Rapture in His Arms (13 page)

Donovan kissed her while his finger traced the rim of her tender flesh, the moist heat there betraying her arousal. She arched upward and didn’t realize she moaned from the exquisite sensations that gathered in that one pulsating spot of pleasure. “Do ye want me to stop?” he whispered. “I want only to pleasure ye, but I’ll stop if ye tell me.”

She’d go mad if he were to stop!

Shaking her head, she met his fiery kiss with one of her own and abandoned her body to his sensual ministrations.

He dipped into the well of her femininity, slowly tantalizing her with his finger. The heat intensified inside of her, swelling and threatening to inundate her. She writhed each time he stoked the fires which were so deeply buried inside of her—she feared she would die from the exquisite torment. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, for she felt as if she were at a great height and about to fall, but she was firmly on the ground and didn’t know what was happening to her. “Donovan, what, what is it?” she cried against his mouth.

“Quiet, my sweet,” he mumbled and continued working his magic upon her flesh. “Enjoy the feeling’, enjoy the pleasure I’m givin’ to ye.”

She quieted and her body lapped up the strange pleasure as though it had a will of its own. Time stood still as Donovan caressed and lovingly brought her to the edge of a high precipice. Finally, she clung to him as the fires within her erupted into a cataclysmic explosion and sent her spiraling into a sweet, dark chasm of pure bliss.

The pleasure was intense, so wonderfully thrilling that Jillian felt she was in a dream state, viewing herself and Donovan as if from above. But after the world had slowly righted itself, Jillian plummeted back to earth with a guilty thud. Her hands still grasped Donovan’s shoulders, and his lips rained tiny kisses upon her face. But a sense of reality invaded the dazed fog of her brain and shame washed over her with such cruel intensity that she trembled violently. What had she done? she asked herself over and over. How had she allowed this to happen?

Donovan sensed her mood, and immediately he stopped kissing her. “What’s wrong?” he asked her but already he knew. Passion had swept her away, but cold reality now claimed her.

Her hands flew to her face in embarrassment. She sat up, pulled down her skirt, and moved a bit away from him. Never had she looked more beautiful to him than at that moment, with her cheeks flushed and her chestnut curls tousled and hanging in disarray around her slender shoulders. His shaft swelled anew for he wanted to claim her as his own, but he knew his dream wouldn’t come true this night—or any other night, from the guilt he saw in her eyes.

“This—is wrong,” she blurted out.

Donovan moved to a sitting position, bent his knees and placed his elbows on them. “I’m of a mind that this is very right, more right than ye know.”

She shook her head. “Nay, ’tis wrong; I’m married. I had no right to let you—touch—me.”

He scooted over to where she sat and grabbed her upper arms. A part of him wanted to shake some sense into her for believing what had happened was wrong; another part wanted to hold her forever and never let her leave this house. “Jillian, tell me if ye found no enjoyment in my touch. Tell me,” he demanded softly.

She couldn’t lie to him because her body had betrayed her. She was still overwhelmed by what she’d experienced, still feeling the pleasurable aftershocks within her, and she knew he’d felt her body respond to his touch. “Aye, ‘twas pleasurable,” she miserably stated, “but ‘twas also wrong.”

“Because of Edwin.”

“He’s my husband.”

“Is he truly a husband to ye?” Donovan cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her. “Has Edwin ever lain with ye or are ye still a virgin? Is that why he wanted an heir—because he can’t make love to ye?”

Humiliation clutched at her insides to be asked such a probing and highly personal question. But at the same time she thought such a thing, she wondered why she resented Donovan for asking it. After all, he’d just given her the most remarkable and intensely personal experience in her life. “What happened—or didn’t happen—between Edwin and me has nothing to do with any of this.”

“It has a great deal to do with it,” Donovan heatedly disagreed and squeezed her arms tightly. “I want to know if I’m the only man to ever pleasure ye. I want ye, Jillian, I want ye with my whole heart.”

“Is that what you said to Priscilla Mortimer to gain entrance to her bed?” Why Jillian thought about Priscilla now baffled her. But the image of Donovan with Priscilla as she’d seen them in Bermuda wouldn’t die. Did she resist Donovan’s pleas and his lovemaking because she really was loyal and faithful to Edwin, or was it because she didn’t want to be another Priscilla to him, someone whom he used to make his life of bondage more exciting? Someone whom he could make love to and then forget? And this was really the reason she couldn’t give herself totally to Donovan; she feared that at some point, he would tire of her because of her inexperience.

Donovan dropped his hands away from her. He winced in what she perceived to be pain. “Ye’re nothin’ like Priscilla.”

“Thank God for that.”

“’Tis no compliment. For where she was hot natured, ye possess a cold heart. But I do admit ye have a warm body.”

She slapped him, surprising herself as well as him. Her fingerprints reddened his cheek, and he grasped her hand tightly in his. A dark rage overshadowed his face, and his eyes were cold and black. “I may be a slave, woman, but I’ll not take abuse from ye or anyone—any longer.”

She didn’t know what he intended to do in retaliation. Surprisingly, he relaxed his grip and then released it entirely. He stood up and gazed down upon her, his eyes dark and filled with anger but also pain. “Get ye some sleep, Mrs. Cameron. We’re leavin’ in the mornin’, as soon as the sky is clear.” Then he yanked open the door and stalked outside into the rain.

~ ~ ~

Two days later, Jillian dressed in a gray satin gown with a white collar and cuffs. She placed a matching bonnet on her head and then went downstairs to Edwin’s library. She found him sitting in a comfortably upholstered chair with a blanket thrown over his legs and sipping a cup of tea. Mr. Witherspoon sat opposite him and perused a number of official-looking documents. When she entered the room, Cyrus Witherspoon stood up and bowed. “Good morning, my dear,” Cyrus said and smiled benignly at her.

“Good morning, Mr. Witherspoon.” Jillian felt less than chipper as she kissed Edwin’s cheek and inquired how he felt that day.

“Much better, now that I’ve had a number of doses of my elixir,” Edwin confessed and touched her hand in sympathy. “Today is an unhappy day for you, poppet. I wish I was going with you.”

Her mouth trembled though she attempted to control her emotions. She was going to see Tyler and Benjamin and pay a visit to Dorcas’s resting place. She still couldn’t believe that Dorcas was gone and she’d never see her again. Clearing her throat, Jillian managed a shaky smile. “I’ll be home by supper. Old Ben is driving me in the cart.”

“Ben’s ill this morning,” Edwin told her. “But I knew you wanted to leave in all haste, so I took it upon myself to send for Donovan. I’ve asked him to take you to Addison’s.”

A chill enveloped Jillian and then a swift blush coated her cheeks. She hadn’t laid eyes upon Donovan since he’d brought her home the morning of the previous day. Despite the rain, he’d spent the wet night outside. After he’d left her in the house for more than an hour, she’d peered out into the darkness to catch a glimpse of him but saw nothing but ebony blackness. The rain had slackened and she’d heard the gentle patter of the drops on the roof. She’d worried about him all that night and had been unable to sleep. Only when he’d appeared at daylight to inform her that it was time to leave did she relax in the knowledge that Donovan was safe. No matter what had happened between them, no matter how hateful she must have seemed to him, Jillian didn’t want anything to happen to him. But that was as far as her kindly thoughts went for him—she wouldn’t ponder why she’d worried about him, why she’d even cared.

Jillian pulled on her kid gloves, unable to look at Edwin for fear he’d discerned something had occurred on the trip home. “I hope you’re not unhappy I asked Donovan to escort you,” she heard him say in a thin, strained voice.

She flashed a smile but refused to meet Edwin’s gaze. “’Tis fine. I’ll be leaving now.” Jillian said farewell to both men, and reluctantly she went in search of Donovan.

Edwin laid his teacup on the small table beside his chair and contemplated the empty doorway through which Jillian had recently passed. “Is my will ready for my signature, Cyrus?”

“Aye, it is.” Cyrus handed a document to Edwin.

Edwin read it over and nodded his head. “All is in order. Now all I must do is beseech Donovan Shay to agree to it.” Reaching for the quill, Edwin dipped it into the inkwell and signed his name with a flourish.

~ ~ ~

The distance to the Addison plantation could be traversed in an hour by cart. But this day the horse who pulled the cart didn’t trot in sprightly fashion down the road. Instead, it seemed as if the animal took its good time, as if the beast somehow relished the tension between Jillian and Donovan.

Clasping her reticule in her lap, Jillian stared primly ahead. But she knew that from time to time Donovan turned his dark-eyed gaze upon her. Once, the wheels rolled through a rut in the road and Jillian was thrown off balance and forced to grab onto Donovan’s strong arm for support. Worse, was that he immediately placed his hand on her waist to steady her. Instantly, she sat upright and moved as far away from him as she could without falling out of the cart.

“I won’t touch ye again, not unless ye ask me to,” he told her without a glance in her direction.

God help her, she wanted him to touch and kiss her that very second, wanton woman that she was. But she didn’t respond to him and purposely set her face into a mask of passiveness.

Finally, the cart rolled onto the Addison plantation. In the distance, framed on each side by two large oak trees, stood the imposing white frame house which up until a few days ago had been the home of her dearest friend. Jillian didn’t think she could stand being in that house again without Dorcas’s presence. She felt so lonely and sad that she had to choke down the sobs that threatened to strangle her. When Donovan helped her out of the cart a few minutes later, she discerned sympathy on his face. An overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms and cry for Dorcas seized hold of her, to cry for the odd sensations and emotions she experienced whenever she was near him. But whether she’d have given in to such impulsive and rash desires Jillian was never to know. At that instant she heard Tyler’s booming voice calling to her from the doorway. And it was Tyler’s arms which enfolded her after he’d rushed to greet her.

“Oh, my dear, Jillian,” he cried and held her tightly against him. “Our beloved Dorcas is gone, gone. I can’t believe she’s left us.”

Jillian could barely breathe, and tried to disentangle herself from Tyler. The whole time she was in Tyler’s embrace, she saw Donovan watching from a few feet away with a scowl on his face. “Tyler, please,” she mumbled and managed to pull away and catch a breath. “How is Benjamin?”

“Benjamin?” For a second it seemed that he’d forgotten who Benjamin was, as Tyler put an arm around her waist and led her into the house. “Benjamin is doing well, but he misses his mother and doesn’t quite know what’s happened to her,” he told her.

“I’d like to see him, if I may.”

“Certainly.” Suddenly he was extremely formal, almost as if she’d offended him by requesting to see his son. He followed her upstairs to the nursery, trailing behind her like a hound on the scent of a fox. The second she entered the room, Benjamin rushed away from his nurse and flung himself into Jillian’s warm caress.

“Auntie Jillian, where’s my mama?” the child asked her with large tears in his eyes. “Father says she’s gone to heaven. Is that true? Will I see her again?”

Jillian tenderly stroked the child’s blond, curly hair—the same color as Dorcas’s hair had been. She placed him on her lap after she’d sat in a rocking chair and held him close against her. “Your mama is with God, just like your father said. One day, you’ll see her, I know you will.”

“I want my mama.” Benjamin started to cry.

Before Jillian could offer him further comfort, Tyler stepped over to them and took Benjamin from her and stood the child next to the old black woman who was Benjamin’s nurse. “Now, son, a big boy like you doesn’t cry,” he chastised in what Jillian thought was a too chilly tone of voice to use with a child who’d just lost his mother. Benjamin instantly silenced, but he gulped hard and wiped his eyes with the backs of his chubby hands. “Polly will put you down for a nap so I may speak to Aunt Jillian.”

“Will I see you later, Auntie?” Benjamin hopefully asked.

“Aye, I’ll be up to say good-bye to you before I leave.”

Benjamin was pacified by Jillian’s answer, and with a kiss to the top of his head, Jillian then went downstairs with Tyler.