The long summer days slipped by into weeks and July grew into an elderly month as Heather’s nineteenth birthday came and went. Sybil’s murder ceased to be topic of conversation as the search for her assailant brought no results. Her known suitors all seemed to have had adequate alibis, and the affair sank into the background, though most women remained unduly cautious of alleyways, dark doorways and wooded copses at night.

With the passage of time, Heather found her life changing as she settled securely into her place as Brandon’s wife, performing the intimate duties of that position with an abandon that left her radiant. She enjoyed sharing a bedroom with him and having his presence beside her in the huge bed at night. She delighted in the feel of his hands upon her. He knew her body better than she did herself, and he used that knowledge to heighten her pleasure. He treated lovemaking as an art and was a master in his own right. His technique was as unpredictable as it was sophisticated. There were times when he wooed her, cajoled her, seduced her as if there were no marriage bonds between them, as if she were a maiden still, sweet-talking, teasing, nibbling until shivers of delight shattered every nerve in her body. Then other nights when she innocently did something to arouse him, he would rip her clothes from her with a lusty laugh, fling her on the bed and take her with a violence that nearly drove her insane with pleasure and left them both panting and exhausted but fulfilled to the ultimate. He played with her, he pampered her, he teased and tormented her, and she loved every moment of it. He taught her how to purr as he once claimed he could. He encouraged her to be not only a wife but a mistress, giving of herself freely and provoking his desires as well as satisfying them, though that proved a very simple task indeed.

“Are other men so romantic?” she inquired one night as he pressed her back into the pillows. “Are all wives blessed with such loving husbands?”

He smiled and smoothed her hair from her face.

“Are all husbands blessed with seductive vixens for wives?” he counterpointed her question with his own. “Are other women so beautiful and yet so willing to please their men?”

August made its debut with a bright, hot sun, sending most families scurrying to the city to cool themselves in the ocean’s breeze. The Birminghams spent several days as guests of Mrs. Clark in her mansion near the beach, and the old woman took great pleasure in letting it be known to her acquaintances that Brandon and his young wife did indeed share a bed and were in fact a most loving couple.

Shortly thereafter, Brandon had to go to the mill to bring the books up to date, and the Websters extended an invitation to Heather to come with her husband and bring their son and have dinner with them. When she first glimpsed Leah, Heather found herself amazed by the change in the woman, for Leah Webster now was a woman of some beauty. She had gained some slight weight, and her skin shone bronze with her hair bleached flaxen by the sun. Her bright blue eyes had lost their hollow look, and she appeared years younger than she had before.

“How marvelous she looks, Brandon,” Heather commented as he helped her from the barouche. “She seems a different woman.”

He nodded as Jeremiah hastened down the steps of the big white house to bid them welcome. Leah helped their youngest child in his descent, following close behind as the baby toddled along after his father. The woman gave Brandon a friendly greeting, having grown accustomed to his presence about the mill, and smiled shyly at Heather who could not contain a comment on her hostess’ appearance.

“Oh Leah, there’s no doubt the Carolinas have agreed with you,” she said gaily. “You’ve grown so beautiful.”

The woman blushed with pleasure, and Jeremiah put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and gave her a gentle hug.

“I’ve tried to tell the missus how she looks but she thinks I talk just to hear myself.”

“I’ve never felt so wonderful before,” Leah admitted shyly. “And with another baby on the way I hardly know I’m carrying.”

Heather and Brandon both smiled at the surprise announcement and gave their congratulations.

“It’ll take my wife a few more years to catch up, Leah,” Brandon chuckled. “But I have reasons to suspect she will. I did little more than look at her and she got caught with this one.”

From the security of his father’s arms, Beau contemplated the strangers warily and didn’t care in the least that he was being discussed. Heather cast a shaming eye to her husband, making him laugh, and pinkened a little.

“No one can deny who he belongs to, Mr. Birmingham,” Leah smiled. “He’s like your very image and with those green eyes of his there’s no mistaking it.”

Brandon grinned proudly and murmured softly to his son, bringing a smile from the little fellow. With their faces close together there was no question they were father and son. The baby’s eyes were a mirror of Brandon’s, emerald green and darkly lashed. Heather now knew that if she had never seen Brandon again after her escape from the Fleetwood, she’d have always been reminded of him in their son.

“Will he come to me?” Leah inquired, holding her hands up to receive him.

Beau definitely declined, giving a little grunt of rejection as he turned away to lay his head against his father’s shoulder.

“Don’t feel badly, Leah,” Heather apologized. “He won’t go to many people from his father. He’s formed quite an attachment for him.” She turned her head to one side as if carefully studying her husband and then continued with a gleam in her eye. “It must be the beard.”

Her remark brought a chuckle from all as the children meandered from the porch to get a closer look at the Birmingham offspring. Soon the oldest girl had managed to entice Beau from his father and strolled proudly about the grounds with him. Jeremiah excused himself some time later to attend to duties at the mill and Brandon went with him. The women were left to relax on the shaded porch in rocking chairs, Mrs. Webster now and then rising to see about her meal.

“I feel more excited about this baby coming than I believe I’ve ever felt about any one of my others,” Leah timidly confessed. “Always before we faced doubt and dread with our lack of coin. Sometimes we had good luck but mostly it was bad. Now, it seems as if we’re in Eden, and we give thanks for your husband in our prayers. He took us away from nothing and gave us everything.”

Heather paused sipping her tea, and her eyes grew suddenly misty. “It’s strange, Leah, but that’s exactly what he did to me. He snatched me away from a nightmare and gave me joy. My life was nothing until he came into it.”

Leah regarded her for a moment. “You love him very much, don’t you?” she questioned softly.

“Yes,” Heather readily admitted, then she sighed. “I love him so much that sometimes I’m afraid. Our life seems so perfect I become frightened that something will happen to interrupt it, and if I lost him or his love I would die.”

Leah smiled. “When I first saw your husband, Mrs. Birmingham, he sat alone in an inn up north. There were painted women admiring him from afar, but he gave not one a glance. He just stared thoughtfully into his glass of wine, and there was no mistaking the look he had for he seemed sad. Later he spoke a few brief words about you waiting here and bearing his child, and his expression changed, and I thought then that he must love you very much. Since that time I’ve gotten to know him and find my first impressions to be true. I’ve never seen a man love his wife as he does you.”

Heather brushed a tear from her cheek and laughed in apology. “I seem to be in a mood today, crying over nothing. You mustn’t think unkindly of me, Leah. I don’t make a habit of doing this.”

Leah smiled gently. “On the contrary, Mrs. Birmingham, if anything I think more of you. A woman who sheds a tear or two for the love of her man is very sensitive to life.”

Later Leah made lemonade to serve the guests, children and the mill-workers and asked Heather if she might care to take the men each a glass of the refreshing drink. As she bore the tray carefully down to the mill, Heather caught her first glimpse of it in operation. Tall pines towered above the buildings, and the smell of pitch from the large boiling vat in the yard was heavy in the air. The logs lay thick in the millpond and beyond, the giant water wheel blurred as it spun. The busy saws hummed and snarled and set the key for a chaos of sound as a team of mules labored to pull the logs to its hungry maw. There were several men standing on a framework around the boiling vat, skimming pulp from the top of the sixfoot-wide kettle.

She found Mr. Webster outside the mill, discussing a problem with a few of the hands. He gave her a friendly smile when he saw her and offered to help with the tray, but she declined and served the men herself as he introduced her around as Mr. Birmingham’s wife. They nodded and acknowledged her greeting respectfully with a great deal of awe at her beauty and watched after her as she strolled toward one of the smaller buildings where Jeremiah had said her husband could be found. Then the foreman gave a brisk command for them to close their mouths, and they continued on with their work, casting a last furtive glance at her over their shoulders.

Heather stood for a moment in the open doorway of the dingy office. The room held the barest essentials of furniture, and rough wood walls had never seen signs of wallpaper or whitewash. Her husband sat upon a high stool at his desk with his back toward her. The day was warm and he had removed his shirt to catch every breath of breeze that now and then drifted in through the open windows. She watched with pleasure the play of muscles across his back and smiled as she thought of them beneath her fingertips, hard as oak. She shifted her weight and a board creaked under her foot. Brandon turned and seeing her silhouetted in the doorway, rose with visible relief at his rescue from the tedium of bookkeeping and came forward. Smiling, he drew her in, closing the door behind her, then took the tray to set it down on a rough table and raised the glass of lemonade to his lips to drain it without a pause.

“Ah-h,” he sighed. “Just what I needed to ease my boredom, a thirst quenching drink.” He reached out an arm to pull her into his embrace. “And a pretty wench to feast my eyes upon.”

She laughed and nuzzled her nose against his hairy chest. “I can remember once when you stormed at me for keeping you from your work. Have your labors grown less desirable or have I become more so?” she teased.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and grew serious. “Forgive me for that, my love. I was at my cruelest that day. Your refusal to share my bed taunted me into proving how big a jackass I can be.”

“My refusal!” she protested. “But, Brandon, I never did anything to deny you your rights. You were the one who refused to sleep with me on the Fleetwood after I was ill and rejected me the first night at Harthaven. Each time I would have gladly complied with your husbandly ways, but you turned from me to sleep in your solitary bed.”

“I see our marriage was full of misunderstandings,” he murmured. “You had the mistaken idea that because of our marriage my desire for you had lessened since that summer’s night I first took you, and I was sure you couldn’t bear my touch, that you’d fight me if I tried to have you. Strange, how our minds played against us. We should have followed our instincts.” He bent and pressed his lips against her white throat. “We’d have found love that much sooner.”

Heather tingled with delight and knew as long as she had breath in her body she would thrill to his touch. She could summon no resistance when he caressed her. Her very soul seemed to be his, and her body responded more to his will than her own. He had the power to make her life seem an enchanted dream or, as in the past, make hell appear a pleasant garden in comparison. She was his without reservation.

His lips traveled down her neck until they hovered above the hollow at the base of her throat where a froth of white ruffles hampered further descent. His hand went to the tiny buttons of her gown and toyed casually with them as he murmured softly in her ear, sliding to the second button, the third, the seventh and the last; A smile brushed his lips and with a simple unhurried motion that left her gasping, he raised both hands to spread the front of her gown and chemise and bare her breasts. He kissed the soft flesh that was now revealed to him, and she trembled under the fiery heat of each kiss.

“Someone might come in, Brandon,” she whispered breathlessly.

“I’ll kill the first soul who dares touch that door,” he returned casually without pausing in his caresses.

“But what if someone should just barge in?” she protested weakly, finding it hard to resist.

His hands slid under her garments to her back and pulled her against him until her breasts teased his chest with their peaks.

“There needs be a lock on that door,” he murmured huskily, kissing her brow. “And a bed in here would suit my mood. These chairs are not very accommodating.” He sighed and in some exasperation pulled away. “Very well, madam. I yield to your pleas.”

Still distraught, Heather pulled her chemise together. She sought to fasten it but found her fingers were like so many thumbs and proceeded slowly to disguise her clumsiness with the fasteners. Brandon had returned to his desk and now watched her intently yet with a gaze that was soft and loving. She looked up to find the green eyes holding her and blushed deeply, now fumbling in confusion with the many bows and buttons. Brandon laughed and came to her, brushing aside her hands.

“My love, you tempt the very saints. So before I take you here and now let’s get thee clothed again.”

When she left the building there was still a deep rosy glow to her cheeks, and she was so unaware of what she was doing that she almost stumbled over Alice, one of the Webster’s younger girls, who was down on all fours inspecting a toadstool.

“Oh, Mrs. Birmingham, look what I’ve found.”

Heather bent down beside the little girl. “Do you think it belongs to some elf who lives in the woods?” she inquired, smiling.

The girl looked up, wide-eyed and eager. “Do you really suppose so? Maybe he left it behind.”

“It’s very likely,” Heather replied, enjoying the little girl’s excitement.

“Can we go in the woods and look for him?”

“Of course. Perhaps we’ll find a whole fairy circle.”

“Oh, yes, let’s,” Alice cried, tugging at her arm.

Laughing, Heather let the girl lead her into the forest. It was so dense only an occasional ray of sunlight penetrated the lush green foliage. Soon they entered a small glade when a bird somewhere up above them called to its mate, and a squirrel sat scolding them from the limb of a tree. A live oak tree towered majestically over the clearing, and a few wild flowers peeped out of the earth where the mulch was not so forbidding. The pines gave off a scent as sweet as the brightly colored blossoms.

“This here is where I’d live if I was an elf,” Alice said as she spread her short arms wide and turned round and round.

Heather smiled. “Have you been here before, Alice?”

“Yes’m. Plenty of times.”

“It’s an enchanted place. I like it.”

“Oh, Mrs. Birmingham, I knew you would,” Alice cried happily.

Heather laughed and smoothed back the flaxen hair that had fallen into the little girl’s eyes, then gazed around.

“I don’t see any sign of elves though, do you?”

The girl frowned. “No’rn,” she said, then she grinned again. “But I think one is watching me. I can feel it.”

Heather smiled, enjoying herself as much as the child. “That’s even better than finding where they live, isn’t it? Not everyone is fortunate enough to have an elf watch them. Perhaps we should pretend we don’t notice.”

The girl dimpled and her eyes gleamed. “What should we do?”

“We’ll pick flowers and make believe we don’t even know he’s around. Perhaps he’ll show himself then.”

“Oh, yes, let’s.”

Heather watched Alice walk away and knew the girl was trying for all she was worth to act nonchalant, as if she were more interested in the flowers than in the elf she was sure was observing her. With not so much interest in the unseen as the seen, Heather began to gather flowers to make a bouquet for Mrs. Webster’s table. Alice soon forgot both elf and flowers and ventured off to chase after a butterfly and finally wandered back toward the mill, but Heather remained, picking as many of the daisies and lilies as she could.

Busy with her task in the small clearing, it was a long time before she too began to have an odd feeling that she was being watched. The short hair on the nape of her neck rose on ends and her spine tingled coldly. As she began to turn slowly to see if her suspicions were correct, she was half expecting to see Alice’s imagined elf, for she was sure now that the girl had not been mistaken about being watched. Her eyes strained through the darkness of the trees and then she saw him. It was no elf but a man on horseback, not more than seventy-five yards from her. His shape was dark and sinister, for despite the warmth of the day he wore a black cloak that draped his entire body. The garment’s stiff, high collar covered half his face, and the black tricorn he wore came down so low that barely a slit for his eyes remained. He started moving forward slowly, menacingly, with his head slunk in the collar of his cape and Heather froze for a second, unable to turn and flee, then she began to back away cautiously. He urged his horse to quicken its pace, and she whirled with a frightened cry and raced across the glade to the weaving path that led back to the mill. The horse and rider gained ground and were almost upon her; the hoof beats seemed to pound like iron against metal in her ears. She screamed, dropping the flowers, and dodged through the trees. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder, but all she could see was the large, black gruesome shape of horse and rider that seemed inseparable. A hand was reached toward her, branching from the blackness of the man’s cape. Then from somewhere in front of her she heard her husband cry out her name. The horseman stopped, apparently to listen. A sound of thrashing came from ahead, and Heather fled in that direction sobbing Brandon’s name. Glancing back, she saw the horse rear straight up as the man pulled tight upon the reins and turned the animal back into the forest. She had a brief glimpse of his back before he disappeared into the dark shadows. There was something strangely familiar about the figure that she couldn’t quite put into words.

Brandon came racing through the trees, and she fell into his arms, sobbing.

“Oh, Brandon, he was horrible!” she cried. “Horrible!”

“My God, what happened! I was coming to get you for dinner, and I heard you scream.” His arms tightened around her. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“There was a man—on horseback,” she choked through tears. “He came after me. He almost caught me.”

Brandon held her away from him and looked into her face. “Who was he? Had you ever seen him before?”

She shook her head. “No. No. He wore a tricorn and a cloak, and I wasn’t able to see him clearly. I was gathering flowers and felt someone watching me. When I saw him, he started coming toward me and when I ran, he chased me.” A shudder ran through her. “He looked so evil, Brandon.”

He pulled her close again and held her tightly, soothing her fears as best he could. “It’s over now, sweet,” he murmured. “You’re safe here in my arms and I won’t let any harm come to you.”

“But who could it have been, Brandon? What was he doing here?”

“I have no idea, my love, but Sybil’s murderer has yet to be caught. It’s best that you don’t wander off alone anymore. We must warn the Websters too. If the man comes back, I wouldn’t want any of the women or children in his path. I’ll have a few lookouts posted. That should keep him from doing any harm.”

“He made me drop my flowers,” she sniffled tearfully, as if just realizing it. “I picked an armful for Leah’s table, and he frightened me so I dropped them.”

Brandon chuckled. “All right, sweet. We’ll go back and get them.” He lifted the hem of her gown and dried her tears with it. “Now stop your crying before you get your nose all red.” He gave her a kiss. “You’re not frightened anymore, are you?”

She leaned against him. “Not with you here.”

Heather’s fears rose anew at the front door of Harthaven when Joseph announced that Miss Louisa Wells had come to call and was waiting in the drawing room. She glanced up to her husband and saw his face take on a black scowl and the muscle begin to twitch in his cheek. She followed as he entered the drawing room, carrying their sleeping son in her arms.

Louisa reposed prettily in Brandon’s favorite chair, wearing a muslin gown of considerable beauty, and took a sip of the drink which she had prepared with Jeff’s bourbon and a sprig of mint. She smiled slowly over her glass at Brandon and leaned her head back against the chair.

“You’re looking well,” she commented in a lazy voice. “But then, darling, you always do.” Her eyes devoured him before she turned to Heather. “Poor dear, you must find Carolina’s heat a dreadful bother after your England. The little flower seems a little wilted.”

Self-consciously Heather sank into a chair and gave her hair a quick, nervous smoothing with her hand. Stone faced, Brandon went to the bar to fix himself a drink.

“To what do we owe this unexpected . . . pleasure, Louisa?” he inquired with a bit of sarcasm. He came to stand behind Heather’s chair with his drink. “We haven’t seen you since you brought us news of Sybil’s murder, and I’m wondering what you may have to report now. Not another murder, I hope.”

She laughed easily. “Of course not, darling. I’ve been away visiting my aunt in Wilmington, and I just returned and wanted to pay my respects to everyone. I’m disappointed that you didn’t miss me.” She sighed and rose from her chair. “But I’m sure you haven’t been allowed too much time to yourself.” She gave Heather a quick glance from behind lowered eyelids, and then handed her a gaily wrapped package. “This is for Beau, dear, a little something I picked up in Wilmington. I, ah-h,” she smiled smugly, “never donated to the cause before.”

Heather lowered her gaze and murmured her thanks, stumbling over the words. Her confidence was lagging badly. The scare she had had that afternoon had worn her nerves thin and now before Louisa she was tense and unsure. She unwrapped the present and a small silver cup emerged from the paper. Beau and the year 1800 had been engraved on the metal.

“Thank. you, Louisa,” she, said softly. “It’s very lovely.”

Louisa sensed her advantage over the moment and did not let it slip by.

“I wouldn’t have felt right not giving Brandon’s son a gift.” She looked down at Beau as he stirred in his mother’s arms, finally, opening his eyes. “After all, as close as we are—were,” she smiled. “It would have been in poor taste to ignore his son. Aren’t you glad though, Heather, that the boy looks so much like his father? I mean—it would have been a pity if he had taken after you, say, though I expected as much. I just knew the little darling would be the very image of his mother. Perhaps it’s because she looks so much like a baby herself.”

Words failed Heather. It was hard to sit calmly while the woman deliberately tried to antagonize her. Brandon was not so gracious.

“What in the hell do you want, Louisa?”

The woman ignored him and bent over Beau, displaying every measure of her bountiful bosom to both Heather and Brandon. She clucked the baby under his chin, but Beau was not in favor of being touched by strangers the minute he woke up. His bottom lip quivered and he began to squall as he strained away, pulling on the neck of Heather’s gown.

Louisa stiffened and her expression for a moment was full of venom as she stared down at Heather trying to quiet her son. A brief smile crossed Brandon’s face as he regarded Louisa over his glass. But Beau would not be hushed, and Heather, glaring at Louisa from under her lashes, finally undid her gown and put Beau to her breast. The baby quieted immediately but kept a wary eye upon Louisa. Brandon chuckled and gave his son a pat on the rump before moving into a chair beside his wife’s.

Glancing up from Beau, Heather saw an uncertain frown flicker across Louisa’s brow. It was such a brief expression she wondered if she could have imagined it. Was the woman at last realizing what it meant to be the mother of Brandon’s child? Here was a bond that would not be easily broken. Brandon loved his son. It was plain to see. No one could believe that he would discard the child’s mother very readily for another.

Louisa felt herself losing ground and tried to regain it, but ineptly, in the wrong way.

“I think it’s perfectly adorable the way you take care of the business of feeding him yourself, Heather, instead of hiring a wet nurse. Most women would, you know. But I can see you’re the domestic type and enjoy doing things like that. Of course, it does demand a lot of a woman. I’m afraid I couldn’t be tied down like that.”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t,” Brandon returned. “That’s why we’d have never gotten along, Louisa.”

The woman took a step backward as if struck and then sought to turn her words around.

“What I mean is—I couldn’t give all my attention to a baby and ignore my husband.”

Brandon laughed sharply. “Do you think I’m ignored, Louisa? If you do, let me assure you I am not. Heather has a marvelous ability to make both her son and her husband feel loved.”

Louisa whirled and went back to her chair yet made no move to sit down. She spoke over her shoulder to Brandon.

“I’ve come here to discuss business. You might be interested in the fact that I’ve decided to sell my land. I thought I should come here first to you to see what price you’ll be willing to pay to have it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Well, it would have been rather unseemly of me to sell it to anyone else, knowing you wanted it. You’ve been after me for a long time to sell it to you.”

“Yes,” Brandon replied, still not appearing anxious.

“Well, damn it, if you’re not interested I’ll sell it to someone who is!” she stormed, spinning around.

Brandon gazed at her mockingly with an eyebrow raised. “Who?”

“Why, there—there are plenty of people just waiting to buy it. I could sell it in a moment.”

She didn’t sound so sure of herself despite her words.

“Louisa,” he sighed. “Let’s stop this pretense. I’m the only one interested in buying your land. Perhaps some poor dirt farmer would like to have it, but I don’t think he could afford your price.”

“That isn’t true! I could sell it to anyone!” she declared.

“Oh simmer down, Louisa. I know exactly what you’re trying to do but it won’t work. Now I’ll give you a couple of reasons why I’m the only one interested. No one of any wealth would have any use for your piddling acres. Our plantations are rather deserted out here and no one is going to ride all this way to bother with your little bit of land, especially when you have no intention of selling Oakley. I am the only one who can afford to be a little generous. But don’t come around here with your schemes and expect me to panic and double my offer. I’m not that kind of fool. Now, we’ll discuss the details in a few moments, but first I’m going to sit here and relax and finish my drink.”

“Brandon, you big tease,” Louisa laughed. “Why do you like to worry me so? You had every intention of buying the land when I said I would sell.”

“I bargain in business, Louisa, never tease,” he commented dryly.

When Louisa swept into the study, leaving her heavily perfumed scent trailing behind her, Brandon bent over Heather and breathed in her soft, delicate fragrance.

“I’ll try not to be too long, my love. If you wish to go to bed when you finish with Beau, I’ll make some excuse to Louisa after we get our business settled and send her straight home.”

“Please do,” Heather murmured. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely over this afternoon. I’d rather not see her again tonight.” She bit into her bottom lip. “Oh, Brandon, she’s so determined to break us apart. I hate her.” She looked down at Beau, who kneaded her breasts with his small hand, and laughed a little nervously. “What I need is a good soak in the bath to forget my problems with her.”

He chuckled. “I’ll tell the boys to heat up some water. Anything else, sweet?”

“Yes,” she replied softly. “Kiss me so I’ll know that woman doesn’t stand a chance with you.”

He smiled and accommodated her and there were few doubts that remained afterward.

Now the land was his, Brandon mused as he climbed the stairs, and he was infinitely glad he had spared Heather from that dickering which had settled the matter.

He sighed heavily.

One thing he could always credit Louisa with was boldness and a great deal of nerve. She had started off with a blatant proposal that they renew their relationship, making unworthy and vulgar advances upon him that had stirred no other emotion but disgust. Finally she had offered the land at an exorbitant price and getting her down to a reasonable settlement had taken a great deal of wearisome arguing. She had pleaded with no thought of pride, threatened not to sell, propositioned him like any harlot. The meeting had left him feeling unclean to say the least and wondering how low she would stoop in her search for a fortune. It was common knowledge that she was in a poor state of finance and needed the money, but Heather had once been in even more dire straits and had not succumbed to selling herself or openly pleading for sustenance.

Heather—his beloved. Just the thought of her washed away the sour mood Louisa had left with him. He remembered the moment at the mill when she had stood half clothed against him, and his pulse quickened. He’d have to see about inside bolts for those doors so she wouldn’t be so nervous next time. He chuckled to himself. He was worse than any rutting stag in her company, always thinking of her in his arms, of her soft, warm body curving to his, of her lovely limbs entwining him. The hot blood surged within him, and his thoughts raced to several days before when while out riding with her he had induced her to take a swim with him in the creek. She had been timid about shedding her clothes in broad daylight, fearing someone might come upon them, but after he assured her that it was a most private place, gesturing to the abundance of trees and shrubs, she had even been willing to concede it might be fun. Casually watching her disrobe and standing in the buff, as he was, his desires had grown quite evident, and seeing him, she had known how that swim would end. Playfully she had eluded him and dashed into the water, gasping at the coolness of it, and then tried to outdistance him with rapid strokes. He had chuckled at her efforts while he easily overtook her, coming to her side and then diving underwater to catch her ankle and pull her down into his embrace. He smiled as he remembered back. It had been a most pleasurable afternoon.

He opened the door to the bedroom and paused, taking in the scene. Heather sat in the tub, looking much as she had in London, sweet, desirable, irresistibly beautiful with the candlelight shining on wet, glistening skin, her hair piled on her head, a few loose curls dangling. She smiled as he closed the door and came forward to rest his hands on the tub to lean down to her.

“Good evening, sweet,” he murmured.

She ran a wet finger over his lips. “Good evening, m’lord,” she returned softly and slid her hand behind his head as he pulled her up to him.

September’s harvest began and as the crops were taken to market, the streets of Charleston knew a milling throng. There were buyers and sellers and a great multitude of neither who yet sought to trim some small profit from the great sums of money that changed hands during the day. There were rich and poor, beggar and thief, ship’s captain and slave. A great number of people came simply to sit in carriages, coffee houses and inns and watch the bustling mob and exchange comments on the endless streams of characters that met their eye. During the day the city was a bustling trading center, at night the activities changed and it became a fermenting caldron with entertainment for every whim.

When Brandon presented Heather tickets to a new play being featured at the Dock Street Theatre, she almost choked him in her excitement, spreading her thanks across his face with enthusiastic kisses. When her glee had subsided and she sat in his lap studying the tickets, she confessed that she had never been to such a place before.

Whenever they presented themselves to the public, the couple always drew attention. Brandon’s tall, lean handsomeness and Heather’s petite beauty made them unique and tonight as they entered the foyer of Dock Street Theatre they were especially so. Brandon wore white breeches and a waistcoat of the same color. A bit of lace fell over his brown hands and ruffled down the front of his shirt, and his coat of scarlet was artistically embroidered with gold thread over the lapels and board stiff collar. Heather was bewitching in a gown of black French lace, embellished liberally with tiny jets that shimmered in the candlelight. An ostrich plume had been woven into her coiffure and at her ears swung Catherine Birmingham’s diamond earrings.

There were the usual envious stares to greet them and warm greetings from friends. Brandon watched over his wife possessively as the men bent over her hand. Many young bucks beat their way through the throng in hopes the ravishing beauty was some unattached Birmingham kin. They came to stand and posture before Heather and they found at close range she was even more delectable than from afar. Their faces fell and they turned away in disappointment as Brandon, with some humor, presented his wife.

Matthew Bishop was seen from a distance and seemed to prefer it that way. He kept his gaze from dwelling long on Heather and entertained some other regal wench with carefully zealous consideration.

Mrs. Clark greeted them with a critical but approving eye. “Heather, my lovely child, you’re looking delightfully wicked this evening. You’ll put these other girls to shame in their virgin pinks and whites.” She turned to Brandon with an amused look as she leaned forward on her cane. “And I see you’re watching over her as carefully as ever, sir.”

He grinned. “After knowing my father, Abegail, is it possible for you to believe that I am worse than he?”

Mrs. Clark chuckled and tapped him affectionately with her fan. “It took a long time and a little slip of a girl to make you realize that, sir. You were too carefree in your bachelor days. I remember when you couldn’t have cared less if some lady’s affection was taken from you.” She chuckled again. “But you looked at quite a few of the ladies in those days and I imagine tasted a goodly number. But now look at you, so stricken with this filly you’re like a stag in rut.” She turned back to Heather and smiled slowly. “I’m glad you happened along, child. The Birminghams are some of my favorite people and I like to see them get the best.”

Heather brushed her lips against the old woman’s cheek. “Thank you, Abegail. From you that is truly a compliment.”

“Oh poppycosh!” Abegail protested. “I state plain fact and there’s no need for you to be filling this poor old head with your Irish nonsense. I’m not so simply charmed as that.” She smiled to soften her gruff reprimand and patted the younger woman’s hand. “Don’t waste those pretty words on me, child. Your man is more susceptible.”

Later, in their private box, Brandon had his eyes more on Heather than on the stage. Her obvious excitement over the production delighted him. As the actors played their parts, she sat as still as a mouse, catching every word. She was more than enchanting and he found it nearly impossible to drag his eyes from her. When they stood again in the lobby, sipping a little wine, he listened with amusement as she warbled on gaily about the play.

“I shan’t forget it ever, Brandon. Papa never took me to anything like this. It’s so wonderfully beautiful, like a fairy tale come to life.”

He bent over her and laughed softly in her ear. “Perhaps I’m being a bad influence over you, my pet.”

Her eyes shone warmly as they met his. “If that be so, it is far too late to speak of it, for I’d have it no other way. I am doomed, for I can no longer be satisfied with just existing. I must love and be loved. I must possess and be possessed. I must be yours, my darling, as you must be mine. So you see, you’ve taught me too well. Everything you set out to do in the beginning you have accomplished and more so. I must live with you and be a part of you, and if we weren’t tied with marriage bonds and you still sailed the sea, I’d follow you around the world as your mistress, and to me our love would be our sacred vows. And if confessing this makes of me a wanton woman, then I am truly a very happy one.”

Still holding her gaze, Brandon lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. “If you were my mistress I’d have to keep you under lock and key so no other man would be able to whisk you away from me. You too are an excellent tutor. The gay bachelor now prefers the security of marriage. I enjoy every moment of being married to you, especially that part where I can say that you’re mine and mine alone.”

She smiled softly and her eyes were full of love.

“You shouldn’t look at me that way,” he murmured, returning her gaze.

“What way?” she breathed, continuing to do so.

“The same way you do when we’ve just made love, as if all the world could pass us by and you wouldn’t care.”

“I wouldn’t,” she returned in the same soft tone.

He grinned. “I’ll be hard put to stay and finish viewing the play if you continue, madam. You are a very fetching sight for even this old married man and you do test my manly control.”

She laughed with a light heart but her gaiety ceased when she saw Brandon stop and stare over her shoulder with an amazed expression on his face. She turned to see what had startled him and found Louisa coming toward them. She wondered at Brandon’s reaction until her eyes fell on the beige gown the woman wore. It was exactly like the one she had given the peddler, the very same she had worn when she first met Brandon. Louisa, not to be outdone by anyone, had chosen to change it some slight degree in the style of the Parisians. The transparency of the gown would have been shocking to a more modest woman, but Louisa, never bothering about such a trivial thing as modesty, had very definitely rouged her nipples.

“Hello, Brandon,” she purred in her silky voice when she stood before them, and she laughed softly as she felt his eyes as well as Heather’s on her attire. “I see you’ve noticed my gown. It is lovely, isn’t it? Thomas made it especially for me after I saw the original in his shop, and just for little old me, he put the other one away so no other woman would have a gown like mine.”

Brandon cleared his throat and spoke inquiringly. “Was there some fault with the original that he had to make a second for you?”

Louisa reveled in the interest Brandon was showing in her dress. “No, there was nothing wrong with it, darling, but it was so dreadfully small no one could have worn it. Why, even Heather with her skinny little girl’s figure would have failed to squeeze into it. It would have been much, much too tiny for her.”

Brandon exchanged a glance with Heather. “It must indeed have been small.”

“Well, I knew I had to have one just like it the moment I laid eyes upon it,” the woman continued gaily. “And I’m so glad I insisted that Thomas make me this one. I do so like to please you, darling, and I see that I have.” She feigned embarrassment. “Of course, you’ve been staring at me so hard I’m wondering if it’s the gown at all—and in front of your wife too, darling.”

Brandon looked at her passively. “The gown reminds me of one Heather wore when I first met her, Louisa,” he returned dryly. “It was a gown worth treasuring for the memories associated with it.”

Louisa’s face turned to stone and she looked menacingly at Heather, then smiled tritely. “However did you get the money to purchase such a gown as this? You must have worked very hard to obtain it. But then if your husband is so interested in having you displayed in a garment such as this, my dear, you should meet my couturier. He’s here tonight. He could do wonders for your skin and bones. You’d be pleased with him, I’m sure.”

Heather felt Brandon stiffen beside her.

“I’m afraid the man wouldn’t please me, Louisa,” he replied. “I prefer that women sew Heather’s gowns.”

Louisa laughed a bit harshly. “Why, Brandon, you’re becoming very strait-laced in your dotage:”

Brandon dropped a hand on the bare flesh of his wife’s shoulder and caressed it leisurely. “As far as Heather is concerned, Louisa, I’ve always been a bit strait-laced.”

Louisa felt a quick, quivery spasm of jealousy grip her as she watched his fingers move gently over Heather’s skin, remembering the feel of them against her own flesh, arousing sensual feelings that had never been matched before or since by any other man. She gave the smaller woman an evil glare.

“You really must meet Thomas anyway, my dear. Perhaps he can give you a few suggestions on what to wear to make it appear as if you had a little flesh on your bones. I’ve seen him do such wonders with a childish figure. Wait here, darling, and I’ll find him for you.”

Heather glanced up uncertainly at her husband as the woman walked away, having recognized the longing in Louisa’s eyes, knowing well that tormenting emotion from her own experiences. She found an amused smile upon his face.

“If she only knew about that gown, she’d wring that poor fellow’s neck,” he laughed. “There’s no doubt the one he has is yours.”

“She looks very lovely in it, doesn’t she?” Heather murmured.

Brandon grinned down at her and moved his hand to her waist to squeeze it fondly. “Not half so lovely as my vision of you in it or as you are every day, all day long.”

Heather smiled, reassured, and watched Louisa disappear into the crowd of theatre goers. She forgot the woman for a few moments as Brandon brought her attention back to more pleasant things. But later, a feeling of uneasiness crept over her—the same strange, eerie sensation that had come upon her not very long ago at the mill. She was being stared at but with an intenseness that was anything but normal. She turned very slowly and saw him. The color drained from her face. The man stood beside Louisa, but his eyes rested upon her. He seemed not at all surprised to see her. He even nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of her and grinned. It was he. The grin was too horrible. She was positive there was no other in the whole world with a one-sided smirk like Mr. Thomas Hint.

She swayed against Brandon, feeling faint, and the hand she put to her face was shaking uncontrollably. She tugged on her husband’s coat to make him bend to her, for she doubted she could make her voice carry even that distance.

Brandon frowned with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Louisa and Mr. Hint were walking toward them now. She couldn’t stand there, trying to make words come from her mouth. She had to speak.

“Brandon,” she wheezed. “I don’t feel well. It must be the crowd. Please take me back to our box.”

Then she heard Louisa’s voice. “Here he is, Heather. I would like for you to meet my dressmaker, Mr. Thomas Hint.”

Too late! Panic was gripping her. She had a great desire to flee from the room as fast as her legs would carry her, but they would not move. She was frozen, paralyzed with fear.

Brandon didn’t waste time with unnecessary words or politeness. “Please excuse us, Louisa. I’m afraid Heather has had a sudden attack of the vapors. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hint. Goodnight.”

It wasn’t long before he had her in a chair in their private box. He took both her trembling hands into his.

“Do you wish to go home? You’re shaking and you look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

She almost laughed out loud in hysteria. He was right. She had seen a ghost or something out of her past that was as frightening as one. She was possessed with fear that she would see him again or have him talk to Brandon. He was such a horrible man—or was he a monster?

She clung tightly to her husband as he sat beside her and tried to soothe her. The curtains went up again but neither watched the stage now. A few moments later he leaned over her.

“Let’s go. I don’t want you fainting here.”

He led her from their box to the lobby and from the theatre where he motioned for James to get the barouche and pull it around. When it drew up before them, he lifted her in and held her small, quivering form close as they rode home.

Heather was frightened now, more than she had ever been before. She had something now that she loved too dearly to part with—her husband, her child. If she were accused of murder, they would be snatched from her arms without mercy and she would rot away her life in prison. It would matter little that she had been attacked. They would not believe her, not with Mr. Hint to say that she had gone with William Court willingly. And Brandon would be so hurt. Oh, sweet Lord, be merciful, she prayed.

When they arrived home, Brandon carried her up to their bedroom and put her on the bed. He rolled her over to unfasten her gown and stripped it from her with her other garments. When she lay naked beneath the sheet, he poured a small bit of brandy in a glass and sat down on the bed beside her.

“Drink this, sweet. It will put some color into your cheeks.”

Obediently she sat up and taking the glass from him, drank a big gulp of it, for which she was instantly sorry. She choked on the fiery liquid and coughed as she tried to catch her breath.

He laughed softly and took the glass, setting it on the bedside commode. “I should have warned you about the drink, but I thought you’d remember.”

He began pulling pins from her hair, and soon the silky curls were cascading loosely over her shoulder. He smoothed them under his hand.

“Before, when we were in London and on the Fleetwood, I used to watch you tend your hair. I could hardly keep my hands from it, it tempted me so. Do you remember when you were ill, Heather?”

She nodded, watching him as he played with a curl.

“You were very ill, my darling, but I took care of you. No one touched you but myself and when your fever raged, I was the one by your side. Not for an instant did I leave the cabin. You were mine and I needed you. I let no harm come to you.”

Her brows drew together as she wondered why he was speaking so slow and deliberate.

“Do you think that now, when I know you are my very life, that I would let anything happen to you. I’d fight man and beast for you, Heather. So would you trust me enough to let me help you as I want to do. I know you are frightened, sweet, and I believe I can help if you’ll only trust me.” He bent over her. “I am very strong, ma petite.”

Heather’s eyes were opened wide. He knew something! Somehow he had found out! But how—and what? What did he know and who had told him?

Fear set her hands atremble and she clutched them together to keep them from transmitting their weakness to the rest of her body. She sank further down in the bed, the brandy lending her no false courage. What could she say? What could she tell him? If she hurt him she’d never forgive herself and if he walked away in shock at her deed and never returned to her arms, she would die.

Brandon smiled tenderly and drew the sheet up under her chin. “When you wish to tell me, my sweet, I’ll always be near.” He undressed and slid into bed beside her. Pulling her close, he kissed her troubled brow. “Go to sleep, my love.”

In the security of his arms, she found comfort at last and she was able to sleep, but there was no peace in her dreams. She saw Mr. Hint, his misshapened body standing over her, his clawlike hands holding Beau. Then she was running—running after Mr. Hint—after Beau. She had to save Beau from him! She rose from sleep screaming and struggling in Brandon’s arms as he tried to wake her.

“He has Beau! He has Beau! He’ll hurt my baby!” she sobbed.

“Heather, wake up. It’s only a bad dream, sweet. Beau’s safe.”

Her eyes lost some of their wildness as they focused upon the face above her, the dark, handsome face of her husband. It was a stable rock in a sea of swirling sand. With a cry of relief, she flung her arms about his neck.

“Oh, Brandon, it was horrible! He took Beau and I couldn’t reach him and I ran and ran. It was horrible!”

She shuddered in the arms that held her. He was kissing her hair, her wet cheeks and the long lashes that were salty with tears. She quieted in his embrace and felt secure again, knowing Brandon was there. When several moments later his lips traveled down her throat to her breasts, she became possessed by a different sort of emotion. She groaned with pleasure as his hands moved over her body, slipping over her limbs as softly as a butterfly’s touch and sliding between as smoothly as the flight of those winged wraiths. He was slow and deliberate in his caresses, making her forget everything but the two of them, until she writhed within his arms and pleaded with him to take her without delay. But he proceeded at a studiedly measured pace, sending her emotions, inflamed and thrilling, spiraling upward. Her passion mounted until she became like a wild thing, quivering, biting, clawing at him. Yet he only laughed, the sound swirling above their heads and mingling with her purring sighs, and nibbled with his teeth at her throat, the silky flesh beneath her breasts, the smooth, flat belly and a shapely thigh. She shivered with the passion he evoked as her hand moved downward and closed over him. He shuddered and took her fiercely, carrying her with him to frenzied, breathtaking heights that finally burst around them, shading them both in warm contentment.

The following afternoon Heather could be found in the drawing room helping Hatti polish furniture and looking every bit like a servant girl in kerchief and apron. George was seated upon the floor entertaining Beau who had crawled onto his lap and was chuckling at the old man’s efforts. Brandon and Jeff had gone to Charleston on business and most of the household staff was busy with some task or another.

All day Heather had thought of nothing else but Thomas Hint and of what would happen to her if he spoke of her sins. When she heard a horse gallop up the drive, she knew without a doubt it was he, and fear mounted tenfold.

“Show him in, Joseph,” she told the servant nervously when he told her a man wished to speak with the mistress of the house.

She rose from the floor where she had been kneeling at her task but left her apron and kerchief in place. A spark of surprise shown in Mr. Hint’s eyes when he saw her so attired.

“You may go, George, Hatti,” she managed.

They both frowned at the visitor and seemed reluctant to leave her with such an evil-looking man, but they did as they were told and left the room.

“What do you want?” Heather questioned when she was sure both were well out of hearing range.

“Done very well for yourself since we last met, haven’t you? Though the apron, it gave me a start. I thought you ladies of wealth never dirtied your little white hands.”

Heather straightened her spine. “I often help clean this home, sir. It is my husband’s and I enjoy seeing it at its best for him.”

“Ah-h, I see you’ve fallen in love with the bloke. Is that his babe you have there or my dear departed employer’s?”

Heather snatched up Beau from the floor and held him tightly to her. “He is my husband’s child,” she snapped. “William never touched me!”

“Aye, I can well believe that, I can. You killed Willy ‘fore he could do harm to you. But the babe be a bit old for you to have waited too long to get caught with him.” His eyes dropped to Beau. “But I can see now that the man you were with last night be the child’s father. ‘Tis no mistakin’ the look of the gentry nor the handsomeness of your spouse. I figure you met him in London shortly after you did poor Willy in.”

“You’ve not come to discuss my baby nor my husband, Mr. Hint, so will you please tell me why you have come. My husband is not at all fond of me entertaining strange men in his absence.”

The man made his grotesque substitute for a smile. “Do you think your man would be jealous of me, Mistress Birmingham? Nay, I wouldn’t think it, but then he might ‘come suspicious of why you’re seeing such an ugly toad as me.” He gave her a look askance. “Now I’ve known you to be the one what killed poor Willy but I’ve said naught to no man. ‘Tis clear my holding my say has to make me a few shillings, eh, Mistress Birmingham?”

Heather trembled before his cold, calcuating look. “What do you want?”

“Just a few pounds now and then to keep myself cozy and content. I’ve a nice shop in Charleston now, but I’m a greedy man, liking what the rich do. A few of your jewels would do nicely or perhaps a nice sum of money. Your man is wealthy so I hear. He can afford it.”

“My husband knows nothing of this,” she snapped. “And I didn’t kill William. He fell on the knife.”

Mr. Hint shook his head sorrowfully, feigning sympathy. “I am sorry, Mistress Birmingham, but by any chance, did anyone see him fall ‘sides you?”

“No, no one was there to see it but me. I have no proof.”

He stepped closer to her and she became aware of a strong odor of cologne that seemed strangely familiar to her. She couldn’t place when or where but it had left an impression associated with overwhelming fear that she remembered and felt now. She stepped back, clutching Beau to her tightly. The baby let out a squeal of protest at being squeezed so. Thomas Hint laughed and ran a clawlike hand over his mouth. It gave Heather quite a start to see his hands and realize they were no different from those of her dream.

“I have no money!” she whispered hoarsely. “I never have any need for it. My husband has always seen to my wants.”

“Your man takes good care of you, eh? Would he pay to keep you from being hanged for murder?” he snarled.

Heather flinched. She could not let him tell Brandon whatever she did. “I have a few jewels. I can let you have them.”

Mr. Hint sighed with pleasure. “Ah-h, that’s more like it. What do you have? You wore some nice ones last night. Get them and what else you have, then I’ll tell you whether they’ll do or not.”

“You want them now?” she asked uncertainly.

“Aye, I’ll not be leaving without them.”

She sidled around him cautiously and hurried from the room to quickly mount the stairs. She left Beau crying in disappointment in the nursery under Mary’s care and ran to the master bedroom where she threw open her jewelry case and snatched up the emerald pin and pearl necklace Brandon had given her and the diamond earrings that had belonged to the former mistress of Harthaven. She left the bulk of the jewelry untouched, feeling guilty at having to take the earrings. She couldn’t bring herself to give away any more of what had belonged to Brandon’s mother, knowing how fond he had been of her. The pain of parting with her own gifts was deep. She remembered too well when Brandon had given the pieces to her. She was not likely to forget even when she no longer had them to remind her, and Brandon would surely notice when she no longer wore the pearls. They were her favorite and she had worn them often. She brushed the tears from her cheeks as she dropped the items in her apron pocket and releasing a deep sigh, opened the door.

Mr. Hint was waiting patiently for her, seeming at ease in his blackmailing schemes, and when she held out the pieces, he smiled and took them greedily.

“Aye, these will do nicely—for now. Are you sure they’re all you have?”

She nodded.

“Not as much as I be thinkin’ you wealthy people had.”

“That’s all I have,” she cried, tears springing forth again.

“Nay, madam, do not upset yerself. And don’t you worry that I should talk freely of your deeds. I’ll be needing more trinkets.”

“But I have nothing more!”

“You best be getting more before I need them,” he threatened.

“Please go now,” she pleaded tearfully, “before my husband returns. He’s not a man I can hide things from, and if he sees you, he’ll want to know why you’ve come.”

“Aye, my face is not for the likes of a lady’s parlor,” he smiled bitterly.

He gave her a distorted bow, then left without a backward glance, and Heather sank wearily into a chair and in part misery, part relief, sobbed into her hands.

He would take all her possessions—except for the ones she valued above all—Brandon and Beau. But when she could no longer meet his demands, what would he do? Turn to Brandon then and tell him his tale? She shuddered as fear rose anew. She couldn’t let that happen.

She must keep him satisfied above all so she could go on living—and loving.

Mr. Hint swung down from his horse and limped to tie the reins to the hitching post before his shop. He patted the jewel-filled pocket, feeling extremely pleased with himself. He had made a goodly sum this day with no work involved.

Wiping his drooling mouth on his coatsleeve, he opened the door to his shop, entered and turned to close it. He froze with a start as Brandon Birmingham removed his hat and greeted him from just outside the doorway of his shop.

“Mr. Hint, we had a brief meeting last night at the Dock Street Theatre, if you’ll remember.”

“Aye,” Thomas Hint choked, nervously clutching the pocket of his coat.

“May I come in?” Brandon inquired. “There is a matter I wish to speak with you about.”

“Speak with me, sir?”

Brandon strode past him into the shop, standing a good head and shoulders above the man. Mr. Hint swallowed hard and closed the door behind him.

“It has come to my attention that you possess the original of the gown Miss Wells wore last night. I’d like to see it, sir.”

Mr. Hint almost breathed a sigh of relief. “Aye, sir. One moment,” and he hobbled off toward the back of his shop. He was back shortly, placing the gown in Brandon’s hands.

“I bought it from a bartering man some few months back, sir,” he was careful to explain.

“I know,” Brandon replied. “How much?”

“How much what, sir?” Mr. Hint started.

“How much are you asking for the gown? I desire to have it.”

“But, guv’na . . .”

“Name your price,” Brandon directed.

Mr. Hint dared not hesitate and spoke the first figure that came to his head. “Three pounds—ah, sixpence, sir.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow questioningly as he fished into his pocket for the necessary coins. “I find it hard to believe you procured this so cheaply from the drummer, Mr. Hint.”

The cripple realized his mistake and stuttered a reply. “It’s your lady, guv’na. With her beauty she’s the only one what can do justice to the garment. It’s like a gift I’m giving her, a fellow countryman, sir.”

Brandon gave the man a careful scrutiny. “You’ve not been here much longer than my wife, have you, Mr. Hint? A month longer, perhaps two? She . . .”

“Nearly four, sir,” the cripple returned, then bit his lip.

Brandon paid close attention to the bead work on the gown’s bodice. “Then you know when my wife arrived.”

Mr. Hint wiped his perspiring brow. “Louisa, Miss Wells, mentioned it last night, sir.”

“You must have left London about the time I met my wife,” Brandon pondered.

“Could be, sir,” Mr. Hint strangled out.

“Why did you leave London, Mr. Hint?”

The man went pale. “My employer died, sir, and I lost me work, so I took the few shillings I saved, sir, and come here.”

“You seem to be very talented in your profession, Mr. Hint. Miss Louisa has commented to that effect.”

“I try hard, sir.”

“I’m sure that you do,” Brandon replied, then handed the man the gown. “Would you mind wrapping this for me?”

Mr. Hint almost smiled. “Be happy to, guv’na.”

Brandon strode into the drawing room of Harthaven and found Heather down on her knees polishing the legs of a table. On the floor beside her Beau played with a brightly colored ball, babbling sounds that only he could possibly know the meaning of. Brandon cleared his throat and Heather turned and with a glad cry leapt to her feet and flew into his arms. He laughed with pleasure as she embraced him fiercely and lifting her feet clear of the floor, swung her about in gay abandon. When he set her down again, she grinned up at him with bright eyes, straightening her kerchief and apron.

“My Lord,” he swore, dropping his hands on his hips. “You don’t look old enough to share my bed. Four and ten would be my guess. You couldn’t be the same wench who threatened to wake the household last night while having her pleasure. Could it have been a witch who stole into my bed and clawed and bit at me?”

She blushed and looked at him uncertainly. “You don’t think Jeff heard, do you? I’d never be able to face him if I thought he did.”

The corner of Brandon’s mouth curved upward devilishly. “If he did, I’m sure the sound was not unfamiliar to him, so he’ll not speak of it, being the gentleman he is. But you have little to fear, my sweet. What escaped my kisses was hardly much more than purrs of contentment.”

She laughed in relief and came into his arms again. “You make me forget myself, Brandon. And after a night like that I have trouble coming down to earth.”

He kissed her brow and smiled. “Complaining, sweet?”

“Never,” she sighed. After a moment she raised her head from his chest and caressed his beard with gentle fingers. “It’s always an adventure going to bed with you.”

He chuckled and stepped away from her into the hall. He returned with a package and placed it in her hands.

“This belongs to you and if you ever want to get rid of it again, burn it or cut it to ribbons, but don’t barter it away so someone like Louisa, who has a damnable way of irritating me beyond reason, can take it and make a copy of it again. I remember too well the sight of you in it, and I don’t want another bitch ruining what was to me a very sweet and glorious memory.”

The color drained from Heather’s cheeks. “You bought my gown from Mr. Hint?”

“Aye,” Brandon returned. “I couldn’t bear the thought of another woman trying to wiggle into it.”

She smiled softly in relief. He had spoken with Mr. Hint and the man had kept his word. Standing on her toes, she gently kissed him.

“Thank you, my darling. I’ll treasure it as much as I do my wedding gown and on special evenings I’ll wear it for you.”

Almost a week had passed when Louisa came by one evening unexpectedly. Jeff had gone to visit friends and hadn’t yet returned, and the remaining Birminghams were spending a quiet evening together in the drawing room. Heather was sitting on the floor at Brandon’s feet and had just finished nursing Beau who at the moment was in his father’s lap enjoying his parents’ attention. Heather’s arm rested intimately between Brandon’s thighs as she played with her son, and she had not yet taken the trouble to fasten her gown, feeling secure behind closed doors, but those portals did not stop Louisa’s entry when she swept past Joseph at the front door and barged into the room.

Heather turned with a start, looking around, and Brandon glanced up. At sight of Louisa, he scowled blackly and contemplated what pleasure he would gain from wringing her neck. He would be damned before he’d show her the common courtesy of rising when she entered.

“You seem to enjoy bursting in on people, Louisa,” he muttered.

Louisa took in the scene with a snide smile and looked pointedly at Heather’s arm and the parted low-cut gown. Brandon watched her perusal of his wife and remembered, thinking of one of the last times he watched Louisa stroll naked across a room, that she had begun to lose the firmness of figure which fades from every woman as she ripens with age. In Louisa it was becoming apparent in her slightly broadening hips and her less than firm breasts. If she had one whit of sense, she’d have blushed in embarrassment instead of looking at his wife with mockery.

Stubbornly, Heather refused to move her arm or fasten her gown under the woman’s superior smile. Louisa’s gloating expression infuriated her, and she found displeasure in the fact that the blonde was exceptionally well garmented in a yellow muslin gown that was no doubt one of Mr. Hint’s creations. It seemed the man was a capable artisan, yet it was difficult to imagine one so hideous creating something so lovely to look upon. She wondered if the man had created those other gowns William Court had claimed as his own. It was something to think about.

Louisa paused for a moment, standing above them with her feet spread, arms akimbo. She smiled.

“Such a quaint little family circle. The more I see of you, Brandon, the more I think marriage does agree with you. You appear to be a perfect father and husband.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow at her, but she turned away, removing her gloves and hat, carelessly tossing the dusty articles onto a polished table and took a seat facing him. With a casual hardness in her voice she spoke to Heather.

“Will you get me a drink, child? A little Madeira if it’s cool.”

Flushing angrily, Heather rose to her feet and went to the bar, jerking her bodice together and fastening it.

Louisa went on, speaking again to Brandon. “I acquired such a thirst on that dusty old ride from Charleston, and I do so enjoy your good wines, darling. It’s so difficult to get them in town these days, and I’ve quite exhausted the supply you gave me.”

Brandon sat playing with Beau, who seemingly had lost the spirit of fun since Louisa’s arrival, casting wary glances toward her; he wondered what had brought her this time. Heather returned and thrust a glass into Louisa’s hand. Again the hard, impersonal tone was in the woman’s voice as she spoke.

“Thank you. And would you leave us for a while. There’s some business I wish to discuss with your husband.”

The last word seemed forced and Heather hurried to Brandon, biting a trembling lip, and reached to take Beau from his lap. Anger flared in her husband’s face, and he caught her arm and looked past her to the other woman. His jaw tightened and he opened his mouth to retort, but tears flooded from Heather’s eyes and she shook her head furiously, raised Beau and hiding her face against him, hurried from the room. She fled into the study to quiet her son, who had begun to whimper when he was taken from his father’s arms, and wiped the tears from her face.

Brandon now looked at Louisa with a coldness in his eyes, knowing her crude manner had deeply injured his wife. “Now, Louisa, what is your business?” he ground out.

Her mouth curved into a slow, confident smile. “I met an old friend of yours in Charleston this afternoon, Brandon.”

He raised a disinterested eyebrow. “Who?”

“Well,” she laughed, “he’s not really an old friend—just an old shiphand. I knew him right off as one of your men from the Fleetwood when my carriage passed him. Poor soul, he was, completely out of his wits with drink, but he recognized me just the same as being a close friend of yours. He was very helpful.”

“Helpful? In what way?”

She threw back her head and laughed gaily. “Really, Brandon, I never dreamed that you of all people would let yourself get caught like that—and by a conniving little prostitute, too. I swear I’d have tried that ages ago if I’d have thought it would have worked.”

“What in the hell are you talking about, Louisa?” Brandon demanded.

“Why—you know, darling. Heather, your sweet, innocent little Heather, a prostitute. Dickie told me everything—how he and George found her walking the streets selling her wares, how you were forced into marriage with her, everything.”

“Obviously not everything,” Brandon growled. He got up and poured himself a stiff drink.

Louisa continued on happily. “I know you don’t care about Heather, darling. There have been so many rumors about separate bedrooms. I didn’t need anyone to tell me how you felt about her. I just couldn’t understand why you had married her. But this afternoon—this afternoon when Dickie told me, I knew for sure your marriage was just a front. Now you can send Heather away, send her back to England. I can forgive you for that little escapade in London and take you back. We can be happy. I know we can. I’ll take care of your son, for there is no doubt he is yours—luckily. I’ll love him and be good to him. Everyone will understand when we tell them how you were forced to marry her.”

Brandon stared at her for a moment in amazement and then began to speak slowly but very carefully.

“Louisa, listen very carefully to what I say, for if you do not believe me, you are a fool. If you think that anyone could force me against my will into marriage or any other contract, you do not know me at all. Now believe this,” and he spoke carefully, “as if your life depended upon it, for it does. My wife was no prostitute nor a streetwalker. She was a virgin the first night I took her and George will vouch for that. The child is mine. She is my wife by my consent and I will not again endure your rudeness to her in this house. From this moment on, you will treat her with all the respect due the mistress of Harthaven. You have no further claim upon me, this house or my property.”

Louisa rose from her chair and poured herself another glass of wine. She stood before him and as she sipped, stared at him over the rim.

“So you choose that child over me,” shehalf sneered.

Brandon smiled tolerantly. “The choice was made long ago, Louisa. I only reaffirm it now.”

Her eyes grew narrow and she turned away for a moment to stare out the window. Suddenly she whirled to him again.

“Strange, Brandon, that you should be the one to speak of respect and property in the same breath.” She sipped the wine and strolled across the room, placing the settee between them. She rested her free hand upon its back and half lifted the glass, almost as if in toast. “That is what I came to talk to you about, really. I’ve reconsidered and think my property is worth twice what you paid for it.”

She paused and watched him narrowly, waiting for his reaction. His brow darkened somewhat, but he shrugged.

“We made a bargain, Louisa, and it’s over—signed, sealed and delivered. You have no property but Oakley and the few acres it stands on. It’s done with!”

“Done with, indeed!” she spat. “Then let’s talk of respect. How much respect do you think you and your child bride will merit when I let it be known that you were trapped into marriage by a common whore off the streets?”

Brandon’s voice rang through the house. “Shut your mouth, bitch! I will not have you slander my wife in her own house!” His voice lowered to a raging snarl. “I do not care what you do outside this house. Say what you will. No man or woman will dare stand up to me and repeat what trash you might spill. You are a bitch, Louisa, physically and mentally.”

“Bitch is it now?” she screeched. With a backhanded motion she tossed the wine in his face and smashed the glass against the floor. “Bitch, indeed! I was a virgin when you took me, begging me to marry you and promising the world and all its trappings if I’d but give you that dearest treasure. Then you sailed off and wed the first driveling wench you could pick off the streets and then came dragging her back as your wife. You pledged your troth to me, took my maidenhood and then my lands for a tuppence. Well, I want more.” She began to simper and her voice became wheedling and cajoling. “I must have more, Brandon. I had to pay my bills with the other and have only the house left and I can’t sell it. Why, I’d starve but for the few pennies I manage to earn. No one will advance me credit since you’ve thrown me down.”

Brandon raged and fought with himself to keep from striking her. He wiped his hand across his face.

“Virgin! Lord, all Mighty! You were no more a virgin than that ancient cow in the pasture out this window. Do you take me for a fool? Do you think me dumb and blind that I believed your half-witted play that night? I could not name in the next fortnight the men I know you bedded before and after that so called sacred engagement!” His voice made the walls tremble. “What simple idiocy makes you dream that I will stand and abide the slander of my own beloved?”

“You loved me once!” she screamed. “And you do not sleep with her. The very streets have whispered this fact. It’s common knowledge. Why her and not me? I could share your bed and make you forget she ever lived. Try me. Take me. My God, you loved me once!”

“Loved you!” His laughter rang loud. “No! I only tolerated you and like a lad I thought I knew all my mind could want until I faced a truth and saw a beauty never seen before and then I knew what things I really wanted. Beauty? True. Passion? True.” He bent close to her face and emphasized each word. “But also loving gentle kind devotion, unquestioning loyalty and a simple honest dignity for my name that lies well beyond your ability to give.” His voice rose again. “I love her with every moment of my being. I give her my protection from the street-born sluts that would tear her down and falsify her virtue. With God’s good grace we’ll foster many sons and daughters so do not hang your hopes upon that lie and do not speak to me again of what you would do to drag her down with you.” He stepped to the table and took up Louisa’s hat and gloves and flung them in her face. “Now take your moldy presence from this home and keep the stench of your disappointment from its door, and never once let me hear a lie that I attribute to your lips or I shall take great pleasure in wringing that dimpled neck you prize so highly. Now get out of here, bitch. You’ve abused the common courtesies and are no longer welcome in this house.”

Louisa trembled before Brandon’s flashing eyes and found no further words to speak. Taking her hat and gloves, she applied her energies to the indicated departure and stalked out of the room, white-lipped and with downcast eyes, brushing hastily past Jeff who had stood for some moments listening, awed at this rare display of violent temper directed at a woman by his brother.

She marched out onto the porch and down the steps, and lifting her skirts high, climbed unceremoniously into the carriage without assistance, failing to notice George who leaned against a pillar and calmly spat in the dust behind her.

As Louisa’s carriage rumbled away, Heather came to the study door and gazed across the hall to her husband. He still stood with clenched fists and vibrating cheek, but when he felt her eyes on him, his expression softened and he turned to her, holding up an arm invitingly. Carrying Beau, she came quickly and was enfolded in his loving embrace.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Heather came from the cookhouse, having had a delightful hour helping Cora make bread. She glanced up as a horse came charging through the gate and smiled as Jeff flung himself down from the frothy, laboring beast and ran to her. The look on his face quickly squelched the greeting she was about to give and replaced it with cold apprehension.

“Where’s Brandon?” he asked curtly.

“Why, I thought he was with you in the fields.”

He jerked his finger and pointed near the stable where a boy was brushing Leopold down. The stallion was no better off than Jeff’s buckskin. Both had been ridden hard.

“I didn’t hear him come home,” she tried to explain in her confusion but he was already running for the house. She caught up her skirts and started after him. “Jeff, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

He turned and a strange mixture of emotions crossed his face, upsetting her more than any words could. She grabbed at his arms.

“Jeff, will you tell me what’s wrong?” she cried. In her frightened state she dug her nails into his arm but he took no notice, oblivious to pain, and she shook him as hard as she could shake a man who stood head and shoulders above her. “Jeff, tell me!” she screamed.

He seemed unable to speak for a moment, then he told her. “Louisa’s dead, Heather. Someone murdered her.”

She stepped back, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She shook her head disbelievingly.

“It’s true. Someone strangled her, broke her neck.”

“Why do you want to know where Brandon is?” she demanded.

He seemed reluctant to reply.

“Jeff!”

“I saw Brandon run out of Oakley. He didn’t see me riding up and when I went in to see Louisa, I found her dead.”

Heather almost strangled on a denial. “No!” She backed away, an accusing glare coming into her eyes. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have! He didn’t, Jeff, he didn’t! How can you even think it?”

“Do you think I want to believe it? I saw him, Heather, and we both heard him threaten her yesterday.”

“But why was he there?”

He glanced away.

“Jeff, answer me,” she demanded. “I have a right to know.”

He released a weary wigh. “Louisa sent him a note while we were out in the fields. It said that she knew something about you he should know. I tried to stop him, but he knocked me down and vowed to close her filthy mouth for good. Lulu brought him the note and he scared her plenty. She took off like a scalded dog, though I swear she was shaking like a leaf before she handed the damned thing to him. When I got to Louisa’s, the damage was done. He came tearing out of that house like the devil was after him, and Louisa’s stable hand, Jacob, saw him too and now that good man has gone to fetch the sheriff.”

Heather’s mind whirled in confusion. A note? A note about her? What more could Louisa have told him?

She gasped audibly as she thought of Mr. Hint and his association with the woman. If he had told Louisa about William Court she would have tried to tell Brandon. Possibly in blind fury, he might have killed her. He had threatened her last night. . . .

No! She couldn’t believe him capable of such a crime.

“No! He didn’t do it! I just know he didn’t!” she said stubbornly, shaking her head furiously. “He is my husband! Wouldn’t I know whether he was capable of that or not?”

“Lord, Heather,” Jeff groaned, tormented that he should be the one to accuse his brother. He pulled her to him, crushing her against him. “Baby, don’t you know I want to be wrong? I love him too. He’s my own flesh and blood—my brother!”

Her firm resolve only tormented him more. Abruptly he whirled from her and ran toward the house and she followed. They went through it, Jeff frantically trying to convince himself that he was mistaken, Heather determined that he was, until he reached their bedroom door and flung it open. She came to his side when he made no move to enter and saw Brandon gazing out the open window overlooking the yard where they had just been. With a cry, she ran toward him and he turned and caught her tightly to him.

“Tell him, Brandon!” she commanded, clinging desperately to him. “Tell him you didn’t do it!”

“My sweet,” he murmured softly.

Jeff came forward, afraid to ask and have it confirmed. Brandon looked at him and smiled sadly.

“Do you think I killed her, Jeff?”

“Oh God, Bran,” Jeff choked, shaking his head. His torment was deep. “I don’t want to believe it, but I saw you leave her house and when I went in I found her dead. What am I supposed to believe?”

Brandon smoothed Heather’s hair under his hand. “Would you believe me, Jeff, if I told you I had nothing to do with murdering her—that she was already dead when I got there?”

“Bran, you know I’ll believe whatever you tell me. But if you didn’t murder her, who did?”

The older brother sighed. “Why would anyone rape Louisa, Jeff?”

Heather gasped.

“Rape?” the younger brother started.

“You didn’t notice?” Bandon smiled.

“She was raped!” Jeff asked incredulously. “But who would have raped her? She gave it away free.”

“Exactly.”

“My Lord, I really didn’t think of that,” Jeff admitted. He slid into a chair and stared at nothing in particular, reflecting upon what he had seen. After a long moment, he rose again and walked to the window near them to gaze out toward distant trees swaying in a strong breeze.

“It must have been as you say,” he murmured thoughtfully. “When I first saw her—the room torn apart, her clothes ripped from her. I just thought that you had fought with her. Rape didn’t enter my mind. You wouldn’t have . . .” He blushed and glanced at Heather and found her listening calmly. “You wouldn’t have bothered her that way,” he continued, turning back. “And as I think back I agree with you that she had been forced into the act. The way she lay, she looked as if the man had just left her. Undoubtedly she was killed while they were still engaged. But who would she have refused so violently?”

Brandon’s gaze shifted again to the window. “Jeff, I want to talk to Lulu. Can you get her for me?”

The younger brother nodded. “You know something then?”

Brandon shrugged. “I may. I’m not sure. I must talk to the girl before I can say.”

Jeff smiled, no longer uncertain of his brother’s innocence. “I’ll go find her. You’d better have some facts before Townsend gets here.”

When he was gone, Brandon lifted Heather’s chin and looked into her eyes.

“Thank you for believing in me,” he murmured.

“I wouldn’t be much of a wife if I didn’t believe in you,” she returned softly, caressing his cheek.

He drew away from her and turned his back. “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have killed her, Heather, had I gotten to her first. I was in such a damnable temper I knocked Jeff down when he tried to stop me. I wanted to kill her when I read her note. When I saw her lying on the floor, the clothes ripped from that body she thought so highly of, I realized how close I had come to taking her life. It scared the hell out of me when I thought of what I almost did to us.” He turned back to her. “You see, it didn’t matter that she was dead. There was no grief in me for her loss of life. I just felt relief at being rid of her and not having to be hanged for the deed. But, Heather, I could have killed her if . . .”

“Oh, my darling,” she choked, flinging her arms about his neck. “Perhaps you were angry, but nothing in this world can make me believe that you would have committed such an act. It’s just not in you.”

He held her to him, his arms crushed about her slender waist, and found solace in her steadfast faith.

“Oh, Heather, Heather,” he murmured. “I love you so much. I need you. I want you always.”

Joyful tears brightened her eyes as she clung to him. It was so good to be loved by him.

Brandon breathed in the dewy fresh smell of her and the fragrance of her hair, and his eyes dropped to the hand he had clenched behind her back. His fingers relaxed slowly and there in his palm was one of Catherine Birmingham’s diamond earrings.

Sheriff Townsend came and arrested Brandon that night. There was no talking to the man. He was convinced that he had his man and didn’t waste time in discussing the matter with them. He told Brandon he was under arrest as soon as he entered the house and fifteen minutes later they were on their way to Charleston, accompanied by two deputies.

Heather was left fretting. Brandon had not been able to talk with Lulu. In fact, the girl could not be found. She had disappeared. No one could remember seeing her after she fled from the fields. The few slaves at Oakley were keeping well away from the big house and safe in their own cabins, preferring to know nothing of the comings and goings that went on there as Louisa’s body was prepared for the journey to Charleston the following morning, thus they could not say if Lulu had returned at any time. Jeff sent several men to comb the countryside while he and George rode to the city, but they failed to find any trace of the girl in either place.

In the late hours, Heather paced the floor of their bedroom, feeling the loneliness of the room without Brandon there, and she wondered about his comfort. Sheriff Townsend had been so bullheadedly stubborn, not listening to her pleas or Brandon’s reasoning, he might even be treating her husband now as if he were already condemned. She shuddered at the thought and went to the window where she pressed her face against the pane. It was pitch black without and the wind whistled around the corner of the house, leaving the trees astir. It had begun to rain but Heather found no comfort in it, only despair and misery. Wearily she dragged herself to bed and crept between the sheets and stared into the darkness at the white glow of the canopy above her, very much aware of the empty space beside her.

She rose in the morning to the sound of howling wind. Heavy gray clouds raced across the sky pushed by raging gusts and a yellowish light seemed to shroud the land. The rain was moderate but the drops beat hard against the window panes driven by the force of the gale. A storm was brewing.

The day wore on and the rain played havoc with Heather’s nerves. Jeff came in once or twice from his search for Lulu, soaked to the bone, and when she gazed questioningly at him, he slowly shook his head. Though no one expressed it, they had begun to despair that something had happened to Lulu too.

It was late afternoon when Heather, no longer able to sit at Harthaven and not help her husband in some way, dressed in riding habit and heavy-hooded cloak and cautiously made her way from her bedroom and down the stairs. She feared that Hatti might see her. It was going to be difficult enough getting James to saddle Lady Fair without an argument, but to let Hatti see her going out in a storm certainly meant having her way blocked by the stubborn Negress.

Her escape was successful and she found James busy putting fresh hay down on the stable floor. He looked up with a start when she opened the door and stared for a moment in surprise as she struggled with the heavy panel, the wind threatening to send her flying if she held onto it for very long. Dropping the pitchfork, he came running to her aid.

“What is you doing out in weather like this, Mrs. Birmingham? You should be in the house, away from all this wind.”

“I wish to take Lady Fair out, James. Will you saddle her for me? I’ve ridden before in the rain so there’s no need to worry.”

“But, Mrs. Birmingham, this is a bad storm brewing. When it gets like this, shutters fly off houses and trees fall down. It ain’t safe. Master Birmingham would skin me alive if he heard I saddled a horse for you in this weather.”

“He won’t hear about it from me, James. If he finds out, I’ll tell him I made you do it. Now hurry and saddle Lady Fair. Lulu must be found so she can tell Sheriff Townsend that Master Birmingham didn’t murder Miss Louisa.”

His dark, frightened eyes gazed at her as if he would say something more, but she frowned him down.

“If you don’t saddle her, James, I will.”

He shuffled off, shaking his head, and it seemed like hours before Lady Fair was saddled and ready to go. James checked the girth for the fifth time.

“Mrs. Birmingham, she may be skittish in this storm.” His brow creased deeply, betraying his concern. “Ma’am—Mrs. Birmingham, you just can’t!”

“Oh hush, James. I’ve got to go.”

He yielded grudgingly and gave her a hand into the saddle. She settled herself and looked down at him. He stood holding her bridle, his eyes wide with fear. The same fear made his lips tremble, and she thought for a moment he might yet hold her there. Finally his hand dropped from the reins, and he turned to open the stable door. She put her heel to the horse and urged her out into the storm. It was as if she had entered a different world. The wind and rain and lightning blended into a fury of confusion. The chestnut paused and snorted, but her thumping heel drove the mare on. Sharp fingers of wind snatched her cloak and the rain soaked her through in a moment. Blinding bolts of brightness rent the heavens above and were quenched in belching peals of thunder.

Heather glanced over her shoulder and saw James braced against the storm, watching her as she rode away. For a brief second she was tempted to turn back and calm his fears—and hers. There was no denying that she was frightened. But the thought of going back passed quickly. If she didn’t feel her going was necessary she’d have stayed, but Brandon’s life depended upon Lulu being found and what better place to hide in a storm than in her mistress’s now deserted house?

Horse and rider entered a forest gone wild. Once lazy branches lashed and stung and whipped and clawed. The trees bent and swayed in what seemed a frenzied determination to snatch her from the horse and failing, moaned their frustration to the wind. The mare slipped and stumbled from side to side on the muddy trail, now slashing her legs in the razor-sharp palmetto, now thrusting away from a thicket of brush. It took all Heather’s concentration to cling to the slippery saddle. In desperation she twisted the reins about her fist and buried her face in Lady’s mane. The ride became a tiring fight for both horse and rider as they battled the wind and rain, the forest and mud.

The wind seemed to abate and the rain no longer pounded her shoulders. Heather realized the horse now stood still, trembling with fatigue. She raised her face and found they stood in the shelter of the Oakley plantation house. The facade of the manor loomed above her in the storm, palely lit by the gloomy day. She slid from the horse’s back and found her legs barely capable of support. She leaned against the steamy warmth of the animal and her strength gradually returned.

With her hopes and fears driving her on, she strode across the portico and entered the ominous structure. She closed the door against the storm and gazed about, doffing muddy boots and soaking cloak. The great house seemed to lean into the wind, of which small wisps crept through each crack in the shutters and stirred curtains and drapes and rattled panes of glass and seemed to set the house in motion. The floors squeaked and popped with the strain, the walls moaned and the shingles fluttered their fear on the roof. Shadows crept about each room and occasionally from somewhere deep in the bowels of the storm-battered house, a door creaked or slammed. The manor seemed to resent her intrusion and wailed its discontent, but her purpose overrode her apprehension. She must assure herself that Lulu was not cowering in some nook or cranny.

She called but received no answer. She searched through each room of the house with a thoroughness born of desperation. The rooms of the first floor were dark. Drapes were pulled over all the windows and there was little light from outside to filter in. Here and there she found a window left gaping. She went about her task, missing no space large enough to conceal a person. Drapes were snatched aside and no door left closed. Her labors warmed her and the chill from the journey left her bones.

She raced up the stairs in an unladylike manner, her skirts raised high above her knees, and pressed her search through the second floor. Here the storm seemed closer. The drafts were chilling and the rain battered with heavy hand upon the roof. Branches slammed against the shutters and set them banging. She flung each door wide and searched beneath each bed. She paused but a moment beside Louisa’s bed and realized that here was where Brandon most likely had exercised his manhood on that woman’s charms. In a quick, bitchy rage, she tore the satin covers from the bed and trod across them to continue her search.

The house was empty to her efforts. The attic entry was a small ceiling trap door, unattainable without steps or aid. She returned once more to the first level and realizing she had not looked here, entered the drawing room.

Heather drew a deep breath which seemed to freeze in her chest. Draperies were torn from the windows and a chair lay broken in the tangle of its pleats. A small table balanced precariously in front of the fireplace on three legs, the fourth leg missing. A writing desk stood with nothing on top of it; papers, pens and inkwell were scattered on the rug beneath. Several books lay tumbled from the bookcase and those remaining in it were in a sad state of disarray. The room bore evidence of a raging quest as if some object of great concern had gone astray. There was no reason to believe that the object had not been found, yet Heather began to probe the room as only a woman’s query can. She had no idea for what she sought. She only knew something might lie here. Her eyes swept the rug and dusted the top of every level surface. Her hands rearranged bric-a-brac and knickknacks, straightened the hangings on the wall, and her fingers tested each crack for what it might contain. The fireplace screen stood slightly ajar and her woman’s sense of neatness demanded it be righted. As she moved the screen, a twinkle at its base caught her eye. The object was lodged in a crack between two bricks on the fireplace floor. She bent and gasped.

It was one of Catherine Birmingham’s diamond earrings, her own earring, one of the pair she had given Mr. Hint. Picking it up, she stared at it in disbelief.

In her note to Brandon, Louisa had stated her knowledge of some interesting information. And what other secret could the woman have learned except the one concerning William Court? There was no other. But why had Mr. Hint told her? Surely he realized that Brandon would not let her continue to pay blackmail to keep him silent, and if Louisa had knowledge of William’s death she would do everything in her power to let Brandon know, for spite if not for another reason. So why had Mr. Hint told Louisa? Why had he given her the earrings? For what reason would he jeopardize a fortune by such a stupid act? Had he fallen in love with the woman and thought to bribe her with these trinkets? That ugly man? Louisa would have laughed in his face.

But was that it? Could he have killed her for laughing—or to insure her silence? Did he have the strength to break her neck with his bare hands? Brandon had such ability, she knew, but could a man almost half his size possess enough power for such a feat?

“Well, if it ain’t my good friend, Mistress Birmingham.”

Heather whirled in alarm. There was no denying who that high pitched, squeaky voice belonged to. Pure terror gripped her, paralyzed her. Mr. Hint smiled at her and showed a face clawed and bruised.

“Ah-h, I see you’ve found the earring.”

She nodded once slightly, cautiously.

“In the hearth yet,” he laughed. “I didn’t think of that. Bless you for findin’ it for me. I thought it be lost forever.”

“Did . . .” She swallowed and began again. “Did you give my earrings to Louisa?”

“Well—not exactly. ‘Twas like this, you see. I showed them to her and I promised her a life of ease with me.” His mouth tightened hideously. “She seen them though and knowed them as being yours, she did. She would not rest ‘til she found out why I had them. Then a queer shine come into her eyes when I told her about poor Willy and she grabbed the earrings in her fist and vowed to have her revenge. She went crazy. I had a hard time understandin’ her. She was like a mad woman, one minute laughing, the next crying, all the time screaming what revenge she’d have on you. She vowed to see you hanged. I had to slap her face ‘fore she come to her senses again. A cold look came in her eye and she told me what she was going to do. I tried to tell her she was being a fool, that she could have her revenge by the money we took from you. I knowed once your man found out about you there’d be no more jewels for me, you see, and he might kill me to hush my mouth. But she refused to listen. She was wantin’ to see you hanged, but first she wanted to tell your man and watch him plead for your life. She sent Lulu to fetch him with that note. The girl seen I was mad and run off quick with the note while Louisa and me was arguing. I tried to reason with Louisa and tell her we could be rich, but she said she wanted to see you hanged. She was all set to tell your man about you and show him the earrings as proof, and she laughed at me and called me an ugly toad—said she’d been leading me on for what I could give her. I made every gown she ever wanted and give them to her without gettin’ a farthing, and she called me a swine, a loathsome caricature of a man. I loved her, I did, and she called me that.” Tears were streaming down his face and he began to sob. “She hit me too when I told her it was your gown I copied for her and called me worse names that I ever even heard from a man, foul words what tore me insides to pieces. I couldn’t help myself. My hands reached for her neck without knowing what they were doing. She got panicky and jumped away from me into the drapes, but I caught her in them and dragged her down. I didn’t know she had such strength. She kicked me and give me a wallop like a man would. Knocked me off her, she did. I never knowed a woman what was so strong. We had a regular fight as you can see by this room. I had my pleasure on her though, and she had hers. I could tell, her amoaning and moving under me. I be thinking we could still be happy together, but I sees her eyes go narrow when she was through with me. She spit in my face and called me a freak, said I’d be seeing what a real man was when your spouse come. My hands flew round her throat and they squeezed the life from her. I couldn’t stop them. I’d just pulled my hands from her when your man come riding up. Furious, he was. Never even stopped to knock on the door. Hardly give me time to get off her and hide.”

“You mean you were here when my husband came?” Heather choked out.

“Aye. He come a raging in here like the very devil, he did. He scared me good with him being so big and there I was hiding behind the door. Mayhaps it were the shock of seein’ his work done that saved me from him. A man what looks the same as your man come in right after he left, and he didn’t see me either.”

“Why are you telling me all this, Mr. Hint?” she asked, already afraid of the answer.

“Why shouldn’t I now? You knowed it were me what killed Louisa when you picked up that earring. I’ll take it now ‘fore it gets lost again.” He snatched it from her hand and stared for a long time at the piece. “Louisa told me when I made her gowns that I wasn’t a cripple in her eyes. She called me her love and let me touch those white breasts and kiss them. I loved her, I did, and she called me a toad.”

Tears streaked down his ugly face. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“She weren’t the first woman what I killed for laughing. That dress you wore when you ran from Willy’s shop belonged to another what laughed. Willy, the bloke, he thought she never come back ‘cause she couldn’t afford the gown.” He laughed wildly. “She couldn’t come back, you see, she was dead. I broke her bloody neck for her like I did Louisa’s. I fixed Miss Scott too, for laughing.”

He moved toward Heather menacingly and she was again aware of that strong odor of cologne. She realized what he had just said, and with a start she remembered where she first had a whiff of the cologne. Her eyes flew open wide.

“You were there behind those curtains in William Court’s shop! You saw me run out, wearing that gown!”

He smiled his horrible smirk. “Aye. You never even glanced back. I should be grateful to you. You made my work easy.”

“Your work?”

“Aye, my work. You really didn’t think you killed Willy, did you, with only that little wound you give him? Nay. He only passed out, more from the wine he had than what you done to him.”

“You mean he lives?” she gasped.

Thomas Hint chuckled as he shook his head negatively. “Nay, madam. I slit his bloody throat for him, I did. It were easy. All those years I made his gowns for him and the bloke, he told everyone he made them. Why, he couldn’t even thread a needle. It were very easy. Only thing—the cook she seen me kill him. She come back to clean up the dishes, and she seen me take me knife to him. I had to leave England ‘cause of her. I couldn’t get my hands on her neck. She took off like Lulu, scared enough for to die, and I couldn’t find her.”

Heather backed to the fireplace, more than stunned. All this time she thought she had killed a man!

“It won’t be so easy killin’ you, madam. You never really done me no wrong. You never laughed at me like those other women. In a way, you were even kind to me. And you’re such a lovely piece. I told Sybil once that some of the most beautiful women in the world had worn my clothes. I was speaking of you when I said it. You were really the only one what did me gowns justice. But now, you’ll tell them I killed Louisa to save that man of yours.”

He was moving toward her now, blocking her escape. With her back to the fireplace he could go no further as he reached out for her throat. Seeing those clawlike hands of her dream coming toward her, Heather was possessed with the sudden courage to fight him, no matter what. In a quick eluding movement she darted past. He reached out, catching his hand into the back of her habit, but it ripped away as she leapt from him. He was quick despite his distorted shape and snatched at her skirt as she flew toward the door, closing his hand over a fold. The gown tore again but it held to imprison her. He jerked her back to him with frightening strength and spun her around. His eyes went to the white shoulder emerging from the tattered gown, and his tongue passed over his lips.

“Your skin is like satin. I’ve a fondness for the sweetness of a woman’s flesh. Mayhaps we can delay your—departure—for a few moments,” he muttered. With clawlike fingers he reached up and snatched the garment from her bosom. The habit fell away, leaving her clad only in a damp chemise. His eyes seemed to burn through the flimsy material, and his breathing deepened until he panted over her like a hungry dog over a bone. He tore at the garment until not a thread remained to cover her.

Heather screamed and strained against him, pushing at his chest, but he was strong despite his size and only laughed at her pitiful struggles.

“You’ve not half the strength Louisa had.”

He crushed her to him, making her arch away in disgust, and covered her neck and breasts with loathsome kisses. Then, as viciously as if he were a mad dog, he sank his teeth into her shoulder. A scream tore itself from Heather’s throat and her head rolled limply with the agony. Sobbing, she felt his mouth move downward toward her breast and realized he was going to bite her again. He had her bent so far backward she was sure she was the only thing bracing him. Suddenly she remembered when once before she had been bent against her will. She had sent William Court sprawling because she sank to the floor. She had no time to wonder if it might work again. Without giving him any warning, she picked up her feet. Immediately she felt both of them begin to fall. He let go of her in an effort to break his fall. She hit the floor first and rolled away from him and was on her feet in an instant and moving. He reached out a long arm and grabbed at her but his hand only brushed her thigh. She was running now, fiercely, toward the stairs, not looking back. She knew he was already on his feet, and she hoped the stairs would slow him down. Her breath came in quick gasps, and she forced every bit of strength she possessed into her legs to propel herself up the stairs. At the top, she glanced around. He was at the bottom steps, coming up fast, and now in each hand was a pistol.

With a cry, she turned and darted into the first room she came to. She ran through it to an adjoining bedroom, closing the doors noiselessly behind her. It was only when she reached the last room on that side of the hall that she stopped. She could go no further without entering the hall, and there his footsteps could be heard, soft and hesitant; he was wondering where she was.

Heather closed her eyes and tried to slow the fast beat of her heart. It was like a drum in her ears, making it almost impossible to hear the direction he took in his search for her. It was doubly hard over the noise of the storm outside. Quivering, she sank against the wall and touched her shoulder where the marks of his teeth branded her skin. If he caught her, he would not cease until he had torn her body to shreds with those cruel teeth, and she wondered if Sybil and Louisa had had to contend with that torture. He had raped both women and now was after her. A sudden flash of memory made a vision loom up before her of a dark, sinister figure on horseback, coming—coming toward her, swathed in a black cloak. But this time its face was visible. It was Mr. Hint’s.

Heather threw her arm over her face to shut out the aberration. It was too horrible. He was too horrible. God grant her death before he used her for his pleasure!

She shivered as she stood huddled against the wall. Without her clothes, the drafts from the vibrating shutters seemed twice as chilling. She gazed down at her nakedness and bit into her lip. She longed to look for clothes in the wardrobe beside her but couldn’t chance the slightest sound.

From somewhere in the bedrooms down the hall she heard him slamming wardrobe doors open and throwing furniture about. She would wait until he came into the room next to the one she was in before she made her move. If she could manage to slip by the door without being detected, she could make it to the stairs without much effort and slip away from him. Her cloak was in the hall. If she could snatch it up before he realized she was escaping. . . . But her life was more valuable than her modesty. Oh, pray, if she could just escape him!

With a start, she realized he had come into the adjoining room. Quietly, so as not to make a sound, she turned the knob on the hall door, keeping a wary eye on the door between the two rooms. Without glancing into the hall, she slipped out and pulled the door closed without a sound. She stepped backward a couple of paces, then spun around to run past the room he was in.

She screamed and died a thousand deaths as she felt a man’s arms close about her.

“Heather!” Brandon cried, alarmed. His eyes went down her naked body.

With a half-choked sob, she fell against his chest, not even asking what miracle had brought him from jail to her side. He was soaking wet from the storm, but it was a nice, secure dampness. Then she heard footsteps running and knew Thomas Hint was after her again. Her heart in her throat, she tugged at her husband.

“Oh, Brandon, hurry! He has pistols.”

Brandon’s face was pale. “Has he hurt you, Heather?”

She had no time to reply. She knew his meaning, yet she could not pause to reassure him. She pulled him into a room across the hall and was just closing the door when Mr. Hint opened his and looked out. He saw her immediately and lifted the pistol. For a second she stood petrified and the shot exploded. The ball drove into the door by her ear, splintering the heavy wood, and shaken, she slammed it closed.

Brandon didn’t stop to ask questions. The shot had been too close to his wife for comfort. He jerked Heather behind him as he pressed himself against the wall by the door. The knob turned as he stood tensed beside it. The door swung open and Mr. Hint barged through. Brandon raised his arm and brought it crashing down on the man’s wrist, sending one pistol crashing to the floor. Mr. Hint jerked around, completely startled. It was apparent from the surprise on his face that he hadn’t known of Brandon’s presence before he entered the room. It came as a shock for him to find that he wasn’t just pursuing a helpless woman any longer but her husband as well, and that husband was far from helpless. Mr. Hint saw the fist coming and dodged to the side, but not completely out of its path. The fist grazed his cheek, less than the total force of the power behind it, yet it knocked him backward against the wall. Dazed, he managed to raise the pistol he still held in his other hand until it was pointed at Brandon’s midsection. He heard the woman scream.

“You knocked the wrong one out of my hands, Mr. Birmingham. ‘Tis a shame, ain’t it.”

Brandon made a move forward, his expression murderous. Heather screamed again and grabbed his arm, pulling back with all her weight to stop him. She couldn’t.

“He didn’t harm me, Brandon! I got away in time!” she screeched.

Brandon stopped. He looked down at her and some of the violence seemed to leave his face.

“He killed Louisa,” she said.

“Aye, I did,” Mr. Hint admitted as he grinned at Brandon. “And I won’t think twice ‘fore shootin’ you. But I have my idea you knows what I did already, don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Brandon replied. He stepped back a few paces, pulling Heather with him.

“Aye. I know it for certain. I hear you were asking about me in town. You started nosin’ around that day you come to my shop, wantin’ to know when I comes from England and what sort of fellow I be. What I wants to know is why.”

Brandon grinned leisurely as he pulled his shirt from his shoulders. “My wife made mention of you several times.”

Startled, Heather jerked her head up and looked at him closely. He smiled down at her reassuringly, drawing his shirt around her. But his eyes hardened when they fell on the marks left by Mr. Hint’s teeth. His mouth went rigid as he touched the spot and the muscle in his cheek twitched violently.

“Aye. I see you’ve noticed my brand on your wife. She’s a small bit of woman, ain’t she? Looks real fetchin’ without her clothes,” he snickered. “That’s a hard thing what to admit for a chap in my profession. But ‘tis true. There’s no one ever I see what got her beauty. And she’s a mite more resourceful than most. Got away from me ‘fore I had a taste of her charms. Slippery as an eel, she is.”

“You’d be dead now if you had taken her,” Brandon growled.

Mr. Hint grinned his horrible smirk. “So she told you about me, eh? I didn’t figure that. When she run from Willy’s shop that night I thought she’d be too frightened to say my name, she a thinking she killed him and all. I didn’t figure that she’d talk. But why did she act so frightened when I told her I’d tell you if she didn’t buy my silence?”

“I’m afraid my wife knew nothing of what she said to me.”

Mr. Hint frowned. “Eh? What’s that you say? You don’t make sense.”

“It’s no matter, Mr. Hint. Now if you would be so good as to tell me what my wife gave you, I would be grateful.”

“You know what she give me or you know of part of it. I seen you pick up that diamond earring when you stood over Louisa’s body.” Mr. Hint grinned as Heather gasped and dug in his coat pocket. He brought out the jewels clutched in his hand and displayed them for Brandon. “To satisfy your curiosity, guv’na,” he smirked. “Pretty lot, ain’t they? Just like your wife. A pretty thing she is with her silky skin and her black hair. She has teats what I’d wager any man would itch to touch, nice and soft and—”

“Did you also rape and murder Sybil Scott?” Brandon interrupted.

Mr. Hint squinted at him. “Aye, I did. She laughed at me like Louisa. I followed her from Charleston that day and took my pleasure of her in the woods. She weren’t nearly so pretty as your wife though.”

“You were also in the woods by my mill?”

“Aye. I couldn’t hardly help myself that day. I got the feeling in me loins for her what left me aching for a week. When the bartering man sold me that gown, I knew she were here. I tried to find out from him where he got it but he wouldn’t say. But in the woods I recognized her right off as being the same little girl what Willy tried to bed. She fooled him too and stuck a knife in him.”

“No!” Heather cried. “He fell on the knife when we were struggling.”

“Well, she thought him to be dead, but he weren’t—that is, not ‘til I slit his throat.”

“You murdered all these people, Mr. Hint, without anyone becoming suspicious of you?” Brandon questioned.

“Aye, and a lot more. I had my time when I had to run from England, but nobody has caught me and nobody were suspicious of me here.”

“You must think yourself a very clever person.”

“Clever enough to add a few more to my list.” He waved the pistol around dangerously. “But I have my wish to please myself with your wife afore your eyes while you still lives. I never had it that way before.”

Brandon sneered. “You’ll find yourself dead if you lay one finger on her.”

Mr. Hint laughed loudly, and his eyes had an unnatural shine to them. “Aye. It’ll be most pleasurable. I can just see you now—all trussed up and unable to move while I have your wife spread on the bed. You’ll go mad as you watches me settle myself in her. I’ll even make her scream for you everytime I take a bit of her.”

Heather clung to Brandon tightly and buried her face against his chest.

“I’ll kill her myself before I’ll let you get your slimy hands on her, Mr. Hint,” Brandon swore. “But you aren’t even going to get near her. You’d better take careful aim with that pistol. If you don’t kill me with that one shot, you won’t live long after you release that hammer.”

He was moving in on the man, pushing Heather behind him.

“Your death can very easily be arranged,” Mr. Hint warned as he braced himself against the wall. He lifted the pistol until it pointed at Brandon’s heart.

With a cry, Heather flung herself in front of Brandon. He tried to push her behind him, but she clung to him fiercely and in her fear for him, her strength exceeded its normal bounds.

“For God’s sake, Heather, get out of the way!” he cried.

“No!” she said stubbornly. “He only has one shot. He can kill just one of us with it.” Her voice became pleading. “Let it be me, Brandon. I’d rather die now than have him touch me again. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Your wife has a point, guv’na. I can hardly kill you both with one pistol. It’ll be interesting to see which one of you I get. You’re both so anxious to die for the other.” He jeered at Brandon. “Now you, guv’na, are a gallant soul. You say you’ll kill your wife yourself ‘fore I lays a hand on her. What chivalry! A body would gather you think I’m not fit to bed her.”

“You’re not fit for her to walk on,” Brandon sneered. “Do you honestly think that I’m going to let you touch her? I let no man use what is mine, and you, who crawl upon your belly in the mud and slime, think I won’t fight heaven and hell to keep her safe from your depravity!”

“You’ve no choice, guv’na,” Mr. Hint smirked. His eyes went over Heather’s back. Holding the pistol pointed straight at Brandon’s head, he reached for the shirt covering her and snatched it away. He stepped back quickly, grinning as his eyes roamed greedily over her thighs and buttocks. “I likes her better this way.”

With a sound close to a growl, Brandon stepped forward, but immediately Mr. Hint’s attention was on him.

“Step back or I’ll blow your wife’s head off with this pistol.”

A limb hit the window with the force of the storm outside, shattering the glass and startling Mr. Hint. He looked around in surprise, and Brandon seized his moment. He lunged forward, catching Mr. Hint off guard, but not so much that the man forgot the pistol in his hand. He fired and Heather screamed as Brandon went reeling backward, but he did not fall. He grabbed for his shoulder as blood oozed from the wound down over his arm and chest. He grinned evilly.

Mr. Hint realized his mistake. The man was not dead and he had every assurance that Brandon would keep his word and see to it that life ended for him. He was now the hunted. He had ceased to be the hunter. Terrified, he jumped for the door and was out of it in a flash despite his lameness.

Brandon was after him without a second’s hesitation. Heather stood for a moment, dazed and feeling sick. The shock of seeing Brandon reel from the pistol’s discharge had almost been too much. She followed out the door, still trembling, in time to see her husband start down the stairs after Mr. Hint. The cripple half fell, half slid down the steps. He glanced back over his shoulder fearfully and she saw froth oozing from his mouth. His tongue flicked vigorously over his fat lips and his eyes were wide with panicking terror. When he reached the bottom level, he turned in circles, not knowing what to do. He glanced down at the pistol he still held in his hand and, realizing it was useless, raised it above his head and flung it at the man coming after him. Brandon ducked and the pistol hit harmlessly behind him. Mr. Hint whirled to run to the door, but Brandon was too quick for him. He leaped from the stairs and flung himself onto the hunchback. They both went crashing to the floor, but Brandon was on his feet instantly, dragging the man to his. With a cruel smile, he sent a fist smashing into Mr. Hint’s face. The man flew backward, the blood flying from his face. Brandon picked him up again and slammed him back against the wall with enough force to break the man’s back. Mr. Hint screamed. Brandon only looked the meaner and buried his fist into the man’s belly. When the cripple doubled over, Brandon brought him up straight again with a vicious blow under his chin. The murderer shrieked and sobbed and pleaded as he tried desperately to free himself, but Brandon had no intention of letting him go.

“You’ll not have another chance to sink your teeth into my wife, you slimy bastard!”

Heather was frightened. She had never seen Brandon act so violently. He was not hindered by the wound in his shoulder. He seemed for the moment to have forgotten it. Both men were red with blood, and it was impossible to tell whose blood they wore the most of. It mingled as Brandon continued slashing at Mr. Hint with his fists. Her legs trembled as she crept down the stairs toward them, clutching an arm over her bosom, the other hand down her body.

The man was becoming a bloody pulp, unable to comprehend what was happening to him. He whimpered as Brandon drove in another blow.

Heather could stand no more. She ran to Brandon and grabbed his arm.

“Brandon, stop! You’re killing him! For God’s sake, stop!”

Brandon, in a daze, turned the man loose and watched him slide to the floor. Mr. Hint groaned and clutched at his middle, but Brandon was no longer interested in him, and Heather didn’t care to see how vicious her husband could be when he lost his temper. They turned from him without so much as a pitying glance in his direction. She began immediately to examine her husband’s wound. He winced slightly as her gentle fingers touched torn flesh.

“We must get you home, Brandon. That ball needs to be taken out of your shoulder.”

He managed a grin. “I’m afraid going home is out of the question for some time. We’ll have to stay here for the night. The storm makes the journey home unsafe. It has worsened since I came and probably doubly so since you ventured out.”

“But your shoulder needs tending. And what about Beau? Who will nurse him?”

He laughed and pulled her to him, unmindful of the blood he smeared over her breast. “You’ll have to tend my shoulder, sweet, and as for Beau, I sent James to fetch a wet nurse for him in case we couldn’t make it back. A perfect errand for James since he let you go in the first place. It was foolhardy for you to leave home in this storm, Heather, and to go in search of Lulu, doubly so.”

“But, Brandon, I couldn’t sit there and do nothing to help,” she protested.

They were not aware of the figure behind them creeping toward the door. When a blast of wind and rain hit them, they both turned with a start to find Mr. Hint going out. He was dragging himself along, trying to brace against the wind which was now demoniac in its intensity. Brandon had to struggle against its force to get to the door. By that time, Mr. Hint was running along the porch to the side of the house where the horses were tied. Brandon was not in time to stop him from swinging his crippled body up onto Leopold’s back. He yelled a warning to the man, but his voice was lost in the shriek of the wind.

Mr. Hint jerked the black horse around, struggling to keep astride. He was laughing in spite of his unsteady seat, thinking how he had fooled that giant of a man behind him. He had taken enough beatings from his father in his youth to toughen his body well against what any mortal man could deal him. He still felt the pain and quivered under the blows, but he was not incapacitated to the point where he could not move. With a hideous peal of laughter he drove his heels into the horse’s sides, and the animal lunged away in rage.

Heather was on the front porch, struggling with the wind and rain when he rode past her and down the muddy lane with the large oak limbs whipping dangerously above him. She heard the crack of a limb splitting over the roar of the wind. A torrent of rain drenched her as she fought her way down the front steps against the gale. She became aware of Brandon running past her, his hair plastered to his head, his breeches soaked and clinging to him and the blood from his wound streaming down his body in the rain. He turned to look at her and his mouth moved but no sound could be heard above the storm. He motioned for her to go back into the house. Very near them a bolt of lightning hit and thunder exploded its deafening doom. Another flash tore the sky as Heather turned to see Leopold rear up in fright. Mr. Hint, unable to keep his seat on the slippery saddle, fell as a large limb above him broke its final ties with the tree under the strain of the maniac wind and went hurtling to the ground, crushing him beneath it. Lightning hit somewhere near them and Heather’s scream was made soundless by the thunder that followed. She ran toward Brandon, but he was already on the move. He glanced over his shoulder and gestured for her to go back. She stopped and watched as he hurried to Mr. Hint, straining against the wind that tore at him. She saw him reach the cripple and try to lift the limb from him, and when it would not budge, kneel down beside the man. He glanced back, saw her watching and shook his head, and Heather knew by that simple motion that there was no reason to roll the limb from Mr. Hint. He couldn’t feel it. Mr. Hint was dead. Justice had been served.

Brandon left the grotesque shape of Mr. Hint under the limb and came at a run toward Heather. Again a bolt of lightning struck nearby as he grabbed her and pulled her along with him to the house.

“Get inside. I’ve got to put Lady and Mr. Hint’s horse in the stable.”

“Let me help you. You’re in no condition to do it alone.”

“No. Now get in there and stay. It won’t take me long. Find what you need to care for my shoulder, and I’ll let you tend it when I come back.”

He thrust her in and pulled the door closed behind her. She hurried off immediately in search of rudiments for tending his wound, finding salve, brandy and clean sheets. She left these upstairs by a bed she made ready, and found several candelabras to place by the bed. Night had descended and except for the flashes of lightning, a deep blackness possessed the mansion. She retrieved Brandon’s shirt from the room across the hall and put it on, not wishing to touch a single article of Louisa’s clothing.

When Brandon came in, she was waiting anxiously at the front door. The candelabrum she had placed nearby showed her that his face had definitely paled. When he shivered and fell weakly against the door, she hurriedly wrapped him in a cotton quilt. The shot had left no small hole and he seemed now to be in a great deal of pain. She helped him upstairs and down the hall toward the bedroom which she had prepared. When they passed Louisa’s room they glanced silently toward the four-poster that was clearly illuminated by the candles Heather had left in her search for scissors. Through his pain Brandon smiled at the satin coverlet heaped on the floor, and Heather dropped her face guiltily and continued on her way with him. When she finally had him by the bed, she reached for the scissors, intent upon snipping his wet breeches off.

“What do you plan for me to wear tomorrow when I take you home, my dearest?” he questioned with amusement. “I assure you I left no breeches behind me when I courted Louisa. Just help me pull them off.”

He dropped a leather pouch on the table beside the bed before giving her assistance. The tight breeches did not come off easily when wet. She gave a deep sigh of accomplishment when he stood relieved of them and hurriedly indicated for him to get in bed. After she had cleansed the wound and examined it gently, she gave him a snifter generously filled with brandy.

“I need no other distraction than what you present for me in my shirt, sweet,” he teased lightly. “You’re a very fetching healer, and if I drink too much brandy and look at you, I might forget myself and use this bed for something other than sleep.”

She laughed and watched approvingly as he downed the contents. There was adoration in her eyes as she gazed at him and gently she smoothed the wet hair from his brow, her fingers caressingly soft as they moved along his cheek. He looked at her, catching her hand, and pressed it against his lips in an ardent display of affection.

“Brandon,” she said worriedly. “I do not possess the strength to hold you, and if I am to remove the ball you must be held still. Jeff needs be here.”

“Do what needs be done, Heather. I will hold still for you. Jeff would have trouble if I cared to move, but for you I will be as still as a grandfather oak.”

He was as good as his word. Sweat broke from his brow, and his mouth and jaw grew rigid, but he did not move once while she probed for the lead ball. Heather showed more pain than he under the circumstances. She clenched her lip tightly between her teeth and knitted her brow and looked as if she might burst into tears if he but groaned.

Finally she located the ball and managed to get a grip on it with the scissors. With sweaty palms she clutched the utensil and pulled the lead out. There was a rush of blood then that soaked through the pads she pressed to the wound. Except for his moist brow, there was no sign of pain on Brandon’s face, and she marveled at the control he had over his body. Afterward, when the wound was tightly bandaged, she sat down beside him on the bed and wiped his brow.

“Do you feel like sleeping now?” she asked softly.

He caressed her thigh. “The sight of you banishes all pain and thought of sleep from my mind, my love, and even tempts me to exercise my husbandly rights. I missed you last night, wench.”

“Not half so much as I did you,” she murmured and placed a warm kiss upon his lips.

He gave her a lusty look that stripped the shirt from her body when she drew back. “It wouldn’t hurt my shoulder if you got in bed with me now. I can even hold you if you lie against my good side.”

She blew out all but one candle and leaving his shirt on the back of a chair, crept beneath the sheet and snuggled against him, finding the bed a cozy haven with the storm raging outside. She lay quietly for a few moments but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Brandon?”

He dropped a kiss on her brow. “Yes, sweet?”

“Why were you suspicious of Mr. Hint so soon? He said you were asking questions about him the day after we met him at the play. Were you?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“When you were ill on the voyage from England, you kept repeating things in your delirium. One of those things was Mr. Hint’s name. You were obviously frightened of him in your illness, but when I saw at the theatre just how much you really were, I wanted to know more about the man.”

She gazed at him thoughtfully. “What else did I say?”

He smiled slowly. “You spoke of your father a great deal, kept mistaking me for him, and of a man named William Court. What I gathered from your ramblings was that you thought you had killed the man when he tried to rape you. You always spoke his name with Mr. Hint’s and expressed fear that the latter would accuse you of murder.”

“You knew of this and yet you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted you to come to me first and trust me to help you.”

Heather, swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I was afraid I would hurt you or even lose you, and I wanted so much to make you happy and not have you ashamed of me.”

He smiled tenderly. “Do you think I haven’t been happy, and I’ve known your secret for a long time? You have none from me, you know.”

“None?” she inquired gingerly.

“None,” he answered flatly. “I even know you wished for a girl to spite me.”

She laughed and a light blush spread across her face. “Oh, how horrible, Brandon. And you were so closemouthed I never even suspected anything. But did you know that Mr. Hint was Sybil’s and Louisa’s murderer?”

“After I met him I learned that he had been Sybil’s couturier, but there was no proof that he was the one who murdered her. When Louisa was killed then I had no doubt, but I needed proof. I was confident Lulu could tell me he had been with Louisa, but Townsend came and arrested me before I could talk to her. Townsend found out Louisa had been paying her bills with money I had given her and suspected that she was blackmailing me for some purpose he thought might pertain to Sybil’s death. That’s why he was so sure and with a witness who saw me running from her place. . . .”

“Did you tell him of your suspicions?”

“Yes, and when Lulu came to see him of her own accord and told him of Mr. Hint’s visit with Louisa, he began to believe me.”

“Lulu went to see Townsend?”

“Yes, she crept into the house after she saw Mr. Hint leave and found Louisa. She didn’t waste time in making herself scarce until she could get to the sheriff safely.”

“That’s why you said it was so foolhardy for me to have gone in search for her. She had already given her story to Townsend. I suppose now you think I’m just a brainless child.”

“Well—I know you’re no child,” he teased and then an admonishing tone seeped into his voice. “But I am angry that you gave that scoundrel the jewels which I gave you.”

She cast her eyes downward. “I was afraid he would tell you what I had done. And it wouldn’t have been right for me to give your mother’s jewelry away. I know how fond you were of her. It hurt deeply to part with my own, but it was all I had to give him.”

“If you had killed Mr. Court, do you think I would have blamed you? My Lord, the man deserved it!”

“I shouldn’t have been so gullible as to believe that he would have gotten me a position of work at Lady Cabot’s school, but I was so anxious to leave—”

Brandon turned to her with a start. “Did you say Lady Cabot’s?”

She nodded uncertainly. “I was to help teach.”

He chuckled uproariously. “Teach what, madam? How to bed a man? My dearest wife, Lady Cabot’s is one of the most elite brothels in London. I confess I’ve been there once or twice. Why, indeed, I might have met you there if things had gone differently—and most certainly I would have chosen you right off to crawl into bed with.”

“Brandon Birmingham!” she cried indignantly. “Do you mean to say you’d have preferred it that way?” She sat up in a huff and threatened to leave the bed but he pulled her back down into his one-armed embrace.

“No, sweet,” he smiled. “I was just teasing. You should know me better than that.”

She pouted. “I didn’t have any idea it was that kind of place.”

“I know you didn’t, and I’m glad that bastard who thought of putting you there met his end. Otherwise I might be tempted to go back and wring his blasted neck. He got what he deserved for trying to rape you.”

She looked at him slyly. “You were the one who raped me. What were your just desserts?”

He grinned leisurely. “I received my just rewards when I had to marry a cocky wench like you.” He reached for the leather pouch on the table and dropped it on her belly. “Don’t let these go astray again, madam. I won’t be so forgiving next time.”

She grabbed up the pouch and opened it. Her jewels fell out as she tilted the bag.

“How did you manage to get these out of Mr. Hint’s pocket with the limb on top of him?” she asked, rather surprised.

“They dropped out when he fell from Leopold. I washed the mud off in the stables. I don’t know why he chose to ride Leopold when his horse stood nearby. I think perhaps he had been planning to leave Charleston before Lulu had a chance to talk. But it’s strange that he took Leopold.”

“Perhaps he thought Leopold was the fastest.”

“Well, as William Court received what he deserved, so did Mr. Hint. Let’s forget them both now. I’ve an idea to pay a certain wench back for her cockiness.”

Heather laughed playfully, feeling free now of all plaguing doubts and fears, and she curled in a ball against him.

“So, you resort to antics when you know I’m lame in my shoulder and arm. Don’t be so sure I can’t handle you for teasing me, wench. I’ll turn that bare backside up and give you a swat you’ll long remember.”

Uncertain whether he teased or spoke the truth, she uncurled and looked at him cautiously, but he was grinning broadly.

“Madam, you amaze me. Never once have I laid a hand to you and still you act as if you expect me to. Do you think I would take the chance of bruising my playground? Now come here, my little vixen, and let me use it.”

“But your shoulder,” she said in concern.

He grinned confidently, drawing her close against him. “Madam, you will ride this night after all.”

The worst of the storm had passed when they journeyed home the next morning on Lady Fair. Clouds still chased across the sky, but the rain had ceased and the wind was nothing but a shallow ghost of the past evening’s giant. The cloak Heather had worn the afternoon before was damp and stifling now in the late morning heat, and she longed to be rid of it but found Brandon’s shirt lacked something of the popular mode.

“Jeff won’t mind if you discard the thing, and Hatti is quite used to seeing you in much less,” Brandon teased.

Heather cast him a mischievous look and made to undo the enveloping cloak. “If you’re sure Jeff won’t mind. . . .”

He caught her hand and grinned. “He won’t mind, minx, but I will. You saw what I did to Mr. Hint for trespassing. I would surely hate to turn against my own brother.”

So the cloak remained and they arrived home a few minutes later with Heather literally steaming. Everybody came running from the house to meet them, Jeff looking as if he hadn’t slept at all, Hatti crying in her apron.

“Oh Lordy, Master Bran, we done thought something bad had happened to you. Leopold come back in a temper an’ we thought sure he done went wild and broke your neck.” She turned to her mistress, shaking her graying head. “An’ you, Miss Heather, scared me pea green. I nearly killed that James for lettin’ you go. I been sick with worry about you, child.”

A gust of wind caught Heather’s cloak and whipped it from her legs. Brandon snatched it closed again, but not before Jeff and Hatti glimpsed a bare thigh.

“Miss Heather! What happened to your clothes, child?”

“Louisa’s murderer tried to put an end to her, too,” Brandon replied and swung down from Lady Fair. He grimaced with pain and grabbed for the bandage over his shoulder, turning pale.

Heather slid from her horse and anxiously inspected the bandages. “Oh, Brandon, it’s begun to bleed again. You must get upstairs and let me see to it.” She turned to Hatti. “I’ll need some fresh bandages and water and tell Mary to bring Beau to me please. I hope he’s starving at the moment. I have need to be rid of some milk. James, will you take Lady and give her a good rubbing. Luke, please go to Charleston and tell Sheriff Townsend he is needed at Oakley Plantation with a few stout men. Jeff, do come up with us. Brandon will want to tell you what happened last night.”

Each went scurrying to do the task presented him, and Hatti chuckled as she bustled along.

“She’s a gettin’ more like Miss Catherine every day.”

In the hall Heather came upon George, who hung his head as she passed him and shuffled his feet in embarrassment. She stopped and turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“George?”

“Aye, mum?” he replied and raised his head. One eye had definitely been blackened.

“Whatever happened to your eye, George? It’s all black.”

“Aye, mum,” he agreed.

“Well?” she persisted.

He looked to his captain and cleared his throat. “’Twas a matter what needed setting straight in Charleston, mum.”

“What matter?”

He glanced around uncomfortably and drew a chuckle from Jeff.

“’Twas Dickie, mum. You remember Dickie?”

“Aye, George,” she, nodded. “I remember Dickie. And how many black eyes is Dickie sporting?”

“Two, mum, and he’s awfully sorry for the trouble he caused you, mum, and swears not another word, drunk or sober,” he said in a rush.

She nodded again and turned to take her husband’s arm, but then threw a smile over her shoulder at the servant.

“Two, did you say? Thank you, George.”

“Aye, mum,” he grinned.

After she redressed Brandon’s wound and donned a cool muslin gown, she sat apart from the men with her back to Jeff and put Beau to her breast. As Brandon talked with his brother of their adventures of the previous evening, she glanced around their bedroom, feeling its warmth and friendliness. Her gaze swept briefly to a table beside her then returned quickly. Brandon’s miniature portrait of his mother rested there. The green eyes which the artist had painted so well seemed alive, full of impish satisfaction, and Heather wondered at the power of a dead woman to take care of those she loved. It was surely her earrings which had brought everything out in the open and exposed Mr. Hint for what he was. Was it truly possible?

“Don’t you agree, pet?”

She glanced up, startled from her thoughts. “What, my love? I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”

Brandon laughed. “Jeff is going to buy Oakley and I insist he take the land as a birthday gift. Don’t you agree he should?”

She smiled at her husband with something close to worship in her eyes. “Most certainly, my love,” she replied and glanced back briefly to the portrait. The eyes had regained their dignified stillness, but Heather wondered if she had imagined the gleam in Catherine’s eyes. They shared a secret, these two Birmingham women, which their men would never know. To the world they seemed frail and in need of protection, but their love gave them greater strength and courage than was believable. From the grave their influence still shaped events. A knowing smile curved Heather’s lips and she nodded to the portrait of Catherine Birmingham.