He cocked a dark brow. "I'm listening."
"Yes... well..." Sarah relayed what Mandi told her, and when she'd finished, Jon said, "Like I told you before, I want you to stay away from the waterfront."
"That's all well and good for you to say,” Sarah replied, “but since my place of business happens to be a pie wagon, because no one will lease a store to me, and my customers are women on the waterfront, I have no choice.”
"Bloody hell, you win! I'll use my influence to get you your building." Jon shrugged out of his coat and draped it over a chair. "But right now, I intend to use my influence to get what I want." He scooped her up in his arms and she didn’t protest as he carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. Stretching alongside her, he kissed the side of her neck. She tipped her head back, releasing an impassioned moan as he blazed a burning trail of kisses to the hollow of her throat. “I promised you lessons in lovemaking,” he said, “and you are now ready for lesson one.”
Sarah looked at him sharply. “Just because you have me in bed doesn't mean you can do with me what you please. I have no intention of--”
“Relax love. Lesson one is about toes.” Jon reached for her ankle, slid her bloomers up her calf and began noisily sucking first one toe, then the next, while Sarah giggled at the ridiculousness of it. But when his lips moved up her ankle and over her calf in a meandering path of kisses, her breath quickened and shivers raced through her. He moved alongside her again, and his tongue began doing wondrous things until she feared she'd burst with delight. Tracing the swirl inside her ear, he whispered, "Now, my precious little peagoose, we will have lesson two."
“Thank you, Jon, but I feel quite learned already."
"No, my sweet, you are only an infant when it comes to lovemaking." He started to unbutton her tunic.
"No," she said, catching his hands. "You simply must not... umm..." He blew in her ear, sending chills coursing through. She had no idea when she’d removed her hands from his and wrapped them around his neck, but she had. He started unlacing her chemise. "Jon... no... Please don’t rush me like this.”
He gave a long sigh. “Very well then. Since I am your slave, I have no choice but to obey.” He re-tied the laces of her chemise, kissed her affectionately and strolled into the parlor.
Taking a cigarette from his coat pocket, he returned to the bedroom, sat on the bed, lit the cigarette and exhaled a plume of blue-grey smoke. Leaning against the headboard, he curved his arm around her, pulling her snugly to him, and said, "We still have some things to resolve, so let’s get them out of the way."
Sarah cuddled against him, feeling the heavy thud of his heart. She could not remember what those things were that he wanted to get out of the way. Her world of bloomers and shirtwaisters and rights for women had changed dramatically, and her goals seemed to have shifted. She'd never imagined she could feel this way about a man, or that he could be so important to her. Yet, Jon had taken a central place in her life, and now she wanted him to always be a part of it. She looked up at him, and said, "I can't remember what we had to resolve. The way I see it, you’ll use your influence to get me a building, and in return I’ll—" she stopped short and looked at him. "Exactly what will I be required to do if you get me a building?"
Jon tipped his head back and exhaled a long, slow stream of smoke. "It takes very little to please me, love. I believe you have a pretty good idea what that is. It’s very basic."
She gave him a devilish smile. "Oh, that."
"Umm... that." He curved his finger beneath her chin, turning her to meet his gaze, and said in a quiet, low voice, "The fact is, my love, I want you in my arms when I go to sleep at night, and I want you there when I wake up in the morning. I want to provide for you, and you can still sell your silly bloomers. But I want to know that you're mine and mine alone." He looked at her lovingly and lingeringly, and added, "Sweetheart, I'm asking you to be my mistress."
Sarah froze. "Your mistress?"
"Yes, love. My mistress. I want you desperately. I'll give you whatever you want. Closets full of bloomers, a fine coach with four horses, or a carriage if you'd prefer. And a house... this house if you want. I'll buy it for. And, of course, if any child comes from our allaince, I’d provide for it."
Sarah felt a knot twist in her stomach. "Of course."
"I just want to know that you will be a part of my life."
For a few moments she said nothing, trying to digest the impact that the word mistress coming from his lips, had on her. Being a man’s mistress seemed so impermanent, so non-committal. But wasn’t that what she wanted? Independence without interference. Love without commitment. But to be Jon’s mistress... "I don't know, Jon. It's a big decision."
"I know, love." He ground out his cigarette and said, "It's not as if you have to decide tonight." He kissed her neck and nibbled his way to her throat. "Take your time, my sweet lovely Sarah. And tomorrow, when you say yes, I'll see to buying this house."
Sarah wanted him. She wanted his love. And she wanted to give him her love in return. But she was afraid. Love was so elusive, so intangible. She didn't understand it. She had nothing by which to judge it. The most important men in her life never loved her. But she wanted love desperately. But it had to be a love that was secure, enduring, unshakable.
And that was not the love of a man for his mistress.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sarah completed her orders for the bloomer costumes and delivered them to her customers, and while she was there, she acquired several more orders. As she walked back to her wagon, she should have been jubilant, but she wasn't. Her success was tempered by Jon's proposal that she become his mistress. He'd assured her that if a child came of the union he'd care for it, and she had no doubt that he would. He'd also assured her that she could continue with her business. But faced with the offer, she couldn't bring herself to say yes. She wanted Jon in her life, but not as his mistress. True, she'd clearly stated her opposition to marriage, and she'd given him no reason to believe she'd changed her view on the matter. He’d also made clear his thoughts on marriage. In truth, she sensed his bitterness toward his dead wife went deeper than he'd let on. The fact that he refused to talk about her indicated that he'd been hurt too badly to allow that wound to open again. And she would not press him to do so.
But to be just a mistress... so fleeting... so impermanent….
He'd be coming tonight for her answer, but she couldn't give it to him. Not yet.
She quickened her pace as she headed toward her wagon, anxious to leave the waterfront. She couldn't dismiss the warnings about women being shanghaied to the goldfields. But when she lifted her foot to the step to climb onto the wagon, she heard crying coming from inside. Swinging up, she stared in shocked surprise at Louella, crouched in the corner, sobbing as if her heart would break. She noted at once the scrape on Louella's cheek, the torn bodice of her dress, the undisguised terror in her eyes. Kneeling in front of her, she combed her fingers through Louella's flaxen hair so she could see the scrape more clearly, and said, "What happened?"
Louella raised tear-drenched eyes to Sarah. "It was horrible," she sobbed. "I was at Millie O'Shaunessey's house and Mr. O'Shaunessey came in drunk in his nightshirt and sent Millie off somewhere and... and he told me he was going to make a woman of me... like he did Millie."
Sarah pulled Louella into her arms and held her. When Louella's sobs began to subside, Sarah said in an unsteady voice. "Did he... hurt you?"
Louella's delicate brows lowered over sorrowful eyes. "He put his hand on me... here..." She pressed against her small breast while clasping the torn dress to herself. "Then he raised his nightshirt and... it was horrible."
Sarah looked at her, alarmed. "Did he do anything like... well, touch you again, in places you didn't want to be touched?" she asked, terrified at what Louella might divulge.
Louella began to weep harder. "He tore my dress and then he tried to kiss me. That's when Millie's mother came in, and she had a gun. S
he told me to run, and I did."
Sarah rocked Louella in her arms. "Oh, my poor child. But you're safe now."
"Am I a soiled woman?"
"Of course not," Sarah said. "You're the same lovely young woman you always were. If you’d wanted him to do those things then that would be different. No, you're definitely not a soiled woman." She felt Louella's tension ebbing, but soon the sobbing started again.
"I disobeyed Papa," Louella said. "I went to Millie's house when I wasn't supposed to."
Sarah handed Louella a handkerchief and waited while she mopped her eyes. "Did your father tell you why he didn't want you to go to Millie's house?"
"No," Louella said, seeming to have gained some control. "Only that I was not to go. Some people said Mr. O'Shaunessey was a drunkard, but I didn't believe them because Millie said he wasn't. I can't tell Papa what happened. And I can't go home looking like this because he'll ask me what happened. And I don't want to lie to him. I just want to die."
"Oh, good heavens," Sarah said, wiping away a vagrant tear that found its way down Louella's cheek. "If you'd like, I'll explain to your father what happened—"
"No!" Louella exclaimed. "I'd simply die of shame if Papa ever found out what Mr. O'Shaunessey did."
"You needn't die of shame," Sarah said. "But if it bothers you so, I'll omit the part about Mr. O'Shaunessey lifting his nightshirt and tell your father that you went to Millie's and that Mr. O'Shaunessey was drunk so you ran home, and of course, that you promised me you would never disobey your father again."
"I won't ever disobey him again, not ever. And I do promise." She crossed her heart in a promise. "Are you certain I'm not a soiled woman?"
Sarah eyed her dubiously. "Well, your dress is a bit soiled, and your face and hands could certainly use a good scrubbing, but the rest of you doesn't look too bad. Meanwhile, we'd better take you to my cottage and sew up that dress. I can stitch it quickly with my sewing machine. You can also wash up there, and I'll help you with your hair. Then we'll go to your house and I'll explain to your father what happened... that is, almost what happened."
To Sarah's surprise, Louella smiled, and the tension of moments before seemed to have drained from her face. "For now," she said to Louella, "stay inside the wagon where no one will see you, and after we get you cleaned up, everything will be fine."
At the cottage, while Louella washed in a tub of warm water that Sarah prepared for her, Sarah stitched her dress and pressed it lightly with a hot iron from the stove. After she’d brushed and arranged Louella's hair, Louella peered into the mirror.
Sarah smiled. "I believe we did a rather commendable job, don't you think?"
Catching Sarah's eyes in the mirror, Louella nodded and smiled back, and at that moment, Sarah realized that although the bond between them was fragile, it was, nevertheless, there.
As they rode toward Jon's house, Sarah found herself commenting spontaneously, "I want you to know that I never had any intention of trying to replace your mother. There is no one in the world who could do that. I just want us to be friends like we were on the ship." She gave Louella a sidelong glance. "And you don't have to wear a bloomer costume or be anything you don't want to be. In fact, I like you just the way you are. So can we be friends?"
Louella nodded. "I guess so. Yes... yes, I’d like that."
At the house, Ida informed them that Lady Cromwell and Miss Cromwell were away, that Josephine was in her room, and that the governor was in the stables. Sarah gave Louella a knowing smile, and Louella scurried off to her room.
Sarah headed toward the stables, uncertain exactly what to tell Jon. She could not betray Louella's confidence, but Jon needed to know enough to protect Louella from her own rash actions and make sure she never went to the waterfront alone again. She could have been raped by the man, or abducted to the goldfields to be used by the prospectors. Lovely, sweet Louella. Poor innocent child. The thought was too horrible to contemplate. For the moment, she'd tell Jon what was necessary to protect Louella, while also saving Louella's pride.
Inside the stables, Sarah was surprised to find Jon alone and in the process of washing a horse. Shirtless and wearing worn breeches and scuffed boots, he looked more like a stable hand than a governor. His broad chest glistened with moisture and his tight wet breeches hugged his lean hips and molded to his...
She bit her lip. This was definitely not the time to be reflecting on the effects his half-naked body had on her. She looked up and found him smiling. He cocked a rueful brow. "We can adjoin directly to the hayloft if you'd like."
"That sounds like an outright proposition, Governor." Sarah reached up and pushed an untidy thatch of dark hair from his forehead. “And you know my stance on propositions.”
"Let me phrase it another way then." Jon curved his arms around her, bent her low and kissed her soundly. "Step up to the hayloft, my sweet, and I will show you something that will take your breath away... I trust."
Sarah laughed as he nibbled her neck.
"And after we exchange a—" Jon smiled wickedly "—tit for a tat, so to speak, we’ll get down to some more serious business."
Sarah pulled his arms from around her but continued to hold his hands. "Right now, we need to discuss Louella."
"Louella?" Jon sobered at once. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"
"No, not exactly," Sarah said, trying to present a calm facade. "But she is disturbed about disobeying you."
Jon raised a questioning brow. "What did she do?"
"She went to the O'Shaunessey girl's house."
"What! By God, I'll give her a good rattling she won't forget." Jon turned and started out of the stable.
"Wait!" Sarah grabbed his arm. "Please stay calm. She's very disturbed about it, and I assured her I'd talk to you first."
Jon's doubled fist met his palm. "If that drunken bastard so much as laid a finger on her I'll kill him!"
"Louella’s fine," Sarah said. "She's more upset about disobeying you than anything else, so please don't ask her a lot of questions and make things worse."
"Make things worse?" Jon said in a firm voice. "Do you propose I make things easy for her when she clearly disobeyed me?"
"No, of course not," Sarah said. "I only hope you'll approach the situation with some understanding. Try and look at it from the viewpoint of a blossoming young woman."
"Forgive me, but I'm a bit foggy as to how you more mature females think, so you'll understand why I might be even foggier as to how a blossoming young woman might think." He flailed a hand in the air. "Nothing the lot of you do makes any damn sense!"
"Then if you'll just stop bellowing and let me explain, I'll attempt to help you understand."
"Fine, you do that," Jon retorted. He folded his arms. "You can start by explaining how Louella happened to confide in you in the first place. The last I knew she didn't want anything to do with you!"
Sarah glared at Jon. "You're treating me as if I had something to do with Louella's recalcitrant behavior. I assure you, I did not. She'd been at the O'Shaunessey girl's house, and when Mr. O'Shaunessey came home drunk she ran off, spotted my wagon, and climbed inside. So I brought her home. She's filled with remorse over the whole thing and I'm certain she won't disobey you again. Actually, it was probably a blessing in disguise. Now she understands why you didn't want her to go to the O'Shaunessey girl's house in the first place."
"She understands nothing," Jon said. "She's as trustful as a babe. She has no concept of what could have happened to her."
"Don't underestimate her," Sarah said. "She's a very intelligent and sensitive young woman, which is why I urge you to be gentle with her."
"I'll keep that in mind," Jon said. "But I will do what I have to do. I dislike chastising the girls, but when they disobey me I have no choice. It is my duty as a father. I also know that for Louella's own safety I must explain my real reason for forbidding her to visit the O'Shaunessey girl's house, which means bringing up the matter of men lusting after women—a h
ellishly touchy subject to explain to a fourteen-year-old girl. The time I ventured on such a course with Josephine, I skirted everything but the facts I planned to address, and when I finished, Josephine informed me that she knew all about fornication. Now, with Josephine confined to her room, and Louella soon to be confined to hers, I'm beginning to feel like a prison warden."
Sarah chuckled. "Looking on the bright side, as long as your girls are confined to their rooms you'll at least have some peace of mind."
"Umm." Jon curved his arms around Sarah's waist and said, "Why is it that in matters regarding my daughters, I always find myself in the position of having to admit you're right?"
"That's because you are a man with the leviathan task of raising two charming, impetuous, and occasionally devious daughters, and I suspect you often find yourself at your wit's end over having the sole responsibility of doing so. If the girls had a mother, you could simply tend to matters of state while their mother tended to the ticklish areas of child rearing."
"But mothers come in tidy little packages called wives," Jon said. "But I do want you in my life." He drew her into his arms. "So will you grace me with your beautiful presence at the ball in honor of Admiral Windemere, which will be held at the naval base, two weeks from Saturday? I'm asking in plenty of time so you won't accept another invitation. Of course, if you did, I'd simply break the poor fool's neck and insist on taking you anyway."
Sarah toyed with the hair at his nape. "Who will be there?"
"Does it matter as long as I promise you dancing beneath twinkling stars and among silvery moonbeams?"
"Umm, I'd like that," Sarah said, considering what it would be like to spend an evening being swept around the dance floor in Jon's arms, she in a gossamer gown, he in a... She raised curious eyes to his. "What will you be wearing? Dancing boots and stable attire?"
"Sorry to disappoint you, love," Jon said, "but I'll be dressed to the nines and looking like a bloody peacock."
Sarah contemplated his diabolic smile and tried to visualize him in formal dress. "A peacock, my darling? Definitely not. Satan in disguise? Perhaps."
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