Indigo (13 page)

He searched her face. Her manner made him ache in places he never knew existed, until now. He said to her, "Where I'm from, rapier tongues are
de rigeur.
I forget you weren't raised among vipers as I was. Please,
petite
..."

He touched his lips to her brow, brushing them against her dark skin slowly, contritely. In a short few days he'd be leaving, and he didn't want to part this way—with sadness and hurt. "I'm sorry..." he whispered almost desperately, seeing the tears standing like jewels in her eyes. "I'll never make you sad again ..."

His mouth brushed her lips, and he gathered her in closer. She came willingly, rising up on her bare toes to meet his lips.

Galen groaned as her arms encircled him. Her luscious mouth was as perfect as he'd dreamed. It had not been his intent to kiss her this way—not this deeply, not this slowly, not this intensely—but he could no more stop himself now than he could halt the pounding in his blood. He teased her lips into opening by slowly sliding the tip of his tongue against the trembling corners. When she moaned in sweet response, he partook fully of the honeyed cove within, pleasuring her at a leisurely pace. He didn't want her to be afraid of this—or of him.

Galen left her mouth, then kissed his way along the ebony line of her jaw, whispering, "Indigo..."

Hester's head dropped back. His kisses were devastating, masterful. She had no experience to call upon, and as a result was sent reeling from the bold pressure of his kiss against the small stripe of skin above her high-neck gown. She had no name for what he was making her feel, but she didn't want it to end.

"I want to touch you, Hester," he breathed against her ear, her lips. "You're beautiful everywhere. Let me show you..."

She had no idea what he meant, but if the touches he promised were as achingly potent as his kisses, she knew she wouldn't protest.

He recaptured her lips and his hands slid over her back. The rough muslin rustled in the silence of the shadowy-filled kitchen, the only sound more soft than the echoes of their passionate breathing.

When he began to untie the top ribbon of her gown, Hester knew she shouldn't be allowing such liberties, but her virgin's curiosity had been made brazen by this interlude. She let him undo the top ribbon, then the one beneath, and then, when she felt his mouth flirting with the hollow of her throat, she trembled in response. She found it hard to remain coherent; his lips were warm, his tongue flicking against her skin, hot as a stove. She couldn't speak, she couldn't think; when she felt the touch of his hand cupping her breast, she couldn't breathe. To her surprise he bent his head to taste her nipple through the rough fabric of her gown and she swore his mouth set the skin aflame. He gave the same caress to her other nipple. She moaned and dropped her head back, her body wanting more.

Galen gave her more. He opened another two ribbons and slid the halves aside so he could pleasure her without restraint. Her nipples were hard as polished points of onyx, and as succulent as the rarest of fruits. He kissed first one, then the other, savoring each.

As he slid his hands into her gown to sample the soft skin of her waist and hips, Galen swore she'd been created from the finest of silk. She was warm and her hushed sighs rose in tandem with his own burgeoning desires. He knew it would not take much more to coax her virgin's body into surrendering all; he sensed it in the fervent way she returned his kisses, and in the uninhibited way she trembled and rose under the intimate movements of his hands. She was ripe, lush and open to all the pleasure he could bestow, but he could not take her, she was not his. The right to love her fully and sample the dark sweetness flowing from within her silken thighs belonged to another man. He had to stop at that moment or risk compromising her.

When Galen gently and reluctantly eased himself away, Hester stood there feeling a shimmer from the heat still pulsing within. "Proper women aren't supposed to enjoy this are they?"

He gave a low chuckle and slid a finger over one tight nipple. "You're pretty proper, you tell me..."

She felt boneless, limp, yet on fire. He placed a kiss upon her lips and then began to redo the ties on her gown.

She asked softly, "What are you doing?"

"Helping you remain innocent, though lord knows I don't want to."

When the last tie was done, he kissed her again, this time so warmly it sent the flames soaring once more.

He whispered against her mouth, "Go up to your room,
petite,
before I strip this gown from you and never give it back."

Hester's senses spiraled. Parts of her wanted to throw caution to the wind and let him have his way, but she knew he was correct. She raised herself up on her toes to give him a smoldering kiss of her own, then whispered, "I did enjoy it. Goodnight, Galen."

He grinned. "Goodnight,
petite."

Despite the tumultuously sensuous events that day, Hester went right to sleep, only to be gently shaken awake by Galen a few hours later. A lamp had been lit but its low glow barely pierced the room's shadows. Seeing him seated on the bed beside her made her smile. "Did you change your mind about letting me keep my gown?" she asked sleepily.

Before he could answer, her bedroom door opened and a man she'd never seen before stuck his head in. "We must go, Galeno."

Hester sat up in surprise, defensively dragging her quilts to her chin.

Galen placed a calming hand against her cheek. "He's a friend, Indigo."

Galen then turned to the man. "Raymond, meet Hester Wyatt. Hester, my good friend, Raymond LeVeq."

Raymond, who equaled Galen in both handsomeness and size, replied in a French-accented voice,
"Enchante,
Madmoiselle Wyatt."

"I'm—pleased to meet you, Mr. LeVeq," Hester responded confusedly.

"Give us a moment, Raymond."

Before leaving though, Raymond reverted to his native French and asked, "Is she as innocent as she appears, my brother?"

Galen replied in English, "Yes, now go away. I'll be there in just a moment."

Hester saw Raymond smile as he bowed gracefully in her direction, then he departed and closed the door.

"What is he doing here?" she asked.

"He and his brothers are here to take me home. I've awakened you to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" she whispered.

The sadness in his eyes told all. Her heart broke, but she stoically buried her emotions and asked quietly, "How soon?"

"Moments."

Her eyes closed for the briefest of moments. When she opened them, the pain had not lessened.

Galen wanted to curse, to howl, do whatever possible to make this parting occur at some other time. He didn't want to leave her like this, but he had no choice. Raymond had received the coded message Galen asked Hester to wire the other day. He knew his old friend would waste little time in coming to his rescue, but Galen had not expected him so soon.
"Petite,
I—"

Hester placed a tender hand against his lips to stop whatever he'd been about to say. "Just go, Galen, please..."

He placed her indigo palm against his cheek, then pressed it to his lips, wishing for more time, wishing he could remain. His dark eyes were bleak as he whispered, "I promised I'd never make you sad again. I lied..."

He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her—a sweet, poignant goodbye. In an emotion-thickened voice he vowed, "This is only
adieu.
I'll be back soon."

He pulled back so he could see into her face. "When I return you must pretend we've never met. Can you do that?"

Hester had no idea why he would make such a request, but she nodded.

Galen also wanted to ask her not to marry Foster before his return but knew he had no right, at least not yet. Instead he asked, "Promise me you won't make mud pies with anyone else while I'm gone."

Hester couldn't suppress her watery smile. "I promise."

"At least I got you to smile," he replied wistfully, gently tracing her full mouth. "That's something."

From outside the door, Raymond bellowed, "We must go, Galeno!"

Galen yelled back angrily. "I'm coming, keep your damn pants on!"

Raymond yelled back in French, "It's
your
pants I'm worried about!"

Galen whispered a soft but vivid curse. Time had run out. "I must go."

He reached out and ran a finger down her soft cheek. "Make sure you eat enough while I'm gone."

She nodded. "Godspeed, Galen."

Galen walked slowly to the door. He took one last look at her sitting there, her beautiful eyes holding his own, and he forced himself to leave.

Alone now, Hester could hear movements in the house at first, then only silence. She left her bed and ran down the stairs, hoping they were leaving by coach and not by the tunnel because she wanted one last look. She ran outside and got in position just in time to see a big black coach traveling away from the house at a furious pace, heading east. Flanking the coach were five mounted riders dressed in black. As the coach and riders faded into the night, Hester whispered, "Goodbye, Galen..." because in reality it was goodbye. She doubted she would ever see him again.

She stood outside for a few moments longer, then, feeling the wind against her tears, she went back inside the silent house.

As the month of October waned, and the November winds gave way to the snow and cold of December, Hester heard no more from Galen. Although the mystery surrounding the phantom traitor remained unsolved, she doubted she'd ever see him again. He was the Black Daniel after all. The abolitionist cause would be better served by his being on the Road tweaking the nose of slavery rather than here in Whittaker. At last week's meeting of the Vigilance Committee, the members decided that the exposure of the informant could very well be handled without outside assistance, and Hester was certain Galen had come to the same conclusion. As she'd stated on the night he departed, goodbye had been just that, goodbye. She'd convinced herself that never seeing him again was for the best.

She stood looking out of her bedroom window at the snow covering the open fields like a white, velvet blanket. The passionate memories of Galen had plagued her dreams for weeks following his leaving. He'd come to her nightly, his voice whispering, "Indigo...", his caressing hands as potent as they'd been in reality.

Mercifully, time had passed. By the fifteenth day of the new year 1859, her bearded, nocturnal lover visited her less frequently—and that, too, was for the best. An unknown side of herself had been brought to life by Galen's spell, and Hester had no desire to free that woman ever again. The real Hester had no time for mud pies and men who whispered passion in steamy, shadow-filled kitchens. Looking back on that night she was shocked by the shameless, wanton creature she'd become in Galen's arms, especially in light of the vow she'd made to Foster. As penance, she wrote to her fiance every evening before going to bed.

Hester planned on going into town that morning to see if the still unreceived draft from her English publisher had arrived, but six inches of new snow had fallen overnight. The snow with its accompanying winds and blowing drifts negated any thoughts she might have had about leaving the house. Instead she poured herself a cup of tea and settled in to review the newspapers she'd borrowed from Bea at church last Sunday. The slavery question had turned the country into a powder keg. Congress was in turmoil, the chasm between the north and the south seemed unbreachable, and now, there were slave owners seeking to strike down the ban on importing new African slaves. The U.S. ban instituted in 1807 was being challenged because the price of slaves had risen sharply during the past decade. In some parts of the south, prices were approaching an additional seventy percent of what they'd been in previous years. Both pro and antislavery forces were aware that illicit trafficking in imported slaves had continued on a small scale despite the law, and one of the most celebrated cases occurred only last year. A southern syndicate headed by the very wealthy Charles A. L. Lamarr contracted for a cargo of five hundred Africans and brought them to Georgia aboard a fast schooner named
Wanderer.
The four hundred Africans who survived the middle passage were sold at a great profit. The U.S. government indicted Lamarr and some of the crew, but all charged were acquitted. Northern abolitionists were furious at the grand jury's verdict, but the South viewed the North's stance as so much hypocrisy. A southern newspaper asked, "What is the difference between a Yankee violating the fugitive slave law in the North and a southern man . . . violating the law against the African slave trade in the South?"

The North knew the difference, which is why the renewed call to end the ban had northern abolitionists so worried. In years past, slave holders challenging the ban had done so under the banner of economics, but now, the South viewed the ban as not only a threat to their economic survival, but to their honor and way of life as well.

They were vowing to extend their agricultural empires beyond the U.S. borders, thus placing themselves and their slaves outside the reach of American law. The idea had surfaced before back in 1848 when the South wanted Cuba for expansionism. Senator Jefferson Davis echoed the mood of his fellows when he vowed, "Cuba must be ours...in order to increase the number of slaveholding constituencies."