“All right then.” He scowled and advanced toward her, stabbing the air with his index finger. “I am incapable of the emotions you want from me, Lettie. The years have bled me dry of anything but disappointment.” His head dropped and he seemed to suddenly become aware of the fact that she was advancing toward him. “Lettie, what the hell are you doing?”
“Even if I believed you, I have love enough for both of us, Ethan McGuire.” She was within mere feet of him now, and she closed the distance. “But I happen to know you’re lying. The years may have bruised you a little, but a gentle, loving man still exists within you,” she murmured, lifting her hands to the spot low on his chest where the placket of his shirt gaped open.
“Lettie—”
Her fingers began to nimbly unbutton his shirt.
“Did I ever tell you that I used to dream of a man like you, long before you came?”
“The Highwayman,” he breathed, revealing that he’d read the fantasies recorded in her notebook.
“The Highwayman,” she confirmed.
“Lettie—”
As her fingers uncovered a swath of flesh down his chest, he tried to fasten the buttons behind her.
“I think you’ll admit that my dreams were rather detailed… and just a little risqué,” she whispered, glancing up at him. When her lips tilted in a mischievous smile, he seemed to forget the fact that he’d been trying to button his shirt.
Savoring each second as if it were a delicate wine, she unfastened the last button, looked up to gauge Ethan’s expression, then lay her hands flat against the flesh of his chest.
Ethan took a shuddering breath.
“Dammit, Lettie, this isn’t a good—”
“This is a fine idea, a wonderful idea,” she interrupted smoothly, her thumbs extending to rub against the soft brown patches of his nipples. His skin was warm and firm beneath her palms.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered in surrender, before reaching out to cup his hand behind her neck and drawing her toward him for his kiss.
Their lips met in hungry anticipation, made all the more sweet by the fact that it had seemed so long—too long—since they had held each other this way and touched, embraced. Hungrily stepping closer, Lettie’s hands slipped around Ethan’s neck to hold him tightly against her, until the combined heat of their flesh seemed to meld together in a tantalizing manner.
He broke away once, his lips eagerly tracing her chin, her eyes, her ears, moving across the delicate contours of her face in scattered abandon.
“Damn you, Lettie, why can’t you leave well enough alone?” he whispered, more to himself than to her, his voice thick with his own desire.
“Because I can’t bear to see you aching.”
He drew away, ever so slightly, and clasped his hands around her hips, pulling her against him in such a way that she could not deny the evidence of his arousal. “I’m aching now.”
She shuddered beneath the stark passion she saw in his eyes. “Ethan.” Her hands curled around the gaping placket of his shirt in support when her knees threatened to give way. “I want you to love me.”
“Nothing has changed, Lettie. I can’t give you anything more than this,” he muttered, before pulling her tightly against him, taking her weight and lifting her so that his lips could hungrily take her own.
Her arms wound around his back, feeling the power of his shoulders and the strength of his arms. She felt no fears being so close to him, no inhibitions. It was as if the two of them had been fashioned for each other—two halves to a whole. She knew his thoughts, his desires, as if they were her own, and she knew just how to please him with soft caresses of her hands and hungry kisses. The effect of his passion was heady, the depth of his desire exhilarating, because he wanted her—her! Not some black-haired, dark-eyed temptress with natural curl in her hair and a wanton swing to her hips. Ethan wanted her! Plain, ordinary, brown-haired, brown-eyed Lettie Grey.
Gasping slightly, Lettie broke away. Ethan regarded her in confusion, obviously taken aback by her sudden retreat, until he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes.
“What are you up to?”
“Not a thing,” she retorted, but her hands were lifting to the back of her head to remove the pins still holding the coils in a tight knot against her nape. With utter disregard to their value, she flung the hairpins into the grass, backing away.
Ethan obligingly followed, his eyes burning with his own desire.
“You are a sinful, wanton creature, Lettie Grey.”
“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Tunneling her fingers through her hair, she pulled it free, then shook her head so that her hair rippled down her back in a wealth of braid-crimped waves.
“Your mother would be shocked and appalled if she knew.”
“Mmm. No doubt.”
“Your brother would lock you away.”
“No doubt at all.” She offered him a smile rich with her own delight and desire. “But if you can catch me, I’ll give you a kiss.”
When he dodged toward her, she issued a muffled shriek and grasped her skirts, running down the creek bank. Within seconds it became apparent that Ethan could catch her any time he wished and she was only delaying something they both wanted to happen.
Giggling and breathing hard, she jumped onto the trunk of a fallen tree that stretched over the water and dammed the flow, creating a shady pool. When Ethan jumped up behind her, she backed away, still laughing and trying to catch her breath.
“You are an evil, evil man, Ethan McGuire,” she murmured, giggling. Her hands dropped to her bodice and she began to unfasten the hooks at her neck, shoulders, and sides. “Compromising a young, innocent girl.”
Ethan stopped, regarding her with a scaldingly thorough look when she stripped the garment from her shoulders and threw it onto the bank. She could almost feel the touch of his gaze as it slipped from her shoulders to the tatting of her camisole, to the firm mounds of her breasts. “You’re the one taking your clothes off,” he retorted, lifting his eyes, but his voice was slightly husky.
She only smiled. “I am, aren’t I?”
Though she knew he tried not to look again, Ethan’s eyes dipped to trace the soft skin of her shoulders. Once more, he studied the handmade lace edging her camisole, the thrusting mounds of her breasts, the tight shape of her torso, and the small span of her waist within the sturdy black corset she wore.
When his gaze lifted once again to the swells of her breasts, Lettie could barely manage to breathe as she felt them tighten beneath his gaze, thrusting wantonly against the worn fabric of her camisole.
“I’ve told you before that I’m not a girl, Ethan McGuire. I’m a woman.”
He didn’t speak; he merely moved toward her and pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest and covering her mouth with his own. Willingly surrendering to his embrace, her own arms wound about his chest and she lifted herself on tiptoe, nudging her hips against his.
Ethan gasped, wavered.
Too late, they both realized they were balanced upon the slippery bark of the tree. Flailing for something to hold on to, Lettie felt her feet slip and grasped Ethan around the neck, then squealed as they both tumbled sideways into the water.
They emerged, sputtering and laughing, the cool delicious water lapping against their waists as they scrambled to their feet, holding each other for support. Then, without warning, a stillness settled around them when Ethan glanced down at the wet fabric plastered against the curves of Lettie’s breasts.
“Lettie,” he moaned, his hands rubbing up and down her arms.
“Don’t leave me aching this way, Ethan.”
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. “You’re making this very difficult.”
“I’m trying to make things easy. Love me.”
His hands curled around her arms and he finally opened his eyes, but he did not meet her gaze. Instead, he stared over her head, an expression crossing his face that warned her he was seeing things better left in the past.
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“I wish things could be different, Lettie,” he stated slowly.
“I know.”
His broad hands cupped her shoulders and his thumbs moved in a slow, sweeping motion across the delicate ridges of her collarbone.
“You’re some kind of woman, Lettie.”
Her lips tilted in a sweet smile. Woman.
“I wish I deserved you.”
“You do.”
“I can’t be what you want me to be, Lettie.”
“You are what I want you to be, Ethan. You’re noble, and strong, and brave. And you’re real.”
He shuddered slightly, then drew her tightly against him and murmured against her nape, “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this.”
“I’m glad.”
He drew back, and one hand lifted to push the wet hair away from her cheek. “I wish I could give you more.”
Very tenderly, she took his hand and laid it upon her breast, then drew close to his body so that she could rest her head upon his chest. “Then give me all you can… and let tomorrow take care of itself.”
He shuddered against her.
“Love me, Ethan McGuire.”
He drew away, then stepped out of her embrace. She shivered in disappointment, thinking she’d said too much, her arms wrapping around her waist and bereft of his warmth.
At the edge of the bank, he stopped.
“Think about it, Lettie.” He turned to pierce her with a dark azure stare. “Think about the consequences and think about the price. Then, if you ask me again … I won’t say no.”
From the trees several yards away, the soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves whispered a warning that was never heard. Ned set the heavy sample cases of buttons and lace on the ground and leaned against a tree for a moment to catch his breath. It seemed the valises grew heavier and heavier each day. He’d cool off for a moment at the creek.
Glancing up, Ned felt his heart pound deep within him when he saw the couple a few yards away. Drawing back into the shadows, he watched, barely breathing as Lettie’s arms slipped around the man’s waist. The dark male head was bent, but Ned had no doubts about the man’s identity.
Ethan.
Ned’s fingers curled into the rough bark of the tree, and he fought against the rush of anger and jealousy. Once again, his brother had bested him. Ethan had told Ned he was leaving the country, but he’d apparently stayed to woo Lettie Grey.
A slow burning pain began to eat at his heart. “No,” Ned whispered softly to himself, something crumbling deep inside. “No…”
Chapter 17
In order to avoid as much suspicion as possible, “Mrs. Magillicuddy” dressed in her afternoon finery and crept up the back stairs once Lettie had ascertained that no one was using the kitchen. After what Lettie thought would be a safe interval, she also ducked through the back door and headed toward the stairs. However, she’d only taken a few steps before she looked up to find her mother on her way down.
Celeste’s gaze lifted disapprovingly from the muddy toes that peeked beneath Lettie’s skirts to the sodden skirts and then the shoes and stockings Lettie held in her hand. “May I ask where you have been?”
“I went wading.”
Her mother eyed her soaking skirt and dry bodice but merely shook her head and muttered, “Saints preserve us,” before she edged around Lettie’s sodden form and bustled into the kitchen. “Ten minutes,” she called behind her. “Then I’ll need you to help with supper.”
“Yes, Mama.”
More calmly, Lettie climbed the rest of the stairs. Once at the top, she nearly bumped head-on into Natalie Gruber.
Natalie eyed the condition of Lettie’s clothing in the same manner a schoolmarm might eye a disruptive student. “Wading?” she asked, the tone of her voice expressing her doubts about Lettie’s choice of activities.
“Mmm,” Lettie answered noncommittally.
Natalie’s eyes once more slipped from head to toe. “It’s a shame you don’t have the money to do something with your appearance. Still, I suppose there are some men in the world who find that quality… intriguing.”
Lettie clamped her jaw shut to keep from saying something rude.
Giving the younger woman a wide berth, Natalie held her skirts against her body and stepped around her toward the stairs. She’d taken only a few of the steps before she turned and asked, “Do you like my hat, Lettie?”
Lettie glanced at the tiny flirtatious bonnet poised on the top of Natalie’s black curls.
“It’s very nice,” she answered, keeping her voice as bland as possible.
“Yes. It is, isn’t it?” Throwing her a quick smile, Natalie turned and descended the steps in a rustle of indigo taffeta and lace. Once in the kitchen, she was stopped by Celeste Grey, who handed her a telegram.
“This just arrived for your husband. Will you see he gets it?”
Natalie took the piece of paper, and, without respect for the fact that her name had not been included on the front, she slit it open and read the contents. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Grey. I’ll see to it that it falls into the… proper hands.”
Within moments, Natalie had ridden through town and tied Silas’s buggy to a tree behind the Mercury Saloon. Then, moving quickly through the back alley, she made her way down the block to the Starlight Hotel.
Waiting until she was sure that no one had followed her, she slipped through one of the side doors and hurried toward the Lilac Suite. Twisting the key in the lock, she stepped into the false twilight caused by the drawn drapes. Regardless of the lack of light, her gaze moved toward the bed, and she smiled.
Sauntering forward, she tossed the telegram toward the man lying within the twisted sheets. Then her hands began the task of ripping her buttons from their holes with unrestrained eagerness. “It was delivered to the boardinghouse, just like you thought.” She pouted. “But if you knew what it contained, why did you make me interrupt our afternoon to retrieve it?”
She watched as he scanned the telegram, then tossed it to the ground.
“I had an errand of my own to run. I thought it best to insure the information I’d been given was correct.” His eyes slipped over her figure. “Even you should know that a good criminal always double checks every contingency. This time it was almost worth having you dress.”
She smiled and dropped the bodice to the floor. “Almost?”
His eyes became hot and intense as he watched her slip the button free to her skirts and petticoats, unbuckle her bustle, then push the layers to the floor.
“Almost.” She could hear his breathing become ragged in the quiet of the room. “You do know how a man likes to see his woman wearing a hat.”
She smiled, moving toward him wearing nothing but the flirtatious hat, corset, and stockings. At the edge of the bed, she lifted one foot and began to roll the silk hosiery down to her ankles. She tossed first one stocking to the floor, then the other, then lifted her hands to the bust of her corset.
“Well? What about Silas?” One by one, she snapped the metal hooks to her corset free. When the garment fell to the ground, she paused and waited for his answer.
He rose from the bed and knelt on the ticking, drawing her close. “It appears he won’t live to see daylight.” His hands lifted to frame her face and his fingers dug into the skin of her cheek ever so slightly. “Tomorrow, I want you to reserve a ticket on the first train to New York. I’ll meet you at the Empire Hotel Sunday at noon in a room reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
She chuckled softly. “Mrs. Smith?”
“By the end of the month, you and I will be bound on a steamer for Paris, where we’ll live like royalty.”
Natalie smiled and took a deep breath of self-satisfaction. She liked the sound of that word. Royalty. After all she’d suffered in the last five years because of her husband’s stupidity, she deserved to live like a queen.
Her hands slipped around his shoulders and she leaned toward him, forcing him
flat upon the mattress. As she ran her fingers through his hair, then down the planes of his chest, she purred in delight. “Does this mean that you have a plan?”
He smiled and slipped the diamond hatpin free, then tossed it and the bonnet to the floor.
“I have a plan.” He gazed up at her, his eyes sparkling with a hidden pleasure. “And when we’re done, everyone will believe that Silas Gruber and the Gentleman Bandit perished at each other’s hands at the Madison City Thrift and Loan.”
Lettie wearily slammed the door to the cellar shut and dragged the rug back into place. Although all of the windows and doors had been thrown open to catch the slightest breeze, there was none to be caught. The night settled about the house like a thick, sultry blanket, making all but the most necessary tasks too insurmountable to even consider attempting.
“Lettie?”
At the deep tone of her brother’s voice, Lettie turned. Jacob stood in the threshold leading into the hall, his hat in his hand.
Lettie felt a pang of concern when she saw the exhausted set to his features. He looked so tired and alone, as if the pressures of his job were almost more than he could bear.
A strained silence seemed to stretch between them, underscoring the fact that the two of them had not parted on the best of terms. Finally, needing to show some semblance of normality, Lettie tried to smile.
“Good evening, Jacob. How have you been?”
He stepped into the kitchen from the hall, idly slapping the brim of his hat against his thigh. When he didn’t speak immediately, Lettie’s smile faded and she murmured, “I think Mama’s upstairs. I can get her for you.”
“No. No, I didn’t come to see her.”
Lettie waited for Jacob to explain why he’d come, but when he still didn’t speak, she asked, “Have you had supper yet? There’s some greens left, and a few potatoes.”
“No.” Jacob lifted his head to regard her with watchful eyes. “I just came to…” He hesitated, stiffened, then continued more forcefully: “Tell me the truth, Lettie: Have you seen Ethan McGuire since that morning in the barn?”
Silken Dreams Page 24
