“I think I’ll ride with you, if you don’t mind,” Ian told him.
James arched a brow to him. “You’ve a bride about— somewhere.”
Ian nodded. “But I need to ride around Cimarron. I think I need to hold on to something here as well, today.”
James studied him a moment, then nodded.
And Ian felt a greater sense of dread than ever within himself. It was strange. So many of the people in the South, in his own home state, were jubilant. The thought of separation was an exciting one to them; they saw their way of life going on forever.
Ian felt, at that moment, that maybe he and his uncle and Teddy were the only ones in the country to realize that nothing could ever be the same, that the world was about to be shattered.
No matter how he tried to deny it.
There was no sanity left.
On the lawn sweeping toward the stables, he saw Jerome walking around from the front porch. His cousin met his glance. They both grinned. Old ways died hard. They started to run simultaneously, both moving like the wind, determined to outrace one another.
They reached the stables at the same time, laughing. “Beat you to the far edge of the river,” Jerome said.
“You’re on.”
They sped into the stables, each going to his horse’s stall, slipping bridles over their animals’ heads, then leaping bareback atop them. They cleared the stable entry together, then Pye took a small lead. They both veered around James, who was just reaching the stables himself, shaking his head. “They turn to men,” he muttered. “But men just take a very long time to grow up.” He stared after his son and nephew, then suddenly darted into the stables himself. A second later, he was riding bareback, flattened against his horse’s neck, and tearing belatedly into the race.
Chapter 8
Alaina wasn’t quite sure why she felt so angry and tense—and ready to pummel Ian McKenzie.
She had wanted to be alone—and he’d left her alone.
But he’d emerged from the stables this morning covered in hay, making her wonder just who he might have been with. They weren’t involved in a love match; she told herself that she didn’t really care in the least. Of course, if he had been with someone, that someone was Lavinia. Naturally, Alaina’s pride was taking a beating.
But Cimarron was down to family now, and the McKenzie family surely all realized that Ian had done the proper thing, had saved her reputation, and that was that.
But even by late afternoon, Ian hadn’t returned.
During the day, it had been quite fine with Alaina; she’d managed to spend time with her father. Teddy—even he was irritating her!—was strangely at peace with the entire affair, demanding no explanations whatsoever from her. His feeling about the matter seemed to be the same annoying consensus taken by everyone involved: Ian was an exceptional and honorable man who had done the right thing. She was somewhat hurt that her father didn’t even seem to realize that just a day before she’d had innocent feelings and beliefs that had been shattered; but then, she and Ian both had done their best to lie, and Teddy probably thought it would be worse on her to demand to know the truth than to accept her lies.
By dinnertime, she was deeply embarrassed.
At the party, Ian had made a tremendous show—claiming before the world that he’d been swept off his feet.
Tonight, it seemed, the pretense was over.
If she’d expected to be coddled by Ian, of course, she’d have truly been a fool. But it still seemed unfathomably painful to have such an awful fight at the pool—one that had led to a clash of steel—and then lose all innocence so bluntly upon the ground. She had wanted privacy to nurse her wounds—-now she wanted to skewer him.
At least none of the second generation of McKenzies was in the house; Tia and Brent were returning social calls along with their cousins, so Tara said. Jarrett McKenzie was out on business. Alaina did her best to be cheerful through the meal with her father and Tara. She hoped that her effort didn’t fail miserably.
By dusk, her father retired to the library with a brandy, and she sat on the porch with Tara, sipping sherry and watching the sunset. It was an oddly beautiful time, and though her mother-in-law made no attempts to either excuse Ian or explain him, Alaina had to admit that she felt a comfortable warmth from the woman who had surely been stunned to acquire her as a daughter-in-law. “Life is so strange,” Tara mused. “Sitting here, as we are now, is one of my favorite things in the world to do. To watch the sunset—it’s so glorious. And Florida is the last place I ever thought I’d want to be. Gators and savages—that was my opinion of this place.” She smiled, and seemed especially beautiful. The soft night light shadowed any sign of age about Tara, and her features were lovely, peaceful. “Naturally, of course, I’m now quite fond of my in-law ‘savages’—though I admit, I do still detest the gators!”
“I grew up with them,” Alaina told her, smiling as well. “I’ve never grown particularly fond of either alligators or crocodiles, but I can’t envision any other life. I love the sun, the heat, the water. I can’t imagine being taken away from the sun.”
“Well, then,” Tara murmured softly, “it’s a good thing you did marry a Florida planter—you won’t have to leave the sun.”
For some strange reason, the words, as gently spoken as they were, sent a strange chill through Alaina. She stood then, pretending exhaustion, and bid Tara good night. Tara rose as well with a rustle of petticoats and the soft scent of roses. She hugged Alaina tightly, and Alaina was afraid she’d burst into tears. Tara was so good, so generous, so determined to make her feel at home, to feel wanted.
She definitely wasn’t wanted by her husband—the man who had done the “honorable thing” for her.
Alaina managed not to burst into tears and to smile good night to Tara, escaping just in time. Yet when she ran from her mother-in-law, she ran to Ian’s room. Once she reached his door, she hesitated.
She longed to be elsewhere. The desire to escape was almost overwhelming. Except, of course, she didn’t need to escape a husband who seemed to have no intention of returning home.
Inside his room, she found the pretty mulatto maid, Lilly, waiting for her. Lilly had seen to it that she had a hot bath waiting and a clean nightgown. She liked Lilly very much, with her slightly accented singsong English. Lilly told Alaina that her father had been a half-caste from Louisiana, and her speech had the softness of a French accent to it. Lilly’s presence was somehow reassuring— Alaina was remarkably happy to have her there.
The tub was delicious, hot as fire and sweetly scented with lavender. The water eased her troubled heart and soul, and Lilly saw to her every need.
“Lilly?”
“Yes, Mrs. McKenzie?”
“You’ve been exceptionally kind.”
“I work here, missus.”
“That doesn’t mean that you have to be kind.”
Lilly, offering her a huge towel as Alaina stepped from the tub, smiled. “You put a stop to that devil woman, missus.”
“Lavinia?”
Lilly nodded gravely.
Alaina turned away. She wasn’t so sure she stopped the “devil woman” at all; in fact, she wondered if her husband wasn’t keeping company with the demoness at that very moment.
Lilly suddenly smiled, as if reading her mind. “You know the devil woman is gone?” she inquired.
Despite herself, Alaina smiled. “Is she?”
Lilly nodded gravely.
“Well, I suppose that’s good. And whatever your reasons for being so kind, I’m grateful,” Alaina said.
Lilly nodded, serene in her own thoughts, and helped Alaina into the cotton nightgown.
“It’s not a gown for a bride,” Lilly commented.
“It’s the perfect gown.”
“Just because the devil woman is gone?”
“Because Ian McKenzie is not here, the night is cool, and I am going to sleep.” Yes, it was the perfect gown for a bride without a bridegroom.
<
br /> She was suddenly anxious for Lilly to leave so that she could feign sleep as quickly as possible. It was his room, after all. He would surely come back sometime tonight.
“Thank you, Lilly,” she told the maid.
“You need me, you call me. Anytime, missus, you understand?”
Alaina smiled. Lilly’s voice was so passionate, and she was grateful. She had definitely found a champion within this household.
“I will, I promise.”
Yet when Lilly left, Alaina sat at the foot of Ian’s huge, masculine bed with the lion’s claws for feet and the griffins upon the headboard.
“You are a monster, Ian McKenzie!” she said out loud, clinging to her anger.
But suddenly she burst into tears. It was quite terrifying to realize what she had done with her life. More terrifying still to imagine the days and months—and years!—to come. The deed was done, but what now?
Sometimes he would sleep in the hay, sometimes he would not?
He was in the military; he was only on leave, she knew that much. She knew, as well, that he’d been on various assignments across the country for the last year, but she had no idea where he was assigned now.
Or what he would expect of her.
But he’d married her, performed the great sacrifice for the sake of her reputation. And he’d expect her to take a place in society as his wife.
The thought caused her to tremble. Nothing that she had done seemed so terrible as the thought of leaving her father alone. They had very good servants, and her father had excellent workers to help with his groves. Not slave labor, though admittedly she’d never really given much thought to the right or wrong of the institution. Slaves were a very expensive commodity, and whether Teddy had ever purchased slaves or not, she did not know. The McManns, comfortable enough on their islet, still were not among the type of monied class that could really afford slaves.
She needed to be with her father. Tomorrow she’d assure him that she’d stay with him. Could she make that promise? Yes, she thought determinedly. Somehow she had to convince Ian that she must return home with her father while he—while he did whatever it was exactly that he did.
She wouldn’t ask; she’d just make a statement of fact, and do what she damned well pleased.
It was what men did, wasn’t it?
She leaped off the bed, anxious to find a bottle of brandy, or something that would help her to sleep. She knew there would be something in the room—everything at Cimarron was perfect. Indeed, Cimarron seemed to glide like a well-oiled wheel. The home was grace itself— a fact which suddenly seemed overwhelming to her. She was a part of this now. The beautiful house was yet so very foreign—and she was suddenly married to the heir to it all.
She hurried to Ian’s great double-sided desk and began rifling, pulling open the drawers. The top drawers were filled with bills, receipts, and ledgers, but in the lower right-hand drawer she found what she sought—a choice of brandy, whiskey, or rum, along with sturdy shotglasses.
“Hmm …” she mused. Then she heard a rapping at her door—a pounding, actually, more like thunder. “Alaina!”
Not Ian. It was a feminine voice.
“Yes?”
Sydney McKenzie came sweeping in like a whirlwind, green eyes alight with curiosity and amusement. “Alaina! My God, how strange!” Sydney skirted around the double desk, taking a seat on the opposite side. “I don’t think I really believed in this marriage until this moment, finding you here! You’ve really done it, you’ve gone and married my cousin. Oh, my Lord! And he’s already driving you to drink! Pour me something, too, please. How delightfully decadent! The men are always in their dens or libraries sipping whiskey, so we might as well do the same.”
“Whiskey it is,” Alaina said, pouring out two shots and taking a seat at the desk facing the fireplace. She sipped the fiery liquid, staring at the blaze. If she narrowed her eyes slightly, the blaze went hazy and warm.
“Whiskey it is? That’s all you can say?” Sydney demanded, taking the desk chair opposite her. “Alaina, that’s not at all good enough. You are, of course, going to have to tell me the truth, and there’s no great romantic story to it, I know. Ian has been … well, it’s certainly no great secret he’s been sleeping with the well-endowed Mrs. Trehorn for quite some time. And as to marriage! He was very nearly engaged to ‘the perfect army wife, a most intelligent beauty’—as he wrote to my father. And naturally, Alaina, being your best friend in the entire world, despite his despicable behavior, I’m well aware that you were madly in love with—with—”
Sydney, never afraid of speaking her mind, and actually never afraid of anything at all, suddenly broke off, staring in ashen horror toward the door. Alaina stared at Sydney, but Sydney suddenly leaped to her feet. Her voice was a squeak. “Ian.”
Alaina leaped to her feet as well, swirling around. Indeed, Ian. He’d come to the doorway. His uniform was gone; he was dressed in a white shirt, black breeches, and high riding boots. His eyes appeared almost black as they fastened on Sydney, then on Alaina.
“Ah, little cousin, how nice to see you,” he murmured, moving into the room. “And you, too, of course—my love,” he addressed Alaina. “Am I interrupting? How rude of me. Ladies, do enjoy your whiskey. I think I’ll do the same.”
He wasn’t drunk, Alaina ascertained, but he’d definitely been imbibing. He pulled out the chair she had just vacated, urging her back to it. “Sit, my darling. And Sydney, perhaps you’d be so good as to keep us company.”
“Actually,” Sydney said, “it’s late. I think that I should go to bed—”
“Sit, Sydney, and finish your drink.”
Sydney uneasily took a seat again. Ian poured himself a whiskey, studied the color of it in his glass, and sat upon the desk. He smiled somewhat grimly at them both. “Cheers, ladies. Now, Sydney, do go on. You’re Alaina’s best friend in the world, and you know all about her being in love with … ?”
Sydney sat very still, returning his stare in miserable silence.
“Well?” Ian pursued.
“Stop it!” Alaina told him. “You’ve no right to be cruel to Sydney.”
“Sydney can take care of herself,” Ian said sharply.
“I was madly in love with Peter O’Neill,” Alaina snapped. “That’s what she was about to say.”
Sydney gasped, then quickly recovered. “Ian, you’ve been out all day; I thought someone should entertain your new wife—”
“Well, thank you, little cousin,” Ian said huskily, studying his drink once again. His eyes fell firmly upon Sydney. “But I’m here to entertain her now.”
Sydney flushed and came swiftly to her feet. She started out of the room and Alaina was furious, ready to go to battle against Ian over his curt behavior to his cousin. But before Sydney had reached the door, Ian called her back.
“Little cousin.”
Sydney paused, looking back to him.
Ian rose and walked to her. He hugged her very gently. Sydney was stiff for a minute, then hugged him back, and Alaina realized at that moment that Sydney was probably almost as close to him as his own sister, and that there was something special that bonded all the McKenzies. No matter how good a friend Alaina was to Sydney, they weren’t bound by blood. She remained on the outside.
Even as Ian’s wife.
Sydney offered Alaina a grimace of encouragement behind Ian’s back. “Good night!” she said softly.
And fled the room.
Ian closed the door quietly in her wake, slid the bolt, and turned. Back against the door, he crossed his arms over his chest and faced Alaina.
Posed by his desk, she returned his stare. “McKenzie, you’ve been gone all day. Under the circumstances, you’re not welcome now.”
“Really?” he inquired, amused.
“Indeed, sir,” she continued, growing nervous at his presence despite herself. “You performed the great sacrifice of marriage—then went on to completely humiliate me before your family and my fathe
r.”
“I was missed?” he inquired softly.
“I imagine my father noted your absence.”
“Did you?”
“You were rude—”
“A social slight most assuredly punishable by hanging.”
“A pity they can’t hang you.”
He smiled. “Ah, but society be damned, my love. Did you miss me? Had I known that you were yearning to spend time with me, I would have made every effort to be more available.”
“Perhaps I should remind you that you were the one to force me to realize the gravity of the situation which brought our marriage about. Appearances caused this travesty. You could have made an appearance today!”
“Ah. Alas, my love, you insisted that I leave you be-but now you’re angry that I did so.”
She cried out her frustration. “Damn you! Go back and sleep in the hay!” she hissed.
“Ah,” he murmured.
She moved around the desk, putting its bulk between the two of them. “I mean it, Ian. You’ve no right to torment me when you choose to … to …”
“Sleep in the hay?”
He left the door and started walking toward her.
“Ian, this is very serious.”
“Indeed it is.” He reached the desk. He’d been out somewhere, she thought. Drinking, though how much, she had no idea. Riding, she was certain. He carried the mingled scents of fine leather polish, brandy, and tobacco.
The desk remained between them. His eyes were very dark and sharp as he surveyed her, and his lip curled with a strange curve of amusement. She lifted her chin determinedly. “Ian, you’re about to go back to the military. There’s really very little time now that we need play out this charade. I can go home—”
“You are home—now,” he said softly.
She ignored that. “There are places I’m quite certain you’d rather be—”
“I’ve already been many places.”
“So I’m aware.”
“There is nowhere else at this moment I’ve any desire to be.”
“Fine. I’ve no idea where you’ve been or what was so important that you had to make such a pathetic fool of me, but I mean this with my whole heart; leave me alone.”