And more determined, she thought briefly.
She would soon be in his arms. And they would stand together, now that he had come home.
“Jesse—”
He swore something unintelligible that held a note of anguish, then strode toward her once again. “No, dammit, I do not want to talk!” He swept the elegant little hat from her head, and before she could stop him, his fingers were in her hair, freeing it from the pins. He spread it out to frame her face, and his lips and mouth touched hers again with such fervor that decency seemed lost, and the fierce flames of desire were awakened. Was it right to love so deeply and so desperately? Kiernan didn’t know—she only knew that she lost her soul within his arms, that she sought to touch his tongue with her own, that she was surrendering to the simple ecstasy of his lips upon hers, caressing, seeking, touching again and again.
There was no chaise, no bed, no lounge within the gazebo. But a cloth lay over a wrought-iron table. Jesse swept it up and laid it out upon the floor, then returned for her.
Not even the wildest fires of raw desire could strip away the cold within the summer house. And so he did not seek to divest her of her clothing.
He swept her up and carried her to the cloth, and he bore her down upon it as her eyes met his with the emerald blaze of her longing, and her fingers curled into the ebony hair at his nape. When she was upon the floor, she felt the wetness of his kiss again, warmly raging, touching her lips, drawing away, his tongue seeking, his teeth catching her lower lip lightly, and then again, his tongue meeting hers just outside their parted mouths, and their lips closing finally around the exotic hunger of the kiss.
Velvet still encased and enclosed her, bringing her warmth, a warmth that melted into the growing heat of her body as she thirsted for his touch. His touch came so sweetly. Her velvet jacket was loosened, her breasts spilled free in a froth of lace and silk undergarments. Her skirt was loosed, the ribbon tie of her pantalets was freed. Beneath the textures of the fabrics, his hands roamed freely. His palm began a sultry movement beneath the velvet of her skirt to caress the naked flesh of her hip, of her buttock, of her thigh. Warm velvet brushed against her as his touch traveled on. A heightening expectation, sweet and sensual, then raw and erotic, snaked through her, for with his touch, his kiss never ceased. Always it was there against a part of her. When his lips left hers, it was only for his mouth to form and cover seductively the rouge pinnacle of her breast. His tongue teased the tautening peak, then his lips formed again to suckle upon it deeply, sending startling waves of moist sweet heat rippling through her body to soak her with shattering desire that centered bluntly at the point between her thighs.
With his touch he found that point. With bold, excruciating precision, he stroked her where she most longed to be stroked, centered in upon all the shocking heat and sweet nectar and stroked. Stroked until gasps escaped her throat and she undulated to the rhythm of his hand. The velvet of her skirt bunched high atop of her hip, then she felt the rock-hard point of his erection burn erotically against her naked belly. She reached down to touch him. Her finger closed around his surging hardness and heat and vital life, and she almost pulled away, startled by the searing power and that very masculine life and power and pulse. His fingers closed around hers, holding her there. His kiss caught her lips again, and as his lips played wickedly with hers, she became fascinated with him and explored that living steel, trembling as she stroked and caressed, discovered the dark nest of hair at his groin, the soft sacs within it, and again, the driving rod of his sex. His hoarse cries and whispers drove her on until he was suddenly atop her, and the cry within her own body was answered by the hard and thundering thrust of his shaft deep, deep inside her, seeming to touch to her womb and to her heart.
Bringing with it splendor.
And so if winter winds blew around the summer cottage, the cold inside was dispelled. Her every dream from faraway England was answered, her nights of loneliness, her time of waiting, the endless days when desire had lain dormant because the man to fuel the fires of that desire had been denied her—by her own choice, perhaps.
But time was swept away now, and the world was eclipsed. She had barely seen his face again, she had heard so very few of his words. But here she was again, swept into the rhythms of his passions, caught up in the desperate and heady desire of the excitement that sparked between them. Oh, where was discipline, where was conscience, where was honor, and dear Lord, what had happened to restraint?
In his arms, she did not know, nor could she care. The sweet winter’s scent of the river came in along with the breeze, mingled with the subtle scent that belonged only to her lover. Movement went on constantly, exquisitely, the twist and spiral of his body, the taunt when he was away, the gratification when he came again, growing wet and sleek and surging harder and faster with each thrust. She realized suddenly that whimpering sounds, soft eager cries, were coming from her, and that she surged in a likewise frenzy to have more of him, to join with him, to meld their bodies completely. And then suddenly, with one stroke, the wonder burst upon her. The delicious crest was met, and she went stiff, feeling heady, searing pleasure burst forth over all of her body. She shuddered as it swamped her again and again. She drifted as Jesse moved again, and then once more, then fell atop her as the sweetness from him pervaded all of her.
He fell to her side and pulled her against him. For a moment he was still, but then he held a tendril of her hair and brought it against his face, breathing deeply.
“Oh, Jesse,” she whispered.
“I wonder,” he murmured, “how I lived without you.”
She twisted into his arms, delighted just to be held against him, to luxuriate in the warmth and the tenderness that he offered. “Oh, Jesse, is it always like this?” she asked.
He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “No. It is never like this.”
“What are we going to do?” she demanded.
To her dismay, he gently eased himself free from her and stood. He absently buttoned his shirt, stuffed the ends into his breeches, and buttoned up his pants. Kiernan sat up, and with far greater difficulty, she rearranged her own clothing.
He strode to where the windows looked toward the house. Through the foliage the back porch with its regal and gracious columns could barely be seen. But as he looked more closely, his eyes grazed over the tops of some of the beautiful monuments within the family graveyard.
“I love this place,” he said suddenly, passionately. “My God, I love this place.”
I love you, Jesse. She almost said the words, except that she had said them before. She knew that he loved her too. And so she spoke as he did, and her words, too, were true.
“I love it, too, Jesse,” she said softly.
He turned to her suddenly, his hands planted firmly on his hips. His hair was rakishly disarrayed, and he appeared very much the man he was, older and wiser than many she knew, perhaps even world-weary. He was strikingly appealing, sensual, bold, sexual, hard—very much the master of his world.
“Then marry me,” he said.
To her own dismay, her eyes fell and she started to shiver. She loved Jesse, she wanted to marry him. She wanted to live with him here as lady of Cameron Hall, and she wanted to grow old sipping cool drinks with him upon the porch in the summer, watching their children grow.
She couldn’t speak at first. Then she murmured, “What if there is war?”
“There is no war right now.”
“Lincoln will soon be president,” she said.
“Why the damned hell did you ever have to know anything about politics!” he demanded savagely. “It’s a despicable trait in a woman.”
She cried out in protest, rising upon her knees. “Oh, Jesse! You don’t mean that, you’ve never meant it before—”
“Well, maybe I mean it now,” he muttered. He stared at her again. “Marry me.”
She rose, straightening her skirt. She walked to him and leaned against his chest and felt the beat of her h
eart. Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you, there is nothing that I want more in all the world! The words were on the tip of her tongue, aching to be spoken.
“Oh, Jesse!” she murmured miserably. She turned entreating green eyes up to his. “Promise me that you’ll be with me, that you’ll always be with me!”
His lip curved. “Right or wrong. On your side.”
“Oh, Jesse! This is your side!”
He smiled a bittersweet smile and lowered his lips to kiss her tenderly, his fingers curving with a tender touch around her skull.
Suddenly, he pulled back, frowning. For a moment she didn’t understand, then she too heard the sound of hoofbeats.
“Jesse, Jesse! Confound it, where the hell are you?”
It was Daniel’s voice, sounding both excited and anxious. Kiernan stepped back quickly, smoothing her hair, her eyes downcast.
Jesse instinctively stepped before her, shielding her, then strode to the breezeway doors of the summer house.
“Daniel, I’m here. What is it?”
Convinced that she was as put-together as it was possible for her to be, Kiernan stepped up to Jesse’s side. Daniel was riding through the trees, as excellent a horseman as his brother. His blue eyes were dive with fire. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he saw Kiernan.
“Kiernan! You’re home and you’re here!” He leaped down from his horse, and before she knew it, she was in his arms and he was swinging her around, then giving her a sound kiss upon her lips. Jesse watched from the doorway, bemused as he always seemed to be when they met, a dignified figure watching the meeting of children.
“Yes, I’m home!” She laughed and hugged him in return. “I told you I was coming home.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know that you were here already.”
He suddenly stared from her to Jesse, and then back to her again. He must have noticed that her hair was somewhat disarrayed.
But whatever he thought or whatever he knew, he kept it to himself. Before he could speak again, Jesse was striding toward them both, saying, “Daniel, what is it? What brought you racing down here?”
“Oh, oh my Lord. It’s happened!”
“What’s happened?”
“Secession, Jesse. Secession! South Carolina has just voted herself out of the Union.”
Ten
Word of the vote for secession in South Carolina spread through Virginia like wildfire. The decision had been made on December 20, and by that evening, the bells throughout Charleston were ringing to herald a brand-new era for the state. It was not much of a surprise. Ever since the election of the Republican president—and Lincoln was adamantly against the institution of slavery—it had seemed that little else could be expected to happen.
Other conventions were planned throughout the South. As Christmas Day 1860 arrived, tensions were high, and excitement was rampant.
Jesse and Kiernan were both quiet.
On Christmas Eve, Kiernan came to Cameron Hall’s Christmas party. Guests came from miles and miles around, including Anthony and his family. It was the first time that Kiernan had seen Anthony since her return to Virginia, and when she greeted him, she tried very hard to be warm. Anthony had not changed during the past year. He seemed to believe that she had now sown whatever feminine wild oats she may have had to sow. His eagerness, his tenderness, were apparent in his eyes.
She saw him first in the open breezeway. Christmas Eve was cold that year, but the doors had been thrown open because the many people present at the affair created an astonishing warmth within the house. Flames burned brightly in every fireplace throughout the stately manor. Cameron Hall had been decked for the occasion with holly boughs and bayberry candles and beribboned wreaths. Mulled wine simmered upon the hearths, and the sweet smell of cinnamon filled the air.
Kiernan had arrived early with her father, and was hugged enthusiastically by Christa and Daniel. Jesse had taken her shoulders and placed a perfunctory kiss upon her cheek, and their eyes had met. There had been little that they could say before others.
They had been able to say little to each other since Daniel had first brought the news of the secession. Daniel had been with them when they returned to Cameron Hall to tell Christa, and Daniel had insisted upon accompanying her home to tell her father the news.
Excitement over the news ran very, very high. The only one subdued about events was Jesse.
“They insist in South Carolina that it will be a peaceful split,” Daniel had informed them.
“There will be no peace,” Jesse said quietly.
“Well, now it is up to the other states to choose sides,” Daniel mused. They all knew it didn’t matter much what the others did—all that mattered was the choice Virginia made.
Kiernan had had no further opportunity to speak with Jesse alone. Others arrived at the Christmas Eve party just after she did.
It was a joyous occasion. Even though speculation and excitement rose with an ever-increasing fervor, it was still Christmas Eve, a warm and poignant occasion. The guests arrived in beautiful apparel, the men in distinguished frock coats and elegant tuxedos, the ladies in every manner of velvet and silk and fur. And despite the cold, bosoms were bared as daringly as fashion would allow. Fiddles and flutes joined the music of the pianoforte, which had been brought into the huge hallway, and reel after reel was played for dancers who knew no exhaustion.
When Anthony and his family arrived, Kiernan was in the breezeway with Christa. Christa, the last of the Camerons, was a beauty with the family blue eyes and raven hair set against a cream complexion and fine delicate features. She had a will to match that of both her brothers. Christa whispered against Kiernan’s cheek to let her know that Anthony had arrived, then swept by her in her velvet and taffeta skirts to greet the Millers herself. Anthony and his father were there, as well as Patricia and Jacob, his younger sister and brother. Kiernan stayed back, watching the four Camerons converge on the breezeway, welcoming the new arrivals. The Millers had come a long way. They would be guests of the estate and probably stay until the new year.
Anthony was, as ever, perfectly polite. But after he had shaken hands with Jesse and Daniel and kissed Christa on the cheek, his gaze swiftly roamed over the crowd and came to rest upon her.
She felt pinned down by the cast of his eyes, captured in some mockery of circumstance. The tenderness in his gaze was almost unbearable. He moved swiftly through the crowd of dancers and diners and merrymakers to reach her side.
Even as he walked, Kiernan knew that Jesse was watching him, watching her.
Anthony reached her side and touched her shoulders with trembling fingers.
He pulled her close and offered the most proper and still emotional kiss upon her cheek. He was loath to set her free. “Kiernan, I’ve missed you so very much. Are you home now for good? I hope so. Things are happening quickly now. There may be war. You can’t go running around the world anymore. You have to stay home—and marry me. Let me make an announcement this Christmas, Kiernan. Please, let that be your gift to me!”
She stared into the warm brown of his eyes and felt the tension in his arms upon her. “Oh, Anthony!” she told him miserably. “I can’t. I just can’t!”
Disappointment darkened his eyes and he swallowed hard, but he spoke softly and quickly again. “I’ve rushed you again. Forgive me.”
She wanted to scream at him. He didn’t need to be forgiven—she did. But she couldn’t tell him that she was in love with another man. Perhaps she should—perhaps that would end it. But she couldn’t put still more pain into that dark gaze of his.
Not even with Jesse watching.
Or maybe because Jesse was watching. Maybe Jesse needed to remember that there were other men who could love her—men who did not betray their own kind.
“I’d love to dance, Anthony,” she told him. She looked over his shoulder and gave Jesse a brilliant smile, then moved into Anthony’s arms.
It was Christmas, and it was a party. She danced with Anthony, and Andrew,
and Anthony’s young brother, Jacob. She danced with her father, and she danced with Daniel, and she danced with any number of the other guests. Handsome men, young Virginians, planters, military friends of the Camerons, neighbors—dashing, exciting young men. She flirted outrageously.
Jesse danced, too, with his own sister and with Andrew’s pretty sister, Patricia.
Then he danced with Elizabeth Nash, the steel heiress from Richmond. Then he danced with Charity McCarthy, the widow of a senator, still residing in Washington.
She lived very near where Jesse was stationed, Kiernan found herself thinking bitterly.
Jesse danced with Charity again. In the arms of a Virginia militia lieutenant, Kiernan watched Jesse again with the sable-haired, very elegant Charity.
The woman’s head was cast back as she laughed, revealing an ample expanse of her shoulders and breast and the diamond locket she wore to emphasize her natural assets. Jesse’s hand was upon her waist, and his eyes seemed caught within hers. It seemed, too, that nothing in the world mattered to him except for the elegant woman in his arms.
“I am in love.”
“What?”
Startled, Kiernan looked back at the young lieutenant with whom she was dancing. He was a very good-looking boy, with ash-blond curls, warm hazel eyes—and cheeks that barely needed shaving. He smiled sweetly at her. “I’m in love. Truly, Miss Mackay, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Dare I hope that we might become better acquainted?”
She was probably a year older than he, Kiernan thought. She stared at him blankly, then realized that Jesse was sweeping by again with the widow from Washington. She flashed the boy a smile. “I do cherish my friends, sir. And I’d be delighted to count you among them.”
One Wore Blue Page 16
