Savage Deception (Liberty's Ladies) (24 page)

King got a far-away look in his eyes, then he turned on Mike Candy. “Don’t expect any payment from me.”

That was the straw that fueled Mike Candy’s temper. Grabbing King by the frayed lapels of his coat, Candy hissed into his face. “I don’t want payment from you, you spoiled and arrogant lout. I don’t want anything to do with you. From now on you do your own legwork, and don’t be returning to my house. I don’t want to see you ever again.” With that, Candy turned and rushed away into the crowd.

King’s face had turned a mottled purple, and he was the unwelcome recipient of disapproving stares from the many people who thronged the market. Heading in the direction opposite the one Candy had taken, he soon discovered himself on a side street. There he waited in front of Tanner Sheridan’s townhouse. Within seconds a carriage neared the house. King stepped into the shadows of a large hedge and watched it stop only feet away from him.

Tanner disembarked and held out his hand for a woman with silver-gold hair. Evidently this was the same woman whom Candy had seen. She was a stunning creature, dressed in a pale blue silk gown with small rosebuds embroidered into the design. She had a lovely laugh, high but not boisterous. But although she appeared to be the perfect lady, he’d been around enough women to spot her kind in an instant. He knew that the woman who entered the townhouse with Tanner wasn’t a lady. More likely a highly paid whore, he decided.

But where was Diana? At Briarhaven? He’d have to discover that later. For now, he had to retrieve his property from the townhouse and he needed help to do it.

A smile clung to his dirty and bearded face. Why, the woman would help him. He knew how to deal with the likes of that one. No woman ever turned down Kingsley Sheridan.

~ ~ ~

Tanner woke in a cold sweat. He’d been dreaming again, dreaming about the day his father had died.

Would he ever escape the pain of Harlan’s death? He didn’t think so. For years they’d hated one another, but when he saw his father’s pale face, a face that matched the pillow beneath his gray head, a wrenching sensation had squeezed his very heart. Somehow, Tanner had never pictured him as anything but alive. The realization had struck him when he’d found Harlan, gasping for breath and calling his name, that they’d wasted too much time, too many years, hating each other.

He’d never forget the moment Harlan had grabbed for his hand, clutching at it fiercely. For a man who was about to die his grip had been surprisingly strong. Harlan’s voice had been a grunt but Tanner understood when he said, “Tanner, you … are … my son.”

In that instant, Tanner’s soul nearly ripped from his body with joy, at the same time he experienced such a profound sadness that tears streamed down his face. Finally, finally, Harlan was acknowledging him. “You are my father.” Tanner breathed, and Harlan’s features relaxed. The old man actually smiled at him, then he was gone.

But even now Tanner knew no peace, something he’d always expected to feel if his father admitted to his paternity. Granted, Tanner experienced a sense of fulfillment, but it seemed that a great emptiness dwelled within him, too.

It was because he’d lost Diana. He knew he had lost her, and he knew that he could very easily claim her again with the truth. However, he wouldn’t. She must believe in him, and it was quite apparent to him that she didn’t trust him. So why bother going to her and trying to convince her of anything at all? She’d made up her mind about him long ago.

And then there was Annabelle.

Annabelle Hastings, a woman he’d thought never to see again. The conniving wench was now sleeping in the guest room and he didn’t know what to do with her. He knew what he would
like
to do with her, should
want
to do to her. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t summon those same old feelings he’d had for her in New York. She’d been such a whore, but at one time he’d foolishly thought that Annabelle would replace Diana in his affections. He’d imagined he loved her until he discovered just how unscrupulous she could be. She’d fancied herself in love with a privateer who paraded as a loyalist, and in order to have the man for herself she’d turned his wife into the authorities as a rebel poetess — which she indeed was. Even so, the beautiful, gentle woman didn’t deserve such a fate.

Tanner, however, realized he was no better when he accepted money from a despicable man in exchange for the woman. Sometimes he wondered how that poor lady had fared. He hoped well, but that was the last time he ever accepted money for any dirty job. Shortly after that, Tanner had returned to Charlestown, determined to win back Diana.

He’d wanted to put his spy days behind him, but it seemed destiny wouldn’t allow him to lead a normal life. First, Farnsworth wouldn’t let him be, and he’d very nearly harmed his own wife, then he’d undertaken a mission for which Diana would never forgive him, and now Annabelle was a daily reminder of what he had been.

Would he ever know a sense of peace?

Sighing, he got out of bed and sat naked before the fireplace. He’d lighted it earlier to dispel the slight chill in the air, a chill he’d never felt before. “I must be getting old,” he sneered into the dying flames.

Tanner watched the pirouetting flickers of light, unaware that Annabelle had eased open the door to his room and stood watching him, radiantly beautiful in her own nudity. It was only when she whispered his name did he glance up to see her eyes were filled with that lustful gleam he remembered so well.

“I heard you moving around,” she said and licked her sensuous lips. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Have Cammie bring you some warm milk,” he suggested.

Annabelle laughed uncertainly. “Heavens, Mariah, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you didn’t want me.”

“Don’t call me by that name ever again! Mariah is dead. And you’re right, Annabelle, I don’t want you.”

Her soft laugh flowed over him like silk. Annabelle came closer and sat upon his lap, brushing her small breasts against his chest. “I don’t believe you. Remember how much you used to like it when I did this? You’d put my breasts in your mouth and feast upon them for hours. Your dessert is ready.”

Now Tanner knew why he’d been so besotted with the wench. She was damned good in bed, knowing exactly what would please a man and how to please herself. She also used such filthy words that just the images they conjured up could make a man hard with wanting. He’d never slept with a woman who was as wanton as Annabelle. Even now, he felt his shaft springing to life, nudging her thighs, and she felt it too, the conniving whore. Annabelle wanted to wield her magic over him again, she wanted him so enamored of her that he’d forget everything and everyone. He’d be no better than the man he had been in New York, a man who had accepted money from a lecherous rake in exchange for a sweet, gentle woman.

“Oh, Tanner, you’re so hard,” Annabelle praised and rotated her delectable bottom against his manhood. “No other man has ever given me as much pleasure as you did. I’ve always remembered how it was between us, darling. Always. Forever.”

Forever. Diana. Love. This woman wasn’t Diana, she was nothing like Diana. He didn’t love Annabelle, and no matter what his body wanted, he didn’t want to make love to the lusty wench.

Tanner’s arms grabbed her gyrating hips and stilled her movements. “Stop, Annabelle. I want you to return to your room and leave me alone.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said.” Tanner stood up, forcing Annabelle to do the same. “I don’t want to make love to you.”

“Well, why ever not?”

Her pale blue eyes flashed fire, and he noticed that her eyes were a shade or two lighter than Diana’s and not as pretty. At one time, Tanner had thought Annabelle was beautiful, but that was because he’d wanted to forget Diana. Well, he couldn’t forget her and he never would. Diana was his wife, his love. If he spent the remaining years of his life as celibate as a monk, then so be it. He didn’t want any other woman but Diana.

“I don’t love you,” was Tanner’s response, and he pulled on his robe.

Annabelle looked almost disbelieving. “What does love have to do with it? I loved someone once, Tanner, and he broke my heart.”

Tanner nodded. “I remember. The man loved his wife.”

Placing her hands on her slender hips, Annabelle laughed. “Is that why you’re turning me down? You’re in love with your wife? Well, where is this woman who has captured your heart? I don’t see her. Is she hiding in the wardrobe?” Annabelle made an attempt to pull open the wardrobe doors, smirking at him as she did so, but the smirk disappeared when he grabbed her wrist.

“Go to bed,” he said in a low voice, and Annabelle flinched. She stormed out of his room to return her own, slamming the door behind her.

~ ~ ~

“Bastard!” she whispered angrily as she threw herself onto her bed, burrowing beneath the covers. How dare he turn her down. She remembered nights when he practically begged for her favors…

Were all men so stupid about their wives? She recalled the man she’d loved, and even now humiliation stained her cheeks pink to remember how he’d rebuffed her, mistrusted her. But she’d had her revenge, oh, yes, she loved thinking about the day she’d turned in the man’s wife to the British.

She’d avenged herself then and she could do it again. But she’d never met Tanner’s wife and didn’t have any idea as to what she might be up against. However, Annabelle wouldn’t allow Tanner’s sentimentality to get the best of her. His wife was absent and she wasn’t. And from the looks of Tanner’s surroundings, he was quite rich — rich enough to please even her own mercenary little heart.

16

A sense of calm pervaded Briarhaven over the next few weeks. In November, a driving rain had drenched the area and brought with it the first bitter chill of winter. Now, on a cold afternoon, Diana sat with Marisa and Aunt Frances in the parlor. The insistent clacking of three pairs of knitting needles was drowned out by Hattie’s gentle humming as she rocked little Jackie, who’d been ill, in the rocker that had quieted generations of Sheridan children. Jackie was one of those children, and though at one time Diana would have begrudged the child his heritage, she now smiled at the sweet picture he made nestled against Hattie’s bosom.

Soon she’d rock her own child in that chair, and a keen sense of anticipation filled her. She touched her bulging abdomen when the child, her daughter, suddenly kicked. Diana couldn’t think of the baby any other way, and she couldn’t think about the child without her thoughts instantly straying to Tanner. At odd times she found herself wondering what he was doing, who he was with, if he was well, before having to drive his image away with some sort of chore. Dwelling on him only caused her pain.

The week before she’d received a letter from him, inquiring after Marisa and Frances. He said he hoped they were well. It wasn’t until the end that he even wished her good health, causing Diana to feel a bit slighted that he’d asked after her relatives before herself. Then she was angry for feeling that way. Of course, she didn’t reply to him.

“Diana,” Frances said, peering over her spectacles at her niece, “what will you do if the baby is a boy? Everything we’ve knitted has some pink on it and can’t be undone.”

“Never fear, auntie, I’m carrying a daughter.”

“A daughter without a father,” Frances reminded her and instantly lowered her eyes to her knitting.

Diana noticed that Marisa appeared uncomfortable but didn’t dispute her mother’s remark. They wanted, as did Hattie, for her to write to Tanner or go to Charlestown and tell him about the baby. Well, she wouldn’t do it! None of them had any idea why she ignored him, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell them that Tanner was a spy, a traitor to his own people, that he’d used her for valuable information and betrayed her, too. The only person at Briarhaven who was happy that she didn’t claim Tanner was Naomi. Tanner’s mother hated her, and for the life of Diana she didn’t know why. No matter how kind she tried to be to the woman, Naomi barely acknowledged her. She sent such cold, icy glances her way that Diana had given up any hope of winning her friendship. Since Harlan’s death, Naomi had returned to live in the small house near the swamp and no longer had anything to do with Briarhaven’s inhabitants.

Diana suspected that the cabin might be unbearably cold this time of year and had already decided to go and speak to Naomi, to try and convince her to live at Briarhaven. They certainly had enough room, and Diana felt that Harlan would have wanted Naomi there.

A loud knock on the front door startled the four women and woke Jackie from his nap. “Who in the world can that be?” Frances looked fearful, immediately clasping Marisa’s hand. “Suppose it’s one of those outliers I’ve heard tell about. We’re all alone here. Anything can happen to us without a man nearby. Oh, I do wish you’d mend your fences with your husband, Diana.”

“Hattie, where’s Ezra?” Diana ignored her aunt and put down her knitting. With a calmness she didn’t feel, she rose from her chair.

“He’s in the barn,” Hattie told her, fear in her eyes that someone would be out near dusk in such cold weather.

The knock came again, louder than before. “Oh, dear!” Marisa cried.

“Now, now, don’t take on so. Stay in here, all of you, but be prepared to run.” Diana’s orders were taken seriously. All three women and a wide-eyed Jackie looked ready to flee. Their fear intensified when Diana went to a large bookcase and moved aside a heavy book. Behind the impressive and weighty tome was Harlan’s pistol, already loaded.

With the gun clutched in her hand, Diana slowly entered the foyer. “Who is it?” she called to the person on the opposite side of the door.

“Diana, it’s Clay, Clay Sinclair.”

“Clay!” Instantly she threw open the door, joy consuming her face to see Clay standing there, a sack thrown over his shoulder. Diana literally pulled him into the house and hugged him. “I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. What are you doing here? Where have you been?”

“Hold on now.” Clay laughed and kissed her mouth but suddenly drew back. “You planning to shoot the man who is bringing you a Thanksgiving feast?”

Diana remembered the gun and quickly lowered it. “Forgive me, Clay. We’re alone here and didn’t know who you might be.”

Moments later Diana had put the gun away and had introduced Clay to Frances and Marisa. Hattie bustled happily about, Jackie following behind her, after Clay handed over his sack filled with a wild turkey. “How did you ever get a turkey?” Marisa asked, much impressed. “I heard that game had been almost entirely wiped out because of the British. You must be quite a huntsman.”

Clay actually blushed, something Diana didn’t miss, nor did she miss the appraising looks exchanged by Clay and Marisa. Something was brewing here, Diana could tell.

“Oh, I’ve just lived in the wilderness for a while,” Clay told her, shrugging off the compliment.

“How fascinating!” Marisa exclaimed, as did Frances, who began grilling the young man about his family connections. She beamed from ear to ear to learn that Clay Sinclair was one of the Santee River Sinclairs.

“A finer South Carolina family is hard to find,” Frances proclaimed, putting her stamp of approval on the young man.

Diana couldn’t help grinning. She remembered thinking long ago that Marisa and Clay would be perfect for one another, and now it seemed that she may have been right.

Leaving the two young people and Aunt Frances alone, Diana walked to the kitchen where she found Hattie busily preparing the turkey. “ Miss Diana, I ain’t never seen so many waterin’ mouths before.”

“Mine, too, Hattie.” Diana noticed Jackie sitting on a kitchen chair, his eyes not about to leave the turkey. “So you’re ready to eat that bird, I can see. Leave some for me, all right, Jackie?”

“Oh, I will, Miss Diana,” Jackie said in all seriousness. “But, Granny’s gonna give me the drumsticks cause I like ‘em so much. Is that okay?”

“You can have all the drumsticks you can eat.”

Jackie looked puzzled and a bit upset. “A turkey’s only got two, ma’am.”

Diana laughed and embraced him. “You can have both of them and any other part of it you might want.”

The child’s eyes lit up, eyes that at one time had reminded her of Kingsley but that now reflected only happiness and relief. “I’m going to speak to Naomi,” Diana told Hattie and pulled on her warm cloak. “If I can’t talk her into moving back here, maybe she’d like to have dinner with us tomorrow.”

“I wish you well, Miss Diana, but that Naomi’s a hard woman.”

Diana knew that very well. Though she didn’t want to see Tanner again, she thought she should develop a relationship with Naomi. After all, she was her baby’s grandmother. Ezra helped her mount the horse, and soon she found herself before the cabin in which her husband had been born. This is the place where Tanner grew up, she thought, not caring for the image of the deprived child that swirled around her brain.

The cabin was clean, from what she could see in the waning evening light, but it was such a small, fragile looking place that she wondered how a good wind hadn’t blown it apart by now. Perhaps this sort of deprivation had left its mark upon Tanner, maybe this was why he felt he had to become a spy and receive lucrative payments for information. Perhaps she’d been too harsh on him, not realizing the extent of his deprivation.
But he betrayed you!
her mind screamed.

“What do you want?” Naomi asked suspiciously when she answered Diana’s knock.

“I’d like to speak with you,” Diana began. “Could I please come inside? It’s cold out here.”

Naomi stood aside and grudgingly allowed Diana inside her tiny house. Diana discovered that the sitting room was just as clean as the outside. It contained two chairs, a table on which rested mounds of dried herbs, a small cot near a window, and a fireplace in the corner.

The woman didn’t offer her a seat but waited in wooden silence. She wore a warm flannel shirt and a beaded and fringed leather skirt. On her feet were soft moccasins. With her hair pulled back in a braid, Naomi truly resembled an Indian squaw, something that Diana had forgotten when Naomi took care of Harlan. At those times she usually wore a dark-colored gown, simple and unadorned.

“We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. I’d like you to join us.”

“Harlan’s dead,” was Naomi’s immediate response, almost as if she’d anticipated Diana’s offer. “You don’t have to be kind to me. I don’t want to set foot in Briarhaven ever again.”

“Why is my being kind to you so horrible? You’re the grandmother of my child. If I didn’t want to invite you, I wouldn’t. Please come.”

“No.”

Diana was getting nowhere with Naomi and knew better than to suggest that she move into the house. Despite the cold outside, the cabin felt quite warm with the small, crackling fireplace, and it smelled wonderful with the scent of burning pine. Naomi appeared to have everything she needed. “If you change your mind, you’re very welcome,” Diana told her. Naomi made no move to open the door, but Diana turned and blocked her way. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me why you hate me so much, Naomi.”

“Why do you think I hate you?”

“Because I know you do. I’d like to know why. What have I done?”

The cold, icy quality of Naomi’s face dissipated and she didn’t bother to hide the contempt and hatred that flushed her cheeks. For a second, Diana thought Naomi was going to strike her, but her voice, low and filled with venom, hurt worse than a physical injury. “I do hate you, Diana Montaigne. You, you who married a Sheridan because of your high birth, shouldn’t bear claim to such a noble name. Your husband, Kingsley, should have been the bastard son because he acted like a bastard, while my son, my Mariah, was ignored and beaten.

“Yes, I hated Kingsley and I hate you. You could have stopped the beating, you should have stopped it! My Mariah lay right there,” Naomi gestured wildly toward the cot, “and I thought he might die. His back, oh, his poor back was so broken and bleeding, so raw. But he didn’t cry out his pain, and your husband wanted him to cry. I saw how he was lashed to the tree, tied like an animal and whipped by Harlan’s evil spawn until he couldn’t stand. And I hoped my son might die rather than live with the humiliation and the pain of loving a deceitful woman.” Naomi grabbed Diana’s hands. “Why did you lie to Harlan and Kingsley? Why did you tell them that Mariah tried to rape you when you knew it wasn’t true? Because of your hateful lie, Harlan let my son be harmed. Because of you, my son left Briarhaven. Yes, he may have committed evil after he left, but you’re to blame for that evil. You, Diana, you and your deceit!”

Naomi dropped Diana’s hands, her face was purple with rage and filled with hatred. What was Naomi talking about? Why did she believe she’d lied to Harlan and Kingsley? She’d never said Tanner had tried to rape her. “I never did that,” she protested, growing weak as Naomi pushed her out of the door. “I didn’t…”

“Then look at my son’s back for proof! Or didn’t you ever notice the scars there? But then again, you see nothing but what you want to see. People like you seldom do.” Naomi slammed the door in her face.

Diana could hardly mount the horse. Her mind and stomach churned, causing her to feel unbearably ill. The brisk winter wind only increased her discomfort, and by the time she reached the barn, she was so sick that Ezra had to carry her into the house and into her room.

Hattie and Aunt Frances clucked over her, insisting she drink some hot tea. But Diana couldn’t drink or eat. Nothing the two women did for her, from removing her shoes and clothes to covering her with the warm quilt and lighting the fire in the hearth, eased her discomfort.

“She’s in shock,” was Hattie’s assessment, spoken in low tones to Frances.

They both shook their heads in dismay, wondering what could have happened to cause it. “Ladies who are
enceinte
shouldn’t be riding horses in this sort of weather,” Frances avowed. “Her husband should be with her, that’s what. Diana wouldn’t disobey Tanner.”