by SpursFanatic
“I guess I see your point,” Patrick said, as he went to the window and stared out again. “But those were desperate circumstances. We have plenty of male physicians in Boston – we don’t need women in that field.”
“Yet, a man may sit between a woman’s legs to deliver a baby?” Rafe asked in disbelief.
Patrick turned to stare at him, his brows furrowed. “Well… yes. That’s the way it’s done.”
Rafe shook his head and laughed at his brother. Patrick knew his logic made no sense. He believed it because society dictated it, because his male pride did not want to allow women their own place.
“Don’t go telling Worthington you think its fine,” Patrick added. “He’s against his blue-blooded daughter working for a living, but he tolerates it because he denies her nothing.”
Dropping into one of the guest chairs, Rafe stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “So, I take it you’ve tried to get under her skirts?”
Frowning, Patrick shook his head. “You can take the man out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the man, can you?”
Rafe smiled and raised his eyebrows.
“If you mean, did I ask to court her, yes -- me and every other man in the city. She won’t marry until this college is established and she falls in love with a man who will allow her a career.”
“Well, that’s obviously a lost cause considering the Brahmin are a bunch of narrow-minded s.o.b.’s,” Rafe said, eliciting a deep scowl from his brother.
Patrick pointed at Rafe, glass in hand. “You talk big now, Tex, but wait until you see her. You’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
Rafe could appreciate great beauty, but to allow himself the luxury of a woman’s company for any length of time would be just short of self-torture. And he’d had enough torture to last him a lifetime.
No, tonight was strictly business. That’s the way it had to be. God may have given him a much-appreciated second chance, but He had taken the opportunity of marriage out of the picture. Rafe didn’t want a wife that was repelled by him, or children that would be frightened of his scars.
Rafe would dedicate his life to helping his family get this business back on its feet. He wanted to go fishing, play cards at the club and take a walk in the park. He planned to sleep the entire night through without worry of attack. No more killing, no more blood, no more brutality.
And maybe, if he was really lucky, he’d find a blind whore that would bed him now and then.
“Worthington is honorable?” Rafe asked, trying to stretch the stiffness from his body.
“Yes,” Patrick replied, watching Rafe move. “Are you well?”
“Dammit, Patrick,” Rafe cried, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. “If you ask me that one more time, I'll make your body look like mine.”
“Well hell, Rafe, you have been skinned alive by Indians.”
Although true, the words hurt his ears. Rafe looked away. He would live with that reminder the rest of his life.
“The salve Dr. Kent gave me helps with the tightness, but I still have a long way to go before I’m moving around like I used to.” He shoved the cigar back into his mouth. “Now, about Worthington…”
“He’s a tough businessman,” Patrick continued. “We’ll have to impress the hell out of him.”
“And his daughter,” Rafe added with a grin.
“You laugh,” Patrick declared, standing to get himself another drink. “But you’ll act the blubbering fool. Mark my words.”
#####
The Sutherland home stood tall and stately behind wrought-iron gates along Mount Vernon Street. The Bulfinch Federal architecture was striking with its recessed brick arches and Chinese fretwork balconies. The entrance, framed with a small, square portico anchored with Greek ionic, fluted columns, completed a statement of elegance.
Tarin smoothed the front of her emerald satin dress as she waited for her father to exit the chaise. The Sutherland home was one of the most beautiful in all of Boston. The gas-lit lamps along the walk added an elegant, romantic air to its lush lawn.
“I’m glad you wore an evening dress, even if it isn’t the one I asked you to wear,” her father said on a sigh, as he extended his elbow and escorted Tarin to the door. “You look stunning, daughter.”
Tarin smiled at the butler as they crossed the threshold. “Spoken as an unbiased father.”
“Spoken as a father who knows what will attract my future son-in-law.”
Tarin sighed inside. Her father had promised, yet she knew deep down he just could not help himself. He had but one goal in life and that was to see her married, and married well.
But Tarin was not fool enough to think her father only wanted her happiness. He presumed a husband was the only chance he had of persuading her to give up the dream of becoming a physician.
“I swear child, you get more beautiful every time I see you.”
Tarin smiled as she accepted a hug from Isabel Sutherland. The woman was a gem herself, emanating class from the crown of her fashionably styled mahogany hair, to the scalloped hem of her rose, taffeta gown. She was a woman of prim gentility, one that held the Brahmin within the palm of her hand.
“Isabel, you are too kind,” Tarin said, pulling away to hold Isabel’s hands in hers. “It’s been ages since I have seen you.”
“Yes, I have spent the last several weeks caring for Rafe,” she said, releasing her hands. “I have missed all of the social events and have yet to attend one of your seminars. I feel totally detached from the circle.” She leaned close and whispered, “You will have to fill me in on all of the latest gossip.”
Tarin smiled. Isabel always made her feel so at ease. “Your son, he is doing well?” Henry asked, as he removed his hat and handed it to the butler.
“Yes,” she replied, as she led Tarin and Henry into the parlor amongst the other guests. An intimate group of Brahmin elite were in attendance. “My son is nothing if not a survivor.”
“I would presume that is what has brought him home after ten years, Isabel,” Henry said, as he shook Patrick’s hand.
“That and the luxury of hot baths,” Patrick said with a grin. “He is enjoying them entirely too much – we can’t get him out of the tub until the water is bitterly cold.”
“Obviously, I've arrived just in time to defend my masculine pride.”
Tarin glanced over her shoulder to the open doorway. She felt her mouth drop open and remain there. While the rest of the room erupted in quiet applause, Tarin could do nothing but struggle to breathe.
Rafe Sutherland was a big man, his well over six-foot height easily making him the tallest in the room. His strength announced him without a single word, his obvious arrogance creating an immediate respect from those in attendance. Incredibly handsome, his dark eyes competed with the black of his elegant evening clothes.
He had a commanding presence, one that demanded her complete and utter attention. One that prevented Tarin from taking her gaze from him as he moved to greet his guests.
Isabel’s palm under her chin woke Tarin from her reverie. The woman gracefully closed Tarin’s mouth and pulled her into a brief embrace.
“Ladies do not stare, Tarin, and although he denies it, he is self-conscious of his scars.”
Feeling the heat in her cheeks, Tarin pulled away enough to meet their hostess's gaze. “Isabel, it was not his scars that captured my attention.”
Isabel’s own gaping mouth and raised eyebrows made Tarin laugh aloud.
She turned towards Rafe Sutherland now standing no more than two feet away. Tarin suddenly felt tongue-tied, her lungs heavy and desperate for air. She had not felt so awkward since she was a child in her first etiquette class.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said, as he joined their small circle. “I’m afraid my brother is right, I can’t seem to get my fill of hot baths.”
His voice was deep and smooth. It flowed over her skin like the warm, clear water of a babbling brook. She shivered.
“Henry,” Isabel said, as she moved between the two men, “May I present my son, Rafe. Rafe, Lord Henry Worthington and his daughter, Tarin.”
Henry pumped Rafe’s outstretched hand as though he expected water to spring forth. Her father knew how to conduct himself with the highest of royalty, and tonight he acted as though he were meeting Queen Victoria herself.
The next thing Tarin knew, Rafe’s dark, mesmerizing eyes bored into hers. His gaze raked over her, ever so slowly, taking his time as he blatantly perused her from the top of her free-flowing hair to her green, satin slippers. She held her breath, utterly helpless but to stand where she was and stare at him mutely. The urge to check her clothing was overwhelming, her dress suddenly too snug.
“I believe you missed a spot, sir,” she said with an arched brow.
“Did I?” he asked with his own arched brow, as he bowed to take her hand in his. “I’m usually very thorough, Lady Worthington – especially in all things female.”
His lips were soft against her fingers, lingering a touch longer than propriety dictated.
“A part of your Ranger instruction, Mr. Sutherland?” she asked, pulling her hand from his grasp. A tingle remained where his lips had touched her skin.
His grin grew devilish. “Nothing so official – merely an old habit I’ve had no desire to break.”
Tarin bit her cheek. The man was an absolute scoundrel.
How refreshing.
“Yes, well…” Patrick said, clearing his throat as Isabel took Tarin by the elbow.
“Come, Tarin,” she said, guiding her away. “Lillian and Margaret were just about to fill me in on the Emerson ball.”
With reluctant steps, Tarin allowed herself to be led away from the men and what was sure to be the only excitement of the evening. Once she moved away from Rafe’s presence, she felt more herself. Like she had been splashed in the face and woke from the shock. Tarin took a seat beside Isabel on the blue velvet settee.
“Isabel,” Lillian Evans said, “Rafe is adjusting to civilized society well. He acts as though he never left.”
Isabel glanced over at Rafe standing amongst the men across the parlor. “He has recovered remarkably well,” she commented with a frown.
“He always was so popular with the young ladies,” Olivia Alexander added with a sly glance at Tarin. “Why every girl in Boston was attracted to him. They were all just heartbroken when he left.”
And here sat Tarin, just one of many. The idea rankled.
“I don’t believe that changed down in Texas either,” Isabel announced with a chuckle. “I found a perfumed sash amongst his belongings.”
Lillian sat up in her chair, her notorious penchant for gossip clearly piqued. She leaned forward and placed her hand beside her mouth. “Oh, does he have a special lady back in Texas?”
To Tarin’s dismay, she was suddenly interested in the petty gossip, too.
“Not that he has mentioned,” Isabel replied. “But you never know with Rafe. He has never been one to talk of his personal life.”
Probably because he knew his mother’s ears would burn. His ability to maneuver innocent young girls in and out of dark gardens without notice undoubtedly aided his nocturnal war strategy, Tarin mused.
“I am sure he will soon find a nice young girl who will overlook his scars,” Olivia declared over the top of her wineglass, “after all, he is from a good Brahmin family.”
What a narrow-minded wretch. Tarin knew Isabel would not upset her soiree by standing up for her son. All Brahmin women had been taught to bite their tongues, then vent after all of the guests were gone.
Lucky for Tarin, she was not a Brahmin first - she was British nobility.
“I think his scars lend a mysterious… dangerous air,” she said, leaning forward as if in confidence. “How many men in Boston can boast of surviving Indians? It’s most exciting, don’t you agree?”
Tarin sat back on the settee, her back ridged in irritation. Isabel placed her hand over Tarin’s and squeezed, as Lillian and Olivia studied Rafe across the room.
“Yes, it is rather exciting,” Lillian said distractedly before turning her attention back to Isabel and Tarin. “He will find himself even more popular than before, I declare.”
A part of Tarin wondered if she had just done herself a disservice while standing up for Isabel and her son. Then again, now was not the time to finally admit interest in a man – especially one in which her father approved. She would find no peace from him then, and fight an unwanted distraction on her path to becoming a physician. Besides, who’s to say Rafe would feel any differently about her career than all of the other men in Boston?
As the butler announced the evening meal, the ladies rose. A sudden anticipation swirled in her stomach. Tarin wondered if Rafe would offer to escort her to dinner as the only available woman in the room?
Was his arm as hard and strong as it appeared? Did he carry the scent of pine, or was his soap tinged with spice?
As if she were not even in the room, Rafe walked right past Tarin and offered his arm to Isabel. Tarin felt as though a cannonball had landed in her stomach. While she respected a man who respected his mother, his total lack of regard touched a green facet in Tarin she never knew existed.
“May I?” Patrick asked, offering his arm with a smile.
Tarin hooked her arm through his. “Your escort is always a pleasure, Patrick.”
“Enough to consider courtship?” he asked in a low, seductive voice. His hand curled over hers in the crook of his arm.
Tarin sighed. The man never gave up. “You flatter me, Patrick,” she said, glancing up at him as they entered the dining room last. “But I would not want to lose your friendship over hard feelings.”
He settled her into the chair opposite Rafe, leaning over her shoulder to whisper in her ear.
“I hear it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. I did not want to pass up an unknown opportunity.”
He took his seat at the head of the table, his eyes twinkling.
Tarin glanced across the table to see if Rafe had overheard his brother’s flirtations. Much to her disappointment, he was immersed in the attentions of Lillian and Olivia on either side of him.
Funny, the scars didn’t seem to bother them now.
During the meal, Tarin learned two things: Lillian and Olivia’s husbands, George and Timothy, who sat on either side of her, were two of Rafe’s childhood friends. They regaled her with tales of Rafe’s youth, including his commonplace scrapes and subsequent punishments from his father. For some reason, the rambunctious nature of the stories did not surprise her in the least.
The other thing she learned was that she appeared no more interesting to Rafe Sutherland than a lamp post. He made no effort to speak to her. She tried to be witty, speak intelligently to the table as a whole, just as her tutor had taught her when she was young. Her training had worked up to this point and this man.
That was a good thing, remember?
Yes, but this one was so, so… virile. A bit wild and rugged as the territory he had come from. As though the suit he wore confined not only his body but his character as well.
His skin held a deep, golden tan, save for the scars on his forehead and left cheek that were dark pink in color.
His physique was different - hard, taut...
Muscular. Yes, that was the word. The obvious tight fit of his coat and vest confirmed her assessment. And heaven help her if she glanced at his close-fitting trousers one more time before they left. She had always conducted herself with utmost ladylike behavior, yet in the parlor she had found her gaze drawn to the man’s body like a powerful magnet.
His rakish persona obviously brought out the worst in her. She would be wise to avoid him at all costs.
As if that were a problem, Tarin.
‘But why?’ Good manners dictated that as a host of this function, Rafe speak to everyone in attendance. Yet, he avoided her like typhoid. Tarin's fingers curled into her napkin.
> Her father had always said her curiosity was not a virtue. She would prove him right once again.
“Mr. Sutherland,” she announced, silencing all conversation at the table.
Rafe glanced at her, then Patrick, who also looked at her, before his eyes found hers again.
“Yes, Miss Worthington?” he replied with a small, crooked smile.
Tarin’s heart raced under his focused gaze. “I understand you served under General Taylor - ”
“Actually, Miss Worthington,” he cut in, “I served under Captain Jack Hays of the Texas Rangers. We worked with the United States military to aid General Taylor in the defeat of Mexico.”
She raised an eyebrow at the tinge of sarcasm in his voice. Was he mocking her intelligence?
“Thank you for the clarification,” she said with a haughty, curt nod. “Some say he will be our next President. Will you vote for him?”
A gasp escaped the ladies. Tarin knew her outspoken question was improper for a new acquaintance, but a part of her did not want him to think she was just one of many women he would find in Boston. She had intelligence, could discuss current events with any man, despite what society dictated as correct behavior.
“Rafe…” Patrick said in a low, warning tone.
Rafe held up his hand, his dark eyes on Tarin. That gaze was most disconcerting, Tarin decided. She did not like feeling off-balance, but could not make herself look away now that she finally had his attention.
“I would have to see Taylor’s complete platform and those of his competitors before I made a decision. But if I had to make a choice today, knowing he is against slavery, he would get my vote.”
Well… fine…then. He had a good head for politics. The knowledge made him even more dangerous to her spirit.