by Rue Allyn
Rain soaked her clothing.
Tsung’s bleeding face swam into view. “Missee stop.” Tsung stood, freeing Edith, who lay in the dirt, stunned. A circle of sodden Orientals surrounded her. The Tsang family had arrived to help. Another spate of Chinese came from somewhere in the circle. Several hands extended to help her up.
One glance showed flames consuming the house. Despite the drenching rain, houses up and down the street were burning. What had she done?
Tsung appeared with a dry cloth and dabbed at Edith’s face.
“Thank you.” She took the cloth from her friend. “I’m sorry.”
“Tsung sorry, too.”
Falling timbers crashed from the house. “Dutch, he’s still inside?”
“He not come out yet.”
Tears mixed with raindrops streamed unchecked down Edith’s face, obscuring her vision. She hugged Tsung. The housemaid hugged back.
“Look at that!” A faceless voice shouted above the crowd.
Edith lifted her head and swiped at her eyes.
Dutch stood framed in the front door of the flaming house. Burdened with a large object, he ran for the porch stairs while the building collapsed behind him.
“Help him!” Edith ran, not realizing she shouted.
The Tsang family swarmed past her, reaching him first.
Tsung kept pace with Edith. The tiny woman pushed, shoved, and harangued her family out of the way.
They reached Dutch as he dropped his burden and collapsed into the street.
Edith went to her knees beside him, using the cloth to wipe his face. There was so much soot that all she did was spread the stuff around. She gave up, grasped his head in her hands, and kissed him.
“Mmmpfh.”
She lifted away. “Are you all right? Let me check you for burns.”
Shaking his head, Dutch hacked and coughed. His hands restrained her. “I’m fine,” he rasped.
“You could have died.”
He shook his head again and waited for a coughing fit to pass. “I doused myself in the horse trough before I went in.”
“You … you … ” Unaccountable fury seized Edith. “You frightened the wits out of me.” She stood up while he got to his feet. Tears, hot, furious, and fearful spilled unchecked. She leapt at him and started pounding him. “What kind of crazy fool thing did you think you were doing? I thought you were going to die. I thought you wanted to die. All I could think was that it would be my fault. My fault you were dead. My fault I’d never get to make love with you. My fault I’d never get to tell you how I feel.”
Dutch caught her arms and stopped the fists battering his chest.
She struggled, but he managed to draw her to him and wrap his arms around her.
Her arms circled him. “You scared me.”
He stroked her hair and crooned. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to die. I sure as heck didn’t want to go back into that house.”
Edith lifted her head and stared at him. “Then why?”
He smiled down at her. “First tell me how you feel about me.”
“I … I don’t have to tell you anything.”
He sighed. “I guess you don’t, but a moment ago you wanted to.”
“That was a moment ago, when I was angry at you and feeling … ”
“Yes?” He nodded helpfully. “How were you feeling?”
“Guilty, damn you. Guilty because I caused that fire, and you were going to die.”
He grinned again.
“This situation is not funny.”
His grin faded to a smile before he kissed her long and lingering. When he finally broke the kiss, he studied her and said solemnly. “No, I don’t think burning down half of San Francisco is funny. But the idea that you caused the accident all by yourself is pretty amusing.”
Her hand fisted and she struck his shoulder. “Oaf.”
“Ow. What’d you do that for?”
“For laughing at me, for scaring me witless, and for putting yourself in danger.”
“But I did it for you.”
He pointed at the object he’d carried from the house.
Edith looked closely at it for the first time. “My trunk? You went back for my trunk?”
She stared at the metal-bound box then back at Dutch.
“And these.” He bent to throw the lid open.
“These what?”
“These kittens.”
“Kittens.” She peered into the trunk. Three yeowls, three pairs of yellow-green eyes, three soft furry bodies emerged from her folded clothing. She scooped the cats into her arms.
They mewed in protest against her soggy embrace. “You rescued the kittens. You hate the kittens.”
“But you don’t.”
She looked at him. He was dirty, singed, and soot-blackened. No one had ever appeared more handsome in her eyes.
She put the kittens back in the trunk and walked into his arms. “I love you, Dutch Trahern. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You said the words I thought I’d never hear. I’ll contact Father Conroy tomorrow to arrange a church wedding, and we’ll tear up that annulment agreement.”
“But … ”
He placed a finger against her lips. “No buts. I insist.”
She didn’t want to argue with him, especially right now. “I’ll think about it, and we’ll talk in the morning.” She might love him, but she had no desire for a husband; be it Dutch or any other man. She would allow no man that much power over her life.
Dutch eyed her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I disagree. But for now, we have to find a place to sleep, and with half of San Francisco on fire that might be difficult.”
“You’ve got a point. I think I know a place we can find shelter for tonight, perhaps longer.”
• • •
Edith woke as her feet touched the floor. Dutch still had his arms around her, but they weren’t in the wagon with the Tsangs. The two of them were in a chair in one corner of a large room. In the center of the room stood a huge four-poster bed.
“Where are we?”
“The house belongs to my business partner, Marcus Smiley and his wife. This is the spare bedroom.”
“Oh.” Dazed with exhaustion and the aftermath of fright, she could think of nothing more to say.
“Your trunk is over in the corner.”
The box rested beside a small desk. She moved to the trunk and sat on it. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Smiley?”
“They’re visiting her folks.”
“Oh.” She looked at the bed. “Won’t they mind if we stay here?”
“Marc and I are good friends. I keep an eye on the place when he’s out of town. Besides, I’m expecting them home any day now.”
“Oh.” The information scarcely registered.
“I’ll get some water to wash up with. You go ahead and get out of those clothes.”
“But … that is … well, you shouldn’t return if I’m in my nightclothes.” She eyed him. Somewhere he’d found a pair of loose Chinese trousers.
“Did I say anything about nightclothes?” He smiled, walked over to her, and kissed her forehead. “Now that annulling our marriage is no longer an issue, I want to stay with you tonight and every night. When I was in that fire, looking for those kittens, I thought I might never have a chance to make love with you, so I don’t want to wait until after the church ceremony.”
“But the annulment is an issue that must be discussed. I’m not certain we should make love until we come to an agreement.”
“I agree to talk about it in the morning just as you said. Tonight, I don’t want anything — conversation or convention — to separate us. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
Edith nodded then swallowed. She understood all too well. She was finally going to get those memories she wanted but at what cost? She stalled. “I’m just not sure this is the right thing to do.”
“Trust me, Edith. I want to stay married you. This is the right thing.”
Was it? In the heat of the moment she had confessed her feelings, feelings that frightened the daylights out of her, because she didn’t want to stay married, or did she? Of course he never said he loved her. That being the case, could she justify spending the night in bed with him? Because, married or not, she was leaving as soon as she knew where to look for Kiera, and if Dutch did love her that would hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him. She studied his face and saw the same want, need and vulnerability she felt. How could she refuse when they both wanted this so very much? For tonight that was enough. Tomorrow would take care of itself.
“All right.”
“Wonderful. Leave the door open. I’ll be back soon.”
Edith stared at the wooden panel for a long minute. Then she shook her head and attacked the buttons of the ruined dress. Dutch wanted her out of her clothes, but she wouldn’t sit here naked waiting for him. She would change her clothing and do everything she normally did to prepare for bed. The routine would help steady her nerves because she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for what Dutch had in mind.
• • •
A towel over his shoulder and balancing a large basin of water in his hands, Dutch paused in the bedroom door. “Lord Almighty.”
Edith stood on the far side of the room with her back at an angle to him. One trim foot propped on a wide slipper chair, she unhooked her garter and rolled a stocking down her curvy leg.
Dutch shifted, trying, without success, to ease the ache in his groin. Water sloshed over his hands and onto the floor.
“Ahem.” Searching for control, he paced into the room and put the basin in the dry sink of the dressing table. “Let me help.”
Her hand still on her thigh, she lifted her head. Eyes wide, a tiny, surprised gasp pursed her lips.
God please help me make her do that again. Holding her gaze, he extended his hand.
She swallowed.
At least I’m not the only one who’s nervous. Nervous or not, he would have her, and she would know she was his. She stirred his blood. So much that he wanted to howl and rut mindlessly, throw her down to the floor, and pound himself into her. But he wanted more — much more — so with restraint he didn’t feel he asked, “Please?”
Her thoughts hid in the clear, green eyes that darkened as he watched. She removed her foot from the wide seat of the slipper chair. Standing, she straightened.
The seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity. “Please.”
Lifting her other foot to the chair, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod, then lifted the hem of her nightgown.
Dutch reached for the garter at her thigh. A minute tremor shook his hands. His finger slipped between lacy cloth and silken skin. He tugged on the bow, and the garter fell away. His palm opened, smoothing a circle of comfort where the knot had rested.
He heard her soft inhale of breath, watched her gaze go lambent, felt pleasure shiver through her as the caress widened. He encompassed her entire thigh and flirted with the curls that teased the ruffled edge of her loosened pantalettes.
He beat back the urge to ravish and slowly removed the delicate cloth.
Reaching for him, she swayed. “Dutch,” tumbled from her lips.
He caught her, crushing her to his chest, and slanting his mouth across hers. His hands pulled and tugged to free her from the nightgown.
She nipped at his lower lip.
He opened his mouth.
Her tongue took possession, sweeping pleasure into his body and swamping his senses.
Dizzy, he sat, pulling her onto his lap. He shoved the gown over her head and on to the floor, then palmed her breasts.
Her legs grasped his hips.
Lord, she was soft.
And firm.
He didn’t know how he could wait, but he had to. He had to impress on her that only he could provide the kind of pleasure that would lift her beyond this world and back.
He took his mouth from hers, plundered her throat and lower. Marking her. Licking her nipples. Taking one tight bud into his mouth, he suckled. Pleased at the depth of her moans and the tremors that shook her.
Her hips wriggled a wanton path across his lap to center her heat above where his cock strained at his pants. Yearning struck through him.
He lifted his head, needing to see her.
Passion stared back at him. Wild, amazed, and amazing.
She attacked his shirt.
Buttons flew.
His hands fell away from her.
She clawed at the closure of his trousers.
Unable to bear more, he stilled her hands, placing them on his chest. The heat of her caresses invoked boiling discontent and searing pleasure.
“Put your feet on the floor.”
“Only if I can kiss you again.”
He smiled. “I insist.”
Feet on the floor she straddled him and the chair, then leaned forward. Her lips worked magic on his mouth. Her hands traced the muscles of his back.
He struggled to free his aching length from the cursed pants.
Finally, all restriction removed, he sought entry. Her folds were slick and wet.
He stroked himself against her, extended the sweet agony until desire breached his restraint. He grasped her hips and pulled her down onto him, seating his phallus deep. Pleasure lifted him, sending him deeper still, again, again, and again.
• • •
A stab of discomfort stilled Edith’s hands, but the thrust of Dutch’s body into hers rocked her forward. His mouth close over her breast first to lick and tease, then suck.
Sweet tension arrowed to her groin. Her body tightened around him.
She felt full but empty, stretched to breaking but unsatisfied, wound tight but not tight enough. How could she stand more? How could she not? She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. She wanted. Wanted. Wanted.
His hand squeezed her bottom, moving her up.
No, no. That solid moving presence inside her withdrew. Her hips descended. The fullness spread, deeper, higher, tighter. Yes.
Again he squeezed and lifted.
She resisted.
A throbbing rhythm raced her pulse to some unknown end.
She rose and fell, sobbing aloud her discontent.
His hand slid from her buttocks, snaked between their bodies, and touched her.
Her heart exploded in her chest.
His body slammed into hers.
Her every muscle clenched.
She heard a groan. Was it his?
Touched? Sweet heaven, that was no touch; he’d killed her with pleasure. Wave after wave of sensation drowned all thought. She collapsed against him. The throbbing pulse continued, centered now where her body and his joined. She gasped for air. Filled her lungs, which forced her chest harder against his. Pressure against her tender nipples sent the pulse echoing through her body. She wept with pleasure.
“Shhh. Shhh. Edith, it’s all right. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it better. I promise. I won’t hurt you again.”
Too weak to lift her head, she turned her cheek to his shoulder and looked up at him.
His blue eyes had gone smoky gray with concern.
“I’m not hurt.”
“Not hurt?” His tone was puzzled, and he touched a finger to her face. “But you’re crying.”
“I know.” She smiled. “Tears of delight.”
“Tears of delight?”
She nodded, happy to feel his solid shoulder beneath her cheek.
“I didn’t know I could feel this way … that a man and woman could … I hadn’t thought it possible.” Her face began to heat.
Dutch tunneled his hands into her hair. Lifting her head he kissed her. Tenderly, as if she were a priceless treasure to be worshipped and adored. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“Edith, you’ve given me a gift few men ever receive.”
“All I did was enjoy wh
at we did.” She blinked her eyes, suddenly as weary as she was sated.
“I know.” He smiled.
“I don’t understand.”
He kept smiling as he studied her expression. “We’ll talk about it after we sleep.”
“But … ”
“No. I’ve exhausted you, and I’m tired myself. We both need sleep.”
She had no energy to argue. “All right.”
He gathered her into his arms and stood.
Five steps and he tumbled them both into the bed. He arranged himself at her back, one arm beneath her head, the other across her stomach, his hand spread possessively over her belly.
Warm and sheltered, she snuggled her buttocks into the curve of his hips and felt him stir.
“Are you sure you want to rest?” Her words came slow and with much effort.
He nipped at her earlobe. “For a while. Now go to sleep.”
• • •
He’d forgotten she was a virgin.
Dutch lay his head back on the pillow and waited for sleep to overtake him as lust had overtaken him earlier. His need for Edith had been so powerful that he’d forgotten she was an innocent. She could claim all she wanted that she didn’t hurt. He wouldn’t be fooled by that fairy tale about crying tears of joy. No woman was ever happy when she lost her maidenhead.
He’d make it up to her. She’d never cry in his bed again, or anywhere else if he had his way. They would share a lifetime of love making. He would dedicate himself to her happiness and security. She had a good, deserving heart. Just look at what she risked to find her sister. As soon as they tore up that agreement to annul the marriage she would be his completely and forever. She wouldn’t regret the choice. He’d make sure of it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Edith woke late and alone to a bright sunny day. She felt wonderful. A tiny bit sore, but wonderful. Even Dutch’s absence couldn’t lower her spirits, though she would have liked to dally abed with him for the day. Smiling, she smoothed her hand over the depression in his pillow and found a scrap of paper.
“Marcus and his wife have arrived home. I want to introduce you, please join us soon.”
“Trahern” ended the note in a bold, hurried script.
She very much wanted to meet his friends and thank them for their hospitality. She leapt from the bed, washed, and dressed as speedily as possible. Nonetheless, she wasn’t able to leave the room until close to mid-day.