Latimer sat by Ceressa’s bedside as the afternoon shadows lengthened, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. After returning to the house, he had summoned Kate who had a natural, healing touch, and the woman prepared a tea that helped Ceressa sleep. It had taken something much stronger to calm Phyllis, who had been promptly removed from Tidelands by her father when he learned of the foul prank she’d put their driver up to.
As Latimer lightly touched Ceressa’s fountain of tumbling curls, he sent up a prayer thanking God she hadn’t suffered injury at the hands of the two men who claimed to be members of Bacon’s “army.” Both men, as well as the coachman, had received Kate’s kind ministrations. The coachman had left with Bartholomew. Now, Latimer needed to decide what to do with Bacon’s scum.
“Latimer?” The whisper brought his eyes to Ceressa’s face. She was awake, her brows drawn together in confusion. “Did I faint?”
“No. I asked Kate to give you something to help you rest. You’ve been asleep about an hour.”
“Where are those two men?” Fear darkened her eyes, and Latimer wanted to pull her into his arms. Instead, he gave her words of reassurance.
“You injured them badly enough that they aren’t going anywhere for a while. Kate cleaned and bandaged their wounds, and now I’ve got two men watching them to make sure they don’t go anywhere.”
“Who are they, and why were they here?”
“They claim to part of Bacon’s force. They said Bacon sent them to find out who is supporting him and who isn’t. They were told to make things ‘uncomfortable’ for those who aren’t in favor of Bacon’s methods.”
“For once Phyllis was at a loss for words,” Ceressa said and then actually smiled. “She was frightened out of her mind.”
“Phyllis had that coming, but it’s a good thing she had the sense to scream. Her screams alerted some of the men working close to the woods, and they came for me.
“Bartholomew’s coachman confessed that she paid him to frighten you. Now he’s nursing a bullet wound in his shoulder. Bartholomew is none too happy with Phyllis or his employee.” Taking her hand, he clasped it tightly. “Do you know how amazing you are?”
“Amazing? Me?”
“You saved Phyllis’s undeserving hide and that of the driver. Ceressa, did you ever think of the danger in which you placed yourself?”
“Something had to be done. I prayed then did the only thing I knew to do.”
“Still, what would have happened if I and the other men hadn’t arrived when we did?” Ceressa lowered her eyelids and plucked at the lace edging the coverlet. “Look at me.” Grasping her chin, he turned her face. Her eyes, more violet than brown, met his, water pooling around the lower edges.
“God didn’t let it come to that,” she murmured.
Something inside him softened at her words, and he found himself smiling. “You’re right. And for that, I am eternally thankful. Once more, you have plunged me to the depths of terror.” He failed to hide the emotion that roughened his voice.
Ceressa reached out and touched his face. How different her fingers felt as they roved his beardless jaw. Desire rose up within him so powerfully his hands shook. Why did he persist in this foolishness? Ceressa was fully aware of the uncertainties life in Virginia presented to those who chose to make it their home. She had refused to return to England. Now that he’d written to Geoffrey, perhaps, as her godfather, he would insist that Ceressa be sent home. But where was her home?
He admitted he’d fallen a little in love with her that summer so many years in the past, but given the difference in their ages at the time, he had assiduously refrained from any behavior that could’ve been misconstrued as inappropriate. Now that love would not be denied.
“My fire-breathing dragon is suddenly not so fierce,” she managed unsteadily as she traced the bridge of his nose then his brows. Did she have any idea what her touch did to him? Torturing pins pricked beneath his skin, and sweat broke out on his brow although a sweet, rose-scented breeze blew in the open windows. “I believe I have been in love with you for years. And that night when I saw you in Sir Geoffrey’s ballroom, I knew I loved you in the way a woman loves the man with whom she wishes to spend the rest of her life. I should have been honest with you.”
“As I should have been. I love you, my vexing angel. You claimed my heart when your eyes met mine that same night. I might not have realized you were little Ceressa Quarles all grown up, but I knew I would never be the same if I left England without you. That’s why I followed you to the docks. And I thank God I did. Each day that passed on the voyage, I fell more and more in love with you, but I was too determined and stubborn to admit it. What if I hadn’t gotten to you in time today?”
“I might have had another trick up my sleeve.” She was teasing, her natural spirit brightening her eyes. “It would take a lot more than anything Charles Herrington, Phyllis, or Bacon’s miscreants could come up with to eliminate me.”
“You must never frighten me like that again. Never.” He hadn’t meant to sound so fierce, but the thought of what might have happened infused him with raw fear.
Catching her shoulders, he pulled her against him in search of her lips. He found them pliant and yielding, and as he deepened the kiss, he tried to convey the hope and longing and promise that suddenly filled him. Her arms encircled his neck as she returned his kiss, her fingers twining through his hair.
Just as it occurred to him to latch the door to guarantee privacy, a knock sounded. Groaning, he released Ceressa; the color heightened in her cheeks and her glorious hair veiled her in pale gold disarray. Regretfully, he stood and hurried to the door. Mrs. Arston stood on the other side.
“I’m so sorry to intrude, Master Latimer, but you and Mistress Ceressa have a caller.”
“Who?”
Mrs. Arston twisted her hands indicating her nervousness.
“It’s the governor’s aide, sir. Master Willshire.”
****
Just when Ceressa had dared to believe things were about to change for her and Latimer, Torrence Willshire had to rear his ugly head. Actually, his head was anything but ugly, she thought unhappily as she and an extremely annoyed Latimer entered the salon not so many hours ago occupied by Phyllis and Bartholomew. It seemed that an eternity had passed since she and Phyllis had departed the house to view the roses created for the English royal garden. Torrence stood at a window, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned at hearing their approach and gave her a charming smile. Someone drew a sharp breath, and to her horror, she realized it was she.
Willshire had transformed since their last meeting—had that been only yesterday morning? Gone was the unnecessary wig, his own dark brown hair tied neatly back in a queue. He’d discarded his brocade and silk attire in favor of garments suitable for hard riding, which he appeared to have done quite a bit of given the amount of dust on his person. A leather pouch was slung over his shoulder. Though she found this version of Torrence Willshire practically likable, her heart belonged to the man behind her whom, she intuitively sensed, was scowling.
“To what do we owe this unexpected visit?” Ceressa cringed at the bite in Latimer’s tone.
“I’ve a message from Sir William.” Torrence approached while opening his pouch, withdrawing a letter bearing a red seal. He handed it to Latimer although his twinkling gaze rested upon her. If Torrence wasn’t careful, Latimer would realize they shared a secret. And though she knew it was wrong to keep a secret from her husband, it wasn’t one she was prepared to divulge—not yet.
Latimer broke the seal and opened the missive. There was an unmistakable twitch in his jaw as he read.
“May I say, Lady Kirkleigh, that you look extraordinarily beautiful? How fare you today?”
Ceressa glanced worriedly at Latimer, but he seemed oblivious to anything beyond the letter he held. “There was a bit of excitement earlier.”
“What sort of excitement?”
“Phyllis Carruthers and her father paid us a visit.”
Torrence’s eyes darkened at the mention of Phyllis, a flicker of pain radiating from the pale green depths.
“Phyllis and I were walking along an old Indian path to the river and were subjected to unwanted attentions from two of Nathaniel Bacon’s men.”
“What?” Torrence’s outburst caused Latimer to look up from his reading. “Was Phyllis—I mean were either of you hurt?” There was no mistaking Torrence possessed more than a passing interest in Bartholomew’s daughter.
She sadly suspected the woman would lead him a merry chase, given her selfish and childish behavior. Ceressa feared only a miracle would change Phyllis. But who knew what the Lord had planned for Bartholomew’s daughter.
“They were unharmed,” Latimer said as he folded the letter from Sir William. “And the men apprehended. Does Sir William expect a reply?”
Ceressa wanted so badly to ask what the governor had written but knew now was not the time to do so.
“No. He simply wanted you to know how displeased he was by your desertion.”
“He has no right to be angry. I offered my opinion, and my services and he refused both.”
“Some would call you a coward.”
Ceressa knew that Torrence was intentionally goading Latimer.
“Only an uninformed dupe.”
“What if I were to call you coward?”
“I don’t believe you would.”
The two men had moved so that they were nose to nose, Latimer a trifle taller than Torrence. When Torrence rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, Ceressa knew it was time to intervene.
“Mr. Willshire, I’m certain you could do with a hot meal and something cold to drink before you continue your travels. Why don’t I take you to the kitchen? Our cook can give you something to eat and even pack a few things for you to take on your return journey. Where are you headed next?” She took hold of his arm and pulled him from the salon. By the time she pushed him outside, he was laughing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in a low, threatening whisper as she strode angrily toward the kitchen.
Torrence had no trouble keeping up with her. “I am wounded by your words. To think how I risked my neck to get your precious letter on board the Dutiful Lady.”
“So you did manage to send it.” Relief swept her, and she could have cried for joy.
Her momentary elation vanished when Torrence laughed again. “I had hoped you pulled me out of the house because you’d suffered a change of heart since our parting—was it only yesterday? But, yes, your letter is on its way to London.”
“Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
“My pleasure—I think. You didn’t really believe all that coward talk was serious? I simply enjoy riling Latimer.”
“Do you know what, Torrence Willshire?” Ceressa halted her mad dash to the kitchen and turned to face him. “I think the two of you are acting like little boys who both want the same toy, but only one can have it.”
“And you would be the toy?” There was that gleam in his eyes again.
“No. The toy I’m referring to would be superiority. You have both wasted so many years trying to outdo one another, and neither of you have accomplished anything. I’ll tell you what I told Latimer—it’s time to move forward and leave the past behind. Now, go on to the kitchen and tell Cassie, the cook, that I asked that you be fed. And if you’re nice to her, she may give you a molasses cookie or two. She was baking them this morning.” She resumed her walk but was now heading back toward the house. Stopping once more, she looked over her shoulder at Torrence, who still regarded her with speechless amazement. “How did you cross the James?”
He gave her one of his insouciant grins. “Every man has his price. Even Bacon’s rebels. My ultimate destination is the port in Norfolk. I have dispatches that Sir William was afraid to entrust to the captain of the Dutiful Lady.”
“May the Lord keep you safe,” she said softly then turned again. This time, she hoisted her skirts and petticoats and ran the remaining distance back to the house.
She found Latimer in his library, idly turning the globe. The room was nearly dark for the sun had set and summer twilight provided only a modicum of light. He looked up at her approach.
“Mr. Willshire will be leaving shortly. He’s bound for the port in Norfolk. What did Sir William’s letter say?”
“He expressed his disappointment in me and warned me that I would feel the wrath of his disfavor. Reminded me of that last conversation I had with my father—the one you overheard. Seems I’m always disappointing someone. Including myself.”
“You have no reason to feel that way. You know, I don’t believe Mr. Willshire dislikes you as much as you believe he does. I think he enjoys baiting you.”
“Ah, is that what he’s doing?” Latimer’s sarcasm charged the air, and Ceressa pressed her lips together. “Baiting me. Yes, that makes perfect sense.”
“Latimer, you’ll never be free of this burden; this pain you carry.”
“Willshire lied.” His words were a fiery pike poking her conscience.
“Perhaps he’s sorry; perhaps he knows he was wrong?”
“I’m not sure he’s capable of regret. But I see he’s won you over.” There was a bitter note to Latimer’s words. The brief moments of rekindled passion they’d shared in her bedchamber were now but vaporous might-have-beens. But at least her letter was on its way. She’d have to hold on to the hope that promised during the endless days and nights.
“I’ve come to realize there’s more to him than meets the eye. He keeps many things hidden as though he fears he’ll appear vulnerable. Sometimes I see that in you.”
“Ressa! Ressa!” came April’s commanding call. Ceressa hurried into the hall in time to see April running toward her, Libby and Mariette following the child. “They said bad men scared you. I couldn’t come see you. They made me and Sissy stay in the kitchen. Who was that man who came to get some food?”
“A friend,” Ceressa said as she lifted the little girl in her arms. “A new friend.” But as she kissed April’s cheek, she wondered if, in the process of discovering Torrence Willshire’s better side, she’d brought out the worst in Latimer.