Violet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  * * *

  Shannon’s sleep that night was marked by bouts of restlessness. Would he change his mind? And if he did not, had she truly committed herself to being part of his plan? God forgive her, she thought helplessly, she did not want him to think better of his proposal. She did not want to be given a way out. Even though it meant playing the role of a woman he professed to dislike, it also meant being his wife. For the duration of the Marchands’ visit she would at least have that.

  Brandon’s sleep was no more peaceful. He wondered if he had been seized by a touch of brain fever, proposing such a plan to Shannon. Would he have ever voiced the idea if he thought she would actually accept him? God help him, he thought uneasily, he wanted her to honor her promise. He did not want to give her a way out. Even though she would be playing the role of Aurora, he could pretend it was Shannon who was his wife. For the duration of the Marchands’ visit he would at least have that.

  In the morning Brandon stopped Shannon in the foyer as she and Clara were making ready to leave the house. “I have not changed my mind,” he said neutrally, his face expressionless.

  Shannon nodded. To avoid meeting his eyes she stooped to assist Clara with the ribbons of her bonnet. “I’ll help you,” she said. She glanced upward to make certain he understood her words were for him as well as for his daughter.

  “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “When you and Clara return, please send her to me. I would speak to her of this matter.”

  “Of course.” She opened the door and escorted Clara into the bright sunshine.

  Brandon later discovered that explaining the matter to Clara was the least of his problems. His daughter accepted the pretending easily enough, so easily, in fact, that Brandon had cause to wonder anew at the wisdom of this game. Cody required no explanations. He merely looked inquiringly at his brother and accepted Brandon’s short nod as a sign that he acted on Cody’s suggestion. It was from the remainder of the household that Brandon received the most resistance. Not that anyone was openly defiant of his wishes. Their disapproval was subtler, a quietness settling over the staff he had assembled, a failure to look him in the eye. When he dismissed them after a brief explanation, only Martha paused in the doorway and asked if he knew what he was doing. Her frown deepened when he was unable to answer. If only their assistance were not imperative, he thought when he was alone, he would never have asked his servants to become part of the deception. For the first time since taking over the running of the folly, he had given them just cause to question his sanity. He smiled wryly. No, not the first time, he amended. The first time was shortly after he had brought home his bride. No doubt they could not understand why he was going to recreate that pain.

  After dinner that evening Brandon excused himself from the table and indicated with an idle gesture that Shannon should do the same. Shannon was not so easily moved, however.

  “What of Clara?” she asked a shade belligerently, lifting her chin a notch. “I must see-—”

  “Cody will amuse her, won’t you, Cody?” Brandon looked significantly at his brother, almost daring him to refuse.

  “Course I will.” He smiled encouragingly at Shannon. His smile faded a moment later when Shannon explained that she had been going to prepare Clara’s bath. Before Cody could protest, Brandon had his hand on Shannon’s elbow and was purposefully guiding her from the room.

  “Where are we going?” She asked when they were alone in the hallway.

  “I’d like to go for a walk. You should get used to my company, and there are things which need to be discussed.” He paused, giving her an opportunity to at least state her objections. When none were forthcoming, Brandon led her to the foyer. “It’s a warm night, I believe, but would you like your cloak?”

  Shannon shook her head.

  They stepped outside together. Night fragrances carried on the back of a soothing river breeze disarmed Shannon. She breathed deeply of the scents from the acres of tobacco plants, the apple orchards, and the flower garden. “Sometimes I am reminded of home,” she said quietly, loath to interrupt the rushing background noise of the river.

  Brandon released his hold and then offered his elbow for her to take. After a moment’s hesitation she placed her arm in his. “Good girl,” he murmured, leading her off the verandah. “Do you miss Glen Eden?” he asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “None of your friends?” he inquired curiously.

  “I hadn’t any friends.”

  Brandon frowned. “None?”

  “It is not so difficult to understand, surely. You met my father. He did not encourage friendships. He had to be concerned for his parish.”

  “I fail to understand the connection.”

  “He was afraid my manner would taint others,” she said to clarify.

  “Of all the ridiculous—”

  Shannon squeezed his forearm lightly. “Please. I do not wish to speak of it now. The evening is too lovely to be spoiled.”

  Brandon nodded briefly. “As you wish.” They walked toward the wharf in silence. “You’ll have to alter the way you speak,” he said when they had stopped at the edge of the dock.

  Shannon looked at him, surprised. “I beg your pardon.”

  He repeated himself. “Your manner of speaking will not do at all,” he explained. “Aurora’s parents will sense you are an imposter immediately.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Aurora spoke as you then?” She drew out the words slowly, trying to imitate Brandon’s speech.

  He grinned. “She never acquired a Tidewater drawl, but she has not seen her parents in some time, and there is no reason for them to believe she hasn’t succumbed.”

  “Could I not ape her speech?”

  “It would be difficult. Better to disguise the whole. Can you do it?”

  “I think so. The way everyone speaks here is rather musical. It should not be so hard.”

  Brandon had never thought of it in that light, but listening to Shannon softly curve her words, rounding out the clipped edges, he had to admit there was something to what she said. “You did that beautifully.”

  “Thank you,” she said primly, then realized her mistake. “I shall have to practice,” she apologized, reverting to the drawl.

  “I shall see you have plenty of opportunity.” He began walking again and noticed that Shannon fell easily in step beside him. “Have you any knowledge of French?”

  Shannon was horrified. “No. It is a licentious tongue, not fit for proper young—” She stopped when she realized Brandon was staring at her, one brow raised consideringly. There was a definite gleam in his dark eyes. “No,” she said again. “I cannot speak French.”

  “That may present a slight problem. Aurora’s parents are originally from France.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t meant to be disrespectful. It is just that—”

  “It’s what you were taught. I know. I could visualize your father telling you that piece of nonsense. No matter. You won’t be required to speak it. Aurora never learned. But she could understand it well enough. Her mother sometimes addressed her in French. I shall simply have to think quickly if that should come to pass.”

  “Then you understand it as well.”

  “Yes. And I speak it passably, though I doubt any Frenchman would agree. But since I am hardly a proper young lady, I think I may be excused for the shameful content of my education.”

  Shannon was thoughtful for a moment. “You’re teasing me,” she said finally.

  Brandon smiled. “Yes, I’m teasing you.”

  “Did you tease Aurora?”

  Brandon’s smile turned bleak and his steps quickened. “Yes. In the beginning of our marriage, often. Later, only for the sake of keeping up appearances.”

  “Well, that’s all right then. We are planning to keep up appearances after all.”

  Brandon stopped. He faced Shannon, drawing his hands along her arms until he held her fingertips. “And to that end there is the matter of my name. You must begin
to use it.”

  Her fingers tingled in his light grasp. Shannon tried to remove them, but he would not permit it.

  “Look at me. You cannot keep avoiding me or my touch. The Marchands cannot fail to notice if you pull away from me or do not look me in the eye. They will think I beat you.” Brandon swore as Shannon gasped softly. “I am sorry. I did not mean—”

  “No. I am merely being foolish. I will try to do better.”

  How like her to accept sole responsibility. He wanted to give her a little shake. Instead he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze before he drew her right hand to his lips. “I will try to do better, what?”

  Shannon felt his breath tickle the back of her hand. The telltale gleam was back in his eyes. “I will try to do better, Brandon.”

  He kissed her hand lightly and then released it. “Shall we return to the house?”

  Shannon agreed. It was not until he bid her good night at the foot of the stairs that she realized during their entire conversation he had failed to use her own name. Neither had he called her Aurora. It was difficult to say what it meant, if indeed it meant anything at all.

  * * *

  “No, no!” Cody shook his head, half in amusement, half in disgust. “You must do it this way.” His eyes narrowed slightly and he leveled Shannon with a look of haughty disdain. “Try it.”

  Shannon schooled her features and quelled the laughter that was threatening to bubble up from her lips. She lifted one brow and peered down her nose at Cody.

  “That’s it!” he crowed, not in the least disturbed by the coolness settling over Shannon’s face. “Never—never—appear to enjoy anything I do or say,” he warned, wagging his finger at her. “Rory couldn’t abide me, and her parents are well aware of the fact.” He glanced at Brandon, who was lounging in his favorite leather armchair. “Isn’t that right, Bran?”

  Before Brandon could agree that this was indeed the state of affairs, Shannon responded loftily. “What I cannot abide is that ridiculous name.” She gave her head an arrogant little shake. “Rory is hardly fitting.” When two heads swiveled in her direction and stared at her in plain astonishment, she lost her poise. “Honestly, Cody,” she apologized hastily, “I don’t mind in the least, but I thought Aurora would make some objection. Did I—”

  “You were perfect!” he exclaimed, bounding out of his chair. He tossed aside the needlepoint that lay in Shannon’s lap and lifted her to her feet, giving her a hug. Over her shoulder he saw that Brandon was scowling. He grinned happily as he set her away. “For a moment there I had the unpleasant sensation that Aurora herself had joined us. Just the thing she would have said to me. Don’t you agree, Bran?”

  “Just the thing.” He stared at his tumbler of Scotch, rolling it between his palms. “Only, you must resist embracing one another.”

  “I’m sorry,” Shannon said quickly.

  “And Aurora never apologizes,” Brandon said.

  “But I’m not Aurora.”

  “With less than a week remaining until the Marchands arrive, that statement does not inspire confidence.”

  “Bran,” Cody intervened. “You’re being hard on her. She is trying.”

  Brandon tossed back what was left of his drink. He gestured toward Shannon. “Look at her,” he scoffed. “Did you ever see Aurora look indecisive, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, wringing her hands as if she were actually worried about anything I said? It is all very well that she has mastered Aurora’s manner of speaking, her manner of walking, even the facial expressions, but at the slightest criticism she lays waste to hours of practice by becoming—of all things—apologetic! I may have wished countless times that Aurora herself would have tendered an apology, but the fact remains it was not in her nature.”

  Shannon stopped wringing her hands and rooted her feet to the floor. “Perhaps her parents will believe she has changed,” she ventured hopefully.

  Two voices answered her simultaneously. “Never!”

  Shannon had had enough. Pride stiffened her resolve. “For ten days I have allowed myself to be poked, prodded, and pushed into being someone other than I am. I said nothing when you changed the style of my hair or had me measured for garments that indecently display my—”

  “Charms?” Cody said helpfully.

  Shannon cast him a hard look. “My bosom,” she said defiantly. “I did not protest when you demanded I alter the way I talk, the way I walk. I have permitted you both to bully and berate me, but I will not let you best me.”

  “She has a gift for alliteration, doesn’t she?” Cody observed.

  “Nor bait me!” she said, her voice rising. “I am weary of it all! The devil take both of you!”

  Brandon set down his tumbler and took the measure of Shannon’s anger. She was magnificent! Her face was flushed with color, her spine was rigid, and her violet eyes actually blazed. He would not have called her beautiful in that moment, but she certainly was arresting. He stood and walked toward Shannon, stopping only when he was directly in front of her, and she had to raise her face to him. “Aah, my sweet wife,” he said with disarming charm. “There is hope for you yet.” One hand wound in her hair and held her, and then he kissed her full on the mouth.

  Shannon was too shocked to make even a token resistance. His lips were warm. He tasted faintly of Scotch and tobacco. The pressure of his mouth was insistent, and somehow Shannon found her lips parting beneath his. She never heard Cody discreetly leave the room. Without quite knowing how it happened, she felt his tongue running along the edge of her teeth and then engaging her tongue in sweet conflict. Her fingers curled in the velvet material of his jacket. A hand slipped around her waist and held her securely. She was raised on her toes and brought flush against him, her breasts pressed flatly against his chest. Through the folds of her dress she could feel the muscles of his arms and thighs tauten. It was then he lifted his head, reluctantly it seemed, and set her from him.

  Brandon turned away, poured himself another drink, and hoped she did not see his hands were trembling. He swallowed a third of his liquor, braced himself, and faced Shannon again, leaning negligently against his desk.

  Shannon stood her ground exactly where Brandon had left her. “What was that for, pray tell?” she asked him in what she hoped were cool tones.

  “Splendidly done.” He lifted his glass in salute. “You are becoming more adept at dealing with the unexpected.”

  “You have not answered my question.”

  “That was very much like Aurora.”

  “Then it was a test of sorts,” she said. She refused to show either hurt or disappointment, both of which were crushing her heart.

  “Of sorts,” he agreed. He put aside the drink and folded his arms on his chest, crossing his legs at the ankle. “I don’t think you understand clearly what it is Cody and I have been asking of you.”

  “That is a surely true.”

  He ignored her. “And I was not certain you were capable of it until your fiery little speech.” Or your equally fiery kiss, he added silently. “On the surface you have accomplished much in the way of being Aurora, yet at your core you remain uncertain and shy. It simply will not do. Aurora has a strength of purpose that shades everything she does. It is not one of her faults, it is one of her virtues. It is an unhappy truth that her purpose and mine are often in conflict.” He sighed. “Aurora can be devastatingly kind, generous to a fault, and agreeably affectionate. But with a purpose. Invariably she has a purpose. Her parents do not always see through to her motives, but they certainly see the strength of her character. They must see it in you or all will fail.”

  Shannon reached for her embroidery, holding it in front of her so her hands would not fidget. “I think I understand,” she said slowly. “I will try harder on the morrow.” She made a small curtsy. “Excuse me, please.” She had only turned her back when Brandon called to her. “Yes?”

  “Are you really bothered by the neckline of your new gowns?” When she nodded, he said, “The
n I will speak to the seamstress.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Two days before the arrival of Aurora’s parents, Shannon stepped out onto the verandah in search of fresh air and privacy. She found neither. The evening was unbearably humid and Brandon was sitting on the flagstones, his back against one of the white column supports. His head was bent over his sleeping daughter’s head. He seemed fascinated by the gentle sucking motion of Clara’s mouth around her thumb. He brushed aside a damp tendril of her hair and kissed her forehead.

  It was a poignant, tender moment, and Shannon was loath to disturb it. She started to retreat into the house.

  “Don’t go.”

  Brandon’s softly spoken command held her. She hesitated, fingers on the door handle, while she half turned toward him. “Do you want me to take Clara?”

  “No. Come. Sit here with us.” He patted the space next to him. She was looking exceedingly lovely this evening, he noted for what was perhaps the tenth time. He had not mentioned it to her, afraid to break her fragile composure. But the fact remained that she was suited to the shade of lavender she wore. The silk faille bodice preserved her modesty by permitting the ruffled edge of her chemise to be seen at the neckline. Brandon had to content himself with a mere glimpse of the high curve of her breasts when he seated her at the table. Her matching lavender overskirt was pulled up toward the back, making her waist look even smaller.

  The skirt of her gown was white with tiny violets embroidered along the hem. When she turned at the door, her skirt swung gently and he caught sight of her ankles. His smile was contrite as he realized he was staring at her feet. He had not acted like such a callow youth when he had been a callow youth. He lifted his eyes and patted the space beside him again. “We would be pleased to have you join us.”

  “All right.” Shannon crossed the verandah, very much aware of Brandon’s eyes on hers. She held his gaze. All day she had maintained her pose as Aurora, and she promised herself she would not break now. She sat beside him on the flagstones, her legs curled to one side. “Is that the cherry thumb or the chocolate?” she asked, touching the tip of her finger to the back of Clara’s fist.