Day Dreamer (23 page)

For the first time in his life, he felt the weight of being entirely responsible for someone else. And now, not only was there Celine to consider, but Ada and all of the others at Dunstain Place. Somehow he had become entangled in a tightly woven tapestry of emotional threads.

Cord sighed and, giving in to the unfamiliar need to protect, walked across the terrace to Celine.

“Don’t worry about Ray. We’re isolated from him and his kind up here. We don’t need them,” he said.

“You aren’t invulnerable here, Cord. A snake often strikes without warning.” They had made an enemy of a powerful man. She knew that nothing good could come of it.

“Did you read something sinister in his thoughts, Celine? I’m beginning to see where your odd talent may have its advantages.”

“Persa always said there is no value in reading the past. I couldn’t have discerned anything about Collin Ray’s intentions even if I had wanted.”

He stepped closer, drawn by a radiant loveliness in her that shone bright, even in the gathering twilight. As uncertain as he was about her promise not to slip into his mind, she was fast becoming irresistible to him. It was all the more reason to resist her, and yet touching her, burying himself in her again was all he could think of. When she was in his arms he could close himself off from the rest of the world, from his past and his future. When he was inside her, there were only the two of them. They were an island in and of themselves.

Collin Ray was less of a danger to him than were his own disturbing thoughts and intense longings. The last thing on earth he wanted was to put his battered heart into her keeping.

“Don’t think about Ray,” he told her, and then on impulse stepped back, certain that if he so much as touched her hand, he would need to take her to bed.

“It’s late,” he said, pausing on the low step before the veranda.

“Good night, Cordero,” she whispered. Celine sensed his unease, read it in his stance, and looked away. The last hint of light had faded from the sky. The Milky Way was spattered across the inky blackness. When she turned to walk back to the veranda, Cord was gone.

The next morning, Celine experienced a wave of melancholy. Annoyed at her feelings, she again reminded herself that theirs was not a love match. And yet, when she allowed herself to remember their lovemaking, she could not help but wonder …

She dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, where she found Ada and Howard Wells just finishing breakfast.

“I’m sorry I overslept,” she told them before she went to the sideboard, where a tray of sautéed fish barely tempted her. She had tossed and turned for hours thinking about the future, about Cordero and whether she was insane in wanting to try to teach him to tear down his defenses.

“Why, that’s quite all right, my dear. Cordero told us earlier not to expect you anytime soon.” Ada bestowed a misguided wink that made Celine blush and look away. “He said to tell you that there are three men at your disposal. They’ve already begun trimming the hedges around the terrace. Alyce is so pleased,” she added before popping a spoonful of papaw into her mouth.

Celine sat down beside Howard Wells.

“I’m happy to see you didn’t leave with Mr. Ray,” she told him.

“Actually, I didn’t even have the opportunity. He left quite suddenly, I hear.” Howard turned to Ada, who blushed profusely for no apparent reason, then began folding and refolding her linen napkin.

“I’ve decided to accept Miss Dunstain’s kind invitation to stay a few days and catalogue the library. I hope you don’t mind?” he said.

Celine could not miss Ada’s hopeful expression.

“I think that’s a fine idea,” she said. “If you find something you think I might like to read, please let me know.”

“I’ll do that.” Mr. Wells’s smile creased the skin around his eyes.

Celine ate a bit of the fish, which had been sautéed with peppers and scallions, but found it far too spicy. She left with a promise to Ada that she would not work in the hot sun too long.

After she had changed and was about to go out, Foster called out to her and quickly hurried to her side. Edward was not far behind.

“Is there anything you need?” Foster asked.

“Not at the moment. I’m on my way to the garden.” She wondered why he looked so pleased with himself.

He cleared his throat, fidgeted with the buttons of his vest, then smoothed his hair away from his part.

“Do you have something you wanted to tell me, Foster?” Celine asked.

“I just wanted to tell you Cordero was out early, seein’ to business,” he said.

“And you had to ’ave noticed ’ow well he sits a horse?” Edward put in.

Celine knew what they were up to and tried not to smile.

“Yes, of course.”

“Swims like a fish,” Edward added.

“That he does,” Celine agreed.

“Protected your honor last night when that man tried to accost you,” Foster reminded her.

“We told you there was more to ’im than met the eye,” Edward said.

“Told you ’e weren’t as bad as ’e seemed,” Foster added.

“He possesses many sterling qualities,” she agreed. She had to give them credit for a campaign well fought.

Edward cleared his throat. “Did you notice he barely had anything to drink last night at dinner?”

“Or after.” Foster was watching her closely. The man was practically gloating. “Might I be right in thinking you’ve a soft place in your ’eart for ’im despite ’is faults?” he asked.

Edward looked about to burst with curiosity.

Celine smiled at both of them.

“Let’s just say my husband and I have come to an understanding since we arrived here. We’re taking things one day at a time.”

Edward clasped his hands over his heart and sighed.

“That’s all any of us can ask for, ain’t it?” Foster said. “One day at a time.”

Sixteen

H
ours later Celine found herself thankful she had changed into an old gown that Foster had declared fit only for the rag bag. Her hands were filthy, her hair was in mad disarray, her face was streaked with dirt and sweat. As much as she had tried to maintain a proper demeanor as mistress of a plantation and to simply supervise the men Cord had left at her disposal, she had not been able to resist pulling weeds or slashing at the hedges with a long, lethal cane knife she had commandeered.

The air was thick with humidity. The sky was dense with clouds that had backed up over the island, a sure sign that it would not be long before the late-afternoon rains began. Hot and tired, she dismissed the slaves and sent them back to the village. Wiping her brow with the back of her arm, she started up the path that wound through the garden. She pulled up her hem and dabbed at the moisture at her throat and between her breasts.

Monkeys jabbered in the trees overhead, scolding her for intruding in their domain. Parrots joined in the clatter, their iridescent lime feathers making them nearly invisible against the backdrop of the forest. The air was heavy with the sweet scent of fallen guava. In short the tropical sanctuary was an enchanted world alive with sound and color.

Celine dropped her hem into place and straightened when she thought she saw Cord step through an opening in the trees. She waved and he waved back, but as he moved closer, she realized he was not Cord, but an equally handsome older version of her husband with raven black hair and a leather patch over his right eye.

The man was nearly as tall as Cord and moved with the same easy, confident stride. Nothing in his expression or manner caused her the prickly sense of alarm she had felt when she’d first laid eyes on Collin Ray, so she continued toward him.

Before she could speak, he took her hand and kissed it while performing a formal, courtly bow.

“I had heard Cordero returned with a beautiful new bride. I’m pleased to find the reports are true,” he said.

His brilliant, open smile was charming, exactly what Cord’s might have been, she mused, if his heart were free of its burdens. This man’s manner was so disarming that she couldn’t help but smile back.

“You are far more than beautiful.
Exquisite
is the word I would choose. You are Celine?”

“Yes. I’m Celine.” She apologized for her filthy gown as she tried and failed to give some semblance of order to her snarled hair.

“You are Auguste Moreau,” she said. There was no one else this man could be, unless Cord had failed to mention he had a handsome older brother.

“How did you surmise that, my dear, when all the world thinks me dead? You don’t seem at all surprised to see a ghost standing here before you.”

She cocked her head and studied him carefully.

“You are no more a ghost than I am. Where did you come from?”

“Off a ship anchored in a cove on the small plantation bordering this one. You might say the owner of the land is a close personal friend who welcomes my infrequent visits to the island. How do you know me?”

“I would know you anywhere. My husband is the exact image of you, except that he is taller and his eyes are blue and unfortunately do not hold the same sparkle I see in yours.”

“And why is that?”

“Because of the way his life has unfolded since you sent him away.”

He appeared surprised that she would so boldly discuss Cordero’s disposition with a virtual stranger.

“I did what I thought best at the time.”

“For him, or for you, monsieur?” She watched the laughter in his eyes dim.

“For him, I thought. I was a wastrel, a ne’er-do-well who married an heiress—not for her money, but because we were hopelessly in love. When Alyce died in a carriage accident that was all my fault, I thought my life was over. I could not help myself out of my grief. How could I have been any kind of a father to my son?”

She tried to put herself in his place, truly wishing she could understand.

“I intended to kill myself, but didn’t want Cordero exposed to the scandal, so I sent him to my father in New Orleans.”

“But, how could you have sent him to Henre Moreau when there was no love between you and your father? Didn’t you stop to think that the man might take his anger and disappointment out on your son?”

“I couldn’t think past my guilt, my grief. I hoped that where my father had failed with me, he would succeed with my son. And that seems to be the case, for I hear Cordero has come back to take over Dunstain Place.”

“How did you find out? If you are still in contact with Ada, she keeps your secret well.”

He shook his head. “She, like everyone else, thinks I’m dead. When I disappeared, it truly was with every intent of dying. I set out in a small sailboat without water or provisions, intending to let the sea take me. Instead I was found delirious and on the verge of death by an old pirate who taught me all he knew. As if I were resurrected to a new life, I left everything behind, changed my name to Roger Reynolds and became a privateer for many years. I have had one of my most trusted men overseeing things at Dunstain Place for years.”

“Who?”

“Bobo.”

“The slave?”

“Bobo is as free as you and I … if any man can ever truly be free in this life. He works for me, and believe me, he is well paid.”

“Cord will be furious when you tell him. He already harbors an intense hatred for you for sending him away, but to let him think you were dead—”

True sorrow and regret darkened his expression. “In any case, I don’t intend to walk back into my son’s life. It’s enough to know that he has you, and that he has come home.”

“So you will abandon him again?” She could not mask her anger any longer. Cord deserved to know the truth.

“He believes me dead. I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“Some privateer you must have been. You are a coward, monsieur.”

“I was the best of privateers, because I didn’t care if I lived or died. That makes a man foolhardy enough to take many, many chances. But you are certainly right in one respect: I was too big a coward to raise my son.” There was a deep sorrow in his tone. “Now, like his mother, he is lost to me.”

Too aware of Cordero’s pain to be objective, she refused to back down, refused to let this man hide from what he did to his son. She reached for his arm, made him listen.

“It isn’t too late to meet him, to let him know you’re still alive. Surely you care for him enough to tell him why you sent him away? Don’t let him go through life believing you threw him away simply because you didn’t love him anymore. You can’t know how haunted he is by your abandonment.”

“But I told you, I did not abandon him,” Auguste cried out with undisguised anguish. “I have missed my son since the day I sent him away I would have sooner lost both eyes. But it is too late for regrets. He will only hate me more when he learns the truth.”

She could not stop her tears of frustration. When one slipped down her cheek she wiped it away and turned her back on him, unwilling to let him witness her dismay.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Celine,” he said. “I just wanted to meet the woman who will one day give my son a son of his own.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder, but refused to turn around to face him.

“You didn’t mean to hurt Cordero, either, but you did. Because of what you did, he is incapable of letting himself feel anything, of loving anyone …”

“Surely he loves you …”

She spun around, threw her head back and laughed. The bitter, anguished sound that threaded through her voice surprised her. She faced him and shook her head.

“No. He doesn’t love me. He couldn’t love me even if he wanted to, because he doesn’t know how to love. He’s never been taught to feel love—only how to lose it.”

Alexandre’s death, Henre’s inability to give Cord any love—all of it was far too much for her to explain here in the garden. Afraid that Auguste would leave before she could persuade him to see Cord, she tried once more.

“Please, monsieur, I beg of you: Talk to him. Explain to him why you sent him away. Wouldn’t your Alyce have wanted you to?”

Auguste reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. He stared down at her, his expression one of regret weighed down by resignation. Finally, he sighed.

“It won’t be easy.”

Celine smoothed her palms on her skirt and took a deep breath before she admitted, “No, it won’t be an easy meeting. I’m afraid Cord will be shocked and furious. Perhaps it would be better if I were to tell him first.”

“Not yet. I need to get some of my affairs in order. I’ll contact you again, through Bobo if need be. Until then, please keep my existence a secret a while longer.”

Cord wanted no secrets between them and except for Jean Perot’s murder, she had told him everything. Now, Auguste Moreau was asking her to compromise that trust.

“But I can’t lie to him.”

“You need not lie, just don’t say anything yet.”

“Isn’t that the same as lying?”

“Please, Celine. Keep my existence a secret for three more days.”

He smiled a smile that had no doubt broken many hearts on many islands. It was Cord’s smile, she realized again, if he would ever allow himself one. She found it impossible to refuse.

“Three days, then.”

He took her hand and kissed it, and then with a wave he left the garden. She watched him make his way down the path and through the trees.

Hoping to reach the house before the clouds overhead opened up, she turned onto one of the newly cleared footpaths. Suddenly Gunnie appeared out of nowhere, running frantically toward her. Celine was afraid the slave had seen Auguste, until she noticed Gunnie had what appeared to be Cordero’s coat clutched in her hands.

“Missus got to come!”

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

The slave was trembling. She thrust the coat at Celine, her eyes huge. Celine stared down at the wadded white fabric. A wide, red bloodstain had soaked into it.

“Where is Cordero? Has he been hurt?”

Gunnie swallowed and pointed along the path behind Celine.

“Went to see about de new field pas’ the trees. He been hurt. Bleedin’ bad. Bobo, he say you better come now.”

Celine clutched the coat, ignoring the blood that was blending with the mud and dirt on the front of her gown. Cord was hurt—possibly mortally wounded, if the amount of blood on the coat was any indication. There was no time to lose.

She followed Gunnie down the path, tripped once on a newly exposed root and fell down onto her hands and knees, then got up and started running again.

Gunnie led her deep into the undergrowth of the tropical forest. In the inmost, shadowed interior, all she could see of the woman was a flash of white blouse as she sprinted through the trees. Celine reached out, trying to protect herself from the lash of tangled vines and low-hanging branches. Rain-soaked ground gave way to thick, oozing mud that sucked at her shoes, slowing her progress.

“Gunnie!” Celine shouted, afraid she would lose the girl in the dense thicket. “I think we took a wrong turn. I don’t see any sign of the cane fields.”

She wished she had paid closer attention to Cord when he’d said he would be clearing new fields. She tried to recall anything he might have told her that would help her find him. The path had narrowed to a foot trail that was fast disappearing into swampland. Celine was beginning to doubt Gunnie’s ability to find the place again.

Green monkeys swooped through the trees, mocking her stumbling progress. Sweat smeared the dirt on her face, matted her straggling hair against the back of her neck. Thunder rolled over the mountain. She could hear rain on the canopy of leaves overhead, but the first scattered raindrops had not yet penetrated the dense green tangle.

“Gunnie! Wait!” She couldn’t see the slave girl at all now. Celine plunged on, frustrated and frightened, her heart pounding in her throat. Head down, with her gaze focused on the mire at her feet, she was not aware of anything but reaching Cord’s side.

When Celine chanced to glance up again, she screamed and stopped just short of running headlong into the obeah man. He was standing in front of a casuarina pine, his body as gnarled as the tree’s trunk. His eyes were alight with a triumphant glow.

She had fallen into a carefully laid trap.

Cord’s coat had grown heavy, soaked as it was now with rain, mud and blood. So much blood. She clutched it to her breast.

“Where is my husband? Have you killed him, or is it just me you want?”

Celine took a step back, prepared to run. She found her way blocked by Gunnie and a young male slave she did not recognize. The youth had a long hemp rope slung over his shoulders. Gunnie’s eyes were still wide with fright. The girl’s gaze shifted uncertainly between Celine and the obeah man as she fought to catch her breath.

Celine whipped around, unwilling to take her eyes off the witch doctor. He raised a bone rattle, shook it with one hand and threw dirt on her with the other. Celine couldn’t understand a word he said as he began to utter what sounded like a chant.

Gunnie and the boy moved up behind her and grabbed her arms. The obeah man’s voice rose as his chant became frantic and furious. She knew without being told that he was conjuring dark images, calling on his gods to curse her, to strip her of her power. To destroy her.

She fought in vain. Her captors ripped Cord’s coat from her hands and threw it into the mud. Even that token, all that might be left of him, had been taken from her, she thought ruefully. On the old man’s signal, the other two led her deeper into the swamp. He followed them, chanting. The bone rattle clacked. The monkeys above them shrieked.

The rain was coming down in gusts, chasing away the close, intense heat and making her almost cold. Her hair and clothes were stuck to her skin. Mud was caked to her shoes and ankles.

She stumbled and called Cord’s name at the top of her lungs, refusing to give up even though she was too far from the house or the fields for anyone to hear. They reached the bottom of the gully, where the ground was an oozing bog. Celine staggered and nearly fell. The young slave jerked her to her feet. She glared up at him, but unlike Gunnie, who would not meet her gaze, the youth stared back, fiercely defiant.