New Orleans Fire

Renee` Coy

© copyright by Renee` Coy, April 2000
Cover Art by Renee` Coy
ISBN 1-58608-022-9
Rocket ISBN 1-58608-242-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA

PROLOGUE

River's Bend Plantation

Near Charleston, South Carolina

May 10, 1847

The tortured cries grew weaker as the last of the night creatures slid into the forest and sunlight pushed across young tobacco shoots. Even so, the sound lingered in the thick, humid air, seeming to gently stir the gray tendrils of Spanish moss that hung like veils from century old live oak trees, moving with the faint musty smell that wafted from the river to the house.

There was a hushed stirring around the Georgian structure that stood proudly among the oaks. Servants rushed down the hallway and up from the kitchen with quick steps, softened by the respect they had for the young mistress of the house.

Upstairs, the young woman gripped the carved post of an ornate tester bed. Her high, keening scream rent the humid air yet again, and it took a moment for Amanda to realize that the sound had emanated from her own parched throat. Almost immediately another pain built, gaining force and divesting her of what little strength she had left.

Sobs came from somewhere and, beyond the thick, gray fog, Amanda made out Maybelle's large, comforting form.

"Maybelle?"

"Yes, Chile. I's here."

Amanda licked her fever-cracked lips. "Tell my brother I'm so sorry." She lifted her pleading gaze, and her hand squeezed Maybelle's. "You will tell him won't you?"

Maybelle patted her hand in the same comforting gesture she had used since Amanda was a baby. "Yes, Hon. I'll tell him, but you don' have nothin’ to be sorry about. Save your strength."

Amanda looked despairingly at the clock for perhaps the hundredth time. Would he make it in time? Weakness washed over her in sickening, hot waves.

It was then they heard a carriage in the drive and Maybelle rushed to the window. "It's the doctor, honey!" The relief was evident in her voice.

The certain knowledge that she was going to die gave Amanda a momentary surge of strength. She wanted the baby to live. Maybe then he would come back, if not for her, for their child. A sob caught in her throat, and she blinked back scalding tears. Visions of dancing in the ballroom with the man she’d loved so foolishly faded away in a sea of agony.

The pain that ripped through her body was different this time. She felt like some unseen hand wielded a knife on her flesh. It was forever until she felt the baby slip from her body, until she could catch her breath. The last of her strength drained from her as she waited in vain to hear a cry.

"Doctor?" Her voice sounded dry, like leaves blowing across cobblestone. Strange, she thought, it didn't even sound like her own.

Panic rose like bile in her throat when she saw he was moving away from her, down a long, dark tunnel. He wouldn’t be able to hear her. "Phillip?"

Phillip Adams bent down close to her, feeling the cold clamminess of her skin. "Amanda, you're going to be fine. Rest is what you need."

The lie stuck in his throat as he watched her skin turn gray. With a last, small gasp, she released the hold on his hand.

"Oh, Lord---no!" Maybelle jumped up, clapping both hands over her mouth.

At Maybelle’s cry of grief, he threw a stricken glance at the old nursemaid. He knew it was fruitless, but he felt for a pulse.

Finding no trace of life, he placed Amanda’s delicate hands across her chest. The grandfather clock struck five times and, with a twist of his mouth, Phillip crossed to his bag and the waiting hot water. The sigh wrenched from him spoke volumes. His friend would be inconsolable at the death of his sister.

Magnolia Hill Plantation

St. John the Baptist Parish, Louisiana

Chapter 1

Clods of sandy dirt flew as the horse and rider thundered up the path from the river. The rider seemed to have little regard for life or limb. Had there been anyone from the big house to see her recklessness, no doubt she would have been severely scolded, but there was not, and Eliza Fontaine delighted in her freedom.

As she reined her horse to a halt, her waist length hair swirled in a golden arc about her and sunlight caressed the peach highlights of her skin.

She was a loner. Having been born unlike them, she was not accepted among the local Creole girls. The fact that she was pale like the Americans who had ruined their New Orleans thirty years earlier was considered unforgivable.

What did she care? She had Storm. She patted him on the neck.

"Don't I, boy?"

The horse snorted, jerking the reins. He’d been named for the storm that had nearly blown the barn down on the night of his birth, the worst hurricane in fifty years to hit Saint John the Baptist Parish, or so Poteen had said. Eliza, naturally, had to take Poteen's word for it, for one knew better than to doubt Poteen's word.

Eliza tilted her face to catch the sun, inhaling the smell of the river and enjoying the gentle breeze blowing across the endless rows of sugarcane. After a moment, she stood in the stirrups, gazing toward Magnolia Hill.

The mansion was a fine example of the wealth a sugar planter could amass. The house, with it’s thick white columns, was majestic. Wide galleries extended on all four sides, tall windows and doors opening onto it, like so many of the homes on the river.

Eliza noticed Poteen, her nursemaid, waving for her to come to the house. Her Papa was no doubt having one of his famous fits. Everyone knew that he wouldn't harm a fly, but he did so like to bluster. She had always suspected that it made him feel closer to his Creole ancestors, the feel of their hot blood surging through his veins. He was always in good spirits after letting off a little steam, as he called it.

Expelling a sigh for her ride being cut short, she turned Storm toward the house. It wouldn't do for Papa to get too out of sorts this morning. He was sailing for England today and the house was in an uproar. Poteen would chew her out for having her morning ride, but it had been worth it.

Eliza felt a sliver of elation run through her at the thought that she would be free from her father’s watchful eye for months. She grinned to herself as Storm's hooves flew over the rich earth. She felt like singing, but knew she could not act too elated, or he might change his mind and make her go with him. If he had any idea of what she intended to do while he was gone, she would be packed up like the rest of his baggage bound for England.

She curled her upper lip. In her mind, England was synonymous with Walter Smith. He was the son of her Papa's business partner and every time his family came to America, they stayed at Magnolia Hill.

She shuddered. He was twice her age and there was something distinctly unpleasant about him. On the last visit, he had tried to kiss her and then declared that he had compromised her and would ask for her hand. Not in a million years would she agree. She had made herself scarce after that, feigning a headache until he left.

Eliza reined Storm in and slid out of the saddle with natural grace, throwing the reins to Tiny, their enormous groomsman.

"Better hurry up, Miz Eliza, your Pa is----." He gestured toward the flurry of activity in front of the house where servants were running up and down the wide steps, carrying one piece of luggage after another.

Grinning a little sheepishly at him, Eliza headed toward the verandah. She heard her Papa’s voice before she reached the front steps. She cringed. She was in for it now.

"What's keeping the girl? She knows that I'm leaving this morning! I swear! I should never have purchased that animal. She is forever gallivanting about the countryside like a heathen!"

Poteen spotted Eliza and, with an irritated look on her dark face, rushed to take Eliza by the arm, whispering furiously, "Your father is in one of his foul tempers again and you know the cause. You shouldn’t have gone riding. He’s in a hurry. Run up and get changed."

Eliza, hoping to avoid him, rushed past the study door.

Charles Fontaine spotted her. "Saints above, girl! About time you got here. I haven't got all day. Captain O'Reily will not wait forever for one passenger. Get out of those confounded breeches."

"Good morning to you, too, Papa!" Eliza suppressed a smile as she raced upstairs, not the least intimidated.

"If you don't hurry it won't be a good morning for you, you contrary little imp!" He shook his head as he watched her fly up the stairs in a very unladylike manner. Flipping open his pocket watch, he saw that it was half past seven. They would be lucky to make it in time.

As he closed the watch, he ran his finger over the engraving, feeling the familiar leaf pattern. It calmed him, as always.

The watch had been a gift from his dear Elizabeth. She had been the belle of New Orleans when they’d met. No woman had ever been as beautiful as his Elizabeth. Ah, would he ever get over the pain of loosing her? It had been fifteen years. Eliza had been a tiny babe of two.

A yellow fever epidemic had raged through the Parish that year and had decimated the city of New Orleans. Thousands had died in that terrible year of '32. Bodies had been stacked like cordwood on wagons, barrels of tar had burned on every corner, and death had lingered everywhere. The smell had been horrendous. Even now he remembered it.

He blamed himself. They never should have stayed in the city. He was lucky that Eliza hadn't been taken from him, too.

She looked so much like her mother that it pained him lately.

"Mista Fontaine?"

Charles shook off the painful memories. "Yes, Jamaica. What is it?"

"The carriage be ready."

Two hours later, Charles Fontaine's carriage arrived at the pier, Eliza impatiently listening to her Papa’s last minute instructions. They seemed endless.

"Goodness! You’d think I was a babe the way you’re carrying on! I can watch out for myself!"

"Humph!" Poteen disputed with a sniff.

Eliza bristled. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that the good Lord only knows what would happen if I wasn't here to look after ya. Ha! Look after yourself!"

Charles laughed.

Eliza crossed her arms over her chest, a mutinous look on her face. "And what is so funny about that, I would like to know?"

Still laughing, he said, "I can count on Poteen to keep you in line."

"Oh, Papa!" Eliza flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. When would they ever stop fussing over her as if she were a child?

"Come, imp. I have a ship to board. Give your Papa a hug."

Eliza wrapped both arms around her father’s neck, regretting that, for her own selfish reasons, she had wished him already gone this very morning. Tears stung her eyes. "I will miss you Papa. You do know that?"

There was a suspicious shine in his eyes, as well. "I know you’ll not miss me half as much as I will miss you, you little minx." He ruffled her hair, then turned his attention to bustle on the dock. "Looks like my baggage is loaded."

They all walked the short distance to the ship, and Eliza gave her father a last farewell hug. "Bon voyage. May God go with you, Papa."

"May the good Lord watch over you too." Charles cleared his throat to lighten the moment, a teasing gleam in his eyes. "Shall I tell Mister Smith that you send greetings and an invitation for his next visit?"

"Oh, Papa! Don't you dare!"

"He will be sad…such a man too." Charles shook his head, his eyes dancing with amusement at his daughter’s anger.

"Don’t even mention me to him, Papa. I cannot tolerate the man."

Charles patted her arm in reassurance. "Now, now, don't get upset. It was just a bit of teasing. I don’t want my only daughter to marry a man she doesn't love."

Relief washed over her. "Thank you, Papa."

Looking away, Charles waved to the captain standing on the forward deck. "I really must be going. Poteen, remember what I told you." With that, he left them and went up the gangplank.

They watched until he disappeared from sight, then turned and began to walk slowly back down the pier.

"Walter Smith might not be such a bad choice for a husband," Poteen suggested.

Eliza glared at her as if she had totally taken leave of her senses. "If, and when, I decide to marry, it will be to a real man, not some milksop from England!"

"You know your father would like to see you wed. He’s not getting any younger . . . Magnolia Hill will need a new Master one day."

Poteen's words hung heavily in the warm sunshine.

"I’m quite capable of running Magnolia Hill myself," Eliza said. Poteen’s comment made her uneasy, however. She stopped, turning to watch anxiously as the ship pulled anchor, feeling a sudden urge to rush on board and drag her father off the ship. It occurred to her, though, that Poteen had said nothing of premonitions. Likely she had only been thinking of the natural order of things, though Eliza didn’t much want to think about that either. She dismissed her uneasiness as Poteen made a rude noise.

"A real man, ha! How would you know anything about that?"

"I don't know!" Eliza sputtered. "But he would not be like that little weasel, Walter Smith. That much I do know. I also suspect a real man would do what I wanted," she said, arching an eyebrow, knowing the comment would irritate Poteen.

A gleaming white grin split Poteen's dark features. "That chile, is exactly what a real man would not do! More likely he would tan your …."

Eliza had had enough. "Poteen! You say the most outrageous things! You’re supposed to be teaching me ladylike behavior." Eliza expelled an exasperated sigh when Poteen pretended she hadn’t heard the reprimand.

"It’s too hot to stand her arguing. Come chile." Poteen took Eliza's arm.

"All right! Don't be so pushy." Eliza brushed back a lock of damp hair. She, too, had begun to feel the heat of the day bearing down on them. "I do hope Pansy has some of her lemonade ready when we get home." Eliza shifted her parasol to protect herself from the hot Louisiana sun.

When they reached the carriage once more, Tiny helped Eliza up the step, and she settled inside, glad to be a little cooler. She wouldn't allow Poteen to ruin her day. She turned her face to catch the breeze as the carriage rolled out onto the street.

Chapter 2

Eliza lay awake. Turning on her bed for the hundredth time, she kicked at the mosquito baire. The thunderstorm that had wakened her earlier had passed and she’d fallen into a fitful sleep…only to waken yet again.

Dark shadows now filled the room. Unnerved, she peered anxiously into the darkness, but she could detect nothing amiss. Kicking off the coverlet, she decided it was the heat that had awakened her. Despite the thinness of her shift, however, simply tossing off the bed clothes brought her little relief.

Impatient and hot, she flung out of bed, quickly crossing to the gallery doors and, without hesitation, opened them. Poteen would have a fit about the night air, she knew, but it was just too hot to have the room closed on this night.

The heavy, sweet fragrance of magnolias wafted in on the night breeze. It was like heaven.

On impulse, Eliza decided she would have a mint julep and sit out on the gallery until she grew tired. With a mischievous grin, she ran quietly downstairs.

Moments later, she returned, sipping the drink. It wasn’t filled with ice, but she sure wasn’t going to the ice house at this hour. It would have to do.

Pleasantly cooler now, pleased with herself for daring to fix herself a drink, she sighed contentedly, reclining in the wicker lounge chair on her balcony. The sounds of tree frogs and insects mingled with the heavy fragrance of flowers and had a calming effect on her nerves.

Half an hour later, Eliza's eyelids began to droop. She rose languidly, deciding she might now get some rest. Leaving her julep glass on the floor of the balcony, she returned sleepily to her bed. The feather mattress made barely a whisper as she lay down, and she promptly fell into a deep sleep.

She slept so soundly she never heard the crunch of grass or the scrape of a booted heel on the vine-covered lattice that led up to the balcony outside her room.

Nor did she hear the intruder’s stealthy approach as he gained the balcony and entered her room, moving quietly across the floor to stand beside her bed, staring down at her.

As the moments ticked past, he became dissatisfied with merely looking and reached to touch her golden hair where it flowed over her pillow. She stirred. He pulled his hand back quickly, holding his breath while he waited to see if she would awaken.

The lace covering her breasts moved with her breathing, caressing her body. An almost overwhelming wave of passion washed over him. How lovely it would be to sink himself…

With an effort, he shook off the thought. There would be time for that later.

When she slept on, he smiled. This one was different from the others. He wanted her as he had no other woman. She would belong to him.

Having looked his fill, he crept across the room and, without a sound, stepped out onto the balcony.

The chatter of birds woke Eliza. Stretching, she noticed with a frown that the French doors were open. Finally remembering her late night excursion, she jumped up with a gasp, closing the doors and hiding her julep glass. After doing so, however, she paused, realizing there was something wrong. An eerie feeling crept up the back of her neck as she looked about the room.

Hadn’t she closed the doors before she’d returned to bed?

* * *

For once, Eliza wasn’t racing her horse hell bent for leather. She was deep in thought as she kept Storm to an easy trot on the wide path that ran along the banks of the Mississippi River.

She was trying to recall something about the night before. When she’d wakened, she had felt almost as if someone had been in her room, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, pinpoint what it was that had made her feel that way. Finally, she dismissed the notion. If someone had stolen into the house, wouldn’t they have taken her valuables, lying within easy grasp?

Eliza was so engrossed in her thoughts that she scarcely noticed the horse and rider approaching until they were almost upon her. She looked up slowly when he barred her path and Storm, halted, snorting at the close proximity of the other horse.

Her gaze traveled up highly polished boots and crisp-pleated trousers to a soft white shirt and loose flowing sleeves.

Judging from his immaculate attire, the stranger was a dandy. His eyes, golden like those of a bird of prey…or perhaps a panther? …sparkled with some unknown emotion she suspected might be amusement. He had high cheek bones and a dimple in his distinctly male chin. His hair shone with golden highlights, reflecting the early morning sun.

A rather charming dimple appeared in his cheek as he smiled, doffing his hat. "Hasn’t your father ever warned you about the danger of traveling these roads alone?"

Eliza sat straighter in the saddle, bristling. "Yes, he has, but I’ve nothing to fear. My Papa’s workers would hear my slightest cry for help." She gestured toward the nearby fieldhands. "As you can see."

"Ah, yes. It seems you are adequately guarded, Miss…?"

Eliza hesitated for a moment, then mentally shrugged. What harm would it do to tell the man her name? He looked….she wouldn’t say harmless, but neither did he look dangerous. She stretched out a delicately gloved hand. "Eliza Fontaine."

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, in the French fashion, and she felt heat flood her cheeks.

"Charmed, Mademoiselle. My name is Winston Keeling. I heard your father had a fine horse for sale and thought I would take a look at him while I was in the neighborhood.

Eliza’s faint feeling of uneasiness vanished and her expression cleared. "Oh! You’re here to see the horse. You must think me very rude?"

"No, mademoiselle. You are the very soul of charm."

Eliza smiled, shaking a finger at him. "You, Sir, are the charmer. I shall have to watch out for you." She drew on the rein, prodding Storm to turn and then kicking him into a gallop. "Come! Follow me!"

He watched her slim form flowing in perfect unison with the enormous horse she rode and smiled. "I would follow you anywhere."

Eliza halted Storm in front of the stable and dismounted, waiting for their visitor, who had followed at a more leisurely pace. When he reined his mount in, she looked up at him and, for a moment, was disconcerted as she caught his gaze traveling over her in a familiar way.

Tiny came through the dark stable opening, eyeing the new arrival. "Miz Eliza?"

Relieved, Eliza turned to him. "Tiny, this is Mr. Keeling. He has come to see the stallion Papa has for sale. Show him the horse, Tiny. I need to go to the house and change. Poteen will wonder what’s keeping me……Mr. Keeling, if you will excuse me." With that, she turned, slapping her gloves against her riding habit as she strode toward the house.

Winston watched the enticing sway of her hips beneath the emerald riding habit she wore. He was forcibly subduing the heat surging through him when the enormous man named Tiny noisily cleared his throat.

"If’n you would follow me, I’ll show you, India. That’s de horse’s name."

Keeling nodded without a word, following the giant into the darkened stable.

The packet ship, Elizabeth, was a sturdy vessel one hundred and sixty feet in length. Nevertheless, Captain O’Reily was worried as he looked across the bow of his ship at the waves that were steadily increasing in size. He cursed silently, knowing the storm that was brewing was apt to put him days off schedule. The afternoon sky had darkened ominously, and the seagulls he had spotted earlier were no longer in sight.

Regardless, he had made the trip countless times and, even with the storm, he expected to reach Liverpool in five weeks, give or take a day. As he turned, he spotted Charles Fontaine, a man of long-standing acquaintance, if not close friendship, who’d been his passenger many times over the years. There was much sadness about the man when he thought no one was observing.

Studying him for several moments, O’Reily felt a surge of unaccustomed sympathy, for he knew what plagued Fontaine. Charles still mourned the loss of his wife. Indeed, O’Reily could imagine the man’s sense of loss. One had only to look at the daughter. After a moment, he shook the thoughts off and turned his attention to the coming storm and the preparations he needed to make.

As darkness fell, the storm gained momentum. The ship’s sails stiffened in the wind, and her timbers creaked and groaned. Oblivious to nature’s blustering, Charles remained by the rail, smoking a cigar, deep in thought. Men scurried about him, but he ignored the bustle, as well, studying the black, turbulent water, remembering the first time he’d seen Elizabeth.

A cotillion, given by his long time neighbor, John Green and his wife, Nancy, had been in full swing when he had arrived with his friends, eager to snare any woman that would have them. He had entered the ballroom, cheeky and confident, and then his heart had lurched to a stop. Among the crowd of dark-headed Creoles was one of spun gold.

Though he’d been far more taken with the slim figure it concealed, he still remembered her dress had been a creamy white, the perfect foil for her peaches and cream complexion and golden locks. As he stood, transfixed, the man dancing with her had whirled her about. She had looked across the room then, her gaze locking with his, and a force so strong it was almost tangible had flowed and surged between them.

Even after all this time, he could still remember how powerfully they’d been drawn to one another from that first moment.

"Oh, Elizabeth." The words were a mere whisper, rent from his soul, carried on the wind and swallowed in the vastness of the storm.

Why had he been spared?…… If one could call it that. Life would have been unbearable if not for the tiny bundle of joy that had looked so like her.

He hugged that thought to him as the only source of solace that remained to him. He would not think of how Elizabeth had died. He would remember her as she had been on the day of their wedding and the birth of their child.

Caught up in his thoughts, Charles Fontaine never saw the man that approached him from behind. He never saw the figure raise the instrument of his death. It was fitting that Charles Fontaine’s last thoughts were of his Elizabeth.

At supper, Eliza mulled over her meeting with the day’s visitor as she dined on baked chicken.

"What’s de matter chile? You look worried," Poteen said as she entered the room, carrying a tall glass of lemonade.

"It’s nothing… Are you going out on the verandah?"

"Yes. Are you coming?"

"As soon as I get some of that lemonade."

Poteen gave her a level look. "Jes don’t get in your Papa’s liquor again."

Eliza’s mouth dropped open in shock. Was there nothing that escaped this woman? "How on earth did you know about that?"

Poteen nodded wisely, and the cameo pin that Eliza’s mother had given her winked in the candlelight. "I have ways of knowing dese things."

Eliza muttered under her breath. "Just go on out. I’ll be there in a minute."

Poteen laughed, obviously pleased with herself.

* * *

Gazing at her reflection in the hall mirror, Poteen checked the smoothness of her hair. Her eyes looked bloodshot.

She’d had a horrible night, had dreamt over and over of dark, swirling water… of drowning. Shaking off her uneasiness, she picked up the tray she had set on the hall table and knocked on Eliza’s door.

"Come in. I’m awake."

Poteen put on her brightest smile and entered. "Chile, I thought you were gonna sleep all day."

Eliza glanced at the clock and rolled her eyes. "Oh my, seven o’clock. How scandalous."

"Enough of your smartness." She sat the tray down on the mahogany table beside the bed and poured Eliza a cup of coffee.

Eliza took a sip. "As late as it is, Storm will be wondering what’s keeping me," she said innocently.

Poteen frowned. "Must you go riding every day, Eliza?"

"I don’t go every day. Only when it’s nice."

Poteen gave her a stern look. "You must be careful. There are people...well, men who would take advantage of a young woman alone."

"Yes, Poteen. I know. Are you going to take over Papa’s job of hounding me every time I go out of the house?"

"He gave me the task of watching after you when you were first born and I haven’t stopped since."

Eliza was buttoning her dark blue riding jacket. Looking up, she saw the hurt on Poteen’s face. "I’m sorry. Of course he did and a very good job of it you’ve done, too."

"Humph! That’s what you always say to get your way."

"Really, I’ve been riding by myself for two years now and nothing whatsoever has happened."

"That doesn’t mean it won’t. Mr. Green said there has been more riffraff coming down the river than he can count, piling into those taverns downtown and breaking everything in sight."

Eliza quickly braided her hair, pinning it under in a ladylike fashion. "Mr. Green is scared of his shadow. He’s always talking gloom and doom."

"That may be so, but he’s a good neighbor and cares for this family." She clamped her mouth shut. She might as well be talking to the wind. She fought back the fear she felt clawing at her throat, the lingering suspicion that all was not right with the family. "Please. Take care when you’re out there."

Eliza smiled that impish smile few could resist. "I’ll be fine. See you in an hour or so." She bounced out of the room, throwing kisses at her old nurse.

Poteen swallowed the knot in her throat and threw one back.

Eliza quickly descended the stairs and ran out the back door toward the kitchen. With the speed born of long practice, she grabbed two large cinnamon rolls dripping with icing….her bribe to Tiny.

At the stable, Tiny took hold of Storm’s reins and led him around for Eliza to mount. He gave her a conspiratorial grin, handing her the reins and taking the rolls. "It shore is a beautiful mornin’, Miz Eliza."

"That it is, Tiny," she said, grinning. She felt the joy of her impending ride roll over her. She couldn’t wait to be away. Whirling Storm around, she headed toward the fields.

Heat was already pushing in on the day as she passed the long rows of sugar cane stretching toward the river. It was going to be especially hot this year. In a few weeks the cane would take on a purple color and harvest season would be upon them. It would be the first her papa had missed.

Poteen walked out on the upper verandah and watched as Eliza rode through the big grass. In the distance she could see another rider. Quite suddenly, something cold slithered up her spine, so overwhelming that she seized the railing with a white-knuckle grip. After a moment, she let go of the rail and took a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping the beads of perspiration from her upper lip. She knew something bad was about to happen to her family.

Winston Keeling’s eyes gleamed as his lips touched the soft skin of Eliza’s hand. The smell of her scent wafted up to cloud his head. She had cast a spell over him, this golden woman of his dreams.

She tugged at her hand, and he released it. "Pardon me, Miss Fontaine. Your beauty momentarily robbed me of my manners."

"You’re excused, Mr. Keeling. Now, if you’ll pardon me, Storm is getting impatient." As if to punctuate the point, the horse threw up his head and snorted.

"But of course." He smiled his most charming smile, watching as she took off in a cloud of dust. Feeling the urge of the chase surging through him, he threw back his head and laughed.

Chapter 3

By dawn, the storm had run out of steam. The ship looked a little worse for wear, but Captain O'Reily counted his blessings….which seemed to be dwindling. He rubbed a weary hand across the stubble on his chin. Good Lord! Charles Fontaine was dead…. Young Eliza orphaned…He felt responsible. He should have insisted that Charles go below. He had seen Charles as the storm set upon them, but he had been distracted….hadn’t felt comfortable with the idea of intruding.

A deep frown marred his weathered features as he reached into his pocket. Taking a pinch of tobacco out, he stuffed it into his pipe, puffing as he lit it. Curls of smoke, the one luxury he allowed himself, wafted past his nose as he stared absently at the two shades of blue beyond the deck; one bright and sunny sky; the other the deep, blue green of the ocean. He sighed heavily, feeling a great weight settle over him.

His first mate, Connelly, had informed him shortly past midnight that Charles Fontaine was missing. O’Reily had ordered the men to check every inch of the ship , but Charles was not to be found. The ferocity of the storm had prevented an immediate search of the sea, but at dawn he had sent boats out in the vague hope that Fontaine would be found clinging to a bit of debris.

What he couldn't figure out for the life of him was just how Charles had come to fall over-board. The man was far from the careless sort. There had been no serious danger from the storm the last Charles had been seen by the rail or one of his crew would’ve seen to it that Fontaine went below…or reported it to his captain if he’d been unable to get Fontaine to cooperate.

He squinted his eyes against the sun as he looked around at his crew busily trying to put things to rights. Blowing a fragrant stream of smoke toward the sea, he realized it was time to accept the possibility he’d been trying to ignore. It might not have been an accident at all.

Searing heat marked the arrival of the last week of June. Eliza waved a lace fan in front of her face, hoping to dispel some of it, as she pondered Winston Keeling's ardent pursuit. The wicker rocker in which she sat creaked as she stared sightlessly down the oak alley in front of the house.

There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Keeling…. Winston he had insisted she call him, was courting her. She felt that if her Papa was here, Winston would have gone so far as to ask for her hand. As she took a sip of tea, she looked into the cup and was reminded that the liquid was almost the color of his eyes. She didn't know what it was about him…..

Poteen would have had a fit if she’d known that just the day before, while on her usual morning ride, Eliza had come upon him. Before the hour was out, he had taken her in an embrace, the likes of which she had never known. Of course, she had resisted as he kissed her again and again. Her cheeks flamed red as she recalled that his kisses were nothing like any school-boy kisses she had received before.

She watched a hummingbird take a drink of nectar from a nearby hibiscus, its wings fluttering like her heart had when he’d kissed her.

Poteen had been right, she decided. A girl could be all too easily persuaded to do something she might regret by a man who could kiss like that. She would be more careful in the future. Even if she had meant, on hearing of her Papa's impending journey, to experience some new and exciting things, it was no part of her plan to be seduced into marriage by the first handsome man to come along.

It was far too dark to see anything beyond the balcony where Eliza sat, trying to catch an errant breeze, but she was engrossed in her thoughts and had no need for a view. Below the house, the sound of night creatures and the steady slap of someone paddling a boat disturbed the serenity of the river, and Eliza was momentarily distracted from her musings, speculating on whether it might be cooler by the river. With a sigh, she dismissed the thought. There was no real relief from the muggy heat anywhere to be found.

After a moment, her thoughts returned to Winston Keeling. Even though it went against her better judgment, Eliza found she had to admit that Keeling was entertaining. That was more than she could say for the rest of the young men of the parish, who had mostly cloistered themselves indoors to escape the merciless Louisiana heat.

He was actually quite handsome, and he never seemed the least shocked or displeased, no matter how outrageous her behavior. She was finding it more and more difficult to remain aloof to his courtship. If only Papa were there so that she would at least know if he approved of the man.

A frown marred her forehead at that thought. Why had she heard nothing from her Papa? It wasn’t like him not to send a letter by return packet telling of his journey and reassuring her that he was all right. She decided if she didn’t hear something soon, she would contact him through the shipping line.

She found she could not dismiss her concerns so easily, however. Black thoughts like demons knocked, unceasingly. What would she do if something had happened to him?

Fear, unlike any that she had known before, raised its ugly head. Then, with the same stubborn tilt to her chin that her Papa had often teased her about, she told herself that she must dismiss such nonsensical thoughts. Likely, his letter had merely gone astray----She would be strong. The Fontaine's were made of sturdy cloth. Soon she’d find that her fears were groundless and silly.

What was wrong with her anyway? Why was she thinking such gloomy thoughts?

She supposed, after a moment, that it was because her Papa had never missed her birthday. It was only a week away, and still there had been no word from Charles Fontaine.

Eliza hadn’t felt like riding Storm this morning, deciding it was far too hot for that sort of activity to give her any pleasure. Instead, she had gotten a cool glass of lemonade and gone out to sit in the shade of the verandah to await her company. Winston had said that he would visit her today, and she hadn’t discouraged him.

Reaching up, she lifted the hair from the back of her neck, studying the reddish aura of the morning sky just above the horizon. Poteen had said that a storm was brewing. Eliza didn't doubt it. The air was heavy enough to cut with a knife.

Eliza had scarcely moved a muscle an hour later when she saw Winston guiding his blaze horse up the wide alley of giant oaks. Waving an intricate lace fan in front of her face in an attempt to stir some of the laden air, she watched his approach with mixed feelings. She had come to realize that Winston Keeling did exactly as he pleased, and it pleased him to see her nearly every day.

Her white linen dress clung to her slim form as she rose to greet him

Winston dismounted, handing the reins to a servant, his golden gaze traveling up Eliza's body appreciatively and taking on an amber glow. "How are you this fine morning, Eliza?" He had dismissed with the formalities of her full name some weeks back, and it felt good to hear her name flow off his tongue.

"As hot as Hades, Mr. Keeling. I trust you are well?"

"Much better now that I've seen you." He quickly ascended the steps, taking her hand in his and kissing it.

Eliza retrieved her hand, turning to the servant girl nearby. "Pansy, get Mr. Keeling a cold glass of lemonade." She gave him a questioning glance. "Or would you prefer something more substantial?"

"No, that will be fine." He followed her toward a white wicker chair further down the verandah.

As they traversed the verandah, a circling wind began to build. Almost in the same moment, the sky darkened. A gust of air pelted them and Eliza's golden hair lifted like a banner. It smelled of jasmine as it wafted across Winston’s face. He caught the strands of spun gold between his fingers as she came to a sudden stop, gazing down the oak alley. He stifled a groan as he, too, spotted the lone rider slowly making his way toward the mansion.

Eliza's brow wrinkled in confusion as she recognized the rider. She swung her gaze from him as Poteen came out the front door. One look at her nurse’s dark visage made Eliza go pale.

Captain O'Reily felt like the messenger of doom as the sky darkened. He could see Eliza standing on the verandah as if turned to stone. He could honestly say he had never felt worse or dreaded anything so much in his entire life. They all seemed transfixed as he dismounted, but as he watched, Eliza seemed to shake herself out of her trance and came toward him with her small hand outstretched in welcome.

"Captain O'Reily, how good it is to see you! Have you brought word from Papa? I'm going to give him a good dressing down for not contacting me. Why, we've worried ourselves sick! Haven't we Poteen?" Eliza turned a beseeching gaze upon Poteen, begging her to say something, anything.

"Yes, we have," Poteen said woodenly.

Captain O'Reily cleared his throat noisily. "I... hmmm. I've come to. . . I'm sorry Eliza. . ." His voice faded into a hoarse whisper.

Eliza would not allow him to finish. She frantically ran her sweat dampened palms down the sides of her dress. "Where are our manners? You must be parched after your long ride. Pansy!" Her eyes burned with, as yet, unshed tears. "Pansy! You get out here!"

Poteen placed a hand upon Eliza’s arm, trying to calm her down.

Captain O'Reily swallowed the enormous knot that had formed in his throat. He felt as if his breathing were being restricted, and he prayed for God to help him impart this dreadful news.

"Eliza, there was a storm at sea. . . I'm afraid that your father. . . fell overboard. Eliza, he's gone."

The silence was so intense, one could hear the ripples of river water a half a mile away. Then Eliza sucked in a gulp of air like a person drowning.

"No! It can't be true! God no!" Eliza covered her face with her hands as sobs racked her body.

Captain O'Reily reached to embrace her but was forestalled by the stranger, who had gone unnoticed until now. O’Reily frowned as the man took her into his arms, bringing her close to the wall of his muscled chest.

Eliza's sobs seemed to open the heavens as the rain that had threatened all morning burst from the sky in a sudden deluge.

Her knees buckled, and Winston swept her into his arms and carried her to her room, wilted like a flower beneath the flood of sorrow.

Outside, the downpour continued unabated and the wind blew the sugar cane like waves on the ocean even as Eliza tossed and turned in a tempest of her own. Lightening flashed through the lace of her bedroom curtains, sending eerie shadows chasing across the walls like spirits seeking rest. Eliza could find none, however. She buried a sob in the softness of her feather pillow. The herbal tea that Poteen had made earlier grew cold on the table beside her bed.

Near dawn, she heaved in a large breath, trying to staunch the flow of tears. It was only then that she recalled that Winston had carried her to her room. He had acted as if she were the most precious thing in the entire world and had gently kissed her forehead, smoothing back her hair. She had sought, and found, a morsel of solace in his embrace. She had been grateful for his kindness. It made her feel a little better to know she wasn’t completely alone in the world.

Chapter 4

The gentleman muttered a few choice epithets as the carriage he was riding in mired up to its axles in mud for the third time. He jumped out into the slashing rain, unmindful of the fine suit he wore.

"Blast it!" He fumed as he and the black driver heaved against the wheel, pushing with every ounce of strength.

The driver's hat bent down in front, sending a small river of water off the end of his nose. "Suh, if'n you don mind my sayin’ so, ah's thinkin’ we should stop down the road a piece once we get out dis time?"

Spitting out the water that ran into his mouth, the man blinked rapidly as rain weighed his eyelashes down into his eyes. "Get back in the driver's seat. I'm going to give it all I've got. When I shout ‘go’, you let those horses feel leather!"

"Yessuh!"

With a single leap, the large black man regained his seat. The gentleman gave an enormous push and yelled for the driver to go. At that precise instant, a bolt of deadly lightening severed a tree just a few yards away. That did more to galvanize the team than anything they could have done. Wild eyed, the team plunged forward, leaving the gentleman with no recourse but to jump onto the side of the conveyance or walk the rest of the way to New Orleans, for although the driver fought for control, the horses were hell bent as if Satan himself chased them. The gentleman hung precariously onto the side of the carriage as it seemed to sail over the muddy road.

"Is there somewhere close where we can spend the night?!" he yelled and received a mouth full of water for his efforts.

"Yessuh! Dere's a boardin' house jes down de road!"

"Good! Let's go!"

The driver pulled his oilskin coat about his neck, trying to prevent the water from running down his back.

The gentleman made a harrowing jump into the carriage. Breathing a sigh of relief, he wiped his hair away from his forehead. When he’d brushed as much water off as possible, he pulled off the expensive tailored jacket he wore and laid it in a sodden lump on the empty seat across from him.

As he grew ever nearer his destination, he could feel his plans coming together. Suddenly, even though he was soaked clean through, he began to feel better and with a smile, lay back, awaiting their arrival at the boarding house.

A memorial service for Charles Fontaine was held in the family cemetery at Magnolia Hill.

Eliza stifled a sob as the casket was lowered into the freshly dug hole next to her Mother's grave. The fact that her Papa’s body had not been recovered added to her grief. Wiping her eyes, she glanced around at the large crowd of mourners.

It was a testimony in itself of just how much Charles Fontaine had been respected and loved; She was grateful that they had come.

For a moment her gaze settled on their nearest neighbor, Jean Deveraux, and a sense of empathy swept over her. The poor man was devastated by the loss of his wife and hardly looked as if he knew where he was…yet he’d come.

The Pastor began with the comforting words, "Jesus said unto her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; and he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live—’" He droned on in steady tones, but Eliza heard little of the service. She was numb. She looked forlornly at the people standing like a black circle of ravens inside the wrought iron fence.

She felt……empty….lost.

An uncomfortably prolonged silence had fallen before Eliza realized the service was over. She blinked, like a sleeper awakening, wondering what she should do, wondering if everyone was waiting for her.

Slowly the mourners came forward. As they filed by the grave, each dropped in a handful of dirt. The sound echoed with a sickening, hollow thud up to Eliza’s ears.

She stayed until they had all gone up to the house. Her heart felt as if it would never be the same.

Realizing finally that the men who were to fill the grave were waiting patiently for her to go, she turned and walked slowly down toward the river. Half way there, she heard the shovels of dirt hit the casket, louder at first and then more faintly as she walked along the levee, lost in memories of happier days.

Winston watched her go with a touch of irritation. It was too damned hot to be traipsing about the countryside when one could be in the cool, drinking a brandy, but she needed a man to take care of her. With quick steps he followed her, disregarding the heat.

"Wait, Eliza!"

Eliza continued walking until she reached the river’s edge where she watched the play of leaves as they floated lazily on top of the water. They reminded her of how quickly time passed by. Once, both her parents had stood before this very river and shared dreams of their future. She felt closer to them both, standing in this spot. She raised her head to catch a cooling breeze that blew off the water, and a single tear chased its way down her cheek, glistening in the sunlight through the black transparency of her veil. If only she could turn back time. She would turn it back to when her parents were young and happy.

"Eliza, didn’t you hear me?"

Surprised, Eliza turned. She hadn’t even been aware that he had followed her. "What? I’m sorry, Winston, but I’m just not fit company for anyone right now." She turned away then, walking slowly toward a giant live oak and sat down, hoping he would leave. When she looked toward the cemetery, she saw a small group of neighbors was looking their way. Please, let them leave me in peace, she thought, unable to bare the idea of their endless expressions of sympathy. She felt, if she had to hear them, she might well break down.

Instead of leaving, Winston followed, settling himself beside her. He was silent for some moments, studying her perfect profile. "I know this is a bad time but—you need someone to take care of you-- now that you’re alone."

Eliza’s red eyes widened, was he about to ask for her hand? Now? "I’m not alone. I have Poteen, Tiny and Jamaica."

"Listen to yourself! They’re servants, Eliza. You have to have someone close to you. … Someone besides servants to look after your interests." He caught her hand, rubbing it with his thumb. "Someone like me….I love you, Eliza. You must know that! I’d meant to speak to your father on his return, but now…..I know this is a bad time for you, but that’s all the more reason to speak. You’re far too young to be alone."

Eliza merely stared at him. In a sense, she knew he was right. As much as they loved her----as much as she loved them, they were not really her family. She had no protector now, and she wasn’t so young that she wasn’t aware that that put her in danger. But all she could think was, how could he propose at a time like this?

"I don’t mean to upset you, darling." He patted her hand, continuing, "It’s just that you will need a man around to take care of things." He swept an arm to encompass the house and the waving sugar cane. "Not too long from now, the cane will be ready to harvest. How can you expect to manage a plantation of this size alone?"

Anger surged through Eliza then, dispelling her doubts, and she ignored the voice of reason that told her he was right. She didn’t need anyone to look after her or Magnolia Hill! She would see that the plantation continued to flourish. "Mister Keeling, I’m quite confident that I can manage on my own."

Winston studied her a long moment, then reached for her. Capturing her hand, he placed a kiss on the softness of her skin. "It was insensitive of me to bring this up now. Please forgive me, hmm?" he said with a puppy dog pleading to his eyes.

Eliza’s anger evaporated at his plea. Perhaps she had been too harsh. "I’m sorry, too, Winston. This has been such a horrible day. I just don’t think I can take much of anything right now." Fresh tears began to roll down her cheeks as she searched for her handkerchief.

"Now, now, love." Winston drew her into the circle of his arms. "Go on and cry. You’ll feel better to get it all out."

Finally, Eliza withdrew from his arms, hiccuping. "I’ve practically ruined your shirt, haven’t I?"

"Don’t upset yourself." Winston pulled the damp shirt away from his skin. "I hate to leave now, but I must. I have business to attend to in town. Will you be all right?"

"Yes. Go on. I’m just going to sit here for a while. This place always makes me feel better."

"I will come and see you tomorrow. Is that all right?"

Eliza looked away, dabbing at her dampened cheeks. "I think---I need some time alone."

Winston’s lips tightened, but in a moment he smiled. "As you wish." He kissed her hand and rose to leave. "Until then."

Chapter 5

Rafe Hamilton directed his horse to the path along the levee. It was nearer to the mighty Mississippi River than the old road. He liked the scent that wafted from wild roses, and the faintly musty smell of the river that lingered there.

Suddenly, disrupting the peace of the morning, a large black horse came barreling down the embankment. Rafe jerked his mount sideways to avoid being knocked into the river. He cursed, turning in time to see the rider flying down the path like all the demons of hell were at his heels. Seeing an oak limb hanging over the path, he shouted a warning.

At that precise moment, the rider was knocked from his horse and lay motionless upon the ground. A muscle worked in his jaw as Rafe nudged his mount toward the prone figure. What a stupid thing to do! If the fellow wasn't dead, it would be a miracle. It was obvious he was dealing with a person who had no regard for his own, or anyone else's, life.

"Why it's just a kid," Rafe muttered, noting the size of the rider. Dismounting, he knelt down and rolled the boy over, discovering in the process that the ‘boy’ was, in fact, a female…..a young, very pretty, incredibly foolish…injured...female!

A knot roughly the size of a hen egg marred what he was certain would otherwise have been a lovely forehead. Bending over her, he examined the wound closely. It was bleeding slightly, but didn't appear to need stitches. Next, he felt along the neck and was relieved to discover that the little brat hadn't broken it, despite the awkward ankle. As he straightened her head, her hat slipped off and a cascade of glorious blonde hair spilled out like molten gold.

The sight set him back on his heels. This was no child, but a living, breathing pack of man-trouble if he ever saw one.

Smiling faintly, he pushed back a length of the silky hair that now contained no small amount of twigs. He leaned close to the shell of her ear. "Wake up, you little minx."

She stirred, grumbling, "Go away and leave me alone." She didn’t open her eyes. Her head was pounding too much. "Can't you see that I wish to die in peace."

He slapped a gloved hand on his thigh and stood up, looking down at her from his considerable height. "Fine by me, but you might like to pick a better place to die than the middle of the road. You wouldn't look too good with wheel ruts in your belly."

Eliza opened her eyes, trying to blink away the pain. Her head felt like someone had hit her with a hammer. "You know," she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster, "that was the first thought in my mind as I went flying through the air. Eliza, you sure don't want to die in the middle of the road. It might inconvenience someone." She squinted her eyes, trying to make the three laughing men who stood over her meld into one.

"What I would like to know is, when you try to kill yourself, do you always try to take unsuspecting, innocent bystanders with you?"

Eliza blinked, trying to bring the man's face into focus. Her vision began to clear and anger surfaced. "I seriously doubt that you have ever been innocent. Please spare me your ridiculous questions. Can't you see I've had an injury to the head?"

He should have been ashamed of himself for baiting an injured person, but there was something about her that goaded him on. "You sound like you might have had an injury there a time or two before."

Eliza sat up and pulled a long stick from underneath her blouse. She felt bruised, disheveled, and thoroughly dirty and this-this man had nothing better to do than to harass her! It was too much. She threw the stick at his polished boots and stood up…. much too quickly. She almost toppled over, but she caught herself by grabbing hold of Storm. "Well! I never! I've had just about enough out of you. Mr.- Mr. whatever your name is!"

She glared at him, not the least pleased to discover he was one of the most handsome men she had ever had the misfortune to meet. It almost made her want to slap him. Anyone that good-looking had to know it and therefore should, without a doubt, be slapped….the cold-blooded, heartless scoundrel!

Rafe bowed. "The name is Rafe Hamilton, and I would say at your service, but I think you would abuse me. And, as for "Never.." A rakish grin twitched the corners of his mouth. His black mustache made the smile even more wickedly enticing. "I think.. Miss? That you have."

Eliza felt her temper escalate. "Miss! No, Mister Hamilton! I'm a married woman with two children. Now, if you will excuse me and accept my apologies for putting you in any danger. I have to get home. My…" She stopped herself from saying mammy. "…husband is waiting."

With that she mounted Storm without a wince. She didn’t want this scoundrel to see how bad off she was. She would save the moans of pain for when she was out of his hateful sight!

He saluted her with a totally brazen wink of one of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. "I am no worse for wear, Madam."

She expelled a very unladylike snort. "Fine, now I really must be going. Have a nice visit in Louisiana."

Rafe started in surprise. "How did you know that I wasn't from Louisiana?"

She turned Storm toward home and looked back with a wicked grin. "Because your accent is just not as nice as the men from around here."

Rafe huffed, "Oh really? And where, Madam, with your vast knowledge of regional accents, would you say that I'm from?"

Eliza pursed her lips, holding back Storm for a moment. "I would say that you sound like you come from the backwaters of South Carolina." With that, she rode off with a twitch of the black horse's tail that nearly slapped him in the face.

Rafe laughed humorlessly, brushing the dirt from his hat against his leg as he watched the woman, now apparently quite recovered, blaze across the field from which she had come. Backwaters of South Carolina, indeed! What did she know anyway!

A frown marred his brow as he felt the sting of something akin to wounded pride. She had just thoroughly insulted him and to top it off she was married. Well, that suited him just fine! She would undoubtedly be the worse piece of trouble for any man. Thank God someone else had to worry about that little snippet from hell.

He mounted his horse, a rather tired looking creature compared to the magnificent animal that she had been riding. With an aggravated movement, he removed a cheroot from his coat, lighting it. "Married!" he called into the emptiness of the road before him. "Good!" He lowered his tone to mutter, "The girl deserves a sound thrashing."

Rafe shook off his feelings of outrage and consulted the map that had been drawn for him. It appeared that he was just a short distance from the Fontaine plantation. He rode on, slowly recovering the enjoyment that had been so rudely interrupted earlier, admiring the beauty of the countryside.

He had followed the well-beaten road about a half of a mile when he spotted what must surely be the Fontaine plantation.

As he rode under the bower of the towering live oaks, he absorbed the serenity of the place. The Fontaine mansion was magnificent. He marveled at, not only the beauty, but, as he had for the last several miles, the prosperity of the plantation.

He raked a hand through his ebony hair, disturbing the short curls that lay on the back of his neck as he studied the rows of sugarcane, and the way sunlight sparkled like emeralds on the green, waxy leaves.

After looking around the place for some moments, Rafe saw a petite, black woman with a bright yellow headwrap step onto the verandah, apparently coming from the garden. He rode over to the front steps and looked up at the woman, whose arms were laden with fresh cut camellias.

"I’d like to speak with Mr. Fontaine. That is, if he's at home? My name is Rafe Hamilton." Rafe dismounted, extending his hand in greeting.

It was strange for a white man to offer his hand to a servant. She accepted it with a smile. "My name is Poteen." She cleared her throat. "Masta Charles is…has...." Her gaze strayed toward the cemetery, barely visible from where they stood.

Rafe, following the direction of her glance, was startled to see the freshly covered mound. "What happened?"

Poteen shrugged. "They say he fell overboard during a storm. He was on his way to London on business. But I--" She looked as if she was about to say something else, but changed her mind. "It's just such a terrible tragedy."

Rafe suddenly felt embroiled in a much larger, much more sinister scheme than he had anticipated.

"Miss Eliza is taking it really hard." She nodded toward a massive oak tree festooned with Spanish moss. "She usually sits down there for several hours a day, when she isn't riding that horse like she’s possessed." Poteen shook her head and the amber broach on her dress winked in the early morning sunlight.

Rafe’s gaze was thoughtful as he absorbed this. "I'm looking for a …friend of mine…a man by the name of Winston Keeling. Have you seen him?"

Poteen's eyes narrowed, her manner not so friendly now. "A friend of yours?"

"I have…business with him. I was to meet him in New Orleans, but…. I was told I might find him here."

"Business? I thought you said he was a friend?" Poteen prodded, looking him over now suspiciously.

Rafe smiled easily and shrugged. "A bit of friendly business. He has a necklace I’m interested in…acquiring."

"Well, I don know nuthin’ ‘bout that. Mista Keeling ain’t been here since the service for Mista Charles. I spect you need to talk to Miz Eliza ‘bout that. Come in. I’m sure you’re parched after such a long ride."

Chapter 6

Eliza flew up to her room and slammed the door. She leaned back against it, taking in a gulp of air. Lord! Why had she told that man she was married and had two children? She pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward upon her face and expelled a pent up sigh.

He had provoked her. That was why! Terrible man! Thank goodness she would never see him again.

On that thought, she rushed to the carved cheval mirror which stood in the corner of her room, examining her reflection. She looked awful! Pulling back her hair, she gingerly pressed her fingertips to the discolored lump on her forehead. Fortunately, it didn't look as bad as it felt.

"Of all the stupid stunts to have pulled!" she muttered. Poor Storm didn't know what to think of her these days. At that thought, she frowned, realizing how badly she could have hurt the horse. It was unforgivable. She had behaved incredibly carelessly.

Her gaze returned to the mirror, taking in the full scope of her appearance. Rafe Hamilton had seen her at her absolute worst. She wondered briefly who he was visiting and finally decided it was probably the Browns. They were certainly awful enough people for the likes of him.

After a moment, she grinned, seeing the humor of the situation. What a sight she must have made flying over that embankment with her ragged boy's clothing on! She clicked her tongue in self-condemnation, pulling a couple of blades of grass from her hair and then a twig with several leaves still attached. She eyed the small branch before tossing it out the window. Well, she would never see him again anyway. Thank goodness for small mercies!

Dismissing him from her mind, it occurred to her that she had to get out of her clothes before Poteen saw her or she would be listening to lectures the rest of the day and half the night. Quickly pulling off her breeches, she carefully washed her face, removing the dirty streak that ran down one cheek.

Clara, entering the room with a fresh pitcher of water, interrupted her attempts to eliminate the evidence of her folly. The servant took in Eliza's rumpled appearance and quickly hid a smile.

Eliza scowled, pulling yet another piece of a tree from her long blonde tresses. "What are you smirking about, Clara?"

Clara who, so the other servants said, didn't have enough sense to pull herself from a fire, glibly stated, "There's a gentleman downstairs. Poteen said for you to come right down. A handsome young fella he is, too." She cackled as she filled the tub with water.

A deep foreboding filled Eliza. Resolutely, she shook off the thought. Surely he could not have been coming here! God would not be so unkind as to humiliate her twice in one day!

"Clara, I do so hate to disappoint you, but I am not, I repeat not, looking for a man… Any man," she added to herself. "They are surely a curse to all womankind, sent here by Satan to wreak havoc on women's lives."

"What did you say, Miz Eliza?"

Eliza stepped behind the screen. "I had a small accident. Nothing to be alarmed about." She prevented anymore questions by asking, "Did Poteen say who it was?"

"No, they's down in the parlor. Ah spect that you will want to get know him. Yes'm, I'm a thinkin that pretty soon you two will know each other real good. Why, it's been a mighty long time since these eyes have seen anything that handsome."

Eliza took a quick sponge bath. It was unfortunate that she didn't have time to take a long, hot soak. Her sore muscles could have used it. "Clara, would you stop prattling on. I would like the blue day dress… the one trimmed with the darker blue ribbons and lace."

Clara laid out Eliza's most fetching day dress, but not without a knowing smirk. She curled her lip at the dirty heap of clothing she had in her hand. "Young Tomas is sure gonna be pleased about his clothes, Miz Eliza," she mumbled sarcastically. "Why can't you wear somethin' more fittin' when you goes out riding?"

Eliza dried herself, quickly pulling a comb through her tangled locks. "Tell Tomas that I will see that his clothing is replaced." She added archly, "I like to ride astride once in a while." She liked the unfettered sense of freedom that came from discarding upteen layers of clothing for the simpler garb of a young boy….almost as much as she enjoyed knowing she was doing something wickedly unacceptable in polite society.

Clara stifled a gasp. "Poteen is right. That is how heathens act. No lady would be seen riding about the countryside dressed like a boy, ridin' astride."

Eliza finished with her hair and donned the becoming blue gown. At least she didn't look quite so much like a hay wagon had run over her now.

"Let me fix your hair up. It shore do look better up and not floppin' around like Medusa."

Eliza made a small sigh of exasperation. "I have had enough insults for one morning, but I would appreciate your help. Poteen and the gentleman guest are waiting on me."

"Testy…Why is you always so testy?"

Eliza rolled her eyes. "Clara, just help me fix my hair. I don't have time for this."

Finally feeling more presentable, Eliza left the room, quickly descending the stairs. She could hear Poteen's higher voice mingling with the husky timbre of a man's. It was impossible to tell what they were discussing. For an instant, she thought the voice sounded familiar, but then she dismissed the notion. Clara had indicated that it was a stranger. Smoothing the front of her dress with suddenly damp palms, she took a deep breath and stepped into the parlor.

The dark-haired man was seated with his back to the door. At the sound of her entrance, however, he rose from his chair, turning.

Rafe stood and turned with his drink in hand, expecting to see some sweet girl, but what should meet his eyes but the little pack of trouble who had tried to run him down. He nearly spewed his drink across the room. This was the sweet, innocent little Eliza Poteen had been telling him about?

Simultaneously they said, "You!"

"What in tarnation are you doing here?" Eliza demanded.

The sight of her virtually robbed him of what little air he had in his lungs. Her hair was like a golden halo about her face. She did not look like the mean little creature he knew her to be. "I might be asking you the same question." His eyebrows flew upward, and he thought to teach the little scamp a lesson. "Where is the husband and children?" he asked sarcastically.

She glared at him for a long moment, a mulish expression on her face. "Husband…children? What is going on? What have you done to your forehead, Chile?"

Eliza never took her eyes from him. "I had a small fall this morning. It's nothing to worry about. I feel fine."

Rafe stood his ground as she moved into the room. It was like two combatants meeting on a field of battle. Neither seemed willing to give the other an inch.

"We met this morning on my ride. I was having a bit of fun by telling him I was married," Eliza said with exasperation, then asked with a challenging tone, "What brings you to Magnolia Hill anyway, Mr. Hamilton?"

"I was just telling Poteen about a certain scoundrel by the name of Winston Keeling. She informed me that you are quite familiar with him."

Eliza shifted her gaze quickly to Poteen, then back to him. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Hamilton--"

"Call me Rafe, Poteen." He smiled mockingly, and Eliza's eyes shot daggers at him.

"Rafe was just telling me an awful story about Mr. Keeling's past. You better sit down, chile."

Eliza felt a chill go through her. Somehow she knew that what she was about to hear would change her entire life. After a moment, she recovered enough to fall back on the social graces Poteen had tried so hard to instill in her over the years.

"Mr. Hamilton, do take a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Eliza asked. Now the soul of politeness, she glanced at Poteen, who seemed strangely preoccupied. The look on her face worried Eliza, however.

"Thank you." Rafe seemed a little disconcerted by the abrupt change in her demeanor. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I wouldn’t mind having another glass of lemonade. It was hot in New Orleans, even as early as I left."

As Poteen left to fetch more lemonade, Eliza moved across the parlor and perched stiffly on the edge of the settee facing the seat Rafe had occupied before her entrance. After a moment, he returned to his seat. Feeling surprisingly calmed by the mundane social talk, Eliza picked up the conversation. "Yes, most everyone has left the city now for their country homes. Thank goodness we haven't had any accounts of the fever yet."

Rafe cleared his throat again, impatient with the small talk, but uncertain of how to begin. "You have met Winston Keeling? How did you first meet him?"

Eliza felt that she was about to hear something very distasteful and didn't know if she could take anymore unpleasantness. "He came to look at a horse Papa had for sale. Just what is it about Mr. Keeling that you would like to know?"

Rafe’s countenance hardened and so did his voice as he answered. "I know quite enough about Winston Keeling. What I'm here about is to tell you what you don't know."

Eliza's eyebrows raised a fraction. Returning at that moment, Poteen interrupted.

"I told you I didn’t like that man…..that he was up to no good."

She hadn’t, not in so many words, anyway. Poteen had made it obvious she didn’t care for Winston, but she hadn’t, exactly, warned Eliza away from him either.

"What do you mean?"

"He preys upon naïve young women. He’s an opportunist of the worst sort." As Rafe related what had happened to his sister, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

What Eliza couldn’t decide was whether his discomfort was from revealing such scandalous things about his sister, or if he was lying and not quite easy with it.

She simply stared at him when he’d finished, unable to think of anything to say. Indeed, her thoughts were so chaotic, she didn’t think she could make any sense of them, much less vocalize……For Winston had told her much the same tale only days earlier, except that it was his sister who had been so terribly victimized.

He’d told her he’d had word of the man and must go away for a few days, that he was determined to see to it that the man paid for his crimes.

Who was she to believe? She didn’t truly know either man. Both were virtual strangers to her. Though she was somewhat better acquainted with Winston, it was not by much. Her instincts told her to trust this man. Apparently Poteen believed him…..But then again, Poteen had never particularly liked Winston, and had not heard the story first through Winston as she had.

She looked at Poteen for guidance. "Can this be true? Why, he has been to Magnolia Hill on several occasions and we've had no problems...." If she were honest with herself, Winston had not behaved in an entirely gentlemanly manner. On the other hand, neither had Walter Smith….or Rafe Hamilton, for that matter. She couldn’t think of anything about his behavior, in fact, that would distinguish him from any other man she knew, or tar him as the villain Rafe Hamilton had painted him to be.

"I can assure you that it is true. Can I ask you a personal question? Has he in anyway made known his desire to marry you?"

It was Eliza's turn to shift in her chair as his penetrating blue gaze bored into her. "Well...Yes, he has, but--"

Rafe slammed a fist on a nearby table. "You must have nothing more to do with him should he come back around."

Eliza jumped at his vehemence, but his high handed attitude irritated her. "Are you saying that I should accept a proposal of marriage as proof that his intentions are foul? Why, if that were the case, then I would have to be suspicious of any proposal! Or, are you suggesting that it goes without saying that a proposal for my hand would, in actuality, only be inspired by a desire for the plantation? "

Rafe's mouth dropped open in stunned amazement. "Haven't you heard a word I've said?"

Still raw from their earlier meeting, Eliza's face reddened. How dare he take that tone with her! "Yes, Mr. Hamilton. I heard very clearly what you said, but how can you be so certain that he means to harm me? Or that I would let him?"

"Woman! I'm trying to tell you in no uncertain terms that Winston Keeling killed my sister as surely as if he had put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger! You are his next victim!"

"There is no need to shout, Mr. Hamilton. I'm not hard of hearing."

Poteen interrupted the heated exchange. "Eliza, Mista Hamilton suspects Mista Keeling of something else...."

"What?" Eliza's gaze darted from Poteen to the man sitting across from her. She felt her heart pound with sudden fear.

"I would rather wait until I have proof."

Eliza turned to Poteen. "Tell me what it is, for God's sake!"

"He thinks that Mista Keeling might be somehow connected with.-- your Papa's death."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that my father was… murdered?" Her voice was but a whisper. The color drained from her face.

"Mista Hamilton don know for sure….Captain O’Reily told me he wasn’t convinced it was an accident…..thought Mista Charles might have been set upon and robbed. But he questioned his men and couldn’t find anything to support his suspicions so he didn’t want to say nuthin’ about it to you. He didn’t see any sense in upsetting you more. But Mista Hamilton says Mista Keeling’s been hanging around the taverns with all those low lifes. Don’t you think it seems a little too much of a coincidence that he’s been trailing after you and now, all of a sudden, you’re all alone, with no menfolk…. especially since he's been known to take women for everything they own."

Poteen's words seemed to be coming from far away and Eliza struggled to put the fragments together. The past week had been one nightmare after another, and here, it appeared, was another terrible thing to deal with. Eliza looked toward the man sitting across from her and rose unsteadily to her feet. The floor moved and rippled like the Mississippi on a windy day, and Eliza wilted into a heap upon it.

Poteen cried out. Rafe sprang from his seat and scooped her up in his arms. He looked down worriedly at her pale face. The bruise now stood out in vivid relief against her otherwise flawless skin.

"Just lay her on the settee. Oh, this is awful. The poor chile has been so distraught over her father and now this! We shouldn't have told her this so soon. Do you think she will be all right? Maybe someone should go for the doctor."

"I should have thought about her injury, but I was so anxious to do something about Keeling." His voice trailed away. "Does she often faint like this? Of course, this was an awful shock." He lowered Eliza to the settee and stared down at her, somewhat at a loss.

Having gotten hold of herself, Poteen examined the bump on Eliza's forehead, muttering, "The poor chile hasn't been herself lately. She hasn't taken a fall like this since she was little. She always been an expert horsewoman." She looked up into his worried face. "She'll be all right. I'll get the smelling salts."

Poteen patted his shoulder, leaving the room once more the competent nurse and caretaker she had been since Eliza's birth.

In a matter of minutes, Poteen came hurrying into the room again and waved smelling salts under Eliza’s pert little nose. It occurred to Rafe that this slip of a woman was perfect. Everything about her was perfect.

Eliza became aware of an awful odor and tried to slap it away. When she couldn’t, she opened her eyes, frowning in irritation. "What happened? Poteen, what are you doing waving that noxious stuff under my nose? Get it out of here."

"You fainted. I had to use the smelling salts on you."

Eliza sat up, noticing for the first time that the Hamilton man was looking down at her. "What nonsense! I did not faint!" She threw her legs over the side of the settee as Rafe Hamilton chuckled. The man was thoroughly irritating! "And what, may I ask, are you laughing at?"

Rafe was greatly relieved to see he hadn't done the little hoyden permanent damage. She was once again her old self. He wasn't the least surprised that she had denied fainting. He didn't bother to hide his grin as he answered, "You, Miss Fontaine. You most certainly did faint, and I think you would argue with a snake."

Eliza stood up slowly and quipped, "Perhaps I am arguing with one."

"Eliza!" Poteen admonished, scandalized. "Mista Hamilton is a guest. Where are your manners?"

"I'm sorry it’s just that this has all been such a horrible shock. It can’t be-" She wasn’t, precisely, sorry, though it seemed easier at the moment to placate Poteen than argue about her manners. For all she knew he was the snake, not Winston. She sat back down and ran a hand across her forehead, wincing slightly as her fingers ran over the bump.

"I apologize for bringing such bad news, but the threat from Keeling is very real."

Eliza's head began to pound. He had said that he suspected Winston of being involved in her papa's death. "But Papa fell overboard in a squall...." Her face began to crumple. She recalled all the doubts that had assailed her on hearing that he had fallen overboard. Yet, her mind refused to accept the fact that someone could have murdered him. It was too awful to consider.

"That may be true, but I’m not convinced he ‘fell’."

Poteen patted her shoulder, and Eliza looked at him, slightly dazed. "But wasn't Winston in New Orleans the entire time."

"Miss Fontaine, haven't you ever heard of hired help? Why are you trying to find excuses for him? I have witnesses that say he has been meeting with a man known on the riverfront as a hired killer."

Eliza looked up in shock. "But...?" Could it be possible? Her mind whirled as she tired to picture the look in Keeling's eyes the day of the funeral. Who was she trying to fool? The entire day was a blur to her. It had been an emotional drain.

He leaned forward, his face hard. "Just what does Keeling mean to you anyway? Has he already gotten under your skin?"

That comment effectively jerked Eliza out of her shock. Outrage at his presumption surfaced in it’s place. "Mr. Hamilton! I hardly think you have the right to question me on such personal matters!"

Rafe held up a hand to forestall her. "I came here all the way from South Carolina…..yes, Miss Fontaine, you were right. I did come from the backwaters of South Carolina. And it was for one purpose… to get my hands on Keeling. Before I leave here, I will see him hang for what he has done to my sister and your father. I just wanted to warn you, that's all. Now, if you're all right, I must leave. I have unfinished business to attend to."

He turned, directing his next comments to Poteen. " If Keeling should show his face around here, I would like you to send word to me at the St. Louis hotel in town."

Moving to the door that let out onto the verandah, he crossed the threshold and stood with the wind blowing his dark hair. Eliza felt a chill run up her spine as his gaze met hers. "I also came because I had information that he was after another young lady." He tipped his hat before putting it on. "And that lady was you."

He turned quickly and was gone before she could utter another word. Was he saying that he had also come to save her? Despite her doubts, she felt a thrill run through her.

Following as far as the French door, Eliza watched as he rode down the alley. She didn't take her eyes off his receding figure until he was out of sight.

Without turning, she asked Poteen, "Do you think Winston had papa killed?"

"I thought from the very first that the man was evil. I think he's capable of anything."

Eliza absorbed her comments, feeling a little sick. To think she had sobbed, like a total fool, on Keeling's shoulder the day of her papa's funeral. After a few moments, anger swept over her. If it was true, Mr. Hamilton would have to wait in line to see Keeling dangling.

She walked back inside. Poteen followed, sighing heavily. Suddenly, Eliza felt the beginnings of an extremely painful headache coming on and she turned to Poteen. "I believe I will go up and lie down for awhile."

Poteen gave her a pat on the back. "Would you like some tea?"

"No," Eliza said wearily. "I just need some rest. That's all."

As Rafe rode his horse back along the river road at an easy trot, he pondered the situation. Damn, but the woman was obstinate! What was wrong with her? Couldn't she see Keeling for the snake that he was? He had to convince her, but how?

He’d nearly reached the city before he allowed himself a smile. She was also the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She would see reason no matter what it took. He’d be damned if he would allow Keeling to get his hands on her.

Later that evening, finding that he was too restless to sit around the hotel, Rafe decided to enjoy some of the entertainment that New Orleans had to offer. Entering the lobby of the St. Louis Hotel, he glanced around, certain that, somewhere in town, there would be a decent game of poker to be had.

After a moment, he spotted a man who had the look of a gambler about him. He was dressed a little too flashy for a planter. Moreover, he had a shifty look about him that spoke volumes.

Anticipation of a good game surged through his veins. Unlike many, he felt no compulsion to gamble, but he liked a good game once in a while. No matter how much he was enjoying himself, however, or how high the stakes, he had never even come close to loosing the plantation, as many unfortunate young men had. He had always made it a point to make certain he didn’t get so drunk that he thought more of his abilities than he should.

It wasn't long before he knew where a game of moderately high stakes was being played. He made his way toward the wharf where the Dixie Belle was docked, throwing his cheroot into the Mississippi as he entered the well-lit main salon.

Not surprisingly, the place had a seedy look to it, but that didn’t seem to deter the clientele. There were as many gentleman seated about the room as there men of the lower classes. In one corner, a balding man pounded out a merry tune on a piano, while a scantily dressed bar girl leaned over him, tapping her fingers to the music. The bar, as well as most of the tables at the front and center of the room was occupied by men apparently bent on nothing more than drowning their sorrows in a bottle while they watched the barmaids speculatively. Near the rear wall, however, several games of chance were already in progress.

Rafe made his way across the room and was soon involved in a game. He saw no sign of Winston Keeling, though he had taken a seat that would give him a clear view of anyone entering or leaving the salon, either by way of the entrance or up the stairs with one of the barmaids. Several hours later, having dropped about a hundred dollars on the table, he decided that this must not be his night for gambling.

Throwing in his cards, he withdrew from the game and crossed to the bar where he ordered a brandy and then found a secluded place at a table in one corner.

The music had finally stopped while the piano player took a break. Rafe could not but be glad of it. He’d begun to feel a pounding headache coming on.

Glancing out of the window, listening to the slosh of the Mississippi against the side of the boat at the dock, he concluded that he was not particularly enjoying himself. Moreover, it seemed obvious that the night was not going to produce a chance encounter with his quarry. He had already risen to return to the hotel when a sultry voice whispered in his ear.

"Where are you going? The night is still young."

Rafe turned slowly and blinked, a little surprised that the voice belonged to a very attractive redhead. Her eyes were a cool green, her bosom nigh to overflowing the top of a very tight black lace dress. She was stunning.

He wondered, momentarily, how he could’ve failed to have noticed her before. It occurred to him, however, that she had, no doubt, only this moment returned from entertaining a gentleman upstairs. He might have been more tempted to say and play if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. As it was, distaste killed all desire to dally with her.

"I'm going back to my room," he said, his expression closed. He was far too fastidious to find a common trollop, however beautiful, the least temptation.

"Oh? Why don't you have a drink with me?" She pulled out the opposite chair and slid into it.

Reaching in his pocket for money to cover his drink, he placed it on the table.

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling like emeralds. "She must be really special."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. The woman would have another man in minutes and he considered letting her think what she liked. He thought of Eliza at that moment, however, and smiled faintly. "She is."

Entering the lobby of the St. Louis hotel a short time later, he glanced around appreciatively at the grandeur of the lush, red furnishings and polished wood, enjoying both his surroundings and the soft glow of gaslight as he made his way to the stairs. It was a far cry from the run down boarding house where he had stayed the night before and far more to his taste.

Upon entering his room, he lit a small table lamp and sat down on the bed to pull of his boots. Pausing for a moment to listen to the sounds of the city that never slept, he rose and moved to the French doors. He found, however, that he had little interest in the view. The clamor, even so late into the night, only made him yearn for the quiet of home.

Despite the liquor he’d consumed, sleep was slow in claiming him.

He woke sometime later to the certainty that he was no longer alone in the room. Unfortunately, he was lying on his stomach. Prickles chased along his spine as he lay motionless. He could almost feel the bite of cold steel sliding between his ribs.

A cold sweat broke on his brow as he struggled to control his breathing so that he could listen for stealthy footsteps approaching his bed. It did nothing for his jumping nerves, however, when he detected the soft scuff of a shoe on the rug that told him that he had not imagined his visitor, and than the man was almost upon him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Rafe flipped onto his back. The intruder, unable to stop his thrust at the sudden movement, plunged the knife hilt deep into the mattress beside Rafe.

At a severe disadvantage, Rafe could put little power behind his blow as he flung an arm out instinctively to ward off the attack. He caught his assailant in the crook of his arm, and the man collapsed on top of him. A struggle for dominance ensued, Rafe trying to roll to throw his assailant off. The man was powerfully built, however, and easily a match for Rafe in weight and size.

Fortunately for Rafe, his assailant had focused his attention on retrieving the knife that was still stuck in the mattress. As he lunged for it, Rafe was able to roll out from under him. Diving from the bed, he hit the floor, rolled and managed to gain a crouch before the man was upon him again.

His defensive position was somewhat better, but very little. With both hands, he caught the blade thrust that should have ended his life. The knife barely nicked his neck as, with his impetus and Rafe’s weight, it missed it’s mark and was imbedded in the floor. Seizing the moment, Rafe threw a punch at the man’s head, catching him, by lucky chance, on the chin.

The man hit the floor on his side. Rafe scrambled to his feet, lunging at the man even as he, too, came upright. The lunge carried them into the bed. They bounced backward, hit the table beside the bed, overturning it, and then crashed into the wall.

The pounding on the door distracted both men.

"Sir! Are you all right in there? Sir!"

Rafe made the mistake of turning toward the sound. His assailant dove for the knife he’d dropped on the floor. Seeing his intent, Rafe beat him to it, kicking the knife out of reach.

Again the manager pounded on the door. "Sir! Mister Hamilton!"

At that point, Rafe’s assailant, apparently deciding he had lost all advantage, gave Rafe a shove. Since Rafe was already off balance, it sent him to the floor. Seizing the moment, the man leapt through the open French doors and scrambled over the balcony.

Jumping to his feet, Rafe ran after him and was just in time to see the man beat a trail down the alley. Rafe leaned against the balcony railing, trying to regain his breath, and finally crossed the room to let the manager in.

The little man entered the room, looking around cautiously. "What happened, Sir? We heard the crash downstairs. Was it robbers?"

Rafe grimaced, opening and closing his hand. It was stiff already. "Apparently. You wouldn’t happen to have another room without an outside entrance?" he asked sardonically.

The manager pushed up his spectacles. "But of course, Sir. If you’ll gather your things and follow me."

Rafe looked down at his state of undress and grimaced. "I'll be down in just a minute."

"Fine, fine. Please accept my apologies. I can assure you that this is a rare occurrence even in the Crescent City."

Rafe sat down after the man left and rubbed his throat. He felt more discomfort from the pressure Keeling had exerted on his throat than from the nick of the knife.

And there was no doubt in his mind that it had been Keeling.

The manager escorted him to a room on the first floor just off the lobby. The room had brick walls and a very small window set high on one ten-foot wall. Rafe immediately felt better.

The manager stood in the open door. "Is this to your satisfaction, Sir?"

Rafe nodded.

"I have taken the liberty of contacting the sheriff."

"Fine," Rafe said, "but I doubt that they will catch him." He threw his valise upon the bed. "I think this man is a tricky individual."

The little man nodded. "I'm quite sure you're right….the river trash." He shook his head.

Rafe shrugged. Not for a moment did he believe it was some low life from the river front. "You did the right thing."

"Well, I hope the rest of your stay is much better, Sir. Goodnight."

Rafe sat on the bed and removed a small silver flask from his valise. Eliza had no idea who she was dealing with here. After tonight, Rafe knew how determined Keeling was to stop him. He cursed himself for not being able to nail the guy when he had the chance. Obviously, Keeling had a personal vendetta against him. Rafe raised the small silver-drinking cup into the air. "Well, Keeling, I have a score to settle with you, too."

Chapter 7

Rafe wiped at the sweat that rolled down his face and jammed some extra supplies into his saddlebags. He swung himself up in the saddle and aimed his mount toward Magnolia Hill, and Eliza. He knew that after last night Keeling would be desperate and Eliza was too much for a man like that to resist. He would make his move soon, to try to bring his plans together. After what he’d pulled the night before, Rafe was no longer in any doubt that the bastard was capable of anything. Blood surged through his veins at the thought that he might actually out-maneuver Keeling for once.

Winston entered the abandoned house, not two miles from Magnolia Hill, and looked around with amazement. Who would leave such a mansion as this? He had learned in town that the owner had gone on a trip to Paris. The man's wife had died, and he could not bear to look at the place, let alone live in it. So he had decided, much to Winston's good fortune, to lock it up.

It was a shame about the old couple that had been left to look after the place. He really hated complications. He felt certain, however, that the alligators would take care of tidying up the problem, and turned his attention to studying his surroundings.

Except for a fine layer of dust and the furniture shrouded like ghosts, it was beautiful He walked about the parlor jerking off one dusty sheet after another, admiring the fine rosewood furnishings with pleasure.

He finally decided, however, that it was not nearly as fine as the house he’d come to think of as his own, Magnolia Hill.

It was his! And no one would prevent him from having it or Eliza. Not that damned Rafe Hamilton! Not anyone!

He crossed to the fireplace, deciding to build a small fire. He was just a little chilled from wading into the swamp. It was dark. No one would see the smoke and even if they did there was no reason for them to think anything of it.

At any rate, the place was as far back in the boonies as one could get.

It suited his plans just fine. It would be his headquarters….close by his objective…and he needn’t run the risk of being waylaid by Hamilton. And, of course, there was the added benefit that it would cost him nothing.

He walked over to the liquor cabinet and found it unlocked, much to his surprise, and completely stocked. It was apparent the owner had had a penchant for brandy.

He poured himself a healthy glass. Tossing down the entire contents, he wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve and snarled, "Damn Rafe Hamilton to hell and back!" Why did he have to show up just now when things were beginning to work out with Eliza? Well, he could still work things out. He could visit Eliza from here.

Rafe would never find him here unless Eliza or that black witch, Poteen, told Rafe where he was.

A very little thought convinced him that that wasn’t likely to work. He could hardly woo Eliza with that man breathing down his back. Hamilton was hot on his trail now. Any visit to Magnolia Hill was liable to put him right in the man’s path.

A sense of desperation slowly invaded him. He’d been so close! So damned close to everything he’d ever dreamed of having! He paced the floor. He had to come up with a plan….

Resisting the urge to light a cheroot, Rafe shifted soundlessly upon his makeshift seat of pine needles. He had spent the past three nights sleeping out on the ground and swatting mosquitoes and he was beginning to wonder if he’d completely lost his mind. It had occurred to him, several times, to wonder if he’d been totally wrong about the attack at the hotel.

It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that some river rat had followed him from the pier and sneaked into his room to rob him, just as the hotel manager had suspected. It had been dark in his room. He hadn’t gotten a clear look at his assailant, even once the man left the building, for he’d taken to the shadows in the alleyway.

It was possible that Winston had gotten wind of his arrival, actually probable since he’d gone all over town asking about him… and long since departed the area, seeking new prey.

Ruthlessly, Rafe squelched his doubts. Winston was both brazen and arrogant. He wouldn’t give up a ripe plum like Eliza without a fight. He would almost certainly come.

It was well into the fifth night of Rafe’s vigil before his quarry arrived at Magnolia Hill, just as Rafe had known he would. Rafe had dropped into a fitful doze of exhaustion when something, some sense of something not quite right, woke him.

Eliza was awakened by a man's hand covering her mouth. She tried screaming and kicking at her attacker, but her efforts were ineffectual.

"Shhh! It's me, Winston!" He whispered frantically. "I've come to talk to you, that's all. Now, I'm going to remove my hand. Promise not to scream?"

Eliza nodded. She inhaled a much-needed gulp of air as he removed his hand. "What are you doing here? Get out! You- you murderer!"

Winston's face went cold, and a muscle worked in his cheek. "What are you talking about?" He grabbed her chin in a bruising grip. "I asked… What rubbish are you saying?"

Eliza felt a sliver of fear run through her, but along with it ran a river of anger. She had to bluff him, make him think she knew more than she did. "I had a visitor. He says you hired a man to kill my father! It's true, isn't it?" Her voice rose until the last words were virtually screamed at him. Pulling her hand back, she slapped his face with all her strength.

He grabbed her hand, nearly breaking her wrist. "Me? Hire a killer? How could you believe that of me?"

"Get out of my house, now!" Eliza ground out through clenched teeth.

"Will you listen to me?" he pleaded.

"No! I said get out!" Eliza’s face was flushed, and her chest heaved in anger.

As she watched, his gaze became fixed on her breasts beneath the sheer nightgown she wore Then his lips descended on hers. She tried with all her strength to push him from her body.

"When was he here?" Keeling asked, then laughed harshly. "It was Hamilton, wasn’t it? You believe his lies?"

Eliza felt a surge of panic as he continued to hold her helpless. "I don’t believe yours!" she ground out, struggling to break free, feeling hysteria rise. With it came a surge of strength. She managed to free one hand long enough to rake her nails down the side of his face and neck.

She heard her gown rip as he captured her hand once more, felt the cool kiss of air on one breast and her eyes widened. He was going to rape her.

Rafe clambered over the railing and onto the upper gallery. Hearing sounds of struggle, he ran inside. Keeling was sprawled across Eliza's half-nude body, obviously having some difficulty subduing her.

"What the--?" Keeling glanced around sharply as he was lifted bodily. "It's---you!"

"Yes, it's me, you bastard, and I've finally caught you!"

At that moment, Poteen charged into the room, brandishing a poker. For all her apparent bravado, however, she screamed at the sight that met her gaze. The unexpected sound distracted Rafe for critical moments, giving Winston the chance to draw a small pistol and fire.

Clapping a hand to his shoulder, Rafe cried out, falling to the Persian rug. A puddle of blood spread under his body, shining black in the moonlight.

"Oh, lawd!"

"You’ve killed him!" Eliza screamed, almost at the same instant.

For a split second, Winston had stood as if turned to stone, his expression stunned. As both women screamed, however, he whirled and ran out the gallery doors, leaping over the railing to the ground.

Rafe rose unsteadily to his feet, still clutching his wounded shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Rafe pulled his own revolver and rushed out onto the balcony. Winston had already thrown himself upon his horse and kicked it into gallop. Taking aim, Rafe squeezed off a shot anyway. A blaze of orange followed the line of his bullet, and he saw Keeling jerk sideways on his horse. The shot didn’t even slow Winston’s retreat. Leaning low over his mount’s neck now, he disappeared into the night.

Rafe turned, seeing Eliza's standing behind him. Her gown was ripped from her shoulder and torn up the side, giving him a glimpse of one pert breast and a slender, golden thigh. With her hair streaming down her back she looked like an angel in the moonlight. He muttered a curse, torn between pain, appreciation of the view and absolute fury as white-hot agony seared across his shoulder and down his arm.

As if suddenly released from the spell that had frozen them, Eliza and Poteen rushed forward to help him to sit on Eliza's feather bed. "Let me sit somewhere else. I’ll get blood on your bed."

"Don't you worry about that!" Poteen said as she lit the lamp and examined his wound. "You are very lucky, Mista Hamilton. It appears to have gone through. We won’t have to cut you."

Rafe's mouth curled in a wry grin. "Ah, yes. That's me. Just call me Mister Lucky." He realized he had been lucky, however. If Winston had taken the time to aim….

Poteen laughed. "You have a sense of humor. I like that. I’ll go and get the bandages."

When she’d gone, Rafe studied Eliza. She had crossed her arms protectively over her chest and was shivering as she stared down at her feet. His jaw hardened as he took in her state of dishabille. If it had taken him a few more moments.… "You know he’ll be back."

Eliza's head jerked up. Humiliation burned hot in her cheeks. "If he does, I will shoot him where he stands."

Rafe shook his head. "You don't know just how insidious he is. He didn’t have rape on his mind……that wouldn’t have gained him what he’s after. He meant to abduct you and force you to marry him. You’ll have to be watched day and night."

Eliza gasped. She hadn’t had a chance to consider that there might be method to this madness. If she’d thought about it at all, she would’ve concluded that she’d provoked the assault by attacking him, convinced him he had nothing more to gain by continuing his charade so that he’d lost his head.

Poteen had returned and was busy tending Rafe’s wound. Eliza turned instinctively to the woman she’d turned to all of her life. "What shall we do, Poteen? Hire a guard?"

Poteen grimaced as she finished tying Rafe's bandage.

"If you was already married, he couldn’t abduct you and make you his wife, hmm?"

Struck dumb, Eliza could only gape at her for several moments. "Well! That’s no help! I'm not married! I don’t even have a beau! The man will just have to be dealt with like the mad dog he is and shot! How dare he enter my home and try to take me by force!"

Rafe frowned in deliberation. Poteen was right. If Eliza were already married she would have the protection of husband and name.

That didn’t necessarily mean she would no longer be a target. It seemed certain, in fact, that Keeling had become obsessed with possessing Eliza and her oh so prosperous plantation to the point that he would stop at nothing. He’d already committed at least one murder….made a couple of attempts at another. It wasn’t at all beyond the realms of possibility that he might decide he could marry a widow as easily as a defenseless young girl.

His gaze rested on Eliza speculatively. What if he was to marry her? That was going to great lengths, indeed, to stop Keeling, but he’d vowed he would go to any lengths….do whatever it took to make the man pay for what he’d done to his sister.

The marriage need be nothing more than a charade. When Keeling had been disposed of, it could be annulled

Eliza saw the look that settled over both their faces and went numb with shock. "You surely can't mean...."

Poteen seemed to notice, as if for the first time, Eliza's state of undress. "Mista Hamilton, why don't we go down to the parlor. I'll fix us all some coffee while Eliza dresses."

Suddenly self-conscious, Eliza blushed.

Rafe stood, looking at the bandage on his shoulder, then he raised his eyes to both women. "I think, after all we’ve been through together, you can call me by my given name."

Rafe eased into a chair in the elegantly furnished parlor, careful not to bump his shoulder, which had already begun to feel stiff and sore. He winced as he reached to take the steaming cup from Poteen. "Thank you."

Poteen sat in a chair facing him. "You goin’ to marry my chile and take care of her?"

This was straight to the point, indeed. Rafe felt unaccustomed heat creep into his face. Instead of answering immediately, he took a sip of the hot liquid. "I could as easily just guard her, you know."

Poteen made a rude noise. "How you gonna guard her every minute of every day? How long are you plannin’ to hang around here?"

Rafe’s jaw tightened. "As long as it takes to make him pay for the things he’s done."

"That’s all well and good, but what if you have to leave? Seems to me that if she was married already, she wouldn’t need to be watched all the time, because there wouldn’t be no point in taking her off."

"Marrying her wouldn’t necessarily guarantee her safety. If, as I suspect, he had her father killed, he isn’t likely to balk at making her a widow for his convenience."

"Well, I guess you’d jest have to stay on your toes now, wouldn’t you?" Poteen said with a marked lack of sympathy.

Rafe couldn’t prevent a grin. "Nice to know you care!"

Poteen didn’t smile. "I care about my girl. Mista Charles would expect me to look after her."

"And you trust that I would do that? "

Poteen nodded.

Rafe sighed heavily, giving in to the inevitable. "You think you can convince Miss Hard-Headed?" he asked dryly. Eliza entered the room at just that moment. Rafe took in the mulish set to her jaw and the hands she’d plunked on her hips. "We’re in for it now," he added, sotto voce.

Deciding to pretend she hadn’t heard the less than flattering remark, Eliza moved to the settee and sat, staring uncomfortably at her hands, folded sedately in her lap, as she recalled the state of the nightgown she’d just discarded. She might as well have been completely naked! And the man hadn’t seemed to notice!

Of course, under the circumstances…..She’d been in such a state herself, she hadn’t been able to think beyond how narrowly she’d escaped being ravished. And she had to consider that the man had been shot and was, no doubt, in terrible pain. Still, it was disconcerting to think she’d been the next thing to naked and he’d hardly even glanced at her!

Finally nerving herself, Eliza lifted her gaze from her lap and found that he was studying her, a speculative look in his eyes. She felt a flush sear her cheeks. The man was much too handsome for her peace of mind.

"What?" she demanded defensively.

Rafe cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You know, what Poteen suggested upstairs might not be such a bad idea."

Eliza, who’d just taken a sip of her coffee, choked. Carefully, she placed her cup back down. "What idea was that?"

Rafe looked even more uncomfortable if possible. "Marriage. It could be the only logical answer. That's what Keeling wants out of you. If you were already married...."

Rafe allowed his voice to trail away as he watched the varying emotions flit across her face. She seemed more appalled than anything else, however, and he once again felt heat creep up his neck. "It would be just for appearances, of course….in name only. Once we catch Keeling….After I have irrefutable proof in my hand that he hired a man to kill your father and can hand him over to the law, it could be dissolved."

Eliza stared at him with her mouth slightly open. He made it all sound so reasonable. "You can’t be serious! I know tonight was unexpected but--" She glanced at Poteen, hoping for an ally. "Next time we could be ready for him. Surely, there’s another way?"

Poteen shook her head. "I don’t think my nerves could take a repeat of tonight."

Eliza glared at her indignantly. "Your nerves! What about mine? But I still don’t see how marriage is supposed to solve everything!"

Rafe sat his coffee cup down on the mahogany table near his arm. "Maybe Eliza’s right--?"

"Of course I’m right! It’s a preposterous suggestion! I don’t even know you." He didn’t have to agree with her, however.

Poteen leaned forward in her chair and patted Eliza's hand. "Chile, it is for de best. In your heart you know this is the only way to protect you from dat man."

Truth be told, despite her efforts to seem brave and certain of her own ability to protect herself, Eliza didn’t particularly relish the thought of facing Winston alone. Somehow the independence she’d been striving to gain for years didn’t seem as sweet or desirable as it once had. Quite suddenly she yearned for her father with an intensity that was almost painful. It took a tremendous effort to keep from bursting into tears.

If only Papa was here, she thought. But he wasn’t. He would never be here for her again.

The stranger sitting across from here, be he ever so handsome, wasn’t much of a substitute. She’d never, for a moment, doubted her father’s love, his strength or his ability and willingness to protect her from anything that might threaten her harm.

This man didn’t love her any more than she loved, or trusted, him. He wouldn’t be protecting her so much as seeking his revenge, but she supposed, grudgingly, that some protection was better than none at all…. Better to have someone, who at least seemed willing and able to protect, her standing between her and the devil than having no one at all.

"This would not be a real marriage?"

"It would be real in every sense of the word, except that we would not live together as husband and wife……….so that it could be annulled later on the grounds that it had not been…ah...consummated.

"Of course, we would have to keep up appearances. I would have to stay here and no one, but the three of us and maybe my foreman, Lemual, would know the reason for our marriage," Rafe said, wondering why he was trying to convince her. As he’d told Poteen, he would stay and protect Eliza either way.

Eliza sat back, feeling the beginnings of defeat wash over her, feeling miserable. Everything had changed. Her father was gone. The marriage he had so eagerly wanted for her was to be to a stranger, a man with his own single purpose. Revenge.

Could it really be possible that Keeling had had her father killed? Was it as cut and dried as it seemed on the surface? Or was it possible that there was another explanation? She couldn’t think. She was just too exhausted, both physically and emotionally to think logically.

All she knew was that Poteen, whom she trusted completely, was telling her that this was what she must do.

"Well?"

Eliza swallowed, looking into the sapphire depths of his eyes, momentarily at a loss for words. "When do you think this marriage should take place?"

Rafe expelled a relieved sigh. "As soon as possible. After tonight, we can't take any chances."

He looked relieved, but also…resigned, Eliza decided. He needn’t have pretended to be deliriously happy, but it seemed to her he could have done a little better. "I’m sure you’re right, and we had best act quickly before I change my mind," she retorted tartly.

Chapter 8

The next couple of days passed in a flurry of activity. For a marriage that had no ties to reality, it had all the appearances of one that had been planned for months. Dresses were made, not the least of which was Eliza's gown. It took her breath away just to look upon it. To wear it made her feel like a fairy princess.

It was made of soft, white silk, the material having been sent by Rafe, along with the best couturier in all of New Orleans. Over the silk were layers of the finest venetian lace. Seed pearls were scattered over the gown, attached by a thin webbing of fine gold thread. It was enough to take one's breath.

It seemed before she had had time to fully grasp her situation, the day of her nuptials arrived, and with it Eliza developed a severe attack of nerves. As she stood before the large cheval mirror in her room, she kept asking herself; Was she doing the right thing? So many doubts assailed her, but Poteen was always there to nudge her on.

She felt as if she had been in a trance for the last week and had only just now awakened. As she walked downstairs, they began to play bridal march. John Green, a neighboring plantation owner and long time friend of her father, held out his arm with a beaming smile. His white hair contrasted with the reddish hue of his face, a strong indication that he had imbibed in more than one glass of brandy already.

Eliza looked down the rows of fresh flowers from Magnolia Hill’s garden to the man who would be her husband in a few short moments. He was breathtakingly handsome in his wedding attire. Black trousers clung to his muscled thighs. A white silk shirt, which matched her gown, contrasted with his tanned visage.

All in all, he was everything she had always imagined her groom would be, which was very disturbing. She told herself over and over again that it was only temporary.

Rafe watched the beautiful vision float toward him with a lump the size of Texas in his throat. God, she was glorious with her golden hair arranged in loose curls on top of her perfectly shaped head. Several spun gold tendrils tumbled down over her bosom, seeming to caress them as she came toward him. Within her delicate hands she held a bouquet of white and pink roses tied with silk ribbons and lace of the same hue.

She was absolutely the most beautiful woman in the world, and he wondered how he would ever keep his word that this marriage would be in name only.

Rafe wondered, briefly, just what Lemual, his friend as well as his foreman, would make of this turn of events. No doubt the man would laugh for hours.

He dismissed his wandering thoughts as Eliza halted by his side and the heavenly fragrance of jasmine assailed him. Taking her hand, he turned and faced the preacher.

Eliza cast a nervous glance at the man who stood beside her and quelled the urge to run. He looked so…. powerful. She looked down at her bouquet, clutching it tighter, aware that her hands were shaking. What was the matter with her? It wasn't like this would be a real marriage. Soon, Winston Keeling would get what he deserved, and the marriage would be dissolved. She should be thankful that Rafe was willing to go to such lengths to protect her.

As she’d come up the aisle, she had seen John Green's wife, Nancy, sniff into a delicate lace handkerchief. Eliza felt a twinge of guilt for the deception she had agreed to. How would they feel when this was over?

The pastor's voice was deep, as if by his very tone he could assure those listening of the seriousness of the vows. Eliza's voice shook as she spoke hers. She noticed that Rafe's voice was sure and firm, as if he meant every syllable to the depths of his soul….He was certainly better at playacting than she was.

That thought brought some very unpleasant possibilities to mind.

She had been so unnerved by Winston’s assault, and so harried thereafter by both Poteen and Rafe, that she had not really had time to consider whether this marriage would represent the safety she had thought that it would.

She had been wrong about Winston. By his own acts, he’d proven he was every bit the villain Rafe had depicted.

But what if she was also wrong about Rafe? What if she’d misjudged him as completely as she had Winston?

She slid a surreptitious glance at him out of the corner of her eye and was reassured by what she saw. He looked as nervous as she felt. For all that he had managed to convey a sense of calmness, he was pale beneath his tan and his hand shook, ever so slightly, as he placed the ring on her finger.

Surely to goodness, if he was anything at all like Winston, if he had laid a trap for her, he would be gloating now? Surely she would have seen triumph in his eyes, not uncertainty?

With an effort, Eliza dismissed her qualms as Rafe lifted the veil that covered her face, watching with fascination as his well-shaped lips descended toward hers. His kiss was warm and startlingly seductive. It stole the breath from her body. She was vaguely aware of Rafe releasing her. She was turned toward the small crowd to be presented as Mrs. Hamilton. A warm heat rose to settle in her cheeks.

Rafe looked into Eliza's azure eyes and was lost. He squelched the urge to hug her tightly to his aching body. It didn’t do the least good to keep reminding himself that this was a mere charade. A voice in the back of his mind kept telling it that it was …could be, as real as he wanted it to be and his libido had a mind all it’s own.

He cursed himself silently. He had to get a grip on himself. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the moisture on his forehead, hoping that everyone would attribute his discomfiture to the heat.

He fervently hoped that Keeling had gotten word of today's events. All in all, he thought the sooner they ended the farce of a marriage, the better off they would both be. He wasn’t at all sure, living with Eliza day in and day out, knowing in his mind that she was his wife and all that that entailed, his word of honor as a gentleman would win over his libido. In fact, he knew it wouldn’t if Eliza put the least strain on it.

Poteen had supervised a huge feast. There was roast duck, ham, chicken, and Hattie's famous rolls, plus every imaginable delicacy: spicy pickles, cheeses, desserts. In the center of the lace-covered table, there were bottles of chilled champagne and, of course, there was stronger drink for anyone who might care to imbibe. Ice was brought up from the dwindling supply in the icehouse and enjoyed by all on the sultry September day.

Eliza watched a bevy of plantation daughters, most of whom had never cared for her and scarcely gave her the time of day, hung on Rafe's arm and flattered him with batting eyelashes. It was a disgusting display and Eliza wondered why it had never occurred to her before that they were so silly and transparent.

She felt a flush of anger mount her cheeks. How dare they flirt so outrageously with her husband! They didn’t know it was merely a deception… and even if it was just a charade, he was hers now!

For that matter, how dare the man encourage them by flirting back! How were they supposed to convince everyone that this was a real marriage if he was going to let those…females hang all over him and smile at them like a sap!

She was severely tempted to go over and stake her claim, but finally decided there was no sense in inflating the man’s monstrous ego further. Instead, she adopted the sweetest smile she could muster and turned her attention to flirting with all the young men just as outrageously.

Smiling with an effort, Rafe disengaged his arm from the clinging young woman and politely excused himself to join his bride. As he spotted Eliza, however, he saw a young man lean toward her, placing a kiss upon her lips. He supposed it was the customary kiss given the bride, but he felt a ripple of anger as the kiss seemed to last over long. What he might have said or done he was never to know, for yet another simpering miss threaded her arm coyly through his before he had gone three steps, detaining him. Before he could disengage himself again, he saw that the same young man was whisking off Eliza into a waltz.

He muttered a curse. Just when was the groom supposed to get his turn?

"What did you say, Rafe?" Amy Short asked, batting her eyelashes at him over the delicate lace fan she was waving in front of her face.

Scowling darkly, Rafe looked down at her. "Nothing," he growled, more than a little put out with having to fight for a moment with his wife.

With an effort, he tamped his irritation down. What was the matter with him? He brought out the already much used handkerchief and wiped his brow, pondering his behavior. It took no more than a moment, however, to realize that he was acting as possessively as any real groom. The problem was, he wasn’t just doing it to keep up appearances…….and he knew it.

Excusing himself to the young ladies, he retreated to the shaded, and less crowded, verandah, hoping to cool his temper and his raging hormones. There was no reasoning with either, however. He could, and did, tell himself repeatedly that he was only acting out a pretense. His mind was fixated on the fact that he had stood before a preacher and said his vows, however, and his body was revved and ready for the wedding night. Unfortunately, he’d given his word of honor, and he could not take advantage of the situation without becoming as much a scoundrel as Winston.

It occurred to him that he could do something about his randiness. He’d been gazing speculatively at the stable for some moments when it dawned on him that a visit to the red light district on his wedding day would effectively demolish the entire plan. It was like having a cold douse of water thrown over him.

Gritting his teeth, he returned to the festivities. There, he watched as one young buck after another swung Eliza into dance after dance, a determined smile plastered on his face that, very shortly, began to make his teeth and his cheek muscles ache. Despite his determination to keep up appearances and his temper in check, later, when one of the young bucks became so emboldened as to kiss the nape of Eliza’s neck, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. With a forcefully expelled breath and a muttered imprecation, Rafe made his way toward the swaying couple.

Eliza smiled painfully at the young man and tried, without success, to pull away from his clinging form. She was bone weary and her feet ached since more than one zealous admirer had trod on them.

Seeking escape, she looked up just in time to see Rafe bearing down on them looking like a thunder cloud. Her heart skipped a beat, but she wasn’t certain whether it was with relief, guilt or fear that she watched as he closed the distance between them and tapped the man on the shoulder.

A muscle twitched in his well-formed cheek. "Pardon me, but I wish to dance with my wife. Now."

Eliza bit back a smile at the look of horror that crossed the young man’s face as he quickly took his leave. She was tempted to tell Rafe she was tired of dancing, but one look at his face was enough to convince it that he might not take it very well. Nevertheless, tired as she was, it took an effort to pretend enthusiasm.

Rafe immediately noticed. "Smile, Mrs. Hamilton. You wouldn’t want the neighbors to see this for what it is."

The reminder caught Eliza off guard. She’d gotten so caught up in the festivities that she had become engrossed in playing her part. Before her temper could gain the upper hand, however, Rafe winced and she was reminded that he’d taken a bullet in his effort to protect her. "I'm sorry. Is your shoulder paining you?" she asked gently.

Rafe swallowed. It was a mistake. Her fragrance assailed his senses. Too late, he realized that it might have been a mistake to dance with her, to hold her within his arms. "Not really," he lied, baring his teeth in a determined smile. The most painful throbbing was a bit lower.

He watched with fascination as the light from the chandelier reflected a pearl-like sheen across the golden skin of her shoulders and bosom. He shook his head in a vain attempt to recover his equilibrium, but realized he’d lost that battle the first time he had set eyes on her. He tried to remind himself of all the reasons why he should not possess her this night and could recall none of them.

He said nothing more as they finished the dance and began another and Eliza began to feel uncomfortable with the silence. "It is not very flattering for a groom to be so inattentive to his bride on their wedding night," she said, her voice husky, partly because she was tired and partly because she’d begun to feel a little sorry for herself because she’d become aware that she keenly wanted this man to desire her.

His eyes glinted with a roguish gleam. "Did I miss my cue? My shoulder… I fear it may need the attention of someone with a delicate, healing touch. I’m not convinced it’s healing as it ought and I’ve no desire to lose an arm."

He was teasing, of course, but she saw nothing to joke about. A wrinkle of concern creased her brow as he whirled her around the dance floor, but she felt like trodding on his toe for the ‘missed cue’ comment. "I suppose we should have Poteen look at it. I would not have it said that I killed my bridegroom."

His lips twisted wryly. "That was not, precisely, what I had in mind."

Eliza couldn’t help but chuckle. "Did I miss my cue?" she asked, all innocence.

"I said ‘a delicate, healing touch.’ The correct response would have been something like….’Shall I kiss it better for you?’" The high pitch of his voice sounded anything but feminine, provoking another giggle from Eliza.

"And then my part would be, ‘Ah, but, they will no doubt say that I died happy, Mrs. Hamilton, with your--kisses upon my lips.""

Eliza noticed for the first time that when he really smiled a small indentation of a dimple appeared in his left cheek. The sight was most disarming. She smacked his uninjured arm with her ivory fan. "I do believe that you are an outrageous tease, Mr. Hamilton."

He threw back his head and laughed. The sound of it carried across the room, turning the heads of several of the other guests. He lowered his head and whispered close to her ear. "Ahhh, Eliza, that is one thing which I've never been- a tease."

A blush crept up Eliza's cheek at the implication of his words. Before she could think up a clever retort, however, the waltz ended.

As the hour neared midnight, the majority of the guests left, but those few that remained were still dancing when it came time for Eliza and Rafe to make their exit.

Eliza was acutely embarrassed. To have to leave the room with people watching was mortifying. It was no comfort, at the moment, that the marriage was merely a ruse. As far as her neighbors were concerned, she was retiring to her room to share her bed with her new husband.

Eliza wondered, as Rafe drew her arm through his, covering her fingers with his large hand in an intimate gesture, what would be the outcome of such a game as this.

Chapter 9

They entered Eliza’s bedroom with a sigh of relief, that was, until it became apparent that it had been prepared, in a very seductive way, for their wedding night.

Eliza swallowed, taking in the scene. A dozen or so flickering candles threw shadows across the lace draped tester bed. The room smelled of Poteen's dried flower mixture. A frothy nightgown of some nearly transparent material in a soft peach color lay over the edge of the bed.

For several moments, Eliza could only stare, dumbfounded. Poteen was a party to the charade. Why had she done this?

Eliza’s eyes narrowed. She would throttle Poteen! Not for a moment did she believe Poteen had merely gotten into the spirit of the game. It was obvious that Poteen had set the stage for her seduction.

Rafe muttered a soft imprecation and loosened the neck of his suddenly tight shirt. What had he expected with only Poteen, Eliza, and himself knowing that it was not a real marriage? The servants had obviously taken it upon themselves to prepare everything for their mistress’ wedding night.

He turned to look cautiously at Eliza, noticing the high color on her cheeks. Well, she couldn't be half as uncomfortable as he was!

As he studied her, however, a rather pleasant fantasy crept into his mind, of Eliza driven nearly mad with passion and.... She was more likely to brain him with something if he tried it. A wry grin curved the corners of his mouth.

"Where am I to sleep?"

There was an almost, dare-we-hope look about his face Eliza found severely provoking. She stamped her foot. "Most certainly not in here!"

Just as he’d suspected. Despite his disappointment….he freely admitted it, to himself, at least…. Rafe chuckled, placing a finger on her lips in admonishment. "Now, Eliza, we wouldn't want our guests to think that there is something amiss with the newly wedded couple, would we?"

Eliza's aqua-blue eyes flashed fire as she whispered fiercely, "Just don't get any ideas! This is merely a pretense to keep Keeling away!"

Rafe sauntered over to the enormous bed and fell right in the center, sending the edges of the feather mattress billowing outward. At her incredulous look, he smiled wickedly. "We can't have the bed looking as if nothing went on in it, now can we?"

Eliza’s eyes narrowed, but she couldn't prevent the smile that tugged at her mouth. The man was incorrigible.

"No I guess not," she said, shrugging with feigned indifference.

In a moment, however, an unholy gleam of pure devilment entered her eyes. "Oh! My darling, Rafe! I just can’t contain myself any longer!" she gasped theatrically. Lifting her skirts free of her ankles, she raced to the bed, taking a flying leap and landing with a squeal right on top of him. A whoof of air escaped him as her elbow landed in his stomach. He recovered more quickly than she had anticipated, wrapping his arms about her like vice.

"Now you've done it, you little minx!"

Wiggling free, Eliza fell back to the other side of the bed in an uncontrollable fit of giggles, until he threw his body across the top of hers, nearly squeezing the life out of her. "Get off! You weigh a ton!" she sputtered, her face turning a bright shade of pink.

Rafe laughed and cocked an ear, listening to the sounds coming from downstairs. "They probably heard you, you know."

Acute embarrassment replaced Eliza’s own amusement. "Do you think so?" she asked in a small voice, wishing he would lie, convincingly, as her mind replayed the past several moments in agonizing detail and she wondered if they’d heard the squeal, the giggles, the thud the bed had made when she’d leapt upon it…..or, horror of horrors, all three.

Rafe didn’t answer at all, however. His own amusement had vanished and he was studying her with an intensity that suddenly made it very hard for her to catch her breath.

As if mesmerized, she watched as his lips descended to claim hers The tingle that spread down her body at his light touch was stunning. She found that she was holding her breath, waiting. As the feeling grew in intensity, she stopped thinking at all, parting her lips for his deeper entry. A shudder of pure pleasure washed over her as his hand slid down to cover her left breast, a frisson of unimaginably pleasurable heat searing her entire body. Almost without her being aware of it, she brought her hands up, curling her fingers in the wavy texture of his ebony hair. When he released her lips to trail kisses down her neck, goose-bumps followed in their wake.

"You are beautiful. I should stop, but I can’t," he said huskily.

Eliza opened her eyes and stared up at him dreamily, wondering why he’d want to stop. This was so very much nicer than anything she’d imagined.

He bent his head once more, nuzzling her neck, making his way to her ear. "I gave my word I would leave you untouched so you could annul the marriage."

He might as well have thrown ice water over her. Eliza stiffened, changing course immediately and trying to push him away. Apparently it took more than a little push to penetrate his heat fogged brain, however, for he continued to nuzzle her neck.

"Mr. Hamilton!" Eliza gasped through gritted teeth. "If you do not cease immediately, I will scream the house down, pretenses be damned!"

That got through to him. He pulled away to stare down at her "I beg your pardon?"

She wanted to club him. "And well you might! I might have known you could not be trusted to keep your word!"

A dull red crept into Rafe’s cheeks at the insult. With as much dignity as he could muster, he disentangled himself from her and rose from the bed. He was half naked and breathing as if he’d run a half mile….for that matter so was she. Vaguely, she recalled having felt his bare skin, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember when he’d lost his shirt……and she hadn’t a clue as to how it was that her gown was now halfway to her waist. Blushing profusely, she covered herself.

"I don’t suppose you’d swallow it if I said you were so beautiful I lost my head?" he quipped with a forced smile.

Eliza was far too upset to see that his smile was forced. All she needed to hear was the word ‘swallow’ and she knew immediately that he was baiting her. "Only if you’d ‘swallow’ it if I said I was so taken with your male beauty that I lost my head," she said with syrupy sweetness.

His lips tightened. ‘I don’t recall that you were putting up much of a struggle. In fact, it seemed to me that you were quite willing."

Eliza gasped, furious that she was unable to deny it. "That’s an ungentlemanly thing to say!"

Inwardly, Rafe winced, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. "Undoubtedly, but then I can hardly lay claims to being a gentleman anymore, can I?"

A knock sounded faintly on the door. Eliza leap from the bed as if it was afire, her hands shaking as she frantically adjusted her clothing and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to smooth her hair.

Rafe muttered a few choice expletives, snatched at the shirt Eliza hit him in the face with and stuffed his arms into the sleeves. His hair stood out in riotous curls around his head where Eliza's fingers had been raking through it, but he ignored Eliza’s whispered hiss to button his shirt and smooth his hair, striding to the door in dishabille and snatching it open.

The amusement in Poteen's eyes died as she took in his expression. She cleared her throat. "I came to tell you that the connecting bedroom is empty...."

Rafe raked a hand through his hair. "Ah that’s good...um. I'll just move my stuff over there now."

Eliza, who’d taken refuge behind her dressing screen, felt her temper war with her embarrassment as she heard the amusement in Poteen’s voice.

How could she have allowed herself to become this involved with a man she barely knew--even if he was her husband? She tried, in vain, to straighten her hair, gazing down with alarm at the red marks on her neck and bosom. Lord! Poteen would see them first thing!

Then again, Poteen had gotten her into this mess, Eliza fumed, jerking on her dressing gown.

If it had not been for Poteen and this....Rafe character, she would have nothing on her mind right now but peaceful sleep. As she stepped out from the security of the screen she recalled why she was in this predicament...Winston Keeling. She bit her lip in irritation. If Rafe didn't take care of that scoundrel, she would!

She stomped over to where they stood, sending Rafe a venomous look and turning her gaze on Poteen.

"I need to have a word with you, Poteen. Rafe, excuse us for a moment." Eliza didn't wait for him to answer. She jerked Poteen out into the deserted hallway. Her chest heaved with anger. "Poteen, do you know what almost happened in there?"

Poteen assumed a carefully neutral expression. "No, but calm yourself, chile."

Eliza clutched the front of her lace gown, her eyes narrowing to slits. "What do mean calm myself! Why if you hadn't knocked on the door--" Embarrassed to have revealed just how close she had come to giving herself to a man she barely knew, she closed her mouth with a snap.

Poteen patted her arm. "It’s bound to happen before long anyway, chile."

Eliza was incredulous. When she found her voice it was almost a screech of indignation, "What do you mean? It will not happen anyway! This is supposed to be a marriage of--," she lowered her voice, "convenience."

"Try to stay calm, chile," Poteen said in a low voice. "It won’t do no good to rail at me. I seen this coming from the first time I seen you two together."

Eliza felt her jaw go slack. She had had a feeling from the first that Poteen knew more than she had let on. Poteen had always had a way of knowing what would happen before it did. Well, often she did, anyway. Eliza cast an uneasy glance at the closed door. What had she let herself in for?

Disconcerted, Eliza couldn’t think of anything to say as Poteen patted her and turned, moving back down the hallway. After a moment, she returned to her bedroom.

She was leaning against the closed door, staring blindly at the bed when Rafe entered her room from the connecting door. In that instant, her blood ran like molten lava through her veins. She watched through narrowed eyes as he bent to retrieve a cuff link that lay upon the Persian rug.

He looked as totally composed as if nothing at all had happened between them. She herself must look a complete wreck. What was it about this man that made her, in the space of one kiss, forget everything she had been taught?

Somehow she had been duped by both of them, and it didn’t set well with her. It would’ve been obvious to a blind man that Rafe had no intention of keeping his promise…and that Poteen had never expected him to.

Why, he had practically raped her!

Resolutely, she ignored the inner voice that reminded her of the fact that she had responded wildly to him not ten minutes earlier. It struck a sour note in the pit of her stomach.

Rafe noted the look in her eyes as he straightened and knew it didn’t bode well for him. A sheepish grin twisted his mouth. She looked like she wanted to kill him. He could think of nothing more worth dying for than making love to this woman.

"And, what may I ask, is so amusing?" Her eyes were like clear, blue daggers, pinning him to the wall.

"I think you’re making way too much out of a couple of kisses, Eliza.. What man could resist a beautiful woman? Especially one he’s married to?"

"You—you promised that it would be in name only. Your honor stands on it."

Rafe shrugged. "You should not have invited it by jumping on me. I find that I have never been able to resist a beautiful woman flinging herself at me. It just does something to my blood."

Eliza started toward him with murder in her eyes. "Why you unscrupulous cad!"

Rafe pulled the connecting door closed just as a vase smashed against it.

Chapter 10

Eliza woke the next morning feeling quite refreshed despite the events of the evening before. The image of their nocturnal activities flashed across her mind. With a restless hand, she brushed back the length of her hair that lay spilled across the pillow. She dreaded seeing him. Groaning with embarrassment, she listened intently for sounds of him in the next room. When none were forthcoming, her mood lightened. Hopefully she wouldn't have to confront him before she had had time evaluate her own feelings.

Squaring her shoulders, she threw the thin coverlet off her legs and bounded out of bed.

A knock sounded at the door before she had finished dressing in a light day dress made of cotton, sprinkled with embroidered lilac blossoms.

Poteen stuck her head into the room and the smell of hot brewed coffee reached Eliza's nostrils.

"Good mornin’, Eliza." Poteen beamed, setting the tray on the cherry table at Eliza's bedside.

"Good morning to you, too." Two could play this game, Eliza thought with a tweak of irritation, but never in her entire life had Eliza been able to keep her mouth shut when something was on her mind.

"And where is my philandering husband this fine morning?" Eliza's lips curved in a mocking grin as she brushed out her hair, pinning it to the top of her head in jerking motions. She winced as she pulled out several strands.

"You shouldn't talk about him that away. Why, he's doing his level best to protect you from that evil man, Keeling."

Eliza took a sip of hot coffee. "Oh, I realize that you think I should be eternally grateful, but I don't like the feeling that I've no control over my own life anymore. Why, he nearly--" Eliza's voice sputtered to a stop, her face flushing red. "I think he’s a cad," she said with a glint in her eyes that looked suspiciously like tears.

A wide grin lit Poteen's face. "Ah, this is wonderful! I knew as soon as you two met that you were made for each other. I saw the sparks."

Eliza made a choking sound. "This is not wonderful! Now listen here, Poteen. Don't you go getting any crazy ideas about the two of us." She brandished her brush about wildly. "As soon as this...this thing is settled and Keeling is made to pay for what he's done, the marriage will be dissolved, just like that," she said with a snap of her fingers.

A frown wrinkled the smoothness of Eliza's brow as she recalled her

wanton response the night before. She shook her head, banishing the vision. She pushed another pin into her hair as her eyes met the smiling black gaze of Poteen in the mirror. "What are you grinning about?" Eliza practically snarled, unaware that her hair was beginning to resemble a rat's nest.

Poteen chuckled and the sound mingled with the chirping of a mocking bird outside the window. "Why, nothin’...nothin.’ Cook has made a fine breakfast this morning; ham, biscuits and gravy. I'll see you downstairs." She left the room, still chuckling.

Eliza made a disgusted noise, calling after her, "Cook hasn’t made biscuits and gravy in a month of Sundays. Seems like everyone around here is falling under his spell."

Poteen stuck her head back in the room. "Are you sure you haven’t?"

"I won’t dignify that with a response," Eliza said, watching Poteen go with narrowed eyes, turning back to stare in shock at the mess she had made of her hair. The woman staring back at her looked like some wild swamp creature. This man was already wrecking her life.. Well, not anymore. She was really going to have to watch everything she did, especially her responses to Rafe. God! What must he think of her?

That she had no control ..that she was so weak as to turn into a wanton at the mere stroke of his hand, the touch of his lips.... Her face burned with the heat of acute embarrassment. She turned back to the mirror and tried to repair the mess she had made of her hair.

Rafe rubbed at the back of his neck with a handkerchief. The heat was oppressive. He had spent the morning hiring a man to keep watch over Eliza and had sent a letter off to Lemual explaining the events of the last few days, including his marriage to Eliza.

An amused expression passed over his face as he rode along the shaded river road. He would have to pay Lemual a hundred dollars. He had made a bet a couple of years earlier on which of them would get married first. He had been quite sure that he would be collecting the money from Lemual. He felt certain Lemual would thoroughly enjoy the situation.

As he thought of the bet, the image of the woman who had made him lose his money came to mind. The events of the night before seared a heated path through his consciousness. His fingers tingled with the memory of her silky skin and a tightening of his loins made him shift uneasily in the saddle. He had nearly lost his head totally. He had to get control over this passion that he had for the blonde minx.

There could be no repeat of the previous night’s disaster. He had to honor his word, and he would be hard put to do so if he allowed himself to yield to that sort of temptation.

A frown furrowed his brow. He inhaled the smell of the river, listening to the trill of a mockingbird. His eyes settled on the blue and white of a morning glory vine beside the road, and he wished that his mind were as peaceful as the scenery. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Honor was a sorry bedfellow.

Reaching the plantation, Rafe rode his horse to the stable. Tiny took the reins, leading the mount into a nearby stall. Rafe stared after him indecisively for several moments. He was in no rush to return to the house, but, after giving himself a moment to collect his wayward thoughts, strode purposefully toward the mansion.

The minute he opened the door, he could hear laughter coming from the parlor, just off the main hall through a pair of French doors. Curious, he entered the room quietly.

Eliza sat on the floor with her skirts billowing around her in a vision of lilac and white. Scampering about her, nipping at her hand, which held a knotted rag, was a tiny hound puppy. His long floppy ears were swinging about his head as he tried to bite at the object Eliza was teasing him with.

Eliza's face was flushed with happiness. A golden curl had escaped the neat chignon at the nape of her neck. Rafe had never seen such a fetching sight. Despite his uncertainty of what sort of reception he could look forward to, he smiled.

It was at then that she noticed him standing in the doorway, and the moment was gone. The light in her eyes dimmed as her gaze settled on him. He thought to himself that she should always be as she had been just moments before.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Rafe said, crossing the room.

Eliza felt heat creep into her cheeks. Why did he always seem to catch her at a disadvantage? She jumped up, scooping the pup into her arms. "Ah, you didn't interrupt anything. I need to put him outside before Poteen catches us in her parlor." She held the puppy up, peering into his big brown eyes, "She doesn't have a fondness for animals like I do, does she?," she questioned the pup, as if expecting an answer. "Do you like animals, Rafe?"

Rafe's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Of course, but I much prefer small golden kittens."

Eliza's gaze met his and, as his meaning became clear, a spark fired in the aqua of her blue eyes. "Kittens have been known to scratch, Mr. Hamilton." With that parting remark, she walked briskly toward the French doors.

"And I have been known to enjoy a little scratching, Mrs. Hamilton," he replied, wiggling his black brows. A laugh escaped him at her outraged expression as she and the puppy exited in a huff.

Chapter 11

Eliza and Rafe sat on opposite ends of the dining table. They had been married for nearly two weeks, and had studiously ignored each other for most of that time.

Eliza still hadn’t forgiven him for trying to seduce her on their wedding night, but she was honest with herself at times and had begun to realize that part of the reason she hadn’t forgiven him was that he hadn’t tried to since.

It wasn’t that she wanted him to inflict his passions upon her. God forbid! She just wondered why it was that he had seemed so overcome with his ardor before, and now seemed indifferent. One would think, if he had found her desirable enough to ‘lose his head’, that he would have tried again.

It wasn’t that she missed his kisses or anything! She could certainly live without them. …but she had to admit that he was a very attractive man…and she couldn’t help but wonder if kissing him had been as enjoyable as she remembered, or if she had just been……moonstruck or something!

She didn’t really believe he could make her feel that way again.

But she did wonder.

Unfortunately, he avoided her, spending most of his days in the fields where harvest was in full swing.

Not that she considered that much of an excuse. It wasn’t absolutely necessary for him to stand over the fieldworkers. They had a foreman.

He could have spared some time to ride with her, or …well spent some time with her if he’d cared to, but he’d made it obvious that he would stick to the letter of their deal.

Which suited her just fine. She was glad for it, really!

The clink of silverware distracted Eliza from her thoughts and she looked up to find that Rafe was studying her. It seemed only polite to converse, but she could think of nothing to say.

Poteen might have helped to diffuse the tension, but she had eaten earlier and had taken herself off somewhere.

She supposed that was part of the reason she felt uncomfortable and defensive. It was one thing to wish to flirt a bit with the man, and entirely another to have Poteen forever playing at matchmaker. This latest attempt had Eliza as prickly as a porcupine.

When Eliza said nothing, a rather roguish grin quirked the corners of Rafe’s well shaped mouth. "Why don't you move closer? I feel as if I have to shout at you just to have normal conversation."

Eliza glanced at her wine glass a little suspiciously, wondering just how much she’d drank. She couldn’t seem to recall…Was he flirting with her?

"I would rather we kept a distance between us, if you don't mind?" she said, and was rather pleased with herself. After all, he’d ignored her the best part of … weeks, anyway. He needn’t think a smile was going to win her over.

"I’m afraid I do mind. After all, you are my wife."

Eliza’s eyes narrowed. One would think, from the way he said it, that he actually believed the charade. She didn’t particularly care for the possessive tone of his voice. "Ah, but I am your wife solely for the sake of catching Keeling. Have you forgotten?"

Rafe carefully placed the fine linen napkin he held beside his plate before answering. "I can not possibly forget the reason for our nuptials, Mrs. Hamilton. And I will catch Keeling, if it is the last thing I do."

At his vehemence, Eliza flinched, realizing belatedly that she didn’t particularly feel up to another battle of wills with him. She smiled a little weakly and took another sip of her wine. "I'm sorry Rafe. It's just that my nerves are on edge lately." She lowered her gaze to her plate, pushing the food around, having lost her appetite.

Rafe gazed at her thoughtfully a moment. "I apologize too. Keeling has done us both terrible wrongs….which he will pay for. We shouldn't take it out on each other…. While we're on the subject, I suppose I should tell you that I hired a guard to watch over you. Hereafter, if you leave the house without me, I want him to go with you."

Surprised, Eliza looked up. "But, do you think that's necessary? Maybe he's not coming back...." Her voice trailed away.

"You don't really believe that, do you, Eliza?"

A defeated sigh escaped her. "No, I guess not." Her troubled gaze met his. "Are you sure that he had Papa killed?" Tears momentarily clouded her vision as she gazed across the table at him, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time if her father had suffered. She thought she might bear it better if she could convince herself that he had not. She still could not grasp that her Papa had been murdered, but, quite suddenly, she understood the rage that surfaced any time Rafe mentioned Winston’s name.

"I’ve no proof, but I’m as sure as I can be, knowing what kind of character he is. I was told he’d been seen with a man known to be a hired killer."

He had told her as much before, but showed no impatience at having to repeat it yet again. For the first time, however, Eliza looked at it from another direction. Before, she had not really been able to get beyond the shock of hearing a man was thought to have been hired to murder her father. She frowned thoughtfully for some moments, wondering, a little vaguely, why it was that it seemed rather difficult to collect her thoughts. "But, wouldn’t that be the proof we needed to have him charged?"

Rafe looked uncomfortable. "She was a woman of… ill repute…A court of law wouldn’t be likely to take her word against a ‘gentleman". Besides, she only saw them together, which proves nothing. "

"But, if we could place the man on the ship?"
"Unfortunately, the ship had a rather large crew, and many of them new, having just signed on in New Orleans….I haven’t been able to locate anyone that recognizes the man. If we could find someone that recognized the man, and, if the woman would agree to testify, which there’s no saying she would…she might just decide it was safer to disappear than to risk tangling with the likes of those two.. we might convince the sheriff to arrest Winston…..and we might still fail to get him convicted, because it could be dismissed as mere speculation on our part. To say nothing of the fact that my involvement might be put down as revenge against the man that despoiled my sister."

Eliza was obliged to admit he was probably right. "But, what about his attack on me?"

"We could have him arrested for assault. They would try him. You’d have to put your reputation on the line to go into court to testify. He’d probably end up serving a little time and then he’d be free to prey upon some other unsuspecting female."
Eliza was about to inform him that she would testify against Winston in court, whatever the damage to her reputation, but if, as he said, that would only put Winston away for a short time, what would be the point? It would only mean that sometime, years down the road when she least expected it, Winston could return looking for revenge against the woman who’d sent him to prison.

She shuddered, rubbing her hands on the goose-bumps that crawled along her arms at the thought. "To think that he's been in this house…at my father's funeral, and he even—"

"He what, Eliza? What has he done? So help me, if he’s----done something--- touched you. I will surely kill him!" A muscle ticked in the hardness of his jaw.

Eliza was jolted by his vehemence. She rather thought, even if Winston had done more than kissed her that she would not want to confess to Rafe. "Other than what he did when he broke into the house, he's kissed me. Oh, I know he wanted more, but…." She shuddered again. "I would never have given in to him. There was always something disturbing about him, and Poteen has told me she thought him evil from the very first moment she saw him. She has what they call the second sight, you know."

Rafe's brow cleared, Keeling had not succeeded with this one where he had with so many before. Relieved he allowed his thoughts to take a new direction and recalled the way Poteen had looked at him the first time that she saw him.

"Has she seen anything in my future?" A slightly cynical grin twisted his mouth as he waited for Eliza's reply.

Eliza shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I think she has seen something about... us."

A tinge of color rose from the top of her gown, spreading up her neck, and settled in her cheeks. She wasn’t about to tell the grinning jackass what Poteen had told her.

Rafe watched with fascination as her skin took on the rosy hue. A rakish smile curved the corners of his mouth and his tone was teasing as he asked in a husky voice, "Ah, and what, my dear, does she see in the crystal ball for ...us?"

Eliza drew herself up straighter in her chair, taking offense at his tone. It was obvious that he didn't believe in such things. She had seen enough throughout her life to believe in Poteen’s abilities, however. She had had a few dreams of her own, but was willing to concede it was possible they’d been nothing more than her over active imagination. "Since you have taken that attitude, I shall not tell you."

Her eyes widened as he rose from his chair and strode toward her. "What are you doing?"

"I am quite through with my dinner. I can see that you haven't touched so much as a bite of your own and thought we might retire to the verandah for a drink."

"Oh," Eliza expelled a relieved breath as he took her hand, gently pulling her to her feet. Her heart fluttered, and she tried to quiet her jumping nerves. What was it about this man that made her as nervous as a cat? Was it because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen? Was it purely a physical attraction? If she allowed herself to give in to temptation, would this feeling that seemed to have taken over her body ebb?

As Rafe drew her out onto the verandah, she knew he felt her shudder. He asked in a voice that seemed to carry more than a hint of suppressed passion, "Are you chilled? I could get you a wrap?"

"No, I'm all right," she muttered, only half aware that her voice shook with some unnamed emotion.

Instead of stopping once they reached the verandah, Rafe steered her down the steps and into the garden. After following the paths aimlessly for some time, they found themselves at the steps of the vine-covered gazebo at the edge of the garden. The earthy smell of night dew on jasmine assailed their nostrils. The air was heavy with the fragrance of Poteen's roses.

Rafe led her inside the gazebo. Moonlight danced off the hard planes of his face and down the muscles of his arms as he turned to her.

"I hope you don't mind, but I had the servants bring our drinks out here. I thought it would be a nice change"

Eliza did not answer, feeling herself incapable of speech. Did he have plans to seduce her, she wondered a little nervously. Good sense told her that she ought to leave, but it was as if she had no will of her own. With a nod, she followed him to the large tapestry covered settee within the fragrant oasis.

Taking care not to seem the least threatening, Rafe settled himself on the far edge of the bench and poured red wine into fluted glasses. He knew that they should go back inside, that this had not been a wise decision on his part, but he could not.

He quickly became aware that, on both a conscious and subconscious level, he’d set the stage for a seduction...his own as well as hers. He’d assured himself that his intention was to prove to her that he could be trusted, regardless of the inherent temptation of their situation. It occurred to him, forcefully, that he could not trust himself.

It was as if something primeval compelled him to continue. It urged him on, regardless of the consequences, heedless of what would, no doubt, come on the morrow.

As he handed her the glass filled with wine, he found himself fascinated by the play of moonlight upon her golden hair. He felt as if he had had a spell cast upon him. She had been a fire in his blood since the first moment he had seen her. No matter how he had reminded himself of his honor, he knew that if she would consent this night that he would possess her. To hell with tomorrow.

He watched her drink from the glass he’d given her, envious of the drop of wine that glittered on her lower lip. She licked it away, totally unaware of the seductiveness of the movement.

Eliza's gaze searched and found his in the shadows. His face so strong and handsome that her heart leapt to her throat. Did any man have the right to be so utterly devastating? She shook her head as if to wake herself from a trance. What would happen to her if she gave into the passion that surged between them? Would she be able to say goodbye when the time came? All these questions went unanswered in her mind as she felt herself gathered within the steel of his embrace and felt the firm, warm pressure of his lips upon hers.

In a matter of moments, Eliza was incapable of coherent thought. She was mindless, spinning in a sea of passion. A small groan escaped her lips as she ran her hands over the hardness of his chest.

Rafe took the ivory pins from her hair and the golden curtain fell in a fragrant cloud about them…it was his undoing.

A tiny shiver started at Eliza toes and crept up her body. She clenched her teeth in delicious excitement as Rafe kissed every exposed inch of her body, which by now was considerable. When had he loosened her gown? Vaguely, she recalled the tugs and twists as they’d begun to disrobe each other, but she had blanked her mind to the unwelcome intrusions that might disturb the bliss of the moment.

Eliza's voice was but a mere whisper as she ran shaking fingers through the ebony mass of his hair. "Why is it that every time we're left alone for a moment that we are in each other's arms?"

Rafe nuzzled the curve of her neck, his body searing with a flame of passion like he had never known. His voice was muffled against the side of her neck. "Because my sweet, whether you will admit it or not, we are in love."

Eliza looked at him, sputtering, "But--but that's mad! You know why we were married! It will be dissolved once Keeling is taken care of." Eliza's eyes narrowed slightly. Did he take her for a fool? Of course, he didn't love her! And, most certainly, she did not love him!

A slightly crooked grin twisted his mouth, and she could swear that she heard a twinge of regret in his voice.

"Ah, but, Cherie, maybe you will change your mind about that...hmm?" Rafe's voice trailed away as his lips captured hers in a kiss so tender that she forgot what she had been protesting. She could think of nothing but the feel of his lips on hers.

His mouth covered her breast and she arched upward, closer. She couldn't seem to get close enough.

Rafe stripped her chemise from her body. She was exquisite. His large hands ran the length of her quivering body, coming to stop as they cupped her face.

Eliza’s breath was coming in quick gasps. She was no longer aware of what she should do, only of what she wanted…Rafe.

She ran her hand over the male length of him and heard the harsh intake of his breath. She kissed him, her tongue twining with his. The moment of surrender was so sweet, so pure, it was all-consuming

Rafe's tender yet persistent hands parted her thighs. In that moment a passion such as he had never known assailed him. With infinite tenderness, he eased into her and felt the resistance he had known would be there. He couldn't measure the joy he felt at being the first to possess her.

An unidentifiable emotion began to creep into his heart, taking over every fiber of his being. ."This is going to pain you a little, Eliza." He waited with baited breath for her to answer, to tell him to stop, but as sure as his heart still beat within his chest he knew he could not.

Eliza writhed under him. "Please...Rafe...."

It was all the encouragement that he needed. He quickly pressed past the barrier, covering her lips with his, inhaling the gasp of her fleeting pain.

They spiraled in a storm of building ecstasy, striving for an as yet unknown pinnacle. A thin film of moisture seemed to bind them closer together, searing them as one in a rhythm as old as time.

Eliza felt a pressure building, spiraling ever upward, finally bursting into a million tiny bubbles. She felt Rafe's body go tense and heard him expel a husky breath into her ear.

Together, they sought the solace of each other's embrace after a pleasure so rare in its intensity that Rafe had never known the like before. He gathered her within the circle of his arms and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking how wonderful it would be if all their troubles were over, and they had nothing to do but enjoy each other.

Eliza was amazed. So this was what Poteen had alluded to as the secret pleasure. It was wonderful, glorious. She turned her head and took the lobe of his ear into her mouth, tugging at it playfully.

"Ouch!" Rafe chuckled quietly.

In a split second, their playful banter turned into a flame of passion, fusing them as one. Rafe's lips came down on hers, warm and hard. The feeling was like fine wine to her senses, intoxicating her beyond reason. Her arms crept around his neck. This assault upon the senses was what she had always waited for. Shamelessly, she pressed her fevered body closer to his, offering herself.

Ruthlessly he plundered her mouth and body, clutching her to him as if there were no tomorrow.

Chapter 12

As the first streaks of dawn began to color the sky, Rafe carried Eliza up the back stairs into the house. In a short while, the cook would be starting breakfast. It would not be too seemly for them to be caught in their disarray, creeping into the house at this hour.

Rafe studied Eliza's sleeping face as he crept silently up the stairs. He hadn't even tried to awaken her. After the night they had spent, she needed to rest.

But, no more than he did! She had been a tigress. He could still feel where her hands had been on his body.

Without a sound, he pushed open the door to her room and crossed to the enormous tester bed, placing her in the middle. With gentle hands, he covered her.

He expelled a deep, heartfelt sigh. What he wouldn't give to curl up next to her and wake up later and enjoy more of the pleasures they had known last night. But that was not to be. He had to know that she was not just consumed by passion, that she could love him, as he knew he loved her. He had to know that he had not taken advantage of her innocence.

Rafe walked to the connecting door and with great reluctance entered his own room, closing the door. Even as he did so, however, he paused, frowning. In the room he had just left lay his wife. They had just consummated their marriage vows most thoroughly and that made her his in every sense of the word. A wolfish grin split his features-- by damn he would wake up next to her! With that, he reentered the room he had just vacated.

Eliza awoke the next morning with her face pressed against the soft down of her pillow. She drowsily opened one eye. Seeing the flower sprigged wallpaper of her room, she felt totally disoriented for some moments

There was a vague ache behind her eyes that told it’s own tale. She’d had entirely too much wine……and then she and Rafe had taken a turn in the garden... She rubbed the side of her face sleepily, feeling strangely content despite her headache.... He’d kissed her and it had been just as wonderful as she’d remembered… She yawned and stretched out one long leg, coming in contact with something hard.

A startled gasp escaped her suddenly dry lips. She jumped to a sitting position, clutching the sheet to her breast. There on her left lay-----a grinning---totally intolerable---Rafe Hamilton!

"You!" she sputtered, still unable accept all of the images that paraded vividly through her mind…from kisses to…..

"Yes, love, it's your dotting husband." A rakish grin curved his mouth. He began to rain small, warm kisses upon her shoulder.

Eliza clenched her teeth. "You are not my husband."

He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "Pardon, did we not stand before a preacher?"

Eliza turned it a deeper hue. "Yes but--"

"But what, sweetness?" he purred in a husky voice that totally unnerved her.

"But this was not supposed to be a real...." She sputtered to a stop.

"A real marriage, honey." He clicked his tongue in an overly censuring manner as if she were a simpleton that he was patiently explaining something too complicated for her small mind to comprehend.

"Well, it seemed real enough to you last night." His deep blue eyes dancing with devilment, he added huskily, "And I must admit, I enjoyed myself immensely."

"Oh! You." Eliza grabbed the sheet, jerking it out from under his rock hard body. Her golden hair flowed over her partially exposed breasts in riotous curls as she leapt from the bed, struggling for a name foul enough to call him. Her eyes narrowed to blue slits, "You, Sir, are the very worst sort of blackguards!" She was almost free when he grabbed the edge of the sheet, sending it sailing through the air, leaving her standing in the full morning light completely nude.

He laughed outright at her outraged expression just before she jumped on him like an enraged cat, pelting him with her fists. They tumbled about the massive tester bed like two young lions, each determined to best the other.

The look on his face momentarily stilled her efforts. If she had known him better she would have stopped when she had had the upper hand. Her breath came in heaving pants, making her chest rise temptingly against his. "You...I...wouldn't have done it...if I had not been forced!" Well, she wouldn’t admit, under torture, that she’d had far too much wine to feel the least inhibited.

"Oh, really?" Rafe's brow darkened like an angry summer storm. "You were forced, hmmm?" That she would try to deny the passion that they had enjoyed did not surprise him, but that she would accuse him of forcing her… He had never ever forced a woman in his entire life! He was not going to be accused of it now!

Eliza took a steadying breath, studying the ominous look on his face. Perhaps she had gone too far. But Eliza, being Eliza, who had never backed down from a fight in her young life, stated baldly, tossing a long curl back over her shoulder, "Yes...."

Eliza had barely gotten the single damning word out of her mouth before his mouth descended on hers with punishing intensity. His hands were on her breasts. Oh, why hadn't she run when she had had the chance? Now she was his to do with as he willed. The moment he touched her, she was without a will of her own.

Rafe was caught up in a silken web of ecstasy. He had meant to punish, to show the little hoyden that he had not forced her last night, but now he was trapped. He had meant to bring her to the point of begging him for the passion that only he could give her, then leave her in the bed alone. But the moment his lips had touched the sweet nectar of hers, he was lost. Lost to the feel of her velvet skin that smelled like lilacs in the morning air. She was an aphrodisiac that no man could resist.

As the bed-curtains billowed in the early morning breeze, the two young lovers were unaware of anything, not the singing of a mockingbird outside the open French doors, not the early stirring of the plantation. Not one sound or thought penetrated through their cocoon of bliss as they strove for total oblivion from the outside world.

Her breath was coming in short gasps as she clasped his head closer to her breast. She raised his head pulling it up to meet her lips.

"Please...Rafe...I need you...."

His hands cupped the underside of her buttocks. His face was a study of intensely leashed desire. A moan of pure pleasure escaped her lips, only to be swallowed up in a deep kiss. Their mouths and bodies melded into a single flame, burning higher. His possession of her body was tender, yet dominate, soft as velvet yet as hard as finely honed steel, as he whispered words of love intermingled with words of passion against her breast.

She begged with husky breath for a culmination she knew little about. A joy so intense was taking over her body that she had not one single coherent thought. Kiss after kiss was lavished upon her body. His body was taunt and hard glowing in the early morning light like a tanned god. At this moment, she felt that she was the only woman in the world...and that he was the only man. Together, their passion was like no other.

Much, much later Eliza, opened her eyes like a contented feline, stretching as she rolled over. Had she dreamed it all? The slight soreness between her thighs assured her that she had not. Why had she given herself to him again? Had she no shame? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, answering her own question. No, she had none. She had let him have his way with her in the full light of early morning like a wanton, like a woman of ill repute!

She stared hard at the impression of his body still fresh upon the sheets. She could still smell the scent of him upon the pillow she now clutched to her breast. This man...her husband...now in every sense of the word, claimed her body as well as, though she hated to admit it, her heart. But he didn't care for her, or did he? She closed her eyes tightly. She could not allow him to know how she cared for him. He was controlled by a passion he felt for her, not by any deeper feelings other than lust. She felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. She had allowed herself to be controlled by his magnetism, but she could not allow it to continue or, heaven help her, she would be unable to see him go when the time came.

Earlier, Rafe had risen, staring down at Eliza's sleeping form before leaving the room. He grabbed a hot roll and a cup of coffee downstairs before going out to the stables. A dark frown marred his brow, and his eyes were shadowed as his thoughts whirled. He could not get enough of her. Even now, after the night and morning that he had spent making love to her, all he wanted to do was rush back into the house and lock the door and make love to her over and over again. Damn! How had he become so entangled by her so fast? It was lust. It had to be. When the lust abated his mind, he would be clear of her. An inner voice told him that he would never get over her. But, it was unmistakable that she did not want to remain married to him. She wanted to be free of him at the first opportunity. She had said so emphatically, hadn't she? What if she was already pregnant? God, how could he have been so careless? So selfish? He made up his mind there and then not to touch her again. When he had Keeling they would go their separate ways.

As he stepped into the stirrup, his face became even more resolute. Thoughts of her were clouding his judgment. He had temporarily forgotten what he had come here for...Winston Keeling. That rotten bastard. The image of Amanda's face as she lay dead seared across his brain. Yes, the bastard had to pay dearly for what he had done.

He rode with purpose toward town. Maybe the man he had hired had news of Keeling. He muttered an curse. It was like the man had vanished into thin air like a snake that crawled out of his hole only to strike and then returned to plot his next victim. Rafe knew he would never be truly at peace with himself until Keeling was caught. His jaw was like steel as he thought of the grief that Keeling had brought what was left of his family. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted.

As evening began to descend Rafe rode back to Magnolia Hill-- and Eliza. His blood began to race at the thought of her soft skin and golden hair. So much for his resolution not to touch her. He couldn't will himself not to feel, not to have any emotion, but sometimes revenge burned inside him until he could see nothing else, feel nothing else. What if Keeling was never caught? A red haze settled before his eyes. He couldn't bear to think of that man going free.

Chapter 13

Winston Keeling chuckled and then laughed an outright demented cackle. He was drinking a brandy before the fireplace of his newly acquired residence. A plate of smoke duck, bread, and cheese lay partially consumed on the table before him. He was quite content--except for one thing, and that was that he hadn't paid Eliza and Rafe back for what they had done to him. No, he had yet to do that, but the plan was now ready to go. After he killed Rafe, poor little Eliza would be a very wealthy widow.

"Hee, hee!" He slapped his knee in total triumph. When Rafe was gone, who would inherit his estate but his dear little wife, Eliza. After he had forced Eliza to marry him, both plantations would belong to him. It could not be more perfect. He lay his head back in the wing backed chair and closed his eyes--a contented smile curling his lips.

Amanda Hamilton looked around the mansion seeing Winston reclining back in a chair. She held up her hand looking through it. She no longer marveled at why she was still on earth. She knew the reason. He now sat before her. She had to stop him from destroying anyone else.

She decided to have a bit of fun with ‘ole Winston and smirked to herself. He thought he had everything figured out.

She walked over and bent down close to his ear. "Winston...Winston...," she breathed his name and swirled a faint lilac scented breeze to ruffle his hair. He still did not stir. She tried again tugging a lock of his hair.

Winston came awake wild-eyed, glancing around, seeing no one.

Amanda smothered a giggle behind her hand. She still hadn’t materialized so he could see her. This was going to be amusing.

"Winston...," she breathed, allowing his name to end in an eerie moan, stifling another giggle. She had to make this sound scary, but it was difficult.

Winston jumped out of his chair, bumping into the fireside table. The plate of duck went scattering across the floor. "Who is it?!" His eyes darted about frantically, still seeing nothing.

Amanda could not help it. She laughed outright at his expression.

Winston heard the soft laughter and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. "Who are you? Where are you?"

"I'm here, Winston...," Amanda sighed, stirring another breeze.

Winston flattened himself against the wall in total terror. This damned place is haunted! No wonder the owner had hotfooted it to Paris. Good God! Then he had a terrible thought, God would not help him.

Amanda heard a booming voice of her Superior. "All right," she said fiercely.

He reminded her of her mission, and the fact that Winston had had one man killed already, Charles Fontaine, and that he was planning another, her brother, Rafe. This man had to be stopped! And it was her job to do it, but no matter what, she intended to enjoy it.

She pushed back her hair in frustration, "Yes, yes. I heard you! I was just having a bit of fun." She looked at Winston, feeling not one tinge of guilt that she had scared him. The man deserved it and more! He was evil. She wondered how she had been so stupid when she was alive. It was obvious to her now that the man was selfish, conniving, but above all, evil.

"Winston, I'm here to warn you not to hurt anyone else." Amanda looked upward as if to ask, did that suit you?

Winston heard the voice. It sounded like-- No, it could not be! His narrow, blood-shoot eyes, still searching the room, settled on the empty brandy decanter on the table. Yes, he had had too much liquor that was it. He rubbed a weary hand through his mussed hair, looking little like his usual immaculate self, and laughed. He had imagined this entire episode. He was going to have to drink less if he couldn't handle it any better than this, that was for sure. He waited for a few moments, but he didn’t hear anything.

He laughed glancing uneasily around the room before climbing the stairs to bed. That was what he needed, a good night's rest.

Amanda stomped her foot in outrage. It went through the floor. With a shriek she pulled it back up through the hardwood floor looking upward in severe irritation. "I told you that he was not normal! A ghost has to get rough with this fellow!"

Amanda muttered to herself. She would not get approval and might get into trouble for what she intended to do, but she had to. A shudder rippled through her at the thought of what Keeling had done and was capable of doing. If there was one thing she had learned since she had passed on, it was that Winston Keeling was a vile man who would stop at nothing. She had to prevent him from harming Rafe, but how? An impish grin curled her mouth, and her eyes lit up with a glow. She would think of something. Maybe she could get Poteen to help, now there was a woman who knew how to handle people like Winston. And Poteen wouldn't be afraid of her!

Eliza heard Rafe ride in, but she didn't get up to greet him. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had moved to another bedroom, her parents' room, and she hoped he wouldn't wake the house, causing a scene. She had no intentions of allowing their---their dalliance to continue.

Her body burned hot at the thought of the liberties that she had allowed him. She thought of how strong-minded she had always been. How she had never, ever, allowed a man, though many had tried, to get close to her. Close! How amusing. Her face burned scarlet in the darkness. He knew her body almost better than she did. It was mortifying! Lust. It was a great source of tribulation in this world. She punched her pillow in anger. She had allowed herself to be played with like some doxy. She had had no vows of love from him. Why, he had said nothing in the throes of passion. It had been she who had said.... God's teeth! She had been foolish! The man had married her, sure, but only for the sake of catching Keeling. Not- she painfully reminded herself--because he had been enamored with her. She buried her face into the down pillow, smothering a scream of rage.

Her finely molded chin stuck out in new determination. She would act as if it all had not happened. She would continue to carry on the farce of their marriage for the sake of Keeling's capture, but it would end there.

Rafe climbed the stairs, bone tired. His man in town had nothing new on Keeling. He grabbed the stair railing, hauling himself up the last few steps. Perhaps he had hired the wrong man for the job.

As he reached for the knob on the bedroom door, he grinned. There was something to be said for coming home to...he stopped himself...as the word wife settled in on his mind.

He berated himself silently, reminding himself of his decision not to touch her again. He had to stop this craziness. He nodded to himself and opened the door. He would make sure she was all right then sleep in the connecting room.

A shaft of moonlight filtered into the room, and Rafe's eyes settled on the empty bed. Where was she? It was well past midnight. His heart began to pound in pure fear. Had Keeling gotten to her while he was gone? He quickly searched the connecting room, but she was not there. He told himself not to panic as he flew down the stairs. Maybe she had gone down to the kitchen or the library. He ran breathless into the kitchen. She was not there. He turned like a man possessed and ran into the library. She was not there either.

Rafe felt his heart pounding in his throat as he ran from room to room.

Eliza heard Rafe running around downstairs. What was wrong with the man? Didn't he realize that people were trying to sleep? With a frown on her face she, grabbed her wrap, throwing it around her shoulders What on earth was wrong with him?!

She left her room, her mood not the least improved by this irritation. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, Rafe came flying at her like a mad man, coming to a stop as he saw her at the top of the steps.

"Where in the hell have you been?!" he roared, bounding up the stairs to stand beside her.

Anyone who knew Eliza, very well, knew not to shout at her. Her already simmering blood began to boil. "What do you mean? I was sleeping until I was rudely awakened by your nocturnal activities! You sounded like a herd of elephants pounding around down here!"

Rafe clenched his teeth with a snap. She had to be the most irritating woman on earth! Couldn't she tell that he was worried about her? He would be damned if he would give her the satisfaction of knowing it.

He stuck his hands cockily into his pockets with a cocky smile to his chiseled lips. "I was looking for something to eat."

Eliza's brows rose with skepticism, "In every room of the house?"

Rafe was uncomfortably aware of the thin wrapper that she wore. He could see clear through the darned thing. He would have to tell her that she certainly couldn't wear it in front of anyone else. At her sneering tone, he shook his head and willed his eyes from her form. "Yes, and I didn't find a damned thing."

Eliza looked into his fathomless blue eyes, remembering how they looked into hers in the moment of ultimate passion and her anger flared again. "Well, Poteen left something for you. Roast chicken, I believe."

Eliza cleared her throat. She had to tell him that they were no longer going to--to. She drew herself up straighter, little knowing how her breasts pushed seductively against the gossamer material.

Rafe's gaze smoldered, looking into hers. She was obviously preparing herself to tell him something. Damn if she wasn't the most fetching sight he had ever seen with her golden hair flowing about her and her black lashes fanning the high color of her cheeks. "Sounds good, but I think I've lost my appetite for chicken."

The meaning of his words sent flags of color across her cheeks and a warm feeling surging through her body. She quelled her traitorous thoughts and blurted out what she had to say. "I've moved into my parents' room and--and I will sleep in there and-- you will continue to sleep in the room we've...."

Never mind that he had just told himself that he would not touch her again. It was something else to be told by her that there would be no more moments of blissful passion. Far be it from him to force her to share his room, after all he did have some pride.

His jaw hardened and the light of passion died a quick death, like water doused coals. "Fine, if that's the way you want it." He half hoped--no, he, Rafe Hamilton, did not need to be treated this way from a woman.

Eliza's resolve hardened, "It's the way I want it." As she uttered the words, she could feel an empty ache in the pit of her stomach.

"Fine," Rafe muttered, brushing past her, grabbing the knob of his bedroom door with enough strength to rip it from the solid oak door.

Eliza ran down to her parents' room, screaming at his closed door, "Fine!" Slamming her door with a loud bang.

Poteen watched from her bedroom door and smiled. Now there was true love.

Eliza spent one of the most horribly restless nights of her entire life.

Rafe awoke like a bear with a sore paw, slamming out of the house at dawn. He rode like thunder across the field. He kept telling himself that he didn't want her, didn't need her. All the while, he knew he was lying. He was in sad shape as far as this tiny slip of a woman was concerned. It didn’t help his frame of mind at all to admit it to himself.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. She had no doubt slept a sound sleep while he had tossed like a man in a fever all night. A crooked smile twisted his mouth and he thought of the woman who he had met in town yesterday. She had boldly offered herself to him, but he knew only one woman who could kindle the flame, the one who had started it in the first place. He had eyes for no other, wanted no other. It was truly a sad condition that he was in, he thought, slapping the reins and setting his mount in motion.

"Well, Rafe," he told himself, "you finally have what you wanted. Now you can concentrate solely on Keeling." She was out of his bed. He could focus on his objective, but why did it suddenly seem so hollow?

Chapter 14

The days of autumn drew to an end and winter showed its face with particular vehemence early on the morning of December 10, 1847. Leaves fell, leaving a brown blanket covering the few remaining sprigs of green grass. Eliza peered out her bedroom window and shivered in the early morning cold. Minnie had come in earlier, leaving a tray of hot tea and banked the dwindling fire in the hearth, bless her.

Eliza blinked back tears, thinking of Christmas. This would be the first one without her father. Christmas had always been a time of great joy in their household. Every year there had been a grand ball and sumptuous dinner enjoyed by plantation families for miles around. They would come by carriage, boat, any means at all, for it was the grandest party of the year.

Tears slid down her cheeks as the image of her father's face wreathed in smiles giving her a gift of matching emerald necklace and ear bobs. It was too incredible to think that it had been only last year. She swiped her hand viciously across her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. A determined glint shown in her eyes. She would not allow Winston, Rafe, or her current predicament sweep her into the depths of despair. She clenched her jaw and smiled at her reflection in the frosty pane. She would have the party of the year! Come hell or high water.

She looked for a moment more seeing nothing of the landscape before her and stepped back, allowing the heavy satin curtain to fall back into place.

She had awakened sick again this morning. At first she had thought it to be a cold, a mild malady, but with astonishment she began to calculate the days since her last monthly. She had had at least three very slight ones…. She had chalked this up to stressful events in her life. It was then that the realization had struck that she was pregnant. Pregnant. She placed a comforting hand upon her still flat stomach and blinked back tears. How was it possible to get pregnant having only been with Rafe a couple of times? It was incredible, but true.

Rafe and she had barely spoken a word since the night of their argument. She sighed heavily again. She had gotten her wish, Rafe had not touched her. He had even gone to great lengths to avoid her in the simplest of ways these past weeks. She had to admit to herself that it irritated her in a way which was inexplicable. Why wasn't she happy? Why did the very thought of him send her head spinning? But she had more than herself or Rafe to worry about. She couldn't think about what Keeling might or might not do. She felt a warm glow begin in the regions of her heart.

A baby! The thought of having someone of her own was wonderful. Someone who belonged to her and would love her.... Just how much longer she would be able to hide her condition she did not know. She shuddered at what Rafe would say if he knew. She placed a hand up to smooth her mussed hair, contemplating her future and that of her child.

Rafe could not be told. If he knew he might think that she had tried to trap him. The Lord only knew she didn't want their marriage to be permanent, or did she? No, of course not! A sudden thought occurred to her. What if he decided that he wanted the child and took it back to the backwaters of South Carolina, away from Magnolia Hill. Mon Dieu! It could not happen! Her aqua eyes blazed like daggers of blue steel, and her small, delicate jaw jutted out mutinously. It would not happen.

Poteen presented another problem. Eliza was sure that she knew something was going on, but as yet she did not know what.

If Eliza was not herself, it could be said even more so of Rafe. He felt as if he were in a precarious position. Why hadn’t Keeling made his move? It just didn't make sense. His eyes narrowed. His mounts' breath rose in a frosty plume in the early morning cold. He felt it in his bones. Keeling would not wait for long. He clenched his teeth more in irritation and anger than from the cold. He had expected to have this business over and done with and be sitting in front of his own fireplace this winter, but that was not to be.

His thoughts drifted to Eliza, her hair of molten gold, her sparkling blue eyes and her long leg and firm bosom. She was driving him crazy with desire. Never had he wanted a woman as much as this one. One would think that after he had had her that his hunger would be assuaged, but, in fact, he wanted her even more. These weeks had been torture. His blood ran like molten lava through his veins at the very sight of her. Was that what was the matter with him? A sardonic grin twisted his well-shaped lips. He was bewitched, that's what. Sometimes in the dead of the night, he had thought about her sleeping down the hall and how good it would feel to have her cuddled against his side.

He muttered an expletive, "When are you going to get it through your head, Rafe, that she doesn't want you?" He looked around, seeing that he was still all alone with only pine trees for company and took a deep breath, shaking his head. He was now talking to himself.

The image of her standing before him that night saying that she had moved to another room flashed across his mind. His jaw hardened. Hell would freeze over before he made love to her again. She would have to beg.

~~~~~

The hazy, transparent form of Amanda Hamilton grinned at Winston Keeling's sleeping form. Never had she had so much fun. But she still had not shaken him from his resolve to kill Rafe and take Eliza as his own. The very thought of it made her enraged! She drummed impatient fingers on her chin. Perhaps if she kept at him she would finally wear him down, or drive him crazy. A contemptuous smile curled her lips, a little of her good humor remaining as she affirmed to herself that he was already crazy.

Winston awoke with his skull hurting from the amount of brandy he had consumed the night before. He opened his eyes cautiously, partially showing the blood shot whites. He waited for the ghost to do something. When nothing happened, he eased them the rest of the way open. Why was this demon tormenting him so? A small voice inside his head reminded him of all the evil he had done. He made an impatient gesture, throwing back the covers. Damned if he would allow it to stop him!

He fingered the tawny stubble on his chin and grimaced. He must shave, he thought. He didn't even look like himself. He was finished allowing this...this demon from hell to pester him. What he needed was another place to lay low. But where? This place was ideal, within easy access to Magnolia Hill where he could keep an eye on Eliza's comings and goings and Rafe. Damn the man. He had hired no less than four men in the last two weeks just to guard Eliza. It was as if he could read his mind. He laughed, walking over to survey his face in the mirror. He poured a measure of water in the bowl and lathered his face. As he wiped the whiskers off the straight razor he held, he imagined how it would feel to cut Rafe's throat with it. The thought cheered him immensely, and he began to hum a tune. Soon all Rafe possessed would be his.

Amanda gasped. She watched as Winston eyed the razor. She knew what he was thinking! Her eyes narrowed into slits. Over her dead body would he kill Rafe! She didn't think about it being a little too late for her to worry about her dead body. Her hand flashed out, knocking the razor from his hand. She watched with satisfaction as it clattered across the floor. Winston jumped nearly a foot.

Winston cursed, putting his injured digit to his lips, tasting the metal of his own blood. He looked about wildly, taking a step backwards. It was that damned ghost again!

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Winton yelled into the cool morning air. He drew a ragged breath and his chest heaved, every nerve standing at attention, readying himself for battle against the unseen force.

Amanda smiled. It was not yet time to reveal who she was, but no sense in totally disappointing the man.

"I'm here to warn you not to harm Rafe and Eliza. If you do, there will be dire consequences...," she moaned, thinking to herself that she was getting quite good at this ghost business.

Winston bent to grab his fallen razor and slashed it through the air in a vicious arc toward the voice. "You can forget it! Go haunt someone else! I'll do what I want with Rafe and Eliza. You can't stop me!" His eyes glowed with insanity as he slashed the razor with deadly intent.

Amanda dodged backward, forgetting for a moment that he could not hurt her. This was no longer enjoyable. He truly meant to kill them. She was going to need all the help she could get and was definitely going to have to change her strategy.

Eliza dressed, with warmth in mind, in a dark blue dress with long sleeves and a high neckline. It was true the dress had seen better days, but she liked it. It made her think of the good times that had gone before.

She resolved that she would have a good time today, there was much baking to be done in preparation of the coming Christmas festivities. Today was the day, which they, papa and she, had always gotten their tree. She remembered with a smile. They would start out the day with hot apple cider laced with cinnamon and a small dash of rum for herself and a larger amount of rum for her papa. They would pass new clothing to the workers and a smoked ham, and then they would go in search of the largest tree that the parlor would hold, usually about ten feet high.

After the tree has hauled indoors and put up, they would have hot drinks by the fireplace. Papa would tell stories of long ago when he and maman had had hardly anything, anything but love. A melancholy smile curved her lips, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she gazed at the space that usually held the tree. An ornate table sat there with a large vase filled with Poteen's dried flowers. Along beside it rested her papa's decanter of Irish whiskey, Poteen he called it. That was when he would launch into a story of how Poteen had gotten her name.

Poteen was a young woman when she was brought on a slave ship from Africa. When Charles Fontaine had arrived at the docks to buy a few field hands, he had spotted a huge giant of an Irish man with his hand clasped about a small black woman's arm. The man was roaring drunk and claiming the young slave woman for his own before anyone had had a chance to bid on her. He had raised her high into the air planting slobbery kisses over her face, saying she tasted as good as Irish whiskey, Poteen.

Charles Fontaine had not been amused and promptly came to her rescue. To make a long story short Papa had wound up buying the young black woman who had not been the least bit impressed with her heroic rescue. Papa had loaded the arrogant little woman into his carriage and headed for Magnolia Hill. She was so full of herself and she sniffed at his questions, throwing her nose into the air. He had called her Poteen, for she was as fiery as Irish whiskey. She didn’t like it, which made her papa call her that all the more. The name had stuck. By the time Eliza had come along, no one, least of all Poteen, had made any comment about the name until one Christmas when Eliza was twelve he had told the story. It was after they had gotten the tree and were sitting in front of the fireplace. Poteen had walked in and handed them their hot, spiced cider with a sniff of disapproval over the wet tracks across the intricately woven Aubusson rug.

Eliza smiled and made her way to the kitchen that was the most likely place to find Poteen so early in the morning. She would be surprised to see her at this hour, Eliza was quite sure.

The breezeway was frigid. Eliza clasped her hands about her arms to ward off the chill. She should have worn her cloak, but she was almost there. As she pushed opened the oaken door, the warm air from within felt like heaven upon her face. With it came the smell of ham and fresh baked bread just from the oven. The head cook, Mabel, an enormous black woman took her job seriously, was rushing five smaller women about with obvious enjoyment. Here, she was truly in her element. She noticed Eliza's entrance with the incoming rush of cold air.

"Good mornin', Miz Eliza," she grinned from ear to ear. It was not everyday that the young mistress came to `her' kitchen.

"Good morning to you, too, Mabel. It's good to see all this activity." Eliza rubbed her palms together as she neared the blazing fire in the cavernous fireplace. "I had thought that Poteen would be here." Eliza looked about the warm, cheery kitchen, inhaling the wonderful smells. Her mouth watered at the sight of thick slices of ham being removed from a black iron skillet.

Cook grinned, handing Eliza a fresh biscuit with a piece of ham tucked in the center. "The sweet breads is a baking, and Ezra is watching the pig while it roasts." She nodded, her generous chin jiggling, "It will be ready just like always, Miz Eliza. Fit for a king."

Eliza smiled, her eyes lighting up, chewing a bite of the ham and biscuit. "You're the best, Mable. I knew I could rely on you," her voice was warm with well-deserved praise for the best cook in all of Baton Rouge and New Orleans.

"Where is Poteen?"

Mable gestured toward the big house, "She came here early this mornin', got her coffee, and said you is be wantin' the Christmas fixin's from the attic."

"Oh," Eliza said, with raised eyebrows. Poteen was always ahead of her two steps. "Well, I had best leave you to your work. I have plenty to do today."

With a wave of her hand and a mouth full of biscuit, she left the kitchen, hurrying toward the welcoming warmth of the house.

Rafe rode up to Magnolia Hill dismounting in front of the wide gallery admiring not for the first time the majesty of the old plantation home. It had a warm feeling about it. A pang of guilt assailed his senses. He knew deep down that he didn't feel that way about River's Bend anymore. It was lonely and cold. Here, there was warmth, laughter…and Eliza, always Eliza. As if his thoughts conjured her up, he saw her dash into the back door of the house, her hair like a golden beacon in the early morning light.

A grim twist came to his mouth as he admitted that if he lived a thousand life times he would never clear her of his mind and heart. But, by damn, she would never know it. He couldn't give her that much power over him.

As he ascended the steps, he wondered for the thousandth time where Keeling was and what was his demented mind was planning. His fists clenched with a keen sense of frustration. Damn it! Nothing was going like he had thought it would!

Like a man possessed, he turned abruptly on his heel and headed for the stables. Moments later, he was on the road toward town. The smell of early morning dew sparkling on pine needles was heavy in his nostrils. His hands clenched the reins, his knuckles showing white. His eyes narrowed to cobalt slits peered through the mist-shrouded oaks. Keeling was somewhere close... He could feel it....

Eliza hummed a Christmas tune, unaware of Rafe's torment. Where was Poteen? She chewed another bite of biscuit, spotting her in the dinning room looking over the silver with a critical eye. Eliza mouth curled upward. Poteen was fastidious about such things.

"I have been looking for you," Eliza said as she reached the dining room door.

Poteen looked up, noting the sparkling joy in Eliza's eyes. It was good to see. Lord knew that there had been little joy in the house of late.

"What for?" Poteen grinned, laying down the serving spoon she held.

Eliza wagged her finger at her, "Ah, you don't fool me. Mable said you had been in there and knew I was wanting the Christmas trimmings." Eliza shook her head, "I don't know how you do it, Poteen, but sometimes it's unnerving. Just once I would like to do something without your knowing about it before I do." Eliza finished with a teasing frown, warming to her subject.

Poteen held up her hand, "I know that you always decorate the tree on this day, hmm," she quirked her turbaned head sideways awaiting an answer.

Eliza gave a disbelieving sniff, reaching to plant a kiss on Poteen's cheek, "All right, I'm going up to the attic. Is there anything you want brought down?"

Poteen's brow wrinkled in thought, "No, just be sure you bring down your mama's special angel."

Eliza patted her arm affectionately, "Don't we put it up every year."

Poteen watched as Eliza lit a candle and made her way to the stairs. The candle's flame seared a flash across her brain. She saw a glimmer of a man's face, Winston Keeling's face. He was bent over Eliza's prone form with a demonic grin on his visage. The vision faded and left Poteen chilled to the bone. Even though she had never been a devout Catholic, she crossed herself.

A fierce frown puckered her brow, as she heard Eliza's footsteps climb to the third floor. That evil man must not get his hands on Eliza. She clutched the cross necklace that hung from her neck and closed her eyes in tight prayer. Maybe the vision had been false. Maybe it was just worry on her part. Rafe. Rafe would protect Eliza. He loved her, this she was sure of.

Eliza reached the door of the attic and pushed it open. A musty curl of dust swirled past her face, making her sneeze. She hadn't been up here since this time last year. She waved a hand, clearing a cobweb from her path and shuddered. She hated spiders. She looked about anxiously and remembered that was why she never came up here She lowered her head, ducking under a massive support beam, cringing with the thought that one might fall on her head. After she cleared under the other side, she swiped viciously at her hair, hoping to clear it of imagined creatures.

She picked her way through the dust laden wooden crates, spotting things that had come from Paris, China, virtually over the world. Her mouth twisted sadly. That had been when her parents were first married. After her mama had past away, they had been brought here to lay in dust covered shrouds, like so many ghosts. For her papa could no longer bear to look at them. A shudder passed over her, bringing with it a chill, she rubbed her arms without realizing it. The thought came from somewhere deep inside that this attic almost had a personality of its own.

In the corner, she spotted the box that held precious Christmas ornaments and frowned. She didn't remember their being put way back there. She shrugged. Maybe Poteen had moved them.

Finally, after a clod of what she suspected was a dirt dauber’s nest fell with a thud on her head and a small shaking fit of revulsion, she made it to the illusive box. With a careful check for small creatures, she moved the candle to sit high on top of two wooden crates stacked rather precariously together. It was then that she noticed something she hadn't ever seen before. It appeared to be an easel covered with a very dusty cotton cloth. Her mama had loved to paint, just as she herself did, but one would never know it. She had not touched a paint box or canvas in months. She sighed drawing the cover off with a flurry of dust and a wicked sneeze to follow. What met her eyes brought a startled gasp from her parted lips. "Mon Dieu, but why is it not downstairs?" she questioned to the empty vastness of the attic.

It was a painting. A glorious painting. One Eliza was sure her mama had painted, but she could scarcely believe what she beheld with her own eyes. The painting was of Magnolia Hill and to say that it was beautiful was almost an insult it was...it was breathtaking! The house was surrounded by an ethereal mist with the barest glimmer of pure yellow-white morning sunlight shining on the young woman's golden hair. As she waited in carriage for the man descending the steps. The man was Eliza's father, What a handsome couple they had been!

Eliza dashed the tears that streamed from her eyes, the Christmas decorations forgotten. How could such a thing of beauty have been left up here all these years? Eliza was appalled. She sat back on a box easily covered with an inch of dust. The light from the candle sputtered and flickered. There in the small circle of light she sat for the longest time with the painting pulling at her heartstrings. She traced the brush strokes with a trembling finger, marveling at the clarity of color. It was as if the painting had been done last month instead of twenty years ago. The sting of tears burned her eyes and nose. God, how she missed them....

With a sniff and a dash at her nose with the back of her hand like a small child she lifted the painting from its resting place and carefully brushed imaginary lint from the gilt molding of roses on the frame. A puzzled expression caused a deep frown between her golden brows. Why had the painting never been mentioned? Her papa was immensely proud of her mama. She could understand that he would not want it in view, a reminder of all he had lost. But why had Poteen never mentioned it? Eliza shrugged, perhaps she had simply forgotten it.

She took hold of the candle and struggled through the maze of objects, almost falling more than once and gasping when hot wax splashed down her wrist. Finally, she reached the attic door with a sigh of relief. She looked back and remembered what she had came for, the Christmas decorations. She would send Millie back up for them. She had to find a place for the painting. She took a deep breath, this was the best Christmas present her parents had ever given her. It was as if they had meant for her to find it now.

Chapter 15

Rafe interrogated the man across from him as he swallowed the watered down whiskey. He was extremely irritated. It occurred to him that it was much too early for him to be tossing back whiskey, watered down or not.

"Hell! Not one single clue as to his whereabouts after all this time! Maybe I should have done the searching myself." He slammed his hand down on the scarred cypress table and ran a weary hand through his hair.

"Listen, boss. It's as if this Keeling fellow has dropped from the face of the earth! We've looked everywhere. He's just not to be found."

Rafe ground his teeth in sheer frustration. "He couldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth! He is somewhere close. I can feel it. If you and your men can't locate the bastard, I will hire someone who can! Is that clear?"

The man's jaw tensed, but he quickly agreed to do better. Rafe guessed that would have to do for now. He drank the rest of the biting liquid and grimaced, making his mind up to contact Lemual. Now that the tobacco season was over and the crop was the best they had had in years, his friend could come to New Orleans. He needed him. Maybe with him here he could keep his mind on what he’d come to accomplish. As he left the dank smelling inn he felt his spirits lighten. He squinted as his eyes met the bright sun.

He made his way across the muddy street, unaware that Winston Keeling's blood-shot gaze shot a hole through his back. Winston turned from the window to the whore he had hired for a full twenty four hours with a sneering grin.

"That bastard will never find me," he gave a fanatic laugh. "And damn be it to ghosts!" His blond hair stood out like golden spikes, and the harlot shrunk back against the headboard of the bed in terror. Her mouth already was swelling from his satanic passion.

"What are you saying, love, about ghosts?" She dared to ask, hoping it wouldn't bring on a fit of rage.

His crazed eyes swung to pin her where she lay. He chuckled with a little more sanity seeping into his eyes. That was what really scared her, this constant swinging of lucidity. "The old May's....I mean, the place I've been staying is haunted. What? You don't believe me?" He held up his injured finger, falling onto the edge of the bed beside her.

"See what she did to me?" He laughed again.

"Who, Love?" A frown puckered her prematurely aging face.

He looked square into her eyes and said without a flicker of doubt, "The ghost, haven't you been listening?"

She pulled away from him and then giggled. He had to be joking. Her lips quirked up at the corners. She decided to humor him. "And just how did you know it was a woman, hmm?"

Anger flared over him like molten lava. He grabbed her throat, pinning her to the bed. "Because, damn it, she speaks to me. Don't you believe me?" Spittle from his lips fell onto her face like foam from a mad dog.

She squeaked out a reply though she felt like he might choke her to death at any moment. "Of course, I believe you, sweetie."

He pressed a sodden kiss to her mouth, almost making her wretch. She didn't care how much her cut was. She wasn't seeing this one again. As he pounded into her body for the third time, she prayed for him to leave and never return. She had to light out of this God forsaken town.

Eliza carried her prized possession into the downstairs parlor and called out excitedly, "Poteen, Poteen!"

Poteen stepped back, admiring her job of arranging sprigs of holly over the front door and stopped as she heard Eliza calling at her. She entered the dining room and saw Eliza holding a painting.

"What is it?"

Eliza's eyes shone like blue diamonds, "Look what I found in the attic, isn't it wonderful?!"

Poteen crossed the polished floor to stand beside her and said quietly, "Your mama painted this before you were born. It always hung in the library above the fireplace." Poteen's gaze was solemn as she recalled the day the painting had been taken to the attic the day of Elizabeth's funeral.

"What is it, Poteen, don't you like it? I just don't know why no one has never told me about it before." Her eyes were troubled as she recalled the faint light spot above the library fireplace. The one she had always seen but never paid any attention to.

"Oh, chile. I do love it, but it's been years since I've seen it. It just that, since that day--"

Eliza's gaze flew to hers, "What day, Poteen?"

"That picture hasn't seen the light of day since the day we buried your mama. Master Charles, he couldn't stand to look at it anymore. When we came back from the cemetery, he drank 'till way in the night. Then, 'bout midnight, he hollers at me to come downstairs and take the picture away." Tears blurred Poteen's eyes as she recalled the expression on his face that night. Never had she seen such grief, such utter loss. The memory of it almost broke her heart.

Eliza felt a lone tear run down her cheek. "I want it left down here. I want it to remind me of the love that they shared."

Poteen nodded her head in understanding, "Are you going to put it back in the library?"

Eliza sniffed back a sob, smiling like the sun coming out after a rain. "No, I think we should put it in the dining room. What do you think?"

Poteen smiled, not in the least surprised by her decision not to put it back where it had hung before. That was like her baby. The image of her papa that night in library would be a constant reminder of sadness. Where in the dining room it would be in morning sunlight with only happy feelings about it.

"I think that it would be perfect there, chile." Poteen looked at Eliza. For a moment, she could almost believe that it was Elizabeth standing there smiling at her own fine work of art. Poteen shook her head. The striking resemblance disappeared.

Eliza said, "Let's hang it up. Tiny and I going for the Christmas tree." Eliza nodded with satisfaction at the turn the day had taken.

"But, maybe you should wait until tomorrow as it is getting on in the afternoon." Poteen suggested, knowing she might as well be talking to the wind. Eliza would have her tree today, no matter what.

Eliza looked at her with mock horror, "Poteen, we have to get the tree today. Why, we've plenty of daylight left." She shrugged taking the painting into the dining room, her eyes coming the rest on the spot where it should hang, over the fireplace. The elaborately carved mantle, which was painted white, was perfect. Two brass, multiple armed candle sticks sat on each end. She climbed up into a chair, removing the existing painting.

"Poteen, now hand me mama's painting." Eliza bent down from her precarious position, almost falling.

"Watch it, chile, it would be awful for you to break leg, now wouldn't it?"

Eliza scoffed, then she suddenly remembered that she carried a child and silently rebuked herself. What if she had fallen and hurt the baby, she thought with horror? She readjusted her position on the chair and carefully reached for the painting.

With the utmost care, she hung the picture, then carefully climbed down from her perch. Pulling the chair out of the way, she stood back and admired the effect. It looked even better than she had expected. The afternoon light streamed through the windows, giving the painting an ethereal glow that nearly took both their breaths.

Poteen sucked in a swift breath of air, speaking softly, "It is wonderful, Cherie. Wonderful."

The comment brought tears, "Yes, it surely is." She blinked them back rapidly. She had to get moving if the tree was to be gotten this day.

Eliza mounted her horse without the help Tiny offered. He smiled big showing straight extremely white teeth and swung himself up into the saddle. Miz Eliza never had been one to accept help from anyone. She wasn't like the rest of the plantation misses.

Eliza breathed in the fresh smell of pine and the moist dampness that had begun to seep up from the bayou and permeate the afternoon air. "We must hurry and find a good one, Tiny." Eliza said, looking at him with a smile. "You know how mad Rafe will be when he finds out I've gone out today, even if I do have you with me."

Tiny's large hands gripped the reins and his grin was a little shaky this time with concern. "They's no need in ya worryin' Miz Eliza I's watchin' out for ya."

Eliza smiled at him fondly, "Now, you know I didn't mean it that way, Tiny. I know you can look out for me. But you know how Rafe is, especially lately..." she added her face growing thoughtful, thinking of how remote Rafe had acted since their fight. Maybe he wouldn't care if Keeling came from the bushes and snatched her away. It would sure make his life much simpler. With that thought, she cast an anxious look about the line of trees to her right. What if he was lurking about just waiting for her. Humph! She shook herself mentally, she couldn't let Keeling rule her every move. She frowned. Life had been much easier for her before either of them had shown up.

"There! Miz Eliza. There's a prime tree, right over there." Tiny pointed to a lone cedar tree, perfect in form.

"Oh, Tiny, I believe you've spotted the best tree we've ever found!" Eliza squealed, excitedly jumping off Storm, dropping his reins, running to inspect the tree.

Tiny dismounted at a much slower pace. His enormous body was not given to quick moves. He sauntered over to the tree, carrying a small ax. "Yes'm, I believe it is de best." He nodded his huge head for emphasis.

Eliza clapped her hands together happily, "To have found one so quickly! Well, Tiny. Cut it down."

Two blows of the ax and the ten foot tree toppled like a sapling. She watched as he tied the tree onto a strip of canvas so it would not be torn to bits on their way back to the house.

Eliza grinned with enthusiasm as they mounted and headed back home with the sun sliding beyond the horizon. Her happiness faded, just a small amount, hoping that Rafe did not arrive home before she did.

That hope was dashed to the ground as they neared the stables. She saw Rafe dismounting and gesturing rather wildly at one of the guards. She could not hear his words, but felt sick in the pit of her stomach. She sighed heavily, and Storm, sensing her mood, hung his head. Her finely boned jaw hardened, and she flipped a loose strand of golden hair behind her shoulder, straightening her spine. She wouldn't be afraid of him! Damn it! She had done nothing wrong!

Rafe's gaze swung toward the two riders, his cobalt blue gaze pinning her like daggers. "Where in the hell have you been?" He shouted.

Eliza's eyes widened as she dismounted in a flurry of riding skirt and blonde hair swirling.

Even in his blazing anger Rafe's eye registered the fact that she had never looked more beautiful, more desirable. He clamped his teeth shut, this small woman had the power to make him angrier than anyone he had ever known. She was a vision of blinding golden light as she dismounted with flags of color high on her cheeks.

Eliza was suddenly madder than she had ever been in her life. Who was he to talk to her like that?!

"If you will notice, not that it's any of your business, we've been out getting the Christmas tree. You...you!" She sputtered to a stop. She couldn't think of a name foul enough to call him at the moment. As she turned away, searching for Tiny, she found he had disappeared. The guard gave Rafe an ill at ease glance and made a hasty retreat, not even sparing them a backward glance.

Rafe's anger, which had begun to wane at the sight of her, quickly flared all out of proportion. He grabbed her arm as she started away from him. "You're my wife! Hell woman! What do you mean none of my business?"

Her breath was coming out in short enraged gasps as he pulled her into the darkened stable. "Don’t curse at me, Rafe Hamilton, "she seethed.

The smell of hay was strong and dusty and for a second she was unnerved by the intense look on his face.

He pulled her to his hard form with steely strength, wrapping his arms about her like iron bands. His lips swooped down upon hers like a bird of prey, slanting a trail of fire across her already swollen lips. When she was breathless, he trailed another molten path down the side of her neck as he molded one firm well-rounded breast, breaking the buttons that held her white cotton blouse. A lace tie from the top of her blouse wrapped its way around her exposed nipple. He greedily swiped it from his way as his mouth claimed the spot.

Eliza panted, mindless with passion. The scathing retort she had prepared for him died a slow agonizing death in a fiery pool of passion, bringing her to the point of begging for his possession.

Rafe heard her moan of submission and jerked himself back to sanity with agonizing difficulty.

His voice was ragged with desire, deep, husky and low, like a cool summer breeze blowing off the river. "So, my dear. You are my wife and don't you ever forget it."

It took a full minute for his words to register on her desire-slackened brain, but by the time they did. He had already left her leaning against the rough pine boards of the stable wall, barely able to draw a steady breath. She gulped in a huge gulp of cool evening air and tried to pull her blouse together without much success. Damn his hide to hell! Thinks he can do anything he liked with her, did he? Her chest heaved with raw emotion. Well, we will see about that won't we? She raged silently taking a few calming breaths. Mon Dieu! The man was intolerable.

As she stepped outside the stable door, she spotted the Christmas tree, still lying on its bed of canvas on the back of Storm. Eliza's lower lip jutted out. Storm had seen the entire display and she could tell he didn’t like it either.

Eliza bent to untie the ropes that held the canvas when Tiny made a cautious appearance.

"Let me do that, Miz Eliza. You go on into the house, and I'll bring the tree in." His voice was low like the rumble of faraway thunder. Eliza slanted him a glance, wondering at his disappearance, but decided not to say anything. She could handle Rafe Hamilton. That she would.

Eliza went up to her room to change. She pulled off her torn blouse looking at it with disgust, it along with the rest of her garments were thrown into a tangled heap upon the Aubusson rug beside her bed. The warm steam from a freshly drawn bath awaited her and smelled like lavender. Bless Minnie. Eliza felt like she had saved her life, or rather Rafe's! The bath was what she sorely needed, a balm to her ragged nerves.

She stepped into the steaming liquid. With a expelled breath sank down into the enveloping depths.

"Aaaah...." She drew a cloth over her face, leaving it lie on her forehead. It seemed to draw the tension out slowly, restoring her sanity somewhat. Her thoughts drifted back to Rafe. She could not control herself where he was concerned. The man was like a drug. Her body craved his like an addict craved opium. Well, there would be ice in hell before she would allow him to have his way with her again!

Rafe pulled on clean trousers with a vicious jerk. He had done it again! One touch and he was lost. He could not ever remember having such little control over himself. It simply had never happened to him before. A voice inside his head whispered that he was in love with the little wildcat. He scoffed at the voice, pulling a comb through his ebony hair. His entire ensemble, was a mixture of black and white. His trousers were snug and black, his shirt was white with jet black studs marching down the front and at the cuffs. All in all he was a striking sight. He grinned roguishly at his reflection, Eliza would be hard pressed not to fling a bowl of potatoes at his head. The thought brought a huge smile to his tanned visage, and his mustache quirked upward at the corners. It had been positively intoxicating to have her in his arms again...too much so. Once Keeling was dealt with then they could go about solving this...this dilemma they were in. With a shake of his head, he went downstairs to what, no doubt, would be a very warm meal, in more ways that one.

The light of battle flared in Eliza's eyes as she sat down at her accustomed place at the table. Rafe's cobalt gaze winked at her as she looked up. Her eyes narrowed to slits. He had nerve. Not only did he take advantage of her, but now, he was gloating! The unmitigated gall of the man!

Rafe’s smile died as the coldness of her gaze nearly severed his head from his body. He tossed back a glass of brandy in quick flick of his wrist, raising Poteen's eyebrows not a small amount.

Neither touched their food, Eliza pushed her around on her plate like it was an enemy she wished to kill, and Rafe simply did not touch his at all.

Poteen looked from one to the other, thoroughly irritated. Getting up from the table, she muttered an indistinguishable sound and left the room without a word to either of them.

Eliza watched her go carefully, placing her fork down beside her plate with exaggerated calm. Her aqua eyes blazed as they met his. "You have upset Poteen with your attitude."

Rafe laughed without humor, "Ha. My attitude you say? What about your own, sweet Eliza?" His mouth curved with a roughish twist.

He was too attractive by far, Eliza thought, not for the first time. Her mind began to dwell on for the thousandth time how she had landed in her current predicament. A blind unreasonable anger rolled over her, but, luckily, was broken by the arrival of Tiny bearing the Christmas tree on his huge shoulders.

"Excuse me, Miz Eliza. I's got the tree. Where do ya want me to put it?"

Eliza rose , flinging a baleful gaze toward Rafe before quitting the room. "We'll put it in the living room, Tiny. That way, everyone can enjoy it. That is anyone who isn't totally against the joy of Christmas."

Rafe sauntered over to lean negligently against the door jam, a curve of sardonic humor on his lips. One dark eyebrow rose in mock dismay. "I do hope you are not referring to me, dear Eliza. Pardon me if I didn't want you to fall, stupidly I might add, into the hands of a crazed mad man."

Eliza straightened from her task of placing the tree in a small bucket. Her hair swirled about her face, clinging to flushed cheeks. "Stupid! How dare you!"

He laughed with mocking amusement, "You'll find, my dear, that I dare to do a whole lot of things. If you have need of anything..." He left the suggestive invitation hanging in the air. At her near explosive look he held up a hand to forestall a further tirade. "I will be in the library."

Without further ado, he turned on his heel and was gone, leaving Eliza to sputter indignantly at nothing but thin air. The man was too much! She raged inwardly. Nevertheless, she turned and said, as if nothing were amiss, "Tiny hand me that box of ornaments, please."

Eliza worked on the tree for about two hours after Tiny had gone. She sipped hot tea laced with rum and cinnamon and looked over the rim of her cup as Poteen entered the room.

"Well, it's about time. I am almost finished except for the putting of the star on top."

Poteen admired the handiwork, taking a drink from her own cup, "You've done a beautiful job." She asked without any hesitation, "What happened between you and Rafe this afternoon, hmmm?"

Eliza threw the bit of woven cotton down, "I can't speak of it. It makes me too furious."

Poteen's ebony eyes gleamed in the light from the fireplace. "I don't know what he's done, chile, but he's a good man--good for you."

"Oh, please!" Eliza sighed with exasperation. If Poteen only knew what Rafe wanted from her she would not continually champion his side. She climbed back on the small ladder, placing the star atop the tree. It seemed to wink back at her, telling her that everything was going to be all right. She sighed heavily, "I sure hope so."

Poteen looked up at her quizzically, "Did you say something, chile?"

"No," Eliza climbed down from the ladder, suddenly exhausted. "I think I'll go up to bed now."

Poteen watched her go. If she did not know better she would say those two would never get together. Thank the Lord she knew better.

Chapter 16

A storm that had begun to brew earlier in the day, making it seem much warmer than it should have for that time of the year, had reached a fevered pitch by the time Eliza lay her head on her feather pillow. Rain slashed like daggers against the windowpanes. A rush of air blew one of the French doors wide open, allowing a cool blast of wind and rain to slash inside.

Eliza jumped up with a muttered imprecation, pulling the door closed with an irritated snap. She was bone tired and aggravated! She mumbled climbing beneath the covers. A troubled frown wrinkled her brow as she willed the days events from her mind. She looked toward the wall with not an unreasonable amount of anger. He was probably sleeping like a baby while she tossed and turned and lost sleep. Well, enough of this! She punched her pillow into position with more energy than was necessary and felt all the better for it. With a sigh drifted off.

Eliza was wrong about Rafe. He was not sleeping like a baby. His mind kept going over what he would have done if Keeling had taken her. My God! What stupidity! Didn’t she realize what could have happened? A rueful grin twisted his lips in the darkness, and he listened as rain pelted the house without mercy. He liked to sleep when it rained. That minx that lay just a few feet away was driving him mad. He reached over turning down the lamp until what little light that remained in the room sputtered out....

Eliza tossed and pitched with the waves as she clung to the side of the ship. "Papa, wait!" she cried, the wind catching her voice and throwing it away.

She could see her papa leaning on the railing as if the storm was nothing. Couldn’t he see how dangerous it was? Couldn’t he see her?

Right before her eyes, a man stepped from the shadows, himself a darker shadow, like a huge serpent. He raised a stick and struck her papa on the head, sending him tumbling into the angry sea.

Eliza screamed, clutching the railing. She stretched forth her hand, but she couldn’t reach him.

Rafe heard the scream and jerked himself awake, instantly alert. What in the hell? He ran with the speed of a leopard, flinging open the door to Eliza's room. What met his eyes nearly scared the life right out of him. For there she stood, leaning out precariously over the balcony railing with the rain drenching her from head to foot. Her golden hair was dark with moisture, and the transparency of her gown outlined her body in the moonlight. Without a second to spare, Rafe ran, scooping her up in his arms. It was only then that he allowed himself to breathe.

He carried her through the French doors and pushed them closed with his foot. He made a mental reminder to have them locked for the time being.

Eliza opened her eyes, her lashes in dark spikes around the aqua depths, "Rafe, Papa was murdered. " She hiccuped. She clung to him, realizing that she was having the same terrible nightmare again.

Rafe mumbled soothing words into her ear and, with trembling fingers, peeled the soaked gown from her shivering body. Even in her current state, she still had the power to move him like no other woman ever had or ever would. He had to keep his mind on getting her warm. She started to shiver against him. He threw back the covers and lay her on the bed pushing, the quilts about her body. He walked over, placing a small log on the fire and watched as the flames crackled back to life. He decided then and there that he would pull a chair up and sit all night if he had to. His blood ran cold as thought what would have happened if he had been a few minutes slower. Shivers ran up his arm, settling on the back of his neck.

"Rafe," her voice cracked like she had been crying for hours. She brushed back her hair and sat up, looking at him standing in the firelight. "Rafe, please hold me..." It was a plea from her soul. She did not want to face the rest of the night by herself. She wanted to feel the safety of his arms.

She, he was positive, was unaware of the suggestiveness of her plea or the ramifications if he climbed in beside her. The coverlet slid down, revealing the tops of her breasts. The sight and invitation were too much for him.

With half her brain, Eliza knew what she was inviting and longed for it. With the other half of her brain she cursed herself for having an endless hunger for this man. She watched as the firelight danced on the planes of his muscled chest as he neared the bed. His face was unreadable but she thought she saw the quick flare of longing in his eyes and a flash of something else, something she should have recognized. It was gone before she could identify it.

He felt a wave of something intense roll over him as the light of the fire flickered in the depths of her eyes. Her small hand stretched out toward him, and he felt his heart leap in his chest. It thudded a strange tempo, and something deep in his soul reached toward hers. He smothered a groan and wondered how he could refuse an invitation such as this from a woman such as her. The cynical voice inside his head coldly reminded him that she was his wife. What did it matter if she hated him in the morning? In his heart it mattered a great deal. He had vowed to himself, just this morning, that he would not come to her unless she asked, no, begged him to. He started to turn, turn from the sight of her golden skin and the irresistible picture she made with her damp, burnished hair in a provocative disarray about the perfection of her shoulders. One long curl was lost from view seeking the haven between her breasts. He swallowed, his throat felt as dry as powder.

"Rafe...please...."

He took one look into her eyes, and his mind was made up. He would keep her warm. That was all. As her soft, slim form melded to his, he recalled some saying about the pathway to hell being paved with good intentions.

"Rafe, I want you to love me. Love me and never let go," her voice was husky in the darkness, sweet and warm. It was beyond him to refuse.

As her silken arms wrapped their way about his neck he was really and truly lost. There would be no going back. To hell with tomorrow. Tomorrow could take care of itself. He lifted his eyes to meet hers in the faint light of the room. The storm raged just beyond the lace covered panes of the French doors and lashed with fury at the huge oaks outside. The ancient oaks took little notice as they had seen countless storms in their century old existence, and neither did the couple who lay entwined on the bed, their bodies lit like pagan beings in the firelight.

"Are you sure?" It took everything that was in him to ask the question. He waited like a man dying for the last drink of water in the desert.

She smoothed the wrinkle between his brows and placed her warm, inviting lips on his, whispering against his them, "I'm sure, Rafe."

Rafe inhaled the whispered breath and felt new life surged in his heart. She wanted him. It was the first time she had actually. It and it thrilled his soul to hear it.

Her hands fueled the fire as they ran over the planes of his chest. He drew in a ragged breath and wondered if he would survive this night. With a smothered groan, he captured her lips in a kiss and told himself that nothing mattered now but the feel of her silken form wrapped in his arms. Nothing mattered but the warm silken honey of her lips on his.

Eliza felt herself drowning in a sea of sensation that only he could invoke. His lips trailed a heated path down the valley between her breasts bringing a smothered groan from the depths of her being. His hands molded every inch, like he was committing them to memory. Tingles ran like flames up her body. A tightening began deep within her. Her fingers ran through the soft, thick ebony waves of his hair. She could smell the fragrance that belonged only to him.

Her hair was like sunbeams held prisoner by the moonlight, he thought as he lifted an errant, curl that had wound its way around his thumb. He slowly brought it to his lips, aware of a hint of lavender lingering there. Somewhere, deep within him, it was whispered to his spirit that she was his and would always belong to him. They were meant to be. Coherent thought fled on rapid wings as he found his way inside her.

* * *

Eliza awoke with sunshine streaming into her window. She lay there, feeling the delicious warmth of the quilts around her nude body. It was then that the events of the night before flooded through her mind. Scenes of their passion sent sensations tingling along the length of entire form. Her face burned red. She turned her head, surveying the empty spot where Rafe had lain.

She rolled over and felt a small flutter in her stomach. A small smile curled her mouth where a frown had been moments before. A love such as she had never known flooded through her. She loved this child. With a heartfelt sigh, she fell back, staring at the ceiling. If she would admit it to herself, she loved the father too.

She wondered what their child would look like. Would he or she have his father's eyes and her hair or her blonde hair and his fierce blue gaze. As she thought of the way his eyes had blazed last night she shivered with reaction. A knock on the door interrupted her musings.

"Come in," she called, knowing without a doubt who it would be.

Poteen came through the door carrying a tray laden with a variety of delicious treats, among which were flaky baked croissants, fresh brewed tea, and a choice of strawberry jam and honey butter. It smelled like glorious and she was as hungry as a horse.

Poteen eyed the flush on Eliza's cheeks with a critical eye. There was something different about her of late, but she could not pin point exactly what it was. "I have fixed your favorite this mornin', chile."

Eliza gave her a scowl. If she didn't know better she would say Poteen was trying to sweeten her disposition. What was she up to? Unless she knew something of what had gone on last night. Sometimes it irritated her to no end the way Poteen knew everything or would find out in some sneaky way.

Eliza folded her arms across her chest, "Okay, out with it. What is it you want to know?"

Poteen feigned a wounded look, "Why would you ask such a thing? Just because I have brought your favorite breakfast. Rafe was in a very good humor this mornin’," she added with a sideways glance setting the tray on the bedside table.

"Rafe was in a good mood this mornin’," Eliza mimicked with an irritated snap to her gaze.

Poteen's black eyes winked in the morning light, "Chile, do not be ashamed that you have enjoyed making love with Rafe. It is your right as his woman, his wife."

Eliza, who was in the midst of taking a drink of hot tea, sputtered. She placed the dainty cup back upon the tray. "I'm not his woman! I am no man's woman, and you get that clear!"

She removed the tray from her lap, placing it upon the carved mahogany table. "That's the whole problem here. He gets all highhanded telling me what to do and how to do it. Why we all know this marriage is a farce--to be annulled-- She finished her raging anger fading, biting her lip somewhat thoughtfully, refusing to consider that her child would be born out of wedlock when the marriage was dissolved. She gave thought to the part that she had played in her own seduction.

A troubled frown marred her otherwise perfect features. As she recalled begging him last time to make love to her. It was mortifying. There was no telling what he thought of her this morning! Oh, she knew what he was thinking. Her eyes narrowed, he was thinking she would tumble into bed with him at the snap of his fingers. Probably, feeling pretty confident of that.

Poteen cleared her throat and said softly, "I don't know why you're fighting your feelings for him, Cherie," she shook her turbaned head sadly. Not understanding the ways of the young. Maybe it was a white man's thing--this constant fight against happiness.

With that comment, she left the room and Eliza stared out the window dejectedly for a moment. Why was she fighting him? Because, she told herself, she wanted it all. She wanted his love not--not just lust. She wanted the light she saw in his eyes only for her.

She railed silently at fate. If it were not for that evil, vile Winston Keeling, her papa would still be alive and life would have remained unchanged. She would not have met Rafe Hamilton.

She turned from her depressing thoughts, determined not to dwell on things she could not change, but change the things she could. One was not to fall into the sack with him every time he looked at her! She was disgusted with herself.

* * *

Rafe whistled a merry tune as he rode down the old river road. He felt good, better than he had in ages. He grinned ruefully at himself and admitted it was because the minx had finally given herself willingly to him. Today, he would go to a jeweler in New Orleans and buy something special for her. His brow wrinkled thoughtfully, wondering if she would take it in the wrong way, his giving her a gift after last night. He scoffed at himself. What woman did not appreciate fine jewelry? His distracted frown reappeared, but Eliza Fontaine, correction, Eliza Hamilton, was not just any woman. Lord knew her reactions to anything he had done were different than anyone he had encountered in his life!

The jeweler was located in a wealthy section town beside a modest-looking shop, containing a couturier, serving only New Orleans' elite. Rafe walked past the shop drawing the admiring eye of two women who had stopped before it. He was unaware of the stir he had caused and entered the heavy carved door of the jeweler.

The shop was well lit as the morning sunshine streamed in the front windows, sending sparkles shimmering off diamonds in a well-protected case.

A small man dressed fastidiously, like the type who was always picking lint from his clothing. He walked forward eagerly, obviously well acquainted with spotting a prosperous customer. He extended a hand in greeting, "May I help you, Sir? My name is Fontableu, Vantae Fontableu."

The man smiled, showing remarkably large, gleaming white teeth for such a small person. Rafe suppressed a grin.

"Yes, Mister Fontableu. I would like to buy a Christmas gift for my wife…" he paused, admiring a few of the trinkets in the case, deciding that nothing looked like Eliza. He decided diamonds were too cold and spied some ruby earrings lying splendidly in a bed of dark blue velvet.

"Ah, ze gentleman has excellent taste." His eyes shining with the zeal of an already anticipated sale.

"Dis lady, she is how you say, fire like de ruby or cool like the sapphire, hummm? I have just bought the most fantastic diamond and sapphire necklace, Monsieur," he held his fingers to his lips in supreme appreciation of this divine piece of jewelry he had acquired.

Rafe’s interest was tweaked a little at the man's exuberance, having heard this sale's scheme before, he was willing to indulge the man. "I would like to see it. After all, it might be just the thing I am looking for."

Rafe watched with amused eyes as the little man darted behind the counter and went back to a room in the rear of the building. In a few short moments he came back, smiling from ear to ear, carrying a blue velvet case that looked chillingly familiar.

He carried the velvet case forward and sat it on the counter before him and Rafe watched with paralyzed fascination as he opened the case.

There before him lay his mother's necklace, the necklace which Winston Keeling had stolen----his necklace. His face went white underneath the swarthiness of his tan. Without conscious thought he reached forward with an explosive burst of fury grabbing the poor man by the scruff of his fine linen shirt. He growled with all the ferocity of a jungle cat, "And where did you get this," he asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

Fontableu sputtered feeling his life flashing before his eyes. The realization hitting him that, within moments, this amicable man had become someone horrid. Where, he asked, was the nice gentleman who had entered his shop just moments before?

Rafe shook the man just enough to put the fear of God into him, "I said, where did you get it."

"I...I...bought it off a man just a few days ago. Monsieur, I can assure you that it was an honest deal--," he sputtered to a stop, his eyes wide as saucers.

Rafe's lip curled with distaste, "And, I can assure you, Monsieur, that it most definitely was not an honest deal. That necklace belonged to my mother and her mother before her and her mother before her...and I would know it anywhere. It was stolen from my home some months ago."

"But, Monsieur, let us discuss this sensibly," the man pleaded in fear for his life.

Rafe, reining in his anger somewhat, eased the man back down to the floor, loosening the death hold on the man's jacket. He stepped back, tunneling a hand through his ebony hair and Fontableu let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Yes, you are right," Rafe expelled a loud breath of air. "I want to know all the details of the sale. Anything that you can tell me would be of the utmost importance." At the man's keen look of curiosity, Rafe scowled. He did not want his sister's tragedy or his marriage to Eliza to be food for the gossipmongers.

The little man looking a little more calm now swallowed the large lump that had formed in his throat, "He was tall, not quite as tall as you, but almost. He was what the ladies would see as attractive, blond--" He came to a momentary stop at Rafe's muttered profanity.

Rafe motioned for him to continue, trying to shake off some of the savagery he felt at finding Keeling had been here and sold his Mother's necklace. The fact that he had no less than three hired men watching for him, and still he had eluded them, was maddening to say the least.

Fontableu rubbed the raw place on his neck where Rafe had grabbed him.

Rafe, seeing the movement, felt compelled to apologize. "Sorry about that. I lost my head a little when I saw the necklace."

Fontableu's eyes bulged as he nodded, "It is all right. Sacre bleu! But you did give me a fright."

Rafe nodded, saying in curt tones, "I will buy back the necklace from you. What did you give for it?"

If the little man had intentions of making a handsome profit he quickly gave up the notion and stated a ridiculously low amount. Rafe wasn't about to argue about it and handed him the sum. The necklace was worth at least three times the amount. If it was anything close to the amount Keeling had gotten then he must be truly desperate. The thought made Rafe smile.

Then, his eyes hardened, "I trust what has happened here today will go no further. I have your word on that, haven't I, Mister Fontableu?"

"Yes, yes," he said nervously, "I won't tell a soul, Monsieur!"

A slow, cold smile spread across Rafe's lips, not reaching his eyes. "Good," he said in a frigid tone, not wanting to do further business with a man who bought stolen merchandise. Rafe placed the treasured necklace back into its velvet container and put it in his coat pocket.

"The man that you bought the necklace from, did he happen to say where he was staying?" Rafe's voice was a little warmer, hoping it would loosen the man's tongue, if he knew anything. He rather doubted that Keeling would tell the man where he was staying, but it was worth a try.

"No, Monsieur," the little man swung his head back and forth in exaggeration movement, sending his sagging jowls shaking with the motion.

Rafe looked at him sharply, convinced he was telling the truth. If he thought the man was lying, he would have had no qualms about giving him another shaking. With a nod, he bid the man a cold adieu, walking out into a day that had suddenly lost all its sparkle.

Chapter 17

Rafe left the shop mad and before he left town, he gave two of his men the dressing down they deserved. Keeling definitely had the upper edge on him. That Keeling knew where he was went without saying, but where the hell was Keeling?! It seemed the man was doing as he pleased while he was losing his mind.

Rafe swung up into the saddle and prodded his mount into a trot with a nudge to his flanks. The air was crisp, fragrant, and stark, naked limbs of trees stood out against the sky. Except for the pines and live oaks the landscape was devoid of color. The river ran with a little more speed due to the night's heavy rains. It was an even dirtier yellow than usual. Rafe looked about with no appreciation for the majesty of the old river this morning. His squinted against the chill of the air as he rode back to Magnolia Hill.

He wondered how Eliza was doing this morning. His heart grew warm at the thought of her. He didn't for a moment regret their night of bliss, and as his thoughts dwelt on visions of her and he remembered her words of passion he smiled a roguish smile. Then, his mouth curved as he thought of how, in such a short time, she had gotten under his skin as no woman ever had. If he wasn’t, with her all the time, he wanted to be. A frown settled on his brow as he contemplated his reaction to her disappearance the day before.

Keeling would never give up, he knew it even if the others seemed to lulled into complacency. Without a doubt, one of them would be dead before this was over. He was convinced of it.

As he neared Magnolia Hill, he thought of how much the plantation meant to him. He would hate to leave it. His heart felt laden in his chest at the thought of leaving Eliza most of all. Could he do it when the time came? As he recalled their night of passion his heart lightened. Maybe, she had come to accept him, and wouldn’t want him to leave. It was his fervent hope that she would see how good they could be together.

Surely now she could see that though they had begun this marriage as a means to an end, it could be so much more. It could be wonderful if she would let it. His eyes searched the nearby landscape, unconsciously looking for any sign. He pulled tight on the reins without thinking and his horse snorted, jerking at the bit in his mouth. He loosened his hold, and they plodded along in the cool air.

He put his hands in his pockets, coming in contact with the velvet case, which held his mother's necklace. He thought of the times he had seen her wearing it when he was small, usually for some special occasion like New Year's or Christmas. Along with these images came painful ones of Amanda at play. He could almost smell the fragrance of lilacs that used to be ever-present at River's Bend. In the spring, the fragrance filled the house because of the large bouquets everywhere. In the winter, his mother would splash on lilac water and, of course, Amanda would insist on some also. How he missed their voices, their laughter.

A painful sadness gripped him. He would never hear those sounds again. River's Bend had ceased to be a place of joy and happiness for him. He didn’t know what the future would bring, but he considered moving to his town house in Charleston when and if he returned. Lemuel would not like it but, he had to rid

himself of this incredible sadness he felt when he was there.

He rode his big bay stallion between the now bare rows of blackened earth, where a few shorts weeks ago there had been a sea of waving green sugar cane. Now, the harvesting was long finished and workers had enjoyed their sugar house ball. Rafe grinned at the satisfaction he felt of being able to exhibit his small knowledge of sugar cane. Eliza had been surprised he knew anything about it, knowing his family had always been tobacco growers. Several years ago he had contemplated buying a sugar plantation across the river from Natchez. In that fertile soil he had known a man could make a fortune. But he had decided against it, realizing the time it would take him away from River's Bend. He hadn’t wanted to uproot Amanda. Plus, he had thought of the difficulty of acquiring a reliable manager and keeping tabs on him so far from home. The idea had eventually been dropped, but by that time he had gained considerable knowledge about sugar cane.

A brisk wind blew across the field. Rafe could smell the scent of wood smoke coming from the house. He rode to the stable and dismounted. His heart began to thud rapidly in his chest, contemplating Eliza would greet him and what the night would bring.

Eliza saw Rafe coming up the steps. He was inside now and in minutes she would have to say what was on her mind. Her mouth went dry at the thought of how angry he would be when she told him that last night had been a mistake. She bit her lip until it was numb. Her knees began to shake. She felt like a coward, but had told Poteen that she had a headache and would be in her room if Rafe should ask.

She clutched her lace gown closer. Suddenly, she felt chilled. She prayed he would not take it as badly as she feared. The fire crackled in the fireplace. Beyond the semi-sheerness of the lace drapes, night was falling. She caught a glimpse of her image as she paced back and forth in front of the cheval mirror. The gown was meant for seduction, but it was the only one she had found in her drawer. She had silently railed against Milly for laundering all of her serviceable, plain gowns! Here she stood in a gown fashioned for love when she meant to tell her husband they could no longer sleep together.

She jumped, hearing heavy footfalls on the stairs. She made a flying leap into the middle of the bed, blowing out the lamp. She tried to scrunch her face into a headache look, while feigning sleep. It was difficult to do.

Rafe, upon entering the house, discovered that Eliza was not feeling well. He squashed the feeling of disappointment because she was not there to greet him. He also didn’t want to acknowledge the growing feeling that she was avoiding him. His brow began to darken as he climbed the stairs. He opened the door and saw Eliza lying suspiciously in the middle of the large tester bed with the quilts pulled up to her nose. Her sultry body was barely discernible through the layers that covered her. It did indeed look suspicious. He walked purposely over to the bed and flung the covers off.

Eliza eyes popped open in surprise. She sputtered incensed, "What do you think you're doing? Didn't Poteen tell you I had a headache?"

Rafe grinned that maddening grin of his and flung himself down beside her. Eliza inched over to the other side of the bed, cursing herself for being so stupid as to be in the very place that he wanted her. He captured her wrist in his hand pulling her toward him until their chests met.

"Now what's this nonsense about a headache? You aren't trying to avoid me, are you, Eliza?" His arms came to settle familiarly around her waist.

Eliza's eyes widened and she licked her suddenly dry lips, his gaze watched the movement with avid fascination. "I...I...really do feel unwell." She closed her eyes, covering them with her arm. The less he saw of her face right now the better.

Rafe leaned forward slanting, a burning kiss across her startled lips. Her hand flew up, but he captured it before she could do any damage.

"Ah no you don't, sweetheart. Why are you trying to avoid me, Eliza. We are going forward from last night, not backward." He stressed this last point with firmness.

Eliza drew back, a frown marking her brow. "I don't know what you mean." Her heart was doing a wild flip-flop at his nearness, and she was unable to stop the curl of desire she felt within her stomach.

Rafe smiled a slow, sensuous smile, his finger sliding inside the vee of her gown suggestively, "I'm quite sure you do."

The little courage that she had scraped together before he got there began to crumble. She came to a sitting position, trying in vain to put some distance between them. "We can't ...repeat what happened last night...." Her voice ended in a squeak at the cold look that entered his eyes. "What I mean is…Every time we look at each other something happens and...and, well, we wind up hopping into bed together." She finished, watching the glint in his eyes, trying to interpret its meaning.

He ran his hand down the side of her cheek, "And, what's so bad about that, hmmm? We are married you know. Don't you know by now, my love, that it's not just lust that pulls us together? Haven't you wondered at your own motives for begging me to make love to you?"

Eliza couldn’t believe that she had heard him correctly. He had called her his love! But he was always trying to woo her with his charm. That was obviously what he was trying to do now. Anger began to flare in her aqua eyes, "What did you say? Begging you to make love to me!" She shrieked throwing herself at him with a the vehemence of a small lion.

They fell back on the bed, and Rafe landed on bottom with her leaning over him in a threatening manner. It was ludicrous. How had she managed to turn the tides on him so quickly? He felt uncontrollable laughter roll over him. He couldn’t keep a straight face.

"I begged you!" She sputtered with rage as she straddled him with her hands on his throat.

Rafe laughed. His face was turning red from the choke hold. "Yes," he squeaked, beginning to think she would strangle the life from him if he did not do something quick. He grabbed both of her wrists and flipped her on her back, quickly turning the tables on her.

"Now," he said with a rakish glint in his eye, pulling her hands above her head, "I want you to admit that you begged me to make love to you."

Eliza clenched her teeth for battle, her cheeks flamed fiery red. "No," she answered, snapping her teeth together, trying to pull her hands from the steely hold. It was frustrating for he held both her hands with just one of his.

Rafe smiled. This was going to be quite pleasurable. He trailed one lean finger down the length of her neck and lowered his head, placing feather light kisses over her eyelids.

"Stop that!" Eliza sputtered, moving her head from side to side, trying to avoid his disturbing touch. She arched her back, pulling with all her strength, until she fell back exhausted. A wisp of golden hair got caught in the corner of her mouth. She could not remove it. Her tongue flicked at it, and she tried to spit it out, but it would not budge. Her eyes smoldered with pure white-hot fury.

Rafe watched her small pink tongue with pleasure flashing in his loins. She was beautiful, even with, especially with, her hair wild about her shoulders, and her gown strap slipping down her arm, revealing the top of one perfectly formed breast.

Eliza watched as his eyes lit with the flame of desire and fairly screeched with her inability to help herself. "This is an outrage!"

Rafe chuckled deep in his throat, raising his head to peer into her eyes proclaiming in mock horror, "Isn't it though?" Some of the teasing light in his eyes dimmed. His voice softened, "Ah, minx, you know you love it. Now admit it, that's all I'm asking."

Eliza's chin jutted out rebelliously. She would die first! She stared with fascination at his lean, well-muscled thighs straddling her body. She could smell a faint whiff of leather. He was entirely too close for comfort. She shifted again, feeling her legs almost go numb.

"Will you get off me? " She grumbled, her face becoming a shade darker.

"Not yet," He felt a keen desire to see her squirm.

Rafe watched as she silently battled her feelings. With slow deliberation, he began unbuttoning his shirt. Within a few moments, it was tossed out of sight.

Eliza inhaled a deep breath at the sight of the hard planes of his chest in the firelight. He was magnificent, and he knew it! She turned her head from the sight of his glistening muscles.

Rafe chuckled, a slow deep, husky sound, turning her head back to face him. "Admit it, Eliza," he said, his voice a mere whisper in the dim light.

She shook her head slowly, biting her lip.

"Ahhh, well. This calls for more persuasion, and I do like persuasion." He reached over snatching the belt to her robe, his eyes glinting meaningfully.

Eliza's eyes shot daggers and she fought with all her strength. "You are a despicable cad! A lowlife rapscallion with no concern for anyone but yourself!"

He grinned, thoroughly enjoying himself. He cocked his head to one side. "Now, don't try to sweet talk me. You know I find that irresistible." He quickly looped the piece of cloth about her wrists and tied the ends to the bedpost.

Eliza kicked at him, flashing a good amount of honey-toned skin. "I... You will pay for this!"

He threw back his head and laughed. It was good to see her, for once, totally at his bidding. Lord knew she had had him so since the day he had first set eyes on her. "Oh, sweetheart. I already have."

She said in a slow steady voice, "Enough of this, Rafe. Let me go!"

Rafe stood back, admiring the sight of her heaving bosom. He put a finger to his lip, as if deep in thought, then crossed to her. "Let's see, something here doesn't fit." With a flash, he reached down ripping her gown from top to bottom.

To say that she was angry was a huge understatement. "You're a vile, despicable character. It will be rape!"

"Seems like I've heard this before." He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Shame on you, Eliza. You know you love me. You just won't admit it. Not to me or to yourself. Besides, I don't know if a husband can rape a wife, do you? I mean, I don't think a court in the land would go against me."

Eliza drew in a shocked breath. Of course she had not admitted she loved him. The nerve of the man. He would enjoy that! "In Louisiana, they don't like men who are not gentlemen. No doubt where you're from, backwater country, they allow this sort of thing to go unpunished, but," and here she paused to catch her breath, "I think they hang them for it here."

Rafe leaned close, his eyes so close she could she tiny white flecks in the irises she had never seen before. "Now, Eliza, that's a low blow," his voice dropped an octave. For emphasis, he trailed a finger down between her breasts. "Insulting one’s ethnic upbringing. You keep forgetting that we're married."

"I rue the day! I can't believe I was stupid enough to believe you were a man of honor." She said, turning her head. She could not bear to look at him.

He admired her profile for a moment, "Listen, Eliza. I had to best of intentions when we got married." She turned to glare at him in disbelief, his tone became more defensive, "I really thought we might pull this off, you know, catch Keeling, and part as friends with a job well done. But, honey, what can I say? Your charms have disarmed me."

He said this last part with his hand to his chest like a man taking an oath on the witness stand. It was a miserable attempt to gain some ground with her. It didn’t work. The man was a worm.

"I have had enough of your theatrics, Rafe. Now loosen my wrists and get off me."

Her tone was such that had he been a man easily daunted, he would have complied immediately, but he was wise to the ways of domineering women. You had to be firm with them.

Eliza realized that her valiant effort of bravado hadn’t worked when she saw his lips descending toward hers. "I will bite."

He grinned at this. With a wiggle of his eyebrows he said, "I like it when you're frisky."

"You...," was all she got out before his lips were on hers.

He began to do things to her, each one calculated to bring her to a fevered pitch. She could no longer distract her mind from what he was doing. She was beginning to whirl in a sea of desire. She couldn’t stand much more of this. She had to make one last appeal to him or she wouldn't be able to deny her feelings. She tore her lips from his, "Rafe, please. Be logical about this. You have lost sight of your objective."

His lips smiled against hers. He lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers, "I never lose sight of my objective, Eliza, and my objective right now is to make love to you."

He kissed her, a deep drugging kiss, "Tell me that you feel it, too, Eliza, that we were meant for each other. From the first...." His voice was husky now, heart wringing.

Eliza half sobbed in surrender as his lips captured hers in a soul-shattering kiss. Her arms ached to feel him. His lips were like fire, consuming her, flitting, teasing her out of her mind. "Yes! Yes!"

Triumph flared in his sapphire eyes which where no longer cool but blazing with the heat of his passion. "Yes what, Eliza?"

Her eyes closed tight, blocking his face from her vision. Silent tears streamed down her heated cheeks, "I feel it! But it's just the passion of the moment. That's all."

Rafe smiled at her determination, catching a tear on the tip of his finger. She had to be the most stubborn woman alive. "I think you feel a whole lot more darlin’, but you'll never admit it." The words came from deep within him and flowed like a warm current reaching out to her.

"You're right. I'll never admit it!" Eliza said almost shouting.

He grinned, his ebony mustache twitching. "Oh, yes you will. Besides, it's simply not true, and you've wounded me by saying so."

"What's not true?" She asked, feeling like her entire mind was becoming muddled.

His lips seared a path across hers. Just as she began to respond to his deepened kiss, he withdrew looking down at her flushed face with a strange light kindling in his eyes. "That you feeling nothing but...lust."

"I didn't say lust!" She was indignant. "I said passion. There's a difference, you know." She nodded her head for emphasis.

"You are right I think there is a difference. I could show you the difference."

Eliza smiled, a totally sarcastic smile, "I somehow thought you were going to say that."

He ignored her sarcasm. "Now, lust," Rafe breathed sliding his body down the length of hers. "My dear, Eliza. Lust is a very strong sexual desire, a little wicked, like what I feel for you at this moment." His tongue and lips trailed a heated path down the side of her neck and ended on her right breast. "That's a small sample."

Eliza bit her lip to keep from groaning at the pleasurable flash that nearly melted her bones. He knew every move to make. It angered her to think of where he had acquired this knowledge. With a frown, she muttered through clenched teeth. "It is disgusting!"

"It can be, yes, but that's not what we feel for each other is it, darlin'?"

Eliza was fast losing control. Her anger flared at his cavalier attitude. To avoid his gaze she looked up at her bound wrists, angrily working at the tie. She looked down quickly as she felt the knot slip. It wouldn’t do for him to notice now. She was almost free. "Oh, no, darlin'," she said with a mimic of his South Carolinian accent, "we really do feel much more for each than that." She purred, fairly begging for a kiss with her eyes. He promptly obliged.

She was giving in. He could feel it. He was really getting involved in the first willing kiss of the evening, when, without warning, he was knocked off the edge of the bed. He landed in a very undignified heap, feeling sure his tailbone was bruised.

"You little-," he was going to add hellcat, but the word was knocked from him by the force of her body landing on his. He was thrown backwards. The only padding was from the rug before the fireplace. He lay for a full moment, trying to regain his breath, when both of her hands closed about his throat.

She leaned close, her face very red and near to his. For a moment, he thought she might kill him. He had underestimated her again. He had meant this to be a lesson for her, to make her admit that she cared for him. Now, it had backfired.

"I ought to choke the life out of you for trying such a low-down snake crawling tactic!"

Rafe sputtered, laughing uncontrollably, his voice coming out in pants. Every time he sucked in air her grip tightened. "And here I was being careful with you, thinking you were ill." He said, his voice sounding decidedly squeaky.

"Careful!" She shrieked, "You had me trussed up like a chicken. I ought to torture you till you scream."

Rafe pulled her hands from his throat and, with lightening speed flipped her over, landing on top of her. Tangled in the curtain of her golden hair, both were flushed with the heat of passion. His lips devoured hers, swallowing her dwindling words of protest. Her arms slid around his neck. The rough hair of his chest against the sensitive tips of her breasts sent waves of desire coursing through her.

She laughed, and they fell to the floor with exhaustion, each nearly breathless with the intensity of their struggle.

Firelight danced over their glistening bodies. Rafe raised up rubbing the marks on his neck, "You did nearly choke me to death, you know?" He was enjoying the sight of her hair splayed out around her head like the halo of an angel.

She looked at him with an arched brow, "At that precise moment I meant to kill you."

"I believe it," he said, his eyes raking her body. She reached out for him. With a smothered groan, he came to her, whispering huskily in her ear. "Hmmm, I love for you to torture me...."

As the night lengthened and the glow in the fireplace dimmed Rafe thought he heard Eliza murmur something. He looked down at her with tenderness. He had been watching her sleep for the last hour. Bending his head close, he placed a kiss near the shell of her ear.

She smiled in the moonlight snuggling closer to him. "Hmmm, I love you...."

The words were as soft as a feather drawn across his skin. His breath caught in his throat with raw emotion as he stared into her angelic face within the circle of his arms. He vowed to himself that one day she would admit it freely that she loved him. He grinned ruefully into the darkness. He was married to a woman that he loved desperately, but she would not admit that she loved him, at least, not while she was awake. He supposed after all his years of womanizing he was finally getting what he deserved.

She stirred, slipping one long, slim leg in between his thighs. He bit his lip at the sensation it evoked. He smoothed back the curtain of her golden hair as she snuggled her head against his chest. Good Lord! He had just spent the last few hours making very thorough love to her, and now it was as if he had not touched her for days so intense was his desire. Yes, he added to himself, Rafe Hamilton, you are being paid back--and dearly.

His passion cooled as his thoughts traveled to Keeling. He looked back down at Eliza as a tremor of unease shook him. What if somehow Keeling got to her? He gritted his teeth in the darkness, little realizing the tightness of his hold until he heard a murmur of protest from Eliza.

He quickly loosened his hold and took a deep calming breath. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that Keeling would appear when they least expected. The fact that he hadn’t struck before now was something of a marvel to him. What was he planning? Deep within him, he knew that somewhere at this very moment Keeling was probably laying a trap for one or both of them. The man was capable of anything.

He rubbed his forehead absently, sighing in the darkness. He hadn't told anyone that he had received a message from Captain O'Reily who thought he had the name of Charles Fontaine's murderer. Captain O'Reily should have arrived in New Orleans two days ago, but as yet there had been no word of his arrival. He was anxious to speak with him.

Rafe allowed his head to drop back onto the pillow. He drew Eliza closer to him for the few remaining moments until dawn. He savored the sensation of having her next to him, knowing sleep would elude him until he rose in less than an hour's time.

Chapter 18

Winston Keeling stared into the amber liquid that swirled in his glass and fingered the scratches down the side of his face. He cursed the harlot that had put them there. But he had shown her. He chuckled in the darkness, bending forward to poke at the fire in the hearth. His face was lit with a demonic gleam when he thought of the power and satisfaction he had felt when he had squeezed the life from her body. She had mocked him...and no one...no one mocked Winston Keeling III. Besides, nobody cared who had killed the harlot.

Once again, he went over his plans. Already the excitement was building. Victory was almost close enough for him to touch it.

He knew there was to be a big Christmas party at Magnolia Hill. He also knew there would be plenty of people there. He could therefore lurk about unnoticed. He grinned. It was too good. His loins hardened at the thought of having Eliza finally to himself. Alone. He smiled even wider as he visualized blood pouring from Rafe's body. Nothing give him more pleasure than to see Rafe's lifeless body lying at his feet.

He took another drink, dropping the poker with a thud on the floor. Sparks flew unheeded to the Aubusson rug to flare briefly then die.

Yes, he thought, staring at a burned spot forming on the rug, it would feel good to kill Rafe Hamilton. The man had been a thorn in his side for far too long. He had cheated him for the last time.

Winston Keeling fell into a slobbering, unconscious heap as the morning arrived, feeling none of cold that seeped into the lonely mansion.

* * *

Dawn appeared with a scarlet hue reflecting off the trees. Rafe shivered as he climbed from the warmth of Eliza's side. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to climb back in, but he resisted it. No doubt she would be as mad as a cat with its tail smashed this morning. A warm grin curved his mouth as he stared down at her in her beautiful disarray. He watched for a moment as she dragged his pillow over hugging, it to her chest.

Rafe saddled his horse, brushing the sleek coat with a gloved hand. He turned, smelling a horrible odor that seemed to be emanating from Tiny, who sat rubbing some salve into a leather saddle.

Rafe wrinkled his nose, it was certainly not the best fragrance to greet one first thing in the morning. "What in blue blazes is that noxious stuff, Tiny?"

Tiny grinned, holding the pot closer to Rafe out of sheer contrariness. An almost visible vapor emanated from the pot. Rafe stepped back holding a hand up.

Tiny chuckled, "Don't know, Master Rafe. Poteen done and make it. She been makin' it for years and it's de best stuff for leather I ever saw." He threw back his head and laughed a deep booming sound. "But it shore is awful smellin'."

Rafe grimaced nodding, "You're right about that."

The sound of a horse caught their attention. The rider hadn’t come the side road by the river, but came riding up the oak alley, giving away the fact that he was a stranger to Magnolia Hall. Rafe shielded his eyes from the early morning sun streaming through the trees. A slow smile began to form on Rafe's firm mouth as he recognized the familiar seat of the rider. No one rode like...

"Lemuel!" Rafe threw the reins he held to Tiny.

Lemuel’s eyes danced with mischief as he jerked his horse to a skidding halt, jumping from the saddle. With one swoop, they were patting each other on the back.

Rafe's eyes were warm with affection, "Damn good to see you, Lemuel."

Lemuel looked around him with appreciation at Magnolia Hill's magnificence. With a whistle, he remarked, "I couldn't believe it when I first set eyes on this place. It's quite something, isn't it?"

Rafe looked at the tall columns of Magnolia Hall and nodded, "It is a tribute to the man who built it."

Lemuel, longing to lighten his friends solemn mood, teasingly said, "I can't wait to meet your wife. Wife! I can't believe it! And, my friend, I believe that you owe me one hundred dollars."

Rafe grinned, "Yes, I have been bitten. I knew you wouldn't forget that hundred dollar bet." Rafe's face became serious, "Is River's Bend all right? Your letter said the tobacco harvest was better than last year's."

Lemuel was distracted for a second as Tiny took his horse. "Yes, it was really better than the last five years. We lost but a smattering to rot."

As the two climbed the stairs to the house, Lemuel admired the more than twenty columns that marched around the gallery.

Poteen opened the door before Rafe's hand settled on the knob. She said without batting an eyelash, "You must be Lemuel, hummm? It is good that you have come. Rafe needs you."

Rafe was shocked to say the least that Poteen already knew Lemuel's name. "How did you-"

Poteen cut him off, "I believe you mentioned him coming at supper one night."

Rafe laughed, his face clearing. Yes, that must be it, but he wore a troubled frown as the introductions were made and they were settled in the library with a snifter of brandy in their hands.

Lemuel settled himself back in a handsome leather chair, taking a drink of the amber liquid. "When am I to meet this extraordinary woman, my friend?"

Rafe grinned at the anticipated effect Eliza would have on his friend. She would undoubtedly render him speechless. As if on cue a knock was heard at the door. Rafe crossed the floor to answer it. He was momentarily stunned at the vision of Eliza in a figure-hugging dress of emerald velvet. With a look that spoke volumes, Eliza swept past him and turned her most charming smile on Lemuel. Lemuel could scarcely utter a syllable.

Rafe watched in amusement as Eliza added another scalp to her belt. His mouth twisted in wry humor. If Lemuel hadn't been his best friend in the world, Rafe felt he would have already slapped the man silly for slobbering all over his wife's hand. Well, slobbering was a slight exaggeration, but Lemuel did seem to be hanging over it for an inordinate amount of time.

Rafe cleared his throat, feeling it was necessary to get the big lug's attention. "Eliza, this is my very good friend, Lemuel Hanks, who has been keeping an eye on River's Bend for me. And, Lemuel, his is my wife, Eliza."

Eliza's eyes met the warm brown gaze of Lemuel. She smiled demurely. "It is so nice to have you here. Please, feel welcome to stay as long as you wish." She flashed a go-to-the-devil look at Rafe before continuing, "Any friend of Rafe's is a friend of mine and all at Magnolia Hill."

"Thank--Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. I do believe that's the nicest welcome I've ever had." He flashed a grin at Rafe, totally convinced that this was the most beautiful woman ever born.

Rafe saw the look and felt the renewed itch to slap him.

"Please call me Eliza, Lemuel. Now, I know you two men have a lot to discuss so I will leave you now. I have to see about some preparations for the Christmas cotillion." She smiled in Lemuel's direction. Rafe thought he had never looked more stupid. "I'm so glad that you've arrived in time to attend."

"So am I," Lemuel said with a wide grin.

Rafe suppressed his irritation, and they both watched as she glided from the room. Rafe was made very much aware by the fact that she hadn’t even looked at him on her way out that the battle lines had been drawn. He knew that she had not forgiven him for last night. He turned as Lemuel started speaking.

"Rafe, you lyin' dog! You said she was attractive in your letters, but---but..." words failed him. "Well, all I can say is, if you hadn't married her, I would have found a way to do so myself." He fell into his seat with a soundless whistle.

Rafe's mouth twisted in wry humor as he crossed his arms, waiting for Lemuel to finish.

Lemuel rubbed a hand across his forehead in a weary manner. "I thought," he said with a look of chagrin on his face, "well, I knew that you hadn't given up on finding Keeling. I really thought you might have become quite taken with this woman, and, well now that I've seen her...." He shook his head, pushing himself up straighter in his chair, he continued. "I now know why Keeling has hung on to this one for so long. Rafe, with this place and her. It was perfect. He was already counting the money."

Rafe crossed the floor pouring them another brandy from tray. Lemuel accepted gratefully giving, his friend a concerned look. "Have you heard anything new?"

Rafe took a sip from his glass, allowing the soothing feeling of the warm liquid to seep into his system and glanced at the mantel clock. "I received a note from Captain O'Reily. He wants to see me. He's staying at the Planter's Hotel," he crossed to his leather winged backed chair and took a seat. Rafe looked rather thoughtful, "I haven't said anything to Eliza, but his note said he had proof that her father had been murdered."

Lemuel whistled softly, "What, a witness?"

Rafe shook his head, "I don't know. He didn't say, but I knew something had to break before long. Damn it, Lemuel, even if we have proof, it won't do any good if Keeling can't be found. And the Lord knows, I've more than tried." He rubbed a weary hand across his face. "It's as if he's dropped from the face of the earth."

Lemuel's eyes narrowed keenly, "Well, you can bet your last dollar that he's still around, somewhere close. You think so, don't you?"

"I'm sure of it, but neither I nor my men have been able to uncover a trace of his whereabouts. I did find evidence of one place Keeling had been." Rafe opened a small drawer in the desk, pulling out a velvet case. Without a word, he opened it to reveal the winking gems of his grandmother's necklace.

Lemuel nearly spilled the contents of his glass, "Good Lord man! You never wrote me that you had found it!"

Rafe grinned, "Calm down. I just located it at a jeweler’s in New Orleans. He couldn't remember anything really, but he did describe a man fitting Keeling's description, and I did manage to buy it back from him at a reasonable cost." Rafe's lips twitched with amusement.

Lemuel laughed, "I just bet you did. What did you do? Choke the man blue."

Rafe coughed uneasily, "Well I did get rather rough with the man before I realized it." He looked down at the necklace, "I'm going to give this to Eliza on Christmas Eve."

Lemuel shook his head, replacing his glass on the table, "She'll love that. Now, when are we going to see O'Reily. I am going with you, aren't I?"

"Of course," Rafe looked at his pocket watch and was surprised to see it was nearing ten o'clock. He flipped the gold cover closed and rose from his chair.

"If we leave now, we could be there this afternoon." He frowned, "That means we'd have to travel back after dark. I've been avoiding as much night travel as I can lately. I wouldn't like to give Keeling a prime opportunity to put a hole in my back."

Lemuel grimaced, "Damn right, we'll take no chances." He shrugged, "There's no help but to come back tomorrow."

Rafe shook his head, his steely blue eyes hardening, "I’ll be hanged if I'll let him scare me, but I sure as hell won't leave Eliza here alone."

Lemuel took note of the fiercely protective snarl in Rafe's voice. He thought to himself that Rafe had finally fallen in love. "You're right, this is probably what Keeling is waiting for, to get her alone. But really, Rafe, you do have a couple of guards, and don't forget, there's the house staff."

Rafe clamped his teeth shut, "Yes, but I wouldn't feel right not being here. I would never forgive myself if something happened."

An hour later, after saying good-bye to Eliza, they were riding toward New Orleans at a fast gallop.

Captain John O'Reily walked wearily back to his room, looking around cautiously before entering. One could not be too careful, especially after what he had learned, or rather had confirmed, on his last voyage. The cabin boy had come forward with his account of Charles Fontaine's death. He winced as he pulled off his shirt. His shoulder ached unbearably every time he sat foot in this town. He grinned, lighting the tip of a slightly bent cigar. Nothing agreed with his old bones but the sea.

He sat down at a chair beside the bed, stretching out his legs which still felt the movement of his ship. He was just too damn old to be chasing murderers. Hell and damnation, though, he owned Charles. He smashed the glowing tip of his cigar out, muttering to himself. Yes, he was just too old to go chasing Claude Dupree, but Rafe Hamilton was not. That was why he had sent for him.

He took out his pocket watch, looked at it, and snapped it closed. Hamilton was late. His frowned wondering about this man who had married sweet Eliza. At first, he had been worried upon hearing that she had wed, fearing that she had married that Keeling man he had met the day he had brought her the bad news.

A frown returned to his weathered brow. Claude Dupree, from what he could find out, was a snake. A man who could be hired to do just about anything for the right amount of coin. The question was just who had hired him and why. He sighed wearily, his head lolling back against the chair. A lead weight settled in the region of his chest to think that Charles had died that way. A searing rage burned through him. If somehow he could have prevented such a tragedy, but a man like Dupree would have found a way, if not on his ship, then in London or New Orleans. He thought of the cabin boy, Tom, in the next room. He was as bright as they came, and he had summoned the courage to tell what he had seen.

He pulled off both of his boots, allowing them to fall with a loud plop on the floor. He yawned, rubbing both sides of his head up and down, making his bushy sideburns stick out like gray horns.. He peered in the dim light at his pocket watch. Rafe Hamilton had better hurry or he would be sound asleep.

He lay on the bed, crossed one foot over the other, and waited, snoozing lightly, until he heard a knock upon his door. He closed his mouth with a snap and raised his head, staring at the solid wooden door. He licked his lips. His mouth felt as dry as Africa.

"Must be Hamilton," he muttered, coughing dryly and made his way to open the door.

Rafe stared at the man in the open doorway and quickly smothered a grin. The man had obviously been asleep and looked it with his hair sticking out and his clothes all askew.

He stuck out his hand, "I'm Rafe Hamilton," he said, turning to indicate Lemuel, "This is Lemuel Hanks. I apologize if we woke you. We got a late start today."

Captain O'Reily grunted, shaking their hands, "Oh, I wasn't asleep. My name is John O'Reily, captain of the ship Elizabeth." He seemed to take the measure of Rafe and Lemuel. After a few seconds he seemed to make up his mind.

Rafe did grin then, casting a quick look at Lemuel who was also smiling.

The captain motioned to a couple of stiff-backed chairs in the room, "Have a seat. I need to rouse the boy." he said then added in way of explanation. "The boy saw the entire incident."

Rafe's eyebrows rose. It was as he had hoped-- a witness, good. Now, if the boy could positively identify the man who had killed Charles Fontaine, the ball could start rolling. With an air of too-long-held tension, Rafe rubbed a hand through his ebony hair and waited.

A sandy headed boy of about thirteen entered the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His eyes darted about the room taking in the sight of the two men with Captain O'Reily. His eyes riveted on Rafe.

Rafe smiled at the boy, seeking to put him at ease, "Captain O'Reily tells us that you saw something the night Charles Fontaine died." Rafe saw the look of apprehension flood the boy's face and sought to reassure him, motioning for him to sit down.

The captain placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, "Tom, these men are trying to catch the man who murdered Charles Fontaine...just tell them what you told me...hmm."

Tom swallowed. His voice was but a whisper as he spoke as if the evil man he had seen would swoop in before he could tell. "I saw a man come from the shadows. He was a hidin' in the corner of the storage cabin. At first, I was just tryin' to get out of the storm. Then, I tripped and landed next to the rail, and that's when I saw it happen." The boy’s eyes searched the surrounding faces of the waiting men, obviously feeling important with them hanging on his every word.

Rafe leaned forward, urging the boy to continue.

Tom swallowed, warming to his story, "And that's when I saw him! He whacked that old man over the head with a club and kicked him into the sea...." The boy shuddered at the memory his words evoked.

Rafe groaned, rubbing a weary hand across his face in irritation and snapped out louder than he meant to. "What did the man look like? Did you see his face?"

Tom leaned back in his chair, gaining some distance from Rafe. "Yes, I saw him. He looked around making sure no one saw him," Tom stopped, looking around at the adult faces crowing proudly, "But I saw him, and he didn't see me."

John O'Reily said with marked aggravation, "What did he look like, Tom?"

Tom frowned pushing his unevenly cut bangs straight into the air looking around, "Just hold on! I was about to tell you!" He screeched with his childish voice cracking with more than a bit of anger at being made to rush so.

Rafe smothered a grin, if he was not so anxious to find out just how much the boy knew he would have laughed out loud at the exchange he had just witnessed. But he did, turn his head away so no one could see his face before turning back as the boy continued.

"He was short and skinny, and he had black hair. Like yours," he pointed at Rafe's head.

Rafe groaned audibly, that description only fit about ten thousand Creoles in New Orleans. "Was there anything else about this man? Anything at all?"

Tom screwed his face up, making several of his many freckles run together. Then, his face cleared like the sun coming from behind the clouds. "Yes, yes, there was something else! He had a scar that went across his face like this!" He added with excitement making a slashing motion across his right cheek.

Captain O'Reily patted the boy on the shoulder, "That will be all, Tom. You may go back to your room now."

Tom looked as if he would have liked to protest, but he did not taking one last look around before closing the door.

Rafe looked at the closed door for a moment, "Seems like the boy got a good look at him."

Captain O'Reily nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a tired sigh, "The man he just described is the lowest form of life. His name is Claude Dupree. One of my shipmates had seen him before, or knew of him, by reputation. It seems the man is for hire for any unspeakable act imaginable," he paused meaningfully, "including murder."

Rafe felt a ball of red hot rage form in the pit of his stomach, "Is this man a resident of New Orleans?"

Captain O'Reily nodded, "That's as much as I know." He looked at both men, rubbing the three day's growth of beard on his chin, "I don't mean to tell you what to do, but I would be mighty careful if I were you. I hear you're not from New Orleans." He gave Lemuel a questioning look.

Lemuel shook his head, "No, I'm not from New Orleans either," he grinned roguishly, "but I've been here a time or two."

Captain O'Reily did not smile, "The point I'm trying to make here is that this is Dupree's home stomping ground. He knows places to hide that you've never heard of."

Rafe nodded solemnly, and Lemuel shrugged with chagrin as his attempt at interjecting some humor in the situation died a quick death.

"That is why I've hired some local men," he frowned as he thought of how inadequate they had been up to this point. The three he had hired in town were beginning to prove themselves totally incapable of finding anyone. His frown deepened.

Lemuel read his friend's thoughts and added with vehemence, "Don't worry, Rafe. We'll bring this man to justice one way or another."

Rafe nodded, his thoughts whirling. He had known all along that Keeling had hired a man to do his villainy. Now it was confirmed, at least as far as he was concerned. He turned extending a hand to Captain O'Reily. "Thanks for all your help"

"Charles was a good man, a friend of mine." He shook his head sadly.

They shook hands and Rafe added, "The boy will need to tell the sheriff what he has told us here tonight."

O'Reily nodded, "I'll take him down first thing in the morning."

Rafe and Lemuel rode down the river road toward Magnolia Hill. Night was beginning to fall. Mist rolled in off the river, giving the Spanish moss an eerie look, like ghosts hanging onto the massive limbs of the ancient oaks.

There was a definite chill in the air. Rafe shivered, gathering his greatcoat closer to keep his teeth from chattering. The ride was quiet except for the sound of the horses’ hooves striking the hard packed clay mud of the road.

Rafe chewed the tip of his cigar. How was he going to tell Eliza that they now had proof that her father had been murdered. It was one thing to suspect it, but quite another to have it confirmed. A deep frown marred his brow. He did not notice as tiny, glowing bits of tobacco fell onto his coat. A cold wind blew off the water and Rafe knew a chill to the marrow of his bones. Any man who could murder an old man like that had a heart of stone. Hell, they did not have a heart at all.

Chapter 19

Eliza paced back and forth in front of the tall windows of the parlor. She was chewing on her thumbnail before she realized it. When she did, she jerked it from her mouth. Such a nasty habit. She peered out into the inky darkness and trembled. Where were they? Why were they so late? Rafe had said nothing to her before he left. That had hurt a little. She guessed she have expected anything after what had transpired between them last night.

Fear began to congeal in the region of her heart. What if he lay wounded somewhere out in the night? She shook her head sending, her loosely tied hair spilling down her back. Lemual was with him, surely, together they would be safe.

She looked once more out into the cold night and gave thanks for the nearly full moon. At least they would have that much light.

The cold of night had begun to seep into the room. Eliza walked to the fireplace, poking at the fire. She felt goose-bumps rise on her arms as she stared into the flames.

She watched transfixed as the fire leapt greedily, licking at the small sticks of wood. A faint smell of pine wafted about the room. It helped to calm her nerves slightly. She turned from the draw of the fire, crossing to the bed, and climbed in. At once, the comforting caress of the feather bed surrounded her with welcome arms.

A small flutter of movement stirred in her stomach. She drew in her breath sharply. A smile of affection curled her mouth. She felt the beginnings of motherly tenderness for small the wonder that she now carried. She was surprised that he had not noticed the slight bulge of her stomach and the fullness of her breasts. She felt a twinge of guilt for not telling him of the child she carried, their child. No, she shook her head, running her hands down to warm her arms through the lace of her robe. No matter what happened. If he left her she had the baby. She would not tell him until he cleared his mind of this demon of revenge.

She berated herself. Was she not also consumed by the need to see her Papa's death avenged? Mon Dieu! It was a certainty in her heart that Keeling had killed her father. She clenched her teeth and thought of the all time that had passed since her beloved Papa's death. She knew then a surge of the same revenge that had driven Rafe so relentlessly all these long months. She clenched her hands so tightly that her fingernails bit into the palms, and cursed the day that diabolical man had ever stepped into her life!

She tossed upon the bed. She could not rest. Her mind was in such turmoil tonight. The nagging worry of Rafe's whereabouts still gnawed at her insides. She got out of bed, pacing the room.

She turned, restlessly leaving the room, catching sight of herself in the tall, gilt hall mirror. If her papa were here. He would fuss at her for being such a worry wart and smooth her frayed nerves. Before long she would be laughing with him over something the servants had done, or over the antics of one of the local Creole aristocracy. She pressed her lips together and smiled for the first time in hours. Even though he was half Creole himself he always found their volatile tempers amusing when they came in contact with the "Americans." The Creoles had been up in arms since their arrival in 1803, but now the "Americans" had their own place in the garden district with their heavy, stately homes. Homes which Charles Fontaine had patterned Magnolia Hill after, much to the annoyance of his neighbors who insisted upon building their homes patterned after the light, airy style of their ancestors. He had staunchly defended his choice and bragged that it was the most handsome house on the river.

Oh, how she missed him. For the first time she admitted to herself the guilt she felt for her Papa's death. If she had been homely--- bah, that would not have helped. It was the money that had drawn Keeling. She rubbed at her temples to ease the beginnings of a headache.

She inhaled the fragrance of the pine boughs that Poteen and the other house servants had hung over every door for the Christmastide. It smelled like it always had when she had been a small child. She paced the room and prayed that her child would know the peace of a warm family life similar to her own. Sadly she realized that that might never be. She shook her head, trying to shake off the melancholy that settled over her. She should try to get some rest. She could not stay up all night worrying over him, it was not good for the baby.

She entered ‘their’ bedroom, as Rafe had insisted it be in every sense of the word, draped her robe over the arm of a rocking chair, and climbed into bed. Her eyes were so tired that they burned. Where was he? She propped herself up on pillows and waited for Rafe, saying a prayer for his safety. She did not bother to ask herself why she was praying for a man who she fought with at every opportunity. Deep inside, as frightened as she was of giving her heart to him, she knew that she loved him. She sighed into the darkness. For as surely as there would be a morning, she had fallen in love Rafe Hamilton, her supposed in-name-only husband. Ha, some joke that had been. She had known from the first moment when she had looked up and her vision had cleared that something irreversible was about to happen. And it had. She punched her pillow, "No, you don't have the second sight." But she did know trouble when she saw it, and Rafe Hamilton had looked like trouble from the beginning. She closed her eyes, and sleep slowly over took her.

Rafe climbed the stairs to the bedroom as the clock struck one o'clock in the morning. He felt bone tired and cold. A hot drink with Lemuel had helped somewhat, but not enough. He had decided long before they had ridden up the last stretch home that what he had to tell Eliza could wait until morning.

He opened the door and stood transfixed at the beautiful sight that met his eyes. The small fairy lamp beside the bed sent a soft glow over the sheer perfection of her features. A warm feeling encircled his heart at the sight of her. How had he ever considered that he could give this woman up? He must have been crazy. For he could never do it now. To be without her now would be like tearing the heart from his chest.

He felt the exhaustion flee from his body and his passion rise, surging through his body like a hot tide. He peeled his clothes from his body and slid beneath the sheets, gathering her pliant body close. She smelled of roses and murmured something sweet and unintelligible in his ear.

Her eyes fluttering open. She said, "I'm so glad you're home, Rafe. I was worried about you." She sighed, sleepily snuggling against him, innocently provocative as her breast brushed his chest.

Rafe groaned, nuzzling her neck, the warmth of her thawing the chill of his bones. "I'm glad I'm home, too," he whispered in between kisses. He knew that she was barely awake and he was ready and willing to take full advantage of this warm, sleepy woman. She groaned as he stripped the gown from her body. Her heated skin melded with his.

Rafe felt a fierce yearning more powerful than he had ever known before. The need be inside her was suddenly overwhelming, but he would wait. He wanted her so consumed with desire that she would never forget this night.

Eliza stroked the smoothness of his rock-hard chest. He felt so wonderful. She did not want to think of their last night together, of the fight and how they had ended up. She wanted tonight to be different. She rained tiny kisses up the length of his body. His large hands reached down, taking hold of her upper arms dragging her face to his. His breath mingled with hers and their lips met, it was a kiss of such undying tenderness that it sent ripples of wonder over her entire being.

"Eliza, say it, Eliza," his voice was a soft, husky plea.

She could see his grin in the darkness. It brought a smile to her lips. She didn't need to be reminded of what he wanted her to admit. It somehow seemed right that she do so. She laughed, pushing back her hair and sliding her body up the length of his, her breasts tantalizing his skin. "You'll never give up on that, will you?"

"You're right about that, sweetheart. I mean to have you in my life for always."

Eliza's heart sounded loud to her own ears. He sounded as if he really meant it. Tears burned her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. She bit her lip as he ran his finger through her hair, brushing it from her forehead.

He sighed, a deep husky sound, "Eliza, no matter what happens with Keeling." He propped himself back against the pillows, recalling the news he had yet to tell her. Perhaps he should tell her now.

He cleared his throat, "Eliza."

Eliza was very quiet, then, she said, "This has something to do with why you went into town today, doesn't it?"

Rafe took her by the arms and cursed to himself. This was going to hurt her. He dreaded to hear himself say the words. "We went to see Captain O'Reily. He had some information about your father's death."

Eliza’s breath was slightly ragged.

Rafe felt a warm tear fall on his chest. With a protective sound, he gathered her into his embrace. His lips touched her hair. "It seems the cabin boy saw everything. Your father was struck over the head. He was murdered, Eliza."

The cry was muffled, a faint sound, torn from her. Sobs racked her body as she clasped herself tightly to his chest. She whispered hoarsely, "I knew it--we knew it. I--I knew Papa did not fall overboard."

Rafe kissed the tears from her eyes and she buried her face in the curve of his neck. He brushed back the golden veil of her hair while she wept quietly. After a moment, he continued, wanting to get it over with. "The man was a hired killer. His name is Claude Dupree. The authorities are looking for him now, and I might add, Keeling is on their list, too."

Anger seared the edges of her heart, and she sucked in a gulp of air, as if stoking a small engine. She drew back from him. Her voice was husky with pain, and she said, "It's hard to believe that anyone could be that cold...that evil." Her voice was but a mere whisper, "It was all so he could get his hands on Magnolia Hill. How awful. To think that all Papa has worked for all these years got him killed."

Rafe nodded, placing another kiss on her emotion-heated lips. "I have often asked myself what would make a man turn into the monster that Keeling has become, and I find no answer except that he is the spawn of the devil."

Eliza fell back against the pillows, her mind whirling with images so black and monstrous that she opened her eyes to ward them off, but there was no stopping them. Her dear Papa had been murdered, Mon Dieu! It was too much! She rolled over and propped herself up against his chest. Her eyes glistened with tears in the moonlight. "Poor papa, it makes me sad all over."

"Don't worry. We'll get him. We’ll get them both."

His jaw hardened. Eliza peered up at him, "I hope so. It just seems like people like them always get what they want." She lay her head back down on his chest, crying softly.

He stroked the softness of her hair and made soothing sounds. After what seemed like an hour, Eliza's nerves seemed to calm down. They lay in the darkness, comforted by each other's nearness.

After a long, while she said, "I know that Papa would have approved of you, Rafe." She sniffed, biting her lip trying to staunch the flow of tears.

Rafe stilled his hands from tracing circular motions on her shoulder, "Hmmm? Sounds almost like a compliment is forthcoming."

Eliza's laugh was faint and slightly breathless, fanning his cheek. "He would have approved of you because you're strong and can handle me." She shrugged, "Well, he said that I needed a whole lot more than that, but I'm not going to tell you what he said."

Rafe laughed, throwing his head back on the pillows, "Oh, yeah. I handle you soooo easily."

A frown puckered her brow, "Are you being sarcastic, Rafe Hamilton?"

"Me? No, far be it from me." He held a hand to his chest in mock horror. "How can I do my job as your husband properly when I don't know all that you need, humm?"

Eliza slapped at his hand, giggling. Her knee slid between his in an accidentally erotic move. Her lips were devoured in his in an all consuming kiss. She drew back after a few moments, breathless. Her hands could not feel enough of him and she could not get close enough to the rock-hardness of his body. "You’re all I need, Rafe."

"Good," he whispered against her lips. He felt a ribbon of passion pull at his insides. He inhaled the fragrance of her, it was like heaven. The image of her in inky blackness was forever etched on his mind. He traced the outline of her delectable body with his hands, coming up to cup the fullness of her breasts.

Rafe heard her groan and quickly complied with her unspoken request. He rolled her beneath him and Eliza returned his embrace with more passion than he had ever dared hoped for. His hands molded her form to his, and they were quickly lost in a maelstrom of passion so intense and gratifying that it was as the first fingers of dawn slipped into the room before they lay in exquisite exhaustion in each other's arms.

Rafe held her close, savoring the sensation. A lugubrious grin twisted his lips. She still had not admitted that she loved him.

Eliza sighed like a contented feline, "Rafe, where do think.…Claude Dupree is now?"

Rafe rubbed his forehead, a gesture that had become a habit since his first encounter with Keeling. He dared not tell her that he also had a great fear that they hadn't heard the last of Dupree either. "I don't know, hon. Don't think about it, just sleep."

Claude Dupree swore under his breath as he dodged the foul liquid someone poured from a chamber pot from the balcony overhead. He cursed Winston Keeling with every breath he took. Now because of him, he was reduced to hiding in back alleys.

"What the hell...." He smothered something that resembled a scream as a sharp object pierced his new boots going through to the sole of his foot. He gritted his teeth and limped toward a shaft of light coming from the back of the barroom. He held his wounded foot up for inspection and saw a sliver of a whiskey bottle embedded in the leather. He pulled it free and silently vowed that when he got his hands on Winston Keeling, the smartass third, he would pay and pay dearly! The bastard still owed him the other half of his money. He had upheld his part of the bargain, he thought, with his jaw hardening. By damn, Keeling would hold to his.

Hell, he had had to hide out in London for two weeks to secure passage back. Anyway the way he figured it, Keeling owed him something for all the trouble this job had cost him, too.

He should have checked out who Charles Fontaine was. By not doing so, he had broken his own first rule, and that was to never, ever put himself at risk. He hoped he did not have to collect his money off Fontaine's daughter, but if he had to he would.

His black eyes burned in the fetid air of the alley. Keeling owed him. Come hell or high water, he meant to collect it and get the hell out of New Orleans. It had filtered back to him that people were looking for him, including the sheriff. A man of his reputation didn’t stand a chinaman's chance of talking himself out of the hangman's noose. His neck ached at the thought, and he swallowed back the urge to vomit as the smell of offal wafted up from an open gutter. He leaned against the rugged brick of a building and waited for the nausea to pass. It was then that he spotted a horse tied outside the barroom. A "kaintock" swaggered past in front of him. He momentarily tensed, the man was an big as an ox, but he need not have worried the huge bull of a man was merely trying to make his way down Basin street. He was more than likely going to a particularly bawdy bordello located there.

He shrugged. What did it matter to add horse stealing to his list of exploits? The poor bastard that owned the horse was probably so drunk he would not miss it for hours, possibly not until the morning. He smirked, one of the risks of spending your time with the dregs of society. He laughed silently at his own joke, slinking forward out of the shadows.

* * *

Winston Keeling wiped the bluing polish over the barrel of his pistol and grinned a feral grin, his teeth showing up white in the blue-black shine. Tomorrow, Eliza would belong to him, to do with as he pleased. He licked his lips in anticipation.

He placed the gun down on the table, admiring his handy work for a moment, then threw the rag he had used down beside it. He got up, stretching his back and looked out into the night. Was Rafe luxuriating right now in what he himself should be enjoying? Was Rafe now holding the delectable body, which belonged to him? Which should have been his! His fist was clenched tightly, and his knuckles showed up white against his tan. He could see a picture of Eliza moaning beneath Rafe reflected in the many tiny windowpanes. The image taunted him. In his mind, Eliza turned and looked at him and then continued to kiss on Rafe. He closed his eyes to shut out the image. As he climbed the curving staircase to his bedroom, he consoled himself with the thought that it would not be long before he possessed her, in every sense of the word.

Claude Dupree rode through the night. He had talked to a harlot who had given him Keeling's new place of residence. Keeling would pay him his money or else.

He found the abandoned mansion after riding around for hours. This did nothing to improve his mood. He had thought about sneaking in and cutting the cheat's throat, but after all, he was a businessman. He pounded on the door as loud as he could.

Winston sat up bolt right in bed. Who could it be he wondered? He swallowed, his mouth dry with fear. No one knew that he was here. Cautiously, Winston peered out his window, but he couldn’t see who it was. He ran down the stairs, grabbing his gun off the table, slinking closer to the door.

"Who is it?" he called, and his voice shook a little.

Claude grinned. The man sounded scared. He liked that. "It's me, Winston." Claude heard the sound of Winston gasp through the heavy door.

"Good God!" Keeling muttered to himself through clenched teeth, just who else was he going to run into? He slowly opened the door.

Claude entered the dark room, eyeing the gun Winston held. He smirked, his black eyes gleaming. Keeling had sure slid since he last saw him. He no longer looked like the rich planter's son. He looked very stressed.

"What do you want?" Keeling snarled without lowering the gun.

"You know what I want. I came for the rest of my money. And you can put down that gun before I take offense to having it pointed at my face."

Keeling lowered the gun. "I don't have it," but hastily added, "I will have it soon though. I have a plan."

Claude frowned, "I need it now."

Winton walked over to the liquor table and poured two drinks. "I've got a thousand, that's it."

"You owe my five! I got rid of Fontaine for you." He shrugged, "Granted, it wasn't a difficult job, but it has cost me a lot since. All of New Orleans is looking for me."

Winston took a sip of the brandy, "I tell you what, if you can wait two weeks, I'll double what I owe you."

Claude's eyes narrowed. He reached for the glass that Winston had poured for him. "How can you do that? Where do you plan to get the money?"

Winston grinned for the first time this evening. "I plan to marry Eliza Fontaine, and then her fortune will be mine."

Claude scoffed, "I heard she was already married."

Winston was not amused, "Where did you hear that? Well, it doesn't matter for soon she won't be. I intend to kill Rafe, and then her plantation and his will be mine."

"How do you know she'll marry you?" Claude asked.

Keeling picked up a bottle of strange liquid. I intend to kidnap her. She's pregnant," his lip curled in distaste, "I'll tell her I'll force her to drink this if she doesn't marry me."

Claude was puzzled, "What will it do?"

"It'll make her lose the baby," Keeling, said laughing.

Dupree took a drink of brandy, his eyes widened respectfully, "You know, I underestimated you, Keeling. You're much worse than I thought."

Claude walked over by the fireplace and stood for a moment, chewing on his lip, "Your plan just might work." He held up his finger, "But I'm broke right now. I'll take that thousand dollars, and I will be back for the rest."

Keeling stopped himself short of an expelled breath of relief. "Don't worry. I'll have it soon."

Claude stuck the thousand in his pocket, "You said two weeks, and that's what I'll give you."

Winston was greatly relieved as he watched Claude Dupree leave. He wiped sweat from his face with a shaking hand. This had to work or Claude would kill him.

Chapter 20

The next morning, Eliza awoke stretching out her arm. She came fully awake when she realized that Rafe had already risen. She yawned, pushing back her hair and looked out through the closed French doors. The cold had seeped into the room. The fire had long since gone out in the fireplace. She shivered a moment before braving to throw the covers off. She dressed and walked out into the hallway. A cloud hung over her good mood due to the news he had imparted last night.

She felt a keen desire to ride, ride like the wind. It had been days and days since she had ridden Storm. Since the day that she and Tiny had gotten the Christmas tree. She bit her lip for a moment in indecision. Rafe would no doubt have a fit, but the urge to ride was surging through her veins. She quickly reentered the bedroom and changed into her riding gear. With an expression of determination, she ran down the hallway and took the servants stairs out into the cool morning sunshine. With a quick darting glance about to make sure the way was clear, she ran like a streak to the stables, darting into the cold, dark interior.

Storm gave her a look of injured betrayal at her neglect. She rubbed his head and patted his sides, all the while cooing her apologies.

After a calming few pats, she had the saddle on and was leading him up to the stable door. She peered out into the cold morning and saw but only a few of the workers were milling about. She bit her lip wondering where Rafe was. She shrugged, he was probably enjoying a ride himself. With that thought in mind, she mounted her horse and rode slowly by the workers’ cabins skirting the edge of the fallow sugar field at the back of her property.

She rode like the wind down the old river road, in between trees that bent toward the river, as if whispering in a lover's ear. Storm's breath showed in frosty plumes, and the wind whipped hectic color into her face. She felt one hundred times better on horseback, riding with abandon, thinking of nothing. All too soon, she would be sitting in a parlor filled with old dowagers, gossiping about the latest scandal brewing in Natchez or New Orleans. Gossip mongers, she shuddered. They could be the social kiss of death to anyone. They could ruin one's life in a matter of moments and have not one qualm about doing so, but one had to invite them, or else. Several of them would be coming for the Christmas ball. No doubt, they will think it highly improper for her to be having a ball this soon after her Papa's death.

Well, she would not be hung as long as she wore black, which she fully intended on doing, and she would not dance. That would surely dig her grave. She gave her golden hair a toss and pulled at her glove. She would not think of the old bats today. She was out to have fun for a few moments. Besides, she knew that her father would have wanted her to have the holiday celebration.

She sighed, gazing into the cold, muddy river flowing by. It was turgid, the color of loess, lazily winding its way to the gulf.

Winston got off his horse to relieve himself and wondered about his own sanity for being out at this hour. No one would be out on a cold morning like this, at least, no one with half a brain.

He peered through the bushes with caution. It would be a terrible thing to be caught with one's pants down. He had ridden out this morning, staying a good distance from the road, going to the spot where he had been watching the house. He smirked, the guards Rafe had hired were pitifully inadequate. It was then that he heard the horse. Frantically, he pulled at his trousers and jumped behind a huge oak, pulling his horse behind him. He inhaled a rasping breath as he caught sight of the rider. It was Eliza! Without further thought, he reached blindly for the saddle horn unable to take his eyes from her. He was so startled to see her by herself that he fumbled and fell against the side of his horse muttering curses.

Eliza glanced up the road and was slightly unnerved by the distance she had ridden, so caught up was she in her reverie. She would have to beat Rafe and Lemuel back to the house or there would be hell to pay.

She pulled the reins and turned Storm about, shaken by the foolish impulse that had brought her out here by herself. She realized that she never should have done it about the time that she heard a thrashing sound in the trees. She caught a glimpse of a man jumping on his horse. She did not stop to think as she kicked Storm into motion.

She pushed Storm to an even greater speed as she saw the rider entering the road, giving chase. She and Storm flew down the hard-packed road as if all the hounds of hell were after her. Her heart caught in her throat in sheer terror and the almost certain knowledge that it was probably Keeling. Lord, was it him? Oh, no. What had she done?

Cold biting wind whipped up into her face. Her throat felt raw and dry. Tears from the burning wind streamed down from her eyes and she prayed a fervent prayer that she would make it.

Winston whipped at his horse frantically, thrashing his riding crop against the horse's sides, making the horse rear in protest. "Damn," he cursed, his breath was coming in raging gasps, he had had no idea that she was such a competent horsewoman. He tried to jerk his horse back to the ground but it reared again and the distance between them lengthened. His eyes blazed with fanatical fury and he jerked his horse once again, lashing his riding crop against its sides. The horse's eyes bulged out and it tossed its head from side to side trying to evade its tormentor. Winston gave a jerk of the reins and the horse gave up its rearing protest with its hooves landing heavily on the ground. The horse gave a great lurch nearly unseating him, and he charged after her with great clods of red earth flying in the air.

He clenched his teeth and resumed the chase, if he caught her it would have to be quick, before they reached sight of the plantation.

Eliza's heart pounded furiously within her chest. The air she sucked in burned on its way down into her lungs. It was as if she had run great lengths.

She was so terrified that, for a moment, it seemed that time was suspended. She clenched her teeth with determination. Storm sensed the urgency, and, like the fantastic horse he was, exceeded the challenge. She risked a frantic glance behind her, but her hair whipped into her face, and she could not see her pursuer. She crouched low over Storm's back and was thankful that he was the fastest horse she knew of.

The cold air stung her eyes as she urged Storm to an even greater speed. She mumbled a silent prayer, hoping this once joyful ride would not turn into disaster.

As they topped the small hill, Eliza saw the white columns of Magnolia Hill. Never had she been so relieved to see her home in her life! She turned her head and caught the barest glimpse of her pursuer. She was almost certain it was Keeling, but she could not be absolutely sure at this distance. The rider had stopped and was staring at her, obviously not wanting to come any closer to the house.

Storm did not slow down as they raced toward the back of the stables. Eliza drew in a relieved breath as she rode inside the back door, thankful that she had not been seen. Nervously, she jumped off Storm and led him to his stall. She peered out into the crisp morning air clutching the front of her blouse her breathing still ragged. The morning was as peaceful as when she had ridden out. The rider that had chased her was gone.

She gave Storm water and a rub down. She was thanking him when someone entered the stable. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes without turning around, fearing it would be Rafe. Her breath escaped in a relived rush as she heard Tiny's voice.

"Lord, Miz Eliza. Storm sure do look powerful het up. What's you been doin'? Out racin'?" Tiny's laugh died abruptly at the fearful expression on her face.

"What is it, Miz Eliza. What's the matter?"

Eliza raised a hand, pushing back a length of her hair, knowing that she looked a mess. Her laugh was shaky as she replied with false cheerfulness, "Oh, nothing, Tiny." She turned, giving Storm a last grateful pat, gathering her composure before turning back to Tiny. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to Rafe about my going out riding this morning."

A frown furrowed his brow, "Miz Eliza, you didn't have any trouble this mornin' out ridin', did ya? You know Masta Rafe, he done and had one fit bout you ridin' alone. He'd skin me alive if'n he knowed you was out by yourself this mornin'." He rubbed an agitated hand through the dark mat of his hair.

Eliza patted his arm, "Now, don't fret, Tiny. I didn't have any trouble---" The lie caught in her throat, but she continued, "just don't say anything, all right?"

Tiny muttered that he wouldn’t, then went about removing Storm's bridle. He looked after her as she left the stable and shook his head. That girl had always been as wild as any mustang. Thank the Lord that she had Masta Rafe to look after her now that Masta Charles was gone cause he shore could not keep up with her.

Eliza ran up the servant's stairs and quickly ran to her room. Only when she was safely inside and had closed the door did she truly allow herself to feel the impact of her ordeal. Had it been Keeling? Her teeth chattered together, and she wiped perspiration from her brow. The coolness of the room made her shiver.

She glanced in the mirror over her dressing table and her face looked pasty white under the red color that had been whipped into her cheeks. She looked awful! She thought of the conniption Rafe would throw if he knew of this morning's escapade. Well, she sure was not going to tell him there was no need, was there? She asked herself, peering once again into the mirror. After all, she wasn't absolutely sure it was Keeling, but whoever it was had meant to harm her.

She felt a chill run down her spine and was relieved to see that Milly had built a fire in the hearth. She stripped her sweat-dampened riding clothes from her body, quickly washed, then donned a simple long sleeved black gown.

It was then that she heard Rafe and Lemuel ride up below her window. She watched Rafe dismount and let the curtain drop, stepping back from the window. Guilt over her behavior made her swallow. She could have been in the hands of Keeling right now and not here standing before her own window. Rafe must not know she had been so stupid. She quickly left the room. Her nerves were still frayed, but she had to keep herself together or Rafe would find out how foolish she had been.

Rafe looked up at her as she descended the stairs, a hot rakish glitter was in the depths of his eyes. Eliza's breath hitched in her throat. His black hair lay across his forehead in wind-blown abandon. He was the most handsome man in the world, she thought, as her heart thudded in her breast. A warm feeling grew encircling her heart.

Rafe raised a cup of hot, steaming coffee up in a silent salute. His eyes gleamed at the memory of their night together. He ached, as always, to repeat it. She looked beautiful even in her mourning black. Her hair shone like gold in the morning light. She looked a tad pale this morning. He was about to comment on the fact when Lemuel stepped in front of him to take Eliza's hand.

"You're a balm to my eyes this morning, Eliza. May I escort you to breakfast?" Lemuel asked, giving Rafe a teasing look, quite pleased with himself.

Rafe resisted the urge to kick him in the seat of the pants as he sashayed Eliza toward the dining room. But that was not good enough for Lemuel, he could not resist a backward glance at Rafe, raising his eyebrows in a wicked fashion with an equally iniquitous grin curving his mouth.

Rafe was left behind, feeling a little put out at the fact that his wife had just been snatched from under his nose. With a wry smile and a shrug, he followed the two into the dining room.

Eliza was greatly relieved not to have to explain her appearance to Rafe and accepted Lemuel's debonair act with the aplomb of someone who had often enjoyed such behavior from numerous beaus, with not a small amount of enjoyment at Rafe's discomfort. Just when she almost dared to look behind her, Lemuel was standing, holding her chair for her. There was nothing to do but slide into it.

Breakfast was over, a fact for which Eliza was extremely grateful. Having to evade Rafe's questions about how she had spent her morning was a bit unsettling, but she did not have time to worry for they were interrupted by the arrival of their first guests.

Eliza had not spoken five words to Rafe in the interim. It was as if the floodgate had opened when those first two had arrived for, in the space of a few minutes, four more families arrived.

Poteen was in a dither, ordering the servants about with the aplomb of an army officer. The smell of roast pork turning on a spit mingled with the fragrance of sage and cinnamon in the morning air. Servants carried pies of every conceivable flavor from the kitchen to the already groaning buffet in the dining room. Meanwhile, Eliza served tea and tiny little cakes to Mrs. Dolcet, Mrs. Kincaid and their young daughters. Mrs. Dolcet's young son, Steven, of about ten, was amazed at the Christmas tree in the parlor. He could do nothing but stare at it and demand to know rather loudly why they did not have one at his house, much to everyone's delight.

Tiny took great joy to make their tree special and this year. He had really out done himself. Eliza pulled the small ornaments from a wooden crate Tiny proudly had brought to the house yesterday. Then they tied tiny boxes of gifts, small wooden toy canoes, farm animals, along with a host of tiny heavenly beings to the branches. All be taken down and given to the children to take home with them.

Rafe, Lemuel, and the husbands of the arrivals were ensconced in the parlor, drinking hot coffee and telling stories of their great hunting expeditions. Eliza could hear one of the men, she believed it to be Mrs. Dolcet's husband, expounding on such an unbelievable tale that she feared Rafe would not be able to keep a straight face.

"Sssppt!," Poteen motioning for her as she passed the servant's outside entrance to the kitchen.

"What is it, Poteen?" Eliza was concerned at Poteen's urgency.

"It's one of the Dulcey's children. He said he saw a strange man on a horse this morning. Do you think it could have been Keeling?"

Eliza swallowed uneasily and wondered if the boy had seen her, too! If they found out about her reckless morning ride she would never hear the end of it. Biting her lip, she replied. "Oh, I doubt it. It was probably someone from New Orleans that got lost."

Poteen's look became suspicious, then one of the kitchen servants called to her. She turned, her attention being diverted by some urgency in the kitchen. Turning back to Eliza, and said with ebony eyes gleaming, "Just so you know to be extra careful. It could very well have been him."

Eliza reached out to touch her arm in a comforting gesture, "Don't worry, Poteen. I'm sure it was nothing."

Poteen looked at her for a moment, as if contemplating adding something further, then the kitchen servant called to her again, "All right, all right. I'm coming."

Then, much to Eliza's relief, she left. Eliza felt, a chill of apprehension creep up her arm. Maybe she should have confessed to her morning's adventure? A worried frown puckered her brow, and she gave thought to who would have been chasing her, but she could think of no one but Keeling. No, she dare not tell Poteen for she would surely feel she had to tell Rafe. She too wasn't sure it had been Winston and Rafe would have a monstrous fit. She took a sip of hot coffee and squashed the guilt she felt at deceiving her loved ones.

Chapter 21

The Christmas ball was in full swing by time the cold rain began to slash at the mansion house. Winston muttered a mild expletive as he sat huddled behind a prickly holly bush. "Good God," he muttered to himself, "was nothing to go right this night?" Apparently not, for he had counted on Eliza coming outside for a stroll, then nabbing her, that was if the weather had held up, but it was cold. Terribly cold and wet. He shivered as rain like icy daggers slashed at his face and penetrated his great coat. With bloodshot eyes, he peered through the glass and saw couples dancing to the sound of violin and piano music.

He cupped his hands and breathed into them to try to warm them, stepping back from the window. The last thing he wanted at this point was to be seen.

He held his breath and sank back deeper into the bush, as he heard the guard making yet another pass around the house. Winston smiled, the man was a dolt. He could have killed him with the small stiletto he had tucked in his boot in a second if he had wanted to. But he did not want to draw undue attention by having a missing guard. Rafe would notice that immediately. No, he did not need that. What he did need was a way to keep warm until he saw his chance, and what better place than inside the house?

He looked around quickly then hugged the side of the house as he made his way around to the back where he had seen a trellis that was perfect for gaining entrance. As he took hold of the first rung and hauled himself upward, he heard the guard coming around again. He quickly pulled himself up, his body pressed against the side of the building, the brick biting into his cheek. He held his breath once more as the man walked past without looking upward.

He heaved himself up onto the balcony and breathed a sigh of relief as his feet landed on the firmness of the wood. He quickly flattened himself against the side of the house and edged his way around. The rooms he knew to be bedrooms were dark, except for the small light being given off by the hearth and a small fairy lamp.

Finally, he saw the room he wanted, the room he knew Eliza slept in with Rafe, but he would not think about that now or he would get too angry and would not be able to think clearly.

Many a night, he had watched her shadowy form move in front of these very windows. This was it. He tried to turn the knobs, but it was locked. He grinned it the darkness. Did they actually think this would keep anyone out, especially someone as determined as himself?

He reached inside his trousers and brought out a knife. With deft movements and oh, so quietly, he stuck it in the keyhole, turning it this way and that trying to feel...ah, there it was. With a sound louder than he would have liked the lock gave way. Sweat that had gathered on his brow began to run down his face. He turned rapidly to make sure no one had heard him. Seeing no one, with furtive movements he swung the door open just enough to edge inside.

He shuddered with the sudden unexpectedness of the heat and rubbed his hands together as the blood began to flow back into his fingers.

Eliza mingled among her guests and cast an affectionate look at Rafe, who had been waylaid by one of the worst "old hens" of the entire group, Mrs. Fontroy, a woman who claimed that royal blood flowed in her veins. She had not convinced anyone of this. Eliza walked over and took a chair flanking the wall next to a grandmotherly sort, Miss Chante'. Everyone called her "Miss" even though they knew her age to be about eighty.

Eliza's head began to pound, and she began to feel a tremendous headache coming on. She winced, as the music seemed to grow louder, even though she knew it was only the sudden pain in her temples. She saw Rafe leaning up against the wall, sipping at a glass of brandy and made her way through the crowd of swaying dresses, glittering jewels, and the smell of French perfume.

Reaching his side, she smiled up into the warmth of his gaze. He looked down at her, taking her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her palm. It was a totally sensuous motion that no one would have noticed.

Eliza's eyes glittered with kindled passion despite the pain in her head, "Rafe," she whispered huskily, "I need to go upstairs for a moment. I've developed a terrible headache. I thought a few minutes of quiet and a splash of cool water would help."

"Would you like for me to go up with you?" He asked, the flame of desire still shining in the blue pools of his eyes. "I have just the cure for this headache."

Eliza smiled and was tempted, "You know the gossip mill would never cease its chatter if we both went upstairs and left them to their own devices."

Rafe eyes kindled. He swept a quick gaze around the room and sighed, "I guess you're right, but, Madam, I can assure you that later--"

She grinned, putting a finger up to his lips. The man was incorrigible.

He grinned wickedly behind her finger before removing it.

Eliza felt the same excitement she always felt run through her veins and quickly squeezed his hand in affirmation. She made her way around the wall to the staircase and with, unhurried grace, made her way to her room.

Rafe watched the sway of her skirts as she climbed the stairs. He felt the warm stir of desire. He would never get enough of her. She was life and breath to him now. He would have no happiness without her. He looked up again, but she was gone. A small smile curved his lips. Someone asking him a question jerked him from his thoughts.

"Mr. Hamilton?"

Rafe turned, nearly sloshing the contents from his drink, "Yes?"

The man, a lawyer from New Orleans, overweight with a florid complexion, plopped a shrimp hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. With his mouth still full and particles of food on his lip, he asked, "I heard you're a tobacco farmer?"

Rafe swallowed, the hint of nausea he felt at the man's manners and answered, "Yes, I have a tobacco plantation on the Edisto River in South Carolina."

"Mmm, I suppose that you've noticed the great difference between our social clime and the one you're used to?"

Rafe's fingers tightened upon his glass and squashed a feeling of anger. The man had obviously had too much to drink.

"I always thought those women from Charleston were a tad too uppity. Every time I've gone there on business, I meet another planter's daughter and each one is haughtier than the last. It's only fittin' that you landed a Louisiana gal." He slapped Rafe on the arm and belched.

Rafe expelled a pent up breath. He sure hoped he didn’t have to entertain this one for long. He refused to let a drunk irritate him on behalf of all the Charleston women he knew. He allowed the irritation to wash over him.

"Yes, Mr.?"

"Johnson, Througood, Johnson." The man was obviously put out at having to repeat his name.

"Well, Mr. Johnson. It is a tad different here, but I find it most pleasant, all things considered. And I consider myself extremely lucky to have landed one of your Louisiana belles." Rafe smiled that famous million-dollar smile of his, and Lemuel raised his glass in salute across the room.

"Oh," Mr. Johnson frowned, he didn't know whether he or his state had been insulted or not. So he said, "Good food, Hamilton." And stuffed another piece of shrimp into his mouth.

Rafe nodded, "If you will excuse me. I think my friend is motioning for me."

"Oh, yes, of course." Johnson said, turning to catch a passing serving boy with a tray full of champagne glasses.

Eliza entered the darkened bedroom with a sigh of relief. The room felt pleasantly cooler than it had down stairs, with the crush of people. Her head pounded unmercifully, and she kicked off her shoes. She knew it was terrible for her to leave her guests, but she knew if she could just rest for a few minutes she would be all right. Walking over to the bed, she lay down, closing her eyes. Her head felt immensely better as soon as it hit the cool crispness of the pillow.

Winston inhaled an anxious breath and felt the tightly coiled excitement wind its way around his loins. He could smell the fragrance of her. With stealthy movements, he stalked toward the bed. A slim knife pulled from his boots was poised, a piece of strong cord and a kerchief were tucked in the back of his pants. The feral grin of success was already pasted on his evil visage. His nostrils flared like an animal scenting the excitement in the air.

Eliza's eyes fluttered open as a cold, wet breeze blew open the French doors. She raised her aching head and glared at it. She felt terrible. But get up she must for Poteen would have a fit upon seeing the puddle of water already pooling upon the polished wooden floors. With a muttered imprecation, she dragged herself up and made her way to close them.

Rain slashed at the enormous oaks, and rivulets ran down the small panes of the French doors as she pushed them shut against the now raging wind, but not before rain had dampened the front of her gown. It was a good thing that most of their guests were staying the night. She shivered. It would be awful to have to travel in weather like this.

"Just as papa used to say, a toad strangler!" She commented to herself, leaning her head against the cool panes. She felt her head pound. The sound of Christmas music drifted up to her and she smiled as she heard more than one off-key voice singing Silent Night. For a minute, she watched the rivulets of rain run across the verandah and smiled. Her father's favorite song had been Silent Night.

It was then that she detected a faint sound in the room turning quickly, but she was not fast enough. All she saw was a menacing face, in that split second she realized her own worst nightmare. It was Keeling, and he had come for her! She tried to dodge the blow that came crashing down on her head, but she could not. She felt a searing pain slash across her forehead. It occurred to her, as she felt herself falling into the black hole of unconsciousness, that she should have told Rafe that she loved him. Now, she might not get the chance.

Winston gave an almost silent chuckle of exultation as he flipped her over on her face like a rag doll and tied her wrists tightly. He then turned her over and thought about stuffing something in her mouth, just in case she woke, but thought better of it. After all, she might choke, and that would not suit his plans at all.

He threw her over his shoulder like a sack and began his slow descent down the side of the house. It would be very difficult getting her down, but he was sure that he could do it. She weighed very little.

Rain fell in torrents now. It slashed at his face and made it difficult to see. But one thing the rain had helped was the fact that no one would be out on a night like this, even the guard stood in under the eve of the kitchen, huddled in his greatcoat. He was busy trying to light a pipe, discarding one match after another, which had obviously drawn moisture and would not light.

Winston grasped the wrought iron balcony firmly. Shifting Eliza's unconscious weight, he placed his boot on the first step. A river of water ran down his face as took another look at the guard. He smiled, so far so good.

Rolls of thunder sounded like music in his ears. He could make good his escape and need not worry about every small sound. With surprising ease, he finally reached solid ground and inhaled a sigh of relief. Eliza was still out. He was thankful for that. He ducked beneath the limbs of a huge magnolia tree. Rain battered the thick, leathery leaves, and wind whipped the enormous limbs until the entire tree groaned.

He saw his chance and made his way toward the bridle path down by the river where he had tied his horse. He began to perspire heavily even though the rain was cold. He began to shiver.

Rafe stifled a yawn as the clock chimed the hour of two in the morning. Eliza had been gone for almost an hour and had surely fallen asleep. Most of the guests had been shown to their rooms, having stuffed themselves on suckling pig, roast beef and had become quite joyful with champagne. He had thought that they would never wind down. He was so exhausted that he almost glared at the one remaining guest still up. The lawyer, Mr. Johnson, was still stuffing himself. How could one man hold so much food? Rafe wondered to himself.

Rafe smothered another yawn at the thought of the traditional breakfast that the servants were already cleaning for. The massive feast they had just enjoyed was enough to last him for days.

Mr. Johnson belched loudly, "Say, Rafe. Did that beautiful wife of yours go up to bed?"

"Yes, I believe she has." Rafe said tiredly.

"If you don't mind, I believe I'll go up myself," he said belching again, " 'cuse me!" He jumped as thunder clapped loud enough to rattle the window panes. "Just vicious this storm we're having, isn't it?"

Rafe muttered a suitable reply and watched with relief as Poteen showed Mr. Johnson to his room.

Lemuel turned up his coffee mug, draining the last remaining drop and gave Mr. Johnson time to get beyond hearing distance. "Was Eliza sick? I thought it was rather unusual of her to leave her guests."

Rafe's eyebrow rose sardonically, "Were you upset that you couldn't moon over my wife for the entire evening, Lemuel?"

Lemuel grinned devilishly, fingering his chin nodding, "Ah, yes, I will confess, Rafe, she is the most beautiful woman."

Rafe grinned good-naturedly, replying, "Well, I think I'll go on up to bed. See you in the morning."

Lemuel watched a slightly envious as Rafe climbed the stairs and then sauntered down the hall to his room, his feet aching intolerably from standing almost the entire night, making pleasantries to, it seemed like, a hundred old ladies.

Rafe felt weary as he climbed the stairs, but he felt a warm wonderful feeling as he thought of curling up next to Eliza's warm form. He entered the room. The cold breeze from the open French doors to the balcony was the first indication that something was very wrong. He turned with a panicked expression toward the bed and saw that Eliza was not there. His heart began to pound so loudly in his ears that all he otherwise heard was the deep raspy sound of his own heaving breath.

He ran to the open French doors. Rain slashed his face like cold daggers and matted his eyelashes together in stiff spikes as he peered out into the darkness. His heart seemed to skid to a halt, as he spotted the scarf that Eliza had worn lying rain-flattened against the balcony railing.

A terror so intense seared through his heart that it momentarily robbed him of but one coherent thought. Keeling had somehow gotten past the guards and taken Eliza. Dear God! He had to find her! Right now, he could not think about what would happen if he didn’t.

Rafe ran out to the balcony railing and snatched up the soggy scarf. He searched the darkness for the guard who was supposed to be watching the back of the house. He saw him leaning against the kitchen with his wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes as if he were asleep.

Rafe, without coherent thought, turned running downstairs, taking the steps in great leaps. He pounded on Lemuel's door as he passed it. Lemuel stuck out his tousled head.

"What is it?" Lemuel asked seeing Rafe's panic stricken face run past his door without so much as a pause. Lemuel quickly rebuttoned his trousers and grabbed his boots. Following Rafe out the back of the house, he was just in time to see him grab the startled guard about the neck, sliding him up the rough brick wall. The guard's feet were well off the rain soaked ground.

Lemuel splashed through the rain barefooted, mud squishing between his toes. He grimaced at the feel of it and squinted through the downpour at Rafe's face. "Shit! Rafe. What is going on?"

Rafe did not answer. He was too busy snarling into the face of the guard, "So help me God, if he's harmed one hair on her head I swear, I'll kill you!"

It all became clear with a sudden jagged slash of lightening. Keeling had gotten to Eliza. Lemuel sputtered, spitting out the water that ran into his mouth and blinked to clear his eyes. A sickening feeling coiled within his stomach. He stepped under the eve of the kitchen and pulled on his boots, mud and all.

"Rafe, we can deal with him later. We have to get to Eliza in a hurry."

Rafe dropped the man with a snarl of contempt and wiped the wet, ebony lock of hair that fell into his eyes back with a swipe. His eyes were wild, the look in them made Lemuel shudder.

Rafe shook his head as if to clear it, seemingly trying to restore lucid thought. "Yes, yes. Tiny!" He shouted running into the stable where he grabbed his riding gear, throwing them on his horse in a heated frenzy.

Lemuel finished about the same instant the Rafe did and made the observation, "He planned it in this storm so we wouldn't be able to follow him."

Rafe's answer was but an angry snarl of assent as he jumped astride, wheeling his mount out into the rain.

Lemuel grabbed a torch the subdued guard handed him and followed. Within seconds, Rafe was just a dark shrouded figure in the haze of rainy mist rising from the river.

Rafe's tired eyes searched the nearby bushes fervently. He could see little in the impenetrable darkness. Lemuel rode his horse nearer the torch, shedding a circle of light. Rafe reached for the torch, holding it high above his head. He could see the swirling yellow mud running off the bank into the inky blackness of the river. He shuddered with a feeling of relief for he knew Keeling had other plans for Eliza than death. For this, he was grateful.

Rafe tried to think like Winston. He knew the man had to have shelter and somewhere close by, but where was it?

Lemuel shivered with reaction to the cold, "You know, Rafe, his hideout has to be close to here because he'd get pneumonia riding long in this."

Rafe gritted his teeth, "That's what I was thinking. Let's go." He urged his mount along the muddy bank at a dangerous speed. Lemuel followed.

Chapter 22

A brain splitting headache awoke Eliza. The pounding in her head was the worst she had ever experienced. What had happened? The pain in her head was excruciating, making it difficult for her to remember. Her eyes began to focus. She realized that the dizzy sensation she felt was because she was hung over a horse's back like a side of beef. Nausea swept over her like a wave of heat. She suppressed it with difficulty. With a sickening jolt she remembered what had happened.

Rain fell pounding the tarp that covered her. She trembled in the cold, thanking God that at least she was somewhat dry. She moved her fingers tentatively, and needle-like pains shot up her arms. Whatever he had bound her wrists with was cutting off all circulation to her fingers. Just as she managed a lessening of the pain, Keeling urged the horse to an even greater speed on the mud slick road, jumping a huge puddle of water with reckless abandon, sending the saddle horn jabbing into her kidney.

She was robbed of breath as she bit back a painful exclamation. She did not want Keeling to know that she had regained consciousness.

She watched the mud splash within inches of her face and wondered if Rafe had missed her yet. Surely he had. Even though she could not see the sky, the darkness was less black, more of a dull charcoal gray from what she could tell. It must be almost daylight, she concluded.

How would Rafe find her? The question rolled around in her brain as she fought frantically to think of some way of letting him know the path Keeling was taking her. The smell of the hothouse corsage that a guest had brought her tickled her nose and a thought hit her. If she could just manage to knock it loose someone was sure to see it, it being a white rose.

The smell of the horse and wet leather drifted up, making her more aware of her predicament. She berated herself for the hundredth time for not being able to let Rafe know something was wrong before Keeling had hauled her out like so much baggage. What if she never saw Rafe again? Tears burned her eyes, and she bit her lip to stem the flow. Why did this have to happen now? Just as their relationship was settling down. Though their relationship had never been calm she admitted. The horse snorted. She jerked herself back to the present. She had to leave some sign for Rafe. Her face was firm with determination. He would find her, she knew he would.

She turned her head, making sure not to touch the top of the tarp, and nipped at the flower with her teeth. She thought of how funny she must look trying to spit flower petals without Keeling seeing her. Her smile faded. The blow to her head must have been worse than she thought. There was nothing funny about her situation whatsoever!

Keeling turned the horse off the bridle path along the river onto little more than a cattle trail and Eliza suppressed the urge to groan aloud. She had no idea where he was taking her and neither would anyone else if she could not get this flower loose. She tugged viciously at the flower and with a small grin of triumph it came free, its petals scattered. She watched it flutter in all its white glory to the dark muddy ground. She breathed a sigh of relief and glanced back, watching with horror as the driving rain pounded the petals mercilessly into the mire. Her hopes almost died at that moment. Her heart sank with despair, the small glimmer of hope almost gone.

She thought the worst moment in her life had been when Rafe had brought word that her father had been murdered, but now, as her baby's life was at the mercy of a mad man. She fought rising despondency knowing that her father's death might only be one of a string of tragedies brought on by Keeling.

Keeling let out a cackle of pure evil as he nudged his mount toward the abandoned mansion. He had her now. She was his. His. Without any regard for the horse, Keeling kicked it viciously in the side yet again and expelled a string of expletives that would have made demons proud. The horse's strength seemed to be failing just when victory was in sight. He took his riding quirt and began to beat the horse in an effort to force it to a greater speed. Eliza flinched as the blows whistled over her head. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming in rage. How could anyone be so cruel, she wondered, biting her lip.

Then, the beating came to an abrupt end as the horse slid to a stop before the front steps of a house, nearly jolting Eliza from its back. She could feel the poor horse’s sides quivering in pain. She resisted the urge to hurt Keeling in any way she could. She needed him to believe she was out cold.

Keeling jumped off, his boots splashing in a puddle, sending a spray of dirty water directly into her face. Eliza winced, but she still feigned unconsciousness as she waited for her chance to escape from him.

Keeling jerked her off the horse with surprising strength and a grunt of satisfaction as she landed with a plop into his arms. She allowed her head to fall back over his arms and held her face carefully still as the tarp fell to the ground. He lumbered up the steps and kicked open the front door.

The first sensation Eliza got of the house was the stale smells of liquor and dust, like it had been closed up for some time. She could feel a source of heat on her right side and detect a light source despite her closed lids. She was dumped unceremoniously on a rug. She knew was in front of the fireplace, for she could feel the heat radiating from it directly on the side of her face.

Keeling resisted the urge to take her there. He decided that pleasure would have to be postponed. He still had to hide the horse. He did not want anyone to see it. He gave her a last hungry look and went back outside.

Eliza lay face down, carpet fibers biting into her cheek. The moment the door closed, she began to work frantically at her bonds. She wiggled her arms and groaned in frustration and pain as the ropes bit into her wrists and ankles. She felt like crying, but she knew that she did not have time for self pity. Too soon, she heard him climbing back up the steps.

Keeling entered the room along with a blast of cold, damp air. He crossed over to Eliza's prone form and nudged her over on her back with his boot.

Eliza could not prevent a groan of outrage at this rough treatment.

Keeling smiled evilly, "Ah, you're awake."

"I hope Rafe kills you," Eliza spat.

Keeling threw back his head and laughed. "I bet you would like to think he could, wouldn't you?"

Eliza seethed infuriated. "I think you're demon possessed, Winston. And don't think for a minute you're going to get away with this."

Keeling kneeled down beside her. She drew back as far as her bonds would allow her.

"Of course, I'll get away with it. Rafe won't know you're missing for hours." He leaned forward and kissed the side of her face. Eliza spit in his face before she could stop herself.

"I despise you, Winston."

Winston grabbed her chin in a bruising grip, "Well, I can tell you this, little miss high and mighty, you're going to be married to me." At the negative shake of her head, he added, "Oh, yes. We'll be married once Rafe is dead and I'll expect a little more respect from you."

"Well, you'll never get it. I tell you, you're sick. And anyway, how can you think that I'd marry you after killing Rafe! Never in a million years!"

Keeling laughed, rising to his feet. He crossed the room to a round mahogany table and picked up a bottle of amber colored liquid. He held it aloft and chuckled. Eliza cringed, knowing something awful was in that bottle.

"I happen to know that you're carrying Rafe's child."

Eliza gasped, how did he know that?

He grinned, "Don't worry how I found out. Let's just say that I have my sources. When Rafe meets his demise, if you won't marry me, I'll make you drink this and..." He paused for effect, "It's a concoction known in the quarter for ridding women of unwanted pregnancies. That, Eliza, is the persuasion I'll use to make you marry me."

Eliza was rendered speechless at the vileness of his plan. She blinked back tears. He was right though. She would marry him before she would allow him to kill Rafe's baby.

Keeling chuckled. She knew she was trapped. What she did not know was that he planned to kill the baby anyway. He sure would not raise a brat of Rafe's to inherit his fortune. No, Eliza would have his child. He crossed over to where she lay. Eliza drew back, genuinely afraid. He rolled her back over on her stomach.

"Don't go anywhere. I have to go outside for a moment." He chuckled at his own joke, going once again back out into the rain.

Eliza took a deep shuddering breath. What was she going to do now?

"I'll help you, don't move."

Eliza was startled to her a woman's soft voice. "Who are you?" Eliza turned her head, but could see no one.

Amanda smiled at her brother's wife and wondered if she should reveal herself to her. She quickly untied the knot at Eliza's wrist and went to work on her ankles.

"We must hurry before he gets back. The man is crazy."

"Who are you?" Eliza whispered.

"Don't worry about who I am. We don't have time for conversation."

Eliza knew the young woman was right, but as she felt the tightness of the bonds loosen, she wondered if this was some woman Keeling had kept here for his convenience. She shrugged mentally. It did not matter who she was, Eliza was too thankful for the help. She barely had enough time to shake the numbness from her aching limbs. She rubbed her wrists and looked at the young woman. Eliza thought she was really beautiful with her coal-black hair and great brown eyes.

Amanda looked at Eliza anxiously, "Hurry! Follow me."

Eliza didn’t have to be told twice. Even though her limbs were weak and shaky, she followed the ethereal creature down a long, dark hallway toward the rear of the house. Her heart sounded like a drum in her ears, and, for a moment, she thought she would pass out. All the while, they ran. Eliza thought they would never reach the end of the hallway. Her ears strained to hear his approaching footsteps. She feared any second they would hear him shouting..

Eliza grimaced as they left the warmth of the house and ran across the cold, wet brick of the courtyard. It was then that she realized that the young woman did not have on any shoes! The girl would surely die of pneumonia! She watched with amazement as the young woman seemed oblivious to the cold.

The young woman led her to a garden shed. She followed her inside just as they heard a bellow of rage come from within the house.

"Sssh," the woman led her to the back of the small building and motioned for her to hide under a dilapidated bench.

The young woman said in a voice just above a whisper, "He won't find you here, hopefully Rafe will be here soon. Just stay as quiet as you can." The young woman pulled an old canvas cover over Eliza's head and Eliza resisted the urge to sneeze. It was a full minute before it dawned on her that the girl knew Rafe's name. Now, how had she known that?!

She lowered the dusty piece of canvas from over her head and peered around the small building, but the young woman was gone. There was just the faint fragrance of lilac lingering in the stale air of the building. Eliza's brow puckered in a puzzled frown. Who in the world was she? Better yet, where had she come from? She knew Rafe and Keeling both. How very odd.

Winston walked into the door and almost rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the night to come. It was then that he spotted the ropes that he had tied Eliza with lying curled upon the dark red color of the rug.

With a bellow of feral rage, he ran forward in disbelief. "Now how in the hell did she do that?!" He railed. He ran from room to room with his eyes blazing with red-hot rage. She was no where to be found.

He turned like a mad dog, running outside into the deluge. He turned his face toward the sky. Rain ran in torrents down his contorted face. He shook his fist toward the sky and shouted, "You can't take her from me! You can't take her from me!" He snarled like a wolf. Turning on his heel, he began to go over the entire place in a mad frantic search.

Twice he passed by the garden shed. Eliza held her breath as he poked his head inside once and then mysteriously left without bothering to thoroughly search the place. But who was she to complain about his inadequacy? She silently thanked the Lord as he closed the door with a muttered snarl.

She shivered with reaction to the stress of her situation and the cold that had begun to seep into her limbs. She lowered the canvas cautiously to get some fresh air, noting that it was morning. The rain fell steadily, and the sky was still gray from what she could see through the cracks in the wall.

She noted her surroundings for the first time. The place smelled faintly musty and of dried herbs. Various sizes of pots sat in stacks everywhere, along with hedge trimming tools and scythes for the yard. From the feel of the dead weeds nearly waist high that they had run through, it must have been several seasons since they had been used. Now that she thought about it, the place felt abandoned. If her head didn't hurt so bad maybe she could figure out where she was.

Winston entered the cold house, the fire long since gone out in his effort to find Eliza. He rubbed the stubble on his chin in vexation. How could she have eluded him. For that matter how the hell had she gotten loose? It was then that the he knew and turned, shouting out into the emptiness of the room.

"All right, all right. Where are you? Who are you? Why do you keep tormenting me? Come on out where I can see you." He muttered, his voice tense, bordering on the edge of hysteria. He kicked a table over in a sudden burst of anger. Looking around wildly, he yelled, "I know you did it. I know you helped her escape!"

Amanda shook her head and resisted the urge to giggle uncontrollably. What she needed right now was to stay calm and keep him away from Eliza until Rafe got here. She left the room, walking down the hallway, silently keeping vigil at the back door.

Rafe and Lemuel were tired, but far from giving up hope. Rafe had dismounted, hoping to spot some sign.

Lemuel stayed on his horse, his eyes sweeping to and fro in the rain. He pulled his great coat closer, "Where is the nearest house around this area."

Rafe swept his reddened gaze over the ground once and shook his head. If this had happened at River's Bend, he would have been able to name every plantation within miles. He stared into the distance, his face like granite in the cold wind. Rain dripped off the brim of his hat, his hands clenched into fists. Think, man, think, he ordered himself! He knew nothing of the area really. He should have had some basic knowledge of the neighbors. It was a stupid thing not to have done. He bit his lip mounting his horse. He did have some excuse though. Eliza had kept his mind distracted in a most pleasant way, and now she might die because of his laxness. If that happened he would never forgive himself.

Lemuel suddenly laughed. Rafe looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.

"What? Have you thought of something?" Rafe's face showed a glimmer of hope.

Lemuel shifted in his saddle, "This may not be it at all, but remember when that Johnson fellow kept rattling on last night?"

Rafe ground his teeth in expiration, "Yes, yes. What about it?"

Lemuel grinned that stupid grin he always got when he thought he was about to win a point. "He was babbling something about an old plantation around here," Lemuel shook some rain off his hat, "What was the name of it?"

Rafe literally raised himself out of the saddle, "I remember, the old Mays place! He wanted to buy it, but the owner had gone to Europe or something. He was complaining about not being able to get hold of him. Lemuel, you're a genius!"

Lemuel smiled like the cat that got the cream. "And what better place to hideout? Everything would still be there, furniture, liquor, and probably food still in storage! But," Lemuel frowned at his friend, "wouldn't there be servants around? How could he...?"

Rafe exclaimed, "I remember he said he had been out there. There was not a sign of anyone, but where in the world is it?" Rafe asked, more anxious by the minute. In his frustration, he felt like he could chew nails in two.

Lemuel knew what Rafe had to be feeling because he felt a measure of it himself. The man had abducted her out of a house full of people! This spoke volumes about him. He said slowly, his eyes filled with concern for his friend, "It has to be close. It just has to be."

"He knew that a search party would be gathered up immediately." Rafe said thoughtfully, "Even if he were counting on the rain to obliterate his tracks. He knows he has to get her somewhere fast."

Lemuel turned in his saddle and watched as a bank of fog rolled across the ground. "Rafe, fog is rollin' in. We should go back and get someone who knows the area."

"If we don’t find something in the next few minutes we’ll have to," Rafe said, prodding his horse on. Rafe sent up a fervent prayer and resisted any thought of what Keeling was now doing. They rode slowly forward, sweeping their eyes through a fog that seeped from the river. It was just light enough for them to see without their torches, and now this. Rafe muttered something unintelligible as the swirling mist threatened Eliza's life.

They both were bone weary, but they rode on, spurred by the thought of Eliza in Keeling's clutches.

Rafe felt a sense of growing despair when he saw a gleam of something white and very small lying atop of the mud. He felt his heart skip a beat as he jumped from his horse, bending to pick up what appeared to be the petal of a rose. With tear-filled eyes, he looked up at Lemuel, holding up the petal, "They came through here! Eliza was wearing a rose corsage last night!" His body swung around in desperation to see any more signs, "Smart darling, very smart," Rafe said to himself and almost shouted when he saw another speck of white. "Look, there's more of it!"

Lemuel jumped from his horse, looking closely at the ground and nearby bushes, "Yeah, someone's been through here all right. Look at those broken twigs."

A small path became visible through a double row of tangled brush. They would have never seen it if it hadn't been for Eliza's petals, at least not in time. Rafe nearly shouted so great was his relief in having something to go on. His beautiful Eliza had shown him the way. Somehow, he never doubted that she would find a way to let him know where she was. He looked at Lemuel with dawning certainty, "This must be the path to May's Plantation! Right beneath our noses all this time!"

They jumped back in their saddles and rode up the path more carefully than they wanted to so as not to disturb anymore signs that Eliza might have left them.

Winston made one last search of the house, then started back outside. He fingered his chin, thoughtfully. Now where could she have hidden so quickly? An evil gleam lit his eyes as he came upon one logical place. With determined steps, he walked toward the garden shed.

Amanda panicked. She had to find a way to stop him! She rolled a planter past his foot, but it missed. She kicked at him, trying to trip, him but her foot went through his. "Blast it!" She muttered, running after him.

Keeling smiled. She was in there. He knew it. He grabbed hold of the door and jerked it open with such force that it teetered on its hinges. With a loud bang, it thumped against the outside of the shed, hanging askew.

"Eliza! Come out. I know you're in here, Sweetheart." He laughed evilly, seeing a small movement beneath a piece of old canvas. He stalked over and ripped the canvas away and there beneath it was Eliza, her eyes spitting fire at him.

Eliza held a clay pot behind her. Just as Keeling reached for her, she brought it down upon his head with as much strength as she could muster. It broke into a thousand pieces. A look of total surprise came over his face just before his eyes crossed and he fell backwards.

Eliza jumped over his prone form and raced out the door. She ran toward the river, away from the house. She took a quick look back, but he still was not following. Her breath was ragged, and her lungs felt raw from the cold morning air. She realized, too late, that she was running the wrong way. Once she reached the river, she would not be able to go any further. She felt a stitch in her side. Her breathing was labored as she heard his feet pounding after her. She had never known such utter terror.

"Eliza, don't think that I won't catch you! I'll make you pay for this!"

Eliza risked a backward glance and a shudder of revulsion. She would throw herself into the river before he would have his way with her!

Amanda threw a limb in front of Keeling's feet. He fell headlong into a ditch. She grunted with satisfaction. There! But he was not down for long. With a string of vile words he was up and on the chase again.

Eliza felt fear congeal in her veins. Terror gripped her in its merciless grip, and she screamed.

The sound raised the hair on the back of Rafe's neck. They had searched the house and found nothing but the ropes with which Keeling had tied her. It was then that they heard the awful sound of her scream.

They ran outside and another scream was heard coming from across the field, toward the river. There but a quarter mile away was his Eliza.

Rafe jumped upon his horse and thundered toward Keeling. There was murder in his eye as he plunged through the air to land on Keeling's back.

They rolled to the ground in a fierce struggle, a fight in the age-old fashion where one combatant would surely die. Rafe's fist landed in Keeling's, nose breaking it, but that did not stop Keeling, it was as if he was imperious to pain. Rafe continued to pound at Keeling with the strength of a man possessed.

Keeling fell to the ground just a few feet from the edge of the river, pulling a very deadly looking pistol from his coat, pointing it directly at Rafe's chest. "Don't move another inch, or I'll blow your stinking head off!" Keeling snarled, blood running down his face.

Rafe came to an abrupt halt, his mind racing with what action he should take. Any moment, he knew that Keeling would shoot him down like a rabid dog.

Lemuel stopped, rooted to the spot, a curse rent from his lips. Blood drained from his face.

Eliza had turned. Her heart leapt within her throat. Praying with silent mutterings, she begged for Rafe's life. Please, don't let him be taken from me now. She blinked back tears. Their love was so new. She could not stand it if.... She refused to think what her life would be like without him.

Amanda stopped, too, at this sudden development. She realized with a sickening jolt that she had forgotten to remove Keeling's gun. It could well turnout to be a fatal mistake. She made up her mind that it was time she showed Keeling the face of his tormentor. She walked toward him and said, "Why don't you shoot me, Winston?"

Keeling gave a yelp of fright, and the gun swung toward her, "You! But...but how can this be happening?" He turned crazed eyes toward the startled group. "You see her, don't you? Don't you?!"

Rafe drew back. What was wrong with Keeling now? "I don't see anyone. What's the matter with you?"

Keeling brandished the gun about wildly, firing into the air. Rafe saw an opportunity and lunged at Keeling before he could turn it on one of them again. He landed with a solid thud against Keeling's side. The gun flew into the air and stuck with its handle buried in the mud., "No, no!" he said, jerking himself from Rafe's grasp, he crawled backward like a crab. He nearly foamed at the mouth, shouting "It's Amanda. Don't you see her?"

Amanda walked toward him until she had pushed him to the edge of the river. Keeling's eyes were wild. His hair stood out in all directions. It was quite apparent to all that what remained of his sanity had fled on winged feet. With a scream rent from his soul, he pleaded, "Amanda! I didn't mean to. Amanda! No!"

Suddenly, he hurled himself over the edge of the embankment, into the river. The small group watched with horrified amazement as he plunged toward the murky depths below. Rafe pulled back from the sight as Keeling's body landed backwards across a boulder. They all heard the sickening crunch of broken bones, then silence. There was no sound but the slosh of the mighty Mississippi's water against the ebony bank.

Rafe drew a shuddering breath and sat down, drained of energy. He buried his head in his hands and drew several deep breaths. Tears clung to his dark eyelashes. A shiver ripple over his skin. The thought that he had nearly lost Eliza to that mad man was almost more than he could stand.

Lemuel walked up, placing a hand upon his shoulder, "Are you all right?" He leaned over the bank, taking a last look at the morbid twist of Keeling's body upon the rocks.

Rafe looked up, "Yes."

Eliza ran to Rafe, falling to her knees beside him. She looked deep into his eyes. Her face crumpled, "Oh, Rafe. I love you so."

Rafe wrapped his arms about her and Lemuel felt like an intruder as he watched their tender embrace.

Lemual stepped back toward the house. As he walked slowly away from the river, he wondered briefly about what Keeling had screamed in his last moments. He guessed the sick weasel had finally had more than he could stand. He snorted to himself, muttering, "Or else, it was a ghost." He stopped, swinging back toward the river, then back toward the house shaking his head, "Naw."

Rafe laughed softly, pulling back so he could better see her face. He smoothed back her hair, drinking in the sight of her. "Did I hear you say that you loved me?"

Eliza punched him, "Of course, I love you! How could you ever doubt it?"

Rafe grinned roguishly. Standing, he swung her up into his arms, ignoring her protests, "It could be because you've never told me, minx. Let's go home."

Eliza rested her head against his shoulder, tiredly. She felt that finally they could be happy now that Keeling was out of their lives for good. She glanced back toward the river trembling. "Yes, let's go home."

Chapter 23

The sounds of the night grew louder and louder. The rider swallowed a lump of what he refused to call fear. He, Claude Dupree, was fearless. The darkness felt cold and damp. Mosquitoes landed with a vengeance on his arm. He had proved it once and for all, the damn things did live all year. He had the whelps to prove it.

With only an occasional snort from his horse and the breaking of a twig or two, he made little noise. He was contemplating his miserable life. How had he come to this? He should never have believed Keeling that night. He should have known that his plan to murder Rafe would never work. Keeling was not a professional like himself. His lip curled. He hoped Winston Keeling burned in hell. He did believe in such a place. He was raised on it by his Catholic mother, God rest her soul.

He felt sick, sick to the pit of his stomach. Keeling was dead. Now how was he to get the rest of his money? He could not even think of going back to New Orleans, the place of his birth. That sorry Keeling had not only robbed him of his money but had also cheated him of his home. It was too much.

The old nag he rode looked as if she was about to take her last step. The fact that he had stolen her only served to make him angrier. It had been too dark in the alley where the horses had been tied. He had thought that he had taken the reins of a much younger horse. To his dismay, when he had gotten down three or four alleys a shaft of light revealed his mistake. Of course, he had not been able to take his usual precautions. He shook his head, his greasy hair plastered to his scalp. His life had been cursed since the moment he had set eyes on Winston Keeling. He chewed his lip in vexation. He did not even have money to eat on thanks to...He had to stop thinking like this. The man was dead. How am I to get some money? If only I had what is owed me, he thought.

A slow smile lit his beady black eyes. With determination, he turned his horse westward. He had a plan.

Eliza snuggled deeper in the warmth of their feather mattress and watched as Rafe pulled a robe on his clean body. "You are truly the handsomest man I know," she said, propping herself back against the pillows.

He smiled tenderly at the picture she presented. Who would ever guess that she had been through hell in the last forty-eight hours. He patted the long jewelry box in his pocket. "I have something for you. Something I didn't have time to give you on the night of the Christmas ball."

Eliza swallowed the lump of emotion that welled in her throat. "Rafe, let's not talk about Keeling, all right? I want to think only of us tonight. Now," she said, clapping her hands together in anticipation, "what surprise do you have for me?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and took the box from his pocket. "This was passed down to me from my mother, who got it from her mother. It was always meant for my wife." He pulled the glittering sapphire and diamond necklace from the case and held it up before Eliza's eyes. It caught the glow from the fireplace and danced with a thousand shimmering shafts of light.

She accepted it with joy. "Oh, Rafe. It's beautiful!" She squealed and held it up, twirling it from side to side. "How come you waited so long to give to me?" She pouted, "Because you thought we wouldn't be together?"

Rafe had known the question was coming, "You said we weren't to talk of Keeling tonight, but this was the necklace he stole from me all those months ago."

"Oh, Rafe. Does it make you sad to look at it?" Eliza asked with her heart in her eyes. If it did, she would not be able to bring herself to ever wear it.

Rafe put his arms around her and held her close. Her hair smelled clean, as did the fluff of newly washed linens that billowed about them. He carefully considered her question. At first, he had wondered if he could bare to look at it. He pulled back and held her at arm's length. Her eyes were moist pools of azure, waiting. "I would be sad if I never saw it again, and most especially if I never got to see it on the neck of the woman I love." His voice became distant, "I remember when my mother wore this, and she would come down the staircase with a new gown on, usually in some shade of blue. She and father would be going to a ball or to have dinner with friends." He looked back into the depths of her eyes, his now moist. "It is one of my fondest memories of childhood. Those days when they were so happy together. Eliza, I want us to be like that. I want to see you wear this, like my mother did."

"Oh, Rafe," Eliza now had tears streaming down her face. "I do love you so, and I'll wear it with pride."

They kissed deeply, and so the matter was closed, most wonderfully, he thought.

"Now, fasten it around my neck," she said, laughing, "I might even sleep in it."

He did as she asked, and then they were in each other's arms again. He blew out the lamp.

Eliza lay in the darkness. She patted the necklace with a warm feeling encircling her heart. She smiled as Rafe kissed her neck.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh, I was thinking how nice a papa you would make, Rafe Hamilton. A man with such a kind heart."

Rafe was still.

"I said," Eliza nuzzled the side of his neck, watching for sign from him that he understood what she was trying to tell him. "Rafe, I said..."

He grabbed her close, his breath melding with hers. She could see the reflection of moonlight in his tears. "We're going to have a baby?"

She nodded.

"A baby." He said in wonder, placing a hand upon her stomach.

"Yes, and Rafe ,I want you to let her ride. I won't have my daughter doing needlepoint when she could be having fun."

"You'll ruin her. What southern lady goes about like you do? None. I tell you, she...."he laughed, poking her in the ribs. "It might be a mean little boy like his father."

Eliza giggled, then shook her head, "Naw, it's going to be a girl. I just know it."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Rafe pulled her on top of him and began to smoother her face in kisses. "Oh, no," he gasped, slapping his forehead.

"What?" she asked, fearing he had just remembered something terrible that he had forgotten to tell her. "What?"

His eyes were serious in the moonlight from the window. "I guess this means we have to stay married. You little heathen, you've trapped me."

Eliza was speechless, but not for long. "Why, you dirty, rotten scoundrel!" She began to pound him with pillows.

"Ouch! Hey, watch out! You wouldn't want to hurt the father of your child now would you?"

Giggles could be heard coming from their room until the small hours of the morning.

Poteen smiled as she placed the book she had been reading beside the lamp and blew out the light. Oh, she felt good tonight. Her Eliza was safe, and that horrible Keeling was dead.

She looked out at the nearly starless sky and the shaft of moonlight that streamed across the balcony. It had all turned out well. It was terrible to think of how close they had all come to disaster. Thank goodness it was over. She yawned, turning her head sleepily on the pillow. The scent of lavender wafted from a small bowl beside her bed. It helped her to sleep. She closed her eyes, drifting off.

Thick fog surrounded the house, and Poteen tried to reach it. She had to help Eliza, but she could not. The man was greasy, with black hair. He reached for Eliza with a choking grip. He ripped the sapphire necklace from her neck, and she screamed.

Poteen awoke, bathed in perspiration. She looked around her room frantically, covering her mouth with her hands. Her heart beat a rapid tempo against her chest. She breathed in a sigh of relief. Nothing had happened. It was a nightmare that’s all it was. Thank the Lord! She shook her head and swallowed. Her mouth felt as dry as paper. Yes, that's all it had been, a nightmare. The last couple of days had played havoc with her nerves.

She laid her head back on the pillow and felt her heartbeat finally returning to normal. Eliza and Rafe were safe. She need not be worried. The only trouble to them had died yesterday....

Claude Dupree removed a bedroll from the back of his stolen horse. He grinned at the one small bit of luck he had had in months. Tomorrow, he would have his money and be on his way. He thought of where he might go once he was set up. North, maybe New York. He had heard that a fellow like himself could earn a good living there. A frown crept across his homely little face. There would be no jambalaya, no etouffee. He was as hungry as a rat. It did no good to think about food now. What he really needed was sleep. He fell asleep propped against a live oak tree. It was a deep sleep of total exhaustion.

Rafe awoke early. He kissed Eliza on the cheek, she mumbled something indistinguishable and burrowed under the covers.

Dressing with haste, he bounded down the stairs with more humor and energy than he had in ages. He could not wait to tell Lemuel the news.

He found Lemuel sipping coffee in the library.

"How are you this morning? I must say you look quite refreshed after the day we had yesterday." Lemuel remarked a little dryly, sipping the dark brew in his cup.

Rafe grinned, pouring himself a steaming cup from the silver set on a nearby rosewood table. "I feel better this morning than I've ever felt in my life."

Lemuel sighed. It was disgusting how a man could act when he was in love, but he had to admit to himself that he would be a little silly if he had a woman like Eliza. "Had a good night did we?" He said with a raise of his eyebrows.

Rafe took a sip, "Hm, yes, Lemuel. I'm to be a father in the spring." The happiness was obvious on his face.

Lemuel almost jumped from his chair, "That's wonderful, Rafe." He grinned, poking a bit of fun at his friend. "I thought when you wrote me you said it was to be a marriage in name only. What happened to that? Spring did you say? Didn't last long--your vow of honor."

"Shut up, Lemuel." Rafe wrapped his hands about his cup, smiling. "I didn't have a chance from the moment I set eyes on her. She had me."

Lemuel sighed deeply, as if weighing the problems of the world especially romance. It was a tough call. "A man never knows when it might strike him, but you had a good idea right from the start, huh?"

"You make it sound like lightening. Yes, I knew it from the first moment I saw her little face pressed into the dirt."

"What's this?" Lemuel laughed, "Something you haven't told me?"

Eliza carried a steaming cup of coffee past the library door. The two had been in there a long time, and there sure was a lot of laughter. Finally, she gave up waiting and knocked on the door.

Two male voices bid her to enter.

"I thought you two were going to stay in here the entire morning," she teased.

Lemuel stood briefly, "Rafe was telling me how you two met."

Eliza looked at Rafe with an arched eyebrow, "You didn't tell Lemuel that I tried to kill you, did you?"

Rafe quickly saw his mistake and shook his head. "No."

"Yes, he did." Lemuel insisted, having no mercy. "He said you knocked him flying and that you looked so cute with your face in the dirt."

Eliza walked over and pinched Rafe where Lemuel couldn't see. "I was merely unseated for a moment-."

"Ha! Ouch!" Rafe said, jumping in pain.

"My dear husband exaggerates." Eliza sighed sadly, "I guess this is something I'm just going to have to learn to live with."

"Rafe told me that congratulations are in order."

Eliza blushed, "Yes, thank you." She looked at Rafe, "It's going to be a sweet little girl."

Rafe rolled his eyes, "Yes, wife. I'm sure if she's like you, the entire parish will be talking of how sweet "that Hamilton girl" is."

He received another pinch for that comment with a whispered threat in his ear that she would deal with him later. She smiled innocently at Lemuel, "I have a few things to attend to. You two men enjoy yourselves today. Lord knows you deserve it after yesterday."

"Amen to that," Lemuel said, placing his cup on the mahogany table.

Eliza planned a nice supper that night in celebration of their extending family. The men had gone riding in the morning and were currently playing chess in the library, reliving old times. Much laughter emanated from the room.

Claude really did not have a plan. He had only one thought and that was to strike quickly, get what he wanted and be gone. Her husband was there and there was also another man, but they did not concern him. He would rather not fight with them. He would not, he would simply shoot them if they got in his way. He would wait until dark, but no longer.

As some evil luck would have it, the men decided to take a ride after supper. Rafe wanted to check one of the mares and ride over a new field that was being made ready for spring's planting.

Eliza patted Poteen on the back, "I've indulged too much today, but that was the best blackberry pie I ever tasted."

"Better watch out or you'll get as big as Betty Ann Smith." Poteen said archly.

Eliza rolled her eyes and said with a small amount of irritation, "I have no such intentions to get as fat a Betty Ann, and I seriously doubt that one piece of blackberry pie would do that to anyone anyway."

"I know chile. You never have to worry about that you've always been as slim as a colt." Poteen continued to clear the table, "Goodness, can't you take a joke?"

Eliza placed a stack of dishes on the dumb waiter. "I can when it's funny. Now, enough of that. You were really quiet during supper. Is anything wrong?"

Poteen drew in a deep breath, "I had nightmares last night." She shrugged, "No doubt due to the terrible ordeal we've all been through."

"Well, it was bad enough it should have given us all nightmares." With a small twist of her mouth, she added, "But strangely enough, I slept perfectly fine."

Poteen grinned, her teasing good humor restored. "Could have something to do with all the giggling I heard ‘til the wee hours."

Eliza raised her eyebrows in a comical fashion, "Could be." Eliza poured a cup of tea . "If you don't mind I think I'll go up to my room. I feel a little worn out from everything still."

Poteen looked at her with mild concern. "Of course you are, honey. I have some linens I've been embroidering on anyway. I'll see you in the morning."

Most evil minds surely thought alike. Claude Dupree watched with beady black eyes as Eliza entered her upstairs room. He had been watching for hours, waiting for his chance. He had almost danced when the two men had rode off. He had climbed to the balcony, entering the master bedroom. His pockets were filled with jewelry, mostly strings of pearls and a few gold rings. One ring was especially nice, a large ruby encrusted with diamonds. It should bring him a nice tidy sum. But what he had seen from the window not twenty minutes ago was what he was waiting for. On her neck was the most magnificent piece of jewelry he had ever seen. All he had to do was dare to wait to see if she came upstairs. If she didn't, he would go down and confront her with her mammy and take it. It would have meant killing the black woman, but after all, killing had never bothered him anyway.

But luck was with him- finally. He was perched like a gargoyle beside the closed French doors. She came into the darkened room and began to disrobe. For a moment, a blaze of almost passion flashed in the eyes of this hardened killer. Almost. Something long ago and very foul had ruined any inclinations for dalliance in his life. It was unprofitable to his estimation.

Eliza slipped a nightgown over her neck and pulled on her robe without tying it. With a tender smile, she crossed to the dressing table mirror and admired the glow of the sapphire necklace against the bareness of her skin. She reached behind her neck to remove it.

"That's right, take it off and hand it to me."

Eliza jumped with a gasp of fright. She put a hand up to shield the necklace that meant so much to her now. "Who are you! What are you doing in my room?"

"Lower the voice, sweetie, or I'll have to cut you with this knife. Now, hand me the necklace." He came toward her with the knife gleaming in the moonlight.

She felt sick with fear and another emotion--pure anger. She was tired of demented men thinking she was easy prey. She made up her mind to fight, but with what. She stepped backwards, her hand coming in contact with a perfume bottle. Without hesitation she hurled it at his head and made flight toward the door.

With a curse, he was on her just as she reached the door. He pulled her by the hair back toward the center of the room. "Now listen, missy, I don't have time for this. Give it over."

Rafe and Lemuel entered the house laughing, each tired after their day's activities. Lemuel expounding upon another of his long stories.

Eliza grabbed the top of a plant stand and sent it hurling toward the man. The pot shattered into a million pieces, and dirt flew across the Aubusson rug.

"You strumpet!" He lunged toward her with the fury of an enraged swamp creature.

Rafe looked at Lemuel with stunned amazement, "What the hell was that? Sounds like it came from our room!" He took the stairs with great leaps.

Lemuel threw his hat, which he was in the process of taking off, on the floor. Pulling a small pistol he always carried with him out of his pocket, he ran after Rafe with all the speed his long legs would allow. "Rafe. Here, take this." He tossed the gun to Rafe. They never broke stride.

Claude wrapped his greedy fingers around the necklace, scratching Eliza's neck in the process and pulled viciously. With the other hand, he knocked her to the floor and made a dash for the balcony. No doubt she had raised all but the dead with her noise.

Rafe kicked in the door with his big black riding boot and a ton of determination, entering the room. What met his eyes shocked him. There was Eliza on the floor and a small dark man running toward the balcony with the sapphire necklace dangling from his clenched fist.

"I'm all right!" Eliza hollered, rubbing the side of her face.

Claude grasped the balcony rail with one hand, and with lightening like speed he threw the knife barely, missing Rafe's head. It twanged in the door molding.

Rafe did not flinch. Without even look at the knife still trembling beside his head, he raised the gun with cold deliberation and fired.

Claude Dupree's miserable little body went flying over the balcony to land in the courtyard below. Rafe did not bother to go look. He knew the man was dead.

He bent down and pulled Eliza to her feet. "You're all right?"

She nodded, tears rolling. "I don't know why this kind of thing keeps happening to us." She pointed to the balcony edge, looking at Rafe and Lemuel. "What are you waiting for? That man has my necklace."

Rafe shook his head, "Darling, I hardly think that he's going anywhere with it."

Lemuel gave them both a rather stunned look then volunteered. "I'll go and get it." With that, he was out of the room and down the stairs.

Rafe laughed and shook his head. "Maybe we should sell that necklace, honey? It could be it's bad luck."

Eliza was indignant. "Not on your life. You gave that to me, and I aim to keep it!"

He laughed, gathering her in the circle of his arms, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and the smile in their eyes spoke of a great love.

They went downstairs, arm in arm. A small crowd of house servants, including Tiny and Poteen stood looking at Claude Dupree's twisted body.

Eliza didn't turn from the sight. She had had three days of hell given to her by men of this kind. He deserved what he got.

Lemuel had retrieved the necklace, of course the clasp was broken. He held out a piece of paper to Rafe. "Better take a look at this."

"What is it?" Rafe asked, taking the paper in his hand.

Lemuel looked at Eliza with sympathy. "I don't think the law has to look anymore for your father's killer." He motioned back toward the body, "Meet Claude Dupree."

"What!" Rafe and Eliza said together.

"It seems that note there is an IOU from Winston Keeling. Can you believe it?"

Eliza walked close to the body. Her face was closed and hard. This little weasel of a man had murdered her papa. He had deserved to die. Without a word, she turned and walked toward the door.

Rafe ran to her, "Are you all right, hon?"

She looked back at him with a slight twist to her beautiful mouth. "Just get him out of my courtyard, Rafe." She touched his arm with a loving gesture and walked into the house.

Rafe and Lemuel looked at each other, still amazed at the night's events. Poteen rushed after Eliza.

Rafe called to Tiny, "Put his body in the stable and as soon as it's light go get the constable."

"Yessuh," Tiny and two other men removed Claude Dupree's body.

Rafe and Lemuel stood side by side in the light falling from the house. Rafe still held the necklace and the piece of paper removed from Dupree's body. "I guess he came back for the other half of his payment. I am amazed at the risk he took."

Lemuel twisted the toe of his boot on the brick. "Keeling and his man are both dead now, and it doesn't surprise me at anything they would do, men of their kind."

Rafe folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. "Thank God it's over."

Lemuel ran a hand through his hair, laughing, "You know, Rafe, I'm going to have to go home to rest. There's too much excitement here for me."

Rafe laughed and slapped him on the back as they walked back toward the house, "I'm glad you were here and even more delighted that you had that gun."

Lemuel patted the revolver in his jacket pocket, thinking of another story. "Remember the time...."

Rafe's laughter echoed across the courtyard.

Chapter 24

Two months later…

Eliza came down to supper, feeling more uncomfortable than she had felt in weeks. She blamed it on the heat. She took a sip of wine and had a few bites of chicken, pushing the plate away.

Rafe's brow creased, "Are you feeling all right, sweet?"

Eliza looked up, "I'm fine."

Lemuel cleared his throat, "You don’t look fine. Are you sure?"

Rafe gave Lemuel a look of warning.

"I’m fine," Eliza snapped. Why were they badgering her?

Rafe grinned, "Hon, pardon me if I say you're in a foul temper this evening."

Eliza laughed, a bit looking at the men. She shifted in her chair, her back ached like someone had kicked her. No sense in ruining their meal. She just needed rest. "I'm sorry."

"That's quite all right you're entitled." Rafe said, taking a bite of potatoes.

Lemuel looked at his friend, "You know I think I should be heading back to River's Bend tomorrow."

"What!" Eliza exclaimed, "Why so soon?"

Lemuel gave her a charming smile, "I’ve been here for months. You’ve shown me all of New Orleans." He shrugged, "I could stay here forever, but there's business awaiting me."

Rafe put down his napkin. "We'll be sorry to see you go, friend. Sure we can't persuade you to stay?"

Lemuel gave him a lopsided grin and shook his head, "I guess I need to."

The subject was changed. No one wanted to see Lemuel go, and Eliza was surprised at how much she was going to miss him.

Eliza went up to bed, feeling dull, throbbing pain low in her back. She undressed and donned her nightgown, turning to look at herself in the mirror across the room. She was huge.

Rafe entered the room and walked up behind her, his arms encircling her protruding midsection.

Eliza turned in the circle of his arms. "Do I look terrible?"

Rafe put a finger under her chin, placing his lips on hers. "You've never looked lovelier."

Eliza gave him an impish grin, tracing the small laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. "You sweet, sweet liar."

Rafe scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. She went into a fit of giggles as he nuzzled her neck. "You are round, but very beautiful just the same." His voice was muffled and he reached to turn down the wick in the lamp until only moonlight streamed into the room.

"You know Rafe, we've come through terrible things to get where we are right now. It feels good, doesn't it?"

Rafe smiled in the darkness and rolled over to take her in his arms. "It sure does."

"Sometimes," she sighed heavily and paused, "I think what it would have been like had Keeling's plan worked."

"Don't think like that," Rafe admonished.

"I miss Papa more than I can say, and, Rafe, I do so wish he had lived to see our child."

Rafe kissed the top of her head, "I wish he could have too, but the hand of evil stepped in."

Eliza wiped at the hot tears that rolled down her face. She did not want him to know that she was crying. These days she was an emotional wreck.

"Honey, come here," Rafe said, holding out his arms. He sighed as she snuggled close. "We'll tell him stories about his grandfather. We'll never let our child forget what a good man he was."

"She."

Rafe frowned, "What?"

Eliza laughed softly, "You said `him,' I say she."

Rafe laughed, "All right. Now go to sleep."

"You know, if you tell me to go to sleep, I can't."

Rafe kissed her deeply, "You're incorrigible."

"You made me that way," she said mischievously.

"Oh, no I didn't, you were that way long before I arrived."

* * *

Saturday morning dawned warm, and Lemuel stretched out his hand, looking down at the ground as he pushed dirt with the toe of his boot. "Well, Rafe, I don't think I'll be forgetting this visit anytime soon."

Rafe grinned and slapped him on the back. "It was really eventful, wasn't it?"

Lemuel took a look around, "I'll take good care of River's Bend for you."

"I know you will, Lemuel."

Eliza came slowly down the verandah steps, careful of her condition. "I hope you were going to say goodbye to me."

Lemuel smiled, white teeth showing an even roll in his tanned face. He tipped his hat, "Of course I was." He still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He knew Rafe would take good care of her.

Eliza reached up to give him a hug. "Don't be a stranger now."

Lemuel cleared his throat, "I won't. Well, I'd better get going." He climbed up into the saddle, looking down at the happy couple. "Watch out for bad guys." And with a raise of his hand, he was gone.

Eliza and Rafe watched until he was out of sight and then climbed the stairs to the house. "I'm going to miss him, Rafe."

"Hmm," Rafe nodded, more than a little sad to see his friend go. He patted Eliza's back, "I think I'll go for a ride this morning." He gave her a quick kiss and headed for the stable.

Eliza knew that he, like her, often rode off his anger or sadness. She reached down, running her hand over the roundness of her stomach. She certainly had not done any riding lately. Rafe had forbidden her morning rides for months now. She reached the door and leaned against it. Rafe left the stable and rode toward the river, which was often his route.

An intense feeling of heaviness ground low in her back, and Eliza felt the beginnings of a headache. She entered the house just as Poteen walked across the parlor.

"Are you all right, chile?" Poteen’s face showed concern.

Eliza arched her back and rolled her shoulders to ease the ache. "I'm fine, just a headache. Let's have some tea."

"Sure, honey. You go sit in the parlor, and I'll bring it."

Moments later, Eliza and Poteen sat sipping the hot brew. Eliza sighed heavily, "I'll sure be glad when the baby comes. I would have liked to gone with Rafe riding."

Poteen grinned, "I know you miss it, chile, and by the looks of you, you won't have long to wait."

Rafe turned his horse from the usual trail he took and rode back toward the swamp. There was a place close, which he intended on draining for sugar growing next year.

Eliza felt a sharp pain wrap its way around her protruding stomach. She gasped as the low ache in her back turned into a searing pain.

Poteen jumped up and rushed over, "What is it, chile? Is it time?"

"I though I had another month," Eliza said, with alarm in her voice.

Poteen swallowed anxiously, "Sometimes babies come a little early."

Eliza could barely catch her breath the pain was so intense. She stood shakily, and Poteen supported her, "Poteen. Maybe we should have one of the boys go for Rafe."

Poteen grinned, "He will be back long before the petite one gets here."

Eliza nearly doubled over with a new pain and grimaced, "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, chile. "It takes a long time for first babies to make their appearance into the world. But we'll send Tiny after him, don't you worry."

"Well, if you say so." Eliza felt doubtful and wanted someone to run for Rafe immediately but did not want to give voice to the panic she felt.

As they reached the door to the bedroom, Eliza felt a rush of hot water gush down her legs. "Oh," Eliza bent over, seeing a puddle on the carpet. "Send for Rafe now!"

Poteen seemed to panic, "Your water has broke!"

Minutes later, Eliza lay in the bed writhing in pain. "Has someone gone for Rafe?"

Poteen patted her hand, "Yes, I suspect he'll be here any moment."

Eliza was worried that he would not make it in time. A knock came at the door. For a second Eliza's hopes were raised then dashed as the local midwife, Sarah Tompson, stuck her head in the door then bustled inside.

She checked Eliza over with experienced eyes and hands and smiled a wide smile of compassion, patting Eliza’s leg, "Don't worry, hon. Everything is going to be all right."

Eliza smiled back, not quite convinced at this point. Where was Rafe?

Sarah ran down a list of items she would need and a house servant rushed out of the room on winged feet.

Two hours later, Eliza was in the agony of her life, and there was still no sign of Rafe. The midwife bathed her forehead with a wet cloth, "Don't fight it when the pain comes. Take deep breaths and concentrate on doing that."

Eliza’s grin was wobbly, "That's easier said than done, Sarah."

Poteen patted her arm, "I'm going downstairs for a moment, be right back."

Eliza watched her go. Another excruciating pain gripped her, hanging on for an almost intolerable amount of time.

Poteen rushed down to the front parlor and out the front door, spotting Tiny down by the stable door. She dashed across the lawn down the grassy slope. "Tiny! Tiny! I thought you were going after Mr. Rafe!"

Tiny scratched his head, "No, nobody told me. Is the baby comin' right now?"

"Yes!" Poteen's hand worked nervously at her collar, turning to look toward the river. "I thought he would have plenty of time to make it, now I'm not so sure. For God’s sake, get going."

Tiny stepped into the stable, "I'll ride down by the swamp. He's been down there a few times lately."

Poteen heaved a sigh, her nerves completely jagged. "If you don't get moving, that baby is going to be here before he is!" She turned on her heel and ran back toward the house, sparing a moment to watch Tiny ride toward the swamp.

Rafe picked up a handful of dirt and allowed the ebony soil to filter through his fingers. Already the morning gave way to the promised warmth of the day. He wiped perspiration from his forehead.

Mounting his horse, he rode toward home. Suddenly, he saw Tiny riding toward him, waving his arms in the air. Rafe felt panic wiggle up his spine. What has happened? Tiny's horse slide to a halt in front of Rafe's, and the two horses exchanged snorts.

"Masta, Rafe. Miz Eliza is having the baby." Tiny said between pants.

Rafe felt real fear rush through him. His thoughts raced back to a day nearly two years ago when a messenger had knocked on his door at the Planter's Hotel. Dear God, he prayed, do not let me be too late, this time.

"Come on!" Rafe said, kicking his horse into action.

They rode with the speed of wind to Magnolia Hill and slid their horses to a halt in front of the house. Rafe dismounted and ran inside. He felt his heart lurch in panic. He raced up the stairs two at a time. Out of breath, he reached the door of their bedroom.

"Ahhh!"

The sound of Eliza in pain drove him into the room. Sarah Tompson turned her attention from Eliza, "Now, Rafe, you know you're not supposed to be in here."

Tears streamed from Eliza's eyes, "I thought you'd never get here. Where have you been?"

Rafe walked over to the bed and smoothed back her blonde hair tenderly, "Down by the swamp. Looks like I almost missed something big here."

Eliza grinned then another pain ripped through her. She reached out and grabbed his hand, nearly crushing it. "Stay with me, please?"

Rafe smiled at her tenderly, "Wild horses couldn't drag me out. Now, you concentrate on delivering our son."

Eliza laughed weakly, "Daughter, don't you mean?"

Rafe grinned, a great joy spreading across his face. "I'll take anything you give me, Mrs. Hamilton."

It was two hours torture for Rafe as he watched Eliza struggle. And he could not contain the yelp of joy as the squall of their baby, all red and wrinkled broke into the room.

Sarah held the baby aloft. "It's a girl."

Eliza squeezed Rafe's hand, "Oh, isn't she beautiful!"

Rafe stood, bending to capture her lips in a joy filled kiss, "She sure is."

Sarah placed the wrapped baby upon Eliza's chest. "I've never seen so much hair before on a baby in my life, and I've delivered plenty."

Poteen reached over to stroke the baby's black hair, "What are you going to name her?"

Rafe and Eliza looked at each other. Rafe said, "We had agreed on Amanda if it was a girl."

Eliza held the child out to him, and he took her carefully. Sarah tugged at Poteen's arm, and they both left the new little family alone.

Eliza looked up at him after they had gone, "Rafe, you're not disappointed that it's a girl, are you?"

He reached over, placing a kiss on her lips, and then one on the tiny satin cheek of the baby he held. "Are you joking? She's the apple of my eye already."

Eliza's eyes misted over at this overwhelming moment in their lives and reached to squeeze Rafe's hand, "I love you, Mr. Hamilton."

Rafe looked down at the only woman he would ever love, tears clouding his eyes. " I love you, too, Mrs. Hamilton."

The End