Claudia breezed into the room, looked around and sensed something was going on. "What have I missed?" She cooed, at once going to stand possessively beside Stephen. "Has something happened?"
Twyla told her of the change in plans.
Claudia forced a smile. Inside, she was bristling. "How nice," she looked at Anjele. "And whose idea was this?"
Don't look at me, Anjele felt like screaming but didn't say a word. The last thing she wanted to do was move onto a riverboat for a week. And how was she going to get word to Gator? She didn't dare try to go into the bayou by herself, not on a Sunday. The slaves walked about the plantation freely. Some of them even took their food and had a little picnic on the riverbank. Her father was very lenient and tolerant of their Sunday activities.
Twyla said they needed to be getting ready in order to leave for New Orleans right after lunch. Anjele felt like crying and went out on the terrace to try to figure out a way to get a message to Gator.
Stephen was right behind her. "I hope you're going to help me out on the boat." He told her what had happened, finally throwing up his hands in defeat to explain, "So you see? I had no choice. I can't risk her getting me into a compromising situation this week. There won't be an opportunity on the boat, if you'll spend every minute outside my cabin with me."
Anjele agreed. After all, she reasoned dismally, no need for him to be miserable, too. And Gator would understand when she explained.
The week passed with agonizing slowness.
Once Claudia realized what Stephen was up to, and how Anjele was conspiring to keep her from being able to get him off by himself, she retired furiously to her cabin and stayed there. Twyla fretted she might be sick, then decided she was pouting about something and left her alone.
Finally, it was over. Stephen and his mother said their good-byes, gushing with gratitude over a splendid visit. Anjele was shaking with anticipation to be on the way back to BelleClair.
Claudia noticed Anjele's nervousness, and, as they rode home in the carriage, started thinking about her behavior lately. Despite her jealousy, Claudia knew Anjele really had no romantic interest in Stephen and was merely being obnoxious. She thought about last Sunday morning, how she'd seen Anjele on the veranda, all moony eyes and staring out into space. But why? She wasn't missing Raymond. For that matter, she hadn't said a word about him all the while they were on the riverboat. She hadn't even mentioned that he was due home the first part of the week. It was as if he didn't even exist, yet something surely had Anjele stirred up.
Something... or someone.
Claudia thought about the last night at home, when she'd spied Anjele sneaking out the back way. At first, she had thought Anjele and Stephen were planning to meet outside, but as she had hovered at his side, Claudia hadn't noticed any anxiety on his part to indicate he was supposed to be anywhere else. So, if Anjele's bizarre behavior wasn't caused by Stephen, or Raymond—then who?
As she watched Anjele practically wriggling in her seat with anticipation to get home, Claudia made a silent vow to find out what was going on.
Lightning stabbed the night with iridescent forks, and thunder crashed and rolled in the heavens.
As Anjele stared from the open French doors, she knew it could start pouring any time. The last few days had been swelteringly hot. Everyone had been saying it was time for a real Louisiana frog strangler. The thought of going to the willow with a storm about to explode was disconcerting, but she'd been waiting a week for this time. If he wasn't there, she'd be disappointed but not surprised. After all, he'd had no way of knowing why she hadn't shown up for a week and might be angry. But if he wasn't there, she vowed with jaw firmly set, fists clenched at her sides, she'd go to the fields tomorrow and find him and explain what happened.
Her father had been too busy to join them on the riverboat, so he and her mother had retired to their suite right after dinner to catch up on news between them. Claudia had said she was tired and likewise called it a day. An hour had passed, and Anjele could wait no longer.
The wind was screaming as she stepped onto the veranda, carefully closing the doors behind her lest it rain in. Her hair was blowing about her face as wildly as the fronds of the potted palms along the porch.
The sky was split by a fiery streak of white, and she stared at the trellis. It was a precarious climb in such weather but her only chance without the risk of being seen sneaking out. Thoughts of Gator and how she loved him inspired the courage to climb down.
Lifting her skirts above her ankles, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Leaves torn from wildly tossing branches slapped against her face, but she kept on going. Bursting to the top of the riverbank just as lightning once more set the sky ablaze, she could see the willows in a macabre dance of protest against the assault of nature gone mad.
He wasn't there.
She told herself it was crazy to think he would be in such horrible weather. Even the river was rolling with waves crashing against the banks. It was a dangerous time, and there was nothing for her to do but turn back.
And then she heard it.
The sound of her name above the roar of the wind. With pounding heart, she turned to see him coming towards her.
She ran to meet him, and he gathered her in his arms and swung her round and round, showering her face with kisses.
"God, I can't believe you're really here," he cried. "I've been here every night, waiting, hoping, and I told myself there's no way you'd come tonight, but I dared to hope.
She started telling him what had happened, and before she finished, he was laughing and kissing her and telling her how he'd thought she'd been too scared to come back.
"Oh, no," she whispered, reaching to cup his dear face in her hands as she drank in the blessed sight of him. "I've thought of nothing but this time. Day and night."
He lifted her in his arms. "We can't stay here."
Once more the sky lit up and the outline of the sugarhouse could be seen. Holding her tightly, he ran for it.
Inside, the air was pungent with the sweet smells of last season's grinding. In the intermittent flashes of the storm, Brett found a stack of mats and laid her down. Stretching out beside her, he murmured, "God, I love you, Anjele. I kept telling myself you weren't lying to me, that you really do feel the same for me."
"I do." She slipped a hand to the back of his neck to urge him yet closer. "Believe me, I do."
Suddenly, almost roughly, his hold upon her tightened as he warned, "Never lie to me, Anjele, because if this is all just a game to you, if you're only using me for a lark, say so now, before it's too late."
"You've nothing to fear, my darling." He relaxed his hold and she snuggled closer to tease, "And you are a lark—but a lifetime lark. I want to be with you forever."
"We'll find a way," he vowed, mouth claiming hers. "Right now, ma jolie, I want you."
And tempest-tossed like the river beyond, so, also, was their passion rampant and beyond control.
Anjele lips parted to welcome the thrusting invasion of his tongue. His hands tore at her gown, and she helped him, lest it tear, rendering herself naked to him.
His hands moved possessively over her, trailing down her back, her sides, finally claiming her breasts as he tore his lips from hers to lower and devour each nipple in turn.
Her own exploring fingers moved to cup his buttocks and pull him closer, moaning in her throat as she felt the thrusting hardness of his manhood crushing against her. Deftly, he released himself, and the pulsating was instantly against her bare flesh. Blood turned to fire as he guided himself to touch the core of her feminine being, teasing, tormenting as flames licked into her belly.
She was gasping, sobbing, wanting him to take her, possess her, never let her go. Nothing else mattered or ever would. At that very moment, she knew she could go away with him and never return, for thoughts of being without him seemed akin to the breath of life denied.
He rolled to his back, taking her with him. "I don't want to hurt
you."
She straddled him, dizzily stunned by how inhibitions were tossed like the frenzied winds beyond in the wake of furious intent to consummate their love.
He grasped her waist to guide her slowly onto him, urging her to set the pace.
She bit back a gasp of pain, for it did hurt. All Simona's descriptions of lovemaking had not prepared her for this part. There was one sharp stab of agony, and she did cry out, and he pulled her down against his massive chest and rained kisses, whispering, "It's all right. It won't hurt anymore."
Gently, he thrust his hips upwards, filling her, but she wanted him above her, in total possession. They moved to the side, and instinctively she pressed her thighs against her chest in ecstatic surrender to his assault.
In a sudden flash of light, she could see his face, and in that frozen moment sought her own reassurance and commanded, "Tell me you do love me, Gator. Tell me you want me as much as I want you, forever and always."
"Always," he obliged tersely, for he was struggling to hold back his own cresting pleasure in deference to her own.
He did not have long to wait.
The feeling spread like hot lava. Anjele cried out, but only with the shock of pleasure never dreamed of. And as the throes of joy rolled over her entire body, Brett took himself to the pinnacle of his own release.
He did not let her go. For long moments, they clung together in silence, each too mesmerized by the wonder of it all to speak.
But slowly, Anjele was sinking back to reality, and where liquid fire had replaced blood flowing through her body, now it was as though ice water had quenched those flames. Dear God, what had she done? If he really didn't love her, if she, in fact were only a lark to him, she couldn't bear it.
He felt her tension and dared to ask, "Having regrets, Anjele?" He moved to lie beside her, his fingertips gently moving up and down her arm in a gentle caress.
She bit her lip and nodded, though he couldn't see the gesture in the darkness. In the wake of passion spent, the obstacles between their two worlds became as starkly clear as the momentary stabs of clarifying lightning.
"What is it?" He probed, alarmed. Maybe he was wrong, and she was merely having a good time this summer before settling down to be another man's wife. Try as he might, Brett still couldn't shake the cobwebs of his past and how he'd so foolishly dared believe another rich planter's daughter.
In a small, timorous voice, Anjele offered, "Can we make it happen? Can we tear down the barriers of the invisible walls that separate us and make our world one?"
"Only if we want to." He raised himself up on his elbow, wished he could see her eyes and find love and determination mirrored. "It won't be easy, sneaking around like this. There'll be hell to pay if we get caught."
She felt a wave of panic as a roll of distant thunder echoed the sickness of her heart. What if they did? Would he stand up to her father and demand to marry her, or would he run farther back into the bayou and forget she'd ever existed? She'd gambled everything on this night of passion, and now , in the sobering afterglow, she was terrified to think of the possible consequences.
Suddenly she knew she had to get away and think things out. She leaped to her feet and began fumbling in the darkness for her clothes.
Brett made no move to stop her. If she was having doubts, she had to work them out herself. He had been about to explain why he was staying around these parts, how he planned to leave as soon as grinding season was over. As for the future, he wouldn't try to talk her into leaving but intended to let her know he'd take her with him if she wanted to go. But it had to be her decision.
Anjele groped her way to the door. He was not following her. Uneasily, she spoke into the brooding darkness. "I'd best be going. It hasn't started raining yet, and I can make it back without getting wet."
He got up then and came to stand behind her, wrapping muscular arms about her and pulling her back against him. With her head tucked under his chin, he said softly, "I'll be at the willow tomorrow night."
She turned and raised her lips for his kiss, then forced herself to pull away and run into the night.
Dimly, she was aware of the first raindrops, cool against her feverish skin. What was he keeping from her? What deep, dark secret made him reluctant to tell her his real name? Was there a wife somewhere? Or a lover no one knew about? And what a fool she felt like to recall how she'd thought they'd be making plans to run away together, instead of merely discussing sneaking around in hope of not getting caught. If he really loved her, wouldn't he have been as anxious as she to make immediate plans for the future?
So many questions nagged, and of only one thing was Anjele sure—tomorrow night, and every night, she would find a way to be with him. And, somewhere along the way, everything would be resolved.
She knew she was young and naive in many ways, yet dared believe when she loved him with every beat of her heart, he just had to love her back.
Brett wondered if he'd made a mistake. A fatal mistake. Maybe he should have kept his feelings under control awhile longer. Anjele was a baby when it came to the ways of love, and he couldn't be sure what she expected from him. And as he watched her run away, he felt a cold chill of foreboding.
She was spooked.
No doubt about it, he'd scared her.
He only hoped once she calmed down, thought about it, everything would be all right. It wouldn't do for her parents to notice anything wrong.
He walked out into the rain, now coming down in stinging torrents.
For sure, he silently vowed, tomorrow night he'd tell her everything, and while he'd try not to influence her final decision, he'd ask if she loved him enough to go away with him once his debt was paid.
Claudia was drenched, but not from the rain, for long before it had begun to fall, she'd broken out in a cold sweat. Watching them in the throes of animal passion, illuminated by the interspersing slashes of light, she'd felt awash with her own burning fever.
She had slipped in, unnoticed, through the back doors to stand not over twenty feet away. She recognized the man. A Cajun. And quite handsome. One day when she'd been out riding, she'd seen him and dared stop to chat. There had been times in the past she'd had dalliances with a few of the white workers and had been in the mood to take on another. But he'd been cold as ice, and she'd felt humiliated by his rejection. Now, to see him pumping away at Anjele made her quiver with anger. She hadn't been good enough for him, and once more Anjele had stolen a man from her.
It was only when they'd both left the sugarhouse that she began to laugh, and the laughter continued till her sides were hurting.
What a fool Anjele was, for she'd played right into her hands. Once Raymond found out she'd been coupling with a field hand, like a bitch in heat, he'd never marry her. Claudia would have him eating out of her hand.
But first things first, she decided as she ducked her head and ran out into the blinding storm.
First, she'd tell Twyla, and then everything else would fall into place.
Chapter 9
Twyla stared at Claudia in horror and disbelief.
Well, she knew Claudia exaggerated at times when it came to telling on Anjele. It was something she'd dealt with since they were children. But this tale could not be an embellishment—it had to be an out-and-out lie, and Twyla dared say as much. Mustering patience, she began gently, "Dear, I know you're disappointed Stephen didn't ask you to marry him, but Anjele had nothing to do with it. He knew she was engaged before he got here, and I saw her do nothing to undermine your interest, and—-"
Claudia stamped her foot in exasperation. They were in Twyla's room, and Twyla was propped up in bed on satin pillows having morning coffee. Claudia had hardly slept a wink all night in anticipation of telling her what she'd seen in the sugarhouse. "This hasn't got anything to do with Stephen," she said furiously. "I'm trying to tell you what I saw her doing in that sugarhouse, but you won't listen."
"I am listening," Twyla was starting to tremble. "I'm just praying
there's a mistake, dear, that you didn't see what you thought you saw, or it was somebody besides Anjele, and—"
"Go and look in her room. I'm sure you'll find her wet clothes. It was pouring by the time she got back to the house. I know, because I was right behind her, and my clothes are still wet this morning. It was her, all right, and I know what I saw. Good heavens, Mother"—she threw her arms up in dramatic gesture, eyes widening in feigned disgust—"I've seen animals doing it, so I know what I saw her doing with that filthy Cajun field hand. Every time lightning flashed, I could see them clear as day. She was naked and had her legs wrapped around him, and he was on top of her grunting, and..."
She managed a convincing shudder of revulsion. "It was disgusting. I wanted to run away, but I was afraid they'd hear me and know I was there and saw it, and I don't want anyone ever to know I was witness to such filth. I lay awake all night gathering the nerve to come to you, because I thought you should know." Claudia was so proud of herself—she was even able to muster a few tears.
Twyla quickly set aside her tray, threw back the coverlet, and rushed to gather Claudia in her arms. "Oh, my poor dear," she whispered above the hysteria welling from deep within. "You should have come and told me when you saw her leaving. I know it must have been terrible for you." She held the girl as she cried, all the while frantically wondering what to do.
When Claudia seemed to calm down, Twyla drew her to sit beside her on the bed. Holding her hand, Twyla urged gently, "Now, tell me. Do you think this was the first time she's met this man?"
Claudia shook her head and said quickly, "Oh, no. I think she's been meeting him for some time now. Don't you remember before we went on the riverboat, how she'd excuse herself early every night and go to her room?"
Forbidden to Love: An Historical Romance Page 11