Amelia (Southern Hearts Book 2) Read online

  She licked her lips and swallowed before forcing the words out. "Well, I have something to discuss with you, and it couldn't wait."

  He came onto the porch and looked around. He faced her and clasped her arm. Angrily, he said, "How did you get here? Who brought you?"

  She shook her head, fighting a rising panic. "No one. Well, not exactly no one, I mean my horse is waiting over there. He absolutely refused to pass through the thicket. I can see why. I think I ripped my dress and scratched my skin in several places."

  He looked down at her, relaxed his grip, and massaged her arm.

  Shivers raced along her skin and she used her free hand to push hair out of her face. "Could we go inside? The weather is quite nippy."

  He released her and held his hand forward.

  "Thank you," she said, as she followed his lead and stepped inside.

  She refrained from heading toward the fire instead turning to face him. He ran into her and grabbed both of her arms.

  "Sorry," she said, staring at him from under her lashes.

  He nodded, released his grasp, and walked away leaving her to stand there alone. He retrieved a glass and took a seat.

  Awkwardly, she clapped her hands and moved to sit across from him. "Yes, I guess I should get to it."

  He cocked a brow.

  "I'm not prone to eavesdropping, you understand, although I guess I should admit I've done it more of late than I used to. But anyway, I've been in my room for days and hunger got the best of me and while I was sneaking out to the kitchen, I overheard Stephen talking to a man about this cabin.

  "I know you have the Vincent house, but I also know you like it here, and it seems so much like it was built for you, although I might have concocted that theory in my head, because I do that. Anyway, the man said the cabin was built on land belonging to a Mr. Jones, and it seems he wants something or Stephen has to give him the cabin. However, I must admit I was unable to hear what Mr. Jones wanted."

  Charles leaned back and spread his arm along the length of the sofa. He sipped at the liquid, his eyes never averting from her face.

  "I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I just thought you might like to know so you can prepare. Do you stay here often?"

  "Yes."

  She expected more than a one word answer, but she wouldn't be deterred. "It is a beautiful place, although how you ever find it is beyond me. It took me hours to follow the creek trail."

  "Creek trail?"

  "I guess it is not exactly a trail. More like an opening between trees. I'd almost lost hope until I saw the smoke from the chimney."

  "I see."

  Amelia stood. "I guess I should get back. Millie will be worried."

  "How?" he said, without looking at her.

  "Hmm, good question. Perhaps you can point me in the right direction."

  "Does anyone know you came here?"

  "No. I tried your house first, but the man who answered the door was none to friendly and refused to let me in."

  "He did?" asked Charles.

  "Yes. I told him I would speak to you of his insolence, but I got the impression he didn't really care."

  "Most likely not," said Charles, studying the liquid in his cup.

  "All right then, I guess I should be going."

  "Would you like a cup of tea?"

  Amelia found herself answering, "That would be nice."

  Charles retrieved a cup from a cupboard and filled it. He handed it to her and she sat down again and sipped at the bitter brew.

  "I have sugar if you like."

  "Yes, please."

  ****

  Amelia sipped her tea. Her cheeks glowed with a red hue. Habitually, she placed a stray hair behind her ear. She shivered, and he grabbed a quilt and handed it to her.

  "Thank you. It seems this weather has given me a chill."

  "It does that."

  Her eyes widened and she jumped from the sofa. He followed her to the window.

  "Snow!" With the word she bounced up and down like a giddy schoolgirl.

  "I feared as much."

  "What?" she asked, keeping her eye trained on the window.

  "The smoky cast to the sky usually means snow."

  She faced him. "Am I stuck?"

  "Perhaps," he said with a shrug, secretly fighting happiness over the situation.

  Amelia placed a trembling hand to her chest. "But what about my horse? She is trapped in the thicket."

  Charles dreaded the escapade, but he knew he needed to humor Amelia or she would never relax. He pulled on his coat. "I'll get her and put her in the stables."

  She grabbed his arm, and looked into his face. Her beautiful eyes shone in the firelight and his pulse raced.

  "Be careful," she said.

  "I will."

  He closed the door and walked out into the cold evening. Snow peppered down in fine flakes landing on his coat and hat.

  He found her animal easily enough. The horse neighed and whined as he grabbed the reins and led it on a circuitous route which ended at the stables. Inside, he placed the horse in a stall and laid out hay. All the animals were secure.

  Huddled beneath his coat, he headed back to the cabin. The door opened as he stepped onto the porch.

  "Did you find her?" asked Amelia as she shivered beneath his quilt.

  The homey sight touched his heart and he gulped back his desire to have his own family. "Yes."

  "Oh, thank you." She took his hand and drew him inside. "Come over here and sit by the fire."

  He allowed her to lead him. The pampering felt good and he relished the moment. Two chairs sat before the fireplace. He took a seat and she placed a cup of hot tea in his hands and covered his lap with another quilt. He stared at her full figure as she bent and stoked the fire.

  "There, maybe that will help."

  "More than you know," he said, fighting a smile.

  He sensed movement behind him and cast a glance over his shoulder. She had taken a seat on the sofa. As she covered her legs with the blanket, she gnawed on her lip as though mulling over a problem. Moments passed, and his heart soared as she rose, crossed the room, and sat in the empty chair. She scooted the chair closer and spread the quilt over them both.

  "We'll stay warmer if we share."

  "Hmm."

  The smell of her rose-scented hair was driving him mad. The feel of warmth seeping from her body caused him to shift.

  "Do you need more room?"

  The innocent question made him want to kiss her senseless.

  "No," he said between clenched teeth.

  She sighed. "I've made you angry."

  "No."

  "You don't have to lie. Perhaps you had other plans for this evening, like meeting Miss Kyle for a private dinner. Or visiting with Stephen or just sitting here and staring at the fire and because I've come I've ruined them all." She stared at the flickering flames.

  "Do you always talk this much?"

  "Well, no."

  "I don't remember you being so vocal in Bayou Sara."

  Amelia shrugged. "People there have preconceived notions about my behavior, so I give them what they expect. Here, I'm free to be what I wish."

  "And you wish to speak overly much?"

  She punched him in the arm. "You're teasing me."

  "Maybe a little," he said, rubbing the spot she touched and reveling in the tingles she'd sparked.

  "I hate to admit it, but I talk more when I'm nervous."

  "Are you nervous now?"

  "Extremely so."

  "Why?" He waited with baited breath. Would she say that she cared for him? Was that why she was nervous? And if she did, what would he say in return?

  "For a whole host of reasons, all of which revolve around sitting so close to you."

  She lowered her chin and studied her folded hands. Charles studied the ceiling. He was going to kiss her. He wouldn't be able to stop himself. Then the torture of telling her goodbye and that they could just be friends would start all over
again. How many times could he hurt her and she still come back to him?

  Her hair draped in front of her like a veil and he moved it aside. "It is not easy for me either."

  "Oh."

  He stared into her dark brown eyes. Intense longing gathered in his gut as he stroked the back of his hand along her cheek. "There are so many things I wish I could tell you."

  "Why don't you?" she whispered.

  "They aren't easy to explain."

  "It seems we have the time."

  Charles sucked in a breath and prayed for wisdom.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Snow pelted Victor as he rode toward the Jones Plantation. He found the narrow entrance underneath a wooden arch and directed the horse there. Signs posted warned trespassers to leave before it was too late. Salesmen were warned to Find another person to steal from.

  Victor shuddered. The warnings grew more and more violent the closer he drew to the house.

  Dilapidated slave cabins cropped up alongside the road. Emancipated families stood at the doorways and gazed at him as he passed. He looked forward in hopes of avoiding unnecessary attention.

  The gunshot struck the ground beside his mount. The horse rose on its hind legs and Victor struggled to stay upright.

  "Whoa!" he shouted.

  Another gunshot rang out in front of him.

  "Miles, it's me! Stop shooting!"

  "Well why didn't you say so?" asked Miles, the gun lowering.

  The horse settled on all fours and Victor breathed in short heavy gasps. His heart rate thumped loudly between his ears, and he feared he would pass out.

  "You can come down now. I ain't goin' to shoot you."

  "I would but I fear I'm stuck."

  Miles guffawed. "Go get him down boys."

  Two massive slaves stepped forward and lifted him bodily from the horse.

  "Thank you," he said, fighting rising embarrassment over his fear.

  They didn't reply and he narrowed his eyes.

  "Don't worry about them. They can't speak. I cut out their tongues when they were about six or so."

  Victor held his bile as he followed Miles inside the house.

  Miles led him to the first room off the foyer. The parlor was dark and Miles snapped his fingers. "The signs deter most people, so I expect you wouldn't risk coming here if you didn't have some news to report."

  Victor didn't answer immediately as he was distracted by candles winking on in random spurts about the room. Miles cleared his throat, and Victor gathered his wits and said, "You're correct. I've spoken with Stephen's litigator and with Charles, and I believe you have open access to Miss Beaumont."

  "Ah, the full figured one. Wide in the hips if I remember correctly. Good for breeding. Very good."

  Victor fought his pains of guilt and asked, "So when do I get the rights to the Green Estate?"

  "Whoa, old on there a moment, not so fast. Just because your nephew agreed to back off doesn't mean he will. I've seen better men than him break their word."

  "Yes, but–"

  "You shall have your reward when I'm married to Miss Beaumont and not before."

  "Of course," said Victor, tugging at his shirt collar.

  Weakened by his welcoming, he looked for a place to sit. A low settee offered the only seating. Victor lifted his coattails but quickly changed his mind. An insect with long antennae and a brown covering ran back and forth across the cushions. Clutching his coat tighter, Victor backed toward the wall. He studied the oddly designed paper, hiding his disgust at the roaches that added to the décor.

  Miles poured himself a drink, and seemed not to notice his companion's disgust. "Once you convince Miss Beaumont to marry me and the wedding is arranged send word."

  "What?"

  "Well surely you didn't think I was going to woo the girl. I have too much work to do. You, on the other hand, have let your crops fall so far I dare say there is nothing occupying your time.

  "With my vast holdings it ought to be no problem to convince the lady I'm a fine catch."

  Victor gulped. "Indeed, no problem at all."

  "You got two weeks."

  "Two weeks?" He gasped.

  Miles stepped in front of Victor and twisted a handful of his shirt in his fist. "If you're trying to trick me–"

  "No tricks," said Victor lifting his hands in surrender.

  Miles released him. "Good. As I was saying, two weeks should be plenty of time."

  "But what if Miss Beaumont refuses to be convinced? I mean, she may have someone waiting for her that I don't know about."

  "After the way she fawned over you and Charles at the party, not likely. But on the off chance she says no to all I have to offer, I'll just have to come up with another way to convince her."

  He cracked his knuckles, and Victor looked away.

  "Now get out of here and get started. I'm not a patient man."

  Victor nodded and walked backward toward the exit. On the porch he inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. Prickles raced up his leg and he looked down to find an insect crawling along his trousers. He shook the vermin off and jumped from the porch. His horse sat in the middle of the yard with his saddle removed.

  "Where's my saddle?" he asked, anger over his treatment, the insect crawling on his new trousers, and a plethora of other things, made his voice deeper.

  "What?" asked Miles who had followed him outside.

  Victor twisted to face the porch. "My saddle is gone."

  "Are you sure you had one when you arrived?"

  "Yes, I'm sure I had one when I arrived! Why would I ride without a saddle?"

  "Good question. I just don't know about some people these days. Some leave home without a saddle some leave home and come back to nothing."

  Victor took Miles hint. He was playing a dangerous game agreeing to work with Miles. The man had the audacity to steal Victor's saddle and in the same breath speak of how he had taken the property from Charles. How much did Miles know of what he'd done?

  Letting the issue of his saddle go, he used a post to help him step onto the barebacked animal. The snow had settled on the horse's back and the wet seeped through his clothing. Avoiding Miles gaze, he turned the horse and headed for home.

  As he struggled to remain upright, Victor chewed at the inside of his jaw. What kind of person was he? He'd just agreed to hand Miss Beaumont over to a monster.

  The snow hit as if the sky spit at him. He deserved that punishment and more. If Cassidy knew of his transgression she would never forgive him.

  How was it after he'd left her and avoided thinking of her for two years her opinion still mattered so much to him?

  The horse moved faster as he kicked its flanks. The plantation came into sight, lights blazed from the windows offering the promise of warmth.

  After ordering a slave to take care of his horse, he found an empty stall and stripped naked. Wrapped in a wool blanket, he carried his clothing outside and handed them to the stable boy. "Burn these."

  The slave nodded and Victor walked toward the house. As he entered the foyer a waft of warm air struck his face. The aroma of fresh baked apple pie assailed his nostrils and he followed the scent to the dining room.

  Arranged at the head of the table was one place setting. The fire in the room had been stoked and heat billowed into the room. The punkah above the table moved back and forth as one of the slaves tugged the cord.

  "We kept your food warm, masser."

  Victor wrapped the blanket tighter across his shoulders and dropped into the seat. The wood of the table was splintered in several places. The mat under his plate frayed. The once luxurious curtains hung in tatters, allowing moonlight to peep through the holes.

  Victor placed his hands in the prayer position and held his head over them. He'd caused all of this. Maybe, just maybe, if he acquired that piece of Miles' property then he could sell the cabin and use the money to make repairs. That was the answer. With the house returned to its former glory all his problems would
be solved.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They stood on the porch wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. "It's so beautiful."

  "Yes, it is," said Charles never moving his gaze from her face.

  "I've never seen snow before. Millie talked about it but I've never seen it."

  "Then come with me."

  He walked them into the front yard. Amelia lifted her hands to the sky and leaned her head back. Snow gathered on her tongue and she laughed. He mimicked her behavior. After a few minutes she shivered and he wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and drew her back inside.

  In front of the fireplace she sat on the floor and huddled beneath a mound of quilts. Charles handed her another cup of tea. She took it gratefully, allowing her attention to be drawn back to the flames.

  "I never told you the reason I came to visit Millie," said Amelia shyly.

  "Stephen said it was because your family didn't believe she was ill and you were sent to check up on him."

  Amelia fingered the corners of a quilt. "I guess that was part of it. Father's concerns mounted as Millie neglected to visit, but that wasn't the entire reason I came."

  He lifted his hand, if he could just rub his knuckle across her smooth cheek, but instead he ran it through his own hair.

  "I guess I don't know then."

  "I came because I embarrassed the family."

  "Impossible."

  She snickered. "I assure you it is possible. I'm not as perfect as everyone thinks I am."

  Charles sipped his drink and peered over the rim. Her dark hair lay in waves around her shoulders. Moonlight streamed through the windows highlighting attached water droplets. He touched one and it popped.

  "What?" she looked up at his touch.

  "Oh, sorry. The snow melted in your hair."

  "Maybe I should go dry it."

  "Wait here."

  He stood. In his bedroom he found a towel. He walked up behind her and placed the towel on her head. Slowly he massaged her scalp. She reached up to take it away but he held tight.

  Sweet torture, he thought, as the water drops dissipated. Gulping, he placed the towel in front of the fire, cleared his throat, and said, "You were saying?"