“You mean like seducing a lady?”
“Ah, Laurel,” Brent said, “I still find myself wondering if there is such a thing.”
Byrony flung her napkin onto the table. She wanted to scream curses at him, but she gained control of herself. Not in front of Laurel or Drew. She smiled and rose. “If you will excuse me,” she said in a voice that was so calm it could have been dead, “I think I shall retire now.”
She left the dining room without a backward glance. When she entered the bedroom, she looked at the door, wishing there were a lock.
She was so tied up with her own thoughts, she didn’t at first hear the strange sound coming from the corner of the room, near the balcony.
“Lizzie?”
There was another hiccuping sob. Byrony walked quickly to the glass doors and saw Lizzie huddled down in the corner.
“Lizzie,” she said, falling to her knees to face the girl, “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Lizzie rubbed her fisted hands over her eyes, thinking furiously. She’d heard that the massa had refused to let the missis give food and clothing to the field hands. So had Frank Paxton. He’d caught her near the house, telling her that he’d have her soon, very soon.
But the missis couldn’t do anything. Paxton was a white man, the overseer. “Nothing, missis,” she said, refusing to look at Byrony.
Byrony sat back on her heels. “Are you certain you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
Lizzie’s head shook from side to side.
Byrony rose slowly, feeling utterly helpless and useless.
“Very well, Lizzie,” she said finally. “Help me undress, then go to bed. If you wish to speak to me tomorrow, I will be here.”
Toward midnight, Brent walked quietly into the bedroom. Moonlight streamed through the undraped windows. He saw Byrony lying on her side, her cheek pressed against her hand. Slowly he walked to the bed and stood staring down at her. He felt a powerful tug, and laughed at himself silently. Lust, he thought. I still feel lust for her. He leaned down and lightly clutched a curl that lay over her shoulder. He closed his eyes a moment as he felt the texture of her hair. She stirred but didn’t waken. He’d thought of all the things she’d said. She was right, of course. But being right didn’t always change things for the better. He knew only that he wanted her now.
He stripped off his clothes and eased into bed beside her. He pulled up her nightgown to her waist, turning her onto her back. He eased her legs apart and slid gently and deeply into her.
Byrony came awake with a jerk at the feel of him.
“No.”
“Hold still,” he said. “God,” he groaned, and lost his control.
She saw the cords standing out taut in his neck as his head went back and he moaned his pleasure.
Brent fell panting on top of her.
Byrony didn’t move. She couldn’t have moved in any case.
“Are you through with me?”
He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at her face, pale and washed-out in the stream of moonlight. Her words sounded like a monotone, like she didn’t care.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Then again, perhaps not. I like being in your body. You’re warm and soft.”
“And you won’t have to pay me.”
Something deep within him stirred. It was hurt, bad hurt.
“Of course you’ve been drinking. That excuses a man everything, doesn’t it, Brent? And of course, now that your lust is slaked, there’s nothing more for you.”
He stirred the embers of hurt into anger at her. “Next time I’ll ensure that your lust is slaked also, wife. You’re always so cuddly and affectionate after I’ve given you pleasure.” And you tell me you love me.
He pulled out of her, pausing a moment on his knees between her wide-spread thighs.