by Tess LeSue
* * *
• • •
SHE HAD A stay of execution for five and a half days. Leo watched her interacting with Matt disapprovingly, and out of respect, Georgiana no longer shared a tent with him. How could she? She was married to someone else.
“Leo will take a while to get used to this,” she lied to Matt. “Let’s give him time.”
He didn’t like her sleeping in the tent with the children, but as always, he respected her wishes. “It makes sense you wouldn’t want to let him out of your sight for a while,” was all he’d said. It was a shame, because Georgiana would have crumbled at the first protest from him. He knew she was hiding something, and he didn’t like it, but he didn’t press her.
Because he trusted her, she thought miserably.
“Why San Jose?” he’d asked, thoroughly bewildered when she’d asked him to turn around and head south again.
And God help her, she couldn’t think of a lie. “Can I tell you when we get there?” she asked lamely.
“It’s the opposite direction to Oregon, honey.”
“But we need to resupply properly,” she said, feeling sick about the lies, “Seline’s supplies won’t last us long. And we could all use a rest.”
“We don’t have time to rest,” he told her gently. “We don’t want to be caught on the trail when winter hits.”
No. Of course not. But she might not be going on the trail at all, if Leonard was in San Jose . . .
But then one night, as she lay in the tent, staring at the rippling canvas, it came to her with the force of a lightning bolt. Divorce! She’d get a divorce! She’d never met anyone who’d been divorced before . . . It was scandalous. But who cared about scandal out here on the frontier? Whores stood out on the open street, for heaven’s sake. And if she got divorced, that meant she could marry Matt!
It was so simple! How had she not thought of it earlier?
You’re still a bigamist, a little voice whispered in her ear. You slept with a man who wasn’t your husband. You’d still be sleeping with him, if you could get away with it.
Yes. And she didn’t regret it for a moment, she thought savagely. She would do it all again in a heartbeat. Matt was the best thing that had ever happened to her and her children. He was a blessing, not a curse. If anyone was a curse, it was Leonard.
Although, he was the father of her children . . .
In the cold light of day, divorce took on a sharper edge. She watched the children ride their ponies as she drove the wagon. Leo was riding Wishes, and the twins were harassing him mercilessly. He seemed bewildered by them. Susannah rode shyly behind them. She barely remembered her big brother and was more than a little awestruck by him.
If Leonard was alive, what right did she have to keep the children from him? To take them all the way to Oregon? To replace him with a stepfather? Leonard had been an absent, neglectful father, but he was their father.
A new thought struck her, one that splashed over her like a bucket of icy water. What if she didn’t get to keep the children? When people divorced, the children were taken away from their mother . . . Oh God. The thought was untenable. She would never let herself be separated from them.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Matt asked her on their final night. The children had gone to bed, and she and Matt were sitting up by the fire. He’d thrown another log on the crackling flames and had moved to sit beside her. He put his arm around her and hauled her closer, reaching for a blanket to drape over them. The nights were getting cool, and his body was soothingly warm.
“Nothing’s going on.”
Matt sighed. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I promise,” she said miserably. “Can’t we just enjoy tonight?”
“You look like you’re enjoying it about as much as you’d enjoy a funeral.”
She pulled a face.
“I know how to make it more enjoyable,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. He pressed a kiss on her neck.
Oh yes. It had been so long . . . Days.
His warm mouth kissed a trail down the slope of her neck.
Oh no. No. She wasn’t supposed to be doing this. “We shouldn’t,” she protested. “The children . . . ”
“They’re asleep.” His tongue flicked against the hollow at the base of her neck, and she ceased being able to speak.
It felt so good to be in his arms again. It felt right. And who knew what tomorrow would bring . . . if she’d ever be in his arms again . . .
Stop it. Don’t think about it.
This was a sin. She had a husband. She shouldn’t be doing this.
But then he lifted his head and kissed her, his mouth covering hers, his tongue plunging into her, and she threw aside any thoughts of sin. The only word in her head was “yes.”
She let herself fall into the bliss of kissing him, wrapping herself around him, trying to fit every last inch of herself against his body. She didn’t protest when he hauled her across his lap and fumbled hastily with the buttons on her shirt. She ran her fingers through his hair as he pulled her shirt free of her waistband and yanked it open. He was more impatient than she’d ever seen him. Her breasts were visible through the gauze of her chemise, and he squeezed them with his big hands, looking up at her, his eyes hot with lust.
“Wait,” she protested, before he could go further. She took his hand and led him to his tent, so they could have privacy. As soon as the canvas closed behind them, he was on her, hungry, his mouth everywhere his hands weren’t.
“Wait,” she gasped again. She was wearing her riding culottes, and they were hopeless for this kind of thing. She pushed him off her and wriggled out of them. He moaned as her long legs slid free, her skin pale in the darkness. He joined her, peeling off his buckskins as she tossed her shirt aside.
“Leave it,” he said roughly, when she went to remove her chemise. “I like it.”
She could see that. He was fully erect, thrusting toward her, the tip of his cock slick. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was naked except for the flimsy thing, which ended at her waist. Her breasts strained at the gauze, her nipples dark and pushing at the thin material. The frill around the waist skimmed her navel and made her seem even more naked below. His gaze was fixed hungrily on the darkness between her legs. She was lying on the rug as he knelt over her. Teasingly, she parted her legs, feeling the night air swirl against the secret heat of her.
He moaned softly again and crept between her legs, his hands pressing against her knees, widening her legs until she was fully open to him. She reached out and slid her thumb across his slick tip.
“Uh-uh,” he protested. “Hands to yourself this time.”
She made a small noise of protest that quickly turned into a mewl as his fingers trailed up her legs and found her aching wet center. She loved the way he took his time. Tonight he ran his fingers over every wet inch of her, and then followed with his mouth, tracing each swollen curve with his tongue, dipping into her until she was mindless with pleasure.
“You,” she gasped, “please. You.”
He grinned and braced himself on both arms over her body. She lifted her hips. The head of his cock brushed against her.
“Now,” she begged.
And, as always, he complied.
* * *
• • •
“THERE’S SOMETHING I have to tell you.”
She’d waited until the last possible moment. They’d found a quiet Spanish-style inn on the outskirts of San Jose. It was a sprawling single-story building, with grapevines turning purple leaved over the eaves, and orange chickens running loose in the courtyard. San Jose was a real town, the first truly civilized place they’d seen since leaving the east. It wasn’t large, but it was peaceful, with orderly streets and buildings that w
ere decades old. If only they were riding in under better circumstances, Georgiana thought glumly. How nice it would have been to finally rest after such a brutal journey. The inn looked pleasant and comfortable, calm and clean and shady: a haven. Matt had booked them two rooms, one for the children and one for the two of them, and Leo had finally put his foot down.
“You tell him or I will.”
Leo resisted every effort Matt made to get to know him. He refused to speak to the man who had “married” his mother and barely even acknowledged his existence. Georgiana was consumed with guilt when she saw how patiently Matt treated the boy. He thought Leo was just taking time to adjust.
“It’s wrong,” her son told her.
It was. It was all completely wrong. Utterly wrong. Everything was upside down and backward. But of course that wasn’t what he meant.
“I’ll tell him now,” she promised as she ushered him and the others into their room. “You help the little ones get themselves cleaned up, while I speak to him.” She managed to close the door on him before he could give her another disapproving look. Then she stood in the hall for a good few minutes, trying to gather the courage to do what she needed to do.
Matt was sprawled on the bed when she finally entered the room. She felt ill. She didn’t want to have this conversation at all.
“I could sleep for a week,” he sighed, not opening his eyes, as he patted the bed beside him. “Come and join me.”
“There’s something I have to tell you.” She didn’t join him on the bed, but clung to the door.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to it,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows.
She made a right mess of it, stumbling and stuttering, but eventually she got it out. By the time she did, he was on his feet.
“What in hell are you talking about?” He looked like a brute again, a big, glowering wall of manhood. “He’s dead.”
Georgiana shook her head miserably. “Leo says not.”
They hadn’t discussed Leonard much, but Matt knew enough to know she hadn’t grieved too hard when she’d heard of his death. Even so, she saw fear mixing with rage in his expression and, beneath it, a heartrending vulnerability.
“Matt,” she said softly, finally creeping away from the door, “there’s something else I need to tell you.”
He looked up, his brow furrowed. “When you said you had something to tell me . . . I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant,” he said softly. He seemed tentative. “I thought that’s why you’d been so lost in your own thoughts.” The vulnerability on his face was heartbreaking. “Is that what you’re going to tell me now?”
She felt her stomach drop. She hadn’t even thought of that. Oh my. Pregnant. Given her past fertility, she felt like a fool for not thinking of it. But why should she have fretted? She’d thought they were married. A child would have been welcome. But now . . . Oh Lord, she could be married to one man and pregnant to another . . .
“No,” she said shakily, “I’m not pregnant. At least not as far as I know.”
“Is he here? Is he in San Jose?” Matt’s hands had settled on his hips. His jaw was clenching and unclenching.
“I don’t know,” she said. A great distance seemed to have yawned between them. He seemed like a stranger. “Leo said he would be.”
Matt nodded. He was staring into space. “I guess we should see if we can find him, then,” he said tersely.
It was only later, when he’d closed the door behind her, that she realized she’d never told him the other thing she wanted to say.
She’d been going to tell him that she loved him.
40
LEONARD BLUNT LIKED to make an impression. When he and little William got to San Jose, he checked them into the finest hotel, and then they went shopping. He could hardly see his wife again looking like this, could he? And William was wearing some kind of buckskin shirt with quills on it. He looked like a little savage.
At least he didn’t have that mutt yapping after him anymore. That was something to be grateful for.
They bought clothes, had haircuts and purchased gifts for Georgiana and the other children. Leonard didn’t blink as the bills piled up. After all, Georgiana was here now, and her pockets were bottomless. Those Bees had more money than was good for them. He did them a favor by spreading it out a little.
“Send the account to the hotel,” he told people. They trusted him, as people always did, because he had breeding. Leonard was a firm believer in breeding. And in money.
“Where’s Tom?” William asked, for the thousandth time. “You said Tom was going to be here with Woof.”
“Children don’t speak unless they’re spoken to,” Leonard reminded him. He couldn’t wait to hand the child over to the nanny. That Indian had given the boy some truly appalling manners.
Just look at the god-awful mess the boy made in the washroom. He’d clearly not had much experience with bathing. Leonard was glad the hotel had a dedicated bathroom, because William splashed filthy water over every last inch of the walls and floor.
“I can’t do buttons,” the boy said, after he’d inexpertly dried himself off and struggled into his clothes.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leonard told him, without breaking from his toilette. “Do up your buttons or I’ll get the strap.”
The boy did his buttons up just fine after that. You only had to strap a child once, hard, for them to learn their lesson. The same had proved true for Leo. One good strapping and a boy would be obedient until the end.
He was glad Leo had come through his ordeal in Mokelumne Hill in one piece. It showed a certain character. Leonard had been quietly tracking his family for a couple of days, watching them from a distance, asking after them as he made his purchases. Last night he’d had his closest look at them yet, as their trail guide led them into a dining room. It seemed Leo’s little adventure might even have done him good. He was taller and broader and less spindly looking than he’d been when Leonard had taken him from New York. His wife had always spoiled the boy; she’d made him soft. A son needed his father, Leonard thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that he’d spent half his life avoiding his children.
Georgiana was looking well too. She stood out in this provincial backwater in a gown that must have cost a small fortune. She’d always had style. And she was still a beautiful woman, although she was a bit mature for his tastes now. And she had marks from her pregnancies, he thought, wrinkling his nose at the memory of the last time they’d slept together. Children did so ruin a woman’s body.
Look at Ruth. She’d been a lithe young thing, all perky little breasts and muscular thighs, and then she’d gone and got fat with child, and the next thing you knew those perky breasts were all distended, with red squiggly stretch marks making a horrid mess of them. She’d looked even worse after she’d dropped the child, her belly all slack, her face droopy with exhaustion. It seemed not even the savages were immune from the ravages of childbearing.
Leonard pivoted to check himself in the mirror. He looked a thousand times better than he had when they’d dragged in from the trail. He’d clipped his whiskers and waxed his mustache. He’d bought the most charming suit, which showed off his lean figure to full advantage, and the leather shoes were spit shined until they gleamed.
Yes. Now he was ready. “Come, William, let’s find your mother.”
“Wilby,” the impertinent lad corrected him.
Leonard picked up his old belt, which he’d left in a heap with his dirty clothes. He held it up in front of William’s face. The boy flinched.
Good. He was learning.
“Your name is William Bee Blunt,” his father told him firmly, “of the New York Bees and the Boston Blunts.” The Bees had the money, and the Blunts had the breeding. Well, the Bees had the breeding too, probably more than the Blunts had, to be honest. But the Blunts ha
d cunning, and the Bees were ripe for the plucking. Leonard grinned. It was time for some fresh plucking. His coffers were bare.
He was a handsome lad, Leonard thought, as he straightened William’s collar. He took after his father.
“Where’s Mama?” That mulish look though he got from his mother. Georgiana had always been prone to a stubborn set of the jaw. She was a docile sort, but there was an edge to her, like she was thinking things she’d never say. Ruth had been the same.
The next one would be properly docile, he resolved. Her eyes would match her manner, and not shoot secret sparks at him.
“I want Mama.”
That mulishness would have to be beaten out of him. But not right now. Leonard would crease his new suit if he took the strap to the boy now.
“And I’m sure your mama wants you too,” Leonard told him. “Put your shoes on and we’ll go find her.”
He knew exactly where she was. Leonard had planned every inch of their reunion for maximum effect. It was Sunday, and Georgiana was going to church. She’d been both Sundays since she’d arrived in town, to say a prayer for her dead child, they said. He’d overheard people talking when he was at the barber’s. People were fascinated by his fancy wife and loved to gossip about her. Leonard’s grin widened. That was another good thing about Georgiana: she made a delightful accessory.
He drew his own share of admiring glances as he paraded toward the church. He’d bought himself a rather extravagant silver-headed cane, which he swung to maximum effect as they promenaded.
Like a good Protestant girl, Georgiana bypassed Our Lady of Guadalupe for the Presbyterian service, which was being held in the courthouse until a church could be built. Leonard made sure to be tardy, as he didn’t want to ruin the effect of his surprise by accidentally running into them on the street. He and William lingered under the shade trees for a while, listening to the hymns, and then he asked the boy if he remembered what he had to do.
“Find Mama,” the boy said.
