"I want to kiss every inch of your skin. Starting with your mouth, and working my way down. Do you mind?"
"Yes! No! I don't know! Oh, Stuart, please—" Whatever request she was going to make of him, he was never to know, because he dipped his head at that moment to taste her open mouth. Just taste it, no more.
"Please what?" He kept the presence of mind to inquire when just a moment later he lifted his head. Her eyes appeared dazed as she blinked up at him. A good foot of space separated her flesh from his. Only his hand on her neck linked them. But that 252
kiss had left her looking dazed. That boded well for the eventual outcome of his wooing.
"I don't know. Oh, Stuart, I do love you, but..."
"If I didn't know better, Jess, I'd think you were trying to tell me that you're a tad reluctant." He bent his head and kissed her again, more lingeringly this time but still hardly more than a taste. "Are you?"
"What?" In the aftermath of that second kiss, she seemed to have trouble following the gist of his conversation. Her lips trembled, and her eyes had an unfocused look to them that pleased him very well.
"Never mind." He kissed her a third time, his tongue just grazing the surface of her lower lip. To his satisfaction, she sighed into his mouth and stepped closer without any urging on his part. Her breasts nuzzled his chest, and her arms slid around his neck.
"I love you, Jessie." He murmured it caressingly against her mouth even as he deepened his kiss. Every male instinct he possessed was now thoroughly awake and aroused, demanding that he take what was his without further ado. But still he held back. No matter what else was wrong in his life, he meant to make this right for Jessie.
"Oh, Stuart." It was a sigh as she nestled more fully against him. Despite his good intentions, he was unable to keep his arms from encircling her and pulling her closer yet. With every millimeter of his skin he felt her against him, the soft fire of her breasts with their hard tips snuggling against the muscles on his chest, the gossamer down of her pubic hair brushing his thighs. He ached, and swelled, and lusted, but still, still, he did not take more than a kiss.
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It was Jessie herself who told him when she was ready for more. He held her close, his tongue exploring her mouth, when she gasped and rose up on tiptoe, her arms tightening around his neck.
Clive could feel her trembling in his arms. Inwardly he permitted himself a smile, although he was too far gone with passion to manage one physically, even if his mouth had not been thoroughly occupied with kissing Jessie. Then one hand slid down her back to stroke a softly rounded buttock.
Her skin was silky smooth, the curve of her cheek just right for the span of his hand. Clive surrendered to temptation and squeezed. She cried out against his mouth.
Good intentions or no, this was almost more than he could withstand. To his amazement, his arms began to shake. He hadn't trembled so over a woman since he was a green boy.
"Stuart?" She felt the tremors and was questioning them. Clive took advantage of the slight backward arch of her body to do what he had been wanting to do for what seemed like forever: he bent his head and took one pert nipple in his mouth. Jessie cried out, trembled. Her hands burrowed in his hair, tugging as she gripped his scalp, but she didn't try to pull him away from her. Instead she held him close and arched her back still more, offering her breasts to him with an instinctive voluptuousness that thrilled him more than the most practiced courtesan with all her tricks had ever been able to do. With his tongue he rolled her nipple around, sucked on it, savored the sweetness of it, and all of a sudden found himself past the point of no return.
As he lifted his head to claim her mouth again, he discovered that he was shaking like a schoolboy, burning with need for her, 254
aching and throbbing until he reared that the part most vitally concerned might explode.
If he didn't ease himself with her soon, he would spew his seed ignominiously into the cool night air.
That was an indignity that had not happened to him since he was a boy of thirteen, and he did not mean to suffer it again tonight. Scooping Jessie up in his arms, Clive lowered her to the pallet of grain sacks, kissing her all the while. She clung to his neck and kissed him back, with all the sweet passion that he'd been delighted to discover came to her so easily, and never protested once.
Not when he lay her on her back and knelt beside her, not when he fondled her breasts, not when he stroked her belly and the soft skin of her thighs. Not when he slid his hand up her inner thigh to the place he longed to enter, and touched her there. Not only did she not protest, but she cried out in pleased surprise and arched her mound against his hand.
Clive shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, and abruptly gave up the fight. He could hold off no longer. He ad to have her now, or die.
Still he tried to make it easy for her. Even as he loomed over her, his knees wedging between hers, his hand stayed on that place he had learned was the secret to pleasuring women, rubbing and stroking and making her ready for his entry. From the way she trembled and gasped, and from the wild little plunges with which she answered the thrusts of his tongue in her mouth, he judged she was as ready as she was ever going to be. His heart was pounding so furiously that blood drummed in his ears. He held his weight from her with arms that trembled, kissed her mouth, and spread her legs wide.
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Then he entered her, as gently as he could. But as the fiery wetness of her closed around him, he lost all control and plunged fiercely inside.
She clutched him and bucked beneath him, moaning that despised name that she thought was his. But Clive was so lost in the throes of his own savage pleasure that he could not have said if she was with him or not as he strove mightily toward the sweet finish.
In the end, when he cried out in satisfaction at the hot explosion of seed, she cried out too, shuddering in his hold. Was she crying out from pleasure or from pain? God, he hoped it was from pleasure, but for the moment he was too spent to find out, too spent, in fact, to do more than collapse atop her and pant for air. It was some while later that he recovered himself sufficiently to roll to one side. Propping himself on one elbow, he looked down into her face.
Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark, feathery crescents against her cheeks, her beautiful hair spread out in a wild tangle around her head. Strands of it were caught up in the hairs on his chest, and waved over his arm. He stroked a wayward curl back from her forehead, and looked down at her lovely naked body with an overwhelming sense of pride of ownership. She was his, marked with his sweat and juice and hair. His, and he meant to keep her.
"Jessie."
No reply. Her eyelashes didn't even flutter.
"Jess."
She didn't respond, didn't move so much as a muscle. Only the gentle rise and fall of those distractingly pretty breasts told him that she still lived. His brow knit in consternation. Then, and 256
only then, did it occur to Clive that the love of his life had fallen fast asleep.
"Good God," he said blankly. Then his mouth twisted into a wry smile. Whatever reaction he had been expecting from her in the aftermath of his love-making, it was not the gentle snore that at that very moment issued from between her parted lips. He leaned over and kissed her, very gently so as not to waken her, and got to his feet. Within minutes he was dressed. Then he picked up her nightgown and wrapper, shook them to rid them of any wayward bits of straw or grain, and knelt beside Jessie. Lifting her into a sitting position, he maneuvered her nightgown over her head.
That woke her. "What . . . ?"
"Shhh," Stuart said, smiling a little at her owlish blinks. Then he tugged her nightgown down, threw her wrapper over his arm, and stood up with her in his arms.
"Stuart?"
"Hush, darling. I'm taking you to bed." "Oh." He shouldered his way out of the tack room, quelled Jasper with a word, and let himself out of the stable. The side yard seemed flooded with moonlight after the darkness of the barn. He strode quickly toward the hous
e, ever conscious of the soft, trusting bundle in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her arms looped loosely around his neck, and she seemed to alternate between almost sleeping and wakefulness. A fierce sense of protectiveness was born in him as he carried her to the bed she would occupy alone. If anyone should discover that Jessie had lain with him, Jessie would be the one to suffer. Therefore, for her sake, no one must discover it until he had figured a way out of this god-awful mess.
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"Stuart?" Her head was lifting from his shoulder, and she was blinking at him again.
"Hmm?" He smiled at her indulgently.
"You were right."
"About what, darling?"
"The second time didn't hurt a bit."
"Didn't it, now? Just wait till you sample the third time."
"I don't think I can. Wait."
Discretion or no, that breath-stealing reply called for a kiss. Stuart stopped, answered the call thoroughly, then resumed his journey. He carried her inside the sleeping house, all the way up to her room, where he brushed aside the mosquito netting and laid her on her bed.
When he kissed her again and would have left her there, Jessie caught his shirtfront.
"Stuart." She was smiling sleepily, already curling up in the dainty, white-linened bed, one hand resting on her pillow beneath her cheek. Looking down at her, holding aside the curtain of netting, Clive thought that never in his life had he seen a female appear more desirable than she did in that moment.
"What is it, darling?"
"I guess I won't marry Mitch after all."
"No," he said positively, scowling despite the glint that gave her teasing away. "I guess you won't."
"Dog in the manger," she said softly.
He bent to kiss her. Every cell in his body longed to climb into that bed with her, but he knew that, for her sake, he absolutely could not.
"Now there you're wrong," he told her when he lifted his head.
"I do want you. Go to sleep, Jess."
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And he left her there, smiling into her pillow, while he made his way to his own lonely bed.
XXXV
A meadowlark was singing when Jessie awoke the next morning. It must have been perched in the large loblolly tree that provided perennial shade on the west side of the house, because she could hear its song clearly even through her closed window. Jessie stretched, smiling, and thought, How appropriate. She felt like singing, too.
Getting out of bed, she crossed to the window to look out. There was a slight soreness between her thighs as she moved to tell her that the night before had been no dream, but she didn't really hurt anywhere. Despite the scant amount of sleep she had had, she felt good, Jessie decided, happy and carefree and tingling with energy. Outside the window, the grass seemed greener than ever before and the sky bluer. Smiling foolishly at the world in general, Jessie leaned against the window frame. The reason that she felt so marvelous was that she felt loved. Stuart loved her! Was that not a miracle worthy of the name?
It was early yet. The sun had not yet cleared the tall oaks, and the grass was still wet with dew. There was a great deal of bustle in the vicinity of the gin building. Jessie remembered that the last of the cotton was scheduled to be picked that day. Mule wagons loaded down with large woven baskets filled to overflowing with cotton stood in line before the two-story wooden structure, just beyond the quarters, that housed a gin machine on its upper level. After the cotton fiber was separated from the seed, it 259
would be sent on to the lint room and then the cotton press. Finally it would be baled, and rolled to the landing just this side of Elmway, where the riverboats docked. As always at the end of the cotton-growing season, the river was clogged with traffic as the cotton was transported from the plantations to a large cotton port such as New Orleans. From there the cotton would be shipped to England. The noise and activity that surrounded the successful conclusion of the cotton season had always been something that Jessie looked forward to, and this year was no exception. But now she saw the wagons and heard the braying of the mules and smelled the fresh-picked cotton with senses far keener than they ever had been before. Being in love clearly increased one's awareness of the everyday pleasures of life. Stuart would no doubt be out there in the vicinity of the gin building. Jessie blushed a little at the thought of confronting him in broad daylight after all that had passed between them during the night, but her hunger to see him outweighed her instinctive shyness. Turning her back on the scene outside the window, she hurried to dress.
Sissie had left a can of hot water outside Jessie's door as she always did. Jessie retrieved it, poured the water into the basin, and washed her face. Her body felt vaguely sticky. She would have liked a bath, but ordering one in the morning when her usual practice was to bathe at night might cause Tudi or even Sissie to wonder why. Happy as she was, Jessie was fully aware that what had happened between her and Stuart last night would be condemned by the rest of the world as wickedly scandalous. It was shameful enough that she had lain with a man to whom she was not wed, but when that man was married already, and to her dead father's widow ... It was downright sinful, and Jessie knew 260
it. Should anyone discover the truth, she would be branded a scarlet woman and tittered about and shunned. But she refused to let grim reality dim her enjoyment of the day. There would be time enough later to ponder the more distressing aspects of loving Stuart.
Shucking her nightgown, Jessie sponged her body as well as she could. Brownish stains on the whiteness of her inner thighs puzzled her briefly, until she determined that they were blood. Her virgin's blood, meant to be her gift to her husband on their wedding night. For the first time it truly hit Jessie that she was no longer a virgin. As far as the marriage mart was concerned, she was now soiled goods. Marriage was out of the question for her after last night. A niggle of fear rose inside Jessie as she considered that. She loved Stuart madly, and trusted him to resolve the situation in some unforeseen way that would result in the two of them being together forever, but the grim truth of the matter was that he was already wed and could not marry her. Was she to spend the rest of her life at Mimosa as his paramour while her stepmother claimed the honorable title of his wife?
Was their true love to be confined to stolen trysts at midnight?
Or would Stuart try to get a divorce, the very idea of which made Jessie shudder? The reality of the situation into which she had tumbled began to rear its ugly head, but Jessie determinedly beat such unpleasant thoughts back.
For today, just today, she would enjoy being happy. She loved, and was loved in return. For just a little while she would pretend that none of the barriers between her and Stuart existed, and that they were free to love as they would.
Jessie dressed quickly in the peacock-blue riding habit that was so wonderfully becoming, then sat before her dressing table 261
brushing out her hair. Kernels of grain and bits of straw were caught up in the thick mass, and she thanked heaven that she was in the habit of tending to herself in the mornings. If Tudi or Sissie had seen such debris in her hair, there would have been some highly awkward questions asked.
When she had finished styling her hair, Jessie gathered up every little bit of straw and grain that she had brushed from it and threw them in the back of the fireplace where they were unlikely to be noticed. Then she shook out her nightgown and wrapper to check them for bloodstains, and was relieved to find none. Finally the bloodstained cloth with which she had bathed her thighs was rinsed until no stains remained, and the murky water emptied into the slop jar.
Doing all this, she felt as guilty as a murderess. But when it was done, and she paused before her cheval glass for a final check of her appearance, her spirits rose again. Soon, soon she would be with Stuart. Nothing else mattered.
The morning was cool, though not as cool as the night. The long-sleeved, nip-waisted riding dress was welcome in such weather, and she had tied her hair with a blue ribbon at the crown a
nd left the rest of the curly auburn tresses to hang down her back to her hips. The style made her look very young, she decided as she turned this way and that to admire her reflection in the mirror, and also, she hoped, very pretty.
Stuart had said she was beautiful. Could he really think that?
Smiling beatifically at the memory, Jessie left her bedroom and headed for the stable by way of the back stairs. She passed Tudi, who was carrying an armful of linen up, and startled her by giving her a quick hug in passing. From Rosa in the cookhouse she snitched a corn pone, bestowing on her a radiant smile in the 262
process. Despite her utter unaware-ness that she was behaving in any way out of the ordinary, her unaccustomed ebullience left both women staring after her as she went merrily along.
"Don't my lamb never grin like that," Tudi muttered starkly to the stairway at large, and turned completely around on the landing to watch Jessie skip the rest of the way down the stairs. In the kitchen, Rosa just shook her head and continued with the preparations for luncheon.
Jessie, unaware of the speculation she was leaving in her wake, went on to the stable, where she bade Progress a cheery goodmorning, bestowed the last of the corn pone along with a pat on Jasper, and swung nimbly into the saddle. Firefly greeted her with a dancing sidestep that exactly suited Jessie's mood. She patted the mare, too, and rode out of the barn near giddy with anticipation. In just a few minutes she would see Stuart again. Celia was picking her way across the ground that separated the house from the privy, her skirts lifted high with exaggerated care that they not come into contact with the fresh-scythed grass. Even at such a distance she looked exceedingly cross, and even thinner than Jessie remembered.
Celia glanced up then and saw her stepdaughter. Jessie felt some of her precarious happiness fade. She would have ridden away from her stepmother with no more than a token wave, except Celia beckoned. Reluctantly, Jessie reined Firefly toward the wife of the man she loved.
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