Anger surged so quickly in Elyse’s mind that it took her by surprise. “You sanctimonious . . . You have no idea what my life was like, or what I went through! Don’t presume to judge me by what you ‘think’ I am!”
With the sting of angry tears in her eyes, Elyse trudged out of the water and walked stiffly to her horse, refusing to turn back to look at him.
Chapter Twelve
“I won’t have you going to him!” Allan Simpson told his daughter.
“I won’t wait any longer!”
“You’ll do as you’re told!” Allan Simpson declared as he stared at his daughter’s angry face.
“Will I?” Colleen Simpson replied with a sarcastic smile. “I stopped whoring for you two years ago. I won’t start again! I’m going to Brace now.”
“You’ll stay here and do your job.”
“He’s going to marry me,” she told her father in a strange, faraway voice.
“He’s using you. He’s worse than the damned planters. He thinks he’s better than they are, and better than us, too. He won’t marry you, Colleen.”
Colleen refused to hear her father’s words. Instead, she turned to her mother who stood at the stove preparing the day’s food.
“He’ll marry me,” she said to Fay Simpson. Colleen’s mother did not reply; rather, she gazed at her daughter with veiled, sad eyes.
“He’ll not have a…you for a wife,” her father repeated.
“Is that what you think of me, a whore? Who pushed me into the beds of your customers? Who groveled before the wealthy and offered me to them so that you could gain a few more coins? If I’m a whore, then you’re my whore-master, not my father!”
Colleen turned and left the hot kitchen of the inn. Outside, she freed the horse tied to the railing, mounted it, and fled from both the inn and the parents she detested.
As she raced from Montego Bay, she was acutely aware of the way people stared at her. She knew they looked down on her, because either they still believed her to be a whore, or they thought her to be half-crazy because of the way her father treated her.
Colleen did not consider herself a real whore, but a whore because of her father. It wasn’t often that she’d allowed herself to be used; just enough to stay alive. When her body had matured, and the inn’s customers began to look at her in a certain way, her father saw the advantage in having a daughter and did his best to make Colleen understand her body would bring in many extra coins.
Colleen refused to do her father’s bidding, but his anger and greed coalesced into horrible beatings until she chose the lesser of two evils and soon ended up satisfying the demands of rich planters’ sons.
Each time she refused, her father beat her unmercifully, until two years ago, when she fell in love with Brace and found the strength to overcome her fear of her father, and to resist his demands.
For two years, she’d been free of the name ‘whore’, at least in her own mind. Colleen knew that Brace did not hold her past against her. They were alike; both were survivors, waiting for their opportunity to escape from this island prison. They were victims of the ruling class, held liable for the sins of their parents—both were children of debtors.
Brace, unlike the other men, had always been gentle with her, understanding her troubled mind and making the short times they spent together the only times she felt she was not someone’s property.
She loved Brace, and sensed he was her only means of escaping the hell of her life. She was almost twenty-five and could not imagine living in Jamaica for much longer.
Brace would soon be gone, now that Lady Louden had returned, and Colleen intended for him to take her, too.
With these thoughts in mind, Colleen rode toward a plantation that few knew about, and which she had visited only once. She was sure that she would find him there, if not tonight, then one night soon, and she was determined to wait until he came.
Ever since that day when she served Elyse Louden lunch at the inn, she’d become certain something was wrong; it increased the feelings she’d had from the last time she and Brace were together, too long ago. He seemed distant; and, when she tried to bring him to bed, he pulled away from her touch. But rum turned the trick, and in the morning she felt as if everything was back to normal.
Yet there was a constant nagging in the back of her mind, a sensation of a coming change, one in which she might not be a part of.
“I will be!” she shouted, the determination to save herself strong. “He will marry me, or he will marry no one!”
*****
Brace took a deep draw on the cheroot and exhaled the smoke slowly, savoring the taste of the tobacco as well as the cool mountain air.
He had arrived home three hours ago. Home was not Devonairre, but the small plantation he’d built high in the Jamaican mountains, a half day’s ride south of Devonairre.
He had bought the land three years ago, built the house, and then had the acres readied for a new type of crop. A crop that Brace learned was becoming increasingly popular throughout the world: coffee.
The nice thing about coffee, he reflected, was that unlike sugar cane, it grew best in the cooler climate of the mountains and required less land than sugar. The property he had purchased, three thousand acres, would be sufficient to grow a large enough crop to make good profits.
The single, most important aspect of his land was that it was his. His house was his sanctuary, away from the mainstream of Jamaican life, where hooded stares and low-spoken innuendoes followed him everywhere.
The house, by planters’ standards, was small; a two-story stone and wood building without the overlarge rooms used for entertaining. The house was practical and comfortable, and Brace never planned to entertain.
Unlike other plantations on the island, this one had no name. He had no need to put some identifying brand upon it; he knew it was a temporary home.
To Brace, this plantation would never be his true home. It was an investment in the future. He had been training his overseer to manage the lands properly so that when he left Jamaica, he would feel secure about his investment.
When he arrived today, as the sun was setting, the housekeeper had met him. Margerite lived here with her son, Angel, who was seven years old.
Before he could protest, Margerite had served him a dinner of cold meat and fruit. While he ate, she prepared his bedroom. By nine o’clock, the house was quiet and Brace took his cigar and a decanter of brandy out onto the veranda.
He had much to think about, and decisions to make. He needed to leave Devonairre soon; he could not stay there much longer. Elyse had proven to be a fast learner. Within a month or two, he would inform his parents that his obligation to Harlan Louden was paid and he would leave Devonairre for good.
Brace gazed up at the night sky and a sudden wave of sadness washed across him. If he had not been born to a debtor, his life would have been different. He might even have been able to tell Elyse how he felt., except she was nobility, and he was not.
“Damn it all!” he shouted. Then he poured another brandy, his fourth, and drank it too quickly. Why did she return? Why is she torturing me? He’d asked himself these questions repeatedly every day since Elyse returned to Jamaica.
Why do I blame her for being herself? Suddenly his thoughts turned crystal clear. He realized he was blaming her for something she couldn’t help any more than he could have chosen his parents.
Perhaps it was the childhood memory of the little girl who had been his friend. She had been innocent and pretty, and the memories he had kept for the last sixteen years had been of the child. He had never given thought to the woman she would become.
The fact that she had chosen to stay away for so long was a factor in his feelings. Sixteen years of life in England among the spoiled aristocracy would take its toll on anyone.
Brace suddenly understood that what bothered him was that she’d never had a chance to know anything other than her role as a titled woman. In truth, that he loved her but could neve
r have her was what troubled him the most.
For another two hours, Brace alternately stood and paced, and drank and thought, until everything blended into a maze of hazy, brandy-laden, half-formed ideas. He did not hear the horse approach the house, nor the rider come up behind him as he leaned on the railing of the veranda.
When moist, warm lips traced a path along the back of his neck, and two small hands stole around his abdomen, he stiffened, pulled away, and turned.
“You’ve never done that before,” came Colleen’s throaty voice.
Brace gazed down at Colleen Simpson as if she were a ghost.
Not for the first time did Brace think she was a pretty woman. She had large, thrusting breasts, a narrow waist and wide, flaring hips. Her long blonde hair fell to the middle of her back, and her eyes were pale blue. But when he looked deeply into her eyes, he saw desperation within them—it was what made people think Colleen wasn’t ‘quite right’. Brace believed he knew her better than that.
“You took me by surprise,” Brace said.
“I’ll take you by more than that,” she replied, pressing herself against him. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered. Her hands went to his head, winding into his hair and then pulling his face down to her. Their lips met and Brace felt the passionate demand in her kiss.
The kiss lasted for several long seconds before Colleen drew away. Her eyes were alive now, and Brace could feel the heat of her body on his.
“It’s been so long, Brace, too long a time to be apart,” she said, rising on her toes to kiss him again.
Brace fought a backwash of sadness as he steeled himself to say what he had to. He pushed her gently but firmly away. “No, Colleen.”
“No?” she echoed. “No what?”
“No more. Colleen, I’ve tried to tell you before that there’s nothing between us.”
Colleen shook her head. “There is something between us. There always has been. Are you telling me that our loving means nothing to you?”
Brace stared silently at her. They had been lovers for two years, drawn together by loneliness. He had never told her he loved her; he had never spoken of love at all.
“The times we had together were good. We filled a need in each other,” he said in a soft voice.
“I still need you, Brace,” she whispered. “We only have each other.”
“We have ourselves, Colleen.”
“And a cold bed! I love you, Brace. I always have. Please,” she cried moving against him again, burying her face in his chest, “love me.” Her arms went around his back, her hands turning into claws, digging into his muscles. She pressed wantonly against him, forcing the heat of her loins upon him.
Fighting off the effects of the brandy, Brace took a deep breath in an effort to clear his mind. Then he put his hands firmly but gently on her shoulders and pushed her away.
“It’s over, Colleen, go back home.”
“Why?” The single word was rife with anger. “To be pawed over by the customers? To be offered money to share their beds? You know what they think of me - a debtor’s daughter.”
“I know.”
“Yes, you do!”
Silence reigned. Brace was conscious of the way Colleen’s breasts rose and fell, knowing it was anger that caused her deep breathing and not the passion of moments ago.
“We only have each other. Marry me, Brace.”
Brace took a deep breath and shook his head. “I can’t marry you.”
“You mean I’m not good enough for you?”
“You’re good enough for anyone you choose! I mean I can’t marry you,” he snapped, his anger gaining momentary control and making his words turn blunt. “I don’t love you.”
“Then there’s someone else? Who is it?”
Wearily, Brace shook his head. “There is no one.” His statement was not entirely a lie, for Brace knew his love for Elyse was one that he could never acknowledge.
“How could you lead me on?”
Brace stared at her, his anger growing again. “Lead you on? Who seduced whom? Who came into my room at the inn and into my bed? No, Colleen, don’t ever say I led you on!”
“We needed each other! You said so yourself. We’re alike, Brace. We’re made from the same mold.”
Brace took a deep breath, willing calmness on himself. “That may be true, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“You will marry me!”
“Go home, Colleen.”
She stared at him for a long minute before she spoke again. When she did, her voice was hard and cold. “You’re making a mistake, Brace Denham.”
Brace didn’t like the sound of her voice, nor the intensity of her stare.
“It’s because of her, isn’t it?”
“Her?” In the instant he replied, Brace sensed that Colleen, in some mysterious way, intuitively knew the truth about him.
“Elyse Louden! You haven’t been to see me since she’s come home. You’re in love with her!”
“Colleen,” he began, but she cut him off.
“Don’t try to deny it. I can see it in your eyes. Damn you, Brace, I won’t let her have you!”
“Stop it!” Brace’s voice was barely a whisper, but the anger permeating it made Colleen draw in a sharp breath.
Brace saw the change come over Colleen’s face. Her pretty features turned harsh and the desperation that was always a part of her eyes became something else. “Very well,” she said in a toneless voice. She turned and started from the veranda.
“Where are you going?” Brace asked. “Home,” she replied quickly. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”
Brace held her gaze for a moment. “It’s too dark to be riding back. Wait until morning. I’ll have a room prepared for you.”
Colleen laughed. “Don’t you sound just like all the other grand planters! ‘I’ll have a room prepared for you. . . .’ No, thank you!”
“Colleen, it’s dangerous to ride at night.”
“It’s dangerous to love someone and it’s dangerous to spurn her!” Colleen stepped off the veranda and disappeared into the night.
Brace gazed into the darkness where she had fled; even as he heard her mount the horse, her voice, tense and shrill, reached his ears.
“Brace Denham, you’ll regret this night for as long as you live!”
Chapter Thirteen
Charles Denham stood, stretched, and stepped into the tropical night. He loved this special time, just after he had finished the day’s accounts. Ann was readying herself for bed, but no matter how long he took before he joined her, he knew she would be awake and waiting for him. For thirty years, regardless of how tired they were, they never ended the day without each other.
Charles smiled to himself. As a boy, he never would have imagined the life he was destined to live. If it hadn’t been for Ann, he might not have survived it—Ann, and Harlan Louden.
Charles drew on the pipe’s stem, and let the tobacco smoke roll across his tongue. As he exhaled, he heard a horse ride up and he turned toward the sound.
He saw the shadowy form of his son dismount, unsaddle his horse, and lead the gelding into the stable. It had been two days since Brace had gone to check on his own plantation, and in those two days, Charles had given much thought to what was happening at Devonairre. He knew he needed to speak with Brace, and that it must be soon.
*****
Troubled by his confrontation with Colleen, a sleepless night, and his angry feelings, Brace had spent the morning inspecting the coffee crop with his overseer, but by late afternoon, was riding toward Devonairre, still trying to sort out his thoughts.
During the five-hour ride, he had wrestled the thoughts of Elyse from his mind. His efforts were only partially successful, and whenever he relaxed his guard, feelings of passion and love rose to torment him. When he arrived at the sugar plantation, night had come with a darkness that was bright, compared with the shadows filling Brace’s mind.
The only light in the main house came throu
gh the open balcony doors of the upper hallway. The rest of the windows were dark. He dismounted, unsaddled his gelding, and put the horse in its stall. When he came out of the stable, he noticed that a light shone through his parents’ bedroom window.
Pausing for a moment, Brace considered disturbing them to say hello, but decided against it. He would speak to them in the morning.
Nodding to himself, Brace started toward the east wing and his room. Halfway there he saw the coal-red, hazy glow of his father’s pipe.
“Good evening, Brace,” Charles greeted him.
“Good evening, Father.”
“How is your land coming along?”
“Nicely,” Brace replied, aware of the stiffness of their conversation.
Charles smiled at Brace and lifted his hand, pointing the pipe’s stem toward the garden. “Walk with me?”
Brace nodded. For the most part, he and his father had always enjoyed a good relationship, as long as the conversation did not turn to Devonairre and obligations. They walked silently until reaching the garden, and there, Charles picked a stone bench to sit on and motioned Brace to do the same.
When they sat, Charles took another draw on his pipe. He had always been able to sense his son’s moods and tonight he knew that Brace was troubled.
“This garden has always been a calming place,” Charles began. “We’ve had many a long talk here.”
Brace smiled. He knew that whenever his father began in this manner, he wanted to talk about something delicate. The first time had been about women. That one had been tough.
“And we’re about to have another one, aren’t we?” Brace chased away the blackness in his mind for a moment.
“I hope so,” Charles replied honestly. “I know you disliked returning here from America, but you did so, anyway. I’ve never thanked you for doing so.”
“It was an obligation, wasn’t it?” Brace asked in a tight voice.
“We both know better. You could have refused.”
“Not really.”
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