LoverforRansom (6 page)

Her eyes widened. “Dead?”

He chuckled without mirth. “No. Wild and windswept.”

This time, Cathleen did begin to smooth her hair down.

“No,” he said. “No. Don’t touch it. It’s perfect the way it
is.” He must have realized he’d said too much. “I mean, it’s only you and me.
There’s no need for pretense.”

Cathleen nodded. Her gaze fell to the brown leather covered
book in his hand. “Do you believe such love exists?”

He snorted and closed the book. “This was the fancy of a man
who imbibed too much and who thought too much. Love like that is for the young
and foolish—for people who haven’t experienced the things I have.”

Cathleen gnawed her bottom lip. “Are you referring to your
time during the war?”

He suddenly looked uncomfortable. His big and masculine
exterior seemed incongruous with his sudden unease. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I saw
and did things no living human being should ever have to see or do. Things
that’ll make you hate yourself.”

Cathleen didn’t know how to respond. Newspapers told of the
hardships and combat. She’d seen soldiers boarding trains to join the fighting.
She’d watched neighbors don their widow’s weeds. She herself had received a
telegram informing her that her brother had been killed. But even when the war
had come into her very home, it had always seemed a distant thing. But these
Tennesseans had
lived
the war. This man had fought it. Federal troops
had occupied their home. While on the train, she’d overheard tales about
frightening guerilla raids from both sides, about men who didn’t live by any
code of decency, who took what they wanted and killed indiscriminately. These
families had lived day to day, wondering if their hard-earned food stores,
their homes or even their very lives would be taken from them.

“No,” Ransom continued. “The war was anything but glory.”

Still, Cathleen remained uncharacteristically silent. While
she pitied the plight of these people, in her eyes, the war had been a
necessary evil, a vehicle through which an entire race had broken the bonds of
slavery and declared themselves free. And yet, she didn’t feel free to admit
her thoughts on the matter to Ransom Byrne. Not tonight.

“What about you,
Cathleen
?” he asked, his gaze
finding and holding hers, daring her to correct him. “Do you believe in that
kind of love?” His tone was almost mocking.

Realizing he’d shifted the conversation back to the poem,
she let out a laugh. “Of course not. In fact, I don’t agree with marriage at
all and I shall never marry.”

“How did you come to this conclusion?”

“Contrary to what you might think, I haven’t chosen a life
of spinsterhood because I am bookish and outspoken, not to mention plain.” She
straightened, confused at the way a belief she’d always maintained with pride,
now hurt. “No. I simply do not accept as true that a woman should have to marry
and live out her days in subjugation.”

“Subjugation?” he asked and then laughed. “I’ve always
thought that was the other way around. All the married men I know are pretty
beholden to their wives.”

“That’s but a puerile joke. We all know that marriage gives
husbands rights to a woman’s livelihood and even her body, if he so chooses to
claim them. For a woman, marriage is nothing but legalized…rape.”

This time, both his eyebrows shot up. “That’s a mighty
strong word.”

“A married man can demand his rights anytime he chooses.
Therefore, if a woman is forced into coitus with him, it is legalized rape.”
Cathleen lifted her chin, awaiting an argument. It
was
a strong word.
But he needed to know how she felt about subjugation.
She
needed him to
know it.

Instead, he surprised her. “Don’t you ever feel desire?”

Yes, I’m feeling it this very instant.
Her insides
felt as if they’d just melted. “Should there come a time when I find myself
overwhelmed by the mysteries of the flesh, I will take a lover.”

He seemed amused.

She wanted to squirm. “Men are free to do so, are they not?”

“Within reason, I’ll admit.”

Such as your little tryst with the Widow Bostick?
“Then why shouldn’t I be allowed the same freedoms?” All of a sudden the
atmosphere in the room felt thick. She wondered if her ribald words brought the
same images to his mind as they did to her own. Images of their naked bodies
entwined, of her head thrown back so that her long locks brushed the small of
her back as his mouth blazed trails of kisses down her neck. She drew in a deep
breath and let it out slowly.

“Well,” he offered, “there’s always the possibility you
could get with child. Then there’s that ugly word,
bastard
, that rears
its hoary head.”

“I am educated in ways to prevent an unwanted pregnancy.”

“All foolproof, no doubt,” he mused out loud and smirked.
“What about your reputation? Have you considered that, Cathleen?”

She bit back a gasp and forced herself to focus on the
argument. “Why is a man’s reputation less important to consider than my own?”
she asked. “Really, Mr. Byrne, the entire argument is based on a man’s need to
propagate his family line—to make certain it won’t become tainted with another
man’s seed. Like most things in the world, it all comes down to the owning of
property.”

He stood. “Lucky for us, neither you nor I will ever be
concerned with such banal matters. Right?”

Was he insulting her? She shot to her feet and her glasses
tumbled to the rug. At the same time, they both bent to retrieve them and
inadvertently bumped heads. Straightening, they shared a laugh. No. He hadn’t
been insulting her. He’d merely avoided a delicate conversation with a
presumptuous woman he hardly knew.

She rubbed her head.

“You’re a hardheaded thing, aren’t you?” he asked.

“In more ways than one, I’m afraid.” Her heart skipped a
beat when he took her hand and folded her fingers around the glasses he’d
picked up.

“Please, do call me Ransom. Good night, my dear Annabel
Lee,” he said with a gallant bow. And then he left.

Cathleen’s hands were still trembling when she cupped her
palm around the chimney and blew out the lamp’s flame.

Ransom had forgotten to bring the book he’d wanted back with
him. No matter. He’d lost the desire to read anyway. As he walked back up the
dark path to the old house, he shook his head at the memory of that shocking
conversation he’d just shared with Cathleen Ryan.

She’d advocated ideas that no woman should even think, much
less give voice to. The very idea of an unmarried woman dallying with any man
she pleased and expecting to hold her head high in the community was
ludicrous—and oddly somewhat refreshing.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out. God forbid if Sissy
or Aunt Chloe ever found that out. They’d send her packing straight back to
Boston regardless of how much she was needed at Byrne’s End.

To Ransom, that would be a grievous mistake. For whatever
reason, the unconventional Yankee had made a connection with Jenny—a connection
vital to Jenny’s existence.

And yet, regarding the teacher’s eccentric ideas, Ransom was
more of a realist. She’d never act on her crazy notions of cavorting with men
outside of marriage.

Despite what she said, the prim Miss Ryan wasn’t the type of
woman who moved men to behave irrationally.

Well…at least in her day clothes.

In her nightgown, with her hair rippling over her shoulders,
she looked like a totally different woman. She seemed softer, more feminine.
Her words had brought unwelcome images to his mind. He visualized shapely
fingers drawing up the hem of that voluminous nightgown to reveal flawless pale
thighs… Higher, where a nest of curls as black as the hair on her head hid
sweet treasures from view…

He inhaled. His cock stirred in his trousers and he tugged
at his fly. He grunted with frustration. The woman was hardly someone with whom
he’d trifle. Her plain mourning clothes, spectacles and outmoded hairdo made
her the very type he would overlook. Not to mention her unusual beliefs and
frank manner.

Maybe what she needed was a sound fucking. He chuckled at
the thought of it. “Espousing free love,” he muttered. “She’d run for the
hills.”

Instead of taking the fork in the path to the old house,
Ransom turned for the barn. Harriet Bostick never minded being roused from
sleep. And he was in the mood to do some
rousing
.

* * * * *

Over the next week, the family saw marked improvements in
Jenny’s demeanor. With limited help, she cared for her puppy. Her teacher
required her to select her clothes, dress herself and—in spite of Aunt Chloe’s
grumblings—brush her own hair.

Aunt Chloe had always prided herself on the elaborate
hairstyles she could create for the Byrne women and complained that Jenny’s
less than perfect attempts were a bad reflection on her abilities. But Cathleen
had stood toe to toe with the formidable Aunt Chloe and insisted that in spite
of the flaws, Jenny needed to learn to groom herself.

Chuckling to himself, Ransom had watched it all, playing the
part of innocent bystander while the teacher turned up her pert nose and Aunt
Chloe huffed and snorted like a cantankerous bull.

Always one to want to keep the peace, his mother fretted,
wringing her hands and puttering around behind Aunt Chloe, trying to soothe the
old servant’s offended pride.

Jenny never complained, but followed her teacher’s
instruction to the letter—which, to Ransom’s relief, did not involve her
feminist attitudes on matrimony and suffrage.

Just before dinner, as they all began to take their seats
around the table, a knock sounded on the door.

Aunt Chloe lumbered into the central hall.

“I wonder who could be calling,” Sissy mused. Years of
guerilla raids and soldiers appearing at all hours had made her nervous.

Jenny’s chin lifted. Her lips parted and at once her
expression became horrorstruck.

Cathleen touched Jenny’s arm but she shook it off. She stood
and darted from the table as fast as she could go, hands outstretched. She
stumbled over a chair but somehow remained upright as she fled toward the back
staircase.

Stunned, Ransom stared as the teacher shot to her feet and
chased after her charge.

And then he realized the reason for Jenny’s terror.

Her erstwhile beau, Andrew Glendale, stood in the foyer,
blinking like an owl.

Ransom rose to his feet. “Andy, how are you?”

The boy gulped as his wide-eyed gaze swept the dining room.
“I’m well, thank you.” He nodded in deference to Sissy. “I…I stopped by to see
if Jenny might…might…”

“Out with it,” Father bellowed.

“There’s a dance, you see,” Andy began. “It’s at the
Cheairses’ house. And I’d like Jenny to…to accompany me.”

Sissy began to stammer, but Ransom interrupted. “She hasn’t
come down for dinner yet. She wasn’t feeling well this morning. I’ll go up and
let her know you’re here.”

Sissy nodded vigorously as Ransom skirted the table and
started toward the stairs.

“Come in and have dinner with us,” Father called to the boy
as Ransom climbed the steps.

Jenny had refused Andy’s visits since she’d become blind. It
didn’t matter that he’d called on her frequently. After the first year, his
visits became fewer and fewer, but he still arrived, hat in hand, asking to see
her.

But a dance?

Ransom’s heart sank. Before her illness, Jenny would have
been the belle of the ball. He sighed.

At the sound of inconsolable sobbing, he stopped in the
hallway.

“I can’t face him. I just can’t,” Jenny said. “I don’t want
him to see me this way.”

“I’m sure he would understand,” Cathleen said, her voice
soft and soothing. “He knows what happened, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“Dry your tears. Come downstairs. There’s no reason why you
have to hide in your room.”

“But I’m…I’m blind.” Fresh sobs drifted from her room.
Ransom’s heart twisted. He’d done this to her. It was all his fault. He
squeezed his eyes shut. Sharp-edged guilt pierced his chest.

“Blind people court and marry every day, Jenny.”

“Then why aren’t you married?” Jenny asked acidly.

Silence ensued and Ransom held his breath, hoping this would
not turn into some feminist diatribe on the wickedness of matrimony.

“I’ve made a choice not to marry.” Cathleen’s voice sounded
careful. “Instead, I’ve dedicated my life to teaching.”

Ransom quietly let out the breath he’d been holding.

Jenny pounced on that argument. She let out a harrumph. “Is
that what you tell yourself to feel better about being unwanted?”

“Unwanted?” the teacher asked, clearly stricken.

“No one will have you so you go about pretending you’ve
chosen
not to marry.” Jenny’s tone was vicious.

“That’s not true,” Cathleen responded patiently. And yet,
Ransom could hear the distress in her voice.

“Not even my brother will flirt with you,” Jenny blurted.
“And Ransom flirts with everything in a skirt.”

Ransom could tolerate it no further. He stepped into the
room and looked at Cathleen as he spoke to Jenny. “Jenny, you should be ashamed
of yourself. This woman is your teacher. I’m sure she has forgone many of
life’s…indulgences to move all this way from her home to educate you.”

“Her reaction is quite normal, Mr. Byrne,” Cathleen offered.
“She should be allowed to voice her fears.”

Undaunted, Jenny twisted toward him. “It’s true, isn’t it?
She’s as plain as they come, otherwise you’d trifle with her.”

At that, Cathleen averted her gaze and Ransom thought he
noticed a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Your teacher is a fetching woman,”
he said. “But it’s hardly gentlemanly of me to…to
trifle
with her. Your
education is far more important than my foolish behavior.”

Ransom debated whether to mention the dance or not. He
feared the knowledge would send Jenny into further hysterics. But hope sparked
that a dance might be just the tonic she needed to get her back into society.

Jenny folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not going
downstairs. You can’t make me.”

“You don’t even want to know why he’s here?” Ransom prodded.

“Probably to cut me loose,” Jenny said. “To tell me he’s
courting that awful ol’ Frances Hastings. I can’t face hearing it.”

“No,” Ransom told her. “He came to ask you to accompany him
to a dance at Nat Cheairs’ house.”

“A dance? At Rippavilla?”

Ransom couldn’t tell if she was excited or mortified. For a
moment, she seemed buoyant, almost optimistic. And then her expression fell. “I
couldn’t dance if I wanted to.”

“That’s not true,” Cathleen chimed.

Jenny turned away and refused to listen anymore.

Ransom shook his head. “I’ll tell Andy you’re not feeling
well.”

“I don’t care what you tell him,” she shot back.

As Ransom walked away, he heard Jenny whisper a heartfelt
apology to her teacher, and then utter, “I’m afraid he won’t want me when he
realizes what I’m like now, Miss Ryan.”

He didn’t remain behind to hear the reply. His heart broke
for his sister. And Jenny’s words had sparked a different view of Cathleen
Ryan’s hard shell. Did all her bravado stem from the fact she didn’t feel
desirable?

Is that the life to which he’d doomed his sister? A life of
making brash statements to cover insecurities?

Because they were only statements. She was dead wrong if she
didn’t think she was desirable. After that night in the parlor, he’d been
unable to get her out of his head—even when he’d put Harriet Bostick on her
knees and covered her like a wild stallion.

Cathleen…

He inhaled deeply, letting her given name slip through his
thoughts. A little thrill rippled through him at even thinking of giving voice
to that name, of whispering it in her ear while he moved sensuously above her.

Even last night with Harriet, it had been Cathleen’s moans
he’d heard. It’d been her soft flesh he’d plied and gripped. And it had been
her body in which he’d utterly lost himself.

He shook his head, trying to wrest free of the thoughts that
threatened to render him unable to walk down the stairs and present himself in
mixed company. Tugging at his trousers, he tried to adjust his semi-erection.

Realistically, he wasn’t attracted to the Yankee teacher.
She merely presented a challenge. All her talk of carrying on as she pleased
had incited him in myriad ways that he couldn’t sort out in his mind.

Like him, she’d chosen to walk this world alone and he could
do nothing but admire her for that decision.

It would be easy to marry one of the Tennessee belles who so
readily flung themselves at him, to take the reins from his father and continue
the business of breeding horses. But something prevented him. He’d fought for
this land. He’d watched friends, cousins and neighbors die on the soil of his
home state—all in vain. When the war was lost, he realized a piece of his soul
had died with the Southern
cause
.

If it weren’t for Jenny, he’d have already gone.

But now it looked as if she were on the road to some
semblance of a normal life. Thanks to Cathleen Ryan.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon, he’d be able to leave.

He bounded down the steps and back into the dining room to
let Andy know Jenny wouldn’t be joining them.

* * * * *

“No one can see you except for Sally and me,” Cathleen told
Jenny.

“You better hurry up, child,” Sally said from her perch on
the piano stool. “Aunt Chloe’s gon’ give me what for if she catches me in here
dawdling.”

“I can’t,” Jenny protested.

“You’ll never know until you try, will you?” Cathleen said,
taking the girl’s hands and dragging her to her feet.

Jenny stumbled two steps forward. “I can’t even walk across
a room without bumping into something.”

“That’s where trust in your partner comes into play,”
Cathleen explained.

“Andy’s going to take one look at me and turn tail.”

“No he’s not,” Cathleen said and turned toward Sally. “Can
you play something in three quarter time?”

“I don’t play by lookin’ at a page, Miss Ryan.”

“A waltz then. Ba-bum-bum, ba-bum-bum.”

“Ah.” Sally spun on the stool and began to plunk out a
waltz.

“For this dance, you will never leave your original
partner,” Cathleen said, taking Jenny’s hand and placing it on her shoulder.

“I know how to waltz,” Jenny mumbled miserably.

“Then we are one step ahead of the game,” Cathleen told her
as she assumed the part of the male and urged Jenny into motion.

True to her word, Jenny tripped over her feet.

“Try again,” Cathleen said firmly but patiently.

Jenny’s head bobbed in time with the music before she tried
again. This time, she trampled Cathleen’s feet.

“I should have worn a pair of trousers,” Cathleen said with
a laugh.

“That, I’d like to see,” Ransom’s voice boomed from the
doorway.

Sally’s fingers stopped moving and music died away.

“Keep playing,” Ransom said as he came into the room. He
took Jenny’s shoulders, indicating she should stand still.

Cathleen’s heart skittered as he took her hand and guided
her behind his sister. He moved around to the other side so that Jenny ended up
sandwiched between them. Cathleen placed her hands with Jenny’s and Ransom took
them in his. He put his other hand at Jenny’s waist. “One, two, three, one,
two, three,” he counted and began to dance.

With Cathleen to guide her from behind, Jenny began to
execute the steps.

“Lovely, Jenny!” Cathleen exclaimed.

Ransom’s gaze met Cathleen’s over the top of Jenny’s head.
“Very lovely.” His smile deepened the dimples at the corners of his mouth,
making Cathleen wish it were she who’d been invited to a dance.

They moved around the room with such ease, Cathleen almost
forgot they were conducting a lesson. When her senses returned, she gently
backed away and allowed Ransom to waltz with Jenny.