by Darry Fraser
Georgie was humbled by the simple generosity. ‘Thank you so very much. I am grateful, you’ve thought of everything. I haven’t known such kindness for—’ She had to stop talking, for her lip quivered.
May sat on Georgie’s bed. She had a face that seemed to smile all the time. She took Georgie’s hand. ‘There, there. You’re obviously feeling lowly, right now. All those dreadful ant bites can’t be doing you one bit of good, but it’s the fainting I was worried about.’ She looked at Georgie closely. ‘You’re not feeling poorly for any good reason, are you, dear?’
Georgie looked at her blankly. ‘I just hadn’t eaten … ’
‘That’s all right, dear, but if there is to be a baby, we’ll have to take extra special care,’ May said plainly as she rose from the bed.
Georgie’s mouth dropped open, but May didn’t see, she was busy pulling and tucking the bed covers. ‘No, no baby,’ Georgie said, stupefied. What on earth had he told this woman?
‘Now, I’ll be back in a couple of hours with some tea for you. I think your husband would like a word, dear, so I’ll send him in. He is very worried about you.’ She bustled out of the room.
My husband is very worried about me. Georgie absently scratched an ant bite on her arse. I should get out of bed and pull on one of the nun’s dresses, march out of here and hit my husband on the head with a big branch of a large tree.
It seemed like a ridiculous nightmare, and she couldn’t wake up. As she swung her legs out of bed, in he strode.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Dane made himself comfortable on the end of the bed.
A feathery shiver danced over Georgie’s spine. She tucked herself back under the covers, aware of her feet and ankles and a man in her room. But he hadn’t taken his eyes off her face.
‘I was going to dress. Mrs Rossmoyne has loaned me some clothes,’ she said, pointing.
He glanced at the clothes on the back of the door. ‘Far better than before.’
Georgie stared at the floor, away from his gaze. ‘Don’t let this farce get too out of hand. It’s embarrassing.’
‘Ah, but more so if you suddenly become a single lady. I suggest you behave like a married lady and you’ll find nothing embarrassing about the situation at all.’
‘You’re gleeful about this!’
‘Interested, not gleeful. I love exploring possibilities.’
He rested contentedly near her feet, watching her. The heat of his body warmed her through the bedclothes. She had to scratch another bite, and then another. ‘When will we leave here?’
‘When you are feeling better.’
‘I feel much better now.’ She didn’t look at him. His weight shifted imperceptibly, and she moved her feet further away.
‘I don’t think so. A day more won’t hurt.’
Her head came up. ‘I thought your business in Melbourne was urgent.’
‘It is, but I don’t want to be carrying a half-dead woman with me. I’d prefer she was in good health and spirits.’ He tapped the bites on her swollen hands gently.
‘Would you not leave me in Echuca? I—I have friends there.’
‘Of course you do. No, I don’t think so. Echuca will be a stop for the horses, I want to stable them until we return. We’ll take the train to Melbourne.’
‘I don’t want to go with you.’
‘I know. But there’s not a lot you can do about it. If you run again, I’ll simply track you down. You have to see the sense of it—it just doesn’t do to have a young woman roaming the countryside on her own. God only knows what scoundrels are out there.’ He looked at her from under raised brows.
Georgie huffed and moved further away from him. ‘I really don’t want company now.’ Her stomach was doing rebellious little leaps and her heart had suddenly decided to leap with it. What is the matter with me? I’m all a-squirm.
‘Well, you’ve got company. For all intents and purposes, I’m your husband. And I feel like having a little sleep.’
He began to take off his boots. Georgie stared at him and gathered the bedclothes around her as if they would protect her. He loosened the buttons at his waist, undid the couple at his throat and laid down beside her. He snatched a pillow from her bundle, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.
She sat rigid on the bed, unable to move. Surely he was only pretending to sleep and any minute he would leap over her and—and what? She didn’t know what he would do. Perhaps he would try to touch her breast or—or something else. What about that thing Josephine used to speak of?
Never.
She shook her head and glanced at him. It looked as if he was sleeping.
She began to edge off the bed, one eye on him, but she wasn’t quick enough. His hand snaked out to grab her wrist. Her hands tingled and her stomach fluttered.
‘Don’t,’ he said sleepily. ‘Just stay where you are. You should lie down, too.’ He tugged her back into the bed.
Arrogance. Effrontery. The gall. His grip on her wrist didn’t slacken for a minute and she began to despair of the blood reaching her fingers ever again. She tried to pull away but he held steadfast. In desperation, she wrenched her arm.
He leapt up and hovered over her. ‘Lay down,’ he ordered gruffly. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll lay quietly while I sleep. You are alone with me—again. I would find it very difficult indeed to remain a gentleman now, wife.’
The heat burning in her face travelled to her toes. He settled down to sleep again, the grip on her wrist now looser. The press of his fingers hummed on her flesh.
She stared at the ceiling, trying to relax. Truly amazing how all those pieces of wood joined together. They must have been specially made. Then she turned her head ever so slowly to gaze at him.
His face in repose was a handsome one and her belly fluttered. A fine face, beautiful in that strange masculine way not unlike some Greek gods whose pictures she’d seen when at school in England all those years ago. A strong shadow of blue-black beard stubble coated his cheeks, chin and jaw, yet his eyebrows were fine and dark, not overly thick. She wondered what it would feel like to smooth a finger across them, or perhaps along the edge of his jaw. Would it scratch and send tingles to her toes?
His eyelashes were long and dark … there was a small bump and bend in what would have been an otherwise regal nose—when he wasn’t yelling, which was when the nostrils flared and went white. And his mouth …
Her own opened a little.
His bottom lip was fuller than his top, and she wanted to feel those against her skin as well …
Her face grew hot.
The blue-black shadow crept down over his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. She froze. A moment or two after, when no more movement occurred, she continued her scrutiny.
Georgie inclined her head just a little to peer under the opening of his shirt. His skin there was paler than that exposed at his collar. The hair on his chest was black and wiry, and there was plenty of it. As his torso rose and fell, a delicious peculiar feeling in her stomach darted pleasure to the juncture of her thighs.
Those feelings—Josephine had called them her lusts. I am having lusts, and have no idea what to do with them.
Georgie still stared at him. Absently, she scratched an ant bite and then all the itches in the world begin to crawl over her flesh. With one hand in his grip, she fidgeted, trying to reach more of the bites, until she saw his deep blue eyes on her. She yelped and decided to remain still.
Finally, she dozed, and when she woke, found herself eye to eye with him once more, though his were closed. She’d rolled onto her side, facing him, and had settled into the hollow his weight created between them. She would have had to touch him to move away, she would have to lay her hand on his chest, which would be warm and hard and … So she lay there, quietly, hoping he would move instead.
He smelled of leather and soap and musky man. Up so very close, she could see every pore through which the rough stubble of beard poked. Sh
e could count the dark freckles high on his cheeks, and trace the contours of his crooked nose. Long eyelashes formed the perfect curve across his eyelid. And again, her gaze lingered on his mouth—
She was staring at his mouth when it moved.
‘Close enough, do you think? You sorely test my good manners, Georgina.’
She jerked back.
Awake now, he said, ‘It wasn’t enough you had to fidget for an hour—now you’ve taken to ogling me from two inches away. It makes a person very … uncomfortable.’ He propped himself up on one elbow.
His gaze on her deepened her blush. With his free hand he reached out and touched her face, so gently she almost didn’t believe it had happened.
His hand slid behind her neck and pulled her closer to him. Awkward, unsure and shaky, she stared again at his mouth. Then with both hands he drew her to him, and her heart stood still.
He kissed her chin and her nose, her cheeks, her throat. The unexpected, exquisite touch left each place tingly and hot. Dane pressed his mouth along her neck, his lips slid into the soft, velvety hollow at the base of her throat. He groaned quietly and slipped an arm behind her, drawing her body closer.
Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
He pressed his lips to her forehead and broke away. A long sigh escaped him as if he struggled with something. Georgie laid a hand on his chest to balance herself and he covered it with one of his own. He murmured something and turned his face away from her. He had not kissed her mouth and every part of her cried out for his lips on hers.
‘What is it?’ she whispered into his neck.
He groaned. ‘I will not do it.’
She barely heard him. ‘What did you say?’
He turned back to her, his features pained. ‘For the love of God—’ he grated, ‘—for the foreseeable future I am responsible for your well-being.’ He pushed her hand away and sat up abruptly. ‘It is not seemly to be—’ He stopped himself, wiped a hand over his mouth. ‘Get up, and get ready to leave. I will tell the Rossmoynes we cannot delay any further.’
‘But—’
He pushed off the bed, buttoned his pants, cursing and shoving at his clothes as he did, and pulled on his boots. He strode to the door, yanked it open and was gone.
Georgie sat for a moment, the strangest feeling of disappointment paralysing her.
The door flew open and he marched back in to the room.
‘Hurry.’ He grabbed a dress for her from behind the door—certainly not the one she would have chosen—and threw it on the bed. ‘Fifteen minutes.’ And out he marched again.
What is the matter with him? He was back to the boor she knew him to be. She harrumphed as she left the bed, chose another of the dresses and struggled into it. She dragged fingers through her hair to arrange it into some order and managed a reasonable plait. She pushed her feet carefully into her boots, laced them, and paced the room, desperately trying to button the dress properly behind her, muttering under her breath. Ready to wrench the dress apart, she started at a soft tap at the door.
‘Come in.’
May Rossmoyne entered and Georgie nearly burst into tears.
May took one look at Georgie’s face and gave her a quick hug, then turned her around, deftly threaded each button through its hole then neatened the collar. She turned Georgie around again and took her by the shoulders. ‘There, there now.’ She raised her eyebrows sympathetically. ‘Men are truly funny creatures at times, and they seem to think they know best. However, I must be sure you are fit to ride, dear. I have informed your husband if you are not, you are to stay with me.’
Georgie hesitated. If she could stay here, she could get word to Conor Foley. He could come and rescue me and—No. May Rossmoyne has been told I am Dane’s wife. I would not be able to call for a man other than my ‘husband’.
She could, she supposed, run away again.
But Dane left no option. He stood in the doorway. ‘You see, Mrs Rossmoyne, she’s as good as she says she is. You are ready, aren’t you, my dear? Believe me, if she were not well, I would not be taking her with me.’
Georgie glared at him then turned to Mrs Rossmoyne. ‘Thank you so much for your kindness. And for the dresses. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll have them sent back to you.’ Georgie smiled and retrieved her bag from under the bed. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Rossmoyne.’
‘Goodbye, dear.’ May kissed her cheek. ‘I’m sorry Charlie wasn’t back in time to meet you.’
Dane held out his hand for Georgie’s but she pushed past him. She could feel his frown, but wasn’t worrying about his reaction. She hoped he had at least offered Mrs Rossmoyne some sort of payment.
She stood on the wide veranda in front of where the horses were tied, and tilted her head up to meet the sun. It was quite lovely here with the vine along the trellis swaying gently in the breeze. She was reminded of something long ago, but the memory drifted past her.
Mrs Rossmoyne followed Georgie out, and stood alongside her.
Dane untied the horses. ‘I wish we’d been able to stay longer, but as Georgina is well rested, I think it best to continue.’ He held out his hand for Georgie, but this time she dared not take it.
Georgie shot a look at Dane, who merely raised a shoulder. Then he gave her a leg-up into her seat.
Dane turned to May. ‘Thank you once again, Mrs Rossmoyne, and I do assure you I will look after my wife.’ He mounted and turned MacNamara’s head for the road.
Georgie waved at May. She followed Dane out the gate, feeling very peculiar.
Ten
Dane pushed on to Echuca.
He cursed himself silently all the way for being a fool over this girl, allowing her to slot under his skin and niggle at his heartstrings. The harder he fought it, the greater his interest grew, and the greater his desire became. He believed without a shadow of a doubt she was virginal and unexposed to rough life, in spite of her sometimes surprising language.
He hadn’t been able to shake the acute desire he’d experienced at the Rossmoynes’ homestead. He cursed, then praised himself many times over for denying himself. He’d never experienced such an overwhelming hunger for a woman before in his life. The episode at the river bank had whet his appetite, and at the Rossmoynes’ she was there for the taking. Yet still he held back. He was a fool and a gentleman simultaneously, but could not promise he would be the gentleman at any time in the future should the opportunity present itself again.
He shook his head. She clouded his thinking—she was a hot-blooded woman waiting for a man to show her the real world. He wanted whole-heartedly to be that man. He wanted no other man to have her, not if he could help it. The thought of marriage entered his head—
What?
Rebecca had hinted at marriage over the years and the thought of it left him cold. Yet here was a snippet of a girl—hardly a snippet, a full woman—he’d known not a week, the cause of a great deal of trouble for his family, and he was thinking of marrying her?
He’d spent too much time in the goddamn sun.
Reuben would laugh himself silly. Dane MacHenry, so enamoured of a young girl he had to marry her before he could get into her bed.
He glanced over his shoulder at Georgina. Her determined face made his heart thud and he turned back to the road ahead. Echuca dotted the horizon along the sweeping plain.
He could approach her in two ways. One, he could take her and offer marriage later, or two, he could court her.
Court her—she’d most probably laugh at him. He’d transgressed against her person in the house garden, pushed and shoved her, threatened her verbally and given her a dunking in the river—treated her at best as a tomboy used to roughhousing. What hope did he have of courting her?
What? Throwing in the towel, MacHenry? Work harder, man.
What if she didn’t want to be married to him regardless of the pressure he’d place on her? And would he want to pressure her? No, no. He wanted her to want him. She’d come around, he thoug
ht. He’d work harder.
And the family. His parents would have to be told. Then she would be his responsibility, not theirs. And her damnable stepfather would have no hand on him.
He shook his head. Irrational thoughts. If only he could have just had her that afternoon and got it out of his system—that’s all that was wrong with him, a sudden itch that hadn’t been scratched.
Echuca, the river port town, was bustling as usual, the dock alive with gliding riverboats, the cranes busy unloading freight. Dane noticed Georgie’s straining in the saddle to catch a glimpse of the boats, but thought nothing of it, and rode on into the town centre.
He slowed MacNamara and Georgie followed suit on Douglas. They tied up at the post office. He glanced at her. ‘I must send a telegram to Sydney. Then I’ll find a place for us to stay for the night and we’ll leave for Melbourne tomorrow morning.’
‘You’ll undoubtedly look for two rooms.’
He smiled. ‘Undoubtedly.’ He left her to wait with the horses and went inside to advise Reuben of his protracted stay away.
He waited as the telegram was tapped out, and handed over the fee.
The postmaster’s assistant, a little fellow, slowly scoured the parcels at the back of his counter. ‘MacHenry, MacHenry, MacHenry. You’re not the Swan Hill MacHenrys, are you? I think there’s a parcel here for you.’
Dane shook his head. ‘We are from out of Swan Hill, but I wouldn’t think it’d be ours, coming here to Echuca.’
‘Sometimes parcels are sent to us to be picked up by the Swan Hill MacHenrys,’ the clerk insisted. He looked back at Dane. ‘Yes, yes, for another Mr MacHenry. A Mr Tom. Are you a relative?’
Dane frowned. ‘His son.’ Why on earth would his father’s mail come here?
‘Perhaps you’d like to take your father’s as well, then. He always picks up parcels for this lady.’
