"But in private," he continued after a moment, during which his eyes feasted on the creamy tops of her breasts, which swelled out of her chemise, "in private I may never let you wear any clothes at all. I may just keep you naked."
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With that he stood up with her, and set her on her feet. Her dress, already unfastened, dropped to the floor with a rustle. Jessie stepped out of it and kicked it aside.
"Very pretty," Stuart said approvingly as he surveyed her in her underwear. He reached out to hook his hands beneath both straps of her chemise and slide them down her arms until her breasts were completely revealed.
"But that's even prettier," he finished in a husky whisper, and lifted his hands to fondle her breasts.
Jessie's knees went weak. She swayed toward him, her eyes closing. He squeezed her breasts, dropped a quick, hara kiss on her mouth—and with his hands on her shoulders turned her away from him.
"Stuart . . ."
"We're going to do it the way it should be done this time: slow and easy and in a bed. Hold still a minute. These laces are in a knot."
He was fumbling with the tapes to her stays. Jessie caught her breath at the image his words conjured up, and had to grab hold of the back of the chair to steady herself. Her eyes closed, then opened again as he freed her stays and tossed them aside. After that, it was the work of a minute to rid her of her petticoats. Then he turned her around to face him again and lifted her chemise over her head.
Jessie was left standing naked in front of him except for her garter-tied stockings, which ended at her thighs, and her pointedtoed shoes. His hand came out to sweep aside the thick fall of hair that partially covered her. Then, for a long moment, he simply stood there and stared.
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"You are the loveliest thing I've ever seen in my life," he murmured, and knelt at her feet.
For just a moment Jessie stared blankly down at his wavy dark head. Then his hand circled her silk-clad ankle, lifted her foot from the floor, and slid from it her elegant new shoe. She balanced on her stockinged foot as he repeated the treatment with the other one. Then his eyes—and hands—lifted, to slide slowly over her calves, her knees, her thighs.
Jessie quivered as his fingers, untying her garters, brushed against the smooth bare skin between her legs. With his head bent so that she could feel his warm breath against her thighs, his expression was hidden from her. But Jessie could feel the quickening of his breathing, the slight unsteadiness of his fingers as he rolled her stockings down her legs, first one and then the other, and tossed them aside.
She expected him to get to his feet. But still he stayed on his knees before her. Her heart began to pound as he lifted his head and she saw that his eyes had heated to pure blue flames. Naked, she stood before him, unresisting as his hands slid back up her legs to curve around the back of her thighs. He pulled her toward him, and for all that she loved him, for all the passion that was rising in her as swiftly as sap in a young tree, she started in shocked surprise when he pressed his face to the curly triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. "Stuart, no!" Her fingers twined in his hair and tugged as she looked down, wide-eyed with horror, at his face snuggled so intimately against her. But instead of heeding her, he pulled her legs slightly apart. Jessie was about to protest more vehemently when she felt something warm and wet touch her in that secret place between her legs.
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His tongue! He was touching her there with his tongue! Jessie tried once to pull away, but he held her fast. Then she no longer wanted to escape, no longer had the will to do anything but clutch his hair and moan as he took his pleasure of her with his tongue and mouth.
At some point, just when Jessie was sure her knees would not support her any longer, he backed her up to the bunk and pushed her gently down upon it. Without knowing quite how it happened, she found herself flat on her back with her legs extending over the sides of the mattress. As his mouth left her briefly, modesty threatened to surface and she tried to close her legs. He stroked them apart, knowing just where to touch her to send shooting stars of pleasure sizzling through her veins, dazzling her so that she scarcely realized when he lifted her thighs to rest on his shoulders while her feet hung down his back. Then his face was nuzzling its way between her legs again and he was kissing her there.
Jessie thought she would die with the sheer, shameful pleasure of it.
Then he took her past the point of shame, took her to where the only thing that mattered was the exquisite tremors that racked her body, took her to where she sobbed and moaned his name without even realizing that she did so.
Finally his hands reached up to fondle her breasts, rubbing her nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand while he worked his special brand of magic between her legs, and he took her farther yet.
Sensation exploded inside her like a too tightly packed charge of gunpowder. Jessie cried out, writhing, her nails digging deep 289
into the nubby coverlet that was twisted half on and half off the bed.
While she was still floating back to earth, he stood up, lifted her in his arms, stripped the tangled coverlet and top sheet back, and placed her properly in the bed. Jessie felt the smooth coolness of a pillow beneath her crimsoning cheek, but she kept her eyes tightly closed. She was too embarrassed to open them. The memory of what he'd done, and the disgraceful way she had responded, were searing themselves permanently into her brain. It was quite
possible that she would never again be able to look him in the face. A lady would never moan, or squirm, or—or permit him to do such a thing in the first place.
Clearly she was no lady, but a shameless, abandoned hussy. She wished she were dead. "Jessie."
Still her eyes refused to open. "I thought you'd like that." She shuddered.
"If you don't open your eyes and look at me, I'm going to do it again."
That threat, uttered in a purposeful tone, served the purpose. Jessie's eyes shot open. Stuart was standing by the bed, still fully dressed even to his coat. The slight disorder of his hair was the only visible sign that he had been as much a party to what had happened as she. He was smiling faintly, his eyes possessive as they moved from her face to run over her body. Jessie realized then that she lay atop the sheet, naked as a babe, with nothing at all to shield her from his eyes. Jackknifing into a sitting position, she grabbed the top sheet from where he'd tossed it to the foot of the bunk and jerked it up around her chin.
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"Shy, Jess?" He was chuckling at her even as he shrugged out of his coat. Jessie realized that it was the middle of the afternoon, broad daylight was streaming in through the small window that overlooked the river, and any secrets her body might once have held for him were secret no longer. He must have seen everything, places even she herself had never glimpsed, private places that no one should see. The thought made her crimson anew.
She could feel the heat of the blush spreading over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
"Don't worry, we'll get you over it."
If that was meant to be comforting, it was not. Before Jessie could assure him that she didn't want to get over it, that she never had any intention of doing anything again that would require she be over it, it occurred to her that he had removed his cravat and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.
"What are you doing?" There was squeaky disbelief in her voice. Surely he didn't intend to . . .
"Taking off my clothes." He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. Jessie stared with reluctant fascination at his broad bare back. As he tugged at his boots, the muscles flexed and bulged beneath his skin. Her hand stretched out to touch that back, but she recollected herself in time and snatched her hand away.
"You surely don't mean to—"
"I told you we were going to do it slow and easy and in a bed. The other was just to take the edge off. I don't want you scratching up my back." He was grinning at her as he stood up to slide his trousers down his legs. Then
he was naked, and climbing into bed. 291
XXXIX
Jessie did scratch up his back, after all. She never would have believed that he could arouse her to that degree of passion so soon after the other, but he did. And as to taking it slow and easy—it started out that way, but the finish was quite otherwise. It was hard, and fast, and glorious—and exhausting.
For some time afterward neither of them moved. Stuart lay sprawled out on his back with Jessie cuddled against his side. They dozed, and half woke to mutter love words, then dozed again. By the time Jessie opened her eyes with some real degree of wakefulness, long shadows filled the cabin. Beyond the porthole what she could see of the sky was a magnificent panoply of orange and gold.
From the feel of things, the River Queen was under way.
"Stuart!"
Jessie sat up, shaking the hair from her face and clutching the sheet to her breast. Turning to look at Stuart, she discovered that her instinct toward modesty had left him fully exposed. Stretched out on his back with his arms lifted above his head, he was a stirring sight. Jessie regretted that she had so little time to admire it.
"Stuart! Wake up! We're moving!"
"Moving!"
That opened his eyes. He sat up, shook his head to clear it, and looked around as his eyes widened. Clearly he was digesting the unmistakable evidence of movement, just as she had.
"Looks like I'll be traveling kind of light, this trip," he said, and fell back against the mattress, grinning.
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"But—but you don't even have a change of clothes! Or anything!"
"Don't worry. It's not the first time I've found myself in this situation. Although usually such a paucity of possessions has been the result of my having to get out of a particular place in a hurry. Oh, well, the inn where I have a room bespoke will likely hold my clothes until I return, and if they don't—" He shrugged.
"Clothes aren't hard to come by. In the meantime, I'll be rinsing my linen out at night and putting it on damp in the morning. I've done it before."
"What about Saber? You did ride Saber, didn't you?"
"I started out on Saber, but he threw a shoe just south of Vicksburg. I left him at a stable there, and hired a job horse that is presently eating its head off in the stable behind the inn where I meant to stay the night. I rode all last night, so I am somewhat lacking in sleep, which accounts for the fact that I dozed off. You led me quite a dance, my darling."
"Are you sorry?" The question was quiet.
"No. Hell, no. What's one of the richest cotton plantations in Mississippi compared to a redheaded chit whose blood is as hot as her hair? I'll take a hot woman over riches any day." He was teasing her. That had the idiotic effect of reassuring Jessie completely. She lifted her nose in the air. "I do not," she said with dignity, "have red hair."
"Oh, yes, you do." The grin he gave her was wicked. "Ana not only on your head. Down—" "That's enough!" Jessie stopped him, scandalized, but she had to grin back at him in the face of his amusement. "Your civilized veneer is slipping, Mr. Edwards."
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His eyes flickered at that. "Now, truer words were never spoken," he muttered obscurely.
When Jessie would have questioned the meaning of that, he reached for her and dragged her down to lie beside him.
"You always smell so good/' he whispered in her ear, and then he was kissing her mouth.
If Jessie's stomach had not interrupted with a loud, rumbling growl, he would have done more than kiss her. But at the incongruous sound he lifted his head to look at her in surprise.
"I'm starving," she said plaintively, and evaded his arms to sit up. This time she didn't bother with the sheet, and his eyes feasted on her rosy-tipped breasts.
"Me, too," he answered, and would have pulled her back down again if she hadn't slid off the bed. This time she did take the sheet with her.
"No, I mean it," she insisted, wrapping the sheet around her as she padded to where her valise awaited with a change of clothes.
"I haven't had anything to eat since—my goodness, since breakfast yesterday."
"Why didn't you go down to the dining room? They have one, you know."
"I didn't like to eat all by myself. I kept thinking that someone would think it was odd, that I was traveling alone. Besides, I don't quite know how— the only time I ever ate in a public dining room was when Miss Laurel and Miss Flora took me to Jackson, and they handled everything."
"Good God." Stuart sat up again and swung his long legs over the side of the bunk. He stood up, not a whit bothered by his nakedness in her presence, and walked over to the pitcher and bowl in the corner, where he proceeded to sluice his face with 294
water. Jessie watched his buttocks with a great deal of interest. She already knew that they were sleek and hard to the touch, but this was the first good view she had had of them. Nice, she decided, very nice.
He turned, caught her looking at him, and grinned at her as she blushed and turned away. "Let's get some food into you. I'd hate to have you waste away into nothingness. I like my women to be shaped like women."
Jessie struggled to dress while keeping the sheet modestly around her, but it was difficult. Stuart finished long before she did and stood watching her with a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Finally, exasperated, she dropped the chemise she'd been struggling to pull over her head and snapped at him.
"Would you please go for a walk around the deck or—or something? You're making me nervous."
"You'll have to get used to me."
But he picked up his hat and took himself off. Jessie was able to dress, and take care of other personal needs, without his disquieting presence.
When at last she emerged, she was wearing a low-cut gown of deep rose silk that she considered the most suitable for dinner of those she had brought with her. Her hair was pinned high atop her head, and her beaded reticule was clutched in her hand. Stuart was lounging against the rail just outside the cabin door, smoking one of his ever-present cheroots. When he saw her, his eyes widened and he straightened away from the rail, flicking the cheroot overboard.
"I thought you said you were getting dressed."
"This dress is perfectly proper!"
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"Don't you have a shawl or something you could wear with it?" His eyes slid down to the valley between her breasts, which was visible to him only because of his height, Jessie thought with annoyance. Still, she could not help tugging at her bodice. Stuart grinned.
"If you're going to be ridiculous, I'll eat by myself!" She flounced away from him.
"Grumpy little thing when you're hungry, aren't you? I'll have to be sure to keep you well fed." He caught up with her, captured her hand, lifted it to his lips, and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "You look lovely, Jessie. I like the gown—what there is of it."
"Oh!" She tried to pull her hand free, but he held it in place, chuckling. When she would have hit him with her reticule, he cringed and held up his hand to ward her off.
"I'm only teasing you. Come on, let's eat. I seem to have worked up an appetite myself."
In the interests of satisfying her hunger as expeditiously as possible, Jessie allowed herself to be mollified. When they reached the dining room, she was positively glad of Stuart's presence. She shrank a little closer to his side as they waited to be shown to a table. The room was aglitter with chandeliers and crystal and white tablecloths—and people.
The meal was excellent. Stuart insisted that she try a fancy, French-named dish that turned out to be snails swimming in butter, and laughed uproariously when it arrived and she refused to eat it. To pacify her he ate it himself, and gave her his plain old Mississippi catfish, which she tucked into with relish. Only as she sat back, replete, after the last bite did it occur to Jessie 296
that the aggravating creature had probably meant to switch meals all along. He was much more the snail-eating type than she was. Stuart drank most of a bottle of wine, though he refused to pour her more
than a single glass. It was on the tip of Jessie's tongue to remind him that he was her illicit lover now, not the guardian of her morals, but in the interests of harmony she held her tongue. Later, when a gooey gateau was brought to the table, she was about to refuse when he insisted that she be served a slice. It was delicious, and left her quite in charity with him again. The dining room was on the lower deck. As they left, Stuart had a low-voiced conversation with the steward. He was smiling when he returned to where she awaited him by the door.
"How much money do you have with you?" he asked, steering her outside.
"About seven hundred dollars. Why?"
"And I have a little over a thousand. That should be enough."
"For what?" Jessie was thoroughly mystified.
"For increasing our stake. Come on, Jess, and let me broaden your experience a little."
He refused to tell her more, but led her to a small parlor at the bow end of the upper deck. There he knocked on a closed door and was admitted to a smoke-filled room that appeared, at first glance, to be overflowing with gentlemen in various stages of inebriation playing cards.
"Be quiet, stay beside me, and if you should see any cards, try not to give my hand away," he whispered to her as he led her across the room to a table where some kind of card game was apparently just getting started.
"Mind if I join you?" Stuart addressed one of the men at the table.
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"You got a thousand?"
"Yes."
"Have a seat, then. Name's Harris, this here's Ben Jones. Don't know the other gent, and don't suppose it matters. He's got a thousand, too."
Stuart pulled out a chair for Jessie behind the one he took, saw her seated, and then appeared to forget all about her. Jessie watched the steady progress of the game for a while, then got bored and allowed her attention to wander. She knew as much about cards as she had known that French dish Stuart had ordered at dinner. But he seemed totally absorbed in the game, which he had obviously played before.
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