The Beloved Woman

by Deborah Smith

  Exhausted, Justis slogged through mud and snow to the coach door. From the darkness within, Katherine glanced at him as she wearily tucked books and a piece of needlework into the small valise by her feet. Justis knew Mrs. Martin had given her the needlework materials as a good-bye gift. The fact that Katherine liked doing stitchery had surprised him. It was a side of her that he’d never seen before, a nice, ordinary, domestic talent that ought to show how easily she’d fit the role of wife and mother. If only, he thought grimly.

  “Yes?” she inquired in a voice drained of energy. Riding in a cold, lurching coach all day was hardly an easy way to travel. She was much stronger, but she still looked gaunt. He would have given anything to pamper her at night, to rub her sore muscles and brush her hair for her, but he was determined not to let devotion make a fool of him any longer.

  “I’m gettin’ us separate rooms from now on,” he said, “so you don’t have to pretend to be Mrs. Gallatin anymore. ’Least not until we get to New York.”

  “All we do is fall into bed after supper and sleep like logs. It would be wasteful to pay for two rooms.”

  “I’ve got money to waste. What difference does it make to you?”

  “None,” she retorted. “But would you explain what this change of attitude means, sir?”

  He hated being called sir. It was her best way of reminding him that she preferred to keep their relationship formal. “Means I’m tired of spendin’ all night beside a woman who’s still too frail to service me.”

  She straightened regally. “My disability has never stopped you from servicing yourself whenever you thought I was asleep.”

  “But now I’ll have the privacy to grunt and kick the bedcovers. Really enjoy it.”

  That bit of crude banter stunned her into silence, and he rebuked himself for talking to her that way. She brushed his hand aside when he tried to help her from the coach. “I shall take dinner alone in my room,” she informed him. “Good night, sir.”

  He stood by the coach and stared bitterly after her as she swept through the inn’s door. When they got to New York he’d break her of this arrogance once and for all. Love him or not, she’d learn what it felt like to need someone so much that it hurt.

  CHAPTER 13

  KATHERINE stood in the midst of the opulent hotel room, trying to look as if she were accustomed to such grandeur. Each time Justis glanced at her she nodded reassuringly. After all, he was counting on her to guide him through this elegant New York world. She couldn’t tell him that it took her breath away. She’d never seen anything like it in Philadelphia.

  From the outside, their hotel looked like a palace. It was five stories tall, its windows decorated with ornate cornices, its entrance flanked by marble columns. Inside on the ground level were dining halls, parlors, all sorts of shops, and a magnificent lobby with a vaulted ceiling. On each floor upstairs were mazes of hallways lit by lamps that burned some type of gas. She’d heard of such innovative lamps but had never seen them before.

  The room Justis had ordered was actually a small suite. One entered the enormous sleeping chamber through a parlor furnished with richly upholstered chairs, marble tables, and Oriental rugs. Off the sleeping chamber was a dressing room outfitted with hot water faucets and a bathtub. That room was the stuff of fiction and fantasy.

  “Sure’n you’ll be wanting to use our grand hot water system,” the head porter said proudly, his Irish brogue so thick that Katherine could barely understand him. “Steam-pumped, it is. Just turn a knob and there it comes. Glory, there’s not another hotel on Broadway that has such a luvly thing. If you got any questions about it, ring downstairs for your faithful servant, meself.”

  He bowed, doffing a red velvet cap that matched both his hair and his livery. “Thomas.” He turned and shooed a crew of maidservants out the open door to the hallway. “They’ll come runnin’ at your every whim, or they’ll be tellin’ meself why not.”

  “Thank you, Thomas,” Katherine said quickly, smiling as if she were entirely familiar with armies of servants and miracles such as pipes that produced hot water on command. She turned to Justis, who stood by a tall window studying the street below. Broadway, it was called.

  “God damn,” he said in awe. “I’ve never seen so many buildings and people jam-packed so close together in my whole life.”

  Katherine was glad to find him distracted. She needed distracting, too, not only from the amazing surroundings, but from the tall, plush bed that stood between large windows along one wall. The bed, a four-poster with a canopy, was indecently sensual. There must have been three feather mattresses stacked under its satin covers and enormous pillows. The long side drapes were made of embroidered silk and pulled back to the head posts with tasseled velvet ties. The bed whispered provocatively to her.

  She was healthy now; during the weeks of travel she had gradually gained weight and strength. Her clothes almost fit. There was no longer any reason not to begin the intimate phase of her agreement with Justis. Tonight. In this chamber. In that bed. These days he was not in a mood to be patient.

  “My dear,” she called smoothly, though her heart thudded hard, “do you have some coins?”

  He looked at her in bewilderment until she cut her eyes toward the expectant Thomas. “Ah! Hell, yes.” He grinned and threw several to the porter.

  His first lesson in hotel etiquette, she thought with hidden amusement. She glanced at the bed. He would undoubtedly teach lessons of his own in return.

  The man bowed low. “Thank you, sir! I’ll be taking me leave now.”

  “Hold on. I’ll walk down with you,” Justis said abruptly. “Got to see about havin’ my horse stabled.”

  “Yours truly can help with that, too, sir!”

  Relieved and disappointed that Justis was leaving, Katherine tugged nervously at the fastenings on her cloak. The maids had built a fire in the sleeping chamber’s fireplace and set another going in the parlor’s, but the suite would need some time to grow warm. Early April in New York City was cold and blustery.

  Justis followed the porter toward the door, but halted as he came by her. She met his eyes and found them both somber and challenging. “Get everything warm before I come back,” he ordered.

  She gave him a deceptively nonchalant look. “I’ve grown accustomed to the cold.”

  “Better get used to bein’ hot. I want it that way from now on.”

  Thankfully he left the room before her face began to burn. Yes, a new phase of their relationship was about to begin.

  Justis waited to speak until he and the porter were halfway to the stairs. “Thomas,” he said casually, “that lady isn’t my wife.”

  If that news shocked the porter, the shock didn’t show. “What would she be, sir? Some kind of Indian fancy woman?”

  “Yes. Cherokee.” Justis pulled a heavy gold coin from his coat pocket. “And she thinks it’s beneath her to marry a white man.” He turned the coin over a few times, glancing at the porter’s face to see if he had caught his attention. He had. The man could barely keep from staring at the gold piece.

  “Thomas, I want that lady to be my wife. I want a legal weddin’ with a real preacher and a fancy weddin’ certificate. I got an idea as to how I can accomplish that.”

  “Yours truly is at your service, sir.”

  He tossed the coin to him. “If I get married tonight, you’ll get another one of those in the mornin’. Savvy?”

  “Yes, sir! You’re the devil’s own beloved, Mr. Gallatin, sir.” The man grinned. “I know an old-country name when I hear one. Just tell me what you have in mind, and the leprechauns will be makin’ all your wishes come true.”

  Justis clapped him on the shoulder and said tautly, “Right now I’d just settle for a damned weddin’.”

  KATHERINE DROPPED HER book onto her lap and stared at Justis. She couldn’t read, she couldn’t think, and she could barely sit still. When they’d gone downstairs for supper she had struggled merely to sample the dozens of dishes that
a regiment of waiters had paraded in front of her.

  Now Justis sat in a plush chair across the parlor table from her, his long legs stretched out to one side and crossed at the ankles, a glass of cognac near his stack of cards. Lamplight played lovingly on his relaxed features. He seemed utterly content to sit there enjoying a game of solitaire.

  Every time he shifted she almost jumped, expecting him to make some coy remark that would tell her what he had in mind. The man looked ready to start for bed at any moment—his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his hairy chest, his braces hung off his shoulders, he’d kicked his boots into a corner, and his eyelids had a heavy, sensual droop that was either fatigue, desire, or both.

  “I suppose,” she said primly, raising her book again, “that after weeks of virtually ignoring each other, some rearrangement of our attitudes will be necessary. I suppose it will take a few days to resettle them.”

  “I never ignored you,” he said. He studied his cards with calm, deliberate attention and didn’t look up at her. “I can tell you what your favorite victuals were, what books you read, how you did your hair, and how many times I caught you lookin’ at me like you wanted to be undressed.”

  She started guiltily. “If I truly looked that way, you would have taken advantage of it. I’ve been nicely recovered from my ordeals for at least two weeks.”

  “I didn’t want to bed an ornery woman worn out from travelin’ all day.”

  “Ornery? Need I remind you that you haven’t encouraged the least bit of friendship between us since the day we left the Martins’ place in Illinois? What was I to make of that?”

  “I let you simmer so you’d be good and ready for me.”

  She slammed her book shut. “Well, what if I’m not ready now? What if your self-serving manipulations have gone awry?”

  “You’re ready,” he said, his attention still on his cards. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be squawkin’ and squirmin’ like this. Your eyes have been as bright as black buttons all afternoon and you’ve got a blush even a blind man could see. You keep lookin’ toward the bed and sighin’.”

  “Oh! You! You! Why don’t we get it over with! It’s going to be mere heartless entertainment to you, I can tell!”

  He looked up then, his expression full of quiet anger. “Isn’t that the way you want it?”

  “No! I care so much—” She halted, watching the flare of interest her reckless words provoked in his eyes. She struggled for composure. “I want it to be kind, and friendly, and beautiful. Surely that’s not too much to ask, even if we don’t love each other.”

  A muscle throbbed in his jaw. His eyes narrowed. He looked angry again, but also sad. “I’ll do my best.”

  Someone knocked loudly on the door. “I’ll see to it,” Justis said. He vaulted up from his chair as if tension had been coiled inside him, waiting for this moment. Katherine patted her hair and absently checked her dress as she watched him pull the door open.

  A stocky, well-dressed man stood there. A constable stood beside him. “Mr. Gallatin?” the man said in a stern, formal tone.

  “Yeah.”

  “My name is Mr. Gordon and I’m the manager of this hotel. I understand that your wife is an Indian?”

  “Hell, yes. What of it?”

  “Nothing of it, sir. But I want to see a marriage certificate.”

  Katherine’s blood froze. “This is outrageous,” she said in her most regal tone. She stood and glided gracefully to the door. “You are maligning my honor, sir.”

  He bowed. “I beg pardon, ma’am, but if I don’t see some proof that you’re married to this gentleman, I’m going to have you both arrested for fornication.”

  “What?” Justis bellowed. He raised a fist. “Any man who tries to cart my wife to jail will get his face knocked in.”

  Katherine grabbed his arm. “We are married, Mr. Gordon, I assure you. I’ve never heard of such strict adherence to propriety. I doubt that many of your guests carry their marriage certificates with them everywhere they travel.”

  “Pardon me,” the manager replied, “but most of my gentlemen guests don’t look like they walked in straight off the frontier, and most of my lady guests are lily white. If you don’t have a marriage certificate, you’ll have to get one.”

  “Well, find us a preacher,” Justis said.

  Katherine gasped. “Wait, oh, wait. Can my husband and I have a moment in private?”

  The manager nodded. Justis shut the door and turned to her. “Guess we’re trapped,” he said, and shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. Let’s do it. We need to be respectable, you know. All it takes is a bit of paper with some words on it.”

  She stared at him in dismay. “It’s much more than that. It’s a lifetime pledge. It’s an oath before God.”

  “It’s a way to stay out of jail.”

  She hugged herself and paced rapidly. “I need time to think! Overnight. A day or two. There must be some other way. We could switch to another hotel—”

  “Where we’d probably get insulted again. Let’s tie the knot and be done with it.”

  “I can’t give up easily!”

  “You sure ain’t doing that,” he said dryly. “Just gettin’ you to live with me has been the toughest work of my life. You’ve fought a good battle over what’s wise and what’s not, but it’s time to give up and get hitched.”

  She whirled on him.

  “You sound almost pleased about this! Do you want to be married to me even after we go our separate ways? For the rest of your life?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a piece of paper. I can probably go to court in a couple of years and bribe some greedy judge to nullify it. Besides, bein’ married makes me sound like a solid citizen, whether I got a wife to show for it or not.”

  Katherine wanted to cry. He didn’t care why he married her, so long as he accomplished his business goals. But wasn’t that kind of practical attitude the best? If she built her own separate life, what difference would a marriage certificate make when he no longer wanted her? Marriage didn’t mean they’d be together forever, but at least it was a step in the right direction. And if it meant that he owned her, well, he had demonstrated over the course of nearly a year’s acquaintance that owner or not, he was inescapable and irresistible.

  “I don’t want to go to jail,” she said dully.

  “Good. Let’s get married and go to bed. I’m sleepy.”

  “You don’t look sleepy.”

  “You don’t look married. Yet.” He swung the door open again. Mr. Gordon and the constable gazed at him expectantly. “Get us a preacher,” Justis told them. His gaze met Katherine’s. “What kind?”

  She sank down in a chair, defeated. “Presbyterian. At least we’ll be solemn about it.”

  LONG AFTER THE minister had left, Katherine continued to stare at the wedding certificate he’d bestowed on them. She stood in the middle of the bedroom and read it as if it would never make sense. Justis moved around the suite, turning lamps down one by one and banking the fires.

  “Real pretty, huh?” he said, coming up behind her. He looked over her shoulder at the scrolled gilt letters and the blanks where the minister had filled in their names, the date, and the witnesses—Mr. Gordon and the constable. “Not so scary, huh? Just a pretty piece of paper.”

  She numbly laid it on a table. “I’ll change into my nightclothes.”

  Justis caught her arm and swung her to face him. “No,” he said gruffly. “You won’t need ’em.”

  Her stomach dropped as she saw that all the levity was gone from him. The image of the carefree rascal had been a complete ruse. In his grim, strained face she found a year’s worth of waiting, a year of wanting her and not having her.

  “You’ve run out of patience,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you look forward to hurting me a little.”

  “God, no. I look forward to making you want me so much that you forget to despise me.”

  “Justis.” S
he said his name half in rebuke and half in shared desperation. It was hardly out of her mouth before he pulled her to him and kissed her. Her knees buckled as he slowly moved his mouth over hers, goading her with rhythmic shoving motions of his jaw, retreating a fraction to let her take a quick breath, then sinking his mouth onto hers again and using his tongue to part her lips.

  She moaned, exploding inside with a reckless mixture of nerves and desire. In the back of her mind a tormented voice reminded her that their forced marriage was a terribly sad thing that could bring her only more heartache. She was married to a practical man who would never love her the way she loved him. But still—she was his wife. His wife.

  She broke away slightly. “Let it be, then. I can’t help it. I can’t help anything anymore. But, dear man, I don’t despise you. If I were given a chance to choose where I might go in the world and who I might go with, I would freely choose you.”

  “Why?” he asked, stunned.

  “We—we seem to be fated to torment each other for the time being.”

  “You want me,” he whispered fiercely. “Say it. No matter what happens, no matter about love, tonight you want me more than anything or anybody else in the world.”

  “No matter.” Tears slid down her face. “No matter. You’re everything I want.”

  With a low groan of satisfaction he kissed her repeatedly, and she found herself lapping her tongue across his lips to learn every essence and texture of him. She clung to him, lost in the shattering, heart-draining possession of their kiss, while he unfastened the back of her dress with hands that fumbled and finally ripped off buttons violently.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her as he pushed aside the gaping back of her bodice. “And you were beautiful even back when you were so hurt and thin.”

  He ripped her undershirt, then pulled the remnants of it and the bodice down her shoulders. His roughness excited her, and she cried out in delight when he shoved the tight material beneath her nipples. As her breasts slipped free he bent and took one in his mouth, sucking with such a perfect blend of skill and ferocity that she cried out again and grasped his head to urge him closer.