The Return of Adams Cade

by BJ James

  Putting memories best left in the past aside, Eden addressed Merrie in her usual sensible tone. “If you would please ask Cullen to have the wine steward select several wines, then, if he would, take these flowers with the wine to the river cottage, I shall greet our newest guest.”

  Certain beyond doubt her instructions would be followed to the letter under the critical eye of her head steward, Cullen Pavaouau, Eden Roberts Claibourne hurried to the library.

  Through the years many influential guests and many celebrities had chosen to stay in the gracious antebellum home Eden had transformed into an inn. But even before she’d returned to Belle Terre to reclaim and rescue the beautiful old landmark from crumbling ignominy, as Nicholas Claibourne’s wife, she had known what it was to live and move among the wealthy and near wealthy, the famous and soon-to-be famous. Yet in all those times, in all the places the Claibournes’ travels had taken them, in all the social and professional circles into which they had been welcomed, no one set excitement ablaze in the heart of the mistress of River Walk as had Adams Cade.

  “Good grief! I’m as bad as Merrie.” Halting in the cool, broad hall, her hand resting on the carved door that stood slightly ajar and opened into the library, she caught what she intended to be a relaxing breath. Sweeping her pale-brown hair from her face, she adjusted her blouse and brushed a leaf from her slim skirt. Muttering, “Mr. Dangerous with a capital D, indeed,” Eden squared her shoulders and stepped inside.

  He was there. Adams was there, standing with his back to the room, looking out over the grounds and the broadest expanse of the river. Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t hear her approach, affording her a precious instant to look at him. Time to seek out the changes the years and life and prison had wrought.

  He seemed bigger now. Not taller, but more massive. A better fit for the breadth of his shoulders than his youthful slenderness had been. A product of maturity and time. As were, she supposed, the hints of silver threading through his thick, perfectly barbered, perfectly groomed hair.

  Eden never knew what disturbance drew him from his thoughts. A raggedly caught breath? Some subtle scrape of her foot over the parquet? The wild-bird flutter of her heart?

  As if thirteen years had not passed since he’d seen her, Adams Cade turned, his gaze a solemn touch on her face.

  Beneath the elegant, worldly veneer that Eden Claibourne presented, the memories of a young girl quickened and trembled like the unshed tear on the sweep of downcast lashes. Visions of the wild, beautiful young man he’d been danced like living flames in her mind and heart. But when her gaze lifted to his, her eyes were clear, their brightness natural, and she searched the grave and handsome face for some trace of the laughing young rogue.

  The rogue she’d loved in her reticent tomboy days. The days when all who knew her called her Robbie and she’d trailed behind Adams and his brothers at every opportunity. Like a shadow attached to his heel, she’d taken every step he took, risked every dare he dared. All for a smile and a teasing ruffle of the riotous curls her grandmother kept cut short.

  Now, in the fall of light from the library windows, keeping his gaze, she searched again for the dashing young man the exuberant rogue had become. For Adams, the friend and champion she’d thought lost to her forever in tragedy that sent him to prison. Adams, her first and tender lover.

  But in the silvery depths of his magnificent brown eyes, she saw no rogue, no laughter, no memories. Only cool control.

  He was the epitome of rugged splendor in his immaculate suit. With the proper shirt, proper tie, proper shoes, the proper haircut, recalling another night he had been splendid, yet not so proper. A night of breathtaking wonder.

  Thirteen years had passed since the night of her debut.

  She was nineteen then, and a freshman in college. He, twenty-four and, in her eyes, a man of the world. Yet to her delight he agreed to be her escort for the season. Willing, for pesky Robbie Roberts, to suffer the formalities and the endless galas he found annoying and boring. The night of the ball, he was so gallant and so handsome she loved him so much it hurt.

  After the presentation and the bows and the ball, as they walked a deserted beach in bare feet and formal clothes and with hands entwined, she never wanted the night to end. When he kissed her in the moonlight, drawing her down to the sand, she went hungrily into his arms. In a struggle for sanity, when he would have drawn away, it was her clumsily worshiping hands that kept him. Her naive touch that seduced.

  When sanity was lost, the yards of her white satin gown became their lovers’ bower. And in that moment of rapture, the moment when the name he called was Eden, she discovered that the pain of love could be its greatest pleasure.

  The night was magic. Adams was magic. And when he kissed her good-night one last time on her doorstep, she never dreamed it would be thirteen years, and this day, before she saw him again.

  Thirteen years and a lifetime of remembering.

  In a silence that had been only seconds but seemed forever, as she looked into eyes that revealed no secrets, she knew he hadn’t forgotten. But she wondered if he ever remembered.

  A harsh breath threatened the perfect drape of his jacket as something akin to regret flickered over his face. Yet, with that small lift of his shoulders, he seemed to shake off a mood. Taking a step forward, his hand extended and palm up, he waited with the hard-learned patience of prison.

  She wouldn’t have refused this silent, cautious man if she’d intended it. She couldn’t if she tried. As silently as he, she placed her fingers over his palm and felt the warmth of his firm and gentle clasp.

  “Eden.”

  In a voice barely more than a whisper, he called her name. Not Robbie. Eden. The name he’d said only once before on a moonlit night on the beach. Then she realized her mistake and understood that no matter what terrible things had happened to him, no matter who he had become, Adams Cade had never forgotten, and never stopped remembering.

  “Your hair is darker.” His voice was low and resonant with the years of added maturity. “I remember blonde curls.”

  Eden nodded as his gaze ranged over her, from shoulder-length bob to the sweep of her brows and the curve of her cheek. Pausing only the beat of a faltering heart on the tilt of her lips, he let his look glide intimately over the arch of her throat, the soft thrust of her breasts. Then the slender curve of her hips.

  “You’re taller, more slender,” he murmured as the darkness of his gaze retraced its path to meet hers.

  “Only a bit,” Eden assured him. Though at nearly thirty-two, she knew the softness of youthful curves had gradually become an inadvertent but fashionably angular leanness.

  “I never thought to be in Belle Terre again. Nor did I expect to find Robbie Roberts returned as the beautiful, sophisticated Eden Claibourne, innkeeper extraordinaire.”

  “Nor did I,” Eden admitted, regaining a bit of her composure. “But you’re here, and I am who I am and what I am. So welcome, Adams, to River Walk, and to my home in Belle Terre.” Her fingers still clasped tightly in his, she smiled up at him. “Because I thought you would be tired from your journey, the river cottage is ready and waiting for you.”

  “Cottage?” He looked down at her in a gaze that was less guarded, if not yet at ease. “I won’t be staying in the inn?”

  “Of course you may stay in the house itself, if you wish. But first, take a look.” Drawing him back to the window with its view of the grounds and the river, she gestured toward a building. Perched by the river’s edge, the single-story structure was nearly hidden by trees and plants scattered about it.

  Small, in comparison to the main house, and quaint, it lay in dappled but deepening shadows as the setting sun streamed through moss-draped oaks. Within that shade, immense azaleas, camellias and oleanders blended with palms and palmettos. Clustered so thickly about its courtyard, the groomed and tended plants afforded an additional element of seclusion.

  “There are porches on each side, with a lanai and a s
eparate and private walk on the riverside,” Eden explained as he studied the cottage with a look of approval. “I thought you might prefer the privacy, at least at first.”

  Adams nodded, grateful for her thoughtfulness. Returning to the low country, and the harsh days it recalled, was difficult enough without facing curious stares. A day or two of quiet to acclimatize and inure himself in the time and tide of the city would ease the way as much as it could be eased. “Thank you, Eden, for your kindness.”

  “A consideration more than a kindness, Adams.” With a shrug of a shoulder, Eden dismissed the hurried but exacting care that had gone into each detailed preparation for Adams’ stay at the inn. Hopefully he would never know the mad furor the knowledge of his impending arrival had inspired.

  With belying composure, she paraphrased a lecture she gave the staff almost daily. “Part of the charm of the inn is that we match our services to the unique needs of our guests.”

  “Then I thank both you and your staff.”

  Something in his tone made her regret her cavalier dismissal of his gratitude, and especially that she had made him seem to be just another guest. Adams had become a prominent man, a celebrity in the business world. She was sure, for that reason, he had become the object of much catering and courting. No, he wouldn’t be a stranger to special attention. But how often from the goodness of an unselfish heart? Because someone cared about Adams himself, rather than the hope of remuneration or favor?

  “Adams,” she began, and discovered she didn’t know how to explain, so she settled for honesty. Touching his cheek as if she would stroke away the pain of lost years and of wounds that had never healed, she spoke from her heart. “I’m glad you’ve come, and I want you to be comfortable and happy in my home.”

  Suddenly feeling presumptuous for the liberty she’d taken, Eden drew her hand away and offered her most cheerful smile. “But enough of this.” Folding her fingers in her palm, keeping the memory of the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, she suggested, “You must be tired and hungry after your flight.”

  “It has been a trying day,” Adams admitted as he strove to remember how long it had been since a lovely woman had touched him so gently and smiled only for him.

  “Then as meets your pleasure, sir—” Eden inclined her head, in concern and genuine respect for an old friend “—tonight and any other time. You may make of your stay what you wish. Whatever suits your needs—privacy, seclusion, companionship, involvement. Meals in the main dining room or in the cottage. Whatever fits your schedule and your mood will be done to the best of the staff’s ability. All you need do is ask, Adams.”

  At the moment a quiet meal away from prying eyes and with someone who didn’t insist on discussing business incessantly was Adams’ pleasure, and the perfect end of a disturbing day. “Dinner in the cottage sounds wonderful, but I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your staff.”

  Glad for a chance to put aside the scintillating leap of tension touching him had caused in her, Eden smiled. Then she laughed, recalling how her staff engaged in friendly disputes for the privilege of dodging out of the busy dining room that served citizens of Belle Terre, as well as guests of the inn. Sometimes the break meant a quick smoke. Sometimes simply a breath of fresh air. “It would never be considered an inconvenience. In fact, there are volunteers anxious to serve you tonight.”

  “Then I’d like that, Eden. As I suspect you’ve already guessed and planned for.” Turning his back on the view she’d offered, he looked down at her. His gaze touching her hair and her face once again was like a remembered caress. “I’d like it even better if you would join me.”

  His voice was deep and rich, like velvet stroking her skin. Each quiet nuance stirring a longing better left in slumber. “I usually make a practice of being in the dining room most evenings,” she demurred. “Greeting guests, smoothing ruffled feathers when there are any.”

  “When there are any,” he challenged. “Which is…”

  The confident look he gave her made her smile again as she confessed, “Which—because I have a superb and efficient majordomo, a well-trained and wonderfully loyal staff—is, truthfully, very rarely.”

  “Ahh, just as I thought when I arrived. A well-oiled, thoughtfully run operation.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he continued to stand before the windows. At his back the sinking sun turned massive oaks dressed in Spanish moss into bewitching shadows etched against the fire of the sky.

  “So,” he said persuasively, the pad of his thumb stroking her fingers as they curved over the fine fabric of his jacket, “though you would be missed, no guests would cry into his or her vichyssoise or the peaches Grand Marnier, if they must suffer through one night without your lovely smile to greet them?”

  At her look of surprise, he chuckled. A slightly wicked sound that triggered more memories and sent her pulse rate into orbit. “You seem to know quite a lot about the inn. Down to our guests’ favorite spring specialties.”

  “Thanks to Janet and no credit to me.”

  “Janet?” Try as she might, Eden couldn’t keep the curious note from her tone. His familiar mention of a woman was startling. For though she couldn’t define or explain her conviction, Adams Cade had the look of a man uninvolved and unattached.

  “My secretary.” His stroking ceased, his hand folded over hers, keeping it against his arm. “My very efficient secretary, who learned quite a lot about The Inn at River Walk, but found no mention of the luxury or the privacy of a river cottage.”

  “The cottage isn’t advertised. We rent it sparingly, keeping it free for guests with special needs.”

  “Like Adams Cade, the black sheep returned?” Adams grimaced, the touch of wicked teasing faded from his words. “Adams Cade, whose reputation precedes him, I’m sure. At least, if small-town gossips are as I remember.”

  There was the hurt again. Hurt he thought to hide with brusque conjecture. But neither time nor tragedy had irrevocably changed the timbre of the tones she had learned to read, and loved beyond measure, in days past and months and years.

  With the last of laughter flown before pain she would give her soul to heal, Eden met his look solemnly. “Yes,” she said, her clasp convulsing over his arm. “For guests like Adams Cade, because he is Adams Cade, and very special.”

  “A convicted felon, an ex-con, a brawler, the disowned black sheep of his family,” he said, ticking off only a few of his sins. “How could that make me special?”

  “You’re none of those things to me,” Eden protested. “None. And small-minded gossips with their ugly whispers to the contrary be damned.”

  Turning to her, taking both her hands in his, Adams searched her face, seeking the bravado, the bluster of a comforting lie. But he found only serene, unshakable honesty. “What was I to you? What am I now, my lovely Eden?”

  Eden. The name of a woman, not a favorite tomboy. A name that made her heart sing.

  “What were you?” A pensive look touched her eyes and lips as she smiled at him. “So many things.”

  “Such as?”

  “When I was shy and distant, without a clue how to be part of the group, you were my mentor, my champion. You made me feel like a princess, though I was painfully graceless and gawky.”

  When she hesitated over the next of her memories, Adams spoke into the silence. “You were too pretty and too smart for the rest of us. Never graceless or gawky, except in your own mind.”

  When he was with her, that was how he made her feel, what he made her believe. From the first, with Adams she was always more and better. Always happier. “When my grandfather brought me with him to Belle Reve…”

  “Go on,” Adams encouraged. “The name doesn’t disturb me. What happened that last night might have taken my home and family from me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten good times or good memories. I can hear the name and think of Belle Reve and all it stood for without being bitter. So tell me, Eden.”

  Resisting the urge to clear the pain th
at lay like a cramp at the base of her throat, Eden was still hesitant. For no matter that he encouraged her, she had to believe that speaking of the family and the home he’d been denied would open old wounds.

  “When your grandfather brought you…” he prompted, and smiled through hidden sadness when her gray gaze probed his.

  “When my grandfather brought me with him to Belle Reve to treat the horses—” Eden, defeated, took up the thread of her story “— I was enchanted by the house, the land and what seemed like herds and herds of horses. But most of all I was enchanted by you.

  “Even if you deny it, Adams Cade, I was graceless, I was gawky, I stuck with you like a cocklebur. Yet you were patient and kind beyond belief. You were older, but you never treated me like a nuisance.” Smiling into his steady gaze, Eden murmured, “When I look back, I count you as my first and best friend.”

  “And now, Eden?” There was raw need in his look. A strong man’s need for a friend.

  Eden wanted to end the hurt, silence the rejection. She wished that by caring, she could free him from the control that ruled his life. Replace this cautious, solemn stranger with the wonderfully wicked charmer of old. She wanted to hold him, comfort him. And if he should love her…

  Abandoning a thought that was going where she never intended, a thought she dared not pursue, she kept his gaze. “You were my friend. I hope you will be again.”

  Perhaps if he would be, this time she could repay the kindnesses that were most instrumental in molding her into the confident woman she’d become.

  All of Belle Terre knew the irascible Gus Cade had fallen ill. All knew of the dissension in the Cade family. In the years since Adams was convicted of aggravated assault, Gus had made no secret of his bitter resentment of the disgrace his oldest son had brought to the family name. An opinion some of Belle Terre would share. One others, even most, would not. While Adams stayed at River Walk, she would be his champion as he had been hers. And God help any who uttered a harsh judgment within her hearing.

  “I’m to be your friend and you will be mine, right?” Adams looked down at her, the edge of tension easing from his face. With her hands still nestled in his, the pads of his thumbs traced lazy caresses over her knuckles. “Then you can begin by having dinner with me at the cottage.”