The whole day had been wonderful, almost unreal in its pleasure. Aaron's presence had made it more of a celebration than Louisa had expected. She had prepared for the holiday by unpacking the few Christmas ornaments she'd brought from New Orleans, and with help from Emma and Carmen and Anna, boughs from a large pine tree had been hung above the mantel and decorated. Louisa arranged her precious crèche beneath the greenery, but none of the decorations had cheered her in the least. She'd wrapped presents, yet only the anticipation of Rachel's first Christmas gave her any feeling of excitement, and even that expectation did not arouse her emotions as she thought it should.
Emma had seemed cheerful throughout the preparations. She smiled a lot. But her eyes were vacant. She spoke of Christmas holidays they'd spent in Louisiana, and for a while both women daydreamed, aloud of happier moments. Then the reality of Marshall's absence from their midst slammed the door on their happy memories. Yet instead of Aaron's presence depressing Marshall's mother, he seemed to make Emma's eyes shine. It was obvious Emma Hudson admired Aaron, and her fondness for him was real enough to convince anyone she doted on her "son." Perhaps that was why Louisa had so easily warmed to him today. Emma had only set an example for her.
The day had gone so smoothly, and she had been happy. Her husband played his part perfectly, and "his baby" even joined the charade with special enthusiasm. Rachel hung on Aaron's every word, following him with her eyes, reaching out for him with her eager small hands more often than Louisa could believe. And Aaron took to Rachel as if he'd bounced countless babies in his arms. Rachel straddled Aaron's hip throughout the day, more than she did her mother's. Rachel was Aaron's captive. Just as I am, Louisa said silently in her now dark room.
Her restlessness was overpowering, and she rose from the bed, pacing the room without purpose, deciding a glass of sherry would help her sleep. She wrapped a wool dressing gown around her shivering body, slipping her feet into soft lambswool-lined slippers, and in the dark made her way through the house, easily finding the sherry decanter on the sideboard in the dining room.
Louisa helped herself to a glass of wine, and sat for a few minutes in the parlor. Then she took her glass and the decanter outside to rock slowly on the' wooden porch swing where she and Rachel customarily spent many hours of the day. While Rachel slept or watched the world around her, Louisa propped pillows around the baby, and painted at her easel or sketched in her lap. The month they'd been reunited had passed very quickly for mother and child.
But in other respects the month had been an endless one. The last time she saw Aaron, Louisa swore he would never have her again. She was certain she could forget him, and she found she could forbid his memory in the day. But she could not control the sensuous warmth that flowed over her in sleep. Her dreams forced her to remember him and the ecstasy of his touch. She would wake sweating in the cool winter night air, tingling and sick with longing, aching for the hardness of his body and the weight of him bearing down on her.
In other dreams it was as if she were wide awake to feel him brushing her nipples lightly with his gentle fingertips, and his mouth taking possession of hers. She too vividly remembered the contrasting textures of his body against hers―the firm, lean muscles, the crinkly soft hair, and his smooth, warm skin.
Sometimes she was brought from slumber to feel again his penetration of her and the sensations his touch would bring. And she was frightened that only his memory obsessed her. Never once did she dream of Marshall. How could Aaron with his duplicity, his willful, unfeeling use of her, how could he possess her so completely? Was it true what those voices had said long ago? Was it true she was damned? Damned, never to be loved; never to be whole? Louisa had been whole when Marshall loved her, but her love had only destroyed him. Was she as contaminating as she'd feared?
Louisa had thought she could live beyond her past. Now she knew she was mistaken. Only her kind would seek out and possess her―a sort of man like Aaron―or Stefan―or Justin―manipulative, selfish, cruel. They would seek and find her, because she was a corrupt as they. Louisa said she despised these men she named in the darkness, but the intensity of her hatred for them was only a fraction of what she now felt for herself.
Louisa stood up, and paced the porch. Her wineglass was empty, and she filled it again, deciding without a moment's consideration to walk on the beach. "It will help me sleep," she reasoned. Though the night was deep, Louisa knew the path well enough, leaving her slippers on the rocky soil ledge when she descended into the soft cool sand. The ocean's waves were violent, and she sat well out of their reach as they pounded the shore relentlessly. Louisa watched the dim outline of the water hypnotically, clutching the crystal decanter and her half-empty glass of sherry. The surf roared in her ears, and her heart seemed to pound in reply. She wondered how long she would have to wait before she would forget Aaron. "How long? How long? How long?" she demanded of the night. ''Never. Never. Never," was the answer, and she jumped to her feet, throwing the decanter with all of her strength, shattering the crystal against the water's low lapping edges. "No!" she screamed. "No! NO! You are wrong!" she cried, flinging her wineglass after the decanter, and herself into the sand.
But there was no comfort in doing so, and when she finished crying, she rolled onto her back and stared at the sky. The stars reached down, and seemed to whisper to her, confirming the ocean's assessment of her plight. They assured her she would never forget Aaron. Angrily Louisa turned onto her side to face the violent waves again. She took a deep breath, stretched out, resting her head on her arm, and stared into the night until she fell asleep.
How long she slept she didn't know, waking when she felt herself lifted from the sand, recognizing her captor instantly, even in the darkness. "How did you find me?" she asked drowsily, offering no resistance to his strong warm arms.
"Just say I'm very clever," he laughed.
"Why are you here? I thought you'd be on your way by now."
"Tell me you want me to go and leave you alone."
Louisa stared at Aaron in the dim night, then rested her mouth against his ear. "I want you," she whispered.
When he realized she had said what she intended, he pulled her more closely against him and carried her without another word to bed. "I expected more of a struggle," he teased as he lay caressing her compliant body.
"Is that what you hoped for?" He laughed at her. "If I wake Carmen screaming for help, you won't be in any condition to make love to me."
"But I'm your husband."
"You think that would matter to my self-appointed guardian angel?"
"Carmen likes me well enough."
"We'll see." But Aaron clasped his hand over her mouth firmly before any sound could escape.
"If we wake them at all, let's wake them with other sounds," he whispered, lifting his hand to cover Louisa's mouth with his. They were a joy to one another, seeming to forget the tumultuous recent past, seeming to create new memories, with Louisa soon free of her new silk gown. "You've yet to see it in the light. It's really very pretty," she said as he tossed her nightdress aside.
"I was more interested in helping you off with it than seeing how becoming it is."
"Is that so? I'd have never believed such a thing of you, Aaron," she teased as she undid the buttons of his shirt, tugging at his clothes, playfully trying to increase the speed with which he disrobed. "You're so slow!" she giggled as he discarded the last of his garments.
"And you're so anxious all of a sudden."
"If you only knew how I've tossed and turned in this bed!"
"Show me how much you suffered," he said as he grabbed her, finding Louisa as passionate as he'd known her, yet seeming to offer more. They were as loving with their caresses as they were hungry, giving to each other from the depths of their racing hearts. But they were silent about their feelings, promising nothing to each other in the darkness. Nor did they dream of their future when they closed their eyes to sleep when it was light.
Chapter Ninety-
one
IN the morning, no one came to disturb them. On the surface it appeared they had reconciled. But in fact, they had no understanding, no pact, no hope. They had only what they found during the moments they were locked in each other's arms, and soon Louisa's memories became treacherous and painful.
At first she was merely numb without Aaron. To those who saw him leave the Hudson compound late that morning, Louisa and her husband parted with affection. He'd gently kissed her hair and forehead, then lingered at her mouth, and, to all who watched, love seemed to flow between them. Once again when he left her he whispered, "Hasta luego, señora," and his words echoed at her in the night. At first, she heard them as words of longing, but they fast became a chant to make her burn, with humiliation. Soon the words said she would be his whenever he came for her, whenever it suited him. He was the one who said she was no better than a paid woman. Had he also called her, "a born whore"? Or was that someone else?
Louisa's feelings blurred. She ached and she raged. And she was very silent. Her nights were filled with ghosts again, but this time she knew whose face haunted her, and when she called him "Aaron," he always answered her. In her dreams, she never hesitated to go to him, and, even in her dreams, she knew it would be the same if she were awake.
Emma watched Louisa. At first she hoped it would only be a few days until Louisa's spirits improved. She worried privately until she could bear the silence no longer. In the past she had kept her concerns about Louisa to herself, and she had ample reason to regret it. Emma swore she would never make the mistake again.
"Louisa, we have a great deal to talk about," she said firmly one morning. "Carmen can look after Rachel until we're finished with our chat," and she whisked the baby out of the room, returning with her arms folded determinedly at her waist.
It had been years since Louisa had seen the "no nonsense now" expression on Emma's face. The three children who from time to time upset the orderly Hudson household had seen it regularly, and when they did, promptly buckled under whatever edict was issued. Though the look on Emma's face made her almost instinctively sit up and take notice, Louisa was no longer a child to be intimidated.
"I suspect we've at least a few months of waiting before this escapade is finished. And I don't look forward to watching you pace and brood all that time. Not long ago I stood aside while you nearly went mad. And believe me, all of us who watched you were not far behind you with worry and grief. But I don't think, with all that's happened since, that I could sit silently by again." She was stem, yet kind, very like the woman Louisa remembered from her childhood. "Louisa, this time you must share your sorrows. This time you must confide in someone. If not for yourself, for Rachel. In the past, keeping everything to yourself has helped no one, least of all you." She smiled gently at Louisa who stared back at her pensively. "Talk to me, Louisa. Tell me what troubles you. This time I have not shut my eyes to things I would rather not see."
What Louisa felt and did not feel was reflected in her mirror. Her face was drawn; her color poor. She knew she desperately needed to accept Emma's offer to listen to her troubles. But Louisa's habit was to hide herself, to go alone someplace where she thought no one could see her, to conceal her shame, or guilt, or misery. She had done this as a child when she retreated to her nightmares, taking comfort reluctantly and only to save herself from unbearable pain. When she had reached out to Justin, her horror had only been magnified. When she reached out to Marshall, she had been saved―for a while. And in Aaron's arms she'd found both more than she dreamed, and more than she'd bargained for; But as yet Louisa had not lost the instinct to reach out. She still had hope. She wanted to believe she could truly trust someone again.
Now Louisa leaned against the Settee in the parlor, finding its cushions hard and unyielding. She raised her fingers to her eyes and pressed the lids gently, taking a deep breath. "Aunt Emma, I'm all right. I'm only tired. I just need more time to settle in."
"Nonsense, child. You've settled with Rachel well enough, that's very plain to see. It's not Rachel who troubles you; it's Andrew. You might have avoided your feelings for a while longer, if he'd stayed away. But something happened between you two when he was here." Louisa didn't have a reply. "Louisa, there's no need to deny anything. Your face reveals so much. Even Carmen's reviewing her list of potions and concoctions, wondering what remedy will put you on your feet again. I've heard some of her ingredients, and, if I were you, I'd try my suggested cure first!"
Louisa smiled. She could just imagine Carmen brewing something to put the color back in her cheeks. She felt tense, and tried to relax a little, visibly letting go of some of the strain in her face and body."I'm grateful for your concern, Aunt Emma," she sighed, "but can you tell me why I have women to mother me now―you, Carmen, even the Indian woman Rosa? Tell me why didn't I have a mother when I needed one most?"
"Your mother was . . . she was . . ."
"Insane?"
"At times. She was not well. We must not judge her."
"Must not judge her?" Louisa was aghast. "Emma, she knew about my father! She knew and did nothing to protect me. In fact, there were times I'm sure she was jealous of me. My God!" Louisa choked on her tears. Her body stiffened, repulsed by her awful memories.
"Oh, Louisa, Claudia was insane! God will punish her if He sees fit." To that, Louisa laughed, but her tears spilled, and she sobbed uncontrollably. Emma put her arms around Louisa and rocked with her slowly, anguished by the younger woman's sorrow. "Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you tell me? I could have stopped him. I would have taken you home. He would not have dared cross me."
Louisa pulled away from Emma gently. "What could I have told you to make you understand? I couldn't put in words what he did to me. I didn't know the words. How could I tell you? How my flesh shrank at first, then didn't? How do I explain that? Even now! He called me a 'born whore,' Emma," she whispered. "He used my body and confused my mind. I both hated and loved him. I was so ashamed; so unsure. I knew the way he touched me wasn't right, but he was my father. It's wrong, you know, to hate one's father. 'Honor thy father,' the priest said. Everyone respected him, then, and I thought he ruled the world. Everyone, even the governor, foreign ambassadors, all the important people, or so it seemed to me, came to my father's house. I must be insane, I thought―like Claudia sometimes was. And I saw in your grown-up faces that you thought so, too. Only the boys, in their childish mercy, really accepted me."
"Louisa, no one knew what made you behave so strangely. We were afraid for you, and a little afraid of you, too."
"Afraid of me?" she laughed, thinking of herself as she was then: a slender, wispy, haunted child.
"You were like a wild creature. No one seemed able to approach you, at times, except the boys."
Louisa took a deep breath and checked her tears. "The boys," she murmured. "The boys grew up and so did I. And now, Emma, I'm whore to another man I find I hate one minute, and love the next. My head is no clearer about Aaron than it was about Justin so many years ago. Aaron uses me for his own purposes, and I respond like no decent woman would dream of doing. Do I shock you?" Louisa glared hard at Marshall's mother, looking for recrimination in Emma's face or posture, something to confirm her own feelings of degradation. But she found nothing in Emma's face to make her stop―no horror, nor any righteous indignation. Could it be she saw understanding, she wondered in her momentary silence?
How was that possible? No one, could sympathize with what she felt, least of all someone as refined and correct as Emma Hudson. But Louisa went on. "It's as if I have no volition. Aaron touches me, even looks at me in a certain way, and I'm powerless. I can refuse to think of him during the day, but at night―at night, I dream. Then there's little question about what I'd do if he wants me. Even though I know I'm just another whore to him, all he needs to do is summon me, and I'm bowing at his feet like some grateful slave." She took a deep breath. "It's just as it was when I was a child: all the shame doesn't matter when he takes me in h
is arms. At those moments, I know for certain I love Aaron like I've loved no one else in my life, and I know he loves me, too."
Louisa brushed away a few more of her tears distractedly and looking into Emma's eyes directly, facing her confessor without averting her eyes. "But when he's left me, and I'm alone, I'm not so sure. He's made no promises, and I have no reason to trust him. He told me he loved me once―only to convince me to do what he wanted. But, Emma, the way he makes love to me. Surely no one can pretend that kind of emotion." She laughed with her tears still streaking her face. "You see how my mind reels from one side of the argument to the other! And you wonder why I'm pale!"
Emma gave Louisa another handkerchief, which she gladly accepted, and continued. "For me, love seems to be a trick, just some carnival trick, and I'm the perfect fool. I reach out, only to be taken in by the man's sleight of hand. When the carnival leaves town, I'm left with my hands and my pockets empty, to be forgotten until the next circus passes my way."
"Louisa, Louisa," Emma shook her gently by the shoulders, hoping to stop her growing depression. "Have you forgotten how much Marshall loved you? You can't say he played tricks on you. If ever a man loved a woman, he loved you. Surely, you remember."
This time Louisa lowered her eyes, nodded her head, and sighed, letting her breath out slowly. "Yes, but that seems to have been a trick, too. Not Marshall's, but a trick just the same. Where is he, if his love wasn't a trick, as well?"
Emma had no answer for Louisa's question, and the women stared silently at each other for several long minutes. "I've no simple words to change your impression. But I know you're mistaken about Andrew, Louisa. He may be a clever liar to fool these conspiring men, but he did not lie to me about you. You'll never convince me he did." Louisa's face revealed she did not know what Emma alluded to. "That afternoon he and I had our little chat in Monterey, Andrew told me he loved you."
Louisa shrugged her shoulders. "He was only playing Marshall's part."
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