by Lisa Kleypas
Lucy was suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that what Raine had said that morning was the truth. And on the chance that it had been, she couldn’t sit here and say it to his face. Oh, what if Raine was right? What if Heath found that he couldn’t let go of his past dreams, now that they were within his reach? What if he decided that he would never be happy anywhere but the South? Lucy had visible proof of the effect his former home had on him. He had left Boston pale and worn, and he had come back from Virginia looking like a different man. Perhaps it was true, that he did belong there with his own kind of people, living in the world he had been born to live in.
“What did she say?” Heath repeated tersely.
Lucy couldn’t face his questions or her doubts any longer. She needed to retreat and find time to think. “Ask her yourself. I’m tired. I need to get some rest.” Standing up from the dressing table, she went to the door, unable to be in the same room with him any longer.
Heath moved so swiftly that she didn’t even hear him, whirling her around and catching her by the shoulders. “Stop it.” He gave her a quick shake. “Talk to me.”
“No more. Don’t touch me! I’m going to bed.”
“You’re going to bed, Mrs. Rayne, but it’s going to be here. In this room.”
“I won’t!” Violently she tried to twist away from his imprisoning hands, gasping with fury.
He gave her another brief, hard shake, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Calm down, you little hornet, and stop trying to work yourself up into a tantrum. It won’t take much more for me to turn you over my knee.”
“Oh! That will solve everything,” she choked. Acid seemed to rise in her throat. “Let go of me!” She was blinded by a haze of red, and with a sick feeling of despair she knew she had lost her control. Shaking wildly, she tried to strike him, but she was as helpless as a child against him. The weight of humiliation and smoldering anger settled on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. “You bring her here, and . . . you expect me to be happy about it. Well, I won’t! I don’t have to put up with it . . . I don’t have to. This is my home, and I’m your wife, and I don’t want her here! Are you listening to me?” Her voice became shrill. “You get her out of here. I want her out!” Through her rage, there was a faint awareness that Heath was startled by her white-faced vehemence.
What is he thinking? she wondered, and stared at him dumbly, suddenly exhausted. That I’ve lost my wits. I’m pushing him away—I don’t know how to stop myself. What should I do? What next?
His eyes were dark and troubled. It was fear that he saw on her face, fear that to him was incomprehensible, but he sought to ease it without hesitation. Swiftly he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, as if sheltering her from a rough wind. She tried to struggle against him, but he only pulled her further inside his shirt, holding her against the comforting hardness of his chest. Lucy shuddered and let herself relax, breathing in the scent of warm male skin. It was only now that she realized how much she had needed this simple contact with him, the protection of his body. No one else in the world could give her such a haven.
“Heath—”
“Hush up. Be still,” he said, and she felt the pleasant abrasion of his unshaven face against her temple. As she was hugged against the boundless strength of his body, her panic began to melt away. Wordlessly she leaned on him, realizing that he wasn’t going to let her go until she gave him some of her burdens to shoulder. It was a relief to let him take control of everything, to be taken care of for just a little while.
When he sensed that she was ready to talk, Heath loosened his arms a little. “You were strong for me when I needed you.” His voice was quiet and steady. “Let me be strong for you now. Tell me why you’re afraid, and I’ll tell you why you have no reason to be.”
She hardly knew how to begin. “I don’t even know you when you’re around them. You change into this . . . this patronizing creature, and they look up at you and hang on to your words as if . . . as if you know everything—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and smiled ruefully at her indignancy and bewilderment. He should have expected that his behavior with Raine and Amy would seem strange to Lucy . . . Lucy, who had no experience with the rituals of flattery and condescension they had all been raised on. Back in the days in Virginia before the war, he had been unaware that there was any other way for men and women to relate to each other. A man naturally had to maintain the pretense that he knew everything, and a woman naturally pretended that she believed him. A Southern woman would never think of puncturing a man’s vanity, no matter what she thought of him. It had all been pleasant and comfortable, and very easy.
He wondered how he could make Lucy understand that his values had changed. There had come a time when he began to desire honesty from a woman. There had come a time when he had lost Raine, the woman he had imagined himself to be in love with. And after all had been said and done, and he had had time to think, he had decided that he did not want a woman whom he had to treat like a child. Neither had he wanted to be worshipped. He had wanted a woman who could be a partner.
“It’s hard to explain,” he said slowly. “It’s the way they talk to each other in Henrico County. There’s a role that a man is expected to play, and the role that women play. It’s a matter of habit. Theirs and mine.”
“You seem to be enjoying it too much.”
Heath laughed huskily. “Are you afraid I’ll want you to pander to my ego from now on? No. I’m starting to find it a nuisance, as a matter of fact.”
“It doesn’t look like that to me.”
His hands wandered up and down her back in a soothing caress. “It’s true. In the past year I’ve gotten used to being cut down to size whenever I start acting too high-and-mighty. If you didn’t keep me in line, I’d be damn well unmanageable. As it is, you’re going to have a lot of work to do once they leave.”
“I’ve . . . heard that Southerners don’t belong anywhere except in the South.”
“I belong here.”
“Don’t you miss your own kind of people—”
“My own kind?” he repeated, and laughed softly for a reason she didn’t understand. “No, I don’t miss the people I knew back then. You’re the kind of woman I want. Damon’s the kind of business partner I like to work with. We have good friends and neighbors who like to mind their own business. I don’t see room for improvement in any of that.”
“But you came back from Virginia so much happier and stronger than when you had left here . . .”
“If you’ll remember, when I left Boston I was still getting over a previous illness. A little time in the sunshine makes anyone look better.”
“It wasn’t just the sunshine. When you walked in the front door, you were smiling and . . . you were practically glowing, and I knew it was because you had been with—”
“I was happy to be coming home to you, you little numbskull. I couldn’t wait to get back to you, even though I knew you’d have a fit when you found out Raine was here with us.”
“I still don’t want her here.”
“I swear to you I’ll get her out as soon as possible. And you’ll never have to see her again. In the meantime, would you just keep reminding yourself that there’s nothing you have to fear from her?”
She gave a small nod and tried to pull away from him. “Wait,” he said, catching his hands under her elbows, keeping hold of her, even though he let her take a step back. “Where are you planning on going?”
“To the other bedroom. Please don’t argue.”
He was nettled by her stubbornness. “Sleep in here.”
“No . . . I know what would happen if I slept here, and I don’t want that. Not tonight.”
“Cin, it’s been weeks. Months.”
“It’s not my fault! You were sick, and then—”
“Simmer down. I’m not accusing you of anything. We’ve had a bad time of it for the last month or two, and it’s no one’s fault. Circumstances have gotten between us, time and again.
But there’s no reason for being apart now, and I don’t want to put up with it any longer.” His voice became softer, cajoling. “You’ve forgotten what it was like between us. Let me take care of you tonight. Let me remind you. Afterwards you’re going to feel better about everything. I promise.”
“I can’t,” she said miserably. “I feel . . . empty . . . drained. There’s nothing in me to give tonight. I don’t want our first time after so long to be like that. It wouldn’t be good. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Lucy—”
“Please, just let me be by myself for tonight.”
Reluctantly he let go of her. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to beg.”
“I don’t want you to beg. I just want to be alone.”
He followed her to the door and braced his hand on the doorjamb, momentarily preventing her exit. She looked up into his turquoise eyes and wrapped her arms around her middle, embarrassed about the scene she had made and vaguely anxious that he wasn’t going to let her go.
“Remember the months right after we moved to Boston?” His gaze seemed to strip away her pretensions and pierce through to her heart. “For a while it was good between us. Very good.”
“Y-yes, it was,” she stammered, mesmerized by the intent expression in his turquoise eyes.
“No matter what our differences were, you never withheld yourself in order to get back at me for something I had done or said.”
“No! Of c-course not—”
“I wouldn’t let you go right now, Cin, if I thought that this was some kind of punishment.” He read his answer in her stricken face, and he nodded slightly, appearing to be satisfied. Lowering his arm from the doorframe, he turned the knob for her and held the door open. “Go on. You’ve bought yourself a little time.”
Thankfully she fled, wrapping her robe more tightly around herself and heading into the adjoining bedroom.
“Oh, there you are,” Lucy said, walking into the library and smiling as she saw Amy rifling industriously through the bookshelves. Amy paused as she saw her, abashedly holding a precariously balanced stack of books in her left arm. “I saw that Raine is taking a nap, and I couldn’t find you.”
“I thought I’d look in here for some books—” Amy began.
“You really do like to read, don’t you?”
“Novels,” Amy said, and Lucy laughed in delight.
“Let me see what you have . . . mmmn, some of my favorites. Snow Bound . . . The Hidden Hand . . . Wuthering Heights—”
“That’s my favorite.”
“Have you ever read St. Elmo? No? I’ll find it for you—you must read it. It’s about a long, passionate love affair, and a poor girl who becomes rich and successful . . . I see you’ve only looked through the books on these shelves—”
“The ones on the other side of the room look dull.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, wrinkling her nose briefly. “Those are Heath’s shelves. These are mine.”
“You have so many new books,” Amy said, her blue eyes reverent as she looked at the neat rows of well-bound volumes.
“When I was younger, my father used to scold me for spending so much money on books instead of more practical things.” Lucy grinned reminiscently and sat down in Heath’s chair. “Thank goodness Heath never says a word, no matter how many I buy.”
“Clay fussed at me for reading too much. We couldn’t afford books, not when we needed the money for . . . other things.”
“Doctors’ bills?” Lucy asked softly, thinking about the letters that had detailed Clay’s back problems and constant illnesses.
“And hired help—we couldn’t get along without it,” Amy said, setting the books on Heath’s desk and leaning on the edge of it. “It was only Clay, Raine, Mother, and me on the plantation. None of us were very good at that kind of work. We paid one of the neighbor’s boys to help—he was lazy, but when he was pushed he did a good job.”
“I’m sorry.” Impulsively Lucy reached over and patted the girl’s hand.
“Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry that things were so hard for you . . . and that you didn’t have books or—”
“It didn’t seem that bad at the time—you never realize how bad something really was until you look back on it. Course, it all could have been much easier if Heath had been there to help . . . but he wasn’t.”
That must have been when Heath moved up here. Lucy felt compelled to defend his absence. “It’s not like him to turn his back on someone who needs help,” she said. “Maybe if someone had just tried to make him understand—”
“It wasn’t his fault. He wanted to help. Heath came to the plantation after the war, but they wouldn’t let him stay.” Amy regarded her with surprise. “He never told you about that?”
“Not really,” Lucy admitted, her mind scheming on how she could extract further revelations from Amy. If she could get her to talk, Amy might prove to be a windfall of information. “I do know that there were a few problems between Heath, Clay, and Raine—”
“And Mother too. She never liked him. You know why, don’t you?”
“Because he was . . . he was . . . another woman’s son?” Lucy asked tentatively.
“That’s right. Clay and I were born Prices. Mother always said that we were the real children. And”—Amy looked around and lowered her voice—“she said Heath was just a mistake. She said it to his face, too, lots of times.”
“What did Heath do?”
“He just smiled. He had this smile that would make her hopping mad . . . oh, she just couldn’t stand to be around him. It would take days to calm her down after Daddy had brought Heath to visit.”
“How did you and Clay feel about him?”
“I always liked him. Clay didn’t seem to, but the two of them never fought. Not ever, until Raine.”
“Who was she?” Lucy asked, taking care not to sound too eager or impatient. “A neighbor of yours?”
“Not exactly. But her family lived in the county. She was a Stanton—one of four sisters, the next-to-oldest one. Raine was the prettiest one. Everyone said so. She liked to flirt and tease, but she wasn’t ever interested in the county boys.”
Lucy leaned forward, listening intently. Encouraged by her interest, Amy began to talk freely. “And then Heath’s mama died, and he came to live with us when he was seventeen. Mother would have liked to die herself, having to put up with him under the same roof, but Daddy wouldn’t listen to her. He was crazy about Heath. So Mother had to put up with Heath being there. But it helped that all of her friends understood and felt sorry for her, and she really didn’t have to see him much. He was always running around the county with his friends.”
“Misbehaving?”
“I guess he was,” Amy conceded. “Heath was just . . . wild. He was always in trouble, charming his way out of it one day and getting back into it the next. Everyone seemed to like him, but no one wanted him to court their daughters . . . you understand why. Raine says that Heath would have been the most popular boy in the county if he’d come from the right kind of background. He could ride, cuss, and shoot better than anyone, and he was as smart as a whip. From what I hear, all the girls made eyes at him—Raine says he was the handsomest thing that had ever set foot over the county line—but they were all scared to be seen with him too often. It would have ruined their reputations.”
Lucy absorbed the information silently. Heath had always been an outsider, even in Virginia. Never again would she be surprised at the recollection of how fearlessly he had taken on the challenge of making a place for himself up here. It was no wonder that he had never expressed a desire to go back to the South. He had never really belonged anywhere.
“How did Heath and Raine . . .” Lucy started to ask and found that she could not finish the question because the phrase Heath and Raine stuck in her throat. She hated the idea of them together, but it was imperative that she find out just what had gone on between them. Amy seemed to understand exactly what she wanted to know.
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“From the minute Heath laid eyes on her, he wouldn’t leave her alone. The Stantons didn’t like him paying court to her, but they had four girls to marry off, and he did have a nice inheritance coming to him. Raine went buggy-riding with him on a dare from one of her sisters. She won’t tell what happened, but she said that at the beginning of the afternoon he could barely get a ‘how do you do’ out of her, and by the end he had talked her into marrying him. Then she met Clay—and really, they were a lot alike, except that Clay was a Price and Heath was . . .”
“Illegitimate,” Lucy said flatly. “Clay must have seemed like a better bargain.”
“She loved Clay,” Amy replied defensively. “He was handsome and nice, and—”
“I’m sure he was.” Hastily Lucy attempted to smooth over her mistake. “I’m sorry. That came out differently than I had intended. Please go on . . . you were about to tell me what happened after Raine met Clay.”
“They got married. Heath tried to stop them, but he couldn’t. He fought with Clay, and said something to him. Whatever it was, they were never on friendly terms again. And after the wedding, Heath got so bad that no one could do anything with him—drinking and doing wild things—and finally, Daddy sent him abroad, hoping it would make a gentleman out of him. And then the war started.”
“What about after the war? Why wouldn’t they let him stay at the plantation?”
“It was mostly Clay. Clay’s back was hurt, and he was always sickly after the war. He thought that if Heath came back to live with them, Heath would take his place as head of the plantation and then take Raine away from him. And Mother didn’t want Heath there . . . and Raine . . . she stood on the front porch and argued with Heath, and she called him all kinds of names. He got mad, and he . . .”
“What?” Lucy prompted, appalled and fascinated. Amy’s face went red.
“He laughed at her because she had married Clay for his money and the plantation—the money was all in worthless bluebacks, and the plantation was falling apart. He just laughed at her. Raine grabbed a riding whip that someone had left on the porch railing, and hit him with it—that’s where he got that scar on his temple, near his eye—”