Chane looked embarrassed. They danced in silence for a moment. Jennifer felt better immediately. At least he still acted as guilty as a husband should. That was worth a lot.
“I’m curious,” she said, smiling to relax his guard. “What did she say with her eyes?”
His stomach lurched as if she had caught him with Latitia. Chane searched Jennie’s face to see where this was leading. But humor sparkled in her lovely violet eyes. “I would never pretend to be an expert at reading what’s in a woman’s eyes, Jennie, but I think she said she’d like to get to know me better.”
Jennifer laughed. “If that’s all you saw, you’re certainly no expert.”
They laughed together. After a moment, Jennie looked up at him, something unreadable sparkling in her eyes. “And what did you say to her with your eyes?”
“I said—” he paused to add drama. “—‘You have good taste in men, but I’m married.’”
“You said all that?” she asked, pleased.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m almost positive that’s what I said.”
“Almost positive?”
“Well, as you said, I’m no expert…”
Jennifer laughed, delighted. She wanted this dance to go on forever, but it ended, another started, and three men tried to claim her.
After the second dance, Marianne waved the men away and walked to the table where lemonade, beer, pumpkin pies, apple pies, corn bread, potato salad, cobblers, and fried chicken had been laid out. Steve Hammond stood next to the table, eating a slice of apple pie.
“Sure, and we finally get to a party, and you don’t even ask me to dance.”
“I looked for you. But you were dancing with other men.”
“And you didn’t even rescue me, either.”
He knew excuses wouldn’t work with Marianne. He stuffed the last bite of pie into his mouth and held out his arms. Marianne slipped into them with her customary frankness and lack of guile. They danced three dances together before a man tried to cut in. Marianne begged off, saying she was too hot to dance anymore. She led Steve off the dance floor and down the railroad tracks.
“Hey, the party’s back there.”
“Sure, and you think I didn’t notice that?” she asked archly, tugging him along after her. They came to the place where the Kincaids’ palace car sat on the tracks. She led him up the steps and into the car.
“Oh, it’s so much nicer in here,” she said. Sounds of merriment from the celebration wafted in the open windows. The music was almost as loud here as it had been at the dance.
Steve started to sit down. “No,” she said, pulling him back up. “Don’t you think it’s time you be kissing me?”
Steve lowered his head and kissed her. But she wasn’t content with just kissing. She was squirming her warm body against his and trying to undress him. “Hey,” he whispered, “they might be back any minute.”
“They won’t. I packed an overnight bag for them. They’re staying with the mayor and his wife.”
“Someone might be back.”
“Sure, and it’s your job to worry about every single body in the town now?”
“I…”
“Hush, Steve Hammond.” She pulled his head down and kissed him again. Slowly, Marianne’s irrepressible good humor and her persistent attempts to seduce him worked their magic. His body took over, and he let her lead him into the sleeping compartment reserved for Chane, who almost never slept there.
“I’ve been wanting to get into a real bed with you for a long time now,” she whispered. “I’m tired of laying on the ground and having to keep my clothes on.” She pressed him down on the bed and undressed him. When he was fully naked, she began to undress herself. He liked the way she looked right at him while she did it. Heat rose in him. She had a lovely body, full-breasted and narrow-waisted. He liked the shape of her legs and the way her hips tapered from her waist into womanly fullness.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“And you’re a sight yourself,” she said, stroking his chest. “I like a deep-chested man. I like the way your chest drops off like that,” she said, trailing her fingers down his chest over his stomach and to his groin. Wonderful sensations followed wherever her hands went. “I like the way your legs are so sturdy and straight, and I even like the shape of your feet.” She drew in her breath, then sighed. “Sure, and I think I’ll be liking everything.”
Steve pulled her down on top of him. “Sure, and I bet you be telling that to all the boys.”
Marianne giggled. “And you be mocking me, eh?” She kissed him, and his passion for her took over. They made love slowly and sweetly and for a long time. She was right. It was much better in a bed.
As a precaution, Jennifer sat out every other dance. Chane tried not to keep track of who was dancing with her, but he couldn’t help himself. She was the most beautiful woman there. Every man with enough courage asked her to dance.
At ten o’clock Tom Tinkersley approached Chane.
“May I dance with Mrs. Kincaid?”
“You don’t need my permission,” Chane said, anger rising in him.
“I wouldn’t ask her to dance without it, sir,” he said, flushing.
Ashamed of himself, Chane led Tom over to Jennie. “How are you holding up? Tom feels like dancing.”
Jennifer looked quickly from Chane to Tom. Sudden hot anger flared in her. She supposed from the tension between the two of them that Chane had tracked Tom down and insisted he dance with her. “I’d love to.”
“You’re in luck, Tom. Be careful of her injured foot.”
“I’ve been taking care of her and her foot for a long time now,” he reminded Chane.
Chane tried not to show the slow burn that started in him at Tom’s remark. The young man held out his arm to Jennie. She flashed Chane one last look that seemed to condemn him to hell and then smiled at Tom.
In torment, Chane watched them dance. Jennie seemed to be flirting with Tom, but in a way that let Chane know she was keeping track of him at the same time. As if her flirting were for his benefit. Either she knew and was teaching him a lesson, or she didn’t know and was actually flirting with Tom Tinkersley.
Either way, they made a handsome couple. Tom had sandy blond hair and a lithe, masculine body. He danced well enough not to embarrass himself. His family in Texas was one of the best in the state. They owned a good chunk of lush grazing land and so many cattle they couldn’t count them. Jennie could do worse. The thought caused Chane’s heart to sink.
He knew it wasn’t fair to ask Jennie to leave him. The only thing he could do was give her the letter he kept forgetting to burn or expose her to eligible men. But he couldn’t bring himself to give her the letter, and watching her with Tom was getting to be the hardest thing in the world for him to tolerate. That shameful episode with Latitia had knocked the wind out of him and confused him more than anything else he’d ever done. Suddenly he was not the man he thought himself to be. He didn’t know whether he’d ever been. He wasn’t sure he knew who he was or what was important anymore. Under those circumstances, how could he make any decisions about Jennie and his marriage? He was plagued with raging jealousy and possessiveness and equal portions of bitter remorse and soul-stinging guilt. He didn’t know which to give in to.
Jennifer seemed to be dancing far too close to Tinkersley. That young man would probably have a hard time getting to sleep tonight, Chane thought. Unless she slipped away with him, which was a definite possibility. The thought filled Chane with jealousy and despair, but he forced himself not to think about it. If she did, she did. It would save him from having to decide.
Tom danced Jennifer carefully around the room. “I haven’t seen you dancing much tonight,” she said finally.
“The only woman I wanted to dance with was taken.”
“Tom…”
“I know. Your husband is watching, and I’m out of line. Well, dammit. He’s out of line. I can tell every time I get near him that he’s mistreating
you. He knows it, and I know it, and you know it.”
“He has his reasons.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You killed his mother and his father and his grandparents. Well, hell, I can understand his being upset about that for a while. But, you know, they were gonna die anyway, old as they were. I’d forgive you and get on with my life. Our life.”
Jennifer laughed. “If I killed most of your family, you’d no more forgive me than he would.”
“Yes I would,” he insisted boyishly. “You could kill every one of them, and I’d still forgive you.”
The thought was so ludicrous that she couldn’t stop smiling. Tom grinned, happy just to make her laugh. He was a good friend. She realized how lucky she was to have him. “Thank you, Tom.”
“My pleasure.” He was beaming, and she knew that just being with her had made him happy. Just being with him had lightened her mood, at least temporarily.
Ed Hadley walked up and slapped Chane on the shoulder. “Glad your wife’s having a good time. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll show you the way to our house.”
“I’ll see if she’s ready.”
The dance ended and Tom returned Jennie to Chane. “Much obliged, Mr. Kincaid,” Tom said earnestly.
Jennie’s eyes dared Chane to say anything. “You’re welcome, Tom,” Chane said gruffly.
Chane watched Tinkersley walk away. “He’s a good man.”
Jennifer started to let that pass, but she couldn’t stand it. With one remark Chane had completely wiped away the good mood she’d achieved with Tom. “Oh, is he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m grateful for your blessing,” she said in a low voice. “Should I just chase him outside and jump on top of him? Or would you prefer I be more discreet?” Rage coursed through her like a fever. She didn’t know where it had come from, but it didn’t feel controllable. “I don’t need a man watching me all the livelong day. I especially don’t need a man appointed by my husband so I’ll fall in love with him and get my husband off the hook.”
Chane flushed.
“I’m glad you at least have the decency to feel shame.”
“Who said anything about shame?”
“I did. If you aren’t ashamed, you should be. He’s a perfectly nice young man.”
“I want the best for you, Jennie.”
His words fell between them like a blade. Jennifer squared her shoulders. “No,” she said bitterly. “You’re the best for me. You’re trying to give me second best so you can go your merry way in peace.”
Chane could think of no response that wouldn’t make things worse. She was right about his motives, but he didn’t feel like the best of anything. He felt like a cad.
Jennie turned and stalked away, her limp gone. He knew she had to get mad enough to make the break. She had to get mad enough to strike out at him, and she was almost there. He just prayed that when she did, he’d have the courage to let her go.
Ed Hadley and his wife intercepted Jennie and brought her back with them to Chane’s side.
“Did you have a good time dancing?” Mrs. Hadley asked.
Jennifer lifted her chin and smiled. “Delightful.”
Chane cringed. She was in fine form this evening. He would be lucky to survive the coming night.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Hadley house was only two blocks away, but Hadley had a light carriage. They drove the short distance with Chane making small talk with Hadley.
The house was big and comfortable. Their bedroom was dominated by a large four-poster bed and a fireplace on the outside wall. Hadley struck a match to the paper under the oak logs and fanned the tiny flame with a fan.
“The room’ll be warm in no time. If you’re hungry, there’s food in the pantry. Help yourself.”
“I could lay out a snack,” Mrs. Hadley said jovially.
“No, please,” Jennie protested. “I’ve been eating all day.” Mrs. Hadley was a gracious woman who seemed to like Jennie on sight. She carried in an overnight bag Marianne had packed and delivered to the house earlier, poured heated water into the basin on the bureau, and then excused herself.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Jennie took off her coat and tossed it on the bed. Still angry, she ignored Chane and struggled to unbutton her gown but couldn’t. Finally, Chane walked over and said, “I’ll do that.”
He carefully unbuttoned an entire row of eyelet-held buttons. “There.” Jennie walked to the mirror, slipped her arms out of her sleeves and pushed the gown down. Chane knew he should look away, but it would have been easier to cut off his hand. In the firelit room, her skin glowed with tawny warmth. A pulse started in his loins.
She stepped out of the gown, then backed up to him again. Chane undid the lacing on her corset and untied the strings holding her bustle in place around her slim waist. Her warm, soft skin seemed to scald his fingers.
Jennie stepped out of her undergarments and left them where they dropped. One didn’t drop fast enough. Furiously, she kicked it aside, and strode across the room clothed only in her petal-soft skin. Chane struggled desperately to keep from running his hands across her breasts and down her silky thighs.
She rummaged through the bag Marianne had packed, didn’t find what she wanted, and dumped the bag on the bed. “Damn,” she said with uncharacteristic vehemence. “I can’t imagine why she bothered to send this at all,” she grumbled, grabbing her brush angrily and striding to the mirror. She jerked the pins out of her hair and bent forward from the waist to brush the golden cloud.
Chane felt light-headed watching her. To distract himself, he walked to the bed and rummaged through the pile of garments for his nightshirt. It wasn’t in the bag.
Now he understood Jennie’s expletive. He felt like uttering one himself, but he didn’t. He undressed, climbed into the bed, and leaned against the headboard. With Jennie so mad, he didn’t feel comfortable lying down. Women had a way of wanting a man’s full attention when they were mad.
Jennie finished brushing her hair and stood up, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulders. With her legs spread and her hair fluffed out around her, she was incredibly beautiful and exciting.
She stalked through the mess of discarded garments, stopped at the bureau, and looked over her shoulder at him. “If you were a gentleman, you wouldn’t watch.”
“I’m not.”
“Suit yourself.” She wet the washcloth and lathered it with the soap she found on the bureau.
“I intend to,” he said. It seemed to Chane that she washed every part of her body two or three times. The firelight gleamed off her wet body, but strangely, Chane suffered less than he’d thought. The sight of her flesh acted on him like a narcotic. The joy of seeing her naked was so satisfying, he forgot everything else.
Too soon, she finished her ritual and toweled herself dry. She stomped across the room, threw back the covers, and climbed into bed.
“You forgot your nightgown.”
“I didn’t forget. Marianne didn’t pack it.”
“Mine, either.”
Jennie pulled the covers up to her chin.
“You forgot to turn out the lamp,” he said.
“I forgot?”
“You were the last one up.”
Angrily, she threw off the covers and stalked over to the lamp. She turned the wick down and stomped back to the bed.
They lay in silence for a moment. Jennifer thought he’d gone to sleep. Then he scooted over and pulled her toward him. “I thought—” Jennifer began.
“I changed my mind,” he said, stopping any further comment with his mouth. Any other time she would have been thrilled to have him approach her, but tonight she was furious at him for throwing Tom Tinkersley at her. She was too angry to feel anything at first, but slowly, as he continued to kiss her, the anger changed to hunger. It was just like the night of the fire again. Except this time her body was even more desperately deprived and lonely and starved for him. His every touch seemed magnified, vibr
ating through her and filling her with the sweetest, wildest, most exquisite feelings imaginable.
Chane must have sensed what he was doing to her. His kisses became more hungry and more hurtful, and it was exactly what she wanted and needed.
It was so wonderful to be held by him, to be touched by him, even to be hurt by him. He appeared to be the same man she’d married, but in some indescribable way, he had changed. She felt the difference in the way he touched her, the way he held her, the way he entered her. Before, he had treated her like a goddess. Now he treated her like a woman he’d hired for the night. He showed her no respect, no condescension, and no mercy.
Neither his hunger nor his strength seemed to have any limits. Before the night was over, she did things she had only heard whispers about in the girls’ dressing room at the Bellini. He didn’t even try to disguise the fact that he was using her to slake a purely physical hunger. And it didn’t matter.
He barely finished before he took her again, the last time in a way most women saw as painful and humiliating, but even that didn’t matter. She gloried in it, because it came from him. In spite of the pain, or perhaps even because of it, she reached dizzying peaks of ecstasy she hadn’t even imagined before. For the first time, she saw her husband not as her lover, but as savage male—dark, primal, and dangerous. She trembled before him, as weak and helpless as any woman prostrate before a conquering warrior.
She felt no shame until he rolled immediately away from her. Then she realized that nothing had changed. He’d pleasured himself, and her as well, but he still didn’t love or trust her.
Within moments his breathing told her he was asleep. Still trembling, Jennie lay in confusion, not sure whether she was supposed to see this as progress or not. Maybe this was how it started. Maybe he would go from using her to accepting her and then to loving her again. After tonight anything seemed possible. She’d never thought he would get this far. She fell asleep with that thought still spiraling through her mind.
Chane was gone the next morning when she woke up. She didn’t see him for two days, and when she did, he acted as if nothing had happened between them.
The Lady and the Robber Baron Page 39