by Sharon Ihle
"The countess? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
"She's the society woman giving the Young Gentlemen's Ball Saturday, remember? If you're not here, I'll have to attend the damn thing. There's no telling what all those debutantes will do to try and lasso a fine specimen like myself." He undid the buttons at the throat of her nightgown. "They'll be wanting to put their hands all over me, and kissing me," he showed her exactly what he meant, "and all manner of things just to win me over."
"I see," she murmured, sounding a little breathless. "And that would be so terrible?"
"Oh, yes. Why the next thing you know, one of those society-bound darlings could have me trussed up like a hog at a barbecue. You wouldn't want that kind of life for me, would you?" Moving up to Libby's mouth, he kissed her thoroughly. "What do you say? Stay a few more days and give me life, Liberty, and the pursuit of a little more happiness."
Libby burst out laughing, then caught Donovan's face between her hands and scattered a few kisses across his lips. "All right, you've convinced me to stay until Sunday. After that—"
Donovan silenced her with a kiss. He didn't want to think about "after that." In fact, didn't want to think about anything except how good Libby felt beneath him, how soft and smooth her skin felt against his palms, and how very, very much he wanted her at that moment. He wallowed in sensations like never before, savoring the sweet taste of Libby's mouth and the sunshine bouquet aroma of her hair, and reveled in the intoxicating sound of her cries as he brought her to climax again, and again. His control hanging by a ragged edge, with every nerve ending in his body crying out for release, at last he let himself go, and spun mindlessly into an intense, but bittersweet finish.
Stunned, Donovan lay still atop Libby for several moments, wondering if perhaps he'd died, but far too exhausted to test himself to see if he were still alive. When she moaned beneath him, pointing out that indeed he'd survived the encounter, he rolled to her side and lay flat on his back.
Something had gone wrong with him. After what they'd just shared—an experience unlike anything he'd ever known—he should have felt hollowed out, empty in both mind and body. But he didn't. Instead, Donovan found himself wanting something more, needing a certain comfort. Remembering the night Libby had come to him and slipped into his bed, and needing to feel that sense of contentment again, he rolled to where she lay, gathered her into his arms, and tucked her head beneath his chin. It wouldn't hurt a thing to stay with her for just a little while. To rest, not sleep, for two hours, tops. It wouldn't hurt a damn thing.
* * *
The next morning, Donovan woke up to the sound of birds singing right outside his window—an oddity, considering he never slept with his window open. He yawned, breathing deeply, and picked up the scent of lilacs mingled with the unmistakably earthy aroma of lovemaking. Then something soft and warm—Libby—stirred in his arms, and he knew in an instant he was still in her bed with his head resting not three feet from her open window.
"Oh, Donovan?" her sweet voice called. "Wake up and take a look around—you spent the night in my room."
He cracked one eyelid, even though he knew exactly where he was. "Oh, hell. I must have been more tired than I thought last night. Hope I didn't keep you awake."
"Not at all. In fact, I kind of liked snuggling with you." The minute the words were out, Libby regretted them. She'd agreed to follow Donovan's rules, no strings, no expectations, and had even gone so far as to proclaim herself as a believer in free love. It didn't matter that she'd discovered—too late—those rules weren't for her, but she sure couldn't explain her feelings to him without making herself out a liar. He would realize in a minute that she was just another woman who had her own plans for "trussing him up like a pig at a barbecue"—even if she didn't have a clear idea how to go about it. And then he'd toss her on the first train to Laramie, without looking back.
Donovan tapped the tip of Libby's nose, snapping her out of her musings. "Hey, you—wake up," he said. "Don't expect this snuggling every night you're here. I think last night I probably didn't wake up because down deep I didn't want to have to run bare-assed naked to my room in the dark. Not while there's still mice roaming around the house."
Reminded of her accident with the wallpaper, Libby stuffed the corner of her pillow into her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Donovan would find out soon enough that he didn't have mice. Surely by daylight, he would see that someone, not something, had ruined his wallpaper. After that, it wouldn't take him long to figure out who'd made such a mess of his lovely home.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked, rising up on one elbow.
Donovan loomed above her, his dark hair mussed and falling over one eye. His grin was so wicked and tempting, Libby couldn't remember why she'd been laughing. "Was I?"
"Yes, and if you think it's funny that I'm a little afraid of mice, don't. Everyone's afraid of mice," he insisted. "Aren't you?"
"Not really," she admitted, fighting off a new attack of the giggles—and losing the battle. "Especially the ones in this house."
"You wouldn't think any of this were funny if some little furry creatures were running up your legs—like this." He dove beneath the covers before she realized what he was up to, and began tickling the bottom of her feet.
Libby shrieked and tried to kick him off the end of the bed at first, but when Donovan slid his hands up her legs, not like a mouse, but like a hungry wolf preparing to devour her, she stilled. He spread hot kisses up her thighs, then feathered them across her belly, his tongue occasionally flicking her navel, turning her moans to something feral and guttural. She was crazy with wanting him, her pulse pounding in her ears, and wondering what he would do next—when Libby realized someone was knocking on the door. Then it abruptly opened.
"Excuse me, Miss Justice," said Gerda. "I thought I heard you awake in here. There's a Miss Susan Savage downstairs to see Mr. Donovan, but he did not come home yet."
Her pulse in her throat now instead of her ears, Libby quickly raised her knees, making a tent out of the puffy quilt, and hoped she'd managed to hide the bulk of Donovan's body.
"Oh, ah..." She cleared her throat. "Someone to see Donovan?"
"Ja—vell, actually, I thought you might receive Miss Savage in Mr. Donovan's place. Ja?"
Donovan's head was flat against Libby's belly, his tongue, buried in her navel. She could tell he was trying hard not to move, as she was, too, but oh, the mouthwatering sensations that tongue was rousing in her. Libby squirmed as she caught her breath and said, "Uh, yes. Tell her I'll be down in a few minutes."
Gerda started to back out the door, but stopped. "I baked some special blueberry muffins. Vant me to serve them with some nice, hot tea?"
Donovan suddenly clutched Libby's hips, the only suggestion he gave that he was fighting a catastrophic event, but then sneezed against her belly in spite of the effort. To cover the sound, Libby quickly fell into a coughing fit. At the same time, instinct drove her to clamp her knees shut. When she heard Donovan's response, a low agonized groan, the outrageously embarrassing situation struck her funny bone. She gave into a fit of hysterical laughter.
Gerda, who'd watched Libby's ever-changing expressions with increasing bewilderment, cocked her head and furrowed her brow. "Is everything all right?"
"Sure," she managed to say between gasps. "I think I got a feather up my nose. Oh, and muffins sound like a great idea."
This time, Gerda finally did step out into the hallway, but she didn't close the door until she'd taken one final long look inside the room.
When Libby felt they were safe, she raised the quilt and screamed in a whisper. "Get out from under there. Do you have any idea what you just put me through?"
"What I put you through?" Donovan exploded up from between the sheets. "I damn near suffocated under there. And why'd you try to cut me in half with your knees? I think you broke some of my ribs."
"That was an accident." Libby burst out laughing. "I didn't me
an to hurt you. I guess it was just an automatic reaction I couldn't control."
"Oh, I see..." Donovan took her hand and pulled it beneath the covers. Uttering a low moan when he had her fingers where he wanted them, he muttered, "So is this."
Libby jerked away from him as if she'd touched fire. Maybe, she had. "What are you suggesting?" she whispered harshly. "Your sister's downstairs, and she's waiting not just for me, but for you, too."
"So what? She can wait a few minutes while we—"
"Don't be ridiculous. I can't... you know, with her waiting downstairs." Libby rolled to the edge of the bed, but Donovan caught her from behind.
Fitting her bottom against the part of him that would not be denied, he took her breast into one hand and lightly massaged the nipple as he whispered thickly, "You can... and you will. And just to make sure we don't keep anyone waiting too long, we'll do it your way—as fast as you want to go." His hand slid lower, parting her legs, and then he began to move, sliding back and forth along the slick curves of her body. By then, Libby couldn't even remember his sister's name.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Libby waltzed into the living room to find Susan sipping a cup of tea. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, but I'm afraid I was overly indulgent with myself today, and slept in."
"Oh, please, don't apologize. I had no idea you were staying here."
"Oh, well, I'm not exactly. Last night it was late, and I was only..."
"Goodness," Susan blushed and looked away. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. I'm just happy you agreed to come down and talk to me."
Embarrassed, but tingling from head to toe as she recalled the frantic, thrilling lovemaking she and Donovan had just shared, Libby settled on the sofa across from where the young woman sat.
Her composure back in place, Susan remarked, "That's really an unusual outfit. Do all the women in Wyoming dress this way?"
Laughing softly, Libby admitted, "No, I'm kind of an oddity at home, too. I generally explain that I wear these buckskins because of all the traveling I do on horseback as a reporter, but between you and me, they're also a heck of a lot more comfortable than any dress I've ever owned."
Susan was still laughing, making Libby feel completely at ease, when Donovan stepped into the room. He was wearing a trim dark suit without the brocade vest, and in place of his usual string tie, he wore a smoke-gray tie fashioned into a large bow at his throat. Donovan the businessman supplanting Donovan the gambler, she supposed, but Libby missed the charm of his satiny vest.
Smiling warmly at his sister, Donovan glanced repeatedly at the floor near the bay window as he greeted her. "Hello, Susan. What a nice surprise."
"Good morning, Donovan," she replied. "I probably should have sent advance notice of my visit, but I was just too eager to talk with you to wait. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." He glanced at Libby, favoring her with a smile which would have gotten him arrested had he flashed it in front of her father when he was alive. "Morning, Libby. You're looking bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked today. Sleep well, did you?"
She willed herself not to blush and tried to think of something sassy to say in return, but the best she could do was, "Thanks. You're looking pretty good yourself."
"I can't remember when I ever felt better."
At least then he had the decency to turn away, giving Libby a chance to regain her composure. After checking all three mousetraps and finding them empty except for bait, Donovan made his way across the room and joined her at the sofa.
"So," he said, addressing his sister. "What are you so eager to talk about?"
Shyly dropping her gaze to her lap, Susan's voice was surprisingly strong as she said, "I've been thinking over some of the things Libby talked to me about the night of our welcome party for you. I'm proud to say that I've decided to join the National Woman Suffrage Association."
Mortified to realize how much influence she'd had on the young woman, Libby beat Donovan to the obvious question. "Oh, but Susan—what about your father? He'll be furious if you join the cause. Are you aware of that?"
Still keeping her eyes downcast, Susan shrugged. "I'm to be married soon, and won't have to answer to him much longer."
"That might be true," said Donovan, "but then you'll have a husband. What if he objects?"
At last, Susan looked up and regarded them both. "I plan to tell Henry about this decision later, but I can't imagine that he'd be terribly interested in our country's political problems, at least regarding suffrage. We'll be living abroad within the year, anyway, and I did so want to do something to help the cause before I go. Surely there must be some way for me to be useful."
Libby and Donovan exchanged glances. She nodded, giving him the floor—Susan was, after all, his sister.
He propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "It sounds to me like you've already made up your mind, even though you know our father won't be happy about it. What are you looking for from me? Advice?"
"Not really." She glanced at Libby, suddenly looking uneasy, then back to her brother. "I just wanted you to know about my decision. I thought, with Libby being so active in women's rights and all, that you'd be... happy for me, I guess."
"Of course I am, Susan." He rose and crossed over to her chair. "If you want to champion the women's vote, I think you should. The idea doesn't bother me the way it does R. T. Just be sure to leave the San Francisco Tribune and its affiliates out of whatever you do." He laughed heartily, then reached down and took her hand in his. "Speaking of the newspaper, this is my first day on the job at Savage Publishing, and I'm already late. I have to go."
He brought Susan's fingers to his lips, bestowing a kiss to them, and Libby could see the unspoken love, or at least, a deep family affection, reflected in his stormy blue eyes. If Donovan had been planning a sentimental good-bye to Libby, it was interrupted as Gerda lumbered into the living room carrying a serving tray.
"Mr. Donovan." Her heavily-lidded eyes went round for a moment. "But you are not home."
"Ah, but yes, I am. I just came in."
"I did not hear you arrive." Looking puzzled, she asked, "Do you vant tea and muffins with the ladies, or me to cook you a nice big breakfast?"
"Neither, actually. I have to leave now."
"You just came in and now you must leave?"
"That's right."
Shaking her head and muttering to herself in German, Gerda set the tray on the coffee table and then waddled out of the room. Donovan was one step behind her.
"I really do have to be on my way," he said over his shoulder. "Glad you stopped by, Susan, and good luck with your enterprise. Libby... I'll see you later this afternoon."
"Good day, Donovan," said Susan. "Oh, and Henry and I would like to take you and Libby to the Cliff House this coming Saturday. Can you make it?"
At the arched doorway, he turned and shrugged. "Whatever Libby decides is fine with me." And then he was gone.
Looking much more relaxed, Susan settled back against the chair, yet strangely enough, her spine never quite met the fabric. Libby saw the gesture as an opposite to her own social status and upbringing—her idea of relaxing would have been to throw her leg over the arm of the sofa. How long before Donovan would be employing this same stiff-backed formality? No longer looking into her lap, but directly at Libby, Susan said, "I had the feeling you were a little surprised by my decision. I hope the fact that I mentioned you as a major reason for joining the cause didn't upset or embarrass you."
In some ways it did, but Libby could hardly explain any of them to her. She smiled. "No, of course not. I'm just concerned that I didn't also mention some of the difficulties you'll be facing as a suffragist. Most men don't think much of our activities, and here in San Francisco, I've noticed that many women feel that way, too."
"You don't need to worry about me. I'm stronger than I look." This surprised Libby, as she hadn't noticed a wealth of insight in the young woman before. Susan went on, indeed sou
nding stronger. "Those few things you said to me the other night got me to thinking about my life and what I hope to accomplish with it, especially the part about my living in a fantasy world, compared to most women. I do want to help others, in particular those who cannot help themselves. I also think it's about time I started raising more... hell."
Libby almost laughed out loud. Susan had eked out the word 'hell' with so much effort, she was sure this was the first time the young woman had ever sworn. Something sharp, a feeling close to envy, slashed through Libby's breast as she studied the enthusiasm radiating from Susan's expression. The neophyte suffragist was really excited by the idea that she could make a mark in this male-dominated world, no matter if her contributions made only a barely discernible scratch.
Seeing this in her, watching the embers of pride catch fire in Susan the way they'd once caught fire in her own heart, a lump of regret swelled in Libby's throat. She felt like a traitor to the cause, a turncoat. How could she be dispensing advice on equal rights to anyone?
"How do I sign on?" asked Susan.
"You're absolutely sure you want to do this?"
"One hundred percent, completely."
"If that's the way you feel..."
To test her a little, Libby considered the possibility of asking Susan to gather some information she'd been wanting since she'd found out R. T. Savage owned a distillery. She hadn't done a thing about it herself yet because, frankly, she was more than just a little nervous over the idea of rattling the cage of such a powerful man. Especially since the man in question already regarded her with a jaundiced eye. However, if his own daughter were to do a little checking up on his holdings, Libby doubted he'd even notice, much less connect Susan to the NWSA.
Feeling good about the plan, Libby said, "I need some information on a company called Eldorado Distilleries. I understand it belongs to your family. Are you aware of that?"
"Of course." She laughed as if Libby had made some grand joke. "We've only been in the newspaper business a few years now. The distillery is our backbone."