Chapter Two

By all that was holy, Roane Bradfield appeared within Kendrick’s line of vision. Her Roane Bradfield. Dear God, it wasn’t possible, couldn’t be him. Her stomach fell, and the room spun. She had lamented his death, cried a million tears when his name appeared in the Savannah Republican—Roane Bradfield, Killed in Action, Battle of Petersburg. At the time, the words had blurred on the page and waves of grief nearly brought her to her knees.

It had taken her weeks to drag herself from bed every morning, months to come to terms with his death. Had she ever really come to terms with it or had she merely put one foot in front of the other and stumbled through life a phantom specter? She knew only one thing at the time—if she lived to be one hundred she would never again love a man as she loved Roane Bradfield.

Beside her, Pitt’s back stiffened, and below her trembling hand, his arm tensed. So many times she had imagined Roane Bradfield cutting through the masses toward her, but he was no illusion now. Beneath the bright chandelier, his midnight hair glistened, and even from this distance, a palpable hunger burned in his eyes. Something else burned too... anger.

The crowd parted and onward he came, all sinewy muscle and dark beauty—broad shoulders, narrow waist and long, muscled legs. And depthless ebony eyes. She should have known someone as vibrant and alive as Roane couldn’t die. Beneath her gown, her legs gave way and every joint in her body went boneless. Please don’t let me swoon.

"Good, God, look who’s risen from the dead," her fiancé said.

"Pitt, please, how can you say such a thing?" Kendrick’s knees shook and she felt faint. She didn’t have the facts, but truly, Roane had risen from the dead. For a flash of a second, her heart overflowed with joy, and then she saw the look on her former love’s face. Unadulterated vengeance. He came to settle a score.

Roane stood before them, his bronzed hand reaching for hers. "Kendrick, lovely to see you again, darling."

Sparks flared and a jolt of lightning pedaled through her veins when he brought her fingers to his lips. "Roane... we-we heard you were―"

"Yes, so the Dowager informs me. You thought me dead. Well, you can see I’m here in the flesh, and quite alive."

"See here, Bradfield," Pitt said, his voice cracking amid the undercurrents. "Kendrick is betrothed to me now. I hardly think you should address her as darling or any other endearment."

Roane paused, his rakish gaze assessing her head to toe before he turned to Pitt. "Be a good chap, Fleming, and refresh my drink."

With Roane’s fluted glass touching the fabric of Pitt’s waistband, her betrothed floundered for words. "I don’t believe I should abandon my fiancé in light of the―"

Roane visibly blanched at the word fiancé. "I assure you, Pitt," he replied, his tone glacial, "Miss Moreland is in no danger while an enormous crowd looks on. In any event, I believe we have something to discuss, do we not, Kendrick?"

Roane knew her better than she knew herself. Her initial joy at seeing the decadent man gave way to rage. Heat traveled the length of her neck and scalded her cheeks. How he enjoyed making her blush... and cringe. She had never been able to hide her true feelings from him. By his arrogant smirk, he knew he still held the power to decipher them.

God curse the man. Only Roane Bradfield would dramatize his sudden return to life in front of an assembly of onlookers. The last thing she expected to encounter tonight was Roane in the flesh, and yet elation and an undeniable series of shivers coursed through her.

And fear.

Dear Lord, help her. The man would make her regret her actions during his absence. Roane would never believe she thought him dead, would never accept her admission she agreed to marry Pitt after everyone in Savannah, including her, thought Roane lost forever. The cock-sure man would remain calm and collective while she stumbled with ineffectual explanations. If only he would stop looking at her as if he could see through her gown.

Her hand went rigid in his and then she withdrew it. Again, he studied her intently, no doubt heard the wheels of panic and terror grinding in her head. Read this, Roane Bradfield. I long to wipe that ersatz grin from your face; tear your eyes out for putting me through hell.

Silence filled the crowded room; all eyes were upon them. Within five minutes of her arrival, he had cornered her like a hapless hare. Unless she desired a scene, she would have to agree to speak with him. With a thin smile, she turned to her fiancé. "Go ahead, Pitt. Whatever Roane has to say won’t take long."

* * *

Fleming snatched the glass from Roane’s hand, turned on his heels and stormed off. Finally, he was alone with Kendrick, but not entirely, not while the crowd leered over them. He grabbed her by an elbow and dragged her toward him, so close it all come rushing back—her discrete scent, the gentle slope of her neck, the full lips, a breath from his.

"What are you about now, Roane? Kindly remove your hand from my arm."

For a moment, he wondered if he could speak with the blood pounding through his veins and his heart hammering in his chest. He drew a breath and subtly turned them toward the masses. Tightening his grip on Kendrick’s elbow, he walked forward with a deliberate scowl. The crowd made way for them and closed ranks once they passed. Perfect. Pitt would have a hard time finding her in this mass of people. Of course, he had no intention of Pitt discovering her whereabouts for a long time.

"Not on your delectable derrière madam. There remains an important matter to discuss."

"Everything has changed now. It’s too late, don’t you see?"

He lengthened his steps and noticed Kendrick struggling to stay abreast of him. He intended to toss her off guard. They ascended a stairwell and at the top of the landing, Roane turned down a torch-lit hallway to the left. At least the Dowager wasn’t forced to remodel her residence because of the war. He had visited on prior occasions, still remembered the intricate maze of hallways, doors and rooms. The door to the library loomed ahead. If memory served him, like the bedchambers, the library was equipped with a lock on the inside. How fortunate. Personally, he didn’t care who happened upon the scene, but for Kendrick’s sake, he wanted to settle the matter in private.

The door stood ajar. He toed it open and entered, dragging Kendrick behind him. A quick survey of the room told him they were the only occupants. He could thank his good fortune shelves and books lined the walls, not a darkened corner in sight. The hearth burned low, and flames from several lanterns danced against the mahogany paneled walls. The perfect host, Dowager Huggins made sure any guests looking for a short reprieve from the merriment below were welcome in her library.

Roane released Kendrick’s elbow long enough to lock the door. By the time he turned around, she had crossed the room and stood between the hearth and a red velvet settee—the latter an ideal background against her elegant beauty.

She was no different from the artificial crowd below. At one time, he was like them, and the thought caused a shudder to ripple through him. No more. He saw too much blood and death to enjoy their false amusements now. In fact, his stomach turned at the thought of partaking in their shallow balls, soirees and lawn engagements.

Without pretense, Roane loosened his cravat and strolled briskly toward her. Eyes bluer than the ocean widened. Her arm came out between them. As if that could stop him from claiming what he should have eons ago, a lifetime ago it seemed.

"Stay back," she said, her velvet voice strained. "I’m to marry Pitt in two weeks. Surely you realize this is most inappropriate? I shouldn’t be here with you." She looked around the room, visibly shaken. "I’ll be ruined should someone find out."

Roane closed the distance between them and seized her around the waist, dragging her to him. His balls tightened and his cock hardened. "You, madam, must have me confused with someone who cares what happens to your pristine reputation at this point."

Her chin came out. "Very well, since you seem so eager to berate for me offenses I had no control over, say what you have to say." She paused. "Be quick about it. Pitt will be searching everywhere for me."

"Tell me, Kendrick, how long after I left for war did you wait before falling into Fleming’s willing arms? Or, perhaps I should say, bed?"

She gasped and her trembling hand went to her throat. "Only a despicable cad would entertain such thoughts." She bristled and much to his surprise, her voice softened. "I mourned your passing dearly."

Oh, she was a cool bitch. She wouldn’t be when he finished with her, took her down a notch, made her suffer as he’d suffered. In his mind, the battlefield surfaced—the stench of death, the acrid smoke from the howitzers, and the blood-drenched soldiers searching the ground for lost limbs. He placed his hands behind his back so she wouldn’t see the onset of tremors in his hands. The affliction would pass soon and he didn’t want her pity. He wanted her, needed to taste every inch of her delectable skin, suck the tongue from her luscious mouth and bury his cock deep inside her.

He had waited so long to see her again, touch her, kiss those quivering lips, and now she stood within arms-reach and the only emotion he felt was anger. The rage blinded him; called forth contemptible images of everything he had seen... and done. Thousands of times he had begged forgiveness, told himself he had no choice. That’s what happened when men went to war. The mantle of guilt still cloaked him like a pervasive disease.

"Roane," she said, the sultry voice dragging him from the gruesome scenes in his head. "When word arrived you had died at Petersburg, I thought my life over."

"Christ, woman, casualty lists are rife with errors. Someone made a mistake; inserted my name when it should have been my cousin’s, Reine."

"Reine? How would I know? You never mentioned him."

"Why would I? That branch of the Bradfields reside in Virginia. Moreover, you’re avoiding my question."

Her hand went to her forehead. "I don’t remember your question, and what does it matter now? I’m to be married in two weeks to Pitt Fleming. The banns are posted."

"Do you expect me to give a damn about your banns?"

"Roane, you will find another. You’re still young." And the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

She licked her lips, pitching Roane’s heart into a gallop. A sudden urge to rip the dress from her body, show her why it mattered, overwhelmed him. What would her sissified Pitt have to say about that? Much to his consternation and despite her insincerity, she still held the capability of reducing him to sculptor’s clay in her petite hands.

Miss Kendrick Moreland was not immune to him either. He had only to look down to see her bosom heaving with excitement. How he longed to rip her gown in two until her rosy nipples lay bare to him. He’d lay siege to them until she begged him to take her.