Calhoun Chronicles Bundle (56 page)

E
liza stood in the middle of the sandy arena, locked in a stare-down with a stubborn mare. The horse was one of the yearlings to be offered at Albion’s annual sale. Excitement was mounting in the region, for the horses Hunter had sold last year had proved to be of the highest quality. Buyers from far and wide would be arriving for this year’s sale. Word had it that important buyers from England and Mexico would attend.

Hunter and his cousin worked tirelessly, hoping for a huge success. She suspected that Hunter was driven by something deeper than commercial ambition. The sooner he rebuilt his fortune, the sooner he could attract a new wife and mother for his children, and the sooner Eliza could go to California for—

For what? The question kept nagging at her. It had been one thing to sit by the fire each night and look at the lithographs of the west coast and dream. Actually making the journey was another matter entirely. But that was the choice she had made. It was the promise she had made to herself. Her father had always wanted to see California. She owed it to him to see for herself.

The matter at hand, however, was this mare. She was a beautiful Thoroughbred, her breeding evident in a haughty, royal spirit. Her dappled lavender-gray coat shone brilliantly in the sun.

But she was aggressive, and defensive with people and with other horses. In her current state, she’d never attract a buyer.

“Come on,” Eliza said in a soft voice. A horse couldn’t understand the words, of course, but the inflections were part of the language Eliza had learned from her father. “Come on, you want to follow my lead.” Then, very deliberately, she shooed the animal away with a toss of her cotton rope.

The mare sidled back, but she wasn’t a fearful horse, and she came on like a wave, stiff-legged, head down. With one powerful shove, she knocked Eliza backward into the sand.

Eliza landed with a hard thud. She felt the air leave her lungs and sat there dazed, her knees drawn up. It was a good thing she had decided to wear breeches today, she thought. Otherwise, her pose on the ground would appear quite improper.

To add insult to injury, the mare danced away, kicking up sand. It showered Eliza, sprinkling the brim of her hat and trickling down her back. She coughed and shook her head, then levered herself up. She fluffed out the fabric of her shirt, trying to get rid of the grains of sand.

“Boy!” called a light female voice.

The mare lifted her tail and loped off to the opposite end of the arena.

“Boy!” the voice called again.

It took Eliza a moment to realize someone was talking to her. She spied two young ladies seated high in a carriage with a formally dressed African driver. A liveried black servant stood behind them, holding a fringed umbrella over their heads.

The Parks sisters of Norfolk, Eliza realized as she approached them.

“Do you mean me?” she asked, laughing.

“Why yes, boy. We wanted to know where we might find Mr. Calhoun.”

Eliza spread her arms. Grains of sand dropped from her sleeves. Then she removed her hat. Her hair, which had been tucked up under it, came cascading down. “It’s me, Miss Tabby, Miss Cilla. Eliza Flyte. We met at the Beaumonts’ picnic.”

She thought it amusing that they’d mistaken her for a boy. The sisters exchanged a shocked glance. Miss Tabby recovered first. “I’m certain I don’t remember.”

“Sure you do,” Eliza said. “I’m looking after Hun—Mr. Calhoun’s children.”

“And his horses too,” Miss Cilla murmured. “You’re a person of many talents.”

Eliza laughed and pointed her toe, bending low with mock ballroom formality. Cousin Charles had taught her to dance in preparation for the huge party Hunter would host in honor of the exhibition race and yearling sale. “Thank you.”

Tabby whispered something to Cilla. “We really shouldn’t chat too much longer. Hunter invited us for tea and lemonade this afternoon.”

Eliza got a funny feeling in her stomach. Lately he had been actively courting women and introducing them to his children. In fact, Blue and Belinda were having their baths right now, getting cleaned up for the visit. The idea of parading them around like this Thoroughbred mare left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Mr. Calhoun is probably waiting for you at the house.” She tried to keep her smile in place. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”

“I’m certain we will,” Miss Tabby muttered. “Driver, to the main house,” she said grandly, and the carriage rolled away. The two sisters put their heads together again, talking and casting glances over their shoulders at Eliza.

What a pair of goose-brains, she thought, then turned her attention back to the mare. It took her most of the afternoon, but eventually she had the horse halter-trained. By the time Hunter arrived at the arena, she was proudly leading the mare in circles. The horse had a naturally impressive gait and stance.

“How does she look from there?” she asked, knowing the mare looked good.

“Fine,” he said, but he seemed distracted. “You can turn her out to pasture now.” He pulled back the gate, and Eliza led the mare past him. She could tell from the subtle slur in his voice that he hadn’t been the one drinking tea.

“Did the children enjoy their visit with Miss Tabby and Miss Cilla?” she asked.
Did you?

“That’s what I want to speak to you about,” he said.

She let the mare loose in the pasture and slung the lead rope over her shoulder. She was hot and sweaty, gritty with sand from working all afternoon. The sun had tanned her forearms dark gold. In comparison to Hunter in his finery, she felt like a ragamuffin. “So speak,” she said.

They walked together to the covered well, which stood in the shade outside the bake house.

“Blue wouldn’t say a word, of course, and Belinda spoke only of this project you’re building with them. This toy boat, or some such silliness.”

Eliza refused to flinch at his accusatory tone. “Blue speaks to no one, and Belinda speaks to everyone. If you didn’t want to hear about the project, you should have changed the subject. And if these ladies reject your children based on this meeting, then they’re not worth courting anyway.”

“You think not?” He handed her a dipper of water from the well.

She paused to drink greedily, letting the water trickle down her chin and the front of her shirt. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. After Blue had shown her what was in the rosewood lap desk, she had come to understand why the little boy never spoke. But she was trapped in silence now too. She could never tell Hunter what she had learned.

“Your children deserve better,” she said.

“And what about me?”

She set down the dipper and leaned against the rim of the well. All the fatigue of a hard day’s work gathered in her shoulders. “I have no idea what you need, Hunter Calhoun.”

His finger traced a droplet of water down her throat, his touch both familiar and unsettling. “What I need and what I want are two different things.”

She shivered despite the heat of the day, and took another drink to soothe the dryness of her throat. Another drop of water trickled like a tear down her neck and disappeared into the top of her shirt. His gaze followed the path of the droplet, and the heat of his stare scorched her.

“You have to explain certain things to me,” she said. “Trying to make sense of your society is impossible for me.”

“Don’t you know why I’ve been avoiding you?” he asked. His voice was liquid and warm, all the rough doubts smoothed out by whiskey. “Can’t you guess?”

“Tell me,” she said.

He held her with both arms, his hands cupping her shoulders and then tracing down her arms. “It’s because I have a duty to Albion and to my children. They need a mother, and it’s my job to find her. I can’t concentrate on the search if all I can think about is you.”

She swayed toward him, desperate for his touch. “That’s a problem.”

He touched her breasts through the shirt, and she caught her breath, letting her eyes drift half closed.

“Oh, yes,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “That is a problem.”

He kissed her the way she had been dreaming about for weeks, only instead of feeling a warm wave of delight, she felt herself burst into flames. It was too painful, too intense. She wanted him too much. Yet even though the sharp yearning stabbed at her, she could not force herself to push him away. She kissed him hungrily, a long devouring kiss that satisfied nothing, yet promised everything.

He pressed her against the river-rock edge of the well, parting her legs with his thighs and fitting himself between. She wound her arms around his neck and marveled at the wonder she felt when he touched her. How was this possible? How could she want this haughty, troubled, whiskey-drunk man with such intensity? And why him, only him?

If he made love to her right now, this instant, on the grass in full light of day, it would not be soon enough. “Please,” she whispered fervently against his hungry mouth. “Please.”

He must have thought it was a plea to stop, for he groaned and pulled away. His eyes were bright crystals, the emotion trapped deep inside where she could not reach it. Despite the whiskey, a sharp lucidity hardened his features.

Eliza supposed she could be wrong, reading so much into his expression, but something unspoken passed between them.

“I’d best go.” He jerked his shoulder in the direction of the old overseer’s residence, which now housed Noah and the newly hired grooms.

“The children have made something very special,” she said. “This evening at sunset, it’ll be ready. You might want to see for yourself.”

“Fine.”

“We’ll be down at the dock.”

“Don’t wait for me,” he said.

“You know we will.”

Just when she thought he was turning to leave, he put out his hand, tipping up her chin to hold her gaze. “Promise me something, Eliza,” he said.

Anything, she thought, loving his touch. But she had the presence of mind to say, “That depends on what you’re asking.”

“Guard your heart. Don’t depend on me to do it, because I won’t.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He skimmed his thumb down her arm, pressing the pulse at her wrist. “Oh, honey,” he said. “Yes, you do.”

When Hunter headed down to the landing at sunset, the first thing he noticed was that the children were dressed in their Sunday best. It reminded him that he never took them to the nearest church at Exmore, leaving that duty to Nancy and Willa. Folks probably looked askance at him for letting the servants take his kids to the Negro church, but he ignored the disapproval.

He had been ignoring disapproval for a good long while.

Three more days, and the exhibition and yearling auction would be upon them. Excitement ran high, buzzing through his bloodstream in a way the whiskey never could. The stallion was perhaps not at the peak of his form, but he was close. He was the fastest horse Hunter had ever seen, and he had seen plenty, having traveled from the Union Course racetrack in New York to the Metairie Course outside New Orleans. An impressive performance by Finn would bring a fortune in stud fees and stimulate interest in the auction. If all went well, he might just turn a profit for the first time since inheriting Albion.

He owed much of it to Eliza Flyte. The thought of her troubled him and he slowed his steps, in no hurry to see her at the dock. But he saw her in his mind’s eye anyway, all bathed in golden sunset colors, her hair an inky stream, her eyes deep with wanting him.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his distance from her. She was so unspoiled, so unconventional. This afternoon at the well, he had amazed himself by pulling away from her when everything inside him wanted to take her, possess her, fill himself up with her and pour himself into her. When he was on the island she had been good for him, bringing calmness to his soul and clarity to his thoughts. When it was just the two of them, he felt clean and new, as unspoiled as she, as if the sins of the past had never happened.

He was greedy for that feeling again. But it was a false feeling. He was a tainted man, a man who had sinned in the past and taken on responsibilities he couldn’t ignore simply because he happened to be obsessed with the horsemaster’s daughter. The only thing to do was keep his distance, and when the time was right, send her to California.

Yes, that would be her reward. He would spend some of the profits from the yearling auction to buy her a stateroom on a ship bound for the west coast.

When he neared the water’s edge, she smiled at him, that open, breath-catching smile that said so much and concealed so little. He had told her to guard her heart, but he was not certain she had the first idea of how to do that.

“Papa!” Belinda jumped up and ran to him, grabbing his hand and tugging him out to the dock. “Papa, come see. We’ve made a wonderful thing.”

“I can’t wait,” he said, smiling down at her.

This precious little girl needed a mother. It was as simple as that. She was too good. She demanded nothing and forgave everything. He didn’t deserve her, but she deserved a mother who would raise her to be a perfect Virginia belle. But Lacey had been a perfect belle, he reflected uncomfortably. Did he really want his daughter to turn out like Lacey?