From This Day Forward (2 page)

Bolstering her courage, Caroline walked through the front door and into the noisy bustle of Tchoupitoulas Street for the last time.

Chapter One

Caroline stood on
the
pier,
watching uneasily as the mail boat rounded a bend in the river and disappeared from view. She dabbed her face with a damp handkerchief and gazed around, unease threatening to become
genuine fear at the vast wild
ness of the jungle. A screech she now recognized as a macaw pierced the other sounds, sending an army of goose flesh up her arm.

At least he could have sent someone to meet me.

The jungle sweltered with tropical heat, even though the sun had begun to set in the western sky. A fragile breeze set the foliage at the tops of the tall trees in motion. She longed for its soothing touch to chase away the heat and the incessant gnats that hovered around her unprotected face. But the air at her level remained unaffected.

Unbuttoning the top few buttons of her bodice, Caroline dabbed at her moist throat, glancing at the dirty white sack the boat's pilot had dropped on the dock. Logically, she knew that if the inhabitants of this isolated, remote wilderness didn't know when to expect the mail boat, they certainly couldn't know when she would arrive. Still, the boat's captain had blown the whistle several times as they'd approached the pier. Surely someone must have heard. How long would she have to wait before someone realized she was here?

A feeling of unreality gripped her. During all the preparations, Brazil had seemed a world away, a vague dream. All she'd been able to think of was escaping the dull emptiness of her life in New Orleans and grasping at what might be her last chance at happiness. Now, as she stood on the very threshold of a new life in a savage wilderness awaiting a man she'd never laid eyes on, her heart grew faint.

A loud splash at the edge of the river startled her, and she gazed up to see a
cayman
slither slowly into the water, disappearing beneath a mantle of red and gold water lilies. They were smaller than the alligators in Louisiana, but here in the Amazon there were no cities bustling with people where the creatures wouldn't dare venture. This was their domain, and she was the intruder.

Fifteen years in the wild.

What would he be like after being cut off from civilization for so long? As she'd read his letters, she'd formed a mental image of Jason Sinclair as a polished, refined gentleman planter. But her long journey west from the mouth of the Amazon had opened her eyes to the primitive conditions he'd lived under. The towns where they'd stopped along the way could hardly be called towns at all, with the exception of Manaus, which had stood out in this boundless wilderness like a ruby in a pig's ear.

The few homes she'd seen along the way had been raised Indian huts. Most of them barely passed as dwellings. Some didn't even have walls but were just wooden frames with thatched roofs.

And the heat and the insects! She'd thought they were bad in New Orleans, but they were nothing compared to what she'd experienced here. Somewhere between the Amazon and the Rio Branco, she'd stopped wearing a corset—until today. Today she wanted to look her best, but the torturous garment had quickly become soaked with perspiration. The cloying fabric caused her skin to itch miserably.

Movement at the edge of the jungle caught her attention. A figure emerged from the rich verdure, moving toward her with the casual grace and strength of a jaguar. Her mouth went dry and she began to tremble with anticipation. Was this man walking toward her with long, sure strides her husband?

The closer he came, the larger and more commanding he appeared and the smaller and more vulnerable she felt. Tan breeches hugged muscled thighs, disappearing into black knee-high boots. She caught a glimpse of broad, muscled chest as he shrugged into a white shirt and worked at fastening the buttons.

The sultry air vibrated with male power as he drew near. He brought to mind the animals she'd seen at the circus—restrained for the moment, but always there was the sense of wildness just below the surface.

A lump formed in Caroline's throat. What had she done? This wasn't the Jason Sinclair of her fantasies. In fact, the reality was so at odds with the picture she'd formed in her mind that she almost convinced herself that this man couldn't be Jason Sinclair. But as he stopped before her, she saw the resemblance between Jason and his cousin in the curve of his mouth and the shape of his stubborn chin.

That was the source of her disillusionment. She'd expected him to look like Derek Sinclair. Derek was a tall, handsome man, and Jason Sinclair was certainly that. While Derek possessed a certain refinement and elegance, those traits seemed completely lacking in this man. Where Derek was polished and sophisticated, the man before her was rugged and earthy, not at all the genteel plantation owner she'd hoped for. His clothes were dirty from working in the orchards no doubt. His dark blond hair looked as if it had never known a comb, and his large hands resembled a sharecropper's instead of a gentleman planter's with their calloused skin and dirty fingernails.

His gaze met hers briefly, and she caught a glimpse of arresting blue eyes, eyes the color of periwinkle. They captivated her for an instant before he looked past her over her head, searching the dock for something or someone. When he realized the dock was empty, he glared down at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted horns, taking her measure in a restrained, yet angry manner.

"Are you Jason Sinclair?" she asked tautly. He was head and shoulders taller than she, and he stood so close she had to tilt her head back severely to look into his eyes. Did he do so intentionally, she couldn't help wondering, and if so, why?

"I am." Suspicion showed plainly on his expressive features as he waited patiently for her to speak again.

His gaze dipped to her unbuttoned bodice. Her heart pounded as hot color flooded her throat and face. She'd been ogled by men before, but his gaze turned her bones to liquid, and a quiver of something like fear radiated through her.

She fought the urge to close the gaping neckline, knowing that to do so would only draw more attention.

"I am Caroline Marshall Sinclair," she said, trying to sound casual. Never before had she been so aware of a man. It was as if she'd stumbled across man in his natural state in the wild. Jason Sinclair exuded a raw maleness that took her breath away.

Taking a step back, she extended her hand, trying with all her will to extinguish the tiny spark of fear that threatened to devour her. She tried desperately to remember why she'd come here, but she could think of nothing beyond the stranger standing before her.

"That's impossible," he said, moving closer, his tall, powerful body dwarfing her.

She withdrew her hand, wiping it on her skirt in a nervous gesture as she fought the urge to back away from the displeasure in his eyes. He acted as if she'd arrived on his doorstep uninvited when
he
was the one who had requested a wife.

Anger hardened her resolve, and she glared contemptuously at him. "I'm afraid it's not only possible, it's true. I am Caroline Sinclair."

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stood there studying her so intently she could almost see his mind working furiously behind his eyes, before he spun on his heels and moved away from her, assuming she would follow.

"Come along, Mrs. Sinclair," he said over his shoulder, "I'll show you to the house." He stopped and turned back to her with a smirk. "Unless you'd rather stay here and wait for the next mail boat."

"How long would I have to wait?" she asked under her breath, not entirely in jest. A lump of apprehension clogged her throat, but she managed to swallow it. "Are you always so charming, Mr. Sinclair?"

Jason Sinclair smiled without humor. "If you wanted charm, you should have stayed in New Orleans."

Turning, he started walking away from her once more, but her words halted him. "Wait! What about my bags?"

Jason gazed past her at the pile of trunks and satchels on the wooden dock. "I hope you have something in those trunks more suitable for the jungle than what you have on."

Caroline glanced down at the pale green muslin dress she'd chosen so carefully that morning. It brought out the color of her hazel-green eyes and contrasted perfectly with her dark hair. Besides, it was light and cool and the nicest thing she owned.

"Leave them," he growled. "I'll have a couple of servants bring them up."

Speechless for the first time in her life, Caroline could only stare at his departing back in shock. He was the rudest, most infuriating man she'd ever met. How could she have been fooled so completely? A poetic soul? Hah!

Grasping the handle of her father's black medical bag, Caroline lifted her skirts and hurried after him, afraid he would leave her behind.

The narrow, sharply inclined path wound its way through the jungle. At every step, she forced lizards and beetles from their resting places. Long, green branches reached out from both sides, their prickly green fronds scratching her hands. She brushed them aside, ignoring the slight pain. Gathering up her long skirt, she tried to step around the mud holes, but that soon proved to be impossible. Instead, she held her skirt as far out of the muck as possible, but the hem quickly became soaked, the weight draining her strength.

As the house appeared before her, she tilted her head back, running her gaze up the white-washed stone wall that rose toward the heavens. Melanie had been right when she'd guessed at its size. It reminded her of a Moorish castle with its pointed arches and interlocking circular plaster work. Colorful flowering vines hugged the walls, as if to remind the owner that the jungle only tolerated its presence here—for now.

Captivated by the huge, sprawling structure, she missed her footing and fell to the ground, catching herself with her hands. Up ahead, Jason Sinclair kept walking, oblivious to her predicament.

"Stop!" she cried. "Wait!"

He turned impatiently, shaking his head in utter exasperation. He started toward her, but Caroline pushed herself up before he could reach her. She'd humiliated herself enough by falling. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of pulling her to her feet as if she were a helpless child. Angrily, she brushed her muddy hands on the front of her ruined skirt.

She gazed up to see Jason Sinclair bearing down on her, a long, lethal-looking knife in his hand. A cry of terror rose in her throat as she backed away from the fury in his eyes. Grabbing her skirt, he sliced the bottom ruffle off with two quick swipes of the knife, then sheathed the weapon in his boot before turning and walking away again.

"Fashionable frocks have no place in the jungle." He bit out the words, turning a few feet ahead and waiting impatiently.

It was a moment before Caroline could gather her shattered wits. Her heart finally calmed to a degree, and she looked down at the damage done to what had once been her best dress. He'd ruined it, and in the process, he'd left her ankles and booted feet exposed.

Embarrassment and fury seethed inside her. Lifting her chin defiantly, she retrieved her father's medical bag and trudged through the mud toward him. Admittedly, the shorter skirt increased her ease of movement tenfold. Still, he had no right to attack her so unexpectedly. The least he could have done was explain his actions. He'd frightened the daylights out of her.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Her lip quivered with anger and injured pride as she glared up at him.

"This is a coffee plantation, madam," he said impatiently. "I have work to do."

Caroline bristled at his harsh words. He thought of her as a bother, a nuisance that was keeping him from his work.

He waited for her to catch up to him, and when she stood before him, she said, her voice trembling slightly, "I'll try not to detain you longer than necessary. How stupid of me not to know how to get to a house I've never seen before."

"I don't like sarcasm in a woman," he informed her before walking away toward the house.

"And I don't like rudeness in a man!" she cried after him, but if he heard her, he didn't respond.

Caroline followed her new husband through an arched entranceway. Ahead was a wide, square courtyard around which the house was built. In the center, a large fountain gurgled, and in each corner, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led up to the vine-draped balcony that completely encircled the courtyard. Jason led her up the left staircase.