by Goodman, Jo
Beth's smile dimpled her cheeks and she giggled. She put her hand on her mother's belly. "Do you have a baby in there?"
The natural color in Susan's cheeks deepened. "No. No, I don't." She glanced at her husband, who was watching her over the rim of his tumbler. There was a wicked, suggestive look in his eyes. She averted her face quickly and pretended interest in smoothing her daughter's cap of curling hair.
Jenny placed her own hand on her rounded abdomen. "When we were upstairs I let Beth feel the baby kick."
Christian's feet dropped off the ottoman, and he leaned forward enough so that he could put his hand beside Jenny's. He was disappointed when he didn't feel any movement.
"I'll let you know," Jenny said. "Promise."
Susan urged Beth off her lap and stood. "No, don't get up. Either of you. We don't have to stand on ceremony after all we've been through together. It was a lovely wedding. It was kind of you to ask us to be witnesses."
"The wedding supper was good," Scott said, patting his stomach. He stopped when Susan poked him in the ribs with her elbow. "Well, it was," he insisted. Susan rolled her eyes while Jenny and Christian laughed softly. Somehow she managed to herd her husband and daughter into the hallway.
When the Turners were gone, Jenny made to rise from the ottoman. Christian stopped her. He pulled the upholstered footstool closer to his chair. "There," he said. "That's better. You were too far away."
Jenny turned so she could see her husband's face. Husband. It did not seem quite real. "I thought so, too." Her head bent forward as Christian's fingers threaded through her hair and massaged the back of her neck. His touch sent a frisson of heat down her spine. "I think Scott and Susan knew we wanted to be alone."
"We're newlyweds, remember?" he said, repeating Susan's excuse. "I make this marriage to be all of five hours old. Anyway, it's more likely that we gave them ideas. They won't be able to get Beth to bed fast enough tonight. I think there are definite plans afoot to enlarge the Turner family."
Jenny laughed lightly. "You think that, do you?"
Christian did not laugh in turn. His eyes wandered over her face, tracing the lines and curves, watching her cheeks flush pink. "I love you, Jenny Holland."
She nuzzled his palm as he cupped her cheek. She turned her head and kissed the heart of it. "It's nice to hear you still feel that way," she said.
"Still?" Now he did laugh. "After five hours? I am not likely to feel any differently. Not ever." His hand slipped away from her face and feathered in her thick hair again. "You were the one I was worried about. Any regrets, Mrs. Marshall?"
She smiled and shook her head. It would take some time to get used to that name. The household staff was going to have trouble remembering it. Before the marriage she answered to Jenny, Miss Holland, Miss Van Dyke, and occasionally, when no one thought she was listening, she heard herself called the princess. For Christian alone she was Jenny Holland. No one said her name the way he did. "No regrets, Mr. Marshall. You will notice I waited until Scott operated and relieved you of that limp."
That made Christian chuckle. In truth, it was he who had balked at marriage prior to the operation. He told Jenny she had no business being married to a cripple, but he was more afraid of making her a widow. Scott had never hidden the fact that the surgery could take more than a limb. Jenny's courage made him brave. "And you will notice I waited until you got rid of that albatross of a fortune."
"You don't care that I came to you without a cent to my name?"
"You know I don't. The Van Dyke Foundation was a brilliant idea. It not only satisfied the terms of your father's will, but it's eventually going to help a great many people. Moreover, no one can say I married you for your money." He smiled crookedly at her when she laughed. "Look at how much has been accomplished already. Morgan and Glenn are out at Jennings Memorial, and under the new head of the hospital, Scott's been named chief of surgery. The treatment and practices on the lunatic ward are all subject to new policies. Doctors are committed to the dignity and humanity of their patients. That was your doing, Jenny. You made people understand about that place."
Jenny shook her head. "No, that was your doing. I couldn't have described what it was like to live there. I had no words to make the public understand the kind of suffering that went on in that ward. It was your photographs and sketches that allowed people to see. It was your newspaper that made them aware."
Christian knew where she was heading, but he didn't want to discuss it now. "I haven't made a decision about selling the Chronicle. I do know I'm not going to decide anything until after Stephen and his father are sentenced. Short of bribing the judge, I am not above using any means at my disposal to see that they get the sentence they deserve."
Jenny had to be satisfied with that. She knew Christian was leaning toward giving up all control of the paper, yet she believed that he would come to regret that decision. Lately, because of the interest he had in seeing the treatment of the insane exposed, Christian had been involved with the paper as never before. It was the cause that inspired him, but it was the Chronicle that gave him the forum. His sketches, most of them made from photographs, were powerful in their own right, but they would have been lost to the public if left to art galleries and private showings. The Chronicle breathed life into Christian's work. People couldn't ignore his stark drawings of Alice Vanderstell huddled on a thin mattress in her cell. He had captured her glazed eyes, her thinning, matted hair, and the skeletal fingers that she stuffed in her mouth as if she would eat them whole. Christian's sketches showed that insanity was a great leveler. It ignored birthright, wealth, or breeding. If Alice Vanderstell could be given such ill treatment, the public argued, then what horrors were suffered by the indigent?
Christian showed them that as well. With Scott's help he exposed the practices of the treatment room in editorials as graphic as they were scathing. The circulation of the Chronicle had increased ten percent, and more importantly to Christian, the reforms he called for were being acted upon. People rallied, and legislators, always a beat behind their constituents' needs, were finally at the stage of proposing laws to protect the vulnerable.
"All right," Jenny said. "We won't talk about selling the paper. But that doesn't mean I want to talk about Stephen Bennington." Jenny spied the latest edition of the Chronicle on the sofa vacated by Susan and Beth. She reached for it, unfolded it, and studied the front page. Her own face, courtesy of Christian's fine hand, stared back at her. Below her picture was the announcement of her marriage to Christian. "You didn't tell me about this," she said. "I suppose you showed it to Susan and Scott."
"Yes."
"What did they think?"
"That it's a good likeness."
"That's all?"
"They're inclined to believe that it keeps the public's sympathy with you, that it's going to seal Stephen's fate."
She looked at the pen and ink sketch again. "Are you sure that's all it is? This is more than a mere wedding announcement, and you'll never convince me otherwise. I can't help but notice that your picture isn't here." She sighed and her voice softened. "I don't want to be the subject of public pathos, Christian. I don't like that idea at all."
Christian removed the newspaper from Jenny's fingers and laid it on the floor. He tilted her chin toward him. "It's not pity," he assured her. "People want to know about the woman who stood up to both Benningtons, saved the Hancock Trust, and married the finest looking man in New York."
Jenny's smile was wry. "Don't think much of yourself, do you?"
"Not much." He grinned and his entire face was transformed. He didn't realize it, but in that moment Jenny was thinking he probably was the finest looking man in New York.
Christian stood, drawing Jenny to her feet as well.
"Christian!" Jenny felt herself being lifted. "What are you doing?"
"I'm carrying my bride of five hours to our bedroom," he said matter-of-factly. "I'll let you know when we get there what I'm going to do with her."
"But your
leg," she said, protesting. "Christian! Really... put me down." Her arms circled his neck when he threatened to drop her.
"That's better." His smile held a touch of arrogance.
"You're impossible."
"I've heard that."
Jenny nuzzled his shoulder. Her lips touched the warm pulse in his neck. "I love you, Christian Marshall."
At the foot of the stairs, Christian paused. Mrs. Brandywine was on her way down the steps, and she looked disapproving.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked. "Where is your cane?"
"Be a dear," Christian said, "and don't fuss."
She snorted once and continued on her way. "It's not even eight o'clock," she mumbled under her breath. "And they're on their way to bed."
At the top of the stairs, Christian stopped again. This time he was facing Wilton Reilly. "I'm taking my bride to bed," he said, anticipating the question.
Reilly didn't raise an eyebrow. "Good for you, sir. Have a care not to drop madam. There's the babe to think of." Having said his piece, the butler followed in Mrs. Brandywine's wake.
Christian looked at Jenny to see if she was as surprised as he. She was trying hard to swallow her laughter. "It seems we each have our protectors," she said.
Grunting softly, he started for the master bedroom.
"I think they're sweet. In fact," she said, lowering her voice confidentially, "I think they're sweet on each other."
"Then they should get married. I may even insist upon it. That would keep them too busy to worry about my leg and your pregnancy." He shifted Jenny's weight in his arms when he stood in front of their door. "Open it, please."
"Of course." She turned the handle and pushed it open. When they were inside the room, Christian kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe. "Now," Jenny said when he set her down. "Tell me about those things you want to do with me."
"Come with me," he said softly. "I'll show you."
Dazed, a little giddy, definitely curious, Jenny allowed Christian to take her hand and lead her across the floor to the cheval glass. He stopped directly in front of the mirror and then turned Jenny so she faced it. He stepped behind her. His hand rested on her bare skin just above the dropped shoulder neckline of her gown.
"Do you remember the first time we made love?" he asked huskily. "That was in front of the mirror, too."
Jenny swallowed. She closed her eyes for a moment and saw the powerful images he was evoking on the back of her lids. "I remember," she said. "Everything."
Christian's fingers trailed along the neckline of Jenny's gown. Casually, as though it were unplanned, they dipped below the lace trim. "I remember, too," he said. "I can't forget."
Just when Jenny thought Christian was going to reach under her gown and cup her breasts, he changed his tactics. His palms slid over her naked shoulders and down her arms. He circled each wrist with his thumb and forefinger. Jenny had no desire to break the flesh-and-blood bonds, and the look in her eyes told him so. He held the embrace a moment longer, then slowly drew his arms upward again. She felt his hands move across her shoulder blades. His fingers tugged on the buttons of her gown. After he had undone two, he eased her bodice lower.
Because of the baby, Jenny wasn't wearing a corset. Her silk chemise followed the lines of her gown, and just when Christian would have pushed the gown over the curves of her breasts, Jenny tried to turn in his arms to escape her reflection.
"No," he said gently. "Don't turn away. You're beautiful." He stepped closer so that she was cradled against his thighs. "Now, about this dress..." He nudged the gown until the bodice fell away and pooled around Jenny's waist.
It was just like the first time. She hadn't been able to look away then either. Now she watched Christian's hands cup the undersides of her heavy breasts. His thumbs passed across her nipples. Pregnancy had made them darker and more sensitive. Christian noticed the former while Jenny felt the latter. She shivered ever so slightly.
He undressed her. She turned then, giving him her back in the mirror, and undressed him. It was Jenny who led the way to the bed.
"I like making love with you," she said.
"Mm." He kissed the length of her throat. "It's a good thing. I don't intend you should like it with anyone else."
They shared a touch, traded a caress. Their mouths sipped, clung. They explored, whispered secrets, telling the other what they liked. The loving was still new to them, and a sense of discovery accompanied everything they did. Curiosity made them bold. The pleasure they found was elemental and profound.
Christian's breath caught at the longing he saw in Jenny's eyes. "Ah, Jenny Holland, how you make me want you."
She regarded him steadily, a faint smile on her lips. A flush stole across the delicate planes of her cheeks.
His hands cupped her face, and when her mouth parted and her lower lip trembled, he bent his head until his mouth touched hers. The kiss began as something tender and gently exploring. His tongue lightly stroked her lips before it moved against the barrier of her teeth. She opened her mouth and his tongue plunged in. He tasted her mouth, her lips, and could not seem to get enough of her heady sweetness. She reciprocated as he had taught her, and desire made her hungry for the warm taste of him. Her fingernails dug into his skin when he released her mouth and went on to explore the softness of her cheek and curve of her ear.
His hands and mouth became more demanding as his body hardened with desire and need. Jenny was breathless from the urgency of his caress. His mouth circled her nipples, and the hard buds burgeoned beneath his tongue.
He whispered in raw, husky tones that he wanted her, had always wanted her. The pleasure of listening to him was enough for her for a time. He guided her hands to his waist, then lower, between his legs, and she felt the heat and hardness. She wanted both inside her.
Jenny watched Christian's face as he filled her, and wondered at this man whose features showed such depths of passion and need. She saw strength in his vulnerability, courage in the act of trusting her, and generosity in the gift of his heart.
It was much later that Jenny turned on her side. Her head rested in the curve of Christian's shoulder; her tapered nails walked across his chest. She could feel his heartbeat slowing, his breathing returning to normal. "You weren't this out of breath after you carried me up here," she said.
"Used different muscles." He caught her hand while it was still balled in a fist. "No need to take violent exception. Ask Scott. He'll tell you the same thing."
"Because he's a doctor, I suppose."
"No, because he's a married man." He kissed her forehead. "And he knows all about it."
"I see." Her hand relaxed, but Christian didn't release it. That was all right with her. She didn't move for several minutes, content just to hold and to be held. Gradually, almost against her will, her thoughts drifted.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
She sighed. "I was thinking about Amalie."
Christian said nothing. He waited.
"It still strikes me oddly at times that you risked your life to save her, and yet, as things turned out, she's the one person who is going to face the hangman."
"Even if I had been able to predict the future, it wouldn't have mattered. Her dress was going up in flames, and Stephen was only trying to get away. Until then I really thought I wanted to kill them both. It seemed acceptable to me to set them up to kill each other, but to do the murdering myself... even when I thought you were dead... that you had committed..." His voice trailed off. He hated the memory. Jenny was the stronger one here; she could stand to hear him say it. "I realized I didn't want to be their executioner."
"Sometimes I wish I remembered what happened."
"And I give thanks every day that you don't. It was the shot you fired that untangled them. I am not sure why it worked, but it gave me a chance to help Amalie."
Jenny raised Christian's hand to her lips. The tiny white scars on the back were the only evidence that he had beat out t
he flames with his bare hands. She kissed the faint ridges on his knuckles. She knew from Susan and Scott that Stephen had tried to make his escape while Christian was saving Amalie. He had not gotten far. Mr. Reilly saw to that. By the time Susan, Scott, and a half dozen of Amalie's girls, including Maggie, found the source of the shouting and shooting, there was nothing to do except tend to the wounded. Jenny had recovered consciousness in Maggie's bed, and the first thing she saw was her reflection in the mirror overhead. She might easily have fainted at the sight she presented, but Christian had been there and pulled her gaze to him. Looking into the cool, clear pools that were his aquamarine eyes, Jenny thought she might drown in them and be content to do so.
"Your beautiful hands," she said, placing the one she had kissed against her heart. "Oh!" She moved his hand quickly, sliding it over her belly. "There! Do you feel it? That's our baby, Christian. Isn't she strong?"
"She?"
"Susan thinks I'm going to have a girl."
"Scott says it's going to be a boy."
"Does it matter to you?"
"No. Not in the least, but if it's a girl, we'll name her Caroline. After you. The name should stay in the family."
Jenny laughed. She supposed she was never going to be Caroline again, not to Christian at least. "And if it's a boy?"
"We'll name him after you, too," he said. "Holland."
"Holland Marshall." She tested the name out loud several times. "I like it."
Christian gave her a swift kiss full on the mouth. "Good. It's settled then." He kissed her again.
Perhaps the kissing would have gone on a little longer. Certainly that was the intention of both parties. It was the commotion in the hallway that brought them up short. Mrs. Brandywine was yelling at Mr. Reilly to be quiet. Mr. Reilly was shouting that she had lost her mind. Soon there were other voices joining the fracas. Jenny and Christian exchanged startled glances.
"I didn't lock the door," he said.
"Neither did I," she said.
"I think they're coming here."
"I don't think a closed door is going to stop them."