Return to Me

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Miss Taye asked me to have the tub sent up.” Patsy pointed to the large copper bathing tub in the corner of the room. “She said ya was to call her if ya needed her. Hot water be up in just a snap. You want me to help you get undressed? You look like you beat worst than a rug.”

  “No. Thank you.” As Cameron walked past the bed, she brushed her fingertips across the gauzy bed curtains. It was warm tonight; she had forgotten how warm Mississippi could still be after dark. “Just the bathwater and a little something to eat. Some tea and toast perhaps.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Comin’, ma’am.”

  Patsy backed out of the room, closing the door behind her, and Cameron wandered to the window. She drew back the whispery curtains to stare out into the darkness. Down the road, toward the east, she could see a speckle of lights along the woods line perhaps a mile away, and she wondered what they came from. There were no structures that she could remember so far from town.

  When Patsy returned with two young boys carrying pails of water, Cameron pointed out the lights. “Patsy, it’s been almost four years since I’ve been here, but I don’t recall anything lying in that direction. Where are those lights coming from?”

  Patsy left the boys to fill the tub and came to the window. “That? That’s J Town. That’s where negras who got nowhere to go is livin’. It’s a bad place, Mrs. Logan. You don’t want to go there, not even in the light of day. Mostly men livin’ there ain’t found work. Those men lookin’ for trouble.” She lifted her hands, palms upward. “You free the negras, they got to go somewhere. Ain’t like there’s a boat headed back to A-fri-ca. I’m just thankin’ Jesus that the cap’n bought up Atkins’ Way after Mr. and Mrs. Atkins died, ’cause I got a place to lay my head. Not everyone I know so lucky.”

  Cameron let the curtain fall. The girl was right; it was a matter that most antislavery advocates hadn’t given much thought to. Once slaves were set free and released from their tasks in the fields, in the slave owners’ homes and shops, where did they go?

  “Bath’s ready, missus.”

  “Thank you, Patsy. Now if you’ll just unhook my gown, you can go. I’ll call you if I need you.” She turned her back to the young girl who did as she was asked and then shooed the boys with their buckets out the door.

  “Towels and soap right there for you, missus,” Patsy said as she disappeared, closing the door behind her.

  Cameron sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots and stockings. She lay back for a moment, and the bed felt so good that she was tempted to go to sleep without the bath. But she knew she desperately needed it, so she rose and stripped off her layers of dusty, dirty clothes. Leaving them in a pile on the floor, she climbed into the warm tub and sighed with relief as she slid down. She leaned back, closed her eyes and let the scented water rise right to the tip of her chin. It felt so good that she feared she might drift off to sleep right where she lay.

  As she rinsed her long hair, Cameron heard the door open. “Just put the tray on the table beside the bed, Patsy. I’ll call you if I need anything else tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jackson said sarcastically. “Anything else I can get you, Mrs. Logan?”

  Cameron’s eyes flew open.

  Jackson entered the room carrying a serving tray of food. He pushed the door shut with his elbow and took the tray to the bed, as instructed.

  “Turn your bed, perhaps, Mrs. Logan?”

  Cameron lay back again and closed her eyes. “I thought you were Patsy.”

  “I’m definitely not Patsy.” His voice was edgy. He was still angry with her. Very angry.

  Well, let him be, she thought. He was the one who’d lied about Elmwood. He’d left her no choice but to come here alone.

  Still, she was apprehensive. She knew he was not pleased at having to come all the way to Jackson from Baltimore when he was so busy, and she knew he held her responsible.

  She listened as he moved around the room preparing for bed. He removed his coat and hat, his boots and the pistol he wore holstered at his waist. She heard him drag a chair toward the tub and he seated himself beside her. He said nothing, just sat there looking at her.

  When Cameron could stand his scrutiny no longer, she opened her eyes. “What do you want, Jackson?”

  “I’m waiting for the explanation you owe me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She closed her eyes again and pretended to relax, though every nerve she possessed was on edge.

  “I think you do.”

  Again the silence, which he knew made her crazy.

  She opened her eyes. “What explanation?” She gestured angrily, slapping the water and splashing it on the floor. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

  “I suppose you’re right. You were angry, so instead of discussing the matter with me later, at a more appropriate time, like a mature adult, you took off the second I was gone. You endangered yourself, and others, including our child—”

  “I did not endanger the baby,” she countered. “And I had tried to discuss Elmwood with you for weeks.” She sat up in the tub. “Since the day you came home, Jackson, you wouldn’t listen to me. And what right have you to say anything about me running away?” She flicked water at him. “What do you think you were doing when you took off for New Orleans on your mission?”

  He leaned over, bringing his face to hers. “I wouldn’t agree with you because you weren’t being reasonable. You were acting like the spoiled papa’s girl that you are, demanding to have your way. Well, it’s time you grew up, sugar.”

  “How can I be a spoiled papa’s girl? My father’s dead!” She hit the water hard with her hand and splashed droplets of water in his face.

  He reached into the tub, scooped up a handful of water and splashed her, drenching her hair and face.

  “Oh!” Cameron sputtered, wiping her eyes with her hands so she could see again. “You see. I can’t talk to you.” She stood up in the tub, water streaming off her naked body. “You call me spoiled and say I must always have my way, but you’re no different than I am. You won’t listen to anyone. You want everyone to do as you order, as if we are your little army and you are the commander in chief.” She half saluted. “Well, I’ve had enough of your orders, Captain Logan.” She gave him a hard shove, to push him out of her way, and lost her footing in the water-filled tub.

  Jackson caught her wet and slippery body in his arms and lifted her out of the bath.

  “Put me down,” she ordered, struggling against him.

  He sat down on the chair, ignoring the fact that she was getting his clothes soaking wet, and reached for one of the large bath sheets folded neatly on a chair. Cameron tried to escape, but he pinned her between his muscular thighs, and she couldn’t get away.

  Jackson wrapped the cloth around her and began to rub vigorously while she still struggled to escape.

  “Leave me alone! Do you hear me? I want you to go. Leave this room this instant!”

  “You’ll not put me out of my bedchamber again, my dear. Not ever.”

  “Well, we’ll just see about that,” she spat, bracing both palms against his chest, leaving water marks on his linen shirt as she tried to shove him again.

  Jackson opened the large cloth sheet and wrapped it around her tightly, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Let go of me, Jackson, do you hear me?”

  Ignoring her protests, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “Jackson, if you don’t release me this moment, I swear I’ll scream, and every man, woman and child in this house will be at that door.”

  “Close your mouth, Cameron, before I wrap something around that, too.”

  He dropped her suddenly onto the bed, and she gave a gasp of surprise. She was so damned angry with him that she could tear him ear to ear with her fingernails. Yet, as he leaned over, drawing his face to hers, she felt her heart skip a beat and her pulse quickened. She groaned in frustration as she tried to free herself fro
m the tangle of damp linen.

  Would it always be this way between them? The anger, the ugly words and then the passion that came upon them so suddenly that they could not control their desire?

  No. This is not how it would be!

  “Jackson—”

  He covered her mouth with his, silencing her, taking her breath away. He was wet and warm and smelled of that inexplicable combination of tobacco, maleness and, somehow, salvation.

  She freed her hand and slipped it over his wet shoulder to his thick, corded neck. He was leaner than he had been before the war, more solid and muscular.

  She didn’t want to argue. She didn’t even want to talk. She just wanted to feel his mouth on hers, taste his tongue, feel his hand between her legs in that place that already ached for his touch.

  Cameron pulled his head to hers and parted her lips to accept his thrusting tongue. He tore at the bath towel, unrolling her so that he could send it flying off the bed to land in a wet heap on the floor.

  Naked under him, she arched her back, needing to feel his weight on her, pressing her into the feather tick. He threaded his fingers through her wet hair and kissed her again and then again.

  Cameron pushed at the fabric of his wet shirt, slipping her hands beneath it to feel his skin, the rippling muscles of his chest, the nubs of his nipples.

  Jackson groaned and she licked his lower lip. He bit back ever so gently and lowered his mouth to the hollow of her throat. She arched her neck, feeling her nipples harden, even before he took the first in his mouth.

  In response, he took her nipple and the areole full into his mouth. She rolled her head on the pillow, gasping with pleasure. Her fingers found his thick hair and she guided his mouth in encouragement.

  He took the other nipple, first teasing it with tiny bites, then into his mouth. She moaned. If possible, since her pregnancy had begun, her breasts were even more sensitive than they had been before. As he suckled, he cupped the breast, massaging it, lingering until time seemed to stand still.

  Cameron glided her fingertips over his back and shoulders, down his chest and under the fabric of his shirt again.

  He slid his hand from her breast and moved it over her belly, that would soon grow round, and then lower.

  Fiery heat built at the apex between her thighs as his hand slowly slipped down. She parted her legs and her entire body trembled, quaked, with anticipation.

  His long, strong fingers found the mound of bright-red curls, the soft folds of her flesh and the tiny nub from which all sensation seemed to emanate.

  “Cameron,” he whispered as he stroked. “If you would just let me love you. Let me be the man to you I want to be.”

  She closed her eyes, clinging to him, and groaned. It would be so easy to surrender to Jackson. To give him what he wanted. What she wanted, no, needed, desperately.

  But—

  She sat up suddenly and shoved him back with both hands. “No,” she cried panting.

  Startled, he sat back on the bed, his hair falling forward over one eye. “No, what?”

  “No, I won’t do this.” She scrambled to cover her nakedness with the sheet she pulled out from under him. “I won’t let you do this to me. This is how you always get your way, Jackson. Taking…taking advantage of me,” she sputtered. “And I’m not going to play your games any longer.”

  He stared at her hard, his gray eyes narrowing. “You’re saying you still won’t—”

  “I won’t,” she cut in. “Not until you and I come to some sort of mutual agreement.”

  He slid off the bed and reached for his trousers. When he spoke again, his tone was harsh. Hurtful. “You know this is a man’s right. A husband’s right.”

  “Your right?” she scoffed. “And what of my rights?”

  “You deny me my entitlement to sleep with you,” he muttered, “and maybe I’ll just—”

  Cameron rose on her knees, gripping the sheet. She was still trembling all over, but now it was from anger rather than desire. “You’ll what?” she demanded.

  He grabbed his shirt off the floor and punched one arm through the sleeve as he walked to the door. “Then I may just seek my comfort elsewhere.”

  Cameron climbed out of bed, dragging the sheet behind her, but it was too late. Jackson was already out the door.

  The door slammed with a resounding sound and she halted in the middle of the room. “Go ahead!” she shouted, swiping at the tears that rolled down her flushed cheeks. “Seek your comfort elsewhere! I just can’t imagine who the hell would have you!”

  14

  In the morning, Taye slipped downstairs and glanced both ways in the entrance hall before hurrying across the Italian marble floor to the richly furnished dining room, with its wide pine plank floors polished by years of service to a honey patina and scattered with worn but exquisitely woven Turkish carpets. The floral velvet draperies that flanked the three twelve-paned windows were drawn back so that sunlight poured into the room, reflecting off the silver pitchers, tureens and serving platters that lined the Irish hunt board and causing the crystal glassware to shoot sparks of light.

  If she hadn’t been so hungry, if the tantalizing smell of fresh sausages and sweetened hominy had not tempted her so, Taye would have remained in her bedchamber with her tray of tea and cold biscuits.

  Finding Falcon Cortés at their door last night at The Magnolia had been a shock. She’d known Jackson would come after Cameron; she’d suspected that was part of the reason Cameron had taken off the way she did. Taye even half hoped Thomas would come for her. But Falcon?

  Just the thought of him brought a heat to her face as she remembered the kiss they had shared in the garden two weeks ago. Shared? They had not shared a kiss. He had stolen it from her!

  “Good mornin’ to ya, Miss Taye,” Patsy said, carrying a porcelain-covered dish to the sideboard beside the heavy mahogany dining room table. “There’s candles under the dishes so everything stays hot. Ya help yourself to whatever ya like. There’s more in the kitchen. Cap’n Logan, he lets Cook buy enough food for Sherman’s army,” the young girl said, wide-eyed with pride.

  “Has no one else come down?” Taye picked up a delicate china plate edged with pale pink roses. French or German origin, she mused. Fit to grace the table of royalty. The sterling silverware, each piece bearing the monogram C, was polished to a high shine. The service was English, obviously very old and lovingly cared for. She couldn’t help wondering how the flatware had come to reside on the table of Jackson’s manor house, and what family had been forced to part with a precious piece of their past.

  “No, Miss Taye,” Patsy replied. “Ain’t no one come down yet, but I suspect they will soon. Cap’n Logan, he like his big breakfast.” On her way out of the dining room, she halted in the doorway. “Whenever he come when the war was on, he always had him a big breakfast before he left.”

  Taye lifted the lid of a silver serving dish and helped herself to a scoop of fluffy eggs. She would eat quickly, hopefully avoiding Falcon, and then return to her room and wait for Cameron. Surely Cameron would know why he was here and when he would go. And the sooner the better, as far as she was concerned.

  Taye lifted another lid to find tiny buckwheat hotcakes.

  “Your face is bright when you smile,” came a husky male voice from the doorway. “You should smile always.”

  Startled, Taye dropped the lid onto the serving dish with a clatter. “Oh, goodness.” She blinked and reached for the lid again. She refused to let him rattle her. He simply didn’t have the right. “Good morning,” she said in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

  “Good morning to you, also. Did you sleep well in your bed?”

  She turned to Falcon, who had picked up a plate and come to stand beside her. “It’s none of your business how well I slept in my bed, sir, and it’s rude of you to ask.”

  “White men and women are very strange, do you know that?” He slipped a long, thin knife with a bone handle from the belt around his wa
ist and stabbed a fat piece of sausage.

  As Taye watched in fascination, in horror, she wondered how he had not noticed that she was not a white woman, but a mulatto.

  “They will talk all day and into the night of that which means nothing, and yet they cannot speak of everyday matters. They talk, talk, talk, yet they cannot speak of what is nearest their hearts. Have you noticed that about white men?”

  He said it as if excluding her from the faction; so he had noticed she was different. Taye wasn’t sure if that pleased or concerned her. She took a step away from Falcon and scooped up a piece of toasted bread, more to be doing something than because she wanted it. The appetite which had brought her downstairs had suddenly evaporated. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you speak of,” she said haughtily.

  “I think that you do.” He smiled as if he knew some secret about her as he lifted one of the sausages on the end of his knife and bit a piece off.

  Taye flounced away, taking a chair on the far side of the dining table. As she slid into her seat, she could feel her pulse racing. She felt giddy, almost light-headed. Where were Cameron and Jackson? She prayed they would appear soon to rescue her. She didn’t want to dine with this dark-haired, dark-skinned interloper. He was rude, spoke inappropriately and took liberties he had no right to take. But she wasn’t just going to run upstairs, either. She wouldn’t give Falcon the satisfaction of knowing he had chased her away.

  She glanced up at him. His back to her, she could see the outline of his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His hair, as black as a crow’s wing, was tied back with a strap of leather. He wore soft suede boots that came nearly to his knees. He looked completely out of place in the dining room in this elegant home in Jackson, Mississippi.