Southern Seduction (4 page)

Perhaps, as so many men did, he could be persuaded to stray if he were away from home.
With the harvest approaching, she figured she’d never get him to leave the plantation.

Still, she had to think of something.

It would have to be a marriage of convenience . . . her convenience.

She watched as Travis shook Mr. Jeffries’
s hand. So many possibilities ran through her mind, frustration among them. She had thought all her struggles were behind her, but it seemed that nothing had changed. Her future still depended on the will of a man.

Brooke had promised herself that the moment she’d left the ship everything in the past would stay there and she’d start anew.
She had been determined to make her life happy and satisfying. Now, there was one thing standing in her way.

Travis Montgomery.

Brooke sighed. The seduction of Travis Montgomery could prove a real challenge. Her subject didn’t look as if he would cooperate in the least. Where men usually were fumbling all over her, telling her how beautiful she was -- words she’d learned to ignore -- Travis had barely given her a second glance. His scowl when he did bother to look at her was hot enough to burn. Now all she had to do was turn those fires of anger into embers of desire.

A slow smile touched Brooke’s lips.
Since when wasn’t she up for a good challenge? Her entire life had been a challenge. Any sensible woman with common sense would pick up her skirts and run away.

The problem was, Brooke wasn’t sensible.

When she was through with Travis Montgomery, he wouldn’t know what hit him.

Travis headed for the door, but Brooke wasn’t finished with him. “Are you going to show us to our rooms, or do I get to chose whichever room I prefer?
The master suite, perhaps?” She knew she was being catty, but for some odd reason Travis brought out her need to provoke him. Perchance, she just wanted to see some unguarded emotion in him other than the frosty facade he had, thus far, presented.

Travis didn’t answer her.
Instead, he jerked the door open and shouted, “Mammy!”

That’s how he called his mother?
Brooke wondered. How rude. No, wait. Hadn’t he just said his mother was elsewhere?

Just a moment passed, and a heavyset black woman appeared at the door.
“
Oui
, Mr. Travis. What you bellowin’ about so early in the day?”

All right, so Mammy was the housekeeper, but with the odd name, Brooke wondered if this was the woman who had helped to rear Travis?

Poor woman.

“Please show our guests to their rooms.”
Travis paused, then added, “And Mrs. Hammond will be staying permanently. Make certain that her room is at the opposite end of the hall from mine.”

Well, the line had been drawn,
Brooke thought with strange satisfaction.

Travis was making it utterly clear that he wanted no part of her.
He didn’t bother to glance her way one final time, and his expression was just as distant as it had been all day.

Brooke arched a delicate brow to acknowledge him, but remained silent. She knew too well that words could be used against her.
It was best to remain silent and make him wonder. She well knew that Travis would do everything in his power to drive her off the plantation, but Brooke Hammond had no intention of leaving.

She tilted her chin stubbornly upward and smiled to herself as she watched him leave.

Well, Travis Montgomery . . . I’d like to see you try.

Chapter Three

Mammy leaned around Travis, one eyebrow raised as she peered at Brooke.
Once again, Brooke felt like an insect. The expression on the servant’s face was one of surprise, and not particularly pleasant surprise at that, but Mammy didn’t ask any questions before Travis left them.

“Yo’ folks follow me, you hear,” Mammy said, and motioned for Brooke and Mr. Jeffries to come with her.

Mammy had a strange accent that Brooke couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t quite French but similar. The woman had skin the color of cocoa, much lighter than some of the slaves Brooke had seen thus far on her trip to Louisiana. Mammy was a large woman dressed in gray with a white, bibbed apron tied around her waist. Her black hair was pulled away from her face and contained in a white turban. She also had a white scarf tied around her neck, forming a sort of collar in the front.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Jeffries said once they’d reached the staircase. “I need another word with Travis.
I’ll find my room later.”

Brooke lowered her head in a slight nod then followed the servant, whose ample hips swayed as she climbed the stairs.
Brooke was learning quickly that there would be many things that she'd have to get accustomed to here at Moss Grove, and it appeared that Mammy, who apparently ran the house, might be one of those things.

“How many rooms does the house have?” Brooke asked.

“’Bout sixty-four.”

Brooke thought
Mammy didn’t sound overly happy to have her as a houseguest -- correction, owner
.
But perhaps she was just imagining things due to the reception she’d gotten from Travis. And she was tired after her long trip, so her perceptions were not likely to be that good.

When they reached the second-floor landing, Brooke glanced over the rail and discovered that Travis had been watching her from the front door.
She’d dearly love to know what he was thinking.

From their short encounter, she’d learned Travis was excellent at hiding what he was thinking, but she doubted very seriously that he was capable of compassion in any form.
On second thought, she might not want to know what his thoughts were at this moment. They were not likely to be very kind. No matter how surly Travis was, Brooke was determined not to cower before him.

She held his gaze, sensing the barely controlled anger coiled within him.
Handling Travis was going to be a problem, and another of those things she’d have to get used to. Brooke shrugged. However, he was a man, so she wasn’t overly worried. After all, handling men had been her profession. From her observations, they were all alike.

B
ut, still she wondered just what was he thinking.

Travis studied the fetching woman, now his unwanted and unneeded partner.
He wondered if he was really having a nightmare and somebody would soon wake him up. Right away would be preferred.

In his dreams was where bewitching women normally lived, not in his front parlor.
And Brooke Hammond was definitely bewitching. Her complexion was flawless, and her eyes expressive and eloquent. He noticed she didn’t glance coyly away as most women did. Instead, she met his gaze, almost in a challenge.

Interesting
, he thought.
So the woman has
spirit
. He almost liked that, and he had to admit, not only was she beautiful, but she was also taller than most of the women he knew. How long had it been since he’d heard the crisp, British accent that always reminded him of his father and the few times they had actually spent time together?

He raised his head and met her defiant gaze with somber curiosity.
Mrs. Hammond reminded him of a lioness with her mane of golden hair and those rare gold eyes. Something told him she’d fight like a lioness if provoked. Just from their first meeting, she’d left a burning imprint on him. He chuckled, not caring whether Mrs. Hammond saw it. He had every intention of provoking her and then driving her away.

No matter how pretty the package, Brooke Hammond could ruin everything
for which he had planned and worked so hard. His so-called father had some gall to think that he could choose a wife for him after never giving him a moment’s time, much less any counseling on anything in his life. Jackson had, more or less, thrown the running of the plantation at Travis, and told him to make it profitable.

Travis turned and yanked the front door open and strode purposefully outside.
He didn’t know how, but he had to get the Hammond woman away from Moss Grove before his mother and Hesione, the “perfect wife” his mother had found for him, returned. He had courted Hesione, whose Creole father was a prominent attorney, because she would make a perfect hostess for Moss Grove. She would firmly establish his status in the community and, hopefully, mend the fence between his grandfather and mother.

He would be accepted here,
Travis vowed. Not that he gave a damn, but his mother did. For her, he could put up with Hesione’s pampered and spoiled ways. Besides, there was always the option of engaging a mistress to keep him happily satisfied. Hesione really didn’t care much about the goings on of a plantation, but she was perfectly trained in the ways of society. That suited him just fine as long as she stayed out of his way.

Travis strode down the porch steps, took a deep breath of cool air, and tried to calm himself as he gazed out over the front lawns and the ripening cane fields beyond.

The coming harvest of sugarcane would finally free Moss Grove, and by extension himself, from the strangling debts under which he’d found the plantation upon his arrival.

When his father had banished him and his mother to Moss Grove, Travis had sworn then that he would make the plantation a success.
He had meant to show his father that he was man enough to do the job, but Jackson Montgomery had died before Travis had gotten the chance. Damn him. And to make things worse, the old codger continued to torture him from the grave by giving half the plantation to a perfect stranger.

She has no right to anything.

Just what was this woman to his father? His mistress? Surely Mrs. Hammond was a bit young for even the old man’s taste. He guessed the woman’s age to be somewhere around twenty, and the thought of the two of them together turned his stomach.

Not having the answer at hand, but swearing he’d find out, Travis headed across the yard toward the stables.
He was determined to forget about the perplexing Mrs. Hammond and get some work done, but he reluctantly had to admit the woman intrigued him. One more reason to get her off the plantation and out of his sight as quickly as possible.

“Hold up there.”

Travis whirled around to find Mr. Jeffries scurrying after him, huffing and out of breath as he struggled to catch up. Impatiently, Travis stopped and waited for the elderly man to join him. He wondered what other wonderful news his solicitor had forgotten to tell him.

When Jeffries reached him he
, blew out his breath in a long, jagged puff, jerked a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his damp brow. That’s when Travis realized he was taking out his frustrations on the messenger when he really wanted to rant and rave at his father. The poor old sod couldn’t help what Jackson had assigned him to do. Travis set his mind to try to tolerate the old man.

“I--I want you to know that I’m truly sorry about your father,” Jeffries said, folding his handkerchief and stuffing it back in his pocket.
“I sent word of what happened immediately after His Grace passed away. I hope you received the message,” he said.

“Actually, I didn’t.
I learned of my father’s demise from someone else.” Travis noticed the man’s surprise, so he continued, “Let me explain what happened.”

Travis still remembered how he’d found out about his father.
He’d gone to see his banker . . .

“Should I remind you that the final mortgage on Moss Grove is past due?” Harvey Midway had
said from behind his desk. “I must admit that you’ve taken a failing plantation and turned it into a profitable one. However, that land is valuable and could be sold for a hefty profit. I’ve tried contacting His Grace--“

“I do not want any help from my father,” Travis snapped.

Harvey held up his hand. “If you’ll let me finish,” he paused, looking a little ill at ease. “I received a letter yesterday from your father’s solicitor, a Mr. Jeffries.”

Travis nodded.
“I know of the man.”

“It says that your father has passed away.”
Harvey reached for the letter and glanced at it. “The letter was dated two months ago.” The man faltered, then went on. “I take it from the look on your face that you didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Travis remembered vividly.
Harvey’s flushed face, his embarrassment.

Travis recalled he hadn’t responded. At the time, he hadn’t been certain how he’d felt. He’d just been told that the man who was his father had died. Travis knew he should have felt something--yet he felt nothing. The man had never shown him any kind of love or affection, so how could he have expected any feelings in return? Of course, some fathers never acknowledge their bastard children, so maybe Travis should be grateful, but he wasn’t.

His father might have educated him, but only because there was no one left
but Travis to carry on the Montgomery name. Then he’d shipped him off to America to rejoin his mother where he’d be out of the way--away from Jackson’s wife.