Frontier Woman (27 page)

“A breath of fresh air sounds like a great idea,” she said with a smile. “Let me tell Creed—”

“Jarrett’s talking with Tom and some other gentlemen in the parlor. We’ll probably be back inside before he even notices you’re gone,” Wilmer responded with a smile of his own.

Cricket hesitated only a moment before she agreed, “You’re probably right. Let’s go.”

Cricket was glad they’d come outside when she saw how beautiful the stars were in the vast Texas sky. A slight breeze rustled through the spring growth of leaves on the pin oak in the side yard. She scooped her hair up off her neck with both hands so the cooling zephyr could reach her damp skin.

Wilmer didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite so lovely as Jarrett Creed’s wife with that mass of hair in her hands and her head thrown back and aimed at the moon.

Cricket shivered as the cool wind did its work.

“Cold?” Wilmer asked. “Here, let me put my arm around you to warm you up.”

Before Cricket could tell him not to bother, a hard Tennessee voice cut through the moonlit night.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

Wilmer Peatman was no idiot. His arm came off Cricket’s shoulder faster than a lizard gave up its tail to a hawk. “Your wife took a chill. I was only going to help warm her up a little.”

“Like hell you were, Peatman. I know exactly what you were doing.”

Cricket tried to control her growing temper. Creed had grabbed her arm and yanked her over next to him as though she were helpless. She could have taken care of Wilmer Peatman herself. Besides, Creed was making something out of nothing.

“Creed, I think you’re making a—”

“Shut up, Brava,” Creed warned. “I’ll handle this.”

Wilmer’s neck hairs stood on end in fright.
Good Jesus
Lord preserve me
, he thought.

“I can handle this myself,” she argued back. She turned to Wilmer and said, in the way Amy had taught her, “I’d like to thank you, Mr. Peatman, for the walk in the night air.”

Wilmer began to feel a renewed sense of rightousness. After all, it wasn’t
his
fault the woman was a hussy.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Creed. The pleasure was all—”

Creed’s fist landed in Wilmer’s mouth, cutting off the rest of his sentence, sending the man flat on his back in the grass at Cricket’s feet.

Cricket whirled on Creed, her legs spread wide, her fists on her hips. “You woodenheaded ninnyhammer! What the hell did you do that for? He was just being nice to me.”

“You’re no longer acting the lady, I see,” Creed mocked.

“You’re no longer acting the gentleman,” she spat back.

Wilmer Peatman sat on the ground in astonished silence.
Dear God in heaven. What had he stumbled into?
He rose carefully, backing away as he dusted off his new plaid wool trousers. “If you two will excuse me, I think I’ll join the ladies and gentlemen in the parlor.”

Neither of them noticed him leave.

“If anyone’s going to put his hands on you, it’s going to be me.” With that, Creed gathered Cricket in his arms and headed away from the house.

“Put me down!”

“Soon enough, Brava. Soon enough.”

Chapter 18

CREED TOOK HER TO THE GLEN AND LAID HER down on a velvet bed of bluebonnets. He’d desired Cricket from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, and he’d more than once imagined making love to her in this forest bower, with Orion standing watch over them and the night sounds setting the tempo for their dance of love. Cricket’s eyes would be jewels set in an opalescent frame, her fiery hair a torch in the moonlight. Her hands would stretch out above her head as they had in her father’s barn, leaving her totally vulnerable to his touch. The reality of it was somewhat different, however.

Cricket’s eyes flashed with angry fire, and the wind created a minor tornado with her auburn curls, completely masking her face except for the moments when it revealed the lower lip which stuck out in a mulish pout. Her hands were stretched out above her head all right, but only because he held them there while the rest of his body pinned her to the ground.

When Creed had settled his hips between hers with his upper body supported by his arms, Cricket quipped sarcastically, “I suppose this behavior is fitting to a lady?”

“It is if the gentleman with her is her husband.” Creed nearly added “who loves her,” but fortunately caught himself in time. If he spoke words of love to Cricket right now, she was likely to spit them back in his face.

Cricket was upset because this wasn’t the way she’d planned Creed’s seduction at all. As long as she’d made up her mind to find out what “it” was all about, the least he could have done was to cooperate and let her seduce him the way she’d imagined it would happen—when they were both alone in the feather bed later tonight, with a single candle giving a golden glow to their naked skin.

“Creed, if we don’t show back up at Amy’s party soon, someone’s going to come hunting for us.”

“They’ll never find us here.”

“You’ll ruin Amy’s dress.”

“I’ll buy her another one.”

“I have on a corset.”

“I’ll take it off.”

Creed used his nose to shove aside Cricket’s windblown hair and covered her mouth before she had a chance to say anything more. Despite any reservations she might have had about the circumstances of their encounter, Cricket threw herself wholeheartedly into the kiss, and they were soon lost in a canyon of passion from which there rose only the echoed song of their pleasure.

When Cricket showed no signs of resisting his desires, Creed released his hold on her wrists so his hands would be free to pleasure her. Unfortunately, when he tried caressing his wife through the tissue silk dress, the corset hindered him. Frustrated, he broke the torrid kiss and ordered, “Sit up.”

When Cricket was too dazed to respond, Creed stood and pulled her to her feet. He yanked off his frock coat and had the buttons of his waistcoat undone and the satin garment torn off before Cricket had gotten her balance. He held her upright while he reached around behind her to undo the laces on the dress. He tugged it forward, and it slid down off her shoulders and past her hips to a silk puddle at her feet. Then he turned her around so he could work on the corset.

“Damn laces are knotted,” he muttered.

“Let me try,” Cricket said. She reached behind her, but her callused fingers didn’t do any better than Creed’s.

Creed reached down to his boot and then remembered he’d removed his knife for the dance. “I don’t even have a knife with me to cut the damn thing off.”

Cricket smiled. She reached down inside her shoe and pulled out a small folding knife. “Will this do?”

“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” Creed said as he kissed her quickly and took the knife. With a wolfish grin on his face he slit the corset laces from bottom to top.

The admission of love had slipped by without Creed taking notice, but Cricket hadn’t missed it. However, since he’d said it in such a flippant manner, neither did she grant it much credence. He wanted her, and she wanted him. That was enough for the moment, without dragging love in to cloud the issue. Instead of remarking on it, she said, “Amy will have a fit when she sees what you did to her corset.”

“Amy should have known better than to truss you up in that thing.”

With the corset and her muslin petticoats gone, Cricket stood dressed in the sheer chemise and pantalettes. “It was your idea to make a lady out of me.”

“A woman,” Creed corrected. “It was my hope to make a woman out of you.” He reached out and cupped her breasts, enjoying the puckered nipples visible through the chemise.

Cricket trembled. “And have you succeeded?”

Creed acknowledged the tartness in Cricket’s question by softening his voice when he answered, “I don’t know. Have I?” Creed let his thumbs caress the tips of Cricket’s breasts. “You tell me. Do you feel like a woman now, Brava?”

Cricket brought her hands to rest on Creed’s chest and let her fingertips survey the strength beneath the pleated linen shirt. She released the buttons, one at a time, until his chest was revealed to her gaze. Hesitantly she replied, “I feel great pleasure from your touch. I feel the need to touch you and to make you a part of myself. Does that make me a woman, Creed?” She turned her face up to him, her eyes plaintively searching his for a response.

Creed didn’t answer with words. Instead he dipped his head and hungrily settled his mouth over hers. At the same time, he lowered them both to their knees, facing one another. He nudged Cricket’s thighs apart, and his hand slipped down to cup the pulsing heat of her femininity.

Cricket gasped at the intimate capture. The feelings rushing through her were nothing like she’d imagined they’d be. She was aware of her whole body melting toward Creed. She arched into his hand, her hands flying to his shoulders to keep her in touch with the only reality she knew—Creed. Only Creed.

Creed reveled in his possession of her, let his tongue incite her, his hands excite her. When he’d brought her to a frenzy of need in his arms he paused to slow his ardor, lest he take her too quickly. It was Cricket’s first time, and he sought to be gentle with her. With great care, he laid her down and covered her body with his own, letting her feel the weight of him wanting her.

Creed could feel her quivering beneath him like a wild animal, could feel his own body quivering with need of her. He looked deep into her dark, smoky eyes and said huskily, “You’re woman enough for me, Brava.”

Cricket smiled at him, and when he smiled back, she laughed with joy. Together they fumbled over buttons and laces and pants and shoes until both she and Creed were as naked as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.

Creed tried to slow her down, but Cricket raced toward the culmination of her need for him. She urged him to touch, she urged him to taste, she touched and tasted with abandon, until she made him forget she was untried, that he’d lied when he’d proclaimed they were truly husband and wife. When he should have been gentle and careful and slow, he thrust with all the frenzied excitement of the moment.

And he hurt Cricket.

Cricket couldn’t believe the pain. The pain only came the first time, Sloan had said. The pain only came when you were a virgin. The pain could only mean one thing. Creed had lied to her. It left her stunned.

He knew he’d hurt her from the stunned look on her face. He knew he’d hurt her from the way her body cringed from his. He knew he’d hurt her from the way she fought him to stop.

“Don’t fight me, Brava,” he rasped. “It’s done now. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

Suddenly Cricket knew that if she succumbed to him now she would never be free. Like a wild thing that fights the gentle hands that will ultimately tame it, she resisted him. She writhed and struggled, bucking her hips against the man who’d joined his body to hers. But her attempts to escape Creed only brought him more quickly to that point where he was no longer man, but animal, responding to the dictates of his barbarian nature and its unassailable command to procreate the species.

When he finally emerged from the red well of pleasure into which he’d descended, Creed’s first sane thoughts were regret and remorse. He was still lying half on top of Cricket, but she’d covered the offended portion of her body with her hand, as though she were ashamed.

Cricket felt drained . . . wrung out . . . betrayed. She was sticky with semen and her own blood, both of them damning proof that Creed had at last claimed her for his wife.

“You lied to me.”

“Cricket, I—”

“I was a virgin, Creed,” she cried. “And now you’ve made me your wife . . . against my will.”

“Who’s lying now, Brava,” Creed whispered.

Cricket felt the flush rise in her cheeks. She’d wanted him. Until she’d discovered the lie, she’d wanted him deep inside her, making her full, ending the emptiness she felt when he wasn’t near.

Creed’s throat was thick with pain, and with guilt. He rose and reached out to touch her where he’d hurt her. When she flinched he removed his hand. Could he speak words of love now? Would she believe them? Was there a way to explain to her how he felt? “I lied for a good reason, Brava. But I—”

“There are no explanations good enough to excuse this,” she interrupted harshly. Then the untried girl was back in the voice of the woman, “Oh, Creed, you hurt me.”

Creed’s throat closed as he gathered her up into his arms and held her in his lap, ignoring her feeble attempts to stop him. He could see the effort it took her to fight him. He’d have let her go free, except he knew they’d both suffer if they didn’t talk about what had happened between them. He dearly regretted his lack of control, but it was too late to worry about that now. He would make amends in the only way he knew.

“Whatever went before is over and done with, Brava. It’s the past. You’re my wife now, and it’s my duty as your husband to take care of you. I won’t hurt you again. I can promise you that. The next time you’ll feel only pleasure.”

Duty
. No word of love. Cricket’s stomach tightened into a knot. Her chest ached. The blood pounded at her temples. This pain was much worse than the pain of consummation, because that had been so brief, and this didn’t feel like it was ever going to go away. She had no experience with romantic love, but it was much overrated, she thought bitterly, if it made you feel this bad. She wasn’t about to become one of Creed’s
duties!

“You won’t ever hurt me again because you won’t touch me again,” she said.

Creed was amazed at the vehemence of her statement, and that made him all the more firm in his response. “Yes, Brava, I will. When you’ve had time to heal, we’ll—”

“No!”

The stark fear in Cricket’s eyes brought another lump to Creed’s throat, but he knew he had to be strong for both of them. “We’ll talk about this later, when you’re feeling better.”

“I won’t change my mind, Creed.”

“I won’t change mine, either,” he said, and then regretted it because he’d only caused her eyes to smolder, so he felt a quickening in his loins. God, if they didn’t get dressed soon he was likely to take his wife again, and pain be damned!

Creed picked Cricket up and, cradling her in his arms, walked waist deep into the pond. Cricket shivered as he gradually lowered her feet and legs until she was standing in the cool water. He reached down beneath the surface of the pool and rinsed away all signs that he’d claimed her as his woman. He brought a cupped hand of water to her shoulder, and let it stream across her breasts, sore where he’d suckled like a newborn babe. His wet fingertips brushed away the streak of a tear on her cheek, then soothed the raw skin where his day’s growth of beard had scratched her cheeks and chin. He pulled Cricket into his arms, and they stood silently in the moonlight, letting the water eddy around them, taking the pain away.

“I’m sorry, Brava.”

Cricket didn’t know how to deal with this gentle Creed. He took away her defenses and left her vulnerable to him. But she didn’t forgive him.

“Saying you’re sorry doesn’t change anything, Creed.” Creed hadn’t expected Cricket to forget what he’d done, but he’d hoped she’d understand. He carried her from the pond and used his soft linen shirt to dry her.

“Do you need any help getting dressed?”

“No, I—” But the soreness between her legs was making it hard for Cricket to get into her pantalettes.

“Lean against me.”

Cricket leaned back against Creed, and he held her upright as she awkwardly stepped into the thin cotton garment. As soon as she could, however, she moved away from him. And she didn’t thank him.

When she was completely dressed, Cricket looked down at the wrinkled satin in dismay. “I can’t go back to the house like this. Everyone will know. . . .”

She was right, of course, Creed thought, as he gazed at her, but not only because of the wrinkled satin. Her eyes were luminous, her lips swollen with passion. His hands had raked her hair a dozen, dozen times and her auburn curls were decorated with bits of bluebonnet and grass.

“Then let’s stay here tonight,” he suggested. “It’ll be warm enough if we sleep close to each other.” When she frowned and opened her mouth to object he added sardonically, “And the bluebonnets are a good deal softer than the floor of the bedroom.”