Rapture in His Arms (15 page)

Without realizing quite what he was doing, Donovan took the quill from Edwin and dipped it in the inkpot. With the labored strokes he’d practiced so many nights in his room, the strokes which Jillian had taught him, Donovan signed his name.

A carefree laugh bubbled out of Edwin’s mouth, and for the first time since Donovan had known him, Edwin’s lips turned up into a broad and beaming smile. The man looked almost well and hearty. And when he grasped Donovan’s hand in a firm handshake that was surprisingly strong, Donovan thought Edwin would live forever.

But death, ever silent and stealthy, claimed Edwin Cameron in his sleep only five days later.

Jillian stood beside Edwin’s grave long after the mourners had departed for the house to partake of food and drink. A brisk breeze off of the river blew her black skirt about her calves and disturbed the severe hair style she’d chosen that day; wayward curls broke free of their restraint and framed her face. Beside Edwin’s freshly dug grave was the resting place of his first wife, and on the opposite side was Jacob’s grave. A short distance away were the graves of Edwin’s father and his younger brother who’d died of a fever some years ago. Though Edwin’s death hadn’t come as a complete surprise to her, Jillian couldn’t believe that he actually now rested beneath the mound of earth at her feet. The few days before his death, Edwin had appeared to be rallying, and he’d been in good spirits. And now he was gone.

She sensed that Edwin would have been pleased at who had shown up for his burial. Governor William Berkeley and his wife; Cyrus Witherspoon; Tyler Addison; and Elliot Layton with his daughter, Sabrina, had paid their respects. Jillian had been extremely surprised to see the Laytons, arriving by sloop earlier in the day. The widowed Mr. Layton had been so complimentary in the things he’d said about Edwin that she’d ordered Lizzie to make up the extra bedrooms for the man and his daughter and put them up for the night. The Berkeleys declined Jillian’s invitation and advised her that they’d be leaving long before nightfall. She hadn’t extended an invitation to Tyler, and if the man thought she was rude, then so be it. She hadn’t forgiven him for his earlier familiarity with her.

Bending down, she rearranged the wild roses in the vase she’d placed on Edwin’s grave. Tenderly, she patted the earth which covered Edwin’s coffin and gulped down the sob that threatened to choke her. She turned and walked away from the copse that shielded the graves from view, then she halted in her steps. Donovan waited, twirling his hat in his hands at the entrance to the Cameron cemetery.

“Can I walk back to the house with ye?” He shifted from one foot to the other.

Jillian nodded, unable to speak, as a lone tear fell from her eye and onto her cheek.

Without hesitation, Donovan took out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes, aware that he’d placed his hand on her elbow and gently guided her toward the house. “Your guests are waitin’ for ye,” he informed her with the barest hint of a scowl. “Tyler Addison has been eager to speak with ye, but Mr. Witherspoon said he should give ye time alone with your grief.”

“That was very thoughtful of Mr. Witherspoon,” was all she said, but she was quite pleased that Witherspoon had somehow convinced Tyler not to bother her. She really wasn’t up to speaking to Tyler at the moment; in fact, she didn’t want to talk at all. Her pain was so deeply entrenched inside her that she doubted she’d feel normal again.

Donovan seemed to sense her pain. “Ye know, if this makes ye feel any better about Mr. Cameron, I think he’s happier wherever he is now. His body was wastin’ away with disease, and he knew his time on this earth was comin’ to an end long before ye did. I know ye will miss him, but maybe he’s watchin’ over ye, maybe he’s watchin’ ye right now.”

“I’d like to think that,” she admitted.

“But ye feel guilty.”

“Of course I feel guilty!” she snapped and bit down upon her lower lip, not meaning to act like a shrew. For the first time since the incident between them in the woodland house, she looked directly into Donovan’s eyes. “No matter what Edwin wanted to happen between us, I had no right to—respond—to you. I am a married woman.”

“Ye aren’t married now,” he sadly reminded her.

“I know, but nothing will change between us—”

“Why? Because in your eyes, a slave is what I’ll always be, I’ll always be beneath ye who is a fine lady?” Donovan set his mouth into a firm line and folded his arms across his chest, as if he defied her to deny what he’d said.

At this moment Jillian didn’t want to deal with Donovan. Once again, as it was each time she was in his presence, he stirred up something inside of her, some emotion which frightened and fascinated her, but an emotion which she couldn’t name. “I need to see to my guests,” she hedged, in way of an answer, but Donovan would have none of it.

Spinning her around when she’d have turned and rushed back to the house, Donovan pulled her into his arms. “Ye have needs of your own, mistress, needs which I want to fill,” he whispered hotly against her lips. “I want ye, and ye want me. ’Tis so simple but ye complicate matters. I’ll prove to ye how simple this is.” Donovan kissed her with such hot passion that Jillian clung to him. For a few seconds, as long as the kiss lasted, she felt as if her body was melting like butter beneath the sun’s golden rays. But the sun caused no such warmth, no sudden weakening of her legs. It was Donovan who fanned the flames inside of her, Donovan whom she clutched like a drowning woman, Donovan who wantonly pressed her soft bodice against his powerfully muscled chest and caused her to feel wicked and wonderful at the same time.

Strangely, he was the one who broke the kiss. She realized with a start that when he withdrew from her, she craved his lips upon hers again. But never would she tell him so, because though she was attracted to him, she feared his power over her body. She’d capably run Edwin’s house for seven years and was used to being in control. She disliked losing control of her body and her emotions, and she blamed Donovan for making her lose control of her senses whenever he as much as touched her.

“Your body doesn’t know I am a slave,” he said with more than a hint of triumph in his voice.

“I must go—inside,” she mumbled. Pushing away from him, Jillian quickly ran the short distance to the house. When she entered the back door, she heard the sound of deep male voices and gentle female laughter emanating from the parlor. With a trembling hand, she smoothed down her hair after she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass that hung in the hallway.

Governor William Berkeley and his wife saw her as soon as she entered the parlor. The gray-haired governor placed his cup of wine on the sideboard and came forward, an extremely serious expression on his face. His wife followed after him. Taking Jillian’s hand in his, Berkeley kissed it and bowed low. “My dear, Mrs. Cameron, I hope you know that my sympathy is with you. Edwin was one of my dearest friends, and ’tis only because I held him in such high regard that I made the trip from Jamestown for his burial. But I must return. Disturbing news has reached me this past hour that Nathaniel Bacon has organized a group of men and attacked the Occaneechi.”

“Bacon is a traitor!” Tyler voiced from across the room. He moved to stand beside Jillian.

“How dreadful,” Elliot Layton intoned, shaking his head in disbelief. “But calling Mr. Bacon a traitor may be a bit too harsh—”

“I hate to disagree with you, Elliot, but Addison is correct. Bacon is a traitor. I always knew he was a troublemaker.” Berkeley emphasized his words with a sneer. “The Occaneechi were a friendly tribe, and now they’re our enemies. I shall not overlook Bacon’s part in this raid, nor will I overlook those who helped him.” He extended his arm to his wife, and Lady Berkeley kissed Jillian on the cheek. “We shall leave now,” Berkeley told her, and within seconds the illustrious twosome were gone.

Sabrina Layton placed a hand on her father’s arm and looked up at him with worried green eyes. “Father, I’m fearful of attack by the savages.”

Layton patted his daughter’s hand. “Now, now, my pretty girl, don’t despair. We’re safe. Mr. Bacon may have done all of us a great service by organizing and attacking the Occaneechi. All Indians are savages, and though the governor spouts that the Occaneechi were peaceful and friendly, he knows differently.”

Up until this point, Cyrus Witherspoon had said nothing. But now he stood up and pointed a finger at the door through which Berkeley had just left. “William Berkeley is a fine man! He’s seen the colony through all sorts of trouble. Bacon is a young firebrand, a man out only for himself. I doubt if he cares at all about any of us. Bacon is after the governorship and won’t cease until he drives out Berkeley and throws the entire colony of Virginia into chaos. Mark my words, before Bacon is through, we’ll have anarchy.”

“Really, Cyrus, I must disagree,” Elliot calmly said. “Granted, Mr. Bacon is young and trouble-some, but most certainly he isn’t an anarchist.”

“Mark my words, just watch what happens,” Cyrus insisted and filled a cup of wine.

Jillian felt at a disadvantage until the hostile atmosphere dissipated. She was immensely thankful that no one else brought up the subject of Nathaniel Bacon. For the rest of the evening, and even during supper, and until bedtime, Cyrus and Elliot regaled her with warm memories of Edwin. She’d always known that Edwin was a special person, but hearing the personal tributes from his friends made her realize how truly privileged she’d been to be his wife.

Sometime after the clock struck eight times in the hallway, Cyrus excused himself for the night but told her that he needed to speak with her the next morning. Then Sabrina Layton went off to bed, and Tyler reluctantly told her farewell and left. Jillian realized that he was offended that she hadn’t asked him to spend the night, but she was so tired from Edwin’s death that she didn’t care what Tyler thought. She found herself alone in the dining room with Elliot Layton while Lizzie efficiently cleared the table. She smiled at him and began to excuse herself, but Elliot cleared his throat. “May I speak to you, Mrs. Cameron?” He cast a look in Lizzie’s direction. “Alone, if I may.”

“Certainly, sir.” Jillian walked into the parlor with Mr. Layton following her. To her surprise, he closed the door.

“I prefer that no one overhear us, madam. What I want to say is for your ears only.” He took a seat opposite her, and fiddled with the button on his jacket. He smiled wanly at her. “I’m no longer used to being in a woman’s company, save for my daughter’s, since my dear wife died three years ago. ’Tis hard to lose someone close.”

“Aye, ’tis difficult.” Jillian eyed him curiously. What did Elliot Layton wish to say to her? It seemed a number of minutes passed in uneasy silence before Elliot leaned forward with the look of a man who feared she might bite him but had to take the chance she wouldn’t.

“I—I want you to know that I regarded Edwin Cameron as a fine gentleman,” he began in a rush. “’Tis my high regard for him that leads to my desire to ask you—to ask—” He stopped speaking and loosened his collar, seemingly unable to continue.

“You may ask me whatever you wish, sir.”

“Aye, aye,” he agreed. “But ’tis difficult for me to say the words. I trust you won’t think me indelicate to bring up this subject in your hour of loss. You must know that I’m a wealthy man, Mrs. Cameron. My plantation is larger than your own and I do well for myself. But ’tisn’t every day that a woman finds herself in your position, a young widow and rich, too. I just wanted to speak to you first, before the others do.”

“What others do you mean, sir?”

“The other men, madam. Surely you must realize that your widowhood will attract men who will want to purchase your property—”

“I have no intention of selling Cameron’s Hundred,” Jillian interrupted.

“Aye, I know, but ’tisn’t the sale I’m specifically thinking about,” he said, opening up to her. “I would like to own Cameron’s Hundred, but I’m also declaring myself in the hope that you consider me as a husband. Alas, I’m not a good-looking young man, but I’m stable and would treat you like my queen. For too long I’ve been without a wife, and I very humbly request that you consider my offer as a potential husband.”

Jillian’s mouth dropped open. Elliot Layton wanted to marry her! The thought had never crossed her mind that the man might consider making her his wife. But she supposed it should have. Women with property were scarce in Virginia, and she’d heard of other cases where a widow married soon after her husband’s death. But Jillian didn’t want to marry—not yet, at least, and not to Elliot Layton. He was almost the same age as Edwin, and she didn’t want to marry a much older man. If she ever married again, she knew it would be to a young man who could give her children and would grow old with her.

But Elliot Layton gazed at her with such sincerity that her heartstrings tugged. She hated to hurt him, but she couldn’t allow him to think that she might become his wife.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Mr. Layton, I’m honored at your proposal, truly honored that you deem me worthy to be your wife. But I—”