Sighing, she rocked and stroked her belly. On the bed, Chane stretched, opened his eyes, and sat up.
Smiling, Jennifer patted her stomach. “I was just apologizing to our baby.”
“You’re going to make a beautiful mother.”
“I’m probably going to be very bad at it.”
“I have no doubts about your abilities in any area,” he assured her.
A knock came at the door.
“That’s my water!”
Jennie put on her dressing robe and opened the door to Augustine, who led a contingent of curious men into the cabin with a tub and buckets of steaming water.
They poured the water and left, and then to Chane’s pleasure and amazement, Jennifer moved the screen aside as if it were nothing more than a nuisance. In plain sight, she stripped off her robe and nightgown and walked back to the steaming tub.
Chane sat up in bed to watch her. She stepped into the tub, sat down, and came right back up. “Hot!”
She stepped out of the tub, bent over, and picked up a bar of soap. Standing on towels next to the tub, she worked the washcloth into a fine lather and ran it over her legs, arms, and torso. Lamplight turned her skin golden. Soap bubbles blurred the sleek outlines of her body. Completely unselfconscious, she bent over to rinse her cloth. He’d never seen a finer line of thigh and buttocks.
She rinsed every part of her body with care, then tried the water again. This time she got in up to her waist before the heat drove her to stand up, panting. “It’s still too hot.”
Her slim waist and belly reminded him of a lithe, wiry kitten. “Take your time.”
She sat down on the towels and trimmed her toenails and fingernails. He’d never enjoyed any sight more. He felt immensely privileged to watch her in such intimacy. To his regret, the water finally cooled and she eased herself into it.
“Want me to scrub your back?”
“That would be lovely.”
Chane tossed the sheet aside and walked across the room to the tub. Jennifer smiled at the sight of him. He was well-made, in all areas. He had a strong, masculine body, covered with just the right amount of hair.
Chane knelt beside the tub and stuck his arm in the water to feel around for the washcloth. He ran his hand over her entire body before he found it. Jennifer had to put the soap into his hand. “You’ve missed it three times.”
“How clumsy of me.”
He scrubbed her back, her breasts, her shoulders, then turned her over and washed her hips and thighs and between her legs. “I’ve done all this,” she protested.
“I just want to make sure you’re clean.”
His voice sounded thick.
“Oh, do you?” she teased.
“I don’t allow dirty girls in bed with me. My wife wouldn’t like it.” Jennifer pinched him. Chane cleared his throat. “Actually, she’d probably like a break. She might be happy for any outside help she could get.”
Jennifer pinched him harder this time.
“Owww!”
“Your wife might be the jealous sort,” she said.
“Actually,” he said, grinning, “I just wanted to feel your silky skin in the water.”
“Maybe I’d like to feel your skin, too.” To his delight, she took his hands and guided him into the water, which immediately began to spill out onto the floor.
“We’re making a mess.” Chane pulled her to her feet. Jennie knew it was too soon to make love again, but the feel of him so swollen and heavy against her belly made her breath come faster. Fortunately, he just held her close. She pressed her cheek against his chest and listened to the pounding of his heart. After a while she realized she didn’t care if it was too soon. She slipped her hand down to squeeze him.
“Let’s go back to bed,” she whispered.
“No, he’s all right.”
“Liar!” She leaned back and smiled at him.
“That’s no way to talk to your lord and master.”
She loved the antic gleam in his eye when he teased her. She loved everything lately, ever since she had relaxed about when she would get back to the city.
“We’re crazy, aren’t we?” she asked, smiling into his eyes.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m crazy in love.”
Six days later Chane came back to the cabin with a long face.
“I hate to tell you this, princess, but the ice is probably thick enough to walk across.”
“Is it dangerous?” Jennifer asked, glancing out the porthole. Few clouds dotted the bright blue sky, and the sun was so bright on the ice and snow, it almost blinded Jennifer.
Chane leaned close to her and lowered his voice to a whisper. “No more dangerous for you than going back to bed with me.”
“Who cares if I fall through and have to swim back?” she teased. “The important thing,” she whispered, pulling him close, “is to get out of bed with this maniac.” Jennifer laughed and leaned close to his ear to whisper into it. “I know what the devil is now. It’s a New York robber baron with nothing to do except make love to his new wife.”
Reluctantly, Chane fetched Augustine to pack Jennifer’s bag. When they were ready for the return trip, Chane led them outside. At the railing, Jennifer gazed across the frozen bay, covered with snow that sparkled in the bright sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he whispered in her ear, guiding her hand to the rope ladder she was to climb down. He held her waist while she swung around to get into position. Wind whipped her hat, held down by a large scarf tied under her chin. Her weight on the rope caused it to bang against the side of the ship, almost knocking her feet off the rope.
“Ohhh!” she cried out.
“Wait,” Chane said, pulling her back up onto the ship. “I’ll climb down and steady the rope so it doesn’t beat you to death against the ship.”
That worked better. The climb down was hard on her hands, though. The rope was icy and burned through her thin gloves. At the bottom, Chane’s hands caught her by the waist and lifted her down. She tapped her foot on the ice. It felt sturdy enough.
She glanced at her husband. It seemed strange to call him that. A week ago she had been single, and now she was married and expecting a baby. It amazed her how things could change so quickly.
Chane held the rope ladder so Augustine could climb down. A sailor lowered their bags on a rope. Chane untied them and hefted them for weight. Augustine tried to take her own bag so Chane wouldn’t have to carry it, but he shook his head. Augustine looked at Jennifer as if expecting her to overrule Kincaid.
“You don’t expect me to argue with him, do you?” Jennifer asked, smiling at Augustine, who seemed to genuinely like Chane.
“Follow me,” he said, striding ahead of them. “Stay back at least ten feet. If we hit a thin place, there’s no sense both of us going into that pneumonia water.”
“You’re a lot heavier than I am.”
Out of the lee of the ship, the wind howled around them. Chane teased Jennifer, and they laughed halfway across the ice. At midpoint, when the ship behind them looked as small as a toy trapped in the ice, a stab of fear swept through her, filling her with unnamed dread. Her steps slowed. Chane turned around.
“Getting tired? We can stop.”
Jennifer frowned and remained where she was. Chane put down the bags and walked back to take her into his arms. Augustine pretended to study the city’s profile.
“Are you cold?” he asked softly.
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes. “I’ll take care of you, princess. Always.”
“But what if you stop loving me?”
“As long as I have breath in this body, I’ll love you,” he said quietly.
Something lightened in her. She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. When the kiss ended, she sighed. “I’m okay now.”
> Chane strode back to the bags. They trudged over the snow-packed ice until they reached the wharf, where a crowd had gathered to watch them. People pointed and smiled. It was an event in New York—people walking from ships to the shore.
Men dropped a rope. Chane passed their luggage up, then turned to lift Jennifer up in his arms. With one arm holding the rope and the other her, he rappeled up the slippery bank. People cheered. He set her down gingerly and said to no one in particular, “My bride and I had to get back to town.”
People smiled warmly. Jennifer felt she might be blushing. Her skin felt hot, but perhaps it was only the icy wind that burned her cheeks. Chane carried Augustine up the bank and hailed a cabriolet.
“Where to?” he asked Jennifer.
“To my house. I want to tell my brother before he hears it from someone else.”
“Good idea.”
The Van Vleet town house was surrounded by trees encased in ice from their trunks to the tips of their limbs. Fat, silvery icicles gleamed against the reddish-brown brick building and the blue sky. The sun shone brightly, but the wind was so cold nothing melted.
Peter was not home, but Malcomb beamed at the sight of Jennifer. “Good to see you safe, mademoiselle. Mr. Van Vleet went to a friend’s country home—a weekend of riding, I believe.”
Augustine volunteered to leave the Van Vleet town house and move to the Bricewood, but Jennifer took her aside and asked her to wait until she could discuss it with Peter.
“Mamitchka, please don’t tell him I’ve married. I think it best I break the news myself.”
“Yes, mademoiselle—madame!” she corrected herself.
“Call me the minute Peter returns,” Jennifer said.
At the Bricewood, Steve was waiting with a list of emergencies needing special attention. Chane escorted Jennifer upstairs. Mrs. Lillian took one look at Chane’s face and smiled.
“I’d like you to meet my wife,” Chane said, grinning.
Mrs. Lillian hugged Jennifer and then Chane. “Your mother will be so happy.” Then to Jennifer, “You see, they’d just about given up on him marrying. They’ll be so pleased,” she said, smiling brightly.
Mrs. Lillian had been a member of the Kincaid household since before Chane was born. She’d come from Sweden as a fourteen-year-old au pair girl to work for Number One, and had stayed to become the governess to two generations of Kincaid children. When Chane’s parents began traveling extensively to keep track of their many investments, she came to live with Chane. She had cornflower blue eyes, pale skin that blushed easily, beautiful Swedish bone structure, and thick, silver-white hair. She was almost seventy, but vibrant good health made her look ten years younger.
Chane kissed Jennifer on the cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Please don’t tell anyone else that we’re married. I want to tell Peter first. I feel terrible that I didn’t tell him before…”
“I have to tell Steve, but he won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry your sweet head. If it seems appropriate, we can forget we were married onboard ship. I could probably be talked into marrying you again, in front of God and your brother. You might like a more formal wedding, anyway.”
“Once I tell Peter, you can tell anyone you like.”
Chane smiled at Mrs. Lillian. “Arrange a party for that, would you? We’re going to have to do something formal to keep everyone from being furious they weren’t invited.”
Mrs. Lillian beamed. “Two weeks or so away?”
Chane looked askance at Jennie. “Okay,” she said.
“I haven’t entertained in a long time anyway.”
Mrs. Lillian nodded. “Good. I’ll get right to work on it. A party is just the thing to announce wonderful news.”
Chane kissed Jennie and left her to unpack while he went downstairs to tackle the problems that had piled up during his absence. Mrs. Lillian emptied drawers for Jennifer’s things.
While Jennifer filled the drawers with undergarments and ballet practice clothes Augustine had hastily packed, Mrs. Lillian had another armoire moved into the room for Jennifer’s gowns. Chane’s bedroom was spacious, with high ceilings. A fire in the fireplace on the north wall radiated enough heat to warm the entire room, except near the windows, where even heavy drapes were not enough to keep out the cold.
“Which side of the bed does Chane sleep on?” Jennifer asked.
“Next to the window.”
Jennifer slipped her nightgown under the pillow on her side of the bed. When she traveled, she did that. It always seemed more like home if she could reach under the pillow, even if she’d never seen it before, and find her nightgown there.
Augustine would deliver the rest of Jennifer’s things to the Bricewood over the next week. Jennifer had asked her to wait until after she had talked to Peter. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than Peter’s coming home from a pleasant weekend to find his sister completely moved out and married to a man he considered an enemy.
They had only been home an hour when the doorbell rang. Chane was sitting at his desk in the library, going over correspondence that had accumulated while he’d been gone. Jennifer read a book in a chair before the fire. Mrs. Lillian walked into the room with a frown on her face. “It’s Miss Laurey,” she said quietly.
Chane considered telling Mrs. L. to get rid of her, but that would be the cowardly way out. He owed Latitia an explanation.
“I’ll be right there.” He walked over to where Jennie sat and leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Latitia waited impatiently in the entry hall. At the sight of Chane, she stopped tapping her foot on the marble floor.
“What brings you out in such bad weather?” he asked.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, ignoring his questions. “I’ve been waiting and waiting to hear from you.”
“We were trapped on the frozen bay.”
“We?”
“My wife and I.”
“You married that slut?” she asked incredulously. “After all I told you?”
“Careful, Latitia, you are talking about my wife.”
Latitia shook her head bitterly. “Then I’m too late. I came to tell you that I just learned that she’s working with Derek Wharton and her brother to ruin you.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Then you’re a fool,” she said, her eyes flashing with sudden rage. Before he could respond, she turned abruptly and left. Chane waited for a moment, then returned to the library.
“That didn’t take long.”
“No. Once I told her we were married, she lost interest in me.” Jennifer sensed there might be more, but he seemed unwilling to share it if there was.
Halfway through dinner Steve appeared unexpectedly. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said apologetically to Jennifer.
“Won’t you join us?” she asked.
“No thank you, ma’am.” Then, turning to Chane, “Remember that bridge we built across the Raritan River in Jersey?”
“Yes.”
“We got a telegram saying it’s about to collapse.”
Chane put down his fork. “That’s not possible.”
“They’ve closed the bridge, but they want you to come right away.”
Chane stood up and dropped his napkin on the table. This was every engineer’s nightmare. He couldn’t imagine how that bridge could fail. It was light and efficient. He would have bet that bridge would last a hundred years.
“Wire them and tell them I’m on my way.”
Steve left, and Chane strode into the bedroom and began packing an overnight bag.
“Do you have to go?” Jennifer asked.
“In ancient Rome, if a man built a public structure that failed, they tried him. Depending on the damage caused by the failure, they could hang him or make him pay for the replacement or put him in prison. Fortunately, we’re not in Rome, but I feel the responsibility anyway.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
she asked.
“Other than mourn my loss? No.”
Jennifer’s heart felt like it had gained three pounds. “Aren’t engineers allowed to make mistakes?”
“No,” he said grimly, “they’re not.”
Jennifer took over and packed his clothes while he packed drafting tools, paper, and supplies. Too soon, he was ready to go. At the door, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her.
“Take care of yourself and my son.”
“Please be careful.”
“You’re the one who needs to be careful. You’re doing the important work,” he teased.
“Maybe this was all a trick so you can get out of the house and meet your mistress.”
“There are many things I can tease about, but that isn’t one of them. I will never cheat on you, Jennie. And I hope to God you never cheat on me.”
The teasing light had died out of his eyes. They were deadly serious. Her own smile felt like an embarrassment. She stifled it. “Understood,” she said, straightening her shoulders and clicking her heels. She saluted smartly.
Chane knew she was trying to make it easy for him to leave, but it wasn’t. He had the feeling that he shouldn’t leave her. That he should either take her with him or stay. That he would regret leaving her. But it was going to be a hard trip through bad weather, and she’d be safer here.
A knock sounded on the door, and Chane pulled her into his arms for one last hug. “I love you, Mrs. Chantry Kincaid the Third.”
Another knock sounded. “Come in,” he called.
Mrs. Lillian opened the door and peeked in. “The carriage is waiting.”
Chane leaned down for one last kiss. “Take care of our son,” he whispered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Chapter Thirteen
Peter tossed his bag onto the bed and Augustine stepped forward to unpack it.
“Is Jenn home?”
“No, monsieur. She is at the Bricewood.”
He glanced at the clock. He’d forgotten she had a performance tonight. She wouldn’t be home until ten.
“She wanted me to call her as soon as you arrived home,” Augustine said.
“Well, it’s not possible now.”
The Lady and the Robber Baron Page 17
