The Flame and the Flower (49 page)

"I wouldn't want to fight anyone over you today."

She giggled and they staggered together into the house, laughing in carefree glee. Their mirth ended as they came face to face with Hatti's disgruntled frown. She stood with hands on hips and shook her head at them and pursed her mouth at her master.

"Master Bran, I swear sometimes I think you ain't got a lick of sense. What you wanna take that child out riding in the rain for and her just barely over having Master Beau. Lordy me, she's gonna catch her death of the ague." She grunted disapprovingly. "Now, Miss Heather, you get yourself right upstairs and out of them wet clothes."

She grasped Heather's elbow and gave her no choice in the matter, and Brandon chuckled as his wife was towed up the stairs like a child by the worried old Negress. At the landing, Hatti turned and shook her finger at him.

"You just stand there and laugh and you gonna have Master Beau without his mammy one of these days."

She turned and stomped angrily toward the bedroom, dragging her much bemused mistress in her wake. Heather smiled over her shoulder at her husband and blew him a kiss before she was pulled out of sight. Brandon stared upward for a moment, reflecting upon her parting gesture. He smiled to himself, feeling quite satisfied with the day after all. He shucked his boots then ran in stocking feet up the stairs to the sitting room where he found dry clothes and a towel laid out for him upon the bed. He stripped and was toweling himself dry when he heard a splash of water from the next room and the door close and Hatti's footsteps going down the stairs. He moved quietly to the door between the rooms and eased it carefully open to find Heather sitting in the tub with her back to him. As he watched she leaned back and raised a water-laden sponge above her and squeezed it, letting a streaming torrent gush down her arms and full, ripe breasts. She began to hum a vaguely familiar air and soon the words broke from her lips.

Black is the color of my true love's hair

His looks are something wondrous fair

The purest eyes and the firmest hands

I love the ground on where he stands.

He stood and watched her lather her silken skin, lifting a slender leg to soap it well, then the other as he listened to the happy, lilting sound of her voice. After a few moments the strain upon him began to tell and he gently eased the door shut. Turning, he leaned his back against the sill and mentally rubbed his hands together, overjoyed at the unfounded success of his plans.

He remembered with clarity the sultry smiles, the startling display of her breasts, the fiery kiss and the moment just before the storm broke when she had molded her body to his in the most provocative way.

"It had to be love and willingness I saw within her eyes and felt against me this afternoon," he thought. "And with but a simple urging she'll most surely yield to me tonight."

He laughed softly to himself. "With our play we'll make that old bed tremble like it's never done before. Oh, tonight—tonight I will take her again and my monkish ways will end, for I will play a lusty song between her thighs and know the sweetness of being born again within her."

With renewed vigor, he dressed and found himself humming snatches of the song she had been singing. He left the room with light-hearted step and kept himself busy with simple tasks until the evening's feasting hour was near.

Heather woke from a nap, feeling greatly refreshed, and lay still for a moment, listening to the sound of the house in the quickening dusk. When she thought of the afternoon, she could still feel Brandon's arms around her and his warm lips upon hers and the full length of their bodies pressed tightly together. Her pulse quickened and she knew they would soon be sharing this great bed.

She stretched upon it and almost cried out in pain, for it seemed every muscle in her body was stiff and unbearably sore and aching. She hadn't realized the unaccustomed exercise of the ride would affect her so. She could hardly move. Carefully she eased herself to the edge of the bed and stood up, rubbing her misused buttocks in misery. Her slow movements about the room brought Mary with Beau. When the babe was again asleep in his crib the young girl attended her mistress, rubbing a soothing balm over her aching muscles and the abused posterior. She helped her dress for dinner, selecting a cool, white gown and the pearl necklace that Heather wore quite often now. Narrow red ribbons dangled over the mass of soft ringlets, and despite the way Heather felt, she looked most ravishing and quite tempting as the pearls dipped coyly between her breasts which swelled generously above the gown's décolletage.

With slow, careful step Heather managed to descend the stairs and enter the drawing room. Jeff stopped in mid sentence as he saw her painfully making her way, and Brandon turned quickly with a smile to welcome her. His gay expression faded as she stood undecided before him and returned his greeting with an apologetic murmur.

"I fear I overdid this afternoon, Brandon."

He laughed softly and offered his sympathy, not yet aware of the full import of her statement. As the evening wore on, his disappointment was drawn out to its extremes. He studied her slow, agonized movements and saw her wince now and again. She lowered herself into a chair at the table and grimaced, squirming uncomfortably until Hatti brought her a small pillow to sit upon. After sitting through the meal she had stiffened and was almost unable to rise. Brandon took her arm and helped her out of the chair, and as he did so the luminescent pearls, drooping between those swelling breasts, aggravated his sorely depressed disposition further.

The evening was but a foundling youth when she drew the brothers' attention with a brief struggle to rise from the settee. She turned an almost tearful face to her brother-in-law.

"Jeff, you simply must forgive me," she implored. "I'm afraid I haven't been very good company this evening, and I must now beg your leave to retire."

He bowed slightly, clicking his heels. "Your beauty is always refreshing company, madam, and I regret that you will leave me now, but I quite understand. Until tomorrow then, sweet sister."

She nodded and raised her hand and her eyes to Brandon, silently begging his assistance. He helped her up and holding her arm tightly, aided her progress to the foot of the stairs. She mounted the first several steps and her movements were so painful and awkward that Brandon bent down and took her up into his arms. She slid her arms about his neck as he carried her up and sighing, dropped her head against his shoulder.

Below, Mary made to follow to assist her mistress but found her arm seized by her grandmother.

"Let them alone, child," Hatti directed wisely. "The missus don't need your help tonight."

Brandon pushed open the door to the master bedroom and carried his wife in. He sat her gently on the edge of the bed and knelt to remove her stockings and slippers, his hands hesitating a brief moment at the frilly garters. He swallowed hard and touched the warm flesh of her thigh with unsteady fingers and slid the garter down her leg. He stood undecided with her stocking in his hands as she pushed herself slowly from the bed and stood up. She turned her back to him.

"Will you unfasten me?" she requested. "Mary doesn't seem to be coming."

He obeyed and when she let the gown fall to the floor, he bent and picked it up as she rubbed her buttocks in agony.

"I'm afraid my softer parts have been abused. I should have been wiser and not tried so much. I regret that I was not."

Brandon bit off an agreeing reply and went to get her a nightgown from where he had last seen them in his search for his own clothes. He selected one and turned to bring it to her but stopped short when he saw her standing in the candlelight, her chemise at her feet, her young, graceful body bare and glowing golden in the soft light. His eyes went over her slowly in a longing caress. Childbirth had not depreciated her figure nor marred the silken flesh. In fact, she now bore a mature fullness of womanhood which he found terribly disconcerting at the moment. His mouth was dry and his hands shook and all his senses were completely occupied with her. He swallowed hard and brought the gown to her and helplessly feasted his eyes as she donned it. As she bent slightly, pulling it over her head, he saw black and blue marks and angry red welts upon the otherwise flawless buttocks. He sighed softly and mentally committed himself to several more chaste nights alone.

Hearing his sigh, Heather finished tying the bow beneath her bosom and turned to him. She slid her arms behind his neck.

"I beg your forgiveness, Brandon," she murmured. "It seems that common sense is indeed among my less notable virtues."

She pulled his head down to her and placed a fleeting kiss upon his lips, then turned and painfully crawled into the depths of the huge bed.

Brandon stood grinding his teeth, telling himself over and over that it simply wasn't gentlemanly to take a woman in this condition, especially one's own wife. His better instincts won the argument, much to the disappointment of his alter ego. He blew out the candles then went into the sitting room where he removed his coat and waistcoat and stared at the tiny bed, thinking many ill thoughts about it. He had an aversion to entering it for another night, and he cursed it beneath his breath. In exasperation he snatched up a towel and fled the room and down the stairs. Jeff was coming from the study when he passed, and the brother stopped and gestured toward the towel.

"Where the devil are you bound for?"

"I'm going to take a bath in the creek," Brandon said shortly.

"It's freezing cold!" Jeff warned.

"I know!" Brandon growled and went about his way with his brother's laughter ringing in his ears.

The next day was a flurry of activity in preparation for the ball. Several house guests, among them Abegail Clark, arrived in the late afternoon. Although Hatti's balm had done wonders for her, Heather played the hostess with a stiffness that was neither manner nor mien. She suffered another massage before bed and by morning was feeling as bright and gay as ever. She spent the day in fevered activity, assuring that all necessary preparations were complete.

Brandon had departed for Charleston early to attend business. The first shipments of lumbers had been made and payments received and there were finances to be settled now that money had begun to roll in. The morning had been spent taking care of a multitude of items from one end of the city to the other, and a break in the busy schedule had been taken at the noon hour. Brandon was just returning to his affairs when he passed a small sewing shop and was nearly flattened by a heavily laden Miss Scott.

As usual Sybil became flustered and uncertain at the mere sight of Brandon, and she struggled mightily with this affliction as he helped her gather up her packages again. She was decked out in her expensive finery and felt very irresistible. She possessed an overconfidence her gentlemen friends had brought into being since she had come out of her shy cocoon and found them panting on her doorstep, seeking her charms. She was so taken with their flattering compliments she did not guess they were all after only one thing.

"Imagine running into you when I most need a strong, handsome man to come to my aid, Mister Birmingham," she flirted, fluttering eyelids heavily drawn with kohl. Even under many layers of cosmetics, poorly though amply applied, her plainness was evident. She straightened her eyeglasses as he tipped his hat courteously and pushed the bundles into his arms, missing the raised eyebrow he cast her way as she continued on.

"These things are just too heavy for poor little me. Now if you'll just follow me I'll show you to my buggy."

Brandon obeyed as he listened politely to her endless chatter.

"I'm just so excited about the ball tonight. I've had such a lovely gown made, but I'm afraid I just simply blush every time I put it on. I've never owned anything so daring before. The dressmaker does say I do wonders for it though. He knows so much about women's clothes, you know. He came from England and tells me some of the most beautiful women in the world have worn his gowns. But you'd never be able to guess it, the way he looks. He's terribly, terribly ugly. Why, I'd almost feel sorry for him if it wasn't for the way he looks at me. I had to slap his hands this morning, you know, and he looked so shocked afterward that I couldn't help but laugh at him. Imagine, a man like that thinking I might favor his attention!"

She stopped in crossing the street to wait for a carriage and looked up at him shyly.

"He's not the sort of man I fancy at all."

Brandon coughed uncomfortably and looked around for a sign of her buggy.

"You know, Mr. Birming... Brandon," she managed, sounding a little nervous. "I—I have so many gentlemen callers now I simply lose count when I try to think of them all." Her eyes lifted to his. "I don't call any of them my true love though. There's only one man I consider that and he doesn't come calling."

"Is your buggy near here?" Brandon questioned uneasily.

"Do you find me attractive, Brandon?" she asked suddenly.

"Why—yes, yes, Miss Sybil," he lied kindly.

She giggled and caught her breath and looked at him again. "As attractive as your wife?"

He glanced around for the carriage again, thinking of Heather, soft and lovely, and he wondered how Sybil could even ask such a question.

"Oh, that was unfair of me, wasn't it?" she warbled. "Naturally being married to her, you'd have to say she was prettier or be thought a cad, wouldn't you?"