Louisa Rawlings

by Forever Wild

  “What say we go for a boat ride?” asked Arthur suddenly.

  “You’ll have to do all the work. Won’t it be too hot for you?”

  “I’ll stay in the shade, along the edge of the lake. And you’ll have your parasol.”

  Willough stood up. “I should have brought my fan. Nothing will make me cool today.”

  She was sorry she’d had so many glasses of claret lemonade. It only made her feel more flushed.

  “I have an idea. You can trail your feet in the water as we go along. That’ll keep you cool.”

  She hesitated. “How am I to manage that? With my stockings and all?”

  “Why don’t you take off your shoes and stockings here? Then I can carry you down to the boat.” He smiled disarmingly. “It will be very romantic. Like a princess being carried to her barge.”

  She giggled. “Oh, Arthur. What a fanciful thought!”

  He tried to look serious. “Fair damsel, may I be of assistance?”

  She perched on the edge of the chaise and bent to unbutton her shoes. “You may, my liege. If I’m not too heavy for you.”

  “Wait. Let me.” He knelt at her feet and slipped her shoes off. He looked up and smiled. “You’ll never fight your way through all those petticoats and frills to reach your garters. Let me do it.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes. Could Nat be right?

  Arthur looked hurt. “Willough,” he chided. “You can’t possibly think…”

  Silly goose! she thought. A man didn’t seduce a woman in broad daylight! What was she making such a fuss about?

  “Pretend I’m your maid,” he said. “Lean back on the chaise and relax. I’ll do the rest.”

  “You’re being silly, Arthur.”

  “Then indulge me. Your maid gets to pamper you. Let me pamper you for a little while. For all the times when I didn’t see you growing up. When I couldn’t buy you an ice cream, or show you a magic trick, or dandle you on my knee.”

  How could she say no? He had pinned the flower on her bosom without offending her. She sighed and leaned back against the cushions, allowing herself the pleasure of feeling waited upon. Carefully, he stripped back her overskirt and its contrasting underskirts, then folded up her several petticoats just below her knees. Her garters were fastened above her knees, under the lace edge of her drawers. He reached up under the petticoats and unhooked her garters with delicate fingers; she scarcely felt his touch on her flesh. When he pulled off her stockings, she had a pang of embarrassment that her limbs should be exposed to his gaze. But how ridiculous! she thought. She’d gone wading many a time at the seashore—with her skirts held up—and strangers had seen her bare legs. Why should she be embarrassed with Arthur?

  She closed her eyes and wiggled her toes. “Oh, that’s so cool, with the breeze on my limbs!” She was content to let her skirts stay just at her knees; she was too comfortable to be concerned about the niceties.

  “Such a hot day,” he murmured. “I don’t know why you wore a jacket over your waist. Come. Out of it. Out of it!”

  She could feel his fingers beginning to work on the buttons of her jacket. She opened her eyes and smiled lazily at him, laughing as he sat her up and pulled the jacket off her. Without the long, heavy sleeves, she certainly felt more comfortable. So comfortable that she’d almost forgotten why they were there. “The boat ride…” she began.

  He pushed her back against the pillows, fluffing them behind her head. “The boat ride can wait. You look cooler than you have all afternoon.” He picked up his straw skimmer and began to fan her feet.

  She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I feel like a sybarite!” She giggled. “You’ve no idea how warm one’s knees can get under all these petticoats!”

  “Poor knees. We must make them more comfortable.” Carefully he pushed her skirts just above her knees and continued fanning. She sighed contentedly, then gasped. Something was touching her bare skin. She opened her eyes to see that Arthur had bent to her and was kissing her leg.

  “Merciful heaven! Why did you do that?”

  He looked at her and smiled, a gentle, benevolent smile. “Because they’re such charming knees. And so distressed under all those petticoats.”

  She felt herself blushing. But he was dear Arthur, after all. Dear, safe Arthur. Isobel had always said it: If you’re in danger from a man, you’ll know it. She had no fear with Arthur. “How can limbs be charming?” she demurred with a shy laugh.

  He gazed at her, his eyes warm and sincere. She had never felt so flattered by a look in all her life. And his words brought more flattery. “You have beautiful legs—what I can see of them. It’s a pity a woman must keep her beauty hidden under so many layers of clothing.” She felt deliciously wicked, surprised at her own enjoyment of his frank admiration. She had never thought it could feel so wonderful to have a man praise you with his words and his glances.

  He unbuttoned his frock coat and took it off, then loosened his collar and cravat. “You look so comfortable. I hate to disturb you to go boating.”

  She stifled a yawn, then giggled. “I think the claret lemonade has made me sleepy.”

  “Then why don’t you take a nap? There’ll still be time to go boating in the cool of the afternoon.” He leaned over her and smiled. “Why don’t you close those beautiful eyes? Let me see if I can make you more comfortable.”

  “Are you still determined to be my maid?”

  He grinned and sat beside her on the chaise. “Of course! Now close your eyes. And when you wake this maid will still be here, not stealing a sweet in the pantry.”

  Still giggling, she closed her eyes. Such a silly game! She was certainly not used to such giddy behavior. Who would have thought Uncle Arthur could be so amusing? She felt his hands go around her waist, shifting her body to a more horizontal position. With the heat, and the claret lemonade, and his kind ministrations, it would be very easy to fall asleep.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Nat’s voice, hard as granite.

  Arthur jumped up and whirled around. “What the devil are you doing here, Stanton?”

  “I came for a swim. I thought I heard voices.”

  Willough sat up. She didn’t know whether to be angry or humiliated. It was one thing to play with Arthur; it was quite another to be found in such a state of undress by a man like Nat! Quickly she pulled her skirts and petticoats modestly over her bare legs. “Haven’t you any manners, Nat?” she said. Her voice was quivering. “Of all the rude behavior…”

  “I didn’t know I was expected to knock,” he said. He looked at Arthur, his amber eyes burning with fury. “But then, I’m not a gentleman!”

  “You’d better get out, Stanton.”

  Nat crossed his arms against his chest. He was wearing only a dark work shirt—the sleeves rolled up, the front half unbuttoned; it was blotched with sweat. He clenched and unclenched his teeth, so his jaw twitched angrily. “You’ll leave first, Gray. Either by the stairs…or the window.”

  “Now see here, Stanton…”

  “Mr. Bradford always struck me as a somewhat old-fashioned father. He might be interested to hear my interpretation of this little scene.”

  Arthur’s glance wavered. He managed a thin laugh. “Brian and I have always enjoyed a comfortable association, both privately and in business. I’d hate to see that jeopardized.” He bent to retrieve his coat and hat.

  Willough struggled to her feet, smoothing out her skirts. “Arthur, you don’t have to…”

  He smiled. “I would do nothing, my dear, that might damage your father’s esteem for either of us.” He indicated Nat with a contemptuous jerk of his chin. “Honi soit qui mal y pense. You have my profound sympathies, Willough, that you’re forced to work with this coarse lout! I’ll see you at dinner on Monday.” He pushed past Nat and hurried down the stairs.

  Willough whirled to Nat, her lip curled in disgust. “Would you like a translation?”

  “Don’t bother. I can guess.”

  “It m
eans Shamed be the man who thinks evil!”

  “I only think what my eyes tell me,” he growled. “What is he—forty? The lecherous bastard! Playing his little games with you…”

  “He’s thirty-eight,” she snapped, wondering why she had to defend Arthur.

  “And you?” His eyes swept her coldly. “Twenty-one at the most, I’d guess. And so young and green that a man could soft-soap you into anything!” He jerked his chin in the direction of the wine decanter. “Even without that to lull you into complacency!”

  “You do have a vulgar mind! Arthur was fully dressed, and I”—she felt herself blushing, remembering her shameless skirts—“I…was never in any danger!” she finished hastily. “Whereas you—look at you! Don’t you even button your shirt in the presence of a lady?”

  He laughed sardonically. “He was fully dressed? Christ! Do you think sex is like those pretty pictures in the museums—all those handsome, naked bodies so tastefully arranged? My God, Willough, he can have his cock in you without unhooking his gaiters!”

  She gasped in horror, her hand going to her mouth. She scarcely understood what he meant. But there were dark shadings in his words and his eyes. Frightening. Mysterious. “Stop it, Nat!”

  “No! I want you to listen and understand, so you won’t let it happen again! He wouldn’t even have to undress you! You ladies with your split drawers make it very easy for a man like that.”

  She was beside herself. “How dare you speak of my underpinnings!”

  “Oh, God!” He ran an impatient hand through his sandy curls. “They’re your drawers, Willough, and damn little protection from what Arthur had in mind! He would have hurt you, Willough. Hurt you badly.”

  She was shaking like a leaf. “You’re disgusting.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I suppose I’m trying to frighten you. I want you to be on your guard with men like that.”

  She could feel the tears starting to burn beneath her lids. “Disgusting,” she repeated. “Disgusting and horrible and vicious and…” The words choked in her throat.

  He stepped closer. “Willough…”

  She looked up. Without her shoes, she was far shorter than he. He seemed to loom above her—the broad shoulders and barrel chest, the shirt falling open to his waist. She could smell his sweat, a musky headiness that was frightening and repelling and strangely seductive all at once.

  She thought, I don’t care what he says. Arthur is a gentleman. But this creature…with his masculine scent, his overpowering body…this is a…(she found it hard even to think the word)…a sexual animal.

  “Willough…” he said again, and put his hand on her bare arm.

  Her eyes widened in panic. She sucked in a terrified breath and cringed away from him, feeling her flesh burning at his touch.

  His amber eyes registered pain. Then anger. “Christ,” he muttered. “You little fool.” Turning on his heel, he pounded down the stairs.

  She sank to the chaise, trembling, and let the tears come at last.

  In the days that passed, Nat could not get the incident out of his mind. There was no one he could discuss it with until his weekly visit with his grandfather. As they sat at the table, Nat cut another piece of cake and handed it to his grandfather. “And there she was, Gramps, with her skirts up, giggling like a schoolgirl.”

  The old man took a bite of the cake and licked his lips. “They do make a fine cake on that Lake George steamer.”

  “That’s why I brought it to you. I enjoyed it myself during luncheon…”

  “So he had her skirts up.” The old man shook his head. “He sounds like a scoundrel.”

  “Yes.” Nat had begun to pace the small cabin. “I don’t even think she realized what he was up to. But I swear he would have had her in another minute if I hadn’t come in. Her eyes were half closed. She didn’t see the look on his face. Like a leering satyr.”

  “And now you’ve got to be decent to the man?”

  “She’s invited him for supper tomorrow. And he’s Bradford’s friend as well. Or at least his confederate.” He smacked his palm angrily against the arm of his grandfather’s wheelchair. “I don’t know if I can prevent myself from throttling the bastard! But I intend to keep my eye on him the whole evening. There’ll be no repetitions of that boathouse scene, by God!”

  His grandfather chuckled. “I don’t care what you say, boy, I think the girl’s got under your skin.”

  He looked at his grandfather. Could it be so? Willough—with those melting eyes? “No. No. It’s just that she’s so damned gullible. She thinks if a man talks like a fine gentleman, he can be trusted.”

  “Does she trust you?”

  “Hardly. I don’t have the gift of gab. Not like that snake. And I touched her. Put my hand on her arm. You should have seen her face then.” He sighed. “I can’t decide whether she was disgusted at my effrontery—and my low station—or afraid of me. Or afraid of all men,” he added thoughtfully.

  The old man snorted. “They’re raising them that way nowadays. Helpless little creatures who don’t know the first thing about a man, and take a fit on their wedding night!”

  Nat laughed. “How do you know?”

  “Remember that nicely padded baggage I had for years? Mary-Rose? She worked as a housekeeper at the Lake George Hotel. The stories she told me about what went on in that bridal suite…!” The old man rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Maybe that’s why she’s afraid. Maybe that’s what she’s been taught. Or not taught. But she must have longings. We’re all Nature’s children under the skin. I wonder how she explains away her feelings.” He had a sudden vision of Willough’s tender mouth. “I wonder if she’s ever been kissed.” He laughed harshly. “But she’s afraid of me.”

  The old man watched him, his pale eyes shrewd and searching. “Is she right to fear you?”

  “She’s safer with me than with Gray!” He began to pace again, his heels clicking on the old floorboards. “Dammit!” he burst out. “Sometimes I want to shake her—I’ve got half a mind to…”

  “Do you have feelings for the woman, Nat?”

  “Of course not! It just makes me angry, that’s all. That man fawns all over her with his smooth talk, and she falls for it. He’s a hero to her.” He frowned, remembering the terror in Willough’s eyes. “I touch her in friendship,” he said, “and I’m a villain, clearly out to ravage her. But I swear, Gramps, he would have talked her out of her virginity. Just with the right words.”

  “And she doesn’t see that.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Maybe it’s her snobbery. Rich men are safe. Poor men aren’t.”

  “You could always seduce her with words—like a rich man would—just to prove your point.”

  Nat laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it! But I’d have to be damned mad at her first!”

  “Why?”

  Why did her face keep rising up before him, with those beautiful eyes that opened on to her soul? Her fragile, vulnerable soul. “Because it would be too easy,” he said softly. “And so unfair.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh God, Gramps, why is life so complicated? Isn’t there any peace anywhere?”

  Marcy waved to the stationmaster of North Creek. “Morning, Tom,” she called. “Is the night train from New York City due in on time?”

  “Morning, Marcy.” He nodded and pulled out his large watch. “She left Saratoga right on time. I reckon she’ll get here on the dot. You meeting a hunting party for Old Jack?”

  “No.” She blushed, feeling suddenly shy. “Just a…a friend.” She turned away. It was too wonderful, too exciting to share with anyone just yet.

  They knew in Long Lake, of course. The Plumleys had thrown a big party, and all the neighbors had wished her well. Even Zeb Cary had managed to smile and shake her hand, though he allowed as how that city slicker hadn’t seemed like much to him.

  She smiled and looked around at the flower-trimmed depot, the sunny street. What a beautiful day for a
wedding. She smoothed the skirt of her gown, a dark green wool with a plain bodice and small lace collar. It was her best dress, but she wished she had a prettier one to get married in. Foolish Marcy, she thought. As long as the groom was her own Drew, what did it matter?

  There must be a rich swell in town, she thought. On a siding at some distance from the station, there was a private railroad car. As she watched, two young men in gray linen stepped down from the car and crossed the dusty road, heading for the hotel. As they passed her, one of them slowed his steps, appraising her in the early morning sunshine.

  Not today, greenhorn, she thought, laughing to herself. Today I’m getting married!

  She examined the railroad car more closely. It was very nice, with its polished mahogany and brass, but it no longer held the fascination it once would have. It represented a silly dream. She heard the toot of a locomotive in the distance. The reality was coming down the track, with Drew.

  She felt her heart begin to pound. Drew! It had been more than a week. She hadn’t thought she could miss anyone as much as she missed him! She waited, filled with anticipation, as the train chugged into the station, and waved excitedly when she spotted him. He was down the steps and pulling her into his arms before the engine had squealed to a halt.

  “You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he said and kissed her exuberantly. She clung to him and returned his kiss with all the aching passion in her. She would never tire of his kisses! She watched him with hungry eyes as he directed the removal of his luggage from the train. He seemed to have a great deal of baggage, valises and carpetbags and large boxes tied up with ribbon. He grinned and put his arms around her waist. “Did you stay at the hotel last night?”

  “Yes. I took a bedroom with a small parlor.” She felt herself blushing. “I told them…my husband would be joining me tonight.”

  His mouth twitched in a lopsided smile. “You were mighty sure of me!”

  “Dang you, Drew Bradford. What made you so sure I’d be here?”

  He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “That last night in Long Lake,” he said, and laughed as she blushed again. He arranged to have his baggage put into their room in the hotel, then insisted on finding a restaurant that could serve him the largest breakfast in town. “For my strength tonight,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. While Marcy worked on toast and jam, Drew dug into venison steak and eggs and flapjacks, washing it down with strong coffee. And all the while he bombarded Marcy with questions.