He raised his aching body and joined her on the sagging couch. “I started off on this, but it’s worse than the floor. You don’t need to thank me for the night’s sleep, though. It’s Saturday, after all. I would have probably spent it in some heathenish pursuit.”
She chuckled quietly. “You’re not so very evil, Daniel Aldman. You tried to warn me about Malcolm. Then you came and rescued me.”
“Almost rescued you. You’d already taken matters into your own hands.”
“But you came. Even though I’d given you and everyone in your family ample reason to turn your backs on me. John would have let Malcolm take me, and gladly.”
“I’m not my brother.” He reached out and found her hand. Very gently, he massaged the fingertips. Surprise warmed him when she didn’t pull away.
“Thank you,” she said and gave his hand a little squeeze. It sent electric shivers up his spine. “Thank you for coming after me. I never thought that anyone would care again.”
Nervous as a schoolboy, he laced those delicate fingers inside his own, callused and thick. He raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed it.
She made a sound low in her throat. He would have sworn it was a murmur of pleasure.
“You deserve someone to care for you, always. You deserve someone to make up for what Malcolm did to you.”
He felt her lean close then, so the light cotton of her nightgown brushed against his arm. That’s all there was, he realized, just that thin fabric between him and those slender curves. Nothing else at all. The thought made his pulse quicken as he reached to touch her face. To turn her head, to guide it to the right position for another kiss.
This time, no one interrupted to warn of an impending fire. This time, they would not have noticed if they burned.
Their mouths joined, and he allowed his tongue to tease her lips, to part them, to explore the warmth and sweetness of her. Mindful of her experience tonight with Malcolm, he kept his kisses long and gentle and almost painfully slow. While one hand cupped her cheek, the other still laced with her fingers, meshing to the rhythm of their bodies’ fervent hopes.
His lips brushed aside her loose hair, then traveled to her elegant white neck. He kissed along its length, from the tender earlobe all the way to an exquisite shoulder. A shoulder bared, he realized as the nightgown’s fabric had slipped over its curve. Her breath came quickly as his hands wandered, one to hold her narrow waist. The fingers of the other to brush that spot where cotton angled above the fullness of a breast.
His index finger traced the tip, then circled. Her breath came louder now.
Daniel tested the neckline of her gown, then slipped it downward further. She moaned softly as his moist kisses reached her breast. His mouth enveloped flesh and tasted. His tongue flicked across the nipple, while a hand reached to cup her other breast.
He suckled gently, sweetly, and beneath his mouth and hands, he felt her body melting, all resistance ebbing into that ageless understanding that lay between the sexes. His own want pushed hard against the fabric of his pants, and he wished desperately to free it. But some instinct told him he must move slowly, very slowly, so as not to frighten her. He stroked her thigh through cotton, then fumbled with a button on her gown.
With a gasp, she pulled away. “I’m not what Malcolm said. I’m no slut.”
“Of course you’re not. He only said that to excuse himself.” He filled his mouth with the delicious sweetness of her firm, white breast.
She pressed one palm firmly against his shoulder, insistently enough that he pulled away. “No,” she sighed. “This isn’t right. I’m leaving Monday, if the steamer runs. I’d try tomorrow if it weren’t the Sabbath.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“We’re not children, Daniel. We both know this can’t work. Malcolm knows I’m here now, and even if he didn’t, your family hates me. People would hear things. There’d be talk.”
“Talk,” he muttered angrily. “I don’t care what people say.”
“You would.” Her voice was gentle. “At first, you’d hear a few jokes, half-whispered only loud enough for you to catch your name. Then someone would get angry. Maybe because your horse stepped on his foot. He’d say something ugly about me, and you’d hit him. On and on it would go, until your little girl came home crying because the other children called her whore’s whelp and her Aunt Lucinda wouldn’t see her anymore. And finally, you’d end up hating me.”
He reached for her again. Though she let him pull her closer, her body grew rigid. Daniel whispered, “You might act proud sometimes, but you don’t really think you’re worth much, do you?”
Her tears soaked through his shirt. Their warm dampness felt as soothing as a balm. “I don’t think I’m worth that,” Hannah told him, “because I know what gossip does.”
“And I know what this does.” He kissed her once again, but briefly. “The question is, which one will you give in to?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hannah knew she should turn and flee into her room, but something held her. Her mind darted, hummingbird-swift, back to another parting long ago.
Robert’s kisses had not been so expert, nor his caresses quite so arousing. Still, their breath came faster as they sparked inside the confines of his father’s buggy.
She’d pulled away and straightened her buttons, which had gone somewhat askew. “No, Robert, we can’t,” she told him.
“But we’re betrothed, and tomorrow I’ll be leaving.” His blue eyes brimmed with desire, and his hands stroked the fabric of her sleeve. “Don’t you love me, Hannah?”
As she wound her hair into the chignon it had escaped, she remembered all her father’s warnings. “You know I do,” she told him, though she was far from certain of these strange new feelings, “but we have to be strong. Imagine the disgrace if a child came of this before we’re wed. You might not be near enough to set things right. Not in time, at least.”
He groaned in frustration. “I — I think if we were careful . . .” But he, too, sounded unsure now.
Hannah kissed him chastely. “Just remember, I’ll be waiting. I’ll be here for you when you come home.”
Except he hadn’t. God, how she wished she had succumbed, so at least she could have had that to remember!
After Malcolm married her, sometimes she lay guilty in their marriage bed. She closed her eyes while Malcolm took her and pretended her sweet Robert had come home.
Would she spend her life regretting her chastity tonight? Would she imagine, years from now, all she and Daniel hadn’t done? This time, there was no question of a child or a ruined reputation; the former was an empty dream, the latter lost already.
Still, she hesitated, wondering if Daniel saw her only as an easy conquest, another fallen woman for a strange Saturday spree.
His lips, when they met hers once more, dissolved her indecision, made her body ache with need and her heart long to draw close to his, if only for a little while. If she could but take one thing with her from Peshtigo, why could it not be a memory of passion?
He fingered her hair as gently as if he stroked a newborn kitten, then ran his hands through the long waves. After a moment, as if he sensed her thoughts and echoed each one, his kisses fell upon her like spring rain.
All her conscious thought narrowed to the trail his mouth blazed to her neck, her chest, her breasts. His hands, as they slid along her sides and hips, drew from her a long, sighed, “Daniel.”
His palms continued moving down along her body, continued until they molded the contour of her slender legs, until they found the cotton nightgown’s hem. Then, reaching beneath it, he stroked her, unimpeded by the cloth. Soon he touched her where no man save one had ever touched before. But how different now, with this man! How gentle, how unselfish.
Her neck arched backward as his fingertips caressed moist heat. Tiny dots of light swarmed in her vision, then slowly merged into one white-hot sphere so intense she could not long contain it. She cried out softl
y as long-forgotten muscles deep within her clenched and then dissolved in ecstasy.
“Hannah, stay with me,” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t leave Peshtigo.”
She kissed him softly, wishing that he hadn’t asked the only thing she could not give him. She’d thought he understood.
“Please, don’t ruin this,” she told him, recovering her voice. “We have now. This moment. Can’t that be enough?”
Too abruptly, he moved away from her. “You’d do this, and still go?” In the darkness, his voice iced over.
Guilt sparked in her, fueled by Malcolm’s accusation. “I’m no slut, Daniel. I only thought that maybe we both need each other . . . if only just this once. We do need, Daniel. Both of us.”
She forced herself to reach out for him. But when her hand touched his shoulder, she might as well have been touching cold steel.
“This isn’t like that, Hannah. It isn’t about one single night before you go. You make me feel in here.” He grabbed her hand and laid it on his chest. “And I haven’t —not since Mary. Damnation, woman. Can’t you see I care for you? I have almost from the first time we met. If I were just looking to scratch an itch of that sort, I’d go buy myself an hour with Rosalind or someone like her.”
Tears burned in Hannah’s eyes. She might only offer now, but he spoke as though tonight alone meant nothing. How could he know the chasm she had spanned, the old ghosts she’d resurrected, to offer even that? Damn him, for denying her whatever comfort they could have taken from each other. Damn him, for ruining what could have been a precious memory.
She took a deep breath before speaking. “If one night together would mean no more than a whore’s time, then to hell with you, Daniel Aldman! I don’t need you at all!”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Hannah fled to her room and slammed the door on their desire.
o0o
By the time Daniel woke, Faye was up already. She stood cradling a cup of coffee and staring out a filmy window toward the west.
“Mornin’,” she told him.
He wondered how she knew he was conscious. After spending the night tossing on the hard floor, he barely felt alive, much less awake. For too many hours, he’d regretted pulling back from Hannah, refusing an offer any sane man would have taken and enjoyed. What in hell was wrong with him? Had he suddenly turned into his brother, or had he known, as if by instinct, that he couldn’t bear to have her only once?
Now his words had cost him even that chance. Though he hadn’t meant to, he’d insulted her. She probably wouldn’t let him within ten feet of her again.
Still cursing himself mentally, Daniel ran his fingers through his hair and joined Faye, by the window.
“God Almighty,” he swore as he caught sight of the smoke. The cloud loomed huge and dark, except for its amber underbelly, which flickered with reflected light.
She nudged him with a sharp elbow. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. It’s Sunday, and with all that fire, we wouldn’t want to get Him riled. Looks worse’n ever, don’t it?”
She handed him her coffee. “Here. You look like you need this more than me.”
Gratefully, he took it. “Thanks. Is Hannah up?”
“Sure she’s up. She’s not a lazybones like you. It’s after ten o’clock.”
A door creaked, and Hannah appeared, her eyes hard and remote. She’d pinned her hair in place and put on her gray dress, the same one she’d been wearing at the dock the day they met. It flattered her figure, even if the color put him to mind of smoke.
“I thought I heard voices,” Hannah said to Faye, while her gaze avoided his. “Would you like some help with breakfast? It’s the least I can do after all the trouble I’ve caused.”
“I’ll say this, you’re a worker,” Faye told her. “If Rosalind had a quarter your ambition, she woulda turned out fine. Come on and help me then. Maybe some bacon fumes will even float Old Hank outta the sack.”
She retreated to the kitchen, but Hannah lingered for a moment, her attention drawn by the window.
Daniel didn’t dare to look at her. Instead, he, too, stared at the orange glow, and fear flickered in his gut. Though the fires had hounded them for weeks, this one made him want to find Amelia and hold her close. But first, he had to talk to Hannah. This might be his last chance.
“I’m pretty sore this morning,” he offered lamely.
“Good.” Her voice was flat.
“Been kicking myself all night.”
“You should have called me. I would have put on boots and helped.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. Real sorry. I just thought —I thought when you —when you let things go on, that meant you’d changed your mind. I can see now, that was just wishful thinking. What I said to you —” He shook his head. “I never meant it like what you wanted was the same as an hour with some harlot.”
She turned toward the kitchen. “I told Faye I’d help her cook.”
Still, she didn’t walk away. Daniel wondered if that counted for something.
“I don’t like the look of this sky,” he continued, wanting to fill the awkward space with words. “I ought to go help John out on the farm or maybe join up with another fire detail. But I can’t leave my aunt and Amelia on their own either. Wish I could split myself three ways.”
“Eat some breakfast first,” said Hannah. “Whichever you decide, you need some food.”
The fact that she spoke to him at all was something, he supposed. He just hoped the food would be warmer than her invitation.
In a little while, they sat down to eat in silence. The griddlecakes and bacon did rouse Hank, though he appeared to suffer from last night’s overindulgence. He put his hand to his forehead at the slightest clatter of fork to plate and added the occasional moan for emphasis.
Daniel finished his meal. “Thank you ladies for the fine breakfast.”
Again his eyes strayed toward a window. Although all were shut, he imagined the odor of smoke even thicker than before.
“Just remember, the river’s to the east.” He pointed the direction. “If all else fails, get down to the river.”
Hannah stood and followed him toward the door. “The river,” she echoed. “Is there any other place?”
He sensed fear in her voice. “None better.”
She nodded understanding. “Be careful, Daniel.”
He turned toward her and took her hand. “I know I have no right to ask this, but please be here when I come back. Please don’t go without giving me the chance to say good-bye.”
Releasing her, he opened the door. There stood his brother, John, his right hand poised to knock. John’s gaze traveled past him and his rumpled clothing to take in Hannah.
Daniel sucked in a startled breath and coughed on the thick air. His brother’s raised hand transformed into a fist.
“I half-expected to find you somewhere passed out drunk.” John’s voice shook with anger. “But this, this disappoints me beyond measure. When I saw Chance tied in the back, I hoped there might be some other explanation.”
“There is an explanation, John, if you aren’t too pigheaded to hear it. First of all, we haven’t been —”
“—Leave this false woman, Daniel. She’s unworthy of you.”
“Just because you came into town for church doesn’t give you the right to preach. Hannah and I did nothing to warrant such a fuss. We’ve talked, John. We both know she did wrong to lie to you, but she has reasons. If you heard them, you might be able to forgive her.”
Hannah stepped forward. “I am sorry, John.”
“So you seduce my brother to atone for what you did?”
“I haven’t seduced anyone. The Barlows have been here every minute.”
“And we all know what a respectable house they run,” John answered sarcastically. “But I didn’t come to listen to more lies. I came to fetch my brother.”
“Were there fires near the farm?” Daniel asked, his anger for a moment blunted by concern.
&nbs
p; “No, or I would have never left. I should go back, though, but I’d feel better if you stayed with Aunt Lucinda a few more days, until the worst is over.”
“I was on my way there now. Do you think we’d all be better off out on the farm?”
John shook his head. “God knows which is safer. My way home may be impassable, and at least Aunt Lucinda’s house is fairly close to the water.”
Daniel saw the sense in that. “Even so, I hate to leave you short-handed at the farm. If you have any flare-ups, we’ll lose the house for sure.”
“If God wills it, we would lose it anyway. But I’ll do my best if our aunt and your daughter are protected. Providing you can find the time to see to them.” He glared once more at Hannah.
“You needn’t worry, Mr. Aldman,” Hannah told him. “I’ll be leaving town as soon as possible.”
“Don’t even speak to me, you vile —” John began, until Daniel clapped him on the shoulder.
“— Don’t say something we’re both going to regret. You have every right to be angry with Hannah. You don’t have to forgive her. But she doesn’t deserve name-calling, and if you decide to raise a hand to her again, you’ll have to go through me.”
John looked away from him, the way he always did when he was disappointed. Ever since their father died, his older brother had been looking away. When Daniel announced he’d joined the Union Army, when he’d married Mary, daughter of poor Belgian immigrants, when he’d slid into rough friends and wild sprees in the wake of Mary’s death. John had spent so much time looking down on Daniel’s life that he hadn’t bothered to live one of his own.
“I’m heading home now. When all this is over, maybe you should pack your things.”
Daniel nodded, surprised at the sudden tightness of his throat. Though he didn’t appreciate John’s attempts to tell him what to do, he still hated to disappoint his brother. He remembered what Hannah had told him about his family hating her and how, if he lost them, he would come to hate her too. He vowed it wouldn’t be so. He could make them understand.
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