From This Day Forward (6 page)

"I know. Your coffee always demands the highest price on the market," Caroline said admiringly. Not only was Jason's coffee of the finest quality, his consistently high yields had made the Sinclair Coffee Company one of the most successful companies in New Orleans. "This part of the plantation is as flat as Louisiana bottomland."

Jason studied her, suspicion showing plainly on his handsome face. "It's very similar in composition, too. It's strong but fragile. It's hard to explain. You can't treat it harshly. But if you're kind to the land, it'll be kind to you. It's a simple rule more planters would do well to learn."

"You couldn't possibly grow pure Arabica here," Caroline said, thinking aloud. "Fungus would take it over. But by combining it with Robusta.... How very interesting."

"You needn't patronize me, woman," he said sharply, an angry glint in his eyes.

"My name is Caroline," she told him patiently, as if she were speaking to a child, "and why would you think I'm patronizing you?"

"Aren't you?"

"Why, no. I was completely sincere. I've seen what happens to the coffee when it reaches the market in New Orleans. Is it so hard to believe that I might be interested in how it's grown?"

"There's no need," he assured her, his manner, his expression, cold and remote. "I don't expect it."

Caroline watched in mute amazement as he spurred his horse into a canter. She considered his words. What had they meant? That she was not allowed a thought or opinion or interest except those approved by him?

What an extraordinary man! He obviously had little experience with women—educated, outspoken ones at least—if he believed he could dictate her very thoughts.

Caroline caught up to her husband. He saw her and pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to a brisk walk. They moved down a narrow path that cut through one of the orchards. The scent of coffee and sweet blossoms enveloped them.

Caroline closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She loved the aroma of coffee beans. In New Orleans, she'd always volunteered whenever Derek needed someone to run a message or voucher to the warehouse, just so she could experience the sweet, tantalizing smell. Besides, it made her feel more a part of the company to actually see and smell the product that kept them solvent.

"The trees bloom year round in this climate," he explained, "so there are trees with berries ready to be picked and trees with young blooms in the same grove."

"How much does each tree yield?" she asked.

Jason eyed her curiously. Though apparently doubtful of her sincerity, he couldn't seem to stop himself from talking about a subject that had dominated his life for the last fifteen years. "A pound of coffee per year per plant is a good yield."

"That doesn't sound like much," she said with a frown. Even with coffee prices high, as they had been when she left New Orleans, she couldn't see how he could make enough money to live. "How many trees do you have?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" he asked impatiently.

"Why do you hate answering them so much?" she challenged, tilting her chin stubbornly.

"I'm not used to—" He didn't have to explain himself to anyone, least of all her. He'd almost admitted a weakness, that he didn't have a lot of experience with inquisitive females. In fact, his experience with women rarely involved conversation. And he wasn't interested in conversation now, just in getting this damned tour over with. "I've got a thousand acres of land under cultivation right now and probably four hundred trees per acre that are mature enough to yield coffee this year."

"Why that's four thousand trees or four hundred thousand pounds of coffee per year. With coffee at twenty-one cents a pound, that means this year's harvest should be worth eighty-four thousand dollars on the American market. That's a fortune!"

Jason's eyes narrowed. Her quick calculations displayed an intelligence beyond anything he'd expected or wanted in a wife.

"It would be if it were all profit," he told her, wondering why he bothered when the last thing he wanted to do was discuss business with his wife. "It takes a lot of money to run a plantation of this size."

"Especially one so isolated."

Jason stiffened, taken aback yet again. Damn her. She had an uncanny ability to put him at ease and make him say more than he intended. Somehow, she'd managed to turn the tables again.

The orchards gave way to jungle. As they emerged into a clearing, the
beneficio
came into view.

"You are familiar with the
beneficio,"
he commented dryly to cover his embarrassment at the memory of yesterday's encounter.

Caroline's insides churned as she looked at the familiar building and remembered the last time she'd seen it.

"Yes," she said, her gaze fixed on the white building, "and a very fine
beneficio
it is, so straight and tall and firm. I would have to say that it is one of the finest
beneficios
I have ever seen." She didn't know why she'd said that. It was as if someone else had taken control of her speech as well as her emotions.

"So, you have a wide range of experience with
beneficios?"
he retorted.

Caroline smiled, enjoying the game more than she should. "Not really. But I am sure beyond a doubt that, as
beneficios
go, this is a most splendid one. But, then, I've only seen the outside. I have no idea what goes on inside. Those hard, thick walls must hide some interesting secrets."

Jason pulled his horse to a halt. At the same time, he reached over and jerked the reins from Caroline's hands, forcing her mount to a stop beside his and moving so that their legs were sandwiched between the bodies of the horses. They were so close she could feel the heat and unrelenting power of his body.

"You are a very daring woman!" he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. His hard, unyielding eyes pierced her self-control, and she glanced away uncomfortably, irrationally afraid that he would see through to her very soul if she didn't break the gaze.

"I—I'm sure I don't know what you..." she stammered, hating herself for allowing him to bully her.

"Don't play games with me." The menacing tone in his voice sent a shiver up her spine. "I won't be toyed with. You would do well not to challenge me."

"Know my place, is that what you're saying?" Perhaps he wasn't so different from the men she'd come into contact with in New Orleans and at medical school. All her life she'd been confronted by ignorance and narrow-mindedness. Why had she thought Jason Sinclair would be different?

He drew himself up to his full height and gazed down at her with eyes that glared a warning. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"And what if I refuse?" she asked, quelling the fear that threatened her composure.

"It would not be wise. No one defies me or intentionally provokes me here, and certainly not a—"

"A woman? Is that what you were going to say? A woman?"

He grabbed her so quickly she didn't have time to react. He pulled her out of her saddle, halfway across his lap. His hard chest crushed her breasts as his mouth found hers in a kiss that sent currents of heat down her torso, scorching a path to her belly.

He had expected her to fight him, and that he could have dealt with, but not this surrender that strangely made her the victor. He had meant to punish her, not to gratify her, not to become caught up in this irresistible spiral of desire.

He had to stop, even though her mouth tasted as sweet as nectar and her body incited him to satisfy the building torment within him. She'd bewitched him, robbed him of his will. By her very submission, she had become the aggressor, and he sensed that he would lose much more than he would gain if he didn't stop this now.

He set her back in her saddle ungently and disentangled himself from her arms that had been locked around him. His chest still burned from the feel of the pinpoints of her nipples, and his breath rasped painfully in his lungs.

He wanted her with a fierceness that nearly consumed him. He wanted to make love to her right here and right now. She'd returned his kisses with a fervor of her own that told him she would not deny him should he pull her from her horse and carry her to the
beneficio.

It was still early enough that his men would be in the orchards for at least another hour. No one would disturb them should he lay her gently on the empty patio and make love to her.

They were married. By the laws of God and man, he had every right to take her, but he could not, not now. Yes, they were bound by law, but he wasn't ready to make that final commitment, not yet. There were too many things unsettled between them.

When he did take her, it would not be because she'd seduced him or goaded him. It would be on
his
terms—when and where
he
chose.

She lifted a hand to smooth a lock of hair that had come loose from her chignon, and he noticed with some satisfaction that her fingers trembled slightly. Her gaze dropped away from his as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

"I think I've seen enough," she whispered in a voice that trembled ever so slightly. "Please, take me back to the house."

As he watched her move slowly up the path toward the house, he experienced none of the gratification he'd expected over his victory. Was this what he had wanted? To make her loathe him? To kill the glimmer of admiration he saw in her eyes whenever she looked at him?

The taste of regret bitter in his mouth, he turned his own horse and followed her back the way they'd come.

Propelled by anger and humiliation, Caroline ran up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She stopped just inside, her chest heaving with frustration and her hands curled into fists.

Someone, probably Ines, had opened the windows on both sides of her bedroom and a soft, sweet breeze wafted through, dispelling some of the tropical heat. Stripping down to her chemise and pantalets, she fell on her back on the bed, gazing up at the mosquito netting that fluttered slightly in the breeze.

She hadn't come here to be treated like a leper, like something loathsome and not quite human! Her husband had behaved in the most reprehensible manner. He treated her as if she were the enemy instead of someone who had given up everything to be his wife.

"Dear God, did I make the wrong choice?" she asked aloud.

She'd never been a quitter, but in the three years since her first husband had been killed, she'd never been so close to defeat. She was not the same frightened, destitute girl she had been when she'd first found herself a widow. She'd learned much about survival, and she'd learned to depend upon her own wits and skills to make a respectable, comfortable life for herself in New Orleans.

But nothing she had learned in all that time seemed to matter when it came to dealing with Jason Sinclair.

Rising from the bed, she walked to her trunk where it stood in a corner of the room, rummaging inside until she found the bundle of letters. Just touching them reminded her why she'd come here.

She untied the red silk ribbon that held them together and chose one at random, opening it with a loving, tender touch.

My closest neighbor visited yesterday for
the
first time in four months. He had a bride with him, a sallow-faced, terrified girl who nearly burst into tears when I asked her how she liked her new home. I believe he mistreats her, though / have no proof. I could see it in her eyes,
the
disillusionment and pain. Like Peggy's eyes. Why would a man bring a wife to
the
Amazon Valley only to mistreat her? I wanted to break him in half, but of course I said nothing and damned myself for
the
rest of
the
day.

"You're a fool," Caroline told herself aloud as she felt her heart soften toward him again. Her mind was already formulating excuses for his behavior.