Blackwater (5 page)

I don’t know what to say. It's completely inappropriate and exactly what I woulda wanted him to do, if I wasn’t heartbroken.

He makes me confused.

"Thank you." I whisper back. I don’t know how to break my eyes from the lock he has on them. He holds my gaze hostage.

His lips curl, "Call me Whit."

I smile as I'm pulled from the magic in his eyes, "Whit?" What a ridiculous name. I'm positive I can't call him that. He's beautiful and reminds me of a man from a storybook. I like Mr. Whitlock better than Whit.

He laughs at my grimace. I ask, "What's your first name?"

He nods, "Jameson. My mother was cruel and named me after a dead grandfather. Everyone calls me Whit."

I laugh. Jameson's an old man's name. He doesn’t suit his name. Not in the least.

"Jameson." I say it like I can't believe it, because I can't. "Do you have a middle name?"

He laughs, "Andrew."

I nod and process this catastrophe. "None of your names suit you. I'm sorry, but I'll have to call you Mr. Whitlock. I knew a James; he was sort of a cocky jerk. He could talk the hair off a dog."

He laughs, but blushes and I feel something inside of me tremble like I may come back to life again just watching him. His flushed cheeks, and the way he glances up at me through his lashes when I say his name, are killing me. "You say the oddest things." He smiles his genuine smile. I see it. It's not controlled or planned. In fact it ain't perfect. It's the lazy grin I find sexy. He is letting me see him for who he is. We don't do that, not even after decades of marriage. Even Martin will never let me see this side of him.

It makes me feel funny, good funny. It's exactly what I want in the man I love. Maybe not the man I marry, but undoubtedly the man I love. I have always suspected they will be different men. "My mom...mother is always trying to get me to sound more refined."

He nods, "I know that feeling. Do you go to finishing school?"

I nod, "I do. Hateful."

He chuckles and my stomach twirls, "I can only imagine." His lips twist into a grin, "I do like those finishing schools though, all those rules to break." His eyes flash with humor.

I cross my arms, "Yeah, well, it's all part of the act. Part of the life we all live. Enough about me though. Jameson Andrew Whitlock? Did your momma hate you?"

He laughs, "No, but you forgot the My Lord that belongs at the beginning of that name." His accent is thicker, English maybe or Irish. I don’t ever hear people with accents much, except on TV.

I laugh. "My, my, someone is full of himself."

He shakes his red face and looks down, "No, I'm a duke. My title is Lord. Or well, Most Noble Lord. You can choose whichever one you like the most."

I laugh, at him not with him.

He shakes his head as his cheeks flush. He is trying to kill me with the realness and sweetness I never see on people. He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head, "I could have you executed for behavior like that." His eyes shine with humor and something else. He cocks his head and grins, "I can't imagine laughing at a duke? You are a brave girl."

I feel silly and slightly turned on by the fact he is a lord or a duke. "Lord Whitlock. Sounds stuffy and stodgy. I didn’t know there were American Lords and Dukes." My mocking tone is not missed.

His eyes meet mine and for a moment I think he is about to reveal something to me. Something very secret. He sighs and his face relaxes, "I'm from Scotland."

I knew I heard an accent. It's much stronger when he says Scotland.

I cross my arms and forget to cry or be sad. "A Scottish lord? I never knew those existed anymore; well, beyond the ladies’ romance novels my grandmother liked to pretend she didn’t read. She had a secret cupboard that she stashed them in. The covers were all men with kilts and such."

His eyes light up for a moment. "We exist. Very common back home in fact." His lazy grin grows devilish, "We also favor appearing in the odd romance novel. Got to keep appearances up. I try not to wear the kilt unless I absolutely have to. Bit breezy, if you get my drift."

I roll my eyes, "Gross."

He laughs harder but then leans in and smirks, "Tell me Lorelei, did you like those romance novels you read in secret?"

His bold question seizes up my chest and throat. I stifle a giggle as Mrs. Kirsch returns with my pudding. I can't believe my sister is still asleep and missing the intensely interesting conversation. I can't believe how much I like him or how bold he is with me. I don’t even know what to say to him, but it's almost as if I am able to relax around him. Like I would with Angie.

"Here you go, dear girl. Want a little more water or tea?" I nod but my eyes don’t leave his. Again he has my gaze hostage. His last statement has me captive.

She clears her throat and leaves the room. I realize how rude I was to her and blush. I look down at my pudding and grimace.

He slides the chair closer. It's right up against my bed.

"Allow me. It's my fault you're here."

I frown, "Your fault." I'm pulled out of the feelings of safety and comfort when his eyes leave mine. Instantly I'm uncomfortable with how familiar he is to me. He is bold. I'm being bold back. Something isn’t right with it. My stomach is going off but then I look into his eyes and I see it again.

He smiles and pulls me back into it, "I should have found you sooner. I should have left the house earlier. I might have spared you this stay had I not been delayed." He pushes the spoon in and makes a face. "Awfully thick is it not?"

I laugh awkwardly, "It's how they inspire you to get better in America. If the food scares you, you're more inclined to want out. But I've seen the cook's food for the nurses. She puts her foot in the food for them. We get the slop."

He grimaces, "She puts her foot in the food?" He is being charming and sweet again. His cheeks blush when he smiles. I don't know how to be around him, he changes like a chameleon.

I watch him and answer softly, "No, like she does a good job for them all and for us she does the bare minimum. What's the matter with you? Of course she ain't putting her feet in the food."

"You say weird things." He shakes his head and scoops a bite, holding it up for me. The act is simple and sweet and I am falling for it again.

I shake my head but don't leave his stare, "I can't eat that. I might die."

His eyes flash, "You might die without it too. You're weak. I can tell." He's right, but I'm still not eating it.

"If I bring games will you play?" he asks me like he's nervous suddenly.

I nod.

He puts it down on the tray and stands, "I will be right back." He leaves the room. I look at the congealed mess of chocolate pudding and shudder.

I lie back in the bed and replay every instant he was in the room. My heart flutters with delight and fear. I don't fear him, not the way I should. He is bold and yet I find myself imagining the possibilities. I like the way I can't guess how he's going to act in between the seconds where we don’t say anything. He's inconsistent and fun, and some small part of me knows he's dangerous.

A voice interrupts my daydreams, "Lorelei." I look up to see Angie. She runs to my side. "Are you alright?"

I nod. Her hands squeeze mine and her eyes water, "I'm sorry about Ramón."

My eyes fill with tears as well. "Me too. I miss him. I wish I coulda talked him into staying and waiting with me. I don’t even understand why he went into the woods."

"His grandmamma is gonna be so sad."

I swallow, "I know. I'll need to go see her right away."

She wipes her face, "He really was the best."

"Yup."

"Want me to get you anything?" She asks.

I shake my head, "No. I'm not hungry. I'm still so tired."

She looks around suddenly, "Where is he?"

I frown, "Who?"

She grins, "Why, Mr. Whitlock, of course. Mrs. Kirsch hasn’t shut up about him since the moment he found you."

I laugh. "He was just here. He said he would be right back. Something about games."

Her eyes are sparkling with curiosity. "The nurses was saying he's handsome."

I sigh, "Handsome doesn’t describe him. He's perfect. In every way. Except his name. Lord Jameson Andrew Whitlock. Gross. He's from Scotland."

She squeezes my hand and contains a squeal, "He's a lord?"

I nod. "A Scottish lord. It's weird. I think he's lying maybe. He tried to feed me pudding; can you imagine a lord feeding you pudding? Diet pudding at that. He's erratic, one minute he's sweet and blushing, and the next he's asking me questions and I swear I'm naked and vulnerable the way he's looking at me. He has no proper manners. He just does what he wants when he wants to. Like rules and good society don’t apply to him."

She raises her eyebrows like she is wagging them, "Maybe that could be fun. Lord Whitlock who doesn’t take no for an answer and takes what he wants."

I snort and swat at her, "You are positively vile." I wipe my eyes.

She shrugs, wiping her own, "Has Martin come to see you?"

I nod, "Once, a couple days ago. I was sleeping I guess. Mrs. Kirsch said he stayed for a couple minutes but refused to wake me."

She raises an eyebrow and nods once, "Well, that’s convenient for him that you was sleeping."

I swat her again, "He was being a gentleman."

"He was probably late for a date with some harlot," her tone is bitter. I don't get her hatred for him or her jealousy. She has never been this way before.

I laugh through the sting of the words. Deep down I have to admit Mr. Whitlock has kept my mind busy. I haven’t had much time to think on Martin.

She sighs, "So, if you are still bent on marrying Martin and you don’t like Mr. Whitlock, then you don’t mind if I make a play at him?"

I feel my face redden, "I never said any of that. I just said I didn’t think the great lord was telling the truth. There's a difference. And Martin and me isn't finalized yet either. Nothing is set in stone. Besides, what about Marcello?"

She shrugs again, "I let him touch me again yesterday. It was fun but he's going so slowly. I tried to undo his pants and he started backing away and saying no and blah blah blah. He's a square. I think I need a lord to straighten me out. Maybe Lord Whitlock has some friends."

I roll my eyes and look over at Emily and frown, "Check her temperature. I seriously think she's dead over there."

Angie walks over and put a hand to Emily, who instantly stirs and stretches. "What time is it?" she asks making sleepy sounds.

"Nine at night. You sleeping over?" I point at the clock.

She nods and stretches into the chair to get more comfortable. She blinks several times and looks up at Angie and frowns. "What are you doing here?"

Angie sighs, "Yup, she's fine. Saucy and rude but fine. Anyway, when are you coming back to school? You missed how to run your own home and what to do when certain aspects of your home are not what you want them to be. Oh, and we had how to dress your maid day. I wish for death every hour you're not there. It's like prison but worse. That woman would talk a deaf to death."

I laugh, "Then, I guess never. I'm too sick to finish out the year."

Angie snorts and stands, "Yeah, the five days left. I hate you. Have a good sleep and don’t forget to mention to his lordship that I'm in the market for a new boy toy." She turns and walks out waving backwards.

I look at Emily who shakes her head, "What?" I ask.

"You have the weirdest friends and you look like something drug out from under the porch." Her voice sounds raspy.

I furrow my brow, "Thanks. You getting sick?"

She shakes her head, "No, I had choir today. It always makes me sound funny." She looks at the floor and then up at me, "Did she really let Marcello touch her?"

I laugh and nod, "I guess so."

Emily smiles, "I wonder what that would be like. Sometimes I wish that Greg would try something, anything. He is so polite. True Southern gentleman."

"Em, nice boys are the ones you want to marry. He is sincerely nice. You know how many of those exist in our world? We have the cold-mannered men like Martin and the players who smile the right way, but really have ten women falling all over them."

She grins at me, "I'm only marrying if my husband agrees I can work."

"Oh Greg will let you work. He is so mellow and sweet."

She closes her eyes again and moans, "I hope so. I hope he asks me to marry him tomorrow. I would do anything to leave that house and get away from her."

I look back at the door. He never came back.

"Yeah well, her and daddy are in the middle of signing me over to the Ryan's. We both know once that's done she'll be coming for you too." I don't tear my gaze from the doorway. Suddenly the prospect of Martin Ryan feels horrid.

"I have a terrible feeling she ain't never gonna let me marry, Lorelei." Her voice is hollow.

I look at her and shake my head, "You ain't that lucky, Em."