“You’d be a fool to trust him.”
“I’ve placed my trust foolishly once before. I am more cautious now. I know what Tyler Fairfax is.”
Smarting under her accusation, he said, “I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t go into business with him. He’s not what he seems on the surface.”
“Oh, and you are an expert on that, I know.”
Grinding his teeth, Deacon fought the urge to leave her to her fate. But if she failed, the Manor would fail. Neither of those scenarios was acceptable to him.
“Tyler Fairfax is a dangerous conniver. He’s motivated by greed and hate and he doesn’t care who he hurts.”
“The pot casting slurs at the kettle, sir?”
Deacon crossed the room in long, angry strides. Taken by surprise, Garnet shrank back against the keyboard, the press of her elbows issuing a squawk of unpleasant sound. If he read her expression right, it wasn’t a fear of him that had her alarmed, but rather her fear of her own reaction to him. And he meant to use that fear to its fullest.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. With palms gripping the polished wood on either side of the keyboard, he corralled her between the brace of his arms and intimidated with his proximity. He could hear her breaths hurry in short, jagged bursts even as her stare continued to challenge him.
God, he loved her bravery.
He leaned in close, his voice lowering to a threatening caress. “Pay attention to what I’m telling you. Pay close attention. If I hadn’t fallen prey to Fairfax’s scheming, you wouldn’t be here to torment me.”
He saw her swallow frantically, but there was no waver of distress in her words.
“My being here has nothing to do with Tyler Fairfax’s ability to take advantage of the desperate. It has everything to do with your willingness to do exactly the same.”
Being compared to Fairfax hit hard and with an astonishing truth. But Deacon pressed on relentlessly.
“He likes to play games with people’s lives just for the enjoyment of seeing them ruined. If you think he’ll honor any vows he’s made to you, think again. If you put your future in his control, he will take everything you have just because he can, not because he needs it or even wants it. I made the mistake of taking him at his word and he stripped me of all I held dear. If you think he’s going to allow you that same pleasure, you’re wrong. He’ll use you to get at me for as long as it amuses him, then he’ll turn on you, too. I won’t have my properties and my home wagered as pawns in his little dramas.”
Her features went pale. Against that soft sea of white, her eyes were enormous, her lips even more luscious. “So that’s behind your concern, the land, the house.” She had been foolish to think, just for a moment, that it might have been concern for her. She pulled an anguished breath and let fire flare in her eyes. “Well, you need not worry about what is no longer yours.”
She tried to stand, meaning to push him back so she could escape him, but he didn’t move. She found herszlf imprisoned by the appeal of his nearness, drawn to his heat, his scent, to the havoc of memories he stirred inside her. She gasped slightly when his hands cuffed her elbows.
“Why are you here?” he hissed down upon her bowed head. She couldn’t look up, terrified that he’d unmask her heart. “Is it revenge? Is it retribution? What?”
She spoke into the crisp whiteness of his shirt front, struggling to keep the emotion from quavering through her words. “You gave me a picture once, a dream to hold on to. I’ve come to claim it. You’ve only yourself to blame for the fact that you’re no longer included in it.”
“What’s mine, I keep. Remember that.”
Wildly disturbed by that fiercely issued claim, she whispered, “Please excuse me,” shoving hard to win her release. Then she ran to the door without gauging his response.
Had she turned, she would have realized how close she was to her goal. For just that moment, she could have seen his soul stripped bare to all but longing and loss. She would have reaped the satisfaction of recognizing his defeat. But instead, suffering for her own, she could only run away from the source of her misery. From the dream she’d wanted so desperately.
And still wanted with all her heart. If only such things were possible.
Montgomery Prior wasn’t the distracted fool he pretended to be. He saw right though Garnet’s fragile greeting to the anguish beneath it.
“What has the bastard done, my darling?”
From the enveloping care of his embrace, Garnet fought to contain a scrap of dignity when the temptation to dissolve into tears wore mightily. “Nothing, Monty. Nothing.”
“I told you, lovey. I warned you that it would not be easy to hold against his pretty face and cold manner. He’s a harmful addiction to you, my girl, and I’ll not allow him to hurt you again. Or am I too late, already?”
“Why am I so weak when I need to be strong? For my father, for William.”
“For yourself, Garnet. Be strong for yourself, my girl, for the suffering he’s forced upon you with his indifference.”
“I’m trying, but it’s … it’s so hard.” So hard not to give into her yearning for the same man who had betrayed her. Weakness wasn’t the term to describe it. A helpless self-destruction came closer to naming her need to fall into the same flame that had already seared her once.
“Then step away, child. Put the means of your vengeance into the hands of another and come back to England with me. Isn’t it enough knowing that he’s humbled without having to be there to see the deed done in person?”
“No.” Purpose steadied her voice. No, what was between her and Deacon was personal, very personal, and turned over to another, the effect was gone. She had to be there to judge the degree of his remorse, to bend him to the power of regret. Until she saw more than fleeting apology in his eyes, she had to exert all pressure possible to make him realize the error he’d made in playing fast and loose with her future.
“But darling, you’re risking more than you know.”
“What else could he take from me?”
Monty remained wisely silent, fearing the answer. It fortified his own role in her charade. “Garnet, my dear, I made a promise to your mother to see you lacked for nothing, to see you achieved happiness. I can’t make good on that vow if you insist on staying here, taunting fate a second time.”
“I’m not young and innocent any more, Uncle Monty.”
“Perhaps not, dear one, but you are still a woman, a woman who has shared a bed and a child with the same man you now plan to ruin. Be careful that you do it for the right reasons.”
The right reasons. Garnet considered them in a whirl of confusion. What were the reasons that had brought her into this deception, asking her mother’s brother to play along in a deadly serious game?
To hit back hard for her losses: for that of her home, her happiness, her father, her dreams. That’s what she’d claimed. But because she knew all Monty said was true, because she understood her own weaknesses too well, she’d been wise to place a barrier between her child and the man who’d made him with her upon a bed of lies.
Deacon Sinclair would never gain the knowledge to destroy her. He would never learn that William was his son.
Not unless he proved himself to be worthy.
Of her love and William’s trust.
She’d had to tell her uncle her motive was revenge. That was something he could understand, something that would bind him to her quest. If he’d known her real reason, he would never have agreed. He would never have brought her here to court danger. She couldn’t have gained control of Sinclair Manor on her own, not without a “husband” to give legitimacy to her plans. She wanted to place Deacon Sinclair in a position where his true spots would show, to pressure him into revealing his heart and mind. A woman from his past and a child with no legal name couldn’t force him out from behind his cold facade.
The land, the house, those were the things Deacon held dear. Well, William was her soft spot, and she
could not allow him to become a pawn. So she’d asked her uncle to play her husband to protect her child. And to make her less vulnerable. It was as simple as that. And with William safely removed from the struggle for truth, she could explore the depths of Deacon’s character. A darker, more dangerous task, she’d never imagined. But what she would eventually find would make all the difference to the little boy who slept in the room across the hall, unaware of the conflict swirling about him.
And that’s the way she would keep it, by keeping Deacon at arm’s length.
If she could.
His fingers lingered over the keys, but the issuing sound was nothing like the poignant melodies Garnet coaxed from them.
Damn her. Why did she have to be the one to steal his future?
Against any other, he could have stood firm and acted ruthlessly. He could have treated any other with a cold ferociousness that had served him well in war. He would have sunk to any low, used any weakness to his full advantage. Without thought. Without hesitation. Had it been anyone else.
What was it about this one woman that so completely stymied reason? Her courage, her beauty, her resolve? Or was it the paradise they’d shared so briefly between them? Even now, her scent filled his head, muddling his mind, clouding his resources like fine drink.
She wanted to reduce him from manor-born gentry to menial store clerk. And he let her. He allowed her to step on his pride, to grind her heel and kick it aside like something without value. But then, perhaps his pride was no longer the issue.
He didn’t have to stay under this roof with the minute-by-minute reminder of all that he’d lost. But he took a perverse pleasure in doing so, because it meant being close to her, to the one woman he would have taken as his own. He might tell himself it was to retain a foothold in his home, to restore his properties yard by yard, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was what Patrice had guessed.
He couldn’t leave the past alone. He couldn’t walk away from this woman he’d loved.
His splayed fingers wrought a wince of noise from the keyboard.
What were his choices now? He saw only two, since walking away was not one of them. He could surrender. Or he could turn to clever subterfuge.
No one had ever taught him the humility necessary to give up with good grace. So that left the one thing he was truly good at.
Deception.
He could bide his time, pretending to submit while watching for the best chance to reclaim what was his. And the first thing he could do while waiting was get to know his enemy better.
“I’d like to send a telegram.”
Gates Hargrove glanced up from the game of solitaire he was playing. For a moment, indecision warred in his eyes. Deacon could read it plain. Was he or was he not someone who warranted quick attention?
In the past, the groveling Hargrove would have tripped over himself to be of service to a Sinclair. But now there was a definite air of insolence in the leisurely way he collected his cards, gave them a shuffle, then set them aside.
“What can I do for you, Deacon?”
Deacon. Not Mr. Sinclair. Even politely said, the omission of respect was obvious.
“Send this for me.”
“You wanna wait for a reply?”
“No.”
Gates scanned the message, then his eyes bugged. “This is going to Washington, D.C.”
“I know where it’s going.”
“Special Judge Advocate of the War Department.” He regarded Deacon with a renewed awe. “You want I should send somebody out to your place with the answer, Mr. Sinclair?”
Deacon smiled thinly. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be right across the street. At the mercantile.”
And as Deacon crossed the dusty road on his way to his first day behind the counter, he was filled with new hope.
Soon, he would know everything there was to know about Montgomery Prior. And somewhere in that information, if there was a God, would be the leverage he needed.
Chapter 12
It took Garnet one look to realize her mistake. Surroundings made no difference. Even on his knees, covered with dirt, shirt sleeves waded up to the elbows as he tore into a box of household notions, Deacon was every inch a gentleman. It wasn’t circumstance, it was attitude. He attacked the job at hand with no less determination than he would in going over the ledgers at the Manor. How could she bring humility to such a man when he took pride in even small endeavors?
Why would she want to?
The instant he saw her, the guarded blankness covered his expression. She managed a tiny smile.
Deacon dusted his hands on his trousers as he stood. Her gaze followed the ascension with a detailing interest. Seeing it, his lips quirked in a wry bend.
“Come to see how the laboring class is progressing, Mrs. Prior?”
She ignored the barb. “Just making sure all my orders arrived.”
He gestured wide to encompass the crates and boxes making a fortress of commerce around him. “Everything from garters to fish hooks. There’s an inventory sheet in the office if you want to double-check my count.”
“There’s no need.”
“Then why are you here, Mrs. Prior?”
There was no avoiding his question or his probing stare. What could she tell him? The truth—that she couldn’t stay away? That the need to simply watch him sort merchandise on the floor held a lure she was powerless to resist? Hardly. Instead, she drew off her gloves, using the time the exaggerated movements gave her to compose her thoughts and calm her voice.
“As I told you, this store is my project. I plan to oversee its operation on a daily basis.”
His features tightened. In dismay or disgust, she couldn’t tell. “Then why do you need me here? Afraid it wouldn’t look good for a lady of your newfound stature to be grubbing around in packing crates?”
“This is only one of my interests, so I won’t have time to devote to it exclusively.”
“Just time enough to keep your finger on the pulse of the community and your thumb on me?”
She allowed a grim, “Exactly.” Then her tone softened. “Besides, William is bringing Ulysses to his new home this morning.”
“Who?”
“The store’s live-in mouser.”
“Oh.” Deacon’s face relaxed into a small, genuine smile. That slight softening of his expression melted Garnet’s heart to the consistency of the molasses now sitting on clumsy racks in the back. It brought home with an unfair punch how different he was now from the gentle man who’d courted her affections. Had the war wrought that change from sensitive to somber, or had he just been playing the part for her benefit before? Unable to answer, she turned away in frustration and began a visual inventory of the store’s goods.
“Gracious. Where will we put everything?”
“In its place, Mrs. Prior, and everything has one.”
The cut of his tone brought her around with fire in her eyes. “Everything, or everyone?”
He stared at her, refusing to reply.
“And just where is my place, Mr. Sinclair? Is that what galls you so much? That someone like me, someone from the hill country with no fancy pedigree, could come in and lay claim to what you overweened aristocrats prefer to hoard among yourselves? Would you be so angry, so fierce, if one of your own were standing in my place here today, holding your future in his hands?”
“No.”
His honesty took her aback, then fanned the flames higher. “So it’s your snobbery that upsets you, then, your inability to accept that someone of my station could intrude upon your genteel life.”
“No,” he said again with the same flat forcefulness. “It’s you. It’s the fact that it’s you.”
Without explaining himself further, he disappeared into the side office. She could see him shuffling through papers on the chest-high desktop. His head was bent so his expression remained a mystery—not that she could have read anything there anyway. Suddenly she had to know what was behind his
words.
“What do you mean, it’s me?”
He looked up from the paperwork as she stood in the framed doorway, her arms crossed, her mood challenging. Without a blink, he went back to his sorting.
“It would have been easier to lose everything to a stranger.”
She refused to give the pity she felt a dangerous hold upon her heart. “Just as it would have been easier being betrayed by a stranger.”
He didn’t glance up, but she could tell by the tensing of his jaw that she had his full attention. After a long moment, he said, “Exactly. So this evens that score, then.”
He spoke it blandly, as if he were referring to a card debt or an insignificant tit-for-a-tat. All the rage she’d been repressing since she’d gotten the telegram saying her father was dead surfaced in a blinding rush. All the fear and panic she’d experienced finding herself alone in the world, then alone and pregnant, returned to scald her senses.
“Deacon?”
He glanced up just in time to take the full impact of her palm across his face. The act surprised her, both with its violence and by the satisfaction that came with it. Before she could pull back, he caught her wrist and yanked her toward him. Off balance, she fell into him. Her bracing hand met hard abdomen. And because her first instinct was to yield along his long, tough lines, she tried to jerked away in a fury. He held tight to her wrist, a painless grasp that was no less unbreakable. His other arm made an imprisoning curl about her waist. Helpless to escape from his closeness or her own frantic desires, Garnet fought against both, but the more she resisted, the more determined his restraint became. Finally she saw the futility of her struggles and went still against him, her glare anything but submissive.
“Our score is nowhere close to even,” came her hiss of conclusion.
“What will it take to settle it?”
Before she could reply, the bell over the front door jangled and the patter of light footfalls announced William even before his cry of, “Mama, come see!”
The Men of Pride County: The Pretender Page 13