Petals on the River (41 page)

bleak.
 
She had been aware of the quarrels that had arisen. Indeed, she

would have had to have been completely inattentive to miss the threat

that Hugh Corbin had made with his crutch or the rage that Roxanne had

exhibited just before she had fled back to the cabin, but the wind had

snatched away their words, sweeping them into oblivion. Still, Shemaine

was of a mind to think, inasmuch as the first altercation had begun

shortly after Hugh had eyed her, that the argument had started because

of something he had said about her.

Even in the meager light of the lunar orb, Gage felt the museful stare

of his indentured servant resting on him, but many miles were traversed

before he could trust himself to glance her way.
 
Finally doing so, he

found himself staring into shining, moonlit eyes.
 
"You are troubled,

Shemaine?"

"I only sense your anger, Mr.
 
Thornton," she murmured timidly, "and

wonder what I might do to soothe it.
 
I perceive that somehow I am to

blame."

''It's not your fault," Gage stated emphatically.

No, he thought pensively, the difficulty had started soon after his

arrival in Newportes Newes.
 
It hadn't taken Roxanne long after meeting

him to develop an obsession to become his wife.
 
She had woven her wily

tricks to entrap him in a forced marriage, feigning innocence as she

brushed herself against him in provocative ways, clearly hoping to

arouse his bachelor's starving senses.
 
Recognizing his own

vulnerability as a man with unsatisfied carnal needs, he had been

extremely cautious to ignore any and all overtures, even at the cost of

seeming thick-witted.
 
After all, he had not fled England and pretty

Christine just to dally with a woman he couldn't bear to look at the

morning after.
 
Judiciously he had busied himself elsewhere.

When he had wed Victoria some years later, Roxanne had shut herself up

in her father's house and grieved as if the end of the world had come.

At length, she had emerged from her den of gloom.
 
Even so, she had

treated him for a time with all the contempt and hatred that a defiled

maiden might have heaped upon an unprincipled roue who had callously

thrown her aside after stripping away her innocence.
 
Her bitterness

after being spurned had eventually subsided, giving way to yearning

looks, wavering smiles and, finally, subtle overtures, until he had come

to dread and even abhor her visits.
 
Victoria had failed to see through

Roxanne's subterfuge.
 
Nor had he cared to enlighten her. His wife had

merely felt sorry for the spinster and, in her gentle way, had been the

best friend Roxanne had ever had.

After his wife's death, Roxanne had once more proven herself determined

to take over that intimate position in his life.
 
By being immediately

at hand at the time of Victoria' s fatal fall, she had obviously thought

she had been provided with some strange sort of leverage by which she

could force him to the altar.
 
Though unspoken, the threat had been

there all along.
 
She would tell the truth or even lie, but this time

she meant to have him .
 
.
 
.
 
or he would have nothing at all.

Having fully comprehended what he chanced by thwarting Roxanne's

aspirations, he had gone to the London Pride literally to buy back his

own freedom and to set the course of his life on a different bearing

than she had mapped out for him.
 
He had anticipated beforehand that

Roxanne would have difficulty accepting his purchase of a bondslave. No

doubt, in her mind, any woman he bought would be just another usurper,

perhaps in the same way she had imagined Victoria had been. Sad to say,

Roxanne had lived up to the precise letter of his expectations.

Hugh Corbin had been just as difficult, and Gage knew it was not beneath

the man to use Shemaine's presence as an excuse to pick a quarrel with

him.
 
The smithy would have snatched at limp straws if they had provided

him with such leverage.
 
Hugh's hatred of him was clearly conveyed in

every spitting word the man issued.

"In the eight or nine years I've known him," Gage reflected, glancing

aside at Shemaine, "Hugh Corbin has been surly and contentious, but

recently he has become almost intolerable, about as mean and ornery as

Ol' One Ear.
 
He's free with his insults and seems to go out of his way

to provoke me, especially when I'm with my family .
 
.
 
.
 
or, as I saw

tonight.
 
.
 
.
 
with you.
 
Once, not very long ago, I caught him

watching Andrew with a strange, haunted look in his eyes. It unnerved me

considerably.
 
I don't know what the man might be capable of .
 
.
 
.
 
if

he'd ever take his spite out on a young child, but his actions worried

me.
 
Several times in the past, Roxanne asked me to let her take Andrew

home with her so he could stay the night, but I just couldn't bring

myself to give my consent.
 
I dared not trust her father."

"Mrs.
 
McGee told me that Mr.
 
Corbin had wanted a son of his own,"

Shemaine rejoined softly.
 
"The only one he fathered arrived stillborn

four years before Roxanne was born.
 
Perhaps when he sees you with

Andrew, Mr.
 
Corbin is reminded of his own failure to sire a son. It

might well be envy he feels toward you instead of hatred."

The brooding rage that had vexed Gage's mood for the last hour began to

slowly dissipate as he considered her conjecture.
 
From his past

experiences with the smithy, he had to admit that her supposition had

merit.
 
Though he had met the cantankerous blacksmith and his

then-nineteen-year-old daughter shortly after his arrival in the

colonies, it had only been within the last couple of years that the man

had displayed such a serious aversion to him.

Gage shook his head in wonder, berating himself for not having

considered the idea before.
 
It had taken a girl younger than a score of

years to enlighten him to the possibility.
 
He marveled at her insight.

"You're very perceptive, Shemaine.
 
Far more than I have been.
 
I just

couldn't understand why Hugh had taken such a dislike to me."

"Perhaps you were too close to the situation to recognize his jealousy

for what it is," she suggested, glancing up at him.
 
What she saw warmed

her heart considerably.
 
His expression had softened and his lips now

bore the slightest hint of a smile.
 
He turned to meet her gaze, and she

held her breath as his eyes caressed her face.
 
Then they swept downward

to the small head cradled against her breast.

"Your arms must be getting tired." Gathering the reins in one hand, Gage

lifted his free arm and laid it along the upper portion of the seat

behind her, carefully avoiding the mistake of touching her and

frightening her off to the far side.
 
"Why don't you slide close to me

and lay Andrew's head in my lap?
 
Twill relieve the weight on your arm,

and then you'd be more comfortable."

Shemaine was more than willing to ease her cramping muscles, but when

she sought to move, she realized she lacked the strength to lift the boy

and herself at the same time so she could scoot across the seat.
 
After

several aborted attempts, she confessed in helpless defeat.

"I'm sorry, Mr.
 
Thornton, I don't seem able to."

Clamping the reins between his legs, Gage wrapped his right arm behind

her waist and slid his left hand beneath her knees.
 
It required no real

effort on his part to resettle her snugly against his right side.
 
His

arm remained as a sturdy support behind her back as she withdrew her own

arm from under the boy's shoulder and eased the small dark head into

Gage's lap.
 
A deep sigh escaped Andrew, but he never woke.

Gage glanced down at his sleeping son, seeing the small, upturned face

bathed in soft moonlight.
 
Long lashes rested in peaceful repose upon

the boy's cheeks, but with his jaw slackened in sleep, his mouth soon

fell agape.
 
Shemaine reached across and very gently laid her hand

alongside the boy's cheek, placing a thumb beneath the tiny chin and

closing the small mouth.
 
Immediately Andrew stirred, flopping over on

his right side toward his father as he flung an arm across Shemaine's,

entrapping her arm and the hand that was caught between his cheek and

the elder's loins.

A shocked gasp was torn from Shemaine as she sought to extricate herself

from the tightening wedge into which her hand had been caught.

Though restrained no more than a fleeting moment, a grueling eternity

might as well have passed before she managed to drag her hand free, in

the course of which she heightened a multitude of sensations that had

already been sharply stimulated in the man.

The hot blood had surged through Gage with swift and fiery intensity at

the very instant of her hand' s entrapment, making him achingly aware of

his ravaging desire.
 
Now, long moments after her hand had been safely

clasped within her other, the ravenous flames still pulsed with

excruciating vigor through his manly loins, searing holes in the thin

wall of his restraint.
 
With every fiber of his being, he was acutely

aware of the elusive fragrance of his bondslave filling his head, that

same which he had breathed in with intoxicating pleasure every time he

had touched or drawn near her that day.
 
It was the sweet scent of a

woman, one which he had not even been cognizant of having craved until

this very moment.
 
Her soft bosom drew his sweeping perusal, and when he

finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, he found himself staring into

widened eyes filled with dismay.
 
Even in the meager light, he thought

he could detect her cheeks deepening to a vivid hue beneath his

scrutiny.

"I'm .
 
.
 
.
 
I'm sorry!" Shemaine's strangled whisper seemed to fill