Atlanta

by Sara Orwig

  “Fortune?”

  “I can’t forget that man today walking up to you and putting his hand on you,” Fortune said, grinding out the words as her eyes flew wide.

  “You’re drunk!”

  “The hell I am,” he answered. He tightened his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. “If you’ve lied to me—if you’ve had Michael in a brothel—”

  She pushed against him, infuriated by the accusation. “Leave me alone, Fortune! I’ve told you the truth.”

  “We’ll see,” he snapped, pulling her against him. He placed his lips on hers, kissing her hard. Her resistance was only momentary, and then she sagged against him, her arms winding around him.

  His temper flared another notch. She liked to be kissed. Had he been taken in by wide eyes and innocent looks?

  He caught her white cotton gown in his fists and yanked it open, listening to the material rip.

  “Fortune! You said you wouldn’t force yourself—”

  “I’m not,” he said as he cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her taut nipples. “You want this, Claire,” he said in a low, harsh voice, watching her gasp as he stroked and rubbed her breasts. Her eyes closed and she clung to his arms. “There’s no force here,” he said, bending his head to flick his tongue over her nipple, hearing her soft moan.

  “I can’t resist you,” she whispered, clinging to him. His gaze ran down the length of her, the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs, her long, slender legs. He slid his arm around her waist. Her hands ran over his chest and he sighed, wondering if he could maintain his control if she touched him. She was passionate and responsive, and his anger soared another notch. He held her with one hand, stroking her breasts. He turned her around, pulling her up against him to cup her breasts and fondle her while he kissed her nape and trailed his tongue to her ear, his hands moving lightly on her.

  “Fortune—” She turned around, her arms circling his neck again. He kissed her hard, his tongue sliding over the silky insides of her mouth while his hand moved down between her legs to her moist warmth. He pushed her legs apart, his hand finding the feminine bud and stroking her.

  She gasped, arching her hips against his hand. “You like that, Claire,” he whispered in her ear, his tongue flicking her ear. He rubbed her as she gasped and clung to him, her hips moving wildly. He kissed her open mouth. She was lost to passion, his hand firm against her as she moved against him. He slid his finger inside her, feeling her tight, warm flesh. He felt the tight maidenhead against his finger.

  Shock poured over him, sobering him. She had told him the truth all along. Suddenly he regretted his anger and how he had hauled her out of bed. She clutched his upper arms, whimpering with passion, her hips moving rhythmically as she reached a brink and gasped, “Oh, Fortune, please—”

  Feeling guilty, sorry for his suspicions, he caught her to him, winding his arms around her while he kissed her gently.

  “Claire, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have believed you.” He kissed her throat, showering kisses on her. He ached for more, feeling as if he would burst if he didn’t take her, but he wouldn’t. He had promised he wouldn’t force himself on her, and seduction would be just the same now. She was a virgin, as innocent as she had said, and he had just pulled her from bed and aroused her when she hadn’t expected it. Would this be what she wanted if she had a chance to think about it rationally?

  He trailed kisses over her, wanting her, knowing he should respect her wishes, calling himself a bastard for doubting her virtue.

  She pushed against him, tears bright on her cheeks. “Leave me alone. You don’t love me and you don’t trust me.”

  He caught her chin and held her face, leaning forward to kiss her sweetly. “You know why I don’t love you, but I respect you and I do trust you. I shouldn’t have questioned you and I apologize.”

  She gazed up at him, tears sparkling on her thick dark lashes. She was beautiful, and he was as hard as granite with a need for her body. It took all his control to stop now.

  With a twist she moved away from him and caught up her torn gown. “I can’t give myself to you, Fortune.”

  “I’ll get you another gown,” he said. “Go to bed, Claire. I’ll leave you be.”

  He turned away and left the room. As he closed the door, she clutched the gown, standing still in the empty room. “I love you,” she whispered. Claire moved to the chest of drawers and pulled out a new batiste gown. Her body ached for him, and she longed for his arms around her. If nothing else, she wished he would just come back and talk to her. She looked at the light shining beneath the door and thought about going to him, but it might just start the same thing over again, and some time soon she wasn’t going to be able to tell him to stop.

  She crawled into bed to stare into the darkness, wondering if he had decided to stop sharing a bedroom with her.

  In the next few days she saw little of him. He left at dawn and came home from work late at night, although sometimes he came by in the afternoon to take Michael with him. He was working constantly, trying to get the mill built, and they had started building a house. If he slept in the same bed with her, she didn’t know it because he came home after she was asleep and left before she awoke.

  On Sunday evening, as he pored over drawings spread on the floor, they heard a knock. Raking his fingers through his black hair, Fortune went to the door. Suddenly he swung it wide. “Alaric!”

  “I heard you were back. You’re at that damned mill all the time.”

  She watched as a blond man entered and Fortune hugged him. He was almost as tall, and his slightly rugged features, large deep blue eyes, and prominent cheekbones made him handsome. He was in a Union uniform, and he looked past Fortune at her.

  “Why didn’t you come by the mill?” Fortune asked.

  “Because I heard you married and found your son,” the man answered, moving away from Fortune toward her, a wide smile revealing his even white teeth.

  “I want to meet your wife. I have to meet the woman who melted the man with a heart of stone.”

  “Claire, this is my friend Alaric Hampton. Alaric, meet my wife, Claire.”

  Alaric smiled at her, taking her hand in his large, warm ones. “Now I can see why the granite melted. You are a beautiful woman, Mrs. O’Brien.”

  “I may call you out if you don’t stop,” Fortune said lightly.

  “And be widowed and leave her with me? Go ahead,” Alaric retorted, taking her hand and raising it to his lips to kiss.

  “I’ve heard about you and I’m glad to meet you,” Claire said, amused and flattered. “Unfortunately, Michael’s asleep.”

  “But you can come look at him,” Fortune said with a note of pride. “You don’t even have to worry about being quiet. He could sleep through a cavalry charge.”

  Alaric smiled at Claire and turned to go with Fortune to Michael’s room. Shortly they returned and Fortune crossed the room to pour glasses of brandy. He glanced at her. “Claire?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Alaric seated himself on the settee near her and reached over to take a bit of material in his hand. “Sewing a dress?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know a very fine dressmaker if you need one.”

  “Alaric knows everyone in Atlanta,” Fortune said dryly.

  “Not so. Some of these Georgians aren’t about to make my acquaintance. And you’re from Charlotte?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t been back there since the night I left with Michael.”

  “Do you have family still there?”

  “Yes, my father and I suppose my brother. I wrote my father, but I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  He looked at Fortune. “Thanks for sending the telegram that you were getting married. I wish I could have been there. How’s your family?”

  “Fine. Everyone’s fine. Look, I want you to come out to the mill tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do that. So where did he find you?” he asked Claire, giving her his f
ull attention.

  “In Natchez.” She related the events of that fateful night, ending with Harwood’s death.

  “Have you seen Trevor Wenger since you got back?”

  “No,” Fortune said flatly, and she wondered when they would encounter each other, because it was bound to happen soon.

  “I see you have someone watching the place.”

  “I don’t want to leave them here alone during the day when I’m at work.”

  “I would guess you know how to shoot as well as we do,” he said to Claire.

  “No, not that well, but I know how.”

  “Has he showed you Atlanta yet?”

  “Some of it.”

  “It changes daily, but there are still a few places that are intact. I have a friend you might enjoy meeting. She’s widowed and has a little five-year-old boy, Edwin. Her name is Priscilla Hawkins, and she’s lived in Atlanta all her life.”

  “That would be nice. I don’t know anyone here except Fortune.”

  “Great grief! I’ll bring her by to meet you.”

  “Have dinner with us tomorrow night,” Fortune said. “I work late.”

  “We’ll come early and talk to Claire,” he said, smiling at her.

  “That would be wonderful! Tell her to bring Edwin, and he can meet Michael.”

  “I’ll get dinner sent up here and Penthea, who looks after Michael, can sit with them while we eat downstairs,” Fortune said.

  “Fine.”

  “Where’s your home, Captain Hampton?”

  “Philadelphia, and I don’t plan to go back. The winters are too cold. I like the South. It has the most beautiful women on earth.”

  Fortune gave a cynical laugh. “Until you get up North. I recall hearing you say Philadelphia had the most beautiful women.”

  “Perhaps I thought so once.” He glanced at Fortune. “Word’s all over town about the two lots you bought on Peachtree.”

  “I want a big, comfortable house.”

  Alaric laughed. “You want a bigger, fancier house than Trevor Wenger. You want one that will awe people and make sure that Michael is accepted.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sure you’ll succeed.”

  Alaric leaned back, crossing his legs, and talked to them for the next hour, giving Claire his full attention. When he stood, Fortune came to his feet.

  “Claire, it’s nice to meet you,” Alaric said as she stood up, and Fortune moved to her side to drape his arm lightly across her shoulders.

  “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ll look forward to tomorrow night.”

  “Good.” His gaze shifted to Fortune. “I’ll ride out to the mill in the morning. How early do you get there?”

  “By seven?”

  “I won’t be there that early,” he said dryly and headed toward the door. Fortune stepped into the hall with him, closing the door behind him.

  Claire had enjoyed Fortune’s friend, and the thought of having a female acquaintance was nice because she had been spending long hours alone when Fortune took Michael with him.

  In the quiet hallway Fortune strolled toward the stairs with Alaric. “I wish you’d consider going to work with me.”

  “Me? At a steel mill? I wouldn’t be any good to you. I don’t know anything about the business.”

  “You don’t have to know about steel. You need to know how to keep everything running smoothly.”

  “I’ll think about it. Your wife is very beautiful and I’m happy for you. Sometimes when love comes, it comes swiftly—”

  Fortune glanced at him. “Alaric, I’m not in love with Claire. I’ll never stop loving Marilee,” he said quietly.

  Frowning, Alaric stopped to face him. He looked down at Fortune’s wrist, and Fortune knew he was looking at Marilee’s bracelet.

  “Good Lord, why did you marry her, then?”

  “She’s been a mother to Michael all his life. He loves her and he needs her.”

  “She knows you don’t love her?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Why the hell—oh, I suppose she wanted you to take care of her.”

  Fortune grinned and placed his hands on his hips. “Not this one. She is as independent as you and I. She can’t bear for me to spend anything on any of us.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. She married me to stay with Michael.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “There have been worse reasons for marriages.”

  “I don’t know. She could marry and have her own sons.”

  “Alaric, she has been his mother all these years. She adores him. I saw her risk her life for him time and again.”

  “Well, I hope you haven’t made a prison for yourself. And I think you’re blind, Fortune. She’s a beautiful woman. And if she’s independent and doesn’t want you to spend money on her, you’ve found a dream woman.”

  “Leave her alone, Alaric. She isn’t accustomed to men flirting.”

  “It would serve you right for someone to come along and take her from you. And someone will do exactly that!”

  Fortune laughed. “Why did I think I missed seeing you!”

  Alaric grinned and shook his head. “You rotten bastard. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Fortune went back to the parlor. Closing the door, he went to get the plans he had been looking at when Alaric arrived. “Well, I think Alaric is half in love with you.”

  She laughed. “He was very nice.”

  “He’s always nice to beautiful ladies. He saved my life once, and I’d risk mine for him.” He crossed the room. “I’m going to try to get some work done.”

  She sewed quietly, glancing at him occasionally. He sat at the desk, his head bent over papers as he made notations.

  The light shone on his black hair. His skin was getting darker from hours in the sun at the mill. The sight of his narrow waist, his long legs, reminded her of the night he had come home from faro so angry with her. She felt her cheeks warm as she recalled his lovemaking. She had an intense yearning to cross the silent room, put her arms around him, and kiss him.

  He shifted his arm as he wrote something in a ledger. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, his arm sprinkled with curling dark hair. The gold bracelet that bound him to memories of Marilee clinked faintly as he moved his wrist. Yearning tore at Claire, and she wondered if he would remain unaware of what she felt for much longer. Right now it wouldn’t matter to him if he knew. Except he would pity her and she couldn’t bear that.

  She bent her head over her sewing, trying to concentrate.

  “Lord!” He tossed down the pen. “I have the house plans and drawings from the architect to show you, and I forgot.”

  He pushed back his chair and marched into the bedroom, returning with papers rolled under his arm. He glanced around. “There’s no table big enough. Let’s sit on the floor.”

  Setting aside her sewing, she moved down beside him, aware that his shoulder brushed hers as he untied the roll. She helped him hold down the corners, and he smoothed out the projected drawing of the house. Stunned, she stared at an elegant Victorian dwelling.

  “I want six bedrooms. We’ll have a front and back parlor and a ballroom—”

  “Fortune, this is as large as your brother’s house!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  “I don’t think so. Not quite.”

  “I can’t believe I’ll be living in something like this!” she said in awe. “Fortune—” She turned to stare at him. “You must be as wealthy as Croesus!”

  He grinned and tugged a lock of her hair. “Claire, I can see that you’re calculating what this will cost, and you’re on the verge of telling me how we can live in something smaller and save all that money.”

  “Well, heavens, yes! We don’t need something this grand!”

  “Claire, this is the house. Forget what it costs. I want my son to have a fine home.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this fine. Did you grow up in something like this?”
/>
  “No, but I grew up in a nice comfortable home, and I want Michael to have that kind of home.”

  “This is far more than nice and comfortable!”

  He laughed and hugged her neck affectionately. “I should have known. Claire, stop worrying. I can afford this—”

  “Even when you’re going into business?”

  “I think so.”

  “Why don’t we build something smaller until you see how your business goes?”

  “Claire, this is the house I want to build.”

  She sighed and turned to look at it, unable to imagine herself in it. “There’s just three of us. We’ll be lost,” she said more to herself than him. And then as her gaze ran over it wistfully, she wished she could plan on filling it with children.

  She glanced up at him as he turned to the next sheet that showed the downstairs floor plan. He bent over it, telling her about the rooms. “We’ll put the ballroom here, all right?”

  “Yes.” She studied him. She had told him she didn’t want the physical part of marriage, but maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe she should reconsider. Fortune could give her another baby.

  The thought made her pulse drum, and she didn’t hear a word he was saying. She looked at his strong, capable hands on the paper. The golden bracelet lay against his hand. Finally he straightened and studied her, amusement lighting his eyes. “Stop worrying about the cost.”

  She looked at his thickly lashed eyes, his sensual mouth. He touched the tip of her nose. “Promise me you’ll let me worry about the money.”

  She nodded, thankful he couldn’t guess what was really on her mind.

  Rolling the plans, he stood and reached down to take her hands, pulling her to her feet. He continued to hold her hands as he looked down at her. “You’re a good wife, Claire,” he said quietly, leaning down to kiss her. She slid her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. His arm went around her waist, pulling her close while he kissed her.

  He released her, gazing down at her with desire and speculation. “I better get back to work,” he said gruffly.

  That night she lay awake for hours, but he did not come into the bedroom and she knew he had stopped sharing the bed with her. When they moved into the big house, would she see him much at all? Suppose she asked him to father a child? The thought sent a rush of pleasure through her. Another precious baby like Michael. It would bind Fortune to her more than now. She thought about it, excitement coursing in her. If she had his lovemaking, the intimacy of a shared bed and nights together, would there be a greater chance of winning his love? She sat up, the sheet rustling around her legs as she moved. Longing and excitement filled her as she thought about what to do.