Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

“That remains to be seen, madam.” He smiled debonairly. “It’s not outside the realms of possibility, if you should feel inclined to stay.”

  “We have no baggage.” She made the statement as if to dismiss the feasibility of such a happening.

  “Then I would say that dispenses with the problem of you wearing a robe to bed,” he grinned.

  She blushed profusely, remembering that other night with embarrassing clarity. “You are a conniving rogue, sir.”

  “Madam, let me assure you,” he responded lightheartedly, “that I will not press you overmuch to do anything against your will.” The light of humor sparkled in his eyes as he offered his arm, and he covered her hand warmly with his when she slipped it through the crook. “You must forgive me, my sweet. You play the loving wife so well, I catch myself getting lost in the role of husband.”

  “And sometimes, sir,” she replied in a gentle but more serious vein, “I find myself completely baffled by you and this marriage of ours.”

  In the rich foyer a uniformed maid took their outer garments, and demurely Alaina drew the lace shawl about her shoulders, gathering it over her bosom. Whatever her casualness might be with Cole, she lacked the boldness to lend herself to the stares of other men.

  The hostess turned to lead the way, and Cole slid his hand along his wife’s back, settling it possessively upon her narrow, corseted waist. They passed through a parlor adorned with long, gilt-framed mirrors, velvet drapes, and twinkling chandeliers. In the dining room, they were led to a secluded table in the comer. As the hostess bustled off to fetch them wine, Cole assisted Alaina into a chair which faced away from the other occupants of the room, shielding her from their overly curious stares. He nodded to several casual acquaintances before seating himself beside her, stretching out his leg beneath the table.

  Cole gathered his wife’s slender fingers into a gentle grasp, admiring her beauty and the vision she made. He was stirred by the nearness of her and most enchanted with the detail of her features, the way her eyes tilted upward beneath their thick fringe of black lashes, the gently curving bow of her soft lips which he craved to caress with his own.

  “You hand is cold,” he whispered.

  “And yours is warm,” she murmured, snuggling her other hand into his and unconsciously bringing her shoulders forward until the gown gapped open, revealing the pale, lustrous swell of her breasts to his rapidly warming perusal. The bodice teased him, ever threatening to yield a view of the tantalizing peaks he longed to touch. There was a sweet, nagging ache growing in the pit of his belly, a hungering he yearned to appease.

  “We’ve become something of a curiosity among the gossipmongers hereabouts, my sweet,” he commented with a wayward smile. “Perhaps we should allow them the opportunity to see that you’re not a jackal with two heads.”

  “And what do you suggest, sir?”

  He gazed down into the warm, gray eyes. It was easy to become mesmerized in their clear depths. “A small celebration, I think, to honor the new Latimer woman. Nothing extravagant, a few neighbors and acquaintances over for some wining and dining and a bit of dancing.”

  A burst of laughter came from the entrance, and the sound of mixed voices chattering gaily approached the dining room. The Latimers turned as Braegar and Carolyn Darvey, accompanied by another man and a woman, swept through the doors. A muffled groan came from Cole as he silently cursed the fate that had brought them to the hotel at this particular time, and when Alaina looked at him, he was pressing a hand against his face as if the whole side of it ached while he gazed steadfastly out the darkened window.

  “Cole, be nice,” she pleaded. “Remember, he did make his apologies.”

  “Madam,” her husband sighed heavily. “You can’t understand my present urge to throttle him.”

  Catching sight of the couple, Braegar flashed them a broad grin and waved a greeting.

  Cole smiled stiffly, nodded, and muttered beneath his breath, “Have you ever seen so many teeth in one man’s mouth?”

  “Oh, Cole, please!” Alaina begged softly, her eyes appealing to him in humble supplication.

  “Cover yourself, my pet,” he bade gently. “I have a strong aversion to that man ogling you.”

  She gathered the shawl to cover her bosom, her cheeks pinkening as she realized what the degree of her exposure had been. Carolyn was already leading the procession toward them, weaving her way past other tables and people. Cole struggled to his feet, realizing there was no escape, no back door he could pull Alaina through.

  “Alaina!” Carolyn bent to affectionately press her cheek against the younger woman’s, then straightened to do the same with Cole. “What a pleasure it is to run into you like this.”

  “Good-evening, Miss Darvey.” Cole’s voice was flat and dry, barely meeting the definition of polite greeting.

  “Miss Darvey, indeed!” she laughed, resting a hand on his arm. “Good heavens, Cole! You’re as stiff as a mossy old board. You know you really should learn to relax more. No wonder your leg bothers you so much.”

  Braegar came to stand beside them, offering an explanation. “Our carriage wheel broke just down the street, and it cannot be fixed until the morning. We were worried that we’d have to stay the night, but since you’re here, Cole, perhaps we can beg a ride home—” He left the sentence hanging expectantly.

  It was even worse than Cole had first imagined. He saw the whole evening wasted and his intentions put to naught. They couldn’t possibly know how outraged he felt at their intrusion or understand his frustration. Hoping to dissuade them, he displayed his reluctance to leave. “We just got here.”

  “Oh, well, that’s just fine!” Braegar rejoined. “We’ll join you and have a bite to eat.”

  “Braegar, you haven’t made the introductions,” his sister reminded him.

  “Of course!” He laid his arm around the small, redhaired woman’s waist. “Cole, I believe you know Rebel Cummings and Mart Holvag, our senior knight of the law and order forces.”

  Cole translated the introduction as he presented his wife. “Martin is our deputy sheriff, and this is Rebecca Cummings.” He saw the perplexed look that flickered across Alaina’s brow and explained further. “Most of her friends call her Rebel. She spent several months with her father down in Vicksburg after the siege.” He smiled ruefully. “When she returned, she had been infected with a drawl.” He nodded briefly toward Braegar. “It appears that she’s living up to the title.”

  Braegar gave no sign that he had heard Cole’s gentle barb as he swept his hand ceremoniously about to indicate Alaina, but his own rejoinder struck its mark. “And this fair lady is the latest mistress of yon Bluebeard’s castle, my friends.”

  “Braegar! How could you?” his sister gasped angrily. “That wasn’t funny.”

  His thrust had been sharp enough to make Cole stiffen. Alaina, seeing the stone-chiseled set of her husband’s features, slipped gracefully to her feet and slid her hand through his arm, meeting his eyes with her silent plea until she felt him relax. She could not shake the mild feeling of disappointment at the intrusion these people forced upon them. The growing realization that she was beginning to enjoy Cole’s courtship more and more brought an odd but undeniable radiance to her existence and being. Except for Jacques’s crude abuse and the lieutenant’s halfhearted wooing, she had never known the warm attentions of a handsome man, but this, she realized, was something beyond the simple gratification of a woman’s desire to be wooed. Something entirely different.

  “Are y’all really from the South?” Rebecca asked sweetly in wide-eyed wonder. “Cole seems to have such a preference for Southern belles, I was just wondering what it is about y’all that he finds so intriguing.”

  “My Southern accent perhaps?” Alaina queried, miming the other’s innocence, but couching her reply in a crisp English twang. “It really is amazing how being in a new place can affect one’s tongue. Why, after being around Cole for so long”—she smiled up at her husband solicitously and
felt warmed by his approving stare—“I’ve learned words I never knew existed.”

  “Truer words might never have been spoken,” Braegar avowed. “I’ve heard him range the length and breadth of the language and then some.”

  “Oh, faith and begorra!” Carolyn threw up her hands in despair. “Here’s an untutored Irishman laying claim to the English tongue!”

  “I have been well tutored by him.” Braegar shrugged.

  “Like the kettle tutors the pot in blackness!” His sister retorted.

  “He has the advantage of his youth and wide travels with the army,” Braegar excused lamely.

  “But you have the natural talent!” Carolyn accused, shaking her head in exasperation.

  Braegar favored her with a doting smile of appreciative thanks and deftly changed the subject. “You don’t mind if we join you two, do you, Cole? Here! We can take this table over here and put it up against yours.”

  Cole himself could hardly dissent, but he drained a glass of wine in a single gulp and pointedly abstained from assisting with the required table maneuver. When the seating arrangements had been adequately modified, Carolyn was on Cole’s right, and on her right, Martin. Braegar slid a chair beneath his companion on Alaina’s left, retaining the choice space between them for himself. In doing so, he unknowingly increased Cole’s consumption of strong liquor and completely withered that one’s high spirits of a few minutes before.

  The meal progressed with liberal conversation, and gaiety abounded in all but one. Cole sat glumly morose, nodding stoically when directly addressed. For the most part he watched his wife, admiring her easy wit as she engaged in lighthearted repartee, countering Rebel’s seemingly guileless barbs with subtle humor. The moment to depart for the town hall came and passed unnoticed. It was not until the last dishes were being removed that Cole drew out his watch and uttered a sharp expletive as he noted the time. His exclamation halted the conversation as all turned to stare at him, and he tucked away the offending timepiece as he offered an explanation for his outburst.

  “There was a traveling troupe performing at the town hall tonight, and I had planned to take Alaina. But I’m afraid we’ve already missed a good half of it.”

  “Oh, Cole, it’s too late in the season for really good troupes to venture this far north,” Carolyn offered. “Besides, I have it on the best of authority that this one is completely boring. You are better off for having missed it.”

  “I guess there’s nothing for you to do, Cole,” Braegar smiled wisely, “but take Alaina home and go to bed.”

  Cole held his breath, knowing the jest, yet despairing that he could disentangle Alaina and himself from the group and have such good fortune actually descend on him.

  “We should be getting back,” Carolyn commented, trying not to yawn. “Cole, you don’t mind that Martin and Rebel will be coming, too, do you? Rebel will be staying overnight with us, and Martin has his horse to fetch.”

  “I wonder if there’ll be enough room,” he muttered.

  “We’ll make room!” Braegar declared.

  When Olie brought the brougham around, it was the others who paused to discuss how best to arrange the seating. Cole pushed through the group and, grasping Alaina by the waist, lifted her bodily into the carriage. He climbed in behind her, squeezed past, seated himself with his good leg against the far side, then pulled his wife down upon his left knee, holding her firmly in place with an arm about her waist. Alaina gasped and struggled to control her hooped petticoats which threatened to rise above her head in the confined space and cause her acute embarrassment. Cole caught the edge of her cloak, and flipped it over the velvet skirt in order to protect it, then, lifting his right boot, laid the heel on the lowest hoop and crushed the willful thing into submission. He gazed with amusement over her shoulder at the four stunned faces still outside.

  “My wife and I are going to leave for home shortly. We invite you to join us, but we do not mean to tarry overlong while you goggle.”

  There was a shout and a rush for the carriage, and the ensuing lurch of the vehicle nearly launched Olie from his high driver’s seat. Carolyn and Rebel, taking advantage of the fact that they were deemed to be ladies, laughingly tumbled into the unoccupied front seat and Deputy Holvag brushed Braegar aside to follow closely. Martin’s face broke into a wide grin, the first Alaina had seen from him, as he wedged himself into place between the “ladies” and consolingly put an arm around each.

  Braegar was left to stare at a wealth of petticoats and pantaloons while he pondered how to make room for himself. Finally he stepped in, avoiding skirts and white lace, and was about to suggest that Rebel accommodate herself on his knee as Alaina had on Cole’s when he was jolted into the vacant place beside his host. With a shout, Olie had set the team into motion. Braegar leaned out, caught the swinging door to latch it, and settled back with crossed arms and sulked.

  “If this is to be the way of things, Doctor Latimer,” he snorted. “I’m going to go out and get me a coach worthy of the name!”

  It seemed an endless ride to the Darveys’, but finally Olie, sawing on the reins and with a heavy foot against the brake lever, hauled the brougham to a trembling stop before their stoop. The driver jumped down from his perch and hastened to open the door for his passengers. All that greeted him was a wild tangle of petticoats, boots, and trimly slim ankles. He could not determine a spot where he could politely reach a hand in to lend assistance.

  “Dumb nonsense,” he mumbled and left them to their own ends. He returned to his seat and tried to ignore the sounds coming from within.

  Braegar had slid to the floor with the sudden halt and couldn’t lift himself without the risk of compromising the modesty of the ladies. Crawling out head first from the floor of the carriage, he stepped to the ground where he rearranged himself, then, with a small bit of dignity regained, reached back a hand to assist a giggling Rebel to a safe landing. As a matter of convenience, Martin descended next and ably handed Carolyn out.

  As the carriage was emptied, Alaina moved to the seat beside her husband, her manner much becalmed. Entrapped as she had been between Cole’s thighs, she had felt the solid thud of his heart against her arm the entire distance from town, and when she had innocently sought to shift her weight a trifle lest his leg grow weary with her weight, the beat had grown heavy and swift. In wonder she had turned her gaze to him, then realizing the reason, blushed as the blue eyes met hers boldly and without wavering. Thankful for the darkness, she had dared no movement thereafter, not wishing to arouse him unduly.

  Olie pulled the brougham out of the Darveys’ drive, and Alaina huddled beneath her cloak, chilled by the crisp night air and deprived of Cole’s warm, encompassing arms. She accepted the fur robe her husband tucked around her, snuggling gratefully beneath its comfort.

  “Slide over here, my pet, and rest against me,” Cole urged. “We might as well be warm together, and it will help my leg.”

  Hesitantly Alaina complied and, in a moment, was nestled against his warmth. She could not deny that her comfort rapidly increased. The place seemed made for her, and the pleasant heat that seeped through her garments lent her an odd sense of security. His arm curled about her, pressing her closer, and she found no cause to resist. Her head found a place of its own against his shoulder, and she banished all thoughts of hungry wolf and captured hare. Yet, with all of her comfort, there was a strange sense of dissatisfaction at the knowledge that he had put such limitations on their marriage and she was not free to enjoy a more intimate relationship with him.

  “I had planned the evening quite differently,” he confessed against her hair. “At least, something more private.” His hand stroked along her arm. “I think I shall take you with me to St. Paul. There’d be less chance of an interruption that far from home.”

  “And what would be your intent, sir?” she asked quietly.

  Cole reached a hand to play with the silken fasteners of her cloak, guilefully plucking them free as he repli
ed, “Perhaps to keep you captive in a hotel room for a week or more, to make love to you as I yearn to do.”

  Lifting her head from his shoulder, Alaina frowned into his shadowed face. “You confuse me mightily, Major. I just don’t know what to expect from this marriage.”

  “It might be better, my love”—he tried to keep the strain out of his voice—“if you accepted our marriage to be as any other and expected from it what any bride might. You must be aware of my eagerness for that end. I ache with the need to make you mine once again, Alaina. It is constantly in my thoughts.”

  Alaina’s breath caught as his hand found the opening of her décolletage and slipped within to find the naked fullness of her breast. Wildfire spread through her, scalding every nerve, leaving her panting as his lips sank hungrily to her throat. He was leaning back in the seat, tightening his arm about her and drawing her down upon him. In another moment he would have her beneath him, and she would be hard pressed to stop her careening world. Breathlessly she braced a hand against his chest and pushed herself away from him, sacrificing the comfort of the robe. With shaking fingers, she tried to repair the disarray of her bodice. There was a throbbing tightness in the pit of her belly, making her painfully aware of her own passion and desires. She avoided him as he reached for her again and voiced her protests feebly.

  “But it’s not just any marriage, Cole. It’s mine, and it’s a disaster.”

  “It wouldn’t be if you would let it take its natural course.”

  “It’s not my fault,” she cried plaintively. “You seem willing to shift the blame from where it truly belongs, and you have been most zealous in your accusations. You accused me of betraying you—of helping trap you in a marriage you abhorred, while you, Doctor Latimer, appeared quite willing to seduce Roberta on your own.” She flung up a hand to halt his angry interruption. “You cannot deny it! I was on the porch when you came to the Craighughs’ for supper. I didn’t mean to spy, but I was trapped on the stairs when you walked out onto the porch. You kissed Roberta with certainly more enthusiasm than seemed proper.”