by Jackie Ivie
CHAPTER ONE
1811
Louisiana Territory
She probably didn’t deserve what he was going to do to her.
Lukewarm wetness dripped onto Cord’s face, caressed his lips, and slid over his features. None of which meant a thing. Cord licked at the rain, tasted the nothingness and let it sit on his tongue. There wasn’t enough to swallow. It wasn’t raining although it had been all morn. The day was sending leftover drops down each clump of Spanish moss he was standing under. He heard the rustle of his companions as they chafed with the discomfort. His upper lip curled slightly. They were stupid. And lazy. Impatient. Incompetent. They were still all he had. All they had to do was watch and wait. Both were beyond them.
The faint sound of giggling reached him, lifted from the ground by the steam encasing his ankles, wrapping around exposed tree-roots, and shadowing the pools of swamp. Cord narrowed his eyes, caught at the breath...and held it.
His heart still stopped. She was as lovely as the cameo hanging against his upper belly. Lovelier. Something in him twinged, making him lose a bit of inhaled breath for a fraction of time. She was dancing between trees and then she was gone. He blinked. Then she was back in view and closer, crouching forward with her back to where they stood, defining a lush back-view.
“Mai oui! Just look. She is dressed all wrong. She shouldn’t wear that color of red. It clashes with her hair. I swear—”
Cord had a hand raised to stop the whisper but it was wasted. The voice halted the moment he’d tensed to make it. The speaker was mistaken. There was nothing wrong with her clothing. It was perfect: lacy about her throat and tight against her waist, defining a hand-pleasing frame. Cord opened his lips a fraction, licked at another droplet, and got the same reaction. Nothing. There was no taste, no succor, no quenching. There was only one thing that would bring him satisfaction. And it wasn’t her.
“She is the one, non?”
Cord silenced him with a glance before returning to where the girl was now in silhouette, taut and straight as she tried to blend into one with a tree. She was beautiful. She was clothed expensively. She had a wealth of reddish-brown hair that fell well past what had looked to be very well-rounded, feminine hips. It could be none other.
“Well?”
Cord nodded, once. And then everything stilled as she started unbuttoning her high-necked, lace-bedecked blouse.
~ ~ ~
Swamp-mist was coating each button, making it difficult to pry it through the hole. Linna grimaced as she unfastened exactly ten of them. Ten. Any more of them and she’d have trouble with her story. It was hot. She’d felt strangled in the high-necked, broadcloth, lace-encrusted blouse she was constrained to wear. She couldn’t catch her breath. She felt faint. The heat was stifling her and the heavy damp in the air made it hard to breathe.
That much at least, was true. It was stifling. And it was hard to breathe. Opening her blouse wasn’t going to fix it, however. Nothing was. Nothing worked. And nothing changed. The heat and heaviness kept growing, pulsing through her until it owned her, and then it became anger. She was being stifled. She was being watched. She was being treated like a prisoner! Worse...like a child! Well! She’d show them. She was no child.
It was past noon, but not so much anyone should worry. She knew they would, though. There wasn’t anything she did anymore that they didn’t worry over – and it wasn’t even her fault!
Frustration made her movements clumsy and slow as she peeled the lace placket apart, smoothing hot, moist fingertips against heated, sweat-soaked skin. She shouldn’t have dared Luthor to play hide-and-seek. It was too hot and it was too damp...and he hadn’t the wits to win. Linna blew the sigh out, puffing her cheeks with the motion and moving tendrils of hair that felt glued into place on her face. Then she raised a hand to her eyes. The object of her torment, Luthor Evans, should have been right behind her. She squinted her eyes, trying to spot the beau she’d so easily out-run.
If anyone had told her that this summer she’d only have one beau attending her and an ungainly one at that...well! She’d have laughed aloud!
Linna set her jaw, pushing it outward with the thrust of her lower teeth. Just this January, she’d had to make room on her calendar to fit in all the men that were courting Ryan Daniels’ youngest daughter. But that had been before Mama had disgraced them all; Papa, Rhea, Vincent...all of them.
Linna didn’t blame Papa for his rage, nor the bullet he’d used to end Mama’s life. It was his right to punish adultery in such a fashion. There wasn’t a court that would convict him. There wasn’t even one that would press charges...but blast it! He could have done it with less publicity! He didn’t have to ruin everyone’s life as he gained his justice, did he? He didn’t have to turn his daughter into such a social pariah she was left with only Luthor for her lone suitor! That really pushed what Papa had done into the unforgivable range.
Her lips set in a tight, thin line as she looked around the tree for him. Luthor Evans? She shuddered at the thought and it was with the same sense of distaste. Luthor Evans made a mockery of everything she’d once hoped, dreamt, and imagined for herself. Why, Luthor was so far behind what she’d envisioned, it was embarrassing. She couldn’t imagine a less manly spectacle than he was. She spread the gap at her throat wider, opening it just enough that the very top of her chemise peeked out. She knew why she did it. She was trying to see what would happen when he saw that. She set her lips. Then she turned so her back was against the tree and bowed into an arch, making certain Luthor couldn’t mistake the pose for anything other than what it was: man-pleasing.
~ ~ ~
Her pose worked. It yanked Cord’s eyes from the continual scan of swamp for the slightest bit of time. It was a costly error, for when he had it under control, the shadow of a tall, gangly youth was staining the air beyond her as he approached, walking slowly and uncertainly as he searched.
“Someone comes, ami!” Simons, the small man at his elbow whispered.
“He’s right. Now you’ve lost the chance.”
Another of his companions shifted, the movement sliding moss against buckskins the color of mahogany, as he slid into the space beside the other two. Cord’s eyes narrowed at the girl. He tipped his head up but didn’t move his gaze. He could have sworn in that one moment of frozen time that she’d looked straight at him, her arresting face turned to him...and him only.
Cord blinked. His eyes were deceiving him. He’d been staring and it had looked like her eyes had widened as she locked gazes with him. But that was stupid. She was getting ready for an illicit assignation with her beau and Cord Larket was standing, hidden amongst dripping Spanish Moss...wasting time they didn’t have. He felt his shoulders tense, and the cameo against his upper belly felt like it scorched in place.
“Daniels would have his throat if he knew how lax that young man is, eh?”
The words came from near his elbow again. Cord started to form a reply before he was caught up by the girl again. The youth had reached her, seen what she offered, but then he’d immediately swiveled around, shielding his eyes from it. She didn’t look pleased. Cord wished he was close enough to hear her words. He very nearly smiled. The spot where the cameo rested cooled.
~ ~ ~
“Luthor Evans! You’ve taken a year’s worth of time and I won’t stand for it! I’ll not wait forever. What do you take me for?” Linna stomped her foot for emphasis and moved from her pose, smiling slyly at the crestfallen look on his face when he finally turned back to her. He was red clear to his ears. But he wasn’t disinterested. Far from it. His eyes were stuck to where he
r blouse was open, and they might as was well be bulging.
“Now, look. There’s no time to talk, or rest, or play...or whatever else might arise.” She slid her fingertips along the skin from her chemise top to the edge of her blouse and watched him gulp. She had to swallow around the bitter taste in her mouth and was in luck that he wasn’t looking anywhere near her face. She’d never felt quite as filthy. She slid a button back into its hole with one hand and waited until he moved his gaze to hers. “Just look at what you’ve done. You know my papa will be worried if I’m out any later. And yet you tarried. Making me wait. Making my papa...wait.”
The intent wasn’t lost on him. Linna watched as he visibly whitened at the mention of Ryan Daniels’ displeasure.
“I—I’m truly...sorry, M-M-Miss Linnette. I am. We’d best make...haste back. I’ll try not to s-s-slow you further.”
Toad! Linna thought it and only hoped she wasn’t showing it. Luthor even stammered when he was flustered! He had no backbone, no strength, he was gangly...and he was plain-looking, besides. Her eyes narrowed. She’d already guessed he was spineless. It still made her lips sneer. She hadn’t expected anything different, but she’d thought maybe out here where her papa couldn’t reach, some sort of manly trait might come to the surface. She’d be content with a glimmer of it!
She finished re-fastening her blouse, detesting the urge that had made her want to test him. Then she lifted her skirts. “Come along then, Luthor. Follow me. Stay closer this time so you don’t get lost. I’d ask your assistance but you’re too busy turning tail.” The mere mention of Ryan Daniels turned men into spineless jellyfish. She was heartily sick of it and there was no one to take it out on. No one.
~ ~ ~
Cord watched her move away, the slight stomp she was attempting, doing little more than raising more wetness to coat the bottom of her skirt. That would make the material thick and heavy. It would also make it stay exactly where he put it, when he lifted it and went diving into the woman she’d been offering. He shifted, making the worn leather of his pants give room.
“Oh look. There she goes...right out of your hands. We won’t get paid now, mon ami. You’ve wasted the chance...and it was golden! Golden! It’s the only thing that will be, though. There is none to blame save –”
The speech was cut off by a sun-bronzed hand on his windpipe. Cord followed it up by pulling the man within inches of his face by the pressure of his fingers about a neck. “I don’t take gold for killing children. Or boys. It’s for her. The girl. Only her.” He whispered it, muting everything. It was his usual tone. He watched the other man’s eyes dispassionately as he choked once before nodding.
Cord opened his hand, releasing the man, and he ignored the sputtering sounds to watch the couple until they could no longer be seen. Then he moved, parting the moss with a hand to slant his head from beneath it. “Come, my friends. There will be another time. Another place.”
“Oui. But not one so easy. Nor one with less trouble to it.” The smaller fellow’s disappointment was clear even though he stayed out of Cord’s range.
“Enough words. Come. We’ll miss the tide.”
Their grunts of dissent gradually ended, more due to the exertion of keeping up with him than anything else. Perhaps the girl did deserve what he was being paid to do, but somehow, he doubted it.
CHAPTER TWO
Eleven. Linna counted again just to be certain. It was still eleven. Eleven steps she had to climb to reach the beautiful bedroom Rhea had given her. It felt like charity to receive it but she had nowhere else to go. Papa was threatening to disown her for her antics with Luthor, there wasn’t anyone he trusted at the plantation to keep an eye on her with the way she was acting, and Rhea needed her sister near since her confinement was weeks away. Weeks? Of this? Ryan Daniels was a brute. He hadn’t even sent her with a maid!
Linna sighed and turned to the parlor sofa. She’d rather be thought a wayward soul, too exhausted from her nefarious activities to climb to the only floor that held bedrooms than have the truth known. There was a reason her bedroom at the plantation had been on the ground floor...right next to the study; where she could hear everything that had happened and still couldn’t stop it.
Linna put her hands on her ears to halt the memory, scrunching her eyes shut at the same time as she blinked away the stab of tears. And it worked. Again. That had her looking at the hard sofa with harder eyes. Papa had found out that Mother was meeting another man - something as unbelievable as it was disgusting. Papa had gone into his study to drink himself into a rage. Then he’d loaded his gun and left to hunt his wife down.
And he’d killed his daughter’s future at the same time.
It was probably a good thing he’d sent Linna away, although this was little better. Ensconced on a hard parlor sofa, stuffed with horsehair until it was in danger of bursting, while she had to watch as the man she’d once mooned over gave her sister child after child. If this was what love did to one, she wanted no part of it. Lust was better. It had to be. Lust wouldn’t have a woman acting like Rhea did. Nor would it get anyone gunned down. No. Lust it was to be. Now...if only she had someone to lust after. But first came freedom. She wanted that most of all. Everyone involved with Ryan Daniels sooner or later wanted freedom. Vince had done it first. He’d run off. Linna had adored her brother. No one cared about her emotion. That was when she learned how to curb it. Shove it down. Ignore it. And move on. Then Rhea had managed to escape the plantation. She’d gotten herself a husband. Linna had attended the wedding with dry eyes and her head high. Exactly as she’d attended their mother’s closed casket funeral. Nobody got to see her mother’s body and what Ryan had done. Nobody.
Linna slapped at the sofa cushion, making a satisfactory smack. Her palm stung as if the leather slapped back.
She wasn’t going to recall it. She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to shove emotion down, harden her heart, and follow Rhea’s example. It couldn’t be that hard to get a husband. Linna rolled onto her side and pillowed her head on her arm. It didn’t help much. The sofa was hard. And since they kept a lamp lit in every room down here, it wasn’t dark enough to be conducive to sleeping, either. But it was her own fault. She was the one terrified of heights.
She really didn’t have to worry. She had Luthor. Wedding with her might get him disowned. He’d be penniless. They’d both be that way. He’d told her he didn’t care. Well! She did. Freedom came with a husband that had money. It shouldn’t be a problem. The Evans family had lots of it. They had almost as much as Ryan Daniels did. Their land marched right alongside Plantation Daniels. They had plenty of money, and they only had one son.
If he was disowned, it wouldn’t be for long.
She shuddered. She’d rather gird the staircase than do anything with Luthor. Especially anything that begat babes. Linna rolled again, her nose collided with the curved wood arm of the sofa. That smarted. Not enough to bring tears, but enough. She wasn’t ever crying again. Ever. Tears were for the weak at heart. They were for Rhea...maybe. They weren’t for Linna.
Which brought her right back to the problem: a husband. And how to get one. She wanted one that was nice to look at: not too strong...not too weak. And definitely not argumentative. She was going to be in charge. She had the beauty for it. She had the lineage, although here in New Orleans she was being treated as an outcast- she still had family antecedents that went back to the beginnings of this territory. Her family had money. They had social position. Now they had a bit of scandal. Well - what of it? It wasn’t her fault!
Linna rolled again. The leather creaked with the movement but nothing else made a sound. Fine. The Daniels name was synonymous with scandal now. There was nothing she could do about it. Linna winced at the back of the sofa since it was nearest her nose. Then she traced the button that held the leather against the wood frame and kept all the stuffing where it was supposed to be.
She was from a family with a stain. Who wasn’t? There was simply no reason why
Miss Annabelle Brant had turned her aside at her front steps the first morning after she’d arrived. Nor was there any reason why none of her friends returned her morning call. They didn’t even send word that they’d received her calling card, since she’d found them all unavailable when she’d tried visiting. She knew what they were doing: ostracizing her. Well! They had to try harder than that. She was a Daniels. She came from the most stubborn stock around, and she was innocent! Besides, she knew the true reason: jealousy.
Linna rolled again onto her back, and started tracing the plastered fleur de lis pattern in the ceiling with her eyes. They really should find a better way to keep this house safe than to have lanterns on the ground floor. That way, she wouldn’t be able to follow each and every line the plasterer had molded into their parlor ceiling since it was too bright to sleep.
Then again, she shouldn’t be so afraid of heights that it was a struggle to climb to her second-story bedroom. Linna blinked with dry eyes, keeping the self-pity buried. She could reach it. She’d proved that the first night. She just had trouble getting back down the stairs.
Linnette Daniels had been heralded as the most beautiful debutante of the year. Everyone had said so. Everyone had sighed over her. Available gentlemen had fawned over her hand, asking her over and over for any dance. Linna blinked again, although the movement failed to soothe her dry, hard stare. She should have selected a husband then. It would have been so easy. Then maybe she’d not be faced with accepting charity by living under the same roof as her sister and Drake...and their two sons.
She detested Rhea. She detested Papa. She really detested Drake Taggett, anymore, with his bold blazing blue eyes that had held such secrets for her when she’d first met him. He should have been her husband! She would’ve controlled his lusts better. She needed a husband. Badly. She just didn’t know how she was supposed to find one.
~ ~ ~
“Sit down, Cord.”
Anger lined every angle of the man he faced. Cord wasn’t about to sit. He needed his arms free. Not one flicker of his unease showed in the depths of his eyes before he answered, his left hand lazily stroking his jaw, while the right rested on his guns as if it were the natural order of things.