The Scandalous Miss Howard Page 14

  Then, a year ago, when the banking scandal broke and Jimmy requested a quick divorce and promptly disappeared from Mobile, she had taken it on the chin, suffered in silence, unwilling for others to be witness to her humiliation.

  And, she would never, ever have admitted to another living soul that she was glad that Jimmy was gone, was out of her life forever. She was not nearly as unhappy living alone as she had been living with him. Loneliness and boredom were, she had learned, far preferable to living a life of deceit.

  And, guiltily, she admitted to herself, that not a single night had gone by since Jimmy’s departure that she hadn’t climbed into her big, comfortable bed and offered silent thanks that she was in it alone.

  Laurette Howard Tigart, the once carefree, spoiled young belle had long ago become a sedate, responsible woman. She bore her griefs quietly and kept her own counsel. She never complained about her lot in life, but had displayed a calm acceptance of life’s ups and downs.

  Tired now, her back aching from lifting and bathing sick patients, Laurette nonetheless began preparing to attend the Ivys’ party. The Colonel had promised to send a carriage to collect her at seven sharp.

  Laurette looked through her clothes with little interest or concern. She quickly chose a plain, but well-cut ball gown of sky-blue velvet. The gown was old, but she hadn’t worn it in ages. And, its matching cape would keep her warm on this chilly December evening.

  Promising herself she would stay at the Colonel’s only long enough to make an appearance, Laurette was already looking forward to getting back to the welcome isolation of her home.

  As full darkness descended on the city of Mobile and the nightly mist rolled in off the river, Laurette stood in the spacious drawing room of the Ivys’ home, talking with Melba Adair and her forty-eight-year-old daughter, Lydia.

  It was common knowledge that the unfortunate Adair ladies, left poor by the war, now struggled to get by after the bulk of the money they had made from the sale of their estate had been lost when the trusting pair were persuaded to invest in bogus cotton futures by a sharpie named Jackson Tate.

  A cup of mulled rum in her hand, Laurette was inquiring as to Melba’s health when an abrupt stir caused her to stop speaking. Slowly, she turned. In time to see a tall, dark man, whose raven hair was liberally streaked with silver at the temples, step into the arched doorway of the drawing room. At his side was Colonel Ivy.

  The stranger was impeccably dressed and strikingly handsome. The lower part of his face was covered by a neatly trimmed beard which, on him, was very appealing.

  Laurette lost her train of thought. She helplessly stared at the compelling, well-groomed gentleman and an unsettling sensation washed over her. In a moment of mild distress, she put her wrist to her forehead. She suddenly felt faint. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized that the Colonel was leading the stranger directly toward her.

  Colonel Ivy made the introductions, first presenting the Adairs, then turning to Laurette.

  “This lovely young lady is Mrs. Laurette Howard Tigart.”

  Sutton Vane turned his full attention on her. She was pale, but beautiful. That flawless skin, the impressive bone structure, those dark, luminous eyes. The bodice of her light-blue velvet gown dipped just low enough to give a glimpse of her soft bosom which was, he noted, rising and falling rapidly with her anxious breaths.

  He felt his heart skip a beat.

  The beaming Colonel, addressing Laurette, said, “Child, may I present Mr. Sutton Vane.”

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Tigart,” said Sutton Vane in a soft, rich baritone as he reached for her hand. “I’ve not yet met your husband. Is he here this evening?”

  Through her kid gloves, Laurette felt the heat and power of his touch. The fine hair on the nape of her neck rose, and she found herself speechless.

  “Mrs. Tigart is divorced,” the Colonel answered for her.

  “Mr. Vane,” she politely acknowledged, “welcome to Mobile.”

  “Thank you. I hope we’ll become friends.”

  After a small exchange of pleasantries, Sutton Vane moved on and had no more to do with Laurette. But Laurette found that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. The mere presence of this handsome stranger had had a supremely disturbing effect on her and she found it most puzzling.

  It was more than just his dark good looks, although there was no denying that he was incredibly arresting with his deep-set blue eyes, arrogant nose and full lips about which there seemed to be a permanent hardness. Sutton Vane was…different.

  Gazing covertly at him, Laurette felt a shiver skip up her spine. In all his beauty and charm, there was something slightly disconcerting. A fascinating combination of grace and danger. A hint of cruelty that, paradoxically, made him all the more attractive.

  Laurette was intrigued.

  Sutton Vane, moving about the room, making conversation, getting acquainted, was aware of Laurette Tigart’s curiosity and interest. He knew that she was—against her will—drawn to him. Knew she found him fascinating and was frightened by that strong attraction. Knew—even if she did not—that she was hoping he’d soon make his way back in her direction.

  Therefore, he pointedly ignored her.

  When the dancing began at shortly after nine, he spun several ladies, including a clearly pleased Johanna Parlagne Ford, around the floor.

  But never Laurette.

  She was secretly disappointed. And surprised at herself for being disappointed. She grew increasingly uncomfortable because the strong lure of this mysterious stranger made her feel extremely ill at ease, not herself. As soon as possible, Laurette said her good-nights and left.

  She released a great sigh of relief when she reached the blessed haven of home. Shivering from the cold, she hurried to get undressed and into her bed.

  Fluffing the pillows and arranging the covers, she took a book from the nightstand and began to read. Or, at least, she tried to read. She soon gave up. Her mind was not on the text. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes and saw Sutton Vane framed in the arched doorway of the Ivys’ Oakleigh home.

  She shuddered at the vivid recollection. The enigmatic, darkly handsome Sutton Vane was the first man to make her pulse quicken since…since…Ladd.

  Twenty long years ago.

  Shortly after Laurette had gone, Sutton Vane also departed. He had, all evening long, been warm and charming and outgoing, talking with everyone, dancing with the ladies, acting as if he were having a wonderful time.

  But beneath that public posture roiled other, less admirable qualities: anger and distrust; idiosyncratic behavior; and dark moods. Hatreds that were more defined than likes. There was, and had been for years, a core of hollowness to his life, a self-imposed emptiness that would never go away.

  The brooding Sutton was driven directly to his imposing Government Street mansion. He let himself in, walked the length of the long, wide foyer, stepped into the paneled study to find his trusted friend and lieutenant, the muscular Bones, dozing in a leather chair before the blazing fireplace.

  Bones awakened, rose and immediately asked, “How did it go?”

  “Exactly as planned,” Sutton replied, with a cold smile of satisfaction as he dropped down into the chair just vacated by Bones.

  Bones, standing just above, shook his big head and said, “Boss, where she is concerned, I wish you would give up on this quest for revenge.”

  Sutton Vane slowly turned his dark head, looked harshly at Bones.

  “It is not revenge I seek, it is justice. Lex Talionis.”

  Bones said no more. He nodded, left the room, locked up the big house and retired to his private quarters.

  Twenty

  Alone, Sutton Vane poured himself a shot glass of fine Kentucky bourbon, blew out the last lamp and sat in the shadowy darkness before the slowly dying fire.

  He exhaled heavily.

  Finally, it had happened.

  He had seen her, been introduced to her, touche
d her hand, spoken with her. The beautiful, strong-willed, independent and rebellious girl whose image had tormented him for years as he lay alone in the darkness of the dungeon.

  But she was no longer a girl. She was a woman. And more beautiful than ever. The golden-blond hair. The large, dark eyes. The pale, flawless skin. The slender, curvaceous body.

  Sutton Vane’s eyes closed and his jaw hardened until ridges stood out along the sculptured bone. But he quickly collected himself. He opened his eyes, took a generous drink of whiskey and made a face.

  Tonight’s brief meeting was what he’d been waiting for since the slow-moving steamer had passed Fort Morgan and plowed into the calm waters of the bay. Standing at the railing on that sunny September morning some three months ago, he had felt a heavy shadow fall across his heart.

  He was, at long last, returning to Mobile. He had gazed across the mists of two decades and felt the muscles in his throat contract. And he had wondered just how he would feel when he saw her again.

  Then tonight…there she was.

  She didn’t know him.

  No one did. He was not surprised. He had changed so much during those years in prison that he hardly recognized himself. The young boy who had gone away to West Point twenty years ago had been a trusting fool who had gotten exactly what he deserved.

  A sad smile touched his lips and he shook his dark head wearily. There was nothing left of that happy boy; he was gone forever.

  Sutton’s smile faded slightly and hatred flashed in the depths of his blue eyes as he thought of the man responsible for his long and brutal captivity.

  And, of the woman who had promised to wait forever.

  He downed the last of his whiskey and his sad smile was replaced with an evil one. He had vowed to himself, all those long days and nights in the dungeon, that if he ever got out, he would seek justice.

  And so he had.

  And would.

  After he had escaped from prison and the dependable Bones had patiently nursed him back to health, they had gone in search of Finis Schafer’s stolen Union gold. He’d had nothing more to go on than a very crude cloth map Finis had given him shortly before he died. The old man had claimed that he’d hidden the gold in a cave in the eastern foothills of the Appalachian mountains of Virginia.

  The search had taken a full, frustrating year.

  There were many small caves in the Appalachian foothills and the two men had begun to despair of ever locating the cave containing the gold. And, both had begun to wonder if there was actually any gold to be found.

  Ready to give up, they had sat down to rest and drink from their canteens one chilly March morning in 1877 when Bones felt the large flat rock beneath him begin to give. Eyes wide with surprise, he shouted curse words as he and the rock crashed ten feet down into a dark hole.

  “Jesus, are you hurt?” Ladd anxiously stuck his head through the hole.

  “No,” Bones said with a wide grin, “but I think we have found your gold.”

  Ladd eagerly scrambled down into the opening through which Bones had fallen. Bones was already up, dusting himself off and pointing. For several long seconds both men stood in the shadowy cave and stared in awe. Stacked neatly along the west wall of the cavern were hundreds of shiny gold bars.

  He was at once a very wealthy man.

  And, as only the wealthy can manage, he promptly began putting his plans in motion. Quietly, without drawing attention to himself, he had gravitated southward and had gathered several loyal men to work behind the scenes to carry out his scheme.

  He, and they, had proved themselves to be masters of “the Southern way,” a system of middlemen promising favors and intimidating businessmen so that they would bend to the will of the one powerful figure who carefully distanced himself from the gritty negotiations.

  Through the years he had made great progress. It was he who owned the bank from which Tigart had stolen fortunes. When he’d purchased the bank he had seen to it that Jimmy was promptly promoted to president. He knew that he need only put temptation before Jimmy—he could rely on his character to do the rest.

  Jimmy, proud of his position, had managed to maintain an impeccable reputation until disquieting whispers about his business practices surfaced a year into his presidency. It had been one of Vane’s hand-picked foot soldiers who had started the rumors that had led to the exposure of Tigart’s embezzling scheme.

  Once the crime was out in the open, the disgraced bank president had been given a choice. He could go to prison for several long years or he could, after quickly divorcing his wife, flee to Europe—a one-way ticket on an ocean liner would be provided—with the understanding that he would never again set foot on American soil if he wanted to stay alive. Tigart was quietly told who had set forth the terms.

  Sutton’s lips twisted into a pleased smile at the recollection of just how quickly the cowardly, unprincipled Tigart had agreed to divorce Laurette. His own worthless hide was all he really cared about.

  Tigart, Sutton mused, was not the only one due his special brand of justice. There was the sadistic Gilbert LaKid still to be dealt with. So far, his men had been unable to locate LaKid, but they would continue to hunt him down until they found him. And when they did, he would personally see to it that his cruel captor was properly dealt with, as befitted his sins.

  But, the most significant of those yet to pay was Laurette Howard Tigart.

  Sutton’s blue eyes narrowed as he considered his callous, clever plan for her. He had spent many long hours considering how she was to compensate for breaking his innocent heart. What could he possibly do that would hurt her half as much as she had hurt him?

  Finally he had decided.

  He would—a few short weeks from now—begin courting the beautiful blond divorcée. He would purposely wait until she had almost forgotten their brief encounter at Colonel Ivy’s party. He had made an impression, he knew. She had involuntarily responded to him, had become overly nervous. She would think about him for several days, wonder about him, wish they would meet once more as they had at the party.

  When she finally assumed that she would not likely see him again, when she had almost forgotten about him, he would seek her out. When she was least expecting it, he would appear. He would behave the consummate gentlemen. He would ask for permission to call on her.

  Permission would, he felt confident, be granted.

  He would begin regularly escorting her to social functions. He would show her great respect, he would charm her, disarm her, shower her with expensive gifts and attention.

  Then he would seduce her.

  He would make passionate love to the lonely destitute divorcée until her head was spinning and her body was pliant and her deceitful heart belonged to him. And, he knew that, just as she hadn’t recognized him when they met, she wouldn’t recognize him in bed. He was no longer the awkward, unskilled boy she remembered from the urgent, hurried lovemaking of their youth.

  In the five years since his escape from prison, he had had many women: beautiful women; wealthy women; experienced women. Women eager to teach him about their bodies and his own. He had learned quickly. He knew quite well how to please and dazzle a woman.

  Any woman.

  He would, when the moment was right, take Laurette to bed and keep her there until she had fallen deeply in love with him. Even if it took some time, which it might. Weeks. Months. Years. No matter. He had the time.

  He had nothing but time.

  When she was finally his, heart and soul, then and only then would he disclose his true identity, after which, he would leave her to suffer as he had suffered while he casually took another as his blushing bride.

  Christmas came to Mobile.

  Holly and cedar decorated the lampposts and apple-cheeked children in warm wraps and mufflers sang carols in Bienville Square.

  Laurette volunteered to work at the Confederate Veteran’s Convalescent Hospital on Christmas day so that a couple of other employees could celebrate the
holiday with their families. She liked working at the hospital. She had done some volunteer work when she was married and Jimmy was supporting her. Now, she was paid for her labor, thanks to the kind hospital administrator, Gordon Hill, who was aware of her financial situation.

  She was particularly glad to be working today, both for the money and because her best friends, the Parlange twins, were spending the holidays with distant relatives in New Orleans. She much preferred being here at the hospital than alone in the big, empty house.

  The weak winter sun that had appeared briefly with the dawn had disappeared by midmorning. The skies were now gray and bleak. Shortly after noon a cold drizzly rain began. Walking down the hospital’s drafty hallway, Laurette looked out at the falling rain, shook her head, shivered and drew her shawl tighter around her slender shoulders.

  When she reached the room to which she was heading, she paused, straightened her back and put a pleasant smile on her face.

  “Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Cooper,” she said cheerily as she greeted the sickly Confederate veteran who lay ashen and weak in the white bed.

  Her smile became genuine when his pale eyes grew brighter upon seeing her and he lifted a weak, gnarled hand.

  Laurette went to him, took his bony hand in hers and asked, “Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Cooper? Anything at all?”

  “There is,” he said, and attempted to squeeze her hand. “Stay here with me for a little while.”

  “Why, I can do that,” she said, placing his hand back on the bed.

  Mr. Cooper was one of the few patients in the hospital who had no living relatives to come and visit. She imagined that he felt much like she felt on this rainy Christmas day. Lonely and yearning for those happy Christmases of his youth.

  “Shall I read to you?” she asked, straightening his covers.

  “I would like that,” he said, “you have such a sweet, clear voice.”

  Laurette took a half-finished book from the bedside table, drew up a straight-backed chair, sat down and began to read.