Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

“What about Nicole?”

“Of course, we now go back to her. If you marry me, she will be unharmed. She may even stay at the mill, and you can visit her for your…ah, more earthly pleasures. I’m sure the two of you will enjoy your rutting.”

“What guarantees do I have that after we’re married one of your cousins won’t pop up in the middle of the night?”

Bianca looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not sure you do have a guarantee. Perhaps it will hold you to your bargain if you’re never quite sure what will happen to her.”

Clay stood still. No guarantee. His beloved’s life depended on the whims of a greedy, selfish bitch. But what choice did he have? He could defy Bianca’s demands and remain married to Nicole, but he’d live his life terrified that he would find her dead. Did he love her so selfishly that he’d risk her life for a few months of pleasure? After all, it wasn’t his life that was in danger, but hers. Briefly, he thought of asking Nicole for her opinion, but he knew she’d risk anything to stay with him. Was his love so much weaker that he couldn’t make sacrifices for her?

“Do you know where she is?”

“I have a map,” Bianca smiled, as if she knew she’d won. “I want your agreement to my terms before I give it to you.”

Clay swallowed over the lump in his throat. “The marriage cannot be annulled without the testimony of the doctor who witnessed the wedding. Very little can be done until he returns from England.”

Bianca nodded. “I must agree to that. When he arrives, I expect the marriage to be annulled and ours to take place. If it is delayed at all, then Nicole will disappear. Is that clear?”

Clay sneered at her. “You’ve made yourself more than clear. I want the map.”

Bianca walked across the room to one of the porcelain figures on the bow-front cabinet, picked it up, and pulled a little roll of paper from the inside. “It’s crude,” she said, “but I believe it’s legible.” She smiled. “Dear Abe has been on the island with her for two days and a night, and it’ll be another night before you reach her. He said he planned to enjoy her. I’m sure he’s had plenty of time by now. Of course, she was quite used before she ever went with Abe. By the way, have you asked yourself why she went so readily with him? Why didn’t she scream? The wharf is only a short distance from where there were at least twenty people.”

Clay took a step toward her, then stopped. If he so much as touched her, he’d kill her. He didn’t think his conscience would hurt him much, but he knew she’d carry out her threats even from death. He turned on his heel, the map clutched tightly in his hand, and left the room.

Bianca stood at the window and watched him walk toward the wharf. A feeling of triumph surged through her body. She’d show them! She’d show them all! Her father had laughed at her when she’d packed to go to America. He’d said that Clay wouldn’t be too upset when he found himself married to a lovely little filly like Nicole. He’d thought the story of the mistaken marriage was so good that he’d told at least twenty people before Bianca left England. No telling how many he’d told by now.

Bianca clenched her jaw hard. She knew what they were all saying. They said Bianca was just like her mother. Her mother had taken to her bed anything that was male. As a little girl, listening to the sounds from her mother’s bedroom, Bianca had vowed never to allow a man to soil her, to put his rough, greedy hands on her fine white body.

When Bianca’d said she was going to America, her father accused her of being like that woman, said she was hot for the crude American, just the type of man her dead mother liked. How could Bianca return to England after having spent months in Clay’s house? She’d have no wedding ring but a great deal of money, just the way her mother used to return from her many week-long trips. Even thousands of miles away, she could almost hear the snickers and see the smirks about what she’d done to earn the money.

No! She stamped her foot. She would own the Armstrong plantation no matter what she had to do. Then, she smiled, she’d invite her father to visit her. She’d show him her wealth, her husband, their separate bedrooms. She’d prove to him that she wasn’t like her mother. Yes, she smiled. She’d show them!

“Did she tell you?” Wes asked as soon as Clay reached the sloop.

He held out the map. “She told me.” His voice was dead.

“That bitch!” Wes said violently. “You ought to be horsewhipped for ever bringing her to America in the first place. And to think that you almost married her! When we get back and Nicole is safe again, I hope you throw that fat slut into the hold of a ship and get rid of her as fast as possible.”

Clay stood silently, his dark eyes staring out at the river. He didn’t answer Wesley’s tirade; there was little he could say. Could he tell his friends he probably would marry Bianca after all?

“Clay?” Travis asked quietly, his voice full of concern. “Are you all right? You don’t think your wife has been harmed, do you?”

Clay turned, and Travis frowned at the bleakness of his friend’s face. “How should a man feel when he’s just sold his soul to the devil?” he asked quietly.

Isaac cleaned the pan of the last of the rabbit and baked apples. He put the pan down and rested against the stone wall of the cabin, his legs stretched stiffly out on the grass. His thigh, tightly bound with strips of Nicole’s petticoat, throbbed. As he closed his eyes and let the sun beat down on him, he smiled into the warmth. The air around the little island smelled bad, the water was alive with poisonous snakes, they had little or no hope of rescue, but Isaac had no desire to leave the place. In the last two days, he’d eaten better than he ever had at home, even though Nicole had only one pan to cook in. He’d been able to rest, something else that was new to his life.

He smiled more broadly as he heard the familiar swish of Nicole’s velvet skirt. He opened his eyes and waved at her. She’d taken the lace off her petticoat and tied little bows down the front of her dress to hold it together where Abe had slashed it. Isaac was amazed at her. All his life, he’d thought the women who lived in the big houses were useless, but Nicole had shown no hysterics after the knife fight with Abe. She’d knelt and bound Isaac’s wound to stop the bleeding, then calmly gone to sleep.

In the morning, the door was revealed to have hinges of heavy leather. Nicole used Isaac’s pocket knife and sawed at the leather, while Isaac leaned against the door to keep it from falling. It had taken all their strength to open the door enough to slip through. Afterward, Isaac rested while Nicole made a snare from a piece of cord trim on her petticoat and caught a rabbit. Isaac was astonished that she knew how to do something of that nature. Nicole laughed and said her grandfather had taught her how to make a snare.

“Are you feeling better?” Nicole asked, smiling down at him. Her hair hung down her back to her waist, thick and rich.

“Yes. ’Cept maybe I’m lonesome. Could you talk to me?”

Nicole smiled and sat down beside him.

“Why ain’t you afraid?” Isaac asked. “I think most women would be scared to death of this place.”

Nicole thought for a moment. “I think emotions are relative. There have been times when I’ve been very, very frightened. In comparison, this place seems almost safe. We have food and water, the weather isn’t too cold yet, and when your leg is better, we’ll get off the island.”