So what did she really want? She wanted what her family had once had—security, position, freedom from bill collectors, the feeling that she was wanted and needed. “I want the Armstrong plantation,” she said quietly.
Clay sat back in the chair. “You certainly don’t ask for much, do you? I can’t, or won’t, give it to you. I’ve grown to love Nicole, and I mean to keep her as my wife.”
“But you can’t! I came all the way from England. You have to marry me!”
Clay raised one eyebrow. “You will return to England in as much comfort as can be managed. I will try to compensate you for your time and for…the breach of promise. It is the best I can do.”
Bianca glared at him. “Who do you think you are, you insufferable, uneducated boor? Do you think I ever wanted to marry you? I only came when I heard you had some money. Do you think you’re going to discard me like so much baggage? Do you think I’m going to return to England as a jilted woman?”
Clay stood up. “I don’t give a good goddamn what you do. You’re going back as soon as possible, even if I have to personally throw you in the hold.” He turned on his heel and left her. If he stood near her another minute, he just might hit her.
Bianca was seething. Never would she allow that disgusting man to jilt her. He thought he could demand that she marry him, then he could command her to go away just as easily, just as if she were a serving girl. Nicole! That’s who was the scullery maid! Yet he tossed her, Bianca, aside for that lower-class scullion.
Her hands made fists at her side. She wouldn’t allow him to do it! Once an ancestor of hers had known the nephew of the king of England. She was an important person, with power and influence.
Family, she thought. Those men this morning had said they were part of her family. Yes, she smiled. They’d help her. They’d get the plantation for her. Then no one would laugh at her!
Clay stood under the roof of one of Ellen’s several porches. The cold shower beat down around him, isolating him. He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply on it. He’d had time in the last few days to curse himself for a fool, but today curses weren’t enough.
In spite of what he’d said to Wes, seeing Bianca in a clear light had been a revelation. His mind had always been hindered by the vision of Beth.
He sat on the porch railing, one long leg on the floor as he watched the rain begin to slacken. Through the trees, he could see a faint glimmer of sunlight. Nicole had known what Bianca was, he thought. Yet Nicole had always been gracious and kind to the woman, had never been hostile or allowed her anger to vent itself on her.
He smiled and threw the cigar stub into the wet grass. The rain was dripping off the eaves of the house, but already the sun was making the drops sparkle on the lawn. He glanced up toward the window of the room where Nicole slept. Or did she? he wondered. How had she reacted when she saw Bianca at the party?
He went inside the house, through the corridors, and up the stairs to their room. Nicole was the most giving person he’d ever met. She’d love him, his children, his servants, even his animals, yet she’d never ask anything in return.
He knew she wasn’t asleep as soon as he opened the door. He went straight to the wardrobe and grabbed a dress, a plain calico one of chocolate brown. “Get dressed,” he said calmly. “I want to take you somewhere.”
Chapter 12
SLOWLY, SHE THREW BACK THE COVERS AND SLIPPED her chemise over her head. Her body felt stiff with misery. At least he hadn’t forgotten her, she thought. At least this time his beloved Bianca’s presence hadn’t completely blinded him. Or maybe he was taking her back to the mill, as far away from Bianca as possible.
She didn’t ask where they were going. Her hands shook so badly as she buttoned the dress that Clay’s hands pushed hers away. He looked at her face, watched her eyes, enormous and liquid, filled with fear and longing.
He bent and kissed her softly, and her mouth clung to his. “I don’t guess I’ve given you much reason to trust me, have I?”
She could only stare at him, her throat too swollen to speak.
He smiled at her in a fatherly way, then took her hand and led her from the room and out of the house. She lifted her long sk
irt to keep it off the wet grass. Clay pulled her behind him quickly, paying little attention to the fact that she had to nearly run to keep up with his long strides.
He handed her into the sloop without saying a word, then untied the boat and unfurled the sail. The elegant little boat sliced through the water cleanly and swiftly. Nicole sat calmly, watching him at the helm of the ship. The sheer width of him looked like a mountain to Nicole—impenetrable, mysterious, something she loved but didn’t understand.
Her chest began to tighten when she saw they were heading back toward the Armstrong plantation. She’d been right! He was returning her to the mill. The iron band around her chest was too tight for her to cry. When they sailed past the wharf to the mill, she felt her breath release and a wave of joy flow through her.
At first, she didn’t recognize the place where Clay stopped. It seemed an impenetrable mass of foliage. He stepped out of the boat, the water up to his ankles, tied the boat, and then held his arms out for her. Gratefully, she nearly fell into them. He stared at her a moment in amusement before he carried her through the hidden gate and into the beautiful clearing. The rain had made everything fresh and new. The sunlight glittered on the raindrops on the hundreds of flowers.
Clay put Nicole down, then sat down against the big rock by the flowers and pulled her into his lap. “I know how you hate to get grass stain on your dress,” he teased.
She was serious as she looked up at him. Her eyes looked worried, frightened. She nibbled at her upper lip. “Why did you bring me here?” she whispered.
“I think it’s time we talked.”
“About Bianca?” Her voice was barely audible.
His eyes searched hers. “Why is there fear in your eyes? Do I frighten you?”