Patricia Potter

by Rainbow

  There had been other strong emotions in past years, including a hard fierce grief. There had been rage and hopelessness that events happened that should never have happened, that never would have happened had it not been for the shallow indulgence of a lovesick boy. He thoroughly believed that mistake had cost three lives, lives that were the dearest to him.

  But as he looked at Meredith, pretty Merry, he knew he could not keep away from her. His need was too strong. Need of his body but, even stronger, the need of his soul and his heart. They were going to do their damndest to be fulfilled, regardless of cost.

  Especially as she lay there looking so incredibly vulnerable. And she was that. So softly vulnerable. So softly desirable. And so easily wounded.

  It was best if he left now before she woke. But as he started to turn, he saw the covers move slightly and her face turn toward his, her eyes full of sleepy wonder. She raised an arm from the comforter and held it out to him.

  Unable to resist the lazy, unconscious sensuality of her movements, he dimmed the light. He took the few steps to her side and found the proffered hand, his own stroking it as he sat beside her.

  “I was waiting for you,” Meredith said shyly.

  “I had to wait until everyone was asleep,” Quinn replied.

  “Was that the only reason?” The question was simple but all too intuitive.

  He could barely see her eyes, but her voice, although sleepy, was compassionate, as though she understood the conflicts raging inside him.

  “No,” he answered honestly. “But I don’t seem able to do anything about the other reasons.” He leaned down and kissed her throat with barely leashed passion.

  A sound came from deep within her, a sleepy contented welcoming sound that aroused him more than any word. His mouth moved up to her lips, touching them gently at first and then with growing hunger.

  Her mouth met his with awakening longing, and a ravenous yearning of her own. His hands, almost of their own volition, touched her nightdress where the buds of her breasts tautened against the soft material. His hands moved over her body with poignant slowness as if memorizing every curve, every one of her shuddering reactions to his touch.

  His eyes met hers, and Meredith marveled at the turmoil in them, at the expressiveness of eyes that were usually so expressionless. They were like storms at sea, boiling with turbulence and a certain majestic splendor. The hard lines of his face appeared deeper with tension. Yet his hands were incredibly gentle as they continued to caress and arouse and love with their own magic.

  “Pretty Merry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with feeling. “My lovely Merry.”

  His words were like a drug to her, a heady aphrodisiac. As if she needed one, she thought ruefully. Her body tingled with anticipation, the need inside growing as his hands continued their loving exploration. The ribbon holding the neck of her nightdress was loosened, and she felt the touch of his hands on her breasts. Just when she thought she would explode with delicious heat, his lips replaced his fingers, and they softly, ever so softly, licked the sensitive skin before reaching the taut nipple of one breast and resting there, his tongue creating a string of fires that ran through her body like lightning.

  Her hand entwined itself in his hair and her lips touched his forehead with soft kisses that said what neither of them had been able to say. Love was in every caress, each an expression of a wondrous feeling. Her other hand touched his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of new beard, relishing the intimacy of tracing the tiny lines that arched out from his eyes, wondering what caused them.

  But she did not have time to wonder long, for his lips moved up and caught her mouth in a kiss that swept them both into a dizzying, dazzling journey, into worlds Meredith never knew existed, full of color and sunbursts and splendor. She didn’t know when or How he stripped off his trousers, but suddenly there was warmth and power reaching into her, plunging deeper and deeper as if seeking the very core of her soul, and then there were spasms…each growing in strength until they climaxed in one magnificent blazing explosion.

  They clung to each other, savoring the intimacy of sharing such rare pleasure. There was wonderment in their embrace and a certain desperation. Meredith felt it, and she knew that he did too when his mouth closed once more on hers with a kind of bittersweet resignation.

  Meredith didn’t understand it. But she recognized his quiet hopelessness and, because now whatever hurt him hurt her, she shared the pain wordlessly. Her instinctive knowledge and acceptance flowed between them, causing his arms to tighten even more around her.

  She didn’t know how long their wordless communication continued before he gently withdrew from her, and pulled her body against his chest, holding her there until she finally heard his breathing soften, and knew he was sleeping.

  Meredith didn’t move, not wanting to disturb him, reluctant to lose the possessive feel of his arms around her. She thought how warm and sheltering his body was next to hers. With that comforting thought, she too fell asleep.

  He was gone when she woke in the morning. The morning sun was filtering through the thick curtains, and she stretched out under the soft comforter. Her body felt thoroughly satisfied, and it tingled every time she remembered how he felt inside her last night.

  She wished he were here now so that she could watch his eyes open, and his lips bestow that breath-catching smile that was so rare.

  She stretched lazily, recalling every detail of the night. Ruefully, she realized she had learned no more about him than she knew before. Except that he had a deep reservoir of gentleness he’d been hiding only too well.

  Meredith sighed, wishing he weren’t quite so mysterious and secretive. That he hurt badly from something was obvious. She wanted to reach inside him and extract whatever it was, freeing him from that which clouded his eyes and made him so infernally remote.

  She rolled out of bed, flinching as the cool air hit her naked skin. She looked for her nightdress, finding it in a ball at the foot of the bed. She decided to put on her warm dressing gown instead.

  When she had finally dressed, twisting her hair into tortured curls, it was noon. Meredith couldn’t remember when she had slept so late, and she was hungry. Starved was more like it, for she had eaten little the previous day. She steeled herself for seeing Quinn, seeing him and not running to him, seeing him without betraying either him or herself. It would be the ultimate test of hard-learned discipline.

  But when she entered the dining room, it was Quinn who came to her, bowing slightly with the familiar mocking smile with which he had greeted her months ago.

  She raised a dark eyebrow in question. Quinn turned to the steward and said loudly enough that several other passengers could hear, “Miss Seaton is a client of my brother. If you will seat us together…”

  He needed to say no more. They were whisked away to a fine table, and Meredith suspected Quinn tipped the steward with the same generosity he had tipped the Cincinnati coachman.

  As she slipped into a chair, Quinn regarded her with amusement. She was the old Miss Seaton, her dress clumsy with frills and her hair in great sausage curls that made her fine face look narrow. But her eyes sparked with barely banked fires, even while a frown puckered her mouth.

  “It would appear odd,” he remarked casually, “if I did not ask my brother’s favorite client to dine.”

  Her eyebrow arched again. “Favorite?”

  “Well…perhaps I exaggerate a bit.”

  “A lot, I believe. I think I’m his nemesis.” She tried to keep an impish grin off her face but it didn’t quite work, and Quinn’s heart skipped several beats. Dear God, he wanted her again. And again. And again. And…

  He forced his voice to behave, although he knew a lower part of his body was ignoring similar admonitions. “Along with me,” he said dryly. “He still hopes I’ll turn to an honest living someday.”

  There was real regret in his eyes when he uttered the words he had said so lightly and mockingly before, and she longed to l
ean over and touch him. Instead, she displayed her best simpering smile. “I’m pleased you don’t want to appear odd.” She meant something else entirely, that she was delighted he had asked her to share this meal with him.

  He couldn’t help a chuckle. “I think, Meredith, you and I are very odd, an anomaly, if you will.”

  “Perhaps,” she admitted.

  “But a very lovely one,” he said so quietly that no one could hear.

  “Oh how you do go on, Captain,” she drawled, but the light in her eyes flamed even brighter, and he knew he had to be careful. He wanted to reach over and kiss her.

  This had not been a good idea, he thought. But then she started giggling and talking about people in New Orleans, and the moment passed.

  As they started to leave, his hand remained on her arm a second longer than necessary. “Tonight,” he whispered.

  “Tonight,” she agreed.

  The second night was like the first, except this time he came with champagne and glasses. He opened the bottle expertly, with the simple grace and ease she had come to expect from him. He poured two glasses and handed one to her.

  “A new year,” he explained with a quick delighted grin at the startled look on her face. He raised his glass slightly. “To the last year, with all its surprises, and to the new one…to the promise of 1856.”

  Meredith lowered her eyes, wondering at his meaning. He had said nothing about a future together, about love, but then there was no reason he should. They both lived dangerously and had their own personal commitments. And he was restless—an adventurer, a wanderer. She had sensed a shadowed dissatisfaction in him from the beginning. Perhaps not dissatisfaction exactly, but an endless search for something that didn’t exist.

  She still didn’t know why he was involved in helping fugitives slaves, whether it was whim or danger or adventure or real commitment. His conversation at the Meriweathers had revealed little other than insight into both sides of the slavery question.

  But his expression was warm now as he looked at her, the restlessness gone, and the corners of his lips crooked in expectation.

  She slowly lifted her glass, the shivers along her spine ruining her concentration. But it would never do to let him know how much he meant to her, how much she searched for hope in those last few words. In the past, she had never celebrated the new year; she had never really seen much meaning or happiness in the prospect of a new year. Each year, her only hope, her only wish, had been to find Lissa and, over those years, the hope had dimmed. But all that had changed now. Lissa was only days away, and Quinn, his eyes now alight with blue fire, was bringing something else into her life. Something wild and beautiful. Something she had never expected.

  “To promise,” she said, and together their hands lifted and they drank slowly, their gazes feasting on each other. But as she looked at him, she saw the shadows that still lingered in the corners of his eyes. It was like a tornado appearing on a previously lovely day, unexpected and dangerous and even terrifying. Meredith felt a deep stabbing pain. It struck deep inside, and she realized it was for what could not last forever. The promise was today, and she could depend on no more. But she would take it and exact every wonderful moment, enshrining each for the future, for when she was alone again.

  He dimmed the oil lamp and turned back to her. When his arms reached out for her, she went into them gladly, her heart pounding against her breast and her mind only barely aware that his own was beating rapidly against her face. And then their lips touched, and there was only tonight.

  He woke her before he left, his mouth sleepily nuzzling her mouth, her eyes, before he dressed in the dim light. “Good mornin’, sleepy love,” he drawled, his eyes devouring her tousled hair, the half-opened eyes that regarded him so invitingly that he almost stayed. Instead, his hand cupped her chin. “Tonight, Merry?”

  Meredith nodded, not wanting him to leave, but knowing it was the wise thing. She hated being practical. She resented his caution. She tried to smile, but only managed a trembling semblance of one.

  There was a bleakness in his eyes as he leaned down and kissed her, a sweet, regretful, lingering kiss, and then he turned and strode to the door.

  The third and fourth nights were much the same. If splendor could ever be the same! They learned, moment by moment, how best to please the other. They talked softly about unimportant things, never about the past or the future, but about the Mississippi and New Orleans and the opening of the West. But talk was just the prelude to joining, to uniting their bodies in sometimes gentle, sometimes fiery love. Each morning, he was gone when Meredith woke, but he came back at night, his eyes loving, his mouth hungry, his body giving.

  She withheld the dozens of questions she had, knowing that he would say nothing until he was ready. She basked under his quiet approval that she didn’t pry, that she accepted what he was ready to give, and asked no more.

  The fifth night, the night before they were to leave the Ohio Star, was different. It would be different, Meredith knew, from the moment he stepped inside the cabin. His eyes were dark, unreadable. His mouth was set in grim lines, as if he had made a decision, one he didn’t like but was determined to go through with.

  The eyes changed a little, intensifying if that were possible, as they studied her sitting cross-legged on the bed with her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  He sat next to her, tipping her chin up until their eyes met. “I love you, Meredith,” he said simply. “I didn’t want to. I tried not to, but I do.”

  “Why try not to?” The question was characteristically simple, without guile.

  “For many reasons. One is the danger I could bring to you.”

  “Or I to you,” she replied.

  “I’m used to danger,” he said.

  She was silent. She sensed he was going to tell her more, knew that he had to do it his own way.

  He leaned against the side of the wall and pulled her against his chest. “There are so many things you don’t know about me, about what I’ve done.”

  She moved until she could turn her head and look into his eyes. “I know I love you,” she said. It was so trustfully, so sweetly said that he ached all over.

  “Don’t say that, Meredith. Not now. Not until you know…more.”

  “I know you,” she said. “I don’t care about anything else.”

  There was a painful silence. He moved her slightly and leaned down and pulled off his boots, and then dark stockings.

  “Look, Meredith,” he said, his voice now hard as steel. “Look at my ankles.”

  Warned by his voice, she did as he asked. His ankles were ridged with bands of scar tissue. One of her hands went to the left ankle, touching it softly. “Dear God,” she said.

  “I’m a convicted murderer, Meredith. A convict. An escaped convict.” His voice was tense, harsh. “My back is scarred. From a whip. Like Cam’s. It’s why I haven’t wanted you to touch it. You would have wondered about it.”

  “But where? How?” Meredith’s voice was unsteady as she tried to comprehend his words. They didn’t make sense.

  “England. I killed the son of a nobleman and was sentenced to transportation for life. I was shipped to Australia where I served on iron gangs with chained convicts who carved out roads, and later in coal mines.”

  The missing years. The missing years he never discussed. The passionless tone of his voice said so much more than fury or anger could. He sounded almost dead when he spoke. Her eyes went to the deep marks on his ankles, and she suddenly understood a great deal. “Then that’s why…”

  “The Underground Railroad? Partly. I can’t tolerate seeing a man in chains. Or whipped. I see myself in every one of them. So you see it’s not compassion or mercy. It’s for my own survival.” There was a tone of desperation in his voice, an acute need for her to understand.

  She took her fingers from his ankle and found one of his hands. It was balled in a fist, the sun-browned skin white with the strain of exertion. She bit her lip against
the sympathy that wanted to pour out. She knew instinctively he didn’t want it, would never want it.

  “How did you…escape?”

  “My father and oldest brother never gave up trying to track me down. They spent a fortune doing it, finally hiring an adventurer to help me escape. He bribed some guards and smuggled me aboard an American-bound ship. I’m still wanted in England.”

  “And here?”

  “There were discreet inquiries made in Washington. The matter involved a duel, and American authorities are not prone to hand over an American citizen in such a matter. Canada, however, is a different matter.”

  “But if it was a duel…?”

  “Dueling is illegal in England. It’s customarily ignored, but I killed the son of a very powerful man. I had to confess to murder to escape hanging…but he had the last word. He said he would make my life hell, and he did. Eight years of it. I often thought hanging would have been merciful.”

  “Can he…do anything now?”

  “He’s dead,” Quinn said flatly. “Otherwise I think he would have tried to bring me back, one way or another. Now I’m not worth the special diplomatic problems to English authorities, although I’m sure they would be delighted to get me back were I to enter their territories. Escaped convicts were not looked upon kindly in Australia. They encouraged others to attempt it.”

  There was a new note of bitterness in his voice, and she sensed he had not told her the whole story. Not yet. And she couldn’t ask; the warning signs were up again. She was still trying to sort out what he had told her, to comprehend the horror of the marks on his ankles, the lash marks he said were on his back. No wonder he was restless. No wonder he guarded his feelings so fiercely. Prison, captivity, for someone as vital, as proud, as Quinn must have been terrible beyond imagination.

  Her hand went to his face where rigid muscles strained against his cheek.