He laid his cheek on her stomach for a moment. "And I you," he said softly.
She took his chin with the tip of her finger and lifted it until she could stare into the depths of his hazel eyes. "You don't have to say it."
He rose and stretched out over her, pushing his knees between her legs. "You're right, I don't," he answered softly.
He was prodding between her thighs now. She could feel the stiff hot flesh of his manhood. She lifted her hips, needing to feel him inside her, needing to be fulfilled.
"But I do love you," he told her as he reached down with his hand. "I do love you, you mouthy wench."
Alexandra arched her hips, accepting the length of him. She moaned, lifting her hands over her head.
"Alex, Alex," he groaned, his voice hot in her ear. "You've made me love when I never thought I could love again."
She rose and fell to the rhythm of his thrusts. "Hush," she told him, covering his mouth with her hand. "You talk too much."
His laughter echoed in the tiny bedchamber as he molded his body to hers and picked up the rhythm of his movements. Together they rose and fell, joining as one until finally, when Alexandra thought she could stand the frustration of the pleasure any longer, her world burst into a shower of white light and slowly she fell to earth in the aftermath.
For a long time Hunter lay still on Alexandra, nuzzling in the crook of her neck, but when her breath finally slowed to a more normal rate he began to move again.
"Not again," she moaned, already lifting her hips to meet his.
"Yes, again," he whispered, threading his fingers through hers above her head. "And then maybe again, Wife."
This time it was her laughter that filled the bedchamber. Twice more he brought her to the pinnacle of ultimate ecstasy before he finally gave way to his own pleasure and together they drifted off into contented sleep.
Chapter Twenty-one
Alexandra sat cross-legged in front of Hunter on the deck of the single-masted skiff. Hunter had hired the owner of the small boat to take them up the Noniack River, into the Chesapeake Bay and then into Annapolis. If the winds didn't alter their course, they'd be at her aunt's doorstep by late afternoon.
Hunter draped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder. They were sitting on the bow of the boat letting the salt spray carry over their heads as they watched the skiff gracefully cut through the water. Both were oddly pensive.
"Anxious to get home?" he asked her. "To put on lady's clothing?"
She sighed. "Yes." She snuggled inside her rabbitskin cloak with the foxtails hanging off the collar. Once she arrived in Annapolis she knew she would have to give up her Shawnee buckskin clothing, her soft comfortable moccasins and the cloak,
She would go to her room and have a maidservant dress her from the skin out in boned stays, hoops, stockings, a gown and stomacher. Her hair would be tugged, crimped and curled into an appropriate coiffeur for a married woman. She would powder her cheeks and rouge her lips. She'd dab expensive perfume at her wrists and neck. Of course she would be elated to be dressed properly again. Of course she would . . .
"Aye, I was thinking myself it would feel good to put on a pair of man's breeches that weren't made of leather that still had bits of hair stuck to it."
She laughed with him. "I am anxious to get home again, to have the life I had before, but . . ."
"But what?"
"But a part of me isn't."
He lifted her dark hair and kissed the nape of her neck. "And what part is that?"
She stared out at the blue-green water of the Chesapeake and then up at a gull that sailed overhead. Behind her she could hear the flap of the mainsail as the wind changed direction. "The part of me that likes my moccasins." She wiggled her toes inside the soft leather. "The part of me that likes to wake up in the morning snuggled inside a bear hide, trapped in your arms. The part of me that likes to hear the songbirds as I wash my face in the river at dawn."
"We could stay here on the Tidewater," he suggested.
She laughed.
"No, I'm serious. Why go back to Annapolis? Why consider London? We could get a land grant, build a house, hell, we could grow tobacco."
"You don't know anything about growing tobacco."
"I could learn."
"And what of your father?" she chided softly. "You said yourself last night that you had to go home and set things right with him. Remember all that talk of responsibility and it being high time you owed up to it?"
He groaned. "You can't make a man accountable for the words he speaks when he has a naked woman in his arms, even if she is his wife. Don't you know that?"
She leaned back and looked up at him. "You mean we're not going back to London?"
He ran a hand through his hair that he wore loose today. It fell to his shoulders in a fiery curtain and blew in the salty breeze. "I don't know, sweeting. I don't know what I want. More importantly I don't know what's best for you and me."
"To go to London, of course. It's your home, my home too."
"I don't know, Alexandra. I know what sounds logical, but I get a bad feeling when I think about it."
"I thought you'd already made your decision, we'd made our decision. You left a message at the fort for Jon to meet us in Annapolis. You left a message that you'd be buying us all passage back to London on the first boat you could find. He'll be expecting us to return home with him, Hunter."
"Then let him go."
She turned back around and leaned against him, staring out again at the bay waters.
For several minutes they sat in silence and then Hunter spoke again. "If I decided to go back to London, I'd have many duties to fulfill as my father's son. I'd not have the time to spend with you as I have now. There would be duties for you to tend to as well. Do you understand what you're getting yourself into?"
"You're my husband now."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"We'll return to London. We'll both fulfill our responsibilities." She squeezed his hand. "Oh, come on Hunter, it'll be tun. You've forgotten all the suppers and balls, the riding to the hounds, the horseraces and the theater." She took his hand, leaning back against him to look up into his eyes. "Laughing Rain's death has been avenged. You can't spend the rest of your life wandering about without purpose."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not what adults do. We're adults now. God willing, we'll be parents. Someday you'll be speaking to your own sons of responsibility."
He sighed and rested his chin on her shoulder again. "You're right. I know you're right," he said without much enthusiasm.
"Of course I am. It will all be all right. You'll see." She kissed his cheek. "I love you Hunter of the Shawnee."
He closed his eyes. "And I you, sweeting."
"You ready?" Hunter murmured in Alexandra's ear.
Her hand trembled in his. They were standing in the front hallway of Aunt Sally's Annapolis home. Servants had let them in and run to find Aunt Sally and the cousins. Sounds of confusion came from the back of the house. Alexandra could hear children running on the slate floors and the sound of one of Uncle Charles' hounds barking. The house smelled of cleaning soap and herbs Aunt Sally had sprinkled on the Turkey carpets to keep them smelling fresh. All the sights and sounds were so familiar, so why was Alexandra suddenly so apprehensive?
For weeks she had dreamed of this moment—returning home to Aunt Sally's home where she would be safe. And now that the moment had arrived, she wanted to turn and run.
Aunt Sally came bursting through the parlor doorway, her heavy black skirts rustling as she walked. "Oh my dear Jesus in heaven," she sobbed. "Praise be! You're alive!"
Hunter released her hand, allowing Aunt Sally to pull her to her ample bosom and hug her tightly. "Good heavens child, I never thought I'd set sight on your face again in this lifetime!"
Alexandra felt her aunt's tears on her own cheek. "I'm sorry I couldn't send you a message. I know
this must be a shock."
Aunt Sally took a step back, clasping Alexandra's hands so that she could look at her. "With Susan and Charles dead, I was certain—"
"It's all right, Aunt Sally. I'm fine." She smiled, but she didn't feel very happy. That dear Aunt Sally should have known before, suddenly seemed overpainted, overly dramatic and just a little insincere. "I'm safe, really I am," she told her aunt. "It just took me a while to get back."
Aunt Sally shook her head. "Heavens, child. Look at you. You've lost weight. You look simply horrid in those hides. Have you been among the savages all this time?"
Alexandra released her aunt's hands. Of course Aunt Sally would think she looked terrible in her buckskins. What else was she going to think?
"I—"
"Let me call someone to get you changed into something decent. I'll have supper delayed." For the first time she glanced at Hunter, who had stepped back to the rear of the hallway to allow the reunion to take place privately. "Oh, goodness. Excuse my manners. Did this trapper bring you home? Thank you," she called, fluttering her hands that were covered in black lace fingerless mitts. "You'll be paid handsomely, I can assure you, man."
Alexandra laughed, holding up the finger she wore her copper wedding band on. "No, no, you don't understand, Aunt Sally." She went to Hunter and took his hand. "This is my husband, Hunter."
Aunt Sally's eyes grew round, seeming to protrude from her face. "Your . . . your husband?" she choked.
Hunter stepped forward and bowed smoothly from the waist. "Pleased to meet you, mistress. Geoffry Rordan, the Viscount Ashton."
Aunt Sally's mouth dropped.
Alexandra felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under her feet. For a moment she feared she'd swoon.
"The Geoffry Rordan?" Aunt Sally managed in a high-pitched voice.
He gave her a handsome devil-may-care smile. "I'm afraid so, madame."
"Well!" Aunt Sally breathed with an excited puff of air. "I can't wait to hear how you found him and managed to marry him, Alexandra." She touched her rice-powdered cheek. "No one will believe this tale, I can vow to that."
Still in shock, Alexandra managed a weak smile. Of course she couldn't tell Aunt Sally that she hadn't realized this was Geoffry Rordan, the fiancé who had run out on her six years ago. She couldn't tell her the whoreson had tricked her, that he'd known all along who she was because she'd told him. She'd look like a fool!
Alexandra cut her eyes at Hunter. He flashed her the same grin he'd offered her aunt, but it had no effect on her.
How could he have done this to her! Lying cur!
Aunt Sally was talking again, calling servants to draw baths, calling others to escort Alexandra and Hunter to their chambers.
Hunter slipped his arm through hers and steered her toward the grand staircase, chatting with Aunt Sally. It was all Alexandra could do to keep from knocking him in the head. She wanted to scream, to stomp her feet, to throw Aunt Sally's precious Chinese vase at the deceitful louse. But instead, she smiled sweetly, nodding as if she agreed with whatever Aunt Sally was babbling about now.
One of the maidservants, Chastity, who had been Alexandra's personal maid, led them up the staircase, down one hallway and then another, to two connecting bedchambers. This was the first time that Alexandra had ever known her aunt to use these rooms. They were meant for visiting dignitaries, she'd been told. Of course no dignitaries ever visited Aunt Sally, to Alexandra's knowledge.
As they stopped at the first door, Aunt Sally rattled on about being flattered to be hosting a viscount in her very own modest home. Hunter was speaking like some court dandy, saying all the right things. He had her aunt, who was supposedly in mourning, laughing like a giddy dairy maid.
It made Alexandra ill.
Chastity curtsied to Hunter as she pushed open the paneled door that led to his bedchamber. "Your room, sir."
Hunter winked at Alexandra, promised to head Aunt Sally's dining table for supper, and closed the door behind him.
Alexandra managed to keep her smile plastered on her face until Chastity showed her into her room. "The tub will be up directly, mistress," Chastity said, going to close the draperies. "I'll bring one of your gowns directly." She hung on the azure brocaded draperies. "God Almighty, he's a handsome man, your husband," she bubbled.
Alexandra dropped a hand to her hip and stared at the freckle-faced girl. "Not when I finish with him, he won't be," she muttered.
Chastity's eyes grew wide. "Can I . . . I'll help you with your bath and dressin' if you like." She eyed Alexandra's buckskins as if expecting them to walk on their own at any moment. "I know you must want to get out of those heathen clothes."
"See to my bath, Chastity. I'll have the cranberry gown with the quilted overskirting." She opened the door leading to the hallway. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to speak with my husband in private."
The girl ran for the door. "'Course, mistress." She took one last look at Alexandra and fled.
Alexandra closed the door behind her and then turned to look at the cross and Bible door that led into Hunter's chamber. It took her six long strides to reach it. She flung it open.
Hunter turned in surprise. He was already half undressed. Barefoot, he stood in nothing but his leather breeches.
"Sweeting."
"Don't you sweeting me!" She slammed the door behind her so hard that a tiny portrait of Aunt Sally's grandmother flew off the wall. "How could you do this to me!" She stalked him. "How could you have deceived me! You son of a—" She raised her hand to strike him and he caught it in midair.
"Never ever hit me," he ordered through clenched teeth. "I don't believe in hitting a woman, but there could always be a first time."
He held her wrist in an iron grip still poised in midair. She felt tears sting behind her eyelids. This was the first time he had spoken to her in that tone in weeks. That was the voice of the man who had taken her from Two Crows at the trading post, the man she hadn't liked very well.
She pulled her hand from his and turned away. "I apologize," she whispered.
For a moment there was a long silence. She heard him sigh and move across the room to pick up his buckskin tunic he'd dropped to the floor. "Alexandra, this is all very complicated."
"When you said you'd left a woman behind, you were talking about me," she choked.
"Not that it's an excuse, but I didn't know at first. Not until you told me your entire name. I only knew you as little Mary Lambert. No one told me you went by Alexandra."
She turned slowly to face him, certain she hated him at this moment. "You've made a fool of me. I'll never be able to show my face again."
"I haven't. You were very good downstairs. No one will ever know."
"I'll know."
"Look, sweeting," he tried to reach for her but she shrank back.
"Don't touch me," she spit. "Don't you dare lay your filthy hands on me."
"Alexandra—"
"It was just a big joke with you and Jon, wasn't it? You felt guilty for leaving the girl behind, for leaving me, so you married me to satisfy your own remorse."
"No, well, yes." He looked up at her. "Hell no. I married you for the woman I met in the forest. The woman who fought to survive. The woman who danced the Shawnee corn dance in my arms. The fact that you were Mary Lambert was only an added bonus," he answered honestly.
Her lower lip trembled. She felt so stupid. Why had she never suspected? Why hadn't she demanded to know who he was before she married him?
Because it hadn't mattered.
Why hadn't it mattered?
Because she loved him anyway. Even now, even as angry as she was with him, she loved the way his auburn hair fell across his shoulders. She loved that gallant smile he had been so generous with downstairs in the front hallway. She loved his touch. She wanted his touch even now when she thought her heart would break with anger and pain.
"You should have told me," she murmured, as much to herself as to him. "You should have t
old me before we came here, Hunter . . . Geoffry."
He came to her, offering his arms. Reluctantly she allowed him to draw her into his embrace. "I should have. I'm sorry. What can I say? I was a coward. I can face a band of drunken Mohawks without a blink of an eye, but I was afraid to tell you who I was. I was afraid you would think I had somehow tricked you."
She sniffed. "You did."
He kissed the top of her head. "I didn't. Not really. I had already fallen in love with you by the time you told me your name."
"Jon should have told me. Wait until I see the cad."
He laughed and kissed her cheek. "Jon shouldn't have told you. I told him not to. That was my place."
"What were you going to do? Wait until we arrived in London and rode up to your father's house in a coach?"
"I don't know. I didn't think about it. I didn't want you to be angry with me. I didn't think it really mattered who I was. Either you loved me, or you didn't, sweeting. That was all that mattered."
"But I hadn't told you I loved you. I didn't even know it myself when we wed."
"Didn't matter. I knew you loved me. I knew I loved you."
She gave a laugh of disbelief. "But I didn't marry you voluntarily." She looked up into his hazel eyes. She wasn't going to let him off this easily, no matter how sweetly he spoke to her. "You forced me!"
He laughed, caressing her buttock through the soft leather of her tunic. "Not really."
"Yes, really."
"If you'd truly thrown a fit, I wouldn't have gone through with it," he told her. "I'd have married one of Jon's twins instead."
She punched him in the stomach and he laughed. "I'm not letting you off this easily. You'll not kiss your way out of this one. I don't even know what to call you now!"
He traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "Call me lover."
"You're not being serious. We've not finished this discussion yet."
"What discussion?"
"The one about you not telling me who you were. About you forcing me to marry you, knowing who I was when I didn't know who you were. Don't you feel guilty for tricking me like that?"
His Wild Heart Page 23
