by Shirl Henke
She studied him speculatively, then let out a light trill of triumphant laughter. “Ah, just as I suspected. You haven't touched her, have you! But you've wanted to. A man like you can't be long without a woman. You're tense, Chase...hot, frustrated.” Sabrina licked her lips as her eyes glowed with excitement. “I love it when you're frustrated. Remember when you tore my clothes off like a savage? Do it now, Chase, please,” she cajoled, letting her peignoir robe slither from her shoulders and hang at her wrists in silken bondage while she once more rubbed against him like a restless Persian cat.
He almost weakened. Sabrina was right. The past week had been an ordeal. He was unused to self-denial and all he could think of was Stephanie, naked and entreating him while they were snowbound.
Sabrina’ s knowing fingers stroked his throbbing erection and she played her ace, whispering, “Do it to spite Burke.”
All at once he felt sickened by her, by himself, by everything in this corrupt house, everything the Remington name symbolized. All desire fled as he pried her busy hands away and yanked open the door not caring if a servant or Burke himself saw her coming from his room in dishabille. “Get out and stay away, Sabrina. You have a lot more to lose than I do if your husband finds out what a slut you are.”
He slammed the door in her face and locked it.
* * * *
At long last after an interminable New England winter a hint of spring finally beckoned, providing Chase and Stephanie with their first opportunity for an afternoon outing, riding along the Charles River. The sun was glorious, lighting her bronze hair with brilliant richness. The deep golden shade of her riding habit perfectly complemented her eyes, which were fixed on him as they walked their horses sedately along the river road.
A faint breeze stirred his long, straight black hair. She tried to imagine him living with the Cheyenne, dressed as a savage warrior. There had never been privacy for them to discuss his past during the brief courtship. Now that they were not surrounded by people, she suddenly felt tongue-tied and afraid to ask.
As if reading her thoughts, he smiled, glancing back to where their groom rode a discreet distance behind them. “This is the first time I've been allowed to take you away from the crowd. I'm afraid my reputation isn't as sterling as Oliver Standish's.”
“You're nothing like him, thank heavens. And sterling reputations are easily tarnished in the Neponset River.”
He smiled grimly. “You were lucky to escape.”
“Him...or you?”
He looked over at her and his smile warmed. “Still the same outspoken Stevie.”
“Not quite the same. I've learned enough decorum to hold my tongue now and again...just not around you.” Her cheeks flamed as she added, “I behaved quite shamelessly the night you rescued me from the river. I was afraid you thought I was a...a hussy, that you wouldn't want to see me again.” There, at least she had the courage to say that much.
Chase studied her lovely profile, noting the delicately heightened color in her cheeks as she swallowed and stared straight ahead. “Ah, Stevie, you aren't a hussy or anything close to it—and believe me, I should know,” he added wryly.
Her head turned toward him. “You were the one who exercised good judgment while I...”
“You'll never know what that 'good judgment' cost me. Because of you I found I could behave honorably even in a veho world where there's damn little honor to be had.”
“You don't like us, do you?”
“I like you just fine, Stevie.” He was continually delighted with her artless blushes.
“I mean, white people in general. I remember your teaching me some Cheyenne words when we were children. The word veho means spider, not very flattering.”
“It can be taken two ways, I suppose. Spiders are clever and industrious, but they spin webs that ensnare their victims until they're helpless. Then they destroy them.”
“Like the white man is doing to your father's people now?”
He nodded grimly. “A whole way of life is coming to an end on the plains. The buffalo are almost gone. The government is herding the tribes onto desolate reservations, land no one else wants. They're getting us out of the way for the railroad and the wagon trains headed west, like the one my mother was on.”
“How is she, Chase?” He had never before spoken of Anthea, although Stephanie had heard dreadful rumors. She had always wondered what would make a lady such as Anthea Remington do such a reckless thing. The society gossips had quite a time of it when Anthea mysteriously vanished, then reappeared with an illegitimate Indian son. Stephanie watched the muscles in Chase's jaw clench and unclench as he battled for control of his emotions.
“There are days when my mother recognizes me...” His voice faded.
“I understand if you can't talk about it.” His pain wrenched her heart. “I lost my aunt, who was like a mother to me, but it was a clean parting.”
“My mother’s illness is the most insidious kind, taking her mind, leaving her body a shell.”
“You must love her very much.”
Chase nodded. “Yes, I do. She sacrificed everything for me. The Cheyenne live for their children.”
“You speak of her as if she were Cheyenne, too,” she said, puzzled. Anthea had been a captive, the dreaded “fate worse than death” for a white woman, an experience about which Stephanie would never dare inquire of Anthea’s proud and lonely son.
“She is Cheyenne, in her heart, her spirit,” he said simply, unable to explain about Freedom Woman and Vanishing Grass and a time in the long-ago past. “The Remingtons have destroyed that spirit, destroyed her soul.”
“I remember your grandfather from when we were children, sitting in the church pew while he thundered hellfire and brimstone on the congregation. It must have been hard for you to understand each other.”
‘‘Literally as well as figuratively. I couldn't speak a word of English when I was brought to him as a six-year-old. I learned English quickly enough.”
“But never to understand him? He's a harsh man. I'll never forget that day he caught us fishing in the river.” She shivered, remembering Jeremiah Remington's piercing blue eyes and harsh voice as he towered over them, dragging them dripping from their innocent childhood game.
“Neither will I.” He smiled wryly, patting his buttocks. “I paid a dear price for enticing a young girl to take off her clothes.”
Under his teasing grin she felt her face heat once more. “The punishment must have been singularly ineffective judging from how adroit you've become at undressing females over the years,” she retorted.
“Miss Summerfield, you are a caution,” Chase replied, throwing his head back and laughing heartily.
“I like you this way...laughing and happy.”
“I suppose I am happy when I'm with you,” he said consideringly, surprised to find it was true. “You're the only woman I know who I can talk with and not end up in bed with.”
“That's where we began as I recall. I must really be a bluestocking if my conversation is more stimulating than...the other.”
“I was speaking about your mind, Stevie, which I happen to enjoy purely aside from your body, which as you damn well ought to know I want in the worst way.” He glanced back to where their groom had dismounted and was examining his horse's hoof. “Let's play hooky,” he said softly. “Follow me.”
He kicked his stallion into a gallop and Stephanie urged her own mount to follow at the breakneck speed. They raced off the road into a stand of evergreens down by the river. Chase brought his big black to a stop at the bank of the river with Stephanie close behind. The thick hemlocks completely hid them, encircling the gentle slope down to the bright rushing current below. They were completely alone.
He swung down from Thunderbolt and reached up to her. “Now, allow me to reassure you of your desirability, Miss Summerfield.”
Stephanie's heart began to pound uncontrollably.
Chapter Four
The fire in his eyes was smo
ldering as those dark, long-fingered hands encircled her waist. Her breath caught as she leaned toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to lift her from the sidesaddle as if she, tall, gawky Stephanie, weighed no more than thistledown. He did not play the gentleman and set her cleanly on the ground, but rather drew her body intimately against his, so that she slid slowly down the length of his tall, hard frame.
Stephanie could feel every muscle in spite of the layers of clothing separating them. When her feet finally touched the earth she continued to hold onto his shoulders. One of his hands slid from her waist to press against the small of her back while the other reached to her face, stroking her cheek and jaw with delicacy. The whole time their eyes locked, soft gold with hard obsidian.
“I recognized this stubborn little chin before anything else that night across the ballroom floor,” he said in a husky mesmerizing voice, stroking her jaw line, then splaying his fingers on her throat to feel the furious race of her pulse.
His eyes studied her mouth now, examining it with such intense deliberation that she could feel her lips tremble in response. “Are you going to kiss me, Chase?” she asked boldly.
The whiteness of his smile flashed, breaking the intensity of his heavy-lidded gaze for an instant. “Yes, I am. Do you want me to, Stevie?”
The pulse in her throat raced when his hand gently cupped her nape, cradling her head, drawing her closer, closer. Her eyes fluttered downward as his mouth brushed hers, softly at first, velvety, warm and firm.
Stephanie dug her fingertips into the heavy wool of his jacket, feeling her whole body sing with his touch. His gentleness was at odds with the glowing black fire banked in those fathomless eyes, the tension radiating from his long body. She knew he was holding himself back, unwilling to frighten her, she who had seldom been kissed and herself never allowed more than the most perfunctory pecks, stolen by awkward boys who posed no threat.
Feeling a frisson of his frustration touch her, she instinctively pressed her body closer to his, moving up onto her toes, raising her mouth for more of the sweet enticement of his lips.
Chase could tell she was inexperienced, yet her instincts were passionate. She was eager to learn and unafraid. When she arched against him, he groaned and gave in, deepening the pressure of his lips, rimming the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She gasped in soft surprise and he glided inside, dancing a ballet with her tongue, teaching her how to answer. God, she was an apt pupil!
Emboldened by the shocking intimacy and the fact that it pleased her so, Stephanie returned the startling caress, exploring his mouth as he had done hers. Unconsciously her pelvis arched, answering his when he rocked his hips rhythmically. Then his hand glided down to the curve of her derriere, cupping one small cheek with strong fingers.
She came to him so artlessly, so eagerly, unlike any other woman he had ever possessed. His mouth grew restive, opening wider, savaging her soft pliant lips as he slanted his own across them, drinking in her proffered sweetness like a parched desert drinks up cool spring rain. His arms gathered her to him, wanting to absorb her pure yet heady essence.
Stephanie heard the low feral growl that rumbled deep in his chest as his kiss grew rough, his body more demanding. His hands trespassed over the curve of her hips and buttocks, then reached up to the soft swell of her breasts. She should be scandalized and appalled. A lady would break free and slap his face. But, she did neither. Instead she reached up and ran her hands through his thick glossy hair, tangling her fingers in the straight locks that brushed the collar of his shirt. She had wanted to feel its coarse texture and to touch the hot skin beneath from the first moment she had seen him standing across the ballroom.
When he began unfastening the buttons down the front of her heavy jacket and insinuated his hand inside, all coherent thought fled. The sheer lawn of her blouse felt more like gauze as his fingers worked dexterously past frilly ruffles to cup a breast, lifting it in one scorching palm. She felt the nipple pucker tightly sending tingling shivers to her belly and lower.
His lips finally broke away from their hot insistent kisses and trailed a searing pathway across the hollow of her cheek, over her jaw to the side of her neck. He exalted when she threw back her head, allowing him access to her pale vulnerable throat. The feel of her small perfect breast pebbling in his hand nearly drove him mad with desire. He would have sunk to the ground in mindless passion as randy as a green fifteen-year-old boy if some primal instinct from his days on the plains had not made him aware of a rider approaching.
The groom! Chase heard his plaintive call, both aggravated and timorous. Cursing, he pulled his hand from inside her jacket and quickly began to refasten the buttons.
Stephanie felt him pull away abruptly and a faint cry of protest bubbled up as she continued to hold onto his neck. If she had let go, she knew she would have fallen to the ground, blinded and breathless. Her eyes opened and fell to where he was straightening her disheveled clothes with such practiced ease. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she withdrew her arms from around his neck and stepped back, brushing against the side of her horse. Burning heat stung her cheeks and it no longer had to do with passion.
“This is the second time I've thrown myself at you quite shamelessly. Now you must think I'm truly wanton.”
“A truly wonderful wanton,” he replied, his own voice betraying none of the fierce angry frustration his body was feeling as the groom approached.
Only when Stephanie caught sight of the poor servant did she realize what had almost happened. What she would have allowed to happen!
“I’m that sorry, Miss Summerfield, but me horse come up lame,” he said nervously as the tall half-breed's night-black eyes bored into him. In spite of Remington's expressionless face, the groom felt the tension and cleared his throat nervously, awaiting instructions. His employer's daughter looked flushed and guilty as if the breed had been taking liberties, but she only nodded to his remarks.
“We were just resting the horses until you caught up,” Chase said, noting the way the surly youth was looking at Stephanie. Damn, I'll ruin her reputation yet!
The groom noticed that her hand continued to rest on Remington's arm. Whatever had been going on, old Josiah's prim bluestocking daughter had liked it well enough. No accounting for tastes, he thought sourly. Rich folks, who could figure them out? As the breed helped her remount, the groom waited an appropriate distance, curious about the soft murmurs of conversation exchanged between them, yet unable to hear.
‘‘I apologize for my actions, Stevie. I didn't intend to let things go so far,” he said as they turned their horses back toward the city.
She looked at him with defiance blazing in her eyes. “Well, I'm not sorry. I enjoyed it...immensely.”
His breath caught, then erupted in a laugh. “You always say what you mean. Don't ever change, Stevie.”
“I can't seem to help it,” she replied ruefully.
“Good.” He smiled at her.
“Then...you're truly not scandalized by my behavior. I'm not trying to trap you, Chase.”
He studied her earnest expression as they rode in silence for a moment. “Maybe I'm trying to trap myself,” he replied enigmatically as they approached the outskirts of Boston.
* * * *
After her disturbing ride with Chase, Stephanie was too excited to eat her lonely supper that evening. As usual Josiah worked late. She slept restlessly that night, dreaming of the wicked pleasures of Chase Remington's mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts. Awakening at dawn with the covers tangled about her legs, she arose, knowing it was useless to try going back to sleep. Perhaps Chase would call today!
With that thought in mind, she performed her morning toilette quickly and headed downstairs, surprised to find Josiah at the dining room table. Normally her father did not eat breakfast but headed directly to his office.
“Good morning, Father,” she said pleasantly, easing onto a chair as a servant held it for her, then poured a cup of ste
aming coffee. “I'm surprised to see you at home for breakfast.”
Josiah Summerfield was a small man with perpetually stooped shoulders which came from a lifetime spent pouring over account books. His thinning tan hair was cut short by the personal barber who shaved him every morning in his office while he reviewed the day's calendar of appointments. He peered at his daughter from behind heavy bifocals that magnified colorless light eyes. His thin lips were turned down in a scowl that, like the shoulders, had been acquired by years of habit.
“We have a matter of some importance to discuss,” he began in his usual preemptory manner, waiting for a maid to serve their omelets and tinned fruit compote, then leave the room.
Josiah seldom took the time to discuss anything with her. A flutter of apprehension washed over Stephanie as she thought of her most unseemly behavior with Chase Remington. When he resumed speaking she almost dropped the napkin she was spreading across her lap.
“Jeremiah Remington paid a call at my office yesterday. It seems he's looking for a wife for that hellion grandson of his and you are one of the candidates.” He studied her face, which went from pale to rosy as he spoke. He supposed the chit was passably good-looking if a bit tall for a female, but she had inherited his late wife's delicate features and heavy shining hair. Of course Paulina had filled her head with a lot of nonsense but that was unavoidable and would probably not mean much if he took a hand in matters now.
“Oh, and what does Chase have to say about all this?”
“Chase, is it now? He's called on you less than half a dozen times and I suppose you've already given leave for him to call you Stephanie.”
“Stevie,” she corrected, then wished she could call back the word. “It's an old nickname from when we were children.”
Josiah cleared his throat, dismissing any mention of her lonely childhood. “Be that as it may, I suppose you find the boy to your liking, even if he has...er, questionable parentage?” He raised one pale eyebrow and gazed myopically at her.
