Claudia's lips curled back in a snarl of silent rage as she watched them from a distance.
Somehow, some way, she vowed to find a way to banish Anjele from BelleClair forever.
By God, she wasn't going to let Anjele stand in the way of claiming what was rightfully hers.
It was nearly ten o'clock, and the guests had long ago moved inside to the ballroom for dancing. Anjele knew Gator would have been waiting at the willow for an hour by now, but she'd been unable to get away. Stephen, trying to avoid Claudia, hovered about, and while she wanted to help him, she was desperate to escape.
At last, she had her chance. Delilah wanted to dance with Stephen, and when he excused himself, saying he'd be right back, Anjele was quick to say, "It's all right, Stephen. Enjoy yourself. I'm so tired I'm going to bed. See you at breakfast." And she rushed out before he could protest.
The foyer, for the moment, was empty, so she skirted around the stairs and went out by the rear of the house. Keeping to the shadows, she lifted her skirts and broke into a run.
She was not aware that Claudia had seen her.
Claudia had been watching all evening, anxious for Anjele to leave Stephen's side. When she'd seen her heading for the stairway, Claudia had discreetly followed to make sure she was, indeed, retiring for the evening.
How surprised she'd been to see her sneak out the back way. Any other time, she'd have followed, but this night was dedicated to another cause. Anjele was obviously into some sort of mischief, and Claudia wagered it had something to do with a man. There would be ample time to find out later, she promised herself, turning back to the ballroom—and Stephen Pardee.
He was waiting.
The instant he heard Anjele approaching, he was out from beneath the sheltering willow to open his arms to her. "God, how I've missed you," he whispered fiercely, crushing her against him.
Standing on tiptoe, her hands clutched his shoulders as she searched for his face in the darkness. "Oh, my darling, I've lived for this moment." Then she boldly kissed him, her tongue melding against his as their bodies clung together.
They had been together almost nightly in the past three weeks, and somewhere along the way, light banter and easy camaraderie had yielded to hungry desire and smoldering passion. Neither knew where their reckless emotions would lead, for there was no thought of tomorrow, only the here and now and the joy of each tender moment.
He drew her back beneath the caressing fronds and gently to the ground. His hands had a mind of their own, quickly manipulating her warm, full breasts from the bodice of her gown. His tongue explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, pausing ever so often to nibble at her lips as he told her over and over again how much he wanted her, needed her, how it was hell not being with her.
Brett's heart had won out in debate with his head, and he no longer worried over the right or wrong of it. She'd told him she felt the same, and there was no turning back. All that awaited was the consummation of their hungrily raging bodies, but he'd made up his mind not to force it. When it happened, it had to be because she wanted it as much as he did, so there'd be no blame or regrets.
He lowered his mouth to her breast, began to suckle, feeling her throaty gasp as his teeth gently held her nipple while his tongue assaulted, sweetly torturing. She clutched his head, fingers twisting gently in his hair to urge him yet closer.
He moved on top of her, and she spread her legs for him to lie between. Deftly, he pulled up her skirt and petticoats, so she could feel his hardness against her.
Anjele moaned softly, arching her back. This was the way it was supposed to be, she told her feverish, throbbing brain, the way Simona had described it between her and her husband—hunger that made her crazy, delicious tremors in her belly, and the feeling that if she didn't have him deep inside her, she'd surely die.
Each time they were together, they'd gone farther and farther, and always she'd managed to resist. Never did he protest or try to cajole or persuade. He would look at her in anguish and say huskily, "Come to me only when you're ready, Angel. It's beautiful only when both want it."
She did want it—with a gnawing, grinding ache which haunted the hours after they parted. Night after night, she lay awake till nearly dawn, reliving every kiss, every caress, savoring his words of adoration. And while the glory and delight made her tremble with rapture, the agony was in wondering where it would all lead.
She felt his hand slipping downwards inside the waistband of her pantalets.
A ripple of honeyed joy spread within, and she was dizzily aware that in a few more seconds there'd be no way she could stop him—or herself. The future she was so afraid of would suddenly be upon them, and there had to be a reckoning, a decision as to what to do about their feelings for each other. Anjele knew beyond all doubt that once he took her, wholly and completely, she'd never be able to marry Raymond or any other man. She would always belong to Gator.
It was only with every fiber of inner strength she possessed that she was able to finally twist away and cry, "No, I can't. Please, let me go."
With a muttered oath, Brett abruptly released her. Leaping to his feet, he tore from beneath the willow to plunge into the sweet river air and drink deeply, filling his lungs in an attempt to cool his heated blood.
Anjele lay where she was a moment, biting back tears born of her own hunger. Finally, she got up and went to stand behind him. Wrapping her arms about his waist, she leaned her head against his strong back and whispered, "You know I want to, Gator, but—"
He patted her hands, unwound himself from her embrace and turned to drink in the beloved sight of her in the dazzling moonlight. "I know you do, Angel, but you've got to be ready with your mind, as well as your body.
"There's something you've got to know, ma chère," he said impulsively. "I'm in love with you. I didn't mean for it to happen. I kept telling myself it couldn't, because we come from two different worlds, and soon you'll be leaving the part of yours that touches mine. But I couldn't help it. You don't know the times I've fought to keep from coming to you but couldn't stay away. And now it's happened, and I've got to deal with the pain."
She startled him by blurting out, "It doesn't have to hurt, Gator. It doesn't have to. We can find a way to be together. I know we can. And now that I know you love me, I'm not afraid anymore."
His eyes searched hers in desperation, for assurance she wasn't lying, and what he saw mirrored there was the adoration reflected in his own.
With a soft groan deep in his throat, he pulled her against him.
But the sound of voices made them spring apart.
Brett pressed a gentle hand to her lips as indication to be silent, then drew her away from the willow and on toward the shadows of the woods. From there, they could see a couple walking along the riverbank.
"It's Claudia." Anjele whispered in surprise. "And that's our guest, Stephen Pardee."
They didn't speak for several moments, watching as Claudia and Stephen walked out to the pier jutting into the river and sat down on the wooden bench there.
Finally, reluctantly, Anjele said she'd have to go. "There's no telling how long they're going to sit there, and if I leave now, I can blend back into the party and not get caught out here."
He understood. He didn't want her to go, but he knew it was dangerous for her to tarry. "Tomorrow night," he vowed, bruising her with a last kiss of parting. "I'll show you how much I love you, Angel, and then nothing will keep us apart."
Believing with all her heart they'd truly find a way to walk together into the future, Anjele ran into the night.
Stephen was terribly uncomfortable. When Claudia had asked him, right in front of her parents and his mother, to take her for a walk down by the river, there had been no way he could politely decline. She hadn't mentioned her earlier behavior, and rattled on about nonsensical things. But he was getting edgy. He didn't like being out here alone with her. Couples didn't pair off this way in the night without chaperones unless they were engaged, and s
omething was starting to needle. He found himself wondering if this was the way a black widow's mate felt as he crawled into her web.
She was chattering about what a shame it was his family had ever moved from Louisiana, because she was sure he'd like living here, rather than in Atlanta. "I just don't like big cities," she lied. "Not even New Orleans. Oh, I love to go to the opera and concerts and go shopping, of course, but give me the peace and quiet of the country and the river anytime, don't you agree, Stephen, dear?"
He swallowed hard, gave his collar a tug, as it suddenly seemed to be choking. "Yeah, sure, but right now we need to be getting back. It's late."
He started to rise, but she reached out and caught his arm and held him firm. Her tone became suddenly desperate. "I asked you to go for a walk with me so we could talk, Stephen, and we haven't talked..."
"All you've done is talk," he said, hating to be rude, but he was really getting nervous.
"But not about important things. Like us."
He swallowed again, this time feeling a knot in his throat. "What... what do you mean?" he managed to croak.
Giggling, she snuggled closer. "Everybody's talking about us, Stephen. Don't pretend you haven't noticed."
"No... I haven't." He wriggled on the bench, managed to scoot a few inches away from her, but she continued to hold onto his arm.
"Of course you have." Another giggle. "Everybody is wondering when we're going to announce our engagement, and I was thinking we could go ahead and tell my parents and your mother tomorrow, so we can get started planning the party. You-all are leaving in a week. That's hardly enough time, but we can do it, and—"
"No!" Yanking from her grasp, he leaped to his feet to cry furiously, "No, Claudia. We're not getting married. Whatever gave you such a crazy idea?"
"Crazy idea?" She felt as though she'd been dashed in the face with a pail full of cold water. Slowly she got to her feet. "Why, Stephen Pardee, you know you and your momma came to Louisiana to find you a bride, and you should be grateful I'm willing to marry you, because it's obvious no belles in Georgia will have you."
It wasn't really that bad, he reflected miserably. The girls his mother had sent him to court were all rich and wanted no part of someone from a mediocre background like his. He wouldn't let himself think his homeliness had anything to do with how he'd been rejected, for he'd tried to make up for his unattractiveness by cultivating a pleasant, cheerful personality. But he wasn't about to defend himself against Claudia's cruelty, and snapped, "Well, that's none of your concern, and even if I had thought about courting you, I would've surely changed my mind when I got here to find out you're the same haughty, sharp-tongued little girl I remember.
"Now I'm going back to the house," he told her firmly, turning on his heel, "and because I'm a gentleman, I'm going to forget we had this conversation."
"Goddamn you!" she bit out savagely, eyes glittering with rage.
He turned slowly, dazed by her venom.
"It's because of Anjele, isn't it? You're too blind to realize what you can have by marrying me, because she's got you bewitched. You've sneaked in her room at night, haven't you? And I'll bet the two of you rutted till dawn like animals. That's why you're in a hurry now, to get to her and do it, you filthy bastard!"
"Claudia, that's enough!" He was horrified, for he found himself looking at a stranger, a maniacal stranger to be suddenly feared. He began backing away from her, off the pier, stepping to the river bank. "You're crazy. To say such things about your sister, about me, you've got to be crazy. Mother and I are leaving this house first thing tomorrow. I won't stay here around you and your filthy mind."
She watched him run away, darkness quickly devouring him.
"So be it," she called hoarsely after him. "I don't want to marry an ugly toad like you, anyway."
Maybe I failed, she fumed, doggedly heading towards the house, but Anjele will be the one to suffer.
Chapter 8
Anjele had made up her mind. Gator had sworn he loved her, and she had no doubts as to her own feelings. Somehow they were going to find a way to be together the rest of their lives. To marry Raymond now was unthinkable. Never had she dreamed she could feel about any man the way she felt about her beloved Cajun. And after tonight, that love would be avowed for all times, and nothing could stand in their way. Sooner or later her parents would have to accept it, but until, and unless, that day came, she would live with him in the bayou. Together, they would face the future.
It was early, a Sunday morning, and everyone seemed to be still sleeping, for she'd not heard a sound from anywhere in the house. She'd been up since first light, quietly stepping onto the veranda to sit in a cushioned wicker chair and dreamily gaze towards Bayou Perot. He was there, she knew, for no one worked the fields at BelleClaire on the Sabbath. But on this day, she wished they did, for she longed to walk by in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. It seemed forever till night and the hour when, at last, she'd be in his arms.
Anjele jumped, startled, at the sound of voices coming from around the corner of the house. Getting up to look around to where the porch ran all the way down the side, she saw Miss Delilah and Stephen.
Not wanting to eavesdrop, Anjele began backing towards her room but couldn't resist hesitating as she heard Claudia's name mentioned.
"Mother, I can't help it. I just can't stand it any longer," Stephen was saying, exasperated. "She's all over me. Everywhere I go. I can't get away from her. Last night was the final straw. She had me in a very compromising situation out there. What if she tells her father I was trying to seduce her for heaven's sake? He'll march me to the altar with a gun in my back, and frankly, I'd rather die than marry Claudia Sinclair."
Delilah told him to keep his voice down before chiding, "I really think you're overreacting, dear. Perhaps Claudia genuinely loves you, the poor little thing. Just make sure you don't do anything to encourage her."
"I told you. I want to leave. Today."
"That's out of the question. What would Twyla and Elton think? They have something planned for every night next week. If we announce we're leaving, they'll know something is wrong. It'd be terribly embarrassing.
"No," she said firmly, finally, "we're not leaving till we'd planned to—next Friday."
At that, Stephen said, "Well, I won't stay here, and you can't make me, and I don't care what anybody thinks. I'm going into New Orleans to a hotel. I'll wait for you there."
"Oh, dear," Delilah wailed, "we can't have that. Give me time to think. You woke me up with this, and I'm still groggy. I'll think of something, I promise, but don't you go and do something foolish, you hear?"
Her voice faded, and Anjele peered through the spiky leaves of a potted palm to see them disappear through the French doors leading to Delilah's room. What on earth, she wondered, had happened on the pier? Surely he wasn't all that upset over the scene in the oak grove.
She turned to go back into her room, and that's when she saw Claudia watching her from the other end of the veranda and wondered how long she'd been standing there.
Claudia stuck out her tongue and went back inside.
By the time Anjele bathed and dressed and went downstairs, she found her parents in the morning room with Delilah, and the atmosphere was one of excitement.
"Anjele, come in, dear," Twyla called gaily, "Delilah has a wonderful idea. We're going to live on a riverboat for a week. Won't that be delightful?"
Anjele blinked, shook her head, sure she'd heard wrong. Then, remembering Stephen's outburst and Delilah's subsequent promise to rectify the situation, she quickly said, "I don't see how. Don't you have parties and things planned every night this week, since they're leaving Friday?"
She directed the last to Delilah, who promptly, cheerily, countered, "I've thought of that. We've been over the schedule, and everything is small and intimate, so we're going to send word to everyone to meet us at the boat. Your father has already sent a messenger to New Orleans to take care of everything."
Turning to Stephen for reassurance that he approved, she continued, "We just thought it'd be nice to sail around and enjoy the river breezes. It's so terribly hot. Don't you agree, Stephen?"
He was standing at the window but turned to agree dully, "Yes, Mother. I'm looking forward to it."
And Anjele knew why. It was a compromise. His mother would be spared having to come up with a plausible reason for cutting their visit short, and on a riverboat, there'd be little chance for Claudia to get Stephen off to herself. But where did all of this leave her, she wondered frantically and ventured to suggest, "It's a lovely idea, but if nobody minds, I'd rather stay here. I don't care much for being on the river, and—"
"Of course somebody minds!" Stephen practically shouted, desperation ringing in his voice, "We all mind, for goodness' sake. Why, what a boring week it'd be without you, Anjele."
"He's right," Twyla chimed in. "We wouldn't think of leaving either you or Claudia behind."
At that, Stephen frowned and turned back to his unseeing vigil at the window.
Engrossed in the newspaper he was reading, Elton was unconcerned with what was going on around him. Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas were going to engage in a series of seven debates, and Elton was interested in anything to do with Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln's strong stand against slavery was getting people stirred, while Mr. Douglas was defending not slavery, per se, but the right of Americans to vote their preference. And Elton sure as hell went along with that.
Twyla took note of her husband's preoccupation and gently scolded, "Please, dear. Can't your paper wait?
We have guests, you know."
Managing a contrite smile as he laid the newspaper aside, he thought how glad he would be when they left. Delilah's incessant chattering and the way she stuffed herself was getting on his nerves. Twyla had confided she thought Claudia was hearing wedding bells with Stephen, but Elton hoped she was wrong. God help him if Delilah made her visits a habit. Even if this season's hogsheads set a record, he'd wind up in the poorhouse trying to keep that woman fed.
Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance Page 10