The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

  “All over.” He repeated the words with satisfaction, nodding, his eyes closing.

  By noon, he’d passed through another bout of chills and the fever returned full force. Jenny brewed tea again while Isabelle sat with him, and then as he rested once more, Jenny crawled up on the bed beside him, her arms holding him fast, his dark hair nestled against her breast.

  She awoke to find him looking into her eyes. His face was drawn, his jaw set in a rigid, controlled pose. “How long?” he asked, his voice raw, as if his throat were abraded from the force of his illness.

  “Just since the middle of the night,” she answered, knowing he resented losing track of time. “It’s afternoon now.”

  He lifted her hand, kissed the palm and focused on the bruises he’d inflicted on her wrist. “Did I do that?”

  She tore it from his grasp. “It’s nothing.” But he would not have it. With a gentleness she was familiar with, he drew it to his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Jen. I never wanted you to see me that way. I thought—” He drew in a deep breath. “I thought I was done with the fever. I was wrong.”

  “It’s all right. You’re better now,” she said, her body weary, her eyes heavy with fatigue. There was much to be done, and she rose reluctantly from the bed. “I’ll get clean water and wash you,” she said. “You need to drink a lot of water, and some soup wouldn’t be amiss.”

  “Jenny.” He called her back as she forced her legs to move toward that doorway.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him, her mind racing with the disjointed words and phrases he’d spilled forth over the past hours.

  Isabelle was on the porch, and Jenny gave quick instructions. Warm water, soup and coffee, the latter for herself. “Marshall?” she asked, aware suddenly that the boy had gone without his mother’s attention for the whole day.

  “He’s with Noah, Jen. Don’t worry about him. The men are all helpin’ get a cabin in decent shape for Eli. Noah went over there first thing this morning, just like Mr. Shay told him to yesterday.”

  The day before had been a blur of excitement, with the first bales of cotton going to town to be weighed. Shay had come back with a bundle of clothing for the men and a new dress for Isabelle. For the coming baby, he’d brought the best part of a bolt of outing flannel and handed it to Zora. Now the hours of enjoyment seemed an eon away, Jenny thought. Her memory so taken with the events of the night and the long hours of illness throughout this day, she’d lost track of time and happenings.

  “Did Eli bring Zora’s mama along? And the boys?”

  Isabelle nodded vigorously. “They’re workin’, gettin’ the roof tight. The floor’s not too bad, and they put a lean-to on the back for the boys to sleep.”

  “See if there’s anything upstairs they need,” Jenny told her, and caught a glimpse of anger in Isabelle’s gaze.

  “They can make do for a while, Jen. Old Eli ain’t comin’ back here like the prodigal son. It’s enough you took him back without makin’ a big fuss. Let him earn his way.”

  She would not argue, not now, while her bones ached and her head was too heavy for her neck to hold it upright. “I’ll go start washing Shay, and get my bed changed,” she told Isabelle, dragging herself into the house and through the kitchen.

  Shay was on the side of the bed, head in hands, when she came through the doorway. He looked up at her, his eyes wary. “Did I have a lot to say?” he asked.

  Jenny hesitated and smiled, torn between honesty and the need to harbor his words to herself, until she could sort out the meaning of all he’d told her. “Not a lot. Mostly just gibberish.” She tilted her head, and thinking to make him smile she asked one query. “I didn’t know I was up against another woman, Shay. Who is Maggie?”

  His already pale skin turned ashen and he staggered to his feet. “What did I say?”

  Jenny hurried to his side, clutching at his waist. “Sit down, you foolish man. You’ve been sicker than a dog all day and half the night, and now you’re trying to fall flat on your face. You didn’t say anything, Shay. Just called her name.” She forced another smile. “I was trying to decide if I should be jealous.”

  He shook his head. “No, never of Maggie.” Slumping down on the bed, he stretched out again. “You’re right. I’m not ready to get up yet.” His eyes closed and Jenny recognized his method of escape.

  “Not yet,” she told him. “I’m going to help you wash up and then I’ll change the bed.” She bent to untangle the sheet from his hips. “Lift up, Shay. I can’t get this undone by myself.”

  “I can wash,” he told her. “Just bring in some water and I’ll sit on the chair while you make up the bed.” His eyes were lowered as he spoke, his voice subdued.

  “You won’t tell me who Maggie is?” she asked, sorry now that the name had been spoken aloud between them. Aware that he would not supply any answers to her curiosity.

  “Not now, Jen.” He moved to the chair, holding the sheet like a shield between them, then slumped against the wooden surface.

  Isabelle knocked against the open door, announcing her arrival, and brought a basin of warm water to place beside him. “Can you reach it?” she asked, and at his nod, she turned and left the room.

  “I’ll get clean sheets,” Jenny told him, handing him a clean washrag and towel from beside the basin. “Be careful you don’t fall off the chair.”

  Shay slept the rest of the afternoon away, until twilight darkened the sky outdoors and the sounds of men in the yard faded to echoes from the cabins beyond the barn. He lay sprawled on the fresh-smelling sheets, his mind churning with the faint memories he’d managed to put together. Somewhere in his delirium he’d seen Carl, and Gerald, the two men who’d been abused by the guard. He lifted his hand, fingering the scar he wore as a constant reminder of that day. Both of his friends were dead, and the guard had found his final resting place behind the prison huts, in a hastily dug grave. Several men had joined him, working with frantic haste to complete the task before they could be found out.

  He remembered the nightmare of killing Radley Bennett, of dragging him into the woods, only to find him choking his final breath between blue lips. He’d meant to shoot the man. Attacking a small woman had gained Rad the death penalty, no matter that he’d been halted in his attempt to rape her. Shay Devereaux was capable of murder. He’d known that for years, had lived with the memory of men who had died by his hand during the war, and a couple who had found justice where they least expected it.

  And now Jenny knew. From the bleak look in her eyes and the drawn expression on her face, she was well aware of the dark side of the man she’d married. On top of that, he’d hurt her, bruised her wrists, and perhaps worse. He’d look her over, come morning.

  And for what? he asked himself, one arm covering his eyes. The damage was done. He’d shown himself at his worst. If Jenny couldn’t love him enough to accept all that he’d done, all he’d become in the past four years, his days here were surely numbered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “There’s plenty of credit available on our account at the store, Jenny.” Shay waited at the door until she turned to face him. There remained a strain between them, and he was at a loss as to how to solve the problem.

  Her face was composed as she met his gaze. “You paid ahead on the bill?”

  “I gave Herb Duncan scrip when we sold the cotton the other day. He made a page in his account book for us, so you can buy what you need.” He felt his jaw tense as he remembered the event. “Damn paper money doesn’t fit well in my pocket,” he said roughly. “I’ve decided to hang on to my gold and we’ll do things this way for a while.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense to me.”

  She was, on the surface, as obliging as ever. He could not fault her in the bedroom, for she turned to him eagerly at night, and responded in increasing measure. Almost as though she feared the rift that threatened to dissolve the close companionship they had shared. Yet, when morning came, she was silent, a
slender wraith, with only the small rounding of her form to remind him of the child she carried.

  He’d refused her request, had turned thumbs down on confiding in her, and now he paid for his stubborn pride. And the longer the wall remained in place, the worse he felt. There was no joy in him, he realized. Only the fleeting pleasure he sought in Jenny’s arms in the dark hours of the night.

  Reaching for a towel, she dried her hands, her eyes scanning his features. “You haven’t had more fever, have you?” she asked. One slender palm touched his forehead and he circled her wrist as she stepped away.

  “I’m fine. Let me see your hand.” For the first time, she’d approached him, and he was loath to allow her retreat. The bruising he’d caused was long gone, not even a dark trace to remind him of the harsh treatment he’d dealt her. And yet, he kept her hand captive, at a loss to put an end to the tension simmering between them like summer heat.

  Her eyes were clear, searching his, as if for a sign, and he allowed the scrutiny, pushing aside the hateful memory of his feverish hours and the harm he’d done to her.

  “I love you, Shay.” Her words were simple, a reassurance, and he allowed his smile to give a silent reply. Her lips were sweet beneath his, soft and receptive to his gentle assault. He tasted the tender, inner flesh of her lower lip, traced the line of even teeth and explored the length of her tongue with his own.

  A ritual of sorts, he supposed, this kiss that demanded nothing, but expressed as well as words his feelings for her. It was their coming together at the end of the day, their parting when he left her in the morning, a gentle mating of mouth, lips and tongue. And he cherished each moment she gave him, each touch she bestowed upon his person, hoarding his memories should a bleak, lonesome road ahead be his future.

  Now he took his ease for a moment before he headed back out to the field, holding her against himself. “There’s no chores you need to do this afternoon. Go to town with Isabelle and get what you need for the kitchen, and clothes, too, if there’s anything you want,” he told her.

  “Take the gun with you. I’ll have Zora come to the house and keep an eye on supper.”

  Jenny stepped away from him, glancing at the stove where a big kettle simmered on the back burner. “It’s cooking slow, just beans and potatoes with the ham left from yesterday. She can take them off the stove in an hour or so.”

  He nodded. “I’ll tell her.” Gently now, he circled her waist, his fingers stretched wide, both front and back, noting the thickness she’d gained. His heart beat heavily as he thought of the child she carried beneath her skin, where even now her belly curved against his palm.

  “I’m getting fat,” she whispered.

  “You’re getting more beautiful every day,” he said, then felt a flush rise to his face with the speaking of such flowery words. And yet, her smile told him she was willing to linger here, and he searched his mind, seeking words that would bind her more closely.

  “You make me feel beautiful,” she admitted, leaning her head against him, inhaling deeply. “I like the way you smell, Shay. All clean and fresh and…” She lifted her face. “I can’t smell it now, but when you come to me at night, there’s a scent on your skin….” She closed her eyes, and he wondered anew at the honesty of this woman, that she would tell him such things, giving her very thoughts into his keeping.

  And she seemed to hold no grudge against him, no anger that he did not give her what she asked for; the words that would fill in the empty places of his past. She only waited, silently, patiently, and the effect was like water on a stone, wearing away his shield.

  “Go on to town,” he said abruptly, his tone gruff. “I’ll see you later on, if you’re home in time for supper.”

  “I’ll be here,” she promised.

  The store was busy this afternoon, and Jenny waited her turn, walking past the meager displays, fingering the few bolts of fabric offered for sale. The barrel of pickles was filled to the brim, but she had enough of those to last for the whole winter, right in her pantry. A fifty-pound sack of flour sat on the floor in front of the counter and she cast greedy eyes in its direction. If it were not already bought and paid for, she would haul it home in the wagon.

  “Mrs. Devereaux, I believe you’re next,” Tillie Duncan said cheerfully. “Are you needing some more dresses?” Her eye scanned Jenny’s waist and her expression brightened. “Maybe something a bit larger?”

  Jenny felt the flush rise to paint her cheeks. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “But for now, I’d like to have someone carry this sack of flour to my wagon, if it isn’t spoken for. Isabelle’s out there waiting for me.”

  “No, I just haven’t had Mr. Herbert put it up yet. He’ll be happy to tote it on out,” Tillie said, waving her hand in the air to catch her husband’s eye. “What else can I get for you?”

  Jenny consulted her list. “Lard, five pounds, I think. We’ll be butchering soon and I’ll render out more then. And coffee, as much as you can spare.” Her finger moved on down the list. “Do you have vanilla?”

  At Tillie’s nod, Jenny breathed a sigh. “I’m so pleased. Cake just doesn’t taste the same without it.” She turned to look at the crockery in the far corner of the store and pointed at a large bowl. “How much is the biggest mixing bowl over there?”

  “They come in a set, usually,” Tillie said, “but I can break it up if you only want the one. The big one is twenty cents.”

  “Do you have a big bean pot?” Jenny asked.

  “Just fifteen cents, with the lid and all,” Tillie told her. “I’ve only got one left. There’s not much call for them. It’s kind of a luxury.”

  “I’m feeling sort of extravagant today,” Jenny said. “I’ll take some tinned fruit if you have any.”

  “Peaches, just in yesterday, and apricots, too.”

  Jenny nodded, glancing at her list again. “A bag of hard candy for Marshall, then. And I might as well have material for a couple of dresses. The nightgowns I made turned out pretty well. I think I’ll try my hand at a dress.”

  Tillie bustled around, lifting the bolts of fabric Jenny chose and measuring out seven yards of each. “Go pick out the candy for yourself,” she told Jenny, waving at the big jars on the end of the shiny counter.

  “All right.” Small paper sacks were piled beside the jars, and Jenny chose one, opening it as she made up her mind. Marshall liked the red cherry flavor, but Shay favored the root beer. Maybe some of each.

  “You’re pickin’ those out for your husband, you might want to get root beer, ma’am.” The voice was low, vibrant and somehow familiar. Its owner was behind her and Jenny froze where she stood, one hand on the lid of the jar, the other holding the sack in midair.

  She closed her eyes. “Who are you?” Fearful of what she would see, she held her breath, waiting his reply.

  It was not long in coming. “Turn around. Take a look for yourself.”

  Pride rode each word, and Jenny sensed he would not be denied. She turned, opening her eyes, her gaze falling upon a dark shirt, a wide belt holding a gun and long legs that ended in dusty boots. “Ma’am?” The single word prompted her to look upward and she did so, reluctantly and fearfully.

  A sharp blade of a nose with a heavy moustache beneath it was centered between two dark eyes. They bore a startling resemblance to those she looked into every morning upon awakening, and she blinked as she recognized the man who could only be Roan Devereaux. His mouth was twisted into a half smile, and his hands rode his hips with an arrogance she was familiar with.

  “You’re his brother, aren’t you?”

  His nod was slow and deliberate, and his gaze moved over her. A narrowing of his eyes alerted her as he took note of her waist, of the thickening she could no longer conceal beneath her gathered skirt.

  “You’re carrying,” he said, bluntly and forcefully. His gaze swept upward then and met hers. “You’re Gaeton’s wife.”

  “Shay,” she corrected him quietly. “I’m married to Shay Devereaux.”r />
  The quick movement of his hand brushed away her rebuttal. “He might call himself that. His name’s Gaeton. It’s registered in the parish church. My mama named him after her grandfather.”

  “He calls himself Shay,” Jenny said with a jerk of her chin.

  “Damn if you don’t look like Katherine when you do that,” Roan said, his eyes lighting with pleasure.

  Jenny stood stock-still. “Katherine?” Not Maggie. That name she’d heard. But Katherine? “Who is that?” she asked slowly.

  Roan’s mouth twitched. “My wife. Gaeton doesn’t know about her, you wouldn’t recognize her name.” He stepped back, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets. “You bring her to mind when you tip your chin that way. I can always tell when she’s gettin’ ready to put her foot down, just by the way she squints her eyes and jabs that chin at me.”

  “You’re Shay’s brother,” she repeated slowly. “I guess I’d have known, just looking at you. Eli told me he’d seen you, weeks ago.”

  “I traced Gaeton this far, once I heard he was in these parts,” Roan said. “Just by luck I rode over here yesterday to look at some horses. I came in here to see if I could get directions to where he’s living, and a fella over in the corner told me who you were, when you came in the store.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll be happy to see you,” Jenny told him. “He still hasn’t sorted out all his feelings about…” Her hesitation was long, and he waited until she gathered her thoughts. “I don’t even know everything he’s done in the past few years, or all the places he’s been. I guess if he wanted to see y’all, he’d have gone to visit.”

  “Well, that put me in my place, didn’t it?” His brow tilted, and Jenny was taken aback at the similarity to Shay, the dark eyes hooded as Roan snapped out a reply.

  She lifted her shoulder and released a sigh. “I can’t stop you from seeing him, Mr. Devereaux, but don’t be surprised if he’s not welcoming. He spent time in Elmira, and it sticks in his craw that you fought the war wearing a blue coat on your back.”