“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Saxton and his little bride! Howdy, ma’am!”
Chauncey eyed the dark-haired, powerfully built man standing in front of her. She blinked when Delaney said abruptly, “Baron. I’m certain you’ll excuse us.”
He gripped her elbow in an iron hold. “Baron?” she asked, puzzled. “Who is he? Why do you so dislike him?”
“He is not a nice man, Chauncey. In fact, I don’t think I’d trust him if he were surrounded by harp-playing angels in heaven. Ah, Captain O’Mally.”
Chauncey blinked at the very short little man who was dressed in an ornate scarlet uniform. His bald head was round as his stomach and he had a wide mouth filled with unevenly spaced, very white teeth. His eyes were a twinkling light blue. He looked like a good-natured, thoroughly harmless leprechaun.
“Rufus, this is my wife, Elizabeth. My dear, Captain O’Mally.”
He clicked his heels together and his smile widened even further. “Charming, ma’am, and charmed, I assure you!” His blue eyes studied her face. “So you’re the lovely English lady who caught our Del.”
“She did indeed,” Delaney agreed blandly.
“I am pleased to meet you, Captain,” Chauncey said, extending her gloved hand. His hands were as small and delicate as her own, but she felt the iron strength as he clasped her fingers.
“And this is Mr. Hoolihan, ma’am,” Captain O’Mally said, straightening to his full diminutive height. Chauncey nodded to the tall, very dark-visaged man who had come out of the glassed-in wheelhouse. He too was dressed in a scarlet uniform of sorts, but without so many gold braids and brass buttons. On him the uniform looked very dashing.
“Mr. Hoolihan just joined me just last week,” Captain O’Mally said. “This is only his second trip. Came to us very highly recommended, of course.”
The men exchanged what Chauncey decided was boat talk. She realized after a few moments that Mr. Hoolihan was gazing at her from the corner of his dark eyes. His look held no admiration, no warmth. Indeed, he appeared to be studying her like a specimen butterfly to be pinned in a collection. She shook off the fanciful image. Suddenly there was the sound of a loud whistle, and she jumped.
“Ah, we’re ready to go,” Captain O’Mally said. “Will you join me for dinner, Del?”
“Perhaps,” Delaney said, shooting a teasing smile toward Chauncey.
The captain nodded his bald head and said smartly to Mr. Hoolihan, “All right, boy, let’s earn our keep! Ma’am,” he said, and stepped aside as Delaney escorted Chauncey from the wheelhouse.
“Our stateroom is on the top deck,” Delaney said, pointing to the wide wooden stairs upward. “The dining room, gambling hall, and first-class cabins are on this deck.”
Chauncey avoided the stairs and turned to walk to the railing. “Everything is so lavish, so polished,” she said, running her fingers over the sparkling brass.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Belowdeck, things aren’t quite so laudable. It’s not nearly as bad as the steerage in ships, but there aren’t any velvet appointments.”
The racket grew as more passengers crowded to the railing to wave good-bye to friends and family on the dock. Sailors flung the heavy shoring lines to men on the decks. The loud whistle sounded again. Slowly the steamboat eased away from the dock.
Delaney waited patiently until Chauncey had had her fill. Their fellow passengers began to disperse to their cabins or to the gambling hall or to one of the two salons. He lightly touched her shoulder. “Come, love,” he said.
“But there is so much to see! Look at the hills, Delaney. They’re so much greener than those in the city. And the islands, are they inhabited? Indians?”
“A few and maybe. You’re shivering, my dear. I don’t want you to take a chill.”
Chauncey turned reluctantly from the railing, refusing to meet her husband’s eyes. It seemed to her that he now held all the power, and she was frightened. She vaguely remembered the rippling, quite pleasurable sensations of the night before, and took a deep breath. She raised her chin and walked briskly toward the stairs.
Their stateroom was beyond anything she could have imagined. The walls were solid mahogany, the furniture dark and rich. A crimson carpet covered the floor, and the windows were draped with crimson velvet. Her eyes were drawn to the wide bed on the port side of the room, its spread as scarlet as blood.
“Like a floating bordello, isn’t it?”
She ran her tongue over her lower lip.
“Sam picked out the decor. I think it fulfilled all his fantasies.” She felt his hands lightly caressing her shoulder blades, moving up under the thick chignon to knead her neck.
“Del, I—”
“It’s all right, love,” he said quietly.
“It’s just that I feel more embarrassed than I did last night.” She gave a shaky laugh. “That probably sounds quite silly to you.”
“No, not really.” He turned her gently to face him and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now you know what my body is like and what lovemaking is about.” He grinned, unable to keep from teasing her. “At least, I think you know something about my body. Did you keep your eyes shut all the time?”
She shook her head against his shoulder.
“And now you know what it’s like to have me inside of you. To be honest, Chauncey, I’ve thought of little else all day. You are adorable, do you know that?”
Damn you! I don’t want to become close to you! I don’t want to spend time on this wretched boat!
“Now, sweetheart, I’m going to undress you and make very slow, very thorough love to you. If you’re still hungry later, well, I’ll send to the kitchen for something.”
She was afraid, but he couldn’t guess the true reason. She was afraid that he would make her body respond to him. It had begun the previous night, until he had hurt her. But it wouldn’t hurt anymore. His hands were lightly caressing her sides, moving slowly upward until his fingers were stroking the sides of her breasts. Slowly he lowered his head and gently pressed his mouth against hers. His lips were warm and soft and she thought vaguely that he tasted sweet, so sweet.
Fight him, you fool! You can’t stop him, but you don’t have to enjoy it!
She felt his tongue glide over her lips, tracing lightly, then gently probing to gain entrance. His hands held her head steady, and he continued kissing her until he felt her begin to ease. His tongue lightly stroked hers, and he felt her shudder. Progress, he thought, at last. Now for all her damned clothes.
“Do you like the way that feels?” he asked softly in her mouth.
Chauncey’s eyes were tightly closed, and it was a battle not to clasp him more closely against her. Her head nodded, without her permission.
Delaney stepped back, his fingers on the fastening hooks of her blue velvet mantle. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him helplessly. Back to the beginning, he thought, kissing her again as his fingers finished their work.
By the time Chauncey was standing in the middle of the luxurious stateroom clad only in her lacy drawers and shift, she was pale with anxiety. She turned away when Delaney began to remove his own clothes with great rapidity. She was fingering the soft velvet draperies, staring blindly out over the water, when his hands closed over her bare shoulders.
She closed her eyes again. I’m supposed to be in love with him. I can’t let him suspect!
She felt his arm slip around her thighs and she clutched at his bare shoulders as he swung her up into his arms. His flesh felt so very warm and smooth. He held her with one arm while he swept back the velvet bedcover.
He laid her on her back and she found herself staring into his eyes, momentarily shaken by the deep tenderness she read in the golden depths. And something else. Desire. Her eyes drifted downward to the pale golden tufts of hair on his chest, to the ridges of muscle over his belly. She drew in a sharp breath at the proof of his desire. His thick swollen manhood thrust from the dense hair at his groin. “Del,” she said, her voice
jerky and pathetically wavering to her own ears.
He slipped onto the bed beside her. “No, love, don’t be afraid. Just lie still and enjoy. All right?”
She didn’t reply, nor did he really expect her to. A husband’s responsibility, he thought ruefully. Seducing his wife. He wanted her naked against him. Now. She didn’t fight him as he slipped off her shift and eased her drawers down her hips.
When he pulled her naked against the length of him, he felt her stiffen, then become pliant, like a rag doll.
“No, I won’t let you be a martyr,” he said hoarsely.
She felt the determination in his every kiss, every movement of his hands. His fingers were gliding over her buttocks, splaying inward to touch her. She caught her breath at the explosion of warmth in her belly.
“Del, please, don’t! Please . . .”
Now his fingers were stroking upward toward her belly, burrowing into the soft mat of curls, probing her gently until she felt her body begin to take on a will of its own. He dipped his head to gently nuzzle her nipples before drawing on them, suckling her.
“Please don’t what?” he teased her gently as his finger slipped inside her. He sucked in his breath. She was hot, her soft woman’s flesh moist and inviting.
“I don’t know!” she gasped, staring in bewilderment into his eyes. “I don’t like that!”
“Liar.” His forefinger eased in more deeply. He could feel her muscles contracting about his finger, and his manhood pulsed in response against her thigh.
“No more pain, sweetheart,” he whispered, pushing his finger a bit deeper. He began to caress her with his thumb, and to his delight, she shuddered, and her thighs grew utterly lax. Her face was burrowed against his shoulder, and she breathed in his scent. This is terrible! I don’t want to feel anything! Please, no!
She moaned his name, pounding her fists against his shoulders, wanting to push him away but drawing him nearer.
“That’s it, love,” he said, satisfaction in his deep voice, his eyes glittering into hers. “Come for me now. I want to see your eyes, taste you when you let go.” He could feel her resistance, see the struggle in her dazed eyes. “Let go, love,” he said, and felt her body tense, then begin to convulse in climax. He kissed her deeply, taking her cries of pleasure in his mouth, then eased back to watch her face. She arched her back, her head lolling on the pillow, tangling her hair around her face. Her eyes, filled with dazed surprise, met his. He wanted to weep with the pleasure of it. He continued to caress her and stroke her as intense pleasure convulsed her body.
“Ah, that was sweet, so sweet,” he said. Quickly, before her climax ebbed, he knelt between her thighs. He parted them wide, his breath quickening at her willingness. He guided himself inside her, feeling the heat of her enclose him. To his surprise and undoing, her hips thrust up, drawing him deep within her. “Raise your legs around my hips,” he managed to grind out between clenched teeth.
She did as he bid her, and he was lost. He thrust deep, and felt his body explode in incredible pleasure. He cried out her name, murmuring sex words, love words.
He felt a surge of tenderness, and yes, satisfaction as he collapsed on top of her. Another moan escaped his lips as her thighs tightened around his hips, holding him deep within her.
He managed to pull himself up on his elbows. “You are some woman, wife,” he said softly, pushing deeper.
Chauncey blinked up at him, her mind working furiously. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, unable to accept what her body had forced upon her. “I didn’t want to feel so—”
He dipped down his head and kissed her lightly on her lips. “Do you have any idea how soft your breasts are?” he asked, smiling at her bewildered, confused expression. “How can you blush, love?” He grasped her and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. His thoughts stretched toward the future, a future filled with passion. It was a pleasing thought, and he squeezed her more tightly against him.
Chauncey felt numb with shock. She tried to remember the Chauncey who hated this man, the Chauncey who smiled cruelly at the thought of destroying him, bringing him to his knees, the Chauncey who was in control of everything.
She burst into tears.
16
Captain O’Mally’s dining table provided an interesting assortment of people and an array of equally fascinating foods. Heavy chandeliers glittered above the long, rather narrow room. Gilt-framed paintings covered the three oak walls, the other being all glass. The tables were covered with pristine white cloths and graced with sparkling silver cutlery and fine English china.
“Most impressive, Captain,” Chauncey said as he held her chair.
“Del insisted on the best,” Rufus said, giving her his most charming leprechaun grin. “As he usually does,” he added, sweeping his gaze admiringly over her peach silk gown.
The dinner menu was printed in a flowery script, and many of the myriad dishes were unfamiliar to Chauncey. Broiled plover, hare chops in salmi, venison steak . . . The list seemed endless.
Delaney saw her blink and said softly, “The brains, love? Please, forgo those if you wish. I already dread that you have a surfeit. I would recommend the braised chicken with oyster sauce.”
“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She could still see him staring at her aghast when she had burst into tears but two hours before. He had held her, not demanding an explanation, not demanding anything from her. He had already taken everything, she thought now, her thoughts confused and desolate.
Delaney gave his order to the white-coated waiter who stood at his elbow, then leaned back in his chair, a crystal goblet of dry white wine in his left hand. He responded equably to a question from Colonel Dakworth, and commented suitably on the rather stormy situation now brewing over which city should become the capital of California. But he didn’t give a damn about any of it at the moment. Such a puzzle she was, he thought, listening to his wife’s soft voice as she asked the waiter for the braised chicken. A beautiful, responsive puzzle. He saw Brent Hammond, a friend, a gambler, womanizer, and something of a pirate, eyeing her speculatively. You haven’t a prayer, old man, he wanted to tell him, his lips curling sardonically. Not a prayer. Brent hadn’t been able to come to their wedding. And Captain O’Mally’s first mate, Mr. Hoolihan. His look wasn’t at all speculative in the manner of Hammond’s; it was rather assessing, and utterly emotionless. Odd man, Hoolihan, he thought. If he could force his mind away from Chauncey, he wanted to find out more about him.
Dakworth, the blustering old fool, was expounding in fine style to Reverend Divine about the thieves and villains the viligantes had routed out of San Francisco two years before. Delaney didn’t care what exaggerations the bewhiskered old man propounded, he just wanted the damned meal over with and Chauncey back in their stateroom.
The talk remained animated throughout the long meal, with tales from Reverend Divine about his trials with the filthy, savage Indians. “Ugly brutes” seemed to be his sniffing refrain. Chauncey, Delaney observed silently, ate next to nothing. What was she thinking? he wondered. Was she mortified that she had experienced sexual pleasure with him? Was that the reason for her tears? Surely she hadn’t been raised to believe that ladies were simply to endure their husbands’ brutish demands and, that to feel anything was ill-bred. Her obvious ignorance indicated that no one had told her anything about sex.
Chauncey was pulled from her roiling thoughts by Captain O’Mally’s cheerful lilting voice. “A moment, everyone! I propose a toast. To Delaney and Elizabeth Saxton, our newlyweds.”
Brent Hammond’s black brows arched upward and there was a decidedly wolfish gleam in his dark eyes. “To the lovely bride,” he said, his deep voice bland as the white rice.
“May your union be blessed,” Reverend Divine added in a pompous voice.
Chauncey’s eyes flew to his face. Blessed! He must mean children! She felt her temples throb. Delaney had promised her, had assured her . . . She could feel his seed explode deep w
ithin her body, filling her. “Oh no,” she whispered.
“What, Mrs. Saxton? Another toast?”
It was Mr. Hammond’s smooth, mocking voice. Damn him! She lifted her chin, looked at him full in his darkly handsome face, and announced in a thankfully calm voice, “Yes, indeed, Mr. Hammond. A toast to the Scarlet Queen. And to my husband’s excellent taste in wineglasses.”
Chauncey couldn’t face the array of sweet desserts, and nibbled on a small bunch of grapes. She could feel Delaney’s concern, his puzzlement. God, she wanted to be alone! When the meal was finally over, she heard Captain O’Mally ask to speak privately with Delaney about some urgent business matters. She turned swiftly, schooled her features into what she hoped was the understanding-wife look, and said, “I shall be fine, Del. Indeed, I think I should like to walk on the deck for a while. It is a beautiful night.”
Delaney wasn’t fooled for an instant. Very well, his expressive eyes told her, I shall leave you be for the moment. “Soon, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “Your stateroom, Rufus?” he asked.
Chauncey drew a relieved breath as she made her way to their stateroom to fetch her velvet mantle. A few minutes later, she was walking past the gaming salon. She heard the laughter, and snatches of gay conversation. She walked forward, relieved that the one remaining couple on deck was leaving. She was alone with her thoughts at last. What thoughts? she asked herself facetiously. The night was beautiful, she thought vaguely, leaning her head back to gaze up at the quarter-moon and the array of bright stars overhead. She could see little of the shore, just the black outline of trees and hills. Not a soul out there, she thought, just savage, uncivilized land.
She leaned her elbows on the brass railing and stared down at the rippling dark water of the Sacramento River. She wondered what kinds of fish were below the murky surface.