Authors: Karen Kay
Five years ago.
Black Bear fought with himself to contain his anger.
How could she have betrayed him so soon? Had she forgotten him, the love they had shared so easily?
“Black Bear?”
He shot her a stormy glance,
“Please forgive me my lack of manners,” she said, her gaze shy, and as he stared at her at that moment, he thought, despite himself, that he would most likely have forgiven her anything simply because she smiled at him and looked so pretty doing it. And then she spoke, breaking the spell, asking, “Black Bear, why are you dressed like this?”
He looked away. “I desire it,” he said curtly. “It is enough.”
He sank back into a somber gloom as he stared out the window. He was not about to tell her what had happened to him, what he had come to learn about himself, about her. He wasn’t proud of it, after all. He was attracted to a married woman.
Married!
And he would not, he could not, leave her.
But he would never tell her. In truth, after he had rescued her in the park, he had needed to come to terms with himself. He had changed after that incident. For he knew now that no matter what she did, no matter what course her actions took, he would not abandon her. His feelings for her were that deep.
So he had sought seclusion within the gardens of the Colchester House, and there, finding the peace and solitude he’d needed, he had faced his demons.
It had been a rude lesson for him to learn, this knowledge that no matter what she did, he would not desert her; yet Black Bear, ever honest with himself, could not ignore it.
He had thought long and hard, about her, about himself, about whatever power it was that drew them together, and lastly about her would-be assassin. He had used the forces, the very energy of nature all around him, to help him decide what to do. He had asked Wakan Tanka, God of all, for guidance. So strong were his feelings, he had made a blood offering, cutting his arm and singing his courage-giving song.
He had sat through that day, the evening, and that night, fasting.
Finally the next day, when the sun arose to its zenith, he’d induced his vision, his guidance.
He knew what to do.
But he wouldn’t tell her. And not just because a man would never discuss his visions with anyone except a man of medicine, no, he would not tell her because she already held too much power over him.
What would she say if he were to tell her that in his vision he had seen himself dressed in English garb, with her on his arm, happy and well? That the vision had related to him that only if he became as an Englishman, could he truly protect her? What would she say if he were to tell her that what he did, he did for her safety alone? Didn’t she already hold the power of happiness over him? What would she do if she knew she held the power of life over him as well?
But there had been another part of the vision, that piece of it, puzzling him. Sent to him in symbols, he could make no sense of it. An eagle, a nightingale and a raven, all intertwined; what could it mean?
He pressed his lips together and narrowed his brow, wishing he could speak of it to a medicine man.
And as he stared out the window, so engrossed was he in this thought, he didn’t see the other two occupants of the coach, didn’t realize that one of them sat gazing at him quietly, grinning, until—
Clink!
The faint noise had Black Bear peering back into the interior of the carriage.
“Pardon, M’lady.” It was Anna who spoke. “Forgive me, but I seem to ’ave dropped me knitting needle,” she said. “Would ye mind picking it up fer me?”
“Of course,” Estrela said, while Black Bear and apparently Estrela, too, remained happily unaware that a servant would never ask a true mistress to do such a task.
And as Estrela bent down, Black Bear was treated to a full view of Waste Ho’s perfectly formed breasts.
He moaned. He shot his gaze upward, then away. But he couldn’t help himself. He glanced back almost at once, centering his attention again upon the delectable sight before him, unaware that Anna sat watching him, a cool grin on her face.
“Sir Bear?” Anna asked after a moment.
Black Bear eventually tore his gaze away from Estrela to look at Anna, but not before Waste Ho had straightened up. She was studying Anna, repeating in what sounded like disbelief, “Sir Bear?”
Anna grinned. “Yes, M’lady. ’Tis what ’er Grace ’as instructed us to call t’ gentleman now.”
Estrela, Waste Ho, repeated again, as though not hearing her maid’s explanation, “Sir Bear?”
Anna nodded, then said to Black Bear, “Sir Bear, would ye mind turnin’ yer ’ead so that I can straighten M’lady’s dress before we arrive at Shelburne Hall?”
Black Bear sat stunned that the maid would ask such a thing—and perform such an act in his presence, but he nodded his assent all the same. And though he made a pretense of turning his attention elsewhere, he looked discreetly back, watching Anna push her ladyship’s skirt up, up, over the knee, up farther to mid-thigh, Anna bent over her mistress’s dress.
And Black Bear couldn’t have moved away, couldn’t have looked away had he tried, which he had no intention of doing.
Looking at Waste Ho, he was immediately assailed with all the things about her that he found intoxicating: the scent of her perfume mixed with her own earthy fragrance; the shape of her calf, her thigh; the hint of what lay farther up from the thigh, beneath the dress and only just hidden; her breasts, which were almost exposed by the low neckline of her gown; the way they strained against the material as she breathed in and out.
And unbeknownst to himself, he groaned.
The action had Waste Ho straightening up, pulling her gown down and frowning at Black Bear with a most censorious expression.
“Black Bear?” she asked.
Black Bear merely raised an eyebrow, meeting Waste Ho’s gaze directly. He smiled then, sardonically, before saying, “Did you think, in truth, Waste Ho, that I would not look? After you so openly admired me?”
To her gasp and her statement of, “A gentleman wouldn’t…” Black Bear merely cocked up the other brow, meeting her stare, until, realizing that Anna had returned her ladyship’s skirts to their normal position, Black Bear lost interest, resuming his vigil at the window.
“M’lady?”
“Yes?”
“I need to check yer shoes, but ’tis ’ard when ye are sittin’ so close and next to me. Would ye mind,” Anna asked innocently, “movin’ across from me ’ere and sittin’ next to Sir Bear?”
“I…of course,” she said, and picking up her skirts, she made to move across the seats.
Anna appeared to have misunderstood her own question, since she chose that same moment to stand herself. In the resulting confusion, Anna “accidentally” bumped into her mistress, sending Estrela stumbling toward Black Bear.
“Pardon, M’lady,” the maid said, but it was too late. Estrela, caught off balance, landed on Black Bear’s lap instead of the seat.
His arms came up immediately to steady her, to hold her, and as he looked up to catch her stare back at him, all his hard-earned control fled. He felt lost, lost to the look in her eyes, lost to the overpowering force of all that she was. He moaned in protest, yet he strengthened his grip on her all the same.
She sat on his lap, one of her hands holding onto her hat, the other around his neck, and Black Bear, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her, found himself unable to think of anything else but her—the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips; the look of her lips, rosy and ripe, begging for his kiss.
Black Bear watched her in fascination as she brought her head down slowly to meet him, the movement toward him so gradual that his lips were on hers before he could help himself.
“Waste Ho,” he heard himself moan just before he swept his tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her breath.
Ah, magic.
She groaned, whispering his name, and Black Bear thought he would quietly go out of his mind.
He brushed his hands over the expanse of her back, down to her waist, up again, over and over until his thumb traced over the top of her breast.
It was too much, he wanted her too much, and he pulled himself away at the last moment, realizing just where he was.
He rested his head against her bosom while he let his breathing return to normal. And they sat, thus embraced for a very long time.
“Waste Ho,” he said at last. “I cannot hold you like this, I cannot feel you like this.” And though he meant his every word, his hands appeared to have a mind of their own, for they began their search of her body again, feeling her back, her stomach, her neck, until Waste Ho, herself wimpering, leaned all her weight on him.
And then he held her. Just held her, the feel of her so good, so natural, Black Bear thought there was nothing, not a thing so wonderful as hugging her close.
And he might have let her go. He might have.
But he didn’t. Cradling her head against his shoulder, he refused to relinquish her, even when she sank against him in sleep.
And silently, to himself, he whispered all that he felt, his devotion to her, and at long last, his love.
He smiled and with the intoxicating feel of her body close to his, he, too fell into an exhausted sleep, forgetting and not noticing a curiously happy Anna, who gazed discreetly out the window.
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, I say. He is the most handsome specimen of man I have ever seen.”
“And so broad…so… Why, bless me, but I didn’t know a man could look so good. I—”
“Well, I believe he quite fancies me…”
“You!”
Estrela, who was strolling past Shelburne Hall’s breakfast parlor, stopped. She peeked into the parlor, inhaling the wonderful smells of breakfast before entering the room and as she did so, she wondered who these women were and who could be the object of this unusually gossipy conversation.
She had never seen any of them before. Not too unusual a circumstance, except that…
Estrela thought back over the last few days. The entourage of the Duke and Duchess of Colchester, their two daughters, Estrela, and Black Bear had arrived at the Colchester’s country estate, Shelburne Hall, only yesterday.
It seemed unlikely that the Duke and Duchess of Colchester would already be entertaining guests, and yet the presence of these three ladies would attest to the fact that the Colchesters were, indeed, entertaining.
Estrela had always wondered at the specific lack of guests who visited the Colchesters at their country home, mostly because the estate lent itself so well to receive callers.
Built in the late 1600s, Shelburne Hall had been passed down through the family, one generation after the other until the Duke of Colchester had obtained it via marriage and dowry. Stretching over almost an acre of ground, the Hall could have fit at least three hundred two-bedroom cottages inside. It boasted of well over one hundred and fifty rooms, a three hundred square foot garden in the center of the home and over twenty-five hundred feet of corridor space. It sat in the middle of green, rolling hills and was itself surrounded by over a thousand acres of gardens, parks and sprawling, neatly trimmed lawn.
An unusual circumstance, indeed, when one thought of just how little the Duke and Duchess of Colchester entertained.
Estrela gazed again into the sunny breakfast parlor, studying each of the three ladies who sat around the wide, elaborately decorated table. The women were young, pretty, and dressed in the height of fashion.
Who were they?
Estrela stepped a foot into the room, her weight cushioned by the Chinese rug that spread from one end of the room to the other, the rug’s lively hues of reds and blues and pinks imitating the sky at sunrise. On the sideboard a feast of hams of all varying sizes, eggs, sausage and pheasant were set among the scones, crumpets and breads.
On the east side of the room, floor to ceiling windows admitted cheery sunlight while all three of the other walls boasted paintings of recent and distant family members.
The ceiling was painted white with gold trim, and as Estrela glanced around, she discerned that no one else was about except these young ladies.
“Well, I think he fancies me!”
“Don’t be silly,” another one spoke. “He fancies none of us.”
“Why, I don’t believe it.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Well, I believe—”
Estrela cleared her throat.
Nothing. No reaction. No acknowledgment. Everyone still spoke, no one paying her the least shred of attention.
She tried again, this time louder, stepping into the room and gliding toward them as if her feet floated above the floor.
Again, no reaction, and the feminine chatter took on a high-pitched whine that escalated almost to a shriek.
Estrela smiled.
Nothing. No change, the soprano roar quite grating.
“Ladies,” Estrela spoke in an attempt to gain their attention, but to no avail. “Ladies.” She raised her voice, and when she still received no reaction, she stepped around the sideboard, quietly taking her place at the very head of the table.
That did it. Gasps burst from the table; no matter that breakfast was an informal affair, no one, but no one sat at the head of the table except the master of the house.
Estrela knew it, and had counted on thus obtaining a reaction.
She smiled at the three ladies now, having secured their attention and said, “Pray, do excuse my ill manners.” She gazed about her. “But I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation as I walked by and I was wondering who it was that you were speaking of?”
“Who are you?” It was the beautiful redhead who spoke.
“Oh,” Estrela answered, “did I forget my manners again? Please excuse me. I am under the guardianship of the Duke and Duchess of Colchester. I—”
“Oh, you are the one. You are the one we’ve been dying to meet. Why, you are the one who owns the Indian, are you not?”
“Owns?”
“Sit down,” one of them said.
“Here, beside me.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I’ve heard so much about you. You’ve known him awhile haven’t you? Oh, you lucky girl. Please sit here with me.”