Chance sucked in his breath at the sensations that rippled through him at her gentle explorations. A crooked smile lifted his lips. “I think, Madame Wife, that you know exactly what you are doing to me.” His eyes darkened with an emotion that made Fancy’s already fast-beating heart race. “You have always known,” he breathed against her mouth. “Always.”
He kissed her, and while it was as passionate and hungry as any kiss they had ever shared, there was some new emotion in it, some indefinable emotion that made Fancy’s body shudder with longing. Feeling her response, Chance moaned and his mouth bit more hungrily into hers, his long fingers sliding tormentingly along the inside of her thigh, traveling slowly toward the aching center of her. When he touched her, when he parted that tender flesh between her legs and gently stroked and probed, Fancy’s whole body jumped, a spasm of utter pleasure roiling through her.
She was warm and wet, his fingers sinking deeply inside of her, and Fancy twisted up frantically under his knowing caresses, the fire in her belly consuming everything in its path, until all feeling, all sensation, seemed to be centered beneath his driving fingers.
Instinctively she reached for him, her hand closing firmly around his swollen shaft. Chance jerked at her touch, and as she explored him, her fingers sliding along the silken length of him, he dropped his lips to her breast, his teeth nipping at her stiff nipples.
Engulfed by the most basic of emotions, Chance pushed her thighs apart and fitted himself between them. His mouth found hers again, and holding her hips to his liking, he lifted her and plunged deeply into her welcoming heat.
Nearly delirious with pleasure, Fancy eagerly accepted his invasion, her body rejoicing at the feel of being one with him. His chest crushed against her tingling breasts, his warm hands clenched her buttocks and urged her to meet his heavy thrusts, demanded her to join him in the intoxicating race for fulfillment. It was a race she was eager to run, the sweet sensations of his body moving fiercely on hers, the texture of his sun-dappled skin beneath her caressing fingers and the heady taste and scent of him all assailing her in the most elemental way.
Her body singing its burgeoning delight, she tightened her arms around him and her hips rose and fell rapidly, matching his increasingly deeper, more urgent thrusts. The feelings that rippled through her were sweet and powerful, the hunger to reach completion growing with every vigorous movement of his body upon hers. Time and time again he plunged avidly into her, stroking the honeyed ache, making her twist and writhe beneath his powerful onslaught. A frantic tension built within her, her body clenching as she was suddenly forced to surrender to the primitive madness, pleasure, hot and intense, shuddering wildly through her, making her cry out.
Fancy’s cry was smothered beneath Chance’s mouth, his own heaven already on the horizon. Compulsively he drove into her, his hands gripping her hips almost painfully, holding her to his demanding rhythm. The convulsions of her body around him, the slick heat and sweet friction, were more than he could bear, and raw ecstasy enveloped him as helplessly he emptied himself into her.
Only dimly did he become aware of his surroundings, of the sounds of the plantation in the distance, the humid heat of the afternoon. Chance knew he should move, but he was unable to, so he held still with Fancy in his arms, his kiss gentling as he savored the delicious aftermath of their coupling.
Too spent and languid to make any attempt to change their positions, Fancy, too, was thoroughly enjoying this gentle descent from the scarlet heights. She returned his kisses, her hands resting lightly on his buttocks, realizing giddily that there was much pleasure to be gained from such a leisurely interlude.
But it was only an interlude. Soon enough, Chance kissed her once more and slid slowly from her body. Lying beside her, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at the slender length of her body. Silky smooth flesh met his gaze, flesh the color of cream, the entrancing expanse broken only by the rosy tips of her breasts and the ebony curls nestled at the junction of her thighs. Her breasts were small and high, the nipples still temptingly engorged, her waist narrow, and her hips and thighs lithe and oh so seductively shaped.
“You are,” he said huskily, as one hand fondled her breast, “undoubtedly the loveliest creature that God ever created—and I am most thankful that you are mine.”
Pleased, but embarrassed, too, Fancy flushed rosily and made some inarticulate reply. It must have satisfied him, for he laughed softly and dropped a kiss on her nose. Suddenly very conscious of their naked state now that passion had fled, she brushed aside his lazily exploring hand and sat up. Pushing back a tangle of hair that fell across her temple, she said hastily, “Shouldn’t we dress? What if someone were to find us like this?”
Chance sighed. “I suppose that we should, although I doubt we are in any danger of discovery.” A teasing note in his voice, he added, “The next time I want to make love to my wife in the open, I shall carry her deeper into the forests where no one would dare interrupt us.” A decidedly carnal smile lit his face. “I know just the place—a green glade with a small, crystal-clear pond. Once our first passion was slaked, it would be, ah, invigorating to bathe in the pond.” A devilish glint in his eyes, he murmured, “I think that I should definitely enjoy washing you, every delectable inch of you—and of course, I would expect you to return the favor.”
Despite their recent activities, Fancy felt a wicked tingle low in her loins. Embarrassed by her body’s instant reaction to his words, she blushed and scrambled to her feet, grabbing one of her petticoats as she rose. Unbearably aware of his bold gaze upon her, she flung it hastily over her head.
Chance smiled at her antics but said nothing more to disturb her, although the lasciviously teasing manner in which he helped her dress did nothing for her temper. Attempting to push her wildly tangled hair into some semblance of order, she said vexedly, “It is all very well for you to find this so humorous, but I assure you that it has not been my want to—er, frolic in the woods. I do not know how I am to face the others looking as I do. I am sure that they will take one look at me and know precisely what I have been doing with you.”
By now fully clothed himself, Chance grinned at her, thinking she looked utterly adorable with her hair all tumbled about and her cheeks rosy. Certainly nothing like a haughty baroness. But then, he reminded himself with immense gratification, she wasn’t a baroness any longer, she was his own sweet wife. Gently swatting aside her fumbling fingers, he swiftly brought her locks under control, and, hiding the worst of the damage under her mob cap, he kissed her thoroughly. “You look,” he said with open satisfaction when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, “just as a recently married wife should—and well loved.”
Fortunately for Fancy’s peace of mind, teasingly assisted by her infuriatingly smug husband, she was able to enter the house without anyone seeing her. At the base of the stairs, Chance kissed her again—he seemed to like doing that a great deal, she thought dizzily, any worries of being discovered vanishing from her mind the instant his mouth found hers.
A moment later he reluctantly broke off kissing her. A warm gleam in his blue eyes, he brushed his fingers against her cheek and murmured, “You best run along, sweetheart. I think I hear Martha coming.”
Fancy blinked drowsily up at him as she drifted back to reality and his words sank in. Hearing the sounds of voices approaching them, she made a small, mortified noise and, picking up her skirts and petticoats, fled upstairs to her rooms.
Chance watched her go, an incredibly tender expression on his lean face. Whistling merrily to himself, he turned and left the house, his step jaunty and his mind full of the pleasures that he would be his . . . tonight.
* * *
Jonathan, wearing old clothes and a broad-brimmed hat that he kept pulled low across his face, had arrived quite some time ahead of the scheduled hour for the meeting with the Thackers. He had carefully concealed his mount behind a thicket of brush a goodish walk from the hunting shack and had proceeded to the w
ooden building on foot. He had trod carefully, checking the rampant undergrowth and encroaching forests constantly, making certain that there was no one about to observe his approach.
The shack was just one bare room with a minimum of rough furnishings and a small fireplace. It had been built with a mind to providing a modicum of shelter for any luckless hunter caught in inclement weather or overtaken by night far from home. The only amenities were a scarred, rickety table, a candle stub in a cracked pottery holder, and four mismatched chairs of uncertain vintage. A tidy stack of dry firewood lay near the hearth, and a battered iron pot hung from a hook over the old pile of ashes in the fireplace. Other than that, the room was empty.
Closing the solid door behind him, Jonathan viewed the resulting suffocating darkness with satisfaction. Smiling to himself, he reopened the door for some light and checked to make certain that no unwelcome inhabitants had taken up residence. Then he pushed the table near the hearth and shut the door once more. Selecting the sturdiest of the chairs, he placed it in the far corner from the table, out of the view of anyone entering the shack, and settled himself to wait.
He had chosen dusk as the time of the meeting, and as the hour approached, he finished his preparations, bringing forth a black silk half-mask, which he swiftly put on, and a long-barreled black pistol, which he laid across his lap. He was ready.
The Thackers appeared to have followed his instructions exactly; there was no sign or sound of them, until the shadows of dusk began to fall. Hearing the noise of approaching horses, Jonathan stiffened and gripped the pistol.
The low murmur of voices could be barely heard through the walls of the shack, and a few minutes later, the door was opened cautiously, admitting a swath of feeble light from outside.
From his place of concealment, Jonathan could barely make out the shapes of the two men as they entered warily. “Stay where you are and do not turn around,” he commanded once they were far enough into the room for his liking. “I should warn you,” he added with soft menace, “that I have a pistol leveled at your backs and will not hesitate to shoot if you do not follow my orders.”
Both men stiffened, obeying his commands instantly. Udell said sharply, “We did not come to cause no trouble. We was tole to be here at this time. Supposed to meet a fellow . . . to discuss a, er, business arrangement. You that fellow?”
“Indeed I am,” Jonathan said, “but you are still not to turn around. You are to do precisely as I say, is that clearly understood?” A resentful grumble of assent came from the pair, and Jonathan said, “Excellent. Now then, ah, Udell, approach that table and light the candle. Clem, remain just where you are.”
The candle lit, Jonathan said, “Clem, you may now shut the door, and do not even think of looking in my direction. When you are done, go stand by your brother. Both of you keep your hands where I can see them. No tricks or sudden moves, if you please.”
Those tasks accomplished, Jonathan relaxed slightly. Eyeing the two hulking figures as they stood obediently with their backs to him, he congratulated himself. “Now then, gentlemen,” he began heartily, “I will lay out my proposition for you. It is my understanding that you have good reason to hate Chance Walker. Is that correct?”
“What if it is? What difference is it to you?” Udell asked sourly, clearly unhappy with this situation.
“That is none of your concern, but suppose,” Jonathan said, “I could arrange it for you to be able to catch Chance Walker by surprise and kill him. I would be willing to pay you a goodly sum for your trouble. Would something like that interest you?”
Udell grunted. “It might. ’Cept everyone knows that Chance and I ain’t exactly friends. His murder might make folks think I done it. Me and Clem ain’t fools—we do not want to have our necks stretched, not even to kill thet bastard, Chance.”
“But suppose I have a plan that will ensure that no blame falls upon you?”
“I am listening,” Udell said grimly.
Wishing he could see the expressions on their faces and more accurately gauge their reactions, Jonathan swiftly explained his plan to kill Chance Walker and an old woman named Annie Clemmons in a supposed “Indian” attack.
“Passing ourselves off as savages is a good notion, and I know a fellow or two who would not mind joining us—especially if you is goin’ to be as generous as my cousin says,” Udell said thoughtfully when Jonathan had finished speaking, “but Devil’s Own ain’t just some pore dirt farmer’s cabin. Chance has a whole passel of men there, well-armed men. Because of thet, it ain’t likely thet those murderin’ savages would attack them.”
Jonathan smiled to himself. “That is true,” he agreed easily, “but I happen to know that during the first week of October, Chance routinely sends a large contingent of his people to Richmond and Williamsburg to replenish their supplies. Devil’s Own will be virtually deserted for several weeks.” He paused before adding sweetly, “I am sure that a pair of enterprising fellows like yourselves should be able to secretly observe the happenings at Devil’s Own and discover for yourselves precisely when this occurrence takes place.”
“Suppose Chance and thet ol’ woman you want us to kill goes with ’em? What then?” Clem asked suspiciously.
“Chance is a new bridegroom, and it is unlikely that after the events of the exhausting past weeks his new bride would wish to go to Richmond or that he would go off and leave her.” A malicious note entered his voice. “I believe that Chance has learned how unwise it is to abandon one’s bride for any length of time. And as for the old woman . . . I do not believe that she will go to Richmond. If she does, we shall have to consider another plan for her, er, disposal.”
There was silence as the Thackers mentally considered the plan. “You jest want Chance and the old woman killed? Anything we steal is ours to keep? I hear thet he has got some real fine horses and such. There ought to be pretty good pickings. Do you take a share?” Udell asked.
Disdainfully Jonathan replied, “A share in your ill-gotten goods does not interest me. Do we have an agreement, gentlemen?”
“You will pay us the gold thet our cousin mentioned? Half now and the rest when the deed is done?”
Affronted by this haggling, Jonathan reached inside his coat and brought out a small leather bag of gold. He stood up and contemptuously tossed the bag onto one edge of the table. “There is half the gold, as promised. Do we have a bargain?”
Udell opened the bag and lifted out one of the gold coins. He bit it and then carefully examined the marks. To Clem he muttered, “It is real.”
“Of course it is real, you fool. Are you going to do it?” Jonathan asked impatiently.
Clem shrugged and Udell slowly nodded. “Don’t see why not,” he said casually, one hand lightly rubbing his scar. “I have been wanting to kill Chance Walker a long time.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The October trip to Richmond for the semiannual replenishment of supplies for Devil’s Own came up that same evening in conversation. Dinner had been eaten some time ago, and the ladies had retreated to the front parlor to enjoy a glass of ratafia before retiring to their rooms. The gentlemen had stepped outside to enjoy a clay pipe of Virginia’s fine tobacco.
Chance and Hugh were seated comfortably in a pair of pine rockers on the broad front porch of the house, the pleasing scent of tobacco from their pipes wafting in the air—and helping to keep at bay the many voracious insects.
Eager to join Fancy and the delights of the marriage bed, Chance had not planned on lingering, but there was an air about Hugh that brought his thoughts back from decidedly carnal realms and made him ask quietly, “Is something amiss, Hugh? You have been uncommonly quiet of late, and it seems that I have not heard your ready laugh very much. What is wrong?”
In the darkness Hugh made a face. “A woman, what else?” he asked bitterly.
“Ah,” Chance murmured understandingly. “Ellen still has not forgiven you.”
“Forgiven me!” Hugh burst out indignantly. “Sh
e will not even talk to me. I tell you I am at my wits’ end. I have tried to explain—countless times. But all she will do is look down that saucy little nose of hers at me and then stalk off. I have begged her to forgive me, to give me another chance, but to no avail.” He paused, then said heavily, “I am leaving next week when Jed and the others do. I shall accompany them part of the way before turning off for Fairview. There is nothing here for me now.” He sighed. “Perhaps absence will make Ellen more amenable.”
Chance puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “I think that you are probably right,” he finally said. “And I also think that you have been letting that little madame lead you around like a bull with a ring in its nose. ’Tis high time that you stood up to her and stopped allowing her to punish you. Your mistake was an honest one. After all, Jonathan can be most persuasive, and while I see nothing wrong in her punishing you a trifle for her pride’s sake, I think it has gone on long enough. If you are gone from her presence, ’tis possible that she will discover she is not quite as angry with you as she pretends. Unfortunately, if her heart remains hard against you, I am afraid that you will have to forget about her.”
Chance’s levelheaded words were not what Hugh wanted to hear, but he understood the wisdom in them. His jaw tightened. “You are right, of course. There is no use repining over a woman who has no use for one.”
Silence fell as both men smoked their pipes and considered the situation. Abruptly Hugh asked, “When exactly is Jed leaving for Richmond?”
Standing, Chance stepped off the porch and, after knocking his pipe clean and crushing out on any remaining embers with his boot heel, said, “Probably Wednesday. It is the first of October and seems as good a day as any. Jed and Martha are already making the lists of supplies we will need for the winter and looking forward to visiting some relatives who live in the vicinity of the city.”
A Heart for the Taking Page 35
