by Diana Ballew
He moved her to the smooth-planked wall, hoisted her up, and lifted her wet dress up to her waist. “Now, wrap your legs around me.”
She did as he demanded and straddled his waist. She heard him fumble with his trouser buttons. Wedged firmly between him and the wall, she felt his male strength slide inside her. Instantly, he moaned a husky groan of pleasure.
“Eden, my sweet Eden,” he whispered against her throat. He lifted her arms high over her head, holding them firmly. “You’re mine, you hear me?”
He moved within her, over and over, deeper, faster, kissing her neck, kissing her mouth.
“Am I yours, Rayce?” Like the churning tide, she felt the swell within her stir once again with each powerful thrust of his hips.
“You know you are,” he whispered against her ear. “Say you’re mine, Eden. Say it!”
His breathing quickened, and his teeth grazed her neck. He released her arms and cupped her bottom in his hands. He thrust deeper and gazed into her eyes. “Say it now, Eden. Say it, because, so help me God...I’m in love with you.”
Lord help me! She kissed him, her tongue exploring his lips, his mouth. She pulled away and looked into his eyes whispering, “I’m yours, Rayce.” She buried her nose in his neck, relishing his scent, tasting his throat against her lips. “I’m yours, my darling. I love you.”
He moved faster, plunging deeper, his hastened breathing warm and rhythmic against her ear. The tide within her rose to an unbearable height.
“Rayce, I need you. I love you—”
“I love you, Eden, God help me, I do.”
His words seared her neck. “And you’re mine now, do you hear me?” he demanded, his firm fingertips digging into her bottom.
As if the skies suddenly rained liquid fire, the swell within her burst forth. She gasped, her lips trailing helplessly against his neck, her fingertips digging into his back. He groaned and plunged deeper, and they climaxed together, their sounds of pleasure echoing against the walls of the tall-planked timber.
She struggled to catch her breath. “Please...Rayce.”
He smoothed the hair from her forehead, his jagged breathing caressing her neck. “Please what, darlin’?”
“Please...please just tell me you didn’t kill him,” she choked out. “Just tell me you didn’t kill Patrick.”
He froze in place, the sound of their quickened breathing echoing in the sudden stillness.
“Rayce?” She grabbed his firm jaw and forced him to look at her. The lightning storm had moved out to sea, but distant flashes poked through the cracks, illuminating his dark, bottomless eyes.
He sighed extravagantly and maneuvered them back to the tarpaulin. “Hell, no, I didn’t kill him. Probably should have, though. I suppose I owe your father my gratitude for taking care of the lout himself. Your old beau’s a broken man now.”
In a flurry of damp fabric, she scrambled up and stared down at him. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’” He reached into the pocket of his shirt, pulled out a cheroot, and lit it. “I’m saying I’m happy your father dealt with him, ran him out of town.”
“Ran Patrick out of town? My father?” She rushed about, gathering her boots and stockings. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her fingers suddenly went numb, and she fumbled with the laces on her boot.
His stomach tightened in a stiff knot, like he’d just been socked in the gut. Eden didn’t know. She really didn’t know why the turncoat bastard had left her.
She stood above him shaking, her arms folded across her chest, staring down at him with a look of contempt. He sat up and reached out to her. “Now, wait—”
“I have to go.” She jerked away and smoothed her wet dress, avoiding his gaze.
“Eden, look.” He took a puff of his cheroot and squashed it out as if it were a deadly spider. “I thought you knew, honey.” He stood up and pulled her in his arms.
She gnawed at her bottom lip, wrenching herself from his embrace. “I...I just have to go, right now.”
He faced her. “Now, just hold on, honey. Perhaps we should talk about this first. It’s obvious you’re upset.”
“Upset?” She hastened past him, toward the door. “You can’t possibly know what happened, and you make it sound as though my father somehow betrayed me.”
“On the contrary, my dear. Your father did you a favor. That I can assure you. You haven’t forgotten I was alone for an hour with your old beau, remember?”
“And I’m supposed to believe Patrick would just tell you, a perfect stranger, his tales of woe?”
She pushed the door open wide. With her chin held high, she hiked her dress above her ankles and stepped gingerly across the muddied ground, heading toward the outbuilding.
He rushed out and grabbed hold of her arm. “What are you doing, Eden? Talk to me.”
“I’m going to check on Patrick.”
“Not now—he’s fine. I’ll send Hetty to check on him.”
She shook her head and pushed his hand away. “Don’t try to stop me!” Tears welled in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered. “You don’t understand. I need to see him!” She turned away and rummaged through the pocket in her dress.
He sighed and rubbed his chin. “So, you’re not going to take my word for it? I can tell you what you need to know, Eden, because, the simpleton that he is, spilled everything to me.” He nudged her shoulder.
She turned and snatched the handkerchief he extended, her eyes narrowing in on his. “Who’s the simpleton? He could have told you anything, Rayce. What makes you think he'd tell you the truth?”
He smiled. “Well, let's just say the pitiful bastard didn't have much of a choice—”
“Ha! I’ll bet. He probably would have told you anything out of fear you’d kill him, you...you brute!”
He took a step toward her. “Brute? Now I’m the bad guy?”
She stepped back. “Don’t come near me! I...I don’t believe any of this. Not for one second do I believe my father was behind Patrick’s leaving me. My father held me while I wept in anguish!”
“And I’ve just made love to you. Why would I lie to you?” he asked, his tone growing angry.
“Made love to me, or had your way with me?” she sneered.
“What? Jesus—you’re impossible!” He held his hands up. “Fine. Do what you want.”
Eden tilted her chin and turned away. “Fine. I will.”
The moon peered through the clouds, lighting her way toward the outbuilding. With each measured step, half of her told her to stay and talk this out with Rayce, while the other half told her to continue forward toward Patrick. She peered over her shoulder and saw Rayce walking away.
“You just go to him, then!” he yelled over his shoulder, cramming his hands into his trouser pockets.
She spotted the lovely, ebony skinned servant gazing out the parlor window watching Rayce as he hastened his pace toward the manor—toward an awaiting Trinidad.
“Ha! And you can just go find your in-house strumpet!” she yelled, quickening her step toward Patrick.
“What the hell are you babbling about now, woman?” he shouted back. “What strumpet might that be?”
“Trinidad!” she yelled back, dodging a mud puddle. “I suppose you thought I was quite the fool!”
“Damn it all to hell, woman! If that’s what you think, then, indeed, you are a fool!” he growled back, his voice echoing across the sprawling grounds. “I’ll have you know, that so called ‘strumpet’ happens to be my sister!”
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Trinidad is...his sister!
She spun around and tried to speak. She cleared her throat. “Rayce...Please, Rayce—wait!” she managed to shriek out, but the moon had shrewdly slipped behind a dark cloud, and he was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 13
Rayce stomped up the portico steps and bolted into the house.
“Oh, Will,” Ann cooed, “Honestly, these freshwater pearl
earbobs are positively lovely.”
The entry door slammed shut with a monstrous thud. The brass doorknocker banged clumsily as it thumped against the thick wood outside.
“I swear, I have never in my life met such a—” Rayce muttered, stopping short when he entered the parlor and saw the surprised faces staring at him.
Trinidad grabbed Hetty by the sleeve, and the two servants shuffled toward the back of the house, one on the heels of the other.
“Oh, my heavens,” Ann breathed. “Whatever is the matter, Major? Is the world coming to an end? First, Eden carries on and runs out in the wicked storm like a woman gone mad, and then you come bolting in looking like a drowned wolf.”
She glanced down at his feet and gasped. “Why, look at those muddy boots.” Ann scanned the room. “Trindad?” she called. She spun on her heels and faced Will. “Honestly, where did that woman disappear to now?” She picked up the bell on the end table and called, “Trinidad? Hello? The Major’s boots need cleaning.”
“Major?” Will asked, frowning, “Is everything all right?
Rayce waved his hand in the air and marched straight to the sideboard. “Oh...er...it's nothing.” He inhaled deeply and seized the bottle of brandy, then paused.
No, not tonight.
He exchanged the stylish bottle for the jug of rotgut Kentucky bourbon and poured a full shot.
It’s that kind of night.
Ann and Will exchanged glances. Finally, Ann cleared her throat and set the bell on the table. “By chance, Major, did you happen to see Eden? She left in such a fit, and I—”
Rayce grumbled into the shot glass and balled his hand into a fist.
“Oh my,” Ann murmured. “Gentleman, perhaps I’ll go check on Lucy and the baby and give you men some time for your cigars and...and politickin’.”
Will shuffled up from the divan. He waggled his eyebrows and presented Ann with an exaggerated bow. “Mrs. Blair, until we meet again.”
Ann smiled and waltzed away, turning over her shoulder to blow him a kiss across the palm of her hand. “Mr. Benton.” She nodded at Rayce. “Major Hampton.”
Rayce scowled and swallowed the fiery liquid.
Will drifted toward Rayce, his face glowing crimson. “Isn’t Mrs. Blair just the best? I must say, I’m absolutely crazy about her.”
Rayce stared at Will for a moment, then poured himself another shot and set him up with one, as well.
Will took a healthy taste of the bourbon, swallowed hard, and coughed. “Rayce, you know I’m your friend, and I hope you would confide in me if you ever feel the need to do so.”
“And you the same, my friend.” Rayce tossed the shot of fiery liquid down his throat and winced. He looked at his love-struck friend and sighed. “Will, how about you take a seat and join me for a couple more, because if you have your mind set on a Blair woman, you’re going to need this as much as I do.”
Avoiding the countless puddles, Eden made her way to the medical outbuilding. She paused at the door and inhaled deeply, hoping to calm her racing heart before knocking. She rested her head against the closed door. Finally, she rapped quietly on the wooden entry.
“Come in,” Patrick replied.
She entered the dimly lit room and found Patrick sitting in a chair wearing his dusty, Yankee blue trousers, reading a book by candlelight. Several buttons of his muslin shirt were unfastened, exposing the top of his smooth, bare chest, glistening with moisture. His long, sandy blonde hair had been combed since she last saw him. Strands of lighter hair, bleached by the hot Virginia sun, glinted in the firelight, turning his eyes a deeper shade of blue.
She cleared her throat and cast her gaze toward the vacant wall next to him. “I trust you’re feeling better?”
“I am.” He closed the book and rose slowly from the chair. “Thanks to you.”
“Do sit down. You’ll need your strength.”
He took a step forward and arched his eyebrows. “Heaven's above, Eden, your hair and clothes are soaked.” He grabbed a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “I plan to leave tomorrow.”
She gazed up at him and tugged the wool blanket, wrapping the ends tightly around her balled fist. “I see.” She sat in the chair. The squeak of the old, wooden legs filled the rooms deafening silence.
He set the book on the small table. Wearing the beguiling smile that used to melt her heart, he walked slowly toward her. “Eden...” he said softly.
She inhaled sharply. “Wait. Don't come any closer, Patrick, I mean it. Say what you need to say and then leave in the morning.”
He held his hands up, stepped backwards, and sat on the bedding. “Look, Eden, I know you’re sore.”
“Sore! You think I’ve just been sore?” She pursed her lips so tight her jaw hurt.
“I can’t begin to make it up to you, honey.”
“What?” She glared at him, straight on. “Make it up to me? Patrick, you left me. You left me with our wedding plans in place without so much as a goodbye.”
He sighed and lowered his head.
Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. She quickly hid them in the folds of the blanket. “And if that weren’t bad enough, I learned not only did you desert me, you sided with the Yankees. Do I have this correct so far?”
“It’s not that I didn’t love you, because I did.” He lifted his head, his gaze fixed upon hers. “I still love you, Eden.”
“Ha!” she choked out. “You love me? Oh, for pity’s sake, Patrick. What do you know of love?”
He rubbed his hands through his hair. With a loud, grumbling sigh, he rose from his bedding and took a step toward her.
She put out her arm and looked directly into his steel-blue eyes. “No. Stop right there. I mean it, Patrick.”
“Lord above, Eden. I’m just standing up cuz my knees are cramped up, for God’s sake.”
“Well, fine, then.” She stuck out her chin. “But don’t come near me.”
He paced the floor. “Hell, don’t you know how much I’ve missed you? I got a letter from my mother about the fire and all, and she told me where you were living. So, I decided while I was fighting near these parts I’d pay you a call first chance I got.”
“Pay me a call?” she sneered. “Figured you owed me that much, did you?”
He winced. “I just needed to see you again. I was already feeling poorly when I started out to find this place. Now, I’m thinking, I'm lucky I made it here at all.”
Eden exhaled slowly, trying to calm the frantic rush of her pulse. “Just tell me why, Patrick. I deserve an explanation.”
He rubbed his overgrown whiskers. “Lord, I promised the major I’d come clean and tell you everything. He said I owed it to you, and I reckon’ he’s right.”
“Leave the major out of this,” she snapped. “You're lucky he hasn't wrung your neck clean off of your shoulders just for being here.”
He snorted. “What’s between you and the major, anyhow? He’s one smooth son of a bitch, isn’t he?”
She narrowed her gaze. “I said, keep him out of this.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “Yes, well, what I want to say is...is that I have always loved you, Eden. I always will. But...” He inhaled and bit down on his bottom lip.
She jutted her chin forward, her gaze narrowing in on his, waiting for an answer. “Go on.”
Finally, he exhaled loudly and said, “But, I got myself in some boiling hot water back home. I had no choice but to leave you.”
“What? What do you mean by ‘no choice’? Of course you had a choice. You had a choice to stay with me, and you chose not to. You had a choice to side with Virginia, and you chose not to. It appears to me you’ve had plenty of choices.”
“Damn.” He laced his fingers and cracked each knuckle. “Now this is turning out to be harder than I thought it would be.”
She rose from the chair and paced the room. “I can’t do this.” She started for the door. “Goodbye, Patrick. You’re on your own.”
�
�Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “You can’t leave, Eden. I have to tell you all of it or...”
She raised an eyebrow. “Or?”
“Or the major’s gonna turn me in. See that I’m hanged as a deserter.”
“Unhand me.” She swatted his hand from her arm. “So, what you’re saying is you’re only telling me this, something I deserve to know, because you face death otherwise? How very noble of you.”
Patrick’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing into a deep groove. He moved in swiftly and seized her shoulders. “It's like this, Eden. I’m a son of a bitch, all right?”
Stunned by his sudden movement, she stared into his face, unable to speak.
He looked in her eyes as if searching for something he couldn’t find. After a moment, he turned from her gaze, sighed heavily, and dropped his arms to his sides.
He walked to the small window and stared outside. “You remember Jemma—Little Jemmy we called her back home?”
“The little negro girl of your mother’s, about fifteen?”He sniffed. “That’s her.”
Puzzled, Eden frowned and shrugged. “What does she have to do with anything?”
Patrick wedged his hands in his pocket and turned around, avoiding her gaze. He paced the floor. “Well, your father got it into his head I was the father of that little baby of hers.”
“You?”
“Yeah. He came to me sayin’ I had raped her. Can you believe that?”
Eden felt the warm blood drain from her face. Oh, yes, she remembered Jemma. She and her father had been summoned to the McDowell plantation one morning to confirm Jemma was indeed with child, much to the dismay of Patrick’s mother, who had developed a case of dyspepsia upon learning of the girl’s impending confinement. She also recalled being ill herself with fever when Jemma’s time had come and hearing the urgent knocks at the door, hushed voices, and her father’s return in the early hours of the morning.
Think! Eden scrunched her eyes shut, trying to recall the long night in more detail.
It was late when Jemma’s mother had come to the house, begging her father to deliver the baby because her daughter was having such a wicked time. She recalled going downstairs and finding her father tending to the severe wound he had suffered when he fell from his horse on his way home in the wee hours of the morning. The wound she sutured and tended, only to have it fester with insurmountable infection.