“Good night, Ethel,” Grace said.
“You sleep tight, Grace. Morning comes early.”
They headed up the stairs, Simon’s arm around her waist, holding her close. He opened the bedroom door, and Grace crossed the threshold and took her nightgown from beneath her pillow.
Simon sat on the edge of the bed, removing his shoes and stockings, then rising to strip off his vest and shirt, tossing his tie over the back of a chair, lest it be wrinkled up on the floor with the rest of his clothing. He scooped up his drawers and tossed them into the laundry basket, then sat on the bed, the sheet pulled up over his lap, both pillows behind him as he awaited Grace’s appearance from behind the screen where she’d gone to undress.
She wasn’t long, a matter of a few minutes, and his eyes lit with desire as she approached the bed. “Did you leave me any room, Simon? I see you’ve confiscated my pillow. Where am I supposed to put my head?”
He patted his bare chest and grinned. “Right here, sweetheart. I’ll scoot down in bed and if you’ll just come lie down and put your head right here, I’ll rub your back and we can talk for a bit.”
She slid beneath the sheet and quilt and scooted close to him, accepting his arm around her and the hand that guided her head to rest against his shoulder. Even from there, his heartbeat sounded against her ear and she thought it a bit rapid. Simon was apparently anxious to make this their wedding night.
As if he knew her thoughts, he slid her from himself until she lay flat on the bed and then lifted her a bit to place her pillow under her head. “Is that better?” he asked.
“It will be when you blow out the candle,” she told him, nudging him toward the bedside table where a candle glowed, lighting the room.
“You want the candle out,” he said and sighed deeply, as if he rued her words. But he turned his head and blew the flame into oblivion, so that the only light came from the moon and a multitude of stars that shone through the bedroom window.
He hovered over her then, his lips touching the line of her cheek, detouring to capture the lobe of her ear in his mouth for a moment. She shivered as he blew softly into her ear and smothered his laugh against her throat. His kisses were warm against her face, covering her from brow to throat with caresses she cherished, even as his hands were warm against her, his fingers against her bodice, unbuttoning her gown.
She offered no protest, for she’d known he would want to see her breasts without covering again. For some reason, he was drawn to those curves and she felt a shred of pride envelop her that this man was so pleased to touch her and hold her, admire her and shed his kisses on her flesh.
His head bent and he did just that, kissing his way from her collarbone down to the soft curve of her breast, his tongue touching her skin, his teeth gentle in their touch against the pink nubbin of flesh that he seemed so drawn to. She shivered as he ran his tongue over that bit of skin that hardened at his touch, that drew up into a beggar aching for his caress once more.
And he obliged, as if he knew that she was not averse to his handling of her breasts. He reached for the hem of her nightgown and tugged at it, loosening it from beneath her until he was able to uncover her body. She lay acquiescent beneath his touch, hearing his soft whispers, reaching to touch his face and smooth his hair.
Things were progressing nicely, Simon decided, even though he was operating in the dark here. His hands moved slowly against her warm flesh, one finger touching the hollow of her navel, then sliding down a bit to touch the soft triangle of hair that curled low on her belly. He ruffled it a bit, feeling her shiver and hearing her soft laughter as she responded to his fingers touching her there in that secret place where no man had ever trespassed.
He felt a bit braver, for she had not halted his exploration, but seemed to be willing to allow him his way in this. Her sigh was soft against his face as his hand slid between her thighs, as if he warmed his fingers there where her skin was tender, her flesh fragile. His head bent to her once more and his kisses were spread from temple to cheek, then to her mouth where he spent long minutes persuading her to his will. With success it seemed, for she joined in his play, her own hands against the thatch of hair on his chest, her fingertips caressing the small male nipples, then moving to surround him with her touch, her arms circling him, her hands against his back now.
Desire filled him to overflowing, his passion rising as he spent his caresses against her skin. His tongue laved the tender skin of her throat, from there to her breasts, tasting of the sweetness she did not deny him. His mind spun with the pleasure she offered so unstintingly, and the joy of discovery filled him.
Still her arms encircled him, her fingers reaching again to bury themselves in his hair and she murmured her pleasure at his touch. “I didn’t know that would feel so good, Simon,” she whispered and he groaned, a sound of pleasure he made no attempt to withhold, his mouth opening to suckle her breasts. She wiggled beneath him and her legs captured his hand, holding it there against the heat of a woman’s needy flesh.
“Grace, open your legs for me. I want to touch you and you’ve taken my hand captive.” He swallowed the laughter that begged to be released, and buried his face in the valley between her breasts, lest she take offense at his chuckles.
But her own laughter was smothered by a hand she pressed against her lips. She obeyed his urgent need, her legs relaxing at his words, her knees parting and lifting, opening to him, offering him admittance to the feminine place where no man had known of her softness, the tender folds of womanhood that were offered now to her husband.
He was touched by her trust, stunned by the warmth of her embrace as arms enclosed him, hands caressed him and fingers tested the strong muscles of his back and then slid to his chest. She showed no fear, no hesitation. When his touch became more demanding against her, when his hands knew her as a husband knows a wife, she inhaled sharply, but relaxed in mere moments, only kissing the flesh of his chest, for her face was buried there.
“Simon.” Again she spoke his name in a whisper, and now there was joy in the syllables she spoke, pleasure expressed by the touch of her lips, her hands and the brush of her body lifting against his as she sought and found the sheer delight his agile fingers promised. She was like fire against him, burning with the flames of desire as she claimed the pleasure he brought to her with the touch of his hand.
He moved then, opening her legs farther so that he might lie close to the warmth of her woman’s flesh. She was damp, shivering in his embrace, and he petted her gently, letting her know he would not rush this part of their loving, whispering sounds that spoke of his need for her, his unwillingness to hurt her in any way. And then he tenderly, carefully fit their bodies together, aching to thrust within her, yet able to find his way gently, for he yearned to bring her pleasure to exceed that which she’d already claimed as her own.
And in all of that, he succeeded, for she flinched but a moment as he broke the barrier within and found the haven he’d sought.
“Grace?” His voice was soft against her ear, his words hesitant. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I hurt you, but it will never cause you pain again. I promise.”
And she shook her head, a quick movement he could not fail to see and feel against himself, and her words were joyous, unstained by any pain or fear. “Oh, no, Simon. It was only for a moment. You didn’t hurt me.”
He withdrew only a bit, and then pushed farther into her, feeling the taut flesh give way before his taking, and she drew her knees up, as if to grip him firmly and hold him in place.
“Ah, Grace. Just like that, sweetheart. Hold me tight, Grace.” And she did as he asked, as his body encouraged her to respond. And then he recognized the sound of her breathing as it changed once more, became more hurried, and she again found the pleasure his body could provide her.
Her sigh was sweet, her embrace one of passion and desire, and he bent to touch her throat with his tongue, his lips and finally with the edge of his teeth, knowing s
he would wear his mark on the morrow. That she would find a small spot on her throat, there where her dress would cover it when it was buttoned.
And he knew she would be aware of that mark throughout the day when she looked at him, when their eyes met over the breakfast table, when the afternoon gave way to evening and night was upon them once more. For it was a mark of his possession and she was his bride.
Chapter Ten
She awoke with a start, feeling a warm hand on her belly, against her bare skin. Simon lay beside her and his chuckle was almost silent. “I knew that would wake you up, sweetheart. You’re not used to finding a man’s hands on you.”
Grace turned her head to see him grinning at her. “I think you’re taking advantage of me, Mr. Grafton.”
“No, just admiring my beautiful bride a bit. I suspect it’s time to get up, for I smell the coffee from the kitchen, but I was just enjoying watching you wake up. You’re a beautiful woman in the morning, Grace. Especially this morning.”
She lifted her hand to his face, her fingers cradling his cheek. “How about in the afternoon and evening?”
“I’ll let you know later on, when I’ve taken you to bed tonight. When I get a chance to see your blue eyes in the candlelight. For I don’t intend to blow it out tonight.”
“You’ll want to do…do that in a room all lit up with a candle?”
Simon smothered a laugh against her throat, bending to kiss her where her pulse beat in a hectic manner. “A candle doesn’t cast a whole lot of light, love. And I want to see you when I touch you and hear you make those soft sounds of pleasure like you did last night. And afterward, when I lie beside you on the bed, will you open your eyes? Better yet, will you open them and look at me when I’m making love to you, sweetheart? I want to watch your eyes turn dark when you feel my body against yours.”
“How do you know they’ll turn dark? And what does that mean, anyway?”
“I saw them in the moonlight last night. Your face was touched by a moonbeam coming through the window, and when we came together as one, you opened them wide and then they looked somehow darker. As if you felt something more, more than just me being close to you, being inside of you. I can’t explain it any better than that.”
“It was like we were no longer separate, like I was truly a part of you then, Simon. Like our bodies were joined in more than just a physical sense, perhaps as though our souls were making love, as well.”
He agreed. “And that’s the difference in married love, when two people are pledged, each to the other. Between that and the sort of thing that drives men to such places as Belle’s room above the saloon.”
“Maybe Belle doesn’t know any different. Maybe she’s to be pitied,” Grace said quietly, thinking once more of her own blessings, and the unfortunate woman who had met up with tragedy.
“We all make choices, Grace. You’ve chosen to be a woman of strength. A woman willing to be married and support your husband in every way. You can’t deny that, can you?”
She shook her head, thinking of the choices she might have made in her life. “When I recognize the sort of young men who wanted to court me back home, for what they expected of me, it almost frightens me. For I could have made a terrible mistake by accepting their attentions, perhaps marrying one of them. And then where would I be?”
“Well, not here with me,” Simon said, reminding her of her vulnerability.
“And do you think I’d trade places with anyone else in the world?” she asked, reaching up to him, her fingers touching his cheek, brushing the hair from his brow.
His mouth hovered over hers for a moment and then his words were rasped in her ear, and she shivered with delight.
“Trade places? Hah! You don’t stand a chance, lady. You don’t stand a chance.”
The days seemed to fly by in the parsonage, Grace settling in as if she’d been born for it, and Simon with his head in the clouds, finding it difficult to concentrate on his daily tasks. He managed to visit several of his members who were not feeling well, including Belle, who, though not one of the congregation, still needed any comfort he could bring.
Grace went with him on that visit. They walked up the stairs to where the singers, dancers and barmaids slept, each in their own room, and Grace tried not to think of what sort of business was carried on there.
“I shouldn’t have brought you along, sweetheart. I know you’re not comfortable with this,” Simon said, as he knocked on Belle’s door.
“Well, maybe she’d like to talk to another woman, Simon. I’m not so straitlaced that I can’t under stand a little bit about her life.”
He frowned down at her. “You have no idea, sweetheart. None at all.” And with that, a woman’s voice called out for her visitors to enter.
Simon opened the door and escorted Grace into the room. “It’s Reverend Grafton, Belle. And this is my wife, Grace,” he said quietly, urging Grace into the room.
“I noticed you at the wedding and appreciated your presence there,” Grace said. “I thought it was a beautiful service and a beautiful day I’ll always remember.”
A lovely woman, or at least a woman who would one day again be lovely, sat on a chair in the room, her face still bruised, the bruises looking too familiar to Grace, for they almost matched the ones she’d seen in her own mirror not so long ago. One arm was wrapped with a splint and tied across her chest for support, and Belle did not attempt to rise to her feet to greet them.
“I’m sure you’ll forgive me for remaining in my chair,” she said.
“I thought, or perhaps hoped, you’d be feeling a bit better by now,” Simon said, reaching to take her hand in his.
“I’m much better, Mr. Grafton. Just can’t move my face much. It hurts to open my eyes very far or even to talk. I think I had several teeth loosened. One thing’s for sure. I sure am sick of soup. I wore my heaviest veil to your wedding, so as not to be too conspicuous.”
Grace moved to crouch before her, taking one of the woman’s hands in her own. “You needn’t talk if you don’t want to, Belle. Simon and I just wanted to let you know we’re thinking of you and I wanted to come along today and see if I could do anything to lend a hand.” Grace felt helpless in the face of Belle’s injuries and then decided she might be accepted more by the woman if she confided her own problems.
“I was in almost the same shape as you are a while back, Belle. I was set upon and bruised up. I remember well how sore I was, how miserable I felt. So I have some idea of how helpless you feel, not able to do much but sit there and hurt.”
“You’re the girl that the Summers fella hurt, aren’t you?” Belle asked, peering through an eye still swollen and bruised.
“I’m the one,” Grace admitted. “The only difference is that I was rescued before he could hurt me as badly as he hurt you.”
She looked up at Simon and her eyes shone with joy as she spoke his name. “Simon, here…” She bit her lip and almost stammered, so strongly did he affect her as she remembered the day he’d first seen her. “Well, Simon not only rescued me, he took good care of me, Belle.”
“It was a lovely wedding. And you were a beautiful bride,” Belle said, releasing Simon’s hand to clasp Grace’s tightly in her own.
“She was,” Simon told Belle. “Still is, to tell the truth.”
“You’ve got that right, mister. You’re a lucky fella. Grace is pretty as a picture. It’s no wonder you snatched her up in a hurry.”
Simon brought a second chair for Grace to sit upon and she leaned closer to Belle. “Can I help you in any way, ma’am? I can sew or cook or even take you home with me if needs be and look after you for a while.”
Simon thought he would choke when Grace’s words penetrated his brain. She had offered the parsonage to a woman who was…well, who was a soiled dove, as his mother would have said. And yet, his own mother would have done the same, he realized, understanding that women seemed to form a closed society when it came to such things. And as a man, he must only st
and on the outside and be an observer. But Belle, whether she understood his unspoken dilemma or preferred her own surroundings, set his mind at ease.
“Thanks, Grace. I sure appreciate your offer, but the girls here are taking care of me. If you’d like to stop by again with your husband, I’d appreciate it. I don’t have a lot of company.”
“I can’t help it, Simon. I feel sorry for her. I know she’s just a saloon girl, but for all that, she has a mother somewhere who probably loves her and would feel terrible if she knew what had happened to Belle.”
Not likely. But Simon was wise enough not to spew out his opinion, and simply squeezed Grace’s hand as they walked back to the parsonage. The sheriff hailed them from the doorway of his office and they halted to speak.
“Been out visiting?” he asked Simon.
“Just making a call. Grace went along to keep me company.”
“Didn’t I just see the two of you going into the saloon an hour or so ago?”
“We spent some time with Miss Belle. Grace wanted to see if she could do anything to offer help of any sort.” And then, thinking of Grace’s offer, Simon grinned. “She almost got us in a peck of trouble, Charlie.”
“I did not,” Grace said vehemently. “I only asked the woman if she wanted to come to the parsonage to recuperate.”
Charlie covered his eyes with one hand. “Oh, my. You are a wonder, Miss Grace. I’ve heard of innocent women, but you take the cake.”
“Now, Charlie, innocence is all right. It’s just that Grace has a heart bigger than all outdoors and she hated to see Belle in such shape.”
Grace shot him a look that promised retribution later on and Simon wisely changed the subject.
“Just wanted you to know what was going on,” he said, refusing to meet the lawman’s eye as he spoke. “If there’s anything else happening, we’ll stop by.”
Saving Grace Page 12