Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“It’s not worth it, Brent. I wish to go back to sleep now. Please, leave me alone.”

He fell onto his side, his back toward her.

She didn’t move. He would have heard her had she moved. He pictured her in his mind, lying on her back, her nightgown rumpled at her waist. He had an overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and hold her close to him and tell her—Tell her what, you fool?

TWENTY-NINE

Byrony handed the necklace to the fussy Mr. Dubois. She knew he was thinking it a beautiful piece, but of course he couldn’t say that to her, since she wanted to sell it to him.

Aloud Mr. Dubois said, “The workmanship is not quite what one would expect, but of course with stones of mediocre quality, I suppose it is adequate.”

She said nothing, merely cocked her head at him and waited. Please, she thought, let him offer me more than the others did.

Mr. Dubois continued to study the pearl and diamond necklace, then sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you more than three hundred dollars, Mrs Hammond. The current market for—”

“No, thank you, Mr. Dubois,” Byrony said, and held out her hand. “May I have my necklace?”

She saw him clutch it tight in his fist.

“Perhaps, ma’am, I can go a bit higher,” he said. “Say, four hundred dollars?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Dubois,” Byrony said again, her hand still held open toward him.

“How much do you want?” he asked at last, his voice a whine.

“I can accept nothing lower than five hundred.”

He began a diatribe that lasted a good three minutes, but Byrony, having experienced three other jewelers in all their bargaining glory, simply allowed him to demonstrate his art.

“No, ma’am, I simply can’t do it—why, I can’t sell it for more than—”

She cut him off. “It’s your decision, sir. May I please have my necklace?”

He cursed very softly, and she wanted to dance with joy.

Ten minutes later, she joined Lizzie in the landau, a wide smile on her face.

“Where to now, missis?” Oscar asked.

Byrony drew a deep breath, still surprised by her success. “To a clothing warehouse.”

“Where have you been hiding?”

Byrony looked up at her husband standing on the bottom step of the veranda, his hands on his hips, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Well? All Mammy Bath could tell me was that you and Lizzie drove into Natchez early this morning. It is now near to sunset. Where have you been, Byrony?”

Suddenly she wasn’t certain that she should tell him. Could he stop the warehouse from delivering all the cotton trousers, shirts, and skirts? The barrels of salted meat were already on their way to the field slaves’ compounds, so that part was safe. Or was it?

Not only could he stop it, she realized, he, as the master, could confiscate everything. Could he be that cruel?

She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips “I’ll tell you,” she said, knowing she had no choice. He’d find out soon enough.

“Well, I’m waiting.”

“I sold the necklace, Ira’s necklace, and bought clothing and meat for the field slaves.”

Brent felt as though he’d been struck in the belly by someone the size of Saint Morris. Never, during the long day, had he imagined her doing that. He’d gone from indifference to her whereabouts, thinking she was angry at him for his taking of her so callously the previous night, to gnawing worry, to rage that she would simply leave and not inform him. Hell, he’d felt every damned emotion experienced by man.