Dearest Darling

by Andrea Downing

  “Yes,” Emily answered without explanation, lowering the brush to her lap, her eyes clear with conviction.

  Still, Daniel remained where he was, until he could stop the doubts, find the will to get himself through the curtain, before her.

  “Yes, I would like you to come to my bed. Your bed.” She tossed the brush aside and proceeded to unbutton the night shift, her hand shaking slightly.

  He went and knelt before her. “You know what happens? When a man and woman come together like this?”

  “I believe so.” The quiver in her words voiced her nerves.

  He stayed her hand from the buttons, gently cast aside her fingers and reached for the closure himself, then stopped. He had never noticed her eyes before, the green of shady pools, summer leaves, unscythed meadows. Moving his hands to cup her chin, he brought her face to his; his lips brushed hers before he sighed and took possession of the sweet cupid’s bow, tasting the flavor of her innocence. His fingers spread through her hair and drew her forward so his kiss could go deeper. He sensed her breath, an anxious reaction as his tongue searched inside, wanting the flavor of her purity.

  She exhaled as if releasing her fears and leaned into him.

  “Shall I continue?” He sat back on his haunches, his hands clasped with hers.

  When she nodded, his fingers found the buttons and discovered their way to unfasten each, one by one. As the last button slipped from its hole, he sought her permission to proceed. Receiving the slight nod, he slipped his hands down to her hips.

  Emily stirred slightly to free the shift so he could lift it. His hands traveled back up slowly, from her thighs to her waist, gathering the fabric until he was able to release it over her head, uncovering her nakedness, the beauty he could hardly have imagined. She sat there, trusting him, bared before him, defenseless.

  Daniel sighed as he ran his fingertips from her shoulder to her breasts, his right hand briefly feeling the soft curvature, the hardened top of her nipple, the raised ground of the aureole, while his left hand sought his own buckle and yanked the belt loose.

  “Should I undress you?” Her voice was now controlled, barely a whisper.

  “If you like.”

  He slipped his hand around her and brought her to standing as he rose. Unable to help himself, he lifted the curtain of hair and let it fall once more as his head bent just enough for his lips to capture hers. She returned the kiss freely as her fingers worked the snaps of his shirt; she then thrust it back from his shoulders, finding his undergarment waiting. When she had unfastened the top part of this, she shoved it back hungrily, letting her hands slide down his chest until the shirt was off, the undergarment hanging.

  Emily’s breath deepened, and her hands rode back up his arms before she leant into him again. Cat-like, she rubbed her hair against his chest as she ran her hand once more down his arm.

  “Have you ever seen a naked man?” He rested his chin into the strands of gold.

  The movement of her head told him she hadn’t.

  “I best finish then. You slip into bed.”

  As she obeyed, he turned away from her, yanked off his boots, and shoved his jeans and union suit down, then slid between the covers to face her.

  “If you want me to stop—”

  “No.” The deep red of her lips and rose of her cheeks verified her desire, confirmed her innocence.

  Daniel gently moved her to her back before taking her hand in his. He guided her to his sex, prompted her to run her hand down the length of it, understand his need. He couldn’t help a soft moan. Her gaze never left his, searched for an answer.

  “Do you know what happens?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will hurt some. At first.”

  “Why…why should it pleasure men and not women?” Her words were not so much a question as a yearning for fulfillment.

  He shook his head, and offered a small smile. “No, it will pleasure you, too. If you let it. If you relax and let it.”

  He kissed her once more as his hand found her inner thigh, ran gently over the smooth skin. His lips sought her neck, planted kisses in the crux and behind her ear, made their way down to her breast and suckled. Her legs opened slightly and warmth greeted his hand, the dampness that would ease his way.

  As he began to caress the inner valleys of her unconquered being, she gasped, inhaled more rapidly with each caress until her heat told him she was ready.

  “Look at me. Look at me, Emily,” he murmured.

  He slid his hands up to cup her face once more, for his tongue to seek the cavern of her mouth even as his body sought her depths, plunged to take possession of her, and plundered the barrier of her maidenhood.

  Emily’s body jolted and, for a moment, Daniel stopped before his own need could overtake him. As he felt the tension of her body leave, she reached up and brought his mouth once more to hers, wrapped her legs about him, bringing him closer, deeper. Her hands ran the vale of his back, the outline of his body. And he would have her know it, know every inch of him.

  He marveled at how her purity transformed itself into womanhood beneath him, how her instincts responded to his touch. His body thrust to the age-old lovers’ rhythm, and hers, in turn, moved to the same tempo in an ever-increasing pulse. Daniel listened to her sighs, the whimpers as she lost control, beheld the liquid eyes, comprehended the pleasure she could endure while his own blood beat faster, built to the ecstasy which now overcame them both.

  Emily’s body arched in its joy, and his seed spilled into her, making his final claim.

  He rested against her, his head nestled under her chin, his hand absently caressing her breast. She kissed the top of his head and, as she ran her fingers through his hair, a deep peace washed over him, a quiet contentment settled upon him and a pleasure overcame him almost equal to the act itself.

  He adjusted his body to relieve her of his weight and caught the look in her eyes. Wonder. Sorrow. And love.

  And yes, he returned that love.

  He leaned in and brushed her lips once more with his, and gazed again at the beauty on his bed. Yes, he was sure. Absolutely. Yes.

  In the morning, he would write a second letter, this time to Ethel, and break off the engagement.

  Chapter Twelve

  The plate slipped from Emily’s hand, the shards lying at her feet as she stood staring, disbelieving. As soon as she had opened the door, mouth gaping, eyes wide, Wilfred had shoved her aside and strode into the cabin as if he owned it.

  “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” The words tumbled from her dry mouth, like old possessions of which she wished to rid herself.

  He glanced around, disdain and disgust crowding his features. “It was easy enough.” He tossed his hat on the table. “I hired a Pinkerton man, of course. A cost you will somehow pay me back. You or Saunders.” His gaze swept the cabin as if Daniel were hiding somewhere. “The Pinkerton learned a woman answering your description had sent a wire, the cost of which was the exact amount missing from the housekeeping funds. Given the amount of food you stole, I assumed you were going on some sort of journey. Anyway, he found you.”

  Emily shook her head in disbelief. “And you would come here? It would be worth your while to come all this way to bring me back…back into your servitude, your despicable, overbearing, and unbearable…” She sputtered, searching for the word. “Slavery!” The cloth she was holding slapped down on the table, her anger finally pouring out.

  Wilfred didn’t flinch. “Of course. You’re my sister, and I care for you.” A snake-like grin oozed across his face. “Anyway. Is it the Saunders who was at school with me? The same Daniel Saunders?”

  She hesitated, then sought the broom to sweep up the shards of broken plate. “Yes.”

  “Ha! I thought so. You’d been corresponding with him, had you? But how? How did this come about?”

  “None of your business!” Emily marched past him to the waste pail. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she added, triumphant s
he had something he couldn’t have, wouldn’t know.

  “Don’t fool yourself, my dear. If Daniel Saunders somehow managed to start a correspondence with you, it was only to get back at me. He feels…he believes I was the instrument of his being expelled from Collegiate. He claims I copied exam answers from his paper when it was he who copied from me. He thinks I ruined his life. Naturally, for someone such as that, this is his way of getting back at me.”

  So, there it was, the truth at last.

  Or was it?

  “What? What are you saying?” Emily chilled at the snide look on her brother’s face.

  Wilfred shrugged and dragged out a chair, lowered himself into it. “Just that. What I said. He was a charlatan then and is a liar and fraud now. I suppose he has told you he loves you or some such nonsense? Of course, when we get home, I’ll have to tell friends you have been visiting a distant relative, to protect my reputation.”

  Emily crossed her arms. “I won’t be going home with you. You must be mad. It isn’t so. None of what you’ve said is true. I’ll ask him.”

  “And you would believe that pretender over your own brother? Don’t be a fool!”

  Emily paced, tried to think. She darted into the bedroom to find the letter, the letter Daniel had sent to Ethel Darton that had come to her. Could it be? Could it have all been a sham? That he purposefully wrote…showed her the photo of the singer thinking she wouldn’t know... Could it all have been…no, surely not. She knew Daniel, trusted him; he had been honest with her from the start. He was no actor. She tucked the letter back in her carpetbag.

  But Daniel had said she must go back. He had repeatedly asserted his intention to marry that woman. At least now he would be saved the money. This much she could give him.

  The emptiness of losing him already gripped her like a fever with the fear of never seeing him again. But what use was this yearning if he loved another? No! Best to leave now, save him the cost, save him the sacrifice of his stock to send her back. Go home to her old life, her brother, her fate.

  “Get your things now,” Wilfred called through the curtain. So certain, so sure of himself. “I want to get the evening stage. Too bad about not seeing Saunders again, of course. I would have liked to see his face when—”

  “Emily, I’ve—” The door flew open and a gasp escaped Daniel as he confronted his old enemy. He froze.

  “Hello, Saunders.” Wilfred got to his feet. “I see you’ve ended up where you were always meant to be. In the middle of nowhere.”

  Daniel’s fist flew into the ugly visage of Wilfred Darling. The city man lost his footing, flying back into the cupboard holding Daniel’s mother’s china. Emily rushed to stop the cabinet from falling. Her tiny fist hit the wall, and both men looked over.

  “That was unnecessary, Daniel! Fighting won’t help.”

  “Well, it helped me,” he snarled as he cracked his knuckles and glared at her.

  “He wants me to go back with him.”

  Daniel shoved a chair, his face tight. “Go back? With that? To that? Ha!”

  “He says you were expelled from Collegiate, you cheated on exams and were expelled,” she sputtered out.

  “I cheated? I cheated! He lied!” Daniel’s voice rose in pitch, his anger coursing through him. “He told the headmaster I had copied his answers, but it was him. He copied my paper, set me up. I was eighteen, in my last year with a place at university.”

  “He says you have me here to get back at him.” Hands on hips, Emily’s foot tapped like the ticks of a clock.

  “What? What! How could I…you think I wrote to Ethel Darton knowing the letter would find you?”

  “Ethel Darton, eh?” Wilfred held his stomach as he laughed with the information. “You were writing to Ethel Darton?” He shuffled to his feet. “Get your things,” he ordered his sister, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. “I can sue you for this, Saunders. Although, I suspect, in this godforsaken country, there won’t be much point.”

  “Emily, wait!”

  But she ignored him, slipped behind the sheer partition and hurried to gather her belongings.

  Confounded, Daniel stepped toward Wilfred. “What do you know about Ethel Darton?”

  “Fool. Why should I tell you?” he gloated, though never taking his gaze from the partition where his sister had disappeared. “Emily, hurry now,” he called over his shoulder. “We mustn’t miss the stage.”

  Daniel couldn’t get hold of any of this in his mind. Emily leaving. Her brother here—and knowing Ethel Darton. His world spun around him. And he hadn’t as yet told her he had written.

  Rage overcame him, boiled up. He grabbed Wilfred by the collar. “Tell me who the hell Ethel Darton is. How do you know her?”

  “Every man in New York knows her. She’s a famous…how shall I put it politely? Oh, yes, I needn’t bother about such things with you. She’s a paid consort or, in your world, a whore.”

  “But…” Daniel stammered. “A…whore? I don’t…” He sank into a chair as Wilfred straightened his jacket and collected his hat.

  He’d been such a fool, such a fool. How could he not have known?

  Emily stood by the partition, her carpetbag in her hand. Tears began to streak her face.

  “I’m leaving.” She waited, put the bag down for a moment. “I’m going.” Another moment passed. “I’m leaving with Wilfred.”

  The minutes ticked away.

  Daniel’s chin rested on his fist as he stared straight ahead. The loneliness he had known began its slow return to fill him like breath. Just a word, if he could just say something. But, no, it was too late. After all, who would want such a fool as he?

  Emily lifted her bag once more. “Well, then,” she said quietly.

  “Ah!” Wilfred took up the photograph still lying there on the table. “Lillie Langtry. The Jersey Lily. I remember her tour of America well. Photographs of her all over the place. Except out here, I suspect. Back in ’82, wasn’t it? Or was it ’83?” He tossed the photo back on the table. “Come, Emily. I must return the buggy to the livery before we get the stage.”

  Like a wounded animal, immobile in his place, even as she left, Daniel sat with his head in his hands until evening crept around him and then was stolen by night.

  How could he have stopped Emily when it would’ve appeared to her he only wanted her now Ethel had been exposed for what she was? He had never told her he had written to the woman that morning, as she slept, long before Wilfred had appeared. And how could she want him now, anyway, he who had been duped, been so terribly reckless in so many different ways?

  Fool.

  More a fool, for he had never told her he loved her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emily peered down at the fan of letters on the hall mat each morning with the emptiness that came of a broken heart. She understood Daniel Saunders’ world had come crashing down around him, his own heart broken, the woman he had thought he loved nothing more than a jest, a fabricated vision of loveliness that had never existed.

  She could walk in and replace Ethel Darton—the Ethel Darton he had contrived—with one step inside his cabin. His loneliness, his solitude would permit it. But was that what she wanted for herself?

  Sometimes her answer was a resounding, ‘yes!’ What better could she do for herself now? And she loved him, even if he did not return those feelings. And then, at other times, it was a most conclusive, ‘no!’ She had more pride than that, and as much as she loved him, loved the home he had built, loved the landscape surrounding it, she could somehow not bring herself to face the fact he still loved this illusory figure, this product of his imagination, one she could never live up to.

  Furthermore, he had not written. It could, of course, be he had tried, and various permutations of Ethel’s address had not found her. But since he knew Wilfred’s name, it could surely not be difficult to track her down.

  Curiosity as to Ethel’s motives, Ethel’s intentions, slowly but surely poisoned her bloodstream.
Had the woman intended at all to go west, to become his bride? To give up this decadent life she led in New York City and be the honest housewife of a rancher? Perhaps the woman wished to start all over again, yet it proved too incredible to contemplate. More likely she would have left him as soon as she got there, perhaps set up a parlor house, made even more of a fool of Daniel than he surely felt now.

  Emily’s hand went instinctively to her stomach. There was much to consider. A great deal.

  Wilfred sat in his usual chair, paper in hand. He didn’t look up as she set the salver down, but as she grasped the doorknob, he said, “I shall be going out later today. Don’t expect me for luncheon.”

  It suited her, the house to herself, the quiet ability to sit in the library and read, maybe leave her bed unmade, grab whatever she wished to eat.

  But it wasn’t the peace of the cabin, the expectation of Daniel’s return, the solid comfort his presence brought her.

  When the front door slammed with Wilfred’s departure, she was in the kitchen plucking a chicken for their evening meal. She flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a stroke of grease on her face, and then sat daydreaming about the hills in Wyoming, about learning to ride a horse, about having Daniel in her bed, being smothered by his kisses. She was hardly aware when the doorbell rang, its chime distant to her ears.

  A more insistent ring transported her back, and she slipped down from her stool, quickly wiping her hands on her apron as she trod down the hall.

  A man, a gentleman, tall and elegant, stood on the front stoop, a portmanteau in his hand.

  “Good afternoon. I’m here to see a Miss Emily Darling, if I may. Is she at home?” His voice was educated, courteous.

  Emily could do nothing but stare at the velvet collar, the well-trimmed moustache, the polished shoes. “I’m Emily Darling,” she stuttered.

  The man made no pretense of looking her over, uncertainty crossing his face for a brief moment. “Miss Darling,” he proceeded, “My name is Graham Winston. I realize you don’t know me, but I’m a lawyer with Van Devlin, Chase and Abelard, Attorneys at Law. I wonder if I may come in? Have a word with you? Is it convenient?”