Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t! “No,” she hotly denied.
“Yes,” Jock asserted. “That’s where you’d go. I’ve never said anything to you, dear sister, because there was no cause to chastise you for your silly infatuation, and believe me, I know your love is one-sided. That Maori bastard you believe you love hasn’t looked twice at you, has he?” He twisted her arm. “Well, has he?”
She shook her head as tears filled her eyes. She made a valiant attempt to blink them away, but one slipped down her cheek. So, Jock knew she was in love with Tiku. Tiku’s mother was the Sutherland cook, and Marjorie had been in love with him for years, a hopeless love, she knew—not only because he was a Maori but because she was a cripple. A man as handsome and perfectly formed as Tiku could never love someone like her. And it hurt to know this, but for Jock to know, too, was a cruel pain.
Her brother moved away from her, examining her from head to toe with icy contempt. “Thank God for small favors. Carruthers will expect a virgin bride. At least you haven’t disappointed me in that respect, or then again, you had no choice but to remain untouched. You’d like that Maori bastard to make love to you.”
“Tiku is a fine man,” she proclaimed. “Much finer than you’ll ever be. And he isn’t a bastard. His father married his mother in a Maori ceremony. You know that Tiku’s father was a British explorer, that he sent him to England to be educated…”
“Marjorie, forget him. Tiku doesn’t know you exist.”
That was the truth and it hurt. Tiku never once looked at her except to speak to her on the days he came to High Winds to see his mother. “I know that.”
“I’m glad. Now, let’s concentrate on getting you married to Carruthers.”
“You want Bert’s land.”
“You’re more astute than I thought, my dear. Yes, I want his land. You owe me for your care, and this is the way you’ll repay me. And if you get it into your head to run away, whether it’s to Tiku or someplace else, I’ll make certain your Maori prince suffers for it.”
Marjorie’s eyes widened in fear. Jock hated the Maoris, though he pretended to be concerned about them because it was politically feasible to do so. “You couldn’t hurt him, Jock. You wouldn’t hurt Tiku. He doesn’t know I exist—what would be the point?”
“The point is that you know what will happen if you don’t go through with the ceremony.”
Her knuckles were white as she held on to her cane. Part of her ached to bash in her brother’s head, but she was a gentle person and violence didn’t come easily to her. There was no other alternative but to acquiesce to Jock’s wishes.
“I’ll marry Bert Carruthers, but when he touches me, I’ll pretend it’s Tiku.”
Jock didn’t hide his scorn. “Whatever you must do, Marjorie,” he replied.
Chapter 8
When Damon entered the cabin he realized something was different. The small table had been set with a cream-colored tablecloth and a lighted candle stood in the center. The two plates with accompanying utensils caused Damon to lift an eyebrow in suspicion. Was Eden expecting company? Could it be a man? A swift surge of jealousy rushed through him.
He saw Eden when she turned from the oven, holding a pan of freshly baked bread whose delicious aroma filled the cabin. In a pink-and-white checked gown with a white apron tied around her tiny waist, she looked very young and innocent. Her hair was braided, a pink bow at the end, and hung enticingly over her right shoulder. When she saw him, she smiled, enchanting him with her beauty and warmth.
“You’re back early,” Eden commented, placing the bread on the table.
“Aye.’’
“I can see you’ve bathed already.”
“Aye.” He couldn’t tell her he’d been home for a bath. “I bathed in the lagoon.”
She stood ill at ease. “I see.”
She didn’t see at all. If she did, she’d stop staring at him with those beautiful, shiny green eyes and turn away so he wouldn’t have to see her luscious pink mouth, which looked as if it were begging to be kissed. He’d seen prettier women than Eden Flynn, but no other woman could get to him as she could, without even seeming to try. Damn the wanton witch for what she was doing to him. “I wanted to get a good night’s sleep,” he said more harshly than he intended.
“Will we be going to church tomorrow?”
He peered at her as if she were daft. “Church?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. I assume there are services in town.”
“Aye, sure there are.” He hadn’t been to church since the day he and Tessa were married.
“Shall we go then?”
“I’m not one for going to church, but I’ll take you if you want.”
Eden beamed her pleasure. “Have you eaten yet? I’ve got roast chicken and potatoes for supper.”
The food did smell good, and he hadn’t eaten much at the house. “I don’t want to spoil your supper. I can see you’re having a guest.”
“Damon, don’t be silly.” Eden laughed and took one of the plates from the table and began to spoon some chicken and potatoes out of a roasting pan onto the plate. “I’m not having a guest unless you consider yourself to be one. Come on, sit down and eat.” She placed the succulent food on the table.
A sense of relief washed over Damon. No one else was coming. It would be just the two of them. She’d prepared the supper in the hope he’d join her. He was summarily overjoyed to know she’d gone to the trouble of cooking him a meal and suspicious, too. Why had she done this?
Despite his reservations, he sat down, quaffing his own guilt at already having eaten at Castlegate. He really should tell her about the house, but it was his house, not hers. He’d thought she’d have already fled Thunder Mine once she saw the cabin and realized it wasn’t luxurious like her quarters at LaRue’s had no doubt been. But she’d surprised him by cleaning the place without complaint, and she’d even sewn some pretty green curtains for the window. She’d won over the miners and their womenfolk—not an easy feat since many of them were suspicious of strangers in general. She’d even straightened out the mess he’d made of the account books, which had been Shamus’s job, but something Damon hadn’t had the time to do after Shamus left.
Still, he didn’t believe she intended to stay in New Zealand. He expected she’d sell him her share of the mine and head back to America. She’d be wealthy enough and wouldn’t need to return to the “profession” she’d left behind at LaRue’s. He wanted to be hard on her and force her to leave, but he knew he was softening toward her.
Each time he looked at her he couldn’t believe what she’d been. There was something in her face and tempting body that went beyond sheer physical beauty. He sensed she was vulnerable, and this surprised him. He wanted this woman as he’d never wanted another. And he knew she wanted him, too. He didn’t doubt he could have taken her anytime he wished, and he would have, except he’d seen another side to her now that they were partners.
Eden was intelligent, possessed of a quick mind. During the short time she’d been at Thunder Mine, she’d made suggestions about the working conditions which Damon intended to implement. She might not be familiar with mining, but she caught on quickly and was as good as any man.
But she’d told him she loved him, and he was afraid of losing his heart to her. That was something he wouldn’t allow to happen, and not only because of her past. He didn’t believe he’d survive the pain of the desertion he knew was inevitable.
“I hope you like the chicken,” Eden said.
“Very good,” he praised. “I’ve never tasted better.”
She glanced shyly at him. “It was my mother’s special recipe. She fixed it every Sunday. I remember how the kitchen slaves would flee whenever she decided to do the cooking herself. Mama always made such a mess!” Eden chuckled at the memory, not having thought of it in such a long time.
“Slaves? Your family owned slaves?”
“Yes. We owned a plantat
ion in Georgia.” She bit down on her lower lip. “At least we did until the Yankees came through and burned us out.” She shuddered. “My parents were killed by them. I later went to live with my aunt in Atlanta.”
Damon felt like the biggest fool, and his face burned with shame. No wonder she’d hated it when he’d called her “Yank.” And he should have realized she was a southerner from the soft twang in her speech. There was a great deal he didn’t know about Eden because he hadn’t thought to ask her. “I’m sorry. We’d heard of the problems here and read some accounts of the battles. But that was all. This Civil War your country fought was very bad then?”
Eden was incredulous. Evidently Damon didn’t know how horrible the war had been. But there was no reason why he should have known about all the atrocities, not when he’d been thousands of miles away and a British subject. What happened in America must have seemed unreal to him. “Yes, it was very bad.”
A long silence followed. When supper was over, Eden began picking up the dishes, stunned when Damon began helping her. She washed while Damon dried. Later, she went to her side of the room and undressed. In the candlelight she saw his powerful figure silhouetted against the thin blanket that acted as a buffer between them. She barely breathed when he started to remove his clothes.
Even as a dark shadow, Damon’s physique was superb. Her heart hammered in her ears, and her mouth went dry. If only she possessed the courage to get up and go to him, to put aside her fear that he’d reject her for what he thought she’d been and for who she wasn’t. She’d reached out to him with the supper, having felt sorry for the loss he’d suffered. He must never know she’d done it out of love—and desire.
The candle was snuffed out. She heard the cot creak with his weight. Her cheeks flamed knowing he slept nude beneath the covers. She imagined how absolutely beautiful he must look, if it was possible for a man to be beautiful.
“Thank you for the supper, Eden,” he said, interrupting her flight of fancy. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, Damon.” She smiled into the darkness. They were on a first-name basis again.
“And, Eden?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry I called you ‘Yank.’ “
She couldn’t speak because she was crying softly to herself.
~~~
The ride into town was pleasant. The December morning was warm, and Eden knew the day would grow progressively warmer, until by midafternoon the heat would be almost unbearable. The topsy-turvy seasons didn’t bother her so much now. Little by little she was getting used to New Zealand.
She sat next to Damon on the buggy ride into town. Her hands smoothed down her prettiest Sunday gown, a white dress with small blue dots on the material. On her head was a white bonnet. She wanted to make a good first impression on the minister and congregation. It meant a great deal to her to be a part of the community, to have the chance to start a new life. Even if that life wouldn’t include Damon.
They couldn’t live under the same roof forever. In fact, she doubted the roof on the place would hold out if a good thunderstorm happened along. It wasn’t seemly for them to share a house when they weren’t married, and she worried what others would think. Perhaps she could move in with Miranda and Tom for a short while, at least until she found another place to live. So far, she hadn’t broached the subject of her moving out to Damon, fearful she’d see the joy in his eyes to be finally rid of her.
She cast a longing eye over Damon, who was dressed in a brown suit with a white shirt. He looked quite dapper though uncomfortable. He tugged at his shirt collar. “Aye, it’s going to be a hot day,” he predicted, observing the sky. “I’ll bet it rains.”
The sky above them was a brilliant azure with no clouds in sight, a fact Eden mentioned. “Doesn’t matter,” Damon told her. “I can smell the rain.”
About ten minutes before services were scheduled to begin, they arrived at a small white church. Eden couldn’t help but notice Damon was nervous as they approached a group of people standing outside. He’d mentioned he hadn’t been to church in years and must have felt out of place. She was pleased to see that Miranda and Tom Creig were there, with their niece, Joanie. Most amazing of all was the sight of Nick, who wore a blue suit and sported a tiny rose on the lapel. They were warmly greeted by Nick and the others. By the time the service began, Eden felt at ease and Damon didn’t seem as nervous.
In a small pew to the side of where she sat with Damon, she couldn’t help but notice a handsome blond-haired man with a mustache and a young woman who leaned upon a cane. It was obvious to Eden that he had noticed her, too. Throughout the service, she felt his eyes upon her and she was forced to look at him. He smiled at her, and she returned one of her own. There was no need to be rude to the man.
But Damon saw this exchange and stiffened.
Could Damon be jealous? She liked thinking he might care just a bit about her.
Later, after the congregation spilled outside and Eden met some other members, Damon took her arm to lead her to the buggy. Suddenly the blond-haired man and the limping young woman were beside them. The man addressed Damon, but Damon barely nodded at him. The slight didn’t seem to matter to the man. His interest was centered on Eden.
“I take it you’re Mrs. Eden Flynn,” he said politely and offered her his hand. “I’m Jock Sutherland of High Winds, and this is my sister, Marjorie.” Marjorie nodded, a tiny smile splitting her lips. “We’re your neighbors.”
“Yes, I know. Mr. Alexander mentioned you own a sheep station.”
Jock laughed. “I’m shocked Damon thought to mention me at all.”
Believe me, he has, Eden wanted to say. She gave him one of her brightest smiles, including Marjorie. “I do hope we all can become better acquainted.”
“I’d like that,” Marjorie admitted.
“Marjorie is going to be a very close neighbor of yours, Mrs. Flynn. My sister is scheduled to marry Bert Carruthers on Boxing Day.”
“My best wishes to you and Mr. Carruthers.” Eden couldn’t believe that this young woman was going to marry that awful Bert Carruthers and that her brother approved the match. Apparently Damon was taken aback by the news because his face paled and then darkened to meet Jock’s smug grin. Several moments elapsed before he offered his congratulations to the bride-to-be.
Marjorie stiffly accepted their good wishes. “It was very sudden,” she said.
They began walking. Jock fell into step alongside Eden and Damon walked with Marjorie, who was a great deal slower because of her limp. Damon took Marjorie’s elbow and made conversation, but his attention was on Eden and Jock. The silly female was laughing giddily at something Jock said to her, probably some stupid blue-blooded joke. But he should have expected someone like Eden to be taken with Jock Sutherland.
Until last night he hadn’t known what sort of a background she’d come from. Now he did. A southern plantation, for God’s sake! Slaves and mammies, cotton fields and gallant young men to twirl her around a dance floor. From the day she was born, her every whim must have been indulged. No matter what she’d become at LaRue’s, she’d been born a southern aristocrat, complete with the silver spoon in her mouth.
And now here was Jock Sutherland to make all of her dreams come true. He was wealthy and owned vast amounts of land. He was a member of the New Zealand Parliament, an exalted position. The man’s ancestors had been dukes and lords in England. No wonder she was taken with him. Their backgrounds were similar. They were two of a kind.
Hell! he swore to himself, barely hearing Marjorie Sutherland speaking about the minister’s inspiring sermon that morning. Eden was more like Tessa than he’d thought.
“Oh, Mr. Sutherland, how entertaining you are!” Eden laughed up at Jock, her eyes a glittering green. “You and your sister must pay a visit to Thunder Mine soon.”
Jock took Eden’s hand and kissed it. She didn’t miss the cold fury on Damon’s face and felt warmed by it. He was jealous.
&nbs
p; “I doubt Damon would welcome me, Mrs. Flynn, but I should be most pleased for you to visit us at High Winds. Would you care to join Marjorie and me for luncheon tomorrow?”
“Oh, do!” Marjorie enthused, coming to stand beside them.
“I would be most pleased.” Eden didn’t dare look at Damon. She could sense his anger rising, especially when Marjorie offered him the same invitation, which he refused with a polite and friendly smile.
“Until tomorrow, then,” Jock told Eden, patting her hand. “And may I say, Mrs. Flynn, that your southern accent is most charming.”
Eden acknowledged his compliment with a dimpled smile and allowed Damon to help her into the buggy.
~~~
So that was Jock Sutherland, she mused as they drove back to the mine. He didn’t seem to be the ogre Damon had made him out to be. He was quite handsome; not even the scar detracted from his good looks. But she decided it was normal for Damon not to like Jock since they’d been competing for Tessa. Eden thought it odd that Damon still carried a grudge against Jock when Damon had wooed and won Tessa. Why did he still dislike Jock Sutherland to the point of absolute rudeness?
“I guess you think I’m a bloody fool.” Damon broke the strained silence when they were halfway home. “Sutherland could tell you were an American southerner from your speech. And here I was insulting you by calling you ‘Yank.’ “
“You’re upset over that?” Eden was incredulous. She’d thought his silence was due to jealousy. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“He one-upped me.”
Damon set his mouth in a grim line and urged the horse along. Eden seethed in her seat. He was upset because Jock Sutherland had been able to tell what part of America she was from! What a stupid, silly thing to be angry about! But she now knew that Damon’s ill temper didn’t come from any feelings he might secretly harbor for her. He was more concerned because Jock had known something he hadn’t.
What peeved her more was Damon’s not mentioning the lunch at High Winds tomorrow, which proved he didn’t care about her. If he did care, he’d insist she not go—and she wouldn’t have gone. But she knew now what she meant to Damon. Nothing.
Lynette Vinet Page 9