by Tess LeSue
She knew about herself and lust.
Georgiana straightened up and turned back around to get her key. At least she knew she wasn’t dead, she thought, trying to look on the bright side. At least she knew she was still capable of desire and excitement and arousal.
Although, it was going to make their trip to Fort Hall torturous. How on earth was she going to spend that much time with him and not kiss him again?
The hotel was silent as she crept down the back stairs. She knew Matt hadn’t gone up to bed yet, as his room was opposite hers, but maybe he’d headed for the main stairs by now and they wouldn’t cross paths. She turned the lamp as low as it would go as she reached the kitchen.
He was still down here. She could hear the soft splash of water. What was he doing? There was a louder splash and the sound of tin creaking. Oh my. Was he having a bath?
But her key was in there!
Georgiana held her breath and tried to put the lamp down silently on the bench. She took careful steps across the kitchen floor, desperate not to make any noise. Maybe she could get to her key without being seen?
No. As soon as she got close enough to the door to peer through, she could see that wasn’t going to be possible. He had his back to her, but she could see the key: it was right on the sill next to his bath.
Damn it. She’d have to wait.
He’d been low in the tub, scrubbing his face, but as she watched, he sat up, splashing. Her eyes widened. His broad, naked, glistening shoulders rose into view. The muscles of his back flexed and danced in the candlelight. Oh my.
Go. Go now. Wait upstairs. Hide in the scullery. Go anywhere else but here.
The little voice in her head was shrieking at her to get away from the laundry as quickly as possible. If being near him when he was fully clothed was risky, this was downright dangerous.
But, unable to help herself, she crept closer, keeping to the darkest shadows, trying to get a better view.
She pressed her lips together, to keep from making a noise, as he suddenly stood. Water ran off him, shining in the candlelight, making him look like he was wrought of copper and gold.
Oh my.
He was another species altogether from Leonard. Where Leonard had been lean, Matt was solid. He looked like he’d been carved from the bole of a tree. His legs were thickly muscled, as was his back. His buttocks were round and firm, and they flexed as he reached for the towel he’d hung over the mangle.
And then he turned.
Georgiana had to lean against the wall. Her knees seemed to have given out.
His chest was broad and lightly furred with black hair, which speared down over a stomach as hard as stone, down to . . .
Oh my.
Georgiana felt a wave of desire so strong it made her tremble. Her legs were quivering and her stomach clenched as she watched him swipe the water from his body with the towel. Her gaze lingered on his hairy calves as he rubbed them. Everything about him was strong and masculine and . . . hard.
Oh, she was in more trouble than she’d realized. Much more. She had a near uncontrollable urge to go in there, to step forward into the circle of candlelight and take the towel from him. To reach up and run the cloth over his collarbone, where droplets clung like diamonds. To rub it down his chest in slow circles, over those small dusky nipples, over the hard pack of his stomach, over those thrusting hip bones . . .
She backed away, trying to regain control of her senses. She was shaking. She could feel her body moistening, loosening, longing for . . . No. Don’t think about it.
Georgiana fled to the scullery and locked herself in, as much to keep herself from following her urges as to hide from him.
Remember Leonard, she thought fiercely as she sat on the stool in the dark. She could see a line of candlelight under the door. Remember the pain and the humiliation. The loneliness. These feelings she was having for Matt Slater were powerful, but they weren’t worth the aftermath.
Even if they felt so good.
Georgiana pressed her face into her hands and scrunched her eyes closed. It would pass. If she could just wait it out, the lust would pass. She had years of experience with frustration, and she could get through another night of it.
Oh, this was going to be hell.
* * *
• • •
IT WAS HELL. But somehow, she survived it. Her first meeting with Matt afterward was an awkward conversation outside the dining room at breakfast. He was leaving as she and the children were going in. Georgiana started blushing the moment she saw him and didn’t stop for about a good hour after he left.
He, for his part, could barely seem to look at her.
“There’s a meeting at Mrs. Tilly’s today,” he’d growled, keeping his eyes fixed on Mrs. Bulfinch’s ugly carpet. “Joe Sampson and I meet our new customers every Thursday morning to run through the provisioning. Wendell Todd is going to meet you there at ten.” He scratched at his beard, which was already growing back in. The dark stubble made him look dangerous. “I forgot to tell you last night.”
Georgiana nodded. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. So they’d made even more arrangements without her. The engagement—pretend engagement—had been organized; her travel plans were organized; it was all done for her.
It should have been a relief to have the big decisions taken care of, but Georgiana felt a piercing resentment. It was unsettling to have so many important decisions made without her input. Not that she would have decided differently, but they could have at least spoken to her.
“I’ll see you at ten,” Matt grunted at her. And then he was gone and Georgiana was left blushing, unsettled, and more than a little irritated.
“Can we take our swords to Mrs. Tilly’s?” one of the twins asked as he piled his plate high with hotcakes.
Georgiana joined him. She could do with something sweet today. It might improve her mood. “You’re not going to Mrs. Tilly’s today,” she told him. “Well, except for that meeting Mr. Slater told us about, and you won’t be needing swords for that.”
“Can we still have tarts?” Susannah sounded disappointed to hear they wouldn’t be spending the day at the tearooms.
“Why aren’t we going to Mrs. Tilly’s for the whole day?” Phin demanded. “It’s not because of the glue, is it? Because she said again yesterday that she didn’t mind.”
“I mind,” Georgiana told him sternly. “But no, that’s not why. It’s because I concluded the interviews.”
“You did?”
The children exchanged anxious glances. Georgiana felt a pang. Perhaps she should have asked for their input? Shouldn’t they have a say in who their next father would be?
But no, surely that was too much pressure. She didn’t want them bearing any responsibility for who her husband was, for good or ill.
Did she?
Georgiana sighed. Why couldn’t parenting come with a guidebook? Every day she felt on the precipice of making some disastrous decision that would prove ruinous to the children. Even when it was something as small as forgetting to clean their teeth in the morning. Once.
“So, who is it?” Phin asked curiously.
Oh my, she was about to lie to her children. That was surely a parenting disaster in the making.
“Well,” she hedged, pouring syrup on her hotcakes. A lot of syrup. “I’ve decided not to get married yet.” She led them back to the table. Wilby crawled in her lap and waited for her to feed him some of her hotcakes. She obliged.
“It was because they were so rubbish, wasn’t it?” Phin said.
“Keep your voice down.” The room was full of the men she’d interviewed, all of whom were giving her angry looks.
“Well, they were,” Phin defended himself. “That one yesterday was the worst.”
Georgiana’s heart sank. “Which one yesterday?”
“The
one we had breakfast with.”
“He was out there in the foyer just now,” Susannah said, wrinkling her nose.
Oh no. Really? Georgiana felt a bit ill. They weren’t going to like what she had to say next, then.
“Look, there he is.” Susannah pointed.
Oh thank God. They meant Alistair Dugard.
“Not him,” she said quickly.
She saw their palpable relief. She swallowed hard and hugged Wilby a little tighter. She reminded herself she wasn’t telling them about her real choice for husband, which was far from decided. This was just pretend.
But looking at their expectant faces, it didn’t feel particularly pretend. Nor did it feel good to lie to them.
It was better than the alternative though. She shuddered at the thought of Alistair Dugard being their stepfather. Or Wendell Todd.
No, this would be better.
“Instead of getting married right away,” Georgiana said carefully, “I’ve decided to wait until we get to the end of the trail. The gentleman and I are engaged to be married . . . but that’s all for now.”
“What’s the difference? Between that and getting married?” Philip looked confused.
“Engaged means we’ll get married eventually, but not yet.”
“What’s the point of that?”
“The point is, it gives us time to decide whether or not we’re suitable for each other.”
Phin frowned. “But you said you needed a husband now, so we could be safe on the trail.”
“I know I did.” Georgiana forced a bright smile. “But this is a better plan. The man I’m engaged to be married to will look after us on the trail, just like a husband would, but—”
“But you have an escape if you don’t like him,” Philip interrupted. He nodded. “Smart.”
“But what if he doesn’t like you?” his brother asked.
That would make life simpler, Georgiana thought ruefully. Unfortunately, the opposite seemed to be the case. The memory of the kiss came flooding back: the smell of him, the taste of him, the hardness of him against her.
“Why are you all red?” Phin asked. “You were red before, but now you’re red red.”
“It’s hot in here,” Georgiana lied.
“No, it’s not.”
“Be quiet and eat your hotcakes.”
“You still haven’t told us who it is.”
Georgiana took a sip of water. It was suddenly terribly hot. “It’s Matt Slater,” she said. Then she braced for the reaction.
“Who?” Susannah screwed up her face.
“Brilliant!”
“But that’s fantastic!”
The twins seemed happy, at least.
“He was that man we spoke to just now,” Georgiana told Susannah, “the one we bumped into as we came in to breakfast.”
“Oh.”
“He’s great,” Phin told his sister. “He has all these horses out there in the stable.”
“And a donkey and a dog,” Philip chipped in.
Phin gave his brother a scornful look. “Who cares about the donkey and the dog? The horses are top quality.” He glanced sideways at Georgiana. “Maybe he’ll let us ride them.”
“Flip!” Wilby banged his fork against the china until Georgiana took it away from him “Flip! I want to ride horse too!”
“That’s Phin, Wilbs,” Philip said, leaning across his brother. “I’m Philip. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can ride the horse too.”
Their talk turned to the history of riding horses and then progressed to knights and how heavy a suit of armor might be. Matt Slater had been thoroughly dismissed from their minds.
Perhaps the children weren’t going to be as concerned with who their stepfather would be as she had thought.
* * *
• • •
TO GEORGIANA’S DISMAY, Wendell Todd was waiting for her on the front porch.
“Mornin’,” he said, jumping up from the rocker and running a hand over his hair. He’d done something funny to it.
“You’ve had a haircut,” Georgiana observed.
He beamed and ran his hands over it again. “Do you like it?”
She smiled tightly. It looked terrible. Like someone had taken to it with a blunt instrument. The hair on the back of his crown stood up in feathery spikes, too short to lie down flat on his head.
He’d bought new clothes too, she noticed. And shaved. That seemed to be something people did once they’d settled into town, she mused, thinking of Matt Slater’s clean-shaven face, with the lean hollows under his cheekbones and the dimple in his cheek.
Wendell didn’t have a dimple. Or a strong jaw. In fact, shaving the beard only served to draw attention to his wobbly little chin.
“I hope you had a good night’s sleep,” he said, sounding stilted. “And you too, little ’uns.”
The children ignored him.
He looked anxious, which was odd. Odder still was how suddenly solicitous he was. The Wendell Todd she knew was a threatening thug. This man was nervous, polite and carefully spoken. What on earth had happened?
Matt, Georgiana thought suddenly. Matt had happened. I already spoke to Wendell. That’s what he’d said last night. Oh my. What had he done? Had he threatened him?
It certainly seemed so, Georgiana thought as Wendell offered to escort her to Mrs. Tilly’s. Wendell had his hat in hand and was giving her a nervous smile.
“I think the children and I are fine on our own, thank you,” she said, sidestepping him.
“It’s a rough town, missus,” Wendell told her. “It’s probably best if you have an escort.” He gave her a shy look. “I’m sure your new fiancé would agree.”
Matt Slater must have put the absolute fear of God into him. Georgiana paused. “Did Mr. Slater ask you to escort me today?”
Wendell looked confused for a split second and then blurted an assent. “That’s right, missus, he thought it would be best.”
She frowned. She didn’t particularly like Matt organizing her life for her like this. She didn’t want to spend the day with Wendell Todd. But she supposed she would be seeing him at the meeting at Mrs. Tilly’s anyway, and she could always get rid of him after that. Earlier, if he reverted to his old repulsive self.
But, to Georgiana’s surprise, Wendell didn’t show the slightest sign of being anything but courteous. He remained solicitous all morning, following them to the wagonmaker’s as Georgiana dropped by to check on the progress of their wagons, and then around the square as she considered the wares on display. He was like a faithful dog. Whenever Wilby dropped his sword, Wendell was there to pick it up, and he even gave the boy a piggyback when he threw a tantrum and refused to walk.
To Georgiana’s relief, he also gave up trying to make small talk with her after she discouraged him with monosyllabic answers, and they lapsed into an oddly comfortable silence. Somehow, Matt Slater had wrought a miracle and not only brought the man into line, but altered his entire personality. Georgiana would have to remember to thank him.
Her mind lingered on some very pleasant ways she could do so before she managed to wrest it away.
By the time they arrived at Mrs. Tilly’s for the meeting, there was already a crowd. Becky was standing at the front door, directing people. “If you’re with Mr. Slater’s party, turn left into the blue room,” she was calling. “If you’re with Mr. Sampson, please go into the yellow room on the right.”
Her face darkened when she saw Georgiana. She clearly still hadn’t forgiven Georgiana for walking home with Mr. LeFoy the other night. Mr. LeFoy also happened to be here, Georgiana noticed, with all his girls.
“You’re late,” Becky said sourly, “and we’re very busy. Leave the children in the kitchen. And you’re not to touch anything,” she told the children fiercely. “I don’t have time to
be cleaning glue today.”
“I won’t be needing to leave them today,” Georgiana apologized. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner.”
“Fine.” Becky was clearly not intending to warm to Georgiana ever again. “I don’t really have time to talk,” she sniffed. “We’re expecting a full house, as you can see. We have two parties of emigrants holding meetings.”
“We’re joining one of those parties,” Georgiana told her, feeling sheepish. She didn’t know why she felt so sheepish, except that Becky was so obviously displeased with her. Poor love. She was so smitten with Pierre LeFoy that she thought every other woman must be too.
“Which party?” Becky demanded.
“We’re going to California!” Phin said. He was clearly champing at the bit to set off. The twins had loved the whole adventure from the first.
Becky scowled. “Yellow room,” she snapped, turning her back on them.
Georgiana saw why she was so annoyed: LeFoy was in the yellow room. As were another dozen or so men, all clumped around a big, bluff, blond fellow in buttery buckskins. Georgiana assumed he was the guide. As far as she could see, she was the only woman in the room.
“I think you’re in the wrong room,” LeFoy said heartily when he saw her. “Mr. Slater is in the blue room.” He winked at her.
“We were told this room is for people going to California,” Georgiana said by way of explanation.
“Exactly.” LeFoy gave her a puzzled look. “And you’re going to Oregon.”
“No, we’re not,” Phin said, flopping on the couch between Ginger and Honey. “We’re going to the goldfields. I’m going to find a nugget the size of my head. That’s what my father told me in his last letter.”
“You haven’t told them yet?” LeFoy leaned in close and whispered so the children couldn’t hear.
“Told them?” Georgiana had no idea what he was talking about.
“About your engagement.”
“My . . .” she trailed off, astonished. “You know about the engagement?”
