What she'd really like was some lunch. The hallway ended with a glass-paned door. She looked outside and discovered some beautiful gardens to the left. Low hedges circled a stone statue of some half-nude woman. A double row of white blooming trees formed kind of a lane that looked inviting, especially since a bench faced the alley formed by the trees.
To the right were several buildings, one of them with a smoking chimney. She opened the back door, followed her nose down a short covered walkway, and found herself in a large, bustling, rustic kitchen.
"Miz Galloway," Melody said, leaping up from her own plate of food. A short, overweight woman named Birdie, who Randi had met yesterday, sat beside the maid, but she didn't jump up. Instead, she looked with assessing eyes. Randi felt as though she was being judged, and could only wonder if she measured up to Birdie's unknown standard. Melody had told Randi that Birdie ran the household staff, whereas Lebeau ran the "house."
"Don't get up," Randi said. "I thought I might be able to get a plate for lunch. Nothing fancy, please."
Birdie turned and addressed the cook, who was stirring a large, black pot. "Fix Miz Galloway some of that ham and corn bread, and put some greens on there." The older woman turned to Randi. "You like greens, girl?"
"Yes ma'am, I do," she said with a smile, grasping her hands behind her back. She felt as though she'd passed Birdie's test.
"Melody, you go set the table in the dinin' room for Miz Galloway."
"No, really, that's not necessary. I'd rather go outside, if that's okay. Maybe I could eat in the garden." Randi didn't want to intrude on the servant's lunch, and she knew her presence would be disruptive. They probably had little time of their own. "Master Jackson's" chores would keep them busy, she was sure.
"Whatever you want," Birdie said, looking her over once more.
"The weather is very nice."
"If'n it don't rain," Birdie said with a huff.
Rain. That meant possible flooding. Randi didn't want to think about that at the moment, either.
She thanked the servants for the plate of food, then walked to the bench beneath the flowering trees. She had to place the food down first, because she hadn't yet gotten the hang of all the petticoats beneath the full skirt. At least these dresses didn't have those metal hoops and baskets she'd seen in a book on drawing costumes. She didn't think she could handle sitting in one of those contraptions.
Within a minute, however, she was settled back on the bench, munching on tender ham and crumbly cornbread. The greens were wild, a bit stronger than the turnip greens her mother favored. Overall, this food was very similar to what she was used to in her own time--more familiar than the breakfast dishes. She realized she was eating food the servants prepared for themselves, rather than the fancy dishes a wealthy, elite man like Mr. Durant would prefer. She found the situation ironic; she was much closer in social class and taste to his servants--his slaves--and yet she'd told him she was a governess suitable to raise his daughter in the privileged manner he wanted.
Randi laughed. There couldn't be a less qualified person in all of Tennessee to teach Rose how to become a proper Southern belle.
She was just starting on her second piece of cornbread when her meal was interrupted by a deep male voice.
"Continuing in your unorthodox ways, Miss Galloway?"
She chewed quickly, but the dry cornbread seemed to stick in her throat. She coughed, gently at first, but then in earnest.
Her eyes began to water, obviously alarming her cat-footed host. He placed one large hand high on her chest, and used the other to whap her on the back.
She shook her head, trying to tell him that his attention wasn't necessary. Apparently he wasn't paying attention. Either that or he'd decided to ignore her feelings.
"Stop struggling, Miss Galloway. You must relax your throat."
Her face felt flushed. Her eyes watered. But slowly, she quit coughing until only an occasional small hacking sound escaped.
"Sorry," she said. Her voice sounded hoarse and raw.
"I should apologize," he said, surprising her with his admission. "I shouldn't have startled you like that."
"No, you shouldn't," she agreed, "but this is your house. I was just enjoying the nice day."
"Until I interrupted your meal."
She shrugged. "I didn't say that."
"Nonetheless, I'm sorry I caused you to choke on Cook's cornbread."
He continued to loom over her, one arm resting on the back of the bench, but the other . . . Well, she was extremely aware of his large, warm hand. "Er, Mr. Durant? You can move your hand now. I'm not choking any more."
He seemed startled, then looked down. Sure enough, his fingers were still splayed across her upper chest. Of course, she was demurely covered by the high-necked lavender gown, but she was pretty sure that touching her this way wasn't considered appropriate.
Jerking his hand away, she nearly laughed at his expression. He seemed horrified and embarrassed, all at the same time.
"It's okay," she said with a reassuring smile. "No harm done."
"I apologize for my behavior."
"Hey, I was choking. You rushed to my rescue." She shrugged. "No big deal."
"No big deal?" he asked, clearly confused.
"It's an expression where I come from, meaning that you don't need to worry."
"I see. You don't consider impropriety to be a 'big deal?'"
"Of course I do, but you didn't mean to be improper. You just forgot."
He looked unconvinced. "Do you always find excuses for inappropriate behavior?"
She looked up at him. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," he said, leaning a bit closer, his expression intensifying until he barely resembled the man from their previous encounters, "what if my action was intentional?"
Her heart sped up, her breath caught in her throat. He was so close she could see his dark, dark eyes and inhale his unique scent. He'd been out riding, she could tell, because the smell of horses and sunshine came with him to this shady garden spot. He seemed to be sensing her also, because his nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his eyes narrowed.
"Was it intentional?" she whispered, her gaze locked with his.
"What do you think?"
Think? How could she when he was so close? But she forced herself to look away, take a calming deep breath, and focus.
As much as his dark good looks and off-limit status excited the woman in her, something told her this seduction scene wasn't genuine. He wouldn't have seemed so surprised and embarrassed if he'd meant to come on to her. He wouldn't have pulled away, then changed his mind. No, he was up to something, and the realization caused a sudden jolt of disappointment.
"I think," she said slowly, clearly, "that this is another one of your tests. You don't have any interest in me as a woman. You're just trying to figure out if I'll make a suitable governess."
"That's what you think?" His eyes narrowed. "But what if you're wrong?"
The hand that had braced her chest now rested gently against her neck, just below her ear. She figured he could feel her pulse beating strongly, and could sense her rapid breathing. She hoped he didn't read too much into her reaction, because she wasn't some bed-hopping tramp that fell for a great body and sexy eyes.
"Your heart is beating fast," he said softly.
"I'm a little nervous."
"Why is that, Miss Galloway?"
"Because I don't like to be toyed with. I don't want to play your games."
"You still believe I'm testing you?"
"Absolutely."
"Then let me see if I can convince you otherwise," he whispered before his lips descended to hers.
Even
as his lips touched hers, Jackson knew he was insane. There was no other explanation. He'd told himself that he couldn't be attracted to such an unusual young woman; he certainly didn't trust her. Yet he couldn't stop himself from kissing her.
Her lips were soft and warm, parted in surprise. He took advantage of that slight fissure to coax her into a deeper kiss, to ease his tongue into her mouth. He swallowed her gasp of surprise, then lost himself in the familiar tastes of ham and cornbread, and in the unfamiliar sweetness of her growing passion.
Head swirling with desire, he pressed closer as he settled onto the bench beside her. At the first touch of her hand on his shoulder, he urged her back against his arm. She sighed and grasped at his shirt, her fingers raking his skin in a response that excited him beyond reason. He reluctantly left the heaven of her lips to place nibbling kisses on her jaw, below her ear, and the edge of her high-necked dress. How he wanted to unfasten the damnable cloth that kept him from tasting more of this unique woman. How he wanted her . . .
When he traced his path back up to her lips, however, she turned her face. Undeterred, he continued to kiss her cheek, her jaw.
"Mr. Durant," she whispered, "stop."
He drew back, just enough to see if she was really denying him, or if she was merely being coy. Passion burned brightly in her green eyes, but also defiance. He reminded himself that she was no shy, retiring woman. She'd also said she didn't want to play games. Would she try to play one of her own?
He tested her, trying to kiss her again, but she pushed against his chest.
"I meant it, Mr. Durant. I'm not going to be your toy."
"I never thought you were."
"Are you saying this whole seduction scene was spontaneous, that you really wanted to kiss me?"
He pulled back, unaccustomed to having his word questioned--especially by someone with secrets of her own. "If you can't tell the difference, I won't bore you with a declaration."
Jackson pushed himself up from the bench, anxious to be away from his infuriating houseguest as soon as possible. However, when her eyes traveled the length of his body and paused on his obvious arousal, he stopped. Her eyes widened; she knew what his body's response meant.
"As you can see, Miss Galloway, I obviously wanted
something
from you."
Her gaze snapped to his face, her eyes narrowed in disgust. Without waiting for her coming tirade, he strode away from the once-peaceful garden and toward the house.
He was insane. Taunting her, taunting himself. He didn't
want
to want her. He should be repulsed by her behavior, her short hair, her lies. But for some reason he had yet to understand, he was pulled toward her with a force he'd never felt before.
His boot heels clicked across the stone walkway, then he opened the door with enough force to rattle the windowpanes. Cautioning himself to be quiet for Rose's sake, he didn't slam the door. Instead, he inwardly raged as he took the stairs two at a time, heading for his solitary bedroom and a change of clothes. He would get out of the house, visit his neighbors, and take out some of his frustration through sound, logical arguments.
If that failed, he'd put his fist through a wall.
"Too long without a woman," he mumbled as he jerked off his rumpled shirt. That was the only explanation for his irrational, overly emotional behavior. He should have a mistress, someone compliant and sweet, with flowing dark hair and adoring eyes. Not some hot-tempered, short-haired young woman with a huge imagination and little experience to perpetuate her fraud.
Unfortunately for him, he'd never believed in taking one of his slaves for a mistress. Nearly ever other planter he'd met had indulged in the practice, but Jackson had seen the fear and loathing on the faces of some of the women. He couldn't lose himself in a body that shrank away from his touch, with a woman who could barely tolerate his physical needs.
No, he needed someone willing and sweet. Hell, he needed a new wife. In just four months, he'd be free to marry. As soon as Lebeau solved the mystery of Miss Galloway, Jackson vowed he'd start a search for a suitable young woman. Someone who didn't kiss like an angel and rake him with eyes that sparked of the devil.
#
Randi waited until the totally infuriating "master" slammed into the house. She didn't want to risk running into him anywhere near a bedroom. He'd probably assume that she wanted a little more of his interrogation. The jerk. At first, he'd kissed her like he meant it, then he'd decided to see how far he could push her. She knew the minute his kisses had turned from genuine to a controlled seduction.
She recognized the move from Cleve's lovemaking repertoire. Too late, she'd realized that he could change from charmingly genuine to genuinely slimy in a blink of his disarmingly innocent blue eyes. Whenever he'd acted that way, she knew he wanted something. A little loan until he got a new job. An introduction to a family friend who needed to buy something Cleve was selling, or give him a job when he wasn't.
Randi's family might be poor, but they were honest. She hadn't recognized Cleve's get-rich-quick schemes and unethical behavior until they were well into their relationship. Until it was too late . . .
She'd been such a fool. But, she thought, rising from the bench and picking up her plate, she'd already beat herself up enough over her big mistake.
Live and learn
, that's what her mother always said.