by Kris Tualla
In the bedroom, a naked Sydney nursed Kirstie on a quilt spread by the hearth. A picnic dinner and an open bottle of wine waited beside her. Firelight undulated over her skin. Her loose hair veiled her shoulders in striated shadow. Nicolas closed the bedroom door behind him. And he locked it.
“What’s this?”
“Kirstie is six weeks old. And, after she suckles, she’ll sleep for at least three hours. I thought we should celebrate.” Sydney’s smoky green eyes met his, and the corners of her mouth lifted in conspiratorial promise.
As if on cue, Kirstie’s mouth let go of Sydney’s breast and her head rolled back in smiling, satiated sleep. Sydney carefully handed her into the cradle and laid her on her side.
Nicolas unfastened his breeches and dropped them to the floor. In one swift movement, his shirt joined them on the polished wooden planks. As he stepped forward, he pulled his feet out of his shoes and stockings so that he was naked by the time he reached his wife.
He lifted Sydney to her feet. As he lowered his mouth to hers, she whispered, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Oh-h-h, yes.” His hunger stood straight and hard between them.
Nicolas lifted Sydney and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed her to his chest and walked to the bed. He laid her on her back. Her hand felt cool against his arousal as she guided him to her. She gasped as he pushed inside.
He paused, not at all sure he could stop. “Did I hurt you?”
“No-o-o…” she sighed and lifted her hips. “At last we can… Oh, my!” She shifted under him, adjusting her position. Her eyes were closed; little moans slid from her lips.
Nicolas tried to move slowly, worried that he might do harm after the birth. But he hadn’t been inside any woman—and in particular this woman—for over ten months. His body advanced his
purpose much faster than his mind intended.
“Sydney—I can’t hold—” he grunted.
“Go ahead,” she panted.
Nicolas released with a loud groan that started in his belly and ricocheted through his chest before it roared out in a throaty explosion. His entire body shook in long, joyful spasms. He was weightless, spinning.
Emptied out and completely filled.
Physical and phantom.
Floating.
Sydney stroked her fingers through Nicolas’s hair, and strummed them over the taut muscles in his back, while she waited for him to return to full awareness.
He lifted his head and kissed her, breathless. “Å min Gud…” he moaned. “I promise I’ll take more care next time.”
“Yes, you shall!” Sydney laughed, her voice bubbling with delight. “But right now, I’m starving.”
They sat by the fire, naked as snakes, and fed each other with their fingers. The full bottle of wine was empty by the time their supper was finished. Sydney felt the effects; her eyelids were heavy and relaxation flowed through her.
She also warmed with desire for her half of the bargain.
She led Nicolas to the bed and pushed him back. His prick pointed toward the ceiling, a pulsating spear. She straddled his hips and settled herself over the considerable length of him. Her sigh of pleasure escaped long and low. She felt his girth as she tightened.
Sydney rested her hands on Nicolas’s shoulders. Her hair formed a dark curtain around them as her hips moved with the angle and rhythm that pleased her well.
Then Nicolas began to move with her; their speed and intensity increased in increments. She arched her back. He sat up and gripped her waist. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Pulsing waves of pleasure radiated outward from their joining.
She cried out and pushed against him. Her world condensed to a tiny ball between her thighs that exploded, throwing her into the heavens.
March 16, 1820
Nicolas watched his smiling wife descend the stairs. She slept rather late this morning and he didn’t wake her. Yesterday for her birthday he gave her a beautifully tooled and feminine saddle; light enough for her to handle with ease. She thanked him very well last night.
Twice.
Consummation. Consummate. Consume. He was consumed by consummating with her.
Grinning at his private joke, he opened the front door in answer to a polite knock. A slick-looking man in his late twenties stood on the porch. He was neatly made, with dark mustache and combed-back hair, and dark brown eyes. His clothes were impeccable, as was his speech.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m looking for Siobhan Kilbourne.”
Sydney stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“Siobhan!”
He leapt toward her and trapped her in his embrace. His lips landed on hers in spite of her surprised and explicit resistance. Nicolas clamped his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I’ll thank you to unhand my wife!” His fingers drilled into the man’s flesh. The man winced and let go of Sydney, who leapt back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Your wife?” The man looked sorely stricken. “Siobhan is that true? You’re married again?”
“Who are you?” Sydney’s tone broadcast her near-panic.
“I heard of your situation, but I wouldn’t believe you could ever forget me! Nor what we mean to each other!”
“I believe my wife asked for your name?” Nicolas angrily emphasized the words ‘my wife.’
“Edward Macken. Siobhan? Please assure me you remember!”
Sydney shook her head. “I’ve no recollection of ever meeting you. I’m sorry.”
“Did you receive my correspondence? And my gift?”
Sydney glanced fearfully at Nicolas.
“And even still you don’t know me?” Edward looked as though he might swoon. He staggered to the stairs and sat down heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and mumbled between his fingers, “No, no. After all this time!”
“Mr. Macken, would you care for a cup of tea?”
Nicolas’s mouth opened to protest when Sydney lifted her hand to beckon him. “I’m certain Mr. Hansen could add a drop of brandy, if you believe that might be of help?”
Edward Macken lifted his head and looked at Sydney with damp, sorrowful eyes. “Yes. Yes, thank you.”
Sydney pointed to the drawing room. “Nicolas, would you escort Mr. Macken to the drawing room and bring the baby to the kitchen for me?” Sydney turned and headed down the hall without waiting for his answer.
Nicolas scowled, but did as he was bid. When he entered the kitchen with Kirstie, he stepped close to Sydney and rasped in her ear, “What game is this now?”
Sydney placed her index finger in front of her lips and set the teapot on the stove to heat. “I don’t know this man,” she whispered.
“Fine, then. So why are we serving him tea and brandy in our drawing room?”
“Don’t you care to know who he is? Or why he’s here?”
Nicolas paused, strangling his jealousy and allowing sanity to live. “I suppose if he’s attempting to claim you, he might be involved with the letter to Nelson.”
Sydney’s eyes rounded. “But he can’t claim me if I’m married.”
“Yes, well. He was none too pleased at that bit of information.”
The two were quiet for a moment.
“I’ll invite him to stay for lunch,” Nicolas decided. “See what we’re able to draw out of him.”
Sydney put the teapot and cup on a small tray. “I’ll let Addie know we have a luncheon guest. Give me Kirstie.” She accepted the squirming pink bundle. “Might you take the tea in to Mr. Macken?”
Nicolas picked up the tray with one hand, and reached into a cupboard for a bottle of brandy. “I’ll be generous. Might help loosen his tongue a bit, eh?”
Chapter Forty
Nicolas and Sydney faced each other over the midday meal and placed Mr. Macken at the end of the table.
“Please, call me Edward,” he shifted his gaze to Sydney. “Or Eddie.”
Nicolas’s jaw
clenched as he passed the platter of meat. “Tell us, Edward, how did you become acquainted with Mrs. Hansen?”
“Mrs. Hansen? Oh, you mean Siobhan. Yes, well. She lived in Carondelet with her husband Devin Kilbourne. He was a teacher.”
“And did you live in Carondelet as well?”
“No, my home was in Afton. I worked for the post office there, and made regular trips between the towns, you see.”
Sydney’s shrug gave no indication of familiarity, so Nicolas continued. “Under what circumstances did you make her acquaintance?”
“We met in church. Don’t you remember, dearest?” Edward’s brows dipped with obvious concern.
Nicolas calculated that he could break the man’s neck in two quick moves. Go ahead, Eddie. Tempt me. “I’ll thank you to keep personal endearments out of your conversation. Eddie.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Edward appeared sincerely contrite. “It was the fall of 1817 that I first saw you. You were so beautiful in that green wool dress with the white collar and cuffs. Do you still have it?”
Sydney shook her head.
“Pity. It looked so well with your eyes. I did not speak to you until December. We had dinner together at the boarding house on a
Sunday. And every Sunday after that, when Devin was away.”
Nicolas reclaimed the man’s attention. “It seems as though your relationship entailed more than simple meals on Sundays, Eddie.”
“Siobhan was lonely, and she needed help at the cabin. I came to her aid quite often.”
He lowered his gaze, then blinked at Sydney like a love-struck girl. “And in personal matters as well.”
Sydney faced her dinner plate and cut her meat into tiny pieces. Her face pulsed from red to white to red again. Still, Nicolas pressed for information. “When did your relationship become physical?”
“In the fall of 1818. October. I’ll never forget it. Siobhan planned to leave Devin this past September, after school pulled him away from Carondelet again. We were going to be married.” Edward gazed, moon-eyed, at Sydney. “But then in March we realized that Siobhan was with child.”
Sydney coughed, choked and grabbed her wine. She swallowed several times. Then her watery eyes met Nicolas’s in tight-lipped, outraged, denial.
He drew a deep breath and slid his gaze back to Edward. “How did you find her here?”
“There were notices in the post offices.”
“Those notices are nearly a year old. What took you so long?”
“I didn’t connect the missing woman with Siobhan. Devin said she had gone to see her father in Kentucky. He said Mr. Bell was quite ill. But when Devin moved away from Carondelet, I grew suspicious.”
Nicolas leaned back in his chair and made a great show of swirling his wine glass, holding the glass to the light and sniffing the bouquet. “What are your plans now?”
Edward’s mouth flapped open and shut. “I—I hoped to make Siobhan my wife. Was that our child?”
“NO!” The response exploded from Sydney. Edward’s eyebrows dipped in confusion.
“My wife conceived in May. The child was born at the end of January.” Nicolas fudged a little to make his point. “So you see, if she knew she was with child by March, the child would have come at the end of October, three months earlier.”
Edward’s shoulders fell and he nodded his reluctant agreement.
Nicolas leaned forward. “The question remains, sir. What are your plans now?”
Edward stared at his plate. His hands fell to his lap. Then he straightened his back and faced Nicolas with a level gaze.
“I don’t suppose you would set her free, under the circumstances?”
Nicolas was aghast at the man’s bold-faced impudence. “What circumstances?”
“She and I, we had a commitment. We enjoyed a physical relationship. We made arrangements to be together. We had a child.”
Sydney cast the iron refutation: “There was no child!”
Edward stood and rested his fists on the table as he leaned toward Nicolas. “Then on the basis of ethics, sir! She promised me first!”
Nicolas rose as well and stretched to his full height. He leaned forward. His razor stare sliced Edward. Edward flinched and fell back into his chair.
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no. I meant no.”
“Sir, if I may—”
“No.”
Edward turned his plea to Sydney. “Siobhan?”
Lips drawn in a tight pucker, she didn’t acknowledge him.
“I’ll drive you into town.” Nicolas dropped his napkin over his plate. “Let’s go.”
Sydney stood, then, and addressed the suave interloper. “I’m married to Nicolas. The child is his. None of that will ever change. Good—”
A pistol clicked.
She froze, her startled eyes aimed below the table’s edge.
Nicolas felt his anger begin to rage. Edward’s warning slithered over the remains of the meal.
“Don’t try to be a hero, Hansen. Sit down.” Two pistols appeared above the tabletop. One was pointed at him. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”
Nicolas remained outwardly calm. He sat slowly. “What do you
want?”
Edward stood. “Won’t you sit down Mrs. Hansen?”
Sydney lowered into her chair.
“There’s no reason we cannot be civil.” Edward flashed an ingenuous smile. “A little business among friends.”
Nicolas cocked one brow and shot each syllable of his challenge like a lead ball. “What do you want.”
“Well, Hansen, it seems you owe a debt. A generous payoff to compensate for my broken engagement will suffice.”
“What!” Nicolas huffed. The man had some kind of nerve, even if it required a pair of pistols for it to materialize.
“Breach of promise. Clear cut.”
“But I don’t know you!” Sydney objected.
Edward shook his head. “You have suffered from a well-witnessed memory loss. Any judge would rule in my favor.”
“Interesting angle, Eddie.” Nicolas chuckled and wondered how to reach his rifle in the hallway, only fifteen feet from the table. “My compliments on your creativity.”
The man dipped a small nod. “I was hoping we might dispense with the legal fees and settle this as gentlemen.”
Sydney’s head swirled to face his. “Don’t pay this lying snake a penny, Nicolas.”
“Now, darling,” Edward drawled.
“Don’t you dare to call me ‘darling’!” Sydney snarled as she rounded on the man. If he wasn’t holding her at gunpoint, Nicolas might have let her at him. That would serve him right.
“My apologies. Sweetheart.” He lifted the pistol and shot a glance at Nicolas. “Shall we discuss an amount?”
Nicolas chuckled again and shook his head.
“Something funny?”
“Yes, actually.” Nicolas scooted his chair back, and leaned on the table to disguise the distance. He tossed Sydney a look that he hoped said, sit still.
“Enlighten me.”
“Well—Eddie—a gentlemen’s agreement requires more than one gentleman.”
The man blinked, then sneered as he grasped the insult. “Watch yourself.”
He didn’t. He continued to press the hooligan. “And, in light of
the fact that you have fabricated this whole story for the purpose of
extortion, I’d say the amount I owe you would be precisely nil.”
Nicolas leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs.
“I have a legitimate legal claim!” Edward barked.
“And I say you don’t. But I’d be pleased to call on the sheriff if you feel a crime has been committed.”
All pretense of politeness fell away. The pistols wavered. “I’m not amused, Hansen.”
“Neither am I. Now get out of my house.”
Sydney coiled and jumped sideways out of her seat. Skitt!
&nb
sp; Edward leapt after her. His chair upended and banged against the wood floor. Nicolas jumped to his feet, whirled toward the dining room door and stretched his arm. He almost reached the gun rack.
The pistol fired. Sydney screamed.
Nicolas spun to see a shower of ceiling plaster, Sydney cowering, and Edward Macken with the second pistol pressed against her neck.
“I’ll not waste another shot,” he warned.
Nicolas calculated the time and distance it required for him to kill the man. Right now, Edward had the advantage. He’d have to play Eddie’s hand. “I don’t keep my money here,” he stalled.
Edward shook his head. “Hansen, you must take me for a fool.”
Of course I do, you lying piece of skitt. He was eight feet from the rifle rack in the hall, hidden thus far from Eddie’s perspective.
He spread his arms wide. “You have me there.” Five feet more.
“The safe is in my study.” One step toward the door. Three feet.
“Stop!” The pistol sagged a little. He shoved Sydney forward. “Get away from the door.”
Nicolas twisted and pointed toward the hall. “My study is in the front of the house.” So close.
“Get away from the door now!” Edward shouted. He jabbed the barrel of the pistol deep into Sydney’s neck.
“Ouch!” she yelped.
Then she swung one foot in front of her and rammed it backward with so much force that she tumbled forward. Edward tumbled with her. The pistol hit the floor and discharged. A spray of
plaster burst from the wall close to Nicolas’s right.
Nicolas grabbed for his rifle and cocked back the hammer. He aimed at the surging mess of limbs and fabric. When he was able to
separate Sydney from Edward, he fired.
Sydney screamed again, and curled into a ball, her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. Edward bellowed and rolled away from her, gasping for breath.
“Oh, God! Oh, God!” He coughed. Blood bubbled from his mouth.
“Sydney!” Nicolas dragged her away from the dying man. “Are you hit?”
“N-no. No.” She tried to stand but fell back to the floor.