“Oh, there you are,” she murmured, and slipped off the reading glasses that she wore on a ribbon around her neck. “I have a lovely bottle of falernum. Would you care for some over ice?”
“No, thank you. I really can’t stay, Gemma.”
“Join me on the settee, then, and we’ll talk.”
When they were seated, the door opened again as if on cue, and Paul appeared, frowning. He was carrying a tiny gray tiger-striped kitten. “Mummy, Stripey scrash me!”
“Sit down next to me and I’ll kiss it, dear.” Gemma patted the spot between her and her visitor.
Adam stared at the little boy, guessing that he was at least two years old, and Paul stared back, still clutching the wriggling kitten. His big eyes were not brown like his mother’s, but blue-gray, flecked with gold. His complexion was the palest shade of mocha and his little mouth was well-shaped.
“Darling Adam, can’t you see that he needs to be lifted up here? He can’t climb up with the kitten in his arms.”
The sensation of his large hands on the child’s warm body sent a chill down Adam’s spine. He had an urge to hold Paul on his lap, to embrace him and listen to the beating of his miniature heart and examine each of his tiny, busy fingers. As it was, he inhaled the scent of him: a magical blend of soap and baby, fresh air and coconut bread.
“Stripey,” Paul announced, thrusting the kitten at Adam.
“So I see.” He nodded with grave irony.
“Scrash me.” Regarding his own wound, a slight mark on one arm, Paul looked as if he might cry again. “Hurts!” He turned the kitten so that they were face to face. “Bad kitty! No, no!”
Gemma ran one thin hand over his curly hair. “That’s enough, Paul. The kitten didn’t mean to hurt you. It was an accident. Now then, say hello to your papa.”
Adam ignored the word she had so intentionally used, looking again into this child’s version of his own eyes. “Hello, Paul.”
The child studied him gravely. “I want a lollie.”
“Go and ask Suzanne, darling.”
With that, Paul and Stripey slid to the floor and rushed out of the room.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” asked Gemma. “And he’s the image of his father.”
“Personally, I think he looks like you.”
“If you are wondering if someone else might be the father, you needn’t. His parentage is perfectly evident, especially in his eyes, and you know it. Your mousey little wife would know it as well.”
“Is that a threat? A hint of blackmail?”
“Heavens no! Do you think I want your money or your sexual favors?” She smiled and shook her head. “Of course, I wouldn’t say no if you begged to visit my bed, but that’s not why we’re here. To be honest, I haven’t been feeling quite the thing lately, and I can’t help worrying about Paul’s future. What if something were to happen to me? What would become of him?” She shrugged. “I’d like it if you’d leave the wealthy mouse and marry me, but I know that won’t happen. I am realistic, if nothing else. You need her money, and I know you’re not heartless enough to desert her now that you’ve brought her halfway around the world.”
Adam listened intently, wondering what she was getting at. “Kindly refrain from calling my wife a mouse.”
“Please! She’s no match for you. Do I sound bitter? Perhaps I am, a bit. If I were white, I believe you’d have married me.” She raised a hand before he could speak. “Please, let me cling to my illusions for the time being. They’re all I have, my dear. Did you think I was too strong for such nonsense? Well, that was an act, just a show of bravado. I can assure you, I’ve always been riddled with weakness where you’re concerned— especially after you left and I learned that I was with child.”
“Gemma, there is no point in this now. I’m sorry if you’ve been hurt, but our circumstances have changed—”
“I don’t even want money for Paul. That’s what you’re going to offer me; I know you too well, Adam.” An ethereal smile touched her mouth. “I just want you to give him yourself. Is that a ridiculous request? I want you to spend a little time with your son.”
Hearing the child’s voice in the next room, Adam felt a twinge in his chest. “Yes. I could do that.”
“And you must tell your wife.” Gemma leaned over and put her hand on his arm. “Is that too much to ask? For Paul’s sake?”
The twinge twisted, like a knife. “Yes, that may be too much to ask. You have no idea. Cathy and I already have enough problems—”
“I will not allow you to refer to our son as a problem!” Rising, she marched across the room and turned back to point at him. “You’ve always had life on your own terms, haven’t you? Well, I would say that your chickens are coming home to roost, my lord! Tell your little wife the truth... or I will!”
Chapter 18
Sheltered by the heart-shaped leaves of the great old sandbox tree behind Tempest Hall, Cathy paced, oblivious to the afternoon heat. Workmen went in and out of the house, waving to her, and she managed to smile and return their greetings, but her mind was elsewhere.
“Have you seen any sign of his lordship?” she called to Simon when he came out of the sugar boiling house. Lately, he and Adam had begun to restore the tumbledown building.
“No’m. Not see he all day long.”
“Did he happen to mention to you what time he would be coming home?”
At this, Simon doffed his hat and shook his head. “Sorry to say, no.”
Alice appeared at the back door to the kitchen. When she spied her mistress, she clambered down the steps and trotted anxiously toward her. The guinea fowl who were scratching in the sand flapped out of the dog’s way.
“Did you fall asleep and lose me?” Cathy asked as the Labrador reached her side and pushed her nose against her skirts. “Ah, Alice, how lonely I’d be without you!” Tears pricked her eyes as she stroked Alice’s broad head. The dog gazed up at her, and Cathy could see in the sunlight that her muzzle had gone completely white.
Just then, the sound of hoofbeats reached their ears. Alice began to cry with excitement and started off out into the open yard. Moments later, Adam rode into view on a magnificent black stallion. He was coatless, his shirt collar open against the deep tan of his sculpted face, his raven hair ruffling back in the wind.
Alice was dancing in place next to Lazarus as her master swung down to the ground. The sound of Adam’s voice reminded her of her manners and she sat obediently as he stripped off his riding gloves. Then, his long fingers searched out the secret spots behind her ears, flattening out to caress her back.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “I missed you.”
Cathy emerged from the pool of shade that spilled round the sandbox tree. Lightly, she called, “Hello, Adam.”
The sight of her sent a whole host of emotions scrambling within him. He knew why Gemma found Cathy an unlikely candidate for his mate. At first glance, she was altogether unprepossessing: slight, brown-haired, brown-eyed, and snub-nosed, she was prone to flush in a way that announced her deepest feelings to the world. And yet, Adam found himself craving the light of her smile more than anything else at the end of his long and trying day.
“You’ve gotten some sun,” he remarked, handing Lazarus over to Simon. He met Cathy halfway to the sandbox tree and touched her cheeks. “I think it suits you.”
“I have some freckles as well. My mother would be horrified.”
“They’re charming.”
She smiled in a way that made her soft mouth look particularly appealing to him. “Adam, I know you’re tired, but there’s something I have to tell you. It’s important...”
They went into the house together, passing through the kitchen first. A pot of okra soup was simmering on the stove, and Retta was napping in her chair near the doorway.
“Theo sent me a note today,” whispered Cathy. “He’s found us a cook, he thinks. She’s the younger sister of Mrs. Ford, his prize cook at the Ocean Breeze. Her name is Josephine.”
“Not a moment too soon.”
“Sad but true.”
They went on into the library, where one of the new housemaids, Beatrice, was hurriedly swizzling a rum punch for her employer. From the sitting room came the sound of pounding.
“It’s the men replacing the floors,” Cathy hastened to explain when she saw Adam’s frown. “Beatrice, would you go and tell them that they may stop for the day?”
When they were alone, Adam took a long drink and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed resignedly. “You know, Cath, I have something to tell you, too. I don’t suppose it does any good to put off difficult news.”
“Let me go first, then you can decide if we need more bad news in this one day.”
“You’re turning pale. There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”
“It depends on what you call ‘wrong,’” she said with a sigh. Then, reaching into the side pocket of her skirt, Cathy withdrew a telegram. “A boy rode out from the West India and Panama Telegraph Company to bring me this. It’s from my mother. She’s on her way to Barbados to visit us.”