Breathless

by Beverly Jenkins

  “We can?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  A multitude of raucous guests escorted Portia and Ken to the cottage. After opening the door, he scooped her up in his arms to carry her over the threshold and they roared their approval. Grinning, he turned to them and said, “Thank you and good night.”

  He carried her inside and kicked the door closed. On their way to the bedroom, the cheering outside could still be heard, but as they entered it, only silence remained. She looked up into the eyes of her husband and said, “Finally we’re alone.”

  “Finally.” And he gently set her on her feet.

  “A few minutes ago my feet were hurting, I was hot and tired, and all I wanted was to take off this dress and crawl into bed.”

  “And now?”

  “I still want to take off this dress and crawl into bed, but with you.”

  “Perfect answer—partially.”

  She was confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I get to take off your dress.”

  She laughed. “Will you always be this outrageous?”

  “As long as we’re both breathing.” He ran a slow thumb down her cheek. “Thank you for marrying me.”

  Her heart swelled with all the love she had for her outrageous cowboy. “You’re welcome.”

  Their wedding night began with a series of lazy lingering kisses that were as familiar as they were welcome. In spite of the day’s heat and the discomfort, they’d both been waiting for this moment for a long time. After tonight, she’d be a woman in every sense of the word.

  He whispered, “Turn for me, love.”

  She complied. He undid the line of small covered buttons that ran down her spine and when he finished, helped her ease her arms free of the delicate capped sleeves to expose the cream-colored silk shift that covered her corset. He brushed adoring lips over the flesh bared by the garments, the back of her neck, and the crowns of her shoulders while his hands moved up and over the breasts mounded by the veiled corset. “You have on too many clothes, Mrs. Randolph. How about you step out of your dress?”

  She did and he placed it on the chair nearby.

  Her shift was disposed of next, which left her dressed in her corset, gartered stockings, drawers, and fancy shoes. He liked the sensual vision she presented and ran a finger over the tops of her breasts. “I’m surprised you didn’t drop from the heat with all these things on, but I like this corset.”

  “Do you?”

  “Very much.”

  Edged in lace and adorned with tiny seed pearls, it was made for a man’s adoring eyes, but it was soon rucked down so he could feast wantonly, and all she could do was moan and stand on legs that shook in response to each passionate circling of his enticing tongue and draw of his expert mouth. His hands found the dampness between her thighs and by the time he removed her drawers and they moved to the bed, she was rising and twisting on the edge of orgasm. “Let yourself go, darling,” he whispered encouragingly. “I have plenty more for you.”

  He slid in one finger and then two and slowly used them to mimic the way he planned to love her later. The heat in the room climbed and her legs widened. He increased the pace and savored how wet she was and the sight of her nudity framed by the opened corset, as she rose and fell to the decadent rhythm. He captured her lips. “Come for me, Duchess. I know you’re ready.”

  And a breath later she did, bucking wildly and calling his name.

  Kent smiled the smile of a pleased male and eased his fingers free. He was on the verge of orgasm, too, but she was his and he was greedy, so he teased the stiff little bud at the apex of her thighs and dropped his head.

  When his tongue found her she cried out. “What—”

  “I just want a small taste, darlin.’”

  He raised his head and, seeing the wonder in her eyes, he chuckled. “No?”

  She fell back as if outdone and he laughed. “Oh, baby, we’re going to have so much fun, you and I.”

  And Portia had to admit, it was fun until he slid himself inside and the size of him stretched her so painfully.

  “Just relax, love. I won’t move until you’ve caught your breath.”

  Regan was right. It did hurt and she was left bereft because she wanted to enjoy this part of the marriage bed, but she wouldn’t if it hurt this way. He was holding himself above her and there was genuine concern on his face.

  “It’ll only hurt this one time. Promise. You ready?”

  Biting her lip, she nodded and tensed when he began to move again. After a few minutes her body accepted him, the pain lessened, and she began answering his slow strokes. The flame caught again, this time more intensely. Feeling the familiar storm begin to gather, she smiled up. “Oh, Kent.”

  “Liking it now?”

  She wanted to reply but her body was responding so feverishly no words were needed. Caught up in the whirlwind as he increased his pace, she hooked her heels over his thrusting hips, ran her hands up and down his strong arms, and knew she’d died and gone to heaven.

  “Welcome to the marriage bed, Mrs. Randolph.”

  His thrusts were harder, stronger, and he reached down and raised her hips without missing a beat. He threw back his head, “God, you’re so tight. I could do you all night, woman.”

  And then, as his orgasm broke, he roared and stroked harder, rougher, and she didn’t care because she was coming again, too, this time with a scream, and she didn’t care if they heard her in Tucson.

  In the silent aftermath, he kissed her and she ran her fingers up the sweat on his back and down his spine. He was heavy but she didn’t mind. He finally broke the seal of their bodies and rolled off and lay beside her breathing harshly. “I don’t think I’m ever letting you out of this room.”

  She chuckled softly.

  He studied her and she did the same to him. He asked, “Are you okay? I probably should’ve been gentler.”

  “I’m fine and so were you. When can we do it again?”

  He laughed, dragged her atop and they did again, and again. When the sun came up, they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  For the next three days, they made love, many times, ate food delivered to the door by the hotel staff, and talked about everything from the silly to the serious.

  One evening while outside watching the sunset, she said, “Who would have ever thought we’d end up married to each other?”

  “I know. When I first met you, you were a skinny little thing with big eyes who didn’t smile.”

  “That’s because I was so terrified of you and Rhine and Jim. All men really.”

  “I know.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. When any of us came into a room you’d leave or stand with a piece of furniture between you and whichever man it was.”

  “I thought I was prey.”

  “Rhine and Eddy talked with us about you and Regan.”

  Portia thought back. “I remember the day we arrived in Virginia City. It was right after Aunt Eddy was shot. When she recovered, Regan and I asked her a hundred questions. We didn’t know what marriage was and I remember to this day how appalled she looked when I asked if we were going to have to have relations with Uncle Rhine. She said no of course, but it took me a long time to actually believe her. My mother’s customers were mostly brutes, so I thought all men were that way.”

  “We’re not.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “When my mother sent us away, my insides felt like pieces of a broken glass and I didn’t know how I was supposed to go back together.” The memory tore open the bandage she always wore over that hurt and tears sprang to her eyes. She dashed them away. “You’d think I’d be over that by now.”

  “I don’t know if you ever get over something like that.”

  “You’re good for me, cowboy. I’m glad you love me.”

  He hugged her tight and whispered, “Always.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  After the newlyweds rejoined
the world, Mr. Nogales and his men began building the house. He told them it was too early to estimate when they’d be able to move in due to all the work needed to level the site and set the foundation, but the Randolphs didn’t care that there was no date. They were happy enough knowing the work had begun. Mr. Nogales’s sister, Angelica, owned a brick making operation in Flagstaff and she hired Portia to do her books, too. Carmichael Bookkeeping now had three clients. Mr. Nogales, his sister, and the Fontaine Hotel. Portia was delighted.

  “I’ve decided to name the ranch the Duchess Randolph in your honor,” Kent said one morning, walking into her office at the hotel.

  “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “No and here’s proof.” He showed her a piece of paper that had drawn on it a stylized D over an upside down R. “It’ll be the brand for our cattle. I’ll get it registered the next time I go into Tucson.”

  Portia was touched by the tribute. “Can I reward you with kisses?”

  “Only if I can get more than kisses later.”

  “You have a deal.”

  They were in the middle of the kiss when Regan’s voice interrupted them. “Lord. You two are as bad as Uncle Rhine and Aunt Eddy.”

  Kent turned Portia loose and headed to the door where Regan stood. He gave his sister-in-law a peck on the cheek. “We love you, too.”

  And he left to ride out to the ranch.

  Smiling at her husband’s exit, Portia asked, “What can I do for you, Regan?”

  “I’m ready to talk to Aunt Eddy and Uncle Rhine. Can you come with me?”

  Regan nodded tightly.

  To their credit, their aunt and uncle took the news rather calmly, Portia thought, but it didn’t mean they liked it. As Portia had done on her wedding day, they pointed out all the things that could go wrong.

  “How do you know this man isn’t lying to you?” Rhine asked.

  “I don’t.”

  Eddy sighed. “Regan, I love you dearly and you are old enough to make your own decisions but are you sure you want to travel all that way for what might turn out to be fool’s gold?”

  “If it is, I promise to come home.”

  Rhine said, “I’d feel better about this if he came down to meet us and then escorted you back.”

  “I would, too,” Eddy admitted.

  “He’s the only doctor in his part of the territory and he doesn’t want to leave his patients alone for the length of time it would take him to get here and go back. Which I understand. That says to me how seriously he takes his profession.”

  Or he could be lying, Portia thought to herself.

  They spent a few more minutes discussing all the things that might go wrong, but Regan had her mind made up and so stuck to her guns.

  Rhine looked upset but there was pain in his eyes, too. Like Portia he was already missing Regan. “When is he expecting you?”

  “In a few weeks.”

  Eddy looked stricken. “So soon?”

  Regan nodded.

  “Then let your uncle and me know what we need to do to help you get ready.”

  “I will and thank you for not making this harder to tell you. I’ve been worried.”

  “You just transferred that worry to us,” Eddy said with a sad smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No apology needed. As I said, you are old enough to direct your own life. I just have to accept that. I don’t love you any less.”

  The two embraced and Regan whispered, “Thank you.”

  A few days later, tickets in hand, Eddy, her lady friends, and Portia and Kent boarded the train bound for San Francisco and the women’s conference. Regan stayed home to continue seeing to her move to Wyoming. Portia and Kent were set to stay a few days longer and she planned to be extra sweet to him for agreeing to come along.

  Upon arrival, they took cabs to their hotel and rested up for their dinner that evening with Rhine’s half brother Andrew, his wife Freda and their son Little Drew.

  The conference the next day turned out to be an exciting affair. Women from all over the West converged on the grove behind the local Baptist church to hear speeches, plot strategies for advancing suffrage, and reaffirm their commitments to uplifting the race. Portia had never seen such a gathering of determined, forceful, and articulate women, and it filled her with pride. She saw Ada Jakes at a table selling pamphlets. The woman looked her off. Portia didn’t care. She saw Winston, too, with a dark-skinned woman on his arm. His eyes widened at the sight of Portia but he didn’t approach her and she didn’t approach him either.

  The highlight of the day was hearing the words of famed speaker Frances Watkins Harper, a force of nature for both the race and women since the days of abolition. She was in her winter years, her hair graying but her voice was still strong, her message fiery, and when she finished, an inspired Portia and everyone else leapt to their feet to applaud.

  Portia and Kent had dinner that evening at a small restaurant and she filled him in on the day.

  “Sounds like you had a good time.”

  “Oh, I did. Mrs. Harper’s talk was so moving it made me want to grab a placard and start marching.”

  “But you want to stay married?” he teased.

  “Of course.”

  They finished their meal, and after paying the check, they left the eatery and took a slow stroll back to the hotel. The route took them past many shops and businesses and even at that time of the evening, the walks were crowded with people. Her excitement for the day notwithstanding, Portia glanced up at her handsome husband and decided she loved being married. Waking up in the morning with him by her side filled her with more happiness than she ever thought imaginable. She knew no marriage was perfect, and that there would be times they’d disagree, argue profusely, or be so annoyed they’d want to be alone for a period of time, but for now she was content.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Randolph.”

  “Just happy.”

  “Good. No new bride should be unhappy.”

  She was about to say more when she noticed a woman about her aunt’s age walking towards them dressed in the height of fashion. Her ensemble was the color of emeralds and was as beautiful as it was costly. She was next to a distinguished-looking older gentleman attired in a nice brown suit. From the way her gloved hand rested so lovingly in the crook of his arm, they gave the impression of being married, too. As the couple neared, the woman’s brown eyes locked with Portia’s and they both stared at each other in shock. The woman quickly looked away and she and the man passed by without a further glance, but Portia’s heart was pounding so riotously, she stopped.

  Kent asked with concern, “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I have. My mother just walked by us.”

  He swiftly turned around. Portia eventually turned, too, but the couple was no longer in sight. She didn’t know if they’d been swallowed by the crowd or stepped into one of the shops. What she did know was that Corinne Carmichael, the woman who’d mailed her daughters to Eddy and disappeared from their lives was alive and well.

  Later as she talked to Eddy about it at the hotel, Eddy asked, “Are you sure it was Corinne?”

  “Positive. And from the shock on her face, she recognized me as well.”

  Eddy sighed. “I’d like to find her but I can’t imagine how we’d go about that.”

  “Frankly, the way she averted her eyes, I don’t think she’ll want us to find her.”

  “You’re probably right, but I wonder what she’s been doing all this time and why she never sent us so much as a word in the fifteen years since she gave you girls to me. Women don’t normally get up one morning and decide to abandon their children. You and your sister deserve at least an explanation.”

  Portia agreed. Watching Corinne look away when they passed each other felt like being stabbed in the heart with a red-hot poker, bringing back the painful memories of all the nights she’d cried in the dark after arriving in Virginia City and how unloved s
he’d been made to feel.

  Eddy was pacing and looking genuinely upset. “I want to find her and shake her until her teeth rattle.”

  Portia understood her aunt’s anger and the desire for answers. Corinne’s short two-line letter to Eddy simply stated that the new man in her life didn’t want to provide for two children that weren’t his own. That her mother had agreed to such an outrageous directive only added to the hurt. Was the gentleman with Corinne the same unfeeling man, or someone different who had no inkling of her past? It was yet another question needing an answer.

  Eddy stopped pacing and from the tense set of her lips, Portia knew she’d come to a decision. “Whether Corinne wants to be found or not, she owes you girls an explanation, and if I have to hire an army of Pinkertons to bring that about, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “But, Aunt Eddy—

  “No, Portia. What good is being married to a wealthy man if you don’t use that wealth? We’ll hear from my sister, and it will be soon. Count on it.”

  Later, as she lay in bed in Kent’s arms, she tried to tell herself she was all right but knew it was a lie. “Eddy’s going to hire the Pinkertons to find my mother.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  She rose up to look into his face. “I’m not sure. On one hand, she made it perfectly clear on the street today that she doesn’t want any contact from me, but on the other hand, I keep wondering what would make a woman abandon her children the way she did. I know she said it was the new man in her life, but there has to be more, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know, darling, but I do know I don’t like seeing you in pain this way.”

  She settled back into his embrace. “If we have children, I’ll never do that.”