Nan Ryan (3 page)

“Kathleen,” Dawson smiled, “Kathleen Beauregard, what a lovely name. It suits her.”

“Damn it, Dawson, listen to me! I’m serious. Like you, Louis Beauregard is the successful veteran of many a duel. One night at a Fourth of July ball about ten years ago, a militia captain danced with Louis’ wife, Abigail, in a suggestive manner that Louis didn’t quite fancy. That captain is now up in Rosemond, fertilizing the daisies.”

Dawson threw back his head and laughed. “Crawford, I can take care of myself. I’m not afraid of Mister Louis Beauregard and I don’t want to harm his precious Kathleen. I want to meet her and you’re going to make it possible. Look, as a state senator, I’m sure you’ve been invited to parties at Sans Souci, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve been to Sans Souci on a number of occasions, but …”

“And you’ll be invited again, won’t you?”

“I suppose so, but …”

“Good. It’s settled. The very next time you are invited there for a party, you are taking me along as your guest. Understand?”

“Now, Dawson, I don’t think …”

“Senator, are you forgetting the money I gave you for your campaign?”

“That’s not fair, Dawson. You know I haven’t forgotten and I’m grateful to you, I always will be, but …”

“I don’t want your gratitude, Crawford. I want an invitation to Sans Souci. I’m going to meet Kathleen and there’s nothing Louis Beauregard or you can do about it, so you may as well help me. The very next time you’re invited, I mean it.”

“All right, all right, now can we have lunch?”

“A great idea, I’m starved,” and Dawson Blakely wore a devilish grin throughout the meal.

“Tonight I’m finally going to meet the fair-haired child of my dreams who’s made all others pale by comparison,” Dawson said aloud. “Ah, my sweet little Kathleen, tonight your life will change forever and you are not even aware of it.” Dawson laughed to himself, pulled on his black evening jacket, and went to the carriage to meet Crawford Ashworth for the ride to Sans Souci.

“I don’t even want to go to the party, Hannah! Why don’t you tell Mother I’m sick,” Kathleen stood fretting while Hannah hooked up the yellow organdy dress.

“Now, honey, don’t talk lak that. It gonna be a nice party and lots of young folks comin’. You have a good time and you look so pretty,” Hannah tried to jolly her.

“What’s the use of looking pretty? There’s not anybody I want to be pretty for.” Kathleen stuck out her lower lip in a pout.

“Now, chile, jest stop you whining and get on downstairs. I’se out of patience with you, miss.”

“Very well.” Kathleen flounced out of the room. She could hear voices in the big ballroom and rolled her eyes upward, but plastered a smile on her young face before she entered. She sashayed in and quickly mingled with the guests, charming all with her beauty and sweetness.

A sudden summer rain had blown up and was now pelting the tall windows of the ballroom. Kathleen stood near the windows, whispering quietly to Becky Stewart. The room was alive with people, all dressed in their finest, ladies in gowns and jewels, the gentlemen whirling them around the polished marble floor while an orchestra played waltzes. Ben Jackson had gone to get punch for Becky and Kathleen and Becky was telling Kathleen it was getting more serious with Ben every time they were together. Kathleen was half listening and nodding when she noticed a stir; the double doors swung open.

Kathleen watched as her father extended his hand to Senator Crawford Ashworth and a dark gentleman. The stranger stepped beneath a chandelier and Kathleen’s eyes widened. A compelling figure, he towered over her father and the men in the room. Heavily muscled yet lean, he had coal black hair, a face brown and handsome, a sleek mustache above full lips. Her father said something amusing and the stranger’s mouth parted in a smile, exposing white, even teeth. Vaguely aware of Becky talking to her, Kathleen did not respond. Her eyes never left the dark stranger and when she saw her father leading him across the room, her heart rose to her throat.

Dawson spotted Kathleen the minute he entered the big room. More beautiful even than he’d remembered, his throat grew dry and he found it hard to follow the conversation. He laughed over some anecdote Louis told them, but had no idea what the story was about. He kept looking at Kathleen and thought of touching her silky blond hair, of pulling it across his mouth and nose, losing himself in it. The big blue eyes were looking at him and he could hear his pulse drumming in his ears. She wore a pale yellow dress, tight around the waist, the low ruffled neck going around her shoulders and dropping down in front, her young bosom pushed up in a most temptingly sensuous way. Dawson cursed himself for what the sight of that white young breast did to his reserve.

The men reached Kathleen and Louis introduced her. Dawson’s eyes never left her and, when he spoke, his voice was a warm baritone that suited him perfectly and made Kathleen feel nervous and shy. They stood in awkward silence for a short time and when a youth came to their circle to ask Kathleen for the next dance, without even looking at him, she said, “I’m sorry, I’ve promised the next dance to Mister Blakely.”

They were on the dance floor and Kathleen found herself almost swallowed up in Dawson Blakely’s arms. The top of her pretty head reached only to his chest. Dawson didn’t bend and whisper silly compliments into her ear like the boys her age, and he didn’t carry on mindless chatter. He said not a word, but his eyes never left hers and his arm held her tightly, his big hand clutching hers in a firm grip. It was as though he didn’t realize there was another person in the room besides Kathleen.

In the white lattice summer house in front of the old estate, Kathleen set out to find out more about Dawson. The rain had stopped and he took out a clean white handkerchief and spread it out for her to sit on before taking a seat beside her on the white settee. She questioned him in a sweet childlike manner that enchanted him, though he gave only yes and no answers to her frank questions. Yes, he owned a plantation. Yes, he owned racehorses. Yes, he was born and raised in Natchez. No, he wasn’t married. No, he never had been. Yes, he had traveled. Yes, he had been to Europe. Yes, he liked to dance. No, he didn’t want to go back inside.

Kathleen asked question after question and this strange, handsome man smiled lazily at her and seemed not to mind at all. How refreshing it was. And how exciting he was. And how good looking. And how irritating that he asked no questions of her.

“Why do you not ask me anything? Don’t you want to know about me? Aren’t you interested?” Kathleen looked up at him, her blue eyes serious.

Dawson smiled the lazy smile and reached up to push a long strand of hair from her shoulder, gently placing it behind her ear, “I don’t need to ask you anthing. I know all I need to know about you.”

“Just how could you know all about me, Mister Dawson Blakely? Why you only met me tonight! What could you
possibly
know? Some men think me quite mysterious.” She snatched the blond curl and pulled it back over her shoulder.

“My dear Kathleen, I’m sure you are. Here’s what I know about you. I know you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I know you never tire of asking questions. I know that tomorrow night I am taking you for a long carriage ride in the moonlight.” Dawson leaned close and once again pushed the blond curl behind her ear. “And I know that you will fall madly, helplessly in love with me.” He laughed and watched her face as the blue eyes flashed fire.

“If you are not the most conceited, egotistical, rude man I’ve ever met in my life. I wouldn’t go anywhere with you if you were the last man on earth!” She was off the settee, running across the lawn, her blond hair flying wildly around her head, the yellow dress billowing around her. She could hear his easy laughter behind her as he remained in the gazebo, not even trying to stop her or come after her. Infuriated by his brash words, but madder still that he did not try to stop her, she turned when she got to the edge of the garden to look back at him. He sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, lighting a cigar, making no effort to move. And he was still laughing.

The next day, Kathleen learned more about the strange and dashing Mister Blakely. Her girlfriends sat visiting with her in the summer house and they were full of gossip they had heard from brothers, cousins, and friends. Dawson Blakely had turned twenty-seven years old just yesterday. He was born below the bluffs at Natchez Under. His middle name was Harpe. He was a descendant of the murderous group of bandits from Kentucky who had terrorized the old Natchez Trace over fifty years ago. His father was a gambling drifter and his mother was a Harpe, an uneducated girl from a family of poor white trash. Dawson Blakely had spent most of his life at Natchez Under and was cunning and smart and had made money from all kinds of business schemes. Some were not the kinds of things gentlemen should be involved in. He was a notorious ladies man, having women both above and below the bluffs. He was a gambler, probably got that from his worthless father. He could hold more liquor than most men. He had a mean temper and had been in many duels, some of them over women.

Kathleen listened, fascinated, while Becky and Julie told her all they had heard about this dashing man. Then she smiled and rose from the settee, pushing her hair up onto her head. “Dawson Blakely is even more exciting than I thought. He’s coming to take me for a buggy ride in the moonlight tonight,” and she laughed at the shocked expressions on the faces of her girlfriends. “I have to go in now, I must take a long hot bubble bath before Dawson arrives. See you tomorrow.”

At eight o’clock sharp, Dawson pulled into the estate road and came up the drive to Sans Souci. Dressed impeccably, he shook hands with Louis and kissed Abigail’s hand. He made easy small talk with them both and waited for their daughter to come down. She floated into the room at last and Dawson couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Why, Mister Blakely, I didn’t know you were here,” she looked at him coyly. “How nice to see you again.”

“I’m pleased to see you, Miss Beauregard. It’s such a lovely evening, if your father will give me permission, I would like to take you out for a buggy ride. That is, if you are agreeable.”

Kathleen smirked and shrugged her shoulders, “Well, it is rather warm tonight and I suppose going for a ride would be better than doing nothing.” She walked to her father, kissing him on the cheek, and said, “You don’t mind, do you, Father? I won’t be gone long; I’m really rather tired and listless tonight.”

“Go on, Angel, if you really want to,” Louis smiled at her.

“Oh, I don’t particularly want to. Mister Blakely was quite presumptuous in coming over without an invitation, but now that he is here, I don’t want to be as rude as he.”

Dawson smiled his lazy smile and rose to his feet. “Good night, ma’am,” he bowed to Abigail. “Thank you, Mister Beauregard, I’ll have your daughter home early,” and he walked to Kathleen, took her elbow, and ushered her to the door. He walked her to his carriage without a word and helped her up. The driver coaxed the horses and drove out into the country.

As soon as they were out of sight of Kathleen’s home, Dawson pulled her close and said, his black eyes flashing, the smile never leaving his lips, “If you ever act like that again, I shall pull you across my lap and spank your luscious little bottom. Do I make myself clear? You wanted me to come tonight, knew very well I was coming, and spent at least an hour making yourself as lovely as possible to tempt me. I know why you acted that way; you did it because I frighten you. You are afraid of me because you are as attracted to me as I am to you. My guess is by now you’ve found out all you possibly can about me, for I’ve never seen anyone that loves to ask questions as much as you do. I don’t try to hide what I am or anything I’ve ever done, so if you want to know about my lurid past, you’re welcome to ask me. You don’t need to be wary of me; I will never do anything to hurt you. Quite the contrary, I intend to shield you from the world and take care of you and I assure you no one can take better care of you than I can. And when I told you last night that you will fall helplessly in love with me, I wasn’t joking. But my dear, beautiful child, I shall be just as madly in love with you. You’ll find loving me most pleasant and more fun than anything that has ever happened to you. So, from now on, kindly don’t play any of your foolish games, for it irritates me greatly. Relax and be your sweet, charming self and put all pretenses away. Remember, Kathleen, I’m not a boy; I’m a grown man and nothing you can do will fool me. It is I who could fool you, but I will never do it. I have plans for you, Kathleen Diana Beauregard. Now give me a big smile and tell me you knew I was coming and couldn’t wait until I arrived.”

Kathleen looked at him, unbelieving. She had never met anyone like him, but for some reason, she was not mad. She liked what he had said to her. She looked up at him and smiled and said softly, “Can I ask you a question, Dawson?”

Dawson threw back his head and laughed happily. “That’s my little Kathleen. Yes, darling, ask anything you like.”

“How long do you think it will be before you fall helplessly in love with me?”

Three

The party was at Becky Stewart’s and Kathleen knew Mister Paul Stewart, Becky’s father, meant to announce the engagement of Becky to Ben Jackson. Kathleen envied her girlfriend. To be engaged, how wonderful! Kathleen thought of Dawson as Hannah finished buttoning up the pink cashmere dress she had chosen for the party. She had visions of herself in a long white gown, coming down the aisle to meet Dawson, handsome and proud, waiting for her at the altar, eager to make her his wife. Mrs. Dawson Harpe Blakely! A delicious chill went up her spine as she mulled the scene over in her mind. She had completely lost her heart to the dashing charmer and couldn’t wait until he popped the question. If he ever meant to. She had to admit to herself the romance was not progressing as fast as she would have liked. She had met Dawson on August eleventh. Here is was almost Thanksgiving and still he had made no effort to kiss her, though she would have been more than willing. There had been a time or two when he pressed her hand tightly and looked at her in a strange, unsettling way and she was certain he was going to bend and kiss her. Then he would pull away and talk rapidly, the moment’s magic gone.