The Flame and the Flower (57 page)

Heather lowered her gaze and murmured her thanks, stumbling over the words. Her confidence was lagging badly. The scare she had had that afternoon had worn her nerves thin and now before Louisa she was tense and unsure. She unwrapped the present and a small silver cup emerged from the paper.
Beau
and the year
1800
had been engraved on the metal.

"Thank. you, Louisa," she, said softly. "It's very lovely."

Louisa sensed her advantage over the moment and did not let it slip by.

"I wouldn't have felt right not giving Brandon's son a gift." She looked down at Beau as he stirred in his mother's arms, finally, opening his eyes. "After all, as close as we are—were," she smiled. "It would have been in poor taste to ignore his son. Aren't you glad though, Heather, that the boy looks so much like his father? I mean—it would have been a pity if he had taken after you, say, though I expected as much. I just knew the little darling would be the very image of his mother. Perhaps it's because she looks so much like a baby herself."

Words failed Heather. It was hard to sit calmly while the woman deliberately tried to antagonize her. Brandon was not so gracious.

"What in the hell do you want, Louisa?"

The woman ignored him and bent over Beau, displaying every measure of her bountiful bosom to both Heather and Brandon. She clucked the baby under his chin, but Beau was not in favor of being touched by strangers the minute he woke up. His bottom lip quivered and he began to squall as he strained away, pulling on the neck of Heather's gown.

Louisa stiffened and her expression for a moment was full of venom as she stared down at Heather trying to quiet her son. A brief smile crossed Brandon's face as he regarded Louisa over his glass. But Beau would not be hushed, and Heather, glaring at Louisa from under her lashes, finally undid her gown and put Beau to her breast. The baby quieted immediately but kept a wary eye upon Louisa. Brandon chuckled and gave his son a pat on the rump before moving into a chair beside his wife's.

Glancing up from Beau, Heather saw an uncertain frown flicker across Louisa's brow. It was such a brief expression she wondered if she could have imagined it. Was the woman at last realizing what it meant to be the mother of Brandon's child? Here was a bond that would not be easily broken. Brandon loved his son. It was plain to see. No one could believe that he would discard the child's mother very readily for another.

Louisa felt herself losing ground and tried to regain it, but ineptly, in the wrong way.

"I think it's perfectly adorable the way you take care of the business of feeding him yourself, Heather, instead of hiring a wet nurse. Most women would, you know. But I can see you're the domestic type and enjoy doing things like that. Of course, it does demand a lot of a woman. I'm afraid I couldn't be tied down like that."

"No, I suppose you couldn't," Brandon returned. "That's why we'd have never gotten along, Louisa."

The woman took a step backward as if struck and then sought to turn her words around.

"What I mean is—I couldn't give all my attention to a baby and ignore my husband."

Brandon laughed sharply. "Do you think I'm ignored, Louisa? If you do, let me assure you I am not. Heather has a marvelous ability to make both her son and her husband feel loved."

Louisa whirled and went back to her chair yet made no move to sit down. She spoke over her shoulder to Brandon.

"I've come here to discuss business. You might be interested in the fact that I've decided to sell my land. I thought I should come here first to you to see what price you'll be willing to pay to have it."

"Oh, I see."

"Well, it would have been rather unseemly of me to sell it to anyone else, knowing you wanted it. You've been after me for a long time to sell it to you."

"Yes," Brandon replied, still not appearing anxious.

"Well, damn it, if you're not interested I'll sell it to someone who is!" she stormed, spinning around.

Brandon gazed at her mockingly with an eyebrow raised. "Who?"

"Why, there—there are plenty of people just waiting to buy it. I could sell it in a moment."

She didn't sound so sure of herself despite her words.

"Louisa," he sighed. "Let's stop this pretense. I'm the only one interested in buying your land. Perhaps some poor dirt farmer would like to have it, but I don't think he could afford your price."

"That isn't true! I could sell it to anyone!" she declared.

"Oh simmer down, Louisa. I know exactly what you're trying to do but it won't work. Now I'll give you a couple of reasons why I'm the only one interested. No one of any wealth would have any use for your piddling acres. Our plantations are rather deserted out here and no one is going to ride all this way to bother with your little bit of land, especially when you have no intention of selling Oakley. I am the only one who can afford to be a little generous. But don't come around here with your schemes and expect me to panic and double my offer. I'm not that kind of fool. Now, we'll discuss the details in a few moments, but first I'm going to sit here and relax and finish my drink."

"Brandon, you big tease," Louisa laughed. "Why do you like to worry me so? You had every intention of buying the land when I said I would sell."

"I bargain in business, Louisa, never tease," he commented dryly.

When Louisa swept into the study, leaving her heavily perfumed scent trailing behind her, Brandon bent over Heather and breathed in her soft, delicate fragrance.

"I'll try not to be too long, my love. If you wish to go to bed when you finish with Beau, I'll make some excuse to Louisa after we get our business settled and send her straight home."

"Please do," Heather murmured. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely over this afternoon. I'd rather not see her again tonight." She bit into her bottom lip. "Oh, Brandon, she's so determined to break us apart. I hate her." She looked down at Beau, who kneaded her breasts with his small hand, and laughed a little nervously. "What I need is a good soak in the bath to forget my problems with her."

He chuckled. "I'll tell the boys to heat up some water. Anything else, sweet?"

"Yes," she replied softly. "Kiss me so I'll know that woman doesn't stand a chance with you."

He smiled and accommodated her and there were few doubts that remained afterward.

Now the land was his, Brandon mused as he climbed the stairs, and he was infinitely glad he had spared Heather from that dickering which had settled the matter.

He sighed heavily.

One thing he could always credit Louisa with was boldness and a great deal of nerve. She had started off with a blatant proposal that they renew their relationship, making unworthy and vulgar advances upon him that had stirred no other emotion but disgust. Finally she had offered the land at an exorbitant price and getting her down to a reasonable settlement had taken a great deal of wearisome arguing. She had pleaded with no thought of pride, threatened not to sell, propositioned him like any harlot. The meeting had left him feeling unclean to say the least and wondering how low she would stoop in her search for a fortune. It was common knowledge that she was in a poor state of finance and needed the money, but Heather had once been in even more dire straits and had not succumbed to selling herself or openly pleading for sustenance.

Heather—his beloved. Just the thought of her washed away the sour mood Louisa had left with him. He remembered the moment at the mill when she had stood half clothed against him, and his pulse quickened. He'd have to see about inside bolts for those doors so she wouldn't be so nervous next time. He chuckled to himself. He was worse than any rutting stag in her company, always thinking of her in his arms, of her soft, warm body curving to his, of her lovely limbs entwining him. The hot blood surged within him, and his thoughts raced to several days before when while out riding with her he had induced her to take a swim with him in the creek. She had been timid about shedding her clothes in broad daylight, fearing someone might come upon them, but after he assured her that it was a most private place, gesturing to the abundance of trees and shrubs, she had even been willing to concede it might be fun. Casually watching her disrobe and standing in the buff, as he was, his desires had grown quite evident, and seeing him, she had known how that swim would end. Playfully she had eluded him and dashed into the water, gasping at the coolness of it, and then tried to outdistance him with rapid strokes. He had chuckled at her efforts while he easily overtook her, coming to her side and then diving underwater to catch her ankle and pull her down into his embrace. He smiled as he remembered back. It had been a most pleasurable afternoon.

He opened the door to the bedroom and paused, taking in the scene. Heather sat in the tub, looking much as she had in London, sweet, desirable, irresistibly beautiful with the candlelight shining on wet, glistening skin, her hair piled on her head, a few loose curls dangling. She smiled as he closed the door and came forward to rest his hands on the tub to lean down to her.

"Good evening, sweet," he murmured.

She ran a wet finger over his lips. "Good evening, m'lord," she returned softly and slid her hand behind his head as he pulled her up to him.

September's harvest began and as the crops were taken to market, the streets of Charleston knew a milling throng. There were buyers and sellers and a great multitude of neither who yet sought to trim some small profit from the great sums of money that changed hands during the day. There were rich and poor, beggar and thief, ship's captain and slave. A great number of people came simply to sit in carriages, coffee houses and inns and watch the bustling mob and exchange comments on the endless streams of characters that met their eye. During the day the city was a bustling trading center, at night the activities changed and it became a fermenting caldron with entertainment for every whim.

When Brandon presented Heather tickets to a new play being featured at the Dock Street Theatre, she almost choked him in her excitement, spreading her thanks across his face with enthusiastic kisses. When her glee had subsided and she sat in his lap studying the tickets, she confessed that she had never been to such a place before.

Whenever they presented themselves to the public, the couple always drew attention. Brandon's tall, lean handsomeness and Heather's petite beauty made them unique and tonight as they entered the foyer of Dock Street Theatre they were especially so. Brandon wore white breeches and a waistcoat of the same color. A bit of lace fell over his brown hands and ruffled down the front of his shirt, and his coat of scarlet was artistically embroidered with gold thread over the lapels and board stiff collar. Heather was bewitching in a gown of black French lace, embellished liberally with tiny jets that shimmered in the candlelight. An ostrich plume had been woven into her coiffure and at her ears swung Catherine Birmingham's diamond earrings.

There were the usual envious stares to greet them and warm greetings from friends. Brandon watched over his wife possessively as the men bent over her hand. Many young bucks beat their way through the throng in hopes the ravishing beauty was some unattached Birmingham kin. They came to stand and posture before Heather and they found at close range she was even more delectable than from afar. Their faces fell and they turned away in disappointment as Brandon, with some humor, presented his wife.

Matthew Bishop was seen from a distance and seemed to prefer it that way. He kept his gaze from dwelling long on Heather and entertained some other regal wench with carefully zealous consideration.

Mrs. Clark greeted them with a critical but approving eye. "Heather, my lovely child, you're looking delightfully wicked this evening. You'll put these other girls to shame in their virgin pinks and whites." She turned to Brandon with an amused look as she leaned forward on her cane. "And I see you're watching over her as carefully as ever, sir."

He grinned. "After knowing my father, Abegail, is it possible for you to believe that I am worse than he?"

Mrs. Clark chuckled and tapped him affectionately with her fan. "It took a long time and a little slip of a girl to make you realize that, sir. You were too carefree in your bachelor days. I remember when you couldn't have cared less if some lady's affection was taken from you." She chuckled again. "But you looked at quite a few of the ladies in those days and I imagine tasted a goodly number. But now look at you, so stricken with this filly you're like a stag in rut." She turned back to Heather and smiled slowly. "I'm glad you happened along, child. The Birminghams are some of my favorite people and I like to see them get the best."

Heather brushed her lips against the old woman's cheek. "Thank you, Abegail. From you that is truly a compliment."

"Oh poppycosh!" Abegail protested. "I state plain fact and there's no need for you to be filling this poor old head with your Irish nonsense. I'm not so simply charmed as that." She smiled to soften her gruff reprimand and patted the younger woman's hand. "Don't waste those pretty words on me, child. Your man is more susceptible."

Later, in their private box, Brandon had his eyes more on Heather than on the stage. Her obvious excitement over the production delighted him. As the actors played their parts, she sat as still as a mouse, catching every word. She was more than enchanting and he found it nearly impossible to drag his eyes from her. When they stood again in the lobby, sipping a little wine, he listened with amusement as she warbled on gaily about the play.