by Brenda Joyce
“You’re right,” Rathe said, standing. He patted her shoulder. “A hot bath and a warm bed.” He thought of Grace.
“I think I can take care of that,” the woman said archly.
Rathe looked at her. “I’ve got a very expensive lady waiting.” He felt another surge of fury.
“Oh, yeah,” she spat. “That prissy redhead, I bet. You get tired of those boobs an’ that hair, let me know.” With that, she stalked off.
The anger boiled again. It seemed to be his perpetual state. He didn’t like anyone casting slurs at Grace.
George had the good sense to wipe the smile from his face the moment Rathe turned a cold gaze on him. “Hey, go easy on her, okay?” he offered.
Rathe’s icy blue eyes stung him. “If I want your advice,” he ground out, “I’ll ask for it.”
George backed away.
Rathe strode out into the bright afternoon, blinking a few times in the sunlight. Then he strode across the street and up the hill and into the Silver Lady. Even though he moved with the coiled, tightly restrained energy of a mountain cat about to spring, his heart was hammering way too loudly. He imagined her expression when he paid her cold, hard cash.
She wasn’t in their room.
He knew it the instant he stepped through the door. He kicked it shut, glancing around. Just where the hell was she? It took him a moment to realize that there was no sign of her in the room at all. He reminded himself that she hadn’t brought anything with her the night she had appeared hysterically at his door. A lump of fear tried to worm its way into his anger. He insisted on ignoring it, on flinging aside the covers of the made-up bed, as if some sign of her might be underneath.
Furious, he kicked a chair over, displaced pillows, flung open the wardrobe and the drawers of the bureau. All his things were intact and as he’d last left them. Grace might have never been in this room.
They had a deal. There was no way he was going to allow her to run out after one night.
No way. Especially after it had been such an expensive night.
She wasn’t at Harriet Gold’s either.
“I don’t know where she is,” Harriet said, catching him as he was about to bound up the stairs. “And I want a word with you.”
“Later,” Rathe began. “Have you seen her at all since yesterday?”
“Oh no, Rathe Bragg. You’re not diverting me. I’m too old for your tricks. Your mommy and daddy aren’t here, but I am, and you need a good talking-to.”
Resigned, Rathe let her lead him into the kitchen, where she shut the doors. She turned on him. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
Rathe, no fool, knew exactly what she was referring to, and he blushed like a guilty schoolboy.
“That’s right, feel guilty. You’ve taken a good girl and ruined her, dragged her right through the mud. If your daddy knew of this, you know what he’d do?”
“I know,” Rathe said grimly. “He’d thrash my hide.”
“An’ make you marry her,” Harriet stated, watching him.
Rathe laughed in disgust. “Hah! Even Derek couldn’t make that happen!”
“You underestimate your own pa.”
Rathe gave her a look. “Grace isn’t interested in marriage, Harriet, and no man, and no amount of talking, cajoling, or threatening is going to change that!”
“She turn you down?”
He felt more color rising. “She made herself very clear. She told me in no uncertain terms that she would not marry me. Not,” he added quickly, “that I’d marry her either! She had her chance. I’ve changed my mind—I like things just fine the way they are.”
Harriet glared. “Grace is too good a girl to be set up with you in that hotel and you know it. The damage is done, but it’s not too late. You know what to do.”
Harriet was right, and that knowledge made Rathe frustrated and furious. But he would not ask her to marry him again. “Harriet, when was the last time you saw Grace?”
Harriet pursed her lips. “You won’t like it.”
He was overcome by a wave of dread. He already knew what Harriet was about to say. “She was here—with Allen.”
Harriet nodded. “Just after breakfast.”
Rathe gripped the mantel as hard as he could.
“You tear that off the wall and you’ll be putting it back up,” Harriet warned.
He spun around. “How long was she here?”
“I don’t know, I only saw her when she was leaving. I didn’t even know she was here at all. It was a complete surprise when I saw her coming out of Allen’s room.” Harriet smiled serenely.
Rathe’s eyes widened. “They had the door closed? Just the two of ’em?”
“You’ve got a filthy mind,” Harriet said. “Just ’cause you treat her with no respect doesn’t mean a good man like Allen Kennedy is the same. Besides, everyone knows he’s got marriage on his mind.”
Rathe curse, then turned on his heel and left. What had they been talking about? And where the hell was she now? He recalled the time he had seen them share that passionate kiss in the buggy in Louisa Barclay’s driveway. The image loomed before him now, infuriating him. He had made it very clear that she was his exclusively for the next year. Yet she was already off traipsing around with another man.
He returned to the hotel. As he bounded up the stairs he couldn’t help wondering if she’d returned. But his room was as empty as before. He ignored the disappointment, refusing to even recognize it, and drank his second bourbon in twenty hours. It went down like silk.
He could scour the town, looking like a fool, or he could wait.
He decided to wait.
Precisely three minutes later she walked through the door.
They stared at each other for a long, hard minute.
“Where have you been?” Rathe demanded, too aware of his heart’s rapid hammering and the blood starting to course through his veins. “I don’t want you to wear your hair like that.”
She drew herself up as tall as possible. “Your dictating my hairstyle to me wasn’t in our bargain. And I might ask the same question—where have you been?”
His eyes glinted. He wished she didn’t look so damn gorgeous even with pursed lips and that awful bun. Even the damn gray gown couldn’t diminish her beauty. If anything, the soft color made her skin look as pale as magnolias and magnificently translucent. “This isn’t a two-way street, sweetheart,” he drawled. “My whereabouts aren’t your concern, but yours are most definitely mine.”
She huffed.
He was glad he had made her mad. He wanted to make her as mad as he was—no, madder. He shoved his hands in his pockets and brought out fistfuls of cash. He flung them at her feet. She jumped back, gasping, as he proceeded to empty his pockets. Soon five thousand dollars’ worth of greenbacks and gold lay strewn around her.
She stared at him, crimson. He felt very, very satisfied. “You can count it if you want.”
Her color mounted, her chin went up, her eyes took on a somewhat shiny look. “No thank you, it looks sufficient.”
“Sufficient? Greedy, aren’t we?”
She opened her mouth, to argue he knew, and he waited with relish. Then she shut it abruptly.
“Where the hell were you, Grace?”
Her eyes glistened. “I was at the school. And frankly, sweetheart, I really couldn’t care who you spent last night with!” Her voice rose sharply.
His eyes narrowed. She was jealous, and for an instance that fleeting thought brought sweet triumph. “What were you doing at the school?” His tone had lowered, become dangerous.
“What do you think?” she snapped. “Sweeping the floors?” Her head lifted. “I’ve organized an informal class and—”
“You what?”
She stopped. “I’ve organized—”
“You’re not teaching, Grace.”
She stared. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious all right.” He pushed himself off the wall. “Take off your cloth
es.”
She blinked.
“Your time belongs to me,” he warned. “Take off your clothes, Grace.”
She was pale. “You can’t mean it.”
“Oh, I most certainly do.” He waited. “Now.”
Still, she hesitated, her gaze wide and tremulous. Rathe suddenly hated himself. They both knew he was wielding his power over her purposefully. Her hands trembled as she touched the first button on her bodice, fingering it, her lips white. Rathe moved. He caught her hand in his, stopping it. She raised glazed eyes to his. “I can’t.”
“I know you can’t,” he cried. “I’m sorry, Grace…” He clenched her hand so tightly she made a sound of protest.
That little whimper was his undoing. He wrapped her in his arms. She was very still and frozen, like a little, trapped bird, and he could feel her heart winging frantically against his. His hold tightened. “I never want to hurt you,” he gasped into her neck. “I only want to protect you.”
Her stiff shoulders began to relax beneath his embrace.
“I only want to love you,” he cried, rocking her. His mouth formed the words against her ivory cheek. “Let me love you, Grace. Let me.”
He cupped her face. There were big glistening tears in her eyes, and they spilled over. He caught one with his mouth, kissing it away. He looked into her eyes, captured her gaze, unwilling to let it go. Her mouth was open, moist and trembling. He covered it with his. When her hands shyly touched his back, he felt a surge of elation and something else—emotion so vast he could not contain it.
“Grace,” he choked, against her mouth. “I love you. Ah, I love you—let me love you.”
In his hands she shuddered.
Kissing her wildly, holding her fiercely, he walked her backward, urging her to the bed. She fell back in his embrace, clinging, opening, gasping beneath his onslaught. His hands shook violently as he freed her hair. He lifted her skirts, stroking her legs through her cotton pantalets, his mouth on hers, soft then hard, hard then soft.
“Touch me, Grace,” he cried, pushing her hands from his shoulder to his back. Pausing on his side, facing her, breathless, he watched her face as he moved her hand over his shirtfront. She gasped when he moved it into the opening of his shirt. He groaned.
She met his eyes, startled, lips open and wet.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, pressing her hand against his ribs. Then abruptly, he tore open his shirt, the buttons flying about them, baring his torso for her touch.
Her hand was small and white on his bronzed skin, hovering uncertainly just below his chest. Rathe threw his head back, closed his eyes, panting. “Please, Grace.”
She didn’t know what to do. Yet the feel of this man’s powerful body beneath her soft palm was overwhelming and exciting. Daringly, she looked at him, not moving. His ribs were stretched taut beneath his skin, barely visible. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, covered with thick, dark hair. His nipples were small and flat. She had the urge to touch one. Quickly, she looked away.
Her gaze met the full, straining bulge of his doeskin breeches. Her mouth was very, very dry.
“Grace.”
Her gaze shot to his and she reddened to have been caught staring.
“It’s all right,” he breathed. “I love looking at you, too.”
Her mind was spinning out of control with forces and emotions that were too strong for her to resist. She moved her hand up, across the slab of one chest muscle. His hair caught in her fingers. His entire body tensed beneath her hand. He groaned, took her hand, and moved it up over his small, tight nipple.
Her hand tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Her body was throbbing shamefully, agonizingly, deliciously. Then he lifted his head to touch his tongue to her own nipple, mindless of the clothing covering it. Grace gasped when he tugged it into his mouth.
He pulled her down beneath him.
They kissed, open and wet, teeth grating and tongues touching. Her bodice opened effortlessly beneath his skilled fingertips, her breasts spilling into his hands. She was aware of him pulling down her drawers, and aware that she lifted her hips to help him. He thrust her skirts around her waist, stripped off his breeches. With a hoarse cry of joy he surged inside of her. Her hands found his broad back and held him closely. A part of her mind realized that her nails were digging into his flesh, that she must be hurting him, but she couldn’t seem to stop. He was moving within her, slowly, beautifully, with precise restraint. Then harder, faster, answering the unconscious urging of her body. A long, drawn sound came from her, a cry of peaking pleasure. “Yes,” Rathe gasped, “yes, darling, yes.”
He lay and held Grace in his arms and knew, in a sudden revelation, like the striking of lightning, that life as he had known it was over forever. He knew, with utter clarity, that nothing would ever be the same again, that Grace had truly entered his life. It was chilling and frightening and glorious all at once.
Grace shifted in his arms. “Don’t move away,” he said, stroking his hand down her arm, gazing at her intently.
Her eyes were wide and soft. Rathe knew an intense determination, then, to put the past behind them. It wouldn’t be easy; he only had to lift his head to see five thousand dollars strewn about the floor, evidence of the exact nature of their relationship, evidence of exactly what she wanted from him. “There’s five thousand dollars on the floor,” he said quietly, propping himself up.
She stiffened, nostrils flaring.
What would she say if I asked her to marry me again? He went red at that unwanted thought. She had rejected him once, firmly, and she would reject him again. “I’ll open an account for you in the morning,” he said, just as quietly. “From now on we won’t ever discuss money again. Periodically I’ll put money in your account.”
She stared, eyes wide.
He felt grim and sad and very needy, too. He slid his hand down her arm. “But I want to remind you of our agreement,” he said.
Grace found her voice, although she was still in a state of shock over the five thousand dollars. “What?”
“You agreed to a full year.”
She sat up, pulling the covers over her bosom. “Yes, I did.”
“I want that to be clear.” His gaze was so solemn. “A year from now we discuss our liaison. Not before, not unless I change my mind and decide to let you go sooner.”
Change his mind…let her go sooner? Her heart seemed to ache. The words hurt terribly. What was happening to her? If only he would change his mind, the sooner the better! She nodded, forcing the tears to stay checked.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
He studied her, not understanding her, wishing he did. But she was an enigma. Had he just done or said something to upset her, or were these tears of regret? He took a deep breath. “That is the last time we discuss money,” he reiterated firmly. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself by repeating what he had said—that she could not run out on him. But there was an aching deep inside, an aching from fear: he’d paid her well enough to know that if she weren’t fair-minded, she’d be gone tomorrow. He slid off the bed and began gathering up the bills.
Grace watched, clutching the sheets to her chest. How long, she wondered, did she have before he’d tire of her? Oh, she was ten times a fool! If she was smart she would just take the money and return to New York. She owed him nothing.
It was time to face an awful possibility.
She wasn’t sure, if she had a choice, she would want to leave this man.
Her eyes widened. Her face froze. This could not be happening.
He finished, placing the money on the table, while Grace hastily checked her eyes for any traces of dampness. Her heart was thundering inside her. He turned and looked at her, slowly, thoughtfully, and Grace’s entire being tightened. He was so beautiful, so powerful, and she knew now that she had always thought so.
“What is it?” he asked, sitting beside her and putting his arm around her.
<
br /> She didn’t like his sudden perceptiveness. She forced a smile. “Just tired.”
His smile was nothing like hers—it was devastating. “We could always spend the afternoon napping.”
She did not respond to his teasing. She couldn’t. She could only think of one thing. She could not be falling in love with Rathe Bragg—absolutely not!
Chapter 21
“What are you thinking about so seriously?” he asked, smiling.
“Nothing,” she managed. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d been entertaining the notion of being in love with him.
He was not, she reminded herself, the kind of man a woman like herself should ever entertain serious thoughts about.
Grace, he asked you to marry him, a voice inside her reminded.
Her resolution stiffened.
He’s never asked another woman to marry him, not ever. You were the first, it continued. The first and only one!
Her fists tightened.
“What is it?” he asked, coming to her and kneeling, taking her hands in his.
Her heart began its insane beating. He was so close, even more beautiful at this distance. His gaze held hers. Then he lifted her to her feet and hugged her. She gasped at what rose between them—and felt triumph. See, he’s only a rutting bull; he only wants to bed you!
“I’m sorry.” He laughed shakily. “But we’ve only been together twice and it’s just not enough.” He caught her face in his large, rough hands. “I want to make love to you all day and all night and maybe then I can behave normally.”
She blushed.
“But I’m afraid to hurt you,” he said.
She stared. She crossed her arms, tightly. He was a cad—why wasn’t he behaving like one now?
He smiled. “I wish you’d let me in there, Grace,” he murmured, gently tapping her forehead.
She pretended not to know what he was referring to. She went to the mirror and began to brush her hair with long, brisk strokes. She could feel him watching, and when she looked at his reflection, their glances met. Her heart tightened again.
“We need to get you some clothes, Grace. I think Mrs. Garrot will make time for us.”