Cheryl Reavis (12 page)

He looked abruptly away, lest she catch him at it.

She sat down again, and she lifted her eyes to his.

So beautiful,
he thought. He had missed her. It was incredible to him how much. They had never been together for very long at a time, and yet he had felt their separation acutely. In these weeks since the marriage, her well-being had become imperative to him. She was all he thought about. Regardless of the way the marriage had come about or the fact that it had never been consummated, in his mind she was his wife.

“Did you mean it—when you said you loved me?” he asked abruptly.

She hesitated. He could recognize the very moment when she decided to tell him the truth. “Yes,” she said.

“It wasn’t because you were out of your head with fever?”

“I would like to pretend so, but no.”

“I’ve lived a man’s life. You know that. Guire told you. I’ve…been with women—different women—in…that way. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

He could see a question forming, and he waited.

“Have you been with…Elizabeth Channing?” she asked after a time. “In that way?”

“No,” he said. “But I could have.”

She looked at him, but she didn’t ask anything else. He was glad of that, because he had come as close to the truth as he wanted to get. He should tell her about the incident at the Falmouth hotel. He knew he should. But when he looked into her eyes, he just couldn’t do it.

“She must love you a great deal,” she said. “To risk so much.”

“No, it wasn’t love. Not the way you mean. It was…more…” He sighed. “I think there must be a lot of the moth and the flame in Elizabeth. Her…willingness had nothing to do with an irresistible passion for me. It had to do with shocking her doting father—how outrageous could she be and still get away with it? It had to do with daring and competing with her friends. It had to do with…control.”

“You loved her.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“I was flattered by her interest. I let that male certitude you always worked so hard to trample run wild for a time. I didn’t understand the game.”

Abiah was sitting close enough for him to touch her, but he didn’t. He waited until her eyes met his.

“I’m so tired, Abby. And what I want—what I really want is…”

The music started up again downstairs. Not chamber music this time, but a fiddler playing a sad and lilting waltz.

He made an attempt to smile. “Shall I dance you around the room again, Abby? For old times’ sake? Shall we pretend we’re back at the Calder house and everything is just as it was…?”

She abruptly bowed her head, and he leaned forward.

“I’ve come a long way for you,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, her mouth trembling slightly. She reached for him then, and she held on to him tightly, her face pressed into his shoulder. His arms went around her. “This is what I want,” he whispered against her ear.
“This…”

Some part of him believed that their first kiss should be chaste, gentle, stolen in some dark corner at the end of a sad waltz. But he was leaving in a few hours and he might never see her again. Indeed, that they should have any time together at all was a miracle.

His mouth found hers. He pulled her upward. She fell against him, on him. He held her tighter, closer still. Her hands fluttered for a moment, tentative and unsure, before they slid into his hair, and he was lost.

He probed her lips with his tongue until they parted and he could taste—savor—the flavor of her mouth. Then he kissed her deeply. He couldn’t get enough of her. His breathing grew harsh and shaky. He pressed her against him. He was hard now, aching with desire. His hands began to move in search of bare skin. He wanted to touch her—
her,
not layers of clothes.

“Abby, let me—”

He abruptly stopped and rested his forehead against hers, fighting hard for control, his arms wrapped tightly around her. His hands shook. He loved her—with all his heart. All this time he’d been afraid to admit it, even to himself. He didn’t want to frighten her.

She lifted her head to look at him, her dark eyes staring into his. “Take me to bed, Thomas,” she whispered.

“Abby, are you sure?”

“Take me to bed—”

His mouth found hers again. He managed to get out of the chair without letting her go. He half carried her across the floor and lifted her onto the bed. She lay there, watching as he frantically unbuttoned his shirt. He didn’t remove it. He took off his boots and trousers instead, and he came to her half-dressed. He lay down next to her, and she reached up to touch his face. She was fearful of this—of him; he could tell that. When he reached for the buttons on her bodice, she caught his hand.

“I want to look at you,” he said. “I want to touch you. Let me see you, Abby.”

She lay there, her eyes half-closed, her chest rising and falling. He kissed her again. Then again. His hand cupped her breast. His thumb found her nipple and stroked it through the cloth. He could feel it contract into a tight bud; she made a soft “oh” sound. This time when he began to undo her buttons she didn’t resist. He pulled the dress down over her shoulders, trapping her arms at her sides. He kissed her neck, the swell of her breasts, her nipples through her chemise.

He wanted to see her. He had to see her. He pulled her upright long enough to free her arms from the sleeves of the dress, then he tugged at her chemise until he had one breast bared. He nuzzled her gently there, kissed her gently, almost but not quite touching the erect nipple. She stiffened when he took it into his mouth. Her head arched back when he began to suckle her.

“Thomas—” she whispered urgently. “Is this—are you sure…?”

He understood immediately what she wanted to know. She was a virgin, and her fantasies about seducing him hadn’t quite included this.

“I’m going to make you feel good, Abby. That’s all. I’m going to look at you and…touch you…and taste you…”

His mouth found hers again. He ran his hand up under her skirt, untying the strings at the waists of her petticoat and drawers, searching for the tops of her stockings. He found them, and he pulled them down and off. She made no objection when he caressed her bare legs. He had wanted to hold her and touch her
for so long. Her skin was soft and warm. Her eyes closed when he found the open inside seam on the leg of her drawers. He kissed her harder as he stroked the silky flesh of her inner thigh.

She caught his wrist when he would have done more.

He lifted his head to look at her. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, his breathing ragged. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

He kissed her again before she could answer him. He wanted to give her time to decide, but he needed her. Now.

He broke away, still trying to hold back. “Abby—Abby, if you don’t want this—”

She gave a wavering sigh and lifted her mouth to his, and she let go of his wrist. He didn’t pursue his advantage. He sat up instead, working hard at getting rid of the rest of her clothes and his. He pulled down the covers on the bed and settled her against the pillows, then lay beside her, rolling her against him and covering them both with the sheet. He stroked her breasts, kissed them, made her catch her breath. He could run his hands over her body freely now, and he did so, appreciating every part of her he could reach. She felt so good!

This is the way it should be,
he thought. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her chin. “Say heart,” he whispered, nibbling at her mouth, smiling into her eyes.

“What?” She was breathless and clinging to him. “What…?”

“Say ‘heart’ so I’ll know it’s you…”

She laughed then, and he thought she was no longer afraid. “Hea—” she began.

He abruptly kissed her, cutting off the word. The laughter bubbled from her mouth into his. He rolled her on top of him, then back again, just to make her laugh some more. His knee found its way in between her thighs. He moved over her, knelt there, grabbed her hips and brought her to him. He braced himself above her and pressed gently against that place he so desperately wanted to go. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t resist. It took every ounce of strength he had to restrain himself, to enter her only slightly and then withdraw.

She squirmed against him, and it was nearly his undoing. He couldn’t wait any longer, and he pushed into her. She was so tight around him. He pushed harder. She clutched at his shoulders, but she didn’t cry out.

“Abby…” he whispered urgently. She turned her face away.

But then she looked at him, looked into his eyes, and she lifted her hips to give him better access. He began to move then, slowly at first, trying to give her time to grow accustomed to him. His arms trembled with the effort it took to hold back. He watched her face. When her eyes closed and her head arched back, he thrust deeper. A soft sound escaped her lips, and he stopped.

“I’m hurting you—”

“No!” she said, locking her legs around him, holding him close. “Thomas…”

He began moving again, more urgently now, seeking the rhythm that would give him release. Her body rose to meet his. He thrust hard and deep, so that she took all of him. The pleasure it gave him was unlike anything in his experience. He had known passion before, desire before, but never this joy.

Abiah—!

His pleasure peaked in a great rush of sensation. He cried out as his body grew taut and emptied into her. Then he sagged against her, knowing he was too heavy for her, his breath ragged against her neck. He lifted his head to kiss her again, her mouth, her eyes. With great effort, he tried to move aside, but she held on to him and would not let him go. He rested his head upon her shoulder, and he closed his eyes.

“I
shot Zachariah Wilson.”

“What…?” Thomas said sleepily. And then, “What!”

“I shot him.”

She had been sitting beside him on the bed, watching him sleep for a long while. But she knew he was waking up again, and there was no point in waiting.

“Abiah, I don’t understand—”

“It was that night—after the wedding. He was trying to force himself on Gertie. She was crying and begging him to stop, and he kept hitting her. I had Guire’s revolver—it was in the hope chest. And I…shot him.” She gave a small shrug. “I just thought you should know that.”

“Well, yes, I guess I should. Abiah…”

“What, Thomas?” she asked, looking at him gravely. She felt somewhat better telling him exactly what he was getting in a wife. She didn’t feel better knowing she’d trapped him into matrimony after all. The marriage was most definitely consummated now.
There couldn’t be an annulment. There would have to be a divorce.

He reached up to touch her cheek, and she felt perfectly at ease pressing a kiss into his palm.

How strange,
she thought. They were neither of them dressed. She was hiding behind a corner of the sheet. He was only barely covered, and yet they were having a conversation as if they were in a drawing room or standing on the church steps—if one discounted the topic, of course.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. The gun finally went off.”

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“It misfired.”

“Misfired,” he repeated, as if he were having a really difficult time following this.

“Yes. A few times. I guess the cartridges were damp.”

“You were in a situation with this man that was serious enough for you to think you had to shoot him, and the gun misfired—a few times.”

“Yes.”

“My God, Abiah!”

She sighed. “It sounds so awful when you try to tell it, you know?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I do indeed.”

“I didn’t kill him, Thomas. I only nicked his earlobe. But I guess I would have if I’d had a better aim.”

“And that’s why you disappeared from his house—and he disappeared from Falmouth?”

“Yes.”

“But where did you go?”

“I don’t know. I was exhausted afterward. You know—the wedding and the…shooting, too. Gertie was afraid of what Zachariah Wilson would do, but she looked after me. I guess she got in touch with the lawyer you’d told her about—Staunton. He sent the telegram to your mother. And the next thing I knew I was here.”

Thomas reached for her and drew her down beside him. He kissed her softly on the mouth and then held her tightly to him.

“My God,” he said. “I put you in harm’s way, and that’s the last thing I meant to do.”

She moved so that she could see his face. “You did the best you could. I know that. I just wanted you to hear about it from me. That’s all.”

“Abby…” His eyes searched hers.

“What, Thomas?” she said when he didn’t go on, because she thought he really wanted to tell her something.

“Are you all right? Maybe we shouldn’t have—”

She kissed him to keep him from saying anything more—and to show him how very all right she was. She was learning how to do this, how to kiss and how to touch, how to make his eyes grow hungry and dark with desire. No matter what happened tomorrow—even if he still told her he wanted to be with Elizabeth—Abiah would have this, now.

She rested her head on his chest, and she listened to his heart beating. He began to stroke her bare back. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feel
of his hands on her. She loved for him to do that. She loved having him inside her.

And she felt like crying.

She could feel the change in him, the return of desire, and need. She lifted her head, ready for him. This time she needed no coaxing. This time she understood, and she herself wanted. She wanted to wrap herself around him and take him into her body, into her soul. She thought of Gertie suddenly. How terrible it must be to do
this
with a man whose touch and scent and taste meant nothing.

“Thomas…” she whispered, lifting her mouth to his, opening for him like a blossoming flower. When he suckled her breasts, she thought she would faint from the pure pleasure of it.

But they had no time.

He entered her quickly, deeply. The dread of his leaving was so heavy in her heart. And all the while, he looked into her eyes. This time the pleasure was for her and she knew it. The feeling was so exquisite. Her desire for him began as a tiny ember, and he knew exactly what to do to make it flash and burn. She watched his face grow stormy with his own passion; she saw rather than heard him say her name.

She reached for him, drawing him closer still, holding on for dear life. She cried out when her release came, and she was not ashamed.

Thomas woke with a start, then realized that Abiah had called him.

“What?” he said sleepily, reaching for her. He opened his eyes, because she was now clothed.

“It’s time,” she said. Her eyes were red rimmed, and in spite of the fact that she forced a smile, he knew she had been crying.

“Don’t,” he said, reaching out to touch her.

She managed a wobbly smile. “I’m not going to weep all over you—truly, I’m not, I promise—”

Someone knocked quietly at the door.

“What is it?” Thomas called before Abiah could answer. She gave him such a scandalized look that he winked at her. He had spent the night with his wife—and he saw no reason the household couldn’t know that.

“Sir!” Bonnie called through the door. “Jack has the horse waiting for you, sir. Judge Winthrop says he knows you’ll miss the ferry!”

“I’ll be right there.”

He threw back the sheet and began looking for his clothes—not a difficult task because Abiah had already gathered them up for him. He dressed quickly, stopping to kiss her from time to time as he did so. It gave him great pleasure to let her tie his cravat, because he could enjoy studying her lovely face while she did so.

“Come downstairs with me,” he said. “I want to look at you as long as I can.”

She nodded. Then sighed. Then she was in his arms, clinging to him tightly.

“You will take care,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said.

“You swear it.”

“I swear it.”

“And if you see Gertie in Falmouth, tell her if she needs a place to go, she’s welcome to stay at the Calder house—if it’s still there.”

He nodded, and he kissed her hard. “God, how 1 want to take you back to bed.”

She looked up at him and gave him a mischievous little grin. “And how I want to go.”

“Abiah!”
he said, to tease her. “Now I am scandalized.”

“I sincerely doubt that, Captain Harrigan,” she said primly.

“And why would that be, do you suppose?”

They both laughed, but their laughter quickly faded. They stood there, staring into each other’s eyes. Hers began to well with tears, in spite of her promise, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“Captain Harrigan!” Bonnie called from somewhere down the hall.

“You have my heart, Abby,” he said. He kissed her one last time, and then opened the door. He had to reach deep now to steel himself against the ordeal of leaving. She took his arm and they walked together down the wide staircase.

He knew from his mother that someone would be bringing a packet of letters and personal items for him to take back to camp, even though he was in a Massachusetts regiment and not likely to encounter any of their loved ones firsthand. He would still do his best to see that everything got delivered. Save a wounding,
there was nothing worse for a soldier away from home than not getting mail.

There were a number of houseguests up and about, regardless of the early hour. He—and they, apparently—could smell the heady aroma of one of the famed Winthrop breakfasts in the works. Vinnie and her crew would have had to have been at it since well before daylight to put together such a fine smelling meal for so many people. He would have liked to have had the time to partake of it himself, but when it had come down to a choice of eggs and bacon, crab cakes and oysters and fried potatoes, or making love to Abiah one more time, the breakfast had lost. Handily.

His mother was waiting anxiously in the foyer. And some woman he recognized from the Episcopal church, holding a letter pouch.

And the judge.

And Elizabeth.

He made no attempt to acknowledge her. She looked exquisite, as if she had dressed entirely with making an impression in mind. But it was wasted on him—even if he hadn’t had Abiah on his arm. He turned his attention to his mother.

“Thomas, my dear,” Clarissa said, coming forward to take him by the hand. “Will you
please
prove to be a better correspondent in the future?”

“Mother, I have never been lax in that. I think perhaps you should make inquiries with the postmaster here as to the way my letters to you and Abby may have gone astray.” He glanced at Elizabeth. She smiled.

He put his hand on Abiah’s shoulder and walked with her to his grandfather.

“I ask you for a favor, sir,” he said.

“Again? It seems to me you are making this a very bad habit.”

“I ask that you continue to see to my wife’s well-being while I’m gone,” he said, knowing that everyone in the foyer could hear him. “I have the money put aside for whatever she may want or need, so you will not be inconvenienced on that account. You have only to notify my lawyer of the amount you require.”

He had put the judge on the spot, and they both knew it. Thomas could feel Abiah stiffen in protest beside him, but she didn’t interrupt. The judge was ever mindful of appearances, and after a moment he nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “She will have my protection.”

More people were entering the hallway. He kissed his mother’s cheek. He could see the boy, Jack, waiting with his mount, and if he didn’t leave right this minute, Thomas knew he was in real danger of not getting back to his company in time. Major Gibbons hadn’t taken Thomas’s manipulations to get to Maryland well. The man would likely be standing and waiting with a watch.

“Please, please take care of yourself,” his mother said, trying not to cry.

“No tears,” he admonished her. “I’ll be back before you know it. And, Mother, thank you for bringing Abby here.”

“Thomas, she was all alone. How could I not?”

He looked from her to Abiah. “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “If you two will try to behave—and not vex the judge too much—it will make me very happy.”

They both laughed, and he was about to offer each of them an arm to escort them outside, when someone called his name. He looked around.

“Captain Harrigan!” the woman cried again. “Oh, Captain Harrigan!”

“I beg your pardon—” he started to say, but then he recognized the woman. Mrs. Post—from the Falmouth hotel—bearing down on him. And there was absolutely no place for him to go.

“We meet again!” she said loudly. “Surprise, surprise! Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful home, Captain Harrigan. I am so fortunate to have been invited here! I fear my little hotel suffers mightily by contrast. Hardly more than a week ago—” she informed the assembly at large, “the captain and his lovely bride were my guests—and I told him then that I was coming to Maryland. You see? Here I am! It’s just wonderful to encounter you and the beautiful Mrs. Harrigan again so soon. How are you, my dear?” she asked earnestly. “Your sweet husband was very much concerned that you were not well when you were in Falmouth.” She was looking expectantly at Elizabeth, who was fighting a losing battle to ignore her.

“Dear Mrs. Harrigan!” Mrs. Post persisted. “You are well, yes?”

Thomas could literally feel the shock rippling
through the onlookers as they began to realize the significance of the woman’s mistake.

“I’m afraid I really don’t recall that we’ve ever met,” Elizabeth said finally.

“But, of course, we’ve met! It was just a little over a week ago, in Falmouth—”

“No,” Elizabeth said.

“—When you and the Captain stayed at my little hotel!” the woman insisted.

“Mrs. Post…” Thomas said, to take her attention away from Elizabeth. There was no way to get the woman out of the foyer. He glanced at Abiah. She looked so stricken that he reached out for her.

“Abby, this isn’t what it seems. I swear to you—”

She backed away from him and turned toward the stairs. He followed after her, regardless of the scene it would make.

“Abby—I can explain this—”

“No, Thomas. Even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Wait! There are things I should have told you—I readily admit that. But you have to trust me now, Abby—”

She looked at him then.

“Trust? I have the letter, Thomas.”

“What letter?”

“I have the letter,” she repeated. “And I did trust you—in spite of it. I trusted you all of last night and right up until a few moments ago. Zachariah Wilson is an honorable man compared to you. I have
no
wish to stand between you and Elizabeth Channing. I have
more pride than that—and believe me, it is a very uncomfortable place to be. Now, please! Meet her in whatever ‘little hotels’ you have to, but leave me some dignity and leave me alone!” She picked up her skirts and began to ascend the stairs, her chin up, her back rigid.

But she had to get around the judge to make her escape.

“Did I not warn you you would rue the day you let yourself rely on a Harrigan?” he said to her.

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t look at him. She continued up the stairs, and Thomas would have followed, but the old man stepped into his path.

“You have just asked me to protect this young woman, and by God, I will do it,” he said.

“Stand aside, sir,” Thomas said, his voice shaking with anger.

“I will not.”

“Stand aside!”

“Did you not see the look on her face? She wants nothing more to do with you! You have caused enough damage here. Captain Appleby—” he said to a man nearby. “If my grandson persists, will you and your associates aid me in throwing him out of this house?”

“I…yes—yes, of course,” the man said. “If that is your wish.”