Rebel Waltz Read Free Page A

grandfather, who was now in costume and looked every inch the Southern plantation owner.
    He smiled at her with just a trace of wicked mischief. “How'd the tour go?” he inquired.
    “Oh, just dandy.” Banner's cheerful voice was a far cry from the cold tone of the tour. “I was horribly rude to your Mr. Stewart and he took itlike a gent.” She laughed suddenly. “Until a couple of minutes ago, that is.”
    “Did he flay you?” Jake Clairmont asked interestedly.
    “He wanted to murder me! However, since he's a guest in your house… At least, that's the impression I got.” Banner hesitated, then said in a determinedly toneless voice, “He… saw the soldiers and their brides, Grandfather.”
    Jake's gaze sharpened, the same arrested expression Rory had seen in Banner's eyes in his now. “Did he?” the old man murmured thoughtfully. “Did he, now? That's interesting.”
    “He thought they were our guests.”
    “You didn't tell him…?”
    “No, of course not.” In a voice suddenly passionate with feeling, Banner exclaimed, “Jake, you can't sell to him! This place is in your blood—in mine. It'd kill us both to leave.”
    Jake looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “He came out here in good faith, you know that. I offered to sell, he wants to buy. If his price is right—”
    “He'll be master of Jasmine Hall,” she finished bitterly.
    Flatly, Jake said, “Restoring the place took a huge chunk out of our capital, Banner, and it'll take more than we've got left to turn the Hall into a paying plantation.” Deliberately, brutally, he added, “D'you want to see it decay like the others in this area?”
    “No,” she whispered.
    “Then we have two choices. We can turn the place over to a historical society or we can sell to someone like Rory Stewart, who's interested in keeping it relatively intact.”
    Banner squared her shoulders, the reason of his words sinking in against her will. She smiled at him, hiding heartbreak and showing her Clairmont blood and her love for the old man in her affectionate words. “You old bastard.”
    Jake grinned at her. “I promised I wouldn't sell the place without your approval, lass, and I meant it. We'll take a long, hard look at Stewart before we decide. We'll make sure we leave the Hall in good hands. Agreed?”
    “Agreed, Grandfather.”
    “All right, then.” He lifted a quizzical brow at her. “And none of your tricks, Banner.”
    “I don't play tricks,” she said indignantly.
    Jake Clairmont smiled faintly. “When you were ten,” he reminded her, “you very innocently proclaimed that the Hall was haunted, because you wanted to discourage potential buyers.”
    “That was seventeen years ago,” she pointed out virtuously. “I didn't know that you weren't serious about selling and I was not playing tricks.”
    “Well, be nice to Stewart. No more rudeness, all right?”
    Banner tossed her head and turned to open the door. “Of course I'll be nice,” she said loftily over her shoulder. “I've already short- sheeted his bed, disconnected the hot water in his bathroom, and put thorns in the seat of his riding breeches—how much nicer could I be?”
    She closed the door behind her, hearing her grandfather laugh. She listened to the growingclamor of the party preparations and, after a moment of indecision and a guilty glance at the clock near the stairs, hurried out of the house through the French doors in the front parlor. She crossed the veranda and went down the steps and through the rose garden, holding up her skirts and following a path that led into the woods.
    She wound up at a little cottage built in a clearing less than a hundred yards from the main house. According to the Hall books, the cottage had been built before the Civil War, but Banner had never been able to find out just why it existed. As a child, she'd woven stories of lovers’ trysts and family disapproval, and saw no reason now to reconsider the stories. They suited both her