Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

  With a teasing growl, Taggart nimbly unbuttoned her blouse, slipped it from her arms, and tossed it aside, leaving her in her ribboned camisole. He pulled her to him again, then slid his big hand up her ribs to cup her breast while his lips moved over hers. Tenderly he massaged her flesh, and through the lacy material she felt the warmth of his fingertips at her nipple. With a contented sigh, she decided that dispensing with her corset this evening had been a good decision indeed. When he'd teased both nipples until they were pebbly hard, he eased back, holding her at ann's length. "Is that what you had in mind?" he murmured in a husky voice that was like a caress.

  She surveyed his rugged features and, spurred by a hungry need, started unbuttoning his shirt. "Umm, I guess so, but I think we can make a few improvements." She ran her fingertips through the hair matting his chest, reveling in its crisp texture, the warmth of his skin, and, under her spread palm, the rapid thud of his heart. When she pushed the shirt from his muscled shoulders, he momentarily released her to shrug off the garment; then, before she knew what was happening, he tore her delicate camisole downward, splitting the front of it. "I think I'm getting the idea," he replied, a wry glint in his eyes as he removed the tom garment and hurled it across the room.

  Pulling her close once more, he began rolling the nipple between his fingertips. Gently he tugged and flicked over the sensitive crest, bringing her to a frenzy of desire. The pleasure was so intense, so exquisite, she could scarcely bear it. Taggart feathered kisses over her face, then, seeking her mouth, kissed it, thrusting his tongue between her lips. He tasted of tobacco and champagne, and, as his plunging tongue continued its leisurely quest, a sweet, moist ache throbbed at the apex of her femininity, arousing her more than ever.

  Gently breaking the kiss, he led her to the bed, where soft lamplight gleamed over the silken counterpane and wavered patterns over the wall. He pulled the bedding back, and together they sank upon the soft mattress, the crisp linen sheets cool against their skin. He trailed fiery kisses over her face and throat, and, with a deep sigh, she arched her head back, already slipping into the world of shimmering pleasure she knew so well. When he flicked his moist tongue over her breast, then firmly suckled her nipple with his warm lips, she gave a contented moan, burrowing her fingers into his long hair. His gentle tugging and pulling fanned the growing fires within her, building a hunger so great, moisture quickened between her legs in hot anticipation.

  Taggart eased back to unbutton her skirt and untie the tapes on her petticoat. With one smooth movement he grasped the garments at her waist, then tugged downward, removing them over her hips and legs and depositing them on the floor. Next he took off her shoes, then slid his warm hands into the top of her drawers, whisked the cotton garment over her legs and feet, and tossed it on the carpet beside the other discarded clothing.

  Silky blushed hotly to think she lay before him in nothing but her silk stockings, garters, and her new gold earrings. His dark head bent over her thighs and his lips touched her there, making her heart pound with such excitement she thought it might burst. Slowly and teasingly, he kissed the exposed flesh above the garters; then he rolled them down her legs, first one and then the other. After the garters had been cast aside, he peeled off her stockings, planting hot kisses down her legs as the silk slid away, revealing more flesh. At last his moist lips played over her bare arches.

  He now stood to divest himself quickly of the rest of his clothing, then lay down beside her to take her mouth in a deep kiss. Encouraged by her response, he tightened his arms about her and the kiss grew more bold, sending a warm, tingling sensation skittering through her veins. A hot flush rose from her bosom as his fingers worked their way into the hair covering her woman's mound, then caressed her inner flesh.

  Shivering with pleasure, Silky drew in her breath as he flicked over her bud of desire with an electrifying touch. As the juncture between her thighs throbbed sweetly, driving her near mad with need, she moaned softly. When he finally raised his mouth from hers, hot passion flared in his eyes, seemingly demanding a response.

  "I want us to be together tonight," she whispered through trembling lips. "I want to feel your lips on mine, and the thud of your heart beating against my bosom," she breathed roughly, her body afire with an unquenchable ache she wondered if she could endure. "I want to remember this night forever."

  He lowered himself over her body. At the touch of his warm flesh on hers, she sighed with pleasure, her heart racing out of control. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and at the same time urged her thighs apart, cradling himself between them. Silky wrapped her legs about him, and, feeling the velvety tip of his hard manhood brushing against the entrance to her femininity, she trembled with longing and excitement.

  He explored her mouth with his questing tongue, and rubbed the moist tip of his shaft against her, bringing her desire to a boiling point; then, with one powerful thrust, he groaned and sheathed himself inside her. Now their bodies moved in sweet rhythm, his thrusts met with her own natural upward movements, until their intensity stoked a raging inferno within her.

  The shadowy room was filled with soundsthe sound of the snapping fire, the creak of the mattress, soft moans and labored breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh. There were scents, toolush, rich scents to make one's blood run faster: the scent of the freshly washed bedding, the scent of burning logs, and the fresh scent of Taggart's shaving soap, mingled with Silky's spicy Oriental perfume.

  Taggart thrust powerfully and relentlessly, burying himself in the folds of her soft body, until she thought she might faint with longing and desire. How she loved him, wanted him, couldn't get enough of him. A sweet, savage need built up inside her and she wanted to feel him plunging deeper and faster, deeper and faster. Light-headed with desire, she dug her fingers into his broad back, pulling him closer, glorying in the magnificent feeling building within her like a powerful storm.

  Then, swept away on a golden crest of release, she cried out his name, her body throbbing with soul-drenching pleasure. On and on he strove, taking her higher and higher, prolonging her joy as long as possible; then when he could contain himself no longer, he spilled his hot seed within her, and she sobbed in release, experiencing heart-stopping tremors. Reveling in womanly fulfillment, she clutched him, luscious aftershocks rippling through her.

  With a shuddering sigh, he sagged against her for a moment, then sank beside her, gently pulling her to him and murmuring endearments. Her spirit wrapped in shining bliss, she traced her fingertips over his back and, nuzzling against his neck, savored the dear warmth of him, the beloved scent of him. He kissed her gently, and his hands caressed her face, her hair, her arms, as if she were made of delicate porcelain. Outside the wind moaned and snow pecked against the windows, but inside she was warm and secure enfolded against him. He was so strong yet so tender, she thought, treasuring the glorious moment, and wanting to preserve it forever.

  Her pounding heart slowing, she felt herself sinking into the mattress, her body and mind slipping into a hazy world of contentment. Then, as she looked into his soft eyes, a sudden thought caught in her mind like a skirt hem snagging on a bramble. This was the moment to tell him about being handfasted, she realized with a sense of profound relief. She could never choose a better time. Tonight they'd laughed and made love, and she felt so close to him, she was absolutely sure of his love. Yes, take your courage in your hands and tell him now, she told herself, something deep within her spurring her ontell him now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "I was just thinking about something," Silky murmured, idly running her fingers over his back as she nestled against him. She met his tender gaze. "Have you ever heard of someone being handfasted?"

  He smoothed his warm hand over her arm. "No," he replied drowsily. "What does it mean?"

  She looked into those sapphire eyes that could make her tremble with delight, and began to speak softly, still a little unsure of herself, still a little afraid. "Well, it's a mountain word," she
explained, seeing she had his complete attention. "It has to do with an agreementa commitment of the heart. Sometimes mountain people use it to mean that someone is married without the benefit of clergy."

  He looked at her evenly, a little flare of surprise in his eyes, but she went on, trying to ignore her rapidly beating heart. "That's the way I like to think about us," she added, ruffling her hand through his dark hair. "In my mind, the first time we made love back in Jake's cabin, we became handfasted." She swallowed the rising lump in her throat, wondering if she'd made a mistake in broaching the subject.

  "You're my man, and you'll always be my man, no matter what happens. A preacher can say words over us, but it won't make me love you any more than I do right now, at this very moment." She searched his eyes, waiting for him to respond in kind, but he remained silent, his face tense and unreadable. "I'll love you in the good times, and I'll love you in the bad times." She plunged on, deciding to say it all now that she'd started. She chuckled lightly. "I'll love you in the crazy times, and the upside-down times, and all kinds of times." She traced her fingers over his chiseled cheekbones, his brow, his firm lips. I'll love you forever and ever and ever."

  He gazed at her, awe touching his features. "Is that how you think of us?" he asked quietly, his voice reverberating with puzzled emotion. "That we're married? You feel our bond is that deep?"

  She gave a tremulous sigh. "Yes, and I always willalways and always till this old earth quits spinning and falls to pieces." Still she waited for him to make a similar commitment, but he remained silent, and a deep sadness rose within her. Perhaps it was just because he wasn't a mountain man, she thought desperately, fear clutching her heart. Yes, he didn't understand what handfasted meant, she decided at last. He just didn't understand.

  His eyes deepened into such a deep sapphire, it almost took her breath away, and she sensed that he was about to speak, but instead he held her close, featbering his hand over her arm. "I've never met anyone like you. I've never had anyone make a declaration like that to me," he finally murmured, his tone soft and tender. "It's something I'll remember all my life."

  "But" she began, studying his face and hoping against hope that he might make some kind of commitment, even a small one.

  He kissed her gently, cutting off her words, and even as he did so, she feared she'd made a mistake. He'd said he would remember the words all his life, but he hadn't responded in kind, hadn't said he loved her, too. Maybe he was ashamed of her mountain origins, she thought deject edly, remembering how rich and well placed his family was.

  Panic leaped within her, but Taggart was so gentle, so loving as he caressed her face, her throat, then moved his lips over hers in a kiss that promised love and security. Slowly she began to relax, and when he at last broke the stirring kiss, he looked deep into her eyes and whispered, "Go to sleep, Fancy Pants. Go to sleep, my sweet mountain girl. It's late, very late, and tomorrow is Christmas Day."

  Her worries eased somewhat, she nestled in his arms, a drowsy contentment stealing over her. With a sense of relief, she gave thanks that she'd finally had the courage to broach the subject she'd carried in her heart so long. He hadn't said he loved her, hadn't said he considered them handfastedbut he had called her his sweet mountain girl. And in his eyes she'd seen something. Oh, she'd seen something, all right, and to her it looked like love.

  He'd come around, she promised herself, feeling a little better already. He'd come to understand. It was just that he'd been raised in the city, and sometimes city folks could be a passel of trouble. They were different as they could be, and most of the time a person bad to work awfully hard to understand them. She let out a long sigh. Wasn't it just her luck to be in love with one of them? Just before she drifted off to sleep she wondered what the new year would bring. Then she realized that as long as she could be with Taggart she didn't care. In his arms she would always be safe.

  Taggart held Silky until he heard her deep breathing and was convinced she was asleep. He caressed her face and arms, wanting to comfort her as he would a lost child. Lord above, he thought, regret sweeping through him so profoundly it left him shaken. This gentle creature, this sweet bit of humanity, considered them handfasted, considered them married. It was almost too much to comprehend. When he'd first made love to her in Jake's cabin, it had been because he simply couldn't help himself. He'd continued making love to her for the same reason, never guessing what was going on in her lovely head. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered them married.

  A suffocating feeling came over him as he lay there wide awake, the wonderful Christmas Eve mined. Her words had suddenly forced him to face up to his deepest motives and desires. How could he go on with this charade, taking advantage of her, letting her trust him when he had no idea what the future would bring?

  Bittersweet memories flooded his mind. He remembered how he'd felt when she'd ridden through a blizzard to rescue him; remembered how beautiful she'd looked in her first store-bought clothes; remembered how proud he'd been when she learned to dance and had charmed the aristocrats at Dr. Cooke's dinner party. Did this happiness and pride equal love? Did he actually love her? At this point, his life had been so rearranged by the war he didn't know. Even if he did love her, once she found out he was a Yankee, that he'd betrayed her constantly and repeatedly, she would despise him for sure.

  In this war he'd killed men and committed other acts that in peacetime would have been unthinkable. But killing a man at a distance or firing a building was far different from making love to a woman who considered you her husband when you didn't share the same sentiment. The fact that Silky considered marriage so sacred and that she trusted him to do the right thing so fiercely only exacerbated the matter.

  Silky's rosy lips were slightly parted and her breathing slow and regular. He reached down and gently brushed a soft tendril from her cheek, letting the shiny hair slip through his fingers. All at once, in that very moment, he suddenly understood what he must do. He would have to fulfill his vow to Ned and himself through another venue. Somehow he had to arrange things so he wouldn't be taking advantage of her trust any longer.

  Somehow he had to get himself removed from his mission.

  The day after Christmas, Taggart went to Caroline Willmott and told her that for personal reasons he could no longer continue his mission. He'd requested that a message be carried to Grant staring his wishes. He also requested that he be sent back into active duty, into a regiment that was seeing action. God knew he'd rather face a barrage of bullets than continue taking advantage of Silky's innocence. To know that she considered them handfasted, actually man and wife, made the situation intolerable. In his book, only a scoundrel would keep operating under such conditions.

  Now, one week later, he sat in Caroline's library watching her rise from her desk chair, a worried look on her face. ''I received a message from General Grant yesterday and I'm sorry to inform you that no agent is available to take your place," she explained, her eyes deep and troubled.

  Taggart met her gaze, a leaden sensation claiming his stomach. He felt more trapped than ever, trapped and frustrated with a situation that was quickly becoming impossible. He slowly stood. "I know there are more agents available," he asserted defiantly, determined to press the matter. "Surely one of them can"

  "No, I'm afraid it's more than that. At this point it's too late to position another man in the valuable niche you have carved out for yourself." She gave a sympathetic sigh. "I'm afraid you've become a victim of your own success and must finish the mission you've so brilliantly begun." She handed him the message so he could read it himself.

  After he'd scanned the paper, he shoved it away and stared from the library window, his mind dealing with a host of prickly questions.

  "Considering your strong feelings about the matter, I know something would be arranged if it were possible, but it simply can't be done," Caroline said, walking to him and placing her hand on his shoulder. "You must continue with your mission. Information
on the Petersburg line is of vital importance. The Union has enjoyed several great victories lately, but to win the war we must take Richmond. Surely you realize that."

  Taggart turned and regarded her calmly. "Yes, I know," he admitted softly. "It's just that"

  "Major Taggart," she interrupted him, "I know you have strong feelings for Miss Shanaran, but men have died for one bit of information, and the possibilities that lie before you concerning Petersburg are staggering."

  He studied her anxious face, knowing that in this case he could never make her understand just how intense the feelings of his heart really were. How could he explain such a complicated matter when he had trouble understanding it himself? Wordlessly he bowed over her hand, then turned and left her mansion.

  As his carriage rattled down Church Hill he wondered how in God's name he could reconcile his conscience with his duty. He couldn't simply walk away from Silky. For until his mission was finished, until the end of the war, their lives were bound together in a fantastic charade he'd created out of necessity. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't simply sit her down and explain his actions, for it would be too much of an intelligence risk. Like it or not, he was locked into their bittersweet relationship until it ultimately ended with the tangle of hurt feelings and unbelievable heartache he could foresee, but she could not.

  As he reached the Spotswood, he decided he needed to gradually distance himself from Silky, so that when the time came to say good-bye her shock would not be as great. The heartache he would endure during the process was not to be considered. And to face the truth, he thought with fresh pain, he should probably cease physical relations with her. Perhaps in that way he could keep a piece of himself feeling honorable. He couldn't help what had happened in the past, the mistakes he'd made by letting his heart rule his head, but he could have some control over the future.