A Perfect Lady, page 20
part #3 of The Mackenzie Brothers Series
He lifted his head, his eyes blazing nearly dark gold with passion. When his gaze locked with hers, the jolt shot clear through her, and something deep inside her clenched. No man ever looked at her with such unabashed desire, not even him. Until now. There was something in his stare, something heavy and strange. At first, something akin to fear darted through her, but as he turned, with her still in his arms, she realized it wasn’t fear.
The soft mattress cradled her, curved to mold to her body, much the way her body molded to James’s as he pressed down into her. Her skirts rustled, the muslin smooth and warm against her skin. It was like a caress in itself as James’s hand skimmed over the curve of her calf. Just the brush of his fingertips against her was enough to make her bite down on her bottom lip. The sensations grew, twisting and swelling as he stroked along her inner thigh.
“What are you doing? It’s not even supper time!” Her words were breathless and airy, for as she spoke, he brushed sensitive feminine flesh.
“It doesn’t have to be dark, sweetheart,” he said, letting his fingertips graze her again. “And I should like to see you in all your glory, in the daylight.”
“James…”
“What?” He moved his hand, bringing it up to trace the tip of his left forefinger over the swell of her right breast. It was only the lightest of touches, but it left its mark on her. Her skin tingled from where he touched, just over that swell, and spread down into her nipple.
“We shouldn’t do this in daylight.”
“Why not?” He curved his hand against her cheek. “I had a terrible day, and one thing that will make it a little less terrible would be to sweep my beautiful young wife into our bed.” He dipped forth to brush her lips with a teasing kiss. “And I don’t give a damn if it’s daylight. It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”
Those words were the last thing she expected to pass his lips. What happened to the man who was so angry about being forced into marriage? The man who, at one point, professed doubts as to whether or not the child she carried was his? Was it possible that he felt the same change she felt between them? Perhaps it wasn’t merely her imagination, or wishful thinking, or anything other than it what it was. Perhaps it was simply James deciding being married — and more importantly, being married to her — was not nearly the hell he thought it would be.
She gazed up at him, and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. Then it all came back: the first time he made love to her, the excitement, the way her heart pounded against her ribs, the sinfully delightful combination of horror and exhilaration. She might not remember all of the details, but one thing stood out in the blur of that night’s events —
She felt loved.
Just as she did now.
Her heart seemed to skip a beat, even as she smiled. “Those are the sweetest words I’ve heard in a long while.”
“Give me a minute or two, sweetheart,” he said. He kissed first the tip of her nose, and then brushed her lips with his. At that contact, she tightened her arms about him, and when his hands began to wander again, she didn’t halt him.
“Where are you?” James murmured, his hand smoothing lightly along the length of her hair.
She didn’t want to move. Her entire body was mush, and she was perfectly content to lie just as she was, curved into the solid, warm planes of his body. Her hand lay splayed on his chest, nestled on the mat of dark hair. She nestled her head on his shoulder. The sheet lay wrinkled and twisted about them, while the quilts lay in a heap on the floor.
The room had grown warm from the fire of their lovemaking, so she rose to open the windows behind the bed. As the cool breeze fluttered the draperies, she skittered back around to slide beneath the sheets in search of the heat rising from his body.
He pulled her closer still, rolling onto his side to tuck her against his belly. His lips touched some sensitive skin along her shoulder, teasing and slow as they caressed her. “Stay here in bed, Mrs. McKenzie. We still have plenty of time before supper.”
“Do we?” she asked coyly, lifting the forefinger nestled among the thick black curls swirled over his chest. She traced it through the curls, moving down toward his belly — flat and hard — over the hard ridge of his hipbone. Curiosity rose like a mist, so she let her finger wander along the ridge of his hip, down over skin that was really too soft to be male. Then she found what she sought, and when James’s eyes squeezed shut, when a sharp gasp almost turned his face inside out, she knew she’d hit her mark.
Satisfaction mingled with pleasure when James collapsed into her, fighting for breath even as he groaned, “Oh, sweetheart…What you do to me…”
She threaded her fingers through his hair where it curled over his nape, then gave into the urge to nuzzle into it. Everything was simply perfect. The darts of pleasure from her climax tingled through her, gentler now but still just as delicious. There was something wonderful about having him this way, wrapped around her, pressing those soft kisses into her neck.
With a low groan, he shifted to lie beside her. “I feel as if I could sleep for a week. Perhaps longer.” He drew in a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. Silence hung between them, comfortable at first, but as it stretched on, she sensed he had something on his mind.
“What is it, James?”
“Mr. Tims is currently readying the Siren.”
“Readying?” Her belly tightened and the pleasant feelings drained away. “Readying it for what?”
“I need to return to the West Indies, to run a cargo to Jamaica.” He rose up onto one elbow and gazed down at her. His expression was serious, his gaze steady as he added, “I’d rather send someone else, but unfortunately, there is no one else. But I suppose I should be grateful for that, since it means business is picking up.”
She chewed on that for a moment. The thought of being left alone at Stonebridge, with only Patrick McKenzie for company, was not an appealing one. Not by half. She couldn’t imagine being left alone with him for several weeks — didn’t want to imagine it. How horrible. She’d have to talk to herself in order to have a conversation that didn’t devolve into a fight.
“I’d just as soon remain here,” he said, breaking into her reverie, his forefinger tracing down her cheek. “Actually, I find most days I’d rather remain here. Rather be here than anywhere else.”
His soft words did something odd to her, made her feel even more tingly than his hands, his lips did. As his hand curved against her face, she said, “I will be fine. And you won’t be gone long, will you?”
“No longer than I have to be.” His thumb swept over her bottom lip, the caress sending a tingling rush through her. No, he couldn’t possibly want to make love again. Dear Lord, he had amazing stamina, if he was feeling amorous again.
But that caress was it. His hand skimmed down to come to rest on her belly. The child moved, and she held her breath, waiting for James’s reaction. His fingers tightened, his eyes widened, and his breathless, “He moved,” was only barely audible.
“He?” She couldn’t resist. “What if he’s a she?”
“Nonsense. My father sired three boys. His father sired eight of them. Surely, I will carry on the tradition.” He shifted, positioning himself over her belly, and said, “Now, do not make a liar of me.”
“James!”
He turned his smile toward her. “What?”
“What if this child is a girl? Will you turn your back on her? Ignore her?”
“Never.”
He said it without hesitation and with such tenderness in his eyes, that even if she was truly irritated, it would have faded away. A lock of dark hair fell over his left eye and, without thinking, she brushed it back.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “Your condition suits you, Rebecca. I’ve never seen a woman as lovely as you are at this moment. You glow. Do you know that?”
“I glow?” A pleasant flush swept through her, magnified by the fact that he was still very much naked and very much striking in his natural state. He showed no shyness as he pressed a gentle kiss into her belly, and then rose from the bed. Daylight showed what darkness hid, and she let her gaze roam — through lowered lashes, of course — over every bit of bared skin.
“You glow.” He moved to the wardrobe. “Now, as much as I would love to do nothing more than linger about right here…” He grinned at her over one shoulder as he pulled open the wardrobe’s door. “It’s near supper time, and then I need to return to the harbor.”
She sat up, but drew the sheet to her chin. “When do you plan to leave?”
“By the end of the week.” He poked his head into the wardrobe, which muffled his words. Then he backed out, holding a fresh white shirt in his hand. As his gaze fell on her, he smiled. “After all this time, and you’re still so modest with me?”
“It’s still light out.” It sounded weak, even to her, and when he threw back his head to laugh, she joined in. As the peals died away, she shook her head. “You wish me to be a trollop?”
He fished her chemise from the floor to hold out. She took it, and he continued, “Hardly. It’s only a trollop if the man you’re brazen with is not your husband. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter. I have great hopes that one day you won’t let societal dictates define you, Becca. Society need never know about what happens behind those doors once they are closed.” He gestured to the bedroom doors. “Instead, I’d rather you indulge your sensual side because you most definitely have a sensual side. I saw it once, and I hope to see it again.”
She twisted the corner of the sheet as his words sent a wicked heat streaking through her. Before she could drop the sheet, however, and show him that sensual side again, a knock sounded on the door and Charles’s voice came through it. “Captain McKenzie? Mr. Tims is here to see you.”
“Take him to my office and tell him I’ll be down in a minute.” He finished dressing, then came around to her side of the bed to kiss her. “Do you need my assistance?”
“Yes, please.”
“You need a maid, sweetheart. Hire one. Hire two. Hire as many as you think you need, although I will ask you keep it under a dozen, as I don’t think my purse is quite that fat yet.”
She smiled as he laced her corset. It felt so natural, his assisting her, in a way she never thought possible. However, he was right. She needed to hire a maid. “I will. Is there an agency in town?”
“There is, and I will pay them a visit on my way into town. You will have someone here come morning, sweetheart. And the yea or nay is yours, and yours alone. I trust your judgment.”
When she was back together again, he leaned into her for a slow, lingering kiss, then straightened up. “I’ll see you at supper.”
“Of course.” She waited until he left to tend to her hair, which she combed, then wound into a single plait to fall almost to her hips, and then went below. As she passed by James’s office, his and Mr. Tims’s voices wafted out toward her. Judging by their raised tones, the two men firmly disagreed about something — James more stringently so. It must have occurred to one of them that they could be overheard, because they quickly lowered their voices.
She hovered by the closed door, taking great pains to avoid any of the creaky floorboards. This was a skill she’d honed at the door to her father’s office, where she would perch for hours, so still people actually didn’t see her. When that didn’t work, she’d lay in the garden below his office’s open windows. That was actually her preferred eavesdropping location, hidden amongst the fragrant hibiscus and sweet roses, shaded from the strong island sun.
Unfortunately, it was too cold to hide beneath the window of James’s office, and she didn’t relish the thought of lying on her back in six inches of snow, either. So much for listening.
Oh well, she couldn’t hear through that thick door, and the window-eavesdropping was out. With nothing left to do, she conceded defeat and padded into the library to do a bit of reading before supper.
Chapter Nineteen
A thick silence hung like a heavy black smoke over the dining room. Every few minutes, Rebecca lifted her gaze from her plate to cast a hopeful glance toward the door. Still no sign of James. She waited to hear the bang of the front door shutting, to no avail. Whatever James and Mr. Tims staring discussed, it swallowed far too much time.
Patrick sat at the far end of the table, as far away from her as he could sit without having to leave the room. While she tried her best to avoid looking at him, he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in glaring at her with every bite. Through lowered lashes, she peered up, only to find him staring down at her, and she’d jerk her gaze down again. Her cheeks grew hotter with the passing moments, and she wondered if he knew what she and James had been doing, locked away in their room the way they were. But why should it bother her if he suspected anything? She and James were married. Besides, it was none of Patrick’s concern, either way. Still trouble her it did, and the blush in her cheeks stung worse with each moment.
She gasped as the child kicked unexpectedly. Patrick’s bushy brows dropped, pulling together and he paused his chewing. “Do you need Jamie?”
“No. I’m fine.” She reached for her goblet. “But I thank you for your concern.”
“Not concerned,” he said with a grunt, bending to meet the forkful of ham making its way toward his mouth. “I’d simply rather you not cause any more trouble than you already have.”
“Why are you so cruel toward me?” She held his stare, moving only to set her goblet on the table. “What have I done to you to deserve such treatment?”
“You should have stayed where you belonged,” he said around a mouthful of ham. A few bits fell out of his mouth, some landing on his plate, the rest on the snowy white linen table cloth. She swallowed hard as her heartbeat sped up, as he added, “But you didn’t. Instead, you stole my son and — ”
“Stole him? I did nothing of the sort.” She sat back in her chair, glaring at him as her pulse pounded through her temples, and her belly roiled worse than a stormy ocean. She certainly didn’t want to fight with him. No, she only wanted to understand why he harbored such animosity toward her. How could he possibly hate her so when he didn’t even know her?
“You did!” A vein bulged down the center of his forehead. He balled one hand into a fist and slammed into the tabletop with enough force to knock over his goblet. Red wine splashed out of the goblet’s bowl, seeping into the fine linen like blood into a bandage. The stains stretched out, narrowing into skeletal-like fingers reaching across the snowy expanse. “You stole my son! My only living son, and you took him from me!”
“Took him from you?” She let out a harsh, biter laugh. “He’s still here, isn’t he? If I took him wouldn’t I have made him stay on St. Kitts?”
“I had three boys. The war killed two of them. Jamie’s all I got left. And then you snatch him up and trap him into marrying ye!”
The table lurched as he rose and bent over it to grab the wine bottle. As he bumped it, the bottle wobbled and tipped. Rebecca winced as the remaining wine glugged from the neck to splosh a fresh stain across the tablecloth. “And now they’re gone. My boys. All of them. Gone!”
His last word was a shriek, half-fury, half-slurred drunken rant. Still, she refused to scream back. She did rise from her chair, because she wasn’t about to let him tower over her. “James is not gone, Commodore! Haven’t you seen that? He is right here, with you, and he isn’t going anywhere. The war is over. He has captains to make the longer runs for him, he has turned Eagleton into a success — or soon will turn it into one — and he is not going to leave you.
“Now, I will honestly say, I cannot understand why he wants to remain here, since you seem determined to make his life a holy mess as long as he’s here. But he does plan on remaining here, for some reason.”
“For now. Until you decide you want to take the child and go back to your island or whatever it is. Then where will I be?”
She tightened her hands on the chair’s arms. “Perhaps if you treated him with a bit more kindness, he would ask you to come with us.”
“Well, I won’t go.” Patrick dropped back into his chair, thick arms folded over his chest.
The dining room doors flung open with a bang. “Good, because no one is asking,” James said as he strode into the room. A scowl darkened his features as he turned to his father. “Perhaps I should re-think leaving.”
“You’re leaving?” Patrick turned his petulant gaze to his son. “Where are you going and for how long?”
“Not long. Shipping crystal and china to Alistair Duncan’s holdings in Jamaica.” James took his seat. “But I’m questioning the wisdom of my decision. Or is that what you wish? Do you wish to see Eagleton fail?”
“Do not be stupid, Jamie. I worked my fingers to the bone getting Eagleton to where it is — ”
Rebecca’s jaw went slack, and she forgot about the horror of having only Patrick for company. She stared at him with almost the same amount of disbelief as James did. Even she knew Eagleton’s turning the corner had happened only in the last few months, and only because of James’s dogged determination and hard work.
“You worked your fingers — ” James bit off his own words with a bark of sarcastic laughter. “Exactly who do you think you’re fooling, old man? Since I’ve been back, I’ve added another ship and two more routes to Eagleton’s roster. When Mr. Butler returns from the Orient, we’re going to discuss the possibility of a Far East office as well. And this is all my doing.”
“Need I remind you that Eagleton is my company?” Patrick snapped, stabbing the only remaining chunk of ham on his plate.
Rebecca held her breath as a muscle in James’s jaw danced. One glance at her husband, and she could practically see the fury radiating from him. The muscle in his jaw was a dead giveaway, but only one familiar with his body would be able to see the tightness of his shoulders, or how he rubbed his thumb along his forefinger as he spoke,
