Midnight Star (31 page)

It rained throughout the night, a hard, pounding rain that, strangely enough, soothed Chauncey. She slept deeply, unaware that Delaney held her close against his body.

The next day he allowed her to sit up, braced by a rolled-up blanket against the wall. She watched him clean his rifle and his handgun. She found her eyes drawn again and again to his hands. Strong hands, tanned and callused, his fingers long and blunt. He spoke of his brother and sister-in-law in New York.

“Giana is a woman after your own heart, Chauncey. She hasn’t a dependent bone in her body and gives my proud and dominating brother
quite a time. I do believe though that she turns into a proper submissive woman in my brother’s bed.”

“How did they meet?”

“I know the story they gave out, but I don’t believe a word of it. Alex hinted to me once that Giana had enjoyed quite an unusual experience in Italy and that was where he had first met her. If they visit us, I hope to get Alex drunk and pry out the whole story. You will like both of them, I think. Alex is a charming dog and Giana is a little whirlwind.”

“When you visited them, did they introduce you to all the young ladies in New York?”

“A goodly number. There was one woman whose company I truly enjoyed. She was a friend of Giana’s, and married. Her name was Derry Lattimer. Alex wrote me last year that she’d finally given birth to a son, after some five years of marriage.”

“I trust your heart wasn’t broken,” she said somewhat sharply.

“No. Well, perhaps for just a while.” He raised his head and grinned wickedly at her. “Then there was her stepdaughter, Jennifer.” Before Chauncey could take him to task, he said, “What a shrew! I couldn’t believe it, but some six months after I left New York, they’d even managed to marry her off. To a tobacco planter in Kentucky. The poor fellow’s probably become a drunkard by now.”

Chauncey laughed. “I don’t deserve you,” she said suddenly, tears springing to her eyes.

“True, but you will have years and years to
come about. I plan to give you every opportunity to become worthy of me.”

“Less than an ounce!” she exclaimed, sniffing.

“Less than an ounce of what?”

“Of wit!”

“Such a mouthy little wench,” he remarked to his rifle. “I think, madam, that soon you will need another kind of attention. If you are truly winsome this evening, I shall consider shifting all your feelings and sensations a bit lower.”

“Is that a promise?” she asked softly, aware that her heart had begun to thump erratically.

“Only if I can convince you to bathe first.”

“Del, you just wait until I am well again! And what about you? You aren’t exactly like the sweetest rose of summer!”

“You are the rose, love. Think of me as the stem.”

Chauncey awoke early the following morning feeling more human than she had since before Chatca abducted her. She lay still for a while, not wanting to awaken Delaney. She was pressed against the length of him, her cheek on his shoulder. She wriggled her nose against a tuft of soft light brown hair. Her shoulder was only a dull ache, and she set her mind to ignoring it. She slipped her hand down his chest to his belly. She loved the feel of him, the texture of his flesh, the ridges of muscle over his stomach. He’d become thinner too, she realized as she lightly stroked her fingers over him. Her hand moved lower, and she entwined her fingers in the bush of thick hair at his groin.

She touched him tentatively, then closed her fingers around him. To her surprise and delight, she felt him harden.

“Chauncey, you’d better consider well what you’re doing.”

She grinned against his shoulder. “It’s most exciting that I can make your body . . . different with but a touch.”

“I have told you that men are simple creatures. Their control ceases at the groin. If you keep caressing me, I’ll . . .”

“You’ll what?” she asked softly, nipping at his shoulder blade.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice cracking a bit, “stop it. I refuse to take the chance of hurting you.”

“But you promised last night that you’d shift all my feelings lower.”

“I changed my mind after I changed your bandage.” Resolutely he removed her hand and brought it to his chest and held it there, palm down.

“Your heartbeat is fast.”

“I imagine so. Now, listen to me, you seductive little wench. Depending on how you feel today, I’ll bathe you and let you move about for a while. No, love. Keep your hands still or I’ll have to get up.”

“I love how you smell.”

He could feel her warm breath against his shoulder, and his body quickened. He closed his eyes a moment, willing his enthusiastic member to calm. It was like swilling a powerful aphrodisiac, having his wife bent upon seduction. “Thank you,” he said. He refused to think about her lovely body pressed against his side. When he felt her thigh moving over his, he gently eased away from her.

“No, Del,” she said, clutching at him. “I promise I’ll not move again. Don’t leave me just yet.”

“Lie on your back, Chauncey.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I tell you. You are my wife, and it is your duty to obey me.”

She pulled at the hair on his chest, then quickly kissed him. Slowly, careful of her shoulder, she turned onto her back and gazed up at him. “Why do you want me on my back?”

He smiled at her, studying her face as he eased his hand under the blanket to her belly. She sucked in her breath. His fingers splayed downward, probing gently until he found her.

“Ah, it is a grave situation, just as I thought.”

“What is?” she managed, her eyes on his beautiful mouth.

Her delicate woman’s flesh was moist and swelled against his caressing fingers. He felt his own need growing by leaps and bounds, but kept a firm grip on himself.

“Your body, love.”

Her hips lifted without her even being aware of it. “You will make love to me, Del?”

“In a manner of speaking. As a responsible husband, it is one of my duties. Lie still, love. God, Chauncey, you feel so warm.”

She moaned softly, turning her face away from him. His fingers left her and she shifted back to look at him, her eyes huge with silent question and disappointment.

“I want you to look at me while I give you pleasure.” She shuddered at his words, embarrassment at her body’s response dissolving when he found her again. “That’s right. Believe me, I will let you return the favor once you are well
again. No, don’t close your eyes. Give me the pleasure of seeing you respond.”

She gasped when his fingers took on a purposeful rhythm. Her tongue moistened her dry lips and he saw her eyes begin to take on a glazed sheen. Within moments she felt every ounce of her being concentrated beneath his fingers. “Del,” she whimpered softly, biting her lower lip, “it is more than I can bear . . . Oh God! Help me, please!”

He felt her muscles tighten, felt the convulsive movement of her hips against his fingers. He thought he would yell at the pleasure of seeing her respond so completely to him.

“Del!”

“That’s it, love. Let go.”

Her body exploded as wave after wave of intense sensation washed through her. She was crying out softly, panting, unable to control herself, her back arching wildly.

He eased the pressure of his fingers, bringing her back to him very slowly, very gently. Her face was flushed, her lips parted as she sucked in breath.

“So beautiful,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss her. “So responsive.”

She felt his manhood hard and throbbing against her thigh, and tried to turn toward him. He stilled her. “No, not now. I swear I’ll survive. Remember, a gentleman always sees to his lady’s pleasure first.” He paused a moment, slowly easing his hand back to her belly. “There has been much between us, Chauncey.”

“The wrong kind of ‘much.’ ”

“Perhaps. But do you want to know something?
When you were ill in my bed from your elaborate and aborted charade, that was the first time I envisioned truly having children of my own. It was all I could do to keep my hands off you.”

“You must have been upset with me when I asked you to prevent my becoming pregnant.”

“I didn’t wish to be unfair,” he said steadily.

“Shall we have an army of children?”

“And all our girl children will be the generals?”

She giggled. “Whatever they are,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “they will have the best father in the whole . . . city of San Francisco.”

“Mouthy baggage.”

“All right, the state of California.”

“Most generous, ma’am. Now, my love, I am in desperate need of sustenance and coffee. Tell me honestly how your shoulder feels.”

“It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Honestly, Chauncey.”

“It does throb, but just a bit, I promise.”

“Good. I’ll bathe you this morning, then set you out in the sun this afternoon.”

“You’re hoping that like a flower, I’ll bloom?”

He grinned at her wickedly. “You already have. The perfect rose.”

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.