The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

  She barely breathed without his notice, seldom made a move without catching his eye. Only when he was away from her, working in the fields or gone from the house for one reason or another, did he lose track of her movements. And in those hours and minutes, he was intensely aware that she was not near at hand.

  Her words were not discernible in the stillness of the night, but the sounds were soothing. And then she was at the door, her scent reaching him through the screen, her voice speaking his name. “Shay? Are you coming to bed?”

  “You don’t want me in there right now, Jen,” he muttered beneath his breath. “I’m just past being angry. I’m afraid I’m not good company.”

  “I don’t mind,” she whispered.

  He rose, reluctant but unwilling to hurt her, and opened the door. She stepped back, a slender shadow in the dark kitchen. Her hand touched his arm and she slid it to his wrist, then to clasp his fingers, leading him across the hall to her room. The door closed behind them and she turned to lean against it, her white gown visible in the darkness. She looked like a ghost standing there, he thought, although the specters that haunted his dreams over the past years had not been nearly so appealing as Jenny.

  “Get undressed,” she told him, and he bristled, unexpectedly.

  “I’ve been listening to my brother tell me what to do for the past hour. I don’t need you to take up where he left off.”

  She left her post and walked to the bed, rounding the footboard to sit on the opposite side. “All right. Have it your way. I’m not going to argue with you, Shay.”

  And for some odd reason, he wished she would. Wished fervently that he could vent his buried anger. “You argue enough any other time.”

  She turned her head and he was struck by the beauty of her profile. “If you want to talk so badly, tell me the things I want to know.” Her chin tilted as she looked toward him. “It’s dark in here. You can’t seem to talk to me face-to-face. This way I won’t even be able to see you.”

  “I’ve talked to you,” he snarled. “Too much, if I remember right, while I was lyin’ in that bed and you were gettin’ your head filled with my crazy talk. And that’s all it was, lady. Crazy talk. Not a word of truth in it.”

  “You’re a liar, Shay Devereaux.” She rose and walked back around the bed, uncaring that the moonlight made a mockery of her nightgown, that he could see every curve and valley of her body through the soft material.

  She faced him, and he wondered at her courage, that she would face down a man twice her size. “That’s the wrong thing to call me,” he said softly.

  “Then tell me you never knew a woman named Maggie, or a man named Gerald. Tell me you don’t recognize the name of Beau or Rad Bennett.” She drew in a deep breath, and then her voice rose. “Tell me how you buried the man who cut your face. The man who killed Gerald.”

  “I didn’t tell you that,” he said harshly.

  “No? Then how did I know?”

  He was silent and she lifted her hand, forming a fist. It pounded against his chest and she repeated the query. “How did I know, Gaeton Devereaux?”

  “Damn, you’ve got a mouth on you,” he growled, his voice a rasping snarl. The woman was determined to dig deep, and he wouldn’t have it. He might have poured out a lot of claptrap while he was filled with the fever, but she had no right to throw it back in his face.

  He pulled her against himself, then bent to scoop her into his arms, lifting her from the floor. As though she weighed less than nothing, he carried her to the bed and tossed her against the sheets. Then followed her down. He was heavy on her and he knew it, only lifting enough to ensure that she could catch her breath.

  “I think you’ve lost your manners,” she taunted, pushing at his chest.

  “I’m not sure I ever had any,” he said, bowing his head to take her mouth in a punishing kiss. She whimpered against his teeth and tongue, but the fight was gone out of her, and he felt the welcome pressure of her arms creeping around his neck. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me, Jen,” he whispered. “I know better.”

  “Damn you, Shay. I hate being the one who loves, wishing for what I can’t have.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, his tongue tasting the sweet flavor of her throat, then trespassing where her buttons gave way beneath his touch. “If you want a man to love you, Jenny, I’m the best fella available.”

  “You don’t mean the same thing I do when you speak that word,” she sighed. “I want you to—”

  His mouth took her breath as she would have spoken the cry of her heart, and she moaned her surrender. Her fingers slid through his hair and she opened her legs to his silent urging, allowing him the place he demanded. One hand groped to gather her nightgown, and he drew it up over her legs. “Lift up,” he muttered, and slid the garment from beneath her. It lay gathered around her waist and he rose from the bed, his movements swift as he stripped the clothing from his body.

  She felt like a pagan sacrifice before him, her body pale in the moonlight. He stood naked beside the bed and she thought again of their wedding night, of the new and wondrous knowledge he’d brought to her in the darkness. He’d only ever been gentle with her. Even when his passion was at its peak, he’d not harmed her. Rushed her, perhaps, she thought, smiling as she remembered his fierce taking of her flesh on more than one occasion.

  “You find something to smile about?” he asked, nudging her legs farther apart as he settled between them.

  She refused to answer. Let him wonder at her mood, since she’d been pondering his for the whole evening.

  He lifted her knees and bent to fit their bodies together. She was dry and tight and he grunted a word beneath his breath, an irate sound, then found her with his fingers. Unerringly, he pressed against a sensitive spot, and she whimpered beneath her breath.

  “If I tell you no, will you stop?” she asked.

  His fingers stilled their motion and she lifted her hips, an involuntary response as she felt the hot wash of desire his touch brought to her female flesh.

  “You won’t,” he muttered.

  “If I did?” she prodded.

  “You know I’ll stop. If you don’t want me, I won’t force you. I’d like to kill the man who did.”

  “You killed another man for that reason,” she said quietly.

  “He tried.” Shay was unmoving as he gave her that small bit of knowledge.

  “Was it Maggie?”

  “Are you gonna ask me questions all night?”

  “Just one for now.” She surged against his touch and he shuddered as his hand found slick dampness.

  “Yeah, it was Maggie. But he didn’t do more than this. I dragged him off her.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “I said just one answer for now,” he told her, adjusting his body against her, silencing her with the force of his entry.

  She gasped and his big body was immobile.

  “Jenny? Tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

  “No, never,” she whispered, glorying in the power of his possession.

  He rocked with her, rode her with long, smooth strokes and took his satisfaction in moments, sounding her name with harsh, gasping groans against her throat.

  She held him close, unwilling to allow a hairbreadth between them, her hands clasping the muscled strength of his shoulders and back. “If you never say the words, I’ll still love you, Shay.” It was a confession from her heart, and although she’d said as much before, tonight was a time of reassurance, of comfort given and passion received.

  “I’ve never told a woman that,” he said, his voice muffled. “Not even when my mother rocked me in the big rocking chair and sang me to sleep.”

  His pause was long, and she waited for what might come. “My mother loved me the way you do,” he said after a moment. “Oh, not with the same kind of love, but the same way, without expecting anything in return. Unconditional love.”

  He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes hooded, his expression barely v
isible in the dim light. “I don’t deserve that from you, but you give it anyway, Jen. This isn’t easy for me, but I need to tell you what I feel.” He whispered the words softly, tenderly, gently.

  “I love you, sweetheart. I love you.” And then his mouth took hers in that same easy, undemanding kiss she had come to welcome from him. And again the words spilled from his lips, as if once said, he could not cease the message they brought to her needy heart.

  He rolled with her, until they were twined in the middle of the big bed, facing each other. His voice was ragged as he began. “I think you know most all of it already—but I’ll tell you what you want to know about Radley Bennett and Maggie, and about Beau Jackson.” He recalled the day when Maggie had been set upon by Beau’s cowhand, how he’d heard her puppy barking outside the springhouse and how he’d dragged Radley from her unconscious form.

  “I pounded him into the ground,” he said with a vicious growl, “And then I lifted him by the collar and dragged him into the woods. I was going to shoot him dead, Jen. If ever a man deserved to die, it was Radley Bennett. I don’t remember how long it took or where we ended up. I only know that when I looked down at him, his lips were blue and he’d stopped breathing. Whether he choked on the collar around his neck, or I beat the life out of him, I can’t tell you.”

  “What did the sheriff say?” she asked, unwilling to prod for details, but aching to know if a sign was up in a jail anywhere, with Shay’s name on it.

  “We didn’t tell the sheriff. Beau doesn’t even know where I buried the man. And I left before morning.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “What about Gerald?”

  “I didn’t kill Gerald, Jen. He was my friend in the prison camp in Elmira. A guard kicked him to death and was starting in on Carl when I put a stop to it.”

  “You killed the guard? How?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t need to know, sweetheart. Some of the other men helped me dig a hole in the mud and we buried him, deep as we could go.”

  “They didn’t miss him?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, they missed him, but he was the meanest man I ever knew, and I don’t think the army figured he was any great loss.”

  She was silent, filled to overflowing with sorrow for the pain he’d borne, for the scars he still bore. “Did he cut your face?”

  He nodded. “That’s all, Jen. No more.”

  “All right.” It was enough. And if he thought that the knowledge of his past, of the men he’d buried would mar her love for him, she would spend the rest of her life proving otherwise.

  “All right?” His hand cupped her chin and he tilted her head back, the better to see the expression on her face. “You can still love me, with all you know about me?”

  “I’ll always love you, Shay,” she whispered. “I love the man you are right now. And your past is a part of you.”

  And then, so easily, so softly she could scarcely believe her ears, he surrendered the final barrier he’d erected.

  “Will you go with me to see my folks?”

  Roan was gone. A scrawled note on the kitchen table and a long look from Isabelle told the tale. He’d done all he could, he wrote. The rest was up to Shay, but he’d deliberately printed his name in bold letters. Gaeton.

  “He said not to rouse you,” Isabelle told them. “He was up before dawn, and snatched a bite to eat. His horse was saddled and he was gone before I had the coffee boilin’.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Shay said. “He was determined not to fight with me.”

  “And how do you feel now?” Jenny asked, turning bacon in the pan as Isabelle went out to milk.

  “You know how I feel,” Shay said, lifting a brow as he slanted a long look in her direction.

  “Tell me, too,” Marshall asked, standing in the doorway, his nightshirt sagging from one shoulder, the cat in his arms.

  “You’re supposed to button that shirt, and don’t bring that cat in the kitchen,” Jenny said absently.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied obediently, grinning at Shay.

  “Why don’t you just take off your nightshirt and get dressed?” Shay suggested. “We’re going for a long ride after breakfast.”

  Jenny turned quickly, her eyes alight. “Today? We’re going today?”

  “I don’t see any reason to wait,” Shay said. “But we can’t go anywhere till that bacon gets done.”

  Marshall scampered from the room, the cat at his heels. Jenny watched him go, then turned back to the stove, lifting the bacon from the pan with careful deliberation. “Do you think your mother will welcome you?” she asked.

  Shay shrugged his shoulders. “Roan seems to think so, and that’s about all I’ve got to go on right now.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re worried about this, I can go alone, Jen.”

  “Oh, no!” Her mouth twisted as if she fought tears, and the bacon was dumped on the tabletop with little ceremony. “I’m going with you, Shay. No matter what, we’ll face this together. If your father is as ill as Roan seemed to think, you need to be there. You’ll never get over it if you don’t make things right with him.”

  He reached for her, drawing her to sit on his lap. One hand brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, the other held her firmly in place. “Is that how you feel?” he asked. “Have you made things right with your father?”

  She frowned, her lips compressed tightly for a moment. “I don’t think I felt the same way you do. I tried to keep in touch, but he turned me away.”

  “And you didn’t feel any guilt?”

  “I could have visited him, I suppose. I think my pride was hurt, Shay, that he didn’t answer my letters, that he didn’t care about my being alone here.”

  “He’s an old man, Jen. An old, feeble man who’s given up on life.”

  “Whose side are you on?” she asked sharply. “I thought you understood.”

  “I do.” He kissed her lightly and she withdrew from his touch. “Don’t be mad at me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I think we need to give it another shot, see if he’ll come here with us.”

  “And if he won’t?” Her lips trembled now, and he ached for the stubborn pride she wore like a coat of armor.

  “Then we go there whenever we can, and make sure that Marshall gets to know his grandfather.”

  “Why can’t you be so forgiving of your folks as you are of my father?” she asked quietly.

  He mulled her words over for a moment and grinned at her petulant look. “I’m not the one he hurt,” he told her gently. “I can ache for you, but still see him as a tired, old man who doesn’t know how much life still has to offer. Our job is to give him Marshall, let him get a taste of being a grandfather and then wait for him to come to us.”

  “And what will our job be when we go to River Bend?” she asked soberly. “Have you got that all figured out, too?”

  He shook his head. “Not quite. Making peace is my first aim. Letting my folks know I regret walking away from them four years ago comes next, I guess.”

  “You won’t want to go there, will you?” she asked. “I mean, not to stay?”

  He shook his head. “Roan’s there, running things. They don’t need me. And you do. I’ve got all I can handle right here, Jen. This is my home, if you’ll have me.”

  Her head nestled against his shoulder and her body relaxed against him. “I told you a long time ago I’d let you go if you wanted to walk away, but I think I’ve changed my mind. I could live through it if you left me, but I’d never have any joy in my life without you.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I love you.”

  “Mama, are we gonna eat pretty soon?” Marshall stood at the doorway, a pout drawing his lips down at the corners. “We can’t go for our ride till we eat, and you’re not sitting in your chair.” He walked to the table, eyeing the bacon, then reached to pick up a piece. “How come you threw the bacon on the table?”

  Jenny slid from Shay’s lap and rapped Marshall smartly on the head with her knuckles. “You haven’t
washed your hands. Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

  Shay shrugged at the boy, sharing a quick grin. “Better listen to your mother, son. She’s runnin’ the show this morning.”

  It was near noon before they headed down the avenue of oak trees, the mare pulling the buggy, their lone piece of baggage strapped on the back. A basket of food tucked beneath the buggy seat promised supper, and Shay estimated they would be near a hotel by late evening, in the small town not far from River Bend.

  Lush grass formed a carpet beneath them as they stopped by the side of the road to eat, and the mare dipped her head gratefully as Shay removed the bit, allowing her to graze. A quilt thrown on the ground provided a table, and Jenny dug into the basket for the meal Isabelle had prepared.

  Slabs of ham, a bowl of pickled beets and onions and thick slices of bread provided nourishment, and Marshall crowed with delight as he found tarts made of fresh pumpkins from the garden. “I didn’t know Isabelle baked these,” he said, biting into the flaky pastry.

  “Save one for me,” Shay told him sternly, and the boy turned twinkling eyes to his mother.

  “Isabelle always bakes stuff for me, doesn’t she, Mama? I’ll bet these are my treat.” The remaining bits of the tart clung to his lips as he cast a triumphant look at Shay, and then he laughed wholeheartedly as he was rolled across the quilt beneath Shay’s marauding hands.

  “I’ll teach you to eat my dessert,” Shay growled, his mock ferocity causing Marshall to giggle and squirm beneath long fingers that sought ticklish spots.

  “You make him throw up his supper, and you get to clean it up,” Jenny said firmly. “You’re acting like a pair of scamps.”

  Shay drew Marshall to his lap and whispered loudly in his ear. “She means it, boy. We’d better watch out, or she’ll be after us.” And then his whisper turned to a soft declaration of intent. “Us men have to stick together, don’t we?”

  “Yessir,” Marshall said quickly, with a triumphant look at his mother. “We sure do.”