Sally dropped her hands. “George, no. Don’t ask me that. He’s an animal—he hurts the girls.”
“Did I ask your opinion?” Whitehead abruptly stood up and grabbed one of her arms. “Don’t forget, my dear, who is the senior in our partnership. If I hadn’t come along and bailed you out when I first got to Rosings, you would have lost the saloon and been forced to trade your wares on the street.” He sneered as he ran his free hand over her cheek. “And such lovely wares they are.”
Sally was desperate to stay on Whitehead’s good side. She drew close, pressing herself against him hungrily. She put her lips to his ear. “Don’t be mad, sugar… Let’s go to bed. I’ll give you a good time, you’ll see.”
He laughed. “Still trying to set your brand on me? Don’t fool yourself in believing that I’ll choose you over Miss Darcy or Miss Burroughs. I haven’t given up on that part of the plan. True, they lack your… expertise,” he said as he groped her, “but thousands of acres of land makes up for much. I’ll get one of them once this is all over, one way or the other—it doesn’t matter which one.”
“I know that, sugar, but you won’t forget your Sally.” She tried to kiss him, but he pushed her away instead.
“Do as I said—go get a girl for Denny.” He sat down and continued, “I suppose it ought to be Camille. She should be able to handle him.”
Sally nodded, relieved that he had suggested the one whore in her stable who seemed to enjoy the rougher types, rather than one of the more delicate girls. She turned to leave.
“And bring back a bottle with you—the good stuff. Not that rotgut shit you serve the cowpokes.”
She turned, but Whitehead was already back to his ledgers. “Sure, George, sure. Nothin’ but the best for you.”
George Whitehead didn’t answer as he continued to work.
May
Summer came on fast in Central Texas. It was the middle of May, and the temperature was already reaching the ninety-degree mark. It made riding the range hot work for man and beast, as Darcy was experiencing.
Caesar walked along the ridgeline, head hanging low, as a sweaty Darcy watched his cattle. With half the workforce riding north along the Chisholm Trail with the herd heading for market, Pemberley needed every hand it had to do the everyday chores. So it was that Darcy fell back into his old job of supervising the herd as he had done before and after the war, before his father’s passing. The work was long and hot, but Darcy paid it no mind—it was what he was born to do. Besides, it gave a man the time to think.
Darcy’s thoughts, as much as he tried to steer them elsewhere, kept coming back to the mystery that was Beth Bennet. She was a mystery to him, at least.
It was midday, and the sun beat unmercifully upon Caesar, so Darcy moved towards the river, intending to wash his face in the cool water. He found himself a bit upriver of Thompson Crossing, which brought Beth back into his thoughts. He worked his way south along the trees and brush that lined the riverbank, making his way to the ford.
He would later have no idea why he stopped well short of his goal. He would recall no particular sight or sound, just a feeling. He looked around, but only saw dense bushes near a large oak, its branches hanging low. Darcy dismounted, tying Caesar’s reins to a branch, and began to make his way through the brush. He could make out the faint sounds of splashing, so he half-crouched, removing his hat in the shade and cover. A couple of feet from the bank, he sat back on his heels and carefully peered through the undergrowth.
It was a vision right out of his most intense dreams. A brown-haired nymph was playing in the water just off the opposite bank. She was swimming in what best could be described as a small cove shielded on three sides by trees hanging right over the water. Darcy realized that he was in the one perfect spot to observe her; a few feet to the left or right and the leaves from the overhanging limbs would conceal the cove completely. It took him a moment to realize that the nymph was Beth Bennet.
The next thing Darcy knew he was sitting down in his little spot, an audience of one for the erotic show. He couldn’t see all that much, as Beth’s head was the only portion of her body above the water, her long hair trailing behind. But even ignoring the bundle lying carefully on the opposite bank, the river was clear enough for him to know, with an electric charge racing through his body, that the lovely lady was without a stitch of clothes on.
Decency, honor, a lifetime of training—all fled in an instant. Darcy could not tear his eyes from what he now realized was his one desire. Trembling, he breathed as slowly as he could, so as not to reveal himself. Darcy existed in a world of agony and ecstasy; he knew he should turn away, but could not. He wanted to jump in the river, swim over to her, and take her—love her— again and again. Instead, he sat as still as he could, sweat dripping down his face, his jeans becoming as tight as his breathing.
Beth dropped beneath the surface. At this, Darcy became alarmed, but before he could move a muscle, she came up again, only to lie back and float in the lazy current. Darcy froze; her breasts were exposed, their perky perfection kissed by the dappled sunlight through the canopy. Time stood still, all sound ceased, as Darcy was frozen by the siren song of desire, a real-life Calypso unknowingly taunting Odysseus. Lust and passion roared through his veins, and he felt he was going to explode.
By the time Beth dipped underwater again, Darcy found himself on one knee, beginning to move to the riverbank. He stopped himself and pulled back, just as she rose again, this time for good. She moved to the shallows and stood up, her back to him, water cascading from her shoulders and hair, running down her pale form, caressing her lovely buttocks, before dripping back into the river. Mesmerized, he watched her reach for a towel and had a glimpse of her dark treasure as she dried herself. Then she was gone—a bush hid her from view as she dressed herself.
Darcy sat back, panting as if he had run a great distance, feeling both great discomfort and intense guilt. He knew that spying on the girl was wrong, terribly wrong. And he shook from the realization that he had been mere moments from revealing himself, to her almost certain horror and his assured everlasting shame. And yet his traitorous body cared not a bit—it only craved release between her soft, warm thighs.
Darcy took a long, trembling breath and slowly made his way back to Caesar. The horse seemed to give him a curious look as he loosened the reins. He walked the horse in the hot sun like a pilgrim seeking penance until they reached Thompson Crossing. There he drew Caesar to the river and allowed him to drink while he splashed water on his face and neck. Darcy’s mind was in utter confusion, except for one thought. He would certainly need to go to confession this week before Mass.
Beth quickly dressed in the private little glen she and her sisters used for their forbidden swims. Charlotte had introduced the Bennet sisters to this watering hole the first summer they arrived, and Beth and the others enjoyed it immensely, even though their father was uneasy about it, and their mother had strictly prohibited such unladylike activities. The girls paid no mind—the place was secret, hidden from view, and it was too blasted hot in the summer not to go swimming.
She was making her way back to the house when she heard a horse whinny. Turning towards the ford, she strained to see a tall man riding away from the crossing on a black horse. A chill ran through her, glad that the swimming hole was so well hidden. She would have been mortified to death had anyone come upon her like that!
Mary was fidgeting on the seat of the family wagon as Beth, next to her, handled the reins. Her sister had to hide her smile—Mary claimed her excitement was over the first meeting of the Rosings Musical Society, but Beth was sure her sister’s nerves were more unsettled by the expectation of the attendance of their host, Reverend Tilney. The wagon rolled easily down the road into town, giving Kathy and Lily, in the bed of the wagon, little reason to complain. That they did anyway was in keeping with their characters.