Southern Seduction Read online

  All her dreams were about to come true.

  The mansion wasn’t yet visible when the carriage swung between the octagonal, brick pigeonniers positioned on either side of the drive, so seeing her new home was once again delayed. However, the red dirt driveway was smooth and unrutted, demonstrating that a great deal of care had gone into the preparation of the plantation. She could just imagine what the house must look like.

  So far, Brooke had to admit that she liked what she’d seen of America compared to England’s damp cool days.

  Today the sky was beautiful and clear, though the heat would take some getting used to with her thick British blood. Perhaps with fall approaching, the days would be very pleasant. “The trees here are a bit unusual and very wide, don’t you think?” Brooke asked Mr. Jeffries who sat across from her.

  He slid back the leather flap on the window. “I believe they are called live oaks. They grow very large and wide,” he explained. “And I see a few pecan trees mixed in the group.”

  Huge live oaks, of which Brooke had already counted twenty, lined the long drive on either side. As the carriage traveled down the lane, the limbs were laced overhead like fingers, dripping with a queer, graybeard like growth that Brooke had never seen before.

  She pointed out the window. “What is the greenish-gray substance?”

  Jeffries again peered out the window, and this time smiled. “It is Spanish Moss. Quite common in this part of the country, I believe.” He leaned back in his seat. “The moss actually lives on the tree limbs and will spread from tree to tree. It resembles a graybeard and can absorb water ten times its weight. Quite lovely, I think.”

  “Yes, it is. Perhaps it’s where the name of the plantation came from,” Brooke murmured. The moss was indeed beautiful, yet it also gave her an eerie feeling. She hoped it wasn’t a warning sign that something sinister lurked ahead. A slight chill shuddered through her as she shook the qualms from her mind. Surely the staff would welcome a new mistress.

  When she thought she could bear the suspense of waiting no longer, a magnificent plantation house came into view. A two-story, white house with one-story wing pavilions on each side sat gracefully at the end of the sweeping circular carriageway, and it was hers . . . all hers.

  Ten white columns stood at attention across the front like soldiers, adding to the feeling of grandeur. There was a full second-floor balcony, making for a lovely veranda supported by the columns and bordered with wrought iron. Two curved staircases in the shapes of half moons led up to the main floor. Brooke could only gape, awestruck at the opulence she saw before her.

  “I see you’re impressed,” Mr. Jeffries commented quietly.

  “This is not like anything I’ve ever seen before,” Brooke whispered, afraid that someone would pinch her and wake her up from this wonderful dream. How could she be so lucky? “I’m surprised that Jackson stayed in England when he had such a magnificent home and this beautiful sunny weather.”

  “I believe he had other ideas for Moss Grove.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop before the wide steps at the front of the house. The driver swung down, opened the door and let down the step for them.

  Brooke gathered her skirts so she didn’t trip, then accepted the driver’s hand. She had just stepped down from the carriage when a man came galloping up on a magnificent white stallion, clouds of dust swirled around the horse’s hooves. For a moment, Brooke recalled her girlhood dream of being swept away by a handsome prince on a white horse. Of course, the silly child’s dream had faded as she’d grown, and she hadn’t thought about her prince in a long time.

  Until now.

  The man riding toward her made an awesome picture as he sat tall in the saddle. He reined in his horse a few feet away from them, but said nothing, allowing Brooke another moment to look at him. He was dressed in riding clothes, but he wore no jacket as most gentlemen did, just a white billowing shirt and black riding breeches. His blue eyes flashed, then narrowed as he leaned forward in the saddle and looked down as if they were insects to be trod upon.

  The sun played on his sun-streaked hair, wind-tossed and rather long, Brooke noticed as he examined them. In spite of his superior attitude, his bronzed skin gave him a rakish air that Brooke found quite appealing.

  She really shouldn’t be ogling him, but she couldn’t help herself. He was truly breathtaking.

  Back in England, the gentlemen she had known had always been pasty and white dandies, most of whom had been old enough to be her father.

  But not this one.

  He was handsome, recklessly so, and he simply took her breath away. She wondered who he was.

  The overseer, perhaps? Entertainment?

  She could only hope.

  “Jeffries,” the man muttered curtly, finally acknowledging them. He dismounted and tossed the reins to a young stable boy who had come trotting up while Brooke had been looking at the man. “I had word that you were coming, but I wasn’t expecting your wife.”

  Brooke noted that the stranger had a deep, commanding voice, but she almost laughed out loud at the notion that he thought she was Mr. Jeffries’s wife.

  “Travis,” Jeffries said as he extended his hand. “It has been a long time since I last saw you. You look well.”

  “As do you,” Travis commented, then glanced at Brooke. “Will you introduce me to your lovely companion?”

  “Certainly. But she isn’t my wife.” Mr. Jeffries motioned toward Brooke. “May I introduce you to Brooke Hammond.”

  Travis lifted her hand to his lips then kissed the back ever so lightly, just enough to make chills sweep over and through Brooke’s body. For some odd reason her pulse raced while he murmured, “My pleasure, Miss Hammond.” He turned back to Jeffries. “I presume then, that she is your fiancée?”

  “Certainly not,” Jeffries answered. “She is a friend of your father’s.”

  Travis’s gaze was riveted on her, then moving over her body slowly. He stopped abruptly as he glanced back to the solicitor. Travis’s brows drew together. “My father? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Brooke had a hard time tearing her eyes from Travis’s compelling gaze, but she, too, turned and looked at Mr. Jeffries. “His father?” Brooke repeated. “Pray tell, who is his father?”

  Jeffries’ face turned a bit red before he answered, “May I present Travis Montgomery, Jackson’s son.”

  Brooke couldn’t hide her startled look as she said, “Jackson never said anything to me about a son.” What she didn’t add was ...and if he had a son why did he leave the plantation to me?

  “Madam, that does not surprise me one bit,” Travis snapped, his eyes turning cold. Evidently, Travis Montgomery wasn’t any happier than she was about this turn of events because the interest she’d noted only a moment ago had disappeared as his next words were directed to Mr. Jeffries. “What is she doing here?”

  Brooke hated to tell him, but he really wasn’t going to like the answer.

  The next hour passed slowly as Jeffries tried to calm Brooke and Travis down to where they were not shouting at each other. Neither had taken the news well at all.

  It seemed that Brooke’s plantation had come with a few conditions attached to it, and one of those conditions was now glaring at her across the library table. She’d been rushed inside so quickly that she hadn’t had a chance to observe the interior of the house. They had been ushered straight into the library which acted as Travis’s study. It was dark just like the owner.

  Since Travis had turned to whisper something to Mr. Jeffries, Brooke took the moment of silence to glanced around the room, trying to get a feel for her adversary. The room was well appointed and very spacious. One wall held nothing but books. Evidently, Travis liked to read or at least he wanted to give the impression that he did. A marble fireplace was on another wall, and above the mantel hung a large oil painting of a stern-looking gentleman Brooke didn’t recognize.

  The only bright spot in the room was the French doors loc
ated behind his desk.

  Her gaze shifted back to her immediate problem, Travis Montgomery, as Mr. Jeffries tried to explain to Travis that Brooke had inherited half of Moss Grove, and they would be able to work everything out if he’d just listen.

  “Over my dead body!” Travis shouted at Jeffries. Travis’s eyes were cold, his expression a mask of stone as his gaze settled on her face.

  “That can be arranged!” Brooke shot back at the arrogant cad she was beginning to wish she’d never laid eyes on. Who did he think he was, shouting at her? And why hadn’t Jackson ever mentioned that he had a son? To think that she’d found him handsome, reminiscent of her prince -- this man might be a devil, instead. His profile was strong and rigid and she had a strong feeling that he never gave an inch in any argument.

  “Get out of my house,” Travis said through clenched teeth, his voice strained as if he were barely controlling his temper.

  Brooke sensed there was more to Travis’s rage than just her sudden appearance, but she wasn’t going to cower. Instead, she lifted her chin. “Your house?” she challenged. This man...this... this adversary didn’t know her very well -- that was stupid, he didn’t know her at all -- but if he thought his shouting was going to get her to leave, he needed to rethink his strategy. Brooke wasn’t about to be intimidated by him or any man for that matter.

  “Perhaps,” she said in her perfect British accent, “you were not listening. The plantation belongs to both of us, so you had better get used to reality,” she informed him, feeling just a little bit pleased that Mr. Montgomery didn’t have an immediate retort for her. He didn’t appear to be a man who liked to lose at anything.

  Well, neither did she.

  Instead, he glared at her for a long moment before turning his gaze back to Mr. Jeffries, who sat, looking completely exasperated, at the end of the table, his hands folded over the paperwork in front of him.

  “I knew my father hated me . . .” Travis paused, a strange look flashing across his face. “Apparently, I didn’t know how much,” he said more or less to himself as he lowered his tall, incredibly formed body back into his chair.

  The solicitor cleared his throat, before saying, “If you are both finished with your shouting match, I shall continue with the reading of Jackson’s will.” Jeffries peered over his spectacles at both of them and waited patiently for them to acquiesce.

  Finally, they each gave a quick nod.

  Travis shoved away from the table. “Before you continue,” he said, “I need a drink. Do you care for anything?” His question was directed toward Jeffries.

  The solicitor shrugged and nodded, then turned back to his papers.

  Travis started for the liquor cabinet located next to the wall when Brooke spoke, “It’s quite apparent that your father never taught you any manners either.”

  Travis stopped. Slowly, he turned around, his gaze leveling on her, anger in his eyes. “My father didn’t bother to teach me anything at all,” he retorted bitterly. He waited a moment, his brow raised a fraction, almost daring her to comment. “Would you care for something, Miss Hammond?”

  Brooke smiled, only because she knew it would irritate him further, then she said politely, “Yes, thank you very much. I would like sherry, please.” She saw the fire flash in his blue eyes just before he turned away, and she wondered what it would be like to smother that fire out and, perhaps, tame the beast.

  Travis Montgomery wasn’t something she’d planned on when she’d embarked on this adventure. Not only his very existence, but the way he made her feel. He fired her blood in more ways than one. However, if he thought he was going to intimidate her, then he had better think again.

  The duke had never mentioned he had children, and quite frankly, Brooke couldn’t blame Travis for being angry, not only with his father, but at her. She knew what it was like to be shunned by a parent, but that didn’t mean Travis’s disappointment would make her give up her one great chance at happiness.

  She watched him from beneath her lashes as he poured the drinks. His white linen shirt pulled across his back when he reached for the crystal decanter. A tall man . . . taller than most, he was rough, arrogant, brash as nearly all Americans were, but so intriguing that he held her attention, which was something Brooke couldn’t say about most men.

  His sun-streaked hair emphasized the darkness of his bronzed skin, and his strong features seem to draw her to him without his ever opening his mouth. And it was not a good thing. She didn’t want any part of Travis Montgomery. She was finished with men, especially those trying to control her.

  Travis handed her a glass of sherry then took his seat.

  This is more what I’d had in mind, Brooke mused as she accepted the glass, someone to do my fetching.

  Mr. Jeffries drank his Scotch. He looked like he needed it more than anyone. He sighed, then, once again, he gathered up the papers in front of him and began to read. “I, Jackson Montgomery, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath my New Orleans plantation to Brooke Hammond and to my son, Travis Montgomery, equally in hopes that, together, they can run the plantation successfully. If, after one year they have not married, one of them wishes to leave the plantation, then one may buy the other out.

  “It is my hope that the Montgomery name will be carried on by my heirs, therefore, my other estates will be held in a trust for the birth of my first grandson. That’s correct, Travis. I can see your frown now. Even though I spent little time with you, I did give you my last name, and when you were grown, I provided a place for you and your mother to live. I will have you do two things: first you are to throw a party within two weeks of the reading of my will to announce Brooke Hammond to her neighbors. I wish I could give you my title, but since I was not married to your mother that is impossible. However knowing you, I’m sure you could care less about a title.

  “Secondly, I want you to do the proper thing by marrying and having children so that the name Montgomery will continue forward. Brooke will make you a perfect wife and bring the estates to you just that much faster along with money. Be nice to her.” Jefferies finished, took a deep breath, then added, “There is one exception.”

  Brooke’s head jerked around. “What?” she snapped at Mr. Jeffries. “I have no desire to marry this man or any other man. It’s simply out of the question.”

  “I don’t recall asking you to marry me,” Travis snapped, his words uncoiling like a whip. “It sounds more like you had my father hoodwinked,” Travis said. He jerked his gaze away from her back to the solicitor. “What was the exception that you mentioned?”

  Jackson took a drink. He looked pale. “If my son chooses to marry someone else and has a son, or his wife is expecting before or by the end of the working arrangement, then he doesn’t have to buy Brooke out. The plantation will be his alone and a small sum will be provided for Brooke to travel where she chooses to live. If there is no baby then the original buyout stands.”

  “Of all the sneaky underhanded deals”-- Travis shoved away from the table.-- “he knew damn well the Moss Grove cannot survive without income from his other estates. Now he wants to dictate my life to the point of when I have to produce an heir. I’m surprised that he didn’t live long enough that he could actually be in the bedroom to witness the consummation.”

  “It is my opinion that Jackson hoped you’d both see things differently,” Mr. Jeffries said before Brooke could respond. “Perhaps, with a little time . . .” He paused when he received a withering glare from Travis, but he proceeded anyway. “After all, the two of you have only just met.”

  “This isn’t at all what I had in mind,” Brooke said awkwardly. “I’ve traveled a long way to find that I might not have a home.” She cleared her throat. “I doubt that time will help anything.”

  “Exactly what did you have in mind, Miss Hammond?” Travis inquired, his brow raised. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, your highness,” he continued. “How do you think I feel? It’s been my sweat th
at has gone into pulling this plantation out of ruins.”

  Travis stood, his hands braced on the polished, cherrywood table. He glared at her. “But I will tell you one thing, Miss Hammond. I do not intend to have you interfering with the operation of this plantation. Since my father has so conveniently tied up his money, there is nothing to fall back on. If we don’t make this harvest of sugarcane a success, then I--we will lose Moss Grove, and you’ll be part owner of nothing. Do I make myself clear?”

  It was as if he’d thrown ice water in her face, snapping her out of her stupor. Brooke shoved her chair back so quickly it teetered on two legs. She shot him a cold look. “Perfectly!” she spat. “Now, let me tell you something. You might not like this any more than I do, but I intend to make the best of this untenable situation by making this harvest a success.”

  He sneered. “And what do you know about sugarcane?”

  “Not much,” Brooke admitted when she really wanted to say, That it’s a hell of a lot sweeter than you! “But I can learn.”

  “Then you had better learn fast, Miss Hammond, because harvest time is upon us.”

  “It’s Mrs. Hammond,” Brooke informed him, the lie rolling easily off her tongue with ease.

  He lifted a brow in surprise. “And where is Mr. Hammond? Or do I still have more surprises to come?”

  “Dead, I’m afraid,” Brooke answered quickly, her eyes cutting to Mr. Jeffries to see if he’d dispute what he knew wasn’t true. Back on the ship, Brooke had decided the minute she sailed from the English shores that she’d pose as a widow, so she wouldn’t have to explain why she was no longer virgin, if and when the time came.

  Brooke noticed that Travis didn’t bother to express his condolences, but she was quickly learning that the exasperating man was nothing like the Englishmen she’d known. It appeared as if he wasn’t going to say anything at all. Apparently, he was waiting for her to speak first. Fine. She’d make an attempt at being pleasant.