Later, Aaron sat by Louisa for perhaps an hour, watching her sleep, wondering about the intensity of her pain, brooding silently over the woman and what he knew of her various agonies. He wondered if what he felt for her was actually love. If so, how could he do, or even contemplate, the things he did? Yet he could not recall ever feeling any emotion stronger than what he persistently, though distressingly, felt for Louisa, and he acknowledged what he felt for her was in no way diminished by the moments he'd spent with Marguerite in the past couple of days.
The morning he returned to Crane's Nest, he'd begun to court her. And just as he'd suspected, there was little need for a formal or prolonged courtship. She was of like mind and readily gave her favors. They met on his now daily trips to town, and it seemed Marguerite had missed him in his absence from Monterey nearly as much as Louisa had.
Aaron was reassured to know his passion for Louisa had not affected his ability to be eager for and aroused by the touch of another woman. The assault of Marguerite's heavy sensuous perfume, the heat of her inviting body easily worked their magic on him. When he found himself in her embrace, enjoying the newness of her touch, he savored the difference between the women and the excitement of a change from what with Louisa was profoundly, completely satisfying. Marguerite was a selfish and demanding lover, her ecstasy corning in violent aggressive lovemaking. Her preference for rough treatment surprised him, because she had a soft, almost childish look about her, but Aaron more than gladly obliged her whims. He discovered his reserves of anger were quite sufficient to play her brutal games, and his experience with her never failed to please him in the end. Best of all, beneath the surface of passion there were no bonds of affection for him to struggle with, no feelings he had to deny, and never any fear that he could not walk away from her unscathed. He pretended all the necessary emotion to lure Marguerite to his needs should he want information from her, but beyond the fleeting release he found in her arms, he took no satisfaction, nor did he lose anything of himself he could not regain.
By the time Aaron returned to Crane's Nest, it was early evening, and Louisa was up, looking pale yet radiant, seeming to enjoy a glass of wine with the others before supper. Her hair was swept high, away from her face with cascades of curls left to trail down her back. She wore a new white linen dress with narrow grass-green stripes widely spaced in the fabric. The neckline was invitingly low, tempting all four men to speculate on the glorious sensations awaiting the man who unfastened her bodice.
Louisa had spent most of the day sleeping. When she woke, she discovered the bleeding had all but stopped, and she wondered what it meant. Last month she'd bled, but very little, now that she thought about it. And this time, the pain had been incredible, the bleeding heavy, yet, within hours, the flow had diminished to an insignificant amount. Maybe there's a doctor in town, she thought absently, and the signs she suspected were unmistakable, persisted. She said nothing of her doubts to anyone, and when Aaron joined her in their bed that night, Louisa welcomed him without restraint. He sought her as he always had, without hesitation, barely noticing her condition, aware only, when he took her into his arms, that her cries were not from pain but for the joy of his touching her.
Chapter Sixty-one
THE next morning Louisa woke to find Aaron turned on his side watching her while she slept. "You got in the habit of sleeping in while I was gone. You're getting spoiled!" he said as he began undoing a long strand of satin-covered buttons to free her from a filmy negligee. "These things are a damned nuisance," he remarked, struggling with the small, tightly fastened satin pearls.
"They're for security. Protection from unwanted intruders."
"She wears yards of transparent gauze over her wonderful body, and openly lures me into her bed. Then she hopes twenty buttons will save her virtue!" He caressed her breasts through the sheer fabric, opening the neckline when Louisa had finished with the buttons, his mouth fast seeking her rose-colored nipples, his fingers familiar and gentle on her soft skin. She sighed under him, soon losing her way in the morning, her eyes closed as she yielded herself. Soon she was writhing in his arms, caressing and wanting him, bringing him swift release when at last he entered her.
"Which one of us needs protection?" he wondered softly, his mouth against her ear as he lay holding her close.
"I'll defend you," she promised, stroking him with gentle, soothing hands. "You're safe with me," she laughed.
They lay quietly, talking and teasing, and momentarily Aaron was able to forget his need to be separate from Louisa. In those fleeting minutes it was as if they were more than lovers, much more than conspirators whose allegiance to one another would cease when all the schemes were uncovered and the plans overturned. But Louisa spoiled the illusion, whispering "I love you so," fiercely yanking him back to reality. In disbelief Aaron found himself beginning to utter those same words to her, and he hurriedly retreated from her reach, alienating himself; safe, once again.
Later he promised to join her downstairs, planning after breakfast to spend one last morning at Crane's Nest with Emma. Louisa bathed and dressed leisurely, having a good deal of time to herself before everyone would gather for a formal morning meal. Yet when she entered the dining room, she was surprised to discover neither Aaron nor Emma present.
"I expected Aunt Emma to be down by now, William? In fact, I expected to be the tardy one."
Easton smiled at Louisa's fresh appearance. The pale blue dress she wore made her skin as translucent as the fragile china adorning his table. She thought Easton stared at her longer than necessary before replying to her remarks. "Anna says Emma will be confined to her room for the day, just as you were yesterday. Perhaps what incapacitated you is contagious," he offered with no apparent concern. "She says her travels have at last caught up with her."
"And no doubt the anticipation of another sea voyage is not improving her health," added Franklin Carson who still suffered from his recent journey, though he anticipated eating a hearty breakfast this morning.
"Perhaps I should see her before I sit down," Louisa suggested, turning to leave the room.
"I think you might wait until you've had something to eat. Mrs. Sutton is looking after her, and Marshall has been up to see her already."
"Oh? Where is he now, do you know?" she asked, moving to the table.
"He said you and he were going to ride this morning, and I presume he went to make those arrangements. He left the room only a few minutes ago. Sit down, Louisa," he ordered kindly. "Enjoy your breakfast. You look much too pale to be skipping a meal. He'll be after you in a few minutes, I'm sure. And Emma is not as gravely ill as the look on your face suggests."
Louisa smiled at Easton, surprised he had noticed her state of concern. She'd come to think the man was too involved with himself to pay much attention to the condition of others, which was unfair of her, perhaps. She sat at the table reluctantly. Lately her appetite was not good, and this morning, with the news of Emma's indisposition, she felt even less inclined to eat. Her uneasiness about Marshall's mother was heightened by the woman's sudden illness. Something intangible, something at the back of her neck, told her Emma's illness was not the contagious kind. She worried the woman's ailment might be more dangerous than some simple communicable infection.
Louisa ate very lightly, not waiting for Aaron, then excused herself from the table. "Please tell Marshall I'll not be riding with him this morning," and she disappeared up the stairs, soon rapping lightly at Emma's door. Anna admitted Louisa to the room.
"She's dozing just now," volunteered. Anna. "If you would sit by her, please, I could take care of some things needing attention downstairs?"
"Of course, Anna."
"I think she would like your company if she wakes." Anna gathered a pile of clothing and prepared to leave the room. Then almost as a second thought, she went again to Louisa. In the enormous room, Emma's bed was quite a distance away, but Anna lowered her voice so there was no chance of being overheard. "I think Mrs. Hu
dson is worried about her son for some reason she has not confided in me. She is not physically ill, that I can tell, but she is very depressed today, so unlike her usual self." Anna Sutton sighed, pausing to look at Louisa kindly. "I'm really quite worried about her. These last few months have not been happy―what with the family being so upset." She stared silently at Louisa, seeming to consider whether to proceed, watching for some hint in the young woman's intent face.
"Miss Louisa, I have known you for a very long time―forever, as a matter of fact. I speak frankly with you, because we go a long way back. I think we have few secrets the other does not know."
Louisa thought she would faint for fear of what Anna might say next. Her breathing became shallow in anticipation, but Louisa merely looked back at Andrew Sutton's mother, and nodded, encouraging her to continue. "Do you remember Andrew, Louisa?"
She could barely reply. "Why, of course, I do!" she said when she found her voice.
"I've not seen him, nor spoken his name aloud in years, but there has not been a day that I have not thought of him. So I know what it is to worry about a son." Louisa felt huge tears welling in her eyes, grateful the room was extremely dim for the comfort of the patient who still slept soundly in her bed. "I know you are joyfully married to Marshall, and that you have loved him for years. I'm very glad everything worked out as it did. I, for one, never quite understood why you separated in the first place, but it was not mine to decide," she sighed. "Also I bring up Andrew's name because I wanted you to know, when he first came home, I suspected he came more to see you than he did me," she smiled. "He was always so disappointed when you were not at home. I used to laugh at him―privately, of course―for even a young man's pride is strong. He told me once, in an odd moment of secret-sharing, he wished he were Marshall―oh, I think, not for Marshall's easy life, or his wealth, but because of you." This time Louisa's tears were not to be contained, and they ran down her face silently without a chance of stopping them. "I just wish he had kept in touch, even in his trouble. I would have forgiven him anything."
Louisa was overcome, taking the woman into her arms. "I'm so sorry, Anna. I wish I could do something," she cried, much less composed than Andrew's mother.
"It's all right, child. I suppose there's nothing to be done," she said, settling her emotions, once again resuming her steady, reliable stance. "Now if you will sit with her for a while?" she motioned to Emma.
When Anna left her, Louisa seated herself as comfortably as possible. She stared blankly into the room which was faintly lit by light creeping around the edges of closed draperies. At this moment she was sure she felt at least as weak as Emma did. She'd been quite apprehensive when Anna began to speak of Andrew, and the woman's sorrow, as well as her words, had touched Louisa deeply. She wanted to believe Andrew had loved her when he was young, just as she wanted to believe, and did believe, he loved her now. Silence, Louisa was reassured, was just his nature.
While she sat in the dark, she tried to relax a little and reason out her uneasy feelings concerning Emma. Certainly, anyone is entitled not to be well once in a while. Surely, Emma is tired after the strain of her trip, and the disappointment of not seeing Rachel, and by Aaron's pointed scolding. Preparing for the trip to San Diego took its toll, and as Anna had said, so had all the last unpleasant months. There was nothing out of the ordinary to make Louisa uneasy. Wasn't Aaron confident? Yet there was a feeling she had in the pit of her stomach, a sixth sense told Louisa the woman was suspicious. "But so far, thank God, whatever her doubts, she's remained silent," sighed Louisa.
"Louisa, child. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Aunt Emma, did I disturb your rest?"
"Not at all. I've got to wake up sometime. I thought a little extra sleep might do me good. But now that you're here, come and sit next to me on the bed. And light the lamp―or, better yet, draw the draperies, please."
Louisa did as Emma requested, first opening the draperies, then sitting very close to her on the bed, reassured to note Emma looked very well. "Louisa, I think you look more pale than I do. Perhaps you should have stayed in bed, too."
"I was worried about you."
''You mustn't worry about me. I'm as strong as an ox. And just about as dogged when I've my mind made up." She paused to look at the young woman next to her. In all honesty, she doubted she had ever seen a woman more beautiful than Louisa. No wonder her son set his eyes and his heart on her. "What a fool I was," she said aloud. Louisa looked startled, but said nothing. "I've been thinking over what you said the other day. It's wonderful to have so much love for a man―as much love as you have for my son. I never for a minute doubted your love for him. I doubted the wisdom of your marriage, and I was very wrong."
Emma Hudson stopped talking, ostensibly to arrange the pillows at her back and to straighten the covers for greater comfort, but she really wanted a few more moments to order her thoughts. Soon she seemed to settle comfortably, smiling gently at Louisa. "Something else troubles me deeply, and I'm struggling to understand. But I cannot provide any more of the answers without some help. You must give me the answers."
Emma reached for Louisa's hands and held them tightly, then smiled kindly at Louisa. Suddenly her face hardened slightly and she sat upright, her body filled with tension. Her voice was controlled and soft. "What I want to know―what I must know, Louisa―where is my son? I'm sure I know who the man posing as my son is―and doing an excellent job of it. But not good enough for me. He'd fool Simon, I'm sure, as he's obviously fooled everyone else. But he cannot fool me, Louisa. Not me!" Emma was incredibly calm, yet it was obvious she was determined and unshakable in her suspicions.
Louisa was stony silent and absolutely motionless. She too was calm, though speechless. How could she find the words, she wondered, and what would the consequences be if she spoke the truth? God knew she had loved Marshall, but now she loved Aaron, and she could not bear to risk losing him. In this fleeting moment, she even wondered if it were possible that she loved Aaron more than she had Marshall.
"Louisa, don't stare mutely at me," Emma said gently. "Answer me. I've thoroughly gone over the possibilities. And I swear, I'm prepared to hear whatever you say. But I want the truth. And I want it now, this minute," she said firmly.
Louisa gently pulled her hands from Emma's. She stood and walked to the windows in silence, then turned to the bed to sit down again. For a few minutes the women stared wordlessly at each other. Emma felt apprehensive, and, in spite of her resolve, a heaviness took possession of both her body and spirit. She'd been truthful with Louisa. She had carefully, rationally, logically thought over her son's disappearance, but while she waited for what she hoped would be truth from Louisa's lips, she felt old and haggard beyond words.
Louisa looked at the petite, elegant older woman, who was as much a mother to her as anyone in her life had been. She'd always thought of Emma as a woman of great spirit and pride; somehow always thought of her as youthful. Now she saw the gray streaking her jet black hair; now she saw the lines at her eyes, and the relaxing of the flesh in her face and body. Emma was no longer the young woman who readily dropped her guard and played tag with three spirited children. She was someone else now, and Louisa wondered if she had the strength to hear what had to be said if she were to know the truth she demanded.
Louisa took a deep breath and reluctantly began to speak. "There is only one person on the face of the earth who might have loved Marshall more than I did, Aunt Emma. And not even in the darkest moments could you ever doubt how much I loved him. I would not be here―I would not have left our child―if I had not loved him so much." Louisa stood up again, suddenly feeling very distraught and trapped.
She turned her back on Emma Hudson, then whirled on her emotionally. "My God, how can I tell you this, without it killing you―and me, too?" she cried.
Louisa sucked in her breath and tried to control herself as the tears began to flow. She sat down once more and took Emma's hands in hers, whether to comfort the oth
er woman or to have someone to hold onto, she did not know. "Aunt Emma," she said, nearly unable to force the words out even in a whisper, "Marshall was murdered! Murdered by men who scheme to make themselves rich and powerful, by men we both know only too well!"
The color had drained from Emma's face and she closed her eyes, as if the truth had accomplished what Louisa had feared. But soon both women were overwhelmed by their tears, neither able to offer the other much consolation, yet they held each other fiercely as if their touching might somehow help them.
Chapter Sixty-two
BEFORE the women could find words again, they were interrupted by knocking at the door, and Louisa pulled herself away from Emma's grieving arms, trying desperately to wipe away her own tears and make herself presentable.
"Who's there?" she called through the door.
"It's Marshall. May I come in?" he inquired, not waiting for a response as he opened the door and let himself into the room. His fears were confirmed the instant he saw Louisa's face. "What's going on?" he whispered harshly.
"She knows!" she replied, also in a whisper. Aaron frowned deeply, glancing at Emma who lay with her back turned to them. "And I've just told her about Marshall's death."
Cold tension filled Aaron's face, but oddly he did not feel the apprehension he might have. Though Emma's sensibilities had been overtaxed in recent months, he knew when the woman's tears were spent, she could be relied on to be level-headed and, probably in this circumstance, vengeful. "What gave me away?" he asked casually.
"Instinct, I guess. We both feared it. I think she's been suspicious all along. But I'm certain she's said nothing to anyone." Louisa reached for Aaron's hand and walked with him to the bedside. Emma had covered herself with her robe and sat on the edge of the bed. She was ashen and her eyes were very swollen from crying, but she seemed remarkably composed.
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