The Railroad Baroness

by The Railroad Baroness (lit)

  And with that, he jerked his hips forward, thrusting his cock into her to the hilt. Lillian gasped. If she hadn’t been with Charles just a few days before, and so wet for Conn, it would have hurt. Instead, she felt only a twinge of discomfort that was quickly drowned in a wave of desire. She made a soft sound of surrender. If she’d been standing, the edge of roughness would have made her knees weak. Pleasure jumbled her senses until all she could focus on was Conn, huge and powerful inside her. The broad head of his cock throbbed with every beat of his heart. She longed to touch him, feel him hot and heavy in her palm, taste him in her mouth.

  She didn’t have time to relish the wish. Conn set up a driving rhythm, hard and fast. He pushed his face into her neck, beard-roughened cheek rasping against the tender flesh of her throat. Lillian tightened her thighs around his waist and tunneled the fingers of one hand through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Sweat soon slicked his skin and his heat enflamed her. She felt drunk on the male, musky scent of him. His thrusts rocked her up and back against the paneling as he pounded into her. She was so aroused he slid in and out of her without effort, only the tight, eager clasp of her inner muscles providing any resistance. Seeking more leverage, she flailed one hand out until she touched the scrolled brasswork of one of the lamps mounted on the wall beside her. Gripping it tight, she held on, feeling the pleasure start to come over her, through her as she trembled on the edge of release.

  Conn’s hands clutched convulsively on her buttocks and he dragged her back and forth on his shaft with tight, caressing strokes. His cock throbbed and jumped and she felt the spurts of his release begin as he muffled a shout of satisfaction against her shoulder. A massive tremor wracked his body. In increments, the tremors eased. He relaxed against her, chest heaving. The curly black hairs on his chest grazed her tight nipples with each breath. She couldn’t help squirming her lower body along his still-hard shaft, couldn’t stop rasping her nipples against the muscled planes of his chest.

  Disappointment tickled her awareness, but it was easy to ignore. She found the self-contained Conn’s loss of control flattering in the extreme. Her own release hovered tantalizingly close, and Lillian was certain it wouldn’t take much more to find it, once he recovered enough for a second attempt.

  Conn nuzzled her throat, then placed a warm kiss on her lips.

  “Ah, my Delilah. You make me feel like an untried lad. But unlike an untried lad,” he said, loosening the clasp of her thighs around his hips, “I at least know how to make it up to you.”

  He dropped to his knees and looked up at her with a wicked grin. Bemused, she let him settle one of her legs over his broad shoulder. Then he spread her nether lips with his fingers, leaned in and gave her a long, luscious lick. The sensation was so sudden, so startling, so exhilarating that she couldn’t bite back the scream. He chuckled against her, the bass rumble of his laugh sending vibrations of ecstasy shooting through her body.

  Once more, instinct took over. He didn’t stop the urgent flexing of her hips as she rode his mouth. He continued to lick her, nipping the tight nub of her clitoris and sliding his tongue over her sensitized flesh. He seemed to sense exactly what she needed, using teeth and tongue and lips with the skill of a master seducer. The knowledge that she was wet with both her own moisture and his seed as he pleasured her finally tipped her over the edge. She uttered a long, wavering cry.

  Panting, wrung out from the power of her release, Lillian was surprised to notice she clutched the lamps on either side of her head in nerveless fists. The rest of her weight balanced on shaky legs that had somehow settled over Conn’s solid shoulders, straddling his face.

  His wicked mouth continued to play along her quivering flesh, gradually slowing until his sizzling touch became soothing and she could take a full breath again.

  Conn sat back on his heels, letting her weight slide away until she stood on wobbly legs, arms widespread as she held the lamps. Small aftershocks sending zips of delight over her skin, she looked down at his dark, beautiful face. He hung his head briefly, and she noted that his cock once more jutted strong and proud through the opening of his trousers. Conn shook his head, as if searching for his thoughts. He stood and, in one motion, scooped her into his arms.

  The kiss he pressed on her mouth was rich and earthy with their mingled taste. “Now, let’s get serious about this, shall we?”

  Serious? Goodness, was the man joking? If his lovemaking were any more serious, she’d lose what little wits she had left. Lillian laughed breathlessly, hoping the wondering note in her own voice sounded less like a giggle to him than it did to her. She was still laughing when he carried her from the car’s main room into her bedroom and tossed her on the bed.

  His weight settled on her, his mouth claimed hers, and she forgot all about blood and dynamite and distraction. Conn was here, and that was enough.

  Chapter 15

  “The best measure of how a camp runs is how the men react to the unexpected. There’s always something unexpected.”

  — Charles Lowell Adams, Dispatches from The Iron Road, Great Western Rail Company

  Pain crashed through Lillian’s head. She lay stunned, trying to understand what had happened. A dark shadow loomed over her. Hard hands gripped her shoulders, yanked her close. The scent of him, the touch of his bare skin on hers, cleared some of the fog from her thoughts. Conn held her cradled in his arms, his worried voice calling her name. Lillian touched her temple, winced as a new shard of pain split her head. Her fingers came away wet.

  “Delilah.” Conn’s voice, thick with worry. “Love, speak to me.”

  Warmth enveloped her as he wrapped a thick coverlet around her upper body, never shifting her from his lap. She could barely make out his features in the gloom.

  “I’m all right,” she said, suspecting it wasn’t the full truth. She barely heard her own voice, as if cotton batting filled her ears. “What happened?”

  “An explosion.” He tilted her chin, hissed as he noted the wound on her temple. She felt a trickle of wet slide down her cheek. Blood, she realized. “Bounced you out of bed. I think you hit the side table on the way down.”

  His voice was louder, clearer. The blast must have affected her hearing.

  “Can you find your nightclothes in the dark?” he asked. “A wrap?”

  She started to nod, remembered the pain, and said, “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. Better not to light the lamps.” He gently set her on her feet. The wool carpet felt scratchy and cool under her soles. She took a step, stumbled. Conn’s hand on her elbow steadied her. “Careful. I think the blast tilted the car. Hold on to something until you get your bearings.”

  “All right.” Lillian was glad the car was off-kilter and not her balance from the hit to the head. Conn guided her hand to the edge of the bed. As she cautiously felt her way around it to the wardrobe on the other side, she sensed him collecting his own clothes off the floor and starting to dress.

  “We need to get outside,” Conn said. “I don’t want to stay in here in case the bastard has any more surprises for us.”

  Lillian reached the wardrobe and opened one door, holding it propped ajar with her shoulder as she felt inside for clothes. She grabbed the first shift she felt and slipped it over her head. The muffled sound of yelling outside the car spurred her on. Feeling cool cotton under her hand, she took the day dress from a hook and put it on, fleetingly grateful she could fasten it without even the unrestrictive corsets she favored. An acrid odor touched her nose. Reflexively, Lillian coughed. In an instant, Conn was at her side. “Fire,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Shoes,” she said. Bending over, she sorted the jumble of footwear in the bottom of the wardrobe by touch. “I can’t go out barefoot.”

  “Hurry.”

  “All right, I’ve got them.” Lillian shoved the warm slippers under her arm and snatched a light cloak off another hook as Conn pulled her away. Leaving her chamber, they headed for the main room. A flickering glow
lit it, both through the windows and around the exterior door. The unsteady light cast ominous shadows around the dark shapes of tumbled furniture and a haze of smoke.

  Arm tight around Lillian’s waist, Conn changed direction. They hurried down the narrow corridor, past the bathing chamber attached to Lillian’s room. The hall ended at another door. Conn let go of her and searched for the locks. Brushing his hands aside, she reached to top and bottom, sliding the bolts back. Conn yanked the door open and pushed Lillian ahead of him. The observation platform was just large enough for a small table and two chairs. Surrounded by an intricate wrought-iron railing, it was intended to give the passenger another view of their journey, and there were no stairs to the ground.

  “Hold on,” Conn said, just as he swept Lillian into his arms and sat her on the railing. Holding her wrists, he lowered her to the ground with easy strength. As soon as she found her feet, he let go. Then he climbed over the railing and jumped, landing lightly at her side.

  Lillian brushed the dirt from her feet and shoved them into her slippers. Impatient to get going, Conn took her cloak and swirled it around her. Again taking command of her waist, he steered her around the side of the car—where they almost collided with a tall, muscled shadow. She bit back a scream of surprise.

  Hands clutched her close. “Lilly!”

  She almost sagged with relief as she recognized Charles’s voice, then Aileen’s.

  “Lillian! We were so afraid,” her friend said, tears thickening her words.

  “We’re fine,” Lillian said. “Just a bit banged up.”

  “Lillian’s bleeding,” Conn said. “She needs the doctor.”

  “What?” Charles’s hands began a roving exploration of her body, searching for injury. “Where?”

  “It’s just my head,” Lillian said. “I bumped it. I’ll be fine.”

  “But we must have Doctor Ritchards look at it immediately,” Aileen said.

  “Soon,” Lillian said. “First, tell us what happened.”

  Charles glanced over his shoulder, toward the front of the car. “It looks like someone set off a blast under your car,” he said. “The explosion was enough to knock the car off the tracks a bit, and it started a small fire, blocking the main entrance to your car. The men are working to put it out.”

  “We should let them know we’re out, then,” Lillian said. “So no one is hurt attempting to get into the car that way.”

  “Aye,” Conn agreed. “Let’s go. We’ll tell them me and Charlie jumped the railing and broke in from the rear to get you out.”

  “Just a moment,” Aileen said, then explained, “Your gown.” She nimbly fastened the front closure of Lillian’s dress the rest of the way. In the rush to get out of the car, Lillian hadn’t given it another thought. Emergency or no, it wouldn’t do to greet the men with her dress hanging open and her shift exposed.

  “Oh, my,” Aileen tsked. Using the edge of her cloak, she dabbed at Lillian’s face. “Your poor head. Mr. Maguire is right. The doctor should examine this.”

  When Lillian next looked up, Conn was gone. She heard his raised voice as he spoke to the men fighting the fire, assuring them that Mrs. Cabot was out of the car. Charles, who had waited a few steps away, offered Lillian his arm. Grateful more for the emotional support than the physical, Lillian took it. Aileen at their side, they went to join the men. The chill of the night breeze under her swirling skirts made her self-consciously aware of her naked state under her gown and cloak. Strange how something as simple as a lack of stockings and drawers had the power to do that.

  Lillian couldn’t believe the saboteur had actually targeted her car. What if she and Conn had been in the sitting room when the blast went off? Or the car had tipped over? They could have been killed.

  She shivered. Charles’s hand settled over hers. He gently squeezed her fingers. “I’ve got you,” he said, lips touching her temple in a surreptitious kiss.

  As they approached the front of the car, Lillian got her first look at the damage. The men appeared to have the fire under control. Lanterns lit the scene, showing the big iron wheels at the front of the car dug into the gravel of the track bed instead of resting on the metal rails. Only a few flickering flames remained of the fire, though the cherry-red glow of heated metal glowed like demon eyes in the night. Black scorch marks trailed up the side of the car, marring the fancy paintwork. The scrolled stairs, twisted from the blast, dangled precariously from the platform. Lillian was no expert, but she suspected it would be some time before the engineers would be able to repair her car for the journey home.

  Conn, broad shoulders identifying him even in the huddle of men snapping out the last wild flames with heavy blankets, was in the thick of things.

  “Mrs. Cabot!” Yorke left the fringes of the group and hurried toward them. Ignoring Charles and Aileen, he took Lillian’s free hand in both of his. “Thank God you’re all right!”

  Despite his concerned tone, his eyes roved over her in cool assessment. Noting her tumbled-down hair, his lips pursed in disapproval.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Yorke,” she said, resisting the urge to pull away. “Just a bit shaken up.”

  “Good. Shall I send for the doctor?”

  Charles answered before she could. “Please do, Yorke. Have him attend to the crew car. Mrs. Cabot and Miss McCurdy can wait there, where it’s warm.”

  “Of course,” the secretary said stiffly.

  Lillian eased her hand from his hold and let Charles guide her away. She really should stay and watch, question the men, inquire if anyone had seen someone suspicious lurking around her car. Yet, inexplicably, she couldn’t stop shaking. All she could think of was waking, hurt and confused, the acrid bite of smoke in the air. Strangely, it wasn’t her own safety she feared for, but Conn’s.

  Conn, however, had seen them through it with decisive calm, acting quickly to get them out. Even more impressive, once they were out, he immediately came up with a way to explain his presence at her side. No one would suspect he had been in her bed when the blast hit.

  No. Charles and Conn, working in concert, saw to the safety of her person and her reputation.

  They were men to rely on.

  Reaching the crew car, Charles handed her up the stairs and ushered her inside a distinctly male purview. He guided her to a rocking chair in front of the wood stove, inviting Aileen to settle in another one. Then he went to the stove and poured out two mugs of something thick and strong.

  “It’s not brandy, but this will help,” he said, giving a mug to each woman. Lillian sipped automatically, grimaced at the bitter taste of the unsweetened coffee.

  Shrugging off his coat, Charles draped it over her shoulders. It smelled like him, both the tang of his cologne and the scent that was distinctly Charles. His warmth, trapped in its folds, seeped into her. He knelt and, without a thought to Aileen’s presence, slid his hands under her skirts and began to briskly rub her bare calves. It felt wonderful. His warmth made her realize how chilled she’d become without her stockings. Lillian slid Aileen a glance, but her companion appeared unfazed.

  They were in a long room, so narrow it was almost a wide hallway. Windows lined one side, showing the lights of the camp. Doors lined the other, leading to the private quarters of the men who shared the crew car. Lillian wondered which belonged to Charles and Conn.

  Aileen set her mug on the floor beside her rocking chair and stood up. “Mr. Lowell Adams, can I assume the other kettle on the stove is filled with hot water?”

  He looked at Aileen, then the stovetop. “Yes.”

  “Then if you’ll fetch me some cool water to take the heat off it, and some clean cloths, I would appreciate it. I need to clean the wound on Lillian’s head to get a closer look at it.”

  Charles brushed the hair away from the side of Lillian’s face, tilted her chin with the edge of his hand. “It seems to have stopped bleeding,” he said. Getting to his feet, he went to one of the doors and opened it. He soon was back with a
plain porcelain pitcher and basin set, a couple of small towels draped over his forearm.

  Aileen accepted them, then took charge of Lillian. She swabbed the entire right side of her friend’s face, methodically rinsing the cloth in the basin as she worked. The water quickly turned dark pink. Lillian, certain she must look a fright, was glad she couldn’t see her face.

  Doctor Ritchards arrived as Aileen dabbed the last of the moisture from Lillian’s skin. After a quick, but thorough, examination, he said, “You won’t need stitching. Cool compresses, to keep the swelling down, and rest will take care of things.”

  Ritchards took a brown bottle from his satchel and gave it to Aileen. “Laudanum for the pain, in moderation, if Mrs. Cabot needs it.”

  Her companion nodded, then saw the doctor out. Charles, who watched from a window as the men worked at Lillian’s car, came to her. “You heard what the doctor said. Rest.”

  Taking her mug, he set it down and helped Lillian to her feet. Leading her to one of the doors, he opened it to reveal a small room. Two bunks, two tall bureaus and a small writing table filled the space.

  “You can stay here in my bunk for the rest of the night.”

  As he settled her on the edge of one bunk, Lillian looked past his shoulder to where her friend waited with the bottle of laudanum. “But Aileen…”

  “Can stay in Conn’s bunk there,” he said, pointing to the matching bunk. “The other men who stay in the crew car can find different quarters for the night, to ensure your privacy, and Miss McCurdy will be right here for propriety’s sake. Now, the doctor said you needed rest. Lie down, and try not to worry.”

  Lillian shared his smile. Once more, the men in her life were taking charge. If only she could work up the energy to mind. “All right, Charles. But I warn you,” she said, trying for stern, but unable to quite make it in the face of his obvious concern for her well-being, “tomorrow, I’ll be back to myself again, and I’ll expect to have a hand in determining what has happened, and what must be done.”