in the parish, spurning her. To be honest, she didn’t love Tony, but she loved making love to him and reveled in the way he made her feel. She couldn’t imagine not marrying him. Her father wished the match, and she loved her father despite his weakness for liquor. How would she explain to all her neighbors, her friends in Vermillionville and New Orleans that Tony Duvalier didn’t want to marry her? It was inconceivable to her that he didn’t want to marry her, and oh, so humiliating.
Simone pulled away from him. “It’s because of that woman you no longer want to marry me,” she said with what she considered to be just the correct amount of pain in her voice.
Tony pretended not to know whom she meant and started to walk past her, but her hand shot out and stilled him. “You belong to me, Tony.”
“What a possessive cat you are,” he said and shrugged off her hand before opening the French doors and going outside into the bright morning.
The endless expanse of fields stretched before him, and he watched the servants as they tilled the long rows of the cotton fields. Then, walking beyond the house, he stopped at a distance and leaned against a barbed-wire fence that separated the grazing land from the rest of the plantation. Cattle contentedly munched on the sweet, green grass. Tony smiled. Not many other plantations in the area could boast such hearty, well-fed cattle. He had recently introduced the Brahman breed into his stock, hoping that by crossbreeding, he would produce a heartier breed of cattle than had previously existed in the prairie area.
In the past Tony had lost some heads to tick fever, flies and mosquitoes, and drought that sometimes lasted for weeks. But the Brahman was a sturdy breed, used to surviving in hot country and able to live through periods of famine. So far, things had worked out well, and the cattle had thrived except for the loss of an occasional cow to a cattle thief. That seemed to be happening more often in the prairie area, and Tony knew he would have to put an end to that eventually.
But now a wanton, dark-haired beauty filled his thoughts, and he wasn’t certain he liked expending so much time and energy on such a woman. He knew he would visit her again, maybe this very night, but first, he would let her stew a while until she became completely pliant and would melt in his arms at his touch. He wanted Lavinia to beg for him before taking her in a rush of passion, he ached to humiliate her by making her confess her desire for him. Then after he had spent himself within her and made her realize what a wanton she truly was, he would release her. The plan was quite simple, but the ease with which he had trapped her, of kidnapping her, disturbed him. For such a conniving woman, everything had gone his way too easily. Instead of feeling that Lavinia had gotten her just desserts, he almost felt she was a victim—more disturbingly, his victim.
As Tony sauntered back to the house, he noticed Jean DuLac waving to him in the distance. When they came within speaking distance, Jean smiled at his cousin.
“You slept very late, Tony, but then you were out until past three in the morning. Were you with your gypsy girl?” Jean nudged Tony knowingly. “You looked quite flushed when I saw you in the hallway early this morning.”
Probably from that damn hood I wore over my head, Tony thought in aggravation. He patted Jean heartily upon the back. “The wench was insatiable, mon cousin.”
“Really?” Jean said in surprise, a bit curious about the woman. “She didn’t seem to be that type of female. I mean she was nothing like Simone and acted more of a lady.”
“Looks and mannerisms can be deceiving,” Tony uttered harshly.
Jean grew quiet and followed Tony into the house. When they entered the back parlor, Zelie practically flew into the room after them.
“I must speak with you alone, Monsieur Tony,” she said, wringing her hands; an urgency in her voice.
Jean left the
Simone pulled away from him. “It’s because of that woman you no longer want to marry me,” she said with what she considered to be just the correct amount of pain in her voice.
Tony pretended not to know whom she meant and started to walk past her, but her hand shot out and stilled him. “You belong to me, Tony.”
“What a possessive cat you are,” he said and shrugged off her hand before opening the French doors and going outside into the bright morning.
The endless expanse of fields stretched before him, and he watched the servants as they tilled the long rows of the cotton fields. Then, walking beyond the house, he stopped at a distance and leaned against a barbed-wire fence that separated the grazing land from the rest of the plantation. Cattle contentedly munched on the sweet, green grass. Tony smiled. Not many other plantations in the area could boast such hearty, well-fed cattle. He had recently introduced the Brahman breed into his stock, hoping that by crossbreeding, he would produce a heartier breed of cattle than had previously existed in the prairie area.
In the past Tony had lost some heads to tick fever, flies and mosquitoes, and drought that sometimes lasted for weeks. But the Brahman was a sturdy breed, used to surviving in hot country and able to live through periods of famine. So far, things had worked out well, and the cattle had thrived except for the loss of an occasional cow to a cattle thief. That seemed to be happening more often in the prairie area, and Tony knew he would have to put an end to that eventually.
But now a wanton, dark-haired beauty filled his thoughts, and he wasn’t certain he liked expending so much time and energy on such a woman. He knew he would visit her again, maybe this very night, but first, he would let her stew a while until she became completely pliant and would melt in his arms at his touch. He wanted Lavinia to beg for him before taking her in a rush of passion, he ached to humiliate her by making her confess her desire for him. Then after he had spent himself within her and made her realize what a wanton she truly was, he would release her. The plan was quite simple, but the ease with which he had trapped her, of kidnapping her, disturbed him. For such a conniving woman, everything had gone his way too easily. Instead of feeling that Lavinia had gotten her just desserts, he almost felt she was a victim—more disturbingly, his victim.
As Tony sauntered back to the house, he noticed Jean DuLac waving to him in the distance. When they came within speaking distance, Jean smiled at his cousin.
“You slept very late, Tony, but then you were out until past three in the morning. Were you with your gypsy girl?” Jean nudged Tony knowingly. “You looked quite flushed when I saw you in the hallway early this morning.”
Probably from that damn hood I wore over my head, Tony thought in aggravation. He patted Jean heartily upon the back. “The wench was insatiable, mon cousin.”
“Really?” Jean said in surprise, a bit curious about the woman. “She didn’t seem to be that type of female. I mean she was nothing like Simone and acted more of a lady.”
“Looks and mannerisms can be deceiving,” Tony uttered harshly.
Jean grew quiet and followed Tony into the house. When they entered the back parlor, Zelie practically flew into the room after them.
“I must speak with you alone, Monsieur Tony,” she said, wringing her hands; an urgency in her voice.
Jean left the
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