Bride of the Shining Mountains (The St. Claire Men) (32 page)

Jackson’s pressing business took the better part of the morning
to complete, and by the time he returned to the mansion, he was satisfied that
everything was in perfect order, just as it should be. He had lain awake the
greater part of the night, plotting and planning, and by the time the dawn arrived
and it was time to return Reagan to her own bed, he had come to a startling, if
somewhat terrifying truth: he could no longer go through with his plans to find
Reagan a husband, feeling as he did about her.

He’d always seen himself in a truthful light. He knew his
shortcomings and strengths more intimately than anyone else possibly could, and
he knew that having succumbed to Reagan’s charms once, it would prove
impossible to stay away. Husband or no, if she stayed in the city he would only
seek her out again, putting her honor and good name at risk, shattering any
chance she might have at happiness.

And as reprehensible as his actions had been, he felt that their
encounter had also been fated. G. D. Strickland had seen it coming, but the
outcome that G. D. had predicted would not come about.

Jackson was not about to abandon Reagan. He intended to take care
of her, to shield her from harm, the only way he could.

Pushing through the wrought-iron gate, he skirted the lower
gallery and entered the garden. The small table, which was placed beneath the
grape arbor, had been spread with white linen. The china plates and gleaming
silverware were in place, and a bottle of champagne rested on a costly bed of
ice nearby.

Glancing at the house, he unconsciously patted the left breast
pocket of his claret-colored coat, striving to ignore the hollow feeling in the
pit of his stomach. The jeweler’s box was still precisely where he’d placed it.

Everything was in perfect order, and all he required now was one
sable-haired, smoky-eyed vixen to fall into his arms—as he’d anticipated—to
fulfill his carefully laid plans.

As if on cue, the French windows opened and the object of his
musings appeared, looking quite perplexed. She’d worn the charcoal silk, just
as he’d requested, and as his gaze went over her, he found himself thinking
that he couldn’t recall her ever looking quite so lovely. “Kaintuck,” he
murmured as she neared, reaching out to take her hand, bowing deeply over it.
“You are pure enchantment.”

She glanced at him, and then away, as if embarrassed, and he saw a
touch of telling pink rise to her cheeks. “Oh, fie, Jackson, do you have to be
so obvious? The kitchen staff was all agog at so much preparation for a simple
midday repast. Why, even Bessie raised her brows and set to mutterin’ beneath
her breath.”

“Muttering is Bessie’s favorite pastime, and has been for years,”
Jackson replied, not in the least nonplussed. “As for the staff, I could fire
them and hire new workers to fill their positions or, if you’d prefer, I could
call them out. That would, of course, create quite a scandal, my facing off
with the cook and scullery maid.”

Wrinkling her pert nose, she sank gracefully into the chair he
held for her. “This isn’t the least bit funny.”

“No, but I must admit I find your concern heartening. The fact
that you are worried is a clear indication that you can’t get the thought that
we are lovers out of your mind.”

“Lower your voice!” she said to him in a hiss. “Do you want the
whole house to hear?”

“It would not matter greatly if they did hear. I am master of
Belle
Riviere
, and no one would dare to question me as to my behavior. Besides,
it isn’t as if I have killed or maimed anyone. I have merely taken a comely
young woman into my bed. There is no law against it; indeed, it’s done all the
time. Now, come, let me tempt you. Will you have the chicken and creamed
potatoes, or the roast beef and wine sauce? Bessie supervised the cook’s
efforts at my request. It smells delicious, eh?”

Reagan narrowed her gaze at him. “Now I know how Eve felt, with
that smooth-talkin’ snake hangin’ around the garden, tryin’ to tempt her. One
bite of apple pie, and just look where she landed!”

He gave her a dubious look. “I am not sure I like your comparison,
nor do you have anything in common with the mother of all mankind. For one
thing, no one can trounce you out of this garden without my permission, and you
may stay as long as you like. In fact, it is my fervent hope that you will
decide to remain here indefinitely.”

Reagan accepted a slice of beef from the girl who appeared to
serve them. As soon as she had poured the champagne, Jackson dismissed her, and
with a barely audible giggle, she scurried off.

Reagan put down her fork. Her appetite had suddenly vanished.
“Stay here, with you, indefinitely?” she said, hearing the slight quaver in her
voice, praying that he did not.
“But...
the ball is just days away, and after that—”

“Yes, well,” he replied smoothly, “I have done a great deal of
thinking, and I have decided that, given the events of last evening, pursuing
my plans to find you a husband is pointless. We shall, of course, proceed with
the ball just as planned, yet it need not serve the purpose I had at first
intended.”

Lifting a delicate crystal flute, he pressed it into her hand,
then raised
his own... and all the while,
Reagan held her breath. He was telling her that he had reconsidered, that he
would not give her up to another man, and that could mean but one thing.

“To last night,” he said softly, seductively, “and to all of the
days and nights to come.”

There was the musical clink of glass meeting glass; then he raised
the tall flute to his lips. Reagan’s fingers tightened over the stem of her
flute, but she did not drink. She had a curious sinking sensation in the pit of
her stomach, and she was almost afraid of what would come next. “Jackson, I—”

“No, don’t speak. Don’t say anything until I have explained. I
care about you, Reagan—too much to let you go. I want you to have the best of
everything, a fine home, a man who will not only appreciate your rare beauty,
but cherish your indomitable spirit. You need to be nurtured, you deserve to be
indulged, shamelessly, and there is but one way I know of to ensure that you
receive all of that.”

Reagan’s traitorous heart bumped against her ribs. Foolishly, she
hung on his every word.

“Stay with me,” he said. “Make your home here, at
Belle Riviere
...
or, if you prefer, I can purchase a place nearby, where you can entertain
guests and still maintain your independence. I swear to you, I shall fulfill
your every need.”

With each word he uttered, Reagan’s heart compressed a little
further, until it seemed a tiny and painful speck in her chest, no larger than
a grain of sand. “And there is to be no husband, no marriage, no children,” she
surmised.

“You can have all of that, in time. I am but saying that I see no
need to rush into anything. In light of our present situation, it somehow makes
better sense to avoid a rash decision, which in due course the both of us would
come to regret.” Leaning forward, he took her hand, and, reaching into his coat
with his free appendage, he came away with a flat leather box.

She stared at the box, then at him.

“It’s a small token of my esteem. I hope it will convince you of
my sincerity.”

As Reagan watched, he opened the box, displaying a network of
finely wrought golden chain lying on a bed of lush black velvet. Wider in the
center than at the clasp, and set at random intervals with brilliant blue-white
gems, it appeared a golden spider’s web into which a handful of glittering
stars had been flung.

Reagan had never seen anything quite so beautiful; nor had she
ever been hurt so deeply. Somehow Arley Pratt’s betrayal failed to compare. A
hot rush of tears stung her eyes. She tried, but she could not blink them back,
and the brilliance of the diamonds glittered and swam. “I’m sure that you’ve
gone to a great deal of trouble to procure this, but I can’t accept it.”

“I thought you would be pleased,” he said, frowning now, seemingly
perplexed. “You have told me often enough that you do not want a husband.”

She didn’t want to marry a stranger. She couldn’t submit quietly
to a loveless marriage.

She wanted him.

It was as simple as that.

Yet she was coming to see that her wants, her needs, her desires
didn’t count for much in the grand scheme of things. Her pride, always
considerable, goaded her into saying the first thing that leaped to mind. “As
it happens, you aren’t the only one who’s done some thinking. And I might as
well tell you now—I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed?” he said incredulously. “I don’t understand.”

“You can keep your fancy silk dresses, Jackson, your carriages,
your diamonds and gold. I want a husband, a marriage, stability, all of the
things you can’t provide.” Her tears came in earnest now, and Reagan didn’t
even try to hold them back.

She had tried to be something—
someone
—she wasn’t, in order to
please Jackson, and she’d failed, miserably. The war to win his heart was over;
she could see that very clearly now. The battle was lost, and the only thing
that was left to her was to depart the field with whatever honor and dignity
she could salvage.

Watching her, Jackson had no clue as to her thoughts, or to the
hurt welling up inside her. He knew only that the jewels he’d chosen for her,
and which he’d been so eager to place around her slim white throat, now seemed
dull and ordinary, totally lacking in luster. “Are you certain that’s what you
want?” he said, barely able to force the words out past the lump in his throat.

He felt so confused, so confounded, so furious he could barely
contain it. “For the sake of your happiness, for mine, are you certain?”

She nodded once, a jerky movement of her dark head, as though she
had lost her pliability and could not manage more. “It’s what I want. Please
don’t make it more difficult than it already is. You’ve gone to a great deal of
trouble—a great deal of expense—and the household staff has worked very hard to
prepare.” The last word sounded peculiar, strangled, almost. Slowly, with more
dignity than he could ever recall seeing in any man, she rose from her chair
and stood. “Now, if you will excuse me? I’m not feeling quite well of a
sudden.”

Jackson came out of his chair, catching her arm as she swept past
him. “Reagan, please. Don’t go. We need to discuss this.”

“No,” she said with an adamant shake of her head. “No more talk.
It’s decided, and I do not wish to speak of it again after today.”

“That’s not good enough!” Jackson said, his fingers tightening
over her arm. He didn’t want to let her go.

Not like this.

God help him, not ever.

 Even worse, he could not seem to find the words to make her stay.
He shook her a little, a bid for her attention, a silent, desperate plea for
truth and understanding. “Don’t do this, Kaintuck. Do not walk out of my life.
Not after last night, not after all that we’ve shared.” Gripping her arms, he
forced her up against him, intending to kiss her into submission. Yet, as he
lowered his head to capture her mouth, she turned her face away.

If she had struck him, it would have stung less. He stiffened, and
as he stood glaring down at her, she drew herself up, the thin veneer of
manners and gentility that she’d striven so hard in recent days to attain
crumbling and falling away. In that instant, she was once again the
tough-shelled little urchin who’d stumbled into his camp that night at
rendezvous a thousand lifetimes ago. “There’s one point you seem to have
forgotten, you hardheaded Missoura jackass! It’s my life, too, and the sooner I
get shed of this damnable place, the better it’ll be for the both of us!”

With a will, she shook him off, heading back to the house,
slamming the windows so forcefully that it brought the servants running. Nan,
the cook, appeared in the doorway where she stood, wringing her hands, the
others hovering in the shadows nearby. “Be everythin’ all right, sir?”

Jackson gave a dissatisfied sigh, taking the diamond necklace from
the table, returning it to his pocket as he pushed past them. He had barely
touched his plate, yet suddenly he’d lost his appetite.

He could feel the curious stares of the servants as he pushed past
them and into the study, but he made no attempt to reply. He just closed and
locked the study doors behind him, and slowly, purposefully, drank away the
daylight.