“Before we become mired in financial details, I do have one outstanding question. Could there be an interest in the slave that might cause her to be difficult?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Teakle examined his nails. “Let me make this as painless as possible. For my silence, I will get the girl, take seventy-five percent of the profits reaped from the plantation, and give you in return, one-fourth. So let us not pretend games. I see you as a man of commerce,” said Sir Teakle. “Will you accept my terms?”
Entering the library, Claire’s skin prickled. Her uncles strained countenance reeked of secrets. Did you wish to see me?
Jarvis pursed his lips. “I have consented to a courtship between you and Sir Teakle.
“Indeed, Uncle. I am in mourning with the soil fresh on my husband’s grave. A year is protocol. To do anything else is scandalous.” Claire forced a smile.
Her uncle snorted. “You did not think of your scandalous behavior in the governor’s garden? Did I not catch you alone with a slave? What do you have to say about that disgraceful activity?”
“I did nothing to be ashamed of.” Her voice ascended to a murderous falsetto.
Sir Teakle cleared his throat, and Claire whirled to see him there.
“There is talk of scandal firing about the island,” said Sir Teakle.
“No doubt I stare at the source.”
Her uncle drummed his fingers on his desk. “My blood runs cold thinking how a slave put my niece in a compromised position. I cannot allow a slight of this proportion. Who knows, I might find it a personal pleasure to see him flogged to death or hanged, makes no difference.”
She had no question of what her uncle stood capable of. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Claire accused bitterly. Her hands clenched helplessly at her sides. Sir Teakle’s lecherous eyes roamed over her.
“I’m going to do you a favor, Madam Hamilton,” purred Sir Teakle. “I am going to take on the onerous duty of marrying you, relieving you of scandal and making you an honorable woman.”
Her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
Her uncle pressed on. “You could do no better, Claire. A member of the peerage with important contacts, I cannot think of a man more suited to you. He is intelligent and twenty years your senior and will be able to give you a guiding hand.”
A loathing like bile rose in her belly. “There is no point in this discussion. My solicitor said I do not have to marry again. I am protected under the law.”
Sir Teakle spoke up. “My years of education have been in studying law. You have been misinformed by your solicitor.”
Claire swung around, her eyes blazing with contempt for the knight. “I will not marry.”
Sir Jarvis cracked his cane on his desk and Claire jumped. “You will marry Sir Teakle. I will no longer tolerate your rebellion.” He raised his cane threatening her. “You remember the last time, Claire? I will not hesitate to use this on you, but on Lily also. Your Cookie and cousin will be thrown out. Remember that. What’s more, I can arrange an untimely death for that slave you purchased.”
Shivers raced up her spine. If she didn’t marry Teakle, Jarvis would make good on his threats. The corpulent Teakle gloated. She inhaled to fight off the dizziness, the horror she was to commit too. “I concede.” How could she thwart, Sir Teakle?
Aweek had passed since that night in the governor’s garden where he dared to get above himself. Devon Blackmon stepped knee-deep into sulfurous muck. Clouds of mosquitos swarmed in the heat. A tree had fallen and pinned a slave. “On the count of three lads,” he ordered and put his shoulder to the log to heft it up and off the poor wretch. He prayed he did not have to amputate.
Claire was a thorn in his side. He could not get his fill of her. Kissing her in the garden had been a mistake. He’d come too close to losing control of himself. No one had seen anything. They had their suspicions, but with no evidence to be seen, no one could claim otherwise. Claire would be safe from scandal. Yet the governor had guessed.
He did not deserve her affection. He did not even desire to be worthy of it. It was as if she had looked into his soul and seen his revenge against her for what it was…a farce.
Her occasional knowing glance, patient smile and even laughter at times piqued him while her temper amused him. His sharp words, she rebuffed, his sarcasm she met with smug response. He challenged her in every way a man could challenge a woman. In return, she honed her shrewd wit on him as a blade sharpened on stone. She offered a rare treasure to be sure with lively intelligence and opposing reasoning. In his travails across the continent, he’d met many contentious scholars, but this rare beauty could argue reasons for and against, rivaling and burying the best of them. Any man would be proud to have her, once he’d see that blazing spirit. Full of mischief, it was hard to imagine her face without the playful undercurrent of one who knew more than she was telling. He could imagine the same smile, close beside him some night, her head on the pillow, her chestnut hair tousled, her cheeks flushed with passion.
At night, his dreams were filled of her. Soft. Beckoning. Intoxicating. Her gentle voice, musical, lavishing her full attention on that—fop. The image burst his imaginings. She washis wife. Fury drove him over the edge, Teakle leering into her bosom. His hands itched to have a sword.
Devon slipped into the mire. Ames gave him a hand and pulled him out. He wiped the mud from his eyes, the rest coating him from head to toe would dry quickly in the tropic sun. No matter thought Devon, his weary and wretched condition protected him against the ceaseless insects and torrid sun. The men lifted the unfortunate to the roadside. Devon would administer to him to the best of his ability.
Claire’s life turned into a nightmare. Sir Teakle commenced his courtship, insisting on hours of her attentions and wreaking constant humiliations upon her. On long carriage rides across the island his hands would always find their way to stroke and fondle her while the black slave drove, his eyes straight ahead. She longed to slap Sir Teakle, to scream at him to go away, yet he’d fake some movement to touch her. Claire shuddered when he’d hover his florid lips close to hers and make a horrid sucking sound. The color drained from her face when they passed Mrs. Bennett. What would the islanders think? Sir Teakle had leaned back and laughed, delighted in seeing her shrink from him.
“Soon, my dear you will know what I intend for our wedded bliss.” He dropped his handkerchief on her leg then groped between her thighs to retrieve it.
Claire slapped his hand away in hatred and disgust. “Do not touch me again.”
