Rebel Read online

  Congratulations were in order. Elsie was pretty, sweet—a bit vacant in Ian’s opinion—but for a man like Peter, that was probably best.

  She was also very, very rich.

  “Ian!”

  His father’s voice. Behind him.

  Ian forgot everything as he was engulfed in his father’s hug. Jarrett took a step back from his son then, coal-dark eyes examining him. “You look fine, son. Indeed, a damned fine sight for these aging eyes.”

  Ian laughed. “Speaking of aging, happy birthday, Father.”

  “A very happy birthday. My children will all be home. I’m anxious to spend some time with you—hear about the world.”

  “Father, I’m not quite certain you want to know about the world. You can’t begin to imagine the situation—”

  “Trust me. I’ve seen a great deal. I will manage to view in my mind’s eye all that you tell me. I fear deeply for our country, and our state. News coming here is, of course, so often very slow, but it doesn’t matter; you can feel a surliness building like storm clouds. The failure of the National Convention seems to have set a new breeze stirring. There is a dangerous, ugly mood to the country now.”

  “The division in beliefs is growing so deep, I fear that it can never be repaired.”

  “We’ll talk later,” Jarrett said. “I believe your mother has just sent the gentlemen to the library, and a flock of young ladies will soon be heading toward the stairs to nap for the evening’s festivities. Naturally, I suppose you might prefer to be swamped by young ladies, but your uncle will want to see you and the not-so-terribly-young ladies will spend just a few minutes with the gentlemen, so your aunt will get to give you a kiss and hug as well.”

  “I saw Uncle James and Aunt Teela not so long ago. Did they tell you?”

  “Indeed, it seems they see more of you than we do, since you’ve been spending so much time at the base at Key West. Come, let’s head for the library, and get out of the way of the feminine stampede!”

  “As you wish, sir,” Ian said. With a grimace, he followed his father.

  As Jarrett had warned him, they had just slipped into the library before it seemed the breezeway was filled with giggling, fluffy creatures, all in skirts filled with so many starched petticoats that they could probably stand for building supports. A few, daughters of old friends, caught sight of Ian and gave him welcoming hugs and proper kisses.

  In the melee, he thought he saw a swirl of teal brocade flowers and delicate ivory lace: the golden blond beauty who had been holding court with her fencing party upon the lawn.

  Before he could question his father about the girl, however, his aunt appeared in the hallway. “Ian!” she greeted him with pleasure, and he met her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and when he looked up again, the little spitfire siren was gone.

  “Wait. Please, wait. You must wait!”

  Alaina had almost managed to escape the house.

  Almost.

  She had reached the rear set of doors that opened from the great breezeway to the dense pine’ forests beyond it. At the sound of her name being called, she hesitated just briefly—but too long. Peter O’Neill had seen her. And now he was hurrying toward her.

  “Peter, get away from me!” she ordered firmly.

  But Peter kept coming, a pathetic-dog expression on his face. A handsome face—at least, she had thought so before today. His eyes were soft liquid blue, his features purely patrician, and his hair was a rich light brown and handsomely long to the collar, the ends curling naturally. He was elegantly dressed in a gray frock coat, starched white shirt, and brocaded vest. Now, though, perhaps for the first time, she looked him up and down and felt no emotion. His liquid eyes were not beautiful, but weak.

  Still, his grip upon her wrist was strong.

  “I have to talk to you!” he said urgently. He tugged upon her arm with force.

  She could have broken his hold. She could have threatened to scream. Peter would have dropped her wrist like a hot potato—he despised scandal of any kind. Against her better judgment, she allowed him to lead her from the doorway.

  A mistake. She discovered that she’d been drawn into the butler’s pantry. Her only escape was back out the way she had come, which Peter blocked, or the kitchen doorway, which was currently blocked by a dolly containing the meats from the smokehouse for the evening meal.

  She stared at Peter, folding her arms over her chest. Her heart was racing.

  Ah, well, perhaps love dies hard, she mocked herself. Young love. In truth, she wondered even now if she had been in love with Peter, or in love with being in love.

  And then, of course, she wondered if she was battling the hurt he had cast upon her with a staunch effort to convince herself that she didn’t care about him and he wasn’t just a cad, he was ugly in the first order!

  “What is it, Peter?”

  “I would have told you that my father was determined I must marry Elsie Fitch had I only had the chance!” he cried out. His words were clearly in earnest. If she hadn’t felt quite so completely humiliated when his engagement had been announced at tea, she might have stepped forward, touched his cheek, told him that it was all right.

  But it wasn’t all right. Peter had been to visit her island several times with his father, seeking help from her father for his orange groves. And he had sworn his undying love and devotion, and that it would be just a matter of time before he dared declare it to all the world.

  Well, today he had made his declarations to the world. With the majority of the guests having arrived at Cimarron to enjoy Mrs. Tara McKenzie’s afternoon tea, Peter O’Neill had stood up, with Elsie by his side, and announced that they would be married. Until that moment, she had been having a wonderful time. Her father did not often leave their island in the far south, and she very seldom mixed with society. Despite his scientific status and renown, her father was not among the monied classes, and they were friends with the McKenzies of Cimarron only because they were best of friends with the McKenzies of Mirabella. Alaina hadn’t been accustomed to the rush of attention she’d received from the young men today, and admittedly she certainly felt exhilarated. Mature. Wanted. It had been amusing to test her talents for flirtation. Ironically, she had even thought that it might be fun to make Peter just a wee bit jealous.

  But then had come his announcement, and she had somehow stood there and smiled throughout, wondering if her teeth would chip, break, and fall out of her head, she was bearing down on them with such desperate effort.

  Then, of course, there was the matter of Elsie Fitch. Elsie wasn’t the world’s greatest beauty, but she was attractive enough, with her dark brown hair and huge dark eyes. She had giggled to some of the young ladies and whispered that they had just been in love forever and admitted that if they didn’t get married quite soon, they were simply so infatuated with one another that they’d be planning a very hasty wedding indeed!

  “Peter, apparently you are going to marry Elsie, and I wish you every happiness. Now let me pass.”

  “Alaina, you don’t understand.”

  “Marriage. A bonding of two people You will take Elsie, and no other. I understand the concept perfectly.”

  “Alaina, don’t be so flippant!” Peter cried, and she realized that he seemed to be losing his temper. She was the injured party here. “Alaina, I nearly died watching you tease and taunt those other men today. I wanted to stop you behaving like such a reckless hussy—”

  “Hussy! Peter, I will not be flippant. And I will not listen to you be crude. I will not be anything with you at all! I wish to pass by and be away from you. In truth, I tell you again, I wish you every happiness; now let me by, and do remember, what I do with any other men in the future is not your concern!”

  But when she tried to step past him, she felt a fleeting alarm. He took her by both shoulders and backed her to the wall, suddenly speaking very quickly. “Alaina, for the love of God, don’t torment me! We’ve no time here. God, can’t you tell how I want yo
u? I’m a desperate man, Alaina, you have made me so. Come away with me, into the woods—-”

  “Into the woods!” she exclaimed. “Into the woods—with you?” Oh, God, she was going to start laughing, or crying. The woods! That had been exactly where she had been headed, but she had been going alone. Alone! She was desperate to be alone, desperate not to feel his touch, not to feel so betrayed, so foolish!

  “Alaina, I love you, I have to have you. When I watched you today, I thought I would explode with jealousy. You must be mine. You don’t understand, you must listen to me, I adore you! God, I’m so sorry that it can’t be marriage, but we can make the best of what we have. I am rich, not just in my father’s land, but in my own right. My mother left me a trust fund. I can—”

  “Peter, stop! I can’t believe you are saying these things to me. I can’t believe that you would even begin to imagine that, now that you’re pledged elsewhere—”

  “Don’t be a fool, Alaina! Sweet Jesus, Alaina, see the truth of it! No respectable young man will ever be allowed to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  “No respectable man would ask for my hand?” she repeated rigidly.

  He didn’t seem to comprehend the hardness that edged her tone, the sudden and complete dislike in it. He rushed on determinedly. “Oh, my dear, you must realize this! Your father is all but penniless. You’ve been raised in the absolute wild with the savages! But that needn’t upset you, because I truly adore you, Alaina, I will give you everything, absolutely everything that I can….”

  His words trailed away. She stared at him incredulously. His mouth came closer and before she realized his intent, he was kissing her, pressing her harder against the wall, his body plied against hers in a way that clearly defined what he expected of her, his tongue persistently forcing its way into her mouth.

  Amazement held her perfectly still for several seconds, then she felt his hand, fumbling at her bodice. Fury seared into her. She slammed upward with a knee, and the second he howled and stepped backward, she slapped his face with a vengeance. “Peter, take your despicable proposals and go to hell!”

  “Alaina!” he croaked. He was in agony, but whether it was because she refused his outrageous proposal or because she had kneed him with such force, she couldn’t tell. Nor did she care at that moment. She could endure no more of the rich and respectable Mr. Peter O’Neill. She took full advantage of his weakness and pushed him away from her, then fled swiftly out of the pantry and back out the double doors, across the lawn and into a grove of harboring trees.

  Chapter 2

  Ian heard the softest murmur and felt a whisper of breath against his nape. “The usual place!”

  The young ladies had departed upstairs to rest quite some time ago. Now the matrons were leaving the men to their brandy and cigars.

  The whisper had come from Lavinia Trehorn, the lovely and wickedly sensual thirty-year-old widow of the late, lamented, much-older-but-filthy-rich Lawrence Trehorn.

  And though Ian had definitely determined that this time home he would tell his parents he intended to enter into an engagement with Risa immediately—Risa was beautiful, poised, well educated, and well acquainted with the military, and the love and longing she stirred within him would surely be the kinds that lasted forever—marriage might be a long time coming.

  A very long time.

  And the prospect of love and marriage was a completely different concept from that of Lavinia. Lavinia was at a point in life where simple essential lust had become rather like breathing; she sought no commitments.

  “What was that, Ian McKenzie?”

  Ian blinked. The sensual scent of Lavinia’s musky perfume remained behind to distract him.

  “Ian McKenzie! Explain yourself, sir!”

  He realized that Alfred Ripply, the gin-blossomed shipbuilder from Tampa, was querying him on his last statement. Something he had said about the state of the Union—and couldn’t begin to remember right away.

  The whisper in his ear had thrown him.

  He cleared his throat, then paused, aware of another female stare upon him. He could feel the burning gaze of the young woman who was refilling brandy glasses in the parlor.

  Lilly.

  Lilly was his friend. She was an exotic young woman whose physical makeup combined the very best of her Indian, Negro, and white blood. She despised Lavinia and was trying—while being a competent servant all the while—to impart to Ian with the power of her stare alone the fact that he shouldn’t follow Lavinia. He arched a brow back to Lilly, reminding her that he was as yet an unmarried man, over twenty-one… and certainly able to stay out of the evil clutches of such a woman as Lavinia—except for that “evil” he was growing rather anxious to share.

  Lilly let out a barely audible sniff.

  Lilly was a free woman; there had never been slaves at Cimarron. Ian’s grandfather, who had brought his sons to Florida, had despised the notion of slavery. Cimarron was a plantation, and it worked as such, but they managed to do so, and do so well, with paid labor.

  Lilly had come to them at the end of the “Third Seminole War,” as the government called it. It had been the last cry of a devastated people, and Ian had understood the brief but bitter hostilities better than most, since his closest kin, outside his immediate family, had Indian blood running in their veins.

  Lilly had actually lived among a very small tribe of Creek Indians residing inland from Tampa Bay. Her husband had joined with the warriors who were once again seeking some semblance of justice. The last conflict had ended much as those wars waged before it; the Seminoles who had survived remained spiritually undefeated, and had retreated deeper into the Everglades. The whites had gladly washed their hands of a nasty battle.

  Ian had been incredibly grateful not to have been involved. There had been no Indian trouble in Florida when he had made his decision to accept his appointment to West Point. He had graduated as a lieutenant, but he’d have gladly resigned his commission rather than take arms against the Seminoles. Thankfully, at the time hostilities broke out, his command had been in Texas. Then he’d been assigned to the hotbed brewing out in the Kansas/Nebraska arena before being ordered down to Key West to work with the men there attempting to chart the hammocks, rivers, and streams through the Everglades. The traveling he had done throughout the country had left him certain that he could speak with an educated opinion concerning the very grave state of the Union at that moment.

  But he was damned sorry he had said whatever it was that he had. He didn’t want to argue politics right now. Lavinia’s whisper had been far too enticing.

  He glanced at Lilly. Lilly shook her head, worried about him. He smiled. Lilly should understand his attraction to Lavinia, and the fact that he could take care of himself without risking his own future plans or injuring any sweet, young, innocent girl. After all, he was going to marry a very proper young woman, but there would be endless plans to make, and God alone knew when his wedding might actually take place. Meeting Lavinia was pure entertainment for both parties, with no one getting hurt in any way. He wasn’t in love with Lavinia, and Lavinia knew it. Neither, of course, was Lavinia in love with him. They had become friends in the short times he had been home, and Lavinia was a widow who had now taken on a number of lovers, quite discreetly, of course. Lavinia was, and had said so frankly, quite enormously fond of good sexual entertainment without the silly restrictions of society. As a widow—one who would lose her dear departed husband’s bank accounts to his brother should she remarry—she could see little reason in denying herself what pleasures and amusements might remain to her.

  “McKenzie! Ian McKenzie! You make no sense, sir!” Alfred Ripply said, banging his cane against the polished hardwood of the library floor. “You sit there and say that John Brown deserved to hang, and in what is nearly the same breath, you say that Lincoln—that hideous long lank of malformation!—seeks no evil against Southerners, only strength in the Union!”

  Ian sighed, glancing at his father whe
re he stood across the room, an elbow leaned against the mantel. Jarrett McKenzie remained as tall and supply muscled as ever; his stance hadn’t altered a hair in all the years Ian could remember. His father’s dark eyes were grave against his handsome, dignified features; his hair, nearly jet-black, was just becoming touched with silver. Ian and Jarrett had certainly had their differences over time, but now, in many ways, they were discovering they were very much alike. In the last few years Ian had come to realize that he didn’t just love his father; he admired him very much. Jarrett’s opinions had definitely influenced much of his own thinking, but his life experiences had served to convince him of the tightness of his beliefs, at least in his own soul. And that was where, Jarrett had always taught him, it mattered most.

  “John Brown is, in my opinion, sir, a sad case. He believed most heartily that God had sanctioned his deeds in the pursuit of a higher goal. However, I say that he deserved to hang because murder is a crime punishable by hanging according to our laws. John Brown willfully and brutally murdered many men, claiming to do so in retaliation for raids into anti-slavery territory by pro-slavery men. Brown didn’t have the right to be judge and jury for those men.”

  Ian rose and bowed to the men in the room. His uncle James—up with his family for lan’s mother’s annual birthday gathering for his father—was watching him oddly. Ian offered his uncle a quick, wry grimace, then turned back to Ripply and the others. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll see to the wine list for this evening. Father?”

  Jarrett was evidently aware that his son was heartily sorry he’d ever allowed himself to become embroiled in such a conversation. Ripply wanted total agreement with his own beliefs, and nothing less. And he probably had no conception of just how ugly the argument over slavery could become.

  He hadn’t seen some of the atrocities committed out in Kansas, Nebraska and Missouri as each side struggled to prove that God had commanded their credo to be the right one.

  “Indeed, Ian,” his father said. “Please do so.”