Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Frank Paxton named the amount. It wasn’t at all outrageous.

Another thing to check with Milsom.

Brent closed the ledger. “I’ll study these later. This afternoon, I would like to visit the fields.”

“As you wish,” said Frank Paxton. Damn, he’d done nothing more than any other smart overseer. He drew in his breath. He would show no more anger. Hell, when he wished, he could simply leave Wakehurst; he had enough money now to buy his own plantation.

Laurel turned to Byrony after a few moments. “Well, it sounds as though Brent wants to squeeze some more money out of the estate. I doubt he’ll want to authorize any of your precious material for the slaves.”

“We’ll see,” Byrony said.

“Yes, we will, won’t we? Just how poor are you and Brent?” She shuddered. “I can’t believe Brent came down so far as to own a saloon. I can’t imagine what his father would say.”

Byrony rose from her chair to stand beneath the gilded bronze chandelier. “Brent isn’t at all poor, Laurel. We are both very proud of the Wild Star. He has financial interests in other ventures as well.”

“So that’s why you married him? For his money?”

“No, that’s not why I married him, but it is why you married Brent’s father, isn’t it?”

“I think, Byrony, that you—” She paused. What was I supposed to do? Fade away in oblivion in my parents’ rotting mansion? “You don’t know what you’re talking about, miss.”

Byrony sighed, raising her hand in silent apology. “It’s none of my business, Laurel. Nor is it any of your business why I married Brent.”

Brent paused at the open doorway. He smiled, a bit unwillingly, at Byrony’s words. She hadn’t been so calm the night before, he thought, and his smile became broader, until he remembered the words she’d cried to him when she climaxed. He’d left her before she’d awakened this morning, not wanting to, but knowing he must for his own peace of mind. He hadn’t wanted to see the lie in her eyes. If she even remembered what she’d said to him.

He walked into the sitting room. “Ready for lunch, ladies?”

Byrony couldn’t meet his eyes. Like an utter fool, she was—telling him she loved him. She’d given him unwitting power over her. Am I like my mother? Loving a man who only takes, who only hurts? At least he doesn’t raise his hand to you in anger or when he’s drunk.

“Yes, of course, Brent,” Laurel said, walking gracefully toward him. “How did your meeting go with Frank? Is the plantation bringing in enough money to please you?”

“We’ll see,” he said.

Laurel continued, “Frank Paxton is an excellent overseer. It’s a pity that you two didn’t seem to be getting along. Indeed, we could hear your argument in here.”

“There are a great many things that are a pity,” Brent said. “Byrony, are you coming?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You have a worshiper, Brent,” Drew said over a lunch of baked catfish, fresh crunchy bread, and stewed sweet potatoes. At Brent’s raised eyebrow, Drew added on a smile, “Lizzie. The girl won’t shut up, so Mammy Bath tells me.”

Brent grunted.

Laurel toyed a moment with the slab of butter on her knife. “If you’re bound and determined to keep the girl out of Frank’s bed, then why not give her to Josh now?”

“So she can give birth to another slave?” Byrony asked. “To add to the profits?”

“That’s quite enough, Byrony,” Brent said. “Drew, I’m riding into the fields after lunch with Paxton. Would you like to come?”

“My dear brother, I will come with you if you cannot manage without me. Actually, though, I’d planned to ride into Natchez. I need to buy some paints so I can begin Byrony’s portrait.”

Brent said, “I’ll try to muddle through without you.”

“May I come, Brent?”

“A lady doesn’t venture into fields,” Laurel said, appalled. “It’s unhealthy and immodest.”

“Immodest?” Byrony said.