Fiery Possession (22 page)

That night Luke did not come to bed as usual. She heard him restlessly pacing the floor of his room. She was shocked at how much she missed the warmth of his body next to hers and the fiery, savage sex they shared every night.

Luke's lips, hot and insistent, woke her in the early hours of the morning. As always, passion flared instantaneously between them. He took her with an almost brutal urgency, shocking in its intensity and fiery heat. Once his hunger was appeased he rolled away and climbed out of bed, leaving her feeling cold and bereft. He left the room without uttering a word.

Chapter Nine

Jo did not see Luke at all the next day. According to the housekeeper, he had ridden over to inspect some property he wanted to buy.

There was no time for brooding, however, as the few visitors he’d invited, turned out to be about sixty people, including most of the district’s gentry coming for a supper dance, according to Mrs. Osborne.

Jo sniffed hungrily as she sat at the table shining silverware. The smell of roast chicken and freshly baked cakes made her mouth water. She arranged flowers in the hallway and ballroom, and felt pleased when Mrs. Osborne praised her handiwork. They left nothing to chance; everything had been cleaned and re-cleaned. The hours raced by, and at one point, she feared everything would not be accomplished in time.

An air of suppressed excitement prevailed throughout the house.

“Mr. Campton said this would be the most important event we've had here for years--that's why everything must be perfect.”  If she heard those words again, she would scream. Why did he attach such importance to the night?

He did not return to eat, so she ate her evening meal in the kitchen.

She had still not decided what to wear when he strode into the bedroom, dressed in his work clothes. “I want you to wear this.” He dropped a large package on the bed. “It's the gown I promised.”

Excitement coursed through her. He was going to no end of trouble to make this an unforgettable night. “What time are we meeting your guests?”

His eyes narrowed but his voice remained even. “About eight o’clock, but you won't be greeting them.” 

She blinked. “But you said…”

“I want you to make a grand entrance on your own.”

She got up from her chair and came over to him. “Why?”

“Humor me.”  He had the strangest expression on his face. Not anger, triumph maybe?  “I want you to stay in the bedroom until I send a maid up to fetch you.”

“But why?” His strange behavior puzzled and worried her.

He prowled the room. “I want to show you off, and this is the best way.  Don't worry. I'll be waiting in the ballroom for you.”

“That sounds…”

“Sh,” he interrupted. “No arguments, gives you more time to pretty yourself up. I want you to look your best tonight. I want my Yankee woman to sweep into the ballroom like a queen.”

Maybe his idea did have merit. If she swept into the room proud and regal, it would show any of them who knew the full story she had done nothing to be ashamed of.

When the connecting door snapped shut behind him, she unpacked the new gown, a white satin affair with rounded décolletage. The swathed top of the bodice, lavishly trimmed with jade green embroidery, matched the lower portion of the skirt. What an exquisite garment. With slippers of jade green silk, she would look like a fairy princess. Obviously Luke had selected the gown carefully, probably got it specially made up by one of Melbourne's exclusive dressmakers. She had always admired such gowns but never thought she would ever wear one.

After bathing, she rested on the bed. Luke walked past with purposeful footsteps, not even hesitating outside her door. The sounds of carriages crunching on the drive and women's laughter floating through the open window assured her the guests were arriving.

She dressed carefully. Some instinct warned her that after tonight, life would never be quite the same again. Luke must be planning to ask her to marry him, publically announcing his intention as a way of atoning for his degrading treatment of her.

No wonder he wanted her to make a grand entrance. “Like a queen,” he’d said. Yes, her appearance would not let him down; her mirror confirmed this. Her eyes looked green as rain-kissed moss, her hair pulled back from her face and forming ringlets about her shoulders shone like a fiery red sun. The skin of her shoulders was alabaster white, absolutely flawless. “You’ve never looked as grand as this before, Jo Saunders and probably never will again,” she told her reflection.

When the music started up, she couldn’t stop her foot tapping in time to the rhythm, or softly humming the words of the tune. She would accept his marriage proposal. She had no choice. Physically she was addicted to him. Emotionally, she didn’t dare dwell on that. Maybe when the lust cooled, love would grow. Finally, when she had got to the stage of pacing the floor, a maid entered the room.

“Miss Jo, you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you.”  She followed the girl out of the room and down the hallway.

As she entered the ballroom, a sea of faces greeted her. All the important people in the district, in fact most people of any standing at all were there, including Jim Talbot. This she noticed in the split second before her gaze locked with Luke's. His eyes were full of triumph as she started across the floor towards him.

God, Jo swept into the room like a goddess. He had never seen a more ravishing woman, but he knew he could not waver now. His determination for revenge must be absolute. She had caused Tim’s death. She had held him as a carnal prisoner, and he could no longer remain a captive to his lust. His original plan had backfired spectacularly. He had to do something drastic to regain control of his emotions. To get his power back he had to get rid of Jo. Force her to leave the district and never return. Humiliation would do what money could not.

“Good evening, Jo. You do look beautiful.”  He raised his voice so everyone in the room might hear, as she hesitated, a few steps away from him.  “My friends, I give you Josephine Saunders. My beautiful Yankee mistress.”

He watched Jo stagger with shock, then right herself. The blood drained from her face, giving her cheeks the texture of white marble. Her eyes became deep green pools of anguish. She pivoted and walked regally from the room.

He stood staring after her, oblivious to the commotion around him. Purposely, he had set out to publicly denounce her. Why did he suddenly regret the vengeful words?  Victory had never felt so bitter. It tasted like ashes in his mouth. He had just made the biggest mistake of his whole life.

***

Feeling as if she had been physically and verbally flogged, Jo rushed outside to the sanctuary of the darkened garden. As she wound her arms around a tree for support, the hurt and humiliation went so deep she could only whimper like a tortured animal.

How long she stayed there, she neither knew nor cared. It could have been hours, maybe minutes. She felt nothing except an empty, dead feeling. She must escape from this place immediately.

Scuffling in the bushes from close by mobilized her paralyzed legs. She ran. Branches tore at her face, the drapery of her gown got caught, but she did not stop to release it, just let it rip free. Her heart was bursting, her breath coming out in tortured gasps when finally she stopped to rest.

Dawn had started to spread its pink tendrils across the sky by the time she arrived home. Battered and torn, she staggered on to the verandah.

“Fiona, Fiona,” she screamed over and over. When Fiona finally answered the door in her nightgown, Jo collapsed crying into her arms.

“What is it?  What's wrong?” 

With Fiona's help, she made it inside, and stood there swaying and trembling.

“Tell me, what is it?  What's happened?”  She took Jo’s ice cold hands in hers and rubbed them vigorously. “You're so cold!  Will you be all right if I leave you for a moment? I'll fix us a warm drink, then off to bed with you. Things will be better in the morning.”

“In front of sixty people, Luke Campton branded me a whore.”

Fiona gasped.

Jo buried her face in her hands, and the tears flowed. “Jim Talbot was there too. If only you could have seen the revulsion on his face.”

She cried as never before, and when the weeping finally stopped she felt absolutely drained. Her hair was in disarray, her face and arms scratched and torn. The beautiful ball gown hung in tatters. Like an obedient child, she let Fiona help her change into a nightgown. In bed she lay there utterly exhausted, humiliated beyond words, until sleep finally blotted out the horror.

Lucy bouncing energetically on the bed finally woke her. She let the little girl climb in under the blankets and the child's wriggling and squirming helped take her mind off the terrible happenings of last night.

“Leave Auntie Jo alone.” Fiona came in with a breakfast tray containing toast and boiled eggs.

“I couldn't eat, thank you.”  She turned her head away.

“You have to eat something. What he did was absolutely brutal. No decent man would have done such a thing, but starving yourself to death won't undo the damage. Your friends will stand by you. They know you sacrificed yourself for Lucy and me.”  Tears filled Fiona’s big blue eyes.

“All right, I'll eat it.”  She forced the food down her throat, almost gagging on every mouthful, but if Fiona dissolved into tears, it would be the absolute end.

When she finally dressed, in shirt and breeches, she surveyed herself in the mirror. The image staring back belonged to a stranger. Except for several nasty red scratches on her cheek, her face appeared parchment white. Her hands, when she raised them to tie her hair back, trembled uncontrollably.

Out in the kitchen, Fiona busily prepared bread dough for their outdoor oven. It was quite a modern one Ian had installed only a few months ago. The wood fire had been built up inside, the iron doors closed, and when the stones were heated to Fiona's satisfaction, she put the yeast mixture on the hot stones to cook.

After watching the preparations for a time, Jo wandered outside to listlessly push Lucy on a swing erected under a large gum tree by the man from Kangaroo Gully.

***

For two days, Jo moped about the homestead, starting on one chore, abruptly abandoning it to start on something else. As she expected, the man from Kangaroo Gully did not put in an appearance, but on the third day Luke did.

She was pegging out some washing, and swung around on hearing his horse approach. Already pale, her cheeks would have become even paler. “Get off our land.”

Completely ignoring this order, he dismounted and strode to within a couple of feet of her. “How are you, Jo?”

“As if you cared.”  He seemed drawn and tired, the grooves about his mouth etched even more deeply, and she noticed a pulse convulsing at the side of his jaw.

“Are you with child?” 

His abrupt question caused her head to snap back. Oh God, surely not. A roaring sound almost ruptured her eardrums, the contents of her stomach shook. Fate couldn’t be so cruel, not after what she had already endured. She clenched her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see. “What makes you think I am?” She didn’t know how she could speak without screaming.

“I heard the servants gossiping. When I tackled Mrs. Osborne about it, she said you were.”

“Oh, did she now?”

“Are you?” He grasped her shoulders. “For God’s sake, are you?”

Had he shown some concern or kindness, her answer would have been different. “Do you think I'd be standing here like this if I carried your child?  No, Luke, I'd have killed myself by now.”

It gave her a grim satisfaction to see him literally rock back on his heels. A shudder shook his body. His usual tan receded, leaving his face white and stricken. Without another word he swung around, mounted his horse and galloped away, leaving her with tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Are you all right?”  Fiona came out, white-faced. “I couldn't help overhearing what he said. Are you?” She nibbled her lip. “I mean, are you carrying his baby?”

All the physical signs that she had so blithely ignored now surfaced to viciously torment her, to drag her down into a black, bottomless pit of degradation and a raging, overwhelming thirst for revenge. “I...I think so.”

“Why didn't you tell him?”

“Why should I?”

“You fool. He probably came over to offer marriage. Catch him quickly.”

“No, I hate him. You hear me? I hate him and all he stands for. He had his revenge, now it's my turn. I hope it's a boy,” she went on hysterically. “I really do, and I'll flaunt him right under the big boss man's nose. Luke Campton's son, what do you think about that?”

“If you're not married, he won't be Luke's son, he'll be a bastard.”

Speechless, she stared at Fiona.

“For the rest of his life he'll be branded and it will be your fault.”

“Stop it.” Jo covered her ears with her hands.

“When your child grows up and asks about his father, you'll have to tell him he doesn't have one.”