Sweet Release (32 page)

Alec heard the rustle of skirts in the hallway beyond and forced himself not to look up. It was a new form of torture, working near her like this. He closed his eyes and inhaled, sure that he could mark her scent in the air. For a week now he’d done his best to avoid her, burying himself in any task he could find, working until his muscles ached and welcoming their arguments like a condemned man greeted a last-minute pardon. He simply could not trust himself to be alone with her, especially since she’d destroyed the last barrier he’d thrown between them by using his true name. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, feared whatever self control he’d possessed had been exhausted. If they were ever alone again . . . Well, they simply could not be alone again, not until he was a free man.

He turned the page, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Last year’s tobacco harvest had been the largest and most profitable in five years. According to her notes she had ordered the same amount planted this year, and—

The sound of approaching footsteps and the soft swish of skirts scattered his thoughts again and drew his gaze involuntarily toward the door. She entered somewhat hesitantly, holding a silver tray laden with food.

“I thought you might be hungry.” She placed the tray on the desk.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

The scent of boiled beef and fresh bread made his mouth water. But that was not what fueled his greater appetite. She’d changed her gown since he’d last seen her—the last one having been spattered liberally with mud—and now wore a green muslin creation almost the color of her eyes. Soft ringlets curled at her temples, begging to be touched. An ivory lace fichu was draped over her shoulders and tucked into the low-cut bodice for modesty’s sake, and he found himself wishing he could remove it to expose the soft mounds it concealed. Silently cursing his lack of resolve, he unfolded the napkin and placed it in his lap, willing her to leave him in peace.

She did not budge. Instead she stood, arms crossed, watching him. She was waiting, he realized, for some kind of response from him about her management of the estate.

“You’re wondering what I have to say about all this.” He motioned to the stack of ledgers on her father’s desk.

She nodded, her eyes ablaze with challenge.

He found himself wishing he hadn’t been so persistent in taking on this task. Being near her like this was the last thing he needed.

“I must say I’m quite impressed,” he said, vowing to himself to keep his mind strictly on the matter at hand. “You’ve a thorough understanding of accounting. You’ve worked hard to find new sources of income, been thrifty with your resources. I doubt there’s a man your age in the colony who could have done a better job.” Tension left her face as his praise sank in.

“Thank you.” Her eyes beamed.

“I took the liberty of bringing the books up to date. And I found something of interest.” He reached for the first ledger on the stack. “I believe your factor in Williamsburg is cheating you.”

“Wh . . . what?”

Alec gestured to the chair, motioning for Cassie to sit. He placed the ledger on the desk before her and opened it, turning to the pages he’d marked. “Looking back through your records, I noticed the amount of tobacco lost prior to sale is about ten percent of the crop each year.”

“That’s quite common.”

“Some loss is to be expected, of course—faulty cooperage, overprizing of hogsheads, loading accidents.” He reached for another ledger. “But before your father began patronizing your current factor, losses averaged only two percent. That’s a dramatic difference.”

She bent forward, her eyelashes shadowing her cheeks, and read the entries on the marked pages one by one. Without knowing it she tormented his senses. Her hair, twisted into a soft coil, teased him with the faint scent of lavender. The heat radiating from her skin warmed his blood. The silky arch of her neck, the creamy swell of her breasts called for his kisses.

“You’re right,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Either we’ve become careless in building and filling casks, or—”

“He’s stealing from you, pilfering eight percent of your crop each year to line his own pockets. Over the years, it adds up to—”

“A small fortune. That bastard!” She stood and turned toward him, determination on her face. “What can I do?”

Alec couldn’t help grinning at her foul language. “You can’t prove he’s stealing, not without witnesses. You can’t accuse him without proof. But you can make some inquiries, find a factor you can trust. Perhaps Robert Carter can make a few suggestions.”

She nodded.

“Also, I’ve noticed you’ve made a considerable investment in slaves and bondsmen of late, mostly slaves. There might be ways to get more work out of the slaves you have rather than buying more.”

She looked puzzled and started to speak.

Alec held up his hand. “What if slaves have some incentive to work harder—freedom, for example? What if you allowed them to sell a small portion of what they themselves have grown each season and use that money toward buying their freedom?”

“It’s almost impossible to free slaves nowadays. Laws have been passed—”

“Laws that can be circumvented or ignored.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. If we were to set our slaves free, we’d find ourselves financially ruined and run out of Virginia. Besides, it’s not safe for free Negroes here. Freedmen have been pulled off the streets of Williamsburg and murdered. If we freed them, where would they go? What would they do?”

“That would be their decision.”

“You’d throw them out with no way to survive? How is that compassionate? I don’t like slavery any more than you do, Alec.”

“Then find a way to do without it.” He didn’t mean to sound so angry, but he needed to make her understand. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “My father visited Virginia once. He bought a slave, brought him home to England, set him free. Whatever his flaws—and he had many—my father hated slavery. The man he freed stayed on with my family. He learned to be more properly English than King George himself. He became my valet when I was a young man, tortured me with lessons on deportment. He’s like an uncle to me.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “What’s his name?”

“Socrates. He’d have my hide if he could see me dressed like this.”

Cassie laughed.

“Slavery is wrong, Cassie. It’s not enough to say you don’t like it. You must do something to end it.”

“I don’t see how I can. The laws . . .” Her voice trailed off, but Alec could see she’d at least think about it.

“One other thing. You might want to consider building your own ship.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “A ship?”

“Aye. Think how much you’d save if you didn’t have to pay the cost of transport. True, there would be other costs—a captain and crew. But that expense would easily be covered by the fees you could charge to carry other planters’ cargo.”

Alec could see her mentally performing the math. He saw the question cross her face before she asked it: “How can I possibly undertake something as complicated as the building of a ship?”

“I happen to be on very good terms with a certain shipbuilding firm in London. Top quality. Builds ships for the royal navy. I’m told the owner is forever in your debt. I’m sure I can arrange something.”

“You would do that for us?”

He touched her cheek, looking into her eyes. “No. I would do it for you.”

For a moment she said nothing, her eyes bright with emotion. “Thank you, Alec.” She placed her hand on his chest. Her touch scorched his skin through the cloth of his shirt.

He had it in mind to set her away from him, to return to his seat and resume their conversation. But before he could act Cassie fell against him, her arms encircling his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers.

He responded instinctively, holding her tightly against him, meeting her need with his. With one hand he sought the curve of her back, while the other plundered the softness of her hair. She tasted so good. She felt so good. He heard her whimper, heard himself whisper her name.

Their tongues met, caressed. He felt his body’s potent response, and some part of him still capable of rational thought shouted that he should stop this before it went too far. It was yet the middle of the afternoon. The door was wide open, permitting any who passed a full view of their embrace. They were in her father’s study, for God’s sake.

Yet, he was sorely tempted. He could shut the door, take her on her father’s desk. Or carry her across the hall to her own bed. “Cassie,” he said hoarsely, “we must stop.”

“Come to me tonight, Alec.” Her eyes reflected the same desperate longing that tore at his gut. The soft curves of her body were still molded to his. “Please!”

He groaned, gently pulled her arms from behind his neck, and stepped away from her. “I am trying so damn hard to do the right thing!” he whispered, fighting to find the words.

“I don’t want you to do the right thing!”

Alec could see in her eyes that she more than meant what she said.

Without a word he turned and strode from the room.

Chapter Twenty-one

Cassie dropped her hairbrush onto her dressing table and fell across her bed, succumbing at last to the torrent of tears she’d held back all evening. She hadn’t meant to leap into his arms. She hadn’t meant to kiss him. She’d even asked him to come to her bed. What must he think of her now? What should she think of herself? Dear God, what kind of woman was she to long for a man so desperately that she could hurl herself at him like that?

I don’t want you to do the right thing.

Had she really said that? Aye, she had. They had names for women who said such things. Did Alec think her whorish? He must. She had thrown herself at him, and he had turned and walked away without a word. And it was just as well. As soon as the letter from England arrived, he would forget her and return to the life he’d been bom to. He didn’t love her. He’d never given her any indication he felt anything for her beyond physical desire. But wasn’t that enough?

Oh, yes.
For one night with Alec, she’d gladly give up . . .

What? Jamie’s future? Her own safety? Her family’s honor? Alec understood the risks. He knew what was at stake, just as she did, but he hadn’t let his desires overrule his better sense. While a part of her wished he weren’t so reasonable, she knew he was right. If he ever spoke to her again, she’d find some way to tell him so.

A flash of white light and the rumble of distant thunder signaled an approaching storm. She lifted her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She’d gain nothing by weeping.

A sudden gust of humid wind whipped her bedroom curtains about and caused the balcony doors she’d left ajar to slam against the wall, rattling glass and threatening to wake the dead. Rising as if from a dream, she went to bolt the doors shut.

Alec took another swig of whiskey, fighting fire with fire. If he could not have her and he could not forget her, he would drink her out of his mind.

Out of his mind. There was a phrase that fit.

Not a moment had passed today when he had not thought of Cassie. He’d spent the afternoon as far away from her as he could, first taking Aldebaran on an exhausting ride through the forest, then helping Zach, who seemed to be in an equally foul mood, fell trees. No matter how hard he worked, he could not drive her from his thoughts.

I don’t want you to do the right thing!

Did she know what she was doing to him? He was trying so damned hard to be a gentleman, trying to behave honorably. But even an honorable man had a breaking point.

Another ragged bolt of lightning split the starless night sky and was answered by a deafening crash of thunder, the weather seeming to reflect the tempest that brewed beneath his skin. The approaching thunderstorm had sent everyone else scurrying indoors earlier than usual, despite the sultry heat, leaving him on the doorstep to his cabin with his own ill temper—and a jug of corn whiskey—for company.

From where he sat he could see her bedroom, the faint yellow glow of candlelight against the curtains of her balcony doors a sure sign that she, too, was still awake.

It would be so damn easy . . .

Rain began to pour from the black sky in sheets, soaking through his clothes to his skin. He dropped the whiskey jug in the dirt, stood, and pulled off his sodden shirt. Turning his face skyward, he welcomed the cooling onslaught.

Another roll of thunder shook the house.

Was that Jamie crying or just the wind? Cassie picked up the candle, opened her bedroom door, and hurried down the hallway to his room. Jamie had such a fear of thunder and lightning that he’d be terrified if the storm woke him.

Another flash of white. Another deafening rumble. The storm seemed to have settled directly above them, as if it had come to spend its fury on their heads. Rain drummed on the roof and battered the windows, drowning out the sound of Cassie’s footsteps and the creaking of the nursery door as she opened it. She held out the candle, letting its warm light fill the little room, and was relieved to see Jamie sound asleep, one little arm thrown over Pirate, whose paws twitched slightly at Cassie’s intrusion. Silently Cassie closed the door and tiptoed back to her own room, shutting her bedroom door behind her.