He cupped her chin, tilting her head so that their eyes met. “If I were to tell you I love you, you, who care nothing for me, would be able to use that love as a weapon against me. I dislike feeling you tremble beneath my hands, and yet, so long as you are unsure, so long as you are just that tiny bit afraid of me, you must remain, docile, at my side.”
“How do you know I won’t take fright completely and run away from you?” she asked, her voice, which she had meant to be so defiant, holding a husky timbre.
“I will never let you go,” he said, his grip crushing her hand, all laughter vanishing from his eyes. “Never.”
13
“Marcus!”
The cry of joy rang through the quiet woods. Solange set her spur in her horse’s side and rode at a headlong gallop toward the man standing in the shade of a gnarled live oak tree. She flung herself from the saddle and into the arms of Catherine’s former suitor.
Her face grim, Catherine brought her horse to a halt next to Solange’s. She should have known, she upbraided herself. She should have guessed there could be nothing so innocent as a morning ride in Solange’s unexpected invitation. What a fool she was for thinking the girl’s attitude might change, or that she might welcome her as a friend. Intent on proving to Rafael that she was not always at odds with his sister, she had been an easy dupe. It only remained to find out whose idea it had been that she come.
Marcus was there beside her when she started to dismount. He lifted her down, and took her hand, pressing her fingers to his lips.
“So, you came,” he murmured.
“As you see,” she answered, unable to keep the irony from her voice.
“It was gracious of you to bear Solange company,” he continued, matching her tone so exactly that Catherine glanced at him in puzzlement.
“I am happy you think so,” she returned, “but it might clarify matters if I say I had no idea we were to meet you.”
Marcus looked at Solange, whose thin lips took on a mutinous twist as she shrugged. “She would not have come, otherwise.”
“No?” Marcus asked, his eyes on Catherine’s face though he pretended to speak to the girl. “Considering the rumors of how hard our Rafe has been working, I would have thought that any woman would have been bored to distraction by now.”
“I am not — any woman,” Catherine countered significantly. “I am his wife.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Marcus’s tone was so cold Solange glanced from him to Catherine before she spoke. “You need not act so pretentiously, Catherine. You are here merely as a chaperone for me. Marcus is most jealous of my good name. He refused to meet me here again unless you agreed to accompany me.”
“Did he?” Catherine asked. “It is strange, but I do not remember agreeing.”
“Come, Catherine. Don’t be difficult. You know it causes the most unsightly lines in your lovely face — and I have no wish to referee while you and Solange pull caps. Do you still hold what happened in New Orleans against me? I would be most sorry to think so. I meant nothing dishonorable. I had been given to understand by your mother that there was every possibility of a match between us. My one desire was to set the wedding forward. Is that so terrible?” He paused. “Well, yes. Perhaps it was — for you. My method was — unfortunate, but I have lived to regret a thousand times over the pass to which my folly has brought us.”
“Marcus—” Solange said uneasily.
He stepped away from Catherine at once. “You need not be jealous, my love. Catherine and I have known each other all our lives. It should not be surprising if we have a thing or two to discuss. I must say, I prefer her to your usual companion. I don’t think your Madame Ti was any more comfortable with me than she was riding pillion. Which reminds me—” Taking up the reins of Catherine’s horse, he handed them to the girl. “Be a dear, and find a patch of grass for your mounts to crop so they will not become restless. Then the three of us will stroll through the woods together for a short way.”
The instinct to resist the soft blandishment in his voice struggled in Solange’s face, but she did not have the willpower. With an abrupt gesture, she snatched the reins from his hand and walked away a small distance to a grassy glade where the sun fell through the trees. There she tied them to a sapling near Marcus’s own mount.
As soon as she was out of hearing, Marcus turned to Catherine. “Forgive the subterfuge, chérie, but I had to see you, and your husband was hardly likely to welcome me at Alhambra.”
“You mean you have no intentions toward Solange? I think that is a despicable trick, Marcus, if her feelings are engaged.”
“They do say all is fair in love and war.”
“And which do you consider this?” she said rudely.
He laughed. “You suspect me of planning revenge? That, chérie, is more in line with dear Rafe’s conduct. I will tell you plainly that all I want is you. The means I use, fair or foul, matter little.”
There was a moment of silence as if Marcus was judging her reaction.
“Are you flattered?” he asked finally.
Directing a level look at him, Catherine said, “Not particularly.”
“You should be. It is not every woman who inspires such devotion.”
“A devotion to my fortune, was it not?”
“I would have you still, if you would come with me,” he told her, his hazel eyes suddenly serious. “If you did, you would be penniless, you know. Now that you are married, your husband controls your fortune. Only death can release it — or you — from him.”
“I had not thought of that — in which case, I am indeed flattered,” Catherine replied slowly. “But I must tell you Rafael will not release me. He has said so. Are you certain, then, that you still have no designs on Solange?”
“Testing my loyalty?” he murmured, his chestnut hair catching a gleam of sunlight as he leaned closer. “You have no need for concern. It has occurred to me — if I could persuade the fair Solange to elope with me, that Rafe might eventually be reconciled to my presence for the sake of her happiness. Then, as your brother-in-law, I could take up residence in the same house.”
“That is hardly a reason for making another woman your wife,” Catherine protested, unable to believe he was serious.
“I would go through worse ordeals willingly for such a prospect It certainly bears thinking on,” he said, his smile far from reassuring as he rose, and, with outstretched hands, went to meet Solange.
It did indeed. As Solange chatted to Marcus, her face relaxed and glowing under his compliments with something near beauty, Catherine walked quietly beside them, her mind in turmoil. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wondered if, allowing herself to be led by Rafael, she had misjudged Marcus all those weeks ago. It could not matter now, but she did not like to think so. Did he care for her? His manner of expressing his devotion left her uneasy, but it had been an effective one. Surely he would not have gone to so much trouble, cultivating Solange, gaining her cooperation, if he did not care.
He was an attractive man, made in a softer, more pleasant mold than Rafael. He was able to keep up a flow of light conversation that was easy to answer, interspersed with compliments meticulously divided between the two women on his arms. The sadness, the adoration hidden in the depths of his eyes when he turned to her was balm to Catherine’s sore vanity. Still, she could not bring herself to trust him.
Her smile, when they parted at last, was pensive, and she did not return the pressure of his handclasp.
Solange was quiet on the ride home. A small frown rested between her thick brows as she stared straight ahead. Catherine felt even less inclined to talk. It had been nearly three weeks since the last real rain, but there had been light tropical showers nearly every evening. The black, alluvial mud of the forest trail was slick in places and she needed her attention for the footing of her mount. Though the ground was drying and the river beginning to drop a little between its banks, thick layers of gray clouds moved with
rain-heavy slowness around the horizon, occasionally blocking out the sun. A breathless, humid heat hovered over everything, making activity an effort. Catherine found the dark, hunter’s green velvet of her riding habit more than a little heavy. It had been made for a stately promenade along the levee and around the Place d’Armes in the height of the winter season, not for this jaunt through the woods in the heat of the morning.
Reaching up, she removed her plumed hat, and transferring it to her left hand, loosened her stock.
Glancing at the girl riding beside her, Catherine’s conscience pricked her. Solange was so young, and despite her outrageous behavior at times, so vulnerable to a man like Marcus. Only a year older in terms of years, Catherine felt eons the senior in experience.
“Solange?” she said hesitantly.
The other girl slanted a glance in her direction but did not answer.
“Do you think it is wise, meeting Marcus like this?”
The girl shrugged. “Maybe not, but what has that to do with anything.”
“It depends on what you want. If you love him, if you wish to be married to him, then I think these proceedings are ill advised.”
“Why?” Solange asked with a show of indifference.
“A woman is unprotected in this type of clandestine affair. If the man is not liable to the girl’s guardian, it is far too easy for him to carry on a light flirtation which means nothing.”
“Are you suggesting I invite Marcus to come to Alhambra so that my brother can ask him his intentions? Very amusing. Rafe is much more likely to offer him a challenge, which is your doing.”
“Is it?” Catherine asked. “Would it surprise you to know Marcus and Rafael were enemies long before I came upon the scene?”
Solange swung her head sharply to search Catherine’s face. “Why should they be enemies?”
“That is something you must ask Rafael — when you speak to him about Marcus.”
“You must know I have no intention of doing any such thing.”
“Because he might find a way of preventing you from meeting?”
“You know he would,” Solange exclaimed in exasperation. “Rafe would never allow him to court me, if only because of his lack of means.”
Catherine sighed. “You know Rafael would approve if the man were suitable. Fortune isn’t everything.”
“I don’t care! It is Marcus I want, and Marcus I will have. And I will see him, no matter what Rafe says, no matter what you say!”
“Will you? I understood Marcus will not meet you without my presence as chaperone. What if I refuse to go with you?”
“You will not dare,” Solange said, her mouth tight. “If you do, I will go to Rafe and I will tell him it is you who has been meeting Marcus in the swamp every day this past week. Do you think, my dear sister-in-law, that he will believe you when you deny it?”
Staring into Solange’s bitter black eyes, Catherine murmured, “We shall have to see, won’t we?”
Despite the bravado of her words, Catherine was not confident. Solange’s threat carried little weight since it was unlikely she would deliberately jeopardize her meetings with Marcus, but who could say with certainty what she would do? Of course, to erase the threat completely, Catherine had only to go to Rafael and tell him frankly that she had seen Marcus and his sister in the woods and suspected his old enemy of casting out lures to Solange. But would that serve? When she thought of the smoldering enmity between the men, one of her most forceful memories was of Rafael standing over her in that Rampart Street bedchamber, his eyes glittering with anger as he accused her of joining with Fitzgerald in a plot to entrap him. He knew of Marcus’s protests of love. Would it sound reasonable that he could transfer his affections so quickly to Solange, or would it have the sound of another plot? She had had more than one taste of her husband’s temper. She was not certain she wished to risk another.
As Solange and Catherine rode before the mounting block at the front of the house, two men rose from chairs on the gallery and descended the stairs to meet them. One was Rafael; then as the other stepped into the sun and it caught the silver-gold of his hair, Catherine recognized him.
“Giles,” she called, her pleasure ringing in her voice. “How good to see you again. Have you brought Fanny?”
Even as she spoke, the slender shape of his sister moved from the shadowed doorway of the house. “You don’t think I’d let him come without me?” Fanny called.
Rafael strolled to help his sister dismount. The young girl, with no more than a muttered greeting, sprinted up the steps. There she was taken under the wing of Madame Thibeaut, waiting like a malevolent spirit in the dimness at the end of the gallery.
Giles held up his arms to Catherine. Kicking free of the stirrup, she allowed herself to be swung down. There was an instant when Giles’s fingers met around the slimness of her waist in the tightfitting jacket of the habit, so different from the usual high-waisted gowns. Catherine had to smile at the expression of surprise and gratification that passed over his face. Then she was on her feet moving up the steps to greet Fanny with all the fervent happiness and enthusiasm of one reunited with a sister.
“What have you been doing with yourself? You are worn to a shade.”
“Oh come, Fanny,” Catherine laughed. “Next you will be telling me I’m looking positively haggard.”
“I would never say anything so infamous — or untrue,” Fanny exclaimed.
“And I thought you prided yourself on your outspokenness.”
“I try never to hurt my friends,” Fanny said, her smile fading before it returned with even greater brightness. “But I have come to invite you all to a party. Lent is over, Easter behind us. It rained through May Day, but soon it will be Midsummer night—”
“A month or more,” Giles reminded her as the men joined them on the gallery.
“Not long at all when there is so much to be done, and a perfect time to be merry. Any later, and it will be too hot to dance the night away, too hot to do anything but perspire under the mosquito nets. Besides, Catherine must be introduced to her neighbors. The two of you cannot stay in isolation forever, as pleasant as it may be. You must come out and satisfy everyone’s curiosity about how you are dealing together.”
“Fanny, mind your tongue,” her brother told her in a voice that brooked no nonsense. “You are embarrassing Catherine.”
“Am I?” Fanny asked, her gray eyes contrite. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Catherine assured her, much more distressed by Giles’s solicitude than by Fanny’s frank summation of the general attitude.
“You will come to my party then?”
“Certainly, if Rafael—”
Fanny turned at once to the dark, unsmiling man who seemed to rouse himself to recollect his company. “I’m sure we would be delighted,” he said.
Catherine, caught by the sardonic emphasis of his voice, cast him a quick glance, but his face revealed nothing.
Fanny touched her arm. “Rafe has been telling us of the improvements you have been making for the benefit of your people. You must show them to me.”
“I would love to,” Catherine said with one last glance at her husband, “as long as you don’t mind walking to the quarters.”
Catherine’s particular pride was the nursery which she had caused to be reopened. The boards had been taken from the windows, and new shutters set in place. A fresh coat of whitewash brightened the interior, and grass matting had been put down for a safer crawling surface than the splintery split-puncheon floor. Makeshift cribs had been hammered together by the carpenter, and the leftover pieces of wood and tree rounds sanded for toys. There had not been enough mosquito netting to cover all the cribs, so a single baire had been cut up and the squares used to cover the windows. Now the children of the women workers could be left in safety, watched over by a pair of older women.
The next project Catherine had in mind was a proper hospital. Among so many people, nearly two hundred, c
ounting the children, there were always accidents and illness. Most could be treated in their cabins, it was true, but occasionally there was a case that needed quarantine, or a degree of care which could not be given by the family. She needed a building at least as large as the nursery, but far enough away from the other cabins for isolation. When planting was over Rafael might be able to spare the men to build it. In the meantime she had cleaned out the jail for this purpose, it being the only building not in use.
Fanny missed not a detail of the changes Catherine had brought about, commenting with marvelous frankness on all she saw, including the pens built to restrain the ramblings of the population of pigs, and the new privies which stood behind each cabin.
Her efforts, Catherine realized, were made in a rather obvious attempt to mitigate what she considered to be Rafael’s harsh, uncompromising attitude. She often wondered that he did not resent it. Instead, she was left free to do as she wished, so long as she did not hinder the usual work of the plantation, a form of tacit approval. She would often feel the inclination to ask his advice, but she had little encouragement to do so. Each involved in their own work during the day, their nights were times for coming together that seldom had anything to do with words. They were weaponless passages at arms which neither could win, bloodless duels beneath the mosquito netting, with both antagonists armored in pride.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 66