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of the east hallway. But don’t worry.” He kissed her forehead. “You’ll sleep in my arms every night.”
    Anjele bit back the impulse to ask what business it was of his mother’s, anyway. Dear Lord, she cringed to think of living in the same house with that domineering woman. Oh, not that she was ever unkind. Quite the contrary. Ida carried on as though she adored her and couldn’t do enough for her. There was no problem there. But it was still Ida’s house, and Anjele knew she’d never feel at home there. Besides, she couldn’t stand the way Raymond acted like a little boy around his mother, which, Anjele suspected, was one of the reasons he drank so much.
    “You really have to go,” she said emphatically, leading the way to the front door.
    He stepped onto the porch but suddenly put his arms around her and swore, “I don’t give a damn who sees us,” then claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss.
    She tried to return his fervor but could feel no emotion whatsoever. Even when his tongue parted her lips, and she pretended ardency as she clung to him, there was nothing.
    “My darling,” he whispered shakily, forcing himself to end the wondrous moment. “This is torture.”
    “Then go.” She mustered a cheery lilt to her voice and waved him on his way.
    “I love you,” he called, hurrying down the steps to where a groomsman waited with his horse.
    She blew him a kiss but did not, could not, echo his affirmation with one of her own.
    “You’re such a hypocrite.” Claudia stepped from behind the potted palm in the foyer, where she had been hiding.
    Anjele felt her spine tighten with anger but quickly told herself it wasn’t worth a confrontation. Instead she turned toward the back of the house without responding.
    Claudia was right behind her to grab her shoulder and spin her about. “Why don’t you tell him the truth? You don’t love him, and you don’t want to marry him, and the only reason you’re doing it is to hurt me.”
    Anjele bit back the fury and jerked free to continue on her way.
    “Bitch!”
    At that, Anjele turned, throwing her resolve to the wind, but Claudia was already running for the stairs.
    Maybe, Anjele mused, living with Ida Duval would be paradise compared to enduring Claudia’s tantrums, which, she knew, were not motivated solely by her feelings for Raymond. Claudia had always coveted anything Anjele had that she didn’t. That sadly included Raymond, who, to her knowledge, had never given Claudia any reason to think he was even remotely interested in her.
    She left the house by way of the ballroom, with its mirrored walls and crystal chandeliers. It was on the opposite side of the house from the kitchen and service buildings, so she couldn’t be seen by curious servants. Outside, beyond the marble terrace, were the formal gardens. The men working on her mother’s prized camellias hardly glanced up as she passed.
    Walking by the sundial, she saw it was nearly ten o’clock. It was a standing rule that slaves took a fifteen-minute rest period at that time. All she had to do was stand at the edge of the first cotton field and wait for the bell to ring, and when the workers hastened to a shaded area, she ran quickly toward the dense woods.
    The path was worn. She knew exactly how far she had walked before taking the clothes from Simona and changing. She had stepped off to the side and could see the grass and weeds there were mashed down. And, heart leaping with relief, she spotted the rock, then reeled with sudden horror to realize her clothes were not behind it.
    Someone had already found them.
    For a moment, she could only stand there, wondering what to do. No doubt, whoever found them would see right away they were not the garments of a slave. Not to turn them in would be judged the same as stealing, a serious offense at BelleClair, so they’d be taken to one of the house servants, who would then, of course, present them to her mother. Despite the stifling hot day, that