The Winds of Fate (10 page)

“Sounds quite bleak.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “No other attachments?”

Claire rubbed her arms up and down. “No. Although my uncle wishes to marry me off, but my widowhood imposes a period of mourning.”

“Of course. The prospect of marriage must be difficult.”

She nodded her head and sighed. “But I’ve moved on and am content to be independent.”

“No ties to a man to rule you. How convenient−his death. Now you are free to prove your intelligence and capabilities to the world. He must have been a generous man to give you his name.”

Claire’s jaw dropped. “This conversation has gone long enough.”

Lily entered, diverting her anger from his personal questions, and if her cousin appeared surprised to see the slave, gave no more notice than a perfunctory nod. She stood stick-straight, her hair dressed in a tight bun and from beneath her spectacles took note with hawk-like precision of everything in the room.

“And how is the patient?” Lily addressed the physician then waited in stoic silence.

Claire stifled a giggle when she saw the doctor sizing up her cousin in the same manner as Lily measured him−an eye for an eye.

“Our physician has made some medicines, and Cookie is on the mend,” declared Claire.

Lily shouldered past Claire, her stout heels clacking on the wood floor until she stood in front of the physician. “Good news indeed. I thank you. We were at an impasse−” Lily grew reflective. “But now that problem has been resolved. I have need of an answer from you on a different issue. I expect you will provide me an honest answer.”

The physician folded his arms. “With a certainty,” he said, and Claire could see that he stood amused with her cousin’s prim superiority.

“I wish to inquire of your friend’s well-being.”

When he looked confused, Claire answered for her. “The blond-haired rebel beside you on the dock the day you entered Port Royale.”

He held Lily’s gaze, but displayed none of the hostility or sarcasm, he saved for Claire. “My friend is doing fair despite his circumstances,” he said darkly.

“I don’t countenance slavery,” Lily said.

“Neither do I,” said the doctor unfolding his arms. “It’s good to see that part of the world has a civilized opinion on the fate of humanity. Most are more provocative to point out our special status.” He glanced knowingly to Claire. “And I’ll be sure to mention your good opinion to my friend, Robert Ames. He’ll be glad to know that a beauty like you with a compassionate heart has a care for his well-being.”

Good heavens. Did she see Lily blush?

Lily patted her hair then turned to Claire. “Have you offered our guest any sustenance? A meal is the least we can do for him.”

“Dear no.” Mortified Claire looked to him. “Please forgive me.” She grabbed his hand.

Devon felt her−he felt her heat. Impulsively, she had grabbed his hand. He allowed her to pull him forward. The touch startled him. And her, judging by the way she paused and stared at him. He smiled and curled his hand around hers. “Lead on.”

He had touched many women’s hands, but never this way. He struggled to remember when he last joined hands with a woman like this, in an innocent, childlike manner. And then he remembered the way her hands entwined in his in the gaol.

When they entered the kitchen she released him, but he held fast, and raised her hand to his lips for a kiss. Her eyes grew wide, and then he let her go.

The truce she had called for settled between them in an unspoken, tacit agreement.

His first instinct was to tell her to go to hell. He was foolhardy and selfish, impulsive at times. He reined in that impulse. Logic reminded him that some sort of civilized relationship with her was what he’d desired. But that devil of recklessness dominated him, and it became impossible to force down his restless energy when a challenge was born. And she was an exciting challenge.

She served smoked ham, roasted turkey, potatoes, buttered bread and sweet desserts. Devon grabbed the plate, and to her dismay, commenced stuffing the food into his mouth.

“Excuse me,” he said between mouthfuls, then remembering his manners,” I’ve not had decent food in a long time. The gruel I’m served barely keeps a man alive. Would you care for a drumstick?” He dangled it from his fingers.

“No thank you.” She put up her hand, and laughed when he grinned at her. “You have the charm of a goat.” She pointed out to him. “What do you think of my cousin?”

“I feel Miss Lily could walk through a riot or revolution and restore order with a series of sharp raps of her unrolled parasol.”

When she laughed it was as glorious as a rainbow’s birth.

“I like her,” he added. “Prudent, smart, and someone’s respect I’d like to have.” He drew upon some ale then studied Claire over the brim of his tankard. She was not typical of ladies her age, but artless, learned, and fiercely loyal to anyone she perceived as her immediate family. Unpretentious with her appearance, she seemed totally unaware of the beautiful picture she made moving about the kitchen.

He wanted her. It slammed into him. Wanted to silence her with his lips, cover himself with the silken strands of her hair, and see its chestnut against the bronze of his skin. He grew fascinated with the swift fury and intelligence he saw in fired glimpses of her golden eyes as she enslaved him with chains tightening around his heart.

“I’ve packaged some extra food to take with you.” He was taken with her thoughtfulness. Quite innocently, she leaned over, her shoulder brushed against his shoulder, and made the blood surge through his veins.

“Do you have a wife?” Claire ventured, curious about him.

He looked sharply to her, doused the surprised smile from his chiseled features and nodded his head in confirmation.

“How terrible to be separated from your wife.” If only he would stop staring at her. Had he been jilted? Of course, his mercurial mood veered drastically. Why was his behavior so disquieting? The hairs rose on the back of her neck.

“No,” he answered her. “Never separated.”

She fumbled with the salt cellar. He was a tempest, best viewed from afar.

“My eyes fall on her beauty as we speak. Fate is a strange bedfellow. Is it not?”

Claire stirred. Perspiration beaded down her sides.

“Surely that eventful eve in Newgate can spark a memory,” he laughed.

Her voice suffocated as a pair of piercing green eyes locked onto hers...cold, probing, speculative eyes.
Knowing
eyes. “Never−”

“Certainly, a felon whose life was to be cut short by the hangman’s, lucked out on the King’s greed, cheating fate and our dear friend, Mr. Goad.”

“This cannot be−” Overwhelming disbelief paralyzed her brain.

“In the flesh, Madame. Your earthly husband.” He laughed.

Claire could hear her blood exploding wildly in her ears, trying to adjust to the fact that the mysterious stranger in front of her was the same man she had married months before. In the waning silence, the dilemma hung over her like a shroud, indecision raged at her, and tears she refused to shed, ached in her eyes. Yet he knew specific information.

“But you are a slave−”

“I expected you to remind me of that fact, but is it not a conundrum for you?”

She twisted her fingers together. “What do you want?” She stood to leave, to flee the very room, to get anywhere as long as it was far away from him. Quick and agile as a panther, he blocked her escape. She stared into his chest. Her voice broke with fear. “Pray, let me go.”

“Och, now...” He paused. “We have a matter to discuss.”

She attempted to dart around him. When that failed she pushed against him, meeting a rock solid wall of muscle and flesh that didn’t budge in the least. “No−no. It cannot be true,” she railed against him, half sobbing, half screeching.

He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a rough shake to quiet her hysteria, her hair loosened from its pins, tumbling down her back. “By God, you will listen.”

Her hand burned where it touched the soft furring of hair upon his chest. She snatched it back. Claire stared with disbelieving shock into scathing green eyes and stilled her movements.

“That’s better now.”

How could she have forgotten that voice? His whole being was in that voice. Claire summoned a show of faint bravado and lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”

White even teeth flashed against tanned skin as he laughed at her. At once, he reminded her of a swarthy pirate, lacking cutlass and pistols.

“What do you want from me? I have little money−”

“Money is not what I want.”

Claire rose to slap him. Her hand caught in a vise-like grip. “I could scream. I could scream until my uncle and this whole plantation comes down on you. Then you’ll be hanged. I’ll be glad to see you thrown as fodder to the crows.”

“Will you?” he mocked. “And what will become of your reputation then? Married to a slave, a rebel?”

“Damn you.” Pricked by his scorn, she stood reckless and sneered. “What do you want?”

“Not rape or plunder of your lush body. A tumble in the hay is far from what I require, Madame Blackmon.” He flaunted her name.

Then what did he want? She trembled inside.
She knew
.

He raised a brow as if reading her mind. He raked his eyes up and down her. She crossed her arms in front of her as if naked before that stare.

“In Newgate, you walked into my wretched world. I counted the stones ‘til I was half-mad thinking of you. Every detail, every memory of you remained scorched on my mind. I survived a vast and terrible voyage, but still I did not forget. Then destiny threw me ashore with my tortured dreams all within reach, yet so far away.” He fingered a loosened tress, letting it trail through his fingers.

“I want your promise.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Surely I am. It is a day for favors. I’ve given you your Cookie back. I’ve given you my name. What do I receive in return? A debt to be paid. Your word. Your honor. Your promise.”

Devon felt the sting of a blow across the back of his neck. He swung around. He advanced toward the perpetrator, but pulled up short.

“Get away from my niece. You bastardly spawn of a bitch.”

Devon gave his master a sardonic smile. “No. That would not be accurate. My mother assured me that I was legitimate. Not that my ancestry has done me a lick of good.”

Jarvis raised his quirt. “I’ll teach you to know your place. Why are you not in the fields?”

Claire gasped, grabbing her uncle’s arm. “He is here at my request. Pray leave him be. He is a physician, and I ordered him to attend Cookie.”

“Umph. Off with you then,” said Jar vis.

“Forgive me,” Devon bowed. “It was pleasant to meet you again, sir, but I’m afraid I have another engagement−” With a calm, deliberate glance, he passed onto Claire a disconcertingly charming smile. “I beg your pardon.”

“I will walk you out,” Claire said. She might be terrified, or whatever it was she was feeling, but she seemed able to conceal her feelings from Jarvis.

He paused at the garden gate. “Your uncle must have been nursed on vinegar.”

“You’ll not say−” she couldn’t finish.

“A scene would be fatal.”

“A monumental deception such as this is impossible.”

“Well you’re obviously stuck with me. You’ll learn to accept defeat graciously. That is, when you decide to be a woman. Anything else, I consider lacking.” He made her the grandest bow. “Your servant, Madame Blackmon.”

Claire ran to her room and slammed the door. “He’s alive.” Claire raked her fingers through her hair, uncertain whether she was on
the verge of hysterical laughter or tears. “What am I going to do? Who could have imagined such a fate?” She had bought her own husband off the docks!

Claire paced, her stomach in knots and her thoughts in wild disarray. If her uncle discovered the felon was her husband he would eliminate him and waste no time in marrying her off.
Why had fate determined this disaster?
Was she being punished for the lie she told to a condemned man? He expected her to fulfill her promise. Ridiculous. She was not the sort to drive men wild with lust. So why did he see fit to pursue her? Was it because life had diminished for him that he wanted to make her suffer?

Claire looked down at the ring on her finger. She dreaded the gold, the symbol of her bondage, the symbol that turned her ordered existence on its head. She wanted to pretend that the last hours never happened. Claire attempted to pry off the offending jewelry, but it would not budge. She cursed. Of all the bad luck in the world−that he would be on this very island.

“What is wrong, Claire?” Lily closed the door behind her.

Claire turned and faced the mirror, fingers trailing the edge of her silver handled brush. Lily’s eyes searched hers in the reflection. There was no escaping Lily. “Disaster, Lily. Remember the felon I married in Newgate−he’s here−on this island.”

“Impossible. We saw to his grave.”

“Our greedy Mr. Goad lied to us. The physician is Devon Blackmon.”

Lily sat down, digesting the revelation. “I knew no good would come from your marriage at Newgate. Can you trust him? How will you manage?”

“I could weep.”