Ashes in the Wind (61 page)

Firewood and kindling filled the woodbox, and with cold, numbed hands, Alaina fumbled along the mantel, searching for matches or anything she might start a fire with. Her fingertips brushed an icy object, and she brought a small metal box into sight. Fighting a shuddering clumsiness, she pushed open the sliding lid and sighed in relief. It was a tinderbox.

Soon brightly flickering yellow and orange flames licked with hungry abandon at the dry wood she heaped over the blazing kindling. Alaina stretched out her hands before its warmth and grimaced as the fleeing cold left her fingers prickling with a pain like a thousand tiny needles. The winter night was settling rapidly over the land, and only the glow of the fire threatened the deep shadows in the house. Alaina ventured to light a lamp to chase the darkness to the far corners of the room, fairly confident that the dense brush and evergreens growing close about the house would mask the windows from casual view.

Alaina’s shivering slowly abated, and her curiosity grew apace. Several tall, glass-fronted cases, the likes of which she had seen in the hospital, stood beside a long, waist-high table. One cabinet
held dully gleaming instruments, while another was filled with vials and bottles, boxes and canisters, all neatly labeled in a careful hand. Still another bore stacks of bandages and other assorted wrappings. The room had all the appearances of a doctor’s study, no doubt where Cole and his father had rooted their practice.

A portrait of a woman hung above the mantel, and the resemblance she bore to Cole was unmistakable. This was undoubtedly his mother. But what of his stepmother? Alaina glanced about with curiosity. No indication here of another woman. And there were no portraits in the hill house.

Thoughtfully Alaina lifted a heavy chair before the fireplace and set a small table upright beside it. She set aright a all, wide-backed, well-used leather chair, and almost without thinking, slid it before the massive desk that sat before the windows. As she did, a small, twisted gilt-framed miniature lying on the desk caught her eye. It was partially hidden beneath wildly tossed papers and an overturned brass scales. She picked it up, shaking the shattered glass away from the picture, and took it closer to the light.

The photograph had been chopped off in such a manner that the main figure was now a woman in a dark dress and wide, starched apron. A sudden suspicion began to tickle her mind. Carefully she plucked the last particles of glass from the picture and held it beneath the lamp, then gasped in surprise as she realized it was a likeness of herself. She stared at it, her mind racing. A photographer had come into the hospital during the latter days of Cole’s convalescence and had taken a picture of a small group of
wounded men and had bade her to stand alongside them. Apparently Cole had witnessed it all, and somehow had managed to obtain a copy.

A heavy crease marred the middle of the photograph as if someone had repeatedly twisted the frame trying to tear the whole of it in half. Alaina sensed the utter rage that had been vented on it and on this study, and as her eyes moved about the room again, she could only wonder if this holocaust of loathing had been directed entirely at her.

“Little fool!” The words rang sharply in the room, and Alaina whirled with a small cry of alarm, then nearly crumpled to her knees in relief as she recognized the tall form of her husband in the shadowed doorway. Struggling to control the trembling that threatened to reduce her to tears, she leaned against the desk and pressed a hand over her pounding heart.

“Good heavens, Cole!” she railed weakly in freshening temper. “Must you always make it your habit to scare the wits from me? Couldn’t you have made your presence known in a gentler fashion?”

“What, and have you run out on me again?” he questioned angrily. “You didn’t care that you left me fearing for your safety.”

“I told you before. I can take care of myself.”

Cole flung his fur cap into a chair. “This is not the soft winter of the South, my love, and you’d best learn to respect it.” He crossed the room, and Alaina noticed both his pronounced limp and the absence of his cane. He stood close in front of her and yanked off his gloves as he enlarged upon his earlier declaration. “A lesson of missing fingers or toes
is harsh, Alaina, but a life can fade quickly in the freezing winds of this clime. One who ventures out in the face of an impending storm or blizzard without the slightest thought of protection can only be termed a fool.”

Alaina’s wits had been well flayed throughout the afternoon, and no tough hide was left to absorb this verbal chastisement. “How did you find me?”

“I saw the sparks fly from the chimney when I passed in the buggy. If you haven’t looked outside lately, a freezing rain is coming down, coating everything with ice. I was about to go back and call out the servants in an effort to find you when I happened to glance this way.”

“I stand rebuked, milord.” Her manner bore the submissive tones one might expect of a slave. “Shall I return to the house, or await your—pleasure—here?”

Cole ignored her overstated humility, and she did not raise her gaze to see the smile that played for the briefest moment about his lips. He grew serious as he noticed the mangled photograph she held and reached out to take it from her.

“A keepsake I cherished from my tour in New Orleans,” he murmured distantly. “Roberta said she threw it into the river, but I guess she lied about that, too.”

He placed the frame on the desk, then went to stand in front of the fire, placing more logs on it before spreading his hands before its warmth.

“This was my father’s study.” He folded his hands behind his back and stared thoughtfully into the flames. His deep voice seemed to fill the corners of the room as he continued. “I used to come here to find some peace, to think, to get away from”—he shrugged—
“whatever bothered me.” He turned and unbuttoned his greatcoat, sweeping the room with his gaze. “Roberta came here looking for me about a week before she died, but I had gone into town. She found your photograph and flew into a rage.” Slowly his hand ranged about to indicate the mangled interior. “And you knew Roberta well enough to believe that when I returned the next day, she was still fit to be tied.” He chuckled briefly. “Miles had taken the day off, Annie was hiding in the fruit cellar, the upstairs maid and the downstairs maid were cringing in their rooms. Mrs. Garth was the only one who dared move about. Roberta accused me—and you, for that matter, of plotting
the whole thing against her.” His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “She demanded to know where I was keeping you hidden.”

Alaina was confused. “But why did you keep the photograph?”

His eyes raised slowly to meet hers. “Don’t you know, Alaina?”

What she wanted to believe could not be reasoned out, not when the memory of Xanthia Morgan was harsh in her mind. She stiffened her neck and turned away from him, gathering the scattered papers into a neat stack.

“Did Roberta know about Mrs. Morgan?” she asked caustically over her shoulder.

“No,” Cole replied flatly. “And neither do you.”

She whirled, ready to beard this stumbling brute. “I know you were there yesterday—
before
you so tenderly came to me.”

“That’s true.” Cole stretched his shoulders back as if something in his chest pained him. “I went to her with the meanest of intentions, but nothing came of it.
I realized before I passed through her door that it was a mistake. I could not reach out—or touch her—or find any desire to hold her. And nothing more happened, Alaina. Olie may attest to that. I joined him only moments after he left me at her door. He and I shared a cup—or two—or maybe it was three, I forget. If you wish, you may condemn me for the thought, but you must pardon me for the act.”

A warmness grew within Alaina that was not of the fire burning in the hearth. Her voice was tiny and hesitant as she questioned, “Why did you keep the photograph?”

Cole heaved a long sigh and, taking her hand, settled himself in the large overstuffed chair that faced the fire and pulled her down onto his left thigh.

“Is it so hard to understand, Alaina?” he queried, half frowning, half smiling into her searching eyes. Slipping off her damp shoes, he tucked her cold, stockinged feet onto the seat of the chair, snuggling them intimately between his thighs and bracing a hand on her buttock to hold her. “I have been in love with you for some time now. Even before I left New Orleans. I tried to discount it and lay it to infatuation, but I had to finally face the truth.”

“Impossible!” Alaina flung out a hand in a wild, flamboyant gesture as she protested his claim. “Our marriage proves it! If you had loved me, then you would not have demanded the arrangement.”

“Madam, you jest!” He laughed in amazement. “I never demanded anything of the sort.”

“But Uncle Angus said you did!”

“Then he lied and played us against each other, for I have a letter from your uncle stating it was your
desire to have a titular marriage and that you would not come up here unless I agreed to such an arrangement.” His hand stroked upward along her arm. “I suppose Angus decided to brew the mischief after I wrote to Doctor Brooks and Mrs. Hawthorne asking them to approach him with my proposal.”

“You wrote first?” Alaina probed the translucent depths of those clear blue eyes.

“Mrs. Hawthorne wrote to inform me of the trouble you were having with Jacques. She said that if I cared for you at all, I’d forget about trying to appear indifferent and do something to help. I took her advice and offered marriage. If she hadn’t written, I might have wasted some time floundering around for an excuse to ask you to marry me.”

“Was it so difficult to propose?” she inquired softly.

“You put down my overtures so firmly in New Orleans, I had some doubts as to whether you would accept. I was after better odds.”

“You honestly wanted to marry me?” she questioned in amazement.

“Madam, I wanted you any way I could get you, and that’s no lie.”

Tears filled her eyes, and a softening warmth replaced the anger and mellowed her emotions. After all their battles and arguments, could she believe that he cared for her? Was this what she had coveted all those months when he had been with Roberta? His tender regard and his arms about her? Could she relax her distrusting vigil and be the warm, gentle woman she longed to be in his presence?

Almost shyly she slipped her arms about his neck, and as his open mouth found her lips, she
returned his ardor hesitantly. Slowly the trembling lips parted and yielded to his passionate kiss.

Alaina pulled away slightly and tried to put her reeling thoughts in order as she leaned her brow against his cheek. She had to take this more slowly, get her mind organized. It was all happening too quickly, and she cautioned herself against stripping her vulnerable emotions bare too soon. She had hidden them so well for so long, it was hard to turn loose.

She steadied her quaking heart and postponed making important decisions by turning the subject away from her. “This place—tell me about it. Tell me about your family.”

Cole leaned his head back against the chair to stare up at the painting above the mantel. “There’s little to tell, really. My father built this house for my mother shortly after they moved here from Pennsylvania. She died after my first year, and he married again—I suppose he thought he was providing me with a mother. My stepmother demanded a better house be built for her. She designed and furnished the one we now live in, and my father was too busy with his patients to give much heed to what she was creating until it was finished. She might not have been altogether pleased with the house either, for it wasn’t six months after it was completed that she ran off with a gambler. It was the last my father saw of her. He was rather bitter you might say. When she left, she took what money and valuables she could lay her hands on. My father swore then that she’d never get another cent from him. He disinherited her and any offspring she might claim as his.” Cole rested his cheek against
the softly flowing
russet tresses as Alaina nuzzled her face against his throat. “It would seem that the Latimer men have not been altogether successful with their women—at least, not until now.”

There had been so much strife between them, Alaina longed now only to relish the tender, the softer emotions. It was much later when they returned to the house. Wrapped in a buffalo robe for the short ride home, she was scarcely aware of the fierce wind that swept icy rain down upon them. She needed only the presence of the man beside her to be content with her surroundings.

Cole halted the buggy in front of the house and, lifting her still bundled in the robe, carried her indoors where they were met by the anxious looks of the servants who gathered in the hall. Worry turned to relieved laughter as Cole unwrapped the pelt, presenting her safe and sound to the household. Mindy came timidly forward to clutch Alaina’s skirts and refused to relinquish her grasp until the young woman tucked her gently into bed and quietly assured her that she would not run away again.

Some time later, when Alaina entered her own bedroom, she came to an abrupt halt and glanced about. Her first thought was that someone was playing tricks with her. The armoire was gone. The rug had disappeared along with the chaise. Even the clock had been removed from the mantel. The room was no different from the first time she had seen it, the only exception being that several comfortable-looking chairs had been placed before the fireplace.

She swept a full circle in dismay and was ready to fly downstairs in anger. Then she heard Cole
moving about in his bedroom, and a new thought dawned. She followed the mental urging and passed through the bathing chamber. His door stood wide, and she halted within its frame. Everything was there, the chaise before the window, the mirror in the corner, her armoire beside Cole’s, and the clock on the mantel as if it had always been there. Even the bare floor that had chilled her feet only that morning was now covered by the soft carpet that had been in her bedroom for these many weeks.

Cole sat before the cheery fireplace, his knee propped high to ease the tightness in his thigh. His eyes raised as she came to stand beside him, and her own shone softly.