He forced himself to circulate amongst his guests, smiling and proffering a greeting here and there. Through this, he finally realized the true extent of Kathryn’s treachery. It became obvious to him, practically everyone at the party knew about the gown. He felt ill thinking about Georgina’s total humiliation. When he heard young men making snide remarks about her morality, it took considerable willpower not to ram his fist down their throats.
He would give her a little time to recover before going out into the garden to find her. Everything would be all right once he explained what had happened.
George kept running until a stitch in her side forced her to stop. She rested against a tree, winding her arms about its trunk to support her trembling legs. If she collapsed, she would never be able to get up again. Bitter tears coursed down her cheeks. How could I have been foolish enough to trust him?
Marcus had not seemed a cruel man, but what he had done was vicious, absolutely callous. She had gone to the party with a singing heart and starry eyes, now her humiliation and betrayal went so deep she would never be quite the same again. Her reputation around the district would be that of a soiled dove, who had sold her body for a pretty gown and the chance to attend a rich man’s party.
It was a long tortuous walk home. In her gown with only light slippers on her feet, it seemed twice the normal distance and she limped by the time their cabin came into view. A lamp still burned in one window so someone was waiting up for her. Even in her despair, she hoped it would be McGuire. Billy would ride over to the Stantons immediately clamoring for revenge. As for Johnny, she hoped he never found out, because he would surely kill Marcus if he knew.
McGuire was waiting up for her and George almost collapsed in his arms. After he forced whiskey down her throat, she became coherent enough to tell him the whole terrible story.
“Sonofabitch.” He called Marcus and the Stantons all the worst names possible
“If Johnny finds out about this, he’ll gun him down. Even Billy could do something rash. You’re worth twenty of them, gal, never forget it.”
He was kind in his abrupt, gruff way. Only when he pointed it out, did she realize the locket was gone, adding to her anguish. She had lost her mother’s treasured locket. After she changed into her nightshirt, she grabbed the tattered, once beautiful gown and shoved it in the fire.
She watched through tear filled eyes as the hungry flames devoured it, then broken hearted sought the sanctuary of her bed. Her ordeal had been so traumatic, so life draining that within a short time she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She didn’t hear McGuire speaking to the ranch hand Marcus sent over to make sure she had arrived home safely.
* * *
Next morning, subdued and white-faced, George served biscuits covered in honey for breakfast, all the while waiting for Billy to make a sneering, I told you so, remark. He said nothing, just ate with quick, jerky movements, although his eyes burned with rage.
“Don’t cause any trouble, boy, you hear me? Stantons will put the law on you for sure. Don’t worry. I’ll think of a way for us to get even.”
The threat, quietly spoken, held undertones of menace. George quaked inwardly, knowing full well McGuire was a man who would not allow his family to be insulted without seeking retribution.
“McGuire, Billy, promise you won’t hurt Marcus.” The mug she held shook in her hand. “Please don’t do anything,” she pleaded.
“All right.” McGuire agreed gruffly. “You stay away too, boy.”
* * *
Marcus glanced at Georgina’s locket, and in the light of day became even more puzzled. It was plain gold with beveled edges, quite a nice piece of jewelry.
How did Georgina come by it? A gift from that young wretch Valentine no doubt. He must have stolen it.
He would never forget his first sight of Georgina last night. Her cheeks had been tinged delicately pink with excitement. Her milky white throat and shoulders bared by the gown, and her soft tremulous lips had given her the fragility of fine porcelain. She was by far the prettiest girl present. He cursed Kathryn under his breath for ruining the evening both for himself and Georgina. He had so wanted things to be special for her.
His aunt and uncle had disapproved of him inviting her to the party. They were vocal in their condemnation of the McGuires. Oh, Georgina, sweet beautiful Georgina. There could be no real future for them. No happy ending, he thought desolately, shuddering at what his parents would say about her lowly background.
He had never considered himself a snob before. In fact, he despised many of his peers who openly boasted about marrying for wealth and to beget legal heirs, without even a scrap of affection for their wives. When they wanted love, they took a mistress. When they tired of one woman, they ruthlessly cast her aside and moved on to the next conquest. He was honest enough to admit being guilty of the latter.
Clenching his fists, he realized he loved Georgina, but in the cold light of day, with his passion cooled, he knew it was impossible to make her his wife. I’ll be damned if I’ll marry Kathryn.
His parents, of course, were hoping for a match and he himself had seriously contemplated the idea until her show of spite last evening. He abhorred vindictive, spiteful women, no matter how socially suitable or rich they were.
“Georgina,” he groaned. Why did their backgrounds have to be so different? God, he wanted her like no other woman he had ever known. If he couldn’t marry her, there were only two choices left: try to forget her or make her his mistress. He would buy her pretty gowns, beautiful jewels; nothing would be too grand for sweet Georgina.
Maybe he could buy them a ranch away from here. He had money independent of his parents. Georgina was a creature of the wild whose spirit would wither and die if trapped in the confines of a city. He would spend most of his time with her, would worship and cherish her for the rest of his days.
Feeling better for having solved his problems, Marcus straightened his cravat. He patted his hair back into place, found his hat and prepared to ride over to the McGuire homestead.
The stable hand saddled his usual mount and without wasting a moment more, Marcus set off. He enjoyed riding and without vanity knew he was an expert, having been in the cavalry, and around horses most of his life. He spurred the horse into a gallop. This ex-race horse always gave a good account of himself, but after a time he slowed the beast down so he could survey the countryside.
He would be seeing Georgina soon and he hoped she would not still be upset over last night. Once he explained everything would be all right. Dear sweet, Georgina did not have a vindictive bone in her body, not like Kathryn, who last night showed herself to be a vicious viper.
The cabin came up suddenly, nestled against a backdrop of spruce covered hills. A curl of smoke drifted skyward, and the bawling of cattle came from somewhere close by.
He dismounted, tethered his horse then strode on to the porch, holding his hat in one hand. There appeared to be no sign of life, so after tapping on the door several times, he entered the kitchen. Strange it should be at the front of the cabin.
“Georgina.” No answer. Feeling rather guilty for trespassing, he hurriedly returned outside. Maybe she was out the back. Hanging out the washing perhaps? He swallowed down on his feeling of disappointment at the thought she might be away.
Nothing on the washing line. He idly glanced at a child’s swing swung over a tree branch. Gnawing his bottom lip for a moment, he deliberated before deciding to look around. Thank goodness, he spotted her horse grazing in nearby corral. Instinct drew him toward the creek, and there she was paddling in the water, with her trousers rolled up to her knees, exposing slim legs and dainty bare feet.
“Georgina.” She started like a frightened fawn. Her head snapped back, and he watched as the color ebbed away from her face leaving it chalk white.
“Go away.”
“Please, I can explain about last night.”
She stood there, little and sad. Disregarding the wet sand which could
ruin his fine boots Marcus stepped to the water’s edge.
“Listen to me. I only told Kathryn so she could tell me the best place to buy your gown. You must believe me, she promised not to tell a soul. I swear it’s the truth.”
Her lips trembled. He held out his arms and she ran into them.
“Marcus, oh Marcus.” She sobbed into his chest and he held her close, savoring her nearness. Her hair fell into a tumbled mass, and somehow the rays of the sun became trapped in the bright, wayward curls.
He drew her slowly from the water and edged them to the overhang of a massive tree. Then he kissed her. Her mouth remained tightly closed, her body taut. As his questing mouth became more insistent, hers softened and parted under the persuasive pressure. Her body relaxed, becoming so pliant he could mold it into the contours of his own.
“Georgina.” Her name came out in an impassioned groan, as he drew her to the ground. “I need you.”
She answered his kisses, tentatively at first, but gaining in confidence under his experienced tutoring. He pushed her hands inside his shirt so she could feel his hot naked flesh. His fingers began caressing her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt. Soon this was not enough. He wanted more.
The buttons on her shirt finally gave way to his eager, questing fingers. Her firm young breasts looked as if they were sculpted from white marble. They were crowned with soft pink buds. Desire exploded all the way through him. Red-hot passion seared his loins, his whole body caught fire and his manhood sprang into life.
The tip of his tongue caressed one of her nipples, slowly, sensuously arousing the soft flesh until it blossomed. When it hardened to his satisfaction he drew it into his mouth and suckled hard. She tasted so good he wanted more. Much more.
He slid his trembling hands between her thighs, inwardly cursing the clothing that acted like a chastity belt, denying him entry into the garden of pleasure and all the delights awaiting him there. His fingers frantically worked on the fastening of her trousers and as he rolled them down over her hips he discovered she wore nothing underneath. His passion exploded with a shocking, all consuming, force.
His hand cupped the soft triangle of auburn curls nestling between her thighs. He heard her surprised exclamation as his fingers parted the petals of her femininity so he could stroke the silken bud into pulsating life.
George’s head started spinning. She closed her eyes to shut out the brightest light she had ever seen. Marcus’ questing hands and mouth took her to paradise. Higher and higher she soared above the clouds in the throes of a hot, all consuming passion that caused flames to sear into the deepest depths of her soul. She yearned for him to totally possess her, to douse the flames raging through her femininity
As the long hard length of his maleness drove into her love canal, it opened like a flower in spring, giving him easy access. Instinctively, her legs locked themselves around his buttocks and she arched her hips to meet his powerful downward thrust.
Marcus’ passion ran rampant, completely out of control as he drove deeper and still deeper into her heated quivering core. His last coherent thought was how easily Georgina’s body had taken him in.
They rocked together in the throes of passion until the ultimate climax came and he exploded inside her. He jack-knifed away from her, his passion immediately replaced by disappointed anger. Johnny Valentine had been here before him, plundering the treasure he thought would be his.
“You, dirty little whore,” he raged, struggling to tidy up his clothes.
George was shocked at his venom. She tried to speak, but no words would pass out of her frozen vocal cords. She couldn’t understand what she had done wrong. Why he had turned on her.
“Marcus, please,” she finally managed to whisper. Reaching out a trembling hand she touched his face. “You still love me?”
“Lust, Georgina.” He flailed her mercilessly. “Love has nothing to do with it. What other dirty secrets are you hiding?”
He turned on his heel and strode off, leaving her devastated and wishing she was dead.
Chapter Seven
The weeks passed, Marcus did not come near her again. Night after night she lay awake wondering what had gone wrong. Why did he turn against her? The dreadful words he had flung at her made her cringe or cry every time she thought about them.
One afternoon, a terrible thought came to her, something so shocking she broke out in a cold sweat. Could she be carrying Marcus’ child? On legs that would barely hold her up, she staggered into her bedroom to check the wall calendar where she always marked the dates of her monthly courses. This normal female thing only stopped when a woman was breeding, McGuire, red faced and embarrassed, gruffly explained after she had rushed to him one day, terrified because she found blood on her clothing. She was about thirteen at the time, and they had never mentioned the matter again.
Three weeks overdue, it surely must mean a baby. Fear almost engulfed her. What could she do? She buried her face in her hands. Who could she turn to? Why has this happened to me? I know I was wicked and shouldn’t have let Marcus have his way, but I loved him, wanted to please him. Thought he would say he loved me, that he would marry me and not worry about the differences in our social standing.
She must find Marcus, even though they had parted on such bitter terms. She choked back on her fear, forcing the tears not to fall, because once they started now they would never stop. He had to help. If he didn’t, she was doomed to a life of poverty and degradation.
There was no one home, thank goodness. She hurried outside and blinking back frightened tears, saddled Brandy.
On arrival at Stanton’s she felt too afraid to go to the main entrance; instead slunk around the back and waited until she caught the eye of a young maid.
“I have to see Marcus Lindquist. It’s a matter of life and death,” she pleaded, almost in tears. “I’ll wait out here.”
The girl left and George waited and worried, with despair building up as each minute passed. What if Marcus refused to see her after their last bitter encounter?
“Georgina.”
She nearly collapsed with relief on hearing his voice.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in a voice so cold it froze her to the bone.
Sheer desperation stopped her from fleeing his anger. She raised her head to face him and he noisily sucked his breath in.
“Good Lord, Georgina. What’s wrong?”
Tears pooled in her eyes and she stood rigid. Even though they had parted in anger and bitterness, his heart constricted because she seemed so distressed. Her green eyes, the only vestige of color left in her deathly white face, burned fever bright with a hint of tears. Something dreadful must have happened.
“I, I...” Her mouth trembled so badly the words would not come out.
“You better come into the house, you look ready to collapse.”
“No. No, Marcus please, I have to talk to you. Not here, not here.” The words tumbled over each other.
“Is it young Valentine?” Marcus wondered why he didn’t feel elated because something had happened to the young outlaw who had deprived him of a prize he would have traded his life for. Georgina’s virginity.
“No, not Johnny. Me.”
He guided her to the back garden. “We won’t be disturbed here.”
She stood facing him, little and scared.
“Dear God, Georgina. Tell me, what’s wrong?”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
“What!” He felt as if she had kicked him in the stomach. A black, all consuming rage took possession of him, snuffing out the sympathy her distraught condition had first aroused.
“You, little whore. How many other men have you given yourself to?” He raised his hand to strike her, but with a supreme effort pulled back. If he touched her right now he would probably murder her. “Get out of my sight,” he snarled. “I never want to see you again. Ever.”
George nearly collapsed under his ferocious onslaught. The pain of his re
jection almost killed her. This was her blackest hour.
Her head was reeling, her heart so weighed down with grief she could scarcely breathe. “There was no one else,” she whispered brokenly, “only you.”
“Liar.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her. “It was bad enough having to take another man’s leavings, but I won’t be lumbered with his child.” He swung away and strode off.
As George staggered away, a beautiful young woman, whom she had never seen before, came up to Marcus and slipped her arm through his.
* * *
A couple of weeks after her soul-destroying visit to Marcus, Billy suggested they ride over to a race meeting, which was held annually on one of the larger ranches. It proved such a popular affair people came from miles around to enjoy the fun.
George agreed to go with him. No use moping around the homestead feeling miserable, this would take her mind off things—temporarily. She wore a pair of buckskin trousers tucked into her usual boots. No need for a coat over her grey work shirt, because it was so hot. Summer had come swiftly and she reveled in the warmth caressing her skin.
Billy’s eyes blazed and she knew he was planning some mischief.
The way I’m feeling, I’ll join him in any devilment he decides on. They rode away together, leaving McGuire at home as he professed no desire to waste time on such foolishness.
For a while they rode without speaking, then Billy said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait. We’re going to have a high time today.”
About a mile from the race meeting a lone horseman waited near a clump of trees.
“It’s Johnny.” Billy gave a whoop.
George heeled Brandy into a gallop. “What are you doing here?”
He looked fit and tanned, and was mounted on a superb chestnut. A wide grin creased his face when they came up to him.
“George, Billy.” They greeted each other enthusiastically.
Gunslinger's Daughter Page 8