by Henke, Shirl
“Cousin Quint will make me a loan, I'm sure. Madelyne will see to it,” she couldn't resist adding.
“I rather imagine he does owe you, considering you were willing to wed Leicester to save him from the firing squad.” He felt her shudder in revulsion.
“I'll never wed a man I don't love.”
“Won't you, now?Ah, your ladyship, I guess that means I'll have to marry you to save you from spinsterhood.”
She squealed in joy and raised her lips to his for a deep, devouring kiss. Neither of them noticed or cared when Serena crawled from the gazebo and fled to her house.
* * * *
BlackthorneHill
Quint scanned the hurried note from Devon as Madelyne sat across from him at their dining room table. The courier had interrupted their evening meal with the news of McGilvey's demise. He had no more than begun when Madelyne snatched it from his hands and read it.
“I suppose I'd better ride for the city to act as intermediary with the authorities,” he said. “Things are pretty much in flux. With Dev being a King's Ranger and Barbara English, they just might find themselves at odds with the likes of Able Kitchner or Adam Mansell.” He put down his napkin and started to rise, but Madelyne placed her hand over his, staying him.
“I suspect the worst they have to fear now is that Serena Fallowfield will sneak into our city house and try to bludgeon them.”
“I'm sure we've seen the last of Serena. Dev says she's fled without a trace. Took her jewelry and left behind a fortune in unpaid bills. Every dressmaker, chandler, and cobbler in the city is ready to lynch her on sight. She had family in South Carolina. I'd wager they'll shortly find themselves saddled with a most unwelcome houseguest.”
“Then there's no immediate danger. The authorities haven't indicated to Dev that he and Barbara are in any trouble. Lord knows the rebels hated McGilvey just as much as the loyalists. Let's give them privacy tonight, Quint. Tomorrow is time enough to return to the city.”
“I suppose we could do that,” he said with a blinding smile. Then he shook his head in amazement. “Who'd ever have believed it—my wild Muskogee cousin with an English noblewoman.”
“She adores him, Quint. Above all, that was why I couldn't let her marry Weymouth to free you.”
‘I'd say Dev had a bit of vested interest in getting her out of that bargain as well. Needless to say I'm grateful to Barbara and Dev—and to you, Most of all to you, Madelyne.” He raised her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“I think we might find similar occupation to Dev and Barbara's tonight...if you're agreeable.”
He rose, shoving back his chair, and whisked her from hers in a rustling swish of petticoats. Madelyne wound her arms around his neck and kissed him as he carried her from the room, up the stairs to their waiting bed.
* * * *
Savannah
Dev sat on the bed and watched as Barbara brushed her hair, then started to plait the gleaming silver-gilt mass. “Please leave it free,” he said, rising and reaching out for the brush. She handed it to him and he ran it experimentally through the shiny curls. “You are so perfect, your ladyship,” he whispered as he set the brush down and turned her from the dressing table to face him. The look of love glowing from her eyes robbed him of breath.
She shook her head as she stood up and came into his embrace. “No, not your ladyship any longer. I'll soon be a Savannah merchant's wife, Mistress Blackthorne, a title I far prefer.”
He rained kisses on her throat, cheeks, and eyelids as he whispered, “You'll always be your ladyship to me, my darling.”
“I'll be Dawn Woman to the Muskogee, and plain Barbara to your mother. You must write and send for her, Dev. I so hope she likes me.”
“She'll adore you just as I do, never fear.” He continued kissing her, holding her like a piece of fine china. “I still can't believe...you're here with me...or”—he grinned ruefully—“that I'm here in Robert Blackthorne's house, taking his proper English niece to bed with me, in the master suite, no less.”
Barbara chuckled. “Robert's ghost won't haunt us or Quint and Madelyne any longer. And they'd want us to use this room and this bed,” she added, drawing him to it.
“Then by all means, let us make use of the facilities.” He reached for the drawstring of her gauzy nightgown and pulled it loose.
As he bared her shoulders, sliding the gown lower, she ran her fingers through the golden pelt of his chest hair and then reached for the buttons of his fly. He pulled the gown down, trailing soft, wet kisses over her breasts while she shoved his buckskin pants past his narrow hips. They both grew breathless as the excitement of the moment built, but this time the moment was different from all the others before it. The lovers knew they would be together for the rest of their lives. No more stolen, secret trysts, no more heartbreak.
Soon their garments lay at their ankles and they caressed each other's bare, warm flesh. Kicking away the last remnants of their clothing, Devon parted the mosquito netting on the bed and Barbara climbed up onto the big soft mattress and beckoned him to follow her.
“Come love me, Devon Blackthorne, love me well and long as you always have. But this time, I want you to give me your babe, the first of many, many children.”
“Your every wish is my command, your ladyship,” he replied. He covered her and thrust into the wet heat of her body as she clasped her arms and legs tightly about him. The first time they crested swiftly, their flesh so long denied this sweet surcease of union. Then they lay, not sated but resting, reveling in the warmth and wonder of holding each other quietly.
Soon the fires of passion rekindled and they began again to ascend the heights, but this time Dev moved slowly, gliding in long, languorous strokes, pausing whenever he felt them nearing the brink of release, until at last Barbara arched her body and imprisoned him with her long, silken legs.
“Greedy witch.” He murmured the endearment. Then they exploded over the brink once more.
Throughout the night they alternately slept like two spoons, then awakened to love yet again. Dawn came and went, and they slept at last, in exhausted, blissful oblivion.
Devon awakened first and saw the arc of the sun high in the sky. For a few moments, he simply sat up and watched Barbara sleep. Then she stirred and opened her eyes. Bright noontide light quickly caused her to squeeze them closed.
“We've slept to a shameful hour,” she said.
“You don't sound a whit disturbed,” he replied.
She rubbed her eyes and chuckled. “Back in London, I never arrived home before dawn nor rose for the day until mid-afternoon. I think we've spent the night a deal more enjoyably than ever I did then.”
“You're certain you'll never miss all the glitter of London society? Here I'll just be a merchant—not even a rich one for now. I can rebuild, but it'll take some time—and Quint's good offices. After all, as a loyalist I'll not be easily welcomed in the American business community—not to mention the matter of the feelings about my Muskogee blood.”
“You'll succeed—for yourself and for your mother's people,” she replied with blind devotion, dismissing all obstacles with an airy wave of her hand.
“Don't forget we've lost the war, your ladyship.”
She kissed him lightly. “Yes, but we've gained each other, and that's a victory above all others.”
They sealed their pledge of love with a kiss.
Epilogue
September, 1782, Blackthorne Hill
The words of the priest echoed across the warm air as he closed the graveside service with an eloquent benediction. The group gathered for the solemn occasion was small. Noble Witherspoon and Solomon Torres stood to one side flanking Polly Bloor, who shed a tear or two surreptitiously. Dev and Barbara, joyous with the news of their expected child, held hands and exchanged warm glances as Charity Blackthorne beamed on her son and new daughter-in-law, Dawn Woman.
Quint held James, who seemed to understand the gravity of the circumstances and was silen
t. Madelyne smiled wistfully. Even Gulliver, standing next to his mistress, was subdued, save for his thumping tail. The freshly dug grave was at the center of the Blackthorne family plot, beside Robert's final resting place. The newly carved headstone's inscription had been ordered by Quintin to honor in death the mother he had never known in life. It read:
Anne Caruthers Blackthorne
Beloved Wife of Robert
Beloved Mother of Quintin
b. April 18,1731d. November 15, 1753
“Now she can rest in peace, here beside her Robbie, where she always deserved to lie, not hidden in the brambles at the back of the family plot,” Madelyne said softly as she knelt and laid a bouquet of pink and purple asters on the grave.
Quint knelt beside her, holding their son between them, and replied, “She owes you a debt from beyond the grave for erasing the stain of dishonor from her name. I shall gladly pay it for her, for the rest of our lives.”
About the Author
SHIRL HENKE lives in St. Louis, where she enjoys gardening in her yard and greenhouse, cooking holiday dinners for her family and listening to jazz. In addition to helping brainstorm and research her books, her husband Jim is “lion tamer” for their two wild young tomcats, Pewter and Sooty, geniuses at pillage and destruction.
Shirl has been a RITA finalist twice, and has won three Career Achievement Awards, an Industry Award and three Reviewer’s Choice Awards from Romantic Times
“I wrote my first twenty-two novels in longhand with a ballpoint pen—it’s hard to get good quills these days,” she says. Dragged into the twenty-first century by her son Matt, a telecommunication specialist, Shirl now uses two of those “devil machines.” Another troglodyte bites the dust. Please visit her at www.shirlhenke.com.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
About the Author
