It sorely tried Delaney’s control when he bathed her. He concentrated ferociously, but when she trembled as the cloth stroked between her thighs, he sucked in his breath.
“I can’t help it,” she gasped. “You’re the one touching me!”
He finished as quickly as he could. “Let’s leave your hair for tomorrow,” he said, rising. “I don’t want to take any chances with your coming down with a cold, not now.”
“May I dress?”
“Yes, I’ll help you.”
“Then outside in the sun?”
“Yes, but only to sleep.” He paused, then added, “And warm your petals.”
She blinked at him, then understood and flushed scarlet. “I thought you said you would help me dress,” she said tartly.
“The sun is very warm and bright.”
He didn’t give her a chance to retort. Once she was wearing the skirt and blouse Chatca had bartered for her, he took her outside onto the planked and sagging porch.
He spread out the bedroll and helped her sit down, her back propped against the shack wall. “You will not move from this spot, all right?”
“I promise, master.”
“If you need to relieve yourself, I will be back soon to help you.”
“Must you mention things like that?”
He straightened, standing tall and large over her, his rifle snug under his right arm. “Since I know your body as well as I know my own, I can’t understand your missish quibbling.”
“Well, then, it must work both ways!”
“Does it now?” he drawled. “Next time I’m too ill to see to myself, I’ll consider asking your aid.”
“One of these fine days, Del, I’m going to have the last word on you!”
He merely laughed, waved his hand at her, and strode away from the shack into the forest.
Chauncey leaned her head back against the rough wooden wall and closed her eyes. The sun felt wonderful. Petals, she thought, and smiled reluctantly. He was everything she could imagine wanting in a man. And she had almost lost him.
Paul Montgomery. Where was he? Had Delaney’s men found him yet? She fought down the spurt of fear. Think about what has happened between the two of you, she thought, and a contented smile came to her lips. It seemed quite natural to be in the middle of nowhere, garbed in tattered and worn clothes, waiting to hear the retort of Delaney’s rifle, signaling he’d shot their dinner. Like Adam and Eve, she thought fancifully, and closed her eyes. Yet, she thought as she drifted into sleep, there had been a serpent in the Garden of Eden.
Her dreams were harsh and frightening. She was standing in the middle of Delaney’s warehouse, surrounded by crackling loud fireworks, and as they exploded around her, she saw Paul Montgomery emerge through a thick veil of smoke. He was smiling at her. Behind him stood Chatca, his face covered with blood.
She screamed, jerking upright.
“Hush, love.”
“Del!” She turned wild eyes to her husband, who was hunkered down beside her. “It was awful!”
“Just a nightmare.” He was lightly stroking her face. “Here I give you a bath and make you presentable again, and it brings you a bad dream.”
“I saw Chatca,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “His face was covered with blood. And Paul Montgomery was there, looking kind and gentle.” She shuddered. “Why was Chatca with Paul Montgomery?”
His expression never altered. “They both threaten you, each in a different way. Your weak woman’s mind simply put them together for simplicity’s sake.”
“I should have known you’d mock me!”
“That’s better,” he said, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Now, I’m going to bring the horses around and give them a good rubdown. Consider it the high point of your exciting day.”
“No,” she said impishly, “the high point happened earlier, much earlier.”
He gave her a slow, intimate smile. “You mean your bath?”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed readily, her eyes as guileless as a child’s. “There is nothing else I can think of.”
“At the time, I don’t believe you were thinking at all.” He lightly kissed her pursed lips. “No, love, don’t say it. It is obviously your fate to have the second-to-last word.”
The afternoon passed much too quickly for Chauncey’s liking. She knew that their days and nights together were out of time, that despite her wounded shoulder, for the first time in their married life they were enjoying a honeymoon of sorts. She didn’t want it to end, though she did swallow a bit convulsively when she saw Delaney plucking the pheasant he’d shot for their dinner.
“You are so bloody likeable,” she said suddenly as he rose, his task finished, and brushed stray feathers off his buckskins.
“You would prefer that I beat you?”
“No,” she said seriously, squinting up at him. “I mean that I was so caught up in my vengeance, I was blind to what you were really like. At least,” she added, “for a while.”
His brows arched upward.
“I mean that I began to feel niggling doubts. Even my ever-faithful Mary was singing your praises, and I wanted to smack her! When I realized that I loved you, I thought I’d die. You see, I felt I was betraying my father, succumbing to his enemy.”
Delaney eased down beside her, stretching out his long legs. “I liked your father,” he said, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. “Damnable greed. You do know, Chauncey, that if it hadn’t been for my business proposition to your father, he would likely still be alive.”
“No! You won’t talk like that!” He was gazing at her quizzingly, and she added, “If it were true, then imagine me as Sir Guy’s wife, for it probably would have come to pass.”
He didn’t like that notion at all. Chauncey saw his lips tighten and his eyes darken. “There, you see what happens when you try to change the past? Actually, when you think about it, if it hadn’t been for my godfather, Sir Jasper, I’d probably now be a shop girl in London, barely eking out a living.”
“All right, you logical wench, I’ll cease and desist.”
“Do you still want to be in California’s politics?” Chauncey asked abruptly.
“Yes, I do.” His left brow shot upward as he remembered their prior discussions about it. “You agreed then,” he said slowly, “because you hoped there’d be a way to ruin me.”
“Yes, but I simply couldn’t think of anything. I fear I’m not a very good plotter.”
“But you’re excellent in bed.”
She smiled at him even as she said in a tart voice, “Is that all you men think about? Bedding women?”
“Alas, there’s a great deal of truth to what you say.”
“Del, you . . . well, you won’t really mind giving up your mistress, will you?”
He gave her an appalled look. “Give up Marie? My dear girl, you expect me to forgo all my sport?”
Her eyes became large and distressed.
“Such a fool you are, Chauncey,” he said softly, tweaking her nose. “You know very well that I gave up Marie before we were married.”
“Yes, I suppose so, but you were so furious with me and you left that night, remember?”
“Yes, but I didn’t go to Marie. Don’t ever forget, Chauncey, ever: I love you to distraction. All right?”
“I don’t deserve you,” she said, and poked him in the ribs when he heartily agreed with her.
The night was cool and clear. Sated, Chauncey leaned back against Delaney’s knees, staring into the glowing embers in the fireplace. The pheasant had been delicious. Her shoulder scarcely bothered her.
“I don’t ever want to leave here,” she said, leaning her head back so that she could see his face upside down.
“That’s because I’m doing all the work, madam. I would expect you to enjoy being waited on hand and foot. Well, hand and something.”
She flushed just a bit.
He shifted her around and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I want you
to get into your comfortable bed. I, dear one, am going down to the river to bathe.”
“All right,” she said, her pulse quickening. He helped her ease down into the bedroll and rose.
“I shan’t be long. Can I expect you to be waiting for me when I return?”
She yawned dramatically. “I’m awfully tired, sir.”
When Delaney returned to the shack some thirty minutes later, he was amused to see that she was indeed sleeping, her face glowing in the soft firelight, her breath even. He stripped off his clothes and started to slide under the blankets with her, but realized he was too wide-awake. He had kept all his doubts and concerns from her, and in the stillness of the dilapidated shack, they flooded into his mind.
Chauncey awoke slowly, not moving. She blinked several times, furious with herself that she’d fallen asleep. She turned her head on the valise—the makeshift pillow—and sucked in her breath. Delaney stood by the fireplace staring as if mesmerized by the jumping flames. He was naked.
29
Delaney’s body glowed golden in the soft firelight. He was leaning slightly forward, his arm braced against the rough-hewn stone ledge that served as a mantel. His head was bent and she could see the damp tendrils of hair at his neck curling slightly as his hair dried from his bath. He looked so locked into his thoughts that she kept herself silent, content for the moment to drink in the beauty of him.
Her eyes followed the profile of his body, the smooth slope of his back, the taut buttocks, the long, powerful legs. He turned slightly, and she stared at the muscled chest, the firm, flat belly, and the nest of hair at his groin. She wanted more than anything to touch him, to feel the crisp hair of his thighs, to rub her cheek against his belly.
“You are so damned beautiful,” she said, scarcely aware that she’d spoken aloud.
He turned abruptly, saw that she was staring at him fully, and grinned. “I am pleased that you like the view.”
He made no move to cover himself.
“It is not just your body that is beautiful,” she continued after a moment, her eyes drawn downward as his manhood began to respond to her gaze. “You are such a complex man.”
He arched a brow at her. “I assure you, my dear, that there isn’t a complex thought in my head at the moment.”
“I wish that you had some flaws!” she blurted out.
He laughed at that, and she watched the play of muscles in his chest.
“Well, it’s true,” she said, indignant. “I am nothing but one big flaw, and you . . . well, you are so bloody perfect!”
“Oh, Chauncey, I am anything but a paragon. I have been known to sin, you know, and most royally.”
“I feel that I’ve done nothing but sin, and make a mess of everything.”
“You’re through making messes, love, I promise you.”
“Now you make me sound like a puppy!”
“Ah, I knew I could get you out of that serious vein and make you smile. Life is bloody strange.” He looked bemused for a moment, then shook off his abstraction. He straightened, a look in his eyes that made her pulse begin to race. His eyes looked as golden as his body. She could feel their intensity, see the shades of feeling.
“I don’t want to go back!” she said, running her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. “Ever.”
He strode over to her and eased down to his knees. “When we return home, I promise you that what we have learned about each other these past days we won’t forget.” He held out his hands to her.
She came up to her knees before him. “I love you, Del.”
“I know,” he said, his voice lightly teasing, “and my body believes you as well.”
He drew her gently against him and she felt his swollen manhood against her belly. His hands were lightly stroking down her back, curving around her hips, and raising her slightly.
She clasped her arms around his back and raised her head. He kissed her gently on her lips, his tongue probing until with a contented sigh she allowed him entrance.
He felt her soft breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples taut. His kiss deepened and he brought his hands up to clasp her face between his hands. When he finally released her mouth, she was gasping for breath, her breasts heaving. She nipped at his shoulder, easing down to kiss his nipples, her hand roving through the hair on his chest. She wanted him, all of him. She pictured him loving her body intimately, his mouth covering her until she wanted to scream with pleasure. Could he be so different from her? She eased down lower, giving him light, nipping kisses on his belly. She felt his muscles tighten, felt his entire body stiffen, and she smiled in anticipation. When her lips lightly touched his manhood, he jerked wildly, sucking in his breath.
“Chauncey . . .” he began, his voice raspy.
He slid his fingers into her hair, drawing her head forward. The soft moistness of her mouth closed so gently around him. She could have no notion of what she was doing to him, he thought, utterly dazed by her marvelous initiative. He closed his eyes, flinging back his head, and let her swamp his body with incredible sensations. But it had been too long, and he could feel himself trembling toward release.
Slowly he pushed her away.
She raised her face and smiled at him. “I love the way you taste,” she said, her voice awed and strangely excited. “And the way you feel and . . .” She lowered her head again, but he grasped her shoulders, bringing her upright.
“No! No more, love. I can’t hold back.”
“Oh,” she said, considering his words. “But you never make me hold back.”
“That,” he said, a wry smile on his lips, “is not quite the same thing. Not the same thing at all.”
She snuggled up against him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders. “Please,” she said softly.
But he wouldn’t be rushed, as much as he wanted to bury himself deep within her. He splayed his fingers over her buttocks, curving until he was probing at her softness. She was ready for him, wanting him as much as he wanted her.
“Oh God,” he whispered hoarsely. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he said, easing down on his haunches. He lifted her hips and gently eased himself into her.
She cried out in surprise and pleasure.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Oh no,” she cried, kissing him wildly.
He came deeper inside her, his eyes closed with the intense pleasure of her. This closeness, he thought passionately, was what he had always envisioned with a woman, the one special woman he’d almost despaired of ever finding. Her warmth and giving were filling him as he was filling her with himself.
“Lean back against my hands,” he told her softly. She obeyed him instantly. “That’s right, love. Relax and drop your arms. I don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”
She flung her head back, arching her back against the support of his hands, her breasts thrust forward. Slowly he eased her onto her back, never leaving her, and supported himself above her on his elbows. Her hips rose to meet his gentle thrusts, and he moaned softly deep in his throat at her response to him. He slipped his hand between them and began to caress her warm swollen flesh. Her eyes flew open, and he saw her desire for him. He began to tremble, thrusting more urgently, more deeply, his breath raspy in the still room. He felt her legs close about his flanks, drawing him deeper, and he tried to slow himself. But she wouldn’t allow it.
She gasped his name, feeling his fingers burn white hot into the depths of her, felt him so deep inside her that he was one with her.
She screamed his name, her body tensing, her eyes closing as the convulsing, nearly painful sensations ripped through her body.
He thrust deep, making himself a part of her, spewing his seed into her, thinking at that moment that he had come home.
Chauncey quivered slightly as the gentle spasms continued to fill her. The feel of him, oh God, she thought, utterly dazed, the feel of him surrounding her, filling her, knowing her . . .
“What’s this? Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?” br />
His soft voice rumbled close by her ear, and she clutched her arms around his back, burying her face in his shoulder. She breathed in the scent of him, pressing her lips against him, and tasted the sheen of perspiration that covered his flesh.
“Chauncey . . .”
“I’m fine, truly fine. I just can’t seem to get enough of you.”
He arched back and looked down into her face. “You look quite proud of yourself,” he observed.
She wriggled her hips upward, drawing him inward. “I shan’t let you leave me.”
“You know, I begin to believe that having a wife is not a bad thing at all. Particularly a wife who makes me wild every night.”
“The wife feels the same away,” she said. “Del, no!”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He eased off her onto his side. “Just give me some time to regroup my troops.”
“Yes, general, sir.” She raised her hand and lightly stroked her fingertips over his bearded jaw. “Del, if Chatca had”—she paused a moment, the word hovering in her mind—“if he had raped me, what would you have done? Would you have hated me?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her and tell her that she was young and silly, but he didn’t. She was perfectly serious, and he responded in kind. “I don’t understand why a woman could possibly feel guilty if she is the victim.”
He felt a slight shudder go through her. “I think I would feel so . . . dirty, so unworthy.”
“Do you know, I have heard some men blame women for another man’s violence. I have even heard them joke about how they won’t enter a field where other men have plowed. In fact, Sam Brannan wondered in all upright honesty how I could have Lin in my house when she’d been a common whore to more men than he could count. As if it had been her decision, her choice! It took months for the haunted look to leave Lin’s eyes, to see her stand firm, not flinch when I came close to her. Men are sometimes bastards.”
“You wouldn’t have minded, then?”
“Of course. I would feel guilty myself that I allowed you so little protection that you could be violated. I would have killed the man who’d harmed you.”
She sighed deeply, nestling her face against his chest. “But there’s something not right here,” she said suddenly, pulling back to look at him. “You’re right, I can see that now. Had he raped me, it wouldn’t have been my fault. What I don’t understand is why men can think that way. After all, if it were not for them, there would be no women who were whores in the first place. Or mistresses,” she added, her eyes darkening.