Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Before Byrony could speak, Drew said easily, “Ah yes. It’s too lovely a day to be cooped up inside. You must see the sketch I’ve made of Byrony, Brent. See what you think.”

Brent gave Byrony a look that made her turn red to her hairline. She jumped to her feet and shook out her skirts. “Yes, why don’t you? I believe I shall change and go riding.” She paused a moment, her chin going up a good inch, as she looked at her husband. “I’m taking food and more clothes to the field slaves.”

“No,” Brent said quietly, “no, you aren’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, dear, it’s a ridiculous waste of money, just as I told you,” Laurel said.

Brent couldn’t help himself; he grinned widely at his stiff-backed wife. She looked ready to tear his ear off. “Tell you what, Byrony, why don’t you change, then I’ll ride with you and we’ll discuss your plans.”

He loves to toy with me, she thought as she stomped up the stairs. Lizzie was there waiting to help her change. The girl seemed quiet, something very unusual. Usually Lizzie chattered like a parrot as her small deft fingers fastened buttons, twitching out wrinkles. But Byrony’s mind was whirling, and she said nothing.

When she returned to the veranda, Brent was seated close to Laurel, a mint julep in his hand.

“I’m ready, Brent.”

“Already?” he said in his affected drawl. “Well, then, it would be most impolite for me to keep a lady waiting, particularly my wife.”

Some fifteen minutes later, they were riding side by side toward the fields. Byrony turned suddenly in the saddle and said, “You asked me last night what I wanted, Brent.”

“I did, didn’t I? It was probably most foolish of me. Well, what is it? You wish to return to Boston? With jewels and lots of money? Lots of my money, I should say.”

Her hands tightened on the reins, and her mare skittered a bit. It took her several minutes to calm the horse.

“No,” she said, not looking at him. “I want food and more clothes for the slaves.”

“My selfless little wife,” he began, his drawl even more pronounced than before.

“Brent,” she said, “enough of this foolishness.”

“What foolishness?” he asked, but she saw that she’d taken him aback. She wasn’t going to let him bait her, not anymore.

“Why,” she said, quite calmly, “don’t we talk about those demons that are driving you?”

His eyes narrowed on her face.

“Maggie told me once that it took a bit extra to get some men’s attention. That’s why I bought the whip.”

“I think it’s time we went back to the house,” Brent said.

“Oh no, not yet. Do you truly believe that all women are dishonest and conniving? That all women want something?”

“That’s enough, Byrony.”

“Is it? Nine years of encouraging yourself to think like that is more than enough, Brent. If Laurel only realized how much influence she’s had over you, she’d probably be speechless. She seduced a healthy young boy and turned him into a distrustful, bitter man.”

He cursed.

“Brent, listen to me, please. Maggie is a woman and she’s your friend, isn’t she? Don’t you trust her?”

“Shut up, Byrony. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just maybe I do,” she said, her eyes searching his face. “I think you’re afraid to be nice to me, afraid that you might come to care for me, afraid that I’ll hurt you if you do.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Isn’t that the truth?”

He shook off her hand, and tightened his hands on his stallion’s reins.

“Brent, wait. What about the clothing and food for the slaves?”