Indigo (18 page)

"I'd have stopped it if I had to make love to you in the center of town."

Hester swayed. She observed him a moment, saw the seriousness in his eyes and said, "You wouldn't have dared."

"If you knew me better, you wouldn't say that. Has he ever left roses in your bed?"

Hester shook her head.

"Another reason you didn't need to marry him."

She wondered how many hearts he'd broken over his lifetime. He was more handsome than a June day. "Did you come here for a reason?"

"I wanted to see you alone."

She had to look away from the heat in his eyes or be singed. "Well, you've accomplished your goal. I think you should go home."

He was as potent as he'd been the night LeVeq and his brothers came to fetch him home, and she was just as vulnerable.

"I'm trying to leave, believe me, but I'm having trouble."

"Why?"

"Your mouth, mostly."

"My—mouth?"

"I lay awake at night wondering if your kisses are still as sweet as I remember..."

Hester's eyes closed a moment and her knees felt like water. "You are audacious," she whispered.

"Not as audacious as I'd like to be, Indigo, believe me."

"Hester. My name is Hester."

"Maybe for Frederick—not for me. For me you are
ma petite
Indigo..."

Hester was having trouble breathing. "You'll have to go now."

His smile reflected in his eyes. "One kiss."

"No!" she gasped.

He inclined his head. "For you, I can be patient.
Au revoir, ma petite."

Hester closed the door and stood with her back against it. Her heart was pounding, her senses throbbing and she could not deny it.

That night, as she prepared for bed, she knew that above all else she was going to have to avoid Galen; if she didn't she'd be in love with him before her summer flowers bloomed.

Early the next morning, Hester's recalcitrant mule and the wagon were returned to her by one of Galen's workers. Thankfully, Galen had not chosen to accompany the man. After last night's parting she needed time to recover before facing him again.

Once the worker departed she drove the wagon around to the barn, then spent the remaining morning hours readying her late aunt's room for Gail's anticipated arrival.

Later that evening as Hester sat reading in the study, she heard a knock on the door. A peek out of the curtain showed Galen's big black coach. She went weak in reaction, then let the curtain drop. What could he possibly want from her now? She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She walked to the door, bracing herself for Galen's lean handsomeness, but instead found Foster on the other side. Confusion colored her voice. "Foster?" she exclaimed as she looked over his shoulder at the waiting coach.

"Hester, yesterday Vachon and I were discussing some of the improvements I'd like to see in Whittaker, and he wishes to take the conversation further. He's leaving tomorrow on business so he's suggested we have our dinner this evening. Would you mind?"

Hester did not think she had it in her to fight off Galen's spell two evenings in a row and she wanted to offer an excuse, any excuse to avoid this, but she could not come up anything plausible.

Foster seemed so intent upon the meeting he did not notice her distress. "Hurry and dress, Hester. We shouldn't keep him waiting."

Hester vowed to throttle Galen for this, but she told Foster politely, "Give me a few moments, and I'll be right out."

Hester had no idea what to wear to dinner with someone as rich as Galen. Everything she owned shouted its true age. She decided she didn't have time to bemoan a wardrobe whose contents had never distressed her until now, so she dressed quickly, then peered critically at her reflection in the big standing oval mirror by her bed. The green shirtwaist dress still fit; she wondered if Galen would know it was six years old. She hastily brushed the edges of her hair, grabbed her gloves and cloak, then rushed from the house.

Inside the coach Galen greeted her with a nod as she took her seat beside him. "Good evening, Miss Wyatt. I'm pleased you could join us. I hope my sudden disruption of your plans caused you no distress."

His low-toned voice slid through her defenses. She nodded a greeting to the well-dressed Jenine, then replied, "No distress at all, Mr. Vachon. Thank you for the invitation."

He smiled, tapped his cane's gold head against the ceiling of the coach, and they were off.

Even as Hester wished they were alone so she could box his ears and tell him how she felt about playing his cat and mouse game, she was glad for the presence of Foster and his wife. She needed them as a buffer because Galen affected her like no other man before. He made her senses bloom with just a glance, made her long to feel his lips tracing the edges of her throat simply by being near her in a shadowy coach. Only he could wield such heady power, and as a result threatened the safe, sedate life she'd envisioned for her future.

The coach halted a while later at a small boarding house well known in the area for its excellent food and service. Because it was an expensive place Hester had eaten at the establishment on only a few special occasions. She was quite surprised to find the dining room unoccupied upon their arrival; usually all the tables were full.

When she expressed her confusion, Galen replied, "I've leased the room for the evening, I didn't want us to be disturbed."

Foster and Jenine both looked astonished. Hester simply shook her head, thinking he was far too extravagant.

"Shall we take that table over there?" Galen asked smoothly, and from then on he proceeded to be an excellent host. He made certain they were comfortable, then had them order to their liking. Foster chose the squab—the price of which widened Hester's eyes, but his wife followed his lead. Galen chose lamb. Hester settled for the least expensive choice on the menu, the whitefish. As she handed over her menu, she noticed Galen's eyes on the black crocheted gloves she always wore in public, but he said nothing.

Instead his eyes swept her face. "Are you certain you want nothing else?" he asked after the waiter left.

"I'm certain, Mr. Vachon. Thank you."

The waiter brought tea and coffee and Hester asked for honey. Galen's request for maple syrup brought Hester's eyes to his. His answering gaze made her remember their time together in October.

Foster said to Galen, "I see you take syrup in your coffee. Are you a Free Producer, Mr. Vachon?"

Galen stirred his cup, and replied easily, "I fell victim to an accident this past fall. The woman who nursed me was a Free Producer. I developed a fondness for the syrup, and for her."

Hester choked on her tea and began to cough.

Everyone looked to her with concern. She waved them away and grabbed up a napkin. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "It went down the wrong pipe."

When she could breathe again, she saw Galen observing her with just the faintest hint of amusement. She added one more mark to his list of sins.

Foster picked up the thread of Galen's conversation and said, "Women can be quite remarkable, can't they? Take Hester for example—she's no beauty, but her mind is first rate."

"What about me, Fostie?" Jenine asked with a childish pout.

"You, my darling, are as beautiful as Sheba."

Jenine preened happily.

Galen decided Quint must be as blind as he was pompous. Though Hester seemed to be covering her feelings well, Galen could see the slight tightness in her chin. She'd been hurt by the flip remark, and he wanted to take her into his arms and passionately show her just how wrong he thought Quint to be. She was as beautiful as a black velvet sky; beautiful as a sunrise. If Quint couldn't appreciate her dark loveliness, it was just one more reason why Foster would have made her an unsuitable mate.

The conversation flowed on to other topics. Hester kept telling herself there'd really been nothing offensive about Foster's assessment of her comeliness; she wasn't a beauty, so why did she feel thunderous towards him?

The waiter brought their meals moments later and Hester found it necessary to look Galen's way in order to pass condiments and bread. His eyes had taken on a distinct coolness that appeared to be directed at Foster. She sensed it sprang from Foster's remark about her beauty or lack thereof. She wanted to assure him that Foster had meant no harm, but she dearly appreciated Galen's desire to be her champion.

They began to eat and Foster, seemingly oblivious to the currents flowing around the table, spent the meal sharing his view of Whittaker's future. He had some sound ideas about the school he wanted to establish and the potential for investment in the area.

Hester spent the meal alternately contributing to the conversation and fighting off Galen's spell. He neither said nor did anything forward or ungentlemanly; his manners were impeccable as his dress, but the heat from his eyes touched her vividly each time their gazes met, making her remember the passionate touch of his hands, and the sweet thrill of his kisses.

As the meal progressed, she forgot all about Foster's remarks. Galen's presence across the table pulled her in and held her. She tried to ignore her attraction and focus her attention on the conversation only to find herself compelled to meet Galen's gaze again, and again. She grew warm, found herself wanting to succumb to this man who'd taught her to make passion and mud pies, but knowing she should be running for her life. Foster chattered on—about what Hester had no idea.

She saw only Galen.

She felt relief when the evening drew to a close, so much so she tripped over her chair as she stood. Only the quick grasp of Galen's strong hand upon her arm saved her from falling to the floor. As she stared up at him, she decided falling may have been better; her arm beneath his hand's hold burned from the contact.

He asked, "Are you all right, Miss Wyatt?"

Hester realized that everything about him made her dizzy: his height, his gaze, his touch. "No. I—mean yes. I—wasn't looking where I was going." She nervously backed out of his hold and turned a smiling face to the waiting Foster and Jenine. "Are we ready?"

The coach took them home, stopping first at Hester's door. As she rose to depart, Galen said, "Thank you for joining us, Miss Wyatt. I hope to see you again."

Hester found she had no defense for his soft, French-inflected words. Forcing herself to once again brave his waiting eyes, she replied with all the calm she could muster, "Thank you, Mr. Vachon."

She nodded goodnight to Foster and Jenine.

"Let me escort you to the door, Miss Wyatt," Galen said, rising to follow her from the coach.

"That won't be necessary."

"As a gentleman, I insist." He took her by the elbow and walked with her up the dark walk.

She asked, "When are you leaving town?"

"I'm not."

Hester stopped and looked up into his handsome face. "I thought you extended tonight's invitation because you were going away on business."

"I lied," he replied without a hint of guilt. "I simply wanted to see you."

"Galen?!"

He shrugged. "What can I say,
petite.
I've developed a craving for you."

Could any woman alive resist such a man? "How many bedroom doors have you conquered with that silver tongue?"

"Frankly, many, but the one I wish to conquer most seems stuck."

"And it shall remain stuck if I have to put chairs in front of it."

He grinned. "You are more of a match for me than I thought."

She smiled even as his words made her senses flare. "Go home. You have guests in your coach, remember?"

"A pity that. Had I a choice, I'd let Raymond drive them on home without me."

"And undoubtedly give the gossips plenty to talk about."

"Undoubtedly," he replied with blazing eyes.

In order to lower the heat rising between them, she asked, "So are you going to invest in Foster's school?"

"I'm not certain as of yet, but I'm sure I will. Though I must confess I have my doubts about a man who would throw you over for a woman with the brain of a plant."

Hester laughed, "Go home."

"I'm going, but I'm still waiting for that kiss."

Admittedly, Hester wanted to grant the request, but now was not the time or place, so she said nothing.

"Good night,
petite.
Oh by the way, if you really want me to fund that school, come by the Folly later on and
we'll discuss it."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight."

"That sounds suspiciously like blackmail."

He bowed. "And a black male is what I am. See you
later tonight."

She couldn't suppress her humor. "Galen?!" She watched him walk away and almost yelled for him
to come back. However, she swore she'd get even with
the teasing Creole.

Establishing a school in Whittaker was everyone's dream. By law the schools in Michigan were segregated by race. Foster presently taught in an abandoned cabin. The community had restored it as well as it could, but when it rained the roof leaked, supplies were minimal, and for now, only children with parents able to afford the tuition were allowed to attend. The tuition was the only salary Foster received for his services. To supplement his income he clerked for some of the businesses in the area, but Hester knew teaching to be his true vocation.