Oil and vinegar, she thought, as her booted feet crunched over dry leaves and twigs. Fire and water. She wandered past a line of white oaks. Hope and Drake.
A seagull squawked overhead, its wide wings flapping as Hope's thoughts took an abrupt turn. Where is Drake now? she wondered with a distracted sigh. Did he know where she’d gone? Did he care?
Although she would like to believe he did, she had a devil of a time convincing herself. He had, after all, only hired her to do a job, a job she had seen to it herself she was paid for. Pitifully. Now that the job was done, her services were no longer required, or wanted. He was probably relieved she’d left. Why else hadn’t he shown up at the dock to keep her from boarding that ship?
Because he doesn’t care.
Her breath caught as she remembered his hand caressing the puckered flesh on her back. He had been shocked, but not repulsed. Concerned, but not condescending. Certainly that was not the response of a man who didn’t care!
The image of Drake, enfolded in Angelique’s embrace, his calloused palm gliding over her smoothly perfect spine, stopped Hope cold. Again, she shivered, although this time the tremor had precious little to do with the brisk night air.
She wasn’t foolish enough to delude herself that Angelique would not take full advantage of her absence. No doubt the sly witch would convince Drake quickly of his “wife’s” infidelity, deception, lack of feelings—whatever it took to win him into her bed.
Oh, how Hope could see that feline smile when Angelique learned she’d left. It was the opportunity the conniving witch had been waiting for, planning for, living for. She wouldn’t let it go to waste.
But what would Drake’s response be?
It was a question Hope didn’t dare contemplate. If she were still in Boston, she would fight Angelique every step of the way. But here, in the hidden valleys of Virginia, there was precious little she could do to stop Drake’s seduction.
She walked on, mindless of where she was going. Her feet knew these foothills by heart, she wouldn’t get lost.
She thought of her vow to Bentley—her vow to get Drake back. Could I get him back? she wondered. Did I ever have him to begin with? Isn’t it a little too late to start fighting for him now?
“Life won’t come to you, little one.” Her mother’s softly spoken words rang through her mind. How often had Emma Bennett said that? Often enough for the haunting voice to have an immediate response on Hope. “If you want something badly enough, go out there and fight for it like a Bennett. You’ll never win a race if racing is the only time you ride. And you’ll never ride if you get thrown from the saddle and refuse to get back up.”
All her life, she’d taken her mother’s wisdom to heart. Back in the saddle she’d always gone, never allowing herself to be defeated—at least, not without a damn good fight.
Is this so different? she asked herself, stopping to lean against the rough bark of an oak.
No, she thought, it wasn’t any different at all. She’d fallen off the horse that was Drake Frazier, but she’d never gotten back on. She’d hidden behind a cloak of fear, afraid he would hurt her worse than she was already hurt. He couldn’t, of course, but she hadn’t known that then. She hadn’t realized until now that the prize for fighting Angelique would be the man in all his glory. And the man and his love was what she wanted more than anything in the world.
Fight for it like a Bennett, her mother would advise.
Damn it, but if that wasn’t exactly what she intended to do! Hope pushed away from the tree with new resolve. Her strides, as they carried her back to the house, were long and filled with determination.
She hadn’t expected ever to see her family again, but she had, proving that miracles do happen. Now all she had to do was set about making a lifelong miracle of her own.
A week, she decided firmly. She would spend a week with her family. Then she would return to Boston, with Bentley in tow, and she would fight for Drake Frazier. She’d do whatever it took to make him love her. And if she lost, at least she could console herself with the knowledge that her defeat was not due to lack of effort.
A smile played about her lips as she neared the house, and a plan began to form in her mind. Her steps lightened as her mind whirled to smooth out all the details. The plan was so wonderful in its simplicity, she cursed herself for not having thought of it before.
Everything came around full circle, she thought, and that was exactly wh
ere Hope intended to take her relationship with Drake Frazier. Back to be beginning.
It was silly. Preposterous. Perfect! How could he resist? She would simply hand the gunslinger an offer she knew he couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t as though this was the first time!
“Drake, if you do not stop prowling the deck like some caged animal I’ll have you dragged below and tied to the bunk until we reach port. Now, come have a seat, and do try to relax.”
Drake ignored his friend as he continued to pace the deck. He sent Elbert a heated glance. One look at the small man, leisurely reclined in a lounge chair, basking in the midday sun with a legal journal open on his gaunt lap, made Drake wonder why he had ever chosen this insensitive oaf as a friend. It also made him question his wisdom in having asked the man along, although he knew the logic behind that reasoning well enough. Elbert Sneyd was the only man in Boston Drake trusted, and he trusted Elbert with his life.
Proof.
The single word shot through Drake’s mind like a bullet, as he jammed his hands in his pockets and lifted his cheeks to the salty breeze. When he found Hope—and he would find her, there was never a doubt—he’d need proof to back up his somewhat wild but truthful explanation. After everything what had passed between them, he couldn’t expect her to believe his story simply because he said it was true. If they were ever to have honesty between them, they would have to begin anew. He had to be sure she never doubted him again because, deep in his soul, he knew he’d never give her another reason to.
But first, he had to prove it. Not an easy task.
With a ragged spin, he stopped his relentless pacing to lean against the ship’s rail. He read the sky and jagged coastline with an ease born of years at sea. If the storm brewing angrily on the horizon held off, they would reach the Chesapeake by late tomorrow afternoon. Until then, he would wait, worry, and pray he wasn’t too late.