Tidewater Seduction

by Anne Mather

  Joanna took a step back. It was an involuntary movement, an automatic recoil from the avidity of his expression. He didn’t frighten her, but he did disturb her, and tonight she was in no state to counter his belligerence.

  ‘Did I do what?’ she responded now, guessing that pretending ignorance was the only way to thwart him. ‘I had dinner with Cole, if that’s what you mean. You should have joined us. The quail was——’

  ‘Goddammit, don’t mess with me, girl!’ Ryan’s voice rose in concert with his fury, and he cast an impatient glance over his shoulder. Then, calming himself with an evident effort, he added harshly, ‘You know what I’m talking about. Did you talk to him? Did you tell him what I told you?’

  ‘We’ve talked.’ Joanna thought about prevaricating, but she found she didn’t have the energy—or the enthusiasm. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘What about?’ Ryan’s jaw clamped.

  ‘This and that.’ Joanna sighed. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go into my room. I’m tired.’

  ‘Dammit, I know you and Cole talked about Nathan,’ Ryan blustered angrily. ‘Hannibal heard you asking about Henry, and Cole saying something about Sarah not blaming anyone for Nathan’s death——’

  ‘You had Hannibal spy on us?’ broke in Joanna disbelievingly, her disgust at the act tempered by her sympathy for Ryan’s elderly valet. Hannibal had been at Tidewater since before Ryan was born, and his loyalty to his employer had never been in doubt.

  ‘Not all the time,’ muttered Cole’s father irritably, but there was no remorse in the words. ‘The old fool’s half deaf anyway. But don’t you try to bluff me, girl. I always know what’s going on in this house.’

  ‘Then you won’t need me to tell you, will you?’ retorted Joanna shortly, and, thrusting open her door, she slammed into the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JOANNA half thought he might try to follow her, but he didn’t. Even though she lay back against the closed panels for several minutes, ready to resist if he should try to force his way inside, there was no further intrusion. Evidently Cole’s father had decided he had said enough for one night. He had startled her, and attempted to intimidate her, and finally told her she was being spied on. What else could he do?

  When she eventually pushed herself away from the door, her movements were heavy and lethargic. It was all very well putting up a defiant front with the Macallisters, but there was no doubt it drained her emotionally. She had to be constantly alert, constantly on her guard. What a holiday, she reflected ruefully. She’d have had less stress white-water-rafting in the Rockies!

  She undressed wearily, and after sluicing her face in the bathroom she crawled into bed. She just wanted to forget all about Cole and his family and go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow things would be clearer. Maybe tomorrow she’d find a reason for being here.

  But sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned for hours, and eventually had to get up to go to the bathroom. Peering at her pale face in the mirror above the washbasin as she rinsed her hands, she bemoaned the fact that she was going to look an absolute hag in the morning—when Cole took her riding to Palmer’s Point.

  She frowned. Why there? she brooded. The shacks at Palmer’s Point had always been a bone of contention between them. And it was hardly a beauty spot, although it did overlook the mouth of the Tidewater River. It was where the Smiths had lived, before Adam died, and Ryan Macallister found Sarah and her two sons a house in Beaumaris. And it was while Sarah was living at Palmer’s Point that Ryan first noticed her.

  Nathan’s mother had been beautiful when Joanna knew her, and it didn’t take much imagination to realise that at eighteen she must have been quite ravishing. With her sloe-dark eyes, and her tall, statuesque figure, she must have presented quite a challenge to the arrogant master of Tidewater.

  Sarah and Adam had been married for three years, and their son, Henry, had been two years old, when Ryan first started taking an unnatural interest in the Smiths. Henry was already showing signs of slowness, of not being as bright as the other children who lived in the shacks, and Ryan used the boy’s disability as a reason for visiting the family. He arranged for the boy to see a specialist, and insisted on escorting Sarah into Charleston himself. And he paid for the child to attend a special school, so that Henry could have a real chance of leading a normal life.

  Of course, his reasons were not philanthropic. Ryan Macallister never did anything for anyone without demanding payment. And, although Sarah knew that what she was doing was wrong, she couldn’t help being flattered by the older man’s attentions. Besides, she consoled herself with the knowledge that he was helping Henry, and only when she found herself pregnant with the other man’s child did the fear of how her husband would react when he found out compel her to confront Ryan with her dilemma.

  To Ryan, the answer was simple. She must get rid of the baby. He would give her the money to have an abortion. He knew of a woman in Charleston who would do the deed, with no questions asked.

  Sarah refused. She was hurt and anxious, but nothing would persuade her to do away with her baby. She would have the child, she said, and if Adam disowned her, so be it. She would get a job and support both her children. She would survive.

  But something happened that made her worries about her pregnancy merely academic. Adam was killed—in a freak accident in the fields. He was run down by a mechanical picker, and in her grief at losing the man she had lived with for more than three years Sarah was once again vulnerable to Ryan’s persuasion.

  It was fairly easy for him to convince her that she wouldn’t be happy, staying in the shack, which must contain so many upsetting memories. Instead, he set her up in a house in Beaumaris—far enough from Tidewater so that when her baby was born no one would associate it with him, and near enough so that he could continue to visit her on a regular basis.

  Nathan had told Joanna this, when, heartbroken over Cole’s behaviour, she had gone to him for support. Nathan had been the only person she could discuss Cole’s unfaithfulness with. And, whether to comfort her, or to expunge some of the bitterness he still possessed, she never knew, but he told her the whole, unhappy story.

  Joanna had been shocked, but not as shocked as she might have been before learning of Cole’s unfaithfulness. And, in the weeks that followed, he took her to meet his mother, and she learned more. She discovered that Ryan still occasionally visited the house in Acacia Street. She discovered that in all these years Margaret Macallister had remained unaware of Nathan’s existence. She learned that her father-in-law lived two distinct lives: one at Tidewater Plantation, and the other with his mistress in Beaumaris.

  She didn’t blame Sarah. Nathan’s mother was one of life’s victims. Joanna had no doubt that when Ryan first affected an interest in Henry Sarah had taken his kindness at face value. She must have been flattered that her son had been singled out for attention, and, having seen the shacks at Palmer’s Point, Joanna could understand her dilemma.

  It was through talking to Sarah that Joanna eventually visited the shacks for herself. Nathan went with her, and, although at first the women were suspicious of her, gradually she won their confidence. To begin with, it was just something to do, somewhere to go when Cole was working or away from the plantation. She took her sketch pad with her, and spent hours producing likenesses of the children for their mothers. She talked to the children, and encouraged them to talk to her. And, in time, their mothers began to trust her, telling her their problems, and asking her advice.

  She supposed it had been a gigantic step from there to actually starting the mother and baby clinic, but so many of the women had had children who’d died, and others were weary from so many pregnancies. Health care was expensive, and Joanna, who would have loved a baby of her own, whatever Cole thought to the contrary, was more than eager to help. Some of the older women, who were past child-bearing themselves, but who wanted a better life for their daughters, helped too. A derelict shack was appropriated, and betwee
n them they repaired and painted the inside, and hung the posters Joanna had provided. There were scales to weigh the babies, and a creaky old couch, where the mothers were examined. Her biggest coup was in persuading the hospital in Beaumaris to offer the services of a doctor, free of charge, one afternoon a week, to provide the medical skills necessary for the clinic to succeed.

  It was ironic, she thought, that, while she was so successful in helping other people, she was so unsuccessful in helping herself. Her marriage had failed. She and Cole seldom spoke to one another any more. Oh, she supposed, if she had been willing to overlook his involvement with Sammy-Jean, they might have been able to work something out. If she had been willing to humble herself, and beg him to come back to her. But she had her pride, and she refused to barter it, even though sometimes the need to touch him was like a raging ache inside her.

  And then, one afternoon, Cole came to the clinic and found Nathan helping her. Joanna had known he was aware of the clinic’s existence. His father knew about it, and he had sworn he would get the place closed down. He objected to his daughter-in-law being involved, and he had told Cole to deal with it. But, as she and Cole rarely had a conversation these days, nothing had happened, and as the weeks went by she had cautiously begun to hope they were safe.

  Cole’s appearance had destroyed that hope. She had been convinced he could have no other reason for coming to the clinic than to do his father’s bidding. That was why she had jumped recklessly into the attack, accusing him of being his father’s lackey, and ordering him off the premises.

  In retrospect, she could see it had been the wrong thing to do. She had immediately created a volatile situation, and the row that had ensued had been every bit as violent as she had anticipated. And, when Nathan sprang to her defence, things got really ugly.

  Even today, it was hard to understand Cole’s fury towards Nathan. Rounding on the younger man, he had delivered one of the most abusive speeches of his entire life. He had accused Nathan of every crime he could think of, finishing with a warning that he should stay away from Macallister women and off Macallister land.

  And that was when Joanna had told him. Ignoring Nathan’s warning hand on her sleeve, she had informed Cole exactly who Nathan was. His name might be Smith, she said icily, but that wasn’t the name of his father. His father’s name was Macallister, just like his. In fact, he was speaking to his brother.

  Cole had been stunned. Looking back now, she had to admit that, of all the Macallisters, Cole had taken it the hardest. For, of course, he had confronted his father with the accusation, and other ears had heard Ryan’s angry outburst. The news had spread like wildfire, and what had just been a rumour became a verified fact.

  Maggie Macallister showed little reaction, proving, to Joanna at least, that Cole’s mother must have known what was happening all along. But, as long as it wasn’t talked about, and Ryan was discreet, she had been prepared to ignore it. After all, Nathan was twenty-one. She must have thought the worst was over.

  And it might have been, if Ryan had been prepared to leave it there. After all, it wasn’t such an unusual story. Without further scandal to feed on, the story would have been nothing more than a nine-day wonder. But Ryan was angry. He wanted retribution. And, because it was Joanna who had betrayed him, he chose to use her to get his revenge.

  The first that Joanna knew about it was when she next went into Beaumaris to see Sarah. Although she knocked at the door of the house in Acacia Street, no one answered, and when she went to the clinic, seeking Nathan, she found the shack had been bulldozed to the ground. And none of the women wanted to talk to her. They were cool, and offhand, avoiding her eyes when she tried to get them to tell her what had happened, calling their children away, as if she was to blame for everything.

  She knew it was Ryan Macallister who was behind it. She could imagine the threats he had made not just to these women, but to Sarah as well. Was that why Sarah wasn’t answering her door? Was that why Nathan was avoiding her?

  She thought about going to the school where Nathan taught, and asking him what he thought she should do, but the trouble was, she felt guilty. After all, if she hadn’t betrayed Sarah’s confidence, none of this would have happened. It was her fault that it had all gone wrong. Her fault that all her hard-earned efforts were wasted.

  She knew there was only one person she could appeal to, and that was Cole. She hadn’t spoken to him once since that day at the clinic, but somehow she had to make him see that it wasn’t fair to punish others for her mistakes. Nathan was such an honourable man. It wasn’t right that he should have to suffer for simply being there. He hadn’t asked to be born. He hadn’t chosen his parents.

  She went to Cole’s room that night, long after his parents had gone to bed. She knew it was the only time when she might get to speak to him alone, but her hands were trembling as she tied the cord of the silk wrapper around her. Her appearance didn’t please her. Since she and Cole had been living separate lives, she had piled on the weight, and her hips swelled unattractively below the belt of the robe. Her breasts were bigger, too, round and voluptuous, bouncing along beneath the wrapper like two melons in a bag.

  But, although she spent several minutes trying to attract Cole’s attention, he didn’t open the door. And, when she eventually plucked up the courage to step inside, she found the room was empty. The maid had turned down the bed, but it hadn’t been occupied.

  She was debating whether to go back to her own room, when she heard a sound behind her. Cole had evidently just arrived home, and was standing in the doorway, swaying slightly on his heels.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said unpleasantly, ‘to what do I owe this honour? Or is it a case of if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mohammed?’

  His voice was slightly slurred, as if he had been drinking. But the words he used were deliberate, and Joanna coloured. ‘I wanted to talk to you, Cole,’ she said, wishing now she had waited till the morning. ‘I—but it doesn’t matter.’

  However, when she would have gone past him, he stepped inside and closed the door. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’m listening. You’ll sleep better if you spit it out. They say that confession’s good for the soul!’

  ‘Confession?’

  Joanna was confused, but Cole merely unfastened the remaining buttons on his shirt and pulled it free of his trousers. ‘Sure,’ he said, tossing his jacket aside and running exploring fingers across his chest. ‘You’re going to tell me how sorry you are for making a fool of me with Nathan. Tell me about it. I hear he’s pretty impressive in that department. Got all the right equipment, if you see what I mean——’

  ‘Shut your filthy mouth!’

  Joanna’s hand swung towards his cheek with all the force she could muster, but Cole only swayed back on his heels and avoided the worst of the blow. Besides, he was probably anaesthetised against any pain by the amount of alcohol he had swallowed, she thought bitterly. Unlike her.

  ‘Hey, that’s what they say,’ Cole protested, his lean features showing only a mocking disregard for her anger. ‘Don’t blame me if he’s found someone else!’

  Joanna seethed. ‘He hasn’t found anyone else!’ she exclaimed, frustratedly. ‘That is, our—our relationship wasn’t like that!’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jo! I know what a hot little body you’ve got. And if you’re not cooling it with me …’ He shrugged expressively.

  Joanna gasped. ‘Is that all you can think about? Sex?’

  Cole’s face sobered. ‘What else is there?’ he asked harshly.

  Joanna winced. ‘I thought we loved one another——’

  ‘Oh, spare me that!’ Cole was scathing. ‘You don’t love me. You never did. All you love are those bloody paintings of yours! They’re your family, aren’t they? Your children! When we got married, I thought you’d forget all about that nonsense. I thought you’d be so busy having my babies, you wouldn’t have time to think about anything else. But that’s not what you had in mind.
Children are a nuisance. They’d get in the way of your work. And heaven help anything that interfered with that!’

  Joanna stared at him. ‘You actually expected me to have children here? In this house?’

  ‘Why not? You never gave my family a chance. You were so busy finding reasons for not living here, you didn’t see what you were doing to us!’

  ‘I didn’t do anything to us! I wasn’t the one who moved out of our room. I wasn’t the one who went off to South America for weeks at a time, so that when you came back we were like strangers with one another.’

  ‘And whose fault was that?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t mine——’

  ‘Not even when I found out what was going on?’

  Joanna blinked. ‘What was going on?’

  ‘Do I have to spell it out?’ Cole thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and Joanna had to drag her eyes away from the taut cloth. ‘We’ve been married over a year, Jo. Why aren’t you pregnant?’

  Joanna caught her breath. ‘Perhaps you ought to ask yourself that,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘I takes two to make a baby, you know.’

  Cole’s eyes darkened. ‘You bitch!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m a bitch, aren’t I? Just because I suggest that good ‘ole Cole Macallister mightn’t have what it takes——’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Cole reached for her then, and, although she tried to avoid his hands, he was less intoxicated than she had thought. His fingers fastened around her throat with bruising intent, and when he hauled her up in front of him her eyes opened wide with apprehension.

  ‘You know what I should do, don’t you?’ he snarled. ‘I should wring your lying little neck!’

  ‘Because you can’t take the truth?’ Joanna taunted, scared, but defiant too, and Cole groaned.

  ‘What the hell are you trying to do to me?’ he demanded, his fingers finding her windpipe and exerting an unsteady pressure. ‘God in heaven, you’d try the patience of a saint!’