The Light in the Darkness (21 page)

Slaves did not sleep on feather beds.

Melissa’s voice echoed in her mind:
Grey’s nice wide bed would be much more comfortable than the tumble-down shack we usually use.

At last it dawned on her that Grey had taken her to the cabin where he met his mistress.

She looked at Grey accusingly, but he was sitting in the chair and idly studying the silver buckles on his shoes, being careful not to meet her eyes. It occurred to her that he was embarrassed.

And yet he had had very little choice but to bring her here. Had they had to ride all the way back to Greyhaven, she would have been drenched in the downpour, and then she might very well have had a relapse.

What else could he have done?

Her lips twitched as she began to see the humor in the situation. Here she sat, on the edge of the bed where her husband dallied with another woman. Little wonder Grey was embarrassed. No doubt, when he had made the hasty
decision to bring her here, he had hoped she wouldn’t realize exactly what purposes he used this shack for.

“How fortunate that you knew that this cabin was still here,” she remarked, suppressing her laughter with an effort.

Grey glanced up at her laughing tone and saw the light of amusement dancing in her eyes. Damn her, he thought in sudden annoyance, she was laughing at him!

“I’ve had occasion to stop in here before,” he said coolly.

“Yes, quite recently, from the looks of it,” she said, nodding toward the distinct tracks his boots had made in the dust that covered the floorboards, and the smaller prints made by a lady’s shoes. It was all too evident he had been in here quite a bit recently, and that he had had company. She was no longer able to repress her smile. “It must have been raining more frequently than I thought this past week or two.”

Reluctantly, Grey grinned. She knew as well as he did that it had not rained for weeks. He was a little shocked by her attitude. Any other woman would have taken a riding crop to his back for daring to bring her to the cabin where he trysted with his mistress. But then again, Jennifer was not like any other woman he knew.

Any other woman would have been jealous.

He wished that she were jealous.

He pushed the thought aside hastily, bewildered by his own foolishness. Ridiculous! Why would he want a jealous wife?

He knew the answer to that: because he wanted her. And he wanted her to want him. Trapped alone with her, with no distractions, his mind was drawn irresistibly to thoughts of kissing her, and his eyes dropped to her lips.

Jennifer saw his gaze drop and interpreted his change of mood correctly. She had seen that heavy-lidded, sensual expression before. Nervously, she got up and walked across to the small window, making the first inane remark that occurred to her. “I don’t think it’s going to stop for a while,” she observed, seeing the sheets of rain driven by the gusting wind and hearing thunder rolling overhead.

Behind her, she heard Grey’s footsteps. His arms encircled her, pulling her against him, and he brushed his lips against her hair. The golden strands smelled of lavender, and he breathed the scent in deeply, closing his eyes in helpless pleasure.

“I don’t mind,” he whispered.

Jennifer stiffened against him. “Grey,” she objected faintly. Ignoring her protest, he turned her in his arms so that she was facing him and pressed his lips to hers hungrily.

She kissed him back, warm, passionate, and loving.

When he lifted his lips from hers she placed both hands on his shoulders and shoved hard.

Caught off balance, Grey staggered backward and sat down hard on the floor, causing a cloud of dust to rise around him. He regained his feet with the smooth, rapid motion of a panther and stood looking down at her with a dangerous expression. All his desire had ebbed away rapidly. “What the hell was that for?” he demanded.

Jennifer’s eyes were blazing in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “How dare you,” she said softly. “It’s bad enough that you would bring me to—to this place, but I understand that you had no choice. But then—how dare you try to seduce me here, of all places? Simply because your mistress isn’t here, did you think you could avail yourself of my body instead?”

“I didn’t—” Grey began, but she was not finished.

“I am sick and tired of you using me to replace some other woman,” she said, her voice rising in fury. “If you cannot touch me without pretending I am another woman, then I don’t want you to touch me at all. Do you understand me?”

There was no point in trying to explain to her that he had not intended to use her as a substitute for Melissa, or even for Diana. No point in trying to explain that she was the only woman he had thought of for days. No point in telling her how she haunted his nights and his dreams. He could not admit that he wanted her—even to himself.

“I apologize” he said coldly. “It won’t happen again.”

“I forgive you,” Jennifer said, adding with a flash of humor, “but only if you forgive me for pushing you.”

“I imagine I deserved it.”

Jennifer nodded slowly. “Yes. You did.” She walked back across the room and sat in one of the chairs, feeling oddly deflated.

If only, she thought miserably, he had wanted her for herself. If only she did not have the feeling that he wanted nothing more than sex, and that any willing woman would satisfy him.

If only he were not so damned attractive.

If only she did not love him.

For the next hour rain hammered on the roof of the shack, the wind howled, and thunder rumbled.

But inside the shack there was only silence.

Jennifer managed to stay away from the abandoned slave quarters for several days. She did not want to know how often Grey met his mistress there. It was beneath her dignity, she told herself repeatedly, to spy on her husband.

Yet one day that week she found herself riding her gray mare down the narrow path that led to the old shack.

The drought had at last broken. The humid days were often relieved by afternoon thunderstorms, and today looked as though it would be no exception. As she approached the cabin, Jennifer kept a cautious eye on the dark clouds that had already begun to rise ominously against the sky.

She reined in her mare abruptly as she saw Grey’s bay stallion tied outside the cabin.

Firmly, she told herself that what Grey did was none of her business. Most husbands sought affection outside the marriage bed, and Grey was certainly no exception. Men, she knew, had certain needs, and since she did not share his bed, she could hardly expect him to remain celibate for all his days.

Despite her good intentions, however, she rode nearer to the cabin.

She heard muffled creaking sounds, soft masculine groans, a woman’s cries of ecstatic delight.

Grey was making love to his mistress.

Jennifer hesitated only a moment before making a decision. She hastily untied Grey’s stallion and led the fractious beast back toward Greyhaven.

The first cool drops of rain were beginning to fall as she arrived back at the main house. Jennifer smiled to herself as she gave the horses to the black stable boy to walk and rub down. It was a very long walk back from the cabin.

She hoped it rained all afternoon.

That evening, Jennifer knocked on Grey’s study door. At his surly acknowledgment, she walked into his study.

“What do you want?”

Ignoring his less than courteous tone, Jennifer studied him thoughtfully. She had heard him cursing lividly in the entrance hall as he dashed in from a torrential downpour a few minutes earlier. He had changed out of his wet clothes, but his black hair was still dripping wet, plastered to his neck and shoulders. Delighted though she was that he had been caught in the storm, she nevertheless managed to keep her features impassive. It would not do for her to laugh at Grey when she had a favor to ask.

“I made up a menu that I think would be appropriate for the slaves,” she said hesitantly, thrusting a piece of parchment toward him. “I hoped you would take a look at it.”

“No.”

Jennifer felt herself becoming irritated by his curt refusal. Was he going to refuse to compromise on this issue solely because he suspected she had forced him to walk home in the rain? It occurred to her belatedly that she had chosen a poor time to try to speak reasonably with him. But was there ever a good time to speak reasonably where Grey was concerned?

“Why not?”

“I don’t need to look at it. I trust you to make decisions such as these without consulting me.”

At his words, so different from what she had expected, Jennifer’s mouth fell open. “Really?” she squeaked at last.

Grey lifted an eyebrow. “Of course. After all, you are the mistress of Greyhaven.” He turned back to his desk. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

Realizing she had been dismissed, Jennifer turned and walked toward the door. She paused, glancing back over her shoulder, as a thought occurred to her. There was one other important matter which needed to be discussed. “Grey …” she began hesitantly.

Grey glanced up, irritation plain on his lean face. “Yes?”

Jennifer gulped at the ominous gleam in his eyes, but stammered out her question anyway. “Will you—will you continue to permit the slaves to be whipped?”

Her husband’s features darkened. “That is
my
decision,” he said in a tone of soft warning, “not yours.”

“But—” Jennifer broke off at the deepening expression of annoyance on his face. Marshaling her courage, she went on haltingly, “The field hands are afraid, Grey. They never know when they might be whipped. It’s terrible to live in fear of a beating. I—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know how they feel,” she finished softly.

Grey studied her for a moment. Some of his irritation drained away as he considered what she had said. She never talked about her life in the tavern, and he knew what it had cost her to mention it. Her distress was all too obvious. He had never seen her so pale.

Unbidden, a memory flashed into his mind. A picture of her swaying in front of a stocky, powerful man, waiting with pitiful patience to be beaten, while around her rowdy men laughed and cheered.

He had only seen one night of her uncle’s violence.

For her, the violence had gone on for years.

“Actually,” he said coolly, “I have already made that decision. Slaves will no longer be whipped at Greyhaven, regardless
of the offense. Also, you might be interested to know that I have fired the overseer. It occurred to me rather belatedly that it seemed my slaves were being whipped rather often. I interviewed some of the slaves, and I could find no evidence that the young man we saw being whipped actually stole anything. I suspect the overseer was simply possessed of a bad temper and looking for excuses to take it out on my slaves.”

“He ought to have been whipped himself!” Jennifer said indignantly.

A small smile played around Grey’s mouth. “I took care of him,” he said, thinking of the black eye and split lip he had given the man before ordering him off the premises. Grey was not in the habit of permitting his valuable property to be damaged by fools.

Jennifer had left the study before she realized Grey had said nothing about the fact that she had taken his horse. Surely he must have realized she was the culprit once he returned to the house and found his stallion already in the stable. Evidently, she mused, he was none too angry with her. She supposed she was relieved … and yet it would have been nice to make him furious. God knew he deserved it.

Recalling the virulent oaths she’d overheard as he dashed into the house from the pouring rain, she realized that he had in fact been furious. He had simply not wanted her to know it.

She smiled to herself as she made her way across the wet lawn to talk to the slaves in the cookhouse about the new menu. For the first time, she did not seek input from Catherine in implementing a new idea.

After all,
she
was the mistress of Greyhaven.

F
all came to Virginia at last, splashing the forest with vivid shades of crimson and topaz. The wild geese began to fly overhead, and Grey began to take a fowling piece out with him every few days and bring home a plump goose for dinner. The geese were lovely, their black heads contrasting beautifully with their gray bodies, and Jennifer hated to see them killed, but they were delicious, and their feathers were useful for stuffing mattresses and pillows.

Other migrating birds passed through: the descriptively named canvasbacks, small ducks with long bills known as shovelers, and the green-headed mallards. Sometimes the ducks also found their way onto the Greysons’ dining table. As the days grew colder, however, and the leaves fell from the trees, many of the birds flew further south.

Grey groaned inwardly as someone knocked on the door of his study one gloomy winter afternoon. Life with two females, he thought with irritation, was deucedly annoying. It seemed that he was never left alone in peace and quiet any more. Even his study, which had once been his refuge, was no longer sacrosanct. All too often nowadays his quiet afternoons were disturbed by Jennifer practicing the harpischord in the parlor, which was across from the study, or by Catherine tapping on his door like a damned woodpecker.

Today he particularly wanted to be left alone. This morning the first winter storm of the year had arrived
bringing icy, stinging, rain. The ground turned slick and dangerous, making it impossible for Grey and Jennifer to take their customary ride. He had to admit grudgingly to himself that he missed her. For the first time, he was becoming painfully aware of how much he enjoyed her company.

He was even more irritated because he had spent most of the day moping and fighting the insane impulse to walk into the parlor and suggest to his wife that they pass the time playing draughts or chess. She, on the other hand, had spent the morning constructively, practicing the harpischord. It was more than evident, he thought with annoyance, that
she
did not miss their daily ride at all.
She
did not miss his company.

With these thoughts circulating through his mind, he ignored the knock at the door, hoping whoever it was would go away. The knock came again, more loudly this time, and Grey sighed.