Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (96 page)

     Clayton smiled.

     “I am more than sure, MariAnne,” he assured her, adding as he opened his arms to her once again, “Far beyond my wish for a wife, I was really placing an ad for happiness. I want to live on a productive ranch filled with laughter and love, and with lots of good conversation,” he paused here, adding with a slight chuckle, “I also wanted lots of children in the house; perhaps not this soon, but I know full well that God never gives us more than we can bear.”

     MariAnne smiled, patting the head of a smirking Ellie as she contemplated the favorite fruit of her own divine ‘labors.’

     “Well, rest assured that, in the wake of a few days spent with my youngin and me, you’ll likely be begging for the stifling silence that currently consumes your home,” she assured him, adding more seriously, “I also can promise to work your land with the same tenacity and good ol’ work ethic that I do my own. I certainly am not above a good day’s work, providing that I am always treated in a kind and respectful manner.” She paused here, adding with raised eyebrows, “To phrase it another way; providing that you act in every way the opposite of my husband at all times, well then you and I should get along famously.”

     Clayton laughed.

     “You don’t need to worry about that, Ma’am,” he assured her, adding as he squeezed her fingers between his, “I promise that you will be safe and cared for beneath my roof, at any and all times.” He paused here, adding as he struck a courtly bow deep in his direction, “Consider me at your service, MariAnne.”

Chapter four

For the first night in what seemed an eternity, MariAnne Parkinson slept through the night.

     During her many nights spent in the home that had quickly become a prison, MariAnne had spent many restless nights tossing and turning in a cold, hard bed; trying to dodge the grasping hands of her lecherous husband as she struggled to garner the rest that she needed to face the grueling schedule of hard labor that awaited her on the morning.

     And even when she did manage to catch a few random winks of fortifying sleep, her dreams were haunted with horrific images that captured and illustrated the hell of her life.

     “Those stories that my ma used to tell me on AllHallows Eve, about headless horsemen and monsters in bed, had nothing on the nightmares that held me captive, nearly every evening for three years,” she mused. “Perhaps because I knew that the visions I saw in my sleep were cold hard recollections of things that had happened recently; as opposed to darkened flights of fancy that I could dispose of and forget at daybreak. I relived the same nightmare every day, only to see and feel it reflected in my dreams whenever I tried to sleep.”

     Now, by contrast, she found her dreams sweetened by the presence of an angel; a beautiful man whose gentle voice and ethereal presence succored her fears and bathed her senses.

Clayton escorted her and Ellie to a corner guest room, a room of pleasant elegance adorned with cafe style floral print curtains, soft shag carpeting, and two single beds covered with lace ruffled floral print quilts that shone in their ebullient handcrafted artistry.

Ellie immediately smiled at the vision of a lovely room that seemed like something out of her favorite dollhouse, the precious toy that—along with the dolly that she had brought with her to the house that night—had supplied the little girl with a hearty dose of comforting fantasy in the face of a troublesome life.

     Also seeming to sense the similarity, the beaming little girl twirled in the center of the room; the visions of its homey splendor seeming to soothe her senses as her mother shared her enthusiasm.

     “I think we both tend to favor our new room,” she told a smiling Clayton, watching with joyful eyes as her little girl seemed to rediscover the innocence and happiness of a childhood lost.

     Her host chuckled.

     “Well as you can tell, I did not decorate this particular room—it does not precisely reflect what you would call my personal style,” he admitted, adding with an endearing smile, “My mother actually designed this room. She’s a very special lady who visits my brother and me at least once a week,” he paused here, adding with a shrug. “If you like, perhaps she could come and watch Ellie while you work with me out in the fields—that is, if you indeed would like to lend a helping hand on the ranch, it’s not a requirement.”

     MariAnne nodded.

    “Well, as I’ve told you Clayton, I certainly am not afraid of a good day’s work—as a matter of fact, I enjoy it,” she told him, adding as she graced him with a beneficent smile. “I do, however, appreciate being given a choice in the manner. And I more than appreciate you giving us shelter at a time when we need it the most.”

     With these words she stepped forward to engage her host in a hug of warm gratitude; once again wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders and leaning into his hard planed body.

     “You—you’re just a gift,” she told him, voice barely above a whisper as she savored the divine feel of his strong sturdy hands clasped around her slender waist. “I can’t thank you enough, Clayton.”

     Her host said nothing for a moment, only clutched her to him as he cradled her soft and sweet in his muscular arms; resting his head in her neck as he inhaled the scent of ebony hair washed in lush streams of lilac shampoo.

     “Forgive my boldness Ma’am,” he whispered in her ear, adding as he pulled her closer still. “Yet, personally I cannot wait for the day that I can welcome you into my master chamber—the day that we can become husband and wife, in truth.”

     With these words he drew back on impulse, staring deep into her eyes before claiming her lips in a warm, affectionate kiss.

     Rubbing his full, warm lips against hers in soft and loving strokes, he kissed her as his arms encompassed her in an embrace that seemed to liken a binding cocoon of pure and free flowing feeling.

     Leaning into his kiss, MariAnne arched her feathered eyebrows as she savored the divine sensation of her first true kiss; one offered to her as a gesture of love, not seized as hard currency—forcibly taken as a payment for the room and board supplied at the hands of her domineering husband.

     This kiss, by contrast, was one she savored and enjoyed; reveling in its subtle but evident passion as the couple sank together in encompassing arms.

     She moaned in protest moments later as her gentlemanly host broke their kiss; stepping away from her even as their gazes remained locked and his hands touched and massaged her tired shoulders.

     “I’d best be retirin’ to bed,” he released on a whisper, leaving her with a smile of good night before turning for the door.

     Following this advice herself moments later, MariAnne retired to the comforting sheets of her beautiful new bed; imagining their cottony fabrics as the arms of her kind host as they supported and succored her delicate form.

     “All that I wanted when I came here this evening was a safe place to go, a shelter for my child and myself—to get a bit of rest as I decided just what it is I wished to do with the rest of my life.” She paused here, adding as she nestled deep in the comfort of her own personal refuge, “And now I know.”

Chapter five

     The break of a brilliant, sun drenched Texas dawn found MariAnne heading with purposeful steps into the fields of the ranch she regarded as her new place of business.

     “I know my way around a ranch,” she mused, her purposeful hands straightening the folds of her blue denim dress and cocking the brim of her practical wicker sun hat. “And I aim to make this one a success.”

     Just before dawn she had made the acquaintance of the ever gentle Clara, Clayton’s mother and a petite brunette who regarded her with sleepy eyes and a prim, gentile smile.

     “Good mornin’, Miss MariAnne,” she greeted her, adding as she engaged her in a cordial handshake. “I’m Clara, Clayton’s ma. I simply cannot wait to get to know you and your little one.”

     As if on cue a spirited, well rested Ellie raced headfirst into the clean lined, sun drenched kitchen that distinguished the far corner of Clayton’s ranch house; racing headfirst into the waiting arms of a welcoming, chuckling Clara.

     “Good mornin’, Miss Wonderful Woman Who Has Been Carelessly and Cruelly Pulled from Her Bed at the Crack of Dawn to Care for a Child She’s Never Met,” MariAnne returned with a smirk, adding as she pumped the hand of a laughing Clara with no small degree of aplomb, “If you have not yet earned your place in Heaven, Ma’am, then rest assured—that particular place will be good and secured by the time this day is done.”

Clara guffawed outright, a familiar pair of sea blue eyes crinkling adorable with the effect.

     “I like her already,” she told a smiling Clayton, clad today in a sculpting pair of ultra-tight blue jeans and a smart white cotton shirt.

     Nodding in immediate agreement with his mother’s assertion, the rancher now moved forward to claim the hand of his beloved new guest.

     “So do I,” Clayton assured his ma, squeezing MariAnne’s fingers as he led her to the double front, brass knobbed doors that would lead them to their daily work space. “Believe me Ma, so do I.”

     Soon the joyful couple ran hand in hand across the length of a lush emerald leaved meadow; arriving finally at a field that seemed to boast the ranch’s signature crop.

     MariAnne gasped outright at an ebullient vision that seemed like something out of a dream; a field simply brimming with luminous, golden hued roses that grew in fragrant stands as nurtured and illuminated by the rays of the Texas sun.

     “The yellow rose of Texas!” she identified immediately, adding as she rushed forward to get a closer look at the full silken blossoms that distinguished her host’s sun drenched ranch, “I haven’t seen these since I left home—my real home, that is.”

     Emulating the moves of her wonderstruck daughter, a jubilant MariAnne ran forward between fragrant rows of gleaming golden blossoms, twirling around and around as her favored florals flew like a twirling kaleidoscope before her admiring eyes.

Finally coming to a stop at the side of her laughing host, she gaped as he presented her with a shiny, dew glistened bouquet of her favorite flowers.

     “Why thank you, Clayton,” she told him, voice barely above a whisper as she took the flowers inspected in full their velvety radiance. “I reckon that you’re the first man who has ever given me flowers.”

     Clayton looked at her for a long moment, and then retrieved a nearby hoe as he moved to take his place beside her at the center of the rose bed.

     “Well, if a simple bouquet of roses is all it takes to bring that beautiful smile to your face,” he told her, “then rest assured that you will receive at least one bouquet for each and every day that you plan to spend with me.” He paused here, adding as he struck a deep courtly bow before her, “Consider me at your disposal, Madame. I plan to spend every day healing your precious heart—all the while claiming it for my own.”

     Finally setting to work at the heart of the rose garden, the couple worked side by side to pull weeds, plant seeds and harvest the richest and most robust blooms; flowers that they would later take to market, to exchange for money at a fair rate.

     Expressing endless appreciation of MariAnne’s spirit and work ethic, Clayton watched with wonder as she took to her duties with a professional, very workmanlike approach; transforming and enhancing the overall look of his field while harvesting its most beautiful blossoms.

     “You’re a natural at field work,” he praised her at one point, adding as he inclined his head sharp in her direction. “Where did a pretty little filly like you pick up the skills of a ranch hand?”

     MariAnne shrugged.

     “Back home on my family farm, everybody who expected to eat Mama’s supper that night had to pitch in the day beforehand—being sure that the work got done before we even thought about eating, playing chess, reading the Bible, or listening to Ma tickle the ivories of her beautiful black piano,” she revealed, adding quickly as she released a particularly tough weed with a hard sharp tug. “Now I don’t mean to imply, of course, that my parents were hard and mean. They were in fact wonderful people who raised us in the church—who raised us right!”

     Clayton said nothing at first in response to these words; just regarded her for a long quiet moment before returning to his work.

     “With all due respect, Ma’am,” he asked her over his shoulder, “why on earth would two loving, wonderful, God-fearing people sell their daughter to a monster?”

     MariAnne froze.

     “Look, I am certain that Ma and Pa had no idea that their longtime friend was a scoundrel, and perhaps worse,” she insisted, adding as she shook her head from side to side. “Aside from that fact, Clayton, a body can’t really fault desperate people—folks who need a great deal of money, and fast, to keep their ranch.”

     Her eyes flew wide then, as her host surged upright at the center of the patch and turned to face her in full.

     “I personally do not care if the law came on to your parents’ property and threatened to foreclose it, before sunset that day,” he insisted, adding as he pointed a strong finger straight in her direction. “No woman deserves that brand of horrendous, inhumane treatment. Especially not—"“ he paused here, adding as he looked her straight in the eyes, “Especially not you, MariAnne.”

     MariAnne thought a moment, and then nodded.

     “You are right,” she conceded finally, adding as she balled her fists beside her. “I am angry at my husband. I am angry at Ma and Pa. I am angry at any world and society that allows a gal to be treated this way.”

     Throwing aside her own hoe, the now enraged woman stomped her feet in the dirt and raised her delicate fists to the sky as she declared, “I am not a cow or a mule, something to be bought and sold to support the family farm. I am not a ranch hand, and I am most certainly not a slave.” She paused here, adding as she pointed an affirming thumb straight in her direction. “No man ever should feel that he has the right to strike me with his fists, or belittle me with his words. Beyond these basic rights, I also feel like I should be taken to dinner once in a while, and at a nice restaurant. And I want to go to a barn dance or a cotillion—I want to dance!”

     She fell silent here, realizing with a jolt that she had just burst out with what her mother would in all likelihood call a fit; an out and out tantrum that did not and would not befit a proper lady.

     Refusing to apologize for her heartfelt—if a bit emphatic—statement, MariAnne immediately retrieved her hoe and bent her head low above her work; the sight of radiant rose blossoms lending succor to her addled psyche as she suppressed a rough sob—one that threatened to shatter and pierce her carefully kept composure.

     She froze seconds later, as the sudden presence of a strong but gentle hand on her shoulder brought further comfort to her troubled soul.

     “MariAnne?” Clayton asked her, tone soft and whisper smooth. “Would you dance with me?”

     Rising slowly from her place in the field, MariAnne said nothing; just opened her delicate arms to the man who now rushed to fill them.

     The ethereal song of bluebirds and hummingbirds soaring high up above supplied the ideal soundtrack for a sunlit dance; one in which the couple moved and swayed together between rows of radiant roses.

     Their arms entangling between them, MariAnne and Clayton stared deep into one another’s eyes as they danced and moved in beautiful communion; sharing a secret smile as he swirled and dipped her in wide circles across the breadth of his flower strewn field.

     “I don’t care how many dances, how many kisses, how many floral bouquets it takes to wipe that man from your mind—to wipe away all the pain,” he whispered, adding as he ran his hands like warm water down the length of her weary back, “my aim, my darling, is to love away the hurt; to make you feel like the princess that you are.”