by Jenna Kernan
A cork popped and champagne flowed into fluted glasses.
Richards passed glasses to Eleanor and Troy and then clasped one himself. “Long life and many children.”
After the toast, the captain led them out of the wind, to the bridge to sign the marriage license.
Eleanor wrote her name in elaborate script and then watched Troy hesitate over the document.
“What is it?”
“My signature isn’t so grand. I’m afraid to spoil the page.”
Eleanor scowled. “If you don’t sign, then we are not wed. So write your name so we can—” she stared at the captain “—attend to other matters.”
At that reminder Troy bent over the certificate and wrote his name in a quick, tight script.
The captain presented him with the license.
“Best of luck to you both,” he said. There was an awkward pause. “Well, we’ll see you at dinner then.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Troy, and Eleanor blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Thank you so much, Captain,” she managed.
Then Eleanor grasped Troy’s hand and walked with a dignity she could barely maintain until they reached the bottom of the stairs. Then she hoisted the room key. Troy snatched it and her hand and then ran her down the narrow halls, past startled passengers. He halted at room eleven.
She swayed, breathless, as Troy turned the key in the lock and threw open the door.
“We are married,” she whispered.
He stroked her cheek. “I’ve been married to you in my heart for months.”
She smiled and waited. He motioned his head toward the open door, but she did not move.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You are supposed to carry me across.”
With a wicked grin and a wild whoop, he threw her over his shoulder, jarring the wind from her lungs.
She spied a blur of blue carpet as he spun her about and then tossed her upon the mattress. She cried out as she landed with a bounce and had time only to brace herself as he landed beside her.
“Well built,” he said and gave her a devilish smile.
Chapter 28
Lena fumbled with the buttons of Troy’s coarse woolen shirt, missing how easily his buckskin swept off with but a single tug. He appeared to address the same frustration as he sighed heavily, struggling with the tiny hook and eyes that ran the full length of her bodice.
“Let me,” she said.
For the next several moments clothing fell to the floor, thrown in wild disarray. At last she wore only her shift and stockings. The frantic motion ceased and both stood motionless as stone.
He grasped the hem of her shift as his gaze locked to hers. She lifted her arms and he swept the sheath away.
The veil fell and she stood, chin bowed. This gave her an excellent view of his readiness for her. She lifted a hand and stroked the velvet of his stomach and watched him twitch as if her touch brought pain. Her breathing caught as she noted the angry red scar that crossed from his shoulder to hip, the slashing cut from her father’s sword.
“I am so sorry.” She lifted her gaze to catch his and found his jaw set.
He lifted his hand and swept one finger over the place where she knew the crescent-shaped scar of the sword hilt marked her swollen cheek.
“That’s in the past. Leave it there and think of now.”
His velvet touch descended to her lip, brushing along the surface and then stroking the mole beneath.
“I’m burning for you, Lena.”
How different this felt than their first encounter. The uncertainty was gone along with the sense of impending doom. In all these long months, she thought she’d never hear his voice or feel his touch again. A tear fell from her eye and he trapped it against her cheek with his warm palm.
“I’ve missed you so,” he whispered.
“Your return answers all my prayers.”
His kiss burned with tender longing. She clutched his neck and dragged him to her, pressing her nakedness flush against him. The heat and sensual texture of his skin wrenched a moan from deep within her.
The sound seemed to trigger an instant response in him. He had her off her feet and upon the bed in a wink, settling himself upon her. She arched to meet him, as he stroked her breasts, increasing the stabbing need tenfold. Her fingers raked his back, urging him on.
“Not so fast,” he whispered.
But she was past waiting. Her need consumed her.
“I cannot wait.”
He stared at her as if unsure. What he saw launched him into motion. Roughly he parted her legs and found access, groaning as he discovered the silken moisture he drew from her. Sliding forward he sank himself fully into her passage. There was no pain this time, only a rolling, building pleasure. She grasped his buttock and lifted, fusing them together. He pressed her to the bed and bucked, not sparing her the full measure of his desire.
Each hard stroke hit like the surf upon the sea cliffs, pushing her closer to the pleasure she knew awaited. The speed with which she reached her release startled, leaping upon her like a lion from the grass. A scream of ecstasy merged with his sharp cry of release. They fell replete onto the thick comforter. Her body shuddered as waves of pleasure echoed outward from the place where their bodies still merged.
The lethargy that deadened her limbs pressed her heavily into the covers, as his rasping breath fanned her cheek.
“I’ve never known the like.”
“We are a matched team, like carriage horses.”
He gave a laugh. “Never seen a more ill-matched pair.”
“That’s only on the outside. You have to look deeper to see we are the same.”
He squeezed her tight and kissed her, relaying the depth of his joy. He drew back to rest his forehead to hers.
“A perfect match,” he said.
She curled with him beneath the covers, content for the first time in her life.
Eleanor entered the sitting room of the brownstone that had been their home since arriving in New York three months ago. Her maid trailed behind her as she noted Mr. Audubon just rising from their meeting. Audubon gave a little bow at her appearance.
“Bring those to the bedroom, Brenda,” she said, then turned to meet her guest.
Troy walked Audubon to the door and shook his hand. “I’m sure that Black Feather will be pleased to accompany us.”
“Wonderful. Until tomorrow, Mr. Price. I look forward to our journey.” Audubon nodded at her. “And to working with you, Mrs. Price.”
“Good day, Sir.”
She watched him go, knowing that the next time she saw him they would be aboard the steamer Yellow Stone, back where it all began.
The door closed and her husband led her to the chair before the hearth. Her husband. How she loved to think of him thus.
He drew her down into his lap. She curled against him like a kitten.
“Where have you been all morning? I woke and you were gone.”
“I was at the dressmaker.”
He slapped his forehead. “If there is one place in the world you do not need to visit, it’s the dressmaker.”
She pressed a hand to her hips. “I disagree.”
“You’ll never wear all the duds your mother sent.”
“I needed to order something new.”
He looked troubled. “Lena, I can’t buy you what you’re accustomed to. You have to understand and do with less.”
She stood and called for the maid. “Bring the large box, Bridget.”
The woman appeared a moment later.
“Take it out, Brenda.”
The maid lifted the dress clear and held it for his inspection.
Troy stood and studied the garment then tugged at the waist. “It’s too big. You know I hate them corsets, but this will hang on you like a sack.”
She giggled. The maid blushed and Troy stared from one to the other. “Put it away, Brenda.”
The maid clasped the dress and hurr
ied out.
Eleanor grasped her husband’s face in her hands, drawing his attention away from the dress. “Troy, I am with child. We are to be parents.”
His eyes rounded as he drew in a great gasp. Then he clasped her shoulders. “You sure?”
She nodded.
He swept her off her feet, whirling her about the room. Suddenly remembering himself, he froze and eased her down to the floor as gently as if he carried an egg. His hand settled upon her waist as his concerned gaze searched for changes.
She gave him a disgruntled look. “I am not that fragile.”
“You’ve always looked it.” His hands slid to her hips.
“Well, I am not and neither are you. Any man who can face a herd of stampeding buffalo certainly should not blanch at becoming a father.”
He rubbed his neck in a familiar gesture of worry. “It ain’t the same. Out there I have my rifle and my right arm. But this…” Some dark thought struck and his hand stilled. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Dear husband, something has already happened to me. And as a result, I am to be a mother and you a father.”
He rested his forehead upon hers and pulled her close. His hands stilled when they reached her lower back. He pulled away, scowling down fiercely at her. “I want you out of that damned corset!”
Her laughter brought a smile to his lips.
“Yes, darling. You will finally have me out of my corsets.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3166-5
THE TRAPPER
Copyright © 2005 by Jeannette H. Monaco
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