Sweet Silken Bondage (3 page)

Her reply was so abrupt and so cold that wild
emotions jolted through Clay. His hands tightened into
fists at his sides as he fought to control them.

"But why not? I'll be good, Mother, I promise..."
he pleaded with heartfelt emotion. He didn't want to be
separated from her. He wanted to stay with her. He
couldn't understand why she didn't want him.

"I said no, Clay, and that's final. You stay here with
your father." She started to walk away from him, effectively dismissing him from her life, but he clutched at
her arm, not wanting to let her go.

"Did I do something to make you mad? If I did, I'm
sorry, Mother."

Evaline cringed at his clinging and shook him off.
For God's sake, act like a man!" she scolded him
cruelly. "You'll be fine here with your father."

"But I want you to be here, too," Clay insisted with
childish determination.

"Sometimes, Clay," his mother replied with cold precision, "we don't always get what we want in life."

"But Mother..." he started to say more, but
stopped as he saw the icy indifference in her expression.

"Your father will take care of you," Evaline told him.
Then without another word or gesture, she headed up
the staircase, leaving her young son standing there
alone. She did not bother to look back. The life she'd
suffered through here at Windown was behind her
now. All she cared about was her future, and it promised to be a happy one.

Pale and shaken, Philip stood rigidly in the middle of
the study, trying to deal with the shock of what had just
transpired. In the course of a few minutes, his entire world had been destroyed. Evaline had always been his
sole reason for living and now...

Needing something to strengthen him, he strode to
the liquor cabinet in the corner of the study and
grabbed up the bourbon. Not bothering with a glass,
he drank straight from the bottle. As the fiery liquor
burned down his throat, Philip wondered desperately
how he was going to go on. Life had no meaning any
more. There was no reason to go on without Evaline.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the door
open or Clay enter the room.

"Papa?"

Clay... The sound of his son's voice so close behind
him shook Philip to the core, and he desperately tried
to get a grip on himself. How on God's earth was he
going to tell Clay what had happened? Setting the
bottle aside, he paused to draw a deep steadying breath
and then finally turned around to confront his son.

Clay was standing just inside the door, his expression
questioning and fearful.

"You heard?" he asked.

"Yes." Clay nodded.

"I'm sorry, son." It hurt him even more to know that
Evaline had caused this sorrow in his son.

"But I don't understand."

"Neither do I," he replied uneasily. "I guess your
mother needs some time away from us."

"She's going to come back, isn't she?"

The hope in Clay's voice caused Philip to agonize.
He knew his son was desperate for some reassurance
that everything would be all right, and he wasn't sure
how to answer. He was torn between love and hate for
Evaline, between wanting her desperately and hating
the very thought of her. Her brutally vicious words and
actions stabbed at the love he had for her over and over
again, and as that tender emotion died, his hate and
rage overwhelmed him.

Still, Philip knew he couldn't hurt his son that way. He couldn't tell Clay that his mother was an amoral
slut, who loved no one but herself and cared only for
her own pleasures. Motivated by a fatherly desire to
protect what was left of his innocence, Philip put a
reassuring arm around Clay's shoulders.

"We'll just have to wait and see, son."

It was later that afternoon when Clay stood unnoticed in the shadows of the porch. He watched in
silence as his mother climbed into the carriage and
pulled the door shut behind her. He wanted to run to
the carriage and cry out to her not to go. He wanted to
convince her to stay with them, but he knew it would
do no good. She was leaving. As the conveyance moved
off down the long, front drive, effectively taking her out
of his life, his eyes burned with unshed tears, and a
knot formed in his throat. He swallowed against the
strangling sensation.

Clay's thoughts were in turmoil as he searched desperately for a way to make things right again. Again
and again, he reviewed the conversation he'd overheard
between his parents, hoping to find some clue there to
help change things. His expression grew grave, and his
gray eyes turned dark and stormy as he remembered
her words. She'd claimed that Windown was a hovel.
She'd told his father that she wanted to be wealthy, and
it dawned on Clay, then, that money had to be the key.
Money! With a child's logic, he reasoned that if his
mother had gone away because they weren't rich, all he
had to do was to make a lot of money and she would
come back.

A surge of fierce pride and determination filled him,
and he turned away from the sight of the departing
carriage. In an unconsciously adult gesture, Clay
squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Somehow, some way, he was going to make enough money so
his mother would come home. He didn't care what it took, he just knew that he was going to do it. Once he
and his father had made Windown into the best plantation on the river, his mother would come back. It was
that simple. Yet, as Clay walked slowly toward the
stable to see Raven, he couldn't help but wonder why
he felt so empty and so very much alone.

New Orleans, 1848

Clay looped his horse's reins through the hitching
post and hesitated a moment to stare up at the spacious, three-story house with its wrought-iron balconies and wide, airy windows. It was a dwelling that
spoke of elegance and style, of gracious living and easy
money. It was his mother's home.

Several years ago when Clay had first seen the
mansion, he'd been intimidated, but today he was not.
Today, he knew he could face his mother proudly, as an
equal. Today, he had come to tell her that the Cordell
fortunes had been reversed, that they were now one of
the richest families on the river and, most importantly,
that she could come home.

Clay was proud of the fact that he'd reached the goal
he had set for himself so long ago. He had worked
tirelessly with his father to make their stables into the
finest racing stable around, and it had paid off. To his
way of thinking, his mother would no longer have a
reason to stay away. She had wanted wealth, and now
they had it.

Clay had tried to convince his father to accompany
him for he was expecting the moment to be a celebration of sorts, but Philip had been adamant in his
refusal. Still, he had not tried to prevent him from coming, though, and so Clay honestly believed that if
his mother agreed to return to Windown, he would be
happy about it. He had often seen his father staring at
her picture, and Clay felt certain that he was still in
love with her. It seemed to Clay that everything was
about to work out just the way he'd wanted it to.

Clay's mood was alternating between eagerness and
nervousness as he climbed the stairs to the porch.
Though he had seen his mother only a few times since
their separation, his opinion of her had not changed.
He still thought her the most beautiful, most wonderful
woman alive, and he was firmly convinced that she
would be pleased with Windown's success. After all,
they could now give her exactly what she wanted.

As Clay paused before the front door, he took a deep
breath and fought to keep his youthful excitement
under tight control. He considered himself a man now,
and he knew from his father's example that men did
not give their emotions away. He knocked, ready for
the joyous moment he'd been waiting for for years.

Evaline had been just on her way upstairs to bathe
and get ready for her dinner engagement with her
current gentleman friend, when the knock sounded at
the door. She was in a hurry to begin her toilette, but
since there was no servant around, she decided to
answer the door herself. She didn't know who she
expected to find on her doorstep, but it certainly wasn't
her son.

"Clay? What are you doing here?" Evaline blurted
out, her tone reflecting her surprise. She had only seen
Clay a few times since she'd left Philip and that had
been fine with her. Her life was a wonderful round of
parties and high-living now, and she wanted to keep it
that way. She wanted to put the past behind her once
and for all.

Clay had thought he had his emotions under control,
but her hostile reception left him stammering and
unsure. "Mother..." he began awkwardly, "I, uh... was wondering if I might speak with you for a few
minutes?"

"I suppose, as long as it doesn't take too long."
Evaline was dismayed by his request and let it show in
her voice and mannerisms as she stepped back to
gesture him inside.

"No it won't. I just have something important to tell
you," he assured her, moving into the hall.

Neither of them said any more as she closed the door
behind him and led him into the sumptuously appointed sitting room. Clay's gaze clung to his mother,
and he relished just being near her again. In his eyes
she was as beautiful as always. He didn't notice that she
was no longer as freshly pretty as she had been before.
He wasn't aware that her once smooth skin was now
aging, and her once magnificent figure was now less
than firm. Instead, he was caught up in the remembrance of the elusive scent that was especially hers.

A thrill of anticipation coursed through Clay. Soon
everything was going to be fine. He just knew it. He
found himself almost smiling at the thought of what he
was about to tell her, but he controlled the impulse. He
was a man, not a young boy eager for praise, and after
her less-than-excited welcome, he was a little cautious
about how to begin.

Evaline seated herself on a single wingchair and
waved Clay into the chair opposite hers with a careless
flick of her wrist. She observed him from beneath
lowered lashes as he took his seat. Clay's presence was
as unwanted as it was unexpected, but a part of Evaline
couldn't help but admire what a handsome young man
he'd become. At over six feet tall, his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped form and dark good looks made
him an improved, refined version of his father, and
Evaline understood with sudden, insightful clarity just
what it had been about Philip that had encouraged her
to leave her wealthy family. Physical attraction. It was a
powerful force, but, as she knew now, by itself it would only wither and die with the passing of time.

"Well? What is it you want?" she asked sharply,
forcing her thoughts away from Philip. She wanted to
be done with this interview so she could get on with her
own plans.

"I have something important to tell you," he offered
eagerly.

"Yes, what?"

"Everything's changed at home," he declared in triumph. He was ready to tell her how hard they'd
worked to make Windown a success. He wanted her to
be proud of the fact that the Cordells had finally come
into their own. They were rich now, and money would
never be a problem for them again.

"Oh?" Evaline returned with less than enthusiastic
interest. She didn't want to encourage him in this
conversation. She just wanted to get it over with so he
would leave. Her lover, Boyd Charleton, would be
coming to pick her up in a little over an hour, and she
liked to be ready when he arrived.

Her indifferent tone left Clay apprehensive, but he
went on undeterred. He'd waited too long for this
moment to let anything stop him. Clay was certain she
would be delighted with the news. It never in his
wildest dreams occurred to him that she would be less
than thrilled. "Yes. We've done it. Father and I have
made Windown into a paying proposition."

A sudden, uneasy feeling washed over Evaline.
"How nice for you."

"For all of us," Clay finished. "There's no reason for
you to stay away any longer, Mother. There's enough
money now. You can have anything you want. You can
come home."

Evaline blinked, regarding Clay in complete astonishment. Home? Had he said she could come home? "Why
would I want to do that?"

"Why?" Clay repeated, frowning.

"Yes, why?" Evaline rose from her seat and crossed the room, distancing herself from him.

"Well, I thought..." His veneer of maturity began
to crack, fractured by her surprising reaction to his
good news.

"You thought, what?" She turned to look at him, her
expression mocking.

"I thought that you loved us and..."

He didn't get to finish as she erupted into derisive
laughter. "You thought that I still loved your father and
you?"

The sarcasm in her laughter crushed Clay's very
soul. He sat there without speaking or moving as she
spewed forth the venom of truth about her feelings.
The venom that Philip had known all these years, but
hadn't had the heart to tell his young, idealistic son.