Heart of the Storm (Harlequin Historical)

by Burton, Mary

  Peter Emmons stepped from the carriage onto the sidewalk in front of his Washington town house. He inhaled, savoring the sweet smells of the city. Rachel wasn’t outside waiting for him. He didn’t like her outside of the house. She was learning.

  He strode up the main steps and into the foyer. He inspected everything, pleased that nothing had changed since he’d left. He’d trained Rachel well. She understood that this was his house and nothing changed without his approval.

  Ah, his sweet Rachel. He’d missed her. Three days was a long time. Time enough for her to pick up bad habits. She always was too willful for his tastes.

  Strong discipline kept her line. And under his guidance, she was slowly becoming the perfect wife. So much work, but it had been worth it.

  Peter looked forward to assessing Rachel—how much retraining would need to be done.

  Impatient to see his wife, he climbed the stairs two at a time and pushed through the front door. To his shock, she wasn’t there waiting for him. “Rachel!”

  The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked slowly. “Rachel!” The woman had forgotten to jump when she heard his voice.

  Footsteps sounded on the upstairs landing. He glanced up, expecting to see his sweet Rachel. He’d have to teach her about tardiness.

  To his great disappointment, the maid appeared. He could never remember the twit’s name.

  “Where is Mrs. Emmons?” he shouted.

  The maid cringed and took a step back.

  Simpering fool. “Where is she?”

  Her face paled a fraction until it was nearly the color of her very starched apron. “She’s gone, sir.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  She swallowed, lifting her gaze. “Three days ago, she left for the market. She said she was going to pick a gift out for your anniversary. We expected her to be gone no more than an hour. But she never came back.”

  Rage boiled his veins. “What!”

  Tears flooded down the woman’s face. She curtsied. “We’ve searched everywhere, sir. The police, the hospitals, the train stations. She’s not anywhere to be found.”

  How dare she.

  The maid added quickly, “The butler has had runners at the docks and inns searching discreetly for her. She’s vanished without a trace.”

  “Everyone leaves clues,” he said, jerking off his gloves.

  And he’d find the ones Rachel had left.

  He remembered the way she’d spoken to that man at the party last week. The bitch had likely run off with a lover.

  He would do whatever it took to find his wife. And when he did, Rachel was going to pay.

  Chapter Six

  Later that afternoon Rachel put on Timothy’s baggy clothes. She rolled the pant cuffs up four times, shoved back the black cotton shirtsleeves and cinched the waistband with a length of rope.

  Timothy was a head shorter than Ben, and still the clothes swallowed her. Her black eye had all but faded but she still looked as rough as the sailors she’d seen on the docks. No matter how many times she fussed with the shirt and pants, there seemed no way to make herself look presentable.

  She ran her fingers through her waist-length hair, trying her best to work out the knots. Without a comb, the task was impossible. In the end, she settled for a loose braid tied with a strand of twine.

  She felt self-conscious. Since she’d been in the nursery, she’d always been expected to present herself as a well-dressed lady. Peter had been particularly adamant that she dress well at all times. Logically she understood that she was enduring extenuating circumstances. Runaway, shipwrecked with no clothes to her name, it was a miracle she’d survived. She should be grateful for what she had. But years of conditioning had her worrying about breaches of etiquette. Peter would be furious if he saw her.

  Fear gathered tight in her throat. Breaking the rules had always meant consequences. Peter had seen to that. Rachel unrolled her right sleeve.

  Rachel stopped. “No, I won’t play that game anymore. I am free of him.”

  “Rachel,” Ben called from the hallway. “Lunch is getting cold. Come now or I’ll feed your food to the dogs.”

  Annoyed, she glanced at the closed door. “I’m coming.”

  “That’s what you said five minutes ago.”

  She gave her anger and frustration full rein. “I’m hurrying!”

  “Lord help us if you take your time.”

  Exasperated, she quickly folded her sleeve back up. “Just another minute.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  He was bluffing.

  The door opened. Ben stood on the threshold, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the hallway. “No more minutes. You need to eat.”

  Despite her best intention, she hesitated. “But I’m not presentable.”

  His gaze trailed up her body, lingering on her full breasts that not even her baggy clothes could hide. “You look good to me.”

  His deep male tone had her blushing. “I look like a boy.”

  “Not even close.” He took a step back, as if he needed distance. “You are a woman in need of clothes, which is why we’re headed to town after we eat. The sooner you get your fanny out of this room and eat, the sooner you’ll have a dress.”

  He was right, of course. She was being unreasonable. “I just ate broth an hour ago.”

  “Doesn’t count.” He turned and, taking her arm, started toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Humor me.”

  She followed him down the hallway. The kitchen was simple, furnished only with a large table and six chairs around it. On the west wall stood a cast-iron stove. Above it hung shelves filled with neatly arranged canned goods and tins. A fine coating of dust covered everything, and there wasn’t a curtain or a carpet to warm the wide-paneled pine floor.

  A man’s domain, she thought. Simple and practical.

  The smell of eggs and bacon filled the room and to her surprise her stomach rumbled.

  “Sit,” he said.

  Having a man wait on her felt awkward. There’d been servants in her home but when one wasn’t available it was understood that she fetched the coffee, muffins or whatever needed getting. Her father and Peter had never waited on her once.

  She stood next to the chair. “Can I help with anything?”

  “Sit.” He filled a white plate with a hefty portion of eggs and bacon. “Do you drink coffee?”

  Tea was more her to her tastes, but she’d never have said so. Then again she stopped herself. She wasn’t going to be afraid to ask anymore. “Do you have tea?”

  To her surprise he nodded. “Coming right up.”

  Minutes later he set a basket of muffins and then a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her along with a mug of tea. The food smelled delicious. She took a bite. It tasted even better. “I’ve never known a man to cook.”

  He shrugged as he ladled more food onto another plate. “The muffins are Ida’s. As to the rest, if a man out here wants to eat, he learns to cook.”

  “Most of the men I know have servants to wait on them.”

  He grinned. His entire face softened and he looked doubly handsome. He set a plate of eggs down at his place.

  “I’m not like the men you’re used to.”

  An unfamiliar sensation warmed her body. Ben Mitchell was nothing like the city men with their silk vests and uncalloused hands. The keeper possessed an earthy masculinity that made her very aware she was a woman.

  “No, I suppose you’re not.”

  He sat at his own plate. “Eat.”

  She started to eat and was pleasantly surprised to discover the food was good. “Where’d you learn to cook?”

  “Ida mostly. She and my uncle raised me after my folks died.”

  She was very curious about him. “I’ve not met your uncle.”

  “He died five years ago. His heart failed.”

  Ben’s somber tone spoke to his sadness. Her father had been dead just over a year. However, there
wasn’t any great sadness, only a lingering regret that they’d never been close.

  For a moment she didn’t speak. “So you’ve lived here all your life, Mr. Mitchell?”

  “Barring my years in the Navy, yes.” A lock of hair swept down over his forehead. “We spent a night together naked and in each other arms, Rachel. I think you can call me Ben.”

  A wave of heat washed over her and it had nothing to do with the fever she’d had. He possessed a seductive, rugged quality that made her knees weak. “I don’t think that’s proper.”

  He grinned, leaning toward her. “Rachel, you left proper behind when you boarded the Anna St. Claire.”

  He was right. She’d left everything behind the day she’d boarded that ship. “All right, B-Ben.”

  Ben glanced up toward the ceiling. “Doesn’t look like there’s a bolt of lightening headed your way.”

  She followed his gaze. “I don’t understand.”

  Laughter danced in his eyes. “I’ll bet your nurse-maids and teachers told you the heavens would strike you down if you broke the rules of etiquette.”

  She couldn’t resist a smile. “Actually, there were gremlins in the night that took care of naughty girls.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “Quite. Mrs. Wentworth, she ran my boarding school, went into great detail about the monsters waiting for bad little girls.”

  The humor vanished from his eyes. “That’s awful.”

  “And effective.” She’d not thought of Mrs. Wentworth in years. “We called her Mama Hippo behind her back.”

  He grinned. “Good for you.”

  She felt herself relaxing. She sipped her tea. “How long were you in the Navy?”

  “Twelve years.”

  Rachel broke off a bite-size piece of crisp bacon. “And you just quit and came back here?”

  Tension tightened his shoulders. “I had good reasons.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Ben.”

  The back door banked open and Timothy walked in. Rachel sat straighter, her defenses up again. He shrugged off his coat. “You’re up,” he said to Rachel. “Good to see it. Thought we were going to lose you there at first.”

  Rachel glanced at Ben. He frowned at the boy. “I remember being cold.”

  “Cold,” Timothy said. “Lady, you were blue.”

  “Boy, make yourself a plate and eat,” Ben said. “Rachel doesn’t need to hear any of that.”

  Timothy scooped eggs and bacon from the cast iron pan onto a white earthenware plate. He took his place at the table. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s no wonder I was blue,” she said. “The ocean was like ice.” She took another bite.

  Ben picked up one of Ida’s muffins. “Much going on in town?”

  Timothy shrugged as he took two large bites of food. “Callie wants to see Rachel again. She’s real curious about her. Ida doesn’t say too much about Rachel, but she always listens when her name’s brought up.”

  Rachel glanced up. It wasn’t good to be noticed. “Why?”

  “You’re a miracle lady. Everyone up and down the banks is talking about you.”

  Rachel set her fork down. First the sailors had thought her cursed. Now the villagers saw her as a miracle. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d tried. She barely heard much else for the next few minutes.

  Timothy took a sip of coffee. “Ben, the seas are calm enough today so I’ll head to the mainland at first light for supplies. I can also send a telegram to the shipping company.”

  “Good.” Ben glanced at her as if he sensed the change in her mood.

  Rachel felt a prickle of alarm. “Telegram?”

  “About the Anna St. Claire,” Ben explained. “We always telegram the company to let them know what we’ve found.”

  Including her. Word of her on the freighter would spread like wildfire. Peter would find her in no time.

  “You’ve not sent the telegram?”

  “Not yet,” Timothy said.

  There was still time. The tension in her voice slid over Timothy’s head. But not Ben’s.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a walk outside.”

  Ben stared at her over the rim of his cup. “We can go into town now if you like.”

  “No, no, please finish your lunch.” Dear Lord, she had to get out of here. She’d all but left a trail of bread crumbs for Peter to follow.

  She went outside. Her chest tight, she could barely breathe.

  The sky was blue and the air fresh. It was a spectacular day. But fear tainted the colors and scents.

  The back door opened and closed. Ben strode out. He’d pulled on a dark jacket and in his hand carried a spare. “You need a coat.”

  Automatically she slid her hands into the coat. More oversize than the shirt or pants, Rachel realized that this coat didn’t belong to Timothy but Ben. His scent was burned into the coarse fabric, enveloping her as if his arms were wrapped around her.

  “Your name will be omitted from the telegram,” Ben said.

  Relief wash over her, but a lingering tightness in her stomach left her sick. “Thank you.”

  “Ready to go into town?” he said, his lips close to her ear.

  Rachel nodded. “Yes. Is it far to town?”

  He took her by the elbow. “A half mile.”

  They walked across the lawn toward a sandy path that cut through a grove of wind-stunted pines. Ben slid glances her way. She sensed his questions, yet he didn’t say anything. Just a matter of time, she thought. He wasn’t the kind of man to ignore conflict.

  A heavy silence hung between them as the breeze flapped the loose folds of her shirt. She smelled the tang of the salt air. Bright sunshine warmed her face.

  She inhaled deeply, trying to soften the tension between them. “It feels like we are a million miles away from anywhere.”

  He nodded. “When the weather closes in, we might as well be.”

  A strand of hair came loose from her braid. She tucked it behind her ear. “Is the weather bad here a lot?”

  “Often enough.”

  The sound of the ocean, the squawk of gulls and the breeze acted like a tonic. “There is magic in this place. It almost reminds me of Camelot, the enchanted kingdom that vanished into the mists.”

  The creases around his eyes deepened as he smiled. “On days like today, it is magic. But this land can turn fierce.”

  “Isn’t that the way it always is? Life gives with one hand and takes with the other. Even the rose has thorns.”

  He studied her. “Cynical for one so young.”

  “Once upon a time I was quite the romantic. I dreamed of fairy-tale endings and white knights.”

  “But no more,” he said gently.

  The urge to let her guard down was powerful. Whether it was this place, Ben or the loneliness, she couldn’t say. She was so tempted to share her story and share her burden with someone else, but she couldn’t succumb.

  Rachel had learned to smile when times were the most tense. A smile had the power to deflect an unwanted question. “You must have seen many places when you were in the Navy.”

  Ben hesitated. He recognized the ploy. “Aye, I saw a good many ports.”

  “What was your favorite?”

  “For a woman short on answers, you do have a good many questions.”

  His rebuke caught her up short. “Most gentlemen would honor a lady’s desire to change the topic of conversation.”

  Ben shrugged. “Did I ever say I was a gentleman?”

  In truth, with his black hair, hardened features and powerful build, he again reminded her of a buccaneer. “No, you did not.”

  “Going forward, if you want to ask a question, I’ll answer it…provided you answer one of my questions to you.”

  She went silent.

  “I thought that would shut you up.” He took her elbow in his hand. She flinched, like a cat ready to spring.<
br />
  Ben released his hold immediately. Pausing, he allowed her to move down the path ahead of him. “You are a puzzle, Rachel Davis.”

  With effort, she kept her voice even. But she was angry now, not with him but herself. She was tired of being scared and measuring every word. “Not really. In fact, I’m somewhat of a cliché. Very ordinary, very forgettable.”

  “Rachel, you are anything but ordinary and quite unforgettable.”

  She didn’t want to be remembered. “You will forget me soon enough,” she said.

  “Doubtful.”

  It was a man’s nature to notice a woman.

  There were many pretty lasses on the outer banks, but Ben had seen none like Rachel. He appreciated the way a simple rope hugged her narrow waist; the way her long braid brushed the top of her backside; the way her chin lifted when she asked a question.

  This gal had been born to money and it dripped out every pore of her body. She might have been wearing Timothy’s spare clothes, but she bore herself as if she wore the finest ball gown.

  But her prim-and-proper ways hadn’t turned her into a cold woman. He’d seen the fire and curiosity spark in her eyes.

  He glanced down at her ring finger, remembering she’d said she was a widow. For reasons he couldn’t explain, it bothered him that she had belonged to another man.

  He watched as she moved down the narrow path that cut through the center of the island and snaked toward the Sound side of the island and the tiny fishing village.

  Soon she’d be gone from his life.

  Neither spoke the remainder of the walk. When they emerged from the thicket, they followed a wide cart path several hundred yards before rounding a bend and seeing the village.

  “The village isn’t like the city,” he said. “The village’s weather-beaten buildings likely will look humble to you,” he said. Many a survivor from a shipping accident had complained of the simple village and its lack of conveniences.

  Rachel stopped and, shielding her eyes from the sun, studied the collection of buildings. “On the contrary, they are quite charming.”

  He studied her, searching for signs of insincerity. But there were none.

  On the north end of town stood the general store run by Ida. Next to it stood Mae Talbert’s pub. She ran a clean place and had six rooms—none were fancy but all were spit-’n’-polish clean. Down the main dirt street stood a small white church with its new wooden spire added only last fall.