A week had passed since that night in the governor’s garden where he dared to get above himself. Devon Blackmon stepped knee-deep into sulfurous muck. Clouds of mosquitos swarmed in the heat. A tree had fallen and pinned a slave. “On the count of three lads,” he ordered and put his shoulder to the log to heft it up and off the poor wretch. He prayed he did not have to amputate.
Claire was a thorn in his side. He could not get his fill of her. Kissing her in the garden had been a mistake. He’d come too close to losing control of himself. No one had seen anything. They had their suspicions, but with no evidence to be seen, no one could claim otherwise. Claire would be safe from scandal. Yet the governor had guessed.
He did not deserve her affection. He did not even desire to be worthy of it. It was as if she had looked into his soul and seen his revenge against her for what it was…a farce.
Her occasional knowing glance, patient smile and even laughter at times piqued him while her temper amused him. His sharp words, she rebuffed, his sarcasm she met with smug response. He challenged her in every way a man could challenge a woman. In return, she honed her shrewd wit on him as a blade sharpened on stone. She offered a rare treasure to be sure with lively intelligence and opposing reasoning. In his travails across the continent, he’d met many contentious scholars, but this rare beauty could argue reasons for and against, rivaling and burying the best of them. Any man would be proud to have her, once he’d see that blazing spirit. Full of mischief, it was hard to imagine her face without the playful undercurrent of one who knew more than she was telling. He could imagine the same smile, close beside him some night, her head on the pillow, her chestnut hair tousled, her cheeks flushed with passion.
At night, his dreams were filled of her. Soft. Beckoning. Intoxicating. Her gentle voice, musical, lavishing her full attention on that—fop. The image burst his imaginings. She was his wife. Fury drove him over the edge, Teakle leering into her bosom. His hands itched to have a sword.
Devon slipped into the mire. Ames gave him a hand and pulled him out. He wiped the mud from his eyes, the rest coating him from head to toe would dry quickly in the tropic sun. No matter thought Devon, his weary and wretched condition protected him against the ceaseless insects and torrid sun. The men lifted the unfortunate to the roadside. Devon would administer to him to the best of his ability.
Claire’s life turned into a nightmare. Sir Teakle commenced his courtship, insisting on hours of her attentions and wreaking constant humiliations upon her. On long carriage rides across the island his hands would always find their way to stroke and fondle her while the black slave drove, his eyes straight ahead. She longed to slap Sir Teakle, to scream at him to go away, yet he’d fake some movement to touch her. Claire shuddered when he’d hover his florid lips close to hers and make a horrid sucking sound. The color drained from her face when they passed Mrs. Bennett. What would the islanders think? Sir Teakle had leaned back and laughed, delighted in seeing her shrink from him.
“Soon, my dear you will know what I intend for our wedded bliss.” He dropped his handkerchief on her leg then groped between her thighs to retrieve it.
Claire slapped his hand away in hatred and disgust. “Do not touch me again.”
“Whatever do you mean, my love?” he chuckled, pretending innocence, but Claire grew sickened when she viewed the lustful excitement in his eyes. “Remember−” he leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Lily and Cookie’s lives depend on your cooperation.”
After several days of torment, Teakle ordered their route to be altered. Around midday, the sun rose to its zenith, the wind had quit and the air grew horribly oppressive. They pulled up to a remote structure where several half-naked men toiled in a swamp, digging an irrigation channel. Puzzled, Claire shaded her eyes against the sun’s brightness and looked about. They were gaunt, filthy and sunburned from their heavy labors. Of a sudden, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. A black creature, barely discernible as human was covered in mire. Her heart pounded.
Devon.
His dark hair lay matted to his brow. He was kneeling next to a slave when his gaze fell on her. He froze mid-motion and received the crack of the whip from an overzealous guard. Devon rose and spun around, taking two steps toward the guard, an ugly welt of fresh blood oozed from the mud coating his shirt. Trembling, Claire stared, the blood drained from her face.
“My dear, you look so pale.” Sir Teakle spoke, his wonder dripped with benign charity.
She sat paralyzed as Devon was struck down by two guards, forcing him back to work. “Please, can we leave now?” To say anything in Devon’s defense would bring his death as threatened by her uncle. She had heard of Jarvis’s floggings. Many had not survived.
“Even though the governor is none too particular about the company he keeps, I find it despicable to have rebels at my dinner table,” said Sir Teakle. “Are you ill?”
“No not really, Sir Teakle,” Claire said aghast to see Devon in this condition. Gone was the well-bred gentleman and in his place was a wretched creature, filthy and degraded.
“Good. Because I don’t intend to allow you to escape me any longer. Our betrothal will be announced soon, my dear, don’t you think? Perhaps next month. We’ll make grand wedding plans for next August, I think.”
“August?” Claire barely recognized her own voice.
With his fleshy fingers, he pinched her chin cruelly and pulled her face to his. She shrank away, but he held her firmly, his drooling lips lingered over hers.
“Please don’t do this in front of these men.”
He leaned closer, making it look like they were lovers ready to embrace. Claire closed her eyes nauseated as he whispered to her. “Remember my dear−Lily and Cookie’s lives depend on your complete cooperation. Are we to forget them?”
He released her and laughed. She saw that all the laborers had stopped, an audience to a sadistic play. Devon froze into a stone statue, his green eyes blazing his hatred toward her.