Midnight Star (19 page)

I’ll just bet you do, she thought, kicking at a coiled hemp rope.

“It’s still quite rough and uncivilized,” Delaney continued, nodding to Colonel Dakworth and his wife as he steered Chauncey aft toward the glassed wheelhouse. “A great variety of men live there—Germans, Swedes, Chinese, even some English.” He suddenly grew silent, his lips thinning into a white line.

“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.

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 within 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.

I am changing, she thought, finally admitting it to herself. I am losing my purpose, succumbing to a man who is responsible for my father’s death. Her hands gripped the railing until her knuckles showed white. But it was the beautiful wedding ring that caught her attention. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to recapture the awful pain and bitterness she had nourished for the past long months. “I cannot falter,” she said softly, the words merely forming silently on her lips. “I must be strong, I must . . .”

The vow died in her mind. A strong arm closed about her waist, a hand clamped hard on her mouth. For an instant she was too startled to struggle.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she heard a guttural voice growl in her ear. She felt herself being lifted. Dear God, no! her mind screamed. He’s going to throw me overboard!

She twisted frantically, jerking her elbow back into the man’s stomach. He grunted in pain but did not release her. She bit down on the hand, and screamed, a high, thin sound escaping. His hand fisted and slammed hard into her jaw. She saw dancing lights before her eyes, and felt a searing pain. But still she fought frantically, tangling both of them in her swirling heavy mantle.
He was cursing her, drawing her upward to the railing. I am not strong enough. I am going to die, drown!

She felt the man’s hand close over her breast and pause a moment. He squeezed, but her mind was too clogged with terror to feel any pain. His breathing was harsh now and she wondered wildly if it was from his lust or her struggles.

She heard a shout and the clomp of running boots. Oh God, help me! she screamed silently. The man gave a mighty heave, but Chauncey’s mantle caught between his legs. She heard him cursing, felt the instant he realized that someone was coming. He pushed her violently into the railing, clouting her back with his fists.

“What’s going on here? Hey, stop!”

Suddenly he let her go, and Chauncey sank to her knees on the smooth deck, gasping for breath.

“Mrs. Saxton! Good God, ma’am. Wh-who is that fellow?”

It was Brent Hammond, now crouched down next to her, his hands clasped strongly about her shoulders.

“I’m all right,” she managed, her body shuddering. She raised her white face to his. “He tried to kill me.”

Brent cursed softly and fluently. “Come, ma’am. He’s gone now.” He hoisted her up into his arms.

“Del,” she whispered. “Please, my husband . . .”

“What the hell!”

Delaney halted in his tracks, stunned at the sight of Chauncey in Brent Hammond’s arms.

“Your wife, Saxton,” Brent Hammond said calmly. “She’s all right, thank God.”

Chauncey turned wild eyes to her husband’s
set face and felt a flood of sheer relief surge through her body. She struggled free of Brent Hammond’s arms and he set her on her feet. “Del,” she cried, and stumbled toward him.

Delaney enfolded her against his chest, his hands automatically stroking down her back, soothing her. He looked up and met Brent’s dark eyes. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“It appears that someone—a man—tried to throw your wife overboard.” He lowered his voice, adding, “Perhaps it was an attempted rape.”

Chauncey felt her husband’s arms tighten almost painfully about her back. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m here now. It’s all right.”

His calmly spoken words brought reality to the nightmare, and memory. She raised her pale face. “Was it the same man who tried to kill me in England?”

His pause was almost imperceptible, but she felt it and didn’t understand it. “I don’t know, Chauncey. Brent, did you see his face?”

Brent lit a cheroot, blowing out the smoke before replying. His smooth brow furrowed in thought. “He was dressed roughly, a wool cap pulled down over his forehead. When he heard me coming, he ran toward the steerage stairs.”

Chauncey’s fingers clutched and fretted with the lapels on Delaney’s frock coat. “I didn’t see him, Del. He was behind me, and I didn’t recognize his voice.”

“What did he say, love? Do you remember?”

“Something like ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

“A criminal with regrets,” Brent murmured.

“I believe we’d best speak to Rufus about this. Can you manage it, Chauncey?”

She nodded, more in reflex than in truth. She was terrified, fear curdling in her stomach, making her want to retch. “Who, Del? Who wants me—?”

“We’ll find out,” he interrupted her quickly. “Brent, would you please ask Captain O’Mally to come to our stateroom?”

Brent Hammond nodded, and watched Delaney lift his wife into his arms and stride away with her. He stared thoughtfully after the couple, then tossed his cheroot over the side, into the still dark water.

Delaney felt Chauncey clinging to his neck as if he were her lifeline. Jesus, he thought, what if Brent hadn’t come along in time? He felt his muscles tensing and realized his forehead was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. He tried to remember every detail now about her nightmare. He hadn’t really believed it, not then. He realized that he really didn’t know all that much about Chauncey and her past in England. Whoever wanted her dead came from her past. An attempted rape? He didn’t think so.

He set her down in their stateroom. A steward had lit the lamps, and for the first time he could see her face clearly. She was utterly without color, her eyes dazed, the pupils dilated. An ugly bruise was darkening on her jaw. He could see her swallowing convulsively, and quickly led her to the basin atop the commode. He peeled off her mantle and held her shoulders while she retched up the little dinner she had eaten. He left her a moment to pour her a shot of whiskey, and she sank to the carpet, her beautiful silk gown now wrinkled and soiled, spread around her.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Here, Chauncey, drink this.”

She took a cautious sip of the whiskey and fell into a paroxysm of coughing as the fiery liquid burned to her stomach.

“A bit more. That’s good, sweetheart.”

He laid her on the bed and fetched a damp cloth and placed it on her forehead. “Lie still a moment, love.” He gently ran his fingers over her jaw. Nothing broken, thank God. He saw her eyes lose their wild, frantic look, and felt himself ease a bit. “Better?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I made such a fool—”

“Hush, love.” He lifted her limp hand and kissed her fingers. “You scared the hell out of me. Listen to me, we’ll find him, I promise you.”

There was a sharp rap on the stateroom door, and Delaney raised his head. “Come in,” he called.

Captain O’Mally, looking utterly bewildered, came into the stateroom. “What’s going on, Del? Hammond said something about rape and murder and—”

Delaney squeezed Chauncey’s hand and rose, interrupting the captain sharply. “Sit down, Rufus. We’ve got a problem.”

Get a hold on yourself, you weak fool, Chauncey chided herself as she listened to her husband speak calmly and precisely. She sat up, swaying just a bit, and planted her feet on the carpet.

“Can you tell the captain exactly what happened now, Chauncey?” Delaney asked, moving to stand beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

She did, drawing strength as she spoke. She
realized vaguely that her husband was gently kneading her shoulder as she spoke, comforting her. “I never saw his face,” she concluded after a woeful few moments, knowing her story would be of no help in locating the man. “You know, though,” she added, “his accent was odd, blurred.”

Delaney looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

She tried to find the right words but couldn’t. She shrugged, quivering slightly with remembered shock.