Catch Me If You Can (3 page)

Chapter Two

A Rose by any Other Name

That evening, Rivers sat across the dinner table from Eleanor. She found that the conversation, enthralling though it was, never entirely distracted her from the intensity of his gaze. It kept her oddly on edge, self-aware and the tiniest bit nervous. When she attempted to eat, she found she wasn’t much interested in the food.

Mrs. Bramley, the housekeeper, was delighted with the opportunity to demonstrate all her culinary skills to the assembled dinner party. She’d created such a volume and variety of delicious dishes there was little possibility they would do true justice to the feast, especially on such a sultry evening. The housekeeper had supervised the serving girls as they loaded the table with port-broiled partridge, roast pork, apple dumplings, onion custard and a profusion of roast and steamed vegetables to accompany.

Eleanor had made some efforts herself, in order to reassure the guests she wasn’t entirely heathen in her ways and knew how to dress as a lady. She’d instructed Alice, her maid, to lace her corsets as tight as can be and to bring out her red evening gown, for she knew it flattered her coloring. It was edged with black filigree lace across the low cut décolletage. Her full underskirt was rustling black taffeta. She draped her shawl over the back of her chair, for it was far too warm to need it. Small jet beads fell from her ears and sparkled at her throat. The skin across her bare shoulders and arms was marred only by the distinct beauty spot in the dip of her cleavage.

She opened her fan whenever the heat of his gaze became too much for her, which was rather often. She silently chastised herself for fidgeting. His presence had somehow created a dense well of heat inside, heady and delicious, yet sent wild skitters of rare self-consciousness over her skin. She dragged her attention back to the assembled company, interjecting when she realized they were discussing the trans-continental America journey.

“No, Father. We must do it exactly as you did, follow the path exactly. It would be the only way to undertake your historic journey and do the pioneers true justice.”  Her glance was accusing. They had argued amiably over this subject many times before.

“The railroad passes across the whole country nowadays, Eleanor,” Frieda said. “Surely that would be enough of an adventure for you? It’s a hard journey across the land. After all...” She looked at James, amusement bubbling in her eyes, “…they never planned to cross the whole country, did you?” 

James Craven looked down at his dinner plate and laughed, sheepishly.

“What is this? Have you kept a part of the story from me?” Eleanor picked up the lace fan she’d rested on the table, and flicked it open again, constantly aware of the enigmatic aura of Rivers. His hooded eyes rarely left her while she spoke. Even when she didn’t look directly at him, she was conscious of his physical presence. It stirred her senses to fever pitch. The fan fluttered in her hand.

“Well,” James replied slowly. “We set out with the plan to stop when we found a suitable patch in auction, one that reminded us of home perhaps, but different and new. I said we would know it when we found it.”  He laughed. “We went practically to the Pacific Coast before it happened, mere miles from the ocean, we found the Napa country and knew we’d found our second home.” He smiled fondly. “We could have traveled to the West Coast, by sea, and simply started on that side.”

Frieda chuckled at the idea of it.

Eleanor shook her head. “The adventure of crossing the land...surely you feel it a valuable part of the expedition?” She looked on at them, fanning herself again. “It was fate. After all, you wouldn’t have met Uncle David, would you, Frieda? If they hadn’t passed through your settlement and found you there.” 

A momentary silence fell upon them at the mention of David.

Eleanor wondered if it was still too soon for Frieda to talk about her late husband. Had she inadvertently said something else to change the atmosphere?

“In common with any vast landscape, it can be challenging,” Rivers commented, breaking the awkward moment. “Hostile even.”

Eleanor turned her attention to him.

“You couldn’t undertake the journey unless you were well aware of the dangers.” 

She forced herself to meet his gaze openly, confident and assertive, an eyebrow lifted in provocation.

He took her challenge. “Would you, for example, be ready to defend yourself...to the death?” His voice had a mockingly sinister tone. He was teasing her, as if she were nurturing a pipedream. “Would you be prepared to get blood on your hands, as well as dust on your boots?”

That was quite a question, but Eleanor was more rattled by the man than the question.

James Craven gave a low laugh in response.

“I was thinking of our travels in North Africa, my dear.” His eyes twinkled, mischievously. He settled back into his chair with his wine glass resting between his palms, ready to tell the tale. “Two years ago, Eleanor talked me into taking her to visit the exotic lands along the North coast of the African continent. We crossed through Morocco to Egypt by camel train and stopped in a hotel in Marrakech. It had been a royal palace of some sort.”  He paused for effect. “The place had a real air of tranquility about it. The guests floated about amongst the potted ferns and fountains, as if they themselves had been swept back to the times of Scheherazade.” He spoke theatrically and moved his hand, to emphasize his story.

“Then early one evening our dear sweet Eleanor broke the peace by descending the staircase at a most un-ladylike pace, chasing a thief from her rooms with a rifle at his back.” He mimed the act, setting up the sites on an imaginary rifle.

The recollection tickled James.

Eleanor flushed, for she was picturing the moment also. The man, a Belgian, was a fellow guest at the hotel and he’d been attempting to woo her. Disguised as a local, he’d climbed up to her balcony where she was reading during the afternoon siesta and pleaded with her to consider him a worthy suitor. After finally accepting her denials, he had to be smuggled from the building at a much busier time of the day, when the street below had sprung back into life. Staging the scene gained him his freedom without causing suspicion he was none other than one of the many rogue thieves who targeted wealthy travelers. Thankfully, he’d escaped uncaught. The only injury sustained was to his male pride after she’d refused both his advances and his proposals of marriage.

“I’ve underestimated you,” Rivers drawled. “A miscalculation for which I apologize deeply.”  He gave her a gracious nod, smiling discreetly, his eyes fixing her as surely as any hunting creature alighting on its prey.

Eleanor didn’t feel able to answer his remark. The mere proximity of this dark, controlled man affected her. Flustered, she folded her fan and set it aside. Was he aware of his intensity? she wondered.

Rivers drew his gaze away and turned to James, who was speaking again. Eleanor allowed his fine profile to etch itself into her memory, before she also turned toward her father.

“I should warn you never to underestimate this young lady, Rivers. She was thrown out of a fine Toulouse school for insubordination, you know.”  He smiled widely, as if proud.

“Indeed,” Rivers chuckled. “And when were you in Toulouse?”

“Three years ago,” Eleanor replied, cautiously.

“I was there myself in 1892, studying the wine growing techniques of the region. It seems our paths were destined to cross at one point or another, Miss Eleanor.” He bowed his head in mock deference.

He’d made an intimate connection with the remark. When she tried to imagine meeting him then, she knew he would have overwhelmed her. Even now, she was having difficulty dealing with his teasing manner and the shimmering appraisal in his eyes.

“She wasn’t there long enough to cross paths with anyone,” James interjected, eager to continue with his tale. “I sent her off to try to make a lady of her. She’d grown up free to do whatever she chose here and people were starting to say I ought to do something for the girl, otherwise she will run wild. I took the advice of a friend and packed her off to France to a repository for young ladies. They sent her home in disgrace after only seven months.” 

“Oh, Eleanor!” Frieda exclaimed, in mock surprise.

Eleanor ignored it for she knew Frieda was likely to be the friend her father had taken the advice from. She snapped her fan shut. “I suspect my father is secretly pleased I’ve all but transformed into the son he never had.” 

Rivers laughed with genuine amusement at her response.

Their eyes met in what seemed a moment of naked mutual admiration.

Her skin prickled and she shifted in the chair, her taffeta underskirt rustling loudly. Her corset seemed to have grown tight and restrictive. The heat and the wine had made her more reckless than ever. Besides which, something of this man was provoking strange sensations deep inside her, it was if a hot weight lay in the pit of her stomach. It glowed strangely and unsettled her, making her hot and restless.

“Well, I dare say she could take care of herself anywhere in the world. She’s a good shot and an excellent swordswoman. Some skills she seems to have retained from school better than others.” 

Eleanor blushed again. Her father’s pride in her independent and rebellious nature was becoming a bit of an embarrassment. The reference to retaining her fencing skills was, too, an embarrassment, for she’d been sent home following an “inappropriate friendship” with the fencing master.

She decided the best option was to try to lead the conversation in a different direction. “My father must be held partly to blame for my unladylike behavior,” she said, imperiously. “After all, I’ve been brought up on the legends of his youth. He reads to me from his Diary of Discovery on winter evenings.” 

James looked slightly embarrassed by her remark and she smiled to herself.

She’d regained the upper hand.

“Does it make a good story, Eleanor?” Frieda asked, her curiosity clearly baited by the mention of the diary.

“It does, and it’s his responsibility to share it with me, to recreate the journey.” Eleanor folded her arms decisively.

“How long did the original journey take? And how long do you think it would take now?” Rivers asked.

“It took over a year. We were moving freely though, going where we pleased. Now it would be a matter of weeks if you followed the same route consistently. You could do it in days by train, rather than weeks and months.” 

Rivers nodded. “I’m concerned about the transport of livestock we might purchase. I hope to find some stud horses at auction. It’ll be a good investment for Frieda.” 

“Transport by ship to the East Coast then rail wagon might be best for them, to shorten the sea journey,” James replied. “We should investigate the options with our shipping company.” 

Rivers nodded. “The seeds and fledgling vines we intend to purchase will go directly to the West Coast by ship, although I suspect the journey may deplete any stock we buy. I’ll secure a wide variety. It’s been done successfully by others before. We need only confirm the shipping agent handles it properly.”  He looked immersed in his thoughts for a moment and Eleanor found her heart sank a little when she realized how absorbed he was in the business of the trip. She’d been hoping to avail of some of his time and company for herself.

“We’ll visit my agent, tomorrow,” her father replied “It’s an hour’s ride from here and I need to check the grain shipment tariffs for the season ahead.”

“That would be most agreeable, Sir.”

Eleanor tried to ignore the disheartened feeling she got when she thought of him leaving for a meeting with the shipping agent, instead of being there to keep her company. “Why are you interested in developing the vineyard specifically? Does California not already have a rich variety of fruits?”

“Yes, the agriculture is well established now. The orchards are particularly bountiful, but there is always room for expansion. We’ve been producing good grape harvests for a few years. That’s why it’s an ideal time to experiment and diversify the varieties.”  He rose from his seat and brought a long wooden box from where he’d stationed several on the sideboard at the start of the meal.

“Aha,” exclaimed James. “Another fine vintage?”

Rivers nodded, sliding the lid from the box to reveal a tall elegant bottle nestled in a bed of velvet, a mere shade darker than its own light-rose colored contents.

“A light sweet wine, to refresh your palate.” He opened the bottle and poured James a glass, then Frieda, moving slowly around the table toward Eleanor.

“The grape grows well amongst the other fruits?” Eleanor asked.

She turned to look up at him as he drew closer to her.

He nodded, and his gaze caressed her shoulders as if he’d touched her.

Goosebumps edged along her arms at his close proximity.

He bent to fill her glass with the rose colored liquid, before circling the table and taking his seat again, opposite her. “We enjoy weather similar to the successful wine producing regions of the Mediterranean and the soil is also similar, most excellent.” He looked straight at her. “The Craven land is rich…and receptive.” 

Eleanor found it hard to match his direct gaze, for it was weighted with implication. She knew he was teasing her again, yet passion shone in his eyes. Desire, even. Her entire body flashed with heat in response, the pulse point in her core became charged and erratic.