The Flame and the Flower (35 page)

Heather glanced up at the woman in surprise. "Why do you say that, Hatti?"

The Negress pursed her lips. "Master says I talk too much," she replied, rolling her eyes, and she hurried off to find bath oil for the water.

Heather sat perplexed. Her curiosity was aroused now, but the Negress seemed, for the moment at least, to have run out of words.

A shout and an angry whinny from outside caught her attention and she went to the window to see Brandon astride a black horse which pranced and snorted and wasn't at all pleased to be mounted. Jeff stood aside watching his brother battle the horse for control, and Hatti joined Heather at the window to view the scene below. Angry under the bridle and spurs, the animal reared and lunged, throwing up great clods of dirt with his hooves, but Brandon carried a heavy riding crop with the butt forward, and each time the animal tried to rear he struck him smartly between the ears with the heavy end. Finally the raging beast began to run in frustration. Brandon shortened the reins and even then forced his commands upon the horse. He ran him around the pasture until the steaming, sweating beast condescended to stand shivering and subdued by the gate.

Hatti shook her head. "That old horse, there ain't but Master Bran can ride him. And he's sure feeling this cool weather and all that corn he's been eating. The Master has to break him all over again every time he comes back."

As Jeff opened the gate to let the horse and rider out, Heather stepped closer to the window, pushing the curtain aside so she could watch them ride away. Man and beast faced the house for a moment and Brandon looked up to see her standing there in her shift gazing down at him. The mount pawed the dirt and champed at the reins, impatient now to be gone, but his master held him tight, distracted with the view at the window. When Brandon made no move to go through the gate, Jeff turned and followed his gaze upward. Heather drew back for modesty's sake and dropped the curtain, and Brandon's attention returned once more to the horse. In a flurry of hooves, the animal charged through the open gate and took off in full stride, stretching his powerful muscles in magnificent anger. Brandon shook out the reins and let him run, enjoying again the rhythmic surge of the great steed beneath him.

"Come on, honey child," Hatti urged. "Your bath is ready and it's gonna get cold if we stand here much longer. The Master knows how to ride old Leopold, so there ain't no use fretting."

Heather soaked in the bath while Hatti hustled George and Luke up the stairs and into the room next door with the trunks and began unpacking them, putting the clothes away in the master bedroom. From the assortment of gowns she selected one of mauve velvet for her mistress to wear and spread it carefully upon the huge bed.

"Is this dress all right, Miss Heather? It sure is pretty. Master Bran will like it. Did he buy all them clothes for you? He sure takes care of his own, that man."

Heather smiled and let the woman ramble. She had already realized that Hatti continued on and with conjectures, in most cases, answered her own questions with amazing accuracy.

The Negress came to the tub with a huge towel spread to encompass her young mistress. "Stand your little self up here and let old Hatti dry you off, child," she directed. "Then I'll give you a good rubbing with some rose oil and you can rest a little before supper. Master Bran'll be wanting his bath when he gets back."

Some moments later Hatti closed the door quietly behind her and left a drowsy Heather lying across the bed, a soft, downy quilt spread over her. It was deep dusk when she woke and stirred, and the Negress, somehow sensing her awakening, came to help her dress for dinner.

"You sure got pretty hair, child," she said, smiling broadly as she brushed its lustrous length slowly. "I suspect the Master's strutting proud of it." And under her breath she added, "Humph, that Miss Louisa don't hold no candle to this at all."

A moment later Heather heard Brandon's footsteps in the hail and Hatti's hands flew in frenzied haste to finish the task of combing her hair.

"Lordy me, Master Bran's home and I ain't got you near ready."

The door opened and Brandon walked in, carrying his coat slung over his shoulder. His face was still red from the ride and he was slightly breathless.

"Yassah. Yassah. I's gonna have her ready in just a minute," Hatti hurriedly assured him.

He laughed softly as his eyes fixed on Heather sitting before the mirror in her shift. "Don't let yourself fly to pieces, Hatti. You're going to drive yourself into a fit."

"Yassah. Yassah. There's no rest for the wicked," she grinned.

Brandon dropped his coat in a chair and began unbuttoning his waistcoat as the old Negress piled Heather's hair on top of her head and tied it loosely in place with a ribbon. He watched with a warm, appreciative gaze as she helped Heather into the gown, but when the Negress reached up to fasten the back he moved to them.

"Here, Hatti, I'll do that. You go see about my bath."

"Yassah, Master Bran," she chuckled and shuffled out.

He took the back of the dress in hand and slowly and deliberately fastened it, taking exceptional care that each hook was secured. With his nearness Heather was aware of the masculine smell of horses and sweaty leather. At the top of her gown his hands seemed to linger and he lowered his head until his face brushed her hair and he inhaled its sweet fragrance. Heather stood with eyes half closed, hearing him, smelling him, feeling him, afraid to move lest she break the spell of the moment, but Hatti's voice came from the stairwell.

"Now get that water up there. Master Brandon is waiting for his bath."

Heather turned to face her husband but he had already stepped back and was unbuttoning his shirt. Hatti opened the door to allow several boys in with buckets of steaming water. They filled the tub and were quickly ushered out by the anxious old woman. The Negress paused at the door and turned to inquire:

"Is that all you'll be wanting right now?"

"Aye," he replied, beginning to peel his breeches off, and Hatti fled, closing the door behind her.

Heather readied his towel and clothes and with a discreet gaze watched him as he finished undressing, admiring with smoky eyes the long, sinewy muscles of his body, the narrow hips and the broad shoulders. She was suddenly filled with a possessive pride, knowing that he was hers and no other woman had a right to claim him, not even Louisa.

She went to the bed and sat on its edge to put on her stockings and shoes as he got into the tub. When she lifted her skirts above her knees, Brandon turned his attention on her and lathered soap idly over his chest as he admired her slender legs.

"Has Hatti shown you the house yet?" he inquired, watching her fasten a frilly garter around her thigh.

She shook her head. "No," she replied happily. "Only the drawing room and dining room. But I'm anxious to see the rest. I never thought the house would be so grand nor half so beautiful." And with a delightful giggle, she added, "I imagined we'd be living in a cottage. You didn't tell me we'd be living in a mansion."

Brandon grinned as she stood up and dropped her skirts, smoothing them down. "You didn't ask, sweet."

She laughed, passing the tub, and reached out and flicked her fingers through the water, splashing it on his chest. "Hurry up, please, Brandon. I'm starving."

Brandon was shrugging into a waistcoat when a giggling in the next room caught their attention.

"Lordy me! What's this?" Hatti's voice came through the door. "I ain't never seen nothing like this before!"

Brandon opened the door and Heather came to his side to peer into the other room at Hatti who stood holding up a pair of the quilted pantalets. She glanced at Brandon as they came into the room and raised her eyebrow.

"Master Bran, these things yours?" she questioned. "They sure got pretty lace on them."

Heather threw a hand over her mouth and tried to suppress a burst of giggles.

"They're way too little for you, Master. What you buy these for?" Her eyes grew wide suddenly as she shifted the pantalets around before Heather. "These yours, Miss Heather?" she asked incredulously.

"I'll have you know, Hatti, I had those made especially for my wife to keep her warm," Brandon informed her with a grin. "The North Atlantic during the winter is no place for a woman to be sashaying around with nothing beneath her skirts."

"Yassah. Yassah," the Negress agreed with a snigger.

Brandon chuckled and shook his head. "Hatti, get out of here. Go see how close supper is to being ready. Your mistress is about to collapse from hunger."

The woman grinned broadly. "Yassah, Master Bran."

She hurried out and Heather roamed into the room and wandered about, touching the bed curiously and lightly running her fingers over a chair. Brandon watched her intently as he buttoned his waistcoat.

"This was a sitting room, but my mother had the bed put in here after I was born. She didn't like disturbing my father the few times Jeff and I were ill, so she stayed in here when we needed her. The nursery is next door."

His eyes followed her slender form about the room as she familiarized herself with each item in it, and within him an urge began to grow, an urge to take her to him, to caress those shining locks. Her attention was drawn to the bed and its hand-sewn coverlet, and he moved to stand close behind her, almost taking her into his arms then, but he paused.

What if here again she would resist him, fight him? If met with violence he might conceivably injure the child or her.

His mind reeled with the nearness of her, the smell of her, the soft curling tresses before him. He could not force her again. He would not fight her or make her bend to him. She must come willingly.

"A choice," he thought. "This room or mine. This lonely bed or sharing my attentions. I'll let her make the choice."

He cleared his throat. "This bed—" he began. "This room—it is yours if you want it so, Heather."

He paused, fumbling for words in his own inept confusion, and Heather froze. A pain seized her chest as if a dagger had been driven between her shoulder blades.

"My God," she thought. "He stands so close and hates me so. He cannot bear to let me share his bed. Now that he is home and can take up his life with Louisa again, he will put me aside and forget that I even exist."

Tears came to her eyes as she thought of her hopes for a happy, normal life with him. She leaned forward in dismay and smoothed the coverlet.

"It's a nice bed," she murmured. "And the room is handy to the nursery. I suppose it would be the best place for me."

Brandon's shoulders slumped wearily. "I'll tell Hatti to move your clothes back," he sighed and turned and went back into his room. He closed the door and leaned against it in weak frustration, now angry with himself for having brought the subject up. Be cursed himself beneath his breath.

"You fool! You gibbering baboon! You blithering idiot! You could have introduced her to your house and to your bed and pressed the issue home without ever opening your mouth!"

He strode angrily to the table which held a bottle of brandy and poured himself a more than hearty drop, then stood staring at the glass in his hand.

"You
would
have to play the gallant and let her choose!" He downed the fiery brandy in a gulp, not tasting its mellow age. "So bear the winter's cold alone, you simpleton."

He slammed down the glass and snatching up his coat, fled angrily from the room. He met Hatti in the hallway and growled at her.

"Mrs. Birmingham has decided she prefers the other room. See that her clothes are taken out of my room before I return."

Amazed at his extreme change of mood, the Negress stared at him with her mouth open. She muttered an obedient answer as he stormed past her and watched him descend the stairs. Shaking her head at his foul temper, she opened the sitting room door and found Heather perched on the edge of the bed with tears streaming down her face. The girl quickly turned her back and brushed at her cheeks as she came in.

"You sure do look pretty, honey child," Hatti softly assured her mistress. "Master Jeff is chomping at the bit waiting for you to come down. He declares if his brother don't be careful he's gonna swipe you right from under his nose."

Managing a tremulous smile, Heather straightened her back and turned to the old woman. Hatti's brown eyes searched her young mistress's face for a moment and reflected the pain she saw, but she hurried on in cheerful tone, seeking to allay the sorrow.

"Now you get that pretty face freshened and go get something to eat. That baby is gonna starve before long if you don't."

Hatti's chatter dispelled Heather's gloom to some degree, and she felt her spirits respond to the servant's endless gift of gab. A few moments later she entered the drawing room, and Jeff quickly rose from his chair and greeted her with a bouquet of compliments. As he took her hand in his she glanced uncertainly at Brandon, but he had his back turned and looked sternly unapproachable. Jeff bowed low over her hand as if she bore the royal crown, and she dragged her eyes from her husband and smiled, determined to appear gay. She would not give her husband the pleasure of seeing her disturbed by being set from his room.

"Ahhh, my Lady Heather, your beauty bursts upon this soul as does the open tide of spring upon the forests," Jeff sighed, flamboyant in his praise, having had several bourbons during his somewhat lengthy wait. "You are as tender to my sight and taste as the first plump berry of the summer."