Sweet Silken Bondage Read Free

desperately tried
to get a grip on himself. How on God's earth was he
going to tell Clay what had happened? Setting the
bottle aside, he paused to draw a deep steadying breath
and then finally turned around to confront his son.
    Clay was standing just inside the door, his expression
questioning and fearful.
    "You heard?" he asked.
    "Yes." Clay nodded.
    "I'm sorry, son." It hurt him even more to know that
Evaline had caused this sorrow in his son.
    "But I don't understand."
    "Neither do I," he replied uneasily. "I guess your
mother needs some time away from us."
    "She's going to come back, isn't she?"
    The hope in Clay's voice caused Philip to agonize.
He knew his son was desperate for some reassurance
that everything would be all right, and he wasn't sure
how to answer. He was torn between love and hate for
Evaline, between wanting her desperately and hating
the very thought of her. Her brutally vicious words and
actions stabbed at the love he had for her over and over
again, and as that tender emotion died, his hate and
rage overwhelmed him.
    Still, Philip knew he couldn't hurt his son that way. He couldn't tell Clay that his mother was an amoral
slut, who loved no one but herself and cared only for
her own pleasures. Motivated by a fatherly desire to
protect what was left of his innocence, Philip put a
reassuring arm around Clay's shoulders.

    "We'll just have to wait and see, son."
    It was later that afternoon when Clay stood unnoticed in the shadows of the porch. He watched in
silence as his mother climbed into the carriage and
pulled the door shut behind her. He wanted to run to
the carriage and cry out to her not to go. He wanted to
convince her to stay with them, but he knew it would
do no good. She was leaving. As the conveyance moved
off down the long, front drive, effectively taking her out
of his life, his eyes burned with unshed tears, and a
knot formed in his throat. He swallowed against the
strangling sensation.
    Clay's thoughts were in turmoil as he searched desperately for a way to make things right again. Again
and again, he reviewed the conversation he'd overheard
between his parents, hoping to find some clue there to
help change things. His expression grew grave, and his
gray eyes turned dark and stormy as he remembered
her words. She'd claimed that Windown was a hovel.
She'd told his father that she wanted to be wealthy, and
it dawned on Clay, then, that money had to be the key.
Money! With a child's logic, he reasoned that if his
mother had gone away because they weren't rich, all he
had to do was to make a lot of money and she would
come back.
    A surge of fierce pride and determination filled him,
and he turned away from the sight of the departing
carriage. In an unconsciously adult gesture, Clay
squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Somehow, some way, he was going to make enough money so
his mother would come home. He didn't care what it took, he just knew that he was going to do it. Once he
and his father had made Windown into the best plantation on the river, his mother would come back. It was
that simple. Yet, as Clay walked slowly toward the
stable to see Raven, he couldn't help but wonder why
he felt so empty and so very much alone.

     

New Orleans, 1848
    Clay looped his horse's reins through the hitching
post and hesitated a moment to stare up at the spacious, three-story house with its wrought-iron balconies and wide, airy windows. It was a dwelling that
spoke of elegance and style, of gracious living and easy
money. It was his mother's home.
    Several years ago when Clay had first seen the
mansion, he'd been intimidated, but today he was not.
Today, he knew he could face his mother proudly, as an
equal. Today, he had come to tell her that the Cordell
fortunes had been reversed, that they were now one of
the richest families on the river and, most importantly,
that she could come home.
    Clay was proud of the fact that he'd