Ashes in the Wind (58 page)

Brushing past her, he retrieved his cane, took a full bottle from the cabinet, and left the room.

The Darveys made an early departure, and as the party wound down in the not-so-wee hours of the morning, Alaina stood alone in the foyer bidding the guests good-night. No sound came from Cole’s room when she went upstairs. She did not care that Roberta’s diary was not where it had been thrown, but as the room had been neatened, brushed it off as having been put away by one of the servants.

She rose with the sun to breakfast alone. The study door was still ajar, and the room was empty. It stayed so throughout the day. There was no sign of Cole.

Night came, and she worried, but could find no way to ease her concern. She took herself to bed at an early hour, leaving a dimmed lamp burning in the hall and another in Cole’s room. It was much later when she was roused from a restless sleep by a low rumble from Soldier and, lighting a lamp, found the mantel clock indicating the time to be nearly midnight. After a moment, Soldier quieted and returned
to his nap. She turned the lamp down, but left it burning for her own peace of mind. She had barely climbed into bed when Soldier raised his head again, his ears stiff and alert. He padded to the door, sat for a moment, then returned and thumped down on his usual rug. It was too much!

Alaina rose and, slipping a warm robe on, found the derringer and tucked it in her pocket. She pulled on her slippers and, holding the lamp high, called Soldier and ventured with him into the hall.

It was empty and shadowed, and as she roamed the upper rooms found them quiet and still. Cole’s bedroom was just as it had been, and Roberta’s door firmly shut. Mindy blissfully slumbered in her own room.

Soldier trotted along behind Alaina, showing no interest at all. It was the dog’s relaxed disdain for the whole affair that calmed her fears as she crept down the stairs. He plunked himself down in the hall while she checked the parlor and the study, giving her no mind as she passed through the dining room and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. A turned-down lamp had been left burning, as was Annie’s habit. The warmth from the huge cookstove gave the place a cheery, homey feeling. Of all the rooms in the house, this seemed to be the most welcoming as it retained something of Annie’s cheerful nature in it.

Alaina set her lamp on the table as she returned to the dining room and straightened Cole’s chair, which had been turned askew. Suddenly, without cause, the hair on the back of her neck began to crawl. She glanced back at the kitchen door. It was still and closed. The windows were blank and featureless
and too high from the ground for anyone to peer in. She turned to leave, then gave a gasp. Her hand flew to her throat while the other clawed in the pocket of her robe for the derringer. A tall, darkly clad form stood in the hall doorway, the top half hidden in shadows.

“Cole!” The word escaped as she recognized him, and she leaned back against the table, weak-kneed with relief. Releasing the derringer, she pressed her hand over her pounding heart. He stepped forward and leaned against the doorjamb, a brandy snifter with a sip left in it dangled loosely from his fingers.

“You were looking for someone, madam?”

She tried to find the sureness of her voice, but realized she had failed when she answered him in a whisper. “Soldier heard something—and was restless. I didn’t know you were down here.”

He swept his hand that bore the snifter about the room. “I see you have no guests.”

“I never had any.” Alaina lifted her chin. “They were all yours.” She tried to see his face in the shadows. “I presume since you’re back that you find a sweeter clime about the place.”

Cole glanced back over his shoulder and snorted. “Madam, I fear your presence is the sweetest clime this dismal place has ever known.” He stepped forward until the light cast its glow upon his face and searched her eyes for a long moment, his features troubled and harsh, then he lowered his gaze to his drink and turned the glass slowly in his fingers. “Madam, I think I should make it clear that I was berating that damned fool Irishman, not you.
I did not mean to suggest that you have been anything less than a proper lady.”

“I fear your aim was bad,” she murmured, pulling the robe tighter. “I’ve heard it said that either strong drink or anger can make a fool of a man.”

“And surely to combine them would make of him a raving idiot,” he continued for her. He sipped thoughtfully from his glass, then, meeting her silent gaze, dipped his head in submission. “I stand guilty, madam.”

She gestured toward the kitchen. “Would you like something to eat? Annie baked fresh bread, and there’s some ham—”

Cole shook his head. “I dined with Olie.”

She looked at him narrowly for a moment. “And where did you spend the night?”

He glanced away as if reluctant to answer but as a long, waiting silence ensued, he sighed, “With the horses—in the barn.”

Alaina fought against a smile. “And did you find a sweeter air there, milord?”

Cole lifted a brow. “I could say that I found the conversation of a gentler sort than I’ve heard here of late. But then, I cannot swear that there is not an Irish ass or a Scottish mare among the brood.”

Ungrateful at his comparison, Alaina snugged her robe tighter across her bosom. “Excuse me, milord. Might I have your permission to return to my room? The air grows chill.”

She did not wait for an answer, but made her exit with a last, meaningful glare.

T
HE
carriage negotiated a twisting alleyway as it approached the rear of the millinery shop, then it left the dirt path and halted behind a sheltering clump of spruce and pine trees. It seemed that Olie was opening the door before Cole had a chance to bestir himself, though in reality the driver had waited some moments for the doctor to disembark by his own volition.

Cole stared at the trellis-covered path that led to the owner’s private quarters for several long moments before he stepped to the ground. Olie gently closed the carriage door and inquired in a subdued voice, “Vil it be the usual time, sir?”

“What?” Cole stared at him, as if awakening from a trance.

“Du yu vant me to pick yu up here like usual?” Olie patiently inquired. “Or vill yu be staying the night?”

“No!” Cole’s reply was so sudden and sharp Olie was startled and much bemused. But then, Olie hadn’t reckoned that the doctor would be seeking out his mistress so soon after his marriage.

“The usual, I suppose,” Cole sighed heavily.

With a nod Olie climbed to the driver’s seat, and a moment later the carriage rumbled off down the narrow lane. Cole approached the back door. It was not
because he was lame that he dragged his feet. He was hard pressed to keep his hands off Alaina, and it had come upon him suddenly this morning as he watched his wife sitting so innocently at the opposite end of the table that he needed an immediate outlet for what was brewing within him. Outside of force, only one choice appeared open to him—Xanthia Morgan.

He raised the handle of his cane to rap on the door, then froze as an illusion of Alaina flooded through his brain, cauterizing his very thoughts. He closed his eyes to savor the vision more fully, but it was as quickly gone, vanished from his grasping mind. He was suddenly unsure that this course would solve his problem, and he lowered the cane as he tried to sort out his thoughts. His options vanished as the door opened and he faced the long-legged, auburn-haired, and exceptionally well-formed Xanthia Morgan.

“Cole!” she exclaimed in relief. “I saw your shadow and thought it might be some miscreant intending harm.” She lifted her hand to betray a small double-barreled derringer and, with some embarrassment, tucked it back within the folds of her skirts. “Come in! Good heavens, it’s been so long! I was afraid you wouldn’t ever come again.” Smiling with warmth, she caught his hand, and he was helplessly drawn into the house. Eagerly she took his hat and gloves, left them on the hall table, and led him into the parlor, there pouring a libation for him. As she pressed it into his hand, she coaxed, “Sit down, darling, and I’ll help you off with your boots.”

“No—I mean—” He saw the worried curiosity come into her eyes and finished lamely. “In a moment, ‘Thia.”

“Your leg is stiff again,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I shouldn’t wonder, the way you roam around. You should either settle down and take care of it, or see what can be done.” His noncommittal shrug warned her away from the subject. “Will you join me for dinner? Can you stay the night?”

“I’ll have to be getting back soon.” He read the disappointment in her eyes and, then gazed down into the amber pool of brandy in his glass. “Olie is waiting for me.”

“Olie is always waiting, darling,” she reminded him calmly. “Sometimes I think he enjoys that stint in the tavern.”

“No doubt.” For lack of something better to say, he took a shallow sip of the brandy.

In an attempt to break his preoccupation, Xanthia ran a hand caressingly over his lapel, asking quietly, “Did you get that business arrangement settled?”

Cole glanced at her briefly, unable to defeat the scowl that creased his brow. “It was carried out by proxy before she came up here.”

“I heard it rumored, of course,” Xanthia admitted, turning aside to hide her displeasure. “The gossips never forgave you for marrying Roberta, and they’ve been clucking like hens all over town about your new wife. You must be keeping her well hidden because the few who have seen her are lording it over the ones who haven’t, and I can tell you, Cole, their curiosity is eating them alive.”

She waited, but he made no effort to appease her own burning inquisitiveness. She tried again, knowing that she erred, but was helpless to resist. “Miss
Beatrice showed me some of the gowns you had her make for your wife.” He looked at her sharply, and she rushed on to explain. “Oh, darling, you needn’t worry. Miss Beatrice doesn’t know about us. I was just in her shop for a fitting when she started raving about some of the clothes you had ordered.” Xanthia paused until she could continue in a casual manner. “You sly rogue, it must have warmed her heart considerably to have received such a rich gift.”

“Alaina—is different,” he muttered.

“In what way?”

His silence was an eloquent declaration. Xanthia sensed she would do well not to inquire further about this new wife of his, this Alaina. She rose on tiptoes to press her lips to his and was somewhat surprised by his coolness. “Cole?” His eyes turned to gaze down into hers, and she ran a well-manicured finger about his ear as she questioned softly, “Do I have too much competition?”

He sighed and stared into the crackling fire. “I explained her terms and the reason I was marrying her before. Nothing has changed.”

“I probably know you better than anyone, Cole,” she murmured low. “But sometimes I wonder if I know you at all. You say she saved your life, and I guess I wouldn’t fear so much if I really believed you were doing all this out of gratitude.”

“I don’t wish to talk about it, ‘Thia.”

She stroked his lean knuckles, urging, “Finish your drink, darling. I won’t be long.”

Before he could stop her, she was gone. Cole realized now that he had made a mistake in coming here. This had been a haven from Roberta, but somehow
its quality had flown. It was no longer a place for escape but, in some strange way, had become a place for cheating. Suddenly it was the wrong place, the wrong time, and the wrong woman. He was uncomfortable, and he wanted to be away, anywhere but here.

Setting the snifter down, he left the parlor and made his way down the hall to the familiar bedroom. The door was open, the bedcovers folded down invitingly. Xanthia sat on a stool before a wide mirror, brushing out her long hair. When she caught his reflection in the glass, she smiled and began to loosen her bodice.

“ ‘Thia—” She paused and looked up, her eyes finding his in the silvered glass. “I’m going now.”

She turned on the stool to face him. “But you just got here.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And it was a mistake.”

Her hopes were crushed, and she asked in a husky voice, “Is it something you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Will you be back?”

He met her gaze directly. “I don’t know.”

Xanthia stared at him a long moment, fighting to control the mistiness that suddenly affected her vision. “It was nice of you to come and tell me, Cole,” she said slowly. “I appreciate that. Should you change your mind, you know you’ll always be welcome.”

He nodded. “You were a friend when I needed one, ‘Thia. If there’s anything you ever need, don’t hesitate to call on me.”

She straightened her spine and did her best to smile. “I’m afraid what I need most, someone else already has.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Thia,” he apologized. “I just haven’t worked this out for myself yet.”

He withdrew a flat purse from his coat and dropped a wad of bills into a vase beside the door. “Good-bye, ‘Thia.”

She listened to his footsteps and the tap of his cane as he went down the hall, and after a time she heard the gentle closing of the back door. For all his prattle about his second marriage being nothing more than a business arrangement, he must have found something in it which intrigued him. She would have to meet this Alaina Latimer and see for herself just what it was that spurred this sudden attack of fidelity in him.

The evening mists had risen, and the cold dampness began to work its painful presence into Cole’s leg. He walked for a space, then paused to ease the throbbing in his thigh, and after a rest, he marked a careful path down the road again, leaning heavily on his cane. The tinkle of a piano wheedled its way through the still night air, and he knew that for an able man, the saloon was only a short jaunt up the street from Xanthia’s millinery and gift shop. Usually the tavern closed its doors before he was ready to leave his mistress’s arms, and Olie would bring the carriage to wait at the spot behind the trees. Now Cole cursed his own folly for coming. It had been a damned fool idea!

Olie had settled his large bulk at a table in the corner. It was his wont to stand at the bar and engage in gay camaraderie with the transients of the tavern, but this evening he had felt more in need of
some deep pondering in hopes that he might make some sense of events of late. The barkeep’s wife had brought him a tankard well afoam with a dark amber brew and left it on the table without a comment. Though he had left payment for his share, she was probably still piqued over the minor damage to several bar chairs and a table that had occurred on his last visit.

A goodly portion of the tankard had provided ease for a huge thirst before Olie lowered the mug to the table and stared bemusedly at it. He had known the good Doctor Latimer for quite a number of years, and he was disturbed because the man seemed bound along a path to some sort of debauchery. Of course rumors were roaming wildly about Latimer House, and his own son, Peter, had hinted that there were, in fact, separate beds for master and mistress, just like it had been with the first wife. Not one to lend too much credence to whispering servants, Olie had watched the couple for himself. At church, for instance, with the child between them, and every head coming together behind the Latimer pew like eggs rolling from opposite hills and meeting in wild confusion in the middle of a vale. Afterward, the very air outside the church had buzzed with the gossip, because Doctor Latimer hadn’t attended services since he had been home from the war, and now all of a sudden he showed up with a new wife and a child besides,
and hardly no time married! The fact that Mrs. Latimer was from the South didn’t seem to concern them as much as their speculations as to how young she might be, why Doctor Latimer had married her, and just what kin the child was to her? Well, Olie thought, anyone could see that she was too young to
have a child that old, and that Doctor Latimer might have married her simply because she was a right comely young lady. Despite all the rumors of separate beds, the doctor appeared quite taken with his young bride and, one might say, most anxious to protect her from the stares of every swain they met. Then, there had been the outing along the river on a rare warm day. Mindy had smiled with a radiance she had never shown before when they unpacked the basket Annie had prepared for the picnic. Olie had shared the food and the pleasure of the day with them. He had seen for himself the politeness that was congenial yet not quite as intimate as would be normal between a man and his wife. And he had witnessed the almost
hungering eye of the doctor fastened on the lady as she skipped and played with Mindy. Laughing, she had thrown her arms wide in carefree abandon until her bodice had stretched taut against her soft bosom, and Doctor Latimer had flushed a deeper shade when he realized Olie had caught him ogling his own wife.

A second tankard’s contents were being carefully sampled for quality when, in some astonishment, Olie paused with the mug almost to his mouth. He stared over its rim until, without a word of explanation, his employer lowered himself in the chair opposite him. Even with the noisy din of the piano player’s melody, the rowdy laughter of some loggers, and incessant giggling of the saloon girls, Cole had no trouble hearing Olie’s statement.

“I been tinkin’ yu’re a fool, and now I know. Yu can’t get along with either of them.”

“When I want some of your Norwegian logic,” Cole retorted tersely, “I’ll ask for it.”

“Yah!” The blond head nodded as if he sorely lamented the plight of the other. “Yu’ve tied yourself a few good knots this time.” Olie slammed a brawny fist down on the table before Cole could reply and bellowed to the bartender. “Sweyn! Bring the bottle and two short glasses.”

In a moment a quart of whiskey of questionable age was placed before them and two glasses were slid across the table. Olie waited until the barkeep had left before he shared a bit more of his wisdom. “When I feel good, I drink beer. When I got voman trouble, I need a little somet’ing stronger to take the edge away.”

Cole lifted his brows in amazement. “It’s not you who has the trouble!”

The driver shrugged his thick shoulders and spread his hands. “Yu got trouble—I got trouble.” He tossed down a shot of whiskey and followed it closely with the beer. Cole copied his example and was astounded that his throat should feel completely seared all the way down to his stomach. A trifle wide-eyed, he reached for the stein of beer in hopes it would put out the fire.

“That’s enough!” he wheezed and pushed his glass away.

“Nah! Nah! Two women are too much trouble for one drink.” Olie poured the glasses full to the rim, and the bottle was half empty when Cole spread a hand over his own glass and put a halt to the infusion of the dark whiskey.

“Women can be damned sobering,” he muttered crossly. “Especially that bit of fluff I’ve married, and it’s a dreadful shame to waste good whiskey.” He
eased himself to his feet and paused a moment to let the world settle down around him, while Olie tucked the bottle affectionately beneath a heavy arm and plowed his way toward the door. There, he had a moment of lucid recollection and bellowed to the barkeep that the whole was to go on Doctor Latimer’s account. Cole cringed at the overloud shout. He was beginning to consider that he had underestimated the strength of Olie’s whiskey. Yet he managed to follow his driver with a quieter dignity.

It was a long ride home, perhaps even longer tonight because Olie chose to weave his way through the city at a snail’s pace. It gave the cold, snapping air some time to affect a sobering on Cole, but the slight, discomforting ache that came and went somewhere behind his eyes made the memory of the strong brew a trifle less than enjoyable. To make matters worse, Miles met him at the door with a displeasing announcement.