Undercover Cavaliere

by Judith B. Glad

  He saw the flash of her teeth but couldn't discern her expression. "I'm sure, Gabe. And there's no reason for it to change anything. We're both grownups, and it's not like we'll stop being friends." Her fingers traced a pattern in his chest, before she trailed them down to circle his belly button. "There's just one thing..."

  "What?"

  She lunged up to plant her nose against his. "Are we going to talk about it all night, or are you going to make love to me?"

  She had never dreamed it could be like this. Gabe was passionate, gentle, enthusiastic, and fierce. His mouth was hotly inventive, his hands touched her in places she hadn't known were sensitive. He drove her to a place she'd never been before. She let her curiosity reign, touching him where he was different from her. His breasts, firm with muscle where hers were soft and voluptuous, his belly, flat and hard as a board, where hers was gently rounded. And his penis, so very different from what it had been long ago when they had swum naked together. Satin over steel, and it leapt under her lightest touch.

  "Enough," he panted, when she clasped him. Catching both her hands, he pried them loose. "I'm on the edge. You've got to stop."

  Again that flash of white teeth. "So what I've heard is true? That men are hair-triggered?"

  "Pretty much," he said, as he pulled her close. "Women aren't. I doubt you're ready."

  "I feel ready."

  He slipped his hand between her legs. One finger probed, touched responsive flesh.

  "Oh, God, Gabe. That's... Oh, my!" Her body felt like amber must when silk rubbed across it. She tried to lie still while he stroked and probed and tickled, but her hips bucked against his hand. As the heat in her belly grew into a conflagration, she heard herself. "Please...please...pleeease...."

  He pulled his hand away and she wanted to weep.

  "Gina, I can't do this as I ought. Can you sit astride me?"

  His gimp leg was slightly bent, as if the knee wouldn't completely straighten. "Oh. Oh, Gabe--"

  "Never mind that. Get astride." His voice was thin with strain.

  She did, resting on her knees. His penis bobbed against her inner thigh, leaving a streak of damp behind. She reached.

  "No. Let me," he said, pushing her hand aside. He probed her again, slipped a finger inside.

  She heard a tiny squelch, felt her own wetness. "What are you waiting for?" She tired to force herself onto him, but he held her away.

  "Easy." With infinite patience, he positioned himself at her entrance, lifted his hips.

  Inner muscles contracted, relaxed. "Now, Gabe. Now, for God's sake!"

  "Now." His big hands pulled her to him, drove him deep inside her. There was a sharp flash of pain, an incredible sensation of fullness, and then...rightness.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I am fine," she said, as she continued to test the new sensation. There was a residual twinge of pain, but also a tiny ember of warmth. "Now what?"

  She could see him shaking his head.

  "Only you. The scientist." He still held her hips, and now he lifted her, just a little.

  The friction felt...different. When he pulled her tightly against his pelvis, the sensation of fullness changed, became an urgency she couldn't resist. She raised on her knees, nearly dislodging him, and the urgency turned into demand.

  His hands tightened on her hips and he thrust against her. In a moment she caught his rhythm. Together they surged, and with each of his thrusts, each of her enfoldings, the demand grew, until it was the whole world. The whole universe.

  And then it exploded.

  Still gasping for breath, Regina collapsed on his chest. His arms went 'round her, enclosed her. She could feel his heartbeat, knew hers was beating in unison. "Oh, my," she whispered, her mouth against the damp skin of his chest. "So that's what it's all about."

  "Ummm." He inhaled deeply. "Not usually quite that spectacular."

  She didn't want to know what was usual for him. Of course he'd had women. He was thirty-three, almost thirty-four. She just didn't want to think about them.

  Not now.

  "Sleepy," she murmured, snuggling against him. "It's been an exciting day."

  His hand stroked her hair, now loose and flowing over them like a silken sheet. "Sleep then. Right here."

  She did.

  The birds woke her when dawn was still a promise in the eastern sky. Sometime during the night Gabe had pulled his shirt and her skirt and petticoats over them, enough to keep the night's gentle chill at bay. He held her close against his chest. If she were to move, she'd wake him.

  If she woke him, she would have to tell him what she had realized, once the terrible need had been assuaged. She lay still, breathing in the faint scent of him: the cigar Tony had insisted he take at least one puff from, the chokecherry liquor Pa surely had passed around in the barn when all the men gathered there before supper, and an elusive tangy odor of sweat, one that evoked old memories, old heartbreak.

  Gabe stirred. His arms tightened around her and he nuzzled at her neck. "Ummm."

  Before she could give in to desire, she caught his chin, pushed his face away. "Wait. We need to talk."

  "No, we don't. We'll--"

  "Damn it, Gabe. You are not going to sweet talk me." She wriggled free of his arms. Her petticoats slithered to the floor and she snatched them up. Turning her back, she pulled on her shirtwaist, one petticoat, and her skirt, just enough to cover her decently. The other petticoat and her corset she rolled together and laid on the table by the doorway.

  Turning, she saw him still supine on the bench, his shirt across his loins, tented with his erection. "Show off."

  He flipped it aside. "Damn right. Come here, Gina. Let's not waste it."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Gabe, cover yourself. I'm not interested." But she was. Oh, yes, she was. And dared not be.

  He sat up and reached for his trousers. Once he had them on, he slipped his arms into the shirt, but didn't button it. "I don't see we've got all that much to talk about. After this..." His wave took in the gazebo, their shoes still scattered across the floor and his jacket hung on a nail. "The folks will be tickled pink."

  For a moment words escaped her as his meaning sank in. After a sputter or two, she managed to say, "You think this means we're going to--"

  "Haven't we always been going to marry, Gina? You know how I feel about you. And you love me, else you'd never given yourself. Of course we'll marry. The sooner the better."

  He got to his feet and came to face her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, but not quite touching. "I'll take you to Paris," he said, lifting her hand to his lips. "I'll show you the world, Gina. We'll sail the Greek isles, climb the Matterhorn, lie on a sunbaked beach in Italy, and get lost on the windswept moors in Yorkshire. We'll have adventures. We'll live high and wide, and the devil take the hindmost."

  She stared at him as if he were a stranger. His words were like a splash of icy water, washing away the dreams she'd spun and revealing the only future she could endure.

  "Gabe..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Gabe, I can't." The words came out raspy, strained. "I can't live like that. I need a home, a solid anchor. I'm not an adventurer."

  She thought of the years she'd spent in college, of the many hours she'd hunched over her books, finding excitement and adventure in the combinations of elements into compounds and mixtures, in the wonder of species fitting into specialized niches, in the fascination of numbers, orderly and magical. "I need a stable life, each day like the day before, with each task foreordained. I need the people around me to be the same every day, to act in roles that never change from yesterday to today to tomorrow. Most of all I need to use what I spent years learning. I can't live your gypsy life, Gabe. I can't."

  He studied her face with his deep, darkened eyes, studied it for long moments. At last he shook his head, a slow, weary motion. "So last night meant nothing to you?"

  "It meant everything to me, Gabe. I wanted you to be my first, if there was
going to be anyone." Her lip stung as she gnawed it. "Maybe my only, because I can't imagine... Can't conceive of loving anyone else."

  He turned away. With two steps he was at the door, framed against the dawn. His hands grasped the frame with such force that his knuckles went white. His head was bowed.

  Regina stood where she was. If she took one step. she was afraid she'd throw her arms around him and tell him she'd follow him anywhere.

  "I see," he said, at last. "So be it. I'll be going, then." Without his jacket, without his cane, he limped away, looking like a tired old man.

  Regina watched him, and wept.

  Chapter Two

  Boise City, Idaho Territory

  April, 1886

  Another school year was almost over. Even more than her students, Regina was ready for summer. The daily routine of classes had become a chore. Her family was getting on her nerves. For the first time in years, she wanted to be somewhere else, to do something different.

  When Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson invited her to dinner the Saturday before Easter, she almost refused. Socializing with the parents of her students always made her feel slightly uncomfortable, as if she had to be extra careful not to appear partial. Mrs. Tomlinson made it clear, however, that their invitation had nothing to do with Minerva's classes, and that the girl would not be present.

  Her interest piqued, Regina accepted. The Tomlinson's were among Boise's social elite. Their big new house, just a quarter-mile west of Lachlans' on what was promising to be a grand avenue lined with mansions, had been the talk of the town last summer when it was under construction. Now that it was finished, Regina was curious to see if it was as rich and elegant inside as it appeared from without.

  Her parents had been invited to the housewarming in March. Ma's sole comment afterwards was that some folks had more money than sense. That had only made Regina more curious.

  Mr. Tomlinson was a bluff, hearty man who'd already made his fortune in banking, even though he couldn't be much over fifty. He'd made no bones about the fact that he intended his new bank to be Idaho's biggest and richest. Mrs. Tomlinson was a little younger, but still no spring chicken, even though she dressed as if she were. Regina had never seen so many ruffles and tucks, so much ribbon and gimp on one woman. She found herself wondering how the woman sat with that bustle sticking out behind.

  Her own forest green serge dress was not even close to being stylish, but it was both comfortable and practical. Still, she realized she should have worn an evening gown, rather than her Sunday-best.

  Trouble is, I don't own an evening gown that's in style. It had been a long time since she'd needed one.

  Dinner was delicious, despite the overabundance of rich side dishes. Mr. Tomlinson was charming and full of anecdotes about his travels. His wife mostly made formless little sounds of agreement, until Regina wondered if she had a brain in her head. Or maybe she just never got a chance to speak a full sentence.

  "Well, now, Miss Lachlan, I'll bet you're wondering why we invited you over here tonight," Mr. Tomlinson said, when they'd moved to the parlor and the coffee had been served. He was drinking brandy, but hadn't offered her any.

  "I knew you'd tell me when you saw fit," she murmured, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  "It's Minerva," Mrs. Tomlinson said, with a quick nervous smile. "That is--"

  "Let me tell her, Philomena. You'll just confuse her." He leaned forward, set his brandy glass on the side table. "Now, then, Miss Lachlan, we've been impressed with what our girl has said about you. She's never been much for school, but this year she's changed her tune. She just goes on and on about your natural history class. A body would think she'd never been outdoors in her life, from how interested she is. She's never been much for studying before."

  "I do try to capture the students' interest," Regina said. Knowing that most weren't particularly interested in science, especially the girls, she had tailored that particular class to showing students how to open their eyes to the world around them. Minerva had shown particular aptitude for bird-watching, which had surprised Regina. The girl gave a first impression of being interested in nothing more than fashion and young men.

  "Yes, well, you've certainly made a difference in our Minerva. She's always talking about you. And that's why--"

  "Philomena."

  Mrs. Tomlinson subsided.

  Quelling an impulse to glare at her host, Regina forced her face into a receptive expression.

  "Now that the bank's established and I've got a staff I can trust, the wife and I are going to take a little holiday. See what all the fuss is about with all those museums and art galleries in Europe." He sounded about as enthusiastic as if he'd been offered a dose of castor oil.

  "One isn't cultured until one has seen Paris and Rome, don't you agree, Miss Lachlan?"

  Regina was searching for a diplomatic way to disagree when Mr. Tomlinson shushed his wife with a clearing of his throat.

  "I've got meetings with people--bankers--in a few places, and the wife wants to do some shopping. Trouble is, we promised Minerva she could come with us, and one of the fellows I'm wanting to meet won't be available after the middle of May. So we've had to move our trip up. We leave in two weeks."

  "I'm sure Minerva will be excused from her classes. It's only a matter of--"

  He waved his snifter. "No, no, that's not it. We're not going to take her out of school. We will miss her graduation, but she won't and that's what's important. What we need is for someone to bring her to us, once my meetings are done with. and that's why I thought of you."

  Speechless, Regina could only stare.

  "Oh, Miss Lachlan," Mrs. Tomlinson said, "when my husband suggested it to Minerva, she thought it was just the best idea, Please say you will."

  Shaking her head, Regina wondered if she had missed something important. "I'm sorry. Exactly what is it you're proposing?"

  Mr. Tomlinson leaned back, a self-satisfied look on his face. "We thought you might enjoy a little jaunt to Europe. Our Minerva and her bosom friend, Pamela--" He seemed to search for a surname.

  "Witherspoon," Regina finished for him, while wondering what she had done to deserve this.

  "That's right. Pamela Witherspoon--silly chit, always giggling. The girls have decided that you'd be the perfect person to travel with. You'll take the Britannic to Liverpool, spend some time in England, then go on to Paris. Meet us there on the fifteenth of July."

  It took Regina a long moment to sort out what she thought she'd heard. "You want me to...to chaperone a pair of schoolgirls...to Europe? Mr. Tomlinson, I'm no traveler. Why I--"

  "You're a smart young lady, and you went to that fancy school Back East. I figure you know all you need to. Now, then--"

  "Wait." She held up a hand. "Please. This is... Well, it's just not possible." She'd been going to say insane, but decided it wasn't a good idea to call the parents of one of her students crazy as hoot owls. "I can't. I just can't." The very thought of all that travel made her stomach ache.

  "Oh, Miss Lachlan, you'd love it," Mrs. Tomlinson bubbled. "Why there's just so much to see. London, Paris, you could even go on to Rome or Vienna once you've handed the girls over to us. You could spend the whole summer over there. And it won't cost you a cent."

  Italy. Gabe's in Italy

  What a temptation. She closed her eyes, pressed her fist against her lips. Paris. Italy. It's impossible, but still... "May I have time to consider it? This is such a surprise. So sudden."

  "Take all the time you want, little lady. Just let me know by Thursday."

  She said goodnight in a daze. Traveling had never been something she enjoyed. Despite her confidence at home and school, Regina had always felt uncertain and vulnerable when away from family. She also became ill in most conveyances, if a journey lasted more than an hour or so. It was her best kept secret.

  * * * *

  "I don't understand you. Every year when school lets out for the summer, you swear you don't want to see anyone under th
e age of eighteen for three months. And you've always hated to travel. Have you lost your mind?"

  Regina paused, one hand full of lace and sheer cotton. "This is different." She tossed the undergarments onto the bed, next to the rolled corsets and the heap of petticoats. "I'm in a rut. It's time for a change."

  "You've been in a rut for a long time," Lulu told her. "Two years ago Soomey and Silas invited you to go back to Europe with them and you wouldn't. Why now?"

  "Why not now?" Turning her back, Regina stared out the window, seeing not the treetops with their spring green leaves, but cool gray eyes in a sun-darkened face. "I won't get another chance to travel in style, now that Soomey has decided it's time to settle down and play granny."

  "Pooh. Buff and Siri would love to have you go with them any time." Lulu threw herself across the bed and propped her chin on her hands. "Something's bothering you. Tell me!"

  "Buff and Siri have children, and in case you haven't noticed, I spend most of my time with children. I need to be with other adults."

  "Oh, yes, adults like Pamela and Minerva, who are all of seventeen. You'll have so much in common with them."

  "Pamela's eighteen."

  "Oh. Well, that makes a difference." A shriek from downstairs made Lulu roll to her feet. "Oh-oh, sound's like Aunt Hattie's losing the war. I'll see you later." She was almost running as she went out the door.

  Regina smiled despite her cranky mood. Who'd have thought Lulu King, her feminist, independent, almost-sister, would have turned into such a good mother? The twins were leading everyone a merry chase, now that they were almost two. Ma simply couldn't run as fast as they could, no matter how much she enjoyed having them around.

  She finished packing, wishing it were tomorrow already. She'd be on the train, heading east, with the two young women for whom she'd be responsible until she handed them over to Minerva's parents in Paris.

  And then she could do what had motivated her to take on this task. Decide the direction of the rest of her life.