by Brenda Joyce
to him and touched his broad back. "It's all understand. You're afraid for me. You love me." Rathe turned to her and embraced her hard. Lucy closed her eyes and clung. This was the father she knew and loved—her god since she had been a tiny girl, someone who could make anything right.
But this time, her illusions were rudely shattered. He didn't fix her world. He destroyed it.
Rathe insisted she never see Shoz again. He insisted they divorce. Lucy refused. She demanded to see Shoz; Rathe forbade it. Beneath their battle of wills existed intense, anguished emotions, and soon they were embroiled in a frightening screaming match. Neither her aunt Storm nor her grandfather could reconcile the two. And to make matters worse, everyone was on her father's side, everyone was trying to convince her that she must divorce Shoz and begin her life anew. Lucy stopped telling them that she loved him. Apparently no one was listening to her, apparently no one cared.
That evening her grandfather brought her the papers. Despite the trauma of the day, Lucy was exhausted and dozing. At her grandfather's knock, she sat up. He came in carrying cocoa, but she saw only the documents in his hand. "Did I wake you?" "No."
"Brought you some hot chocolate." He smiled. Lucy couldn't smile back. She was still too close to tears.
"Lucy," her grandfather said tightly, "he's no hero. He's an escaped felon and a gunrunner—and those guns were stolen army carbines. He is not the man for you under any circumstances."
Her spirits crashed. "You liked him in Paradise."
"I did—and I do. Man to man. But not for my granddaughter."
"It doesn't matter." Her eyes clouded. "It's too late. Everyone seems to be forgetting that I'm his wife, Grandpa, and nothing can change that. What will happen after Cuba?"
Derek hesitated. "It's not my place to say." He reached out to stroke her hair. "I'm afraid you're wrong, Lucy."
She stared.
"He's already signed divorce papers. It didn't take very long to convince him."
"I don't believe you." But somehow she did.
"It's your turn now," her grandfather said softly.
Lucy looked at the paper he was holding out through blurry eyes. But she saw his scrawled name. "You forced him." Inside herself, she was starting to die, just a little.
"No, honey. We didn't have to force him and we didn't have to pay him off, although Rathe would have done both."
Lucy was in shock. This couldn't be happening. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing. And the worst part of it was that she could not deny that deep inside, she did believe it. Had he ever said he loved her? Miserably Lucy had to admit that all along, she hadn't really understood why he'd married her. Their marriage had been an impulsive act. She had never even tried to fool herself and ink that he loved her. Apparently their marriage had meant little or nothing to him.
"I'm sorry, Lucy," Derek said, standing. "I'll leave the papers here. You sign them when you feel up to it. Tomorrow we'll go back to Paradise."
Lucy wished she were at Paradise right now. How she needed her mother.
"Honey," her grandfather said gently, "you're young, smart, and strong—not to mention beautiful. In no time at all, this will be behind you. You'll forget it. Time does that. There'll be another man for you, Lucy, trust me." Lucy didn't answer. She couldn't. "And you don't have to worry about scandal. We'll keep this hushed up—no one will know. No one will know anything. Trust me."
Her grandfather had been wrong about the scandal. They arrived back in New York City the first week in August, Lucy, her parents and brothers, and Joanna. The coincidence was bizarre. In Texas there had been no word of her abduction in the papers, but Texas was Derek Bragg's domain. And Paradise protected its own. The kidnapping was no secret there, although all the details were, yet as always in Paradise, Lucy was treated with friendliness and respect, as if the sore episode had never occurred.
The day after they returned to New York, the headlines were screaming with the news that had been so successfully contained in Texas. "Heiress Returns to Society After Abduction!" "Bragg Heiress Survives Kidnapping!" The sensational Hearst paper, the New York Journal, led the attack with the headline. "Bragg Heiress Spends Month with Kidnapper in Mexico!"
Lucy was still too numb over Shoz's rejection to care, but her parents were furious and upset. She was instantly hustled off to Newport for the last few weeks of the summer, j Lucy could have been in Hong Kong for all that it mattered. She never left the Bragg estate—some days she never even left her room. She slept most of the time and had lost her appetite. Her parents fretted and tried to get her to go visit her friends and accept those callers who came. Lucy paid them no attention. She even turned away Leon Claxton without seeing him, despite his message that he would be leaving the States soon and he must speak with her. She just did not care.
And then one day toward the end of the summer, the fog lifted. The depression disappeared. And suddenly Lucy was angry.
Shoz wasn't suffering over her, she was sure of that. He was in Cuba somewhere, but knowing him, he was a survivor—and he had already forgotten her. So why should she mourn him? She was Lucy Bragg, he was a nobody. She was the best thing that could have happened to him, he was the worst that could have happened to her. She wouldn't deny that she had loved him, and maybe she still did, but she would return to the living with a vengeance. She would show anyone who cared to notice that she did : not give a damn about the miserable bastard, not at all!
Before Lucy sailed forth to find her friends, she had to see Leon. Technically he was her beau, and she had been terribly rude to turn him away when he had called. She was even sorry now that she had not paid him more attention when he had visited her in Paradise. But there was no point in dwelling on that! She sent him a brief note, and the next day, he arrived to see her.
Lucy decided to receive him in the music room, which was bright and cheerful, especially in the sunny afternoons. She was nervous; Leon was the first person other than family whom she was seeing since her return from Texas. What would his reaction to the scandal be?
"I'm glad to see you, Leon," she said, entering the room, her smile hesitant.
He stood, looking dashing in white trousers and a navy linen jacket. His gaze swept her. "That wasn't the impression I got last week."
Lucy felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "I wasn't feeling well last week. Surely you can understand that." "Oh, I think I can understand."
There was a bite in his tone. He wasn't at all the doting admirer he'd been last spring. Lucy sat beside him, concentrating on pouring them both lemonade. "Your message said you're leaving. Where are you going?"
Leon watched her every move. “My father and Roosevelt have encouraged me to go back into the Foreign Service. I've been posted to San Juan; I leave tomorrow."
"San Juan?"
"Puerto Rico," he said shortly.
This wasn't going at all well; he seemed grim, if not angry. "Are you upset?"
"Why would I be upset, Lucy? Because the woman I intended to marry was abducted by some hoodlum cowboy and kept prisoner for weeks on end?"
Shoz's name had been in the papers, so of course Leon knew, but she had not expected such a blatant attack. "It wasn't my fault. Believe me, if I could change what happened this summer, I would."
"Would you?" he asked sarcastically, his regard piercing. "Would you really?"
Lucy jumped to her feet. "What does that mean!"
"It means that maybe the abduction never happened." Leon was standing, too. "Maybe you ran off willingly with Cooper!"
Lucy gasped.
"I saw the two of you the night of your grandfather's party," Leon shouted. "In each other's arms, kissing! You were willing then, Lucy, weren't you?"
"You came here to accuse me, to attack me?"
He grabbed her. "You wanted him that night—I saw! Did you want him enough to run off with him? Or did he kidnap you? Did you sleep with him, Lucy? All those nights, just the two of you, alone, in the mountains . . .
Did he rape you?"
"Let go!" Lucy wrenched free, furious and shaken. "He abducted me, I was his prisoner! I'm a victim—not a criminal to be accused in this disgusting manner!"
"When I first met you, I thought that at last I had found a woman who would be a perfect wife. My perfect wife. But I was wrong!"
Before Lucy could respond, he had taken her in his arms, pressing her completely against his hard body. "Did you like it, Lucy?" he demanded.
Lucy was stiff, stunned, and horrified at the feel of his arousal. "You had better leave, Leon, please."
For a moment he did not respond, his eyes glittering, his body throbbing against hers. Then he tore himself free, and without another word, he strode angrily from the room.
Lucy sank onto the couch. It took her some time to recover from all that had passed between them. She was no fool, and she understood that Leon's anger came from jealousy and bitter disappointment—he had probably loved her once, before all this had happened. She could even feel somewhat sorry for him—especially as he was correct in his worst suspicions. But there was no excuse for his behavior. He was a gentleman; he certainly knew better.
The next morning, Lucy called upon Joanna, whose parents also had a cottage in Newport. Joanna greeted Lucy with a smile, and the two friends hugged.
"So tell me about it," Joanna said, once they were seated comfortably in a small parlor with lemon cakes and tea.
"There's nothing to tell," Lucy said casually. She thought about Leon's horrible accusations.
"Oh, Lucy, you were with him for almost two months! You can tell me. I'm your best friend; I already know about the two of you anyway."
Lucy felt distinctly uneasy, remembering how Joanna had witnessed her and Shoz in an intimate embrace when they had been traveling to Paradise by automobile. "Joanna, I know you'll never say anything unseemly."
"Of course I wouldn't!"
Lucy's uneasiness increased, but she told herself that she was being silly. She managed to avoid Joanna's prying questions, but there was no mistaking her friend's avid interest. Before she left, Joanna invited her to a croquet party being held by her mother later that week. Lucy promised to attend. She was eager to reimmerse herself into society and get any unpleasantness associated with the scandal over with as soon as possible.
Lucy arrived at the croquet party on a perfect, sunny August day. She had dressed with particular care, and she wore a lacy white dress, one she considered fetchingly romantic, and, secretly, too innocent for her now. Knowing that her abduction was still the biggest scandal in town, Lucy was determined that she should appear as beautiful and carefree as ever—as if untouched by the events of the summer.
Joanna's parents treated her as they always had, as if she were a dear member of the family. While Lucy chatted with them casually, she peeped carefully around at the ensemble on the lawn, from beneath the large brim of her straw hat. She found that while she was trying to discreetly observe everyone, they were all trying to discreetly observe her. A little shaken, Lucy left Joanna's parents, heading for Joanna and a group of their girlfriends on the other side of the lawn. They were not just watching the croquet players—they were watching her.
She was stopped by one of the players, a young redheaded man she had known most of her life. "It's good to see you, Lucy; glad you're back," he said with a wide smile.
There was only politeness in his tone, but there was something in his smile and his gaze that she did not like, something she could recognize now only too well—lurid male interest in her person. "Thank you, Brian," she said, more coolly than she'd intended.
Before she could leave, he actually restrained her, gripping her gloved hand. "It's a beautiful day for croquet. Are you going to play?"
Lucy did not like the fact that he had not let go of her, and that he was crowding her. She curtly told him that she hadn't decided, and practically wrenched herself free. She hurried over to her girlfriends.
"Oh, Lucy, I'm so glad you're feeling better," cooed Janine Taylor-Smith, embracing her.
"We have been dying for you to get out; you must tell us all about it!" Elizabeth Sinclair cried. "Joanna said he's so dangerous—and so handsome."
Lucy froze. She managed to say stiffly, "Who?"
"Who?" Elizabeth and Janine broke into gales of laughter, Joanna giggling, too. "Why, that man—the one who kidnapped you—that Mr. Cooper."
Lucy shot Joanna a confused, perturbed look. She had asked her not to say anything. Joanna shrugged. "Well, he is handsome," she returned.
"Did he?" Janine asked slyly.
"Did he what?" Lucy could barely get the words out.
"You know," Janine whispered. "Did he touch you? Kiss you? Did he—"
"Excuse me," Lucy said abruptly, turning. She hurried away, hearing them explode into giggles again. Her heart was thundering. She should have expected this—she had expected it—but it was awful.
She slipped into the house to use the washroom to refresh herself and regain her composure. It was quiet and cool inside, but when Lucy approached the powder room, she heard female voices within, and she hesitated, not wanting to see anybody just yet. She froze in the hallway when she realized that the two ladies were discussing her.
"Only Lucy Bragg would have the gall to try and pretend that nothing's happened."
"Maybe nothing did happen." Lucy did not recognize either of the voices, which were muffled by the partially closed door.
"Nothing happen?! I heard she's ruined, I heard it practically firsthand!"
The door opened. Both ladies came out of the powder room and froze, stunned to see her standing there. Lucy managed to look them right in the eye. Somehow she held her head high and smiled, as if she hadn't heard every horrible word. "Why, hello, Mrs. Currey, hello, Mrs. Livingston. Isn't it the perfect day for croquet?"
Before they could find their tongues, Lucy slipped past them into the powder room and locked the door. There she took a few deep breaths to still her trembling. When she had become calmer, she had also become mad.
Who the hell was that Margaret Currey to throw stones at her! She had been having an affair with Rose Abbott's husband for the past year—and she was no widow! And as for her friends . .. Lucy shook with anger. It was clear now that they were enjoying her brief fall from grace. They could not know anything, and were hoping for the worst—because she was prettier and richer than they were, and her family was more powerful than theirs. In short, they were jealous! Lucy slammed the bathroom door behind her and strode down the hall. Let them hope for the worst! Let them laugh behind her back! Who were they, anyway? Janine was not only barely pretty, but engaged to a fat oaf just for his blue blood—since she had none of her own. Her father had been nothing but a butcher before he became the owner of one of the largest meat-packing companies in the East. And as for Elizabeth, she could trace her ancestors back to the Mayflower, but her family was practically impoverished, and everyone knew Elizabeth had to marry for money— and a lot of it.
As for Joanna.. . Lucy's steps slowed. Lucy knew Joanna was a follower, and if she was in a crowd, she would concur with everyone else. Lucy did not believe that she would really harbor the same feelings as her other supposed girlfriends would. Still, if she was really a friend, she should at least attempt to stick up for Lucy.
Lucy re-joined the party, determined to enjoy herself and ignore any gossip that might be flowing behind her back. Meanwhile she spent a good deal of her time fending off her new admirers. None of the young men there knew that Leon Claxton was no longer her beau as Lucy now assumed, yet they had all suddenly taken a roaring interest in her. She was surrounded by suitors the entire afternoon, vying for her attention—and any favors she might grant behind closed doors, she realized. She found she was quite adept at handling them—flirting with ease to a precise, instinctive point before making it clear that that was all it was, flirtation and nothing more—not ever. And all the while she enjoyed the open jealousy and resentment her "girlfriends" could not
manage to conceal. By the time Lucy left, she felt that she had put Janine and Elizabeth and a few others in their proper places, but she was drained.
The summer could not end soon enough. Lucy went everywhere, determined to bury the scandal and disprove the gossip that she was "ruined," yet the scandal would not die. And as difficult as it was, she did not want to go back to Radcliffe, where the scandal would follow her and in essence she would have to go through the same charade over and over with her classmates. Her parents agreed that she should take a leave of absence until things died down.
Lucy delayed her return to New York, even though everyone left Newport after the last weekend in August. The peace and quiet was welcome, although the solitude gave her too much time to think—and remember. Shoz Cooper still invaded her thoughts frequently, and despite her anger at him, she could not shake him from her mind. Then, at the end of September, she received a note from her father asking her to return to New York. She was curious as to why her father was so impatient for her to return. It didn't take her long to discover the reason. She had barely walked through the front doors of their home on Fifth Avenue when he descended upon her, beaming.
"Darling," he said, hugging her. "I'm so glad you're back! I've arranged a marriage for you!"
Lucy froze, shocked.
"And I think you'll be very pleased."
Chapter 38
Lucy wondered if she was doing the right thing marrying Leon Claxton tomorrow. She wondered if, at the last minute, she dared beg off. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she wanted to beg off.
In the midst of dressing for the evening, clad only in her underthings, Lucy sank onto a chaise. She didn't love Leon. She didn't love anybody. Once, once she had loved Shoz, but those feelings had long since died, and only the fierce anger remained.
And Leon didn't love her. Maybe he had once, last spring, before he had come to Paradise, and before she had been held prisoner by Shoz. It had been clear to Lucy from their last meeting in August that he was very angry with her, and when she had returned to New York, she had been shocked that her father had arranged this marriage.