LoverforRansom

by Debra Glass

  “I spoke to the women there about offering them reading lessons.” Touch me. Touch me now, Ransom.

  But disappointment blazed when he rolled her off his lap. “You what?” He shot to his feet.

  Cathleen lay on her side on the floor, gaping up at him. Evidently, Charles hadn’t told him everything.

  With a sigh, Ransom stepped over her in one giant stride. He paced, raking his fingers through his hair. “Tell me you did not go down there offering to teach those people.”

  Mutely, Cathleen sat and pulled her skirts down to hide her bare legs.

  Ransom squatted, the motion making his trousers pull and bunch in the most improper places. The outline of his very hard, very aroused cock captured Cathleen’s gaze and refused to relinquish it until Ransom took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “You did, didn’t you?”

  “They…they have no other course of action. How else are they to learn? To better themselves?” Cathleen asked innocently.

  “Don’t go back down there.”

  “But I promis—”

  He cut her off. “I don’t care what you promised them. Do not go back.”

  She shook free of his grasp and pushed backward to create distance between them. “I’m surprised at you, Ransom Byrne.”

  His forehead wrinkled.

  “I knew you were a Southerner and a secessionist. But I never figured you for a bigot.”

  He huffed. “A bigot?” Ransom laughed. “Bigotry has nothing to do with it.” He stood, towering over her.

  Cathleen clambered to her feet—far more ungainly than he had, she noticed. She planted her hands on her hips. “Then why does it matter what I do with my free time?”

  “Matter? Cathleen!”

  “Are you calling me stupid, because I assure you sir, I’m far from—”

  “You might be naïve, but you’re not stupid. Nor would I ever insult you.”

  She was shaking so badly, she could hardly form words. “Then why—”

  He stepped closer. Too close.

  Heat radiated from his body. She breathed in that familiar fragrance of leather and horses…and pure Ransom.

  He cupped her cheek and gently lifted her chin. “You know I’m no bigot.”

  She blinked.

  “Those men who came here won’t cotton to you teaching the freedmen,” he explained.

  “No one has to know.”

  “They’ll make it their business to know, and trust me, Cathleen, they won’t be satisfied to run you out of town on a rail.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s not right to let those bullies prevent—”

  He came impossibly closer. One hand circled her waist and hauled her against him. Stunned, she braced her hands on the wide expanse of his chest.

  “You saw those men. They meant business. They’re no respecters of gender, age or race. If you cross them—or anything they stand for—they’ll make an example of you.”

  “Aunt Chloe said they were from Columbia. How will they ever know what goes on in the woods here?” Perspiration rolled down her spine. She wanted free of him. She couldn’t think clearly with him standing this close.

  “I’m trying to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

  Her gaze shot to his. Teaching the people who inhabited the shanty town wasn’t the same thing as riling up the local woman about voting rights. She wanted to argue her point, but in his arms, she couldn’t think straight.

  “Let me keep you safe,” he murmured before his mouth descended on hers, claiming her, brooking no refusal.

  Cathleen whimpered. Her traitorous body melted into his embrace and she opened her lips, allowing him to plunder like a marauding pirate.

  He half lifted her off the floor and walked her to the chair he’d previously occupied. Her breath was forced from her lungs when she dropped into the seat and before she could take another gulp of air, he’d kneeled before her and was bunching her skirts up over her knees.

  One hard tug on her legs had her bottom at the edge of the cushion. And then his head dropped. Her breath caught as a hot, wet mouth latched onto her folds before finding her clitoris. It seemed as if he showered attention on every part of her cunny at once.

  Her fingers threaded into his hair. Her head fell back against the chair. She opened her thighs and he inched closer. His palms pressed her legs apart until the muscles burned with the strain. Long fingers splayed across the soft flesh, bruising her, stripping her bare of all control.

  “God…Ransom,” she muttered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

  His tongue swept through every crevice, every sensitive furrow. How was it possible to feel so…much?

  Instinct took over and she lifted her hips, offering herself to him. His hands moved underneath her, lifting and tilting her while he continued to devour every juicy inch of her flesh.

  She needed to get closer. She grabbed the armrest and pushed toward him. Her heel scraped the chair’s frame as she fought for leverage on the seat cushion.

  Sensation gathered and knotted somewhere deep inside her. She fought it, wanting this feeling to last, but when Ransom swirled his tongue around the bud crowning her sex, she could fight it no longer.

  Pleasure exploded. Her breath froze. Her mouth opened but she couldn’t form words. The muscles in her thighs shook and pulse upon pulse of ecstasy fired through her body. Clinging to the chair with one hand, she tangled her fingers in his hair with the other and held his head captive. As the initial shock of pleasure abated, she ground herself shamelessly against his face, taking all he had to offer, milking his kisses for the last vestiges of bliss.

  Sudden exhaustion consumed her and she wilted into the chair. She became vaguely aware of the sound of his boots as he walked out of the room. She should go to him, offer him pleasure in return.

  Offer him herself.

  “Ransom,” she managed, her throat dry.

  “Go back to the big house.”

  Her eyes snapped open and she sat upright. “I don’t want to.”

  He stood in the doorway to his bedroom, his figure a dark silhouette against the moonlight spilling in the window behind him.

  Cathleen gained her feet and started toward him. “I don’t want to leave. Not yet.”

  He leaned on the doorframe and stared at the floor. “It’s best if you go.”

  “But what about—”

  “I said, go.”

  Cathleen smoothed her skirts and her hair. Hot tears stung her eyes and she blinked, refusing to let them fall. Why was she on the verge of weeping? She’d received what she’d wanted and now he was releasing her. Some part of her ached to buck him, to reject his request and willingly submit to the consequences, but something else told her he needed to be alone.

  He suddenly seemed confused.

  Tension hung thickly between them and Cathleen didn’t know what to say or do—besides what he’d asked.

  “Thank you, Ransom, for pleasuring me,” she whispered and then darted out of the house.

  As soon as she left, Ransom leaned against his bedroom wall, undid the buttons of his breeches and grasped his cock. Visions of plunging it into her softness filled his head. He could still taste her. Warm. Sweet. Feminine.

  It only took four firm strokes. He erupted and felt the ooze seeping over his hand, but this satisfaction did little to abate his desire.

  He wanted Cathleen Ryan tied to his bed. He wanted to take her every which way possible, to bend her and break her until she avowed herself to him.

  He’d become infatuated with her. Dangerously so.

  The sooner he could get away from Byrne’s End, the better.

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you sure it looks right?” Jenny asked, running her palms over the ruffles of her skirt.

  “You look beautiful,” Cathleen said, eyeing her over the top of her spectacles.

  “You’re going to make Andy the proudest boy there,” Sissy said.

  Jenny beamed.

  “Sh
e was to wear this dress to the cotillion in Murfreesboro, but…” Sissy sighed.

  “What’s done is done,” Aunt Chloe said as she fluffed the ruffles at the shoulders. “I still say well raised ladies don’t show that much bosom.”

  Jenny’s hand went to the ivory skin of her chest. She certainly looked womanly in the lemon-colored ball gown, but by no means indecent.

  “Oh, pish tosh, Aunt Chloe,” Cathleen disagreed. “She looks remarkable.”

  Aunt Chloe scowled.

  “I’ll let you wear my mother’s pearls,” Sissy said.

  “I wish Ransom were here,” Jenny said. “He’d give me an honest opinion about how I look.”

  A sliver of guilt wound through Cathleen’s insides. If not for her, Ransom might still be here.

  The very next morning after their last encounter, he’d set out for Nashville on some sort of horse business without saying goodbye. According to Mr. Byrne, he intended to be gone for several days. Again.

  Had she been too forward? Did he consider what she’d offered the former slaves a breach of their agreement?

  Maybe he was right.

  But educating people to read not only books, but contracts and legal dealings, was far more important than her…pleasure.

  Yet, not more important than the safety of the Byrne family.

  Cathleen was torn between doing what was right for those not in a position to help themselves, and protecting the Byrnes.

  “What are you going to wear, Miss Ryan?” Jenny’s voice snapped Cathleen instantly out of her reverie.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Of course you’ll be coming with us,” Sissy said. “And you can hardly attend a ball in that.” She gestured toward Cathleen’s black day gown.

  “I wasn’t planning on…”

  “Oh, but you must come along!” Jenny cried. “Please. You can’t make me go to my first event without you.”

  Aunt Chloe harrumphed and lumbered over to the wardrobe. She pulled out three of the frilliest, most brightly colored—most feminine—dresses Cathleen had ever seen.

  “You ain’t got no excuse,” Aunt Chloe said. “Pick one out so we can alter it to fit you before the dance.”

  Cathleen fingered the gown made of garnet satin. She bit her bottom lip in indecision, imagining wearing such a beautiful dress. She thought back to the day she’d danced with Ransom. Even though Jenny had been between them, the look in his eyes had stolen her breath.

  But reality crashed around her. Ransom most likely wouldn’t make an appearance at the ball. Besides, how would anyone ever take her seriously as an activist for women’s rights if she showed up at a ball turned out like a self-absorbed ninny? “I couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t?” Aunt Chloe’s voice boomed above Jenny and Sissy’s protests. “You will. Jenny wants it.” She gathered the other two dresses, leaving the garnet gown on the bed. “And you’ll wear that.”

  “Yes,” Sissy added. “My jet brooch will look stunning with this dress. Would you like to wear it?”

  Cathleen stood dumbfounded. “I…I suppose. Yes, thank you.” She didn’t care to admit it to herself, but she was glad Aunt Chloe hadn’t allowed her to refuse.

  “Take that thing off,” Aunt Chloe blurted, gesturing to Cathleen’s simple day dress.

  Cathleen looked back and forth at Sissy and Jenny.

  “We’ll just step out,” Sissy said, taking Jenny’s hand and leading her into the hallway.

  Aunt Chloe shut the door.

  Cathleen began unfastening the buttons of her bodice.

  “I know what you offered them women what lives in them shanties.” Aunt Chloe’s gaze was direct.

  Guilt flared. “About that…” Cathleen began.

  “They ain’t gonna be nuthin’ but suspect of a white woman. ’Specially a Yankee white woman.”

  “I agree but—”

  Aunt Chloe interrupted. “I’m offerin’ to help ye.”

  “Help me?”

  Aunt Chloe gave one firm nod of her head. “I know how to read and write and I ain’t too bad with numbers. I want to help.”

  Cathleen’s lips parted. “Help?” she repeated. “But I’ve reconsidered. I don’t think I should be—”

  “No, you ain’t,” Aunt Chloe said adamantly. “Don’t you let Ransom Byrne bully you. You’re gonna teach them folks. And I’m gonna help you.”

  Cathleen’s eyes misted with tears. “I would appreciate that very much.”

  “No use in gettin’ all worked up over it,” Aunt Chloe said. “Now. Let’s see how much we gon’ have to take this dress up. Chile, you needs to eat more.”

  * * * * *

  Cathleen stepped back to gaze at herself in Sissy’s full-length mirror. She hardly recognized herself. The garnet gown made her pale skin glow and her black hair shine. Aunt Chloe had spent over an hour coiffing Cathleen’s hair into bouncy sausage curls that gave her severe features a feminine softness.

  The brooch had been pinned just between the breasts in such a way as to draw attention to the copious cleavage only a tightly laced corset could create. An eight wire hoop skirt made the bottom of the gown bell, accentuating Cathleen’s waspish waist. She’d never realized she possessed such a comely figure.

  She felt so beautiful and desirable, she didn’t care that such glaring femininity didn’t fit with her station as a supporter of women’s voting rights.

  As if Aunt Chloe picked up on that fact, she said, “You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  Cathleen’s rouged lips drew into a smile. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  Aunt Chloe only nodded and adjusted one of Cathleen’s curls.

  Jenny called from the hallway. “Hurry, Miss Ryan. I don’t want some other girl to snatch Andy out from under me.”

  Cathleen laughed. But there was something she needed to do before joining Jenny. She extended her hand to Aunt Chloe.

  Aunt Chloe eyed it and then surprised Cathleen by dragging her into a tight hug. Cathleen couldn’t draw a breath until Chloe released her.

  “I’ll be ready to get that school started first thing,” the servant said.

  Cathleen nodded, then kissed Chloe on the cheek and hurried to catch up with Jenny.

  They navigated the stairs and met Sissy and Mr. Byrne on the front porch just as the carriage rolled up and stopped.

  Skirts billowed as they piled in, and once everyone was seated, the smartly turned out coachman snapped the reins and they were off.

  Sissy and Jenny talked excitedly about the opportunity to visit with neighbors they hadn’t seen much since the war years. Mr. Byrne remarked on new construction going up along the pike.

  Cathleen’s face flamed when they passed the McKissack house where Ransom had stolen her, taken her home and awakened her to the pleasures of the flesh. Cathleen was loath to admit to herself that she wished he’d at least seen her in her dress. After all, he’d only known her to wear her mourning black—or nothing at all.

  Rippavilla, the grand mansion belonging to Nathaniel Cheairs and his wife, Susan, lay less than a mile from the McKissack home.

  “Why do they call it Rippavilla?” Cathleen asked as the carriage turned onto the long driveway leading up to the side entrance.

  Mr. Byrne chuckled. “Mrs. Cheairs claims to have read about a house in a book called Rippavilla and liked it so much, that’s what she named her house. But the townsfolk say it’s because they tore it down and rebuilt it three times before Major Cheiars was satisfied.”

  “Three times?” Cathleen asked, admiring the soaring colonnaded porticoes on the front and side of the brick house. Upper level balconies opened over the porches, affording inhabitants a sumptuous view of the surrounding lands. As they neared, the house loomed even larger, but not much bigger than Byrne’s End.

  “It’s solid. I’ll give him that,” Mr. Byrne said.

  Candlelight gleamed from inside the open windows and doors. Music drifted onto the lawn, and inside, couples exe
cuted a quadrille in both the front parlors. In back, several men manned a barbeque pit and the aromas of roasted pork filled the evening air.

  “Do you see Andy?” Jenny whispered.

  Cathleen craned as the carriage pulled to a halt. “There are a hundred people here. Everyone looks wonderful. But none are as pretty as you.”

  Jenny’s face shone with expectant light.

  Mr. Byrne climbed down and helped Sissy and then Jenny, obscuring Cathleen’s view. Head down to make certain she didn’t catch her skirt on anything, she rose and reached for the proffered gloved hand that had been extended to help her out of the carriage.

  “My, don’t you look lovely.”

  Her head shot up and her gaze collided with Ransom’s.

  A million thoughts raced through her head at once. He was breathtaking in a black frock coat and a starched white shirt. Sparkling sapphire cufflinks brought out the faint hue of blue in his ice-colored eyes.

  His gaze moved over her bare chest, down to where her cleavage blossomed over the low neckline of her gown. He drank in her appearance as if he found her beautiful—and that look alone intoxicated Cathleen.

  Her heart fluttered. Her stomach knotted. Heat crept into the back of her neck.

  “Good evening, Miss Ryan,” he said gallantly. Rather than take her hand and allow her to step down, he seized her around the waist and lifted her to the ground without so much as a grimace for his effort.

  Her skirt billowed as she descended, but she never relinquished his gaze—or his arms.

  “Ransom, when did you get back?” Sissy asked, breaking the spell.

  He turned. “I only just arrived.”

  “Ransom!” Jenny squealed. “You must escort me inside.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Cathleen as he placed Jenny’s hand on his arm and then guided her up the steps, where they greeted the hosts before going into the house.

  “Meet Miss Ryan,” Sissy introduced. “She has worked wonders with our Jenny. Miss Cathleen Ryan, our hosts, Major and Mrs. Cheairs.”

  From the sight of the imposing house, Cathleen had expected a larger man, but Nathaniel Cheairs looked to weigh no more than she did, although he was almost as tall as Mr. Byrne. The major’s dark-haired wife was as petite as Jenny.