If You Give a Smuggler a Secret & If You Give a Rake a Reason

7. Chapter Seven

7

Chapter Seven

A Marriage Dilemma

Keelan tiptoed up to her quarters, where Slaney had a bath waiting in the next chamber. She disrobed, hiding her waif’s garments in an old trunk. A blissful sigh of contentment escaped her lips as she sank into the water. Warm, but not too hot. She sniffed. Fragrant. A bundle of herbs secured in a linen pouch floated in the water, steeping. Lavender, hyssop, and basil. A tincture of the same combination sat in a small bottle by her bed.

“Rub it on yer skin, and it’ll keep ye from becoming a tasty meal for the wee buggers at night,” Slaney had earlier explained.

Keelan reached for a small pat of scented soap and frowned as she pondered the secret observer in her father’s study. She worked up a lather and scrubbed her head and face.

Her hands froze as a thought hit.

Of course. Her father, Captain O’Brien, and Uncle Jared might have been waiting to discuss business. She groaned. The spy could have been any one of them. Her shoulders tensed. She would find out soon enough.

Bright blue eyes interrupted her thoughts. Hart’s slow, easy smile had sent her heart tripping, even though he’d claimed an advantage over her while she was in distress, the black-hearted scoundrel. He’d kissed her on the lips. Were all kisses that... invasive? Thrilling?

Chiseled cheekbones and an ebony mane completed the picture in her mind. She ought to berate herself for letting such meanderings carry her to a place she would never go, but any woman would be helpless to control herself from mooning over that man, at least a little.

This is nothing more than a passing infatuation.

Hart would not linger long here. Soon, his ship would take him to far off ports, where other more willing young maids would fill his arms and his desires.

Her breast tingled at the memory of his arm moving near it when he had reached around her body to set right her grip. Everything about him was memorable, from his face to the bulging muscles on his arms, flat stomach, and the strong male hardness pressed against her belly while they kissed... Keelan leaned her head against the back rim. She would now hold every future suitor against the standard Landon Hart’s kiss established. She almost felt sorry for them; they’d never meet the mark.

Not that she’d ever admit that to Hart.

Slaney had always said that the sensations of lust differed vastly from those of love. She wasn’t sure how to tell those two emotions apart, but Keelan recognized a rake when she met one. He was definitely not the type who would offer devotion and an honor-bound oath, which truly was the only thing that could save her from Pratt.

Hart likely did not need to give promises of love and marriage. There were many women who’d gift their bodies for his pleasure, regardless.

She straightened. Her father might argue, but her hand (as well as her virginity) was hers to keep or hers to give; she would relinquish them only for love and honor, no less. A man like Hart had no reason to provide either.

Not that she cared. Neither did Pratt for that matter, yet her father was more than willing to push her to the old man.

Still...the situation Hart controlled sent her stomach churning. Just how did he plan to “collect his due another day?” More importantly, what would he demand?

A small clock on the mantle chimed the eighth hour. Keelan expelled a lungful of air. She could change nothing by sitting in the cool water and worrying about her reckless behavior. As tempting as it was to permit the fingers of procrastination to grasp her limbs and pull her deeper into the bath, she forced herself to rise.

Slaney’s light step followed her soft knock on the bedroom door. “’Tis me, myself, Mistress. Ruth made some Indian corn porridge for ye ter take to yer Da.’”

The cheerful maid popped her head into the bathing room and handed Keelan a towel. “Come, I’ll help ye with yer dress and yer hair.” Slaney crossed to the tallboy and began to sift through Keelan’s undergarments. “Will ye wear the blue gown to the ball? ’Tis yer most flattering, ye know. I pressed the ribbons yesterday in the event ye may need them.”

“I suppose the blue one will be fine.” Keelan toweled her arms. Cousin Doreen’s upcoming ball was the talk of the Lowcountry. Dr. Everett Garrison, of course, would attend the affair. Circling another dance floor with him would put her feet at risk of irreparable damage, she was quite certain of it.

Remembering the most recent party she’d attended with him, she mumbled, “I am not looking forward to Dr. Garrison treading upon my toes like a mule on hot coals.”

At Slaney’s disapproving frown, Keelan bit her lip and reached for the light chemise Slaney had retrieved from the tallboy. Dr. Garrison had wiggled quite smoothly into the good graces of most of the women in the manor. Slaney was no exception.

“Dr. Garrison is a kind man, child. Where would yer Da’ be now without the medicines he provides?” c*****g a jaunty brow, she admonished, “It wouldn’t hurt fer ye to show a little more gratitude toward him.”

Yes, they were lucky he traveled with them to Twin Pines after Papa became ill on the journey from London to Charleston.

Slaney was right; she should act more grateful. Still, it would be difficult. Whenever she and the doctor were in the same room together, she could sense him watching her every movement. It made her neck tingle and her chest twist.

Slaney stooped and gathered the discarded towels. “We’re in America now. Things are different here. Although Dr. Garrison is a wee bit clumsy and shy, he’s kind. He’s been a close friend to your Da’ and tended to his melancholy when yer mum died.” The maid reached for the vial on Keelan’s bed table, poured a few drops of oil into her palm, and rubbed Keelan’s arms. With any luck, those flying insects would avoid her tonight.

Dr. Garrison worked diligently to find the cause of her father’s illness, spent many evenings in the study poring over his medical journals and writing letters to colleagues in London and Richmond. A tall, awkward man with gentle brown eyes and a quick smile, he had charmed his way into the hearts of all the women in the household.

Except for Keelan’s (although it wasn’t for a lack of trying).

“Papa, in truth, doesn’t seem to care that Dr. Garrison is interested in courting me. You realize he is pressing for me to wed Mr. Pratt, instead.” Just saying that name made her nauseous.

Slaney’s mouth flattened, and she gestured for her to step into her gown.

Keelan c****d her head, sensing the maid’s disquiet. “What’s raised your ire, Slaney?” The maid’s eyebrows shot up and Keelan laughed. “You’ve been with me since I was a babe. I can tell when you’re annoyed.”

Slaney flicked her hand. “I’d just like ye to find better than old man Pratt.”

“A goat would be better.”

Slaney giggled as she fastened the buttons. “Another reason that mayhap you should consider Dr. Garrison’s attentions.”

To show his gratitude, her father had serendipitously offered to provide the doctor with a portion of their much-needed funds to establish his office in Charleston. Her father had done this without her opinion on the matter. She would have advised against it, since they had precious little left from selling her mother’s shop in Chatham.

Keelan couldn’t precisely determine why she objected to Dr. Garrison when everyone else seemed to find him so alluring. But there was something... Some vague, indefinable thing about him, beyond his jolting movements, his manner, the way he looked at her, that made her uneasy. He was always polite and kind, yes.

Maybe that was what bothered her.

He was too polite, too ingratiating, and too eager to win the favor of her and her father.

Whatever it was, she was never at ease around him.

Uncle Jared had even offered Dr. Garrison a room in his townhouse on Meeting Street, to give him time to establish his practice before investing in a residence of his own. However, as her father’s condition worsened, the doctor made fewer trips to his Charleston office, then stayed with the family at Twin Pines to tend his benefactor. Which seemed loyal and kind...on the outside.

She turned to face the open balcony doors and stared at the long magnolia-lined lane as Slaney quietly buttoned the back of her gown. Her room was on the upper corner of the house, giving her the luxury of a view from the north and east sides. A movement caught her attention, and she peered through the magnolia branches toward the garden.

To her surprise, Doreen and Dr. Garrison were walking across the far yard toward the kitchen house, little Joseph limping between them. When the boy stumbled, Everett stopped and hoisted him up onto his shoulder. The boy squealed while Dr. Garrison jostled him up, down and sideways, as if he would dump the child at any moment. Doreen let one of her rare smiles escape as she walked along with them.

The doctor lowered the boy to the ground as Ruth opened the door. After speaking with her for a moment, Dr. Garrison patted Joseph on the shoulder. Apparently, the child was no worse from the harrowing ordeal with the rabid dog. He offered his arm to Doreen, and the two of them headed back toward the house. It was the first time Keelan had seen her up and about before noon.

As kind-hearted as the doctor was, Keelan didn’t want to marry him. Nor did she want to marry Pratt for financial reasons. She pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing she’d do her duty as a dutiful daughter, but it wouldn’t prevent her from trying to find a more pleasing route to the altar. If only she could devise a way to please him without having to spend the rest of her life miserable.

She still held to the dream. Her mind drifted to Hart’s kiss in the garden. Why couldn’t she fall in love with a man who ignited her body on fire and whose kisses left her breathless?

She wanted a man willing to lay his heart bare, pledge to her his undying faith and devotion, and hold hers in his hands to cherish and protect until the end of his time.

But if her uncle and father had their way, she would wed a man for convenience.

If that was to be the case, she’d rather not marry at all.

Again, her mind wandered to a muscular man with wild, black hair and eyes the color of a cloudless sky. His fingers were vibrant yet tender, and the outside of his thigh hard against hers. His lips were hot and passionate, and...

Stop being foolish.

She’d witnessed the effect her father’s tedious tours at sea had on her mother. The loneliness, which accompanied his absence, had turned Mother into a quiet, withdrawn shadow.

Always sad. Always waiting.

Keelan whirled from the window and sat down. Reaching for a small dish full of pins, she busied her hands. She selected one and held it as Slaney brushed her long, russet locks. The maid remained uncharacteristically silent as she reached over and plucked the pin from her fingers.

“I did not mean to sound ungrateful before,” Keelan finally said. “Indeed, Dr. Garrison has been most comforting to my father. He’s a very kind man and genuinely cares about us. I believe he fancies me, and I don’t want to offend him. I only wish I could find a kind way to tell him I’m not interested in his attentions.”

Slaney paused behind her, and Keelan envisioned the maid’s stern countenance. Thinned lips. Frowning eyes.

“Then you’d best find the words and ply them to his ears soon, lass. Men can’t stand women who play with them like a sated cat toys with a mouse. It makes them irritable.”

She turned to Slaney. “I am not some shameless trollop who flirts with men simply for sport.”

“Of course yer not!” Slaney confirmed in a protective tone then continued, softly chiding, “But ye have made no attempt to tell the man his efforts are in vain, either.”

“That’s not... ” The denial faltered on her lips. She put the dish down and tossed the extra pins into it, a twinge of guilt twirling in her stomach. “You’re right. He’s trying hard to help Papa. I can’t stand the thought of hurting his feelings by telling him I don’t welcome his affections. Although he’s a sincere and compassionate man, I can’t love him.”

“Oft times love comes later, lass.” Slaney placed her hand on her shoulder and gave it a motherly squeeze. “Yer head is full of girlish dreams of a knight in silver armor coming to sweep ye away to his castle in the clouds. But, if ye set yer standards at that lofty height, ye might find no one capable of making the climb.”