Yesterday's Roses (11 page)

Chapter 7

The early morning sun danced through the leaded-glass windows of the parlor, igniting a spark of cheer that kindled and blazed until the austerely formal room radiated with a warmth it ordinarily lacked.

The man pacing restlessly within the gilded blue and white confines was feeling many things, but warmth or cheer did not number among them.

No. His emotions seethed darkly, a roiling combination of bitterness, rage, and a soul-consuming hatred—all directed toward the man who had robbed him of his beloved Serena, crushed her spirit, and ultimately destroyed her.

Jake Parrish.

The name sat like a profane curse on the tip of Cyrus King's tongue, and he felt an overwhelming urge to spit, to rid himself of the vile taste it left in his mouth. It was at that moment, with the foulness of his hate overwhelming his senses, that he vowed to himself that someday, somehow, he would find a way to bring his mighty son-in-law down in the dirt where he belonged.

“Cyrus King.” Like the flicker of a candle in a cool autumn breeze, the friendly warmth of the parlor seemed to falter and then die, extinguished by the chilly voice that broke the stillness. “And to what do we owe this honor?” inquired Jake, unable to subdue his irony. He moved into the room until he stood in front of the imposing white marble fireplace.

Cyrus's head jerked up at the sound of his son-in-law's voice, and his eyes narrowed with hostility.

“You can cut the pleasantries, Parrish,” he snarled, his face becoming a twisted mask of malevolence. “You know damn well that I've come to take my daughter home where she belongs.”

Jake leaned casually against the fireplace and issued a harsh bark of laughter. “Really? And where is home these days? Last I heard, you were living in an abandoned tar-paper shack up at the old Devil's Flat Camp, existing off whatever change you happen to earn by working odd jobs at the wharf. I'm sure Serena will thank you for taking her away from all this.” He gave a negligent wave at his opulent surroundings. “And reducing her to an existence unfit for even the crudest individual.”

“Fine surroundings and wealth can never compensate for the hell my daughter had endured at your hand.” Shaking with anger, Cyrus raked his fingers through his thinning, silver-shot blond hair. He had once been an attractive man, but years of bitterness and hard living had taken their toll, leaving his face so deeply lined that it seemed set in a perpetual scowl.

“Jesus!” he expelled vehemently, advancing a step toward Jake. “When I think of all you've done to Serena, I could—well—if I wasn't such a civilized man, I would have killed you long ago.”

“The only thing I ‘did' to your daughter was to spoil and indulge her in all of her extravagant whims. Perhaps by doing that, I
did
ruin her. If I had told her no more often, she might have learned that the world didn't revolve around her selfish wants, and she might have developed enough integrity to recognize your slanderous lies for what they really were—attempts to estrange her from me.”

Jake leaned forward, his eyes boring into Cyrus's. “Tell me, King. How does it feel to know that you've ruined your daughter's life?”

“I did no such thing, and well you know it! Don't try to blame me for your own foul deeds. I love Serena, while you—”

“No, Cyrus,” Jake cut him off with a commanding tone. “If you want to lay blame for your daughter's condition, lay it at your own door. It was you who poisoned her mind against me, you bred her dissatisfaction toward our marriage, and you who planted the seeds of unhappiness that led her to attempt suicide.” Jake stabbed out the words, punctuating each syllable with biting emphasis.

Cyrus King's hands clenched tightly against his sides as he spat back, “Damn you to hell, Parrish! When are you going to admit to yourself that my daughter came to her senses about you and couldn't stand living with Yankee scum. Your pride couldn't bear the humiliation of losing your wife, so you ensured that she couldn't leave by driving her mad.”

He paused to steal a glance at Jake. The miserable bastard! He was staring at Cyrus much the way one watched a clown act at a carnival: with amusement and a touch of pity. Well, he would wipe that superior look off the man's face quickly enough.

“A pack of good it did you! Just look at you now, nothing more than a pathetic cripple. My daughter despises you! Everyone knows she'd rather die than suffer your foul touch. Not that she has to worry about that, eh?”

Cyrus leaned in, his eyes glinting with malicious speculation as he taunted, “Rumor has it that Serena confided in Lavinia Donahue that you came back from the war less than half a man.”

Jake let out a snort of derision. “We all know what a creditable source of information Serena is these days. Taking into consideration the baby upstairs in the nursery, it's safe to assume that either your daughter lied or she's taken a lover.”

Jake watched with satisfaction as Cyrus's now eggplant purple face slowly bled into a deathly white mask with bulging eyes and gaping mouth. His mouth opened and closed frantically as he tried to speak but couldn't. A vein began to throb in his temple as he finally croaked, “Baby?”

“Yes. Your darling daughter gave birth about two weeks ago. A girl. Unnamed as yet,” Jake informed him shortly.

Cyrus closed the gap between them with mind-spinning speed.

“You rutting bastard!” he shrieked, smashing his fist into Jake's mouth, tearing open his already damaged lower lip.

Although at six-four, Jake topped his opponent by several inches, rage propelled Cyrus, giving him an inordinate strength. Fluidly catching his opponent by the lapels of his wool morning coat, Cyrus pushed Jake against the fireplace, stunning him as his head was whipped back and cracked against the hard surface of the mantel with a loud thud.

“You forced her! You forced my Serena! She never would have let you touch her by her own volition! Never!” He slammed his fist into Jake's belly with such nauseating force that the cane slid from Jake's hand and he doubled over, completely incapacitated.

Seeing his victory close at hand, Cyrus seized the heavy Limoges vase from the mantel. He was about to inflict a devastating blow to the back of his opponent's neck when Jake surprised him.

Rearing up and deftly catching Cyrus's arm, Jake twisted it relentlessly until the vase went crashing to the floor. He then jerked the man around to face him and hit him in the jaw.

“Get out, Cyrus! Now! Before I lose control and kill you!” Jake punched him heavily in the kidneys.

Howling with pain, Cyrus swiftly brought his knee up and rammed his opponent in the groin with a viciousness that sent Jake crumpling to the ground, with Cyrus still clutched in his grasp. Like lovers in a frenzied embrace, the two men tumbled to the floor, Jake landing squarely on top of Cyrus.

Cyrus struggled frantically beneath Jake's weight for several moments until he was able to push himself free. With satisfaction, he noted that Jake was still stunned by his punishing blow, his face blanched with agony and sweat beading on his brow. Roughly, King rolled Jake onto his back, fully intent on pummeling him into a state of senselessness. As he raised his fist to continue his assault, he was whomped across the back of his head with a blow that sent him sprawling to the floor.

Cyrus could only stare with disbelief at the avenging red-headed virago bearing down on him, wielding a ridiculously frilly pink parasol as if it were a flaming sword of righteousness. She raised her weapon again, but then paused to cast an anxious glance in Jake's direction, who had begun to chuckle softly.

Thank God she was on his side! Jake thought drolly. That tiny parasol looked positively lethal in her hands. Why, with all that bright hair springing wildly from her chignon and standing to the topmost inch of her considerable height, she was the very picture of a legendary Amazon capable of wiping out whole armies single-handed. Still clutching painfully at his abdomen, Jake pushed himself to a sitting position and grinned up into Hallie's outraged face.

“Jake! Oh, Lord! Look what that beast did to your poor lip!” she exclaimed, peering down at him with concern.

“My lip?” Jake asked, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor. “That's not what's hurting right now.”

Hallie patted his arm. “Well, don't you worry. First, we'll dispose of this trash,” she nodded toward Cyrus, who was dazedly pulling himself into an upright position, “and then I'll examine your injuries. Thank God Serena insisted that I look for her lost parasol, or I never would have happened by.”

Jake eyed her with mock innocence and feigned an injured moan. “You promise? You'll take care of
all
my injuries?”

“Of course,” she retorted soothingly, turning to frown in Cyrus's direction and thus missing the deviltry growing in Jake's eyes.

“So this is the piece who's replaced my daughter in your bed, eh, Parrish?” growled Cyrus, staring back at Hallie with open contempt.

Hallie gasped with shock, her hand tightening instinctively on the parasol.

Cyrus's eyes raked her with distaste. “Can't say much for your taste in women these days. But then again, I don't expect that a gimp like yourself has much of a choice anymore.” He gave Hallie a lewd wink. “Well, at least he doesn't keep you awake at night, eh, Missy?”

Hallie flushed with embarrassment as the man made a crude hand motion that left little doubt as to the meaning of his remark.

With a growl of fury, Jake hurled himself at Cyrus, pinning him to the floor. Like a man possessed, he rained blow after brutal blow upon his antagonist in an uncontrollable barrage, unmindful of anything except satisfying his burning rage. The sight of the man's frightened eyes and his desperate struggles to escape only added fuel to Jake's anger.

“Jake, stop! Please stop! You're going to kill him!”

Jake ceased abruptly as Hallie's frantically pleading voice penetrated his bloodthirsty frenzy. As he stared at Hallie's ghostly white face and looked into her amber eyes, large with terror, he dropped his bloodied fist to his side. Then he looked down at Cyrus's battered face. With a foul oath, he released the man, who, now silent, sagged against the carpet.

“Jake,” Hallie murmured, her heart contracting at the look of shame and defeat that swept over his features. She bent down to help him to his feet, whispering, “It's all right.”

Wrapping her arm around his trim waist and stooping slightly to brace her shoulder beneath his arm, she supported him securely against her softness. He made no protest as she guided him to a chair a few feet away and settled him carefully in it.

She then turned to scowl darkly at Cyrus King. With a little sniff of disgust, she stalked to the door, fully intent on summoning Hop Yung to toss their unwanted visitor into the street.

As she yanked the door open, Hop Yung came tumbling into the room, obviously guilty of eavesdropping. With admirable aplomb, he pulled himself upright and made an energetic bow in her direction.

Hallie couldn't help smiling at the little man's audacity. “Hop Yung, would you be so kind as to see Mr. King to the door? I believe he has expressed a desire to take his leave.”

Hallie and Hop turned to stare expectantly at Cyrus King, who hesitated and then nodded, apparently thinking better of voicing his objections.

Jake watched the byplay, smiling to himself and thoroughly enjoying the sight of his father-in-law being forced to defer to Hallie's imperious commands. He chuckled softly.
His Mission Lady certainly was a bossy piece of work.

As Cyrus King followed Hop out the door, he stopped abruptly, his cold glare striking Jake from across the room. “Don't think this is the end of it, Parrish. I'll be back for Serena, and the next time don't expect to hide behind a woman's skirts.”

“Be glad for that woman's skirts. They kept me from killing you.”

“Just remember my words when you toss up those same skirts and take your paltry pleasures. Next time it will be you at my mercy, and nothing will stop me from killing you.”

With that, Hop Yung slammed the door shut, catching the lagging Cyrus squarely in the back and eliciting a loud howl of pain from him.

“What an awful man,” whispered Hallie, sinking to her knees in front of Jake.

“And they say mothers-in-law are the ones to be feared,” he joked feebly, smiling as she spat daintily on her handkerchief and lightly dabbed at the blood smearing his chin.

Hallie returned his smile wistfully. Even with that blackened eye, and with blood dripping from his lip, he was still the most wonderfully handsome man she had ever seen.

As gently as possible, she wiped his lip, relieved to see that the wound had stopped bleeding. Unconsciously, she touched the cut, and the texture of his sensuous mouth seemed to burn her fingertips.

Lord!
she thought, dropping her hand abruptly.
The man's strong, masculine beauty is making my mind go all mushy and turning me into a witless ninny.
It didn't seem fair, or decent, that every inch of him was so perfect.

Hallie let her gaze slide down to the muscular form correctly attired in a gray morning coat. No, it wasn't fair at all. How was she supposed to keep her wits about her when his jacket hugged his powerful shoulders like that? And the way the white linen of his crisply starched shirt contrasted against the smooth honey tones of his skin? It was positively sinful. She definitely needed to attend a few of Reverend DeYoung's revival meetings, seeing as how her mind was working its way down such a wicked path.

And down was where Hallie's gaze sank. She didn't miss the way the cut of his impeccably tailored trousers snugged against the flat surface of his belly, or how they hinted at the athletic strength of his thighs. She also noted, with unmaidenly interest, how the fit left little doubt as to his masculinity.