22

Catherine hung on to Tom. If DeMornay could whip a woman who bore his children, what would he do to a man trying to reveal him as a criminal?

Tom’s jaw was set, his gaze narrowed. He did not tremble like she did. Then again, he did not know about Aurelia’s flogging or any of what had happened. She had wasted precious time with verbal sparring.

The ship’s boat, their last tie to Rourke’s vessel, drifted away.

DeMornay took an oar from a bush, where Tom had apparently stowed it, and cast it into the river. The other oar soon followed. “What a pity to lose a life so young.”

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Surely he would not kill them.

Tom squeezed her shoulder. He must have sensed her fear and was holding her tight. He would protect her with his life. Tears rose unbidden. He had proven faithful every step of the way, yet she’d hesitated to trust. Altogether too much like her walk with the Lord. Rather than trusting His plan, she rushed into her own, never stopping to listen. Even so, God remained faithful, waiting for her.

So too Tom. Her feelings for him had deepened beyond friendship. When had attraction and affection turned to love? Perhaps in that very moment, for she would rather face death than see Tom perish.

The answer came clearly to mind. It would work but would come at a great cost.

To save his life, she must give up all hope of a future with him.

She stepped from Tom’s grasp. “I will return home with you, Mr. DeMornay. Tom was just saying farewell before rejoining Captain O’Malley aboard the James Patrick.” Hopefully that was enough to allay DeMornay’s suspicions.

Tom caught her shoulder again. “I will not leave without Catherine.”

DeMornay grinned. “I believe the lady has made her wishes clear. However, midday is no time for a drowning.” He pulled a revolver from his saddle. “You will return with us, Mr. Worthington.”

Catherine gasped. Tom’s reaction was ruining her plan. She must make another attempt.

She wrenched out of Tom’s grasp. “I want nothing to do with you.” How difficult to feign anger with him. She prayed DeMornay didn’t recognize the tale she was attempting to spin. “After the undignified way you treated me, I cannot tolerate even having you on my plantation. Leave him, Mr. DeMornay. He is not worth our trouble.”

How her heart pounded in the seconds of silence when all hung in the balance. Tom could not help her as a captive—or dead. A free Tom could meet her by night and arrange for the escape she now knew was necessary.

For added measure, she threw out, “I don’t care if you have to swim to the James Patrick. Leave this place and return to Key West.”

Tom blinked. “But I thought—”

“You thought incorrectly. Key West is a provincial town. Here I have everything I’ve ever wanted: family, land, and a vibrant city. Key West can offer none of that.”

Tom hesitated a moment before a mask cloaked his expression. “As you wish.” He bowed stiffly.

“Lovely performance,” DeMornay smirked, “but not believable after the kiss you two shared a moment ago.”

Catherine felt her cheeks heat. DeMornay had seen that? Then they were indeed ruined. She would never get Aurelia from the plantation. She couldn’t even get Tom away.

“Hand over your blade.” DeMornay waved the gun at Tom until he slipped the dagger from his belt. DeMornay took it from him and threw it into the river. “You will walk alongside my mount. Miss Haynes will ride with me.”

He then mounted, grabbed Catherine’s arm, and yanked her up onto the horse with him.

Tom walked ahead of DeMornay’s horse. No doubt the Colt revolver was aimed at his back. It didn’t take much imagination to see what DeMornay intended to do with him. After nightfall, the man intended to murder him—or have someone else accomplish the evil deed. Tom hadn’t seen the man’s murderous side until now. Though DeMornay had stolen Pa’s ship, he had spared his life and presumably the lives of the crew.

That was not going to be the case tonight.

The heat made the dust rise, even from this lowland where the water was so close to the surface. It parched his throat and scratched his eyes.

This day had begun so well. He’d planned to find and rescue Catherine. DeMornay would be a man of habit. That meant Tom could reach Catherine unhindered before the midday meal. He’d left the James Patrick at an early hour, but it took much longer to row across the wide river than he’d planned, and then he’d ended up farther downriver than he’d intended.

When he saw Catherine at the black oak, he’d counted it a blessing. But the blessing soon turned to a curse. Now he and Catherine were in DeMornay’s hands.

He kicked at a stone. It skittered ahead and elicited a growl from DeMornay.

“Walk!”

The barked order only irritated Tom. He had to find a way to get Catherine away from DeMornay. Punching an armed man would only get him killed. He had to find another way.

He wasn’t about to play along with her solution. At first he’d been perplexed by her cool words and the way she’d acted annoyed with him. The taste of her kiss, sweet as honey, still lingered on his lips. That had not been the kiss of a woman who despised him. Oh no, it had given him hope.

Then he realized what she was trying to do. If she thought DeMornay could be so easily fooled, she was mistaken. The man was too cunning to fall for such a transparent ruse.

Tom preferred to act boldly and decisively.

What if it led to the ultimate confrontation? Could he kill a man?

A whip slashed down on his shoulder. “Walk faster. We don’t have all day.”

The leather bit through his shirt and drew blood.

Catherine gasped. “Don’t!”

DeMornay ignored her. “Faster, Worthington, or you’ll feel the whip again.”

Tom could endure far more pain than DeMornay thought, but a whipping would not save Catherine. At this moment, Tom couldn’t see how to save her, but then Rourke would say that God has answers we can’t even imagine . . . if we place our trust in Him.

“‘The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped.’” That verse from Psalms had fortified him many a time. Whether facing an irate drunken man or a sea that threatened to tear the ship apart, Tom could turn to this Scripture.

“Is that so?” DeMornay sneered. “Then where is this god of yours? I don’t see him. All I see is a man acting with his heart. Don’t you know the heart is irrational and not to be trusted? Call on this invisible god of yours all you want, but I assure you that real power will prevail.”

Tom heard Catherine gasp again and could imagine her shudder. He had to get her away from this place. But how?

Show me, Lord.

Rourke said that God always answers prayer. Not always on our timeline or in the way we expect, but He does answer. Tom had to rely on that, because he was fresh out of ideas. DeMornay would not allow him to roam the estate freely. But he wouldn’t kill Tom in front of Catherine. He would lock him away somewhere until he could accomplish the feat undetected. Worse, he might lock up Catherine too.

What was the man’s purpose?

DeMornay’s actions today exposed him for who he really was. There would be no more pretending that he was the benevolent administrator of the plantation. That lie was dead and buried.

No, DeMornay must want something very badly, something that only Catherine could give him. But what? To gain any inheritance through her, he must get past Henry Lafreniere and his brother. Surely he would not kill two men to get a decrepit plantation. It made no sense. Unless there was something beneath the surface that he hadn’t seen yet.

Think. Think.

But Tom’s head was fogged from heat and thirst.

DeMornay already had full control of the plantation, yet he did not do much with it. Lafreniere had claimed it was highly profitable, yet the fields looked overgrown and the plantation lacked slaves.

That was it! Somehow the answer was tied to this peculiar situation. Even if a full crew was far off in the fields, the house and grounds should look better. When added to the fear and dread that everyone expressed about the place, it meant something illicit was going on, quite possibly with Pa’s ship.

Black hull. Black sails. It would blend into the night unseen.

The only reason for that was smuggling. But what? Whatever it was, it brought such a hefty profit that Lafreniere didn’t question DeMornay’s management and DeMornay was willing to kill to protect his secret.

Catherine watched helplessly as DeMornay handed Tom to a large and impressively muscular Negro, who pressed a knife to Tom’s neck and led him away. Tom was quick and strong but no match for this armed man whom DeMornay addressed in another language. Not French. Perhaps Spanish.

Tom cast her a defiant look that promised he would attempt to escape, but Catherine could not leave this to his skill, not with such a jailer. For all she knew, the man would shackle Tom or lock him in a windowless room. For how long? DeMornay had threatened to drown Tom. Something had held him back from doing so at once. From what Aurelia had told her, Tom would soon vanish—either dead or sent away. She must convince DeMornay to let him go.

“This is not necessary.”

DeMornay’s gaze was inscrutable. “We have much to discuss.”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm. Though every fiber of her being revolted at his touch, she did not resist. Better he think her agreeable.

“He is mistaken about my affections,” she added, spinning a new tale. “Poor, deluded man. I could never love someone of his class.”

That caught DeMornay’s attention, judging by the glint in his eye. “Do you make no exceptions?”

Catherine sensed he was no longer talking about Tom, but she would not stray from the subject until she extracted a promise to release him.

“Not in Mr. Worthington’s case.” She forced a sigh. “Though I long to rise to the standards set in the Bible, society dictates a certain amount of separation between the classes. Mr. Worthington is in the worker class”—how it hurt to say that—“and thus never capable of rising to marry a gentlewoman.”

“Is a plantation manager also considered part of the worker class?”

Catherine had to carefully navigate this answer. “It is possible for a steward, or manager as you call it, to rise.” She searched her memory for any instances but could find none in her acquaintance, so she turned to fiction. “A steward’s son might capture the heart of the master’s daughter.”

DeMornay walked her up the front steps. “And that is accepted?”

She truly was in trouble. “These days, with love taking precedence over arranged marriages, such a thing would be accepted.” But not with him. Never with him.

He led her into the house, which still retained a bit of last night’s coolness. “We will go to the study.”

She instinctively tightened her grip. The last time he had brought her there, he’d locked her inside. She struggled to hide her discomfort.

He noticed. “Are you nervous? I would never harm you, Catherine. My plans for you are for your well-being.”

She could not miss the echo of Scripture in his words, though he had twisted them to his own purpose. What did the Bible say about men who did such things? Aurelia had called him the devil.

She managed to choke out, “What is in the study?”

He opened the door and motioned for her to precede him.

By now her legs felt like jelly and her heart was in her throat. He clearly had something planned. The loss of control was unsettling. She must seize the advantage.

After a deep breath and prayer for strength, she strode across the room and threw open the shutters. “It’s stuffy in here.”

To her surprise, he made no move to close them.

She next went to the strongbox and lifted it from the shelf. “I recall a box like this from my childhood. Papa sent it away with a dark stranger, a man much like you.”

“It was me.”

The confirmation shook her to the bones. “But you said—”

“I saw no reason to explain the past when I was not yet certain of your claims.”

“But you seemed to accept my story.” Only his slip in referring to Staffordshire had betrayed his prior knowledge of her.

He waved that away as inconsequential. “I wanted to learn your purpose before passing judgment.”

“Then you are certain now that I am who I say I am.”

“Of course.” He settled behind the desk.

“You received my letter from England.”

Some men appeared small behind a desk, as if using it as a shield. Not DeMornay. If anything, he appeared larger and more menacing.

“We have been through this before.” He gazed out the window as if unconcerned about anything. “Soon we will be rid of all distractions.”

Tom. That’s what DeMornay considered a distraction. But he was much more. If only she’d acknowledged her feelings for Tom sooner, if only she’d listened to his pleas to leave, neither of them would be in this situation.

“Bring the box here,” the man said. “There’s something inside that I want to show you.”

Perspiration dotted her forehead. Her fingers slipped against the metal bands binding the strongbox.

“It is light.” That surprised her. For years she’d wondered if Maman’s jewels were inside. “No jewelry?”

“Jewelry? What use would that be to me? Ah no, my dear, this is something much more precious.”

Her hands trembled as she carried the box to the desk. DeMornay sat tall, as arrogant as cousin Roger. She set the box before him.

“It is locked?”

“Not at all.” He turned the box toward her. “Unlatch it.”

All these years she had wondered what was in this strongbox. Today she would find out—assuming he had not removed the contents or replaced them with something else.

“Papa would have locked it.”

“I am not your father, but if you wish to lock it afterward, I will give you the key.” He pulled it from a desk drawer and dangled it before her.

The key looked like any other. She didn’t know what she’d expected. She unlatched the box and grasped the lid. All these years of wondering.

She caught her breath and lifted the lid.

The box was empty. No, not empty. A single piece of paper lined the bottom.

“That’s all?” She stared at DeMornay, incredulous. “The contents are missing. What did it once hold? Maman’s jewels?”

His expression gave nothing away. “Many years have passed. The paper will explain.”

The paper. A single sheet of paper would answer all her questions? She pulled it out.

To every appearance, it was a legal document, signed by her father.

“Read it,” DeMornay urged.

She took the piece of paper to the window, where the light was better. Though the stiff legal language was difficult to read, the document’s intent could be easily deciphered. In exchange for a large infusion of Lafreniere money, Papa had signed away her portion of Black Oak. This was the document she and the judge had sought. It would take the plantation and everything belonging to it away from her. Including Aurelia and the children.

“Oh, Papa.” Her heart broke, though she understood her father’s reasoning. He hadn’t wasted the money. He’d used it to keep Deerford running long enough for her to marry well. Her father must have believed it the only possible solution. Still, when she did not settle on a suitor and begged off the marriage mart, he had yielded. He’d done it all for her. Yet on his deathbed he’d regretted signing this paper. He had indeed lost her inheritance.

“The document has not been recorded.” DeMornay had drawn close while she was lost in memories.

She had to feign surprise. “What?”

He turned her gently from the window so she faced him. “It has not been recorded. You can still be mistress of Black Oak.”

“But cousin Henry—”

“Does not know that it was never recorded. He believes he is the full owner.”

She pressed a hand to her midsection. “Why wasn’t it recorded?”

“Your uncle left the matter to me. I told him it was done.”

“But you didn’t record it. Why? What possible reason could you have?”

“You, dearest Catherine.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “You remember me. You told me as much. I will never forget the moment I first saw you in your father’s house. I knew then that I loved you.”

“I was just a girl of thirteen.”

“Girls grow up. I am a patient man. I waited, and you came to me, just as I predicted you would.”

“I don’t believe it.” The idea that he’d planned this ten years ago was preposterous. It also made her ill. “A grown man can’t possibly fall in love with a child.”

His lips curved into a covetous smile. “Was Juliet merely a child to Romeo? She was just thirteen, the same as you at our first meeting.”

“But Romeo was nearer her age, and that love ended tragically.”

“It needn’t have. I’ve been waiting for you, Catherine, waiting and hoping.”

Lies. All lies. No man in his right mind would believe a girl halfway around the world would mysteriously arrive on his doorstep ten years later. She might easily have married or inherited Deerford. DeMornay couldn’t possibly know the calamity that had befallen her beloved home or her sudden decision to return to her mother’s family. No, his purpose in not recording the document was not to reinstate her inheritance. He intended Black Oak for himself. This story he was now weaving had another purpose—to weaken her defenses.

She edged away slightly. “How could you know I would come here? There was no communication between the families.” She shook the paper. “The terms of this document ensured it. Moreover, I never knew about this.”

He took the paper from her hand. “Curiosity, dear Catherine. I could see it in your eyes that day ten years ago. You wanted to know about me, and your father forbade any questions.” His grin chilled her. “I knew you would come to me.”

She shivered and rubbed her arms. “I came to Chêne Noir, not to you.”

“It is one and the same, don’t you see? I am Chêne Noir now.”

“My cousins own it.”

“You can own the vast majority.”

“I don’t. That paper ensures it.”

His voice curled around her like black tar smoke. “All it would take is for this document to disappear.” He carried the paper to the fireplace and lifted a burning candle from its holder.

“You would do this? Why?” A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as his plan became perfectly clear. On his own, he could only drain Black Oak dry. With her, he might rule it.

He replaced the candle. “For us. For what you’ve wanted all these years. We will reign over Chêne Noir, restore it to glory, and begin a new dynasty together.”

“Together?” Exactly what she’d feared.

“Our children will inherit for generations to come. The DeMornay name will loom large in Louisiana. You will have the finest winter house in the city, every entertainment and diversion, and a husband utterly devoted to you. Marry me, and I will destroy this document.”

Every limb shook. “But I do not love you.”

His gaze grew black. “You will grow to love me.”

“No, I won’t.” She edged to the side, but he blocked her. “I love another.”

“Worthington?” He spat the name with such vehemence that she knew she’d erred. “That distraction will be removed.”

She’d just sealed Tom’s death unless she could convince DeMornay she loved another. But who? He could not be in England. A woman would not travel halfway around the world when in love with someone at home. She had met no one here. Rourke was married, and DeMornay knew it. That left Tom.

There was only one way to save Tom. It made her stomach heave, but DeMornay would never let him go under any other circumstances.

“I-I-I made that up.” The words stuck in her throat. She instinctively moved away from DeMornay.

He gripped her arm and pulled her close. “Did you?”

“I’m not ready to marry.” The words came easier, for they were closer to the truth. Still, if Tom had asked for her hand, she might well have agreed.

His grip tightened. “You are no longer a child.”

“I-I might be persuaded.” She must word this right. It was her only chance. “For a price.”

He looked into her eyes, delving deep for the truth in her words. “What price?”

“Ownership of Aurelia and her children must be given to Tom Worthington.”

“A woman and three children? Do you know what you ask?”

“It is costly, but we have others. You said they are in the field.”

“Male slaves do not produce babies.” He ran a finger down her jaw. “Fertile women are worth a fortune. Their offspring can be sold.”

The way he said that made horrible ideas crowd into her mind. The contents of her stomach threatened to come up. She swallowed. For their sake she must remain calm. “Then we shall buy another. Aurelia is getting up in years anyway.”

His grip loosened. “That is true. Another can be gotten.”

While his temper had eased, she broached the last part of her request. “You will ensure Tom, Aurelia, and the children reach Captain O’Malley’s ship. They will then be allowed to leave. No one will pursue them or attempt to stop them. I must learn that they have safely reached Key West before I will speak the vows.”

“Four lives in exchange for one. A steep price.”

“Five,” she corrected him. “You’ve forgotten Tom.”

“His only value to me is how much someone would pay for him.”

Pay? Her skin crawled. DeMornay would sell a man? He had sold slaves. Aurelia’s assertion that servants had disappeared made sense. “But he is a free man.”

DeMornay gave her a pitying look. “Any man can fall into indenture and need to work off his debt.”

“Surely no one would agree to that. Not here.” Yet she was certain of nothing. She did not know this land, knew nothing about it except that coming here had been a terrible mistake.

His lips curved into a cruel grin. “There are places hungry for workers, places not that far from here. He is strong and would bring a good price.”

Her heart pounded. He was holding Tom’s future over her as bait. If Black Oak was not enough incentive, Tom’s freedom might force her to give in.

He ran a finger across her cheek, setting each nerve on edge. She tried to steel herself but trembled ever so slightly. She bit the inside of her lip. Better to suffer pain than give DeMornay the impression that she liked him in the slightest.

“Dear, innocent Catherine. There is no need to trouble yourself with such things. I will take care of everything. Your only concern is my pleasure.”

This time she could not quell the heaving of her stomach. She ran out of the room and fell to her knees on the veranda.