by Nan Ryan
That was what he needed.
That was all he needed.
One beautiful woman was like another. He’d learned years ago that they were all the same. There was virtually no difference in any of them.
Including Mary Preble.
It wasn’t Mary he wanted, it was a woman. Any woman. As long as she was beautiful. A night in the arms of a beautiful woman and this nagging tension would leave him.
When he reached the imposing three-story structure on the southern outskirts of the city, Captain Knight dismounted and tossed the reins to a waiting groom. He glanced about curiously. Fine carriages were parked around the lighted establishment, most with liveried drivers waiting patiently beside them. The house was doing a brisk business on this rainy August night.
Captain Knight climbed the red-brick mansion’s stone steps, lifted the brass door knocker, rapped it a couple of times, then waited. He brushed raindrops from the shoulders of his white uniform blouse, withdrew a handkerchief from an inside pocket, and blotted the moisture from his dark face.
A smiling, red-jacketed butler opened the heavy oak front door. The Captain went inside and was directed to a spacious, richly carpeted parlor. The elegant room was filled with a mixture of uniformed officers and expensively dressed civilians and gorgeous, lushly gowned women.
White-jacketed waiters passed through the crowd, serving stemmed glasses of chilled champagne. And in the far corner of the room, a smiling black man in evening clothes played a mellow love song on a square rosewood piano.
Captain Knight stood in the arched doorway, looking around leisurely, when an elegantly gowned, plump middle-aged woman stepped up beside him and took his arm. She greeted him warmly and scolded him teasingly for waiting so long to pay a call.
“Where have you been, Captain Knight?” she asked.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said politely.
“Belle. Belle Leyland, Captain Knight,” the buxom madam introduced herself, her fleshy cheeks dimpling. “My girls have seen you in town and they’re most eager to entertain you.”
He smiled and, spotting an extremely tall, incredibly glamorous redhead in a shimmering silver evening gown standing beside the massive piano, said decisively, “That one.” He inclined his dark head. “The lady in silver.”
The dimpling madam told him titteringly, “You’ve made a good choice, Captain. Her name’s Lita, and she’s only been with me a few weeks. Came here from New Orleans and she—”
“I’ll want her for the entire night,” he interrupted the madam’s monologue. “And I want her now.”
“Ah, our handsome Captain is most eager. Lita will be delighted.” The madam motioned to the leggy Lita, and the large, luscious redhead crossed the crowded room. She wore nothing beneath the shimmering silver gown, and as she walked unhurriedly toward him, her unfettered breasts bounced appealingly and the shiny silver fabric pulled across her stomach and hips.
The statuesque Lita reached them, laid a red-nailed hand on the Captain’s damp uniform blouse, and smiled at him seductively. At six feet she was almost as tall as he, and her body was as white and as soft as his was dark and hard. Her flaming red hair framed a beautiful face with large green eyes and a wide, red mouth.
Surely this exotic Amazon could make him forget the slender, pale-haired mistress of Longwood.
“Forgive my appearance, Lita,” he said, sliding a long arm around her waist. “I was caught in the rain.”
Her emerald eyes aglow, she said, “Why, you look good enough to eat, mon Capitaine.”
He laughed, and the leggy Lita took his arm and ushered him up the carpeted stairs. The pair had started down the long upstairs corridor when a tall, richly dressed gentleman with mussed blond hair and bleary eyes exited one of the many bedrooms.
The blond man looked up, and his gaze clashed with the Captain’s.
“Knight,” he said, stepping in front of them, “Clay Knight!”
Nodding almost imperceptibly, Captain Knight responded coolly, “Hello, Lawton.”
Half drunk, Daniel Lawton gave the red-haired Lita an apologetic smile and said to the Captain, “Can I have a word with you, Knight?”
Captain Knight’s hand possessive on the redhead’s bare arm, he said, “Anytime, Lawton. Naval headquarters are open daily. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
“No, wait,” said Daniel Lawton, a degree of urgency in his voice. “Give me five minutes. Please, it’s important. There’s something I want to get off my chest.”
The redhead squeezed the Captain’s muscular arm, indicated a closed door, and said, “I’ll be waiting for you, Captain. Hurry.”
Captain Knight watched her walk away. He was irritated and anxious to be rid of Daniel Lawton. But he reluctantly allowed the half-drunk man to guide him down the long hall and outside onto a small balcony. When they stepped out into the rain, the Captain’s irritation grew.
“What’s on your mind, Lawton?” he asked impatiently.
“Mary Ellen,” said Daniel.
The expression on Captain Knight’s face changed quickly. The rain and the redhead forgotten, he listened attentively while the slightly inebriated Daniel Lawton confessed what had really happened all those years ago.
Speaking rapidly, as if more than anxious to tell it, Daniel began, “One afternoon in the late spring of forty-eight, John Thomas Preble asked me to come down to the Cotton Company for a talk. I had no idea what was on his mind until I got there.” Daniel inhaled heavily, shook his blond head, and continued. “He shut his office door and said, ‘Daniel, my boy, how would you like to marry my beautiful daughter, Mary Ellen?’ Now I admit that I had always wanted Mary Ellen, but I knew it was out of the question because she loved you. John Thomas said you weren’t good enough for his daughter, that he was going to get you out of the way, and then Mary Ellen would fall right into my arms.”
Daniel Lawton stood there in the gently falling rain, telling how John Thomas Preble had so cunningly, cleverly planned everything down to the last detail and had successfully manipulated all of them.
“As soon as Preble sent you off to Baltimore for those academy entrance interviews, he told Mary Ellen you had jilted her. Said you didn’t want her, didn’t love her and never had. Said you’d used her to get what you really wanted—an appointment to Annapolis.”
His dark face impassive, Clay listened as Daniel Lawton continued, relating how the badly hurt, grieving Mary Ellen had been sent to Europe and then coerced into marriage. Daniel talked and talked, explaining everything, leaving out nothing.
He told Captain Clay Knight that Mary Ellen’s father had lied to her, just as he had to Clay. He swore that she was totally innocent and ignorant of all the wrongdoing.
The rain and the gravity of his confession sobering him, Daniel Lawton related the whole sordid story to the tall, dark man whose sweetheart he had stolen. He admitted to being a willing party to John Thomas Preble’s ruse and said that the heartbroken Mary Ellen had never loved him, that their marriage had been a charade from the very beginning.
Finally convinced Lawton was telling the truth, Captain Knight said, “Why? Why are you telling me this now?”
Daniel Lawton said sadly, truthfully, “I’m not much of a man, Knight. I’ve never worked a day in my life. I’m aimless and lazy. I’m a lousy husband and an indifferent father. I’m a drunk and a womanizer. And a coward as well. Bought my way out of serving in the war.” He sighed wearily then and admitted candidly, “I’d like to do one thing in my life that I can feel good about.”
Captain Knight left the brothel immediately.
He rode even faster going back to Longwood than when he’d left. Laughing in the rain, his heart pounding with excitement, he raced happily home to Mary.
Once there he climbed the stairs anxiously, taking them two at a time, and went straight to Mary’s door. He lifted a dark hand, then lowered it without knocking.
Tempted as he was, he knew he would have to wait. If he asked he
r to let him in, she’d suppose he wanted only to make love to her. He stood outside her door for long, agonizing time. And finally turned and walked away.
Inside, Mary Ellen had heard his approach. She had sensed he was standing outside her door. Wondering what kept him from knocking, wishing he had, glad he hadn’t, she sagged to her knees and leaned her cheek against the door.
He crossed the hall to the master suite, closing the door quietly behind him. He shrugged out of his damp uniform jacket and lighted a cigar. In the shadowy sitting room he smoked and paced restlessly. As he walked back and forth, back and forth, doubts and worry set in to take the edge off his exhilaration.
The newly learned truth, as sweet as it was to know, changed little. Too much time had passed. Too much had happened.
Who was he to suppose that Mary might still care for him? She didn’t. She had told him as much many times. And even if that were not completely true, if she had cared just a little, he had managed to kill any lasting love she’d had for him.
He closed his eyes in pain, recalling how he had treated Mary since occupying Longwood. He had been cruel and mean and had shown her no respect. He had coldly seduced her and then used her as though she were one of the women down at Antole’s.
Ashamed, heartsick, he came to the sad conclusion that it would do no good to tell Mary the truth about what had happened when they were children in love.
It was too late.
Much too late.
36
AT NOON THE NEXT day Mary Ellen was at the Shelby County Hospital, giving a wounded Confederate soldier a bed bath, when another volunteer came into the ward, hunting for her.
Mary Ellen apologized to her patient, stuck her head around the white privacy screen, and said, “Right here. What is it, Amanda?”
“There’s a gentleman downstairs saying he must speak to you at once,” the young woman said. Mary Ellen’s heartbeat quickened instantly. “I’ll take over here,” Amanda Clark told her. “You go down, Mary Ellen. Go on.”
“Thanks.” Mary Ellen turned back, patted the patient’s shoulder, smiled at him, and said, “Amanda will take good care of you.”
Mary Ellen hastily washed her hands and took off her soiled white apron. She smoothed her hair, anxiously tucking loosened strands under the neatly plaited braid wound around the crown of her head. She eagerly fled the stifling hot ward and hurried down the stairs, automatically looking about for Captain Knight.
Daniel Lawton stepped forward.
Mary Ellen was both surprised and disappointed. Daniel took her arm and said, “Mary Ellen, I must talk with you.”
“Daniel, I’m very busy and—”
“Please,” he said, and guided her out the front door and down the steps.
“What’s this all about?” she asked, annoyed.
Pleading with her to keep quiet and listen to what he’d come to say, Daniel told her.
Everything.
Speechless, Mary Ellen stared at the man who had once been her husband as he stood there in August sunshine and confessed to a terrible deception. He told Mary Ellen, just as he had told Clay, exactly what had happened. Stunned, Mary Ellen listened in silence, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
“Your father told you Knight didn’t love you, that he’d heartlessly used you to get an appointment to the Naval Academy. At the same time he told Knight that you were foolish and fickle and fell into my arms the minute he was gone.”
“No. No,” Mary Ellen murmured, shaking her head as if to clear it.
“Knight was as heartbroken as you were, Mary Ellen.”
“But if that were true, then…why…why didn’t he at least try to get in touch with me and—”
“He did. He wrote letters just as you did, but all were intercepted and destroyed.”
“You mean Clay never received any of my—”
“No. Not a one.”
“Dear God!” Mary Ellen exclaimed. “Clay thought that I…all this time he…he…” She swallowed hard, then asked, “Why? Why would Papa do such a horrible thing?”
“He wanted the best for you, Mary Ellen. He thought Knight was beneath you, that you deserved better.” He smiled then, sheepishly, sadly. “So he called on me.” Daniel shrugged and hung his head.
“Why did you agree?” she asked, half dazed by what he had told her.
Daniel raised his blond head. “Because I wanted you so badly I didn’t care how I got you so long as you were mine.” He exhaled heavily, then said, “But you were never mine, you were always Clay Knight’s.
“Yes,” she said wistfully, “I was.”
“I’m sorry, Mary Ellen. You may not believe me, but it’s the truth. I told Knight about this yesterday, but then I got to worrying. I was afraid he might not say anything to you. He might think it was too late. He might leave again with you never knowing. So I came here to tell you myself.”
Mary Ellen nodded, the realization of what this could mean beginning to fully dawn on her. Daniel continued to talk, to explain and clarify anything that might still be a mystery, to tell her he was sure Clay had suffered as much as she had. When he was finished, Mary Ellen was smiling, hope causing her heart to beat erratically.
She impetuously threw her arms around the astonished Daniel Lawton’s neck and hugged him. “Oh, Daniel, thank you, thank you so much!”
“You mean you don’t hate me?”
“Hate you? I don’t hate anyone,” Mary Ellen said happily. “I love everyone alive!”
Mary Ellen ran all the way home. Out of breath, a stitch in her left side, she hurried up the mansion’s front steps, shouting Clay’s name. She ran through the big house calling to him, startling old Titus from his noontime nap.
He grinned and pointed. “The Cap’n is down at the stable with his—”
Mary Ellen was out the back door before Titus could finish his sentence. Skirts lifted, she sprinted across the terraced north lawn as the sun reached its zenith. She flew past the old sundial and the white summerhouse. Breathing so hard her lungs burned, she raced around the silent carriage house. The long run had jarred loose her neatly plaited hair; it had fallen down, and the long braid was bouncing off her back.
Holding her aching side, her heart pounding in her ears, the badly winded Mary Ellen finally stepped into the open door of the small, shadowy barn. Shirtless, his back to her, Clay was currying his black stallion.
Swallowing with difficulty, her hand on her racing heart, Mary Ellen softly spoke his name. “Clay.”
The currying brush poised in his hand, he turned around slowly and saw the look in her eyes. His dark face brightened, and he broke into a wide grin.
“You know,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question.
“Everything!” she assured him. “Daniel told me.”
Mary Ellen pulled the door shut as Clay dropped the brush and opened his arms wide in invitation. She ran to him eagerly, and then they were in each other’s arms, saying “I love you, I love you!” between anxious kisses.
Passions flared immediately.
“Clay, darling,” Mary Ellen said breathlessly, “let’s go up to the house—”
“It’s too far, sweetheart,” he murmured against her throat.
They couldn’t wait. Kissing hotly and whispering endearments, they sagged to their knees on the straw-strewn floor. Kneeling there in bands of bright August sunlight slicing through the stable’s weathered plank walls, they anxiously undressed each other.
When they were naked Clay sank back on his bare heels, spread his knees, and reached for Mary Ellen. She came to him breathlessly, climbing astride his hard thighs. Both watched and sighed as she clutched his wide shoulders and impaled herself upon him. His hands gripping her flared hips, Clay bent his dark head and kissed her bare breasts while he plunged into her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, Mary Ellen gasped with pleasure, her head thrown back, a smile of pure joy on her fevered face.
The pair made hurried, heat
ed love there on the straw-covered floor while Clay’s indignant black stallion danced about nervously, whinnying, snorting, and tossing its great head.
The lovers ignored him.
They climaxed quickly, and afterward Clay rose to his knees, bringing Mary Ellen with him. A strong supporting hand beneath her buttocks, his body still a part of hers, he put out a stiffened arm and lowered her gently to the straw, following her down.
For a long moment he lay silently atop her while she sighed and stretched in sweet contentment, her eyes closed, her arms draped around his neck, a hand idly stroking the silky black hair at the back of his head.
Finally Clay kissed her ear and said, “Marry me, Mary Preble.”
Mary Ellen’s dreamy dark eyes opened. Her arms fell heavily to her sides as she smiled and said, “I’ll marry you, Clay Knight. When?”
“Today.”
“Yes!” she said excitedly. “Let’s get dressed and—”
“Wait, sweetheart,” he said, and Mary Ellen felt him stir inside her.
Clay rose up over her, a wicked smile on his full lips. Surprised but pleased, Mary Ellen lay there smiling up at him while he swelled and surged inside her. He began to move his pelvis seekingly and sliding strongly into her. Wholly erect again, he penetrated to his full length, and Mary Ellen sighed and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, her long legs around his back.
This time they made love more leisurely, but just as lustily, as if each had been long starved for the other and must feast yet again. They looked into each other’s eyes as they moved together sensuously, their souls as well as their bodies mating.
Now of the same mind, heart, and body, the deeply-in-love pair communicated perfectly without speaking. Silently they agreed to prolong the pleasure. To extend the ecstasy. To delay the delivery.
It was sweet, sweet agony.
Incredibly exciting to maintain their heated level of passion without ending it in swift orgasm. Mary Ellen bit the inside of her lip in an effort to keep from climaxing and heard his gentle words of praise wash over her.
“Yes, baby, that’s good. So good. Hold back for just a while longer. Keep loving me, sweetheart.”
