Violet Fire (21 page)

The words weren't out of his mouth when Rathe was standing and hauling George to his feet, about to slam a punch into his face. George raised his hands in surrender. Rathe realized he was about to hit a friend, and released him. “Spit it all out. Where is she?”

“Down the street at Max's.”

 

The dress—if it could be called a dress—was much, much worse than she expected. The skirt consisted of black
lace over red satin. It came to her calves in the back but only to her knees in the front. The bodice was unadorned except for black pearl buttons and seams of inlaid black lace. It was most certainly too small. She knew she didn't dare bend over or reach down for fear of losing what little cover she had.

She didn't know if she could go through with this. It was not just that it was the height of hypocrisy. She was against saloons and the excess consumption of spirits. But…five dollars a week. It was a fortune, enough to pay her mother's bills. And if she made tips…

The problem was, she was scared. Scared to walk down the stairs in this costume. Scared of this job. Scared of those men. Just plain scared.

The high, narrow heels were treacherous to walk in. Grace descended the stairs with difficulty. She could not control the flaming of her face. She reminded herself that this was business; she was desperate for the money; and these men were ignorant wastrels, greatly inferior to herself.

She did not feel better, especially not when whistles and catcalls greeted her.

Dan came over, his gaze admiring, repeatedly returning to her voluptuous breasts. “Jesus,” he said. “You sure know how to hide your looks, don't you?”

He was the boss, but she hated the way he was regarding her, so she ignored him. Unfortunately, as she sailed past, she caught her heel between the planking and fell on her face.

Ten men rushed to help her up before she could even move.

As they lifted her to her feet she checked her bodice—thank God it was still where it was supposed to be—and she tugged it up. She stared at the floor and whispered, inaudibly, “Thank you.” She was in dire jeopardy of crying.

“You all right?” one of them asked.

“Honey, you look like you need a drink,” another commented.

“You like to dance, gal?” came yet another hot, breathy voice at her ear.

The barrage was endless. Grace summoned up every ounce of determination she had. She lifted her eyes and managed a smile, a fragile one. She could feel that her cheeks were burning. Someone groped at her thigh. Grace sucked back an angry cry. The men dispersed, looking as hungry as starving wolves, none of them able to take their eyes off of her. Dan grabbed her arm. “Go to that table and get their orders,” he said.

Grace was grateful to have something to do. She approached, very careful of her heels, avoiding all eye contact. She realized she was lucky she hadn't broken her ankle. It was just another example of female slavery, she thought. Put them in high heels so they can't walk—that will keep them in their place!

She was serving a tableful of admirers sometime later, careful not to bend over too far, ignoring a few indecent proposals, sidestepping groping hands the best she could, when a hushed silence fell on the saloon. Grace looked up…and held her breath.

Rathe stood in the doorway absolutely red in the face.

Her very first reaction was one of relief—she half-hoped he had come to rescue her. Then her chest grew tight with humiliation. She didn't want him here. She didn't need this on top of everything else. And why was he so angry? She had never seen his color so high. Then it dawned on her—she had enraged him by being here—and she felt a little thrill at her ability to provoke him so.

But then it hit her. They all know, she thought. They all know we shared a room in the hotel. They all think I'm his mistress. Oh, no!

Rathe walked stiffly to a table, pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked right at Grace. “I want service,” he said, his voice ringing out.

Everyone started talking at once.

Rathe wasn't sitting at her table, and even if he was, she had no intention of waiting on him. She smiled at the men in front of her, despite the hollowness she was feeling. “Can I get you all anything else?” Her voice was octaves too high.

Rathe scowled at the pretty brunette who came to his table. “I want the redhead,” he told her in a tone that was completely uncompromising.

The brunette tried for a smile. “But honey, she's busy. “Sides, this ain't her table.”

Rathe rose abruptly and pointed. “That her table?”

“Yes,” the woman said, eyes wide.

A look of deadly satisfaction crossed his features and he changed tables, once more hushing the saloon. He sat facing Grace, and looked directly at her. “A double bourbon, the best in the house.”

Grace clenched her jaw. She was not going to wait on him. He was doing this on purpose, to demoralize her. She turned her back and sailed away, forgetting her heels. Once again she went down on her face.

This time over a dozen men leapt to her aid, but Rathe didn't move.

Before she could catch her breath they were fighting for the honor of helping her up.

Meanwhile Grace yanked her bodice up to cover one almost bared breast, her face flaming, still sitting sprawled on the floor.

“You all right?” asked the man who seemed to have won the right to help Grace.

Grace blinked back tears. She didn't dare look at Rathe. She could feel his gaze burning on her. “Yes, fine,” she whispered, letting him pull her up.

It was a mistake. The man was as much a rogue as a gentleman, and he deftly used the opportunity to maneuver her into his arms, holding her pressed there briefly. Grace quickly disengaged herself. She didn't mean to look at
him
, but she couldn't help herself.

He was blazing mad.

Grace turned her back to him, feeling both frightened and embarrassed, wishing this evening was over. She walked very carefully to the bar, ignoring a few of the girls' mean snickers.

At his table, Rathe sat with clenched fists. If he weren't the man he was, he would give in to the rage he was feeling, and haul her outside upside down and spank her soundly…then make love to her until she begged for mercy, until she was so sore she couldn't move—maybe even keep her a prisoner in his bed. The fantasy grew.

In a second, it vanished, leaving him humiliated. No woman had ever treated him this way before, much less
publicly
. And she was treating herself like a whore. He decided, in that instant, if she didn't bring him a drink immediately he would carry her out and fulfill every one of his dark, angry fantasies.

Dan clapped his hand on Grace's shoulder. “I don't care that you're having a lover's spat,” he said. “He's sitting at your table and that makes him one of your customers. Get him his drink.”

Grace went scarlet with frustrated, shamed anger, but she brought him his drink, her chin up. His blue eyes burned, unwavering, promising dire consequences. She slapped the glass down so hard half of it spilled. He looked at the puddle, then at her. “Looks like you'll have to bring me another one.”

She glared.

He downed the glass. Grace turned to leave. He caught her wrist, yanking her around and pulling her abruptly onto his lap. Grace gasped, but couldn't disengage herself from his iron grip.

His hand caught a hank of her hair, like a leash, stilling her instantly. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing!”

Dan came over. “Rathe, I don't want any trouble here.”

Rathe smiled and thrust a wad of bills into Dan's hand. “This buy her time for the evening?”

Dan pocketed the money and walked away.

Grace felt sick. Rathe had just purchased her. She felt like a prostitute. “Let me up.” She was very close to tears.

“What are you trying to prove?” he snarled. “Or are you just trying to humiliate me? Isn't that what this is all about?”

His breath was hot on her face. He smelled of bourbon. “No,” she said, trying not to break down. “I need the money.”

“Enough to whore for it?”

She tried to slap him. He caught her wrist without releasing her hair and crushed her more fully against him.

“I don't understand,” he said with twisted lips. “Why here when you could be whoring for me?”

She cried out at his cruel words.

Rathe took a deep breath. He cursed. Then he was on his feet, pulling her up with him. He half-dragged her outside. On the street he turned her to face him. He saw her tears and groaned. “Ah, don't cry. Grace…”

“Please don't do this,” she whispered, wiping her eyes, looking at the ground.

Rathe sucked in his breath, then took her into his arms. He held her. “That was the stupidest thing you've ever done.”

Secretly, Grace agreed with him. “I had no choice.”

He stroked her hair. “You have a choice. The perfect choice.” He tilted her face up. “Marry me.”

She stared, shocked.

The question had popped out. Rathe was suddenly flustered, apprehensive. “I'm a wealthy man, Grace. I can take care of you and your mother. I can buy her the finest care there is, give you anything you want—anything.”

“You're serious?”

“Yes.”

She blinked at him. “I—I don't understand. You want to marry me?”

“You're a beautiful woman, Grace,” he said huskily.

“I don't know what to say.”

Rathe stared, his hold on her loosening. “What?”

Grace was overwhelmed. “I don't understand this. I thought you wanted me to be your mistress.”

“I've had a change of heart.”

Somehow, Allen's proposal had never felt like this. Her heart was racing madly. “I'll have to think about it,” she heard herself say. Her eyes went wide—was she actually going to consider marrying this man?

“Think about it?”

Grace touched her temple, stepping away from him. Oh, dear! She had never expected this! She couldn't marry him—could she?

“You have to think about it?” he asked, strained.

“This is such a surprise,” she managed. Her insides were fluttering. Did he love her?
Grace, don't be a fool! He's thinking with that male part of his anatomy again—it's only lust!

“Do you know,” Rathe said, “just how many women would jump at a proposal from me?”

She blinked. “Why, quite a few, I'm sure.”

“Quite a few! Every debutante in New York City! Do you know how many debutantes there are in New York?”

Grace lifted her chin. “No, I don't. But I have a feeling you're going to tell me.”

“Damn right! Hundreds. And we're only talking about New York.” His eyes were blazing.

“I see,” Grace said, so very calmly. “We haven't counted Paris or London yet, or New Orleans. Oh—and Texas. Why, I bet there's swarms of debutantes in Texas just waiting for a proposal from Rathe Bragg!”

He gritted his teeth.

“Well, you could always marry one of them.”

He grimaced. “I have never proposed before.”

Grace instantly felt horrible, despite his arrogance. “I'm sorry. I apologize. I will think about it, I promise. I'll let you know, soon.”

“You'll let me know…” He stared. “Soon.”

He was clearly upset. “Yes, soon. I really do need to consider this, Rathe.”

He clenched his fists.

How can you even consider this proposal?
she asked herself desperately. She looked at him standing before her, glowering.
The man has just proposed. This gorgeous man—to you!
“Rathe.” She touched his sleeve. “I'm flattered, I really am. Thank you.” She suddenly became aware of the saloon behind them, and stole a guilty look over her shoulder. “I'd better get back.”

“
You're going back in there?
”

“Why, yes.”

“No, you're not, Grace.” It was a warning.

“You cannot tell me what to do.”

“No, you're right, I can't. You want to go on in there and be treated like a whore—
when you could be my wife
—go right the hell ahead.”

That was the problem. She didn't want to go back in there. Just the thought of it repulsed and scared her. She took a deep breath, for courage. She managed a smile for his benefit, because he was watching her so intently. She squared her shoulders and returned to the saloon.

Rathe moved, like lightning. He was in the saloon and approaching Dan. Grace was halfway to the bar. The conversation abruptly ceased. Grace froze, turned, saw him. Rathe halted by the owner. They exchanged a long look. Rathe never said a word.

Dan threw up his hands, an ingratiating smile on his face. “I thought she had your permission. When I hired her she said there wouldn't be any trouble. I don't want any trouble.” He turned toward Grace. “Grace, I'm sorry, but you're discharged.”

Grace gasped.

“Trust me, Grace,” Rathe said. “This isn't the place for you.”

She didn't bother to think of the consequences—or the fact that he was right. “But being your wife is?”

Rathe went red.

“I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth!” She ran past him and out into the balmy Natchez night.

Despite her exhaustion, she couldn't sleep.

Rathe had asked her to marry him.

She hadn't meant to embarrass him in the saloon, but she was finding it hard to believe he could want to get her into his bed so badly that he would actually offer marriage. He obviously didn't love her. That word had never been mentioned. She remembered how he had said he liked challenges—how his eyes had glinted. Was she just another challenge? One he would stop at nothing to get?

Grace tossed restlessly. After her outburst at Max's, did his offer still stand? She sat up, flipping her braid over her shoulder. Why was her heart pounding like this? There was no way she could marry him! Why, tonight had been the perfect example of how he would circumscribe her independence! He was wrong for her—in every way. Then she thought about how it felt to be in his arms, and she actually blushed.

What would it be like to be Rathe's wife? She had a fantasy of herself, elegantly gowned with diamonds in her hair, greeting Rathe in an elegant foyer as he returned home for supper. He was smiling, as was she. He held out his hand and she rushed to him. Then, from behind his back, he produced a magnificent bouquet of bright pink roses. As Grace accepted, overwhelmed, a little red-haired child suddenly ran into Rathe's embrace, shrieking, “Papa, Papa!”

Oh, dear! She didn't even know if he wanted a family,
or where he wanted to live, or anything! And if she wanted to get married, she should marry Allen. In fact, wasn't she supposed to be considering Allen's proposal? She hadn't given it a single thought! She'd thought more about Rathe's proposal in the past hour than she'd thought about Allen's all week!

She might as well get it over with, she decided, and tell him tomorrow that they just didn't suit. She tried to imagine his reaction. He would become as angry as a bear. On the other hand, perhaps he had changed his mind. For some perverse reason, she didn't like that thought.

An inner voice said,
He's the answer to all your problems
.

“He is not,” Grace said aloud. Yes, she needed the money, and she wanted him to stop Sheriff Ford from perverting the law, but that was no reason to get married. After all, she didn't love him. Slowly, she lowered her head back to the pillow. For a woman who was not in love, it seemed strange that she spent most of her waking hours thinking about him.

It's because he provokes and irritates me so thoroughly
, she told the darkness.

If anything, she would rather be his kept woman than his wife. Marriage was forever, but if she was his mistress their relationship would eventually end.

Oh dear, she thought. I can't think straight, because of
him
, and I'm losing my sanity!

Next week's rent was due tomorrow. She would have to ask Harriet if she could be a few days late, which she hated doing. Harriet needed the income. She supposed she could borrow a few dollars from Allen, at least for another week's rent, but then what? Allen needed to support himself while he was recovering. She was in a terrible situation. If only Rathe hadn't gotten her discharged.

She couldn't be angry. She had hated that job. She was glad it was over.

Grace slept fitfully. She dreamed about Rathe, chasing her. At first she was running as fast as she could. But then her steps slowed, and she actually wanted him to catch her! And catch her he did. When he pulled her into his arms, to kiss her hungrily, it was so real, Grace awoke and thought it was actually happening. Her heart was pounding, her breasts throbbing. There was a wet heat between her legs, and she lay in the darkness recovering—with a sense of disappointment she refused to face.

Grace purposefully came to breakfast late, wanting to avoid Rathe. As soon as everyone else had left, Grace bit her lip and began. “Harriet…”

But Harriet interrupted. Clearly she had something she was anxious to say. “Grace, I just have to say my piece. I know you're different from the Southern ladies, bein' a temperance worker and a Yankee and a big-city gal. But I've got to warn you. You can't let the likes of Rathe Bragg walk all over you. He's a good boy, I know that, but you are a lady and you can't let him think otherwise—or treat you otherwise.”

Grace didn't know what to do. A part of her felt defensive, the other part guilty. “What do you know about him, Harriet?”

“I know that he should know better than to be fooling with you the way he is,” Harriet stated fervently. Then, “I know his folks. He comes from a good, lovin' family.”

“Yes, you've mentioned that before.”

“His daddy used to ride through these parts and have the same effect—set all the gals to swooning. 'Course, it was different back then, not so built up, no law and such.”

“Back when?”

“In the forties and fifties.”

“And his mother?”

“A beautiful little gal. I only met her once, but it was enough to know why Rathe's daddy never even looked at any of our gals. Look, Grace, I was very upset when I
heard the gossip, but then I got to thinking—you can just make him marry you, you can.”

Grace bit her lip. What would Harriet say if she knew Rathe had proposed? She said, “We just don't suit, Harriet.”

She snorted. “No? He's crazy about you and you're not exactly indifferent. You're no Louisa Barclay, an' Rathe knows it. He was raised right.”

Thinking of his outrageous womanizing ways, Grace said, a touch bitterly, “You wouldn't know it from the way he acts.”

“Honey, Rathe is the youngest, and he's told me himself, he was spoiled with all the loving and attention he got from his family. Ask him about them some time. He loves them. You can tell a man by his folks, Grace, remember that.”

Grace had to ask Harriet about this week's rent. She couldn't put it off, no matter how curious she was to know more about Rathe Bragg. “Harriet? I know this is a terrible imposition, but I was hoping I might be a few days late with the rent.”

Harriet looked uncomfortable. “Grace, normally that would not be a problem.”

Her hopes sank.

“Grace, honey, try an' understand. I run a public place here, a respectable place. My ladies are very, very upset. They've told me they'll leave if I let you stay. My business is running a boardinghouse. I can't afford a bad reputation. What if my ladies leave? Other ladies won't come, either. I'll go out of business.”

Grace felt faint. “I understand.”

“Honey, I hate asking you to leave, I really do, and I put it off long as I could. But I'm going to tell my mind to that Rathe Bragg—this is all his fault—and you watch, he'll come around! In the meantime, you'll be better off at one of the hotels.”

Grace wanted to cry. “Harriet, Rathe has already asked me to marry him,” she said, wanting to share her burden.

Harriet stared, then threw back her head and chortled with glee. “He did? That's wonderful! I knew it, the instant I saw the two of you together. Why didn't you tell me?”

Grace didn't smile. She could not tell Harriet that she would not marry Rathe. Harriet was harboring some romantic fantasies about the two of them. Harriet would try and change her mind. The older woman hugged her warmly and left.

Grace stood unmoving, realizing that now she had no choice. She would borrow ten dollars from Allen, exactly half of his savings. She knew he would lend it to her without hesitation. That would be enough to pay for a very cheap room for a couple of weeks; she would only eat one meal a day, as well. Something would just have to turn up before this money ran out.

 

“Hey, Rathe, you got yourself a telegram here.”

Rathe swiveled his head. It was only ten-thirty, but he was sitting at a front table in the Black Heel, morosely. He sipped both a coffee and a bourbon, unable to decide which he really wanted. Actually, he wanted neither. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Grace.

But Grace didn't want him.

He was still in a state of disbelief. He had offered marriage.
Marriage
. And she had to think about it? Apparently she wasn't impressed by who and what he was. She wasn't even impressed by the fact that he had never proposed before.

His face grew red every time he recalled how she had thrown his proposal back in his face in front of the entire saloon. Well, there were thousands of women he could marry, but damned if he'd ever offer marriage to her again—not unless she came crawling to him on her hands and knees.

Somehow he could not picture Grace ever doing that!

He shifted very uneasily in his seat. Was it possible that, for the first time in his life, he was going to be
thwarted? Never had he wanted anything as much as he wanted Grace. He kept thinking she would come around. But was he wrong? Was Grace really going to evade him? Would she walk out of his life, never to appear again?

That last thought made him sick, and he knew he could never let it happen. He would kidnap her first.

He looked at the telegram, and realized it was from his family. If his mother knew he was thinking of treating a woman like this, she would give him one rousing lecture…and maybe a smack or two. Rathe couldn't even smile at the picture of his tiny mother trying to hit him when he was six feet tall, built like an oak, and thirty years old, to boot. He knew his parents wanted to see him. If he had any common sense, he would pack his bags and leave Natchez and never come back. He picked up the telegram.

 

DEAR RATHE
,

WHEN ARE YOU COMING HOME STOP STORM AND BRETT AND KIDS ARE HERE STOP HAD HELLUVA TIME FINDING YOUR WHEREABOUTS STOP WE WANT TO HEAR ABOUT NICK STOP COME SOON WE LOVE YOU STOP DEREK

 

His sister, Storm, and her husband, Brett, were at the ranch with his niece and two nephews. That alone was the best reason there could be to get going. It had been almost a year since he'd last been home, and that was too long. And he hadn't seen Storm in more than that, because she and her husband lived in San Francisco. If only his older brother Nick, were there. But Nick was in England, at Dragmore, the estate he had inherited from their English grandfather.

Rathe had been in England earlier that year on business, and the rest of the family was clearly anxious to hear his report about Nick.

But he knew he couldn't leave Natchez now, not with Grace here, not when he was so obsessed he couldn't even get randy around other women. If Nick or Derek knew
they'd be howling with laughter, telling him it served him right.

Rathe shut off his thoughts.

 

Grace felt awful as she departed Harriet's with her two valises and single carpetbag. Allen had gladly loaned her the money. Grace had not told him that she was leaving, nor had she told him she had been asked to do so. She didn't want to upset him. After she was established someplace else, she would let him know, explaining that she had left in order to take a cheaper room. Two of the women who were boarding at Harriet's were sitting on the porch, watching her every move as she huffed down the path to the street. “Good riddance,” she heard one of them say. “To think baggage like that claims to be a schoolteacher! It's a sin!”

Grace raised her chin, firmed her lips, and walked on.

Of course, the hotels on the cliffs were too expensive. On the edge of the waterfront she paused, putting down her bags, massaging her hands. Sailors were unloading a barge. Drays moved down the street. A couple of drunks were stumbling out of a saloon. The line of hotels, with their shabby facades and faded signs, stretched from where she was standing out into the distance and out of sight. She saw Dan Reid on the boardwalk in front of Max's, and flushed thinking about last night.

Just then a boy, barefoot and dirty and about thirteen, ran into her, almost knocking her down. Grace cried out.

“Oh, 'scuse me, ma'am,” he said, steadying her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” she said, shaken. “Thank you.” She gave him a warm smile.

He grinned back, apologized again, and took off.

Grace picked up her bags and continued down the street. It wasn't until she was standing inside one of the hotels, registering, trying not to notice the dirt in the corners and a mouse scurrying across the floors,
that she reached for her reticule and realized her money was gone.

She had been robbed.

 

The night was warm. She had nowhere to go. She knew she was in a desperate situation. She could not ask Allen for the last of his money. He would give it to her. Then he would have nothing.

She sat on a tree stump in a clearing in the woods on the outskirts of town, shivering despite the balmy temperature. Her bags were at her feet. Through the trees, she could just make out the sluggish, meandering Mississippi, shining in the moonlight. Two men on a raft drifted past her, poling along. She was shielded by trees and shrubs; nevertheless, she held her breath until they were out of sight.

Every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves, made her jump and crane her head around. What was she doing? Did she really think she could spend the night out here? It was so dark. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of, that this was better than a street corner—and in the daylight, when she had arrived, it had seemed safe. In town she would have certainly been accosted. But what about the wild animals? Were there snakes out here? Lions? Wolves? Oh, God! She knew nothing about the wilderness! And even if she survived tonight, what about tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that?

Tomorrow will bring a job, she told herself firmly. All you have to do is survive this night. Tomorrow you will find a job, a job with room and board. No one can see you from the road or the river. Just be still and quiet and you'll be safe.

There was a movement in the bushes behind her. Grace jumped to her feet, clamping a hand over her mouth to still the shriek that wanted to escape. It was only a gray tomcat.