Louisa Rawlings (32 page)

I’ll never be afraid of him again, she thought, closing her eyes and savoring the joy of being kissed, of being loved by him. Her eyes blinked open. What was he doing? His finger on her chin had begun to press down, separating her lips, pulling open her mouth. She tried to move beneath him, to turn her head, but he was now leaning so firmly over her that she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
What was he doing
? My God! She felt the tip of his tongue brush against her opened lips, and then he had invaded her mouth! Her hands became angry fists, pounding at his shoulders.

He sat up and frowned at her. “Willough…”

“Stop it!” she panted. “That’s disgusting!”

“How do you know?” he growled. “Have you ever been kissed like that?”

She struggled to her feet, smoothing her skirts and patting her tousled curls. “Yes! One of Drew’s friends. I hated it! And I hated him!”

He stood up in his turn but made no move toward her. “Do you hate me?”

“Oh, Nat. Of course not.”

“Then why don’t you let me kiss you first? If you don’t like it, you can tell me afterward. But give yourself a chance, Willough.” He held out his arms. She hesitated for a moment, then moved into his embrace, putting her arms about his neck. When his lips came down on hers, she returned his kiss, closemouthed, until—prodded by his probing tongue—she gave him access. This time his tongue played a tantalizing game, circling the edges of her lips, darting in and out, stroking and caressing. Allow yourself to
feel
, he had said. She relaxed against him, concentrating on her mouth, and his, and the wonderful sensations he was arousing in her. When his tongue moved upward to slide against the roof of her mouth, she thought she would swoon, feeling the earth spinning beneath her feet. When at last he released her, she sank to her knees, quivering.

She smiled weakly, her heart filled with an odd mixture of elation and dismay. “Now I’ll surely be damned in hell for enjoying
that
!”

He laughed softly and dropped down beside her. “We’ll be damned together, then.” He pulled her into his arms, and this time when he kissed her, she didn’t hesitate for a second. His kisses were so wonderful that she protested only when he rose and pulled her to her feet.

“I think we’d better go back now,” he said. “I’m enjoying myself far more than is good for you.”

It still mystified her, some of the things he said, but she no longer cared. She found herself smiling every time he looked at her, and the sunniness of the next few days echoed the joy in her heart.

She smiled up at him as they strolled to the boats late one afternoon. Even as they settled themselves for a leisurely boat ride, her mouth curled up involuntarily. Not until Nat told her he’d be going alone to Ingles did her smile change to an unhappy frown.

“I don’t see why I can’t go with you, Nat. I’m so longing to meet your grandfather.”

Nat let go of the oars and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “Not this week, Willough. Gramps will need some time to get used to a female in the family. We’ll go together next Sunday.” He loosened his neckerchief, then resumed his rowing.

Willough tilted her parasol to block the sun as the boat moved on the smooth surface of the lake. She settled herself more comfortably against the mound of pillows. “He sounds a bit forbidding, your grandfather.”

“Not really. A bit grumpy because his stroke has left him so helpless. He’s just seen too much, gathered in too much bitterness through the years. He doesn’t seem to be able to find much good in people anymore.”

“He sounds a little like his grandson.”

Nat stared in surprise. “I never thought of that.” He leaned on the oars, let the boat glide. “It’s just that…the war…it was such a horror… I don’t understand the cruelty of people, the greed. It all seems so petty beside the war.”

“You said once that your grandfather was the only family you had. I remember you said your father passed away. What about your brothers? You were telling me about them the other day. As little boys. But what happened to them?”

He blinked and looked down at his hands, tense and knotted against his thighs. “Dad was killed the second year of the war. In ’62. The three of us were all on leave back home when the news came. After that we were separated. Jed and Pete were together in the Twelfth New York Volunteers—my division didn’t get to Gettysburg until the third of July.” He stopped and rubbed his hands across his eyes. “I didn’t find them until the next day, when Lee abandoned Culp’s Hill. It looked like Pete had stopped to help Jed when…” He gulped. “Pete was only eighteen. Oh, hell!” he growled, and bent again to the oars, slashing at the water so the boat shot forward with a sudden jerk.

Willough watched him in silence, allowing him the privacy of his grief and anger. It made her love him all the more, the tender devotion to his grandfather that was partly love and concern, partly a desperate need to cling to the remains of his shattered family. “It’s a wonder you’re not a recluse like your grandfather,” she said at last.

A wan smile flitted across his face. “I didn’t have to be. The last eight years…” He sighed. “I slept, ate, worked. It’s remarkable how people can live without feelings, if they set their minds to it.”

“Oh, Nat…” She leaned forward and touched his arm.

He grabbed at her fingers and brought them to his lips. “I might have spent the rest of my life that way.” He smiled and the tension drained from his face. “But I was undone by a pair of misty violet eyes.”

She found herself blushing. “I’m glad it was I.”

He grinned and steered the boat toward a shadowy inlet on the edge of the lake. “What could I do? You were the prettiest girl around. And you looked sturdy enough to raise a mess of children!”

The blush had become a crimson tide, creeping over her whole body. Sometimes his frankness could be distressing. “
Do
you want lots of children?” she asked timidly.

“As many as we can. I want a house full of laughter.” He steered the boat into the shallows and put up the oars, then smiled at Willough, reclining on her pillows. “Now, my violet-eyed love, if you’ll close up that parasol and make a little room for me…” Carefully, he moved to the stern of the boat and lay beside her, draped one arm possessively about her, and leaned her head across his shoulder. He breathed deeply, his broad chest rising and falling. “God, I love the peace of the woods.” He pointed above them to a large maple tree that shaded their retreat. “Look. A robin’s nest. You don’t see many of them around MacCurdyville. Or any of the furnace towns. And now the land over at New Russia is being stripped…”

She frowned. “How
did
Daddy manage to get it? If it was state land, as you said.”

“My guess is that he used Arthur to bribe a few legislators into changing the law. I’m sorry. He’s not the only one. But he
is
your father.”

She found talk like that upsetting. He didn’t much like her father, or the way they lived, or the way they ran the business. “
Why
do you love me?”

He anchored her more firmly in the crook of his arm. “I told you. Because you have beautiful eyes.” There was laughter in his voice.

“No. Really.”

He raised himself up so he could look down on her. His amber eyes had become serious. “Because you’re strong. Clear-headed. Yet so fragile. And sad, I think.”

She didn’t like to meet his gaze. “Don’t be silly.”

“Yes. Sad. You don’t like to talk about yourself. Your family. Your growing-up. You keep your distance. It’s part of that damned propriety that keeps a wall between us.”

She pursed her lips primly. “I’ve always been taught that a person respects another’s privacy.”

He shook his head. “That’s just false modesty between people who love each other. I want to know you. All about you. When we kiss, there’s no distance between our lips. And when we’re married, there’ll be no distance between us—your naked body pressed to mine. I want our souls to be the same, joined as our lips are joined, as our flesh will be joined—until I know every corner of your heart.”

She thought, You ask too much. Naked bodies. Naked souls. It was too frightening. She laughed brightly. “What more is there to know? I’m what you see. Don’t look for more.”

“I can be patient,” he said gently. “It’s taken years for you to build that wall. I don’t expect it to come tumbling down in a day. Now kiss me, and show me what you’ve learned.”

She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder as he leaned over, covered her mouth with his. She strained against him, responding with a passion that still surprised her. She didn’t wait for him to demand, but parted her lips to his searching kiss, even managing to meet his tongue with her own. What heaven, she thought, feeling her senses reeling.

And then he put his hand on her breast.

She pushed him roughly away. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

He scowled, his shaggy blond brows veiling his eyes. “Dammit, Willough! I told you. You’ll be a virgin until the day we marry. That’s a promise!”

“But in the meantime, you don’t mind touching me,” she said accusingly. “As though I were a… Oh! I can’t even say the word! What makes you any different from Arthur? You talk about naked bodies, about…about
virginity
. It’s disgusting.
He
never did. I don’t love him. I love you. But you’ll never make me understand why I should be frightened of him…and not of you.”

He stared at her, his golden eyes filled with pain. “I touch you because I love you,” he said quietly. “Because I want to bring you pleasure. And it
should
be pleasurable, no matter what you’ve been taught. But I can’t make you trust me if you don’t. Perhaps we should be getting back to the house.”

“No. Wait. I
do
trust you, Nat.” She smiled shyly, took his hand in hers, and placed it over her breast. She shivered at his caressing touch as he bent again to kiss her. “Be patient with me,” she whispered. “I’ll learn.”

On Sunday evening Willough sat on the veranda, listening to the chirp of the crickets. The waning moon had set hours ago. The only light came from the one kerosene lamp that still burned in the parlor. It must be terribly late, she thought. But Nat was coming back from Ingles; she couldn’t sleep without seeing him first. After Daddy had gone to bed, she had crept downstairs to wait for Nat. She felt her skin prickle in anticipation. She was getting quite shameless in her behavior. Since that wonderful afternoon in the boat, she had let him touch her body every time they kissed, his hands running over the bodice of her dress, her back and shoulders, even her hips in the front, where she seemed to feel the heat of his skin through all her skirts and petticoats. But tonight, waiting for him, longing for him, she had put aside her corset and her bustle and her second petticoat; tonight, when he put his arms around her waist, he would feel a real woman beneath the fabric, not a stiff barrier of whalebones.

She heard the creak of a carriage wheel, the soft clip-clop of hooves on the dirt road. In the gloom, she could just make out the carriage and two men. She waited, breathless, while the carriage pulled up in front of the house and Nat climbed down, paid the driver, waved the man into the night. She waited until Nat had stepped up onto the veranda, and then she went to him.

“Willough,” he said in surprise. “It’s so late. You should be asleep.”

“I haven’t seen you all day. You left so early in the morning. How was your grandfather?”

“Quite pleased with the news, as a matter of fact. He’s looking forward to meeting you next week. And though I’m not supposed to tell you, he’s busy writing an inscription in his favorite book to give to you.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to tell me?”

He chuckled. “It goes against the grain for him to admit that he’s eager to meet you. You seem to have conquered the men in my family in a remarkably short time.” He reached out and folded her into his embrace. “God, I missed you!” He stiffened in surprise as his hands explored the yielding softness of her waist; then he pulled her close to him and kissed her willing mouth.

She trembled in ecstasy. Released from its confining prison, her body felt and responded to the length of him: his hard-muscled chest against her breasts sending shocks through her, his hips pressed to hers with a hardness that was wonderful and strange all at once. When he released her and led her to the wicker settee, she thought she’d die of longing. He sat down and pulled her beside him, turning her so she was cradled against him, bent back across his arm. He kissed her softly; she wanted to cry out her impatience. She thought, Why doesn’t he touch my breasts? Oh God, why did I wear this heavy gown? I’ll never feel his caresses! She had a wild urge to tear off her clothes, to press her naked flesh against him. And then—wonder of wonders!—his fingers were unbuttoning the bodice of her gown, slipping inside to grasp the firm roundness of one breast. She gasped in pleasure and clung to him while his hand explored first one breast and then the other, fingers teasing her nipples until she could feel them pucker and harden in response. There seemed to be a pulse that beat deep within her, aching, yearning for fulfillment, a throbbing that intensified with every kiss, every stroke of his fingers. “N-Nat…” she whispered at last. “I’m shaking all over. I never dreamed…”

He laughed, his own voice unsteady. He sat her up and began to rebutton her gown. “You don’t know what it does to me! My birthday can’t come soon enough to suit me!” He kissed her gently. “Now off to bed with you. I’ll stay out here awhile and cool off.”