Into the Woods (25 page)

Her father smiled coldly and shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not going to confront that lying, deceitful son of a drunkard, not yet. I have plans for him, just as he no doubt had plans for Tanglewood. I will confront Harper, but not until I'm finished with him and he's left with nothing."

"Nothing?" she asked, almost feeling sorry for Harper.

"Absolutely nothing."

* * *

Declan was at the plantation house again this morning, and Matilda busied herself cleaning around the house. She dusted and rearranged and swept, a smile on her face as she went about her everyday chores.

The old books with the recipes for love potions and aphrodisiacs were stacked on a low, crowded shelf. Since she did not need them anymore, she pulled a chair to the bookcase and returned them to their proper place on the top shelf.

As she made sure they were firmly seated, she spotted another book, a slim, ancient volume that had been hidden among the larger tomes.

Intrigued, she slipped the book from its hiding place and sat at the table. This was surely the oldest of all. The pages were yellow and cracking, the spine in danger of crumbling. She turned the first few pages carefully, looking with interest to see what was written on the yellowed pages.

The third recipe in the book was for a love potion.

A new sheet of folded paper had been left there; for her, she knew. She unfolded it and read her grandmother's note.

By now you surely know that the other love potions in my library had no power that were not supplied solely by the ones who consumed them. Matilda smiled. She knew quite well. But this recipe is real and powerful. The one foolish or unlucky enough to ingest this concoction will love the first person of the opposite sex he or she sees. The love conjured will be physical and emotional, and impossible to resist. Take care.

A real love potion. Matilda read over the complex recipe and further warnings in the book, her interest piqued. If such a formula existed, it was surely powerful and magical... dangerous and best left untested.

What she felt could not be conjured by a potion, what she and Declan had found was real and natural, not called upon in desperation.

Matilda ran her fingers over the note. She loved her granny, so dearly, but this note was proof that the sweet old woman had not truly seen the future. There would never be a need in her life for a love potion, real or not. She would never be tempted to concoct artificial affections when the real emotions were so powerful and beautiful.

Matilda smiled and closed the ancient book gently. She didn't need this recipe anymore, thank goodness. She dusted the spine and stood on the chair to return the decaying book to its proper place.

Chapter 17

He could not believe it was happening again. Over cigars and whiskey, sitting in a leather chair in Warren Arrington's study, Declan lost several hundred dollars. The game was played with the same group as before: Sheriff Marston, Mayor Saunders, old Doc Daly, Arrington, and his friend Linden Durant. Everyone won. Everyone but Declan.

Daly had been in Tanglewood all those years ago, and so had Saunders. They were both in their sixties, tall and thin and gray. Marston was new, and if not for Declan, he would be the youngest at the table. He had a harshness about him that the older men did not possess.

It didn't seem to matter who had been here years ago and who had not; no one remembered anyone so insignificant as a drunken farmer's son.

Declan did his best not to let his growing panic show. He didn't want to let these men know that losing money made him sweat.

A young woman in a plain calico dress and a white apron slipped quietly into the room. She moved like a mouse; quiet, stealthy, trying not to gain anyone's attention as she gathered dirty glasses and a few plates. She was thin as a rail, bony and shapeless. Her face might have been pretty, but for the long, prominent nose and the frizzy curls that had a tendency to fall across her gaunt cheeks.

"Lettie Mae," Arrington snapped, and the woman jumped, then scurried to the table. There was a wart on that long nose, Declan noticed.

"Yes, sir?"

Arrington did not bother to look up. "Is there any of that white cake left?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pack some up for Doc Daly," Arrington ordered. "His wife has a liking for white cake."

"Yes, sir."

Lettie Mae scurried away, looking as if she were grateful to escape the room, and Arrington.

"Lettie Mae does make excellent white cake," Doc Daly said as he perused his cards.

"Yes," Arrington said absently. "Too bad she's dumb as a fence post and ugly as sin. If she wasn't such an excellent cook I'd send her packing. Trash," he mumbled beneath his breath. "What do you expect?"

Hand after terrible hand passed through Declan's fingers. Whenever he got a decent deal, someone else had better cards to beat him out. When he bluffed, someone always called it.

"Maybe I should give up gambling," he said with a smile as he folded. He would not allow these men, the fine leaders of Tanglewood, to see that the idea of losing his hard-earned money was crushing him. He'd been poor most of his life. He knew what it was like to be hungry and not know where his next meal was coming from, to not have a roof over his head even on a stormy night. He could not, would not, be put in that position again.

"You're just having a bad run, son," Arrington said as he tossed a silver coin into the pot. "You can't walk away from a friendly game."

He shook his head, thinking of Matilda waiting at home. The thought soothed him, bad run or no bad run. "A man has to know when to call it quits." He would walk away with his pockets much lighter, but he wouldn't let these men see that losing a few dollars bothered him. He had his pride, and any one of them would protest that it was, after all, just money.

Easy enough to say if you didn't know what it was like not to have any.

"Another night," he said, stepping away from the table.

"Wednesday evening?" Arrington asked absently as he studied his cards. "Maybe your luck will change."

His luck at the tables had always been so good, until now. A chance to win back some of what he'd lost was too tempting to refuse. "Eight o'clock again?"

Arrington smiled, but he did not lift his eyes. "Eight o'clock."

Declan left to the sounds of laughter, cards shuffling, and coins pinging on the table. Mingled, they were sounds he usually enjoyed. Tonight they reminded him that he was a fool.

He had almost reached the wide front doors when a soft, feminine voice stopped him.

"Declan Harper, as I live and breathe."

He turned to see Vanessa heading toward him, a perfect smile on her face, a lilt to her walk and in her soft voice. Her gown of pale pink danced about her like a fluffy, pastel cloud.

"Vanessa, how are you?" he asked, just to be polite.

She was upon him when she answered. "Lonely." She pouted, a facial gesture so lovely she had surely practiced it before a mirror. "After we danced and visited at the Founders' Day Celebration, I expected you to call on me again. Why haven't you? Did I do something wrong?" She turned searching violet eyes up to him.

"Of course not, I've just been busy. Very busy, with remodeling the plantation and all."

She smiled seductively. "Then you are forgiven."

No one could say that Vanessa Arrington wasn't beautiful. She was the very picture of Southern womanhood, sweet and feminine and vulnerable. Artists painted faces like hers to preserve for posterity, lovestruck fools groveled and pleaded for smiles like the one she cast his way. Throughout history, men had killed and died for women like this one.

And at the moment Declan could not understand why. There was nothing behind those perfect violet eyes, no real laughter in her smile. She was beautiful the way a painting or a sunset might be. Nice to look at, but it sure as hell wouldn't keep you warm at night.

He bowed politely and bid her good night.

* * *

"I thought you said you couldn't marry him," Johnny said tiresomely.

"I can't, but that doesn't mean I'm going to step back and let that... that witch succeed in taking a man from me." She did not like to lose, something Johnny should know by now.

The windows of the guest house were open, allowing a warm breeze to wash over their bodies. They were completely naked, a dangerous pleasure but one she looked forward to. She liked the feel of Johnny's fine body against hers, and she kept him well satisfied so he was not too sorely tempted to take elsewhere what he could not get from her.

"You should leave them alone," he whispered. "They haven't done anything to hurt you."

She liked Johnny as a lover, and would like him even more when she was married and properly deflowered, but his morals were annoying, at times. She'd practically thrown herself at Declan earlier, and he'd looked at her as if he couldn't wait to get away! What did Johnny expect of her? That she'd allow such an insult to go unpunished?

"I have my pride," she explained. "I can't allow a barefoot hag in braids to steal Declan Harper from me, even if I don't want him anymore. How demoralizing."

"Maybe he loves her and doesn't care that she's a barefoot hag in braids," Johnny said as he rolled over her, spreading her thighs with his knee as they toned. "Maybe you should leave them the hell alone."

She felt Johnny's growing erection brush against her inner thigh, and trembled from the inside out. Rocking up, he barely grazed her wet entrance. He'd never touched her this way before. It was dangerous and exciting, thrilling to her very bones.

"Johnny, what are you doing?" She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair.

"Nothing," he whispered, rocking just slightly against her, teasing her mercilessly. "I know my boundaries, Vanessa."

"You're very close to going over those boundaries, Johnny, my dear."

Vanessa wanted, more than anything, to make the small move that would finally bring Johnny inside her, to grasp his hips and pull him into her, but she didn't. She fought the urge and tried to close her legs, but that was impossible.

"But I won't go past them," Johnny whispered. "You've made it very clear that I'm not good enough to be your husband, to take a husband's privileges." A touch of anger colored his soft voice. "Sometimes I think you're more of a witch than Matilda Candy will ever be."

She grinned, enjoying the feel of him and the exciting nature of the situation, reveling in the danger and the sensations that jolted through her body. Her pleasure didn't last long enough. Johnny abruptly rolled off her, left the bed, and scooped his clothes from the floor. He stepped quickly into his trousers and headed for the door with the remainder of his clothes in his hands.

"Get back here," she ordered sharply. She pushed herself into a languid sitting position, arching her back to present the most seductive possible picture; breasts thrust upward, legs slightly spread. She licked her lips hungrily. "I'm not finished with you."

"Maybe I'm finished with you," Johnny said, leaving the room without so much as a glance back.

* * *

Her head on Declan's shoulder as they lay in bed, Matilda stared up at the ceiling. He had loved her when he'd come home, then he'd held her quietly for a while. They were both silent, but neither of them had fallen asleep. A palpable tension filled the air, a tension she was anxious to dissolve.

"You'll never guess what I found today."

"What's that?" His voice was low. Still disturbed over losing at poker again, he was not his usual self. He had only scowled at her when she'd told him, with a smile, that if losing was going to upset him so, perhaps he should not play.

"A recipe for a genuine love potion," she whispered. "At least, Granny's note said it was real, and the recipe is quite unusual. There's even an incantation to be said over the brew, three times, and it's not the kind of potion you can throw together in an afternoon. It has to steep for two days and two nights."

"Do you really think it would work?" He sounded only slightly interested.

"I guess we'll never know," Matilda whispered. She raised up and smiled down at Declan. A hint of moonlight broke through the curtains to show her lover's face.

"There were many cautions, some my grandmother's, some printed in the book itself and others scribbled in the margins in different hands."

He laid a hand on her cheek, a loving, almost unconscious gesture. "What cautions?"

She shifted slightly in the bed, bringing her body closer to Declan's and staring down into his dark eyes. "There were warnings, printed in the book and written in the margins, about misusing the potion's power or taking too much of the liquid or using it for personal gain. But the last sentence said it best." She leaned over him in the dark so that her shadow fell across his face and whispered. "Love is not the end, it's the beginning."

In spite of his foul mood, he smiled. "The beginning, huh?"

She nodded. "Think about it. Some people think falling in love is the ultimate goal. Others, like me before I met you, think it's a terrible end. But falling in love is neither. It's a bright turn in the road, a sharing of hearts and bodies, a new beginning."