The Willows (7 page)

His gaze went hard, his voice even more
so. “Not me. It’s my quarry who’s hiding, using the privileges of
his position to stall me. He’d be wiser to face the problem and be
done with it, since he’ll never find me a relentless hunter. I
don’t give up until I have what is owed me.”

Despite the quiet tone, the words rang
with chilling conviction. Gwen wondered who the poor victim could
be. It would be no enviable position, being tracked down and
cornered by this man.

Too vividly, she could picture herself
as his quarry. Shivering for more than the breeze, she imagine that
him seizing her, spinning her around to crusher against his chest.
He’d be smiling, this time in victory, as he brought his head down
close to her own.

She shook herself firmly, dismayed to
learn the prospect was not nearly as repugnant as it should
be.

“
But you?” He said suddenly,
moving closer to stand at her side. “What brings the proud queen
Gwyneth out to hide in the bushes?”

“
I am not hiding. I was
scratching, as you well know. If you were a true gentlemen, sir,
you’d have the good grace not to mention it.”

“
Ah, but you’ve already
decided I’m no gentleman. Isn’t it liberating to know you can’t
offend me? Feel free to scratch to your hearts content.”

“
I think you are teasing me,
sir. We both know a lady would never behave so. I am bound by the
laws of convention.”

“
More’s the pity.” He turned
to her, pinning her with his gaze. “Cut free from your constraints,
you might find you like yourself better.”

For a dazzling moment as he stared
deeply into her eyes, Gwen lost track of what he was saying. He has
such beautiful eyes, she thought, mesmerized. So dark, and deep,
and compelling.

Slowly, she realized his melting stare
merely masked another insult. “I am perfectly happy with who I am,”
she snapped, her pose going as rigid as her tone.

A more considerate man would apologize,
but he stayed deliberately silent, letting the uncomfortable moment
stretch. Fuming, she tried to fashion some cutting Barb, a way to
put him in his place, but never in her life had she been so aware
of another’s physical presence. His tall imposing frame, the under
lying sent of horse and tobacco, the sound of his soft, seductive
drawl-the man overwhelmed the senses.

“
I am curious,” he said
suddenly,” why the handkerchief?”

The question caught her off guard, and
she struggled to form an answer. She doubted he’d be happy with the
truth; he didn’t seem the sort to enjoy being the subject of a
wager. Flustered, she opened her cousin’s fan and waved it before
her face, trying to think of an explanation that would help her get
the handkerchief back. She could only imagine Lance’s reaction
should this man waved it about, boasting about where, and how, and
from whom he had gotten it.

“
Just what is your game this
time?” The probe, his gaze not leaving her face. “That nonsense
about granting your favor, was it just a ploy to make Lance
jealous?”

“
Don’t be absurd” the fan
moved faster. “I’ve no need to resort to such tactics to draw his
attention.”

“
No?” He turned to her with
his probing gaze. “Watching you both in there, I thought him
amazingly lax. Were you mine, I’d never leave you alone to wander
about unescorted.”

Were you
mine
, the words caused a flush of pleasure,
but then he spoiled it by adding, “You’re too prone to flirting
with strangers, I think.”

She went red with embarrassment. “Are
you implying that I’ve just put myself in danger, sir?”

He stared at her lips. “Perhaps. After
all, who can tell what my kind might do?”

She stuck out her chin, determined not
to let him see how his words frightened-and yet thrilled-her.
“Lance feels no need to hope her about me, because he knows
perfectly well I can take care of myself.”

“
Can you?” His gaze lowered,
focusing on the low neckline of her dress. “You can hold your own
with the boys and dandified fops, but what do you know about a real
man’s needs or secret desires?”

Secret
desires
. The words struck deep in her gut,
warming her from the inside out. Part of her new she should run for
her life, yet an equal parts wanted to raise her lips to his. “A
real man?” She said, hoping to discuss how he flustered her. “I
hope you don’t count yourself one.”

He did not exactly flinch, yet his gaze
certainly narrowed. “No danger of that, my lady. You’ve made it
painfully clear that I am slightly less than human in your
eyes.”

“
I never-“

Placed calloused fingers on her lips.
“Don’t deny it. Lie to me, but be honest with yourself. Or some
might say you deserve a life with Lance.”

“
I could wish for nothing
more,” she told him defiantly.

“
Indeed?” His gaze softened
suddenly; his hand reached up to tilt her chin. “With all the
wishes in the world, surely there’s another worth to strive
for.”

His eyes probed into her, drawing out
her own secret needs and desires, and it was all she could do not
to reach out and cling to him. It was as if he knew, just by
looking at her, that all she truly wanted was to be cherished, to
have someone love her always.

“
I love Lance,” she said
woodenly, unable to tear her gaze away.

“
Do you? Tell me, when
you’re with him, do you feel the magic?”

“
Magic?” Her voice was the
merest squeak.

Holding her gently, he dipped down to
brush her for head with his lips, then the spot between her eyes,
the tip of her nose, until at long last, he reached her lips.
Kissing them, he took possession of her mouth with a tenderness
that made her throb. A tiny moan escaped, as if they sheer, aching
pleasure of it could not be contained.

“
Magic,” he repeated
hoarsely. “Does Lance leave you moaning like that?”

Shaken to the core, she reached up and
slapped his face.

He stepped back, rubbing his jaw. “It
was only a kiss, my lady. No need to be drawing pistols at
dawn.”

With horror, she realized he’d done it
again, caught her so off-balance that she was saying things she
never say, doing things…Dear heavens, and she actually stood here
and let this stranger kiss her?

Breathing heavily, she stared at his
teasing grin wanting nothing more than to slap him
again.

Glancing at her clenched hand, he shook
his head. “Sorry, but if fighting’s your intent, I’ll have to
refuse you like I did Lance.”

“
You have no right to even
mention Lance’s name,” she lashed out. “Why, you’re not even fit to
lick his boots.”

“
Saint Lancelot?”

The grin faded, became a frown. “He
knew about my vow not fight again, my lady. That’s the sole reason
he made the challenge.”

“
You are lying”

“
I never lie.” He folded his
arms militantly at his chest. “One of the few things I have left is
my word, and you won’t find a soul in Louisiana to say I’ve ever
failed to keep it. When I say Lance knew I’d never take him up on
his challenge, you can believe me. Ask anyone, he’d be dead in the
morning, if I had.”

“
No one can best Lance. He’s
the champion of Parish.”

“
Is he indeed? Maybe you
should ask him yourself, if there is one who has beaten him.” He
nodded toward the house.

Following his gaze, Gwen watched Lance
move across the dance floor, his gaze searching the crowd. “He’s
looking for me,” she said in a flood of relief. Truly, this man was
to…To unsettling. “You’d better leave now,” she told him curtly.
“I’m going to call him.”

“
Of course, you are,” the
man said quietly. “But a word of advice, my lady. Lance might seem
the perfect knight, but a wiser woman would hold out for the
magic.”

He leaped over the balustrade to be
swallowed by the dark. Damn the man, Gwen thought angrily, wiping
her lips. Even now, she could still feel his imprint, as if one
brief, gentle kiss could brand her.

Nonsense, she insisted to herself; I
love Lance and always will.

Yet, as she stared at him, coming ever
closer across the dance floor, she felt a vague building sense of
unrest.

Marriage wasn’t about magic. A good
relationship was based on trust and understanding, and who knew or
understood Gwen better than Lance? Gliding up to him, she told
herself he was a gentleman, as charming and considerate as any girl
could wish for.

So why? By all that made sense, did she
still feel this sweet tingling magic on her lips?

***

Jervis McCloud eased his way down the
grand stairway of his brother’s townhouse, feeling sorry for
himself. Life had come to quite a pass when a man of must sneak
like a thief past his family to get a drink. Pray God’s his
daughter was asleep, for he’d no wish to face her disappointment.
He’d sworn to give up the drinking and gambling and help her run
the Willows, but what Edith didn’t know-and he saw no reason to
tell her-was that his promises were as empty as his bank
account.

And what if? He thought resentfully.
The girl was to like her mother, always watching and judging, her
expectations nigh on impossible to fulfill. She was just a girl-who
was she to tell her daddy what he should or should not do? As long
as he provided a roof over her head and food on the table, it was
none of his daughters business what he did with his time. As his
own father had proclaimed, a man must be master of his house,
answerable to none but God, and perhaps self.

Straightening, Jervis marched into the
front parlor, carefully avoiding the site of his brother’s portrait
above the mantle. If he wanted a drink, damn it, he’d have a drink,
and the devil could pay for it.

As he helped himself to John’s bourbon,
Jervis was dismayed to discover how little remained in the bottle.
Had he gone through it already? A good thing he’d been leaving in
the morning for the Willows.

Good, in more ways than one.

With a chill, he considered what a
close call tonight had been. What had made Michael choose this, of
all times, to calm after him, why wasn’t he’d buried out in his
swamp, where he belonged? Service could well imagine the trouble
the man could have caused, had Lance not had the presence of mine
to boot him out the door.

He had plans, Jervis did, plans he
would not risk his niece learning about prematurely. Timing would
be everything; Gwen must be led slowly, as unsuspectingly as the
Lamb to the slaughter, or all his careful plotting would become a
failure.

Raising his glass to the portrait, he
smiled at his brother’s image. “Damn you, John,” he whispered,
downing the bourbon in one gulp. “This time, I intend to
win.

Chapter 4

Gwen stood alone at the front of the
steamboat, studying the stately plantation homes that lined the
river. Some were all and familiar, yet so many had sprung up since
she’d been gone. More changes. She didn’t like remembering that the
Allentons had lost their home and moved away, that even the Sumners
were struggling at River’s Edge.

Life was like this river, she decided.
A person could move along in its steady flow, lulled into a sense
of security, and not realize he’d taken a wrong turn, until he was
deep in a bayou of uncharted territory.

That was how when felt now, as if she
were drifting down a narrow, overgrown river into a swamp of
unwelcome surprises. She wanted things the way they had been, yet
there was an uncle Jervis, carrying around a hip flask and
tottering at ten in the morning. And there was Edith, batting her
lashes at Lance- even worse, he encouraged it.

More and more, Gwen longed to be safe
and song at the Willows.

“
Here you are,” Lance said
suddenly behind her, strolling up to join her at the rail.
Half-baked in her green wool, Gwen resented him for looking so cool
and poised. From his starched white shirt and crisp linen suit, the
polished boots, to the straw hat in his hands, he was every inch
the well-groomed man. Even his hair had the good taste to stay in
place, proving itself above gentle, stirring wind.

“
Gwen darling, why the heavy
sighs?”

She tried to smile, but she was feeling
mightily sorry for herself. “Oh lance, don’t you ever feel
frightened about the future?”

He frowned. “Truly, Gwen, if you must
persist in being glum, perhaps I should go back to talking with
your cousin.”

She tried not to Bristle. “I’m not
being glum. I was just looking at all the new homes, and realizing
how much has changed in my absence.”

“
Sorry, darling, but that’s
the risk you take when you run away.”

“
I did no such thing.” She
protested, stung. “My parents insisted I go to Boston. And then
when mama-“she swallowed, hard. “Well, you know I had no
choice.”

Lance mearly shrugged. “All I know is
we were to be married, yet here I’ve waited, alone and distraught,
going on five long years.”