by Heidi Betts
This wouldn't last long. He could tell by the quaver in her breathing and the building exhilaration in his blood, all pooling in the part of his body that was so deeply embedded inside the woman he loved. And as much as he wanted to stay inside her forever, keep these heightened sensations on the brink forever, he also wanted to drive into her. A thousand times, her breasts rubbing his chest, her legs wrapped high about his waist.
As though the thought led him directly to the action, he rolled her to her back beneath him, drew her legs around his hips where she crossed her ankles to clasp him tight, and began to thrust into her warm, inviting body.
His movements accelerated, her gasps coming one after another, and the light jingling of bells kept time with them both. Her nails raked long lines into the damp flesh of his back and she screamed as her body tensed and convulsed. At that very moment, his own release hit, and his cries of pleasure mingled with hers.
As their breathing returned to normal and all the muscles in their bodies slackened, her legs slipped from his waist, causing the bells to give one last tinkle of sound. He'd finally discovered exactly what it took to make them sing.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
He'd seen her. He'd seen the bitch at the police station where he'd been questioned. She'd been talking with that Pinkerton agent and he'd overheard some officers mention that she, top, was a Pinkerton. Another one, blast it.
The little harlot. She wasn't married to the man she'd been cavorting with, after all. He suspected that her fake husband was also a Pinkerton, and that their imaginary marriage had simply been a ruse set up to track him.
But now it was his turn to track her. Too bad Outram wasn't here. He was so good at following and dispatching with meddlesome individuals. He'd done a fine job with that other Pinkerton agent, who had threatened to ruin the divine plan.
But Outram, the poor sop, had gone and gotten himself caught. That was unfortunate for both of them, but at least Outram wouldn't turn on him; couldn't thanks to his small impediment.
He chuckled wickedly.
And now he would have to deal with Willow Donovan—or whatever her name really was—himself. Luckily, he was prepared.
Chapter Thirty
Willow and Brandt stepped off the train and onto the wide-planked wooden platform, swinging a giggling Erik between them. She couldn't help but laugh with him. She couldn't remember ever having seen her brother so happy, and she didn't think she'd ever been so happy, either.
Brandt had been right. She'd kept Erik tucked away long enough. From the moment she'd told him of her decision to take him back to New York with her for a short trip, he'd been a nonstop ball of energy. He'd talked the ears off both Nelsons, until Mr. Nelson had hied off to the barn, not to be seen again until he was needed to drive them to the train station.
Erik had worried about Piddle, but the Nelsons assured him they'd look after the dog until he returned. And once he'd felt confident of his pet's safety, he'd turned his entire attention on the trip ahead.
He'd chattered about every aspect of the passenger car they'd taken from Pennsylvania to New York, and asked so many questions, Willow thought her head might explode. Thankfully, Brandt had been there to answer half of them and take at least a little of the pressure off her.
And even though Erik's presence had garnered several stares and disdainful glares, she had found it quite simple to merely smile at the ignorant people around them, or ignore them completely.
Brandt had been right about that, too. She'd spent years worrying about what others would think of Erik, and now she found that she couldn't care less. Erik certainly didn't seem to notice anything amiss.
In New York, Erik's excitement increased tenfold. He knew all about the city from the stories Willow had told him during her visits, and he now insisted on seeing each and every detail she's spoken of right this minute. Even some that she'd heedlessly embellished.
Rather than try to explain why that was not only a daunting prospect but physically impossible, she and Brandt shared a look over Erik's head—one that said they hoped he'd tire soon and be willing to take a nap before they both collapsed of child-induced exhaustion.
When their eyes met again, she smiled. In fact, she'd been smiling ever since they'd left the barn after their rather enjoyable tryst. She hadn't thought agreeing to marry him could change her life so much or so rapidly, but it had.
But it wasn't the idea of matrimony—which she still had a fair share of misgivings about—that caused her to feel so content. It was the effect Brandt had on every aspect of her life, from the way he touched her when they made love to the way he made them feel more like a family just by holding one of Erik's hands while she held the other.
"What should we do first?” Brandt asked, and Willow rolled her eyes at his slow assessment of the situation. One didn't ask such a question of an overly wound-up child. Not when there might be three hundred things on the list. Especially when all she wanted to do was head for the nearest hotel room and sleep for the next two weeks.
Sure enough, Erik began an immediate litany of requests. “I wanna see the river with the big ships, and all the carriages with the horsies, and the eye, and meet Robert, and see the biiiig hotel you live in, and. . ."
"I'm sorry I asked,” Brandt mumbled, scratching the slight stubble of his jaw.
Willow curled her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out to touch that stubble herself. With a chuckle, she said, “It might not be a bad idea to drop by the Agency and tell Robert we're back.” She turned her attention to Erik. “And you could meet him and see the sign."
"Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay!” Erik cried, jumping up and down, trusting Willow and Brandt to keep him from falling.
"I think that's a yes,” Brandt replied, the smile evident in his voice, even if the words were delivered with dry wit.
Although they probably could have walked several blocks to the Pinkerton offices, they chose to hire a hackney cab as an added excitement for Erik. He insisted on petting the gray sorrel mare before they climbed into the carriage, and then sat on Brandt's lap in order to better see out the small window.
Just as they approached the block where the Pinkerton National Detective Agency was located, they heard music drifting on the air. The telltale music that was sure to change their immediate plans.
"Oh, no,” Willow muttered.
"What's that?” Erik asked.
"I'd say the circus is in town,” Brandt answered, sounding chipper and eager.
"I wish you hadn't said that.” She leaned against the cushioned seat, letting her head fall back and her eyes drift closed. She was too tired for this.
"The circus?” Erik squealed. “The kind with el'phants and tigers and snakes?” His young body vibrated with excitement, and Brandt had to clasp his tiny waist to keep him from toppling off his lap.
Willow was beginning to regret reading so many different books to him and telling him so many fantastical stories. She'd wanted to entertain him with tales of the big, wild world, most of which she'd never expected him to see. Most of which she had never seen. But now it seemed the world was living up to Erik's expectations.
"You know about the circus?” Brandt asked.
Erik's head moved back and forth as if it was on strings. “Willow tol’ me. There are men who eat fire and fat women with beards.” He puffed out his cheeks, then slapped the air out of them with his hands. “And short little people who are full-grown but still not as big as me.” He squared his shoulders and stuck out his chest, proud of his size. And then he ruined the grown-up effect by grinning and revealing the gap at the side of his mouth where a tiny tooth was missing.
"You're a pretty smart kid,” Brandt told him, ruffling his hair and grinning back with his full set of straight white teeth. “How would you like to go see how many bearded ladies they brought with them?"
Erik's eyes went wide. “Yeah,” he said in awe. Then he turned to Willow. “Can we, Willow? Can we, can we, can we?” He bounce
d with every word, and Brandt let out a deep belly laugh at his antics.
She groaned and ran a hand over her brow. “I just don't know if I can handle the circus."
"Please? Please, can we, Willow? Please?"
She opened her mouth to agree—because how could she turn down that much eagerness?—when Brandt interrupted.
"You look tired. Why don't you let me take Erik to the circus?” he suggested. “We can drop you at the office and meet you back there when we're through."
"Really?” She sat up a little straighter at the idea. It would be wonderful to spend a few minutes somewhere quiet. Perhaps she could even take a bit of a nap on the sofa in Robert's office and catch her second wind before Erik returned and overwhelmed her with his enthusiasm.
"You don't mind if we go without your sister, do you?” he asked Erik.
Erik shook his head, too wound up at the prospect of seeing someone eat fire to care if she was there or not.
"We'll bring you a candied apple,” Brandt offered. And then he leaned out the window and called out directions to the hackney driver.
"This will be fine,” Willow said as they approached Exchange Place
. “Have him drop me here."
"Are you sure?” Brandt asked.
She nodded. “It will be easier for you to continue on to the circus from here. I don't mind walking the rest of the way.” It wasn't far at all, and the streets and sidewalks were pleasantly clear at this hour. Likely everyone was enjoying the traveling circus, the same as Brandt and Erik planned to do.
Brandt told the driver to stop and set Erik aside while he stepped from the carriage and helped her down. “We won't be long,” he said, keeping hold of her hand.
"Take your time. I could use the peace and quiet."
He chuckled. “I kind of enjoy his ebullience."
"Good.” Her mouth curved up in a knowing half-smile. “Then you stay up with him tonight while he repeats every detail of his trip to the circus a thousand times."
"Gladly. Of course, I'm hoping the tattooed ladies and snake charmers will wear him out. And if that doesn't work, I'm thinking of filling him with sweets so that his mouth is too busy to talk my ear off."
She shook her head, knowing his strategy to be futile. Seeing so many oddities would only increase Erik's storehouse of anecdotes, and feeding him so many sugary concoctions would either increase his energy level or make him sick. Whichever occurred, they would be up all night with him.
Brandt lowered his head to place a soft kiss on her lips. She leaned into him and kissed him back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.
"We won't be long,” he said again, his voice lower this time as the passion in his eyes ignited a similar heat in her own bloodstream.
She nodded, not sure she could speak if she tried.
He kissed her once more, a light peck on her cheek, before bounding back into the carriage, swinging the door closed behind him, and joining Erik to wave goodbye. She raised her own hand to bid them farewell and watched them roll out of sight. Still smiling, she turned and began walking toward the Pinkerton offices.
Chapter Thirty-One
Oh, what luck. What pure, unmitigated joy at happening upon her this day, just as he was about to return home from his solicitor's office—taking a circuitous route, of course, so that he could pass this very location.
He'd been watching for her ever since the night Outram had been caught, driving past the Pinkerton National Detective Agency several times a day, hoping to catch a glimpse of his quarry, but she'd seemed to disappear. He hadn't been able to find her anywhere in the city, even though he'd asked several knowledgeable acquaintances about her possible whereabouts. Discreetly, of course. It wouldn't do to have anyone begin to wonder why he was so curious about the woman.
Everything was so much more complicated without Outram, he thought with a sigh. Here he was, not five yards from his prey, and he had to figure out how to capture her all on his own. Normally, he would simply order Outram to pull the carriage near the sidewalk where she walked and grab her from the street.
He only hoped this new driver would turn out to be as biddable as Outram; otherwise he might have to dispose of two bodies this afternoon—the true sinner and the witness. Of course, chances were. Fitch would indeed work out just as well as Outram had. He'd found him in the same rundown part of town, after all, and knew that the salary he paid the frail man would have Fitch looking—or not looking, as the case may be—in any direction his employer required.
Tapping the trap door of the landau with his gold-tipped cane, he ordered the driver to slow and keep the vehicle close to the curb. To his benefit, the sidewalk was far from bustling. This part of town was typically vacant in the middle of the day. And she was headed away from, not toward, the more crowded intersection a block back. He took that as a sign of approval from God.
A man passed her, heading in the opposite direction, and then she was alone. Her heels clicked on the concrete walk, keeping time with her feminine sway. She moved with a purpose he champed at the bit to stifle. Lying little harlot. Hussy. Wanton. He would show her she had no cause for that spring in her gait.
"Gain the young woman's attention,” he ordered through the opening in the roof.
The driver, startled by the request, stuttered a moment and then began to call out to her. It took several tries, but finally she paused, turned, and raised her head to address the driver. She lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the blazing sun and listened to the long, convoluted question being asked of her.
He opened the carriage door farthest from her and stepped silently to the street, coming around front of the vehicle in order to approach her from behind. And that's when he pounced. Lifting his cane, he brought it down against her skull with a sharp thud, startling even the horses by the suddenness of his actions.
The woman jolted in shock and the driver jumped to his feet on the raised perch. He shot the man a withering glare, daring him to abandon his post or assist her in any way.
Dazed, she turned, one hand to the back of her head, the other pulling at the strings of her reticule. When she saw him, registered his identity, her eyes widened and she began frantically tearing at her bag with both hands. No doubt for a weapon.
"Hello, my dear,” he greeted her politely, as though they were at a crowded luncheon rather than alone on the street, with him trying to knock her unconscious.
Her fingers dove into the bag at her wrist and he realized the urgency of the situation. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted and once again smashed the cane down on her head.
This time the solid metal came in contact with her temple, and a spot of blood began to ooze at her hairline. For one stunned second, she glared daggers at him. And then her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground.
Opening the door opposite the one from which he had exited and tossing his cane to the floor of the carriage, he grasped her beneath the arms and dragged her up and onto one of the seats. It took some doing and he was puffing with exertion by the time he was finished.
Yes, it had been much easier with Outram around, he thought, as he rapped on the roof and ordered the driver to take them home.
Chapter Thirty-Two
"There it is!” Erik all but screeched, pointing and bouncing on the carriage seat.
Brandt shifted to look out the window, following Erik's line of vision to the unblinking eye with the words WE NEVER SLEEP emblazoned above it Hanging perpendicular to the stone building at 66 Exchange Place
, the painted carving clearly marked the Pinkerton Agency.
"Yes, there it is,” he agreed. For being mentally challenged, Erik was quite an observant young man. He hadn't missed a trick at the circus—or since Brandt had known him, for that matter. He had trouble with the meaning of some words while speaking and his reading and arithmetic skills were lacking, as Brandt had expected. But even though he was several years behind other children his age, he worked hard and wanted to team
.
"It's the eye sign, the eye sign!” Erik sang, still abusing the poor carriage seats by tossing his full weight up and down like a spring.
Brandt was beginning to understand what Willow meant when she said the boy never tired. They'd spent hours at the circus, milling through the crowds, exploring every brightly colored tent and exotic animal cage, purchasing some small trinket at every booth, and trying a little of each morsel of food offered.
Erik's hands and face were covered in assorted layers of red, brown, yellow, and white stickiness. Brandt, himself, felt slightly queasy from all the sweets he'd consumed. Willow should have warned him that, though Erik would be eager to taste a few bites of each treat he saw, he rarely finished the entire portion, leaving Brandt to eat or throw out the rest. By the end of their tour of the circus grounds, Brandt had begun buying only one small piece of whatever Erik wanted to try instead of two and eating or throwing much of it away.
Having seen a multitude of tattoos, three- and five-legged barnyard animals, as well as such wild beasts as a giant Python and an agitated lioness, they were now on their way to Robert's office, where Brandt hoped to clean the tacky residue from his own face and hands and turn Erik over to someone else's keeping for just a few minutes.
He wondered if his impatience to marry Willow and start a family hadn't been premature. Oh, he still wanted to marry her; there was no doubt about that. But if one small boy contained this much energy, he shuddered to think of having to care for more than one child at a time.
The thought of offspring brought an image of Willow to his mind, waddling and swollen with his child. To hell with being tired, he told himself silently, he'd sleep when he was dead. He wanted to make babies with Willow, to fill their house—wherever they finally decided to settle down—with a dozen little Donovans of all kinds and colorings. Brown-haired and violet-eyed or auburn-haired and green-eyed, whatever combination God decided to produce when they came together to create a new life, he wanted them all.