Into the Woods (27 page)

Johnny was not in his room, though. She frowned. It was late. He should be sleeping!

She walked from the stables to the guest house. Maybe he was there, hoping she'd come to him. Her step was light on the grass, her way clear by the light of a full moon. She passed in and out of the shade of the majestic trees along the way, her eyes on the white cottage ahead. The window of the bedroom was open, she saw. The night breeze made the curtain dance in and out of the opening, like a ghost trying to escape but tied to the house. That meant someone was there, since the house was kept closed up when not in use. Who else could possibly be there but Johnny, bemoaning what he'd lost and hoping for her return?

As soon as she'd exacted suitable revenge on the witch, she'd find a proper husband and make Johnny her proper lover. She could hardly wait, but of course she had no choice.

She crept quietly into the guest house, planning to surprise Johnny. He would be happy to know he was forgiven. So happy he would do anything she asked.

From the hallway, she saw a form on the bed, long and male and indistinct. The quilt was pulled all the way up over his head. Perhaps he was asleep, because he didn't move at all. He didn't so much as turn his head her way.

She crept into the room and to the side of the bed.

Johnny continued to sleep beneath the fat quilt, his back to her as he breathed deep and even.

With a smile, Vanessa sat on the side of the bed and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Wake up," she whispered. "You knew I would come here tonight, didn't you?"

He stirred slightly, but did not turn to face her. She lay down beside him, her chest against his back, her hand encircling his waist until it rested against his stomach.

Her hand dipped lower, searching for the sure sign that he was aroused, even though he played at being distant. His body could not lie to her.

"I forgive you," she said softly, feeling quite magnanimous. "Let me show you how much I forgive you." She finally found a small bulge and laid her hand over it, surprised that her touch elicited no response.

He moved, rolling slowly onto his back, pushing down the quilt. Her first clue that something was wrong was the shock of moonlight on pale hair that stood up like straw. When that moonlight illuminated the ugliest face she had ever seen, she rolled from the bed and squealed.

"I did not expect such hospitality," Raleigh Cox said in a pleasant voice as he sat up, "when your father offered me the use of his guest house."

He looked like a scarecrow sitting up in bed; thin arms like sticks, hair like straw, and a face uglier than any she had ever seen, even on a scarecrow. "I... I... there's been a mistake," she gasped.

He grinned and leaned against the headboard. "Pity. Who's Johnny?"

"None of your business," she snapped, panicked. This horrid creature knew her secret! If he told... she calmed herself. No one would believe him. Raleigh Cox was a con man, a drifter. If he dared to tell what he'd seen and heard tonight, no one would believe him. Who would believe anything from such a repulsive mouth?

"I won't tell," he said, stretching out to his full length. "We all have secrets."

For some reason, she believed him. It made perfect sense. What would he have to gain by ruining her reputation? "I suppose that's true. What's your secret, Mr. Cox?"

He grinned. She wished he hadn't. "I have too many secrets to tell, Miss Arrington. Since we have shared a bed, don't you think we should be on a first-name basis?"

She almost laughed at him. Did he think they were going to be friends? "I don't know that it's wise for us to be too familiar, Mr. Cox."

"Perhaps not."

She should run, now, escape from her embarrassment and try to find Johnny. But she was bored, and since Johnny was not in his room and not here, she didn't know where to look next. "My father thinks you're a con man."

"Then why did he offer me the use of his guest house when I complained about the hotel?"

"Because he thinks it's funny to see you make fools of the farmers. He thinks they're all imbeciles."

Cox smiled again, and Vanessa almost shuddered. "It always rains eventually, Miss Arrington," he said, emphasizing the proper use of her name. "If I'm around when it finally falls, I take the credit. If rain takes too long to come, I disappear in the night."

"I suspected as much."

"Now you know my secret and I know yours," he whispered. "We're even."

Vanessa hardly considered them even. Anyone with half a brain knew Cox was a con man. No one else knew she liked to indulge in decadent pleasures with a servant.

"How much longer will you be here?" she asked, wondering how much time it would be before he was far away, and she could breathe easy again.

"A few days," Cox said. "The farmers are already getting restless." He sat up straighter and smiled. "Maybe if you don't have any luck finding your Johnny, you can come back here and let me keep you company."

She laughed out loud. Laughing was rude, and unwise, but she could not help herself. The thought of allowing a man this hideously ugly to touch her was ludicrous.

Cox's grin faded quickly, and Vanessa's laughter finally died.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But the very idea..."

"Of allowing a monster to touch you," he interrupted, "is laughable."

"You're not a monster," she said. "You're just not very pretty. I like pretty men."

Cox laid down, pulled the quilt to his chin, and turned his back to her. "Maybe one day you'll find out that in the dark, all men are very much the same. And all women," he added in a softer voice.

* * *

He should've been home hours ago! Matilda paced in the main room. A single lamp burned, casting eerie shadows all around. Her heart wouldn't be still, wouldn't beat regularly as it should. Something had happened to Declan; she knew it. He'd been thrown from his horse and broken his neck, set upon by robbers on the deserted road. Set upon by Vanessa in the Arrington house. Which scenario was worst?

She made herself sit, but she couldn't relax. Her hands clenched in her lap, and her heart kept beating too fast. Declan should've been home hours ago!

A new fear intruded. What if, in spite of all he'd said, he didn't think of this place as home? What if he'd gone to his plantation house and was presently sound asleep in his bed while she fretted?

She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard slow hoofbeats outside her cottage, closing her eyes as she took her first deep breath in quite a while. He had come home, after all.

The door opened and Declan stepped inside, his clothes disheveled, his jacket discarded. He still wore his vest, but it and the buttons of his shirt had been unfastened. Matilda knew the moment she saw his face that something was wrong. He was pale, his features tight and rugged. He looked as if he'd aged ten years since he'd left a few hours ago.

"What's wrong?"

He lifted his eyes at her question, as if he was surprised to see her sitting there. "I thought you'd be asleep."

She shook her head. "I was too worried to sleep."

Declan paced as she had moments earlier. "I rode out to the house for a while, then walked through town while everyone else was asleep, then headed here. I stopped a few times to walk, to think."

She rose and went to him, but he turned so that she faced his broad, tense back. "What happened?"

He spun around to face her, but kept his distance. "I lost everything," he whispered, as if to say such a thing aloud was too awful to consider. "Everything, Matilda."

"All the money you took with you?" she asked.

"Everything I own but the saloons and general stores my family is operating out West." He anxiously raked his fingers through already mussed hair, and it seemed his hand trembled, just a little. "I lost the plantation, Matilda. I let that son of a bitch sucker me in."

She reached out and again he turned his back on her and stepped away. Her outstretched hand fell on nothing but the air where he'd been standing a moment earlier.

"You can start again," she said softly.

His back to her, he shook his head slowly. "Arrington knew who I was. He's known almost from the beginning. He set me up and took everything I've worked for, and I'm going to get him for what he's done."

"Of course you are," Matilda said in a soothing voice. "You'll get your place back."

He spun to face her again, and the expression on his face was terrifying. His jaw was hard, his mouth thin, his dark eyes devoid of the warmth she was accustomed to seeing there. She had never seen him so harsh, so hopeless. Or so determined.

"I don't want that damn plantation," he seethed. "It's not enough anymore. I want Arrington to suffer. I want him to pay."

"Declan, I don't—"

"He took everything from me: my land, my money, my vengeance." Declan looked as if he were about to explode, as if it took all his concentration and energy to keep from falling apart. "I'm going to hurt him, Matilda, and the only way to do that is to take the one thing in the world he cares about."

Knowing where he was going with this, she began to shake her head long before he finished by whispering the damnable words, "His daughter."

"You're not thinking clearly tonight," Matilda said, trying to remain calm. But that was impossible. Her heart beat too hard, her mouth was too dry. "In the morning..."

"No."

"In the morning things will look different."

He shook his head and reached out to touch her at last, laying his hands on her cheeks and gazing into her eyes. His hands trembled; his touch was distant, hesitant. The tips of his fingers were cold as he brushed them over her face. He looked so lost, so desperate, and she wanted nothing more than to take away his pain. "I have nothing to offer you," he whispered desolately. "Nothing."

Since coming home, he'd done his best not to look at her too hard, too long, always turning away when she sensed some softness in his heart or in his conviction. She saw a hint of that now, a weakness for her and what they had, and he did not turn away from her this time. That alone gave her hope.

"All I want is your heart. It's all I need," she said quietly. Love was enough for her, and it should be enough for him, too. He did love her. She knew it as surely as she knew that the sky was blue and the summer was hot. But as she looked at him, she realized that something as simple as love wasn't enough for Declan; it would never be enough.

When he responded, his voice was low and held no room for indecision. "Dammit Matilda, I can't go back."

He'd said once that he wasn't afraid of anything—not witches, not the dark, not of being poor again. It was, perhaps, the only time he'd ever lied to her, and he probably didn't even realize it. She reached out to touch his cheek, much as he continued to touch hers. Her hands trembled, as his did, but she pushed away her fear and called upon the only thing she had to hold Declan to her. Her love for him. If she could reach the deepest, warmest part of him, if she could make him realize that what they had was all that mattered, this night would end as it should: with Declan in her bed and her arms. "What we have is worth more than a thousand plantations."

Her heart broke when he shook his head. "If I walk away from this now, I'll be less of a man. Arrington defeated me in a hell of a lot more than a game of cards. If I stop now, if I let him win, I might as well run like he told me to." His eyes grew distant, too cold for such a warm brown. "But I'll take his daughter, his only child," he said gruffly, determined. "I'll marry her and make her love me and he'll have no choice but to welcome the white trash son of a drunkard into his family with open arms. I'll make his life hell."

He did not drop his hands, but moved them to her neck where they rested, cool and large and possessive.

"You can't mean it," Matilda whispered.

"This doesn't mean I don't want you," Declan breathed softly. He was at war with himself; she could see the battle in his eyes. "More than anything, I want you in my life. Being with you, loving you, was the happiest time of my life. This cottage has become more of a home to me than any house I ever lived in." His words gave her hope. What man could walk away from something so precious? A woman who loved him, a home.

"I'm so damn tempted to ask you to be my mistress forever, to keep this place here for me so I'll have a home to come to. To keep your bed warm for only me."

"Declan—"

"But I won't," he interrupted, his voice cracking. "As much as I need you, as much as I need this, I can't offer you less than everything. It wouldn't be fair. You deserve better."

What little hope she had died quickly. Declan hadn't forgotten that he loved her, he had simply decided his revenge was more valuable. More important than anything they ever had or would have together.

"This is good-bye," she whispered in horror, knowing now why he'd taken so long to make his way from the Arrington plantation to her cottage. He didn't like this parting any more than she did, but he'd made his decision.

"Yes," he whispered, leaning down and laying his forehead against hers.

She closed her eyes as red-hot rage welled up inside her.

"You're willing to throw away everything we have for revenge?"

"I have no choice."

"You have a thousand choices," she said, her voice gradually rising from the low whisper they'd fallen into. "You choose this over me and then tell me you have no other option?" She could not remember anger ever hurting this way, gnawing at her insides and making her quiver. "Face it, Declan, you never intended to marry me. Deep inside I knew it all along." Oh, she was such a fool! "I'm not a fine lady who can enhance your image when you make yourself King of Tanglewood. I'm a woman with a reputation, a witch, and I can only hurt your chances of getting everything you want."

"That's not true," he said as she shook him off and backed away.

"Then why did you never ask me to marry you?" It was rage that kept her on her feet. Heaven help her, without this anger she would dissolve, would literally fall apart. "Why did you only kiss and hold me when there were no prying eyes to see? You liked what we had, but not enough to embarrass yourself by declaring your affections in public."