Silver Moon by Monica Barrie Page A

caught the scent of rum carried to her across the small distance. Then he stepped toward her.
    “Stay away!” she ordered.
    Brace moved too quickly for her to escape, and his strong hands again trapped her. Slowly, inexorably, he drew her to him. Her heart raced; she was determined not to give in, yet she was captured completely; she had not even had the time to drop her arms to defend herself.
    She stared at his face, into the endlessly deep pools of his eyes. Then his lips were on hers and the searing heat of his body pressed against her. Elyse froze. She stood stiff against him, forcing her body to be unresponsive to his kiss, although her heart cried out to return it with all her strength.
    A moment later, her willpower threatened to give way. Refusing to let this happen, she gathered her shocked senses, tore her mouth from his, and spun out of his grasp.
    Stepping back, she held her arms defensively before her. “Don’t ever do that again!” Her rage and shame lent an icy force to her words. She turned and walked away.
    Brace stood still, his chest rising and falling. He did not go after her; instead, he remained in the gazebo.
    “I am not a bastard, as you well know. And never before have I been called uncaring.” Elyse spun at his words and glared at him. “Then I shall take it that it was the rum which controlled you tonight. For I cannot think of another reason that would make you act this way considering your deep dislike for me!”
    “No, Lady Louden,” Brace said in a low voice, “it was nothing so simple as rum.”
    Suddenly, Elyse was afraid to find out exactly what he meant.
    With her fears and desires racing confusedly through her mind, Elyse found one thought to which she could cling. Capturing it, she held it until it fully formed and then she drew herself straighter.
    “In which cane field will the harvesting begin?”
    Brace gazed at her, trying to understand this twist in their conversation. She had spoken as if nothing had happened in the gazebo. “You still intend to go out to the harvesting?”
    Elyse did not reply.
    “The bay field,” he said, after seeing the determination on her face.
    “I shall see you then. Good night.” Turning, she forced herself to walk slowly toward her house, to the safety she would find within it. Yet as she walked, her heart cried out to stop, to turn, and to run back into his arms.
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    The weeks following the tense, ethereal scene at the gazebo passed with the speed of continuing unreality for Elyse. Each morning she rose, dressed, and ate a small breakfast before riding into the cane fields to watch the harvesting.
    On the first morning of harvesting, she and Brace declared an uneasy, unspoken truce. Brace never mentioned the night before, and neither did she. Instead, he slowly began to teach her about the methods and the reasons for the way they harvested the cane. 
    Elyse was fascinated in the way the men, women, and children swung their long machetes to cut the cane stalks. Almost as important as the cutting of the cane, was the shearing of the stalk’s tops, which were then stacked separately from the cane. After the harvest, they would bring the tops to a cleared field for the planting of a new crop to replace an older, harvested one. This, she learned, was the process done once every three or four years. A good yielding field of Jamaican sugar cane could last for several harvestings before replanting was necessary.
    The next day she went with Brace to watch the processing, and stared for hours as they turned the cane into molasses, and then into sugar—sugar being the more valuable of the two.
    Soon Elyse’s days fell into a pattern. In the mornings, she went into the fields; in the afternoons, she worked at the processing plant.
    By the time they’d harvested the first four fields, Elyse knew every step of the operation. She pushed herself mercilessly, partially because of her desire to learn everything she could, and