Day Dreamer

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Heartless, when I saw him last.”

  “He had a heart years ago, when I was a boy. I suppose I broke it when I didn’t live up to his expectations.”

  “I was forced to suffer for that.” Cord leaned his shoulder into the mantel.

  “That is what Celine told me. Cordero, if I had even suspected that he would take out his hatred for me on you, I would have never sent you to Louisiana,” Auguste said.

  “He tried to make certain I didn’t turn out like you—a wastrel, a ne’er-do-well … a drunkard. He said he was ashamed of you, a man with no more ambition than to live on a paltry plot of worthless land you gained through marriage.”

  He could still hear his grandfather’s voice as he berated Auguste over and over, a repetitive chant that never ceased.

  “There was no way he would have ever turned the responsibility of the family plantation over to me while he was alive. I knew if I was to survive at all, I had to leave. I ended up here on St. Stephen and fell in love with your mother,” Auguste said.

  “And killed her with your drinking.”

  “Believe me, I hated myself as much as you did after the accident.”

  Cord walked over to the settee. He stood there staring down at Auguste, fists clenched, throat working as he tried to voice his thoughts. Finally he took a deep breath and everything he had stored in his heart and mind for years rushed out. The words came fast and furious. He felt as if he were about to shatter into shards and fly apart, but he could not stop.

  “I didn’t hate you then. I needed you. I had just lost my mother, damn you, and needed a father—it didn’t matter that you were a drunkard. It didn’t matter what you were. I needed you. And you sent me away.

  “You sent me off to live with a coldhearted bastard who thought nothing of having me whipped with a switch for the slightest infraction. He tried to humiliate me by having a slave perform the task—”

  “Cordero, I couldn’t have known—”

  “You didn’t try to find out, either. You shipped me off and never looked back.”

  “I never forgot you. Not for one moment.” Auguste raised both hands, pleading with Cord to understand. “When your mother was lost to me, I wanted to die. I tried to kill myself …”

  “Perhaps you should have tried harder.”

  “I waited until you were gone. I left the island in that little sailboat you and your mother enjoyed so. I took no food, no water. When I was out to sea I shredded the sail. I was ready to die, and almost did, but through a twist of fate I was rescued by an old pirate. I changed my name to Roger Reynolds and became a privateer. From then on, Auguste Moreau ceased to exist. I put myself in danger, day after day. During the war, I worked for both sides. I thought surely death would be kind and I would be blown apart on one of my ships, but still I survived.”

  “I’m your son, and you even let me believe you were dead.” Cord pinned him with a cold stare. He had cried too many tears as a child to shed even one now.

  “I wanted you to inherit my portion of the Moreau Plantation. Along with your mother’s holdings here, it would have made you a very wealthy man.”

  Cord laughed. “The price was too high. I’m afraid that I have fulfilled grandfather’s expectation. Much like you, I walked out on the Moreau inheritance.”

  “So my brother’s son, Alexandre, will inherit it all?”

  “Alex is dead.”

  “Dead? He was not much older than you.” His shock was evident. Auguste set the snifter aside and rose.

  “Alex died for me. In my stead.” Cord turned around so that his father would not see the swift stab of pain that had hit him.

  “I was intent upon carrying on your reputation. One night I was too drunk to fulfill a challenge I had accepted. Alex went to the duel in my place. He had become like a brother to me. And he died for me.”

  “I only wanted what was best for you—”

  “But you didn’t want me!” Cord’s voice faltered.

  There was no sound in the room except for that of the rain falling outside and the whisper of wind through the palm fronds. Cord stood with his back to his father, stiffly staring out the window, wishing away the moment, longing to get back to Celine. Unable to move.

  “Cordero.”

  There was no command, no demand in Auguste’s tone, and yet Cord felt compelled to turn around and look at his father.

  What he saw was what he had never thought to see again in this life. Auguste stood with his arms open and welcoming, ready to take Cord into them again, to hold him as he had done so long ago.

  Cord looked across the room at his father. He did not want to forgive. He did not want to give in to the driving need for his father’s embrace. But something stronger than hatred compelled him to take the first step. Something greater than injustices suffered at the hands of a hateful old man made him take the second.

  Something he’d learned from Celine had made him start to close the distance between them.

  Auguste met him halfway. Cord stepped into his father’s arms. He stood there stiffly, hands clinched into fists, arms at his sides, unfamiliar and not quite sure how he’d even come to be there. Auguste held him tight.

  Cord slowly opened his hands, raised his arms and hugged him back.

  Nineteen

  “I think it’s cut too low.”

  Celine stood poised in the middle of the master suite modeling an aquamarine ball gown with a scooped neckline. She felt was far too revealing, but Foster had declared it perfection. Her breasts were even further emphasized by the fashionable high waist set off with a matching satin ribbon.

  “I think it’s perfect,” Edward said. “She’s still too thin, but ’er color is better, don’t you think, Fos?”

  “Much better,” said Foster. “She ain’t that hideous yellow shade anymore.”

  “Let’s not speak of that. I can’t take it.” Edward pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and made Foster promise not to mention Celine’s illness ever again.

  “Is everything ready downstairs?” Celine was more than uncomfortable with the attention.

  “Very,” Foster said. “Miss Ada has seen to it the new cook has everything in hand in the kitchen.”

  Edward commenced grumbling. “Don’t see ’ow Miss Ada has time to do anything with Mr. Wells hangin’ on her every word an’ doggin’ her steps like a ’omeless puppy.”

  “Lovesick is what he is.” Foster reached out to tweak Celine’s silk sleeve. “I still think we should’ve added some seed pearls ’ere and there.”

  “Trust me,” Edward told him.

  “When can I go downstairs? I don’t think it’s fair to make me wait any longer.” Celine shifted from foot to foot, bursting with anticipation.

  In honor of her recovery and to celebrate the end of planting season, Ada had insisted the occupants of Dunstain Place hold a gala soiree. Much to Celine’s surprise, even Cord had agreed to the festivities—which included dinner and dancing—so long as Celine took no part in the preparations.

  Aside from listening while Ada recited recipe after recipe for the menu, then agreeing to a fitting so that Jemma O’Hurley’s formal gown could be altered, Celine did nothing but read, rest and recover.

  Now, nearly four weeks to the day of her kidnapping, the evening of the celebration was at hand.

  “It won’t be but a few moments longer. Will it, Edward?” Foster nudged his fellow servant and the two exchanged knowing looks.

  “What are you up to?” Celine asked.

  Foster’s glance shot to Edward. Both men shrugged.

  “You look just like a princess,” Edward said. “That’s all you need to know, miss.”

  With a thank-you and a smile she couldn’t hide, Celine watched them exit. Once the door closed behind them, curiosity got the best of her and she walked over to the oval mirror on a stand in the corner. As she gazed at the image in the simple but elegant dress the color of the Caribbean sea, she felt almost as if she were staring at
a stranger.

  For the past few weeks, she had been living her dream—or so it would have seemed to anyone who didn’t know the most intimate details of her life. Cord had been attentive and solicitous all through her recovery, and had seen to it that the others pampered her as well, until she felt as fragile as a bisque doll.

  Giving her the master bedroom, he had moved into her former room next door so that she could—as he’d put it with a smile—recover without his making a nuisance of himself. Although they did not occupy the same room, he sat at her bedside each morning and outlined his plans for the day. In the evenings they shared meals in private while he kept up a steady stream of conversation and told her all he had accomplished.

  He spoke of fallow fields and sugarcane, of terracing hillsides so that they might increase the amount of sugar planted next season. He told her about the antics of the children in the village and praised Bobo’s many skills. He was aware now of the part his father’s man had played in keeping Dunstain Place running and admired Bobo’s unfailing loyalty to Auguste Moreau.

  Cord even related to her a few details of his somewhat tentative reconciliation with his father. He drank moderately, just a glass or two of wine with dinner. He talked of everything and nothing to keep her entertained. He smiled. On occasion he even laughed.

  And he did not touch her intimately at all.

  Celine sighed and turned away from the woman in the mirror, a woman who, on the surface, appeared to be young, carefree and happily married. No one would have guessed that she had spent the last few weeks yearning for the feel of her husband’s strong arms around her, longing to have him make love to her again.

  In subtle and not so subtle ways she had tried to hint that she was fully recovered from the swamp fever, but he’d ignored her every cue. Tonight she was determined to do more than play hostess to the few planters and their wives who lived near Dunstain Place and had accepted the invitation to celebrate. She was determined to change things between her and Cord.

  A swift knock at the door pulled her away from her thoughts. She smoothed the soft drapes of her skirt.

  “Come in,” she called out, half expecting Ada. She was surprised to see Cord walk in and shut the door behind him.

  He was so tall, so handsome, so elegantly attired in a black coat and trousers with a froth of lace down the front of his shirt, that the sight of him nearly took her breath away. For a moment she was light-headed and her heart began to race.

  “Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?” Cord had taken her by the arm and had her halfway to a cozy sitting area near the long windows before she could convince him that she was fine.

  “What is it then?” His forehead was creased by a deep frown.

  “You look … stunning,” she told him.

  “Stunning?” At a loss for words, he blinked twice.

  “Yes. Very.” She reached up to arrange the starched lace ruffles that somehow made him look all the more masculine, and caught him smiling down at her.

  “Stunning.” He sounded as if he thought the idea absurd.

  “Would you like me to say it again?”

  “Not unless you are fishing for compliments yourself and want me to feel obliged to give one.”

  She could tell he was teasing. It was a whole new side of her husband she had come to treasure.

  “I am not fishing for a compliment and you know it.”

  “I forgot. Your forte is nagging.”

  “In that case, what do you think?” She twirled around so that he could see her gown from all sides.

  “You’ll do.” He shoved his hand into his coat pocket.

  “I’ll do?”

  “You’ll do quite well. In fact, you don’t even need these to make you more beautiful, but I was told to give them to you.” Slowly, inch by inch, he drew a string of fat, lustrous, evenly matched pearls out of his pocket and dangled them before her eyes.

  “Where did you get them?” She had never seen, let alone imagined ever owning, anything so elegant.

  “My father sent them over. He had given all my mother’s jewelry to the solicitor for safekeeping and had these delivered. He said to tell you that since he couldn’t be here tonight, he wanted you to have these with his sincere best wishes and apologies for having to miss the celebration. Playing dead has its limitations.”

  He stepped behind her and placed the pearls around her neck. Celine closed her eyes, tempted to lean back against him as he worked the clasp. When he finished, she felt his palms rest on her bare shoulders for a few, too brief seconds before he lifted his hands and moved away.

  She reached up to finger the pearls. When their eyes met and held, she instantly recognized the spark of longing in his. Certain he was about to kiss her, she leaned toward him, then felt him begin to ease toward her.

  The door opened with such force it banged against the wall. Edward and Foster toppled into the room and landed in a heap of linen and a tangle of arms and legs.

  “I told you not to lean on me so hard,” Foster said, scrambling up and offering Edward a hand.

  “I thought you’d ’ave the good sense to see that the door was closed right an’ tight,” Edward complained.

  Cord cleared his throat and the two men suddenly remembered where they were.

  “We’re sorry, sir. Just wanted to see if she liked the pearls.” Foster had the good grace to look sheepish.

  “Next time just knock.” Cord turned to Celine. “It would be nice to have a little privacy around here.”

  The servants couldn’t clear out fast enough. They stumbled over each other trying to get through the bedroom door, in their haste leaving it wide open.

  “I suppose we should go down. The guests will be arriving anytime now.” Cord offered her his arm.

  “I must thank your father for the pearls,” she said as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. She gave him a squeeze and smiled up at him, knowing her heart was in her eyes. She hoped he saw it there.

  As Cord looked down into his wife’s radiant, upturned face, he was tempted to slam the door shut, lock it and throw away the key. He had grown hard and as randy as a billy goat just looking into her eyes. Beneath the milky strand of pearls that glowed like moonlit orbs, her firm, tempting breasts rose and fell with her every breath. He would have kissed her then and there, but he knew that if he did he would never want to go downstairs to the party.

  In that instant he decided that tonight he would move back into his own room and give up sleeping alone, even if she was not up to doing anything but having him hold her through the night.

  They left the room and headed down the hall, the heels of their dress shoes tapping out a lively cadence as they walked briskly along. When they started down the long staircase, Cord took a deep breath. His heart was hammering like a carpenter gone mad. He leaned toward her until he was close enough to brush her ear with his lips.

  “I love you, Celine.”

  The words were out before he realized he was even going to say them.

  She was so startled by his admission that she missed a step and would have tumbled down the stairs if he hadn’t grabbed her. He brought her up full against him. They were poised in the middle of the open staircase.

  “Say it again,” she whispered against the lips that hovered so close to her own.

  “Nag.” He hesitated but a moment more before he repeated the words she had waited so long to hear. “I love you.”

  “Kiss me.” She stood on tiptoe, balancing precariously, knowing he would never let her fall.

  “You nag me incessantly, wife.”

  “Then do it, husband.”

  He did, with all the enthusiasm and demand of a man in great need of release. Cord drank in the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of jasmine in her hair. He kissed her without reservation, without any fear that she might violate his trust and sneak a glimpse of his memories.

  She kissed him with a light heart, ecstatic that he had finally accepted the love s
he had to offer and had even gone so far as to present her with the precious gift of his own.

  When Cord raised his head, he stole one more quick kiss on her lips and then placed another on her cheek. A round of applause and laughter swelled in the stairwell, and Celine buried her face against his ruffled shirt-front. Cord kept an arm around her as he saluted the small gathering at the foot of the stairs.

  Ada and Howard Wells stood beside one another like two mismatched bookends, one plump as a muffin and the other thin as a string bean. The two couples who had arrived did not seem at all offended that their host and hostess had chosen to put on such a display. Edward and Foster held trays of champagne and at the same time beamed up at them as if the entire episode had been their idea.

  “We have to go down and face the music,” Cord said, prying Celine away from him.

  She groaned audibly. “You made me forget myself.”

  “Obviously you have succeeded in making me forget everything but what matters most, Celine.”

  “If I have done that, then I am happy.” Celine smiled to herself. Persa had always said that to teach one to love is the greatest of gifts.

  By the time they reached the foot of the stairs, everyone had gathered around. Cord took a glass of champagne off the tray and handed it to Celine, then took one for himself.

  “To my wife,” he said, raising his glass in salute.

  “To my husband,” she echoed, watching him over the rim of her glass.

  “To us all!” Ada shouted with champagne-inspired enthusiasm. She lifted her glass so high that one of the gussets under her sleeve ripped.

  Before anyone could finish off the first glass of champagne, Bobo came striding through the front door. A hush fell over the crowd. Cord handed Foster his glass and stepped past Celine. He could tell by the look on his manager’s face that the tidings were grim. They went outside to speak in private.

  Celine was determined not to be left out. She, too, handed her glass to Foster, then apologized to the waiting guests, picked up her skirt and hurried after the two men. By the time she reached the side veranda, she could hear Cord speaking in hushed tones.