by Girard, Dara
Robert swore, when someone knocked on the door. “I’m not here.”
His mother entered the room. “What’s going on between you and that woman?”
He leaned back in his chair, tired. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, but from the look on his mother’s face it became clear that she was. “Not today, Mother.”
Lavinia sat and crossed her legs at the ankles. “I deserve to know what’s going on.”
“No, you don’t. So leave it alone.”
“I want to have a talk with her. Bring her to me.”
He sat up, angered by her demand. “Don’t make orders. This is my house and—”
“No, this is your father’s house. I doubt you’d be able to afford it on the salary you get playing fire chief.”
A stab of hurt pierced him. His mother was good at hitting his soft spot—his father’s money. Reminding him that he didn’t have his father’s drive. That he hadn’t earned any of his wealth, but had inherited it. He kept his voice neutral, however, used to her careless remarks. “I’m an arson investigator.”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m not the only one with a career.”
“There are many ‘gentleman professions’ that you could have selected. You’re not like other people. When will you figure that out? And don’t tighten your jaw like that. You know there are gold diggers out there. You’d think one wife would have taught you that.”
It was a familiar topic he didn’t feel like addressing. His voice fell flat. “Is there anything else?”
She smoothed her hair, a ruby ring caught the light. “I want you to get that maid of yours and bring her to me.”
“No.”
“Okay.” She slowly rose to her feet. “Since you won’t follow my wishes, I’ll do it myself.” She turned to the door.
His voice hardened. “I told you to leave her alone.”
She spun around and glared at him. When she spoke, ice laced her words. “You watch your tone and remember to whom you are speaking. I have been a Braxton longer than you and if there is one thing this family has in common, it’s doing and getting exactly what we want.”
* * *
Victoria walked to the sitting room with building unease. When Katherine informed her that Mrs. Braxton wanted to have a word, the slight superior grin on Katherine’s face warned her that this wasn’t for a casual chat. Victoria found Mrs. Braxton seated on a couch near the window. She chose the loveseat facing it. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” Lavinia didn’t speak for a long moment then said, “I would like you to tell me about yourself.”
Victoria hesitated. “There’s not much to tell.”
“I doubt that.” Her eyes swept Victoria in one assessing glance. “Amazing how much you don’t look his type at all. Not that you’re not very pretty, but he usually goes for tall leggy types. Not such a well...” She was too polite to finish her uncomplimentary statement and let it drop. “He dated this one woman who I swore didn’t have a torso, just legs. But men have a right to their preferences.” She shrugged, dismissing any other thoughts. “Since, you work for him, I’m sure you know. He has had his share of women like most men. I expected him to start settling down in his mid-thirties. Everyone was shocked when he married Rosalind. They hadn’t dated long and suddenly he announces she was to be his wife. I was worried, naturally. He was still a baby, in his twenties, and only just started taking care of Amanda. I thought he was rushing into marriage to give Amanda a mother, but when I confronted him about it he told me he was in love.” She sighed and shook her head.
“I thought my son had taste until I met that woman. Anyone could see from a mile away that she ate men’s hearts for supper. But she was beautiful and clever.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “Poor Robert was the last one to know.”
Victoria hesitated not understanding Mrs. Braxton’s sudden chattiness, but intrigued nonetheless. “What didn’t Ro—Mr. Braxton know?”
“A lot of things. Too many to count. He’s smart when it comes to books, but when it comes to women he’s out to sea. I blame his brothers for not preparing him better, but then again they too have made some strange choices. I have told them to find women like me: intelligent, attractive, smart, and modest.”
Victoria began to laugh until she noticed Mrs. Braxton was serious. She smothered a grin. “Yes, of course.”
“It seems they are determined to do the complete opposite. Fortunately, they handle their love lives well. When JB’s wife died, he was sad, but he didn’t suffer as much as Robert. Robert was crushed when he had to file for divorce. I was relieved. The family was relieved, but we had to scrap him off the floor.
“I don’t think I breathed until those divorce papers were signed. I was so thankful those two didn’t have children. I did not want that woman to be the mother of my grandchildren. I believe family should handle themselves accordingly. You certainly made an interesting impression with your little altercation with Nicholas.” She paused. “Robert’s response surprised me even more. It is not like him to take the side of someone outside the family.”
“It wasn’t—”
Lavinia waved her hand. “Please don’t explain. It doesn’t matter. Robert has been looking after his nieces and nephews long enough anyway. He’s a pushover when it comes to family and everyone knows it. Have you met the triplets yet? No? Well, you will eventually. They are precious. Robert loves them. He will make a good father when he settles down.”
“He has done well with Amanda.”
“We will see,” she said in a low voice. She touched her necklace then said. “I’m taking you out tomorrow.” She stood and walked to the door. “So try to find something appropriate.”
Victoria remained seated confused by Mrs. Braxton’s behavior. At least now she had some information about Robert’s ex-wife. She now had a name: Rosalind. And she knew he hadn’t wanted to divorce her. That fact tore at her, but she pushed it aside. She had to accept what was.
***
That evening at the carriage house, Victoria sat on the couch. She hadn’t ventured to other parts of the house yet. Places where she’d smile at her aunt, catch her straightening a picture or checking her hat in the mirror. The past surrounded her, reminding her that she was alone again. The living room felt the safest.
A place where the warm memories of her aunt made the house feel less big and empty. Victoria rested her head back and closed her eyes against building tears. If her aunt were here she would know what to do. She would know how to handle Mrs. Braxton and JB and Jerome’s curious looks. She felt like such an outsider. She felt ashamed that her feelings for Robert were so obvious for others to see.
When someone knocked on the door, she didn’t move. The knocking persisted growing more demanding. She sighed and answered. Robert leaned against the doorframe. Behind him she saw an orange sun melting into the distance, brushing the lawn gold and inviting the flowers to close their petals. A hawk glided on the horizon, a silhouette in flight.
His eyes searched her face. “How are you doing?”
“Your mother doesn’t like me,” she said answering his silent question.
He came inside and closed the door. He held open his arms; she went into them. “Fortunately, I do.” He whispered holding her close. “I like you very much.”
She rested her head on his chest. She may be one of many women who have been a part of his life, but now she was the only one in his arms. “I miss her.” She couldn’t say her aunt’s name without her throat closing.
“I know,” he said into her hair.
“It feels so lonely here without her.”
“Tonight, you won’t be alone.” He sealed his vow with a kiss, his warm mouth growing more demanding as his hands slid up her blouse. She clung to him not wanting the kiss to end. He pulled away his eyes questioning.
Victoria answered by undoing his belt and lowering his zipper.
Robert lifted a brow and unlatched her bra.
&nb
sp; She smiled and unbuttoned his shirt.
“I can undress you faster,” he said.
“ We’ll see.” They fell on the couch and stripped each other, letting clothes land haphazardly about the room.
“I win,” Robert said waving Victoria’s panties like a flag of victory.
Victoria lay back on the couch and opened her thighs to receive him. “Congratulations.”
He swallowed, his body tightening at the ready invitation. “I bought my own hat this time,” he said slipping on a condom. He came down on top of her, his penetration swift and without grace. He swore feeling embarrassed. “I’m always like this with you.”
“Am I complaining?” She tightened around him and arched taking him deeper. His thrusts stoked the fire within her exploding in a climax. She cried out, amazed that she could feel such pleasure after her heart had endured such pain.
He wanted to tell her how glad he was that she’d stayed. How much she had become a part of his life. She wanted to tell him, how much she wanted to belong to him, how he made her feel less alone. How much she loved him. But neither felt the need for words. They were both hurting and trying to heal, needing each other more than they would admit. They lay still once it was over, exhausted.
“This couch is too small,” he grumbled.
“I like this couch.”
“I’d like it even more if it were bigger.”
Victoria traced a circle around his nipple. “When do you have to go?”
“I don’t. They know where I am.”
She lifted her head, startled.
He began to smile. “It’s okay. You were right. We can’t keep this a secret forever.”
She sat up and began to gather her clothes. “Everybody knows?”
He watched her amused. “Yes, I told them.”
She pulled on her top. “What did you tell them?”
“That I can’t keep my hands off of you.”
Her eyes widened. “But—”
“I was more tactful of course.”
“So Dana and Katherine...?”
“Yes, they know. I’m not ashamed of what I feel for you.”
That was true. He lay naked on the couch and what he felt for her presently was quite obvious.
Her eyes slid away before she became tempted to undress again. “Your mother is taking me out tomorrow.”
“If you don’t want to go, I will—”
She bit her lip then looked at him determined. “No. I will go. I’m curious as to what more she has to say.”
He sat up and looked at her suspicious. “What has she said so far?”
“Just how talented and clever Rosalind was.”
A shadow of pain crossed his face. “Yes, Rosalind.”
Victoria’s heart twisted, hearing the depth of sadness in his voice. She changed the subject. “She also told me how you like tall, leggy women.”
He lifted a mocking brow. “Seems my preference has changed.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”
She sat beside him but kept her distance.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
He tugged on her shirtsleeve. “Then why do you have this on?”
“You should go home.”
“Oh,” he said feigning hurt. “I see. You just use me for sex then toss me out into the cold. I can’t even spend the night.”
“That’s not—”
“Then what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am happy, but—”
He kissed her before she could say anymore. “Good.” He stood. “Let’s go to bed.” He walked to the stairs.
“I’m not really tired,” she said.
He turned to her. “You’re not?”
A smile pulled at her mouth. “No, but you’re heading in the right direction.”
They made love again. Victoria fell asleep soon after; Robert stared into the darkness. This was right. He didn’t care that he preferred the small carriage house to his own. He wanted to be with her and away from disapproving glances.
Dana, Katherine, and Foster couldn’t say anything because they were in his employ, but he knew his family would have something to say. He’d left before giving them a chance. His feelings were still too new for him to discuss with others.
He skimmed his hand along Victoria’s side amazed that he’d ever wanted anything less than this. Her body was a constant fascination—the soft curves, the taut nipples. He felt himself grow hard and redirected his thoughts. It would be unfair to wake her just because he couldn’t get enough. When would he get enough? Would he always feel this way? Would he always have this desire to be with her?
A shiver of panic raced through him. No man should ever be that attached to a woman. It was dangerous. Victoria could leave. He knew how it felt and wouldn’t let himself be that vulnerable again. He’d do the letting go, not her. He rubbed his chin. He’d just have to convince her to stay until he was ready to let her go. What did women like? What would impress her? He thought for a few moments then came up with an idea.
* * *
Victoria woke up to the sound of banging pots and masculine swearing. She walked into the kitchen and found Robert at the stove.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”
She stared at him with a feeling of dread. “You’re cooking breakfast?”
“Yes. Sit down.”
She pulled out a chair. “That’s very nice of you, but you didn’t have to. I could have cooked something.”
“It’s no trouble.” He placed a bowl in front of her.
Victoria looked down. Gray mush reached the rim of the bowl. She covered her mouth to keep from gagging. “What is this?”
“Oatmeal,” he said simply, oblivious to her gasp of horror. “Would you like orange or apple juice?”
“Apple.” When he turned to the fridge, she looked around to see where she could dump the contents of her bowl.
Robert handed her a glass and sat down with his own bowl of mush. She grabbed his wrist, as he brought a spoonful to his mouth, afraid he might poison himself.
“When was the last time you had to cook for yourself?” she asked.
He frowned and scratched his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Which means never.”
“Why?” He raised his spoon again.
She snatched it away.
He looked at her, startled.
“What did you use to make this?” she asked.
“Regular oatmeal, milk, cornstarch—”
Her mouth fell open. “Cornstarch?”
“Yes, I heard it’s a good thickening agent. My oatmeal came out a little watery, so I—Hey what are you doing?” he cried when she gathered up the bowls and emptied them in the trashbin. She lifted a plate on the counter and saw scrambled eggs with specks of eggshell, and a side of blackened buttered toast. She threw those away as well.
“What a disaster.” She put the dishes in the sink. “Promise me you’ll never cook for anyone again unless you want them to suffer a slow and painful death.” She opened the fridge. “Go watch something while I make breakfast.”
“Okay.” He left. A few minutes later she smelled something burning. She raced into the living room and saw Robert holding an iron.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He scowled. “This iron is broken. It burned my shirt.”
She covered her mouth to keep from laughing at the expression on his face. “Just put it down and step away.”
“But—”
“Put it down. I’ll...” She stopped when she heard a loud whirring sound. She briefly closed her eyes as though in pain. “What is that?”
“I saw your hamper was full and put some clothes in the washing machine for you.”
Victoria darted into the cupboard and stopped the machine. She opened it and pulled out a shirt that had shrunk two sizes. “No wonder you employ
people,” she said exasperated, taking more clothes out of the machine. “You’re completely useless without help.” She stopped when she realized Robert had become very still beside her She looked at him and regretted her words. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. She’d hurt him by ridiculing all his efforts. “Robert—”
He backed away from her touch. “I said it’s okay. I’ll be in the living room. Call me when breakfast is ready.”
He didn’t speak throughout breakfast. Though she had made his favorite scrambled eggs with spring onions and red peppers and cinnamon muffins.
Victoria pushed around her food. “I didn’t mean—”
“This tastes good.”
The fact that he didn’t want to talk about it made her feel worse. She searched the kitchen for a way to make up to him.
“There are a lot of dishes in the sink,” she said.
He scooped up his eggs.
“It would be nice to have some help,” she said. When Robert didn’t respond, she nudged him.
He glanced up uncertain. “What?”
“Could you help me with the dishes?”
He was quiet a moment then pushed himself from the table. “ I’ll wash and you dry.”
She stifled a groan. That hadn’t been her plan. “Okay.”
She chewed her bottom lip as she watched him add too much soap to the running water. Bubbles rose up, cascading down the front of the sink. He scooped some of the soap up and threw it away.
She turned and grabbed a dishtowel. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Don’t worry...you’re not the first person to say it.” He handed her a plate that hadn’t been completely rinsed off, a thin film of soap still clung to it. She dried it anyway.
“That doesn’t mean it’s true.”
He stopped then rested his hands against the sink. “Actually, it is true.” He shrugged. “I know I’m not domestic. I can afford not to be.”
“True.”
He handed her another soapy plate. “At least I can wash dishes.”
She smiled weakly. “Yes, at least you can do that.” She scooped up a handful of soap bubbles and pressed them against his face. “But stick to what you know.”