The Flame and the Flower

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “I’ve come here to discuss business. You might be interested in the fact that I’ve decided to sell my land. I thought I should come here first to you to see what price you’ll be willing to pay to have it.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Well, it would have been rather unseemly of me to sell it to anyone else, knowing you wanted it. You’ve been after me for a long time to sell it to you.”

  “Yes,” Brandon replied, still not appearing anxious.

  “Well, damn it, if you’re not interested I’ll sell it to someone who is!” she stormed, spinning around.

  Brandon gazed at her mockingly with an eyebrow raised. “Who?”

  “Why, there—there are plenty of people just waiting to buy it. I could sell it in a moment.”

  She didn’t sound so sure of herself despite her words.

  “Louisa,” he sighed. “Let’s stop this pretense. I’m the only one interested in buying your land. Perhaps some poor dirt farmer would like to have it, but I don’t think he could afford your price.”

  “That isn’t true! I could sell it to anyone!” she declared.

  “Oh simmer down, Louisa. I know exactly what you’re trying to do but it won’t work. Now I’ll give you a couple of reasons why I’m the only one interested. No one of any wealth would have any use for your piddling acres. Our plantations are rather deserted out here and no one is going to ride all this way to bother with your little bit of land, especially when you have no intention of selling Oakley. I am the only one who can afford to be a little generous. But don’t come around here with your schemes and expect me to panic and double my offer. I’m not that kind of fool. Now, we’ll discuss the details in a few moments, but first I’m going to sit here and relax and finish my drink.”

  “Brandon, you big tease,” Louisa laughed. “Why do you like to worry me so? You had every intention of buying the land when I said I would sell.”

  “I bargain in business, Louisa, never tease,” he commented dryly.

  When Louisa swept into the study, leaving her heavily perfumed scent trailing behind her, Brandon bent over Heather and breathed in her soft, delicate fragrance.

  “I’ll try not to be too long, my love. If you wish to go to bed when you finish with Beau, I’ll make some excuse to Louisa after we get our business settled and send her straight home.”

  “Please do,” Heather murmured. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely over this afternoon. I’d rather not see her again tonight.” She bit into her bottom lip. “Oh, Brandon, she’s so determined to break us apart. I hate her.” She looked down at Beau, who kneaded her breasts with his small hand, and laughed a little nervously. “What I need is a good soak in the bath to forget my problems with her.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll tell the boys to heat up some water. Anything else, sweet?”

  “Yes,” she replied softly. “Kiss me so I’ll know that woman doesn’t stand a chance with you.”

  He smiled and accommodated her and there were few doubts that remained afterward.

  Now the land was his, Brandon mused as he climbed the stairs, and he was infinitely glad he had spared Heather from that dickering which had settled the matter.

  He sighed heavily.

  One thing he could always credit Louisa with was boldness and a great deal of nerve. She had started off with a blatant proposal that they renew their relationship, making unworthy and vulgar advances upon him that had stirred no other emotion but disgust. Finally she had offered the land at an exorbitant price and getting her down to a reasonable settlement had taken a great deal of wearisome arguing. She had pleaded with no thought of pride, threatened not to sell, propositioned him like any harlot. The meeting had left him feeling unclean to say the least and wondering how low she would stoop in her search for a fortune. It was common knowledge that she was in a poor state of finance and needed the money, but Heather had once been in even more dire straits and had not succumbed to selling herself or openly pleading for sustenance.

  Heather—his beloved. Just the thought of her washed away the sour mood Louisa had left with him. He remembered the moment at the mill when she had stood half clothed against him, and his pulse quickened. He’d have to see about inside bolts for those doors so she wouldn’t be so nervous next time. He chuckled to himself. He was worse than any rutting stag in her company, always thinking of her in his arms, of her soft, warm body curving to his, of her lovely limbs entwining him. The hot blood surged within him, and his thoughts raced to several days before when while out riding with her he had induced her to take a swim with him in the creek. She had been timid about shedding her clothes in broad daylight, fearing someone might come upon them, but after he assured her that it was a most private place, gesturing to the abundance of trees and shrubs, she had even been willing to concede it might be fun. Casually watching her disrobe and standing in the buff, as he was, his desires had grown quite evident, and seeing him, she had known how that swim would end. Playfully she had eluded him and dashed into the water, gasping at the coolness of it, and then tried to outdistance him with rapid strokes. He had chuckled at her efforts while he easily overtook her, coming to her side and then diving underwater to catch her ankle and pull her down into his embrace. He smiled as he remembered back. It had been a most pleasurable afternoon.

  He opened the door to the bedroom and paused, taking in the scene. Heather sat in the tub, looking much as she had in London, sweet, desirable, irresistibly beautiful with the candlelight shining on wet, glistening skin, her hair piled on her head, a few loose curls dangling. She smiled as he closed the door and came forward to rest his hands on the tub to lean down to her.

  “Good evening, sweet,” he murmured.

  She ran a wet finger over his lips. “Good evening, m’lord,” she returned softly and slid her hand behind his head as he pulled her up to him.

  September’s harvest began and as the crops were taken to market, the streets of Charleston knew a milling throng. There were buyers and sellers and a great multitude of neither who yet sought to trim some small profit from the great sums of money that changed hands during the day. There were rich and poor, beggar and thief, ship’s captain and slave. A great number of people came simply to sit in carriages, coffee houses and inns and watch the bustling mob and exchange comments on the endless streams of characters that met their eye. During the day the city was a bustling trading center, at night the activities changed and it became a fermenting caldron with entertainment for every whim.

  When Brandon presented Heather tickets to a new play being featured at the Dock Street Theatre, she almost choked him in her excitement, spreading her thanks across his face with enthusiastic kisses. When her glee had subsided and she sat in his lap studying the tickets, she confessed that she had never been to such a place before.

  Whenever they presented themselves to the public, the couple always drew attention. Brandon’s tall, lean handsomeness and Heather’s petite beauty made them unique and tonight as they entered the foyer of Dock Street Theatre they were especially so. Brandon wore white breeches and a waistcoat of the same color. A bit of lace fell over his brown hands and ruffled down the front of his shirt, and his coat of scarlet was artistically embroidered with gold thread over the lapels and board stiff collar. Heather was bewitching in a gown of black French lace, embellished liberally with tiny jets that shimmered in the candlelight. An ostrich plume had been woven into her coiffure and at her ears swung Catherine Birmingham’s diamond earrings.

  There were the usual envious stares to greet them and warm greetings from friends. Brandon watched over his wife possessively as the men bent over her hand. Many young bucks beat their way through the throng in hopes the ravishing beauty was some unattached Birmingham kin. They came to stand and posture before Heather and they found at close range she was even more delectable than from afar. Their faces fell and they turned away in disappointment as Brandon, with some humor, presented his wife.

  Matthew Bishop was seen from a distance an
d seemed to prefer it that way. He kept his gaze from dwelling long on Heather and entertained some other regal wench with carefully zealous consideration.

  Mrs. Clark greeted them with a critical but approving eye. “Heather, my lovely child, you’re looking delightfully wicked this evening. You’ll put these other girls to shame in their virgin pinks and whites.” She turned to Brandon with an amused look as she leaned forward on her cane. “And I see you’re watching over her as carefully as ever, sir.”

  He grinned. “After knowing my father, Abegail, is it possible for you to believe that I am worse than he?”

  Mrs. Clark chuckled and tapped him affectionately with her fan. “It took a long time and a little slip of a girl to make you realize that, sir. You were too carefree in your bachelor days. I remember when you couldn’t have cared less if some lady’s affection was taken from you.” She chuckled again. “But you looked at quite a few of the ladies in those days and I imagine tasted a goodly number. But now look at you, so stricken with this filly you’re like a stag in rut.” She turned back to Heather and smiled slowly. “I’m glad you happened along, child. The Birminghams are some of my favorite people and I like to see them get the best.”

  Heather brushed her lips against the old woman’s cheek. “Thank you, Abegail. From you that is truly a compliment.”

  “Oh poppycosh!” Abegail protested. “I state plain fact and there’s no need for you to be filling this poor old head with your Irish nonsense. I’m not so simply charmed as that.” She smiled to soften her gruff reprimand and patted the younger woman’s hand. “Don’t waste those pretty words on me, child. Your man is more susceptible.”

  Later, in their private box, Brandon had his eyes more on Heather than on the stage. Her obvious excitement over the production delighted him. As the actors played their parts, she sat as still as a mouse, catching every word. She was more than enchanting and he found it nearly impossible to drag his eyes from her. When they stood again in the lobby, sipping a little wine, he listened with amusement as she warbled on gaily about the play.

  “I shan’t forget it ever, Brandon. Papa never took me to anything like this. It’s so wonderfully beautiful, like a fairy tale come to life.”

  He bent over her and laughed softly in her ear. “Perhaps I’m being a bad influence over you, my pet.”

  Her eyes shone warmly as they met his. “If that be so, it is far too late to speak of it, for I’d have it no other way. I am doomed, for I can no longer be satisfied with just existing. I must love and be loved. I must possess and be possessed. I must be yours, my darling, as you must be mine. So you see, you’ve taught me too well. Everything you set out to do in the beginning you have accomplished and more so. I must live with you and be a part of you, and if we weren’t tied with marriage bonds and you still sailed the sea, I’d follow you around the world as your mistress, and to me our love would be our sacred vows. And if confessing this makes of me a wanton woman, then I am truly a very happy one.”

  Still holding her gaze, Brandon lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. “If you were my mistress I’d have to keep you under lock and key so no other man would be able to whisk you away from me. You too are an excellent tutor. The gay bachelor now prefers the security of marriage. I enjoy every moment of being married to you, especially that part where I can say that you’re mine and mine alone.”

  She smiled softly and her eyes were full of love.

  “You shouldn’t look at me that way,” he murmured, returning her gaze.

  “What way?” she breathed, continuing to do so.

  “The same way you do when we’ve just made love, as if all the world could pass us by and you wouldn’t care.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she returned in the same soft tone.

  He grinned. “I’ll be hard put to stay and finish viewing the play if you continue, madam. You are a very fetching sight for even this old married man and you do test my manly control.”

  She laughed with a light heart but her gaiety ceased when she saw Brandon stop and stare over her shoulder with an amazed expression on his face. She turned to see what had startled him and found Louisa coming toward them. She wondered at Brandon’s reaction until her eyes fell on the beige gown the woman wore. It was exactly like the one she had given the peddler, the very same she had worn when she first met Brandon. Louisa, not to be outdone by anyone, had chosen to change it some slight degree in the style of the Parisians. The transparency of the gown would have been shocking to a more modest woman, but Louisa, never bothering about such a trivial thing as modesty, had very definitely rouged her nipples.

  “Hello, Brandon,” she purred in her silky voice when she stood before them, and she laughed softly as she felt his eyes as well as Heather’s on her attire. “I see you’ve noticed my gown. It is lovely, isn’t it? Thomas made it especially for me after I saw the original in his shop, and just for little old me, he put the other one away so no other woman would have a gown like mine.”

  Brandon cleared his throat and spoke inquiringly. “Was there some fault with the original that he had to make a second for you?”

  Louisa reveled in the interest Brandon was showing in her dress. “No, there was nothing wrong with it, darling, but it was so dreadfully small no one could have worn it. Why, even Heather with her skinny little girl’s figure would have failed to squeeze into it. It would have been much, much too tiny for her.”

  Brandon exchanged a glance with Heather. “It must indeed have been small.”

  “Well, I knew I had to have one just like it the moment I laid eyes upon it,” the woman continued gaily. “And I’m so glad I insisted that Thomas make me this one. I do so like to please you, darling, and I see that I have.” She feigned embarrassment. “Of course, you’ve been staring at me so hard I’m wondering if it’s the gown at all—and in front of your wife too, darling.”

  Brandon looked at her passively. “The gown reminds me of one Heather wore when I first met her, Louisa,” he returned dryly. “It was a gown worth treasuring for the memories associated with it.”

  Louisa’s face turned to stone and she looked menacingly at Heather, then smiled tritely. “However did you get the money to purchase such a gown as this? You must have worked very hard to obtain it. But then if your husband is so interested in having you displayed in a garment such as this, my dear, you should meet my couturier. He’s here tonight. He could do wonders for your skin and bones. You’d be pleased with him, I’m sure.”

  Heather felt Brandon stiffen beside her.

  “I’m afraid the man wouldn’t please me, Louisa,” he replied. “I prefer that women sew Heather’s gowns.”

  Louisa laughed a bit harshly. “Why, Brandon, you’re becoming very strait-laced in your dotage:”

  Brandon dropped a hand on the bare flesh of his wife’s shoulder and caressed it leisurely. “As far as Heather is concerned, Louisa, I’ve always been a bit strait-laced.”

  Louisa felt a quick, quivery spasm of jealousy grip her as she watched his fingers move gently over Heather’s skin, remembering the feel of them against her own flesh, arousing sensual feelings that had never been matched before or since by any other man. She gave the smaller woman an evil glare.

  “You really must meet Thomas anyway, my dear. Perhaps he can give you a few suggestions on what to wear to make it appear as if you had a little flesh on your bones. I’ve seen him do such wonders with a childish figure. Wait here, darling, and I’ll find him for you.”

  Heather glanced up uncertainly at her husband as the woman walked away, having recognized the longing in Louisa’s eyes, knowing well that tormenting emotion from her own experiences. She found an amused smile upon his face.

  “If she only knew about that gown, she’d wring that poor fellow’s neck,” he laughed. “There’s no doubt the one he has is yours.”

  “She looks very lovely in it, doesn’t she?” Heather murmured.

  Brandon grinned down at her and moved his hand to her waist to squeez
e it fondly. “Not half so lovely as my vision of you in it or as you are every day, all day long.”

  Heather smiled, reassured, and watched Louisa disappear into the crowd of theatre goers. She forgot the woman for a few moments as Brandon brought her attention back to more pleasant things. But later, a feeling of uneasiness crept over her—the same strange, eerie sensation that had come upon her not very long ago at the mill. She was being stared at but with an intenseness that was anything but normal. She turned very slowly and saw him. The color drained from her face. The man stood beside Louisa, but his eyes rested upon her. He seemed not at all surprised to see her. He even nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of her and grinned. It was he. The grin was too horrible. She was positive there was no other in the whole world with a one-sided smirk like Mr. Thomas Hint.

  She swayed against Brandon, feeling faint, and the hand she put to her face was shaking uncontrollably. She tugged on her husband’s coat to make him bend to her, for she doubted she could make her voice carry even that distance.

  Brandon frowned with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  Louisa and Mr. Hint were walking toward them now. She couldn’t stand there, trying to make words come from her mouth. She had to speak.

  “Brandon,” she wheezed. “I don’t feel well. It must be the crowd. Please take me back to our box.”

  Then she heard Louisa’s voice. “Here he is, Heather. I would like for you to meet my dressmaker, Mr. Thomas Hint.”

  Too late! Panic was gripping her. She had a great desire to flee from the room as fast as her legs would carry her, but they would not move. She was frozen, paralyzed with fear.

  Brandon didn’t waste time with unnecessary words or politeness. “Please excuse us, Louisa. I’m afraid Heather has had a sudden attack of the vapors. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hint. Goodnight.”

  It wasn’t long before he had her in a chair in their private box. He took both her trembling hands into his.

  “Do you wish to go home? You’re shaking and you look as if you’d seen a ghost.”