Passion's Fury (57 page)

He sounded hurt. She did not want him hurt. She forced her eyes open, wanting to beg him not to be hurt…not to care…to let her remain here. Didn’t he know how wonderful it was not to be afraid anymore? And Vanessa was not here to torment her.

“Vanessa,” she whispered suddenly. The peace was gone. There was no longer any music. No pretty colors. The whirling had stopped. She tried to raise up, but strong hands held her down. She felt a sharp pain in her chest and cried out.

“Don’t move around, sweetheart,” Rance was commanding. “You’ve been hurt. You’ll only harm yourself if you don’t lie still.”

“Vanessa,” she repeated, looking about wildly, realizing she was in a strange place. And there were other people there, too. People she did not know.

“Vanessa won’t hurt you again, April.”

Her frantic gaze settled upon his face. “Tell me…” she whispered.

“Vanessa is dead.”

“Dead? Oh, God,” she moaned, moving her head from side to side.

“Listen to me.” He caught her face, held her. Then he told her. Vanessa had tried to kill her and believed she had. Jessie had run from the room and was halfway down the stairs when she heard Vanessa screaming over and over, asking God what she had done. Jessie heard another shot, then silence.

“She went back upstairs and found Vanessa on the floor,” he said quietly. “She was dead. She killed herself. She thought she had killed you, April. And in the end, she just realized she couldn’t live with her torment and the final act of killing her own sister. She was insane. That’s the only way to explain her.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “Too late, April, your sister found regret in all she had done. I suppose it’s best this way. She’s at peace now.”

The tears began to trickle downward, and Rance murmured, “Go ahead and cry, sweetheart. Cry one last time, and then let go of the past.”

Silently, she gave thanks for having been spared, spared to live, to love Rance, to give birth…

She touched her stomach. It was flat. “My baby!” she screamed, struggling to rise once more. “My baby! My God, no, not my baby!”

He forced her to lie back once more and he cried, “The baby is fine. A little boy. We have a son, April. Do you understand? A baby boy! He’s small, but the doctors say he’s going to live.”

She stared at him in wonder. “A boy,” she whispered, dry, parched lips moving to smile up at him. “We have a baby boy.”

Rance nodded, his tears glistening. “Jessie brought you into town herself. You were wounded in the chest, but the bullet went clean through…missed your heart. But by then you went into labor, and there was nothing they could do but deliver the baby and hope for the best. Well, honey, we got the best. He’s a beauty.”

He nodded with pride to a woman who had been standing back in the shadows. Stepping forth, she laid a blanketed bundle in April’s trembling arms.

April raised her head in wonder to stare down at the tiny scrap. His head was covered with thick, black hair. She laughed through her tears and cried, “He looks like you!”

“Well, that’s the first of many problems he’s going to have,” Rance laughed with her.

The others moved out of the hospital room, leaving them alone. April held her son close to her bosom and looked up in wonder and love to meet Rance’s adoring gaze.

Their nightmare was over. Their dream had become a living reality.

And he leaned down to press his lips to hers in a kiss that tasted of warm, sweet wine.

About the Author

Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.

Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.

Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.

But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.

Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan:

Now Available:

This Savage Heart

The Coltrane Saga

Love and War

The Raging Hearts

Love and Glory

Love and Fury

Love and Splendor

Love and Dreams

Love and Honor

Love and Triumph

Coming Soon:

Golden Roses

Love’s Wine

Midnight Rose

Heaven in a Wildflower

Shipwrecked on the rocky shores of romance…

Souls Aflame

© 2012 Patricia Hagan

Julie Marshall’s brother has been labeled a traitor to the South. Unable to stay, she must now leave her beloved home, Rose Hill, and board the Ariane, a blockade-running frigate sailing for London, in order to save the family home. On route, she is shipwrecked on an island in the Gulf with handsome Captain Derek Arnhardt.

After finding a love and passion unlike anything she has ever known, Julie and Derek are soon torn apart when they are rescued and Julie must leave to search for her missing brother. Plunged into a world of intrigue and darkness, Julie prays that she and Derek can be reunited and rediscover the love that once set their souls aflame.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Souls Aflame:

Julie stood at the ship’s rail, oblivious to the chill of the December night as she stared pensively toward the moon-swept wilderness of the Georgia river bank. She was leaving behind everything familiar and dear to her to journey across the ocean to a distant land and marry a man she knew she could never love.

A shudder went through her slender young body. Marriage. She did not want to marry anyone, and certainly not someone for whom she felt only polite regard.

But she was not the only person driven to act against her will, she reflected. The war between the North and the South had brought upheaval and chaos to thousands of lives.

From above, twinkling stars reflected in the rolling black waters danced merrily and shattered into thousands of shards. The silence was broken only by the croaking of an army of frogs and the mournful hooting of unseen owls. Wind whispered through the gray moss that hung shroudlike from the trees lining the shore.

They had left the landing some hours ago, traveling to the ship on a ten-oared barge hewn of thick cypress logs. She, her mother, and Sara, their most devoted Negro servant, had been taken to the low, marshy flat that the Yankees had not yet discovered. Steam-powered cotton presses had been built there, and the blockade runners took on their cargoes from that point.

They had been met by sentries, who were posted on the wharves at all times to prevent Confederate deserters from getting on board and stowing away. And, of course, they kept a stern vigil for Yankee spies.

Before Julie’s betrothed, Virgil Oates, had left weeks earlier to go to England and make preparations for their wedding, he had explained that the conformation of the Atlantic coast and the direction and force of the winds were both factors in the successful blockade running.

“If the wind blows
off
the coast, it drives the squadron to sea,” he had said. “It enlarges the perimeter of the circle through which the blockade runner can swiftly and safely steam. If the wind blows
landward
, the squadron must haul off to a greater distance to escape the consequences of the heavy seas that are so violent along the coast.”

He talked of the shoals lining the North Carolina coast, saying that they extended for miles into the sea, and were unsurpassed in danger for navigating when strong easterly winds met the ebb tide.

“It’s an easy matter, however, for an experienced pilot who knows the coast to run a swift-steaming light-draft vessel out to sea or into port. The heavier and deeper draft vessels of the Federal blockade squadron are buffeted by the stormy winds and waves.”

Julie remembered how Virgil embraced her as he told her that he had engaged the
Ariane,
one of the swiftest runners afloat. “I certainly would not take a chance with my future bride’s safety,” he said, “and I am told that Derek Arnhardt is one of the most skilled captains on the high seas.”

He kissed her then, and she prayed he would not sense the negative feelings she fought to hide. She was grateful for the kindness he had shown both her and her mother, and she was well aware that if he did not use his “connections” to get Rose Hill cotton through the Yankee blockade, all would be lost.

She could not let that happen, and not merely for her own sake. She was thinking of her mother, who had struggled so desperately to keep the plantation going since her father’s death only five years past. Then there was her twin brother, Myles. Oh, God, he had suffered and was still suffering, and she wanted a home waiting for him when and if he was able to return.

Her hands gripped the railing tightly as feverish determination rippled through her body. Virgil had asked her to marry him, and when she accepted, she knew he would use all his influence and power to save her family estate. But it still made her sick to the depths of her soul to know she was marrying a man she would never love.

There had been so much misery to bear. She could trace her own heartache back to that balmy spring afternoon when she was only twelve years old and discovered the horrible secret about her father. Lord, she would never forget that fateful day.

She and Myles were going riding, and she had gone to the stable ahead of him. It was located down a long, curving path, behind the big house. Stepping inside the structure, she paused for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness—then froze at the sound of whispering voices.

“Adelia, darling, you shouldn’t have come here…”

She recognized her father’s voice, and before she could grasp what was happening, she heard her Aunt Adelia’s voice replying, “Jerome, it’s been weeks. When I saw Elena’s carriage pass this morning on the way into town, I knew I had to risk coming. You don’t know how I’ve yearned for your touch, your kiss…”

Cold reality washed over Julie in waves as she leaned back against the rough wooden walls, her legs no longer able to support her.
Her father
…and her
aunt!
They were
lovers!

She was not able to will herself to move, though she wanted so desperately to run, to escape the nightmare. Helpless, she was forced to stand there, hands knotted into tight fists pressed against her quivering lips as burning screams struggled to surface.

And never would she be able to erase from her memory the sounds of their frantic, feverish lovemaking in the hayloft overhead.

It was only when silence descended that she was able to come out of her shock, and she slipped quietly outside, the memory forever etched in her brain.

She had not told Myles, though she would have liked to confide her heartache. She did not want him to be torn up inside too.

It had been terrible to force herself to pretend she knew nothing, especially when her father was around. A jovial, affectionate man, she reasoned he was the most wonderful father a girl could wish for. She tried not to despise him, blaming Aunt Adelia instead. It was only natural, she reasoned, that he would give in to a woman who threw herself at him, with no thought of morals.

She knew also how crushed her mother would be to learn her brother’s wife was cavorting with her husband, whom she loved with all her heart. Julie had always known this. So why had her father turned to another woman, betraying his wife and the mother of his children? She did not know, especially since her mother was much prettier than Aunt Adelia. Perhaps, she reasoned, physical beauty did not ensure eternal faithfulness and devotion between a husband and wife.

The times when Aunt Adelia was around were the worst, and every Sunday she and Uncle Nigel would bring their son, Thomas, to Rose Hill for a sumptuous dinner. Uncle Nigel was not a man of wealth. He was but a poor dirt farmer who barely coaxed a meager existence from his land, and she had heard the servants whispering that Sundays were probably the only time the Carrigans ever got a decent meal.

Myles noticed her sudden dislike for their aunt and questioned her about it, but she never answered him. Cousin Thomas was another matter. Until Julie discovered the “secret” they had been quite close. Afterwards he badgered her constantly about why she had cooled toward him, never accepted an invitation to visit him at his house, and avoided him when he came to hers. He was hurt and puzzled, but she knew all too well how it would destroy him if he knew the truth about his mother.