainly takin' his time—"

"He's
bound to be here in just a minute."

"Even
so, I reckon there's time for a quick kiss—"

He
pulled me into his arms in one quick movement, clasping me in a light firm
grip. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could even shape the words,
his mouth fastened over mine and he was kissing me quite thoroughly. I
struggled, trying to break free, and Rawlins's arms tightened around me. He was
strong, much too strong. There was nothing I could do but give in to the
dizziness... and the delight.

Rawlins
drew his head back and, still holding me, looked at me with mischievous brown
eyes.

"That
wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

"You—you're
a rogue, Mr. Rawlins!"

"Always
was," he confessed. "Bad blood, I reckon."

"And
you need a bath! You smell of sweat and the woods and—"

"Don't
pretend to be nothing 'cept what I am, wench. A backwoods savage. You called me
that once, remember? I'll tell you something, though. I could have you lovin'
it in no time at all."

"Let
go of me."

Rawlins
released me, grinning again. I wanted to slap that grin off his face, but, in
truth, I wasn't nearly as angry as I should have been. Those sensations were
still swirling inside. I felt weak and vulnerable and curiously elated, as
though I'd had too much wine much too quickly. Rawlins was fully aware of the
effect he had on me.

"Reckon
I'll be moseying along now," he said. "Got a lotta goods to sell and
not too much time left to sell 'em. You take good care of yourself now, wench.
I'll be seein' you again 'fore too much longer."

"Hawke
will run you off the place!"

"A
friendly chap like me, trying to make an honest livin'? Why should he? You're
not going to tell him about our little kiss. It was a harmless peck—and you
enjoyed every second of it."

He
made an elaborate bow then and tipped an imaginary hat. Then he strolled back
to his mules, caught up the reins, and led them on towards the fairgrounds,
their heavy packs wobbling as they moved. I was filled with a variety of
emotions, most of them disturbingly pleasant. I loved Derek Hawke with all my
heart and soul, yet I had been strongly attracted to Jeff Rawlins. It was
purely physical, yet it worried me nonetheless. I felt that I had somehow
betrayed myself.

I
did not mention my encounter with Rawlins when I met Derek by the carousel, nor
did I mention him during the journey back to Shadow Oaks. Derek was moody and
withdrawn, and I felt no inclination to talk myself. I wondered if he had
accomplished his purpose at the fair. It was impossible to tell from his
manner. It was growing late by the time we reached the plantation, and I was
pleased to see that Cassie had already started the evening meal. I took over,
grateful to have something to do.

Hawke
retired to his study after dinner, and I helped Cassie clear up and wash the
dishes. Her morning sickness had long since passed, and she was all aglow,
radiantly beautiful as she moved about the kitchen under the gaze of Adam, who
sat at the table with a cup of hot coffee. Although it had already been let out
once, Cassie's pink dress was again too tight, her swollen breasts and stomach
straining against the cloth. When our work was finished, she leaned against her
husband's chair, resting her hand on his shoulder. Adam looked up at her, his
dark eyes full of pride and love. The two of them together like that were an
incredibly lovely sight, so touching that it almost brought tears to my eyes.

"This
man," Cassie said, touching the side of his face. "I'm a lucky wench,
Miz Marietta, and I knows it."

Adam
scowled fiercely, pretending to be displeased. "Git on about yore
business," he growled. "Stop pawin' over me."

"Ain't
he a man? Ain't he beautiful?"

"He's
goin' whup yore hide effin you don't stop moonin'."

Cassie
smiled, knowing the threat was hollow, knowing he loved her as deeply and
passionately as she loved him. It was already dark outside, a thick, velvety
summer darkness, and the lamps burned warmly in the kitchen, creating a soft,
intimate atmosphere that was a perfect setting for their love. Cassie poured
another cup of coffee for him and brought him some of the molasses cookies I
had baked the day before. The three of us visited for a while, weary, relaxed,
talking lazily about nothing in particular, and it was after nine before they
finally went out to their cabin.

I
had gone up to my bedroom and was just starting to get undressed when Derek
stepped into the room. He had removed jacket and waistcoat. His shirt was
slightly rumpled, tucked loosely into the waistband of his breeches. I was
pleased, for he hadn't come to my bedroom the past two nights. Derek never
talked when he visited me. He came, he slept with me, and then he returned to
his own bedroom. He never fully undressed, either. It was almost as though
taking off all his clothes and climbing under the covers with me would indicate
a commitment he wasn't prepared to make. He used me as many of the planters
used their Negro wenches, but I wasn't at all perturbed. In the act itself
Derek expressed all those feelings he refused to acknowledge openly, and one
day, one day soon, I hoped, he would express those feelings openly, without
fear.

"I
have something for you," I told him.

"Oh?"

"It's
here, in the drawer—" I took out the small parcel Bessie had wrapped for
me and handed it to him. Derek wasn't at all pleased, frowning as he tore away
paper and string.

"I
thought it would go nicely with your navy-blue suit."

"You
bought it at the fair?"

I
nodded. Derek examined the neckcloth, still frowning, then placed it on the
dressing table.

"I
intended you to buy something for yourself," he said.

"I
wanted you to have it, Derek. I—I hoped you'd be pleased."

Derek
did not reply, but stepped over to me and, reaching around, began to unfasten
my dress in back. He looked bored and indifferent, even as he pulled the bodice
down and slipped the dress below my waist. It fell to the floor, a rustling
circle of red sprigged with tiny black flowers. I held my breath as he caught
the straps of my petticoat and tugged at them, exposing my breasts. Catching
hold of my arms, he backed me up against the bed, shoved me gently onto the
mattress.

An
hour later he stood at the side of the bed, tucking the tail of his shirt back
into the waistband of his breeches. He had made love to me twice, powerfully,
with an almost frantic zest, yet he still seemed worried and preoccupied now.
Languorous, replete, filled with a sweet ache that seemed to glow inside, I
pulled my bodice back up and smoothed my skirts and watched him step across the
room to the mirror. Although his back was to me, I could see his face in the
glass. He brushed the sweat-damp hair from his brow and stared at his
reflection as though to find an answer to some grave question. The hollows
beneath his cheekbones and the shadows about his eyes seemed even more
pronounced than they had been earlier. It wasn't like him to linger like this.
He usually returned to his own room as soon as he adjusted his clothing.

"Something's
bothering you," I said quietly. "There— there's something you want to
tell me."

Derek
turned and nodded, frighteningly grim. "You'll have to know sooner or
later—Randolph will be here early next week."