Love, Come to Me Page 7

  So he had returned.

  Chapter 3

  Lucy stumbled slightly as she stared at Heath. David Fraser slowed the pace of their waltz. Following the direction of her eyes, he noticed the object of her attention. “That’s Heath Rayne, the Confederate who—”

  “I know who he is.” Lucy tore her gaze away from Heath and looked up at David with a smile. “I’m just surprised to see him with those people in the corner,” she said lightly. “I thought everyone hated him.”

  “Not everyone. He’s the type that you either admire or you hate—and I guess his style is something that some of the men around here want to imitate.”

  “Style . . . do you mean the style of his clothes?”

  “That and everything else . . . the way he does things.” David smiled wryly. “Some men are just that kind. It’s hard to explain, and I certainly don’t understand the admiration he attracts, not when he was trading shots with us just three years ago.”

  “Well, there’s going to come a time when everyone’s going to have to stop remembering who was trading shots with whom, and start learning to get along with each other,” Lucy said absently, peering over David’s shoulder again as they did a slow turn.

  It was rare, even in Concord, to see a man as stylishly dressed as Heath was. Who nowadays could afford to wear such clothes? His vest was superbly fitted and made of white piqué, cut low on the waist of his black trousers. Unlike the baggy Prince Albert coat that everyone else had on, his was less bulky, the sleeves more tapered, the wrists narrowed. And instead of the false-front shirts fastened with wide ribbons, which were just beginning to go out of style, Heath wore a crisp tailored shirt and a narrow white necktie. His sun-streaked hair shone with a rich gleam, cut short at the temples and the back of the neck in a new style that made the full curls at the temples of the other men look outdated. Big, vain peacock, Lucy thought, irritated by the fact that hers were not the only female eyes fastened on him. He knows that every woman in the room is stealing glances at him . . . and he certainly seems to be enjoying it! Not a shred of shame or modesty in him.

  She continued to dance with David, but now she had lost her flirtatious mood and her movements were purely mechanical. After a few minutes she took another quick look at the refreshment table and saw that Heath was gone. Her eyes made a survey of the room, and then Lucy realized that he was dancing with Sally, of all people—Sally, who was flushed and giggling, reveling in the attention she was getting by waltzing with a Confederate. Heath was staring down at her with a smooth, blank face, his lips curved in a slight smile. People were watching the pair with clicking tongues and disapproving faces, while Sally’s mother fidgeted uneasily in the corner. Lucy saw the two blond heads draw closer together as they talked. She wondered what Sally and Heath were saying to each other.

  “It’s getting very stuffy in here, isn’t it?” she murmured to David, feeling suddenly that the glitter and the brightness of the evening had faded. He understood her hint immediately.

  “Would you like to finish the dance some other time?”

  “Please.”

  Solicitously he led her to the side of the room, and Lucy promptly escaped into one of the ladies’ dressing rooms. Pressing a handkerchief to the sheen of dampness on her forehead and cheeks, she strove to regain her composure. She checked in a mirror to repair her hair, which was escaping its pins in straight wisps, and stared into a pair of fretful hazel eyes.

  “What’s the matter with me tonight?” she whispered, and set down the mirror jerkily. Innate honesty compelled her to admit the truth. She wanted to be the one dancing with Heath Rayne. She was jealous of Sally.

  Why, that can’t be, Lucy told herself, astounded. I’ve got Daniel. I can’t possibly be in love with one man and jealous over another one. Why on earth am I behaving like this?

  It was because Daniel wasn’t here—that was all. And she just couldn’t seem to dismiss her confusing feelings for the Southerner. There were secrets between her and Heath Rayne: the secret of those two days they had spent together in the warm, intimate confines of his home, the secret of those private conversations, and those kisses. But that didn’t mean she had any claim to him or his attentions. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t want that at all! Sighing, Lucy straightened her puffed sleeves and went out to the main room again, heading towards the refreshments. A glass of punch would help to cool her down.

  She lifted the ladle out of the half-filled bowl, preparing to fill a cup with the pink liquid.

  “Allow me . . . please.”

  The ladle clattered in the punch bowl, and Lucy cursed herself for having let it slip through her fingers. She looked up and met Heath’s turquoise eyes, which were dancing with amusement. He took the cup from her and ladled a small amount of punch in it, aware that filling it too full would make it difficult for a woman to handle without spilling a few drops on her dress. He seemed to have an unusual sensitivity about such things, about all the intricate details of handling a woman.

  “Did you enjoy your stay in Boston?” Lucy asked demurely, accepting the punch without looking at him.

  “Yes, thank you,” he replied with mocking politeness, his eyes traveling over her slowly. He had been oddly moved by the sight of her tonight, so young and defiantly animated, and somehow forlorn, and he would have gone to hell for any excuse to hold her.

  “Did you go there for business reasons?” Lucy failed utterly in her attempt to keep from seeming too curious.

  “Hardly for a vacation. The scenery was unremarkable.”

  “Of course. Boston in wintertime is not very—”

  “I didn’t mean Boston. I was referring to the Yankee women.” He made a slight face and then grinned at her indignant expression.

  “And what exactly do you think is wrong with Yankee . . . I mean, with women up here?” she demanded with a scowl.

  “None of them look like you.”

  As she saw the roguish light in his gaze and the mischievous smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth, she laughed. “You are a scoundrel.”

  “And you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He said it in an easy manner that robbed the words of any seriousness; still, Lucy felt a twinge of pleasure and was exasperated with herself. Was she so in need of reassurance that she was going to start jumping at meaningless compliments like a fish after bait? “In fact, you’re the reason why I came back,” Heath continued. “I kept on remembering you—usually at the times when I wanted to forget you the most.”

  “You came back because your horse is stabled here,” she said pertly.

  “I left him here because of you.”

  “Because of . . . what do you mean?”

  “Someday I’m going to throw you across his back and ride off west with you . . . and you’ll learn to make coffee in a tin pot over a fire, and we’ll sleep underneath a wagon and look out at the stars—”

  What did he think of her, that he would make such brazen comments to her? She didn’t know how to react. If she laughed, that might encourage him to embarrass her with further teasing, but if she got mad, he would probably laugh at her. She decided on a mild threat.

  “My fiancé might have something to say about that.”

  “Really? Where is he?” Heath inquired innocently.

  “Stop looking around the room as if you expect to see him. You know perfectly well he’s not here, or else you wouldn’t have dared to approach me.”

  “Where you’re concerned, I tend to dare a great deal . . . as you might recall, Miss Caldwell.”

  She couldn’t believe that he had the gall to remind her of the last time they had met, when his golden head had bent over hers and his mouth, to her trembling response, had been so hot and crushing. His teasing remark seemed to defile the memory of it. How could he make light of it, she thought with sudden anger, and all of her amusement fled as she looked away from him, her cheeks burning. “You mannerless . . . get away from me,” she muttered, and he laughed sof
tly.

  “What a quick temper you have. Is Daniel aware of it?”

  “Yes . . . no . . . he—oh, leave me alone!”

  “After I dance with you—or did I mistake those longing stares you kept sending me from the middle of the dance floor?”

  “Leave, or I’m going to make a scene!”

  “Go ahead. It’ll mean nothing to me, since my reputation’s already far gone . . . but yours . . . well, after your behavior tonight, it won’t take much more to finish yours off. Now set down your punch, Cinda, and take my arm.”

  Reluctantly she took his arm, wishing she had it in her to call his bluff. But she did want to dance with him, and she wasn’t sure why—except that it felt good to know that she was doing something that Daniel would have forbidden. “Everyone’s looking,” she whispered, letting him lead her to the center of the waltzing couples, several of which moved to allow them plenty of room.

  “Everyone’s been looking at you all night,” he said wryly. “Especially me.” His eyes slipped down to the low-cut bodice of her dress, touching on the generous swell of her breasts, then moved back up to her face. Lucy felt a warm tingle in her midriff at the bold appreciation in his gaze. Though he was the same age as Daniel and the other men she had grown up with, he seemed to be so much older than they were, so thoroughly confident. In an odd way she trusted him, but at the same time he made her a little bit afraid. Heavens, she didn’t like being so unsure of a man!

  They began to waltz, and Lucy’s thoughts were diverted from her worries as she relaxed and enjoyed the dance. His arms were around her again, and they were as hard and supportive as she remembered. Dancing with him was pure pleasure. The steps of their feet were wonderfully synchronized, his strong arm fit around her waist snugly, and he swept her around the floor with unfaltering authority. She knew exactly where he was going to lead her and where she was going to follow. Lucy felt as if she were flying, yet at the same time she felt vaguely dominated, and that wasn’t something that she liked at all.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded, aware that his turquoise eyes were locked on her face with unbearable intensity. He smiled and became the lazy scamp once more, a change that caused her to relax.

  “Just thinking that Daniel Collier is a fool.”

  “Unlike others,” Lucy reproved, gaining a measure of her self-confidence back, “he devotes most of his time to hard work and dedication to others—”

  “Leaving you alone a good deal of the time . . . leaving you open to all sorts of demoralizing influences.”

  “Like you?”

  “Exactly like me.” Heath eyed her assessingly. “Now, judging from the way you played your cards tonight, he ought to give you a talking-to when he finds out about how you’ve been kicking up your heels. At least that’s what you’re hoping. But I’ll bet he doesn’t. No, he’ll fuss and frown for a few days while you apologize to him, and then he’ll finally relent, taking your little hand in his forgivingly—”

  “What makes you think you know enough about me,” Lucy asked, stiff-backed with dignity, “or Daniel, to presume anything about what I want or what he wants, or what will happen between us, you overbearing, rude—”

  “I’ll bet he doesn’t say a word to you,” Heath said matter-of-factly, “even though he should, and would if he was half the man he ought to be.”

  “How can you say that to me? No gentleman would ever—”

  “Ah . . . don’t be angry, Cinda,” he entreated. “It’s the way I was raised. I just don’t know any better.”

  “Why did you call me that?”

  “Cinda? Because no one else does.”

  Lucy scowled at him, knowing that for the rest of the dance he was going to bend his efforts toward charming her into good humor again. And furthermore, that she probably wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Contrary to Lucy’s expectations, Daniel’s reaction to the rumors about the dance was not anger but something far worse. He came to visit the next afternoon, his eyes full of bewilderment and hurt. As they sat in the parlor, their hands clasped tightly, Lucy was wracked with guilt. She warded off his every question with fervent reassurances.

  “Does it make you unhappy to be betrothed to me?” Daniel asked quietly, his thumbs stroking over the backs of her hands. “Is there someone else you would rather—”

  “Oh, no . . . no, Daniel,” Lucy said in a rush, her heart nearly breaking at the sight of the defeated slump of his shoulders. His manner was so calm and serious that her lighthearted rebellion of last night took on a new magnitude of importance. How wrong she had been to try to get back at him in such a way! She had not thought that it would hurt him so deeply. The more she thought about what she had done, the more childish her own actions seemed. In fact, she was becoming acutely embarrassed by the recollection of her shameless flirting and loud laughter. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want or love,” she said, holding onto his hands with a desperate grip. “I was just so disappointed that you weren’t there.”

  “We’ve talked about this before, Lucy. I am working very hard in order to make our wedding take place that much sooner. You’ve told me so often that you want to be married as soon as possible, but that can’t be if I interrupt important work in order to go to dances and parties all of the time. I can’t spend the days working and the weekends socializing without finding time to rest. A man needs sleep every now and then!”

  “I know that. I do,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “I’m so very selfish sometimes, but it’s just that I care for you so much—”

  “Don’t cry, Lucy. You cry too easily. Only children . . . Lucy, don’t.”

  He broke the clasp of their hands to fish in his pockets for a handkerchief, and she put her palms to her eyes, biting her lip. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, heaving a great sigh. Daniel finally found the handkerchief, handed it to her, and winced as Lucy blew her nose with unladylike vigor. “I’ll die if I ever hurt you again,” she said in a muffled voice. “I just wish I had your strength and your patience.”

  “I understand. Women just aren’t very patient creatures,” Daniel said, patting her back and then rubbing her shoulders gently. “It’s not in their nature.”

  Lucy smiled a little into her handkerchief, making a wry face. But instead of arguing the point, she blew her nose again. “Well, it’s certainly not in my nature,” she said. “But I’m going to work at it. From now on I’m going to be the most perfect—”

  “You’re already perfect,” Daniel interrupted, pulling her into his arms and laying his cheek on her hair. “You’re perfect for me.”

  She snuggled closer to him, sighing in relief. Only with Daniel did she feel this safe and secure. “I don’t know why you put up with me sometimes,” she said, hugging him more tightly.

  “I have for years. I’m not about to stop now.”

  After having known him for so long, Lucy couldn’t imagine turning to anyone else for love and comfort, for peace and protection. Tenderly she pressed her face against his chest.

  “I’ve adored you my whole life,” she whispered, with all the ardent emotion of youth. “Ever since I was born.”

  “Lucy.” His arms tightened, and she felt him kiss her hair. “I can’t hold out against you any longer. All right. We’ll make the wedding in September. We’ll get married this fall.”

  Since nearly every family in Concord kept at least one small boat at the old or the new stone bridge, paddling up and down the river was the most popular warm-weather activity. It was impossible to row along the Sudbury branch of the river, which paralleled Main Street, without passing several friends along the way. On this particular day, the Fourth of July, the river was especially congested with traffic. Lucy laughed and called out to many of her friends as Daniel rowed her past the boathouses that flanked the riverbanks. She and Daniel were in the middle of a large group of canoes and boats that drifted lazily in the direction of the Old North Bridge.

  “How lovely this
is,” Lucy said, trailing the finger of one hand in the cool water while using the other to maintain a grip on the ivory handle of her frothy parasol. The day was hot and humid, putting everyone in a mood of idle contentment. They had all heard the Fourth of July speeches at the town hall and were heading to numerous spots on the river for picnics. Tonight there would be a carnival, in which specially decorated boats would float down the river while fireworks burst in the air overhead.

  “Someday I want a portrait done of you in that hat,” Daniel remarked, and she smiled at him. Her hat was small and perched on the front of her head flirtatiously. A spray of coral-colored flowers curled over its plaited straw brim, reaching down to her temple and mingling with her chestnut curls.

  “Why, you told me when I bought it that you thought this was a silly hat.”

  “Did I? Well, not very practical . . . but charming nonetheless.”

  “Me or the hat?”

  “You know which one I mean,” Daniel said, looking out over the water as he pulled on the oars.

  Lucy wished that he would have taken the trouble to give her reassurance. She took her hand out of the water and shook the droplets from it; a tiny frown drew her dark brows closer together. Lately she had become aware of things that she had never taken serious notice of before, including the fact that Daniel often treated her as if she were a difficult child. In his own words, “not practical but very charming.” She suspected that like many men, he tended to think that a woman’s head was mainly used for holding up a hat. There were certain subjects that he refused to discuss with her in anything but a superficial sense. Politics, for example, was something they never talked about. And when she approached him with ideas or questions, he listened with only half an ear and a complete lack of flexibility, as he had when they had been talking about the recent election of Elizabeth Cady Stanton as the president of the National Woman Suffrage Association. “The whole issue is a waste of time,” he had said flatly, as if that was supposed to end the discussion then and there.