The trip had been long, arduous, extremly uncomfortable, but I had refused to bend. There had been days on end when we had not seen another soul. We had slept out in the open, huddling under the blankets, close to each other physically but miles apart. I had done my share. I had helped gather firewood. I had cooked the meals, cleaned the utensils, packed and unpacked the wagon. When, after a rainstorm, the wagon had bogged down in the mud, I had helped get it unstuck, pushing with all my might at the back as Jeremy pulled on the reins. We had forded rivers, had trudged up hills, guiding the horses on foot, had shared all the hardships without my once giving way.
We spoke only when it was absolutely necessary. My voice was invariably icy and crisp with contempt. Jeremy pretended to ignore my tone, unperturbed, acting as though nothing had happened. On the rare occasions when we had been fortunate enough to find an inn along the road, we had dined together and shared a room, Jeremy lolling in a chair or on the floor while I slept in the bed. The intimacy we had shared under the stars the night of Em’s wedding might never have happened. We might have been strangers, thrown together by circumstances and barely civil.
We had ferried across the Mississippi earlier this morning. We would be in New Orleans before nightfall. I would take a room and sell the jewels and, somehow, get a berth to England. Derek was alive. Derek was in England. He would be living at Hawkehouse, alone, lost, desolate, convinced the woman he loved was dead. I couldn’t dwell on that or, I knew, I would go mad. I must be cool, patient. It would be weeks, perhaps months before we were reunited, and I would have to take it a day at a time.
The only man I had ever loved was alive.… I wanted to seize the reins and urge the horses forward at a mad gallop. I wanted to leap from the wagon and run. The thought of him alone there in that great house, grieving, could, if I let it, drive me into a frenzy. I kept tight control of my emotions. That was the only way I could endure the delays. Each day brought me nearer and nearer to that reunion, and I had to be satisfied with that. Sitting on the hard wooden seat beside a man I detested, I smoothed down the skirt of the pale tan dress sprigged with tiny rust-brown and orange flowers, the dress Juanita had given me. It was worn and dusty now, a jagged tear in the hem revealing the limp, ruffled petticoat beneath.
The wagon bumped over a deep hole in the road. It wobbled dangerously. I prayed we wouldn’t lose another wheel. One had fallen off several days ago, and it had taken Jeremy hours and hours to repair it and put it back on. We had lost a full day of travel. I couldn’t endure another delay now, not when we were so close to our destination. I brushed a lank, dirty copper-red wave from my cheek and held on to the seat as we moved over yet another hole, careful not to fall against the man beside me. I sat as far away from him as possible and, chin held high, pretended he wasn’t even there.
Derek was alive. Derek was the only man I had ever loved, truly loved. Any feelings I might have had for Jeremy Bond had been … an aberration, brought about by proximity and an unusual set of circumstances. I had seen him for what he was from the beginning, a charming rogue, a handsome, ruthless scoundrel, and I had staunchly resisted him. I had resisted him with all my might until … until my own sense of loss and my gratitude toward him had caused me temporarily to abandon judgment. I had given myself to him at last, only to learn of his treachery.
He had known all along. He had let me go on thinking Derek was dead. He had deceived me, all the while pressing his case, wooing me with his charm, his tenderness, his bravery, making a fool of me. He had saved my life, yes, on more than one occasion, and I was grateful to him for that. He would be well paid. When I sold the jewels I would give him half the money. Half? I would give him more. I would give him everything except what it would take to pay my fare to England. Money didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to England, and I didn’t want to be beholden to Jeremy Bond in any way. He had risked his life repeatedly to rescue me and bring me to safety, and he was going to be a very wealthy man.
A dangling strand of moss brushed my cheek. The wagon rocked from side to side, creaking, the tail end bumping. Up ahead, in the distance, I could see another wagon approaching us. It was similar to ours and piled high with furniture and household goods, mattress, chairs, boxes, a birdcage. Three small children rode in back, clinging to the furniture. A thin woman in a faded pink dress sat in front, holding the reins. The man who sat beside her was thin, too, almost emaciated, his gray coat hanging loosely. He leaned against her, his head resting wearily on her shoulder.
As the wagon drew nearer, the woman eyed us with great suspicion, her mouth tight. She pulled the horses over to the far side of the road, as far away from us as possible. Jeremy lifted an arm in salute. The woman pretended not to see it, clutching the reins tightly and urging the horses on. Her green eyes glittered with something almost like fear. As the wagon passed ours, the children stared at us with sad, haunted eyes. The man up front never even raised his head. How strange, I thought. Strange, too, that this was the only vehicle we had seen since we had ferried across the river.
I frowned, puzzled. I had been so immersed in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the lack of traffic. There should have been coaches, wagons, rigs, fine carriages. This road was ordinarily a busy thoroughfare, the main road between New Orleans and Natchez and all points in between. This close to New Orleans it should have been teeming, yet the wagon with its strange occupants was the only one we had passed. The children had seemed listless. The man had seemed ill. The woman driving had definitely been afraid of us, had acted as though she had expected us to stop her and bar the way.
I glanced at Jeremy. He was puzzled, too. A deep frown creased his brow. I longed to discuss my concern with him, but pride prevented me from saying anything. I stared straight ahead and continued to ignore his existence. There was undoubtedly a perfectly logical explanation for the lack of traffic, and the family on the wagon had probably been tenant fanners who had lost their place on one of the plantations. That would explain the pile of furniture and the woman’s peculiar behavior. I put it out of my mind, shifting my position on the miserably hard wooden seat I had grown to loathe these past weeks.
I was getting hungry. Eager to catch the first ferry, we had foregone breakfast, and it must be almost noon now. There was food in back, cheese, bread, hard sausage, fruit, even a bottle of cheap red wine, all purchased at the inn we had stayed in two nights ago. I contemplated fetching an apple and eating it as we rode, but once again pride prevented it. When he was ready to stop for lunch, he would stop, and hell would freeze before I would suggest it. He was certainly as hungry as I was, more so probably, for he had an extremely hearty appetite.
Another half-hour passed before he finally pulled over to the side of the road. He climbed down, fetched two bags of oats and began to feed the horses. I got down without assistance, catching the hem of my skirt on a nailhead in the process and tearing it even more. Intent on the horses, Jeremy didn’t even look up as he heard the cloth shredding. Irritated, stiff and sore from the long, uncomfortable ride, I took the food basket from the back of the wagon and stepped between the oaks, moving down the grassy slope beyond that led to the muddy bank of the river.
The great Mississippi moved sluggishly, terribly wide, the greenish-brown water slapping the banks. There was no traffic, no boats, no barges, no rafts. That was odd, too, but I was too hungry to give it much mind. The proprietress of the inn had, for a hefty price, packed the basket generously. The fried apricot pies were already gone, as were the hard-boiled eggs and the roast chicken. I removed the blue and white checked cloth from the top of the basket and spread it out on the grass, then took out food, wine, a knife, and two glasses.
I sat down and sliced bread, cheese, and sausage. Jeremy joined me a few minutes later. I poured wine into a glass and handed it to him without speaking. I placed cheese and sausage between two slices of bread, placed it on a napkin and handed him that, too. We ate in silence. The river flowed with a monotonous, sloshin
g sound. Birds twittered in the oak boughs. As I finished my wine, a swarm of butterflies fluttered nearby, their delicate wings a golden yellow in the sunlight. It was very peaceful and serene here by the river. If only it weren’t spoiled by the presence of Jeremy Bond.
I glanced at him. He had finished eating, too. He was staring at me with solemn blue eyes, his expression stern. Afraid he was going to speak, I hastily put the things back into the basket and stood up. I folded the table cloth put it on top of the food and then strolled down to the edge of the river, praying he would have the good judgment to leave me be. Several moments passed before I felt rather than heard him approaching. I didn’t turn. I stiffened my back, clenching my hands at my sides.
“Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” he inquired.
I continued to stare across the river, intently studying the mossy logs that littered the opposite bank and pretending that Jeremy Bond did not exist. Wisps of hair blew about my temples. My skirt billowed in the breeze. I heard a heavy, exasperated sigh and waited for him to walk away. He didn’t. He seized my shoulders and whirled me around to face him.
I was appalled. My eyes flashed with anger. I broke free and swung my hand back, fully intending to smash it across his mouth, but he caught my wrist in a powerful grip and twisted it so savagely that I gasped. His vivid blue eyes were unperturbed, his handsome face without expression. When I, tried to pull away, he gave my wrist another twist. Needles of pain shot up my arm. I bit my lower lip, refusing to yield.
“I’ve had about all I’m gonna take,” he said calmly.
“Go to hell!”
“I mean it, Marietta. This nonsense is—” He grimaced, searching for the right words. “I’ve put up with all I intend to. I’ve let you pout and sulk and act the icy aristocrat—I’ve indulged you, yeah, because I figured you needed a little time to get your thoughts together, but, by God, I’m not havin’ any more of it.”
“You’re hurting me!”
“I’m fully aware of that.”
He gave my wrist another savage twist. I kicked his shin. He released me and looked at me for a long, menacing moment before shoving me viciously into the river. I landed with a loud splash, immediately drenched, muddy waves engulfing me. Livid, spluttering, I tried to stand but couldn’t get a footing in the slippery river bottom. I fell again, completely submerged, dress and petticoat turning into leaden coils that pulled me down. I thrashed and got my head out of the water and coughed, shoving sodden waves from my eyes.
Jeremy Bond stood calmly on the bank, watching me with those cool, expressionless eyes. The sonofabitch is going to let me drown! I thought, and I would drown willingly before I’d let him help me. I planted my feet as firmly as I could on the muddy bottom, managed to stand, and then took a step toward the bank, only to fall again. It was a full five minutes before I was finally able to crawl up on the bank. Dazed, drenched, panting, I rested for several moments before climbing to my feet.
Jeremy Bond hadn’t moved. His face was still expressionless, but the faintest suggestion of a grin was beginning to curl on his lips. The fury I had felt earlier had vanished entirely. An icy calm possessed me as I straightened the wet, clinging bodice of my dress and began to wring out my skirts.
“You okay?” he asked.
I hesitated, thinking, and then I nodded weakly. “I’m fine,” I said, closing my eyes. I reeled just a little, staggering. “I—I feel a bit faint.”
I started to swoon, and he gallantly rushed over to grab me. I sidestepped nimbly and got behind him and slapped my palms against his shoulder blades and shoved with all my might. Jeremy Bond pitched face forward into the water with a startled yelp. I stood there for a moment, watching him thrash about, and then I sauntered slowly back up the slope, retrieved the food basket and took it back to the wagon. The horses were still lazily munching oats from the bags Jeremy had hung over their heads. A wavering ray of sunlight slanted across the road.
I dug into my bag and removed towel, brush, shoes, a plain white cotton petticoat and the pale violet-blue cotton dress Juanita had found for me before I left the inn. Leaving the wagon, I sauntered through the oaks until I located a large clump of shrubbery. I removed my wet clothes, draped them over the shrubs and, completely naked, began to towel myself dry. I was still calm and strangely serene. The intense hostility I had nourished these past weeks was gone, for some reason, and I felt nothing but indifference toward Jeremy Bond.
Half an hour passed before I returned to the wagon. My hair was dry, and I had brushed it until it fell in thick, gleaming waves. The pale violet-blue dress fit snugly at bosom and waist, the full skirt spreading out over the multilayered petticoat. I felt clean, refreshed, revived as I put the still damp clothes back into the wagon and dropped the mud-encrusted shoes beside them. Jeremy had removed the bags of oats from the horses’ heads and was sitting up on the seat, the reins in his lap and a sullen look on his face.
He hadn’t changed clothes. His shirt had dried but his breeches were still wet, clinging to his legs. His boots were muddy, and there was a streak of mud across his cheek. His hair was damp, too, a mass of dark brown tendrils plastered over his brow. I couldn’t resist a smile. He curled his lip and looked at me with venomous blue eyes. I caught hold of the seat and pulled myself up beside him, affecting an airy indifference that caused him to gnash his teeth. I glanced at him, amused. He scowled.
“Don’t you think we’d better press on?” I inquired.
“That was a nasty trick you pulled back there,” he muttered.
“Sure was,” I said.
“I wouldn’t of thought it of you.”
“You don’t know me very well, Mr. Bond. I rather hoped you’d drown.”
“I almost did!”
“Pity.”
“Goddamnit, Marietta—”
“If you’re too upset to drive, I’ll gladly take the reins. I’d like to reach New Orleans before evening.”
Jeremy Bond gave the reins a savage click. The horses began to plod forward. The wagon creaked. I sighed, feeling better than I had felt in a long time. Impatience and animosity were behind me, and I felt something that was almost akin to happiness. I wondered now why I had been so cold and silent and thorny. Jeremy Bond wasn’t worth the effort. I’d soon see the last of him, and that was something to look forward to. I sighed again, swaying as the wagon rocked.
“Are you ready to talk?” he asked.
“We have nothing to talk about, Mr. Bond.”
My voice was light, casual. He tightened his grip on the reins.
“You’re the most unreasonable woman I’ve ever encountered!”
“That’s your misfortune,” I said airily.
“Anything I did, I did because I happen to love you.”
“I don’t care to discuss it.”
“You love me, too, goddamnit.”
I turned, looking at him with utter disdain. He was frowning deeply. His hair was beginning to dry now, fluffing into feathery wisps. His jaw was set, his mouth a straight, determined line.
“You’re quite mistaken, Mr. Bond.”
“That night in the clearing—”
“That night was an aberration. It meant nothing whatsoever.”
He lashed angrily at a strand of moss that brushed his cheek. “You’re lying!”
“Think what you like. I don’t intend to argue with you.”
Jeremy did his best to control his emotions. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. His hands clenched the reins so tightly that his knuckles were white. He breathed deeply, evenly, forcing the tension away, and after a short while he sighed, in control now. When he spoke, his voice was normal, his tone matter-of-fact.
“All right, Marietta, I knew Derek Hawke was alive. I admit that. I knew all along, and I guess maybe I should of told you, but I didn’t. I kept it from you deliberately, but I had my reasons.”
“I’m not at all interested in your reasons.”
“He doesn’t deser
ve you. He never did. He bought you, treated you like a slave, and when you displeased him, he sold you to Jeff Rawlins, fully believing you’d end up in a brothel in New Orleans.”
“He was angry. He—”
“Later on, he took up with you again,” he continued, still speaking in that calm, emotionless voice. “You belonged to another man, but he wanted you and he took you and then abandoned you after Jeff Rawlins died.”
“He came back for me.”
“And told you he intended to marry you—and didn’t. He never intended to marry you. Derek Hawke marry the illegitimate daughter of an aristocrat and a barmaid? Unthinkable.”
“You don’t know anything about it. He—”
“He made you his mistress, and he planned to take you back to England as such, but he wasn’t going to marry you, Marietta. Once he got you back to England he would have set you up in London. He would have delayed, procrastinated, made excuses until finally, one day, he would have explained to you all the reasons why marriage was out of the question.”
I paid no attention to his words. He was desperate now, trying to cover his own guilt, and he understood nothing whatsoever about the situation. Derek loved me. He loved me. He had proved it over and over again, and had it not been for his cousin Roger we would have been married long since and living happily at Hawkehouse. Jeremy Bond wanted me for himself and would stop at nothing. He was deliberately trying to destroy my faith in Derek, I saw that, and it wasn’t going to work.
Love Me, Marietta Page 50