Her head moved a fraction from side to side and she smiled again, unable to speak. Matthew didn’t need words to read the acquiescence in her body. Sometime during the night, she’d decided that he was what she wanted, despite all the arguments she presented about their remaining friends.
His smile increased and he gently nipped playfully at her lips before his tongue delved between them and engaged her own in a battle of passion. She arched in surprise and her breasts encountered his chest. Matthew’s hand slid beneath her back and he pulled her closer, a moan escaping.
With a tenderness that raged against his mounting desire, he lowered her again, allowing his hand the freedom to explore. When it reached the hem of her gown, he gently tugged upward, caressing the flesh of her calf, and higher toward her thighs. This time, it was Marcelle’s turn to moan.
The loud chime of the cuckoo clock snapped him to his senses. He closed his eyes, trying to bring his raging desire under control. A hand touched his cheek lightly and he opened his eyes, his gaze examining Marcelle’s bemused expression.
“It’s time for me to head out,” he whispered huskily, wanting to do anything but leave. He would have given up everything if only he could bring time to a halt so that he could finish what he started. As it was, it was going to be another very uncomfortable ride into town tonight.
Marcelle smiled knowingly, as if reading his thoughts.
“You know we can’t keep going on like this, don’t you?” He whispered, and winced at the pained expression that crossed her face. “I don’t mean that I’m not coming back, Marcelle. You can bet every horse out there that I’ll come back. You and I have unfinished business to attend to.”
Marcelle blushed.
“We just have a lot to talk about, and time is too limited to do it now. Do you understand?”
Marcelle nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. Matthew placed a swift kiss on her mouth and then leapt to his feet. He offered her a hand up and almost gave into the urge to sling her back to the floor and finish what they’d started, she looked so beautiful and desirous. He leaned down and retrieved his gun belt, then moved swiftly to the front door, knowing without looking that Marcelle was right behind him.
“Want a goodbye kiss?” He teased lightly, and smiled at the profusion of color that seeped into her cheeks. She was so beautiful, he thought again, pulling her into his embrace again. “I’ll be back as soon as business allows, okay?”
“Have a safe journey, Matthew,” Marcelle murmured.
Matthew placed a gentle kiss on her puffy lips then let her go. He reached down and snatched up his gear, slinging it over his shoulder, “We’ll work out this crazy mess when I come home. I promise.”
Marcelle smiled, bringing the tips of her fingers to her lips and throwing a final kiss at his retreating back.
“Do me a favor,” he said, as soon as he was mounted. “Don’t watch me ride away this time.”
Marcelle laughed softly, then turned and closed the door behind her. She snatched her robe up off the floor, ran into the parlor, and pulled the curtain aside, a grin on her face as she watched him ride away – his uncomfortable state laughingly apparent.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“If you were wearing pantalettes, I’d ask what has them all in a knot, big brother,” Mark said, slouching lazily in his seat by the window.
“And if you want to keep your teeth in your head, I’d suggest you not address your conversation in this direction, baby brother,” Matthew said, then returned his concentration on the rapidly passing vista.
“Ah, come on, Matthew, you are not still put out with me over what I did a couple of days ago, are you?”
“Put out, Mark? That hardly does it justice. Try continued murderous rage.”
“You must have it pretty bad for the girl if you let something trivial like that come between us brothers,” Mark said. “Hey! Where are you going?”
“Since you persist in conversing with me when I’ve asked you not to, I’m leaving to take a stroll around the train, otherwise I may do womankind a favor and throw you out of the window.”
“Want some company?” Mark teased and started to rise, ignoring his brother’s obvious foul demeanor.
Matthew was in his face as fast as a rattler strike, forcing Mark to return to his previously seated position.
“Let’s get something clear, Mark,” Matthew said quietly, his face mere inches from his brother’s, “we may carry the same blood, but I have never considered you a brother and never will. You are a blemish on the Daragh name, and if I thought that Mother would survive the disgrace, I’d dump your butt in the worst part of town and leave you there so that you could get a taste of the hurt and humiliation you seem so insistent in meting out to the opposite sex. As it is, if you want to survive this train ride, then I suggest you give me a wide berth.”
With that, Matthew turned and strode from the car, slamming the door closed behind him.
Mark grinned evilly. It had been easier to rid himself of his brother’s company than he imagined it would be. He peered out the door a moment after Matthew’s departure, his smile increasing.
Time to pay a visit to his next conquest, he thought, hoping she’d had as much success dumping her escort as he’d had getting rid of his. He locked the door and moved down the corridor in the opposite direction his brother had taken, whistling a bawdy tune.
He so hated having to invite her and her father along, but his encounter with Marcelle left his blood heated and his need unfulfilled. He needed to find release. Willing release.
That’s why he’d paid a visit to Elizabeth Stanharbor’s home yesterday. He’d hoped to be able to get her alone, but her father hadn’t given them the privacy needed to do what he needed.
Again, he hoped, as he neared her door, that she’d been able to rid herself of her father’s company, or he may explode from want. Once he got what he wanted, he could always dump them when they reached New York.
He knocked softly and was pleased to hear the soft, ‘Come in’ from inside. Time to play.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Matthew’s long stride carried him to the dining car. He sat down and ordered a light repast and whiskey. If he weren’t worried about his brother finding mischief, he’d get royally plastered and stay that way for the duration of the trip. While he waited for his lunch, his mind drifted back to earlier that morning and his interrupted tryst with Marcelle. He grinned into his glass and his anger started to subside.
He couldn’t deny it any more. He loved Marcelle Weatherman and, if he was honest with himself, he had since the moment they met. She reminded him of Melody, in some ways – simple, honest, outgoing, easy to talk to, and beautiful. He knew that she could never replace Melody and, although there were similarities between the two, he couldn’t compare the two. Melody didn’t have a sarcastic or mischievous bone in her body, whereas sarcasm and mischief filled Marcelle’s bones. Melody had been a petite red head and Marcelle was a tall goddess with chestnut hair.
No, if there were any similarity at all, it would be that they were the only two women in the world that had ever managed to win his love and affection.
He felt bad leaving Marcelle the way he had this morning, and if his desire for her had not unnerved him, he probably would have declared his intentions at that moment, but he didn’t want to ask for her hand without offering a decent engagement gift, which he could find easier in New York than Wisconsin. He also felt duty bound to let his mother know of his plans to remarry.
His smile increased at that thought, and he allowed himself to imagine their life together. Those thoughts drifted to their first-born. Will it be a girl or a boy? He wondered. Whose personality would be predominant? Would the child look more like her or him? He lost himself in his euphoric musings, soon forgetting his brother’s antics.
“What has you so cheery?” A voice interrupted. Matthew started at the interruption and splashed whiskey on his waistcoat. “Sorry about that. Didn’t me
an to startle you. Here, use my kerchief.”
“That’s all right. I have one,” Matthew said, drawing a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbing at the stain. “So what are you doing here?”
“Mind if I sit?” Stanharbor said, taking a seat opposite Matthew without waiting for the invitation.
“Please, do,” Matthew said, belatedly. “Does Mark know you’re on the train?”
“We’re here at his invitation. He was kind enough to pay the fare.”
“We?”
“Elizabeth, and myself” Stanharbor said, waving a hand in the direction of the hostess.
“When did you talk to Mark? He was in town all day yesterday.”
“No, he wasn’t. He rented a horse and spent the day visiting at our ranch. Nice young fellow, that brother of yours. Got along with all of my children – especially Elizabeth, if you catch my drift.”
“Oh, I catch it all right. You didn’t leave them alone together, did you?”
“Goodness gracious, Matthew. Do I look like a dolt to you? Of course not! Why that would concern you, however, I cannot imagine. I did give you the opportunity to accept my Elizabeth’s hand, as I recall.”
“You’re not still gnawing on that bone, are you Clifford?”
“Not on your life. I managed to do all right by her after all. May even see her happily wed before our trip is over.”
“You couldn’t persuade me to marry your daughter, so you’re going to try to snare my brother, is that right?”
“Could do worse,” Stanharbor said, taking a sip of his bourbon.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Matthew said, taking a swig of his own drink, and then waving the waitress over to order another.
“So, what’s this between you and your brother, if you don’t mind my asking? He said that his bruised face was courtesy of you.”
“Family business,” Matthew answered vaguely.
“Well, no matter,” Stanharbor waved a hand, as if he’d been the one to draw that particular part of their conversation to a close. “You know, if I can wed my Elizabeth off this trip, then that will be one less brat at home to tend to. Maybe I can find a wife on this trip as well, hmm? Someone who likes children would be a good find. Maybe a schoolmarm. Although I don’t think they come as young as I like them.”
“Anything is possible; so, my brother is the candidate for Elizabeth. What about you? Any candidates?” Matthew asked.
“Not really, but I’m sure there will be plenty of ladies in New York to choose from,” Stanharbor admitted readily. “Listen,” he continued, swirling his bourbon in his glass, “I just wanted you to know that I consider all our ill feelings a thing of the past, okay? If my daughter plans to marry your brother, then – well, no harm no foul, right?”
Matthew grinned wryly. Stanharbor’s pride is as big as his body, he thought. He’s only willing to let bygones be bygones as long as he has one of the Daragh brothers in his grasp. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but wonder how long his graciousness would last if his brother decided against marrying the Stanharbor twit.
“Well, I wish you the best as far as my brother is concerned. Are you certain you can get him to settle down?”
“Why else would he invite us along, if he wasn’t seriously considering matrimony to my little girl. A man doesn’t invite just anyone along to meet his mother, does he?”
“If you say so. Speaking of daughters, where is Elizabeth?”
“She wasn’t feeling very well, so she decided to forgo lunch and remain in the cabin. Why?”
Matthew sat up straighter, his nerves tingling with dread.
“Did you happen to notice that Mark wasn’t in my company either, Clifford?” Matthew said, standing and pulling on his coat.
Stanharbor hefted his bulk out of the seat and glared at Matthew, “Certainly you are not suggesting that my daughter is . . . is . . . ,”
“Fornicating with my brother?” Matthew said in his deliberately blunt way, and ducked as Stanharbor’s fist flew toward his face. “For a man your size, you are incredibly swift, but I suggest you save that anger for my brother,” he said, heading for the door, “because if Mark lives up to his reputation, your daughter will have every reason to demand marital rights.”
Matthew’s visage was grim as he made his way down the corridor to his cabin, and if the string of curses issuing from Stanharbor’s mouth was any indication, he wasn’t pleased either. Matthew only hoped he was wrong about this, or there would definitely be hell to pay.
He inserted the key into the lock on his cabin door and swung it open. Empty. Damn! That left little doubt in his mind now as to his brother’s whereabouts.
“Where’s your cabin?” He asked Stanharbor.
“We’re in the next compartment,” he said, pointing over Matthew’s shoulder. “Obviously, Mark couldn’t obtain the same first class accommodations for us as he managed to do for you two.”
Matthew sighed in exasperation and headed for the next train car. He couldn’t believe his ears. It was very likely that they would find Elizabeth in a compromising position, and all Stanharbor could dwell on was his travel arrangements. He didn’t bother to enlighten Stanharbor that it was he, not his brother, who had arranged for his and Mark’s travel arrangements. He pushed open the door and stepped across the short expanse separating the two cars.
“What number?”
“Two-two-seven,” Stanharbor relayed.
“Why don’t you stay here and wait? If I’m right, you may not want to witness this in such a candid way.”
“That’s my daughter, Daragh,” Stanharbor said stubbornly, “and if someone is taking advantage . . . I’ll wait here,” he finished softly, as if only just realizing what he may see if he entered that room. He closed his eyes and groaned, hoping that Matthew’s instincts were wrong, but if they weren’t . . . .
“Are you okay, Clifford?”
“Simply dandy. You go on ahead. I’ll follow along shortly.”
Matthew nodded, “Give me your key.”
Stanharbor dug into his vest pocket and retrieved the key, and Matthew couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook as he passed it over to him. No dad, not even one as obviously unfit as Clifford Stanharbor, should have to go through this, Matthew deliberated, his mood darkening more with every passing thought. He nodded again to Stanharbor, and then headed down the corridors of the second-class car, his eyes scanning the numbers on the doors.
He stopped in front of two-two-seven and his heart sank. Something was definitely going on in there. Damn! He so hoped he’d be wrong, but as usual, his brother couldn’t keep his pants buttoned and now there would be no appeasing Clifford Stanharbor with anything less than a wedding – or his brother’s imminent demise. Neither of which was likely to sit well with his mother.
As quietly as possible, so as not to alert the occupants, Matthew inserted the key and slowly turned the knob on the door. He pushed it open and closed his eyes against the sight that met him.
His brother was atop Elizabeth rutting like a pig, oblivious to the pain he was causing her as a virgin – if her sobs were any indication. He was also oblivious to Matthew’s presence, but not Elizabeth. Her eyes widened in horror at seeing him standing there and she started pushing frantically at Mark’s shoulders.
“Not yet, baby, I’m not done,” Mark breathed heavily, his pale buttocks shaking with the intensity of his thrusts. Elizabeth winced – from the pain or the humiliation, Matthew couldn’t tell.
“Yes, you are,” Matthew growled, and hauled his brother to his feet by his hair, shoving his naked carcass into the corridor. His pants followed.
“Get dressed, you jackass,” he snapped, and then turned back to Elizabeth. “You too, Miss Stanharbor. Your father will be along momentarily.”
Elizabeth groaned and grabbed at her clothing strewn across the small interior of the cabin, wincing with each movement. Matthew closed the cabin door to give her a little privacy and then turned his rage on his brot
her, who was standing there clutching his pants in front of him like a shield.
“You sorry, no good . . . I ought to have you horsewhipped,” Matthew threatened, his breathing near the point of hyperventilating.
“That won’t be necessary, Matthew,” Stanharbor said quietly, clutching a repeating rifle in his hand. He raised the barrel and pointed it at Mark. “If you would kindly step aside, Matthew, I’ll see this matter dealt with decisively.”
“Matthew, do something!” Mark squealed, trying to meld into the wall. His eyes mirrored the horror he felt at seeing a rifle pointed at his privates.
“I am,” Matthew said smugly, backing away, “I’m getting out of his line of fire.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Dearly beloved,” the minister said, eyeing the rifle with unease, “we are gathered here today to join this man, and this woman, in holy matrimony . . . are you quite certain that they want to wed?” The minister asked, scanning the dejected faces of the bride and groom.
“Get on with it, Preacher,” Matthew said from his position as guard behind Elizabeth.
“But I’ve never performed a ceremony with a shotgun in attendance,” the minister said, turning his gaze worriedly toward Stanharbor who held the rifle tightly, its muzzle pointed directly at Mark’s back. “Isn’t there another minister on the train that’s willing to preside . . . ?”
“You heard the man,” Stanharbor snapped, “he said, get on with it, or the next place this rifle will be pointing is your heart.”
“Easy, Clifford,” Matthew said, “This isn’t his fight.”
Stanharbor sighed heavily, “Just keep this ceremony moving, Preacher. I’m sorry if I caused you any undue stress.”
“Just so, but I want it noted that I’m not pleased with this whole thing, and it doesn’t do my heart good to see the bride crying during a ceremony that supposed to make her smile. There. I have lodged my protest, so we’ll continue now. If there is any man or woman who objects to this union . . . ,”
“You can skip that part,” Matthew interjected, “since obviously no one else is here, but us five.”
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