Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  He continued toward the bluffs, hands jammed in his pockets, his hair rippling in the cool breeze from the river.

  "Hunter!" Marin followed him, working hard to catch up. "What scars? No one told me about any scars!" Her damned lacy skirts dragged in the grass and caught on prickly weeds. When they tangled in her legs she stopped only long enough to hike them to her knees and wad the excess in her hands. She continued to run after him, closing the space now that her legs were unencumbered.

  "Hunter, you don't repulse me! Damn it, I love you! And it scares the daylights out of me! I want you to make love to me so bad I ache with it!"

  He spun and closed the distance between them in two strides, his lips meeting hers, his hands at first gripping her arms, then sliding around her in an embrace that melded their bodies from head to toe.

  Marin's body exploded with the force of his passion. Mindless desire blossomed in her like a flower in time-lapsed photography, bursting open into a beautiful, glorious creation.

  A whimper caught in her throat - a trait of her lovemaking that had driven Ryan wild. It had much the same effect on Hunter. He answered her whimper with a groan, pulling them down to their knees and then laying her back onto the velvety grass of the fertile bluffs.

  "Do you want me to stop?" his husky voice whispered against her lips, his hands burning fiery trails across her bodice. "I'll stop if you want me to."

  Another whimper escaped into the night air as she shook her head with a miniscule movement. She knew he wouldn't stop. They were both well beyond that choice. They stood a better chance of pulling the moon from its orbit.

  The dew on the grass seeped through the lacy pink gown that was her wedding dress. The moisture did nothing to cool the heat Hunter's mind-drugging hands and lips created. The night air caressed newly bared skin as her skirts crept up her legs and her bodice miraculously fell away.

  It had been so long. So long since she had allowed herself to even think of these feelings. And now the power of them nearly paralyzed her. She lay back in the fragrant summer grass, the moon twinkling on the water of the river below, and let Hunter work his magic.

  Sensations swirled through her like fine flakes of snow spinning in the wind. The exquisite feeling of bare skin against bare skin nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  Hunter stopped weaving his spell long enough to raise up on one elbow and gaze at her with wrenching heat.

  "What do you want, Mr. Pierce?" Marin whispered, her voice husky with passion.

  "Everything I want, Mrs. Pierce, is right there in your eyes." His own voice rasped with the strain of his restraint. "And what do you want?"

  Ribbons of fire unfurled through her at the very thought.

  "I want you naked and in my arms."

  "Oh, God."

  The moon and the stars outlined his black silhouette as Hunter rose above her. With infinite tenderness he made her his wife in every way...in many ways.

  And as brilliant fireworks shimmered through her being, she was only partially aware that yes, she'd been a virgin.

  *******

  The gray light of dawn was only an hour away before Hunter swept his new bride into his arms and carried her back to their home. His knees, he noted with exhausted pleasure, were weak from the evenings activities. His heart, however, was so light, his mood so euphoric, he felt that he could have flown home had he set his mind to it.

  He still carried her when he kicked open the front door. She "ooohed" dramatically, declaring him her hero. As he took the stairs with her in his arms, his imp of a wife left a trail of their garments behind them. She plucked them from her lap where she'd piled them, tossing his cravat over her shoulder. A petticoat was draped over the bannister, others were left to flutter to the floor, and one stocking covered the head of the small Cupid on the newel post.

  He flicked the bedroom door closed behind them with his foot while Marin tormented him, tracing her fingers across his bare chest, around to his back and down beneath the waistband of his trousers. When he reached the massive bed he stopped only long enough to cast her a devilish grin before hurling her through the air to land in the center of it.

  She squealed with the same delight that Katie might have shown. Her arms and legs flailed through the air as her unfastened dress - the only article of clothing she'd bothered to even partially don - billowed around her. But instead of continuing the rowdy game he'd started, Marin changed the rules.

  Silky auburn curls fanned across the pillows as her head sank to the counterpane, the mahogany strands glossy even in the dim light of the single guttering candle. The pale, whisper pink lace of the loosely worn dress settled around her, the skirts riding high on her thighs and the shoulders of her bodice dipping enticingly low on her arms. She gazed at him through a black fringe of lashes as she slid her arms above her head to tangle her fingers in her hair. As he stood transfixed, his mouth going dry at the sight of her, she smiled the sensual smile of a siren and writhed into an even more seductive position. She never took her gaze from his as she raised her hand and crooked her index finger at him.

  That simple little gesture was his undoing. His shoes clattered to the floor, his trousers followed seconds later. He hovered over her momentarily, his body spanning the length of hers, then he rolled to his back and pulled her atop him.

  She giggled as she finished dragging off her single piece of wedding attire. The view from his vantage point demanded his utmost attention. He folded his hands behind his head and decided he'd married a goddess as she pulled the mass of pink lace over her head with excruciating slowness.

  "So," she whispered, tossing the gown on top of his wadded trousers. "What more could I ask for? I have you naked and in my arms...and in my bed."

  There was no need to respond. His body did that for him - immediately and violently. He reached for her, but she backed away.

  "Oh no. It's my turn now. You just lay there while I have my way with you."

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

  "I'll not make any promises," he growled. "I'm not the passive type." He doubted very seriously if he had the willpower to restrain himself now.

  His stomach muscles jerked involuntarily as her index finger scorched a fiery downward path. He anticipated the direction of her hand, and a groan rumbled in his throat. The minx surprised him though when her finger detoured down his leg.

  "Oh my!" she cried, her voice exaggerated with mock alarm. "Is this the big, bad scar we were so worried about?"

  Damn! He hadn't realized the light was bright enough for her to see it. He tossed the sheet over his leg.

  "Leave it alone, Marin. You don't want to see it."

  "Oh yes, you're right." She flicked the sheet away. "I don't want to see the big, bad scar. It's so unsightly..." Her hand explored the length of it. "...it might scare me." She leaned forward and massaged the deformed skin, her fingers burning him with her touch. "I wouldn't want to be repulsed..." She lowered her head, her hair tickling his thigh. "...Oh, yes..." Her lips replaced her hands. She murmured with her mouth against the scar, "I'm so repulsed."

  Her hot breath fanned across his leg, releasing forever the insecurity he'd suffered since the war.

  Her tongue slid along his thigh while his mind screamed incoherent thoughts of passion. He reached down and dragged her upward until her lips came to rest on his.

  "If your back repulses me as much as your leg," she breathed into his mouth, "then the only scars you will have to worry about are the ones my fingernails are going to leave before I'm through with you this night."

  The love, the passion her words inspired could not be contained. He found her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing each and every fingertip.

  "In that case," he murmured, "let's get on with the maiming."

  *******

  The exhausted couple lay in a tangle of arms and legs, Marin's sleeping head resting on Hunter's chest. He stroked the silky fringe at her temple and marveled that he had the energy t
o do even that.

  As warm tendrils of relaxation began to creep over him, he was vaguely aware of a distant noise. He ignored it and gave himself up to the well-deserved sleep. Only seconds later though, the noise became the unmistakable sound of horses' hooves and carriage wheels crunching on the gravel drive.

  If this was Cabot, back to lay claim to Katie again, he would call the man out.

  He tried to slip from Marin's embrace, but she rallied at his movement and raised a tousled head.

  "What is it?" she asked softly in the fuzzy light of dawn.

  "It's nothing, Sweetheart. Go back to sleep." He donned a dressing gown and knotted the belt at his waist. "I think it's Cabot coming back to harass us again."

  "I'm coming with you."

  Marin slipped from the bed and rummaged for something to put on. Since her clothing had not yet been brought to his room, Hunter tossed her one of his robes from the armoire. The burgundy silk fluttered over her bare skin, and he swore to himself that he would beat Cabot to a pulp for disturbing them.

  The carriage had come to a noisy stop at the front of the house. Sounds of activity could be heard from the foyer. He waited for Marin to adequately wrap herself in his robe, then he draped his arm over her shoulder and they left the room together to do battle with Delia's cousin.

  As the two of them made their way to the landing, they shared a mischievous smile at the sight of the hallway and stairs littered with bits of intimate apparel.

  A nightshirt-clad Ambrose was just unlocking the door when they appeared at the top of the stairs. Hunter busied his mind formulating a scathing speech to deliver to this parasite of a man. But before he could finish his thought and take another step, the door was flung open and Lucille Pierce marched into the foyer, yanking off her gloves and talking to herself.

  "...forced to ride all night because that cretin of an innkeeper refused me lodgings. He'll rue the day - "

  The tirade stopped abruptly, followed by absolute, deafening silence as Lucille's widened eyes scanned each and every piece of scattered clothing that littered the house so profusely. Her contemptuous gaze came to rest on the couple on the landing as Ambrose shuffled from the room in all possible haste. Her eyes raked the length of each of them, returning to pointedly stare at Marin in Hunter's haphazardly arranged dressing gown.

  "So! When the cat's away..." she spat with a bitterness excessive even for her.

  Hunter found himself wishing now, with every fiber of his being, that the early morning intruder had been Cabot. His first instinct was to immediately tell her they were married. But her judgmental stare, her pursed, wrinkled lips changed his mind.

  "The mice will play!" he declared with enthusiasm, then dipped his head to plant a kiss on Marin's lips. Lucille jerked her head back as if she'd been slapped.

  Marin's lips twitched with merriment as she slanted a devilish, golden glance in his direction. She slid her hand into his and started down the steps.

  "Really, Hunter! It looks like a chiffarobe exploded," she said as she plucked his linen smallclothes from their resting place on the bannister.

  "You know, that is a very accurate description," he agreed, then bent to scoop her corset from the bottom step. He allowed it to dangle from his fingers while he studied it as if it were a laboratory specimen.

  Marin reached for the silken stocking and was dragging it from the Cupid's head when suddenly Lucille stepped up to her and slapped her soundly across the cheek.

  "Slut!" she hissed with tangible hatred.

  Before Hunter could recover from his shock Marin pulled back her hand and delivered a stinging slap in return.

  "Bitch!"

  Lucille staggered back from the force of the blow, her palm covering the vivid, red handprint already visible on her cheek.

  "Mother! How dare you - " His voice roared, but no one heard. Marin had stepped up to his mother, her face so close their noses nearly touched. She spoke in a voice so calm it was barely audible.

  "If you ever so much as lay a finger on me in anger again, Lucille, I will take that finger and break it in a dozen places. And smile while I'm doing it." Her voice rose slightly in volume. "I am not your average Southern belle who can be cowed with a hateful glare. And furthermore..." She turned to Hunter and raised an eyebrow. "May I have the honor?"

  God, this woman was amazing! He inclined his head and stifled a grin.

  "By all means."

  "And furthermore," she turned back to Lucille, "your son and I are married."

  Lucille's gasp echoed through the foyer. "You're lying! He would never lower his standards - "

  With absolute perfect timing the newest members of the household made their usual entrance, bursting through the open door in a whirl of hurtling, furry bodies, yowling and yipping with playful abandon.

  "Dear God!" Lucille croaked as the animals discovered this new person to play with and began circling her with frenzied curiosity.

  Puffy, the friendlier of the two, had apparently found the only mud puddle in the city of Memphis. Lucille screeched and backed away as the enormous, happy puppy raised up on hind legs to slurp a dripping kiss on this new, potential friend.

  Lucille staggered backward as Puffy continued to hop toward her, undeterred in his affection. When her back encountered the wall, the golden furball planted his monstrous, muddy paws in the center of Lucille's pristine lap, refusing to remove himself until he had properly welcomed her.

  Marin was screaming with laughter, hanging on to the newel post for support and holding her side. Hunter fought hard to stifle his own mirth, rubbing his hand across his eyes and biting the inside of his jaw.

  Not until he began to fear for the puppy's safety did he bother to intervene on this touching welcome home.

  "Puffy!" Lord, how he hated that name. Why could he not have a proper name, like Killer? "Puffy, down! Come here, you hairy clown."

  Puffy immediately left Lucille screeching against the wall. He trotted over to Hunter and sat in front of him, gazing up with expectant, adoring eyes, dusting the floor with his wagging, bushy tail. Hunter's hand automatically reached out and scratched him behind his ears.

  "Dear Lord!" Lucille panted with outrage while she made a futile attempt to knock the mud from her skirts. "How dare you pet that monster? It should be taken out and shot!"

  Before the last word died on her lips, a black, yowling projectile launched itself from the top of the hall clock.

  It had become a happy game with Angel to ambush unsuspecting victims from her hiding place atop the clock. Hunter could only watch as she soared through the air with feline grace to land heavily on his mother's shoulders.

  If only Lucille had not reacted as she had. But when his mother went into hysterics, it was not surprising that Angel held on for dear life, ultimately moving to higher ground, dislodging the hat and tangling her claws in her victim's hair.

  After one final yowl Angel gave up her position atop Lucille's head. The huge cat leapt to the floor with obvious disgust for this woman who knew not how to play the game. Her tail pointed stiffly toward the ceiling in her most haughty manner as she strolled away with unconcerned dignity. Only then did Lucille stopped screaming.

  While Hunter and Marin both watched Angel vacate the room as only a cat can, no one noticed Lucille slide to the floor in an undignified heap.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The happy, idyllic days of Pierce Hall seemed like a distant memory. The only sounds resounding through the house now were Lucille's screeches whenever someone did something to displease her - which averaged about every thirty seconds.

  It didn't take long for the servants to find pressing chores to do at distant points on the property. After only two days, even Emmaletta suddenly insisted that the flavor of her cooking was enhanced if she did most of the preparations locked in the farthest regions of the wine cellar.

  Marin tried to stay out of the fray, making sure she crossed paths with her mother-in-law as little as humanly possibly.
Hunter made a half-hearted attempt to placate the woman, but the encounter ended with several pieces of expensive china shattered into smithereens. It wasn't until Katie became the target of Lucille's vitriol that Marin decided to step in.

  She might have talked things over with Hunter, but he had ridden into town to meet with his banker. So when Katie came to Marin in tears because "Wucille" had screamed at her over some minor offense, Marin had dried Katie's tears, sent her out with Mamie to play, and prepared to do battle with the lemon-sucker.

  It wasn't hard to find her. She had only to follow the shrill, intermittent calls for Mamie, who, of course, was nowhere within earshot.

  Marin strolled into the spotless sitting room that adjoined Lucille's bedroom and sat down in the brocade chair opposite her mother-in-law. The woman looked up from her needlepoint, then went back to viciously stabbing the fabric with her needle.

  "Get out of my sight."

  Marin leaned back in the chair and got more comfortable.

  "I don't believe I will."

  Lucille jerked her head up at Marin's audacity. Her eyes blazed with bitter hatred.

  "I did not invite you in here. Get out."

  "Lucille, you and I are going to have a little talk. No, no. Don't speak. Actually, I am going to talk, and you are going to listen."

  Lucille jumped to her feet and threw her needlepoint to the floor.

  "If you won't leave, then I will."

  "If you walk out of this room, then keep walking right on out the front door, and don't bother coming back. Now sit down and shut up."

  Marin would be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed when Lucille - after the barest flicker of uncertainty - chose to perch defiantly on the edge of her chair.

  "That's better. Now..." Marin picked up a book that lay next to the chair and nonchalantly read the title. She replaced it with studied attention, then turned her gaze back to her simmering adversary. "I want to remind you, Lucille, that you are no longer mistress of this house. I am. And I am no longer willing to tolerate your abrasive personality, especially when you begin to target my loved ones."