Into the Woods (7 page)

"I hope the fourth category is more promising than the first three," he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

She opened the book from which she would be working. "These potions contain herbs and flowers, wines and fragrant oils, spices and dried fruits. In the proper combination they look to be quite promising."

"How many promising formulas did you come across?" he asked.

She smiled. "More than a dozen."

"I want the strongest love potion in that book," Declan said intently, pointing at the weathered old tome that lay open on her table.

She felt a rush of disappointment. Why did she constantly look at this man and expect more? It was silly. He was no different from every other man. "You're very determined to have her, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am," he said with conviction. "I've worked long and hard to get where I am, and my plan is almost complete. I don't have time to court the woman I intend to marry. I just want this over and done with."

Again, she looked at him and felt an inexplicable disappointment. What had she expected? More heart? More brains? A hint of a tender soul inside that tough body?

"Is a woman who's not worthy of proper courting worth marrying?"

Declan's jaw clenched and unclenched, and his eyes flashed like dark fire. "If she's the prettiest woman in the county and heiress to the land that adjoins mine, she is."

Matilda spun around, turning her back on him before he had a chance to see her face and read the expression there. Oh, what a stupid, stupid man! What he really needed was a common-sense potion.

"Come back in two days," she said curtly. "I'll have something ready for you then."

"You don't have anything prepared now?" he asked impatiently. She heard the scrape of his chair across the floor as he rose. Still, she didn't turn to face him; she was not ready.

"No," she said softly. "I don't have anything prepared. You'll have to come back in two days."

She waited to hear him move, waited for the closing of her door; but all was silent for a few long moments. Finally he whispered, "Matilda? Is everything all right?"

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. Her lips turned up in a soft smile. She made sure the picture she presented was clear and calm. "Everything is fine. I'm just planning, trying to decide which potion will suit you and Vanessa best."

At that, he bid her a friendly good-bye and left with a smile on his face. When he was gone she slammed the book shut. Long-undisturbed dust tickled her nose, making her sneeze violently. If she'd been given to foul language, she would've cursed Declan Harper heartily as he rode away.

* * *

Gretchen looked with dismay at the mess on her plate.

"What is this?" Hanson hissed as he leaned close.

"I'm not quite sure," she answered softly, "but I believe Stella is trying to poison us."

Hanson placed a finger in the brown gooey mess on his plate, and made a winding trail that slowly filled in on itself. "I don't think Stella would poison us. Father would be awfully angry if she did."

"Perhaps not," Gretchen surmised. "Perhaps she wants her own babies and not us, and she's convinced Father that we'll just be in the way."

Stella breezed into the kitchen with a wide smile on her face. "How do you like the caramel?"

Hanson studied his plate with renewed interest. "Caramel? This doesn't look like caramel."

Stella's smile faded. "Well, it didn't firm up the way Matilda said it would. Maybe it'll turn out better next time."

Hanson bravely brought a finger dripping with goo to his lips and shoved it into his mouth, licking his finger clean. He wrinkled his nose. "It tastes burned."

"How can it be burned and not done at the same time?" Gretchen asked, feeling brave and taking a taste of her own. Hanson was correct. There was a distinct undertone of char to the runny mess. She pushed the plate away. Perhaps Stella really was trying to poison them! "I'm not very hungry."

"Me, neither," Hanson said, pushing his own plate away.

Stella looked disappointed as she carried away the plates. "Perhaps the next batch will turn out better."

Gretchen looked over at her brother and grimaced at his expression. Hanson was much too soft for his own good, at times. He still didn't quite understand that their stepmother would do anything, anything, to be rid of them. He went to Stella and patted her comfortingly on the arm. "That's okay," he said softly. Then Gretchen was shocked to hear him say, "But if it's all the same to you, I'll take my chances with the witch."

* * *

Declan stood in the Arrington parlor, sipping at a crystal tumbler of Warren Arrington's best whiskey. In his wildest dreams he'd never thought to be here; not like this. A reluctant demon deep inside him waited for his plans to fall apart, for the accusations to begin. "You look familiar. I remember the name Harper. Was your father that white-trash drunk that lived down the road a ways?"

"Cigar?" Arrington offered, opening the humidor on a small end table.

"Thank you," Declan said, pleased to see that Arrington did not buy his cigars from Fox's General Store.

Warren Arrington had never wanted for anything in his life, of that Declan was certain. Born on this plantation, raised here, he'd even managed to survive the war relatively untouched. He was not a tall man, probably standing no more than five-foot-seven, and he was built like a barrel. His hair was silver gray and thinning, his nose was too large for his round face, and yet still he managed to look dignified.

Vanessa, no doubt, had inherited her fine looks from her mother.

They lit cigars and sipped appreciatively at fine whiskey. The denunciations Declan expected never came. His demons faded slowly, and he made himself search inside himself for the patience that was always so difficult for him to find. He knew Arrington well enough to know that the planter had not invited him here tonight to accuse or to entertain. The man wanted something.

"You've done well, for a young man," Arrington said as he took a chair by the window. "How old are you, Harper? Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Twenty-nine," Declan said, taking the chair to which Arrington gestured.

Arrington raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Even younger than I thought. Impressive."

Declan took a long drag on his cigar. There was no need to respond.

"What plans do you have for the old Ashton place?" Arrington asked.

Declan smiled. At last, the real purpose behind the unexpected invitation. "Why, once I get the big house and the servants' quarters in a livable condition, I plan to work the plantation as it should be worked. The cotton market isn't great right now, but I believe it will come back."

Arrington smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. I hate to see good land go to waste." He leaned forward as if sharing a confidence. "Why, some carpetbagger bought the Keenan place over in Turner's Bend and turned that fine old home into a house of ill repute," he drawled. "Then they sold off the land a piece at a time to common farmers. It was scandalous."

"You can rest assured that won't happen to my place," Declan said, holding back a smile.

"Daddy," a sweet, Southern voice called. "I hate to ask, but I must have an advance on my allowance. There's a lovely hat..." Vanessa stopped speaking when she saw Declan.

Both men stood quickly, standing straight and tall to greet Vanessa.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Daddy. I didn't know you had company." She gave Declan a small smile, the corners of her perfect lips turning up, her violet eyes sparkling. "Why, you must think I have terrible manners, to come bursting in on you two this way."

Even now, late in the evening, in the comfort of her own home, she was flawlessly dressed. Her pale green gown was delicate and feminine, unwrinkled and of the finest, most expensive fabric. Her earrings were tasteful pearls. Not a hair was out of place. Her slender neck was graceful, achingly delicate. And oh, what a face.

"Mr. Harper, I don't believe you've met my daughter, Vanessa," Arrington said with apparent pride.

Declan took Vanessa's hand, bending forward in a curt bow as any fine gentleman would do. Her fingers were long and slender, her flesh creamy smooth. Declan was almost afraid to touch her, she was so very fragile. His lips barely brushed her knuckles. "I have seen Miss Arrington about town, but have never had the pleasure of being properly introduced."

Her father did the honors, introducing them formally. Vanessa gave a small curtsy and a shy smile, and Declan couldn't help but notice, as her foot slipped momentarily from beneath a full skirt, that her shoes matched her gown perfectly. He had the urge to steal one of those pale green slippers and hide it under his bed.

"Oh, Daddy," Vanessa said, lowering her voice as she turned away from Declan and went to her father. "Henry Langford asked me to marry him again. I tried to let him down easy, but I'm afraid he didn't take it well this time. If he comes around, do tell him I'm indisposed and very gently send him away."

"Of course, dear," Arrington promised.

She turned with the grace of a dancer and smiled at Declan. "I'll leave you gentlemen alone," she said softly, her Southern accent refined and honey-sweet. "I won't bore Mr. Harper with my tales of relentless suitors and periwinkle hats."

As Vanessa Arrington left the room, her head high, her face pleasantly set in a serene smile, Declan redoubled his resolve to have her.

In two days he'd have Matilda's love potion. In three days he'd use it.

Chapter 5

Matilda smiled as she placed the stoppered vial on the table before an anxious Declan Harper. A greenish-brown coarse powder with flecks of red caught the candlelight, making the filled vial quite pretty. Even though she did not approve of his plan, she was proud that she'd managed to concoct exactly what he'd been looking for.

"What is it?" Declan whispered from his seat on the opposite side of the table.

"A few common herbs in the right proportions, with just a touch of ground bitter cherries."

He picked up the vial and studied it skeptically. "How can I be certain it will work?"

"You can't be certain, not until you try it," Matilda said, her smile fading.

"How much should I use? How should it be... administered?" He lifted dark, questioning eyes to her.

"A pinch should be enough," Matilda said. "You can sprinkle it on her food or drop it into her drink."

"How long after she takes the potion will it take effect?"

"I'm not sure," Matilda said, faltering slightly. "I would think... minutes rather than hours."

A suspicious man, Declan removed the cork and sniffed at the contents. "This won't hurt her, will it? Vanessa is a delicate lady. Fragile. How can I be sure there's nothing dangerous in here?"

Matilda sighed, losing her patience with the man. She'd made him exactly what he'd asked for, and all he did was sit there and frown and ask insolent questions.

"Won't you take my word on it?" she asked, more than a little insulted.

"Why should I?" he countered brusquely. "You've never done this before."

No one had ever accused her of incompetence! They called her a witch, they occasionally shunned her in public, but at least they had the decency to respect her skills. "Take it yourself, Mr. Harper," she suggested in a lowered voice. "Surely you won't mind risking your own skin in order to safeguard the life and well-being of the precious, delicate Vanessa Arrington."

He actually seemed to consider the idea, staring at the vial of powder with narrowed eyes. "I'm so much bigger than she is, I don't see how that would be a proper test." Moving slowly, he lifted his head and set his hawk-like gaze unerringly upon her. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her, giving her an unexpected chill. "You're about her size, though."

Matilda shot to her feet. "If you are suggesting that I experiment on myself to see if your potion is safe, you're crazy."

"Where's the risk? You said it was safe."

"It is!" Matilda protested. "But... but..."

"I'll take it, too," he said calmly. He had visibly relaxed, now that he'd thought of an answer to all his questions.

"I am not going to sit here and take a... an aphrodisiac." Her face turned warm. "I will not experiment on myself," she insisted.

Declan was unperturbed. "We know what we're taking, so any influences of the potion we feel will be easily dismissed. Just think of it, Matilda." He held up the vial so that it caught the candlelight again. "If this is effective, you can start a whole new sideline to your business. What do you think a man might pay for a safe elixir that will make his wife want him again? How much might it be worth to a woman to bring a disinterested husband back to her bed? There's nothing harmful here." He locked his eyes to hers. "Is there?"

Her fears faded, slowly. It did seem a rather good idea, when he put it that way. Strictly business. And how would she be able to tell people instructions for use if she didn't have any true knowledge?

"I'll get some tea to mix it in," she said, stepping away from the table. "But we both have to drink," she added with a glance over her shoulder. "And we must always keep in mind that no matter what we feel, it isn't real."