Tell Me I'm Dreamin' (5 page)

Loose, glistening, dark curls, heavy with water, clung to a well-formed head that topped a broad chest, matted with curly hair. His movements revealed an animal-like grace, and Nadine had the distinct feeling he could be as virile as any. There was quite a bit of space between them and the lamplight was hampered by the ever-rising steam, preventing her from discerning his facial features.

Then it hit her, just as the mysterious stranger spoke again, if it were not for the dense vapors about his lower frame, she would be staring at a stark-naked man.

“Even though
I
have undressed in front of a woman before,” he announced, tauntingly, “unless you want to see something you obviously have not seen in living color, I suggest you close your eyes or do whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” He continued to advance.

Nadine snatched around like the devil himself had commanded her, facing the lamp she had just lit. She was totally speechless as she listened to the splatter of his wet, bare feet crossing the room in her direction. He stopped not far behind her, and bent over to pick up a towel that was almost beneath her feet. Nadine glanced down and saw his hand retrieve the bundled object. She thought she could feel the heat from his nude body he stood so close.

“Do you always follow directions so well?” he asked, his voice indicating he was enjoying her discomfort.

“Only when I'm in the room with a naked man I've never met before!” was her exasperated reply.

“But that is not true,” he continued in his mild accent. “We met earlier today in the cave. Or have you forgotten? By the way, you can turn around now.”

Nadine looked, cautiously, to the side. She could see him folding the towel in around his waist. Feeling more secure now that the stranger was at least half-dressed, and incensed over the fact that he had not announced his presence earlier, she turned to confront him. “Is this the way you usually act, inviting strangers to your employer's home, then leaving them in the process?” She glared, flustered by the situation. “You probably didn't tell me you were in here because you don't have any business here in the first place.”

But even under the extraordinary circumstances, when Nadine finally stopped talking and looked into his eyes a kind of sinking feeling began in the pit of her stomach. Unspoken chemistry bolted between them and she was stunned by the foreign sensation. Despite her sincere anger Nadine could feel herself being drawn into the inky depths of his eyes. She felt light-headed, and for a moment she feared she might faint.

Ulysses looked down into the captivating expressions crossing the woman's face. He guessed she was in her early to mid-twenties, and he realized that rarely, if ever, had he seen such a strange mix of emotions. Fear, anger, anxiousness along with hopeful anticipation. He could smell a fading scent of floral perfume about her, and the single candle flame provided an enticing backdrop for hair and skin whose tones were so much alike, it gave her a surreal appearance. Hazel eyes hauntingly searched his and her petite but bountiful bottom lip became slack, as tiny audible breaths passed from her. Ulysses felt he had no choice but to comply with the woman's silent bidding.

Nadine had no idea what was happening to her, but she could not withdraw from the magnetic hold he seemed to have. Their gazes remained locked as his dark head descended slowly. At first she thought she was imagining it; the gamut of emotions she had experienced that day were so far from normal, perhaps she was taking leave of her senses. But when his soft but firm lips touched hers, the sensations that began to smolder within Nadine were real. Like dry tinder that had been waiting to be ignited, her entire being began to respond to his kiss. The feel of his lips was devastating. Just the slightest touch made her knees feel weak and she longed for more. But somewhere in the back of her mind reality muscled its way forward, and when Nadine was fully cognizant of the inappropriateness of her actions, she yanked her head back.

“Just what are you doing?” she exclaimed, totally surprised by him, but even more surprised at herself.

“I never pass up invitations like the one you just gave me,” he countered, his voice husky, seductive.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” She was completely shaken by what had just transpired.

“Well, you are in deep trouble if you do not.” A knowledgeable gleam entered his eye.

Flustered, Nadine shifted her approach. “You're the one who will be in deep trouble if you don't tell me what you're doing here. I'm going to have to report this to Catherine or even Madame Deane.”

“Is that right?” His dark gaze raked over her insultingly. “I do not feel I owe any kind of explanation to a woman who talks to herself,
and
to statues. But if you must know, my name is Ulysses Deane, and I do have business, as you put it, here. I own Sovereign.”

Embarrassed, Nadine watched Ulysses' back after he passed by her. Quickly, her discomfort and surprise turned into anger. “I don't care if you do own the place. You are one rude, presumptuous man!” she blurted as the door closed behind him.

The gall of this guy, Nadine thought as she stood staring at the door, her latest encounter with Ulysses Deane flitting through her mind. Needless to say by now she was in no mood for a long leisurely bath. Mr. Deane had spoiled all that. Instead she marched over to the bathroom door and locked it from the inside, then turned and flattened her back against it as she thought he might return. Yet deep inside Nadine knew barring him from the room could not rid her of the feelings he had created inside of her.

She closed her eyes to better feel the warmth that was still there. The sensation called up disdain in one part of her, while another longed to embrace it, explore it. The kiss was so new and deliriously frightening; it seeped into and caressed the most private parts of her. She felt embarrassed again, and automatically, her hand covered her mouth. How could she dote on these ungodly feelings created by a man who was a complete stranger? He was so different from the men she usually found attractive. They were all very dark-skinned with hair that was close-cut and neat. Ulysses Deane did not fit either one of those molds. His looks reflected his heritage. He was a foreigner, not a brother, and Nadine's old friend, guilt, prodded her again, but this time it was for being attracted to a man outside of her race.

Nervous and ill at ease, Nadine decided that tonight, a quick washup would do just as well as a bath. She ran the water and started the task, her ears keen to every sound around her. Her senses ready. But for what?

She held the soft towel up to her face, burying her features in it, then patted her flawless skin dry. Nadine chastised herself for the direction of her thoughts, but it was like scolding a child for desiring sweets. The feel of Ulysses' bare body so close to hers as he gazed knowingly into her eyes kept surfacing. It was as if he sensed beneath her affront some deeper feelings. Then he had kissed her. She had been kissed before, but never like that, and never by such an attractive man who, but for a square of terry cloth, was naked.

Although Nadine's eyes had been riveted upward, focusing on Ulysses' face, she had been very much aware of his muscular arms and chest, and the thick hair on the latter which was almost level with her face. Nadine shut her eyes, tight, for she dared not think what lay beneath that cloth, but the images continued to come. She could see him as he walked away, how his torso tapered into a thin waist and slender hips, his towel pressed against firm buttocks with muscles that tightened and released as he moved.

Looking at Ulysses Deane sparked the ache that occurred whenever Nadine had the unsettling dreams. A teasing warmth deep inside bubbled up, eventually becoming a threat if it was not released. A couple of years ago she had written and told Gloria about the dreams. There was no one else she felt close enough to, to reveal such personal things about herself. Gloria had written back making light of her dilemma. “Girlfriend,” she had penned, “nature is letting you know you weren't born to be nobody's nun. You better take care of that,” and she went on to describe ways that Nadine could do just that. It made her feel flushed even now just to think of some of them.

Nadine recently had begun to look outside of the more restrictive religious practices that she had embraced. Although her high moral standards had cost her more than one budding relationship, Nadine was determined she would not become intimately involved until she was ready. At twenty-six she was feeling more than prepared.

Her mood changed when she searched her reflection above the silver-embossed basin. Her hair was a voluminous brown cloud surrounding her face, sprinkled with remnants from the forest. There was a sparkle in her eye and a wildness about her that was unfamiliar but invigorating. She claimed the free being that she saw in the glass as part of her new identity, and Nadine submerged her hair under the running tap water. It was a kind of baptism and acceptance of that budding part of her.

As Nadine dried her hair then managed to gather it together, braiding it into a single French braid from the crown down the back of her head, there was a sense of anticipation, an impending awakening. Her eyes were extremely bright when she looked in the mirror for the last time, and she hurried into the hallway, attempting to discredit the feeling as she returned to her room. Tomorrow she would be leaving this place and the strange people within it. Nothing would make her happier. She looked up apprehensively in the direction of her maker.

After eating the codfish balls Catherine had left, Nadine climbed into bed and placed another towel on the pillow. As she closed her eyes she prayed that denying her true feelings would not also be a part of her new identity.

Chapter
5

“Catherine, you cannot let Lenora sleep too late this morning. We have all kinds of things to discuss. I know the poor woman must get antsy whenever she thinks about her fateful meeting with the cliff dwellers.” Madame Deane clicked her tongue several times for emphasis.

Clarence's dark eyebrows rose as Madame Deane made the assertions, but he continued to tend the pink and white orchids growing in a large flower box. Madame Deane rolled her wheelchair behind Catherine, who was bringing in the morning meal.

“I like having breakfast on the lanai,” Madame Deane commented as they entered the screened-in room. “I enjoy the fresh morning air.”

“It is good for you, madame,” Catherine replied. “It helps put color back into those papery cheeks of yours.” She looked back at her mistress and displayed surprise at how much Madame Deane looked like her old self this morning as she rattled on about the new houseguest.

“Do you think Lenora's awake, Catherine?”

“Now Madame Deane, the young lady calls herself Nadine. She does not know anything about this Lenora story you keep talking about.”

“I know. I know,” she shook her white head agitatedly, “but that does not make any difference because I tell you she is the one spoken of in the Legend of Lenora. Don't you think it is rather strange the way she turned up here last night?” Madame Deane continued before Catherine had a chance to answer. “And you cannot tell me she does not resemble the Lenora I have been telling you about. She has the same strange features. Her hair, skin, and eyes are virtually the same color, almost blending one into the other. You must admit that is very unique.”

Catherine did not answer. She simply looked up at the screen above.

Madame Deane placed her finger on the tip of her nose. “Did you do what I told you to do, Catherine? About the dress, I mean?”

Nodding, Catherine answered, “Yes, madame, I did.”

“Good. Because you see I've got it all right here,” a charged-up Madame Deane announced, patting a small roll of animal skin. “Well, a part of it. The last page is missing, but most of the story is here. Right here,” she said emphatically. “I've just got to remember where I hid that page. I was trying to hide it from everyone else and I hid it from myself. Even if I do find it
she
wants me to keep it a secret until the proper time.”

Catherine looked at the dirty piece of animal skin and sighed. Madame Deane was always claiming to have found some special treasure, but the objects were treasures to her because of how she perceived the world. “Madame, I do not like you exciting yourself like this,” Catherine warned. “Miss Nadine has plans to leave today, and I do not think she is going to take too kindly to our replacing her clothes with that getup you provided.”

“Getup? What do you mean, getup? Why, it is a woman's duty to weave her own cloth right here in her home. I do it every day, Catherine. Do not try to confuse me.”

“Yes, madame,” Catherine replied as she rolled her eyes. How very well aware she was of the madame's weaving. Each time she saw her begin a new color pattern it became increasingly more difficult to find a store-bought or hand-woven one to replace the bungled mess.

“And what is this about Lenora wanting to leave?” Two whisper-thin white brows knitted together in consternation.

“I do not think anyone is going anywhere,” Clarence announced, “at least not for a while. All the main paths and roads are blocked. I talked to one of the servants over at Sharpe Hall. He told me some of their workers are still stuck down by the lower wharf.”

“Well, they are better off down there than they are with those two-faced Sharpes,” Madame Deane spat out disapprovingly. “They have too many servants anyway.”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” A rather short man with brown hair approached the screened door. The black collar of his shirt overlapped a bright-red vest, giving his ruddy skin an even redder tone.

“Yes, you did. And if you ask me—”

“Good morning, Master Sharpe.” Catherine cut Madame Deane off before she could do any more damage. “Madame Deane was just saying how hard it is to get good help these days. With your having such a large estate and all, it would be easier if you had a competent overseer to head up the workers in your sugarcane fields.”