Wild Hearts (3 page)

Last night, alone in her room, she had allowed herself to imagine the possibilities, as she had not since Wesley had died. Of being in love again.

It was not to be, she told herself firmly as she walked toward the schoolhouse. In the end, she would have a home of her own. A life of which she could be proud. That would be enough. Somehow, she would make it enough.

Zeke walked in through the rear door of the lending library. He meant to see Alethea alone after the reading, but he'd found himself strolling over early, curious about her ability to bring Shakespeare to the small town of Titanville.

There were thirty or so people sitting on hard wooden chairs, leaning forward and listening intently as Alethea read the lively exchange between Beatrice and Benedick. They laughed appreciatively at the stubbornness of the two players and their inability to see what was obvious to everyone else.

She finished the scene and closed the book.

“The library has two copies of this play to lend,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps some of you would like to find out what happens for yourself?”

There was a round of applause, then those attending rose. The librarian mentioned something about ice cream available next door in the mercantile.

Zeke lingered until nearly everyone had left, then joined Alethea. She saw him approach and smiled—a warm, welcoming smile he felt in his gut. It made him want to pull her close and kiss her. Even more, it made him want to continue the conversation she'd provoked with her reading.

He shook off the latter idea and moved next to her.

“I'm surprised at your selection,” he said by way of greeting. “No
King Lear?
”

“I seek to entertain and inspire,” she told him. “Better done with a comedy. People are intrigued by the possibilities books offer. They try one, then another.”

“Your goal to trap them into a life of reading?”

“I don't see it as anything but a great pleasure.” She looked up at him, her green eyes bright with amusement. “And how do you know about Shakespeare, or reading in Greek? Was the curriculum of this school more adventurous when you were young? Am I failing my students by teaching in English?”

“I have always enjoyed books,” he admitted. “All books. When I was younger, I had plenty of time to read.” He motioned to the books on the shelves. “These are old friends.”

“You've read them all?”

“More than once. Some of the historical volumes were long and boring, but I persevered.”

“Impressive.”

He offered his arm. “I know.”

She laughed and allowed him to lead her out of the library, her small hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. They paused on the sidewalk and glanced toward the crowd waiting for ice cream.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to take a walk?”

“A walk would be nice.”

They turned away from the mercantile and moved toward the edge of town. The night was clear and calm, the air cool, but without a chill.

“What will your next play be?” he asked.

“Romeo
and Juliet.”

“A favorite of yours?”

“It is very popular with the young ladies,” she said, humor brightening her voice. “There is nothing young women enjoy so much as a tragic love story.”

“You have outgrown such things?”

“I have lived my own personal loss. I don't need to read about it.”

Right. The dead husband. He'd forgotten.

“You still miss him?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “When I read a new book, I long to discuss it with him. Or when it's cold and I can't get warm.” She glanced at him from under her lashes. “There are some practical benefits to the marriage bed.”

Zeke had never been in love. He'd loved his mother dearly, but that was different. To lose a spouse was something he couldn't comprehend. Did Alethea's missing her late husband mean she still loved him?

“My mother wants me to marry again,” she continued. “Her anxiety to see me with another husband is one of the reasons I wanted to leave Baltimore.”

“You don't wish to remarry?”

“I do. I had always thought I would. I long for children, and a husband is required.”

He smiled at her. “If you could achieve one without the other, would that be better?”

“No. I think a husband is a good thing. Provided he's the right type of man.”

“What do women want in a man?” he asked.

“Different things, I suppose. For myself, I would wish for a man of good character. Someone strong enough to admit his mistakes. A excellent mind, with enough humor so that I would never know what to expect. Someone who loved me and our children. And that unexplained attraction.”

Zeke stopped and faced her. “Passion.”

The moon was nearly full. The soft light spilled onto her face, making her blush visible.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. Passion.”

“Another practical benefit of the marriage bed?”

She turned away. “Mr. Titan, this is not an appropriate subject for conversation.”

He grinned. “Perhaps not appropriate, but interesting. I have heard that some married women don't enjoy their husband's attentions.”

“I have heard that, as well. But we aren't talking about some women, are we? You're trying to find out if I enjoyed that part of my marriage.” She raised her chin slightly. “I did, sir.”

She stepped around him and headed for the hotel. Zeke fell into step beside her, aware that he'd pushed her too far.

“I'm sorry,” he said, almost meaning it. “You were right. That is not a subject for polite society.”

“Which is probably the reason you want to talk about it.”

He laughed. “True enough. I play at being a gentleman. I can say the words, use the correct fork at a fancy dinner. I'm well read and successful, but in my heart, I'm a Texan. I'd rather ride a horse than a carriage, shoot my supper than buy it, and play cards than go to ballet.”

“Have you been to the ballet?”

“No.”

“Beautiful women dancing, Mr. Titan. They're elegant and sometimes show their legs. You'd like it.”

“You think you know me.”

“I do know you.”

“And?”

They were close to the hotel. She stopped.

“And it is time for us to say good-night,” she said.

Even though he knew he shouldn't rush things, he wasn't ready to let her go. Alethea surprised him, and it had been a long time since he could say that about any part of his life. There was a strength in her, a determination. Too bad she wouldn't let him kiss her.

He stared into her big, green eyes and searched for a hint of what she was feeling. Either there wasn't enough light or she was doing a fine job of keeping her thoughts to herself.

He touched her cheek. “Say my name.”

“What?”

“You've been calling me Mr. Titan all evening. Say my name. My first name. Just once.”

He dropped his gaze to her mouth and imagined what it would be like to press his lips to hers. To taste her sweetness. Would she kiss tentatively, waiting to be convinced? Or would she give boldly, passionately?

“Mr. Titan, I—”

He pressed his index finger against her bottom lip, then ran it down to her chin. Her eyes widened.

“I'll go first, if that makes it easier,” he murmured. “Alethea.”

“Good night,” she said firmly, stepping back and turning toward the hotel.

He stayed where he was, watching her leave. The game wasn't over. He knew it in his gut. Sure enough, when she reached the door to the side stairs, she turned back. Her gaze met his before dropping to his mouth.

“Zeke,” she whispered, and then was gone.

 

Alethea awoke refreshed and ready to start a new day. She was pleased with her performance the previous night. Not so much the reading, but afterward, with Zeke.

Except for an unexplained sense of longing at the end of their time together, she'd stayed in complete control of her faculties. She'd done her best to convince him he was well on his way to seducing her. In truth, were he truly courting her, she would be hard-pressed to deny him.

He was nothing like Wesley, yet so appealing, she thought sadly. But she couldn't know the true man—not when his goal was to force her into leaving town. However much she might enjoy his company, she had to keep reminding herself that Zeke Titan was out to defeat her, not win her.

She made her way to school, determined to keep her attention on her students. Matthew came running up to her, then spun in a slow circle. She took in the new shirt and overalls, the self-conscious but proud smile.

“Don't you look especially handsome this morning,” she told the eight-year-old.

“My mom got a new sewing machine,” he said proudly. “She's been workin' day 'n night to make these for me.”

An impressive amount of work finished in a relatively short period of time, Alethea thought. “I hope you thanked her.”

“Yes, ma'am, I did. She's gonna take in sewing work now.”

“Excellent.” She knew that Matthew's mother, a widow, had been getting by on very little income. Although now that she thought about it…“A sewing machine is very expensive,” she said, more to herself than the boy. “She must have been saving for a long time.”

Matthew grinned. “Uncle Zeke bought it for her. It came in on the last wagon, just like him. He comes to our house a lot.”

Matthew saw one of his friends and ran off. Alethea stared after him. Uncle Zeke? As she had not heard that Zeke had any family left in the area, she had to assume the title was honorary. But what, exactly, had Mr. Titan done to earn it?

Later that morning, she had to separate two girls who simply wouldn't stop talking. She quickly discovered that they, too, had new clothes. Dresses this time, all the way from Boston. Compliments of Uncle Zeke.

Alethea ignored the churning in her midsection as she gave the children their reading assignment for the morning. When she walked between the desks and helped her students with difficult words, she couldn't help searching for similarities between Matthew's brown hair and eyes and the girls'. Given Zeke's reputation with women, she shouldn't be surprised that he'd fathered children. Apparently the good people of Titanville were willing to embrace the results of his indiscretions. Very forward thinking of them, if slightly shocking.

At lunch, she passed out the buckets her students had brought from home. They ran outside to eat while she stayed in, still thinking about the fact that Zeke may have fathered children without the benefit of marriage. She heard heavy footsteps and looked up to see the man in question entering the schoolhouse. He smiled at her.

“It's a fine day,” Zeke told her. “I brought a picnic for us to share.”

As he spoke, he held up a basket. It was large, and a brightly colored cloth spilled from one side.

She eyed his offering, then turned her attention to him. “You must find your circumstances very pleasant. This town where you are adored. The rules of society that don't apply to you or your situation. The rights of a husband but none of the responsibilities.”

She wasn't angry, she thought as she looked at him. She was disappointed. She'd expected more. No. That wasn't right. She'd hoped for more, but she had been let down. Zeke wasn't special. He was a charming shell of a man.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

“You have created your own kingdom,” she said, coming to her feet. “You seem to be all that is good in a man, but that is a facade. You may not hit women or speak ill of them, but you abuse their bodies and their characters all the same.”

The humor and anticipation faded from his dark eyes. “You assume a great deal.”

“I see Matthew in new clothes sewn on a machine you provided. The girls in their new dresses, compliments of their uncle. Yet you are not a relation to their mothers. Not in the traditional sense.”

Zeke's mouth tightened. “You speak of my failings, yet you're the one assuming the worst without knowing the true circumstances. Matthew's mother was married to a friend of mine. When he passed, Elizabeth wouldn't accept help from anyone. It took me six months to convince her to let me give her the sewing machine. As to the girls and their dresses, yes, I brought back pretty clothes for daughters of widows.”

He set down the basket and moved closer, his dark eyes blazing with anger. “You're quick to judge things you don't understand. A common failing of those with small minds. If you want to know about my past, do me the courtesy of asking me directly. Have there been women? Yes. Have I bedded them without the benefit of marriage? Only if they were willing. I might enjoy my pleasures, Mrs. Harbaugh, but I have never turned my back on my responsibilities. I have no bastards to gnaw at my conscience.”

He walked to the doorway and glanced back at her. “One would think that a woman in charge of impressionable minds would take care before forming her opinions. Apparently, one would be wrong.”