Wild legacy (3 page)

Falcon had already admitted he would say whatever it took to please her, and he was disgusted with himself for being so tactless. "I'm cold sober, so there's no reason to doubt my words. I'm sorry you had to prompt me last night. I should have said that I love you a long time ago."

Belle closed her eyes to savor his vow, but was it spontaneous, she agonized, or had she merely coaxed it from his lips a second time? Sadly, she feared she had. Apparently he had not loved her until they had chanced to cross paths while he was at a weak moment. "Perhaps I should have waited up for you in the study last year."

Tightening his hold on her waist, Falcon yanked her around to face him. There wasn't a trace of affection in his expression now. "Don't laugh at me, Belle. I'll readily admit I didn't behave as a gentleman should, but are you going to forgive me, or am I going to hear about it every single time you're cross with me for the rest of our lives?"

His eyes had narrowed to menacing slits, and it was all too easy for Belle to imagine him picking off British officers with a cold precision. He had been eager to make love to her last night, but wouldn't any warm and willing woman have inspired the same response in a weary soldier? Again, the answer was all too clear. Overcome with sadness, she shook her head.

"No, I think we'd both be better off if we forgot last night ever happened." She forced a smile, but it trembled on her lips. She offered her hand. "Agreed?"

For a long moment, Falcon simply regarded Belle with a forbidding stare, but then, overcoming his anger, he at last took her hand and drew her close. He didn't want to make another costly mistake, and phrased his proposal with

the care it deserved. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Belle drew in a sharp breath for there was nothing she wanted more, but not like this. "You've apologized, Falcon. You needn't offer marriage, too."

While his initial reaction was immense relief, his heart was swiftly flooded with numbing disappointment. He had never proposed to another woman, and it had not even occurred to him that Belle might turn him down. He took it as a grave insult.

"What you're really saying is no, isn't it? Why? If you hadn't stopped me when you did, I'd have no choice about marrying you."

Before the war, Falcon had been easygoing rather than hot-tempered, but Belle refused to make any allowance for what he must have suffered when he had just made it abundantly clear he was thinking only of himself. She yanked her hand from his and stepped back. "But I did stop you, and I want us both to have a choice."

Falcon was half a foot taller than Belle, and when he moved close she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him. "You've forgotten something," he insisted darkly. "I may have had too much to drink last night, but you knew precisely what you were doing. You were all over me. How can you pretend what happened between us doesn't matter?"

He had tied his hair at his nape that morning, but when he had kissed her last night it had been loose, and spilled over her face with the sensuous warmth of black velvet. Recalling an even more provocative caress with an embarrassment laced with the moist heat of desire, Belle fought her traitorous body's shameless cravings and squared her shoulders.

"I do care," she assured him proudly, "far too much to accept a proposal given out of a noble sense of duty or guilt if you believe you've tarnished my honor."

Falcon responded with a rude laugh. "I did a hell of a lot more than tarnish it, Belle."

His rebuke was an arrogant boast rather than an expression of regret, but she couldn't deny its truth. As memories of his intimate touch became increasingly vivid, her face grew hot with a bright blush. "Yes, I suppose so, but there will be no consequences, so neither of us has to suffer."

Still enchanted by his elusive cousin, Falcon raised his hand to caress her feather-soft cheek. His mind might have been clouded by liquor last night, but he had a clear memory of how it had felt to nudge against the fragile barrier that had prevented them from becoming one. In another instant the tender flesh would have torn and he would have buried himself deep within her heated core. There would have been consequences aplenty then.

If only she hadn't stopped him.

"You weren't suffering last night, and neither was I. Far from it." He stopped there rather than insult her by telling her she'd been a better lover than all the other women he had ever had put together.

What Belle saw in his dark gaze was a promise of many more such luscious nights, but he was wrong. She had suffered an unbearable anguish when she had discovered brandy was fueling his desire rather than love. "There's no rush."

She had been so agreeable in the darkened study, and Falcon wished she would show him the same sweetness today. He ached with wanting her and tried not to sound as annoyed as he felt with her maddening distance. "What do you mean?"

Belle toyed with the fringe on his sleeve, letting it dance through her fingers as she replied, "The next time you come home, ask again, and because you've given up drinking, there will be no mistaking your motives."

That softly voiced taunt was more than Falcon could bear

calmly. "Didn't you just give me your hand to promise last night would be forgotten?"

Even frowning, Falcon was the handsomest man Belle had ever seen, but it still hurt to look at him and she dropped her glance. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I didn't learn a valuable lesson I intend to remember."

Searching for a way to reach her, Falcon gazed off toward the river. When they were children, she had chased him along the muddy shore and the patter of her bare feet had echoed the rhythm of her laughter. All his childhood memories included her, and they were all happy. The war had dimmed those carefree years, but they came back to him now in such acute detail he could actually taste the wild blackberries they had picked and tossed into each other's mouths. His expression relaxed into a sad smile.

With a light tap of his index finger, he tilted Belle's chin to force her to look up at him. "If this is the last time I'm able to come home, will you please remember that I swore I loved you, and asked you to marry me?"

Belle's heart skipped a beat. She had been up late last night, as she had on so many others, because she was worried sick about him. The Scott house beckoned invitingly and part of her longed to take him inside and find the softest feather bed. An equally compelling voice argued that she ought to make absolutely certain that he truly loved her before she lost herself in him again. She sighed sadly as she made the only choice her pride allowed.

"Please help me find my combs." She plucked her cap from the grass, and waited for him to fetch the tortoiseshell combs from where he had tossed them.

Discouraged that he had been unable to persuade Belle to his point of view, Falcon was quick to blame her rather than his own lack of eloquence. "You were a stubborn little girl. You know that? We spent most of our time together but you fought me every inch of the way. I'd hoped that you'd changed."

He looked as depressed as Belle felt, but that only served to strengthen her resolve. She wound her curls into a thick coil she secured with her combs, then replaced her cap with a careless tug to restore the modest appearance she knew she no longer deserved. She turned away and started toward the path home.

"You're the stubborn one," she called over her shoulder.

Falcon watched her a moment. She didn't walk with Dominique's seductive sway, but with a long, sure stride that reminded him again of the saucy little girl who had been closer than his shadow. "Wait," he shouted, but she didn't slow her pace and he had to sprint to catch up with her. He was too angry to take her hand, and rather than argue, didn't speak as they walked home. It wasn't until he saw his aunt and mother standing on the front porch, their arms crossed over their bosoms, their expressions as suspicious as when he had left them, that he realized he and Belle should have agreed on what they wished to say.

"What did you tell them?" Belle whispered anxiously.

Still smarting from her rejection, Falcon was tempted to threaten her with the truth and force her to accept his proposal, but he successfully suppressed the bitter impulse. He just shook his head to warn her to be silent, and greeted the curious women with a solemn shrug. "She turned me down," he told them.

"What?" Belle cried. She had been positive Falcon's proposal had been prompted by guilt-laden remorse rather than love, but now it was painfully clear he had merely been following orders. She had not even imagined she could feel any worse, but suddenly she did. She scorched Falcon with a searing glance, then turned the full fury of her anger on her mother and aunt.

"Did you two force Falcon to propose to me? Is it completely beyond your comprehension that he might have wanted me on his own?"

Aghast that Falcon had lacked the sense to relate his re-

suits in private, Arielle tried her best to soothe her daughter's wholly justifiable outrage. "After his halting explanation of what occurred between you two last night, it was merely a strongly worded suggestion, Belle. Please don't be insulted. We want what's best for you."

Belle had a very good idea of what her mother and aunt must believe, and because the truth was almost as bad, she didn't care to offer a denial before brushing by them and entering the house.

Dismayed he had inadvertently made a bad situation even worse, Falcon started after Belle, but his mother quickly stepped in front of him to block the door.

"Let her go," Alanna urged. "She's too angry to listen to anything you might have to say. After dinner, I want you to move your things over to Christian's house," she directed firmly. "That way, there can't possibly be a repeat of last night's regrettable incident."

His brother's house stood no more than fifty yards away, so what his mother asked was no hardship, but Falcon was deeply insulted all the same. "Don't you trust me anymore?"

Alanna dared not look at Arielle, but she was positive she had her support. "Let's just say it will be better for all concerned if you and your lovely female cousins aren't under the same roof."

Falcon had helped to build Christian's house. He had made bricks from clay they had dug from the banks of the James River, and stoked the fires to bake them. The timbers had been cut from forests on their land and he had labored to lay the pine floors and carve the fine walnut paneling. It was a beautiful house with a magnificent view of the river, but Christian and Liana had a daughter and two little boys, and his sister, Johanna, and her husband, David, who shared the fine home, had two small sons of their own.

Falcon loved his niece and nephews, but he didn't want

to live in a house filled with rambunctious children. "I'd rather sleep in the stable," he replied sullenly.

Alanna shook her head. It had been months since they had seen Falcon, and she didn't want to chase him away, but she truly believed the family honor was at stake. "Sleep wherever you like as long as it isn't in this house."

Falcon sent his aunt a questioning glance, but Arielle looked away rather than take his side. He knew better than to waste his breath arguing with them. It was almost time for the noon meal, and he rested his shoulder against the house.

"I want to talk to Father before I agree to anything."

Rather than own slaves, the Barclays employed free men, and Hunter supervised their work in the fields. "He should come up to the house soon," Alanna assured him.

"I'll wait for him here." Falcon wanted to see his brother and sister too, but they would have to wait. Certain he had also learned a valuable lesson, he spent the time while he waited for his father rehearsing how best to describe what he had done. No, he corrected himself, almost done. He closed his eyes, and the memory of Belle's delicious kiss instantly seeped through him. A low moan escaped his lips. When his father called his name, he jumped in surprise.

"Have you taken to sleeping on your feet?" Hunter asked as he came up the steps.

"No, but there are times I wish I could." Falcon straightened up, stepped into his father's embrace, and hugged him with unaccustomed fervor before backing away. Hunter's ebony hair had begun to gray at the temples, but if anything, the lighter shade served to enhance his handsome appearance. His buckskins showed off a build as trim as his son's, and his dark eyes sparkled with a bright inner light.

Falcon knew what he wished to say, but had difficulty getting started. His only hope was that his father recalled his own youthful romantic adventures fondly enough to be sympathetic. He again described his midnight encounter

with Belle in innocuous terms, but as his father's stare grew increasingly cold, he knew he wasn't fooled any more than his mother and aunt had been. After recounting how swiftly Belle had rejected his proposal, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"We didn't make love," he swore, "although I sure wish now that we had."

Hunter cocked his head and studied his younger son's defiant expression with an intense gaze. Even with the vague description Falcon had provided, Hunter understood he and Belle had shared a dangerously passionate tryst. Painful memories of the one time he had made love to Christian's mother made it difficult for him to be objective. "Belle deserves more than a few kisses at midnight," he scolded.

"I agree, but now Mother doesn't even trust me to sleep in the same house with her."

Hunter folded his arms across his chest and nodded. "I don't trust you, either."

Hurt by his father's scorn, Falcon made another stab at winning his support. "I've stopped drinking."

"Good. Have you begun thinking?"

Falcon supposed he deserved that, but it was still difficult to accept. "I only have a few days," he explained. "I don't want to be treated like a criminal."

"Then stop behaving like one," Hunter replied. "It may not be such bad luck that Belle turned you down. This will give you the time to court her in a more courteous fashion. If you can manage it."

Falcon was beginning to feel as though he had fallen into an abandoned well. Each time he tried to better his situation, he only succeeded in getting himself more deeply mired in the watery muck at the bottom. "Look—" he began again.