Cachet

by Shannah Biondine

  "I'm sorry, sweetness," he whispered, cradling her against his shoulder. "So damned sorry."

  "I named her Sara. I held her to my breast and tried to warm her, but she went cold. The rain stopped two days later. I wrapped her in a blanket and buried her on the edge of our property."

  "Where was Cletus? Why wasn't he with you?"

  "He went to town for supplies. Of course, the main supply we were low on was sour mash. He always forgot the time once he found a card game or saloon."

  Morgan swore softly under his breath. No wonder she hated to see a man drink, he thought. He cursed Cletus Nash and secretly agreed with her that the man deserved eternal damnation.

  "My only reward for putting up with Cletus would have been that child," Rachel hiccuped, "And she was taken from me. I never forgave him, never spoke another civil word to him after that. Sara was my second failure. I'd miscarried a year before. But it was better that way. No child should have a useless drunken father. He just stood there when I told him his child had come stillborn. He just stared at me. It meant nothing to him, except another excuse to crawl into a bottle."

  Although he suspected she was right, he tried to lessen her mental distress. "Perhaps he did care in his own way, Rachel. It's hard to imagine any man not being affected by the death of his own flesh and blood. Perhaps he didn't know how to show his feelings, or maybe he simply had no better to give."

  "He knocked me across the farmhouse not a month later and blackened my eye. Kicked me face down in the mud because his supper was cold. How could that be anyone's best?" She struggled to sit up. "Why are you defending him?"

  "I'm not. But I want you to finally accept that he's gone. He can't answer your charges or defend himself. He can't hurt you anymore. He's dead, Rachel."

  "Yes, and I only wore black because my father made me. I hated Cletus. Hated that I'd ever been forced to live with him."

  "Then why do you still?" Morgan asked her. She sucked in a gasp, clearly surprised. "You're wed to me, but still living with Cletus. You still fear you'll be beaten. You're still afraid of letting your husband know what's in your heart. I may have manipulated you into this union initially, but you haven't given me or the marriage a fair chance."

  She turned tormented eyes to him. "It's not just Cletus. There's so much in my past that can hurt us! I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to lose another child. God, not your child! I couldn't take that. This time it would kill me."

  Not your child. I couldn't take that...it would kill me.

  Morgan closed his eyes and opened them again to make certain he wasn't dreaming. Rachel was huddled with her back against the cabin wall, crying softly. She'd just confessed what he'd been aching to hear. Selling his granary, chasing her down in London, forcing her to become his wife—it had all been worth it. She loved him.

  "Love, listen to me." He gently shook her until she met his gaze. "It's different when I kiss you and touch you, isn't it?"

  "Yes," she admitted.

  "Then the rest can be different, too. Don't you see that? Sweetheart, I'll teach you everything about loving. I'll never beat you like he did. And should God grant us a child, I'll have the doctor to the cottage. Every day, if that's what it takes to ensure you and the baby are well. I'd never leave you to face childbirth alone. I'd help you through it, I swear." He pressed his signet against hers. "On my family's name and my honor, I swear, Rachel."

  "I should have told you long ago I'd fallen in love with you," she confessed sadly. "You probably won't believe it now. But I do love you, Morgan."

  His voice was thick with emotion. "How could I disbelieve it? You couldn't be so distraught if this didn't mean the world to you. But it was important to hear you say the words."

  "I love you."

  His hand caressed her damp cheek. "I swear I only want the best for you. I love you more than life itself. You told me back in London that I could work miracles because I'm the Bargainer. Then accept that you're meant to love me and bear my child, because I will it."

  "You're bullying me again."

  His eyes burned into hers. "You're damned right, I am. Find the courage to love me back and be my wife. I know you have it in there. I've seen the strength of your inner courage. Love me, and let me love you."

  "Do you think it's possible I had to go through all the horror and misery to find you? I've wondered about that. Maybe everything had to happen exactly the way it did, even boarding that stage in Carson City—just so I'd have to go to England and meet you. There's something else I should tell you."

  He abruptly rolled and trapped her body beneath his. "You've told me more than enough tonight. Whatever it is can wait, but I can't. Let me make love to you and show you what I should have on our wedding night. No more talk."

  Her protests were lost in the overwhelming passion and tenderness he poured over her. His hands stroked her everywhere, his lips nibbled and tasted. "Let it go, Rachel. Just love me."

  He peeled the bedclothes down, knowing the heat of his blood and extra coal in the stove would keep her warm enough. "This is your first lesson about pleasure. It won't hurt. If it does, just tell me to stop. Close your eyes."

  His lips met hers, teasing them apart, and again he was thrilled by her eager response. Her tongue thrust into his mouth and mated with his. Morgan groaned. He'd never enjoyed kissing any woman the way he did Rachel. "Now where?" he asked.

  "My shoulders."

  His tongue lingered, warm and pliant on her left shoulder, then slowly traced across her throat to her right. "And now?" came his soft question.

  "Wherever I'd least expect it."

  "An excellent answer, from the wench who's going to prove to be my best pupil."

  Her eyes flew open. "You've taught other women about this?"

  "Numerous," he chuckled. That jealous gleam was back in her eyes, and he doubted she'd even noticed the thunder had abated. "None had any complaints about my schooling. Of course, none of them were hearty, stubborn Colonials and none of them were married to me at the time. I shall have to put extra effort toward my instruction tonight. After all, these lessons are meant to last a lifetime."

  He'd never let her annul the marriage, Morgan inwardly vowed. Not after what she'd told him and what he'd seen in her eyes. Not when he loved her to distraction. "Close your eyes," he reminded. "Trust me."

  His wet mouth came down on a bare ankle. She twitched and giggled, but soon the sounds became whimpers as his tongue moved to her inner thigh. His hands slid to her hipbones. He held her pelvis gently but firmly and began to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh of her lower abdomen. "I remember you especially seemed to like this." His tongue explored the well of her navel. She would have come off the mattress if he hadn't been holding her down.

  "My breasts now," she moaned. He released her pelvis and she wantonly arched her back, offering him her ripe mounds. He cupped her breasts in both hands and began to work the nipples with his thumbs. She released a fresh moan of pure unabashed enjoyment.

  "The day the sailors were here, the young one put his hands on my breasts like that."

  Morgan went still. "I told you not to think about that day, Rachel. And don't tell me any more details. They'll only make me want to drown those two rats in the hold, if this storm doesn't do it for me."

  "You don't understand. The sailor pinched my nipples, but he couldn't make them harden and ache. Yet while you were sick, you slept with your head on my chest. Just having your face so close, feeling your breath on my skin, my nipples were like pebbles. I wanted your mouth on them, even though you were ill. It's wicked and only with you. I never had wild thoughts like that before."

  "You're making it quite a challenge for your teacher to keep his excessive lust in check. Please be quiet! I'm supposed to make you hot now. Later comes your turn to tease me."

  "Ooh, I like that." She smiled up at him, that certain warm smile that always fired his blood. The smile he knew she bestowed on him and no one else. Despite her trepidation, sh
e'd married him. She loved him. And he'd explode soon if he couldn't get to loving her. Intensely and thoroughly.

  He suckled at each stiff nipple in turn. She writhed and whimpered so loudly Morgan was grateful for the fierce winds and driving rain, else the sailors would have had an earful. He had to rest a palm on her belly to still her. His fingers moved into the triangle of dark auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs and found her already slick and swollen.

  His mouth returned to hers. Their tongues met and rubbed in a slow, sensuous dance. Morgan couldn't restrain the low animal sounds coming from his own throat. He was supposed to be stimulating her, but damned if it wasn't wreaking havoc on him!

  His palm pressed firmly to her mons, he circled her woman's pleasure center with his thumb. Rachel caught her breath and clutched at his shoulders. "Oh, God! Can a woman die from this? I don't know if I can take this."

  "You won't die, Colonial. In another minute or two, you'll find out how very much alive a woman can be."

  "I can't take another minute or two!" She bucked and sobbed. With his free hand, he reached to tweak a stiff nipple. "Morgan, stop! No, don't...I...Oh!"

  Waves as powerful as those off the bow crashed over Rachel, spinning her in an eddy of swirling sensation. A deep throbbing pulsed from somewhere deep inside her. She gasped for every precious breath of air, but at last her racing pulse began to slow. She lay uncaring and limp, dimly aware that Morgan had stopped touching her.

  Maybe she'd failed the training lesson. He wasn't kissing her or saying a word. She hoped he wasn't angry. After all, she tried. She'd given herself over to him, trusted him completely and done what he'd asked. Kept her eyes closed, kissed him back, let him work his magic on her . . .

  Magic!

  Her eyes flew open. Morgan lay on his side, a broad grin on his face. She flung her arms around his neck and began wildly kissing his cheeks, his chin, his mustache, his lips. "That was it, wasn't it? The magical thing."

  "You tell me."

  She realized she felt wonderful. As he'd said, very much alive. "If I'd known how it would feel...God, I want you to make love to me a dozen times every night!"

  "I doubt even the notorious rake of Crowshaven could manage that on a regular basis," he chuckled, "But I'm willing to give it my best efforts. Now for the second part of our lesson—"

  "I know this part. My turn now." She reached to stroke his engorged shaft.

  His eyes closed and he sucked in his breath as her fingertip lightly circled the head of his shaft. She caressed and lightly massaged his length. Morgan groaned and clutched at the thin mattress with both hands as her fingers kneaded the root where it met his manly pouch. "I'll embarrass myself if you keep that up. Too stimulating watching you before."

  He sat up suddenly on the edge of the bunk, both feet planted on the floor as he reached back toward her. "Come sit on my lap. Show me what a horsewoman you are. Take me in and then show me no mercy." She eased onto his thighs, facing him, and poised herself above his loins.

  He reached for her hips as if to guide her, but she stopped him. "Oh no, you don't. Close your eyes and trust me."

  She crushed her breasts against him and kissed him with all the passion in her soul. She moved back to rub her nipples over the light furring on his chest. Upward, as she trailed her tongue under his chin. Downward, as she nipped at his earlobe. "Christ! No more teasing," he panted. "Take me inside, please. Tell me you love me again. I need you and the words."

  She slowly lowered herself on his pulsing shaft until she was fully impaled. Both of them moaned in ecstasy. He wrapped both arms around her waist and rocked his hips. Rachel wanted to give him sexual joy, but she felt her own arousal building again toward another shattering crest.

  "You feel so damned good, woman! I don't think I can last much longer. Want it better than before, but—"

  "Don't think," she panted. "Just feel it, my love, our bodies. Burn and tingle and nearly die because of me. Loving you with every inch of my body. I love you, husband."

  Rachel drove him on, rocking, grinding, pushing them both toward the place of sweet fulfillment. His shout drowned out her soft cries as he erupted violently inside her. She collapsed against his shoulder then, both of them spent and quivering.

  Finally she lifted her head. "I was very naughty just now, almost like one of Sheila's girls. I look like one, sitting atop you like this."

  Morgan frowned. "I'm bound to regret asking, but just how would you know what the whores looked like whilst plying their trade?"

  "I told you, I stayed at the brothel during the summers when I was young. I wasn't supposed to know what went on upstairs. So of course, I sneaked up and peeked through the keyholes. I definitely prefer doing to watching." The corners of her lips curved up.

  He pivoted and pinned her beneath him on the mattress. His shaft was still buried inside her. He pumped lean hips in a slow gyration. "Don't smile at me that way or you'll have me believing you like rutting with your husband."

  Her lips formed an even wider smile.

  He grinned right back. "Now that you have a better idea what I'm asking, name your pleasure, Madam Tremayne."

  "My husband, Morgan. He's the greatest pleasure of my life."

  Chapter 16

  Rachel's cries echoed in the darkness. She fought the powerful arms that held her. They closed around her as the somber marshal read the formal charge from his tattered arrest warrant. The deputy was huge, implacable. He wrestled her into an empty cell. The iron door clanked shut. " No, it's a mistake! Why won't you listen to me?"

  Someone was calling her. A voice she knew. She whipped her head from side to side. "Jonas, is that you? You have to help me, Jonas! Please get me out of this!"

  "Rachel, wake up!" Someone shook her.

  She opened her eyes and found Morgan peering at her, holding the burning stub of a candle over the bunk. "You were having a nightmare."

  "Yes, I must have—I'm sorry, I'm still a little unsettled." She rose onto her knees, unaware she was stark nude as she reached to wrap her arms around his neck.

  "You're all right," he reassured her. "Let go long enough for me to put this damned candle out before we set fire to the bed curtains." The cabin was plunged into darkness.

  Rachel took a deep breath and laid her head on his bare chest as they settled back against the pillows. She realized Morgan's heart was pounding. "I startled you out of a sound sleep, didn't I?"

  He pressed a kiss to her lips. "Everyone has a frightening dream occasionally." She was wrapped tightly in his arms, warm and safe. "Good night, Madam Tremayne."

  Rachel knew it was his signal that all was well. They'd been making love every night during the past weeks. Morgan spoke boldly while they engaged in exploration and love play, calling her wench or hussy. He growled out or 'Colonial' when their activity reached its highest intensity and he spilled his seed. But once they lay peacefully sated, drowsing toward sleep, he invariably said good night formally.

  "You'd slipped your tongue halfway down my throat," he teased her the first time, "then called me 'Mr. Tremayne' as you showed me the door. It was bloody marvelous the way you did that."

  Now his words in the darkness had become a tender ritual between them. Every night the whispered formal good night from him brought a sigh of contentment from Rachel. She snuggled close and drifted back to sleep in his arms.

  But things weren't as they should be, Morgan reflected glumly. She'd called out to her old beau, the man she'd hoped to wed before Cletus ruined her life. Called out for him to help her; she was trapped; had made a terrible mistake. After all we've become, she called another man's name and begged him to take her from me! He edged out from beneath her and left the bunk to uncork a fresh bottle.

  He gulped the brandy, greedily inviting the fire into his belly. He'd never considered that she might have left more than family in America. Maybe she'd planned to sail home to Jonas. But you showed up at the London docks and spoiled her plans.

  Hi
s hands closed into fists. It was only a dream. You have them yourself. He knew he should just forget it. But he'd heard her clearly—each and every word—for he hadn't been sleeping.

  He'd been going over his plan again in his mind, making certain he thought out every detail. Soon they'd reach American waters. He expected the ship would be boarded, and he knew something Rachel didn't—precisely what lay below in the holds. He'd calculated the risks back in London, but that was before he'd found himself with two new enemies aboard. Enemies who'd surely betray Rachel's presence to marauders intent on plunder.

  Dark thoughts still plagued him next morning. He and Rachel shared a tray of bread and tea in their cabin, but Morgan's stomach was in a knot so tight he couldn't eat. "Is your father really the man you're going home for, Rachel, or will I be cast aside when Jonas greets you at the harbor?"

  She choked on a swallow of tea. "Morgan! Jonas is just a friend. I don't even know where he is now. He and his family went to Oregon in early '52. We were neighbors there, but Jonas left when I did. He went with me—" She saw he wasn't listening. He stared out the cabin window and suddenly went rigid, cursing beneath his breath.

  "What is it?"

  "A vessel approaching. I doubt they've come for tea. Do exactly as I say, Rachel. There's no time. Leave the tray and pull your things out of your trunk."

  She nodded quickly and set to work, more frightened than she'd ever been in her life. "No hairbrush, no ribbons, nothing feminine can be left in sight," Morgan commanded, emptying his own trunk. "Thank God you're not one for perfume. Hand me those clothes." He repacked the trunks with her garments hidden beneath a few of his and a jumble of papers in the largest trunk. The rest of his things were stored in her empty trunk. He pointed to the narrow space behind the bathtub.

  "Hide under the bunk there. I'm going to cover you with the quilt."

  She scrambled onto the floor and wriggled into the tight space. It was just wide enough for her body. Morgan snatched the quilt from the bunk and stuffed it over her. "With luck, they'll accept what they see and won't insist on a full search. But they'll go right to the holds and get an earful from our two friends, and come banging at our door soon enough."