by Kimberly Nee
His family had not disowned him after all, but welcomed him back into the fold. As he caught up on the last year of their lives, he was surprised to learn he had gained a sister-in-law, Andie. Garrett had married the lovely English girl only weeks before. It was the only family surprise, but one Drew least expected.
It was early morning and he was on his way to Christina's, a smile playing at his lips as he urged Samson into another trot. He was anxious to return to Heather, to pull her into his arms. He couldn't believe how urgent his need was to be with her once again.
He slowed Samson down, walking him the last half mile to Christina Anderson's house. After dismounting, he looped Samson's reins about the front porch railing, and made his way inside. The first floor was empty, so he mounted the steps, prepared to burst into Heather's room and surprise her.
Just beyond her closed door, he heard voices coming the other side. A knot twisted in his stomach. One of the voices was that of a man.
Throwing open the door, he felt the blood draining from his face as his eyes fell on Heather in Jeremy's arms, and his lips on hers. “What the hell?"
Jeremy jumped away and Heather felt relief wash over her as, once again, Drew arrived in the nick of time. She scrambled away from Jeremy, ignoring the wave of rising nausea as she leaped off the bed to hurry to Drew, gasping, “Thank God!"
Halfway to him she froze, aware of the thunderclouds she saw brewing in his cobalt eyes. “What is it, Drew?"
He folded his arms over his chest. “I think I ought to be asking you that, Heather. What goes on here?"
She cast a glance at Jeremy, who'd backed into the far corner, now staring up at Drew with terrified eyes. Then she turned back to Drew. “I was in here, taking a nap, when he—he—"
"When he what?"
Her stomach churned, giving her the distinct feeling something was wrong. He looked furious, his voice holding an icy tone she'd never heard him use before when speaking to her. But the greatest surprise came in the realization that his anger was directed at her. “He kissed me—Drew, what is it?"
He shook his head. “You are all alike, aren't you? Each and every last one of you. Perhaps I ought to start treating women the way Henry does, or the way most men do. Perhaps then I'll not be the fool."
This time, she shook her head. “What are you talking about? Do—do you think I—I am a willing participant here?"
He didn't answer her. Instead, he pushed by her to grab a handful of Jeremy's shirt. He lifted the younger man clear off the ground, spinning about and hurtling him into the hallway, where he landed with a loud whump. Then, he slammed the door shut on Jeremy's surprised expression.
He turned back to her and she nearly recoiled at the fury swirling in his eyes as he snarled, “Perhaps I should have stayed away a bit longer? Then you could have bedded him completely."
She gasped, blood rushing to her face. “How could you say something so—so horrid? I've done nothing wrong! I was here—minding my own business—and he came in—"
"Of course. And I fell for it the first time. And nearly killed one of my crewmen in the process."
"Fell for it? There is nothing to fall for, Drew. I am telling you—"
"That men simply attack you at every turn?” he sneered, unable to ignore the red-hot, bubbling rage coursing through his veins. “I find that a mite hard to believe. No woman is that irresistible."
She couldn't believe he was accusing her this way, that he would not believe her. “I never said that—"
"You don't have to. Your actions say a mouthful."
Her own temper flared, erupting like a geyser to soak him in her fury. “I've no idea what this is about, Drew, but you are being an ass! I was simply up here, minding my own business, taking a nap. I've been feeling a bit poorly, you understand. You had yet to return. I woke from my nap to find Jeremy standing there in the doorway. Then he kissed me."
"Oh, from the doorway?"
"No, you fool!” she retorted sharply. “He and I were talking, and then he was kissing me. I tried to push him away, but I couldn't."
"Of course not,” he sneered.
"Oh, this is madness! You are angry at me for something one of your friends attempted? This is utter madness, indeed!"
"Is it?” he countered, his eyes slivers of sapphire ice.
"Why don't you believe me?” It dawned on her then and her eyes went wide. “You are thinking about Delilah's, aren't you? Oh, my...” Fury churned through her as he didn't correct her. “I knew you would do that. I knew you would throw that up at me eventually, despite all that nonsense you spewed about it not being important, about how you didn't care. You do think I am a—a—” She couldn't bring herself to say the word as those tears spilled over her lower lashes. “How could you?” Her voice became a broken whisper. “How could you?"
"By what I see.” His voice was flat. It matched how he felt—flat and lifeless. The world had gone gray now, all color sucked out of it the moment he threw open that bedroom door.
She threw her hands into the air. “You did not see what you think you did! You are only too stubborn to admit it."
He shook his head. “No. I am seeing very clearly now. And to think, I came here to tell you—oh, never mind. To say it would be to make the biggest mistake of my life."
"Oh, is that so? Well, I take it I am nothing like your precious Rebecca, then?” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, but she was so frustrated by the entire conversation, that she almost looked forward to the argument she knew was to come.
Darkness hardened his eyes. “What about Rebecca?"
"Oh, you heard me. I am nothing like her, am I?"
"She has nothing to do with this."
"Ah, and again you won't discuss her!” She threw her hands into the air with a shriek of frustration. “And now you are growing angry at me for bringing up her name. I know she was your fiancée, so I can only assume you to still be in love with her, then."
"Oh, you do, do you? And how, pray tell, do you know so much about me? Who have you spoken to about it?"
"I've spoken to no one."
"I know I've never mentioned her by name, so someone else obviously has."
"It does not matter now, does it? Tell me, is she the one you spent last evening with?"
He threw up his hands. “I find you in the arms of another man, and yet you accuse me of dallying with another? Not only that, you have the utter gall to be upset by it? That's a bit of nerve you've developed, isn't it?"
"Of course I am upset! And I was not in his arms, you bloody dolt! I was fighting to get out of them!"
"If that is your story—"
"It's not a story! It's fact and if you are too bull-headed to see that, then perhaps you should just leave now! Before it's too late!"
His eyes darkened further until they appeared almost black. “It's already too late, Heather. I rue the day I ever asked you to accompany me back here!"
"And I rue the day I ever said yes!” she shrieked, swiping a china knickknack from the bedside table and hurling it at him. She missed by a great distance and the delicate china smashed into the wall, spraying shards in all directions.
Drew didn't say a word, but merely turned and stalked from the room. She heard him storm down the stairs, then heard the crash of the front door being slamming.
"Oh!” she gritted, marching to the bedroom door to slam it as well. The fight rushed from her then and she sank down onto the bed, a hand pressed to her mouth as she realized what had just happened. He was walking out of her life—possibly forever.
"Oh dear God,” she whispered, her tears beginning to fall in earnest. “What have I done?” She jumped up and flew to the window in time to see him launch himself into the saddle of a black horse and take off in a cloud of reddish dust.
Twenty-six
Heather spent the next week secluded in her room at Christina's, ignoring both Christina and Jeremy as they took turns banging on the locked door. She remained by the
window, hoping in vain to see Drew racing up on his beautiful sleek, black horse. But it wasn't to be and, after a week, she gave up hope.
She sighed, watching the rain sluice down the rippled windowpane. “I suppose that is that, then,” she murmured, turning away from the window. “Of course, I've no idea what I am going to do. I've no money, no way to return home."
She wasn't too surprised that she viewed her dilemma with such calmness. After all, it wasn't her most pressing trouble. She'd finally discovered the cause of her never-ending nausea.
She was pregnant.
At first, when she calculated her dates, realizing she'd skipped the last month, she tried to deny it. She blamed her sickness on everything from readjusting to life on land to the strange foods she'd tried since arriving in America. Finally, there was nothing left to do but admit the inevitable.
She was going to bear Drew's child.
The fact brought tears to her eyes, but surprisingly, they were not tears of regret. If anything, her condition suddenly made her feel closer to him, even though she knew he was not coming back.
She missed him terribly. It was like a phantom pain in a missing limb, constantly there, always aching, and with no relief forthcoming. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him as he was that last night she'd spent with him.
Now, as she sat by the window, she pressed her fingertips to her lips, remembering the joy of his kisses. She loved him. She missed him. And she knew she would most likely never see him again.
There came a gentle rap on her door. “Heather? Please, open the door."
Rising with a sigh, she crossed the room to twist the key. “Yes?"
Christina's crystal blue eyes filled with concern. “Won't you please come into town with me? It would do you good to get out."
"I've nothing to get in town,” she replied dully.
"Perhaps we can find Drew and you two can talk this out."
"There is nothing for us to discuss,” Heather said, shaking her head.
"Of course there is. Heather, this is madness. You need to talk to him."
She sighed softly, shaking her head. “No. I don't, Christina. He made himself quite clear. He has nothing left to say to me."
Christina moved to sit on the edge of the neatly made bed. “Heather, I know I have not known you that long. And I'd wager you view me as something of a rival, do you not?"
Heather sighed. What did she have to lose? She'd already lost the most important thing to her. What was left? “Yes I suppose I do, in a way."
Christina gave her a knowing smile, smoothing a hand over the flowered chintz quilt covering the bed. “I thought as much. I would most likely feel the same. But, I can assure you, I am no such thing. Drew and I share a history, that is true, but now it's friendship only and that'll not change. We were young and impulsive and quickly learned we were much better suited as friends."
Heather relaxed upon hearing that. It was always possible Christina was pulling her leg, but she didn't think that was the case. She seemed far too sincere to be telling anything other than the truth. Heather pulled out the vanity bench, a lovely embroidered tapestry thickly stuffed and quite comfortable to sit upon, and did exactly that. “You don't understand, Christina. He does not want me."
"Of course he does! What on earth would make you think otherwise?” Christina looked shocked that she would even suggest such a thing. “Anyone would have to be an utter fool to suggest something so ludicrous."
Heather remembered his heated words, the way he stormed out of the house in a fury. “No. You did not see him. It's too late. Those were his exact words. He despises me now."
"Well, I find that hard to believe. What could possibly have happened to make him turn in such a manner?"
She felt heat creep into her cheeks. “He caught Jeremy trying to kiss me."
Christina's eyes went perfectly round and her jaw went slack. “Jeremy did what?"
With a heavy sigh, Heather explained to her what had happened that terrible afternoon. Christina's face reddened with fury as she muttered, “I will kill him. I will absolutely kill him. What on earth was Jeremy thinking, that fool horse's ass?"
This surprised Heather, for she'd assumed Christina would side with her brother, no matter what. It seemed in this case, however, blood was not thicker than water.
"And Drew walked in to see this?” When Heather nodded miserably, Christina let out a low whistle. “Well, now it makes sense. Absolutely perfect sense, actually."
"Why?"
Christina gave her an odd look. “Well, Rebecca, of course."
"Rebecca? What does she have to do with it?"
She took a deep breath. “Hasn't Drew told you about Rebecca?"
"No. He's always refused to discuss her. Jeremy started to tell me, but then said it wasn't his business and that I ought to hear it from Drew. But Drew would only say that he had been betrothed to a woman and that the betrothal had been broken. He would not so much as tell me her name. I only learned it when Jeremy told me.” Heather lifted the heavy gilt hairbrush from the vanity's gleaming oak surface and brushed some imaginary dust from its back. “And since he would not say a word, you can imagine how much I know about her. I know he loves her. I found a note in his cabin on board the Aphrodite from her that he kept tucked into a book."
"Heather, I'm not entirely sure how to make you believe this, but Drew does not love Rebecca. Of that, I am certain."
"That is exactly what Jeremy told me, but how can that be possible if he is keeping notes from her?"
"Are you certain he even knew it was there? Rebecca was a sneaky trollop, you know. Sneaky and rotten and you are sorely mistaken if you think he still carries a torch for her. Sorely mistaken indeed. He despises her, if anything."
This was news to Heather and it made her sit upright, the brush forgotten in her lap. “What?"
Christina nodded, smoothing the wrinkles from the pale blue, violet, and pink quilt. “Oh, yes, Heather. I am surprised he never told you. At least then you would know why his catching you and Jeremy should upset him so."
"He is being a stubborn mule,” Heather muttered, setting the brush back on the vanity. “He wouldn't let me explain. Simply refused to listen."
"I can't say I blame him.” As Heather began to protest, Christina held up a hand. “Now, that is not how I meant it. Let me explain the scenario to you and you can draw your own conclusions."
She listened patiently as Christina said, “For his entire life, Drew has always been in his brother's shadow, Garrett is older and was considered by most to be the most eligible bachelor in Brunswick. At least, he was up until he married last month. I don't think it ever really troubled Drew, until he met Rebecca."
Christina shook her head slowly and Heather could hear the anger in her voice as she said, “She was so determined to marry into the Kennedy family, no matter what. Now, she did succeed in getting Drew to propose to her, but he didn't know that he'd been her second choice."
"What?” Heather couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.
"Exactly. They were at a ball, celebrating their upcoming wedding, which was only a few weeks away at that point. He overheard her boasting to her friends that she didn't mind having to settle for him. At least she would bear the Kennedy name. Her cap had been set for Garrett, but he wasn't at all interested. And because Drew wasn't her first choice, she had no intention of giving up her other lovers for him. Lovers he knew nothing about."
"She actually said she had to settle for him? And she was toying with him the entire time?” Anger shot through Heather like a sharp knife. “And he heard this, did he?"
Christina nodded solemnly. “That he did. Of course, he got his revenge and it was sweet, but it did nothing to soothe the fact that she'd taken him for a fool. That she thought nothing of using him. He put his trust in her and she threw it right back in his face."
"Oh, my,” Heather whispered, fingers pressed to her lips. “And then when he came in here...” She couldn't b
ring herself to finish the sentence.
Christina nodded. “And he saw you with Jeremy—well, I'd say he reacted based on what had happened in the past."
Heather chewed on that for a moment. Could it be possible? Could he really think she would betray him in such a vile manner? Anger, swift and unexpected, swept through her then. How could he have so little faith in her to think she would ever do such a thing? “I ought to box his ears,” she muttered, shaking her head. “How could he think that about me?"
"I think it's a bit understandable."
"Do you, now? He wouldn't even let me explain. He just grew furious and stormed out of here.” Heather got to her feet and jammed them into her sturdy walking boots. “Well, I will simply have to set him straight, then."
Christina smiled as she rose from the bed. “That is the spirit. Shall we go into town then? The rain has stopped and the sun has come out. We can stop by Eagleton Shipping and see if he is there."
Heather paused. Stop at Eagleton? It seemed so forward, seeking him out. “Are you certain that is a good idea?"
"There is nothing improper about it, if that's what you mean. I am a perfectly acceptable chaperone, don't you think?” Christina gave her a wicked smile. “I am a respected widow, after all."
"Well, I suppose it would be acceptable, then,” she replied slowly, drawing on her spencer.
Christina gave her a quick hug. “Everything will work out, Heather. You will see. Things always have a way of working themselves out."
Twenty-seven
Drew stepped into the library at Shadowbrook, where he found his mother curled up on the blue damask sofa, a book in hand. Samantha Kennedy smiled up at her youngest son as she closed the book, placing it on the rosewood table in front of the sofa. “What is on your mind, Drew?"
He sank down into one of the rich leather chairs on the far side of the table. “Nothing, Momma."
Her blue eyes narrowed. “It doesn't look like nothing to me. You've been moping around here ever since you returned from England. I thought you wanted to come home?"