Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) (15 page)

He was so strong he could easily snap her in two. She could feel the control he exerted as she was enveloped in his embrace. That only made him seem more enticing.

“Please, Malachite.” She knew she was begging. Knew her voice sounded raw and wounded. It no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except the need for him. At this moment her world had been reduced to this room, this man and the pleasure his touch brought.

She arched up, her arms encircling his neck. Heat rose up between them, misting their vision, clogging their lungs. But he wasn’t about to give her what she craved. What they both craved. At least not until they had feasted.

They lay, tangled in their discarded clothes. She moaned softly as his mouth left hers. The moan grew into a sob when, with lips and tongue and fingers, he took her on a wild ride that brought her to the first glorious peak.

She shuddered and cried out his name, but he gave her no time to recover as he took her even higher. Each time she thought there could be no more, he showed her more. And more.

He could feel himself losing control. And still he held back, determined to draw out every touch, every taste, every pleasure.

Nearly mad with need, he arched himself above her.

“Look at me, Millie,” he growled.

His eyes were steady on hers, watching as her lids flickered and she focused on him.

“I want to see you. I want you to see me.”

They were beyond thought now, beyond madness, propelled by wild, pulsing needs.

He gripped her hands, lifting them above her head, lacing his fingers with hers. His mouth covered hers, cutting off the cry that was ripped from her.

She was all he could see as he drove himself into her. With the taste of her, the scent of her filling his mind, his heart, his soul, he began to move. With incredible strength she joined him in a dance as wild, as free, as ancient as time itself.

* * *

“Are you alive?”

“Mmm? Yes. I think so.”

They lay, still joined. It. seemed too much effort to move. Malachite nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “Then breathe, so I’ll know you’re all right.”

“I can’t. There’s something heavy on my chest.”

With a chuckle he rolled to one side, drawing her into the circle of his arms. She fit perfectly, he noted. “That better?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Probably this cold floor.”

Naked, he walked to the fire and poked at the log until it erupted into flame. Millie couldn’t look away. He was magnificent. But as the flames grew brighter, she caught sight of fading marks on his shoulder and was shocked at the knowledge that she had caused them. Her teeth. Her nails. Her unleashed passion.

When he knelt beside her, she looked away, feeling awkward. “I suppose I should go.”

“Go where?”

“Back to my room.”

He trailed a finger across her shoulder, around her throat, down her collarbone. “I thought you wanted a whole night.”

“I... thought you might want me to leave now.”

“Leave?” He moved his finger lower, to circle her breast.

Her head came up. She saw the gleam in his eye.

“We haven’t even started yet,” he muttered as his lips followed the path of his finger.

She gasped and clutched his head. When she found her voice she managed to say, “Could I ask a favor?”

He lifted his head. “Mrs. Potter, at this moment you could ask me for anything.”

“Could we at least use the bed this time?”

With a laugh he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the room. He lowered her to the feather mattress, then lay beside her.

“Now,” he muttered, “why don’t I show you a few more of the things I’ve been dreaming of doing with you.”

“Mr. Jewel,” she breathed against his mouth, “I’m beginning to like sharing your dreams.”

* * *

Millie lay in the predawn darkness, listening to the silence. Always, in town, there were sounds intruding. The creak of wagon wheels, the thunder of hoofbeats, the low rumble of voices. But here at the ranch, it was so incredibly still. With the earth blanketed by snow, and the wranglers scattered with the herds, there was nothing to break the muffled stillness.

She watched Malachite while he slept, and felt again the jolt of excitement at what they had shared. All through the night they had loved. At times it had been as rough, as ferocious as any breaking storm. At other times it had been slow and achingly tender, as though they had all the time in the world.

She had never known anything like this before. She had loved Mick and he had loved her. And their lovemaking had been sweet and satisfying. But she had never tasted the dark side of passion. Had never been driven to the edge of madness and beyond. Though she ought to feel bruised and battered, all she really felt was satisfied. And pleasantly sated.

She couldn’t resist brushing a lock of dark hair from Malachite’s forehead. Even now, just looking at him, she wanted him. The knowledge shocked her. And tempted her to touch a finger to his parted lips.

“Careful. I may bite.”

“Oh.” With a little laugh she jerked her hand away.

He reached out and caught it, dragging it back to his lips, where he pressed a kiss to her palm. When he felt the wild stirring of her pulse, he shot her a dangerous smile. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Of course not.”

“Liar.” With all the prowess of a sleek mountain cat he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. With one hand on her chest he whispered, “Your heart’s pounding.”

She pressed a hand to his chest and smiled. “So is yours. Are you afraid of me?”

“Terrified.” He lowered his head until his lips were brushing hers. “There isn’t much I’m afraid of, Mrs. Potter. But you scare the hell out of me.”

“Good.” She felt the familiar rush of heat and traced his lips with her finger. “I think I like knowing that.”

“See if you like this, too.” He took the kiss deeper, swallowing back the little protest she was about to make.

“Mmm, very nice.” If she were a cat, she’d be purring.

“And this.” He brushed kisses along her throat, then lower, to the swell of her breast.

“That’s... beyond nice.”

“I was hoping you’d enjoy it.”

His mouth moved lower, taking her on a wild and reckless ride.

All thought was lost as they slipped into a world of soft sighs and whispered promises. A world of dark, dangerous delights. A private world, known only to lovers.

“W
hat’s for breakfast, Mama?” June bounded down the stairs behind her two sisters.

“Eggs, potatoes, salt pork and biscuits.” Millie turned as Malachite stomped into the kitchen with an armload of firewood.

For the space of a heartbeat their gazes met and held. He shot her a smoldering look that had her bones melting. Millie felt her cheeks flush before she turned away to pour coffee.

At the table, April watched in silence. Though she didn’t know why, she suddenly felt tense and irritable. “I wish we were back in town. At least there we could play with Birdie. What are we going to do way out here all day?”

At the tone of her daughter’s voice Millie turned. “Don’t worry your head about it. I’m sure I can find plenty to keep you occupied. Starting with your schoolwork. After breakfast I’ll assign new words to each of you. And then we can do sums.”

The little girls groaned.

“I might have a more appealing idea.” With his back to them, Malachite fed a fresh log to the flames.

They turned to him.

“Why don’t we take a day off? A day of no chores.” He got to his feet, wiping his hands on his pants. “And no schoolwork.”

“But what will we do?” June asked. Though she was clearly intrigued, she couldn’t imagine an entire day with nothing to do.

“It will be a surprise.” Malachite crossed to the table. “But first, let’s eat our breakfast.”

The three little girls were so excited they could barely enjoy their meal. Malachite had no such problem, however. Millie noticed that he ate more than usual, sighing over her biscuits, lingering over a second cup of coffee.

When the meal was finished, Malachite and the girls carried their dishes to the pan of water warming over the fire. With everyone pitching in, the table was cleared and the dishes washed within minutes.

The three girls turned to Malachite, who was grinning like a conspirator.

Millie was as curious as her daughters. “What do you have in mind?”

“Follow me.”

He led them up the stairs and along the hallway to the far end, where a ladder leaned against the wall.

“I climbed this,” he said, “and found something very interesting.”

“What? What?” The three little girls danced around him, clapping their hands in agitation.

“An attic.” He watched their reactions. “Filled with old trunks. I think it might be fun to go through them. What do you say?”

“Yes. Yes.” June was so eager she started up the ladder, but Malachite caught her around the waist and lifted her back to the floor.

“First we’ll need a lantern, peanut,” he cautioned.

“Peanut.” She giggled, loving her new nickname, as she went in search of a lantern.

He held a match to the wick, then climbed the ladder. When the lantern had been placed on an old table, lending its light to the entire room, he signaled for Millie and her daughters to follow.

The room was nothing more than bare floors and massive log rafters, warmed by the stone chimney that climbed one wall. Under layers of dust and cobwebs were a number of trunks and carpetbags, their contents spilling out along the floor.

“Which one will we open first?” June asked.

“How about this one?” Malachite blew the dust from a battered trunk and lifted the heavy lid. Then he stood back to allow the three little girls to examine the contents.

“Look, Mama.” May held up a gossamer ball gown of shimmering white silk shot with silver threads. “I wonder who this belonged to.”

“That gown is familiar,” Millie said with a frown. “Now, where could I have possibly seen it?”

“In the portrait in the parlor,” Malachite reminded her.

“Of course. The portrait of Diamond’s mother.”

“Why is her dress up here?” May asked.

Millie shrugged. “I suppose Onyx Jewel wanted to keep it as a memento of someone he loved.” She saw the frown on Malachite’s face and knew that he was thinking about his own mother. “Let’s see what else is in here.”

She helped the children remove a pair of kid slippers, an elegant satin cape and a silk dressing gown decorated with oriental symbols.

“Do you think these belonged to Miss Pearl, Miss Ruby and Miss Jade?” May asked.

“They look too old,” Millie said. “But these could have belonged to their mothers.”

At the bottom of the trunk lay a pair of moccasins. Though they showed wear and had probably been discarded for more than twenty years, they were as soft as the day they’d been made. Millie handed them to Malachite, who studied them for long, silent moments.

“Were those your mother’s?” June asked.

He shook his head. “They’re too big for a woman’s foot. They must have belonged to Onyx. But they were made by my mother.”

“How can you tell?” May asked.

“Because they carry her signature. See?” He pointed to the distinctive star shape etched into the side of each moccasin. “Evening Star always left her mark on each piece,” he said softly. “My mother took great pride in her handiwork.”

“Why don’t you try them on?” June asked, wide-eyed.

He shook his head, but the others joined in the urging until he relented. Removing his heavy boots, he slipped his feet into the moccasins.

Watching him, Millie was aware of how reluctant he was to use anything that had once belonged to his father. But she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was pleased with the fit. Not to mention the comfort.

“They look good on you,” she said. “It seems a shame not to wear them.”

Though Malachite said nothing, she noticed that he didn’t remove them.

The three little girls had already moved on to another trunk. They removed shawls, bonnets and old-fashioned gowns, which they promptly began to try on.

“Look, Mama.” June draped a fringed shawl around her shoulders and paraded around the room.

The others laughed.

Following suit, May stepped into a gown, holding the flowing skirt in one hand while she waved a parasol with the other.

Even shy April got into the spirit of the occasion by lifting a wide-brimmed bonnet to her head before joining the parade.

“May we keep these, Mama, and play with them?” June asked.

“These things aren’t ours, honey. When we’re finished with them today, we’ll have to fold them neatly and return them to the trunks.”

“But nobody knows they’re up here except Malachite,” May protested.

“And I’d look pretty silly in these clothes,” he added teasingly.

At his remark, Millie couldn’t help laughing. “That’s true. But they belong to your family. Maybe someday Diamond and her sisters will want to show these things to their children. I’m sure that’s why Onyx Jewel had them stored up here. So that his children would know something of their heritage.”

Still wearing the fringed shawl, June dragged an old carpetbag from a dusty corner of the room. The bag, worn and faded, appeared to be much older than the other things in the attic.

“I wonder what we’ll find in here,” she muttered as her tiny fingers struggled to pry it open.

“What’s this?” April held aloft what appeared to be a handful of feathers.

For the space of several seconds Malachite merely stared. Then, taking them from her hands, he shook them until they cascaded down to the floor to reveal an ornate headdress made of intricately woven eagle feathers.

“I’ve never seen this,” he said with a trace of awe. “But I’ve heard of it. Everyone in our village heard about this gift from the chief, Two Deer, to the one who saved his life.”

“Who saved his life?” April asked.

“Onyx Jewel. At great peril to himself, he fought a group of buffalo hunters. It nearly cost him his life. In fact, it was my mother, Evening Star, who cared for him until his strength was restored, and he was able to return to his own people. For his courage he was given the Comanche name Warrior with Heart of Eagle. It is the highest honor a brave can achieve. Legend has it that Two Deer himself spent many hours climbing to the tops of mountains and cliffs to secure the feathers.”

“You must be very proud of your father,” Millie said softly.

His gaze remained riveted on the headdress. “I guess I never really thought about it. I was too busy resenting him. But what he did was brave and completely unselfish. I see now where his daughters learned their generosity.”

“There are papers in here,” June called as she reached to the very bottom of the carpetbag.

The papers had yellowed with age, their edges curled. Some were still sealed with wax, others torn and frayed. But when Malachite smoothed them out, he realized they were letters. Letters written in Onyx Jewel’s bold scrawl and addressed to Evening Star at various Indian missions across Texas.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Millie herded her daughters toward the ladder. “Come, girls. I’ll let you play with these clothes downstairs.”

“But there are still some trunks we haven’t looked through,” June protested.

“I think we’ve seen enough for one day. If you’re very good you may use the looking glass in Pearl’s old room.”

A full-size looking glass was a special treat indeed. All further arguments were forgotten as the girls scrambled toward the ladder.

When April, May and June had climbed down, Millie turned toward Malachite. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the yellowed papers in his hands. He seemed completely unaware of her presence.

She followed her daughters down the ladder, leaving him alone with the ghosts of his past.

* * *

Malachite sat on the floor, his back against a trunk. Over his left shoulder spilled a shaft of yellow light from the lantern. He read each letter carefully, amazed at the depth of honesty and passion Onyx Jewel had revealed.

It was all here. A declaration of the awe and wonder of first love. An admission of guilt at having left to pursue his dreams. A pledge to keep his love for Evening Star alive forever in his heart. A letter begging her to have pity on a lonely, lovesick fool. Urging her to reconsider her decision not to live with him as his wife. There was even a letter to Two Deer, listing his offer of the bride’s price. And what a price. More than anything Malachite had ever heard offered for a bride. Two dozen of the finest mustangs. A score of cattle. Wagonloads of flour and sugar. And a pledge that he would love and cherish the chief’s sister for all of her life.

When he finished the last letter, Malachite pressed his hand over his eyes in a weary gesture.

These were not the ravings of a selfish man who had stolen the love of an innocent maiden, only to leave her alone and brokenhearted. From the markings these missives bore, it was obvious that Onyx had attempted to post them. And from their condition Malachite had to conclude that they had traveled across Texas by stage and Pony Express, to no avail.

Onyx Jewel would have known the odds he was facing. The Comanche were nomads, never settling in one place for any length of time. They would never allow themselves to be seen by the very people who were invading their hunting grounds. The settlers who ran the trading posts and the riders for the Pony Express were no more trusted than any other white man. It would have been an easy matter to avoid them.

Malachite glanced down at the clutch of letters. His mother had died never knowing that the love she had kept alive in her heart had been returned with a fervor that matched her own.

His father had died thinking he had written all these letters in vain. But in truth, they had indeed touched a heart. Not the heart Onyx had intended.

Carefully, reverently, Malachite returned the letters and the eagle headdress to the carpetbag. Then, taking up the lantern, he climbed down the ladder and made his way to Onyx Jewel’s bedroom.

He had a sudden need to look at the picture of his father once more. This time, he knew, he could look upon Onyx Jewel’s face without anger. Without any lingering bitterness.

This time he would look through the eyes of understanding. And perhaps, in time, even love.

* * *

Millie heard the sound of Malachite’s footsteps as he made his way down the hall and into his father’s room. When the door closed, she returned her attention to her daughters, who were preening in front of the looking glass, wearing fancy gowns, fringed shawls and wide-brimmed bonnets.

“Do we look beautiful, Mama?” little June asked.

“Indeed you do. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were princesses.”

While the three girls peered at their reflections and fell into fits of giggling, Millie found herself wondering about Malachite’s mood. Had the discovery of his father’s letters eased some of his pain? Or had they merely opened up old wounds?

She had a sudden need to do something special for him.

As she headed for the door of the bedroom, June asked, “Where are you going, Mama?”

“Downstairs to start supper. When you’re finished playing, fold the clothes neatly and leave them here on the bed. I’ll put them away in the attic later.”

In the kitchen she stoked the fire and set out a pan of biscuit dough. Then she made her way to the cellar and studied the contents.

“Bless you, Carmelita,” she muttered as she began assembling her supplies.

By the time Malachite and the three girls came downstairs hours later, the air was perfumed with the mouthwatering aroma of roast duck glazed with cherry conserve and stuffed with bread and herbs, potatoes swimming in rich gravy and rolls sweetened with sugar and cinnamon.

Malachite stared at the table, dressed in a lace cloth, with crystal and silver shimmering in the glow of candlelight. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

“Just the end of a special day.” Millie had gone to all this trouble to cheer him up. She studied him, hoping to gauge his mood. But, as always, he kept his features carefully masked. “I thought it should end with a special treat.”

As they gathered around the table, the girls bowed their heads. Malachite, seated at the head of the table, surprised them by reaching out one hand to April and the other to Millie. With his head bowed he murmured aloud, “We give thanks for this food, and for those who went before us, making all this possible.”