The Lady's Hand

by Bobbi Smith

  "Are you coming to bed, my bride?" he asked, his eyes dark with passion's intent.

  "Yes ...in a minute..." she mumbled, wishing for a way out, finding none. Her gaze was drawn to the wide expanse of his chest.

  "Take your time. I'm enjoying the view, and I'm sure it's going to get much more interesting before the evening is through."

  The intimacy of his remark sent a flush of heat through Brandy, and she turned away and began to undress. She thought that if she took her time, he might fall asleep, and then her dilemma of the evening would be taken care of.

  What she didn't know was that Rafe found her deliberately slow movements even more erotic than if she had been standing unclothed before him. As she shed each garment, his desire for her grew until he could barely keep himself from leaving the bed and taking her, quickly, hotly, excitingly.

  Rafe regretted that things had changed between them since that morning. She had withdrawn from him, and he wanted back that intimacy they'd shared through the night and into the early morning hours.

  Brandy knew he was watching her every move, and despite all her prayers that he would fall asleep, it wasn't happening. She could delay in removing her gown no longer and began to unbutton her dress.

  Rafe watched as she slipped the buttons free of their restraint, and as she did, her chemise was revealed to him. He remembered far too clearly for his own quietude how she'd stood before him and he'd helped her unfasten the chemise during the poker game last night.

  "If you like, we could play poker again," he said with a rakish grin, his gaze searing upon her, tracing the paths his hands and lips would soon be taking.

  Brandy looked up at him quickly, seeing the desire in his expression and knowing there would be no escaping him tonight. She told herself that she would be fine. She told herself that she would hold herself aloof from him; that way she wouldn't be in danger of forgetting herself and the only real reason she was there.

  "There's no need. I'm not an innocent any more," she said with quiet calm.

  Her choice of words bothered him for some reason, but he shrugged it off as he held out his hand to her. "Then come here. I'll help you with what's left."

  Across the width of the small room their eyes met, and Brandy moved slowly forward to join him on the bed. The sheets were cool against her, and she shivered as his hand took hers.

  "You're cold?" he asked, surprised.

  "A little."

  "Let me warm you...."

  Then there was no more need to talk as his mouth claimed hers in a fiery domination that stirred to life the glowing embers of the passion she'd discovered the night before and had tried so hard to deny all day. An inferno engulfed her, the heat of his loving branding her for life.

  Brandy wanted to fight him, wanted to fight the need that overwhelmed her, but she didn't have the strength. She surrendered to him, accepting her weakness, and losing herself in the heaven of Rafe's arms. His strength, his passion, his caress, erased any vestiges of resistance in her. As his body moved over hers to claim her in love's most intimate fashion, she did not resist, but opened to him willingly, almost crying out to him in the joy of knowing he would soon be one with her. And when they came together, their limbs entwined, theirs hearts beating as one, there was no telling where one began and the other ended. Brandy matched him caress for caress, kiss for kiss, forgetting everything she'd told herself about holding herself apart from him, of keeping her heart aloof and unattached.

  They sought the peak of passion, and they crested there together. The splendor of their loving left them breathless and sated in each other's arms. They lay, their bodies still one, quietly reflecting on the wonder of their joining. Neither spoke.

  When Rafe finally moved away, Brandy turned from him and pretended sleep. He did not see the tear that slipped from her eye.

  Rafe lay staring at her slender back. He longed for the woman who had been so open to him and so insatiable last night. He longed to have her back in his arms, loving him, wanting him, needing him. She had come to him tonight without a word, yet it wasn't the same. He didn't know how to recapture the glory that had fleetingly been theirs, but he wanted it back. He almost reached out to her to love her again, and he knew he wouldn't be denied, but he held himself back. He would wait. He would give her time. And then one day, she would come to him openly because she wanted him.

  Rafe lay back and stared up sightlessly at the ceiling. He would have been amused by his plight had it not troubled him so. Of all the women in the world who wanted him and wanted to share his bed and there were more than a few he had now married the one female who had no great desire to be his wife or his lover. He wondered if he'd made the right decision with Brandy, forcing her to his will as he had. He knew only time would tell.

  Brandy lay beside Rafe, her back to him, seeking sleep, wanting sleep, wanting to forget, if only for a little while, how traitorous her body became the moment he laid a hand upon her and how easily he roused her to passion with just a touch and a kiss.

  "I have an announcement to make," Marc informed them the following evening at dinner.

  "Really?" Rafe looked at him askance, wondering what he was up to.

  "Yes. I would like to host a reception for you and your lovely bride when we get back to Natchez. What do you say?" he asked, looking from Brandy to Rafe. "It's important that Brandy gets to meet everyone and has a proper introduction to society. That's why I thought she'd be more comfortable if she does it in friendly surroundings like my house. I might prove a little rusty, since I haven't been entertaining the last year, but I'll manage, if you'd like me to."

  "It's a great idea, Marc. Thanks," Rafe told him.

  "Yes, thank you, Marc. That is so sweet of you, but I've got another idea. Why don't you let Claire help you plan it? If she's as good at parties as she was at teaching me, your party will be a smashing success," Brandy offered, seeing an opportunity for them to work together.

  Marc looked at Claire. He had been hard pressed to keep his eyes off her all night, for she was wearing a teal gown that was stunning on her. "I'd love to have your help, if you have the time?"

  "I'd be honored. Thank you for asking," she returned, her heartbeat quickening at the thought of being in such close contact with him.

  "When would you like to have it?" he turned back to Rafe. "How much time do we have to plan?"

  "Brandy will need at least a week to get settled in at Bellerive. We'll be home in two days. Do you want to plan on the Saturday after next?"

  "That should be fine. Claire and I will take care of everything. All you and Brandy will have to do is show up."

  "Sounds like my kind of party," Rafe said, laughing.

  They talked of the guest list as Brandy and Claire listened. They shared bewildered looks every now and then as the two men talked of people they didn't know but were quickly learning about from Rafe's and Marc's humorous stories.

  "What about Mirabelle?" Marc asked, deliberately bringing her up. He knew there would be no avoiding her in their social group, and she would have to be dealt with eventually.

  "Ah, the lovely Mirabelle..." Rafe paused, knowing that a confrontation was inevitable.

  "Who's Mirabelle?" Brandy found herself asking when she noticed the change in Rafe's expression.

  "An old friend," he answered, then turned to Marc. "She'll have to be invited. To exclude her would wreak more damage than to invite her."

  "My thoughts exactly, but you'd better be prepared."

  "Oh, I will be."

  Claire and Brandy glanced at each other, curious now.

  "Just what should you be prepared for?" Claire asked.

  Rafe realized the best thing to do was tell them the truth so they could be prepared for her, too. "Mirabelle and I have known each other for some time."

  That was all he had to say for Brandy to understand. He had told her on the night that they'd come to terms about their marriage how women were always chasing him, wanting to marry him. She'd se
en it with the Demers girl. "So she's like Lottie Demers?"

  "You could say that," he said blandly, wanting to avoid any further discussion about Mirabelle.

  Marc was tempted to tell Rafe to have Brandy pack her gun that night to chase the women off, but he didn't think his witticism would draw many chuckles right then. "I'll invite her. The worst that can happen is she'll make a scene and then it will reflect badly on her, not you."

  "She's bound to find out sooner or later. Better from us," Rafe agreed.

  They talked until late, making plans and finalizing the guest list, then retired for the night. Marc offered to escort Claire to her room, and they went out on deck together.

  The night was oppressively warm and dark. Heavy clouds hung low, and thunder echoed in the distance.

  "They always say storms are more intense on the river," Claire remarked as she walked to the railing and turned her face to the wind. She loved thunderstorms, the gusts of wind, the scent of the coming rain. The unleashed power of nature thrilled her.

  A jagged streak of lightning rent the heavens, illuminating the river and shore in a flash of bright light, and the thunder that followed rumbled about them. Claire did not flinch, though, or shy away in fright. She merely closed her eyes and savored it.

  "Aren't you afraid?" Marc asked coming to her side. He leaned one elbow on the rail as he studied her and not the coming storm.

  Marc was surprised by her fearlessness. He was amazed at all he was learning about her-about the real Claire. He had known her for years, yet had always thought her a quiet woman who stayed in the background and drew little attention to herself. The better he got to know her, though, the more he was discovering what she was really like bright, witty and downright pretty now that she'd put away the schoolmarm clothes and was dressing in a more stylish fashion. The dress she'd appeared in tonight was elegant, and he'd stared helplessly at her when he'd seen her enter the dining room.

  "No. There's nothing to be afraid of," she said softly, still not opening her eyes. "I'm here with you."

  The moment was one of revelation for Marc as a warmth he'd thought long dead stirred deep within him. He had thought he would never feel this way again about a woman, yet something about Claire touched his heart. She was kind and funny and wonderful with the children, and he liked her. Yet, tonight, right now, he realized that she was a beautiful woman. His gaze settled on the soft curve of her lips, and without thought, he moved toward her. Cautiously, gently, Marc lifted one hand to cup her cheek, and then he dipped his head to seek the sweetness of her kiss.

  Claire did not move. She couldn't believe that her dream, her fervent wish, was coming true. She remembered that when the lady at the dress shop had sold her the dress, she had hoped that when Claire wore this dress her fondest wish would come true. And it was. Marc was kissing her.

  The thought came and went in a flash, and then she thought no more, but gave herself over to the joy of the moment as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled and the wind picked up around them. His lips upon hers were everything she'd ever dreamed, and she found herself lifting her arms to link them around his neck. It had been forever since she'd allowed herself to think of this moment, but now... he was actually with her and she was in ecstasy.

  As she looped her arms around his neck, Marc gave a low guttural groan and moved closer, bringing her against him. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips and seeking the sweetness of her. They were lost in the wonder of the moment, unmindful of anything but each other. And then it happened.

  Later, Claire would believe that the gods had been conspiring against her, but the crash of thunder, followed by cold, pelting rain, drove them apart and left them breathless in the dark of the night. They stood in the blowing rain, staring at each other in awe, neither able to fully grasp the full import of what had transpired. Then, suddenly, they were laughing, like children caught in mischief, and Marc slipped an arm around her waist as they ran for her cabin door.

  "Good night, Claire," he told her huskily as he saw her inside.

  "Good night, Marc. Sweet dreams," she said as she gave him one last smile before closing and locking the door.

  Sweet dreams.... he thought. It seemed forever since he'd last had any kind of dream, let alone a sweet one, but maybe the time had come.

  Maybe it had, indeed.

  It was late the following night, and Brandy was in bed, awaiting Rafe's return. He had gone to the bar with Marc after dinner, and she had retired to their cabin to pack so she would be ready to disembark when they arrived in Natchez the next morning. She was tired and could have slept, but she needed to talk to Rafe about the way she was going to meet with her mother and tell her of their sudden marriage. She'd finished her packing several hours before and had been expecting him to return ever since, but it was near midnight, and he still hadn't returned.

  Brandy told herself that she didn't miss Rafe, that she was glad he had gone with Marc. But as the hours had passed and she lay alone in the bed they'd shared for the nights of the trip, she couldn't help remembering the excitement of his hands upon her, the sweetness of his kisses, and the power of his lovemaking. In frustration, she rolled over onto her stomach and tried to get comfortable.

  She had almost fallen asleep when she heard the door open and Rafe come in. She had left a lamp burning low, and he turned it up only slightly as he began to get ready for bed. Knowing there would be no better opportunity, she sat up to speak to him of what was on her mind.

  "Rafe, we need to talk," Brandy told him.

  "I didn't know you were waiting up."

  "It's important. It's about my mother."

  He made no comment as he continued to unbutton his shirt.

  "When we get to Natchez, I want to have the time to meet with her alone."

  Y•?„

  "Because I want time to explain things to her."

  He stiffened, wondering just how much of their agreement she was going to reveal. "Like what?"

  "Like how I met and fell in love with you so quickly that I couldn't resist you. I'm going to tell her about how you swept me off my feet, and how I couldn't wait to return home to marry you because I wanted you so very much."

  He heard the note of bitterness in her tone, and it stung him. "Do you think she'll believe you?"

  "I hope so," Brandy said in almost a whisper. "I cannot allow anything or anyone to hurt my mother. She's worked hard all her life. Nothing has ever gone easily for her, and I refuse to let her be hurt now."

  He looked at Brandy. "Are you saying you think I might somehow intentionally hurt her?"

  "The truth about us would devastate her. I want your solemn word that you will never tell her the truth of our marriage." She met his gaze and held it.

  "I give you my word that I will not tell her about us, but won't she figure it out once the baby is born and you leave?"

  At the mention of his only reason for taking her as his wife, she tensed. Silently, she prayed again for the opportunity to find the money she needed to pay him off before that horrible, fateful day arrived. "I'll worry about that when the time comes. Who knows?" she found herself taunting him. "I may be barren."

  "You aren't," he growled, low and forcefully. His mood turned dark at her words. His gaze bored into the depths of her soul.

  She sensed she'd pushed him too far, and quickly went on, "I want to go home by myself first and have an hour or so with her before I introduce you. My mother's going to be very shocked, and I want this to be a happy time for us. We can worry about the rest of it later."

  "All right, Brandy. If that's what you want, that's what you shall have. Claire and I can find some way to stay busy while you tend to your mother."

  "Thank you," she said quietly as he came to the side of the bed.

  He stood there looking down at her, and then moved over her.

  There was no reason for them to say any more. Their bodies spoke for them in a language as old as time.

  The following day, Brandy sa
t nervously in the carriage as it wound its way through the streets of Natchez-Under-The-Hill, heading for the small rented house where she knew her mother awaited her return. For the first time ever, she was almost thankful for her mother's failing eyesight. Brandy hoped she wouldn't be able to see through her phony smile and carefully practiced expressions of joy. Her mother had always been able to read her like a book. Brandy had never been able to lie to her or to sneak anything past her. She hoped this would be the first time. She hoped, too, that she could convince her mother that her feelings for Rafe were real and that they truly did love each other and want this marriage.

  As the carriage drew to a stop, Brandy took a steadying breath and descended. She paid the driver and then headed inside, ready to tell the biggest lie she'd ever told in her whole life to the one person she loved the most.

  "Mama?" she called out as she let herself in and found the tiny sitting room deserted.

  "Brandy! You're finally home! You were gone so long this time, I've been worrying about you," Libby O'Neill called out excitedly from the kitchen where she sat with Althea, the lady who watched over her while Brandy was away. Libby was a diminutive woman, but one of great courage and wisdom, and there was nothing in the world, right then, that was going to stop her from going to her daughter. Frail though she was, she managed to get up and hurry through the house toward the sound of her daughter's voice.

  Brandy rushed toward the kitchen and found herself enveloped in a much-needed motherly hug. "I'm home, Mama," she sighed, tears choking her voice.

  Libby heard the emotion in her words, and, after giving her daughter a loving embrace, she held her back and peered up into her face. It proved an exercise in frustration for her, for although she could make out Brandy's features, she could no longer clearly discern the look in her eyes or the details of her expression. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Is something troubling you?"

  "Oh, no, Mama. Nothing's troubling me. I'm just glad to see you. I've missed you."

  "Not nearly as much as I missed you. How are Ben and all your other friends?" she asked as she drew Brandy into the kitchen to sit at the table.