Savage Deception (Liberty's Ladies) Read online

  If you hope to save David Richmond, please

  enter the carriage. Don’t mention to anyone

  that you are leaving. The choice is yours.

  Diana blinked. “Are you certain this message is for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, if you’re Diana Sheridan of Briarhaven plantation.”

  “Who is it from?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say anything, ma’am, just to escort you to your destination.”

  “And where is that?”

  “If you come with me, I shall show you.”

  She didn’t know what to do. Who had written this note? Was it from the same person who’d engineered for her to be here in the first place? And if so, how could she possibly help David? For all she knew she might meet with a horrible fate if she entered the carriage. If she did go, Anne would be frantic with worry, but she wondered if she could help David somehow. She had to find out. “I need to tell my sister that I’m leaving.”

  “If you do that, ma’am, I won’t be here when you return. I have my orders,” the man told her without the trace of an apology in his tone.

  Diana grew more confused with each passing second. Apparently the man saw her indecision and he said, “I assure you that you shall be safe. If you wish, I can come back later and leave a note for your sister not to worry, but only if you come with me now. I’m obliged to tell you that time is running out for your brother-in-law.”

  Something in the man’s thin face and tone of voice alarmed her. Had David’s fate been decided already? She hated thinking about what might befall Anne and the children without him. She had to discover what this was all about, to see if she could help them — even at the expense of her own safety.

  Without saying another word, Diana nodded and the man threw open the carriage door for her. In seconds the carriage was heading away from Orange Street to an uncertain future.

  ~

  A cold wind blew off the Ashley River as the carriage halted before a buff-colored town house on Church Street. Diana was more than puzzled when the man attempted to help her out of the vehicle.

  Her gaze took in the high brick walls and the large fan-lighted doorway that she knew led into the piazza of the house. “There must be some mistake. This is the Sheridan townhouse,” she told him. The house had belonged to the Sheridans for a number of years but had been confiscated when the British invaded Charlestown.

  “No mistake, ma’am,” her driver told her and went to the front doorway to pound upon the massive brass knocker. Soon a black serving woman with a crisply starched apron tied around her gingham dress answered and solemnly admitted Diana into the main house, which consisted of a central hallway flanked by two rooms on each side.

  Leading her up a flight of stairs to the parlor, the woman motioned for Diana to be seated in a Queen Anne style chair whose rosy background complemented the rose and green drapes on the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  What am I doing here? Diana asked herself when she was alone. She glanced around the sumptuously decorated room that had changed very little since the last time she’d been here. Harlan no longer owned the house, but someone knew her well enough to bring her to it. Someone knew how much she wanted to help David and Anne. But who? She didn’t like any of this intrigue. In fact, she didn’t care for the frightened feelings within her, and when the woman returned with a warm cup of tea and wouldn’t answer any of Diana’s questions, Diana rose to her feet and pulled her cloak about her.

  “I don’t intend to be kept in the dark a moment longer. Please tell whoever is responsible for this … mystery … that I shall be at my sister’s home. Good day.” Diana had barely reached the doorway when the bespectacled driver appeared and blocked her way. “I wish to leave,” she told him.

  “As you like, ma’am, but if I take you back to Mrs. Richmond’s any hope of freeing her husband is gone. You’ll be responsible for his death, and I don’t think you’d care to have that on your conscience. Not if by waiting here in the first place you could help him. Have we been unkind to you?” he asked and peered at her intently. “If so, I do apologize.”

  No one had been unkind to her, no one had harmed her. It was all of this mystery, this waiting here in a house that had once belonged to the Sheridans that caused her uneasiness. But she realized he meant what he said about David. If she left without first learning what all of this was about she’d never forgive herself if anything did happen to him.

  “I’ll stay,” she told him.

  “Very well, ma’am.” He looked pleased. “My name is Curtis and the serving woman is Cammie. You must be quite hungry by now, so supper is waiting for you in the dining room.”

  “Thank you, Curtis. Have you left a note for my sister?”

  “I shall do that immediately,” he promised. “And I’ll deliver a hot meal for all of them.”

  “And firewood, please. I’d be most grateful and I’ll pay you back very soon.”

  “Don’t worry about cost, ma’am. Everything has been taken care of.”

  With that, he bowed and headed downstairs, leaving her to ponder how and who had taken care of everything.

  After Diana had finished her meal of freshly cooked fish in a thick cream sauce and a salad of winter vegetables, she found herself still waiting for an explanation. The large clock in the parlor chimed ten when Cammie appeared to tell her that her bed had been warmed and was ready for her.

  Diana started to protest, but she realized the futility of it and followed Cammie into the master bedroom. Diana remembered this as Harlan’s room, but the green drapes that once graced the french doors leading onto the upstairs piazza were now cream colored with tiny flecks of rust. The counterpane on the large rice bed matched the drapes. Diana immediately saw that the furnishings had been rearranged, the bed now standing against the wall with a pair of french doors on either side. A mahogany chest of drawers and a dressing table graced the opposite wall, and to the right of that were twin wardrobes. On the left side of the room before the fireplace was an overstuffed chair that had been Harlan’s favorite but was now covered in a vibrant shade of rust instead of drab olive. A doorway trimmed in alabaster white led into a small room that Diana recalled as a dressing room, but upon closer inspection she saw that it had been turned into a bathing room, complete with a porcelain inlaid tub and privy chamber.

  Clearly whoever inhabited the townhouse now had made remarkable improvements.

  Cammie opened the wardrobe door and withdrew a white nightrail with lace at the neckline and the edges of the long sleeves. She placed it on the bed along with a matching robe. Diana watched in confusion as the woman gestured to the silk, satin, and velvet gowns that hung in the wardrobe, then opened a lingerie drawer at the bottom to reveal pairs of silk stockings and lacy garters. “Matching slippers are lined up beneath the gowns, Mrs. Sheridan. I hope all meets with your approval.”

  “Everything is quite lovely,” Diana told the dusky colored woman, not certain what she was supposed to say. What difference could any of this make to her? Cammie waited expectantly. “Is something wrong?”

  “I shall help you undress, Mrs. Sheridan. A warm bath awaits you after your long journey today.” Diana had no idea she was expected to bathe, but she gratefully allowed Cammie to undo the hooks on the back of her black gown and then stepped into the steaming tub of water.

  After she’d finished bathing and was wrapped in a towel, Cammie entered with the nightrail. “I can’t wear your mistress’s clothes,” Diana protested.

  Cammie laughed softly and held out the gown to Diana, who reluctantly took it. “The gown is for your use, Mrs. Sheridan, as are the clothes in the wardrobe. I thought you understood that. Evidently Curtis didn’t mention this to you.”

  There were many things Curtis hadn’t mentioned, but Diana was so tired that the absurdity of the situation didn’t faze her any longer. She had no idea whose clothes and room this was, but she delighted in the feel of the soft material, which hugged her body as it fell into p
lace. It had been a long while since she’d worn anything so fine and delicate. Her own nightgown at home had become quite ragged, but it was all she had. For the time being, Diana luxuriated in the softness of the nightrail and the sweet lavender-scented sheets. It seemed that her head had no sooner touched the pillow than she was asleep.

  Sometime during the night she wakened, certain that someone had touched her cheek. Swiftly sitting up, Diana glanced around the room to find that the fire in the grate had burned low and suffused the room in a golden glow, but she saw no one. Yet even after she’d convinced herself that she must be dreaming and had once more drifted off to sleep, she could still feel the warmth of invisible fingers against her skin.

  ~

  “But this scarlet gown is quite pretty and much warmer than your black dress, Mrs. Sheridan. Please wear this one. The master will be most upset if you don’t.”

  Diana’s eyes blazed with controlled fury as Cammie laid the velvet gown on the bed. “I’m quite happy with my own clothes and have no intention of wearing anything else. Your master, whoever he may be, has no say over my apparel. He coerced me into coming here, but I won’t wear those!” Diana gestured furiously toward the glittering and beautiful dresses in the open wardrobe. “Just do the hooks on the back of my dress and let’s be done with all of this nonsense, Cammie! I’m eager to speak to your master and be on my way.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cammie reluctantly began to fasten the back of Diana’s gown.

  Diana could barely restrain her rage or her curiosity. Impudent man, she silently fumed, having learned from Cammie that the master was waiting for her in the downstairs parlor. How dare this stranger think that he could spirit her away to his home, feed her and provide lodging and clothes for her and tell her what to wear. Who did this person believe he was to keep his identity a secret, to treat her as if she had no choice concerning her own comings and goings? And she didn’t have a choice at all, she realized. Not when David’s and Anne’s futures rested on her acquiescence to this unseen person.

  She’d stayed the night as he’d wished, but she’d be damned if she’d wear any of the clothes in the wardrobe simply because he demanded it. If her widow’s weeds weren’t good enough for her to wear to discuss David’s plight then this dictatorial stranger would have to back down. Diana felt almost as if this master of whom Cammie spoke with such awe was attempting to master her. Well, she wouldn’t allow anyone to control her. Kingsley had nearly killed her with his sadistic mastery. Never again would she give anything of herself to another human being — and she refused to be at a man’s mercy.

  Still the gowns in the wardrobe seemed to beckon to her. It had been a long time since she’d worn pretty clothes, and her black gown was becoming quite shabby. But she didn’t want to draw attention to her natural beauty so she chose to pull her dark hair in a severe knot at the base of her neck. In her widow’s weeds Diana felt comfortable and more likely not to attract a man’s attentions. Of course Farnsworth and Clay Sinclair seemed more than taken with her, but she decided that the war prevented them from seeking out eligible and willing women. Once the conflict was over, Diana reassured herself, both men would forget her.

  Catching sight of herself in the dresser mirror, Diana only shrugged at her plain but tidy appearance, realizing that it wouldn’t be difficult for a man to forget her. She’d grown used to doing without the rouges and pretty clothes to enhance her appearance, to attract eligible men. She thought herself long past the age of girlish preening, but when Cammie finished doing the hooks, Diana’s gaze wandered to the gown on the bed. For an instant she imagined herself in the scarlet creation, envisioning how beautiful she’d look, especially with her hair rearranged in long curls down her back — the way she’d worn it the night of her engagement ball — the night that Tanner had …

  “Cammie, tell your master I shall be down in a few minutes!” she declared harshly, pushing the intrusive image of Tanner Sheridan from her mind.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cammie said and curtsied to her as if she were a duchess and hurriedly left the room.

  Diana breathed deeply, seeing the rosy splotches on her cheeks. She touched her face, wondering what was happening to her. Even after all these years, that memory could still undo her. Tanner’s face as he gazed down at her. Tanner’s arms around her waist when they danced. Tanner’s laugh. Tanner’s kiss. Tanner’s hands.

  “Stop!” she demanded and attempted to compose herself. Was she going suddenly insane? Why in the name of heaven was she thinking about Tanner at this moment? David’s predicament should be uppermost in her thoughts now, that and the man who waited downstairs, a man who conceivably might be able to help him — not Tanner Sheridan. Never Tanner.

  Moments later, after Diana had composed herself, she walked down the flight of stairs to the parlor that adjoined a larger room that had been used as a ballroom whenever Harlan stayed at the townhouse. But now the double doors to the ballroom were closed. The breezy overcast morning barely penetrated through the sheer hangings on the windows, but she heard the rustling sound of the palmettos in the garden outside as the plants brushed against the house.

  A man’s broad back was to her. He was looking out of the window, and Diana thought he hadn’t heard her enter the room, thus allowing her a second to take in the elegant cut of his black velvet jacket and trousers, the way the expensive leather black boots fit snugly around his calves. His hair wasn’t arranged in the fashionable queue of the times but was cut short, the silky strands so dark that they blended with his attire.

  She started to clear her throat but his deep voice stalled her. “I know you’re here,” he said.

  “Then would you please be so kind as to turn around. It’s quite rude for you to ignore me if you know I’m standing here, sir.”

  Cammie’s entrance to light a candelabrum on the piano brought Diana’s attention to her, but after Cammie left the man still hadn’t faced her.

  “I understand that you wish to speak to me about my brother-in-law,” Diana began with an edgy note in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, sir, please tell me what it is you have to say, otherwise, you’ve wasted my time and yours. I do have other duties and responsibilities more important than…”

  “More important than Richmond’s life?” He stiffened.

  “More important than playing games with you! Good day to you. I’m leaving.”

  Diana grabbed her skirt in her hands and swung around, but she barely moved before the man was by her side, his hand gripping her upper arm. The very nerve of the man to touch her like that caused her to grimace and glance up at him, ready to berate him for the deed. But the black eyes that raked across her face impaled her, and Diana felt unable to move, hardly able to breathe.

  “Games are what you’re best at, if I recall, Diana. Tell me, why didn’t you wear the scarlet gown? Is it because your guilty conscience won’t let you?”

  Shaking her head in mute disbelief, Diana couldn’t speak his name aloud. It had been so long since she’d seen him, but suddenly it seemed like the many yesterdays that separated them melted away.

  Her heart thumped out his name. Tanner. Tanner. Tanner.

  6

  “Sit down, Diana, before you collapse.” Tanner led her to the sofa, where he placed her like a fragile doll on a shelf. Sitting side by side, they looked at one another for long moments before Diana finally felt the breath reach her throat and she was able to speak.

  Her eyes condemned him. “You should have come to me directly instead of going through all of this intrigue.”

  “Would you have come if I had?”

  “No!” she blurted out and then reddened at the vehemence projected behind her answer. He’d believe she cared about him if she wasn’t careful. And she didn’t care about Tanner Sheridan. In fact she hated him.

  Tanner stared at her until she grew uncomfortable and squirmed in her seat. His sudden smile, so bright in his tanned, handsome face, nearly undid the l
ast vestiges of any composure she’d managed to maintain. She was unwillingly reminded of how handsome she’d found him that night by the river, but if possible Tanner had grown more handsome and stronger with the years. The hold he still had on her arm was proof of that strength, and the warm fingers wrapped around her arm caused her to shiver with a sensation she recalled from that long ago night.

  “Let my arm go,” she demanded.

  His smile collapsed to be replaced by a mocking frown. “Excuse me, Mrs. Sheridan. I forgot myself.” Tanner stood up and went to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy out of a large crystal decanter. “Would you care for one?” he offered gallantly. At a quick shake of her head, he leaned against the sideboard and perused her thoroughly, from the top of her severely coiffed hair to the bottoms of her well-worn shoes. “You look awful, Diana.”

  Her mouth fell open in mute surprise, and she had to force herself to close it. His comment stunned her. Though she knew it was true, she hated to think she looked so terrible that someone would have the gracelessness to tell her so. She’d lost weight the last months and was reduced to dressing like a beggar. Her widow’s weeds were worn not because she had loved Kingsley but because the gown was the best she owned. Shifting in her seat, she grew all too self-conscious of her thinness, especially in her chest, which had once been full-breasted. Now her gown hung on her like an ill-measured drape.

  “Never let it be said that you don’t know how to compliment a lady,” Diana said dryly.

  “The gowns in the wardrobe are for your use,’’ he told her. “I expect you to wear them and get rid of that ugly thing you’ve got on. It’s little better than a rag.”

  “I will not!” she insisted, and decided that no matter how he insulted her she’d stand her ground. Tanner Sheridan wouldn’t dictate to her. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t Briarhaven’s overseer any longer, and she wasn’t a slave. “I’m in mourning for your brother, or probably you don’t care. Still, I don’t see what I wear or how I look has anything to do with this meeting. I thought I was brought here to talk about David. Or am I mistaken in that?” she asked suspiciously.