“Oh, Yancey. You poor, dear thing.” Sam rushed to her and suddenly he was holding her and her head was against his chest. She felt his heart beating under her cheek, and she was clinging to him, crying, unable to stop the torrent of words or the rush of horror. “He kept hitting her and hitting her, Sam. What was I supposed to do? I was only eighteen. I didn’t know what to do. I pulled on him, begged him to stop. But he wouldn’t. He pushed me away, shoved me down. My mother was already on the floor, Sam. Dying. Bleeding. My mother. Oh God, my mother, Sam.”
“It’s all right, Yancey, it’s all right, I’m holding you now, it’s all right, you did what you had to do, it’s all right.” He just kept saying it over and over. “Shhh. You don’t have to talk about it anymore. It’s all gone now. Done. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
But Yancey shook her head, her breath coming in ragged sobs and gulps. “I had begged her to leave, Sam, I had. When he wasn’t there, I told her we could leave the farm and get away from him. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, Sam. Where were we going to go? What were we going to do? She didn’t know anything but the farm. We worked it together, my mother and I. But he always came back when he figured there was money from our small harvest. And then that one time … she wouldn’t give it to him, Sam. She said no, that the money was for me. For me to go away and to get out. Oh, God, Sam, she died because of me. Because of me.”
“No, Yancey, that’s not true. You poor thing. God, no. You mustn’t believe that. You were strong and brave and you did what you had to do.”
“No.” She spit the word out, pulling back, angry, hard, her hands fisted around Sam’s shirtsleeves. She stared up into his face, a part of her brain noting that his expression was as ragged as her emotions. “I threw it at him, Sam.” Yancey felt the hate inside her pull her lips back from her teeth. “The money. He wanted the money, so I threw it at him and begged him to take it and leave us alone.”
“Dear God, Yancey, what you had to go through. No one should have to endure it.”
But she wouldn’t be comforted. “I begged him. I just wanted him gone. And I wanted him to leave my mother alone. But he wouldn’t, Sam. Do you hear me? He wouldn’t. I had to kill him to get him to stop. I shot him with his own gun. I pulled it out of his holster and shot him and shot him and shot him. I couldn’t make myself stop.”
Finally, she collapsed against the warm solidness that was Sam’s body, holding on to him, knowing that if she didn’t, she would drown. “I couldn’t stop myself, Sam, until there were no … more … bullets.”
Sam clutched her to him. “Oh, God, Yancey, that’s enough. Please don’t do this. I love you. No one will ever hurt you again. I won’t let them, I swear it.” He was kissing her hair, her forehead, stroking her back, and holding her so very close. Yancey stilled, listening to him, at last hearing him. “I love you. Oh, God, Yancey. Don’t do this to yourself. You had no choice. He would have killed you next. Don’t you know that? He would have killed you next.”
Drenched in her own tears and fiercely hugging Sam, Yancey blinked and thought about that. On some level, one she hadn’t ever allowed to have much of a voice, she had always known it was true, that she would have been next. But she’d never been able to convince herself of that. And now here Sam was telling her the same thing. Maybe it was true, then, that she’d done the only thing she could. Still … the man had been her father. You weren’t supposed to hate your father. Or kill him. But, sometimes, some men, well, they just deserved it.
She would never feel otherwise, she realized. She wouldn’t. She would always believe that he got exactly what he deserved. Still, even with the stain of sin on her soul, Yancey suddenly felt calmer, more whole, more alive, much as if her confession had cleansed her soul.
But she had more to tell Sam. Quietly, and around hiccoughs, she said, “I buried them both. Together. I didn’t want him anywhere near her. Not even in death. But do you know that she always loved him? Always. Can you imagine that? She loved him. He beat the life out of her, but she loved him. So I buried him next to her. And then I took the money, and I packed my clothes, and I left. I went to Chicago and made my own way until I came to Mr. Pinkerton and he hired me. He gave me a chance.”
“I’m glad he did, Yancey. And I’m glad you’re alive.” Sam pulled her away from him, holding her out by her arms, leaning over so he could look into her eyes. “Do you hear me? I love you, and I’m glad you’re alive.” His words washed over her like a benediction, leaving her weak. “I’m glad you left, and I’m glad you kept yourself alive because I don’t think I can live without you.”
“Sam, you—”
“No. Listen to me. I have to say this. For all my life, I’ve been waiting for you. And you alone. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now. And now it’s as if I always knew, always wondered if you’d ever come, if you’d ever show up. I wondered if I would know you if you did. And then … there you were. In my house. Standing there and looking out the window. And from that first moment that I saw you … I knew. I just knew.”
“Sam—”
“I know I said I would let you go when the time came. But I’m afraid I lied. I don’t think I can. I don’t know how all this is going to end up, Yancey, but if I don’t have you, then I have nothing and there is no life. Not for me. I don’t know if my wife is still alive in that asylum. And, God forgive me, I don’t care. She is beyond my help. Poor Sarah has been dead for many, many years, though she’s lived. And I’ve been dead in more ways than she ever was. But only until there was you, Yancey. I love you. I don’t know what I can offer you. Or if you even want me or want to stay, or could ever stay. But all that I am, everything that I have, I lay at your feet, Yancey. I love you.”
Standing there, his hands gripping her arms, Yancey realized that at some point his coat had slipped from her shoulders and she was cold. His expression was fierce with the strong emotions that lurked just under his skin. She’d suspected as much of him, that he was like a deep river, calm on the surface but roiling underneath with currents no one could see. “Yancey?”
The sound of his voice sparked her into speaking. Very calmly, she said, “I’m cold, Sam. I want to go inside.”
She’d surprised him with that. He blinked and pulled back, though still holding on to her arms. “You want to go inside?”
“Yes. But that’s not all.”
“Then, what? Anything. Tell me.”
He was so handsome. Such warm gray eyes. That stubborn jaw. Those high cheekbones. And his loving heart. How could she ever have thought him a villain? Yancey smiled at him. She’d never felt more calm or sure of herself than she did at this moment. She was like a new being, one with no hurts or scars. Whole. Good. Clean. Or perhaps it was that she was merely drained, emptied of all emotion. She didn’t know. And she didn’t care. Tonight, she wanted only one thing, and that was to be filled back up. And it was Sam she wanted to fill her.
At last, her thoughts ordered, she spoke. “I want to go inside with you. And I want you to make love to me, Sam.”
His eyes widened and his grip on her arms tightened.
“I want you to carry me up those wide steps and take me to your bed,” Yancey told him in a matter-of-fact voice. “I want you to love me. And I want to stay with you all night. In your bed. I want to sleep with you and see the sun come up with you. I want this for tonight, Sam, because I can’t promise you anything more than that … or beyond that.”
Chapter Nineteen
She’d given him everything he wanted. She’d allowed him to place his coat again around her shoulders. She’d walked quietly with him back into the drawing room, had waited while he closed the doors, and then had crossed the drawing room with him. At the foot of the stairs, she had turned to him. And Sam had picked her up, holding her in his arms, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her face nestled against his shoulder. Wordlessly, he had climbed the sweep of stairs. She weighed nothing. Even to himself, he seemed more to float upward than to take t
he steps one at a time. Her love carried him, he knew, in a much more real sense than he had her.
They’d encountered no one on their way to his room. And Sam was especially glad tonight that he had no valet, no one standing there to be shocked or embarrassed when he entered the room carrying Yancey. He felt certain that had they seen another person, the magic spell that wove itself around them would have been irretrievably broken. They both would have come to their senses, and she would have asked to be put down. And then she would have left him. But nothing like that happened. And so it was that they found themselves standing in Sam’s bedroom, beside his bed, and facing each other.
Sam worried. She was so impossibly small and fragile. She wanted this to happen. He knew that. She’d even been the one to say so. But still, he feared that this wasn’t the right time. Not the best moment. She’d been through so much. But on another level, a physical one, he feared he would crush her under him or bruise her … or otherwise hurt her. Not intentionally. Never intentionally. But the act of loving could be less than gentle. He started to speak his fears, even opening his mouth—
“No.” She put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t speak. Please.”
Looking into her eyes, holding her gaze, Sam clasped her fingers and kissed her palm … softly, gently. He watched her face, saw her mouth open, heard her breathing quicken. Her green eyes glazed with desire. Sam slowly straightened her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist. A tiny moan escaped her. With nipping, biting kisses, he pulled her ever so slowly to him as he worked his way to the hollow of her elbow. He kissed deeply of her there, his other arm going around her waist.
She’d told him not to speak, but he couldn’t stop the words that, for him, were as much a part of lovemaking as was his lover’s touch. “I want you, Yancey. As I’ve never wanted anyone before.”
“Oh, Sam. You are so good to me.” She cupped his face with her free hand, her eyes shining. Then she moved her fingers until they were against his lips. And again he kissed them. She surprised him by taking her fingers to her mouth and wetting them with her kiss. Then she put them back against his lips. Her expression, as she captured his gaze, pulsed with a passion all its own. “I want you, too. In all ways. I will deny you nothing. I have no defenses where you are concerned, Sam. I stand naked before you.”
“Not quite yet,” he remarked, his body exploding with a rush of desire. He pulled her to him, kissing her mouth, plundering it, taking from it the life she gave him. He’d meant to go slowly their first time together. He’d meant to seduce her, to know every part of her body, to feed his hunger for her. But the things she said, the way she looked at him, the very feel of her in his arms, would not allow for tenderness. His body wanted only to know hers. He wanted to feel himself inside her, pushing against her, his strokes—
Yancey was unbuttoning his shirt. Sam broke their kiss and lifted his shirt over his head, shrugging out of it and throwing it to the floor.
“Oh, Sam, you’re magnificent. Look at this chest.” Thoroughly enjoying herself, her face alight with delight, she ran her small hands expertly over him, exciting him beyond measure.
“I love this hair here. So dark. So crisp.” She splayed her fingers, the diamond on her finger flashing with her every movement. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you.” She raised the green eyes of a temptress to him and affected a pout. “It teases me, you know, peeking out of your shirts.”
“Bad chest hair,” Sam said, thoroughly enchanted with her, yet frowning as if he were scolding a dog. He was relieved to see nothing in her face or her manner of the broken little girl she’d been downstairs. So damned relieved.
Yancey chuckled, capturing his attention as she planted a quick kiss on his chest. Then, she turned around, her back to him, and said, “Undo me, please.”
Never a man to question a woman’s orders, and in a fever of desire, Sam started on the row of tiny buttons. As he did, Yancey began unpinning her hair. Button after button came undone. More and more of her thick, lustrous auburn hair fell down her back and over his hands. So soft. Like her skin. Sam had the buttons undone to her waist before he realized that she wore nothing underneath the dress. The realization took his breath, and then had him releasing it in a slow, sensual exhalation.
Her flawless, smooth skin was exposed to his eyes. At last.
Her arms were at her sides. Sam held on to them and bent to kiss his way down her spine. She wriggled at the sensations and, moaning, arched her back. Shirtless, about to bulge out of his pants, Sam squatted behind her on his haunches. He wanted the remainder of those damn buttons to come loose. Now. He worked them, almost beyond control, silently cursing each one and threatening to tear the fabric away from her.
But then … the dress fell away from her, pooling at her ankles and leaving her, like him, unclothed from the waist up.
Every male instinct within him begged him to turn her around. He wanted to see her breasts, wanted to taste her flesh, and take her nipples in his mouth. Wanted to flick his tongue against each one until they were hard buds and she could no longer stand on her own. And he would do that. But first he untied her crinolines with a slow pull of the satin bow that held them in place. These garments too went the way of the dress. Sam damn near lost consciousness … Yancey also had on no bloomers, no smallclothes of any kind.
“My God, Yancey, you are so beautiful.”
She turned her head, her movement swinging her long hair across her back, and peered at him over her shoulder. Her eyes slanted sensually. “I’m so glad you think so. Robin was horrified.”
“Poor Robin. But, oh, I think so. I very much think so. You are beautiful,” he quickly assured her, grinning, feeling his blood rush wildly through his veins. Though he throbbed with need for her, he couldn’t reach out to touch her. He couldn’t move. She was that exquisite. A thing of beauty to be enjoyed. Squatting there behind her, his weight on the balls of his feet, Sam ran a hand over his mouth and chin and feasted his eyes on her perfect little heart-shaped bottom. If he could have sculpted one as an example of feminine perfection, it would have been this one, hers. Peaches-and-cream skin covered taut, firm muscle. “You are an absolute work of art, Yancey.”
She still peered at him over her shoulder. “Are you an art lover, Sam?”
She was going to drive him mad. Sam nodded, finally catching enough of his breath so that he was again capable of moving. He wrapped an arm gently around her unbearably tiny waist and tugged her back to him. “I am the world’s foremost lover of art. As of this moment.”
Her chuckling response ended as a tiny gasp … Sam was kissing the small of her back. He smoothed his free hand over her firm buttocks. She dug her nails into his arm that he’d wrapped around her waist. A satyr’s grin claimed Sam’s mouth. Her body felt and tasted just as he knew she would. He wondered only if the rest of her tasted like this warm, rich cream of her back.
Coming to his feet and directing her movements with his hands, Sam turned her until she faced him. The sight of her staggered him. He raised his eyebrows in an invitation for her to step out of the cloud of her clothing enveloping her ankles. She did so, also slipping out of her shoes, with Sam holding her hand as if they were preparing to dance a rather risqué minuet.
Then, she stood before him fully naked, unashamed, unabashed. Now Sam’s heart all but stopped. Her hair had fallen over her shoulders and hung almost to her waist. Peeking through the long curling dark auburn tresses were her breasts, each one a milky-white, perfectly shaped handful topped with a rosy pink nipple. High and firm. Overcome, he had to remind himself to breathe.
Her figure itself was the stuff of romantic poems. A narrow waist and gently flaring hips that showed a hint of the bones underneath. Her smooth, flat belly boasted a dark round mole to one side of her navel. Sam’s first impression was that of a tiny moon orbiting the sun. Then, the auburn vee at the juncture of her rounded thighs captured his attention and held him riveted.
“Sam, I feel I should tel
l you that, well, you’re not my … first.”
Still holding her hand, still very much under her spell, Sam looked into her green eyes … and smiled. “Good. Then that means I don’t have to explain everything to you. Or worry that you’ll be frightened by the sight of an aroused man.” Her face colored prettily and she lowered her gaze, causing her hair to fall forward and hide her face. Sam sobered. “I’m sorry. Was I crude?”
Still not looking at him, she shook her head. Her hair danced with the motion. “No. It’s just that you’re an exceptional man, Sam Treyhorne. Most men would—”
“Uh-uh.” She raised her head, showing him widened, worried eyes. Sam tenderly tucked her hair behind her ears. “If I were most men, Yancey, then I wouldn’t be exceptional, would I? And you’re not my first, either. I hope that doesn’t diminish me in any way in your eyes?”
Her smile became an imp’s grin. “Not at all. I’m glad, too, because I would hate to have to walk you through this.”
Sam laughed outright, tugging her to him. “Come here, you.”
Unexpectedly, she put a hand against his bare chest and resisted him. “No. I don’t want to be the only one with no clothes on. Take off your pants.”
Amused, he released her and arched his eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.”
Yancey made a face at her own expense. “I’m sorry. Being a Pinkerton made me bossy.”
“You misunderstand. I wasn’t complaining. And I like a woman who knows her mind.” Sam slipped out of his shoes and tugged, one at a time, at his stockings. Then, barefooted and bare-chested, he put his hands to his trousers’ opening.
The Marriage Masquerade Page 29