Sweet Silken Bondage

by Bobbi Smith

  Clay was standing just inside the door, his expression questioning and fearful.

  "You heard?" he asked.

  "Yes." Clay nodded.

  "I'm sorry, son." It hurt him even more to know that Evaline had caused this sorrow in his son.

  "But I don't understand."

  "Neither do I," he replied uneasily. "I guess your mother needs some time away from us."

  "She's going to come back, isn't she?"

  The hope in Clay's voice caused Philip to agonize. He knew his son was desperate for some reassurance that everything would be all right, and he wasn't sure how to answer. He was torn between love and hate for Evaline, between wanting her desperately and hating the very thought of her. Her brutally vicious words and actions stabbed at the love he had for her over and over again, and as that tender emotion died, his hate and rage overwhelmed him.

  Still, Philip knew he couldn't hurt his son that way. He couldn't tell Clay that his mother was an amoral slut, who loved no one but herself and cared only for her own pleasures. Motivated by a fatherly desire to protect what was left of his innocence, Philip put a reassuring arm around Clay's shoulders.

  "We'll just have to wait and see, son."

  It was later that afternoon when Clay stood unnoticed in the shadows of the porch. He watched in silence as his mother climbed into the carriage and pulled the door shut behind her. He wanted to run to the carriage and cry out to her not to go. He wanted to convince her to stay with them, but he knew it would do no good. She was leaving. As the conveyance moved off down the long, front drive, effectively taking her out of his life, his eyes burned with unshed tears, and a knot formed in his throat. He swallowed against the strangling sensation.

  Clay's thoughts were in turmoil as he searched desperately for a way to make things right again. Again and again, he reviewed the conversation he'd overheard between his parents, hoping to find some clue there to help change things. His expression grew grave, and his gray eyes turned dark and stormy as he remembered her words. She'd claimed that Windown was a hovel. She'd told his father that she wanted to be wealthy, and it dawned on Clay, then, that money had to be the key. Money! With a child's logic, he reasoned that if his mother had gone away because they weren't rich, all he had to do was to make a lot of money and she would come back.

  A surge of fierce pride and determination filled him, and he turned away from the sight of the departing carriage. In an unconsciously adult gesture, Clay squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Somehow, some way, he was going to make enough money so his mother would come home. He didn't care what it took, he just knew that he was going to do it. Once he and his father had made Windown into the best plantation on the river, his mother would come back. It was that simple. Yet, as Clay walked slowly toward the stable to see Raven, he couldn't help but wonder why he felt so empty and so very much alone.

  New Orleans, 1848

  Clay looped his horse's reins through the hitching post and hesitated a moment to stare up at the spacious, three-story house with its wrought-iron balconies and wide, airy windows. It was a dwelling that spoke of elegance and style, of gracious living and easy money. It was his mother's home.

  Several years ago when Clay had first seen the mansion, he'd been intimidated, but today he was not. Today, he knew he could face his mother proudly, as an equal. Today, he had come to tell her that the Cordell fortunes had been reversed, that they were now one of the richest families on the river and, most importantly, that she could come home.

  Clay was proud of the fact that he'd reached the goal he had set for himself so long ago. He had worked tirelessly with his father to make their stables into the finest racing stable around, and it had paid off. To his way of thinking, his mother would no longer have a reason to stay away. She had wanted wealth, and now they had it.

  Clay had tried to convince his father to accompany him for he was expecting the moment to be a celebration of sorts, but Philip had been adamant in his refusal. Still, he had not tried to prevent him from coming, though, and so Clay honestly believed that if his mother agreed to return to Windown, he would be happy about it. He had often seen his father staring at her picture, and Clay felt certain that he was still in love with her. It seemed to Clay that everything was about to work out just the way he'd wanted it to.

  Clay's mood was alternating between eagerness and nervousness as he climbed the stairs to the porch. Though he had seen his mother only a few times since their separation, his opinion of her had not changed. He still thought her the most beautiful, most wonderful woman alive, and he was firmly convinced that she would be pleased with Windown's success. After all, they could now give her exactly what she wanted.

  As Clay paused before the front door, he took a deep breath and fought to keep his youthful excitement under tight control. He considered himself a man now, and he knew from his father's example that men did not give their emotions away. He knocked, ready for the joyous moment he'd been waiting for for years.

  Evaline had been just on her way upstairs to bathe and get ready for her dinner engagement with her current gentleman friend, when the knock sounded at the door. She was in a hurry to begin her toilette, but since there was no servant around, she decided to answer the door herself. She didn't know who she expected to find on her doorstep, but it certainly wasn't her son.

  "Clay? What are you doing here?" Evaline blurted out, her tone reflecting her surprise. She had only seen Clay a few times since she'd left Philip and that had been fine with her. Her life was a wonderful round of parties and high-living now, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wanted to put the past behind her once and for all.

  Clay had thought he had his emotions under control, but her hostile reception left him stammering and unsure. "Mother..." he began awkwardly, "I, uh... was wondering if I might speak with you for a few minutes?"

  "I suppose, as long as it doesn't take too long." Evaline was dismayed by his request and let it show in her voice and mannerisms as she stepped back to gesture him inside.

  "No it won't. I just have something important to tell you," he assured her, moving into the hall.

  Neither of them said any more as she closed the door behind him and led him into the sumptuously appointed sitting room. Clay's gaze clung to his mother, and he relished just being near her again. In his eyes she was as beautiful as always. He didn't notice that she was no longer as freshly pretty as she had been before. He wasn't aware that her once smooth skin was now aging, and her once magnificent figure was now less than firm. Instead, he was caught up in the remembrance of the elusive scent that was especially hers.

  A thrill of anticipation coursed through Clay. Soon everything was going to be fine. He just knew it. He found himself almost smiling at the thought of what he was about to tell her, but he controlled the impulse. He was a man, not a young boy eager for praise, and after her less-than-excited welcome, he was a little cautious about how to begin.

  Evaline seated herself on a single wingchair and waved Clay into the chair opposite hers with a careless flick of her wrist. She observed him from beneath lowered lashes as he took his seat. Clay's presence was as unwanted as it was unexpected, but a part of Evaline couldn't help but admire what a handsome young man he'd become. At over six feet tall, his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped form and dark good looks made him an improved, refined version of his father, and Evaline understood with sudden, insightful clarity just what it had been about Philip that had encouraged her to leave her wealthy family. Physical attraction. It was a powerful force, but, as she knew now, by itself it would only wither and die with the passing of time.

  "Well? What is it you want?" she asked sharply, forcing her thoughts away from Philip. She wanted to be done with this interview so she could get on with her own plans.

  "I have something important to tell you," he offered eagerly.

  "Yes, what?"

  "Everything's changed at home," he declared in triumph. He was ready to tell her how hard they'd wor
ked to make Windown a success. He wanted her to be proud of the fact that the Cordells had finally come into their own. They were rich now, and money would never be a problem for them again.

  "Oh?" Evaline returned with less than enthusiastic interest. She didn't want to encourage him in this conversation. She just wanted to get it over with so he would leave. Her lover, Boyd Charleton, would be coming to pick her up in a little over an hour, and she liked to be ready when he arrived.

  Her indifferent tone left Clay apprehensive, but he went on undeterred. He'd waited too long for this moment to let anything stop him. Clay was certain she would be delighted with the news. It never in his wildest dreams occurred to him that she would be less than thrilled. "Yes. We've done it. Father and I have made Windown into a paying proposition."

  A sudden, uneasy feeling washed over Evaline. "How nice for you."

  "For all of us," Clay finished. "There's no reason for you to stay away any longer, Mother. There's enough money now. You can have anything you want. You can come home."

  Evaline blinked, regarding Clay in complete astonishment. Home? Had he said she could come home? "Why would I want to do that?"

  "Why?" Clay repeated, frowning.

  "Yes, why?" Evaline rose from her seat and crossed the room, distancing herself from him.

  "Well, I thought..." His veneer of maturity began to crack, fractured by her surprising reaction to his good news.

  "You thought, what?" She turned to look at him, her expression mocking.

  "I thought that you loved us and..."

  He didn't get to finish as she erupted into derisive laughter. "You thought that I still loved your father and you?"

  The sarcasm in her laughter crushed Clay's very soul. He sat there without speaking or moving as she spewed forth the venom of truth about her feelings. The venom that Philip had known all these years, but hadn't had the heart to tell his young, idealistic son.

  "My dear boy, when did I ever give you the impression that I wanted to come back to you?" she asked in disbelief. "Did you really think I would run back to Windown after all. this time just because you made a little money?"

  Clay's jaw tensed at her jibe.

  "I can see that that's exactly what you expected, but I'm afraid that's not what's going to happen. Did your father put you up to this?"

  "No!" Clay blurted out.

  "So this was all your idea?"

  "Yes," he answered tightly, tension gripping him as he regarded her across the room. He had waited a long time for this moment. He had often imagined how this conversation would take place. How he would offer her untold riches and how she would take him in her arms, tell him that she loved him, and return to Windown with him where they would all live happily together as a family. Now that it was actually taking place, however, it was nothing like what he'd imagined. She was nothing like he imagined. As he stared at her, he wondered when it was that her beauty had started to fade and when her eyes had turned so cold?

  Evaline gave a cynical chuckle as she came to stand before him. She lifted one lily-white hand to pat his cheek indulgently. "Darling, no matter how rich you and your father become, I will not return. I'm happy. Why in the world would I want to go back to living in that hellhole?"

  Clay bristled as he came to his feet. "Windown is no hellhole!"

  "It's all a matter of opinion." Evaline shrugged. "I hated living on that stupid farm. I hated it from the first moment I saw it, and I hated your father for taking me there. I have everything I've ever wanted now, Clay. I'm happy with my life just the way it is. I have no desire to change it. You can keep your money. I have no need for it"

  Clay stood, his entire body rigid. "But I've worked for years so I could give you what you wanted..."

  "Clay, the only thing I wanted from you was my freedom, and I've had that since the day I left," she said it with pointblank cruelty, bored with the conversation. "You are my son, but I suppose I'm the type of woman who should never have had children, let alone a husband."

  He cringed inwardly at her words. "But you and father never divorced..."

  "A mere technicality, Clay. I fully expected him to divorce me for desertion, but when he never took legal action..." She lifted her shoulders in an elegant gesture of nonchalance. "I never really worried about it. I vowed to myself long ago that I would never be trapped into marriage again, so it really didn't matter."

  "I see," he managed through clenched teeth. An icy, helpless rage was slowly overwhelming Clay as he came to understand the truth. She didn't love him or his father. She didn't want to come back, now or ever, and she probably never had. All the years he'd devoted to winning her back had been for nothing. His dream of their being a family again was just that-a dream, and a childish one at that.

  An understanding of his father's attitude dawned on Clay then, and he realized what a wise man his father really was. His father had known all along how his mother felt, but had refused to shatter his son's innocent illusions or poison his mind against her. He had let Clay find out the truth for himself, and that painful lesson, so vividly taught, impressed him more now than all the lectures he might have given.

  "I hope you do," Evaline continued, moving toward the hall. She paused in the archway of the open parlor door in an obvious effort to get him to leave. "I have my own life now and have no wish to change anything."

  Clay stared at her for a moment as pain coursed through him. He realized what a fool he'd been, and he swore to himself right then and there never to allow another woman to ever become so important to him. Clay's gray-eyed regard turned glacial as he committed to memory the sight of her standing there and with such utter disdain as she ushered him out of her life once and for all. It was a bitter mental portrait he would carry with him the rest of his life.

  Drawing on every ounce of willpower he had, Clay allowed his eyes to meet hers. In the silver depths so like his own, he saw no reflection of any warmth or hidden affection. He gave a slight incline of his head as he started for the front door. "As you wish." When he passed her, he almost called her mother, but choked on the word. Instead, he bid her a curt, "Madam."

  "Good-bye, Clay," was all Evaline said, and she shut the door behind him without a second thought.

  Clay kept himself under control as he descended the steps and untied his horse. He had expected to be leaving here and returning home right away, triumphant, but now, all thoughts of returning home were banished. The pain of his heartbreak and humiliation was too great. He needed time away.. .time to think.

  Swinging up into the saddle, Clay turned his mount and headed for the riverfront and its section of wild, rowdy saloons. It was not the usual area of town he frequented for entertainment when he was in New Orleans, and he was glad. He didn't want to risk running into anyone he knew right now. All he wanted to do was to find forgetfulness in the numbing solace of cheap liquor.

  Clay managed to open his eyes to a squint and was immediately blinded by the harsh noonday sun that was blazing through the dirt-streaked window. Pain throbbed sharply through his head at the unexpected, searing invasion of his senses, and he groaned out loud as he threw a protective, shielding forearm over his eyes.

  "Mon cher?" a slurred, thickly French, female voice sounded from very close beside him.

  Clay started in surprise to discover he was not alone. The nauseating scent of heavy perfume and stale liquor assailed him, and his stomach gave a churning lurch. In a tangle of semi-drunken, semi-hungover confusion, Clay wondered distractedly just where he was. The agony that was pounding in his head screamed to be eased, and the distant memory of a half-empty bottle of whiskey called out to him with sickening seductivity.

  "Gimme the whiskey..." Clay growled. He needed something to clear not only his head, but his mouth as well. It tasted terrible, like the bottom of a backwater bayou.

  "Here," came the voice again as the bottle was pressed into his hand. "Shall I help you sit up?"

  Clay looked around for the first time, and his eyes f
ell upon the woman stretched wantonly out on the mattress beside him. She was a pretty girl with long, dark hair and a lushly curved figure, but for the life of him could not remember how he came to be here naked in her bed. With a groan, he tilted the bottle to his lips and took a deep drink.

  "Let me help you..." she offered again, her tone husky with implied meaning. Though she was only nineteen, Monique LaPointe had known many men, yet in all her experience not one of them had excited her the way this one did. This Clay, as he had called himself, was one handsome, virile young man, and she silently mourned the fact that, had things been different in her life, she might have had the chance to marry a man like this. He was a man who could be kind and gentle, a man who cared that she shared his pleasure. She'd enjoyed every minute they'd had together since he'd come to her room two nights ago, and she hated to see him leave.

  "No," Clay refused her offer, pushing himself up into a sitting position as he glanced around the room. Still not sure where he was, he lifted the bottle to his lips for another quick dose of artificial strength.

  "That isn't what you said last night," Monique said a bit playfully, hoping to arouse his considerable ardor one more time. He'd been an insatiable lover, and she'd taken great delight in pleasing him. She reached out to caress the leanness of his ribs, but he snared her hand before she could make contact.

  "No more," Clay said flatly, knowing that he had to get out of there. "What time is it?"

  "You're worried about the time? Shouldn't you be asking me what day it is?" she asked archly.

  "Day? What are you talking about?" Clay frowned.

  "You've been here with me for two days."

  Two days?" The shocking news had a very sobering effect on him. How had he lost two whole days of his life? His movements were jerky as he set the bottle on the floor and got up. He wondered what had happened during that time, and he was embarrassed as he grabbed his clothes and began to dress. "I have to go."