Innocent Fire (28 page)

That night, back at their own wichiup, they sat outside in the moonlight and talked about the ranch, making plans. Derek had his back against a boulder, and he pulled Miranda into the crook of his arm. “To start with,” he said, “I’ll make it a two-room cabin, but we’ll add on every year until it’s a fine house.”

“Two rooms is fine,” Miranda said, surprised that she meant it. Life had changed so much for her.

“One room will be our bedroom, of course, the other for sitting and eating. We’ll cook over a fireplace, but next year, if all goes well, I’ll buy us a Dutch oven in San Antonio. And later, a stove.” He reached for her hand.

She hesitated. “Derek, let’s sell the JB. We can use the money from the sale for everything we need, even hiring help.” She felt him tense.

“No, Miranda,” he finally said.

“Why?”

He frowned. “I’m supposed to use another man’s fortune to take care of my wife? I can’t do it. And that’s that.”

She twisted to look at him. “It’s yours, now, you know that! It’s not mine, not even legally.”

“It’s yours in my mind,” he said stubbornly.

“Then what do you want to do with the JB?”

“We can sell it and put the funds in trust for—” He stopped.

She gasped.

“You haven’t bled. Don’t deny it. It’s two months almost, isn’t it? You’re with child.” His voice was as bleak as his heart at the thought.

“Maybe not,” she said. She felt cold fear. What if she was? What would happen to them? Would Derek turn away from her? She was so afraid that he would. She didn’t even have to look at him to know how much he hated her having Chavez’s child.

“Is there any way it could be John’s?” he asked suddenly.

“No.”

“But John died only two weeks before Chavez captured you.”

Miranda didn’t want to discuss Chavez. The nightmares had gone away, and she didn’t want them coming back.

“It’s not John’s,” she insisted, turning to look at him.

“How can you be sure?” he said grimly.

“John only made love to me three times,” she blurted, then bit her lip.

Derek gaped.

She looked away.

“Why in hell was that?”

“I was reluctant, and he was kind,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was an awful wife to him, Derek. He loved me so much, and I denied him.”

Derek put his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. “He loved you. You made him very happy, I know it for a fact. There’s more to love than lovemaking, as we both well know. Don’t torture yourself.”

Miranda turned and slipped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him, closing her eyes. His scent was so intoxicating. She inhaled deeply. He stroked her hair.

“You are so giving,” he suddenly said.

“What?”

“You never take, Miranda, and you’re the only woman I know who’s so giving.”

“That’s not true,” she said, thinking he was crazy.

“You never ask for anything. Look at your life, what it’s become. You came out here to marry a rich rancher,
and now you’ve become something like a squaw. Our life is hard, at least for you.” He tilted her chin up so their eyes met. “Do you want it differently? Do you…do you want to go back—to England?”

Miranda stared. “Are you giving me a choice?”

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “I want you happy, but I don’t think I can let you go.”

“Then the question was moot.”

“Please, answer it.” He waited, breathless, his pulse pounding.

She seriously considered it. She knew she didn’t want to go home to her father. But, if she went home married and separated, he wouldn’t be able to marry her off again. Then what? Would it be possible he would let her return to the convent, maybe become a nun? Or go to live with her mother’s kin in France? She tried to imagine what it would be like.

She would never seek Derek again.

Her heart leaped in protest at that single thought. She smiled, then, with the glad realization that she didn’t want to be apart from her husband. What a wonderful thing that was! “No, Derek,” she said, after a long moment. “I want to be with you.”

He stared at her perfect face. It had taken her a long time to decide that, and he wished he knew how she had arrived at her decision. Was he the least of all possible evils? Something wrenched inside him. He loved her so much. He’d told her several times, but she’d never said those words back. He knew that she didn’t love him, and it hurt, badly. He wanted to declare his love again, even without the protective cloak of passion, but he didn’t have the courage. He couldn’t face the silence such a declaration would surely bring, when what his soul and heart cried for was the same declaration in return.

“What are you thinking?” she said softly.

He held her tightly, and caught her mouth with his. He could tell her he loved her in this way. And maybe he could make her love him back, if he loved her enough, made her happy enough. His lips caressed hers, his thumb stroked her jaw. Her mouth opened beneath his, as she returned the innocent kiss. Instantly, his desire rose. She
made him insatiable. When they were together, when he was inside her, she was his and his alone, a part of him. His need to claim her in that way was so fierce. His kiss deepened, with it his breathing. He began to tease one nipple with his thumb.

Miranda pushed against him. “No,” she said, breaking free.

He smiled. “No?”

“No,” she said, trying to get up, but his hold tightened, and she was a prisoner in his lap.

“I want you,” he whispered, and holding her head still, he found her mouth again. He was shocked when she pressed against his chest, struggling against him. “Miranda?”

“Not tonight,” she said, breathing unevenly, as much from trying to break free as from the pounding of her pulse that desire had caused. “I’m too sore,” she lied, trying anything to save her the shame of her wanton ways.

He lifted her in his arms without a word and carried her into their wickiup, placing her on the bed of hides. She looked at his face and saw the hunger there. He knelt beside her, fumbling with her braid, and then her hair tumbled free. “Derek,” she protested.

He was kissing her again, at the same time unbuttoning her blouse and slipping it off her shoulders. She was losing control, sinking beneath his onslaught, desire rising hard and fierce and almost frantic. How she wanted him!

“I can at least give you pleasure,” he said huskily, and then he pulled off her chemise and nuzzled her breasts.

She stopped worrying as his tongue worked exquisite sensations across her body. She gripped his head as his mouth moved lower. She didn’t protest when her skirts, petticoat, and pantalets were pulled off, and when he claimed the essence of her with his mouth and tongue she gasped and moaned and whimpered like an animal. She felt the magnificent flood tide rising, higher and higher, wanted it, craved it. The explosion was more scintillating and brilliant and lingering than ever before.

She lay limp and languid, becoming aware of Derek next to her, holding her loosely, watching her. She turned her head to see him gazing down at her intently, unappeased desire shining in his eyes. He bent, kissing her, and
a tremor shook him. He raised his head and smiled tensely. He raised a shaking hand to brush the hair from her temple, then stood. “I’m going to go down to the creek,” he said, and then he was gone.

Miranda couldn’t believe it. She closed her eyes, her heart still pounding. She had said no, but he had taken her anyway, selflessly—but in the most sinful way he could. And she had loved every moment. He had denied himself to pleasure her, and what did that mean? He didn’t care about sin, just the flesh. He probably didn’t even realize how he was treating her, or that it was wrong. And she was shameless, too, there was no escaping that fact. Her mind was weak, her desires strong. She rolled onto her side and wondered how there could ever be a resolution to this issue. She wanted to be a good wife, but she wanted to be a Christian lady just as much.

Or did she?

He took her by surprise the next day, in the afternoon. She was washing tubers she had resolutely gathered, trying to decide if two of them were the same edible species as the rest. She was on her knees, clad in her buckskin dress, when his arms came around her and he kissed her smartly on the neck. She almost jumped out of her skin.

His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing gently, while he nibbled her ear. She stiffened immediately, horrified that he would come upon her and grab her as if she was some trollop in a saloon. Even so, her body began to tingle and throb. “Derek!” Anger set in.

He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she felt his manhood swelling against her back, throbbing. She grabbed his wrists, anger outweighing the beginning of desire. He ignored her, his hand roving down her belly, still nuzzling her neck and ear. He cupped her womanhood and began to rub it through the soft buckskin.

With strength and fury she didn’t know she had, she wrenched free and slapped him as hard as she could across his face. She rose to her feet, shaking. “How dare you!”

He was stunned.

“How dare you!” she screamed like a shrew, hysterical.

“Miranda,” he gasped, his eyes wide, totally uncomprehending. He stepped forward, about to grab her by her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled. “Don’t you dare!”

He froze.

She whirled and raced away, running as hard as she could into the woods, tears streaming down her face. She sank to her knees when her lungs felt like bursting, and wept. What he had done was too much. To come up on her in the open, in the middle of the day, and paw her crudely, as if she was a whore. Is that what he thought? Why would he treat her like a whore if he didn’t feel that she was one? She certainly acted like one—every time he touched her!

“Why are you crying?” he said stiffly behind her. He stood above her and stared, bewildered and helpless.

“Leave me alone,” she ordered. “Go away!”

He hesitated and squatted by her side. “I know I haven’t done anything wrong,” he began, uncertain. “Or have I?”

Miranda raised herself into a sitting position, her face streaked with tears, her eyes huge and angry and incredulous. “Nothing wrong?! You treat me like a whore and you tell me you’ve done nothing wrong?” She clenched her fist because she wanted to hit him wildly.

Derek was shocked. “What are you talking about? What nonsense is this?”

Her face crumpled. Of course he didn’t understand, didn’t care.

But he did care. “Miranda, talk to me,” he pleaded, touching her hand tentatively. “I can’t believe you’re reacting like this to my hugging you that way.”

She stared and wiped her eyes with her fists. “Hugging me? You were pawing me!”

“I…I guess I was. But…” He stopped, not knowing what to say. She waited almost belligerently. “I love touching you,” he managed, realizing as he said it that the statement was totally inadequate.

“I don’t like the way you treat me.”

“I don’t treat you like a whore,” he said with a flash of anger. “And I’m insulted that you think so.”

“How can you deny it?” she cried. “If not just now, then what about last night? No lady is treated the way you treated me!”

Bragg stared, gaining an inkling of understanding. “I wanted to please you, make you happy.”

Miranda knew he meant it. “I don’t like doing those…things, Derek.”

“You liked it,” he said, trying and wanting to understand.

“My body is wanton, but not my mind,” she replied.

He stared, comprehension dawning.

“I know you have every right to take me to your bed, but not that way. That is wrong! Your pawing me in the middle of the day, out in the open, is wrong! And sinful!”

“No,” he said abruptly, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward him. “Nothing we do in love is wrong. How I touch you is good and right, Miranda.”

“No, it’s not!”

He frowned, but he didn’t release her. “What are you trying to say? What do you want?”

“I want proper lovemaking.” She saw a flash in his eyes and looked away. “It’s God’s will to make babies, Derek, but not for you to do the things you do to me.”

“Crap,” he said succinctly.

She stared, and their gazes met. She saw that his was hard and uncompromising.

“I love you,” he said. “And you’re the finest lady I know. And I don’t want to make ‘proper’ love to you. I don’t want a frigid lady in my bed. I want a lady of passion—the kind of lady you are. Your passion doesn’t make you a whore, Miranda—how can you even think that? It just makes you incredibly beautiful.”

“It makes me dirty,” she said

“No!” He grabbed her, commanding her gaze. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I love you—and that’s why I want to touch you and give you pleasure. It’s right—it’s the way it should be.”

Miranda felt herself weakening. He loved her. She could feel it, see it in his fierce eyes. She certainly felt it when he took her in his arms. Could anything so magnificent be so wrong? Maybe God intended two people who loved each other to find such pleasure in each other’s arms. Would Father Miguel know?

“Miranda? I’m not much with words. But when I touch you it’s my way of showing you how I feel.” His gaze held
hers. “And I know, sweetheart, how much you like my touch. That doesn’t make you a loose woman. It makes you a real woman, not a hypocrite, that’s all.”

She thought about that, too. She wanted to believe him.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her loosely. “What are you thinking?”

“I want to accept your ideas, Derek, but I was raised differently. Well-bred ladies don’t act the way I have.”

He smiled. “They say they don’t. But, Miranda, have you ever thought that maybe you’re expressing how much you care for me, too?”

She stared.

“If you were wanton, you would have liked Chavez’s touch, and not been reluctant with John. Did you ever think of that?”

She hadn’t. That thought relieved her immensely, and she felt guilt and shame flowing away from her like an ebbing tide.

Derek relaxed when he saw her features soften. “Also, you make me happy,” he whispered. “Isn’t that important, too?”

She smiled slightly. “You know I want to be a good wife.”

“We’re on our honeymoon, darling. And on honeymoons newlyweds are free with their love.” He studied her. “Miranda, I won’t change. I’m a virile man. Before you, there was never much time when I didn’t take a woman to my bed. It’s the way I am. I’m thrilled to death that you’re so passionate because it fulfills my needs without going against yours. Don’t you see? It’s perfect.”

Miranda sighed. He was so much stronger than she was, and she felt so good in his embrace, even now. It was like being home, safe and secure, but exciting and exhilarating, too. She leaned her cheek against his chest.

“We’re perfect together,” he whispered, stroking her back.

She raised her head to look at him. Tears of gladness came into her eyes. “I think I love you,” she said, and then realized she did. If love wasn’t this strange soaring of her heart, this need to be with him, the desire to please
selflessly, the fear of being apart, the craving of union—then what was?

He trembled. He gently tipped her face up higher and then he kissed her with all the feeling in his heart and soul.

Her arms went around his neck, and their pulses quickened. Miranda returned his kiss, needing more, and tenderness vanished before the flood of hot need. “I’m going to show you how much I love you,” Derek said, pushing her onto the soft earth of the forest floor.

She looked up at him, his long, hard body covering hers, his face inches from hers, his eyes golden, glowing. He didn’t kiss her, but waited silently, his arms encircling her. She closed her eyes. The love was there, in his face, in his golden gaze. She wanted him, more than ever, wanted to love him in this way. In that moment, she decided that he was right. She opened her eyes to look into his. “Show me,” she breathed.

He did.