by Burton, Mary
“Oui. Quite a lovely woman, if I may say. She traded the ring for passage to the Caribbean.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
The captain shrugged. “That information I must keep to myself until we settle on a price. You see, my ship went down just over a month ago, and I’ve a mind to replace her.”
Peter had the urge to throttle the man. But he’d long ago learned that flies were best caught with honey not vinegar. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
LaFortune shrugged. “Trust is a wonderful thing, no?”
Peter smiled and poured a second drink. “Yes, it is.”
The captain accepted the bourbon, drinking it down in one swallow. “You are a gentleman, that I can see. Let us settle on a price and I will tell you what I know.”
Peter went to his desk and drafted a banknote. He handed it to the captain.
The man’s eyes widened in surprise before a slow, satisfied smile crossed his lips. He tucked the note into his vest pocket. “She boarded my vessel, the Anna St. Claire, just over a month ago. We set sail, but soon we hit rough waters and my ship went down in the Graveyard. For days after the wreck I thought about her, trying to place her in my mind. I read and reread the initials on the inside of the ring. R.E. And then I remembered her. I had seen you two on the New York docks last year.”
“What of my wife? Did she go down with the ship?” Had he been cheated of his final reckoning?
“I made inquires among the local fisherman. They’d heard tales of seven men washing up on the shore of the outer banks just south of Corolla. But there was no mention of a woman.”
Peter stiffened. “She could have gone down with the ship.”
“I thought of that. So I asked more questions. No one spoke of your wife. But one man talked of the lightkeeper’s new housekeeper. Quite beautiful. Blond hair, blue eyes.”
Peter clenched his fingers. “That could be anyone.”
“Ah, but they say she is cultured and has a deep, throaty voice.”
Peter’s gaze sharpened.
LaFortune smiled. “I think maybe your wife survived.”
“Where is this village?”
LaFortune gave him the details. Satisfied, Peter dismissed him and rang for his man of business. When the man entered the room, Peter had opened his safe and counted out cash for his trip.
“Yes, sir?”
“There is a man. LaFortune. He just left here. Find him and detain him. When you receive word from me, kill him.”
The man nodded. “Are you preparing for a trip?”
“Why, yes. I’m going to fetch my wife.”
Chapter Fifteen
For Ben, keeping his hands off of Rachel the past six weeks was bloody hard. He did his best to maintain his distance, but with each day his awareness of her grew.
At night when he lay in bed, he could hear her moving around her room. He’d imagine her dress sliding from her hips and her slipping naked between the cold sheets. He dreamed of sliding into the same sheets and warming her body.
When she pulled out the tub to wash, he always left the house to give her privacy but that didn’t stop him from dreaming of her sitting naked in the tub, the water glistening on her breasts.
Ben shoved out a sigh as he stood on the crow’s nest of the lighthouse. Thick gray clouds blanketed the sky. The warm respite with which March had gifted the outer banks had vanished and in its place swept the cold winds of April.
Timothy and Callie had settled into the assistant’s quarters. Callie and Rachel had become good friends, each happy to help the other with chores.
Ben looked over the Sound. He saw Sloan’s skiff on the dock. The parents were loading up the children for the return trip to the mainland.
He shook his head. The villagers had met again three weeks ago to discuss hiring Rachel. They’d rejected the idea again. To them she was an outsider. Many voiced concerns that she wouldn’t stay.
And in truth, he couldn’t blame them. He’d been living with Rachel for six weeks now and he didn’t know much more about her than he had the day he’d pulled her off the boat.
He’d learned the everyday things about her. He knew she hated waking early; that she liked to collect shells and had lined the windowsill in her room with them; that she hummed when she did the dishes and her nose wrinkled when she laughed. She didn’t like the water. But beyond that, he knew nothing more about her past.
He’d done his best to convince himself that the past didn’t matter and that it had no hold on them. And most days he believed it, especially when he saw how her mood had lightened over the past few weeks. She hurried from task to task with exuberance, as if making up for lost time.
Only slight traces of the frightened woman remained. However, yesterday Rachel had dropped a plate. The unexpected noise had startled Rachel. When she’d seen the shattered pieces on the floor, he’d seen the fright in her eyes. He’d done his best to calm her worries, but the incident had rattled her.
A splash of blue skirts caught the corner of his eye. He turned to see Rachel heading down the pathway toward the village.
She’d made the trek often in the past few weeks to ask Ida for assistance. Rachel didn’t know a damn thing about keeping a home. Without her saying it, he knew that she’d been used to ordering servants around in her former life. She’d come from a privileged and sheltered world. But she hadn’t complained. She’d worked hard and when she didn’t have an answer she went to Callie or Ida.
Rachel had more salt than he’d first given her credit for.
Through his spyglass he watched the sway of her skirts and the swish of her hair on her shoulders. It was Sunday morning. Everyone would be headed to church now. Where was she going?
He closed the spyglass. He ducked inside the lighthouse and started down the one hundred and fifty-six spiral steps. He wasn’t going into town because Rachel was. After all, he’d promised himself to keep his distance. But he did need to check his mail. He’d written the rescue service and accepted their offer. Their reply should come any day. And, well, if they should bump into each other, then so be it.
He’d take the shortcut around the church and beat her to town.
Ben was whistling as he moved down the steps.
Rachel had stayed away from the church for nearly a year. She’d missed the quiet contemplation and the rousing hymns. This morning when she’d woken up, the day had been so bright and clear. And she’d thought of the little church at the edge of town.
As she moved down the path, the church bell rang, its pure sound echoing over the trees. Her heart felt lighter. It struck her that she’d grown accustomed to making her own decisions. She’d stopped looking over her shoulder and, save for the occasional nightmare, she went days without thinking about her old life.
She thought back to the work she’d done this past month. She’d cleaned and organized the parlor, unpacking all of Ben’s boxes. She’d stacked books on the shelves, hung mementos on the wall and put his papers into neat files. The cottage had shaped up nicely.
Puffs of dirt swirled around her ankles as she moved past the collection of small shops toward the church. She wore the dress Ida had given her. She’d laundered the simple cotton two days ago with all the other clothes she’d cleaned. Yesterday, when she’d decided to attend church, she’d borrowed an iron from Callie and spent nearly two hours pressing the wrinkles out of the fine material. She’d scorched a small section of the hem in the back, but otherwise had smoothed the wrinkles out. She’d been pleased with the results.
Most of the villagers had moved into the sanctuary. Horace and Steve stood outside the church, dressed in their everyday work clothes. Their faces, washed clean for church, were tanned and wrinkled by the sun. She’d not seen them since the wedding. Other than Callie and Ida, she’d made no friends. Outsiders simply weren’t welcome.
A cold gust of wind blew the flaps of Rachel’s skirt. Her stoma
ch twisted in a knot as their gazes locked on her. She smiled. They didn’t.
“Good morning,” she said, trying again.
Horace grunted. “What are you doing here?”
She paused, just feet from the church steps. Neither man moved.
Rachel lifted her chin. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I don’t wish to be late for church.” She started to move past them.
Steve blocked her path. Since the night of Callie’s reception and her refusal to dance, he’d been cold. “You think you really belong in there?”
She lifted a brow. “Why shouldn’t I?”
He spit on the ground. “You’re living over at the lighthouse with Ben. We all know that what’s going on there ain’t right.”
“For your information, I am cleaning his house, washing windows and polishing brass.”
“Wonder what else she’s polishing?” Horace said. The two laughed.
Rachel didn’t understand the joke but knew it wasn’t flattering. She lifted her skirts and headed up the stairs.
Steve folded his arms. “You ain’t going inside. Its just for decent folks.”
Their jab irritated her. She’d done nothing wrong. “So is that why you remain outside?”
Her barb hit its mark. Twin sets of eyes narrowed. “Get out of our town,” Steve hissed. “We all know it’s just a matter of time before you leave.”
“I work for Ben now.”
Horace stepped toward her. “That damn Yank had his eyes set for my Molly before you arrived. Everyone expected them to marry. She’s one of us, like him.”
Rachel remembered the buxom redhead from the party. “I’ve done nothing to interfere with whatever match between your Molly and Ben.”
He hooked his thumb into his waistband. “Well, you have. She ain’t had the nerve to deliver one cake or pie to his cottage since you arrived.”
Rachel shrugged. “That’s her choice, not mine.”
Horace kicked the sandy dirt with his feet. “You’re interfering where you’re not welcome.” He leaned forward a fraction. “Maybe you’re just the kind of woman who enjoys twisting a man around her finger.”
His cruel words struck a nerve. They smacked of something Peter would have said. A black cloud passed in front of the sun. The chill in the air bit through her shawl.
“What kind of game are you playing?” Steve demanded.
“Game?” This was absurd. “I’m trying to live my life.” They’d never let her in the church.
“Then do it somewhere else. You ain’t welcome here.”
“Apologize, Horace.” Ben’s deep voice was sharp with anger as he strode around the side of the church.
The wind tossed Ben’s hair and flapped the edges of his open coat. His broad shoulders showed confidence and ease, a man comfortable in his environment. But, she imagined, he would be confident anywhere.
He’d kept his distance from her these past few weeks and she realized she’d missed him.
The two men, startled by Ben’s arrival, took a step back. “We’re just speaking the truth,” Horace said.
“Didn’t sound that way to me,” Ben retorted. His face looked fierce. “Sounded like bullying.”
“She needs to hear the truth,” Horace said, his face red with anger. “No one wants her here.”
“No one? Or just you and your wife?” Ben’s voice was low and dangerous.
“You and Molly planned to marry!” Horace balled his fingers into fists.
“Marriage was never discussed. We are simply friends.”
“That’s not how she tells it.”
Ben shrugged. He didn’t call Molly a liar but his body language did.
Horace bared his teeth. He lunged at Ben, taking a swing.
Ben moved quickly, dodging Horace’s strike. Horace stumbled to the ground. However, Ben didn’t see Steve’s swing. The sucker punch caught Ben on the side of his face.
Eyes blazing with fury, Ben whirled around and drove his fist into Steve’s gut. The man doubled over. Ben hauled him to his feet. He struck him on the jaw.
Steve crumpled to the ground, rolling on his side, his lip bleeding.
Rachel stepped back. The violence stunned her. She saw flashes of Peter.
Horace sat up, sneering at Rachel’s pale features. “Your lady friend looks afraid of you, Ben.”
Ben’s gaze pinned Rachel. Anger still blazed in his eyes.
A cold, savage fear tightened her insides. She’d never seen this side of him before.
Ben reached out to her.
Rachel looked at the blood on his knuckles and ran.
Ben found Rachel on the pier. Her arms crossed over her chest, she stood at the end, staring out over the darkening sky. Rage still fresh from his fight pumped through his veins.
“Rachel.” Tension radiated from each syllable.
She turned immediately. She glanced around, wanting to leave, but quickly realized she was trapped. He hated the haunted look in her eyes; hated it more that he’d put it there.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She stiffened. “What is there to say? You hit that man, twice.”
“Damn right I did. He threw a cheap shot. I lost my temper.”
“You’re not sorry.”
“No.” And he added without softening, “I’d do it again.”
She whitened.
“I won’t apologize for defending myself.”
“You didn’t have to hit him.”
“What was I supposed to do, Rachel? Tell him to play nice?”
She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you to be so violent.” She moistened her lips.
His gaze burned her. “I make no apologies for defending myself.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
Ben could read her thoughts. “I’m not him.”
Shock glistened in her eyes. “What?”
“You’re comparing me to that bastard husband of yours. I’m not him.”
“Aren’t you?” she blurted, a bit hysterical.
“I won’t allow men like Steve, Horace or a foolish diplomat to run over me or my men because I’m too afraid to fight. I don’t go looking for fights, but if one finds me, I damn well meet it head-on.”
She cringed and he realized he’d shouted the last words.
Suddenly the anger in him evaporated. How had this day turned so sour? All he’d wanted to do was to enjoy this day with her.
“You and I fit, Rachel. You’ve felt it from the start and so have I.”
“You kissed me and I liked it. That’s hardly a foundation for a lifetime together. The truth is that we really don’t know each other.”
“Who’s fault is that?” The anger had burned itself out. Now there was only the need to touch her.
She tensed, a clear sign she wasn’t ready for his touch. “I’ll make no apologies for protecting myself.”
He lifted a brow. “Yet you expect me to apologize for doing the same.”
Her fingers curled into fists. “That was different.”
“Was it? I’ll wager you’d have landed a punch to protect yourself now.”
She glanced down at her clenched fingers.
“When you first arrived, you were frightened and scared. You’re not anymore. Now you are a fighter.”
The truth of his words struck home. “I don’t know what I’d do.”
Lord, but he wanted to hold her. “I dream about you at night,” he admitted.
Her eyes widened.
“Aye, every night since you arrived. I dream of taking you to my bed and touching you. I care deeply about you, Rachel. I’d never hurt you.”
She tilted her head back. Still, more tears streamed down her face. “That’s what he said.”
“I’m not him.”
“Evil has many faces.”
Her words stunned him. “Do you really think that I am evil?”
Her watered gaze held his for a long moment. “No.”
“Do
you think that I’d ever hurt you?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.” Her softening gaze belied her words.
“Rachel. Think back to that first night you were here. I held you in my arms to warm your body. We lay naked together all night. I could have done anything to you that night and you’d have been unable to stop me. What would he have done?”
The pain in her eyes gave him his answer. If he could dig the monster up and kill him all over again, he would.
Ben took a small step toward her. This time she did not retreat. “I am not him,” he repeated softly.
Rachel pushed beyond her fear and listened to Ben’s words. The fight in town had frightened her. The sound of flesh hitting flesh had churned too many memories that she’d thought she’d been able to put aside.
She looked down at his hands. Dried blood caked the knuckles of his right hand. In the distance, Rachel heard the church bells. The service had ended. Soon people would be headed to the docks.
Ben stood in front of her, tall, proud, noble. He wore a black cable-knit sweater, dark coat and pants. Some might have thought him formidable, standing on the pier, his feet braced apart. But she saw beyond the hardness.
There was kindness in his eyes when he looked at her. When he touched her, he was gentle not cruel.
He wasn’t afraid to defend right and wrong.
He wasn’t a perfect man. Which perhaps was good. She had her own secrets. Her own flaws. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she said.
He opened his arms, a quiet invitation.
She couldn’t marry him, but she could love him. Love. The word was foreign to her. She’d never loved a man romantically. But she knew now that she loved Ben Mitchell.
With two steps, she closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him. His heat enveloped her. He smelled of sea and fresh air.
He pulled back, tipped her chin up with his fingers. His eyes darkened. Then slowly he lowered his lips to hers.
The kiss was gentle at first. A testing of the waters. But like a flint against stone, it sparked and started a fire within her.
She raised up on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. He tasted so good. She opened her mouth and without hesitation he pushed his tongue into her.