Chapter Four

Rain-laden clouds overhead matched Derek's gray disposition on the ride into Norfolk. He knew the source of his irritability—the green-eyed lass who'd avoided him for days. Raine went about her duties in the manor like an evasive badger heading for its burrow at every turn. Other than the perfunctory Good Morning, not a word passed between them.

He tied his mount to the gatepost in front of the bank, his gut churning with apprehension. James Thomas, the bespectacled bank clerk, wouldn't question him about withdrawing a substantial amount of cash from his account. A discreet, mind-his-own-affairs chap, the man was the epitome of decorum. Particularly since his father had served on the board of the bank for decades. Derek stepped up to the window and asked the clerk if he might have a word with Thomas.

Within moments, the man appeared and in a very efficient manner returned in short order with a large envelope stuffed with money. "Will you be going right home, sir?"

"I have several appointments first."

"Perhaps you'd consider an escort, Mister Stafford. I'd hate to be responsible for a personal attack on your person."

"It isn't necessary, I assure you." Derek headed out the door. He crossed off his first appointment on the mental list he'd made and headed down the street to Horace Masterson's office.

The better part of an hour passed before Horace returned with contract in hand. "Is this to your liking, sir? I believe I included everything you asked for."

Derek read the document and nodded. "It will suffice, thank you, Masterson. I trust the particulars of the contract are safe with you?"

"Of course, sir. I won't discuss the details with a soul. Might I ask if your father is aware of the-the arrangement?"

Derek paused. "Julian Stafford is aware when a new songbird nests in my gardens at Stafford House."

"Yes, sir."

"Send me a bill for this morning's service. Whatever it is, you earned every cent."

Derek left his barrister's office, mounted and headed out of Norfolk. Meeting the infamous Madelina for the first time would test his mettle but without the healer's assistance, he'd be forced to abandon his plan. The mysterious woman lived in an isolated abode outside of town. Her ability to unravel the past and predict the future was the stuff of legend among the darkies. She dabbled in medicines, tinctures and voodoo while plying her trade, but like James Thomas, she guarded her tongue. He never dreamed he'd have cause to seek her out.

Until now.

He took in her rickety dwelling while tying his mount to a low-hanging branch at the edge of her property. Drawing a deep breath, he walked up the stoop and rapped on the door.

"Come in," a gravely voice called out.

He stepped into the dwelling, aware of the shivers penetrating his spine. Silver-white hair framed her wrinkled face and slate-gray eyes pierced through him like fine-honed bayonets. She pointed to a chair near the hearth and hobbled toward a cast-iron pot hanging over the fire. An arthritic hand clasped the ladle before she stirred the bubbling contents.

A statement rather than a question came from her pinched lips. "You've come about the child."

Unnerved by her incandescent eyes, and her uncanny question, he looked away. "Yes, I have."

"Has the woman agreed?"

"No, that is, not yet. I intend to approach her today."

She returned to the pot, stirring while she spoke. "She'll agree to the terms, but not without consequences."

His head turned in her direction. "What consequences?"

"Can't say for sure." Bony shoulders shrugged. "I see bits and pieces. You must decide if you can live with the consequences."

He paced a small area in front of the hearth and wondered if he'd erred in coming here. "Do the consequences involve the child?"

She left the cook pot and stood before him with hands on hips. "No, the woman. The child will arrive healthy." Madelina looked him over, forehead to shoes. "It's a male you desire?"

"If possible, yes. There are certain-certain remedies one can take to increase the odds, isn't that true?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You've studied the subject?"

"Yes, papers composed by a French physician, and one from Switzerland, I believe."

"Humph," she said, and Derek had the distinct impression she wasn't impressed by his knowledge. Perhaps, she wasn't impressed by the sources.

"She must follow my instructions and even then, I cannot guarantee she'll be delivered of a male." She shuffled into the kitchen and rifled through a cupboard. "Tonics enhance the possibility."

Derek chased her footsteps. "Will they harm the child or the mother?"

"Not these." She held up a small pouch. "Roots and plants used for centuries." She focused on a jar and retrieved it from the cupboard. "Like this…lady's mantle."

"They're all one in the same to me so let's be about it."

Bones creaked as she walked to the table and pummeled remnants of twigs and stems into a small bowl. Moments later, she placed the concoction in four muslin wrappers and secured them around the middle with a piece of string. "Place one wrapper in a cup of hot water and have her drink it every day."

He wrinkled his nose. "What's in the wrapper?"

"Butcher's broom, lady's mantle, white peony and a drop of licorice, the latter for flavor."

Pulling a small vial from the pocket of her shirt, she walked to a nearby shelf and rescued a bottle of oily substance. Placing it on the table, she turned to him. "Evening primrose oil." She filled the vial and handed it to him. "Three droplets, four times a day, the week before your coupling and the week after."

"You best write it down." He scratched his head. "I'll never remember."

"Can't write." Her toothless grin unsettled his strained nerves. "Put it to paper yourself if you want to remember."

Derek pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and asked her to repeat the instructions while he scribbled. Anxious to be on his way, he tucked the notebook and the remedies into a brown leather pouch. "Anything else?"

"Yes, I'll need to see her soon."

"Whatever for?"

"I need answers about," she paused, "her feminine cycle. The three nights she spends in your bedchamber must be charted according to her menses."

He hadn't considered the complexity of it. "Fine, I'll bring her after she agrees."

She lapsed into silence and stared at him.

"Yes?"

"One hundred dollars now and another hundred at the child's birth."

Anxious to be out the door, he dug into the brown envelope, handed her the money and readjusted his greatcoat about his shoulders. "I'll be in touch."

"Wait! I must tell you one more thing." She drew the words out. "The coitus must occur during a quarter moon."

The words caused his heart to thrum. "Did you say quarter moon?"

She nodded.

He opted for a direct approach. "You're certain this will enhance the possibility she'll be delivered of a male?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Yes, so I am."

He ducked through the door and walked to his horse, a lilting chant from inside the house trailing him.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Derek handed the reins to a groom near the stables and plucked the brown leather pouch from his saddlebag.

Crete met him in the entry. "Mister Radcliff is in the study with Raine."

"The coroner, have they found―"

"No, sir, he's here to take her deposition, tell her the search has been called off."

Derek strolled into the study, aware of the guilt swirling in his gut. Seated in a chair between the coroner and the man's assistant, Raine looked pale and drawn.

"I'm sorry, Miss Brinsley," Radcliff said low-voiced. "After ten days, I must call off the search."

Derek didn't miss the flicker of sorrow in her turbulent green eyes, despite her staid composure. He cleared his throat before interrupting the session, shook hands with Radcliff and avoided looking at Raine again.

"I regret I must revisit the accident. I'll make it as painless as possible and then Miss Brinsley can return to her quarters."

"Very well, I'll be in the library should you need me." Derek couldn't bring himself to acknowledge her, face the unmistakable pain masking her porcelain-doll features. He had to remain steadfast, adhere to the plan, and not allow emotion to enter into the equation. This opportunity would never come again, and he'd be a fool to let it slip away.

An hour later, Derek entered the study again. The visitors had left the manor and the room stood empty. He picked up the note Radcliff left on the desk for him: The inquest will be over in two days. Miss Brinsley is free to return to Maine. Panic clogged his throat. Now that Raine knew her parents would never be found, and she'd had a taste of servitude, she would be anxious to return to her grandfather. His painstaking efforts for naught, his best-laid plans disintegrating, he headed for the cabinet and poured a drink. He had to think.

The better part of discretion warned him not to seek her out. She would need time to digest the devastating news, accept the fact her parents belonged to the sea now through all eternity.

Exhausted from the day's events, he laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he dozed, but the melodic notes from the piano in the sitting room across the hall lulled him awake. His curiosity roused, he rose from the chair and followed the haunting melody.

Pausing under the archway of the room, he took in the view of Raine seated at the oak bench, her hands skimming over the keys. A surge of lust washed over him. The piece belonged to Beethoven, but the name of the sonata eluded him. Eyes closed, she lifted her head toward the ceiling during the last movement, her upper body swaying in perfect sync with the refrain. When the song ended, he couldn't resist the urge to clap.

She turned her head in the direction of his applause, and then scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flushed. "Forgive me, I-I thought everyone had retired for the evening, had no idea―"

"On the contrary." He felt a smile curl his lips. "You play exquisitely. Beethoven, isn't it?"

With trembling voice, she answered, "Yes, Moonlight. I shouldn't have taken the liberty. We have a piano at home and I couldn't resist." Her eyes wide, voice tense, she reminded him of a rabbit snared in a trap. "I assure you it won't happen again."

He walked to the piano and leaned over it, so close he saw the splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose, caught the fragrance of her sweet breath. The scent of jasmine intoxicated him, her nearness overwhelmed him. "Play it again, won't you?"

She wrung her hands. "Oh, I couldn't. I'm much too flustered at the moment."

"Close your eyes; pretend I'm not here." When had he'd decided he'd sell his soul to Satan to see her straining against the notes again? "I'd like to hear it from the beginning."

She squared her shoulders, drew a deep breath and slid onto the bench again. "Very well."

Moved by the melody and her loveliness, he thought of nothing but her, the lush curves, the graceful arch of her neck, the dark hair kissed by moonbeams. Her eyes glistened, not with thoughts similar to his, but with the sorrow locked in her heart. Her full, pink lips parted, and her tongue swept over them, sending a jolt of raw desire crashing over him. He craved that mouth, had an uncontrollable urge to devour it. He longed to reach out and touch the flawless skin, lose himself in the emerald eyes. His chest burned and his traitorous blood rushed to every limb, including the one between his legs.

To look at her was to walk through stardust, cling to the moon, hang suspended between this world and another. A lock of dark hair veiled a portion of her face, shielding her eyes from him. It was just as well. All he could think about was what he wanted to do to her. Kiss her, crush her beneath him, drive his cock deep inside her until she cried out his name. Damnation, what had come over him?

She focused on the keys, never once looked at the sheet of music. Midway through the sonata, she lost herself and closed her eyes again. When the last chord resonated in the room, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. Time stilled. His heart thundered, and every color of the rainbow flashed behind his eyelids. The echo of the final notes hung in the air between them. She slid her fingers from the keys without breaking the hypnotic trance between them.

Long moments later and praying his voice wouldn't crack under the spell, he spoke. "Where did you learn to play?"

"My grandmother taught me," she whispered. "Her name was Brisen."

"A lovely name."

"It means the enchantress." She squirmed on the bench, had been as affected as him over what passed between them.

"Was she an enchantress?"

"My grandfather thought so."

He fought the overwhelming urge to touch her face, run his hands through her long, silky hair. "How you must miss your piano."

"Very much."

Now or never his mind screamed. Get on with it you coward. He cleared his throat. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you." He extended his arm toward the wingbacks near the hearth. "Will you join me, please?"

"Rest assured, I won't play again without your permission if―"

"No, that isn't what I wanted to discuss," he interjected. "Feel free to play at will."

She rose from the bench, her eyes downcast. With the grace of a nimble leopard, she eased into the chair. "Very well, what do you wish to discuss?"

* * *

Derek dropped into an overstuffed divan opposite Raine. He pulled the leather pouch and brown envelope from his vest pocket, and placed them on the oak table separating them. She looked between the pouch and his face.

"I'm not certain how to begin." He wrung his clammy hands. Damn, this is more difficult than I imaged. "We had a discussion several evenings past in the garden?"

"I remember."

"I explained my father's desire to obtain a male heir and my inability to produce one thus far?"

Dark green eyes searched his. "Yes."

"You're a beautiful woman with a significant amount of intellect and a variety of coveted traits and talents."

"Thank you, but you hardly know me."

"That's true." The words managed to slip out his dry throat. "However, what I've witnessed since your arrival exceeds my highest expectations."

"Expectations?"

"You're in a difficult situation." He forced a smile. "I'm prepared to offer you a way out."

"A way out of what, Derek? I'm not understanding―"

"Hear me out, please." Rising from the chair, he paced before her. "I realize the arrangement will seem outrageous at first, even obtuse, but I've thought a great deal about it since our meeting in the garden. I took the liberty of consulting an expert."

"An expert? Whatever for?"

"Childbirth."

A nervous giggle left her lips. "I'm not following you. Perhaps you should come right out and tell me what arrangement you're alluding to."

The seconds ticked away on the mantle clock, sounding like a thousand crickets had breached the room. "Yes, I'm trying to get to the point of all this." He stopped pacing and held onto the back of his chair. "Here's the way of it. You need to earn enough money to return to your grandfather in Maine. I, on the other hand, need a son."

Her brow furrowed.

"I'm offering you freedom in the long run. In exchange, I want to have a child with you, preferably, a male." The words rushed forth. "However, if you're delivered of a female, I'll love and accept her just the same."

An audible gasp fell from her lips. "Oh, but I can't accept a proposal of marriage from a virtual stranger. It would be most unfair to both―"

Good, God, she thinks I'm offering marriage? Marriage? "No, that is, you misunderstood my proposal. I'm not suggesting we marry."

Her eyes widened.

Walking to the table with a tentative gait, he picked up the envelope. "More money than you could earn in a lifetime is in here. I'm offering half now and the other half when the contract has been met."

She looked at the envelope and then at him, her tone icy. "How much is in the envelope?"

"Five thousand dollars."

Another gasp.

"Five thousand now and five thousand the day the child is born." Tossing the envelope on the table for effect, he continued. "It's yours right now should you accept my offer." A rapid pulse took flight in a tiny blue vein in her neck.

"If you're not offering marriage, in what capacity will I live in the manor?"

"You'll be free to go home after the child is born. Until then, you'll have complete freedom to do whatever you choose."

Her eyes narrowed, and sparked.

"You said you wished to return to your grandfather one day. That day can be sooner than you think if you sign the contract my barrister drafted." He nodded toward the envelope. "It's also in there."

Her face paled. "Horace Masterson, the gentleman who promised me safety until I returned to Maine?"

"Yes, the money guarantees your security, and your safety." Walking around the chair, he settled into it and leaned forward. "At the very least, read the contract. I'm sure you'll agree the terms protect you."

Her lower lip quivered, and he wondered if she might cry. Christ, what would he do if she launched into a crying jag? He couldn't bear up under her tears.

"You seem quite well prepared." Her gaze took him apart inch by inch. "I commend your valiant efforts to keep your father's threats at bay."

"I can't find fault with your reaction at the onset, but you see the practicality on both sides?" After drawing in a lungful of air, he added, "You'll be free to go about your life when it's over in a manner envied by most women. I'll acquire an heir to Stafford House, and my father will end his relentless pursuit."

"Oh, please enlighten me." She pinned him with a lethal glare. "Should I decide to engage in your well-contrived scheme, how do you propose we bring the end result to fruition?"

"It's quite simple," he said, aware the temperature in the room leaped to an unbearable degree. "You spend three nights in my bedchamber, the specific nights will be chosen by Madelina. She's prepared―"

"Who is she?"

"A healer, a woman who dabbles in tonics, remedies. She's already prepared several concoctions." He dug for the instructions in the pocket of his vest. "You must follow her recommendations when it comes to diet and tinctures for several weeks. She's most skilled, claims certain remedies will enhance the possibility of producing a male child. I'll expect you to follow her recommendations if you accept my offer."

She shook her head. "I must applaud your tenacity and the immense preparation you expended in carrying out your duplicitous plot."

"There is nothing duplicitous about this. I've told you everything."

She looked away from him, but not before he saw the sadness return to her eyes again, and something he didn't recognize. Indecision? Hatred? An interminable amount of time passed before he dared speak again. "Think of it as a business arrangement."

She turned to him with a look that said she would love to sever him at the knees with a saber.

"I'd like your decision in two days. You'll find me in my study two nights from now. If you decline, you can remain at Stafford House until you've earned enough money to return to Maine. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes," she said with calm composure. "Why me? There must be countless women who'd agree to bear your child."

"I thought I made that clear. You possess undeniable beauty, have been well educated, and you have the physical attributes, height and stature, I hope are passed on to our child." He shrugged. "It's that simple."

Flushed with anger, the green eyes darkened. "Will that be all?"

"Yes," he replied, finding it difficult to look at her. "Unless you have additional questions."

"I do not." She rose from the chair, her tone cold. "I believe I understand perfectly well." Offering a false curtsy, she added, "If you'll excuse me, sir."

He nodded.

The moment her footsteps faded from the room, Derek unfurled himself from the chair and headed for the liquor cabinet, his only thought to down a double dram.

* * *

Her fists clenched, her back rigid, Raine scurried through the kitchen and followed a moonlit path to the familiar garden bench. Stifling angry sobs of disbelief, a muffled groan left her lips. What kind of man is Derek Stafford, and what will I do now? She couldn't remain at Stafford House after the conversation that just took place. To think yesterday she felt grateful for his kindness, his generosity, had almost fallen for his charm. Cold fear clutched her heart, and then anger. How dare he reel her in like an insipid dunce with his sad tale, garner her pity over his inability to father a child. She wanted to cut his cold heart from his chest with a dull knife.

She sat in the garden for the better part of an hour, returning to the manor when she had regained her composure. How she prayed she wouldn't cross paths with the insufferable beast while scurrying to her room.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she slammed the door and locked it. A flash of brown on the pillow caught her eye. She recognized the envelope. Next to it, sat a leather pouch containing the remedies he alluded to. She picked up the envelope and looked inside. Counting the bills, five-thousand dollars to be exact, angry oaths stuck in her throat.

A folded piece of paper sat amid the bank notes, the contract he spoke of. With open mouth, she read through it. Derek Stafford's signature, penned in black ink resided next to Horace Masterson's. Below, a blank line appeared for her signature. She tossed the envelope against the window and found a small measure of satisfaction when the bills flurried through the air and floated down to the carpet.

Two days. She had two days to make a decision. She climbed into bed, tugged the pillow over her head and cursed the day she met Derek Stafford.