“Do you object?” Serena asked.
“How can I, when you have obviously needed defending? I didn’t realize you were so helpless.”
Serena sent him a look of cold dislike. “There are some things difficult to fight.”
“Such as?”
“Starvation, and laudanum.”
The words hung between them. The blank look on Ward’s face became a frown. “I think you had better explain.”
“I’ll be happy to do that,” Serena snapped. Above them came a laugh that ended in a smothered shriek. “But not — not here.”
With the box containing the pistol still clutched in one hand, she pushed to her feet. A feeling of lightheadedness assailed her, and she stood still for an instant with her eyes closed.
Ward caught her elbow, his touch warm and firm. “Are you all right?”
She shook him off, and for an answer, took a few steps toward the doorway.
Standing aside, Ward said, “Your dress is still unbuttoned.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Serena answered, and holding to her precarious dignity, moved from the room.
The hallway was empty, though the rumble of voices and the crackle of a fire came from the room at the far end. A peculiarity of the parlor house, though a practical one, was the staircase that led upward from the back of the central hall, instead of rising directly from the front entrance. It made it possible for men to come and go without being seen by those in the front entertainment rooms. The back door near the stairs was also convenient. Serena, discovering this exit with its lace curtain over the glass inset in the frame, was gratified by the arrangement. The curtain flapped in the draft as she pulled the panel open.
The cold struck her with numbing force. Though the snow had stopped, deep drifts covered the ground. Serena could see the tracks left by Nathan and Consuelo. They were headed in the opposite direction from where she needed to go, fading into the darkness that had a blue tint from the light of the moon, half hidden behind a dark swath of cloud.
At a sound behind her, Serena took a deep breath and plunged out into the night. She would not stay at the parlor house, not another minute.
The snow sifted into her slippers, wetting the silk. It caked on the hem of her dress, freezing to it, making it so heavy she had to tuck the pistol box under her arm and pick it up in both hands, holding it well above her knees. Dry flakes blown from the roof above her by the night wind drifted down, slipping across her bare shoulders, wafting into the crevice between her breasts. Shivering, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, she began to run. Behind her came the crunch of swift footsteps in the icy night.
“Where do you think you are going?” Ward demanded. His hand closed on her forearm, dragging her to a halt, swinging her around so quickly she fell against him.
It was then that the clouds left the face of the moon. The clear, brazen light poured down. It fell on Serena’s face, giving her pure features the look of marble, leaving her eyes in mysterious shadow. It sculpted the upswept darkness of her hair in silver, and glittered on the snowflakes that spangled her shoulders.
Ward’s hold tightened. He did not wait for an answer. With a soft sound as if he had been struck, he lowered his head and took the cool sweetness of her lips.
The warmth of his arms enfolded her. She slid her hands beneath the open edges of his overcoat, seduced by the heat of his body and a sudden, overpowering need to be held close, and closer still. Here was safety and an odd sense of comfort so strong that it brought an ache to her throat. His kiss was hard and consuming, yet tender, a brand that for the moment she had no wish to deny.
On a deep-drawn breath, he raised his head. “I knew when I left I was going to miss you,” he said, his voice husky as he smoothed his hands over the bare skin of her back, “but I never dreamed how much.”
At his touch a shiver not entirely from the cold ran over her. She drew back slightly. “Ward,” she began.
“No. No explanations, Serena. Not now. Dear God, not now.”
His face was in shadow, but there was a thread of strain in his harsh words. Bending with an abrupt movement, he scooped her in his arms and strode toward the back door of the Eldorado.
Inside they were greeted by a ripple of silence, followed by a wave of comment, most of it ribald. “Didn’t take him long to lay her by her golden heels! Looks like pretty little Gold Heels may have round heels before long. There do be some that can afford her! Wish it was me! You need any help there, Dunbar, you let me know—”
At one side of the room, Pearlie sat before a green-baize-covered table dealing faro. Her face slowly drained of color as she saw Ward with Serena. With the cards still in her hands, she got slowly to her feet. A gray-bearded miner with a wad of tobacco bulging in his cheek looked up from laboriously counting the hearts on the card he had been dealt. Reaching out, he clamped a gnarled hand on Pearlie’s arm. “Where are you going there, honey? We got us a game to finish here. There ain’t no call for you to get het up. Dunbar’s back and he’s got his gold-heeled canary where he wants her. Far as I can see, it ain’t no skin off your nose, nor mine neither. Deal!”
Serena scanned Ward’s face, so near as he held her against him while he weaved among the tables. The gold flecks were bright in his green eyes, and there was a corded muscle in his jaw. If he noticed Pearlie, if he heard what was said or realized its import, he gave no sign. Serena, with no small difficulty, set herself to follow his example.
The fire had gone out in the sitting-room stove. Though some heat rose into these upstairs regions from the barroom below, it was still so cold the windows were thick with frost that shone in the moonlight behind them. Seeing it, feeling the chill after the warmth downstairs, Serena felt a shudder ripple over her. It was followed by another, and yet another until her whole body was shaking. With a muttered curse, Ward shouldered into the bedroom. Not troubling with a fire or the lighting of a lamp, he set Serena on her feet. Taking the mahogany box she still held from her nerveless grasp, he tossed it to the bureau, then, swinging her around, began to unhook the rest of the buttons at the back of her dress. His movements quick and sure; he stripped it off over her head, removed her wet slippers, and, throwing back the cover of the bed, bundled her unceremoniously between the sheets.
He was not long in joining her, pausing only to kick off his boots and throw the weight of his overcoat across the foot of the bed. Turning to her, he pulled the heavy quilts over their heads and gathered her close against him. Time stretched as they lay still, shaken by the thudding of their heartbeats, listening to the faint, faraway sound of Timothy’s piano below them.
By slow degrees Serena’s trembling ceased. She became aware of Ward’s hands on her hair, probing the soft mass for the pins that held her ringlets in place, spreading the loosened curls upon the pillow. He pressed the heat of his lips to her forehead and drew his fingers along the curve of her cheek to the sensitive line of her neck. Tilting her chin upward with his thumb, he brought his mouth down on hers, questing, firm, still with a gentleness that was an indication of the control he kept upon himself.
Was he angry with her despite the words he had spoken in the darkness outside? Or did he hold her with such lukewarm passion because he felt nothing stronger? A vague discontent stirred in Serena’s mind, and she moved her lips experimentally on his. He went still for a moment, but the clasp of his arms remained protective.
Driven by some emotion beyond her understanding, Serena turned her hands to press the palms against his chest. Tentatively, she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. Almost by accident, the top one slipped from its hole. Greatly daring, she let her fingers move to the next.
It was not a betrayal of her principles, what she was doing. He had made such a request before, true enough, but rather than complying with his wishes, she was merely using them for her own ends. To gratify his desire was no more than sensible. Though being his kept woman gave her no joy, it was better than being put up for the highest bidder, as had so nearly
happened with Nathan Benedict, or parceled out to the miners.
His shirt was undone and also the top buttons of the woolen union suit underneath he had donned against the cold. Her fingers encountered the buckle of his belt, and she tugged at it with her one free hand. It was a long moment before she could manage to get it unfastened. Ward did not help her, he only lay at ease, brushing his fingertips over the soft curves of her breast above the low neckline of her chemise.
Her movements slowed as she reached the buttons at the front of his twill trousers. It was not that they were difficult; it was simply that it was increasingly evident that he was far from indifferent to her ministrations. The lower buttons of his union suit were a task requiring even more delicacy. In the end, it was impossible to keep the backs of her fingers from pressing against him. She ceased, finally, to try.
In that instant, his arms tightened and he crushed her to him. Deep inside she felt a leaping gladness. She twined her arms around his neck, holding tightly, allowing her breasts to be flattened upon the board hardness of his chest. Their mouths clung hungrily, twisting, turning with the sweet savor of desire on their tongues.
Their breathing quickened. Serena could feel the hard thudding of Ward’s heart against her. There was a section of his heated body that was bare to the touch, and with a longing that was frightening, she wanted to remove the barrier that kept the entire length of their naked skin from joining. The touch of his fingers at the buttons of her chemise sent a thrill of excitement along her nerves. She moved to aid him, shrugging from the cambric chemise, turning so he could reach the strings of her corset. She unhooked her petticoats, pushing them down over her hips as he struggled out of his own clothes under the confining heaviness of the covers.
Once more they came together, rocking, sighing in sensuous enjoyment of unimpeded contact. Ward slid his hands down over her hips, drawing her closer against him. He inhaled the fragrance of her hair, his lips burning on her neck and shoulders, trailing with the feel of fire to the throbbing mound of her breast. Serena arched her back with her eyes tightly shut, granting him free access. Enthralled by the sensations that coursed through her, she spread her hands over the muscles of his back. She had no will to resist the close binding intimacy of his touch, no recognition of why she should.
The rapture grew, a mindless thing. It was as if they sought in each other the opiate of passion. Hardness and softness, male and female, they clung, merging, fusing with closed eyes and pounding blood, seeking to dull the pain of the past with the pleasure of the present. It was an endless thing, a ravishing rapture that flowed between them, filling, rising to a crescendo, bursting, flooding, then falling away to bring ease of mind and body. In that temporary exhaustion of care, warm in the chill blackness of the night, they slept.
One minute Serena was asleep, the next she was awake, though her chest still rose and fell with a deeply even cadence and her lashes rested like fans on her cheeks. It was morning. Even behind her closed lids, she could sense the white brilliance of sunlight reflecting on snow from the direction of the windows. She was not alone in the bed. She could feel the press of Ward’s lean thighs against her, and that was not all. His hand cupped her breast and his warm breath stirred her hair. His arm tightened around her waist. He fitted her to him, and it was as if they had never parted during the night. The tumult swelled around them. The metal springs beneath the feather mattress creaked in protest, and frigid air found its way under the quilts. When at last Ward began to ease from her, she caught his arm, holding him in place close against her.
He was still for a time, caressing the slim indentation of her waist. Serena was almost dozing once more when he shifted, raising himself to one elbow. She felt him tug her hair from underneath her, easing the tension on the long tresses. Her eyelids quivered as she realized he was studying her. As the quiet continued, she imagined that his touch on her shoulder was less gentle, that a brooding quality pervaded the atmosphere between them, ousting their brief physical rapport.
“Gold Heels,” he said softly, trying the words on his tongue, tasting the bitterness of them. “Gold Heels—”
Serena’s eyes flew open. She twisted to stare up at him, a chill settling in the region of her heart as she saw the speculation that narrowed his green gaze. “You don’t understand,” she faltered.
“Don’t I? I wish I didn’t. You are so lovely, Serena, so much the embodiment of every man’s dream of beauty, of what is fine and good. The thought of you here alone haunted me while I was in Denver. I cursed myself for leaving you behind, and the minute I finished what I had come to do, I caught a train back to the Springs. I was too impatient to wait for the night train. I took the Colorado Midland to Florissant. I should have been in Cripple Creek by dark last night, but I hadn’t counted on the snow. We were after midnight getting in, and when I reached the Eldorado, what did I find? Men lined up outside in the streets, waiting to get in to see the new toast of Myers Avenue, a girl called Gold Heels, men who refused to go away even though Pearlie had announced that Gold Heels would not be appearing because she was making a special command performance for a rich client. You can never begin to understand what I felt when I found out it was you they were talking about, that you were Gold Heels.”
“I didn’t ask for the name,” Serena said, a shadow of pain in her blue-gray eyes as she searched his bronzed features. “It was because of my slippers, the ones that belonged to my mother. The miners mistook the gilt for the real thing.”
“Not surprising,” he said, irony in the smile that tugged the corner of his mouth. “I seem to have been in danger of doing the same. What bothers me is why you were downstairs in the first place. You must have been so sick of these rooms, so desperate for night lights, that you could hardly wait until I was out of sight.”
“No,” she answered with a quick shake of her head. “I had to go, there was no other choice.”
“You said that once before. Starvation was the excuse you gave, wasn’t it? That doesn’t make sense, not with Sanchow coming in three times a day.”
“That’s just it. He didn’t come. Or at least he did, twice, but the food never reached me.” With quick words that tumbled over themselves, she told him of what had become of the trays and the Chinaman who had brought them. As she came to Pearlie’s ultimatum, a look seeped into his face that was so dark, so coldly dangerous, that she stumbled to a halt.
“So you sang for your supper?” he said, the sound of quiet menace in his tone. “And then what?”
Irritation rose inside Serena at this catechism. What right did he have to question her, to make her feel this unearned guilt? She edged away from him, turning to her stomach and rolling to the opposite side to support herself on one elbow. The quilts slid from her shoulders, though she hardly noticed.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“Exactly what you think I mean.”
“You are neither my guardian nor my husband. By what right do you presume to ask?”
“The right of might,” he grated, reaching to close his fingers on her shoulders. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Are you going to pretend it matters?” Serena snapped. The memory of Pearlie’s words, her assertion that Ward was tired of his new playmate and was ready for her to earn her own way, gave her words a biting edge of sarcasm.
“It matters,” he said through his teeth. “So much that if you value your neck you will — What is this?”
The grip of his hand loosened. A frown snapped his brows together as he stared at her shoulder, at the purple bruises and tiny halfmoon cuts caused by Otto’s digging fingers.
“The price of a tray of food,” Serena answered, her tone brittle. “The cost would have been much higher if your friend Benedict hadn’t managed to convince Otto that I should not be obliged to pay twice for the same meal.”
“Otto did this?”
“How was he to guess you would mind? You told Pearlie it was time I joined the other girls, and she gave h
im to understand that she would be grateful if he — he broke me in right.”
“My God,” Ward breathed.
“As you say. At least you can understand why I feel a certain gratitude toward Nathan Benedict, though not to the point, I can assure you, of being happy to be drugged and thrown into his arms. It’s possible, however, that if you had been gone a few more days I might have had cause to change my mind.”
Ward stared at her, the gold flecks glittering in his eyes and a white line about his mouth. Abruptly he rolled from her and threw back the covers. Without a word he began to pull on his clothes, stepping into his trousers, jerking on his shirt, stamping his boots on. He ran his fingers through his hair and, still stuffing his shirt into his pants, shouldered out of the room, moving with long strides across the sitting room.
“Ward, where are you going?” Serena called. The slamming of the outer door was her only answer.
What was he going to do? The look on his face had been murderous. Serena hesitated only a moment before she scrambled from the bed. Snatching up her petticoats and underwear, she stepped to the wardrobe and pulled down the first dress that came to hand. She did not know if it was Otto’s conduct or Pearlie’s that had incensed him, but it must have been one or the other. The implications, either way, left her with a tight feeling in her chest.
Serena was twisting her hair into a knot when a sound penetrated the thin walls of the building. She stopped, holding her breath to listen. It was a woman screaming. The sound came from behind the Eldorado, in the direction of the parlor house.
Pushing the pins into place as she ran, Serena left the room and hurried out into the hallway. At its end, just above the stairway, there was a window that overlooked the side of the parlor house, giving a better view than from the back. The frost that coated it prevented her from looking out. With swift care, she twisted the lock that held the window shut and pushed up the stiff sash.
By leaning to one side, she could see the delivery yard. Ward had crossed its sloping, snow-packed surface and was just disappearing from sight behind the storeroom. Pearlie was standing ankle deep in the snow, outlined cruelly in the harsh morning light. She wore a wrapper of cherry satin over a chemise and drawers of the same material inset with long lozenges of openwork lace through which her skin gleamed. The overbright henna red of her hair was spread upon her shoulders, and her face was contorted with fear and rage.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 108