The Irish Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  Chapter Eleven

  “When do you think the cavalry will arrive to escort you to Fort McMillan, Mr. Evans?” Viola asked, and promptly wished she hadn’t spoken. William and Evans guarded her as closely as they had the day before, perhaps more so after the scene with Lennox. If she went onto a public street, both of them escorted her with one walking on each side of her.

  But the cavalry’s arrival would mean the departure of Evans and most of William’s men, to haul supplies for the new fort. Given Lennox’s anger, it was far safer for William and herself when all the teamsters were in Rio Piedras.

  “Two days or perhaps a little longer, Mrs. Ross,” Evans answered equably, as polite as ever. Even the haughtiest arbiter of society would never guess by his manner that he spoke to his employer’s mistress. “We’re ready to depart now.”

  “Leaving Sarah’s cooking far behind,” William quipped. “No more omelets for you.”

  Viola nodded amiably at Evans’s answering badinage and leaned on William’s arm a little more for comfort. At least he would be staying in town to prepare for the second supply caravan. She would hate to lose his company, although he might be safer facing Apaches than Lennox. She had seen and heard too much of Lennox’s viciousness toward employees he thought insufficiently dedicated. She shuddered at what he might do to William.

  Glass shattered a block ahead and a chair sailed through the Oriental’s window and into the street. Instantly, William and Evans pressed her against a building behind a wall of their big bodies. They faced the street with guns drawn, ready to take instant action. Viola’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Stay back, Viola,” William ordered. She hadn’t known he could draw a gun so quickly. Not as fast as Evans, who was famous for his speed, but definitely faster than most men.

  “Goddammit, McBride!” a man shouted from the saloon just ahead. “Where the hell did you get four aces from? You show me, here an’ now, there ain’t nothin’ else up your sleeve.”

  “Or else what?” another man sneered.

  “Thought you told Lowell to stay out of the Oriental if McBride was around,” William remarked, holstering his gun.

  “I did. And fined him five dollars to make sure he heard me,” Evans agreed. “That just about covered the damage from the last fight.”

  Viola peered around them just in time to see two men erupt from the Oriental, fists flying. Thomas McBride, the miner, was having yet another fight with Lowell. Even Mrs. Chambers, the minister’s wife, had been known to wager on exactly how many men would be involved in the subsequent brawl.

  “Fistfight, boys!” someone shouted inside the Oriental.

  “Morgan, do you think both of McBride’s brothers are in the Oriental at this moment?” William asked.

  Viola winced as Lowell knocked McBride into the horse trough. McBride erupted out of it with a shout, shaking water from his face, and charged Lowell to restart the fight.

  “They all work the same shift at the mine,” Evans said thoughtfully. “But only one of them frequents the saloons as much as he does. The other is probably close by, though.”

  “And here come the lads from the depot to help Lowell,” Evans added as a dozen teamsters ran up the street toward them.

  A stocky miner rushed out of the Oriental and leaped onto Lowell’s back. More miners crowded out of the Oriental onto the boardwalk, a few steps away from joining the fight. A trio of Mrs. Smith’s girls in their best finery, led by the beautiful and curvaceous Sally, paused to watch.

  “Two bits on the Irishmen, boys!” someone shouted.

  “Done!” shouted another. Viola could see others eagerly gambling on the fight’s outcome.

  William snorted. “Please stay with Evans, Mrs. Ross. I’ll deal with this.”

  Lennox, followed by his three thugs, emerged from the mine offices a few blocks uphill from the Oriental. The crowd silently parted for them until they could watch every move, standing as icily as a judge at a hanging.

  Viola went cold. She managed to nod but could not force a single word past the lump in her throat. Hopefully, having so many teamsters would stop Lennox and his thugs from doing anything to hurt William. But Lennox’s viciousness should not be underestimated. And if anything happened to William…

  She whirled on Evans. “Aren’t you going to help him?”

  Evans snorted. “If he needs it, which he won’t. Just watch, Mrs. Ross.”

  William ran into the street and stopped several paces away from the fight, drawing his big bullwhip. He shook it lightly once to loosen it. Then he abruptly cracked it less than a yard away from Lowell.

  The throng immediately stopped talking.

  Viola gulped. She’d seen William win Lowell’s bet but this was different. He was taking command of a crowd, holding their attention, simply by using his whip.

  Something sensual deep inside her came alert at the sound and whispered, I like this man when he fights like this. Her nipples firmed even as her mouth went dry.

  Lowell froze at the whip’s sound, clearly recognizing the danger. The other teamsters stopped their noisy rush up the street and waited. Mrs. Smith’s girls oohed and shivered.

  Thomas McBride drew back his fist to land another punch. William cracked the whip barely a foot away from McBride’s ear.

  McBride jumped but kept his fists up. If the miner would simply stay in one spot, he’d be safe.

  Viola shivered.

  “Stand still, you fool,” hissed Sally.

  William repeatedly snapped the whip on each side of McBride, fencing him in leather.

  The man flinched, hands flying up over his ears, but his feet finally took root in one place.

  Gossip said William’s bullwhip was custom-made, with buckshot braided into the tip. If so, it was a lethal weapon. But in his hands, it was as graceful as an arpeggio dancing through a concert hall’s hushed silence.

  And as capable as any Chopin ballade at exciting Viola’s blood. Her womb clenched convulsively in a spurt of pure lust. She bit her lip until she drew blood, fingernails digging into her palms.

  The other McBride brother started to kick Lowell. William’s whip abruptly wrapped around his ankle and yanked him to the ground. He landed with a loud grunt as air was driven from his lungs. He was utterly motionless except for his head turning frantically to watch William.

  The whip freed itself silently and returned to swirl at William’s side.

  Sally moaned, “Oh, Mr. Donovan.”

  Viola took a deep, shuddering breath, shaken by the strength and grace of the weapon and the warrior. Dew trickled down her thigh.

  McBride helped his brother up and the three combatants faced William together. He, on the other hand, seemed as relaxed as if he were in his office.

  “Gentlemen, may I suggest you resolve your differences and shake hands? Thank you,” William said, with no apparent sense of superiority, as the three men warily exchanged nods and grips in a semblance of cordiality. “Mr. McBride, do you have anything to say? No? Good day then. I hope to see you again soon in a more relaxed setting.”

  The two McBride brothers backed away until they reached the boardwalk. Joined by their friends, they filtered back into the Oriental. Evans quietly handed some coins to the Oriental’s saloonkeeper, who returned to work with a smile.

  Sally and the other soiled doves lingered to cast lascivious glances at William.

  Viola hissed softly at the plump blonde, and her fingers formed into claws. She had William now, not those hussies. By the Almighty, she’d teach them a lesson if those nymphs du pave came too close to him.

  Finally, the beruffled sluts turned to Mrs. Smith’s house. Viola slowly relaxed, then wondered why she’d been so angry with them. Women like that would be his companions again in three months, after she left for San Francisco. Something twisted deep inside her at the thought.

  She was barely aware of Lennox’s departure, as he and his thugs talked quietly amongst themselves.

  Lowell started to
walk toward the depot.

  “Lowell.” William’s level voice halted the teamster.

  “Yes, sir?” Lowell turned to face his boss.

  “Ten-dollar fine for misunderstanding Evans’s orders, Lowell. Also, Carson needs some help in the forge. You’ll probably be there until midnight, maybe later. And if I catch you in the Oriental again at any time, you’re fired.”

  Lowell’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, sir. And thank you, sir.”

  “My pleasure, lad.” William had his bullwhip coiled and returned to his weapons belt by the time he rejoined Viola and Evans. He offered her his arm as if the interruption had been no more than a slight social inconvenience. She accepted, still shaking a little as she tried to reconcile her carnal reaction to his masterfulness and her jealousy of the other women.

  William glanced down at Viola. He frowned slightly at how she trembled, but said nothing. It wasn’t surprising a woman would find a streetside scuffle distressing, although he’d heard she’d kept a cool head when she’d seen Indian fighting.

  She studied a reflection in the bank’s window as they passed by. Curious, William caught the same reflection and frowned. Why would Viola Ross glare at Mrs. Smith’s girls? Could one of them have said or done something to offend her? If so, he’d make sure she’d be on the next stage out of town. He could do nothing to protect Viola from censure by the town’s few respectable women, but he could silence the working girls, especially if he added a cash incentive for holding their tongues.

  He’d worry about that later. For now, it was enough to be walking with the most beautiful woman in the world and know he’d spend the evening in her arms. She seemed content to live with him, especially after she first played the piano.

  He’d been so pleased the other day when she’d asked him about his business.

  He hadn’t worried much about Viola’s happiness in the beginning, being too caught up in visions of her in his bed. But now the first frantic rush to sate himself was past, he could consider her well-being more. Talking about freighting and railroads meant she was willing to share something of her thoughts with him. Perhaps she was healing from her past vicissitudes. Saints willing, she’d be able to remarry and live happily again.

  William touched his hat in response to the watchtower sentry’s greeting as they approached the compound. Morgan had done a good job of rebuilding it as a base of operations, the result reminding William of a hill fort in ancient Ireland. The fountain had been broken when William first saw it, leaving the spring to spill its life-giving waters over the courtyard’s cracked bricks. Now tidy plumbing guided the water to the fountain, the baths, and the kitchen. Contained within the stout walls, the compound was nearly impregnable against attack from Apaches or white men.

  But this wasn’t the world Viola belonged in. She should be in New York City, the wife of a wealthy aristocrat who could enhance her status in the world.

  He could see her now, enjoying the delights of such a life: the long dinner table covered with white damask and set with the finest Limoges china and Sheffield cutlery, goblets sparkling in the light from the immense crystal chandeliers above. She’d sit at one end of the table, tightly corseted in her fashionable Parisian gown, politely listening to the self-important politician next to her.

  He knew what Viola’s future husband would look like, with his expanding girth and patriarch’s beard. With a pedigree as long as any in the Bible, he’d never suffer an Irishman at his dinner table to meet his wife.

  William gritted his teeth at the thought.

  Morgan excused himself as soon as they entered the courtyard, and headed for the stables to check Tennessee, the recovering lead mule. Viola greeted Abraham politely, made her excuses to William, and disappeared into the bedroom.

  William traded his hat for a cup of tea from Abraham and leaned against a column, listening to his faerie maiden in her bath. She was humming a melody, one he’d heard sung at Lyonsgate. Lady Irene had called it a German art song, something about lost love.

  Married to a man like that, Viola would never suffer the dangers of poverty. Her children would never be homeless and starving. She’d never give birth in a ditch during a rainstorm…

  Suddenly William hurled his cup across the courtyard. It shattered loudly against the mud-brick wall, causing the chickens to fly up and the goats to bleat in panic. The dumb animals calmed quickly, sooner than William’s heart did.

  Abraham bowed himself out of the sitting room with the last dinner dishes, leaving William and Viola alone. Silence covered the room before William started to crack a walnut, his long fingers graceful and sure.

  Viola swirled the lemonade in her glass, still thinking about the beautiful girls from Mrs. Smith’s. How much time had he spent with them? Had he learned all his carnal skills from women like them? Would he eagerly visit such sluts again?

  It shouldn’t matter, not when Viola planned to depart for San Francisco in three months. And yet she kept wondering where he’d learned, while her pussy throbbed at the images of a younger William leaning over a woman who sobbed with passion.

  “William?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Where did you learn to, uh…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to find words. Sometimes the subjects she discussed with William Donovan were so unusual that the polite conversational phrases of a Cincinnati drawing room simply didn’t apply.

  An elegant black eyebrow lifted. “Where did I learn what, sweetheart?”

  “To pleasure women,” Viola managed. “To lead them on with your voice, then command them with your hands and mouth until…”

  She stopped, swallowed. William’s face conveyed only courtesy as he waited for her.

  She finished in a rush. “Nothing matters except the ecstasy of obeying you and reaching the peak. Was it here in America or in Ireland?”

  “Ireland, sweetheart.”

  She frowned. Could he have afforded prostitutes there? He’d been young, but he must have been just as beautiful then as he was now. “Who taught you?”

  He tilted his head quizzically but answered steadily. “An English lady, the daughter and widow of earls.”

  Another woman? An unexpected pang shot through Viola.

  “She and her husband are my good friends now,” William continued. “They provided the funds to start me in business in California.”

  Relief flooded Viola, as hard and fast as her earlier pain when he’d mentioned the English aristocrat. The woman was married, so William couldn’t have formed an emotional entanglement with her. “Ah.” She sipped her tea.

  He began to coax the nut’s meat from its shell.

  Another thought crept into Viola’s brain. She voiced it before she considered the implications. “What else did she teach you?”

  William started to smile.

  He glanced sideways at Viola while he wondered how much to tell her. She was a passionate and trusting filly, who’d blatantly enjoyed whatever he’d asked of her so far. He could tell her a little, so long as he was careful not to distress her.

  “A great many things, sweetheart,” William answered her. “Positions learned from the great books of the Arabs, the Indians, and the Chinese. The use of ropes to bind and adorn one’s lover.”

  Her eyes were huge as she hung on his words. But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she licked her lips. Encouraged, he went on.

  “How to employ a flogger or whip to excite. And other trinkets, with a wealth of purposes,” he drawled, remembering some memorable fantasies he’d enacted there.

  “Trinkets? Do you mean jewelry, like a bracelet or pin? How could you use jewelry for carnal effect?”

  William’s cock stirred happily at her curiosity. He forced his voice to remain casual. “Remember the ivory dildo that filled your backside yesterday? That was a trinket.”

  “Truly?” She blushed as her tongue crept out to touch her lip. “It was very exciting. It made me so aware of everything your hands and cock�
��—she turned an even deeper shade of red—“did to my pussy.”

  The last words were little more than a whisper but she hadn’t changed the subject or run from him.

  “That’s what trinkets are for, sweetheart: to enhance one’s pleasure. Would you care to see some others?”

  She nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

  “Come with me to the bedroom then.” He rose and held out his hand. She took it and accompanied him like an eager student.

  He retrieved his chest of trinkets, a farewell gift from Mr. Fitzgerald. It had once been a money chest, and its iron bands and multiple locks still ensured the safety and privacy of anything William placed in it.

  “Your chest reminds me of pirates’ treasure,” Viola breathed, staring at the sturdy wooden box as she hovered next to his elbow.

  William smiled and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Some trinkets can be considered treasure, sweetheart. I have heard the Chinese emperor collects dildos, for example.”

  “The emperor collects dildos?” Viola gasped. “Why, in heaven’s name, would anyone want to have very many of those?”

  William chuckled softly as he opened the chest and removed a few rolls of trinkets. Each was carefully wrapped in colored silk, sometimes padded, and always tied with colored ribbons. The variety of sizes and colors represented meant he could quickly find what he wanted.

  “A dildo’s size and shape can be greatly varied, as can the material, every combination creating a different sensation in the wearer,” he remarked, unrolling the first set and removing the carvings. “Or a dildo can be educational, to teach an inexperienced concubine details of what she’ll soon experience in the flesh. It can also be a work of art, as beautiful as any sculptured bronze.”

  “But not something you’d expect to see in an exhibit hall. I can hardly imagine the good ladies of Cincinnati, for example, lining up to see an ivory dildo as an example of their city’s preeminence in the arts.”

  “Not in public perhaps, where discretion rules. But many more things are possible in the bedroom.”