The Flame and the Flower (55 page)

"You have heard falsely, sir. It is true that while I carried our son we took separate rooms, but I see nothing strange in this if a woman has a husband as considerate as mine. He was afraid that he might in his sleep do injury to the babe or myself." She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Are you so thoughtful of your wife, sir?"

Ill at ease, Townsend muttered a negative answer then coughed and corrected his reply, turning that much redder. "I'm not married, m'am."

Jeff snickered and Heather lifted her head a little higher.

"Ah-h," she sighed. "Then you know little of women having babies. But as to your question. Do we sleep together? Yes, sir, we do." Her eyes flashed with anger. "And I am such a demanding wife, sir, I can't possibly see how my husband could have the desire to look at another woman, much less attack her."

She ended on a furious note, and Jeff laughed lightly and clapped Townsend on the back.

"You'd best be warned, Townsend. Our lady has a bit of an Irish temper, and when the matter warrants she comes out with claws bared."

The man glanced around him uncomfortably and coughed again and shuffled his hat in his hands. "Well, I can rightly see what you said is true, Brandon, but I hope you understand that I have to check out every detail in something as bad as this."

He turned hesitantly to go then stumbled through another apology and made his exit. They heard his horse charging away from the house as if pursued by demons and the three Birminghams breathed a sigh of relief.

Jeff chuckled. "I've never seen Townsend so ashamed of himself before. I believe as far as he's concerned, Bran, you're as innocent as a new-born babe."

Brandon's mouth twitched with amusement. "Thanks to my demanding wife."

Heather swept away from him to turn and face him with chin raised.

"He was much too personal to please me," she said. "He needed to be set back upon his heels."

Her brother-in-law smiled. "Honey, you did that the minute you walked through that door."

A short time later Brandon closed the bedroom door and went to stand behind his wife where she sat at the dressing table and began loosening the back of her gown. She smiled up at him in the mirror and rubbed her cheek against his hand when he caressed her shoulder.

"Oh, Brandon, I love you so much. I'd die if you ever tired of me and sought another."

He knelt and slid his arms around her and pulled her back against him tightly, pressing his lips to her fragrant hair.

"I've never done anything half measure, and my love for you is no exception, Heather. When I say a person is my friend I commit myself wholly to his behalf, thus when I say you are my love, you own me body and soul."

She smiled softly and sighed. "It must be obvious that I'm frightened of Louisa and I suppose I was of Sybil. The poor girl wanted you so badly that even a moment with you pleased her. I am more selfish. I must have you all the time, without having to share you."

"Do you think I feel any differently about you, my sweet?" he breathed. "Lord, I'd kill any man who tried to take you from me. And no woman can lure me from you. As for Sybil—she was a simple, addled girl who would have bargained for the world and found an end to hers."

"Do you have any idea who might have murdered her, Brandon?"

He sighed and stepped away and began to remove his own clothes. "I don't know, sweet. There were many men who courted her—even a few married ones."

"Married!" Heather said in amazement. She stood up and slid out of her gown, dropping it to the floor. "Surely, Brandon, her mother..."

He grunted. "That addlepated bitch! As long as Sybil failed to catch a rich husband, Mrs. Scott didn't care what her daughter did. Sam Bartlett was one of Sybil's beaus."

"Sam Bartlett!" Heather gasped. She remembered vividly her experience with him.

"The one and only," Brandon returned gruffly.

Anger possessed Heather. "And Sheriff Townsend came here to question you when that man was left walking around without a care? Oh, to think of it!"

Brandon laughed and came to her. "Easy, sweet. He might be a salacious old rooster, but there's nothing to prove him a murderer."

"Any man who would force himself upon his female slaves..."

"Sh-h," Brandon said, kissing her shoulder. His hands cupped her breasts inside her shift. "Let's not talk of him. There are too many much more interesting things I'd prefer to discuss—like how beautiful you are without your clothes."

His hands locked into the soft fabric of her chemise and separated it down the front with a rending tear.

"That's better," he grinned. He bent and lifted her up in his arms. "You'll just have to learn to undress faster if you want to save your shifts, madam."

Before his lips covered hers, she was heard to murmur, "Who cares about a silly old shift."

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.