Southern Seduction Read online

  Chapter Eighteen

  Travis was going through the motions of living.

  At night he’d sit in his study, feet propped up, a drink in his hand, thinking of Brooke, trying to forget her touch, yet having a difficult time of it.

  Instead of forgetting, he remembered how Brooke felt when she’d melted in his arms. And her rare golden eyes . . . how could any man forget those eyes? They haunted him day and night.

  Travis had wanted her from the moment he’d helped her mount Gray Mist, and she had told him that they were more alike than he knew.

  Brooke had been right. They were very much alike . . . bastard children who had to learn how to survive in a world that looked down on them. He sipped his drink, welcoming the numbing of his senses.

  How could she have become so much a part of his life in such a short time? When he came in at night, he still expected to hear her voice or to see her glaring at him as she always had when they argued.

  One morning when he woke up, he finally realized why he couldn’t forget her. Even though it had only been a short time, he’d truly been happy with Brooke -- maybe for the first time in his life. She had filled an empty place inside him that he hadn’t know he had.

  Travis slugged down the rest of his Scotch. Anything to dull the ache. Every night it took a little more liquor to ease the pain.

  How could Brooke have jumped overboard? It wasn’t possible. How could she have left him? Especially after the night before when he’d felt they had bridged a gap in their relationship. What a fool he’d been. From the moment Brooke had entered his life, he’d quarreled with her, resenting her, and not once had he realized that she was the first person he looked for when he entered a room.

  Now she was gone.

  The rail was a little lower in the place where they found the tattered scrap of material, so it was quite conceivable that Brooke had tripped and fallen over, but even that was hard to believe. She was such a graceful and sure-footed woman.

  Why hadn't he stayed with her?

  Had he done so, perhaps none of this would have happened, Travis thought ruefully. Had his impatience cost him the one thing he’d finally realized he couldn’t live without?

  Since their return, his mother had been understanding and sympathetic. She'd even told him that she was sorry that he’d lost his wife. And then she had made the mistake of trying to remove Brooke’s clothes from her room as if she’d never been there.

  That’s when Travis knew that his mother had been putting on a show for him. He realized then he’d never be able to make his mother understand how he felt. He was just coming to terms with it himself.

  Lately, his mother had begun to mention Hesione. She’d casually worked her name into the conversation, and Travis really didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to forget his beautiful, young wife. He wasn’t ready to move on. His mother might as well learn that she wasn’t going to push him into anything. He was not going to allow her to make him feel guilty. He had nothing to be guilty for.

  Brooke had been right. None of his mother’s problems had been his fault.

  Everyone and everything irritated Travis of late. Especially the person who had been trying to kill him. He wanted to find out who the son of a bitch was before he got lucky and put a bullet in him.

  Twice when he'd been riding around the plantation, someone had taken shots at him. The first time, he’d brushed it off as a stray shot from hunters, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  On top of that, a fire had been set in the sugar mill, burning half the millhouse. Workers were rebuilding, so it would be ready by the next harvest, but it was a slow process. At least rebuilding kept him busy and his mind off Brooke.

  Mr. Jefferies was being difficult. He had stopped all the paperwork transferring everything to Travis and Brooke. Travis remembered their conversation well . . .

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Jeffries had told Travis.

  “Sorry doesn’t help one damn bit,” Travis grated out from behind his desk. “Not only have I lost my wife, but I still have a plantation to run!”

  The unflappable Mr. Jeffries looked at Travis and said, “There is no reason to raise your voice. I understand completely what you must be going through, but we have no proof of Miss Brooke’s death.” Jeffries folded his hands on his lap as if he were thinking, then he said, “I can tell you that Miss Brooke would not have taken her own life. She’s been through very difficult times, and she is a survivor.”

  “Well, I sure as hell didn’t push her,” Travis retorted sharply.

  “I would hope not,” Jeffries said. “But others might look at the way the two of you used to argue and think differently.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Travis pointed his finger at the man. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

  “As you wish,” the solicitor said. “But until her death is confirmed, we will have to proceed with caution.

  Mr. Jeffries hadn’t accused Travis again. The man was paying some of the bills to keep the plantation operating. Since there had been no body found and, therefore, no proof of death, Jeffries couldn't turn over Moss Grove to Travis. They would have to wait until a body washed up on shore or a good amount of time had passed. No matter how much the man had protested, Jeffries sometimes seemed to look at Travis as if he’d pushed Brooke overboard himself.

  At first Travis had been furious that the solicitor didn't believe him about Brooke. Why would he make up something like that? Then he remembered all the disagreements he and Brooke had had. Finally, he began to see how Jeffries could have doubts.

  Travis, himself, would have had his doubt, too. Given his and Brooke’s past.

  In retrospect, his life with Brooke seemed like a dream. Now there were moments when he wondered if he was living in a nightmare and might eventually wake up. Travis grabbed the decanter on the table and poured another drink, part of it sloshing out on the table. He down that glass, too.

  Brooke had been in his life one minute and gone the next. He would never have imagined how much it hurt. He’d have to put everything behind him in order to move on. For now, he just functioned.

  He'd forgotten that Christmas was fast approaching, and he had no desire to attend the party his mother was planning. However, his mother was insistent, and he was certain he’d have to die to keep from being there.

  There were moments when he knew that the option would be preferable to continuing this barren and empty life.

  He felt no joy. Why celebrate?

  Work was what Travis needed. It was what he understood. He could tamp down his memories when he was hard at work.

  With plenty of rest and good food, Brooke finally regained her strength. She had lost all concept of time while she’d been recuperating along with her memory. The best she could do was concentrate on the things she understood.

  She occupied her time helping Penny, but no matter how much Brooke did to stay busy, she couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that lingered. It was as though something very important was missing from her life.

  She had hoped that her memory would have returned by now, but little had. Brooke only saw glimpses every now and then of people she didn't recognize, nor remember.

  One morning, Étienne announced that they were nearing New Orleans. With the dishes done and little else to do, Brooke decided to walk outside on the small porch. She wrapped a wool blanket around her to keep warm and watched as they drifted past the large mansions facing the river.

  They were all so pretty and elegant, and Brooke wondered who lived there. As she stood on the small deck, she imagined the occupants and their lives. Brooke had been so lost in thought that she didn’t notice when Paul joined her.

  The next mansion the boat floated past was much larger than the others, Brooke noticed. The regal house sat back from the river’s edge among a large group of Live Oak trees. "How beautiful," she murmured, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She glanced at Paul and nodded toward the house. "Do you know the name of that one?"


  Paul leaned against the rail. "Well now . . . that's de largest plantation in Nawlins. It's call Moss Grove."

  "Such a pretty name. Moss..." Brooke stopped. There was something familiar about the name. She repeated it. "Moss Grove." The name kept running through her mind again and again. She grabbed her head and shut her eyes. "Moss Grove."

  "What's de matter wit’ you, chere?” Paul asked. He looked at her, concern in his eyes.

  Brooke merely repeated the name of the plantation over and over.

  “Jus' you set you'se'f dere," Paul told her. He helped Brooke to a barrel so she could sit down, still holding her head, shaking it as if demons had taken her over.

  Brooke couldn’t let go of her head because it hurt like hell. She squeezed her eyes tight while images formed in her memory and began to flash through her mind: a plantation, a promise, a business partner, and a carriage with a man and a woman riding up to the front of Moss Grove. And finally a man on a white horse . . . her husband.

  Travis!

  Penny rushed out and put an arm around Brooke. "What's de matter? You're not feelin' well, chere?"

  Finally, Brooke was able to open her eyes. Unbidden tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked up at the woman. A crooked smile brighten her face. "I'm a little dizzy,” she whispered, awestruck. “But I remember everything. I own that plantation we just sailed past. I’m half owner of Moss Grove."

  "Ooowe. You are rich, no?" Paul said, clapping his hands. “So what you doin’ in de river, chere?”

  Brooke managed a strained laugh. "Not exactly rich. My name is Brooke Hammo – No! Wait! I had just been married, which is the reason I was on the Natchez. It was my wedding trip. My name is Brooke Montgomery." She looked up at them grinning with triumph.

  "Sweetie, you were on your honeymoon and you fell overboard?" Penny asked. “What you were doin’?”

  Everyone hurried inside where it was warmer so they could talk. "I didn't fall, Penny. I was pushed," Brooke said, and then she told them all about her life -- at least, the parts she wanted them to know.

  “What you do now?" Penny asked.

  "When we get to New Orleans, I'll send word to Mr. Jeffries -- he’s my solicitor -- to meet me. I must speak with him first, and then I'll go from there." Brooke wanted so much to go home, to throw herself into Travis’s arms, but she knew she had to proceed with caution. She would always remember Travis telling her he was a good actor.

  What kind of reception would she get when she got there? Brooke asked herself along with a dozen more questions.

  Everyone must surely think that she was dead. But did they care? Had what she and Travis shared been real? Or had he merely been acting? And had he already moved on with his life?

  The biggest questions of all was, did he push her?

  By late afternoon, they had docked by the levee in New Orleans. Brooke sent Paul with a message. It was to be given to Mr. Jeffries only. No one else was to receive the note, she warned him. At the moment, she wasn't sure whom, beside Mr. Jeffries, she could trust.

  Mr. Jefferies met Paul in the foyer. The man took the note, opened it and quickly scanned the contents. Jeffries glanced up at Paul and, for a moment, did nothing. Finally, tension mounting, he said, “Wait here.”

  Jeffries found Travis in his study. "If you'll excuse me, sir. I have an invitation to dine in town tonight with a friend. I shall be back later." Jeffries thought this would be the best excuse to get out of the house without raising suspicion.

  Travis smiled a knowing smile. "I hope you enjoy yourself."

  "Good night, sir," Jefferies said, not bothering to comment on the look that suggesting he was meeting a woman. If he’d known just who Jeffries was meeting, Travis would have shot straight out of the chair and demanded to see her himself. Deep down, Jeffries truly believed that Travis loved the girl.

  Jeffries had no idea what to think as he rode with Paul to the houseboat. Where had Brooke been all this time? And if she had gone overboard, how had she survived?

  When they reached the small houseboat -- if one could call it a house -- Jeffries saw Brooke waiting on the deck. He smiled broadly. She really was alive and, it appeared, well.

  Brooke carefully stepped up onto the wharf, then ran the rest of the way to him, throwing herself into his arms. "I'm so glad to see you."

  "I say, not nearly as happy as I am that you are alive, my dear,” he said, stepping back he took in her ragged clothes. “I never believed that you were dead though many people insisted that you were. We'll get you a nice room in the city, and then you can tell me all about what happened."

  “Did Travis miss me?” Brooke asked.

  Mr. Jeffries nodded. “I believe he did.” Brooke’s heart soared.

  There was nothing to pack, so Brooke told her friends good-bye and thanked them for all their help. As happy as she was to be resuming her old life, she knew she would miss her new, caring friends.

  Mr. Jeffries handed Penny a bag of coins. She tried to refuse, but Brooke insisted that they could use the money to improve their boat, then she made them promise to stop and visit her at Moss Grove.

  Once Brooke had obtained a room in at the Le Meridien, one of the nicest hotels in New Orleans, she sat down and told Mr. Jefferies everything that had happened. She held nothing back.

  "You sound as if you love Travis," Jeffries observed.

  "I do,” Brooke said softly. “Or I did. I don’t want to believe he was the one who pushed me overboard," she said, and with her very next breath asked, "How is he?"

  “What makes you suspect that he was the one to push you?"

  “I don’t want to think that Travis did,” Brooke said quickly. “However I was hit so hard that it would have taken someone with a great deal of strength. Who else would have wanted me dead? And he would get full title to Moss Grove,” she added softly.

  "Travis has been a different man since you have been gone, my dear. He has done nothing but work since his return. I see sadness in him that I have not seen before, but he doesn't talk much. I never quite know what he is thinking.”

  “Yes, I’ve learned that Travis is a very private person, but I do believe he cares. Just before I went into the water, I had been talking to Travis’s mother. I can’t imagine her pushing me either. She doesn’t seem strong enough.

  “But someone doesn’t want me around. What do you think that I should do?"

  Mr. Jeffries stroked his chin as he thought. "First,” he finally said, “We must get you some decent clothes."

  Brooke looked down at the ragged, borrowed dress. It was one of Penny’s, and had been taken in for Brooke. "I didn't have a lot to choose from. You can have Millie Ann bring me something to wear."

  "Splendid idea. Mrs. deLobel is having a Christmas party tomorrow. After all, it is several days before Christmas."

  "Really?” Brooke said, a little surprised. “I guess I've lost track of time."

  We'll never know who is trying to kill you if you remain in hiding. My suggestion is that you to resume your rightful place at Moss Grove. I’m sure it will be a shock to everyone, especially the one who wishes you dead. “Perhaps, it will draw him out.”

  Brooke’s mind whirled with a crazy mixture of hope and fear. "I like that idea. I can just imagine the expressions on everyone's faces when I walk in -- especially the culprit.” She felt momentary panic as her mind jumped onto the fact that whomever was trying to get rid of her might try again.

  She got up and went to the night stand to pour herself a glass of water. “Would you care for something to drink?”

  “No thank you.”

  “You do realize that getting a home of my own has proven to be a lot harder than I had originally expected," Brooke said.

  Mr. Jeffries smiled. "But has it been well worth it. Has it not?"

  Brooke smiled grimly. "I'll let you know once I see Travis."

  Millie Anne couldn’t believe that Brooke was alive. It was just too good to be true, but sure enough when Mr. Jeffrie
s opened the door, there she stood. “We done t’ought you was dead, Miz Brooke.”

  Brooke hugged Millie Anne. “I thought so, too. But when I woke up, I found that a kind family had rescued me.” Brooke stood back. “Did you have any trouble getting my clothes out of the house?”

  “No, ma’am, though I had to get Mammy to help me,” Millie Anne said as she shook out the red velvet gown she’d brought. “But don’t worry, Mammy won’t say nothin’. You see, after ever’bod’ came home, Miz Margaret said I wasn’t needed no more, and she sent me back to de fields.”

  Brooke was pulling her undergarments out of the satchel, but she looked up. “Why does that not surprise me? Margaret could have been the one who pushed me. Perhaps, she has more strength than I imagined.”

  “Lordy,” the girl gasped. “You was pushed?”

  Brooke sat down on the bed. “I’m afraid so, but I don’t know who did it.”

  “Well, Miz Margaret is mean enough. Dat’s fo’ sure,” Millie Anne said then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t be sayin’ such.”

  Brooke laughed. “You’re only speaking the truth.”

  Someone knocked on the door, interrupting them.

  Brooke answered the door to find several maids with buckets of hot water. She pointed then over to the small alcove where a tin hip tub had been placed for bathing.

  Once it was quiet again, Brooke undressed and slipped into the steamy water. It had been much too long since she’d been able to experience this luxury, and it felt wonderful. Her baths aboard the houseboat had consisted of a small tin bowl which Penny called a bird bath.

  “Here, let me wash your hair,” Millie Anne insisted as she took the sponge from Brooke.

  Brooke held her head back while Millie squeezed the sponge over her hair until it was thoroughly wet. “Finish telling me what has occurred while I was gone,” Brooke said.

  “Well, Miz Margaret told Mammy to clean out your room. So Mammy went to Master Travis and told him what she’d said.”