Day Dreamer (27 page)

She picked up her skirt and left the veranda, following Cord and Bobo through the twilight to the slave village.

Bobo led Cordero to the center of the village, where the obeah man and Gunnie were bound and tied to uprights that supported the potter’s shed. Night had fallen and a fire had been lit close by. Firelight danced and flickered over the features of the two prisoners.

It was all Cord could do to keep himself from lunging at the obeah man and wrapping his hands around the old man’s throat. The venom and hatred that spewed from the ancient African’s eyes attested to a defiant spirit that would never die as long as there was a breath left in his twisted body.

Gunnie was sobbing. Cord ignored her. He knew who had conceived of the kidnapping and murder attempt on his wife. He moved closer until, his fists planted on his hips, he stood over the obeah man.

An uneasy tension filled the air in the village. Although there were not more than a few men brave enough to loiter in front of the shacks, the eyes of all of the village occupants were watching them.

Disheveled and winded, Celine ran into the circle of firelight and paused beside Cord. He cursed under his breath.

“I don’t want you here,” he told her. “Bobo, take her back to the house.”

“Sorry, miss,” Bobo said, waiting for her to follow orders.

“You can’t do this, Cord. Please. Don’t for God’s sake think you are doing this for me—”

“They have to pay, Celine.”

“But you can’t play God, Cord. Not with these people’s lives. I won’t let you.”

“I can’t let something like this happen again, and it will as long as this man is capable of—”

“But surely there is some other way.”

Somewhere in the forest a monkey shrieked and badgered a neighbor. Bullfrogs kept up a deep, hypnotic chorus. The soil was damp, soaked from recent rains. The close tropical air smelled of decay and the sticky-sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine.

Cord’s eyes scanned the darkness beyond the firelight. Celine had recovered. Although they were still feeling one another out, his father was a part of his life again. Everything seemed to be in order, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

He turned his attention back to the obeah man and a solution suddenly came to him. Cord turned to Bobo.

“Don’t wait until daylight. Take as many trusted men as you need, keep these two bound and gagged and transport them to Baytowne. I want them sold and shipped out on the very next boat to leave the harbor.”

Bobo nodded.

“You’re selling them?” Celine’s glance shot over to Gunnie. The girl refused to meet her eyes. “But—”

“Anyone else would have them drawn and quartered. Don’t argue with me on this, Celine. He must be punished, and moving the obeah man away from the graves of his kin is a terrible sentence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Superstitious attachments are formed to a place through the kin buried there. Even by the time I was old enough to understand, it had become unprofitable to buy slaves who had been uprooted from other plantations.”

“Why? It’s done in Louisiana all the time.”

“Here in the islands, uprooted slaves lose the will to live. They languish and die, for no apparent medical reason. Maybe the ties to the old beliefs are stronger here, who knows.”

“The mind is the most powerful of magicians,” Celine said. It was something she understood very clearly.

“You of all people should understand,” Cord said. He was watching her closely. “The obeah man’s strength lies in his ability to make the others think he is all-powerful. His believing that you are stronger than him is a death sentence for you as long as he is here, so he has to go. I know I sound harsh, but I won’t argue this.”

He could see what running after him all the way from the house had cost her. She appeared tired. The bright smile she had worn earlier had faded, replaced by an expression of concern for the very man who had wanted her dead. Cord doubted he would ever have that depth of love.

“Let’s get back to the guests,” Cord said as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. As they started back up the hill he looked over at Bobo. The giant nodded. Cord was confident his orders would be carried out.

Celine tried to shake off the solemn mood that had settled over her as they left the village. The shimmering promise of contentment had been tarnished. She knew Cord had been more than fair in his decision to send the obeah man and Gunnie away. They had to be punished lest they try again, but the knowledge did little to rid her of the unsettled feeling that had set her nerves on edge.

She glanced around the sitting room, where they had all gathered after dinner, and found Cord standing near the open windows talking to three gentlemen. As if he felt her gaze, he made a half-turn and smiled over at her. Her heart skipped a beat. The sudden flush of her cheeks prompted her to snap open the delicate ivory fan Ada had loaned her and look around to see if anyone had noticed her reaction.

The other planters’ wives all knew each other and had fallen into comfortable chatter. Celine wished she was better at engaging in polite conversation. She had tried earlier at dinner, but had found herself lacking when it came to being able to discuss the latest styles, and so she had grown quiet. What did she know of fashion? Since money had always been scarce, she and Persa had learned to make do with very few items in their wardrobes.

“When will your new furnishings arrive?”

Celine started and nearly dropped the fan. Cassandra Smythe-Whipple, a pert blond with heavy powder and rouged lips, had recently married a man two and a half times her age. She was leaning over to address Celine from the other end of the settee.

“New furnishings?” If new furnishings were on the way, Celine knew nothing about them.

“I think it was quite brave of you to have come here before everything was in perfect order. Mind you, it’s none of my business, but I would have sent my husband on ahead to get things settled.”

“We left just after—”

“I don’t doubt that this depressingly dismal decor is one of the reasons why you suffered so from the fever. Newcomers often contract it—that’s why it’s best to go outside as little as possible,” the new Mrs. Smythe-Whipple warned.

“I was never sick a day in my life before—”

“I’m sure you miss the city.
Anywhere
would be better than here. I told Harry that if he didn’t take me to visit England soon I would surely perish.” Cassandra rolled her eyes and paused to take a breath.

“I don’t really miss New Orleans; in fact, I find I like it here—”

“Yes, you must be devastated. No wonder you had your decline. Everyone says this place is haunted, you know. I think it was supposed to be the ghost of some woman who threw herself off a balcony or over a cliff or down the stairs. She went over something, anyway. Who knows. Dreadful, but I can see how suicide happens—the heat and all. And the rain this time of year! Dismal.”

Celine wondered if Alyce’s elusive spirit was in attendance tonight. If so, she thought with some amusement, perhaps she could be persuaded to haunt the talkative Mrs. Smythe-Whipple. Not only did Celine stop trying to respond, but she stopped listening entirely while Cassandra went on and on and on.

Within ten minutes she was wondering if anyone would miss her if she slipped upstairs and took a nap.

“Celine?”

At the sound of Cord’s voice, Celine looked up from folding and unfolding the fan in her lap. He was standing over her.

“The musicians are about to play,” he said softly. “Would you join me in starting off the dance?”

“Of course, although I haven’t had much occasion to learn.”

“Then I’ll have to teach you.” He held out his hand.

Together they crossed the veranda and stepped onto the terrace. Torches had been scattered at random around the garden and bordered the paving stones of the terrace floor. The flames cast the open-air dance floor in a shimmering light that gave the garden a primitive, exotic atmosphere. The guests had assembled along the veranda and at the edge of the terrace, ready to join in the dance as soon as Celine and Cord led the way. Celine saw Ada nearby, staring longingly over at Howard Wells as if he were a huge confection she could hardly keep from tasting.

Cord slipped his arm around her waist and leaned close.

“You look exhausted already. If you aren’t up to this, I’m sure Aunt Ada wouldn’t mind leading off the dance.”

Celine shook her head. “I think I was just tired of sitting. If you’ll show me what to do, I’ll try my best.”

He nodded over at the trio of musicians set up at the nearest corner of the veranda. They began to play a slow, lilting waltz. Cord left his arm around Celine’s waist and took her hand in his. Confident and accomplished, he slowly led her through the steps of the waltz with the finesse of a master.

When she felt sure of herself, she tilted her head back to look up at him, and became entranced. His dark lashes were thick and lush, enough to make any woman jealous. He was watching her so closely, and with such an intense hunger in his eyes, that she felt a surge of her own desire. Her hand tightened in his.

Ada and Howard joined them. The jovial bookseller appeared to be having the time of his life as he maneuvered Ada’s bulky frame around the dance floor. Cord glanced irritably at the gathered guests.

“Whose idea was it to hold this affair?” he asked Celine.

“You can’t blame me. I was instructed to do nothing but appear.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I can’t fault you.”

“No indeed.”

“I didn’t inherit my father’s love of parties. Are you as bored as I?”

“I was until now.” She smiled up at him.

“I suppose it would be rude to disappear,” he said.

Together they cast sly glances at their company. Cassandra had cornered one of her neighbors. The women had their heads together behind their fans, watching Ada and Howard Wells closely as they waltzed past. Two men were in the corner boisterously arguing the price of imported versus island-made barrel staves. Foster and Edward moved around the edge of the crowd with trays of confections and more champagne.

Cord began a series of steps and twirls that soon had them across the terrace, near the stairs that led to the beach walk.

He leaned close to Celine and whispered, “I’d like to take you down to the cove.”

“I’ve already seen it,” she said.

“Not by moonlight.”

“No, not by moonlight.”

She held tight to his hand, trusting him to lead her through the shadows to the crescent strip of silvered sand below that even now reflected the blue-white light of the moon.

Instead of starting down the path, Cord pulled her into his arms and held her close.

“I want you, Celine.” he whispered against her lips before he plundered them with his own.

The taste of him was heady and decadent, like champagne and chocolate. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of him and wished away their clothes, the crowd, the time it would take them to maneuver the dark path to the beach. She felt his palms through the silk of her gown, warm and seeking as they slipped along her ribs. His tongue, hot and searching, delved into her mouth, toyed with her, tempted and teased her.

He turned his back to the other dancers so that she was hidden by him. Celine was unable to stifle the moan that escaped her when he cupped her breast, molded and massaged her with his hand and then traced his thumb back and forth over the tightly budded nipple that thrust beneath the fabric.

Finally, when she had been so thoroughly kissed that she felt as warm and pliant as honey, Cord raised his head.

“And you, Celine?”

She slipped her hand between his legs, tenderly cupped him and then drew her hand up along the hard ridge of his erection.

“I want you, too.”

“I’m not one to deny a lady her wishes. Let’s go.” Cord started down the path to the beach. Suddenly, a man’s voice shouted over the music, drawing them up short.

“I’d stop right there if I were you!”

One by one, the musicians stopped playing. The last sound to die on the tropical night breeze was the sad, low whine of a violin. Cord and Celine turned as one. His arms wrapped around her, she stood with her back pressed against him as they faced the crowd.

Across the terrace, near the entrance to the garden, stood Collin Ray. Beside him was a shorter but heftier man in a tall beaver hat.

“What do you want, Ray? I thought we had this out long ago,” Cord challenged the man from across the terrace.

The exchange caught everyone’s attention. Foster and Edward set down their trays and wove their way through the guests toward Ray and the stranger standing alongside him.

“You weren’t invited, Ray,” Cord said. He let go of Celine and began moving across the terrace.

“I’m here in an official capacity this time.”

“And what would that be?” Cord demanded.

Celine caught her breath. She concentrated on the stranger who stood silent beside Ray. For the first time she noticed he was holding a piece of paper in his hand. Content to let the magistrate’s brother speak for him, the man had not said a word.

She had known what he wanted the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Celine started to run across the terrace, hoping to get to Cord before Collin Ray had a chance to speak. Each step she took was harder than the last.

“I think we should go inside, Moreau,” Ray urged.

“Whatever you have to say to me can be said right here, right now.”

“Cord, no!” Celine stepped up beside her husband and took his hand. She held on to him so tight that he shot her a hard, questioning glance before he turned to face Ray again.

“You are upsetting my wife. I’d like you out of here.” Cord still had enough command of his temper to lower his voice, but his control was slipping.

“I would imagine I’m about to upset her even more,” Ray said.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Cord!” Celine knew there was nothing she could do or say to forestall the inevitable. If only she could tell him herself, in private. If only …

“Your wife is wanted for murder.”