Midnight Rose (11 page)

She knew that, so why had she reacted with such surprise and indignity when he’d made his offer? She sure as hell had given the impression she knew what he was after by the innuendoes she’d made. And there was no mistaking her response when he’d kissed her. It was all puzzling, and he wished he could get her off his mind, but he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there and drink and be miserable, and the truth was, he was mad because he hadn’t gone ahead and taken her then and there. It wouldn’t have been rape. He knew how to make women beg for it, but he’d never done so when they weren’t willing in the first place. And Erin had made it quite clear she wasn’t.

He wondered if he dared ride over there, walk right up to her front door, demand to see her, and then come right out and ask her why she had led him on. But the truth was, he didn’t dare. It would be misconstrued as calling on her, and her mother would jump to conclusions, and it could turn into a bigger mess than it already was. The best thing to do was forget all about those limpid brandy-colored eyes and that luscious body. Just get up, take a bath, get dressed, and ride into town and find Corrisa. At least she was eager and willing, knew what he liked. He had nearly two months free before his mother and Ermine returned from Europe, so maybe he’d just move Corrisa into the house. The servants wouldn’t dare gossip about it. Jasmine Hill was composed of nearly a thousand acres, so it wasn’t likely anyone would even know she was about. Most importantly, he knew he had to get his mind on something else. He’d probably wind up making Corrisa his mistress, anyway—a possibility that didn’t particularly excite him.

He reached for the bottle again and took a long swallow. He was just sober enough to realize he didn’t have any business riding into Richmond alone. He’d either fall off his horse or make easy prey for any outlaws that might be about. He’d go in the carriage, get Ebner to take the reins.

With a yawn, he got up, stretched, and was about to ring for Ebner to have his bath drawn, when he heard a hesitant knock on the door. “Mastah,” Ebner called softly, “I’m sorry to bother you, but you got company.”

Ryan shook his head, which felt a bit cobwebby. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and people knew better than to call without being invited. “Who the hell is it?” he barked, tone a bit slurred from drink. “Get rid of them and get my bath ready.”

“She says her name is Mrs. Tremayne.”

He quickly went to open the door, sure he’d heard wrong. “Erin’s mother? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,
he’s quite sure,” Arlene stated crisply, as she breezed by Ebner and on into the room. She wasn’t about to be put off, and when he’d instructed her to wait in the front parlor, she had stubbornly followed after him.

Ebner nervously began to explain how he’d asked her to wait, but Ryan waved him away. “Just get me some strong coffee. Tea for the lady.” Closing the door, he wished he hadn’t drunk the afternoon away so he could think, speak, clearly. “Mrs. Tremayne,” he greeted thickly. He held out his hand, slightly swaying. “An unexpected pleasure—”

“Unexpected?” She raised an eyebrow. She was carefully removing her gloves, one finger at a time. Her gaze flicked over him critically. He was disheveled, wearing wrinkled trousers, a shirt with the tail hanging out. No shoes. His hair hadn’t been combed, and he hadn’t shaved. With an intimidating air, she said, “I would say so. I’d hate to think this is the way you normally receive guests.”

He didn’t like the way she was looking at him and instinctively began to stuff his shirt into his trousers and to glance about for his shoes. “Forgive me for saying so,” he couldn’t resist, “but you seem to make a habit of appearing unexpectedly, Mrs. Tremayne. Had you been an invited guest, you’d have certainly found me appropriately dressed. Sit, please.” He gestured to the leather sofa. “And tell me why I’m honored with this visit.”

“Honor?” Again she responded with sarcasm. “An interesting choice of words, Mr. Youngblood, since I’m here to discuss that very matter concerning my daughter.” She sat down primly on the edge of the sofa, keeping her back rigid, stiff, striving to appear imperious.

For an instant, Ryan could only stare at her, bewildered, trying to figure out amid the damn buzzing in his head what the hell she was talking about. He lowered himself into his chair before tersely responding, “I think you’d better explain that remark.”

“Certainly. You see, Mr. Youngblood, the matter of honor is what brings me here. You’ve sullied my daughter’s by attempting to seduce her.”

“Seduce?” He half rose out of his chair, eyes widening.

She regarded him coolly, motioned for him to sit back down, waited for him to do so before continuing, “I’m a witness to that shocking scene yesterday, when you met my daughter down near the grist house. I saw you try to get her intoxicated. I saw you trying to force yourself on her. And I saw her fight you off and run away.”

Arlene paused, wanting to give him time to absorb everything she’d just said, before concluding, “I’m sure we can resolve this amiably, with a minimum of embarrassment to both families.”

Again, Ryan gave his head a vicious shake, wondered what the hell was going on. “Now wait a minute,” he said. “If you were there, then you should know I wasn’t forcing Erin to do anything. I have no idea why she got upset all of a sudden, because she was sure acting like she enjoyed every minute of what I was doing to her.”

Arlene hoped her grimace convincingly conveyed her embarrassment over such a delicate subject. “Surely, Mr. Youngblood, you will agree that it was very improper of you to invite my daughter to meet you there in the first place. When a man is interested in a young woman, he calls at her home.”

“If
he’s interested in formally courting her,” he pointed out sharply, leaning forward to grip the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white with the pressure. “I’m not interested in courting Erin, Mrs. Tremayne. In case you aren’t aware, I already have a fiancée.”

“I know,” she said, unmoved, then added challengingly, “So why were you at the Rose Ball?”

“A friend asked me to go with him. Look here!” He bolted from his chair to tower over her, eyes narrowed in anger. “I didn’t try to force your daughter to do anything. Now get to the point, Mrs. Tremayne,” he said, muscles twitching in his jaw. “Why are you here? Did Erin say I tried to force myself on her? Because if she did, she’s lying, and I’m afraid I’ll have to call her a liar to her face if she persists.”

It was only with great effort that Arlene was able to keep from withering before him. Lord, he was angry, but she told herself he’d get over it. Erin would make him a much better wife than would Ermine Coley, and in time he’d come to realize that fact himself. Meanwhile she would just have to help things along. “To repeat myself, I’m sure we can resolve all of this with a minimum of embarrassment to both families.”

He laughed, incredulous. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“That my husband will be very upset if I have to tell him all this, how you tried to seduce Erin, even asked her to be your mistress.”

“Mistress!” he roared, then silently cursed. So, Erin was going to use that to try and force him to marry her. Damn the vixen to hell!

“And,” Arlene smoothly went on, “we don’t want the scandal of a duel, for heaven’s sake! After all, I shouldn’t have to remind you that your family honor is also at stake in this unfortunate situation. Now, if we can just quietly arrange the wedding, my daughter’s virtue and reputation will be assured, and your mother, along with your friends, will think you met my daughter and it was love at first sight. Those things do happen. There will be no need for anyone to ever know you tried to seduce a young girl.”

He threw up his hands in absolute frustration, then slammed them down to whirl about, even more agitated, at the sound of the door opening quietly.

Ebner entered the room, carefully balancing a silver tray with teapot, cream, a bowl of sugar lumps, a cup of steaming coffee, and a plate of lemon cookies. With a wary look at his master, he set the tray down on the table in front of the lady, then stood back as she obliged herself by pouring her own tea. “Anything else, suh?” he asked worriedly, sure something was wrong, because he’d heard much of his master’s shouting.

“Yes.” Ryan all but snarled. “Get my bath ready, and get the carriage ready. We’re going into town. I have an appointment with a lady friend.” He turned to glare at Arlene for emphasis.

While she waited for his servant to leave, she creamed her tea, dropped in two lumps of sugar, then stirred with a tiny silver spoon. Finally, she looked up at him to offer her most demure smile and sweetly say, “Since you seem to be busy this evening, Mr. Youngblood, we’ll expect you to call tomorrow to discuss the wedding arrangements. Shall we say—tea at four?”

Chapter Seven

Ryan had not gone into Richmond. After getting absolutely nowhere with Mrs. Tremayne, who’d made it very clear when she finally left that if he didn’t show up the following afternoon by four, her husband would be banging on his door by five, he was in no mood for either revelry or sex.

He’d consumed two pots of strong black coffee to clear his head fully, as he spent the next few hours railing at himself for being in such disreputable shape when she’d confronted him. Unshaved, unkempt, just a few drinks short of being totally drunk and incoherent, he hadn’t been in a condition even to attempt to defend himself.

It wasn’t like him to drink himself into a stupor, anyway. Sure, he imbibed now and then, but could count on one hand the number of times he’d crossed the line to utter intoxication. The first had been the year he turned twelve. One of his friends found a jar of home brew, and they had hidden in a hayloft to guzzle it down and wound up being sick for two days afterward. The next binge was the night his father died. And again when he’d learned the truth about that bitch, Simone.

Now, misery over the beauteous Erin Sterling had provoked a bender, and as he sobered, he realized things were even worse than he’d first imagined.

It was all a scheme. He knew that beyond a doubt. Erin had planned to make him so crazy with wanting her, he’d ask her to marry him. She hadn’t counted on his offer, instead, to be his mistress. So she and her mother came up with the contrivance about his attempted seduction and subsequent dishonor to her virtue.

The more he thought about it, the madder he got. Who the hell did they think they were dealing with, anyway? Did they actually think he’d be intimidated by an unprincipled scoundrel like Zachary Tremayne? If the fool challenged him to a duel, he’d blow him away in the blink of an eye. And he sure as hell didn’t care about embarrassment to either himself or his family. His mother had nagged him for years about his disregard for social mores and wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he’d had another dalliance. Neither would Ermine, who probably suspected he had other women and would continue to do so after they were married and wouldn’t give a damn as long as he was reasonably discreet about it.

Why, then, he asked himself over and over as the miserable night passed, was he even upset about Mrs. Tremayne’s imperious and ridiculous demand? Yet, when anger and indignity finally began to cool, he was washed with the reality that the idea of marriage to Erin was not totally repugnant. She was, he acknowledged, everything any man could desire in a woman—certainly all he had ever dreamed of possessing. Had she come from the right kind of family, made a proper debut, nothing would have stopped him from pursuing her with matrimony in mind from the instant he laid eyes on her.

It was not, he rationalized, altogether her beauty that triggered such emotions. Neither was it her sensual aura that made him want to take her in his arms and carry her off to the nearest bed. Oh, no, there was much more—like her wit and sense of humor and her spirit and zest for living. No question but that she was keenly intelligent, an interesting conversationalist.

With a wry grin, he was forced to realize how much more he’d have to share with Erin than with the cotton-headed fluff chosen by his mother. Something told him that he wouldn’t need, or want, another woman with Erin in his bed every night. Taking her with him on his travels would be a pleasure. And maybe, he dared envision, if they both tried, his jaded opinion of a possible utopian marriage would crystallize into reality.

Yet, despite the positive waves, he was still infuriated by all the conniving. Erin, like her mother, was obviously the sort who’d stop at nothing to get what she wanted, and he’d be damned if he’d put up with their blackmail.

By sunrise, Ryan had made up his mind to settle the matter as soon as possible. He’d be damned if he was going to stew about it all day. He saddled his horse himself, because the grooms were all still asleep, and headed for the Tremayne plantation. The air was sweet and cool, and gentle mist was rising from the dew-kissed meadows. A doe and her fawn curiously watched him galloping along from where they drank at a stream. Ryan, in his determination, was oblivious to everything around him.

The ride took nearly twenty minutes at a moderate gait, but he slowed as the house came into view. It wasn’t so grand, he thought, certainly nowhere near the opulence of Jasmine Hill, but then it was highly unlikely Zachary Tremayne’s wealth could compete with the Youngblood fortune.

He found himself wondering if Erin was aware of her stepfather’s real source of income. It damn sure wasn’t from cotton. Ryan had made some discreet inquiries after the ball, wanting to learn exactly what kind of background she came from. He had learned that Keith was quite correct in the gossip about Tremayne being suspected of illegal slave trading. Tremayne had frequently been seen in the company of Nate Donovan, one of the most brutal slave handlers and traders in the South.