Wild Star (40 page)

Brent caught her arm. “A moment, Byrony.”

She turned to face him.

“We’re going this way. There’s a very pretty spot I want you to see first.”

She cocked her head at him, but fell into step beside him. “One of your boyhood haunts?”

“Yes,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Are you recovered from the excitement of last night?”

Byrony frowned up at his profile. Why wouldn’t he look at her? He was still angry, of course. “Yes, I am quite recovered. Indeed, I really didn’t feel the need to recover from anything. My delicate nerves weren’t overset, Brent.”

He saw her in Drew’s portrait in his mind’s eye. “The expression in your eyes was almost wicked.”

“What?”

“The portrait. How did Drew manage to get that look?”

She said without hesitation, “I thought about you on one particular night aboard the steamboat. You teased me and fondled me and loved me until I thought I’d die of it. And then I seduced you. I thought perhaps you were beginning to love me.” She shrugged, “But of course, coming back here put a stop to that.”

He looked surprised but didn’t say anything and they walked along silently for a while. “Brent, we’re going quite far from the house.”

“I know. Be patient.”

She thoughtfully kicked a stone from her path and watched it jump in front of her. “What will you do about Lizzie? And Josh?”

“I spoke to Josh this morning. He wouldn’t tell me how he’d made that rendezvous with Lizzie, but I suspect Mammy Bath is somehow involved. Josh is her grandson, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

Brent sighed. “What can I do? Josh loves the girl and wants to marry her. Lizzie, I gather, feels the same about Josh.”

“But she’s only thirteen years old.”

“Actually, she’s now fourteen as of two days ago. Josh thought it was time.”

“And what do you think?”

“He can have her, of course. Actually, if our very closed society would allow it, I’d be tempted to make Josh overseer of Wakehurst.”

“Oh no.”

The distress in her voice made him stop abruptly and turn to face her. “You have no liking for Josh?”

“The people would still be slaves, possessions, your possessions, Brent. It’s not right.” She saw him frown, saw his eyes narrow. “What of Paxton?” she asked.

“I would imagine that fool is in Natchez at the moment, drinking and telling everyone who will listen what a bastard I am. Lord only knows what he’s saying about you.”

Byrony had wondered the same thing. “When will we be at your boyhood haunt?”

“We’re almost there.”

The boyhood haunt was a very secluded, very private spot, Byrony saw. It was nothing more, actually, than a tiny clearing surrounded by thick maple and elm trees. A curtain of nearly impenetrable summer leaves blocked out the outside world.

“It’s lovely, Brent.”

“Yes, very lovely.”

“I meant this small glade, Brent.”

“That also.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To make love to you, of course.”

When, after a very long time, he lifted himself on his elbows and studied her smiling face, he said, “You look pleased with yourself.”

“I am,” she said. “I’ve brought you to your knees, so to speak.”

“Hussy.”

She kissed his chest, hugged him tightly, savoring the moment. She wanted to tell him that she adored him, would do anything for him, but she imagined that he would use such voiced sentiments against her later. And he’d never told her he loved her. She wondered if he were capable of such an emotion, after nine years of denying its existence.

“Do you love me, Brent?”

“You are my wife,” he said, his voice fierce.

“But do you love me?”

He withdrew from her and came gracefully to his feet. She stared up at him.

“Leave it be, Byrony,” he said as he leaned down to retrieve his clothing. What did she want from him? But he knew what she wanted—ah yes, he knew.

She looked at him with bitter eyes. He was a fine lover, at least she assumed he was from the incredible pleasure he gave her. He probably gave her all the sexual feeling and pleasure he’d given for years to his mistresses. So what was a wife anyway? Someone to berate when the mood struck him, someone to blame when things didn’t go the way it suited him.

From the corner of his eye Brent watched her slowly rise and begin to pull on her clothes. So many clothes, he thought inconsequently, so many petticoats and ribbons and ties. It struck him suddenly that she wasn’t wearing a corset. He started to ask her why not, when she walked silently away from him into the cover of the trees.

“Byrony,” he called after her.

She turned slowly and took the snowy white handkerchief from his hand.

He finished dressing, then leaned against a maple tree to wait for her.

 

Byrony heard them arguing, but she couldn’t make out their words. Drew had left the house some half-hour earlier, and the servants had gone to bed. She frowned and walked quietly toward the closed library doors.

“Dammit, Brent, I tell you that your father hated the man.”

“Come, Laurel, you’re saying that because he probably didn’t praise your eyebrows.”

What man?

“You’re a fool, Brent,” came Laurel’s voice.

“A fool simply because I don’t necessarily believe you, my dear?” Brent said in a mocking voice. “Now, Laurel, why don’t you tell me the real reason you wanted to talk to me.”

There was a deadening silence for several minutes.

“I want to know what you’re going to do about Wakehurst. Now that Frank Paxton is gone, we’ve no overseer, no one to make those lazy slaves do their work.”

Byrony wanted to stay, but her past experiences with eavesdropping had been too painful. She’d already committed half a sin by listening to as much as she had. Slowly she walked away from the library and back up the stairs. At least, she thought, they were arguing and that was good.

Lizzie had finally gone off to bed. If Byrony had had to endure any more ecstatic chattering about Josh, she would have screamed. Byrony fiddled with the bows on her dressing gown, then walked out onto the balcony. It was so warm, the night still and dark. Not as warm as her lusty afternoon in the woods.

She saw herself astride Brent, crying out with abandon as his fingers caressed her. Oddly, she wondered if Aunt Ida had ever made love with a man. Silly thought. Byrony couldn’t imagine Aunt Ida even taking off her clothes in front of a mirror. But Aunt Ida had to feel, didn’t she? Byrony shook her head, suddenly feeling so fatigued she could hardly stand. She stared a moment at the empty bed. How she wished Brent would spend the night with her. She missed his warmth, his occasional snoring that made her poke him in the ribs, his gentle kisses that made her wake up to absolute joy.

She fell asleep alone, and awoke the following morning alone, with Lizzie standing over her, chattering away. She felt so tired, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. It was Lizzie’s wedding day. Brent had paid the Reverend Fletcher a goodly sum to come to Wakehurst to perform the ceremony.

She smiled, yawned, and quickly drank a cup of tea before she went about her dressing.

 

During the brief ceremony, with Lizzie now silent as a stone as she stood beside Josh, Byrony felt Drew’s eyes on her. She swatted at a fly and tried to pay attention to the service. There were at least fifty slaves crowded into the garden to witness the wedding. One woman with six children had run to her and nearly fallen to her knees to kiss Byrony’s feet. “De Lord bless you, missis,” she repeated over and over. Byrony felt deep embarrassment. No human being should ever be placed in such a position.

Byrony felt absolute relief when it was over and the slaves had dispersed and gone back to their compounds. Brent was in conversation with Josh, Laurel with Drew. Byrony made good her escape and went upstairs to change into her riding habit.

Thirty minutes later, she was riding down the long drive, enjoying the breeze in her face. It was with some surprise that she heard pounding hoofbeats behind her. She turned to see Brent, and a smile lit her face.

Brent reined in beside her, took in her smile, but refused to allow himself to smile in response. “You’re not to ride out alone,” he said. “I thought you understood that.”

“I wasn’t going far,” she said. “You were busy with Josh and all the other slaves had left to celebrate.”

“Josh clearly had other things on his mind. He and Lizzie will live in Paxton’s house for the time being. He wanted nothing more than to deflower his bride.”

“She’s so young,” Byrony said. “I hope he doesn’t hurt her.”

“He’s not an animal,” Brent said.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Oh? There isn’t too much difference between a virgin of fourteen and a virgin of nineteen, and as I recall, you didn’t experience too much pain.”

She wanted to laugh. “Any pain I felt was worth it, just to see the look of utter chagrin on your face.”

He grinned back at her. “You did take me by surprise, I’ll admit it.”

“How many virgins have you experienced, Brent?”

“Experienced? That’s a novel way of putting it. Not more than a dozen, I expect.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. He merely cocked a black brow at her. “Can I ask you something, Brent?”

“Go ahead. You will anyway.”

“Why is it you believe a woman is a trollop if she isn’t a virgin?”

His hands tightened on his stallion’s reins. “I don’t,” he said. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”

“You believed I was. Indeed, if I hadn’t been a virgin, I imagine you would still believe me to be a loose female.”

“Don’t be a fool. Come on. Let’s gallop awhile.”

“You are the most stubborn, inconsistent, arrogant man I’ve ever known,” she shouted after him.

When they reached the long drive back to the house some thirty minutes later, Brent grinned over at her and said, “You want to race? Let’s see if your mare has as much conceit as her mistress.”

They raced neck-and-neck up the drive. Byrony knew Brent was keeping a firm control on his stallion, to tease her. Sure enough, just as they came in sight of the house, he let the stallion go, leaving her to stare at his back.

Laurel and Drew were seated on the front veranda when Byrony, laughing and shouting at Brent, reined in her mare. The mare skidded and Byrony suddenly felt herself falling sideways.

“Byrony!” Drew shouted, leaping from his chair and running toward her.

But Brent caught her easily and straightened her in the saddle. “Easy, I don’t want you eating dirt.”

“Dammit, Byrony. What are you doing?”

Both Brent and Byrony turned, startled, to face Drew.

“She’s quite all right, Drew,” Brent said, his eyebrow inching up in question.

“We were just racing.”

“For God’s sake,” Drew shouted. “Both of you are idiots. You could have hurt the baby, Byrony.”

Brent froze. He gazed from his wife’s suddenly flushed, guilty face to his brother’s worried expression. “Baby?” he said blankly.

“Of course,” Drew snapped. “Byrony’s pregnant.”

Very slowly Brent clasped his wife about the waist and lifted her from her mare’s back. “Are you pregnant?”

She nodded.

“Go inside. I will speak to you shortly.”

She walked into the house. Brent was furious, just as she’d known he would be. He didn’t want the responsibility of a child, the commitment it would mean to her. Perhaps he was a bit worried that she could die. How had Drew known? It was still the very early days yet. She was more tired than usual, but she hadn’t had any nausea in the mornings.

“What is the matter with you, Brent?” Drew asked, grabbing his brother’s arm and shaking it.

“Just how, may I ask, did you know Byrony was pregnant?” Brent asked in a low voice.

“I’m an artist, Brent. I see things other people don’t. It’s part of my talent, I suppose. Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

“No, my wife hadn’t seen fit to inform me. I suppose too that you can tell me just how far along she is.”

“Around two months, I’d say.”

Brent unconsciously patted his stallion’s nose when the horse whinnied for attention. He felt very peculiar, as if the proverbial carpet had just been jerked from beneath his feet. A father. He would be a father.

He felt Drew’s hand on his arm. “I’ve heard that women many times keep such news to themselves for a while. Miscarriage is very common, you know, and they don’t want hopes to be raised—”

“Byrony won’t have a miscarriage,” Brent said.

“Probably not, but she must take better care of herself.”

“Such as not dashing off like she did to save Lizzie?”

“Look, Brent,” Drew began, only to pause at his brother’s expression. He followed Brent’s eyes upward to the second floor and saw his hands clench into fists at his sides.

 

Byrony stood silently in the middle of the room, wondering where Brent was. She heard the door open and turned around to face her husband. But it wasn’t Brent. It was Laurel.

“Well, my dear stepdaughter-in-law, what a surprise. Such a pity that Drew couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

“It had to come out in any case,” Byrony said. “One does tend to gain flesh, you know, Laurel.”

“Thank God I don’t know. I do wonder what Brent will do with you. Such a pity, as I said, that the proud papa couldn’t control his feelings and not speak out so precipitately.”

Byrony simply stared at her.

“Ah yes, and here I was beginning to like you, Byrony. Despite everything. I wonder, were you trying to lose the child, on purpose?”

“What a stupid thing to say, Laurel. What do you want? I’m tired and sweaty and I want a bath.”

“But first, my dear, you’ll have to face your husband. Another month and perhaps, just perhaps, you could have convinced Brent that it was his child you’re carrying.”