Bride in Barbados (18 page)

"How did they come to be on another island when the
volcano erupted?"

He made an ironic sound and threw down the stub of his
cheroot, stopping to crush it under his shoe heel. They continued
walking. "My mother finally reached her breaking point and bolted. But
she had very little money and only made it as far as a neighboring
island. Then she phoned my father and told him to meet her and bring
whatever money he could pry out of my grandfather. I assume she wanted
him to go back to England with her. Perhaps she thought if they left me
with Harris, he would let them go."

A rush of sympathy went through her. What awful knowledge
for a ten-year-old boy to deal with. His mother hadn't even cared
enough to take him with her when she left. She'd been willing to trade
him for her freedom, and apparently she had expected her husband to
feel no more concern for their son than she did. Perhaps he hadn't.

"And your father did as she asked."

"Not exactly. When he went to my grandfather for money,
Harris refused. Instead, he told him to be a man for once and go and
collect his wife and bring her back home. Harris didn't suffer fools
gladly." There was the same bitter edge to his words as she had heard
when he had first mentioned his mother.

"You respected him a great deal, didn't you?"

"Harris? Yes. Oh, not for a long time—years.
After my parents were killed I decided that he was to blame for every
unhappy thing that had ever befallen me—my parents' arguing,
my mother's running away and leaving me behind, even the volcanic
eruption that took their lives. Children have a simple black-and-white
way of looking at things. When I went away to college, I never meant to
come back here or see my grandfather again. But, he became seriously
ill—"

"When he needed you, you couldn't turn your back on him?"

"Something like that. Anyway, I came back and took over
the plantation and the bank. I even came to care for him quite a lot
before he died. I think he knew it, although I never told him so. It
would have embarrassed him too much. And I didn't want him to think I
was trying to ingratiate myself." He grunted. "As it turned out,
perhaps I should have."

She knew that he was thinking about the provisions of the
inheritance and, also, that he was too proud ever to have uttered a
word to his grandfather, even if he'd known about the will. "You resent
him for the will, don't you?"

"Some," he admitted. "Once I'd calmed down, I realized
that Harris thought it was in my best interests. He always thought he
knew what was best for everyone, even when they didn't know it
themselves. I think he was afraid I'd wait too long to marry and die
without a son to take over the plantation. He couldn't stand the
thought of its going out of the family. So he decided to give me a
push." He was watching her. "As things have fallen out, I think he did
me a favor."

She disliked the trend the conversation was taking and
refused to rise to that last remark. They walked along without speaking
for some time. Finally, she said, "I guess we do have to grow up before
we can accept the fact that those we care about are both good and bad,
like all other people. Your grandfather evidently had a strong sense of
family loyalty and responsibility, but he had little patience with
those who opposed him." She wondered if Travis realized that the same
could be said of him.

"That's as accurate an assessment as any," he said
carelessly. "I wonder, though, why you can't forgive
my
mistakes if you really think that everyone is both good and bad."

"What you did was a little more than a mistake."

He was silent, as if he were thinking about what she had
said. Then, minutes later, he spoke. "Let's rest here a bit before we
go back." He steered her a short distance away from the beach where a
smooth grassy patch of ground ran down to meet the sand. He sat on the
grass and, after only a moment's hesitation, she sank down beside him,
leaving a space between them.

The breeze seemed to have picked up and, now that they
were no longer moving, Susan began to feel chilled. She shivered,
hugging herself, and ran her hands along her arms. She wanted to go
back and had turned to Travis to suggest it when she felt his fingers
at her nape, pushing under the heavy silken fall of her hair. For a
long moment, she couldn't speak as her heart drummed in her ears. Then
his fingers moved from her neck to trace an invisible line across her
bare shoulder and down the quivering length of her arm.

"You're shivering. Are you cold?"

Susan moved away from him and drew a steadying breath.
"Yes; I'd like to go back to the cottage."

"Is that really what you'd like? Or is there a part of you
that wants to stay here with me?"

"No—no, I have to go now or—"

"Or you might give in to what you really want." It was not
a question. He captured her hand and was stroking the palm with the tip
of his tongue.

"Oh, Travis—" The gasped words were desperate as
she tried to drag her hand from his grasp. "You shouldn't…"

"But I should." He lifted his head and his face was so
near to her that she could clearly make out all his features. Her
pulses raced at the raw desire she knew was in his eyes. "I have
to—or go crazy."

Then his mouth descended and she thought, almost
fatalistically, that it was like the moment before a driver crashes
into something, the moment when he realizes what's coming and all his
senses leap into life and he tries frantically to keep his head. Her
hands splayed out against his chest in an effort to force some distance
between them, but his tongue was parting her lips with little effort.
The urgency of his mouth had a mesmerizing sweetness. She felt herself
sinking back against the soft grass, his weight pressing her down, the
drugging intoxication of his kiss silencing her protests. For so long
she had denied all the good thoughts of him, had kept all the happy
times at bay and cultivated her anger and resentment, but now all that
was real was his nearness, his body touching hers, and the trembling
response of her senses.

"Susan," he groaned, his mouth moving to the tender skin
beneath her earlobe, while his hand slid down to push at the knit
material covering her. Urgently, he freed the ripe fullness of her
breasts from the binding fabric. "So lovely," he murmured, his tongue
finding one thrusting tip and caressing it tenderly.

"Travis." His name had the weak, hopeless sound of a dying
appeal.

"I'm going mad wanting you," he muttered huskily. "Don't
keep fighting me…"

She was devastated by her own increasing awareness of the
feel of his lean body over hers, his hardening demand, and a part of
her delighted in the knowledge that she could arouse him in spite of
the fact that he didn't love her.

Her breasts had grown tender with her pregnancy and, while
his seeking mouth was driving her senses wild, she was also aware of
discomfort. Perhaps it was the hint of pain that edged her back toward
sense. How could she lie there compliantly and allow him to use her
like this— again? She began trying to wriggle away from him.

But when his mouth sought hers again, reason was stifled.
Whether it was the isolation of the beach and the darkness that shut
them in, as if they were the only human beings in the universe, or the
fact that he hadn't touched her for so long, she didn't know. But she
was aware of her hands reaching up for him, tangling in his thick dark
hair and pulling him closer. Only this one moment was real. She hadn't
fully realized before how utterly wanton her emotions could make her or
the depth of the longing he was capable of stirring in her. She was
wracked by a desperate hunger for which there could be only one
satisfaction.

Her hands slid from his hair, creeping inside the neck of
his shirt so that his hair-roughened chest rubbed against her palms.

"Thank God!" he muttered shakily, raking back her falling
hair with unsteady hands. "I was so afraid that you didn't want me now,
but you do—you do. I know that I've hurt you, but you still
belong to me."

The conviction and triumph in the words made her freeze.
That was all she had ever been to him, a possession, a vessel to carry
and nourish his heir. She tugged at the knit fabric of her top,
covering her breasts with trembling fingers. "I don't belong to you,"
she said, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice. "I—I
belong only to myself."

His body had become a dead weight on hers as he stared
down into her face. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"Aren't you confused? It's what
you axe
trying to do to
me
. Well, I'm not strong enough
to stop you. I know that. But I'll hate every minute of it. So, if you
still want me, knowing that—"

"Stop it!" he interrupted her harshly. "I'm not an animal.
I've never forced a woman in my life."

Susan ran her tongue over lips that were swollen from his
plundering kisses. "Let me go."

He rolled off her, coming to a sitting position, his fists
clenched on his knees. "Go then!" His voice was thick with disgust. "Go
back and hide in the cottage."

With controlled movements, Susan sat up, then got to her
feet. She was shaking, very near tears, as the knowledge sank in that
she had come within a hair of letting him make love to her. She had
wanted him wildly, still wanted him, even as she shook with a feeling
of reprieve. Somehow, at the last moment, she had managed to grasp the
remnant of her pride. She must not allow him to dominate her in this
way as in all others.

For one brief moment she almost wished she had not learned
about the will. Ignorance could be bliss. She knew that his physical
need for her was real, but she also knew that his greatest need was to
make her pregnant. He had even told her as much on their wedding day.
How much she had wanted his children then! And he had assured her that
he felt the same way. She could still hear the caress in his voice. "I
want
your
children… the sooner the
better… I want to watch them grow up." Lies, all of it. Oh,
he had to have a child, but hers would be no more precious to him than
Kay Harte's or some other suitable woman's. It was merely that she had
been the easiest to deceive. She wondered desperately how much longer
she could keep from him the knowledge that she was already carrying his
child.

The incident, and the conversation that had preceded it,
remained with Susan long after she had reached the cottage and shut
herself in her bedroom, where she lay listening to the steady rise and
fall of the tide beyond the enclosing walls. She wanted to feel nothing
for Travis, she told herself—not sympathy, least of all love.
The irrational wish that she was experiencing in these long night hours
to understand him better was ridiculous—and dangerous. Pity
was an emotion she could not afford, unless it was for herself.

The sadness of the story he had told her seemed etched
into her mind. She could not stop thinking of it, of the lonely child
Travis must have been. Travis of the British Sennetts, who had settled
on Barbados before 1700, put down deep roots there, and become
important in that small, confining world. He had labeled his parents
fools, said that he could not even remember what his mother looked
like. But she had heard the jagged edge of pain in the words. Did the
scars caused by his foolish, selfish parents go so deep?

The next day the strain between them was back as strong as
ever. Neither of them mentioned what had happened on the beach, but it
was between them as they sat at breakfast, trying to make idle
conversation. Susan was vastly relieved when, immediately after
breakfast, he left the cottage to drive to a lagoon some distance
farther north for snorkeling, saying curtly that he would not be back
for lunch.

As it turned out, he didn't return for dinner either, and
she had to throw away most of a casserole and a melon salad. She had
gone to bed when she heard him come in, his steps slow and unsteady. He
had been drinking. She clutched a pillow against her face when she
heard his footsteps pause outside her door, and released her held
breath when, after a long moment, the steps moved away again and she
heard the opening and closing of the other bedroom door.

They returned to the plantation the next afternoon. Travis
had emerged from his bedroom at noon to rummage through a cabinet for
the aspirin bottle. She did not comment on the reason for his headache,
nor did he. In fact, he said very little as he picked at the lunch she
had prepared, announcing when he had finished that they would leave as
soon as she could be ready.

When they arrived at the plantation, Travis changed
clothes and left to see his overseer. Assailed by the restlessness that
she had kept under control while they were at the cottage, Susan went
into the study and began sorting through the papers in the desk. She
soon saw that Travis had not exaggerated the disorder his records were
in. At first she had a few reservations about what she was doing. Would
Travis interpret it as evidence of an interest in the plantation and
its workings? Would he see it as proof that she had accepted the
marriage as inevitable, perhaps even desirable?

The reservations were easily overcome, however, by the
prospect of having something useful to do with her time. More than an
hour later, she had emptied three of the desk drawers and had stacked
the contents in five piles on the desk top in the rudimentary
beginnings of a filing system.

She was looking into the empty four-drawer file cabinet
for folders when Mala entered the room.

"Miz Susan, you got a caller."

Susan looked up absentmindedly. "Who is it?"

"Only me." Violet, who had followed Mala to the study, now
stepped inside. She eyed the cluttered desk. "Goodness, what's all
this?"