“Mr. Sterling,” Peter said. “How much is the bank asking for?”
“That, Mr. Grayson, is none of your concern,” Heath snapped.
Peter took a step closer, almost nose to nose with Heath. “It is when I’m going to pay it.”
She gasped, her heart beating to life once again. “Mr. Grayson? What are you saying?”
When he turned and looked at her, the hardness in his face disappeared. “I’m saying that I might have the money to pay the taxes.”
“You have one thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Heath shouted. “You are merely a servant, Mr. Grayson. Besides, why would Miss Ashby take any of your money? You probably won it gambling, and she doesn’t approve of gamblers.”
Peter moved away from Heath to stand in front of her. His hand reached out as if to touch her but then dropped to his side. “I’ve noticed how your other servants help out around here, and now, it’s my turn.”
Her heart melted. He is so sweet.
Tears threatened to form in her eyes, so she blinked. “But you’ve already helped. If not for you, we wouldn’t have new tools and a new grinder.”
“I want to help more. I have the money, Miss Cecilia, and I want you to take it and pay the taxes on Belle Grove.”
Emotion tugged on her heart and made it swell. Moisture gathered in her eyes that she couldn’t blink away this time. “You’d do that for me...for the plantation?”
“Yes.” He smiled, which made his eyes twinkle.
She hitched a breath, her heart beating faster now. As much as she didn’t want to remove her stare from Peter, she had to look at Heath. It took a lot of effort, but finally she met Heath’s glare.
“I believe my problem has been solved, Mr. Sterling.”
Her neighbor scowled at Peter then turned sharply, marched to his horse, and quickly mounted. Barking out a command to the animal, he kicked his heels into the horse’s belly. The steed jerked into motion and galloped away.
She released a heavy sigh. Behind her, Anna-Mae mumbled a prayer. Turning, Cecilia met Peter’s kind, smiling eyes. Her heart lurched again.
“Mr. Grayson—”
“Peter, if you don’t mind.”
She nodded. “Peter, I would like to ask a personal question.”
“All right.”
“The day you came here, you said you needed a job, and you practically threw yourself at my feet.” She planted her hands on her hips. “So can you tell me how you have suddenly acquired funds to pay my taxes, let alone purchase tools for the mill?”
His smile widened, displaying his white teeth, emphasized by the copper skin of his face. “I’m a gambler, Miss Cecilia. Shouldn’t that say it all?”
“Although I despise gamblers, I will forgive you this one time.” A grin tugged at her lips, and she held her mouth still, not wanting to reveal her emotions. “Only because it saved my hide.”
His gaze slid down her body as if in a slow inspection then back up, burning her in places no other man could.
“And such a nice hide to save.” He winked. Swinging on his heels, he walked toward the fields.
“Peter? Where are you going?” Her voice cracked.
“To the bunkhouse to get your money,” he answered over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Her body weakened from his heated examination, and her limbs wobbled like a newborn calf. She wanted to go with him, truly she did, but her legs wouldn’t listen. Of course, trying to tell her heart it wouldn’t be improper was almost impossible, too.
Anna-Mae walked up and stood beside her. “Go on.” She nudged her elbow against Cecilia’s arm. “I’ll fix yer bath and get yer church-goin’ dress out, so ya’ll look mighty purdy when ya meet with Mistah Schooner.” Anna-Mae arched her eyebrows, and her brown eyes held a hint of mischief. “Just don’t be long or the water’ll get cold.” She chuckled and sauntered toward the house.
Cecilia’s heart picked up rhythm. She lifted her dress to her ankles and sprinted toward Peter. “Wait for me.”
Chapter Ten
Peter opened the door to his bunkhouse and motioned his hand for Cecilia to enter. When she walked around him to go inside, her cheeks turned pink, and she lowered her gaze. Being alone together was not proper, so why had she come? For the money, yes, but did she have another purpose in mind?
He certainly did. He wouldn’t mind giving her another kiss. The one they’d shared when she thought she was dreaming was too brief, but made him want more.
She stopped in the middle of the room, her gaze moving over the meager furniture. He’d been privileged to get living quarters with a worn couch and rickety table in this room and a feather down mattress framed with squeaky-springs in the other.
He ran his gaze over her soiled dress, dirt-streaked face, and windblown hair, still held together in black netting. Nonetheless, she was beautiful. Desire shot through his body, igniting a flame inside of him. Being alone with her was dangerous, especially when nobody would disturb them.
“I...I don’t think I ever thanked you for your generosity,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Generosity?”
“For letting me stay here. It’s a mighty fine bunkhouse.”
She grinned. “Better than cream gravy?”
He chuckled and walked closer. The dirt smudge on her cheek pulled his attention, as did her full, inviting lips. He lifted his fingers to her face and brushed away the smudge. She sucked in a quick breath, which made his heart thump wildly.
“Mr. Gray—” Her voice cracked so she cleared her throat. “Peter, the money, please?”
Dropping his hand, he stepped back. “Yes, the money.” He turned and ambled into the other room. This time she didn’t follow.
In his trunk, he dug through his clothes to locate his hiding spot behind a loose board. He counted out the exact dollars. Looked as if he needed to go gambling again. His funds were getting low. Although, with the sale of the sugar from the cane field, he should receive a pleasing amount.
He closed the trunk, stood, then froze. Most of that money would go to Cecilia, not to him. Servants didn’t get paid very well other than room and board. She would refund him for the tools he’d purchased, but that was all. He wouldn’t get anything from the sale of the sugar.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he needed to change his original plan. Time to turn on the charm.
Now he had to crawl his way into the house and into her life. He also didn’t want a snake like Heath Sterling to snatch her away from his grasp.
Peter punched his fist into the mattress. Heath had been a young boy when Peter had last seen him, riding beside his pappy after they’d informed Peter’s granddad the plantation rested in the hands of the bank. The smirk on Heath’s face would be permanently branded in his memory.
Heath had always thought himself better. Well, Peter wasn’t the young, naive boy he’d been back then. He was stronger and ready to fight any way he could to get his plantation back.
Combing his fingers through his hair, he blew out a frustrated sigh. He assumed Cecilia’s brother had run like a coward and didn’t plan on returning. So if Peter couldn’t get back his money from the brother, he’d get it another way. Through the sister.
Only one way for that to happen. He had to be firm in his decision and couldn’t let Cecilia’s beauty sway him.
When he entered the front of the bunkhouse, Cecilia stood near the window. She had such a tiny frame, and he’d like to wrap his arms around her just to see how well she fit snuggled against him.
Another image floated through his mind—a small woman with short hair whose body fit perfectly in his arms.
My night angel.
Why would he think of her at a time like this? Yet, what he’d remembered of the woman, it was no wonder he thought of her. Both his night angel and Cecilia had the same petite body.
He walked closer, and the floor creaked. She swung around, her hands twisting against her middle. He’d li
ke to take her hands and stroke her until she relaxed.
“Well...” He held up the money and grinned.
She smiled. “Oh, Peter, you will never know how grateful I am for your help.”
She came toward him, stretching her hand to take the money, but before her fingers closed over it, he withdrew. Her eyes narrowed.
Running the tip of his thumb over the ends of the dollars, he shook his head. “You know, Cecilia, I was just thinking.”
Her shoulders squared, her chin erect. “About what?”
“About making a deal with you.”
Color faded from her face, and her lips curled down.
“You see,” he continued, “I’m a gambling man, and I always make certain I have a good hand before betting too high.”
“Peter, please say what’s on your mind.” Her voice no longer had the gracious lilt to it.
He closed the small space between them until he stood a mere whisper away. Her head tilted back as she looked into his eyes. She sucked in her breath.
“I’m also a business man.” He stroked his finger along her chin. “And when I see a Queen of Hearts I know I must play my lucky card.”
“What are you saying?” Her voice quivered.
“You’re my Queen of Hearts, Cecilia. With you as my partner, we could go far.”
She scrunched her forehead. “I still don’t understand.”
“I’m more than willing to give you this money, but it comes with a price.”
“Wha—what’s the price?”
He admired her stubborn stance, the way she kept her eyes on him, and the way she didn’t back down. She was a strong woman, and he liked that about her. Liked it almost too much.
“I want to be your business partner. You can call me your overseer or whatever you would like in front of others, but I want half of what Belle Grove earns from its sugarcane. We can work out the terms later.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
He took a step back and shrugged. “Then I suppose I’ll find another plantation where I can invest my money.”
Cecilia’s bottom lip trembled. “How—how could you do this to me? You’re no better than Mr. Sterling.”
Holding up his hand, he shook his head. “I beg to differ, my dear. I’m not offering marriage, just a partnership.”
“Why are you doing this? Why have you suddenly changed into a cold and underhanded person?”
He shrugged. “I’m a businessman, Cecilia.”
She bunched her hands, and her face flamed red. “You’re a gambler and a thief.”
“No, I’m not a thief.”
“Ha! A gambler is nothing but an intelligent thief—a thief who knows how to take advantage of weaker men and helpless women.”
He stroked her cheek again, but she slapped his hand away. Tears gathered in her eyes, causing his heart to clench. He didn’t want to hurt her, but this was the only way.
“What’s your answer, darling?”
Her jaw hardened, and she folded her arms. “You, Mr. Grayson, can refer to me as Miss Ashby.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Because from this point forward, our relationship will be business only. Regretfully, I’ll become your business partner.”
PETER TOSSED BACK ANOTHER shot of tequila and grimaced as it slid down his throat. Even after five drinks, the liquid still burned. After this many drinks, he still couldn’t get Cecilia’s dejected image out of his head. Her sad blue eyes, her luscious lips turned down into a frown. The sparkle had been removed from her countenance, and he had himself to blame.
Yet, what else could he do?
He shook his head. She’d learn to like him again. He’d bet his lucky card on it.
Laughter from the gaming table pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder. Five men sat around the table playing cards. Two of Deborah’s Delights stood nearby ready to assist.
He scratched his head and glanced around the full room. Where was his night angel? Did she work tonight?
When one of the women walked by, he grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“Could you tell me where one of your friends is tonight?”
She pouted and folded her arms. “You don’t want me?”
“I’m just lookin’ for someone right now.”
She tilted her head. “Who?”
“I don’t know her name, but she’s a tiny little thing with short, brown hair.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Short hair?” She laughed. “Honey, none of the women I know have short hair.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Are you certain?”
“Yup. As long as I’ve been here, I’ve never met a woman with short hair.” She leaned in closer. “But I’m sure I could take your mind off her.”
Peter scowled and pushed her away. “You can’t. Nobody can.”
She shrugged and walked away, swishing her hips. He swung back to the bar and ordered another drink. He wanted her now more than ever. Needed to feel her soft lips on his and hear her soothing voice telling him he wasn’t a bad person for how he had tricked Cecilia. Of course, Cecilia’s mouth tasted just as wonderful, and her touch was Heavenly, except now she hated him. Especially since he’d pushed her into becoming his partner.
Agony tugged at his heart again. He probably could have sweet-talked her a little more before making the offer, but he ran out of time when Heath stopped by. His childhood rival knew how to dig his way into people’s lives, and it looked as if he had Cecilia next on his list.
Peter couldn’t let that happen. He’d do whatever it took to get back in Cecilia’s good graces.
When the bartender placed the drink in front of him, Peter handed the man his money, then tilted back his head, and downed the liquid. His eyes watered, and his throat burned. Nothing different from the last time, so why wasn’t the liquor numbing his aching soul like he’d wanted?
At his elbow, the rustle of fabric and clearing of a woman’s throat overrode the tinkering piano. She rubbed his arm. Another one of Deborah’s Delights stood close.
“Howdy, stranger. Where’ve you been?”
How did she know him? He scratched his forehead and frowned. Oh, yeah. The redhead that had hovered over him the night he won big—and lost it all.
He nodded. “Ma’am.”
“I’m Rose, remember?”
“That’s right. Howdy, Rose.”
“I’ve missed you. Where’ve you been?”
“Around.”
She pouted, her caked-on makeup heavier than before, her unwashed body reeking stronger than he remembered.
“Do you want to pick up where we left off last time?”
“Thanks, but no.”
“Why not? You can afford me.”
“Not anymore. Didn’t you hear? Someone robbed me. That night, in fact.”
She gasped. “That was you?”
He nodded.
“Do you know who stole your money?”
He shrugged. “I have my suspicions.”
“Who?”
He grinned and cupped her chin. “Don’t worry your little head over it. I’m certain the sheriff will find the person responsible.”
She slipped her hands around his arm. “If you’re not doing anything right now, we could go to my room.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”
She huffed and yanked her hand away. “I’d heard you were a gutless coward. I suppose they were right. You’re not worth my time.” Lifting her chin, she swung around and marched across the room.
Not caring about her insult, he picked his hat off the bar and stood. His body swayed, so he grabbed hold of the counter. Maybe the liquor worked better than he’d thought. After regaining his bearings, he sauntered to the door, grateful the room didn’t spin.
On his way out the door, he stumbled into a man entering. The man gripped Peter’s shoulders and steadied him.
“Why, Mr. Grayson. I haven’t seen you for a
while.”
Peter blinked a couple of times to bring the man’s face into focus. “Oh, hullo there, Sheriff.”
“Where’ve you been?”
He leaned against the doorframe. “I found work on a sugarcane field.”
The sheriff slapped Peter’s shoulder. “Good for you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you need help getting home? Ya don’t look too steady there, son.”
“I’m fine.” He flipped his hand through the air. “I thought I’d pass the time with Doc Copeland.”
“Doc’s not here. He had a family emergency and went to Virginia for a couple of months.”
Peter furrowed his brow. “Then who’s doin’ the doctorin’?”
“Down south about ten miles there’s Doctor Jones if you need something.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
Peter turned and walked down the few steps of the saloon out into the dirt road. He cursed under his breath. Now how was he supposed to find out about the woman he’d kissed so passionately and who felt as soft as Heaven in his arms? Who else besides the doc would know about his night angel?
He stopped and looked down the street toward the doc’s office. What were his chances some little clue waited for him inside as to who the woman might be, and where she might be? Well, he had nothing better to do tonight than to go find out.
He hoped he didn’t have to climb through a window. In his tipsy state, that wouldn’t be a wise idea. Didn’t want to injure himself, especially with no doctor around to fix him up.
No lamps were lit inside the office. Of course, he didn’t expect any to be, but this assured him he wouldn’t get caught.
The half-moon didn’t light his way well, and he stumbled over rocks and tree limbs that littered the grounds around the small building. He shook the doorknob and tried to lift the windows, looking for a way inside. The doors were locked, and he’d never been able to pick a lock, so where did that leave him?
Grumbling, he slumped against the door and slid to the ground. He rested his head against the wood and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was a good thing he couldn’t get in. As the minutes ticked by, his brain became fuzzier. Pretty soon it wouldn’t cooperate with him at all.
The tinkering of the piano from up the street echoed through the night, but other sounds surrounded him, too. The chirp of the crickets, belching of frogs, and footsteps...
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