Lost Lady (17 page)

“And now?” Regan smiled seductively.

“You've changed. You're…not a child anymore.”

Before she could answer him, the door burst open and Jennifer ran in, a handful of stemless flowers clutched in a dirty hand. She was a pretty three-year-old, with Regan's smallness and Travis's eyes and hair. She'd also inherited her father's sureness in life, never cringing from anything as Regan had done at her age. “I brought you some flowers, Mommie,” she grinned.

“How sweet of you! Now I know spring is really on its way,” Regan answered, giving her sturdy daughter a fierce hug.

Jennifer, never shy, was staring openly at Farrell. “Who's he?” she said in a stage whisper.

“Farrell, I'd like you to meet my daughter Jennifer, and this is an old friend of mine—Mr. Batsford.”

Jennifer managed to get a “How do you do?” out before she left the room as quickly as she'd entered it.

Regan gave an adoring glance at the door her daughter had just shut much too loudly, before looking back at Farrell. “I'm afraid you've seen my daughter for as long as any of us see her. She has the run of the inn and the grounds and makes use of every moment.”

“Who is her father?” he asked, wasting no time.

Regan gave the lie she always gave, saying quickly that she was a widow, but, perhaps because today she was thinking so hard about Travis, her eyes betrayed the lie. She caught Farrell's quick look but said nothing more because to emphasize the lie would make it weaker.

“I must let you get back to your work,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you will have dinner with me tonight?”

Still flustered over Farrell's catching of her lie, she agreed readily.

“Until tonight then,” he smiled, and left the room.

Farrell went immediately to the kitchen to speak to the head chef about a very special dinner. When he was introduced to Brandy and saw the hostility in her eyes, he knew she'd been told Regan's story. Instantly, he turned on his most charming manner and asked if she'd show him the town. Feeling helpless to do otherwise, Brandy agreed and set out on one of the most charming afternoons of her life. If there was one thing Farrell had learned in the last several years in his pursuit of a rich wife, it was how to charm women. By the end of the afternoon he had Brandy believing he was an innocent victim of Jonathan Northland's greed. He told a long, complicated story of what he'd gone through to find Regan, how his conscience had eaten at him over the years. When he returned to the hotel, he had Brandy singing his praises, and he had more—the name and whereabouts of Regan's husband. By the time he was ready for dinner, a man had been dispatched to Virginia to find out the truth about Travis Stanford.

T
RAVIS LOUNGED AGAINST THE COUNTERTOP OF THE GLASS
case in a Richmond dress shop, waiting with little grace while Margo tried on yet another dress.

“And how is this one, darling?” she said, returning from behind the dressing-room curtains. Very little of her large breasts were left to the imagination by the rust-colored muslin. “It's not too daring, is it?” she asked in a low voice as she walked closer to him, grazing his chest.

“It's fine,” he said impatiently. “Haven't you bought enough? I'd like to get home before the sun sets.”

“Home!” she said in a pretty pout. “You hardly ever leave that awful ol' plantation anymore. You used to take me dancing. You…used to do a lot of things with me.”

Removing her hands from his chest, he gave her a tired look. “That was before I was a married man.”

“Married!” she gasped. “Your wife ran off and left you! She proved she didn't want you, and what other man stays faithful to his wife, whether she's with him or not?”

“Since when was I like other men?” he answered, giving her a look of warning. They'd had this argument many times before.

The jangling of the bell on the shop door stopped Margo's next words as they both turned to see Ellen Backes enter. She was a neighbor and a friend of Travis's family. “I thought I saw you, Travis,” she said cheerfully. “Margo,” she added curtly, letting it be known what she thought of Margo's pursuit of a married man. She'd never met Regan, but she'd heard about her from Nicole, Clay's wife. Having known Travis for years, she felt she knew why Regan had run away.

“The oddest thing just happened,” Ellen continued. “I was in the church delivering fresh flowers for Sunday, and a man—a rather shabby little man, I might add—started asking the pastor all sorts of questions about you.”

“Probably wants a job,” Travis said in dismissal.

“At first I thought that, too, and of course I wasn't listening very carefully, but I swear I heard the name Regan.”

Instantly, Travis stood upright. “Regan?” he whispered.

“I was going to wait until the pastor had finished, but I was afraid I might miss you.”

Without another word, Travis left the room and immediately jumped into a carriage, yelling at the horses to go faster.

“Damn!” Margo said vehemently. “You would have to go and spoil my day.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Ellen said with a radiant smile as Margo flounced toward the dressing room. Turning back toward the window, Ellen offered a silent prayer that Travis would find out something about his wife.

The horses hadn't come to a full stop when Travis leaped from the carriage in front of the church. Just leaving was a small man who looked as if he hadn't gone without a drink for more than a few hours in his life.

Travis, never one to stand on formalities and too angry to consider consequences, grabbed the man's shirtfront and slammed him against the clapboard wall. “Who are you?”

“I didn't do nothin', Mister, and I ain't got no money.”

Travis pushed him harder into the wall. “You the one's askin' questions about me?”

Wincing from pain, trying to breathe against Travis's big fist pressed against his throat, the man gasped, “He paid me. I was just supposed to find out if you was alive or not.”

“You'd better start talking. Who is he?”

“Some English dandy. I don't know his name. He said you were a friend of his but heard you were dead, wanted me to find out when you died and then tell him.”

Travis pushed his fist harder into the man's throat. “You mentioned Regan.”

Bewilderment crossed the man's face. “I said the man was stayin' at Regan's place.”

For a moment Travis let up on the pressure. “Regan who? And where's her place?”

“Scarlet Springs, Pennsylvania, and she's Regan Stanford, like your name. I asked the preacher if you were related to her.”

Instantly, Travis dropped the man and had to catch himself to keep from collapsing. “Get in the carriage. We're going to Scarlet Springs, and on the way you're going to talk.”

Before the man could seat himself, Travis whipped the horses forward. As he flew past the dress shop where Margo stood outside, he didn't even slow down. At the livery stable he pulled to a halt.

“Jake,” he called. “Give me a decent wagon, something that'll hold up for a longer trip, and here.” He tossed money on the seat. “See the owner of this rig gets it back.”

Jake barely glanced up. “If you're in a hurry, you better get goin' 'cause it looks to me like a storm's about to descend on you.” Nodding in the direction of a very angry Margo, he dropped the horse's hoof he'd been cleaning and went to hitch a wagon for Travis.

Turning to the little man still on the buggy seat, Travis gave him a warning. “You move, and it'll be the last move you make.” He'd hardly finished the words before Margo flew at him.

“How dare you drive past me like that!” she gasped, breathless from practically running down the street, chasing him.

“I don't have time to argue right now. I'm leaving in about five minutes.”

“Leaving! Well I guess I've completed my shopping, but you'll have to stop at the four shops and pick up my purchases.”

“Jake!” Travis bellowed. “Is that wagon ready yet?” He turned back to Margo. “I'm not going home, and you'll have to find someone else to take you. Get Ellen to give you a ride, and stop off and tell Wes I'll be away for a while.”

Turning, he saw Jake bring the heavy wagon to the front of the stable. “Get on it,” he commanded the nervous little man on the borrowed buggy.

“Travis,” Margo hissed. “So help me, if you don't—.” She broke off as Travis leaped onto the wagon. “Where are you going?” she screamed as he started to move away.

“Scarlet Springs, Pennsylvania, to get Regan,” he yelled and then was gone in a hail of gravel and dust.

Coughing and cursing, Margo looked back at the stableman, who was grinning broadly. She knew her pursuit of Travis was a joke, and the more people laughed, the angrier she grew. But even as she was fuming, a plan began to form in her mind. Scarlet Springs, was it? Poor dear Travis left without a stitch of clean clothing. Perhaps she should pack and take him a few things. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she was sure he needed clean clothes.

 

Regan was at her desk in her office, going over accounts, when Brandy walked in.

“And how is everything?” Brandy asked.

“Going quite well,” Regan answered, looking at the books. “Next year we should be able to put up a couple of new buildings. I was thinking of a cabinet shop. Don't you think Scarlet Springs needs its own furniture maker?”

“You know I'm not talking about finances. How is it going between you and Farrell? You had dinner with him last night again, didn't you?”

“You know very well that I did. But to answer you, Farrell is always a delightful companion. His conversation is excellent, his manners are impeccable, and he knows how to make a woman feel like a crown princess.”

“You're bored to tears by him, aren't you?” Brandy said with a sigh, sitting down.

“In a word, yes. There are no surprises with Farrell. He's so…I don't know, he's too perfect, I guess.”

“Jennifer likes him.”

Regan gave a little laugh. “Jennifer likes his gifts. Can you imagine giving a child as active as Jen a French porcelain fashion doll? She wanted to use it for target practice with the bow and arrow set you gave her.”

Brandy smothered a giggle. “Perhaps Farrell expects little girls as well as big ones to be ladies.”

Regan stood behind her desk. “Have we any new guests? I haven't looked this morning.”

“There was some man getting out of a wagon a few minutes ago. Good-looking guy. Big.”

“Brandy, you are incorrigible,” Regan laughed. “But I'll go and welcome him.”

Outside her office, she met Farrell. “Good morning,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “You are sweeter than the early sunshine on the drops of dew on a rose petal.”

She didn't know whether to laugh or groan. “Thank you for such a lovely compliment, but I really must go now.”

“Regan, dearest, you work too much. Come spend the day with me. We'll take Jennifer and go on a picnic, just as if we were a family.”

“It's a tempting offer, but I really must go now.”

“You can't escape me that easily,” he smiled, and took her arm as they walked toward the reception area.

Regan felt Travis's presence before she saw him. He stood in the doorway, blocking the light with his big body. Her body went rigid as her eyes locked with his.

Neither of them moved; they just stood looking at each other. Wave after wave of emotion went through Regan until a loud crashing sounded in her ears. After minutes, hours it seemed, she turned on her heel and, skirts flying, fled back toward her office.

Farrell wasn't sure what was going on between Regan and this man, but he had a good idea. He didn't like this kind of reaction from her. Losing no time in following her, he was inches behind her.

“Regan, love,” Farrell said as he put his hands on her shoulders. She was shaking so badly she could hardly stand.

But Regan was barely aware of him. All she heard was the pounding of her heart and the slow, heavy steps moving deliberately toward her door. Trembling, the blood gone from her head and hands, she clutched at the edge of her desk and leaned toward Farrell's strength.

The door to her office was pushed open with brutal force, slamming back against the wall.

“Why did you leave me?” Travis demanded in a low whisper, his eyes drilling into hers.

As he came closer she could not speak, could only look at him wildly.

“I asked you a question,” Travis said.

Farrell stepped between them. “Now see here. I don't know who you are, but you have no right to anything from Regan.”

He didn't finish what he had to say because Travis idly grabbed the smaller man's shoulders and tossed him to the far side of the room.

Regan barely noticed, only aware of Travis coming ever closer to her.

When he was inches from her, he gently touched her temple with his fingertips, and Regan felt her knees go weak. Before she could collapse, he caught her, lifted her in his arms, and buried his face in her neck. Without a word exchanged, he carried her toward the door, turned right, and went toward her apartment at the end of the hall. After two days of talking to the man Farrell had hired, Travis knew the entire floor plan of the Silver Dolphin Inn.

Her mind too full to think at all, she never considered what she was doing or committing herself to. All she knew was that Travis held her, and, more than life itself, she wanted him to make love to her.

Gently, as if she might break, he laid her on the bed and then sat beside her, his hands holding her face, fingertips caressing her cheeks and temples. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are,” he whispered, “how delicately lovely you are.”

Her hands went up his arms. How magnificent it felt to feel his strength once again, to feel the nearness of him! Her trembling began again as desire flooded her, coursing through her blood hotly.

“Travis,” she managed to whisper before his mouth covered hers.

Desperate, frantic, turbulent, they began to tear at each other. There was no desire for sweetness, only a violent need that had to be fulfilled. Clothes tore away, buttons flew across the room, a handful of laces burst, and delicate stockings shredded. As they came together like a clap of thunder following a burst of brilliant lightning, they clawed and clung, drove each other deeper and deeper, trying to satisfy their overpowering, uncontrollable need of each other.

Violently, in a blinding flash, they arched together as spasms twisted their bodies. Clinging in a breathless crush for full minutes before their muscles relaxed, they finally surfaced and looked at each other, their eyes seeming to try to devour each other.

It was Regan who broke the spell—by laughing—for Travis, his chest and one arm bare, wore one shirt sleeve alone.

Glancing down at what she was laughing at, he grinned delightedly.

“The pot shouldn't call the kettle black,” he said as he nodded pointedly toward the remnants of her attire.

A petticoat was bunched about her waist, while a torn one lay under them. Her stays, half on, half torn off, were crumbled under one arm, while her dress was about twelve feet across the room, dangling by a button from the corner of a picture frame. Rising on her elbows, she glanced down at her feet and saw that one stocking and its pretty lacy garter was intact while the other, with holes in it, was tangled in her toes.

Travis wore the one sleeve of his shirt and his boots and nothing in between.