The Right Wife (13 page)

He caught her, there in the rain, clutching her shoulders with his big hands, turning her to face him. Her gown was drenched and clung to her body like a second skin, almost transparent in the stabbing flashes of light.

She trembled with fear and desire as she gazed at Aaron, his golden hair curled with moisture, his shirt clinging damply to his broad shoulders, his face wet and fierce. She felt exhilarated by his savage presence, he and the storm seeming to have blended into one entity, brutal and compelling.

His mouth claimed hers with barbaric force, prizing her lips apart, his tongue plunging into her, taking his pleasure. She groaned, clinging to him as he pressed his big body against her. She could feel his arousal stirring against her stomach, and her blood ran hot with need. As the kiss went on, becoming deeper and wilder, she could taste whiskey and then blood, her own blood from her brutalized lips.

He lowered her to the soaked earth beneath them, jerking her gown above her hips and unbuttoning his breeches, freeing his desire. With one traumatic thrust, he entered her, piercing the veil of her innocence as she cried out in agony.

Maggie was stunned by the pain that shot through her body. He was so big and hard that she felt as if he had ripped her apart.

“Oh, Maggie, Maggie,” he cried out, ramming into her over and over again as the storm raged on about them, the rain covering their undulating bodies like spring blossoms covering a green field.

Tears filled her eyes as she clung to him, her hips moving instinctively against him, the pain easing slightly as he moved within her. As suddenly as he had taken her, he plunged into her one last time, shaking with release, a cry of triumph falling from his lips.

As if only then realizing that he had taken this woman wildly in the pouring rain, Aaron rose up enough to lift her into his arms and run to the carriage house.

Grabbing a woolen blanket from a nearby hook, he threw it on the dirt floor, easing Maggie down to lie on it as he leaned over her, removing his soaked shirt. She could barely see him in the darkness, but she could feel him, feel his strength. After what had just happened, she should fear him, but she didn’t.

“Forgive me, Maggie,” he pleaded, bestowing sweet kisses all over her damp face. “I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I know I hurt you, and I’m so sorry, so very sorry, my love.”

“It’s all right,” she whispered. And it was. He had taken her hard and fast, with no thought of her pain or pleasure, but she knew that this first time for them could have been no other way.

“Oh, Maggie. Let me love you again. This time, I’ll make it right for you.” His big hand caressed the creamy smoothness of her neck.

“Aaron?” Could he possibly want her again so soon? Did he intend to make love to her now?

“Let me remove your wet gown, love,” he said as he tugged the sodden cloth over her head.

She gasped at the feel of total nakedness. Her body, chilled from the rain, shivered and lifted up, seeking his warmth.

“I wish I could see you,” he moaned, removing his breeches, then lowering himself to lie beside her on the blanket.

His lips sought hers in a kiss so tenderly sweet that Maggie thought she would cry. His hand cupped her face as he kissed her again, feathery light kisses.

“Aaron. Oh, Aaron.”

At that moment, she was everything to him, the very air he breathed. He could not imagine his world without her in it. Nothing in his life had prepared him for loving Maggie Campbell.

He kissed her forehead, each eyelid, each cheek, her nose, her chin. She quivered from the sensations he was creating with his gentleness. His lips moved upward to her throat, seeking and finding her tiny earlobe. He bit down, nibbling tenderly, his tongue circling the crevice before going inside, moving in and out rapidly.

Maggie cried out, her body thrusting forward into his. He was as naked as she, and the feel of his manliness stirred her desires. She reached out and touched him. Her fingers embedded themselves in the thickness of his chest hair, clinging to him, then gradually exploring. Aaron jerked, his body wild for her again. But he refused to let his passion rob them of a long, sweet loving. He intended to give her pleasure beyond bearing. He loved this woman, and she was his, his and his alone. She had never belonged to another man, and she never would.

She wet her lips, staring up at him, unable to see his face clearly in the darkness. Taking the initiative, she kissed him, her tongue outlining his lips.

“Kiss me properly,” Aaron laughed, one arm going under her shoulder while the other lifted her closer to his naked body.

She dipped her tongue into his mouth, then quickly removed it. He laughed again.

“Open your mouth and let me show you how to do it again.”

And she did. And he did.

The chilliness of the moist, night air was soon replaced by the scorching heat of his masculine body lying so intimately against hers. Her soft cries of pleasure filled the carriage house when his mouth closed over the throbbing peak of her breast. The sucking motions of his mouth drove her wild. She wanted more, so much more. She could feel the wiry softness of his chest hair as it rubbed across her belly, thrilling her with new sensations.

“Aaron . . . I . . . what?” What was happening to her? She was afraid she might soon burst into a thousand pieces if he didn’t stop feasting at her breast, but she didn’t want him to cease his loving. It felt so right.

“I love you, Maggie.” His hands and mouth were everywhere, all over her body, all at once. And then he was kissing her, urgent, savage kisses, as his big hand went beneath her, lifting her up against him. He rubbed their lower bodies together, his masculinity seeking a place between her closed thighs.

She wanted him to be inside of her again. She wanted the plunging movements of his huge shaft as it impelled her body.

She could feel the rough hairiness of his legs as one knee nudged her legs apart, his body as hot and damp as her own. She writhed against him, loving the feel of his huge body pressing down on hers. Her fingers ran down the length of his back and up again to thread through the silky thickness of his hair while he seared her neck with fiery kisses. His hand, between their bodies, stroked her, squeezing her breast, gliding over her smooth stomach, and then lower, touching the downy thatch of red hair.

“Dear God, sweet Maggie, I want you so.”

Aaron’s hand cupped her femininity, sending flames of hunger shooting through her. His fingers moved down, across, and in, finding every pleasure-giving spot, eliciting cries of love and desire from her well-kissed mouth. His fingers worked an ancient magic, learning with each delicate stroke how to pleasure her, knowing from every soft sob of joy how close she was to blissful release. Suddenly his fingers were gone, and in their place was a hot, swollen spear pushing in her, slowly, gently giving her body time to adjust, time to accept this throbbing, demanding part of him. Then with one sure plunge their bodies joined in a frenzied need, moving together in an age-old rhythm of mutual passion.

Maggie gasped, her nails raking his back as ecstasy claimed her, spiraling her through a maelstrom of pleasure so pure and sweet that she thought she must be dying.

He cried out his release, the cry of a healthy male animal in the throes of rapture.

“Aaron,” she breathed against his shoulder, her body trembling in the aftermath of such an intense loving. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my Maggie, with all of my heart.”

M
aggie lifted the cup to her lips and drank, savoring the taste of the creamy, sweet coffee before swallowing. Looking across the room to the lacy dress lying on the bed, she wondered if she were doing the right thing preparing her family to attend Thayer Coleman’s party. Jude and Micah had pleaded, and Thayer had been adamant, insisting on sending his carriage for them.

She set the china cup aside on the small cherry table to her left as she rested her head against the back of the Hepplewhite wing chair. Her slender fingers ran across the brocade-covered arm. It was amazing how easily she had adjusted to the luxurious surroundings found at the Colemans’ town house during the two weeks they had been in residence.

Even though she tried not to think about the night they had arrived, she had been able to think of little else. In her mind, she had relived the night of the thunderstorm again and again. She had given her precious virginity and all her love to Aaron Stone, and he had taken them greedily, giving her pleasure beyond bearing and promises of love. But when she had awakened the morning after, Thayer had told her that Aaron had left town on urgent business. He had handed her a large white envelope with her name scrawled boldly across the front. She had read the letter, hastily crumpled it into a wad, and thrown it across the room, cursing its writer while hot, salty tears filled her eyes. He had taken full blame for everything. Extolling her innocence, begging her to forgive him. He admitted that he loved her, assured her that he would never forget her, and promised to help her in every way he could. But, he was confused and uncertain about his life. He was going away for a few weeks to try to come to terms with his inner feelings and his life-long dreams. He suggested that they would both be better off to forget one another and move ahead with their lives.

Later that same day, she had found the crumpled letter in her room, smoothed out and resting against her pillow. Thayer admitted that he had found it, read it, and returned it to her. He had held her in his arms while she cried, and raved, and cursed.

She had never known anyone like Thayer Coleman, who, by his own admission, was a wealthy, young rake, but who possessed so much kindness and compassion. He had secured Micah a position at the First National Bank in Sheffield, and had purchased a sewing machine for her. Since his departure to Silver Hill, he had returned to town several times. Even though Maggie was certain that the purpose of his trips was for a night at Loretta’s, she and Jude looked forward to his visits. He always ended his stay by taking Jude to the ice cream parlor thus ensuring her continued adoration.

And Thayer’s family had been as friendly and kind as he. Only three days ago, he had brought his mother and sister into town to meet the Campbells. Neither had mentioned the circumstances forcing Maggie to accept Thayer’s hospitality, but she was certain that they knew. His sister, Reba Quennel, had even arranged to have Maggie design several new dresses for her to accommodate her expanding waistline.

“Excuse me, Miss Maggie.” Daisy stood in the doorway holding a small box.

“Come in, Daisy.”

“Mrs. Mobley done sent this over for you.” The Negress entered, placing the box in her mistress’s lap.

Maggie opened the lid and gasped. There inside was a pair of kidskin pumps with satin ankle ties and small turquoise velvet bows.

“They match your dress, Miss Maggie,” Daisy said, reaching out to touch the shoes. “Look, there’s a note.”

Maggie picked up the note and read Mrs. Mobley’s best wishes for tonight.

“Mrs. Mobley is the dearest person.” Maggie’s eyes misted with tears. “She’s the only lady in Tuscumbia who isn’t shunning me. She’s allowing me to keep on sewing for her and the twins. And then, there’s my party dress.”

“Yes’am, she’s one fine lady.”

“When Jude told her about the party, she insisted on giving me the material for a new dress.” Maggie remembered the day Alice Mobley had handed her the package and smiled happily while Maggie opened it to reveal the most beautiful silk grenadine material and endless yards of Mechlin lace.

“Oh, Daisy, I wish I knew if I were doing the right thing by going to this party tonight.” Maggie knew that her presence there was bound to cause a stir. Not one decent lady in town, except Mrs. Mobley, would even speak to her, and when the Campbells had attended church this past Sunday, the good citizens had treated them as if they had the plague. Uncle Chester had watched them from afar, a sad plea for understanding in his eyes. And Cousin Wesley’s sermon had been, appropriately, on the sins of the flesh.

“You got to go. Miss Jude’ll lay down and die if you don’t.” Daisy lifted the box from Maggie’s lap, took out the shoes, and placed them on the bed beside the evening gown. “And you don’t want to disappoint Mr. Thayer. You going to be his lady for tonight.”

“Oh, yes. I’m well aware of her plans. But they could work to her advantage. She knows that she will have to become a lady if she wants to marry a man like Thayer.”

“When I told her that Mr. Thayer seemed interested in you, she clean bit my head off. She said you done had Mr. Aaron and that you couldn’t have Mr. Thayer too.”

Maggie sighed. “Oh, Daisy, I don’t have Mr. Aaron.”

“Yes’am, I know. But you just wait. Sooner or later, that man’s bound to come to his senses.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Phineas said he was sure hoping Mr. Aaron don’t marry that awful Widow Arnold.” Daisy could not suppress a shy smile.

“How is Phineas today?” Maggie knew that Daisy had been living with Phineas ever since he had nursed her back to health after the mysterious beating that Daisy still refused to discuss with anyone. Maggie approved of the love match between the two servants and, ironically, envied them the freedom to live together so openly. None of the fine white folks concerned themselves with the personal lives of the Negroes.

“You rather I didn’t say nothing about that woman?”

“She’ll be there tonight. First at dinner, with her parents there too, and then at the party. Aaron’s going to be there with her.” Maggie’s heart ached with the knowledge. Reba Quennel had told her that attending tonight’s affair could be sweet revenge and an opportunity to let the locals know that she was ashamed of nothing she had done.

“You going and you best hold your head high. You going to be on the arm of Mr. Thayer Coleman and ain’t nobody going to dare say a word against you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’ll just bet Mr. Aaron’ll be jealous as all get out.”

“Good!” Maggie hissed, determined to see to it that he was.

Three hours later, Maggie and Jude, dressed in their Sunday best tan muslins, sat in Thayer’s carriage while Micah helped Phineas load their belongings. Micah, boyishly handsome in his white cotton shirt and brown broadcloth trousers, grinned excitedly as he jumped up into the carriage.

“The big night is almost here,” he announced.

“You have yourself a good time, Miss Maggie,” Daisy called out as the carriage moved away from the Coleman town house.

Maggie relaxed as they rode through town and onto Memphis Pike. She noticed that the summertime green of the scenery had changed a little in the weeks since her visit to White Orchard. Thayer had told her that Silver Hill was farther west, almost on the Mississippi-Alabama state line, and that the acreage lay almost equally in both states.

She was very fond of Thayer and knew he cared for her as well. He had made it perfectly clear that, if he were Aaron Stone, he would marry her in a minute, with no doubts or delays. He didn’t give a damn about local society and respectability. Maggie had pointed out that being a Coleman had made him a bit arrogant. In his customary good-natured way, he had agreed.

“I wish I didn’t have to eat with the babies,” Jude said. “It’s not fair that Micah gets to eat with the grown-ups.”

“Micah will be seventeen in another month,” Maggie said.

“Don’t worry, heathen. I’m sure you’ll attend more than your share of fancy dinners and big parties one of these days.” Micah reached out and mussed his little sister’s hair.

Maggie was sure Micah was right. One day, Judith Campbell would be a lady, with all doors open wide to admit her.

All doors, except the Colemans’ and Mobleys’, were closed to Maggie and could very well stay closed forever. She had risked a great deal to be with Aaron that Saturday at White Orchard, and she had lost. Her reputation was ruined, and only through Mrs. Mobley’s continued friendship and patronage of Miss Loretta and several of her “girls” was Maggie able to earn a living sewing. She had no doubt that Thayer had arranged for the local madam’s business. Maggie was not too proud to sew for the woman and her friends. She knew their money was tainted with sin but tainted money spent as well as any other kind, and it would buy Micah and Jude proper educations.

Maggie clutched her small cloth handbag lying in her lap. Inside, in a tiny black case, was a pair of diamond and aquamarine earrings. Phineas had delivered them to her the day before, saying the box had been left without a note. She was almost certain that they were a gift from Thayer, and she had every intention of returning them. But what if he had not sent them? What if they had come from Aaron?

The thought of seeing Aaron again excited her as much as it frightened her. He had neither come to see her nor sent a message in the two days since his return to Colbert County. It seemed obvious, considering the fact that he would be Eunice’s escort tonight, that he had decided to pursue his life-long dreams, thus rejecting Maggie and their love for one another.

She had no intention of making things easy for him. If he wanted to turn his back on her and the kind of happiness they could have together, she was not going to help him. She might not be the genteel wife he had dreamed of having, but she loved him more than Eunice or any other woman ever could. With her reputation ruined and her heart already lost, she was willing to try anything and everything to win her man.

Maggie loved the view from the carriage as it moved along the road leading to the Coleman mansion, rows of huge silver maples lining the upwardly inclined entrance and hundreds of azalea and camellia bushes clustering around the great semicircle drive. It was obvious that this plantation had been well and lovingly cared for over the years, and that, by the grace of God, it had escaped the ravages of the war.

Seven enormous Doric columns graced the front portico and nine more adorned one side where the veranda extended the full length of the rectangular structure in a sumptuous manner. The corner brackets were so elaborate that the larger ones almost bordered onto consoles. A partial balcony, centered over the elegant front entrance, and the huge veranda boasted iron-lace banisters.

Thayer stood on the portico, smiling and waving. When the carriage came to a full stop, he rushed down the twelve wide steps leading from the veranda. He looked dashingly handsome in his tan trousers and cream linen shirt, every bit the young country gentleman at home.

“I thought you all would never get here,” he said, laughing as he helped Maggie from the carriage. “Mama and Reba are in the children’s parlor having tea with our little Rachel.”

Micah stepped down and turned to assist Jude, who refused his aid, standing firmly in the carriage eyeing Thayer and Maggie.

“Silver Hill is unbelievably beautiful,” Maggie told him. “Now I know where it got its name.”

Thayer drew her hand to his lips, bestowing a gentlemanly kiss. “Grandmother Coleman said that a hillside covered with so many silver maples was a miracle.”

“Your grandmother was right.” Maggie pulled her hand free. She liked Thayer, but she did not want to encourage any romantic attention.

“Could somebody help me down?” Jude demanded, her tiny arms reaching out toward Thayer.

Micah groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. Thayer winked at Maggie before turning to place his hands at Judith’s waist. The moment he lifted her she threw her arms around his neck, holding tightly.

“Judith, why don’t you and Maggie go inside and join the other ladies while I give Micah a hand with your things,” Thayer suggested, lowering her to the ground.

“Let Micah get our things,” Jude said. “You promised to show me your house.”

“Judith Campbell!” Maggie scolded.

“Micah, get Toe Joe to help you,” Thayer said. “I’m afraid I do have a prior obligation. I did promise Miss Judith a tour of Silver Hill. Of course, you’ll join us, Miss Maggie.”

Maggie ignored her younger sister’s heated glare. “Of course. I would love to see your home.”

“My grandfather built Silver Hill in 1835 when my father was just a boy.” Thayer guided the Campbell girls up to the veranda and into the forty-six-foot-long entrance hall that divided two rooms on either side.

Standing to the right, in the front parlor doorway, was Martha Coleman, a squirming toddler on her hip. Maggie thought that Thayer’s mother was the most distinguished woman she had ever met. Even with a disgruntled child in her arms, she appeared queenly in her black taffeta dress, the robin’s egg blue silk of the underskirt and sleeves a perfect match for her pale eyes.