Return to Me

by Rosemary Rogers

  Taye slid her hand lower to her thighs and slowly lifted her gown. The silk stuck to her damp skin and bunched at her waist.

  Her own breath ragged in her ears, she brushed her fingertips across her inner thigh to the source of her pleasure. She nearly moaned aloud and had to bite down on her lip to prevent any sound from escaping.

  She let her fingers glide rhythmically over the velvety flesh. She could feel herself growing wet there, softer, more pliable. She felt flushed with the heat. The night air seemed to fill with an odd, but not unpleasant, scent of her dampness.

  Taye pressed her lips tightly together and moaned. Without quite understanding why, she moved her hand faster, massaging more deeply.

  She couldn’t stop now, not even if she wanted to.

  She rubbed harder, lifting her hips, moving to the rhythm of her fingertips. Then suddenly, without warning, her sex seemed to burst with unexpected, intense pleasure.

  “Oh,” she moaned, shocked by what her body had done. She ceased the movement of her hand, now wet, and let it fall to the bed. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, goodness.” Her pulse was beginning to slow to a more normal pace.

  Suddenly tired beyond reason, she rolled onto her side and drifted off to sleep with thoughts of a dark-skinned man with a gentle smile and magical hands.

  24

  Taye waited at the bottom of the grand staircase, the rhythmic ticking of the six-foot-tall cherry grandfather clock matching her heartbeats as she watched for Thomas. She felt foolish walking on tiptoe and hiding behind the stairwell as if she were a thief in the night, but if she wanted to speak with him privately, this was the only way—short of holding him hostage in his law office.

  For the last two weeks, at precisely eight every morning, he had walked down the staircase and out the door without speaking to anyone. He rode straight to his law offices, and there he remained until well past supper time. When he did see Taye, no doubt by accident, he always spoke politely, inquired as to her health, but he never crossed the line into anything even remotely personal. He did not mention the incident in his office with Mr. Gallier.

  In the first days after their confrontation, Taye thought Thomas just needed some time to think. But more than a week had passed and she was tired of waiting for him to initiate the conversation. If he wasn’t going to do it, she would.

  Taye heard him cough upstairs, then his light, precise footsteps sounded in the upper hall. She nibbled on her lower lip. Just before he reached the bottom of the staircase, she stepped out of her hiding place.

  “Taye?” Thomas jumped and then looked so surprised to see her that, for a moment, she feared he’d run back up the stairs.

  “Thomas.” She smiled, trying to calm him. “Good morning. I was wondering if you had a few minutes. I could get you something for breakfast.”

  “No, no, thank you. That…that’s very kind of you,” he stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “but I’m not terribly hungry.”

  “A cup of coffee, perhaps. Tea?”

  He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the front door. She knew he was trying to figure out how to reach it and escape from her. “No, thank you. I really should be getting to my offices. I have a new client coming at nine and I must be thoroughly prepared.”

  Taye was tempted to step aside and let him go. She had no right to interfere in his business; she shouldn’t be worrying him further. He was already so tired that he was beginning to look sallow and thin. “Thomas,” she said gently, but firmly, grasping his arm to prevent him from getting away. “This will only take a minute, but we truly do need to speak.” She studied his face and waited.

  At last, he reluctantly shifted his solemn brown-eyed gaze to meet hers. “I suppose we do, don’t we?” he agreed softly.

  She nodded. “Why don’t I walk with you to the barn? These days this house seems to have ears.” She smiled. “I don’t know how Lacy does it, but she knows what’s happening in everyone’s life within a two-mile radius of this house, from mine and Cameron’s, right down to the old lady from J Town who delivers eggs twice a week.”

  Side by side, they walked out the front door and followed the path that led to the stables. Though it was only eight in the morning, the scorching heat of the August sun beat down on them and Taye wished she had worn her bonnet. “We’ve both had some time to think and I was just wondering—” Suddenly she didn’t know how to say what she needed to say. She wasn’t even truly sure she wanted to know the answer. She exhaled and started again. “I was wondering if you had rethought our…original intentions.”

  His apprehensive gaze flickered to hers and then away. “You’re having second thoughts and I understand that,” he replied quickly.

  She was surprised by his response. Surely he wasn’t going to put this all on her? He was the one who had admitted to denying her in front of a client because her heritage embarrassed him. “We’re not talking about what I want right now, Thomas. We’re talking about what you want.”

  If Thomas would have declared his undying love for her at that moment, Taye had made the promise to herself that she would do everything in her power to make him happy. She would make their relationship work because he was a good man and because it would have pleased her father. She would have made herself and Thomas content because it would please Cameron whom she loved so dearly.

  But Thomas did not answer immediately, and she felt her throat constrict, knowing her fears had not been unfounded. The idea made her sad. At the same time she felt a sense of relief. “Thomas,” she said softly.

  “I think we should both take some more time,” he hedged. He pulled his handkerchief from his coat and pressed it to his sweaty forehead. “I intended to tell you today that I would be moving back into my family’s home. It…it’s now presentable.” He wiped his mouth with the starched white fabric. “I will, of course, still see you when I have the time.”

  He looked so pitiful that she couldn’t selfishly force him into a decision this moment that would affect them both for the rest of their lives.

  She lowered her head. “All right. If that’s what you think is best. We…We’ll take a little more time.”

  “Now that that has been settled—” he tucked the handkerchief away, looking immensely relieved “—I had best be on my way.”

  “Thomas, wait.” She grabbed his coat sleeve. “Have you seen a surgeon about that cough?”

  “I have indeed, and he says it’s nothing to concern myself with. Change in the climate is all.” He gave a quick smile. “I must be off. Have a good day, dear.” He made no move to kiss her goodbye, as he once would have. Not her cheek, not even her hand.

  She stood in the stark, bright sunlight and watched Thomas disappear into the barn, wishing she were anywhere but here.

  “What the hell you doin’ woman, makin’ all that damned blessed noise!” Clyde jerked the curtain aside and climbed out of bed, hitching up his britches.

  “I’m sorry,” Efia said, lowering her head submissively. “I jest thought ya might want a nice breakfast.” She turned the bacon in the frying pan over with a fork. Hot grease spat and burned her hand. She jerked it back, sucking on her thumb. “I got fresh eggs and bacon, and I saved ya a biscuit from last night.” She offered a smile. “Why don’t ya sit yourself down and let me pour ya some coffee?” She walked to the table, fork still in hand, and pulled out one of the chairs invitingly.

  Clyde eyed her as he plopped down in the chair and pulled up one drooping suspender over his bare chest. “What’s gotten into ya, Fee?”

  “Nuthin’.” She poured a cup of thick, black coffee at the stove and carried it to him, taking care not to slosh it on the table. He hated it when she spilled coffee. “And here’s yer sugar.” She slid a small paper bag with a spoon in it across the table to him.

  Going back to the stove, Efia fished the three fat strips of bacon out of the pan and placed them on a plate that was painted with purple flowers. Stolen, of course, but she liked it anyway. She deftly brok
e four eggs into the pan and the grease spat up again.

  At the table Clyde dumped a third spoonful of sugar into his coffee, slurped off the spoon loudly and dug for more sugar. “Where’s the boys?” He glanced around.

  “Gone fishin’ down to the river. They wanted to wake ya, but I said let ya sleep. I know ya must be tired, stayin’ out so late at night.”

  Clyde brought the spoon down hard on the table, making her jump in her skin. “What’s that ’sposed to mean? Huh? It’s none yer friggin’ business where I go at night.”

  “I was jest sayin’ ya looked tired last night.” She flipped each egg, careful not to break the yolk. “That’s all.”

  He eyed her and took a long noisy slurp of the coffee.

  When the eggs were cooked, with the yolk still runny the way Clyde liked, she slid them carefully onto the plate beside the bacon. Adding the biscuit, she walked the breakfast to the table and placed it and a fork before him.

  “Salt.”

  She ran to the shelf over the kitchen and snatched up a saltcellar.

  “More coffee.”

  She went back to the stove, picked up the coffeepot and refilled his cup. Then she stood back and watched while he slurped runny eggs off his plate and mopped up yolk with the baking powder biscuit. He belched loudly and reached for his coffee.

  “I was thinkin’, Clyde,” she said, hoping she had chosen her time carefully.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I have to go to town to get something, and I was wonderin’—” She paused, thinking she didn’t want to get slapped; maybe she should keep her mouth shut. But she wanted that hat so bad. “I…I was wonderin’ if maybe ya had a couple cents for me, bein’ as how I washed all them boys’ clothes and made them all them meals and they’re payin’ you to—”

  “What the hell ya jabberin’ ’bout?” Clyde spun around in his chair, staring at her. “Ya askin’ me for money?”

  She nodded.

  He jumped out of his chair, slamming it back so that it tipped, hitting the floor.

  Efia flinched, but she didn’t move. Clyde loved to bully a person, but if they stood up to him, sometimes they got what they wanted. “I need twenty-two cents,” she said bravely. “I got the rest saved up myself.”

  He walked up to her, pressing his nose to hers, breathing his sour breath in her face. “Ya need twenty-two cents for what?”

  “A hat.” She set her jaw. “A blue hat.”

  “Hell, you don’t need no blue hat, Fee.” He shoved her back, but not so hard that she hit the stove. “Yer pretty already. Ya don’t need no hat.” His bitch hound wandered in the open door. He walked over to her and crouched down to scratch her behind her ears.

  “But I want the hat,” she said softly, staring at his back, wishing she had the nerve to grab that butcher knife off the shelf and plunge it into his back.

  “I said you ain’t getting no twenty-two cents, and ya ain’t getting’ no hat. No, she ain’t, is she?” Clyde crooned to the dog. “Now get that bacon grease cooled down and let Sally here lap it up. ’Cause she’s a good girl, ain’t she?” he said to the dog.

  He talked nicer to the dog than he talked to her.

  Efia turned her back and grabbed the frying pan with a piece of rag to keep from burning herself. She wanted to whack Clyde in the head with it. Instead, she carried it out to the front porch to cool on the rail. She said no more about the blue hat, but she thought about it. She thought about it hard and imagined herself riding in a fancy fringed buggy, wearing that hat.

  “No!” Cameron heard Lacy squeal from down the hall.

  “Cameron,” Naomi shouted. “Cameron, you best git this naked girl before I take a switch to her lily-white bottom!”

  Cameron marched down the hall in her stocking feet, smoothing the light fabric of her foulard Garibaldi bodice. She was trying to get dressed so that she could give Lacy her riding lesson, but she’d already been interrupted twice. First Patsy had wanted to strip her bed to wash the linens, then Taye had stopped by to ask about hiring two more bricklayers for the kitchen addition at Elmwood.

  Taye had volunteered to oversee all the new employees, and Cameron had thankfully turned over the task. Between rebuilding Elmwood and trying to manage Lacy, it was good to have Taye’s sturdy shoulders to pass some of the responsibility to.

  “Miss Cameron!” Naomi bellowed again. “You hear me callin’ ya? I ain’t got time for this nonsense.”

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Cameron strode over the threshold of Lacy’s room just in time to see the girl rip a dress from Naomi’s hand and scramble up onto the bed. There, she balanced herself, arms spread wide, ready to spring like a wildcat if anyone moved toward her.

  “Tell her,” Naomi insisted, speaking to Cameron as she shook her finger at Lacy. “Tell her that young ladies wash under their armpits in this household every morning, else they don’t put on their new dresses.”

  “Lacy, apologize at once for snatching that dress from Naomi’s hand.” Cameron’s voice was calm.

  “It’s mine,” Lacy said stubbornly. “Ya gave it to me.”

  “I don’t care. I will not have you treat Naomi this way. Now apologize or I’ll take a pair of scissors to that gown here and now.”

  Lacy seemed to consider whether or not Cameron would do it, before finally uttering a hasty “Sorry.”

  Cameron sighed. “I’ll take care of this, Naomi. Thank you.”

  “Captain done tole you this was a bad idea,” Naomi muttered under her breath as she ducked past Cameron and went out the door. “Ain’t no way that wild thing could ever be a Campbell.”

  “What did you say, Naomi?” Cameron glanced down the hall. “Were you speaking to me?”

  “’Course not,” Naomi answered haughtily. “But it wouldn’t matter if I was, ’cause you wouldn’t listen.”

  Cameron rolled her eyes as she stepped back into the bedroom. In many ways, Naomi ruled this house, and everyone knew it, including Cameron. She needed Naomi to run Atkins’ Way and care for the household Jackson had sent from Baltimore, plus the people who were already here. And the huge household of servants and workers seemed to be increasing every week because Cameron found it too hard to turn away hungry people who were willing to work for food and shelter. No, Cameron couldn’t afford to anger Naomi.

  “Lacy! Please get off that bed,” Cameron ordered, knowing she had to be patient with her young charge. “Young ladies do not stand on top of a bed in nothing but their chemises—” Cameron blinked, shocked “—and where are your drawers, young lady?”

  The way the sunlight poured in through the open windows, one couldn’t help but see that the hoyden wore nothing beneath the thin silk undergarment but what God had given her.

  “They ain’t no need—”

  Cameron sent Lacy such a look that the girl started again. “There is not a need,” Lacy said, lifting her eyebrows haughtily as she corrected her speech, “for anyone to wear long underdrawers when it’s this hot.”

  Cameron spread her arms wide in exasperation. “But I can see Christmas!”

  To Cameron’s surprise, instead of throwing one of her temper tantrums, Lacy fell onto the bed in laughter. “See Christmas!” She kicked her legs, laughing wildly. “See Christmas. You’re funny, Aunt Cammy. You’re real funny.”

  Lacy’s laughter was contagious. It was so good to hear someone laugh in the house. “Very funny,” Cameron corrected, chuckling as she walked to the bed and plopped down beside her charge.

  Lacy rolled onto her back, still clutching the new yellow sprigged gown Cameron had had made for her. “You’re very funny,” she mimicked obediently. “I like you.”

  Cameron’s gaze fell to Lacy’s as the young girl stared up at her aunt. Smiling, Cameron tucked a lock of bright red hair behind her niece’s ear, touched by her simple words. “And I like you, Lacy,” she said softly.

  Lacy turned onto her stomach and propped herself on her elbows, suddenly deep in thought. �
��Ya do?” She looked up at Cameron, her bright hair falling around her like a curtain of spun gold. “Honest to Moses?”

  The tears that welled in her eyes surprised Cameron. Lacy reminded her of herself, years ago. Bright, inquisitive, ready to conquer the world and have everyone at her beck and call. Once Cameron had wanted to have it all—wealth, respect, admiration. Now all she wished for was the one person she feared she would never have again.

  “Now wash at the basin and dress.” Cameron rose from the bed. “And you can leave your drawers if you like, but I’ll warn you, you’ll not be terribly comfortable when riding astride.” She halted in the doorway and looked back at Lacy who had dutifully climbed off the bed to go to the washstand. “Trust me. I’ve tried it.”

  “I don’t understand why I can’t go to town alone,” Taye said in exasperation as she moved over on the carriage seat and made room for Falcon. Did the man have eyes in the back of his head? She had just wanted to sneak away for an hour and go to town to visit Mrs. Pierre and her daughter.

  Falcon grinned. “You know why I cannot allow you to go alone. My friend has trusted you to my care.”

  Taye tried to keep her shoulders still as the carriage lurched forward so that she would not have to brush against Falcon’s broad shoulder. “You could send one of the men. It’s really not necessary that you come every time I go to town. You’ve already made it quite clear to every man, woman and child you meet that I’m to be treated with kidskin gloves. Heavens, everyone is afraid to say boo to me.”

  Falcon eased the carriage onto the road and slapped the reins so that the horses’ manes danced in the warm breeze. “I know that I could send another, but I do not want to.” He glanced sideways at her. “I want to escort you because I want to sit at your side. I want to hear your voice in my ear and smell the scent of your hair.”

  His words made her warm under her collar; she ignored them. “You mean to tell me you enjoy following me from shop to shop, carrying my bags?” She adjusted her blue leghorn bonnet, smoothing the white curtain that fell over her dark hair in the back.