Yet it was more than just her physical appearance that attracted him. She was kind and giving. She was the true essence of a southern woman—like the kind he remembered from when he was a boy.
Beside him, Samuel’s voice brought him back to the table where his new friend was discussing harvesting with the other servants. Cecilia busied herself on the other side of the kitchen, cleaning up. What had they been talking about before he’d let his mind wander? Oh, yes. She’d just hired him and told him he could stay with the others at the bunkhouse.
Rubbing his upper lip as an excuse to hide his grin, he stirred the stew with his spoon. He’d stay in the bunkhouse, but only for a little while until he could maneuver himself into the house—and within time, he’d be back into his original bedroom.
From outside, thunder boomed through the air, shaking the house. The windows rattled under the force of the wind. Everyone looked from window to window throughout the kitchen then at each other. Cecilia’s eyes widened, and he wanted to rush to her side and take her into his arms to comfort her.
“Sho’ is a strong wind,” Samuel said in a low voice. “Do ya think it’s a hurr’cane?”
Cecilia straightened. “The wind is strong, but I don’t think we’re in any danger of a hurricane.”
Peter nodded. “Miss Cecilia is right. This isn’t the weather for one. It’s just a strong storm, that’s all.”
Another gust of wind shook the shutters, and a limb beat across the window nearest to Cecilia. She jumped. His heart dropped, fear clutching his chest. He needed to get her away from the window just in case.
The tree branch continued to beat against the glass. Peter slid away from the table and stood. She glanced over her shoulder at the branch threatening to break the glass, her hand moving to her throat.
“Miss Cecilia, I think you’d better—”
Another flurry of wind whistled in the air. A loud crack rang through the room. Peter hurried to her side, reaching out to her. The limb broke through the window and sent large pieces of glass flying. Cecilia launched herself into his arms. He tightened his hold and turned her away from the airborne debris.
The other servants jumped from the table, ran to the window, and closed the inside shutters against the thrashing wind.
She trembled. He stroked his hand down her back, pulling her closer at the same time. Her face buried in his chest, her breath hot against the opening of his collar at his neck. Heat speared through him that both delighted and confused him.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in her lilac scent. A sense of longing filled him—longing for summer nights in the arms of a woman with enough strength to love him for who he was. He wanted to press his face against her hair but resisted the urge.
She lifted her head and met his gaze. Her eyes no longer opened wide, but her lids and lips parted in silent summons. Her eyes weren’t the light color he’d dreamed about, but a darker, more sensual blue.
He stroked the pad of his thumb along her cheek, loosening a few pieces of hair stuck to her skin. “Are you all right?” The tone of his voice came out deeper than he’d expected. He stopped his thumb when it dipped lower, nearly touching her bottom lip. His heart hammered.
She nodded, and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
He lost his breath. Does she know what she’s doing to me? She’s absolutely adorable.
The urge to move his thumb closer to her mouth became strong, to feel her lips like he’d imagined doing since they met.
Soon, he found his breath, but it was ragged. “Is there any glass on you?”
“No. I...don’t think so.” Her voice cracked.
Using his other hand, he swiped a fallen lock of hair off her forehead. She inhaled and stepped out of his arms, her hands twisting at her stomach. The movement of her chest rose and fell as quick as his own.
Her face flamed a lovely rose color, and her gaze dropped to the floor where Leroy and Kane tried to sweep up the broken glass. She pulled at the cloth wrapped around her waist and bent to help with the mess on the floor.
“Here, I’ll do that.” Peter stepped in front of her and took the cloth from her shaky hands, his fingers brushing hers. Her face beamed a shade darker.
Within minutes, they had the glass swept up and disposed of in an empty bucket.
“Miz Celia.” Samuel locked the shutters. “I thinks we should check the other rooms to make sho’ there’s no more broken windows.”
“You are correct, Samuel.” Her hand still shook when she brought it up to her throat. “Let’s hurry. I’d hate for the rain to ruin something.”
Peter didn’t want to tear himself away from the alluring picture she made as she stood, acting like their embrace hadn’t affected her. It had. She’d been in his arms while her body trembled. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, so he clenched his jaw. He couldn’t show her how she made him feel.
He nodded. “I’ll take the second floor.”
The men divided the house and went in search of broken windows. Peter gave her a wink before turning and hurrying from the kitchen.
Their little interlude had disturbed her, just as it had him. He liked those kinds of disturbances. He enjoyed the way his heart had skipped a beat as if he were a schoolboy again experiencing his first crush.
He’d also have to be careful. Getting involved with the little filly could be dangerous. She wasn’t like the women he’d been consorting with lately. Women like Cecilia searched for a long-term relationship. Right now, he had more important things on his mind, and a wife and family did not top his priority list.
Finding that man who stabbed and robbed him was right next to his goal of obtaining his family’s home. Soon Belle Grove would be his once again.
CECILIA HAD ASSURED the men she’d be fine alone in the house. So then why did she have to restrain herself to keep from calling them back when they left for the bunkhouse?
She pulled the curtain aside and looked out the window. As the men hurried up the lane toward their lodging by the mill, her gaze stuck to one man in particular. His clothes had not yet dried, so he’d departed wearing the borrowed servants’ clothes.
Groaning in disgust at her thoughts, she dropped the curtain and stepped away. Why did he disturb her so? This wasn’t proper, and she cursed herself for being lured to him. And his charming hazel eyes knew just how to twinkle and make her heart flip.
She’d seen other men who were every bit as handsome and just as muscular. Of course, she’d been dressed in her doctor’s disguise during that time. Could that be her problem? Was she so used to pretending to be a man she had never allowed herself to have womanly desires?
Yet she couldn’t have them now. And especially not for him. She didn’t want Peter Grayson to be the man to make her swoon. He was still after her brother, and if Peter found out she protected Hank... On top of that, she really didn’t know Peter at all.
She wrung her hands. No. Peter would never find out. She’d make certain of that. Having him work on her plantation would assure her he had no time to look for her brother.
On weary legs, she climbed the stairs. Today had been productive, especially in the field. The muscles in her arms screamed, her back ached, and she needed to get off her feet. Being a doctor had never been this laborious.
She walked into her room and closed the door behind her. After lighting the candle by her bed, she sank on the edge of the mattress and sighed. Had she the energy to even undress? Probably not. Cecilia released her hairpiece, removing the attached wig and set it on the bed stand. She plucked at the buttons on her dress until her bodice opened. Pushing the material over her shoulders, she pulled it down and removed her dress. Next came her corset, and although every muscle in her arms cried out in protest, she still managed to take off the restraining garment.
Undressing took longer than usual, but finally she slipped on her nightgown and crawled into bed. The moment her head hit the pillow, her eyelids closed, but sleep didn’t come as she’d wished. Instead, image
s of Peter floated through her head. So handsome. So kind. And his kiss three weeks ago had made her toes curl.
She rolled to her side. The feather pillow needed punching, but she didn’t have the strength. Instead, she imagined how the plantation would look with all the repairs done, their crop of cane cut and harvested, but mostly how well Peter would look beside her through it all.
HANK ASHBY STRETCHED his arms over his head, relaxing into the lumpy mattress. The Creole woman who had just kept him company left quietly after he paid her. He hadn’t gone to stay with Aunt Beatrice in Virginia as he’d promised his sister. Galveston had tempted him, along with the luscious women here.
He’d won a fair amount of money today. It wasn’t enough to help with the taxes on the plantation, so he’d spent it how he saw fit. Cecilia wouldn’t know, and thank Heavens she couldn’t lay the guilt speech on him again. Although she was the older sibling, she still made him feel as if it was his responsibility to run the plantation. He’d never liked her doctoring because it took her away from the house, but how could he stop her? Besides, she was pretty darn good at what she did. Too bad he couldn’t say the same about the way he ran the plantation.
Frowning, he realized he was never meant to be the owner of a plantation. Why had his parents placed the responsibility on him? He never wanted it. Gambling and other nocturnal activities was what he liked best.
A light knock tapped upon the door and jerked him out of his thoughts. Had the Creole woman returned?
Cursing his unexpected visitor, he crawled out of bed and wrapped the sheet around him. He walked to the door. “Who is it?”
“Hank, it’s me. Rose.”
What is she doing here?
He swung open the door and stared at one of Deborah’s Delights standing in the semi-darkened hall of the hotel. “Rose, I didn’t know you worked here, too.”
“I don’t. I snuck away to talk to you.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“I followed you.” She stepped inside the room and closed the door. “I need to talk to you.”
Rose pulled the black cloak tighter around her body. Usually she liked displaying her overly exposed bosom. Why not now?
“Can’t this wait until later?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Sheriff Hampton is downstairs asking about you. He has a fist full of dollars, and I’m quite certain one of the whores will tell him what room you’re in.”
His heart slammed in his chest and he swore. “What should I do?”
“It just so happens, I have a room down the hall. Hurry and collect your things and come to room eight.” She turned and left.
Hank rushed around the room, shoving all of his things into a satchel and tried to dress at the same time. Once he was fully clothed, he swept his gaze once more around the room, he double-checked to see if he’d gotten everything.
He opened the door, and tiptoed toward room eight, not wanting to alert anyone of his departure. When he reached Rose’s room, he knocked. Immediately, she opened it and let him in.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
He walked to the end of the bed, sat down, and dropped his satchel on the floor. “So why do you suddenly want to help me?”
She sat next to him and sighed. “Hank, I know you’re runnin’ from the law.”
He widened his eyes and gulped. “You do?”
“Yes. I thought we could run together.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you dodging the sheriff?”
“He’s been askin’ me a lot of questions, too.”
“Why you?”
“Because I was with Mr. Grayson the night someone stabbed him.” She ran her finger over the torn lace of her dress.
“But I still don’t understand. What are you so afraid of?”
She lifted her gaze to him. “I don’t want to give him too much information.”
His heart quickened, and blood rushed to his temples. He took her hand. “What information do you have?”
“Hank, I saw you follow Mr. Grayson into the alley.”
He scowled. “But I didn’t stab him.”
“You just took his money?”
“Yes. By the time I got to him, someone had already stabbed him. I figured he’d die anyway, so I grabbed the money.”
Her hands cupped the side of his face then she pushed her fingers through his hair. “Do you still have the money?”
“No. There wasn’t that much on him, and I used the remaining left to pay the bank before they took my plantation away.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But Mr. Grayson had won a lot of money. Where did it go?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, unless someone else robbed him before I did.”
“If that’s the case, we’ll have to find out who that person is and turn him in. That way, they’ll know you didn’t do it.”
“Good plan.”
Her painted lips curved into a grin. “You know, we could work together. I’ve always liked you, Hank.”
He grinned wide. “You’ve always been my favorite, too.”
“So what do you say?”
“Let’s do it. I’m tired of being on the run, and I’m especially tired of my sister not believing me.”
“I will help you, Hank, but you have to promise I’ll get half of the reward money.”
Confusion swam in his head that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed tonight. “Reward money?”
“Yes. The sheriff has posted a reward.”
“How much?”
“One thousand dollars.”
He nodded and grinned wide. “Deal, partner.”
Chapter Nine
Peter stretched his aching back as he stared up into the sky. No heavy clouds today, yet he wished for another rainstorm like the other night. It would be easier to work in the rain than in the blistering heat.
Sweat drenched his forehead and a trail of moisture dripped down his face. He threaded his fingers through his long hair and swept it away from his face. The temperature wouldn’t be as bad if he could find a way to keep his hair away from his eyes.
He turned to Samuel. “By chance, do you know where I can find a leather tie or some kind of band to keep my hair back?”
“No, Missah Peter. But if’n ya like, Miz Celia gives de best haircuts around dez parts.”
Peter grinned. “She does? Well, perhaps I’ll mosey on up to the house and ask if she’ll cut my hair.”
“Sho’nuff, Missah Peter. We’ll be all right in de fields until ya gets back.”
Brushing the dirt off his clothes, Peter strode toward the house. Excitement built in his chest, anticipating when he’d rest his lonely eyes on Cecilia again. Strange how seeing her brightened his day. It was more than that. He wanted to make her smile, laugh, just so he could hear her angelic voice. She was interested in him, almost as much as he was in her. More times than he could count, her cheeks would bloom a pretty pink whenever he caught her sultry glances.
He stepped through the back door to the kitchen. Cecilia and Anna-Mae’s laughter rang through the room, lifting his heart. When he came in the room, both women turned and looked at him. Once again, Cecilia’s cheeks darkened, which made her blue eyes sparkle. So pretty.
“’Aftanoon, Missah Peter.” Anna-Mae wiped her hands on her apron. “What kin I do for ya?”
He switched his gaze to Cecilia. “Samuel told me we had a barber in the house. Best one around these parts.”
Anna-Mae laughed as Cecilia’s face flamed.
“You need a haircut?” Cecilia asked.
“I do.” He ran his fingers through his hair, lifting it slightly above his head. “Either that or a tie to keep it out of my eyes and off the back of my neck.”
She smiled. “I could give you a trim. Go out back on the porch and I’ll fetch my scissors.”
He grabbed a ch
air and headed toward the shaded porch. The more he thought about Cecilia being that close to him and threading her fingers through his hair, the more his smile stretched. He must maintain control, or he’d have her in his arms, kissing her until he had enough.
He chuckled. Why did he think he’d never be able to get enough of that woman?
He sat, tapping his boot on the wooden floor, impatient to smell her lilac scent and feel her touch.
She walked out of the house carrying a folded towel over her arm and holding a pair of scissors. Today she wore a dress that opened more at the throat, giving him a glimpse of her skin. It looked so smooth—so soft. What he wouldn’t give to stroke her neck just to see. The blue color of the dress matched her eyes, and when she smiled, they glimmered.
As she walked behind him, she draped the towel over his shoulders. The heat from her body touched him before her fingers did. As he’d suspected, lilacs surrounded her, making him breathe deeply.
“How short do you want it?”
“Enough to keep it out of my face while I’m working in the fields.”
It seemed like a long time before she touched his head. Maybe because he held his breath in anticipation. Once her fingers ran through his thickness, he nearly groaned aloud in pleasure. Cecilia said nothing as she clipped away. He closed his eyes and concentrated on every stroke of her fingers against his scalp and on his neck. The whisper of her breath caressed him, too, and he wondered if she was breathing as deeply as he was.
He’d had haircuts many times in his life, but this was the first time he noticed how slowly it went. Did she enjoy it as much as he did? Could that be the reason she took her time? He certainly hoped so.
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