The Northern Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  Her voice was very soft when she answered. “Yes, I’m quite hot—and I hope you are, too. Perhaps when we return onboard we can see to each other’s, ah, comfort before dinner.”

  “An excellent idea.” He rubbed his chin against the top of her head, the closest he could come to a caress in this weather. She moved closer to him, until her bustle started to slide up out of the way against her back, bringing her hips closer to his through their heavy clothing.

  He rumbled wordless approval and cradled her, not entirely sorry moments later to see the station attendant close off the water valve.

  “All aboard!” cried the conductor.

  “Come, my dear, it’s time to return to the Empress.”

  He swung her up into the Empress’s vestibule, totally avoiding the icy stairs, and followed her immediately. An instant later, he saw Mitchell and the other board their car. No trouble here from Collins, not that he honestly expected it before the Rockies.

  The train’s whistle blew, marking their departure.

  Inside the Empress’s drawing room, Braden was pulling the blinds and closing the curtains.

  Rachel blinked at him, her breasts heaving and her mind spinning. The world seemed to have become a different place with every color brighter and every scent richer. The curtains were now a brilliant cobalt blue, instead of a dull navy blue. Surely she could not be smelling fresh roses and cedar, instead of faint traces of those living scents. No cinders in here, of course, unlike common passenger cars.

  The train’s whistle blew, its bell ringing continuously. The big wheels clanked and began to turn, their heavy rhythm pounding slowly, deeply through her feet and into her bones. Heaven help her, it rolled into her core…

  Activities that had been so straightforward once had now taken on a new meaning. Had she really made an assignation with a man, even if he was her husband? Could his servant be screening the room to ensure their privacy?

  How could she be so sensually self-assured as to even consider doing so? This was very different from studying Latin declensions.

  Well, at least Braden was protective.

  “Thank you, Braden,” she murmured, keeping her head high, even as her core throbbed in time with the Empress’s wheels…

  “My pleasure, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”

  Lucas calmly dropped his hat, gloves, and coat onto a settee. He silently came up behind her and nudged her toward the corridor with one hand on the small of her back, his carnal intentions as unmistakable as if he’d shouted them.

  She definitely blushed. “No, thank you, Braden. We’ll call you if we need anything.”

  “Very well, ma’am.” No smile touched his face, which would have been very improper, but somehow she sensed his complete approval. He bowed slightly as they went past.

  Lucas promptly wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. Her body promptly purred its enthusiasm and melted. Heaven help her, he seemed virile enough to make her pregnant within a day. No matter what he hoped to gain from this marriage, whatever happened in the future—she had to accept and trust how all her five senses thrilled to his touch.

  “Are you still warm?” he whispered.

  “I believe I’m very hot—although that could be my attire,” she returned, trying for a light tone.

  He chuckled and pushed open their stateroom door. “We’ll have to investigate that very quickly. It would never do to have my wife languish from heat prostration.”

  Her blush deepened, as she recognized what she’d just invited.

  She glanced around their stateroom, trying to decide where to go. The main stateroom was an opulent nest, deliberately designed to look as much as possible like a medieval knight’s bedchamber. Heavily carved mahogany paneling and furniture were accented by oriental carpets, rather than the more modern Brussels carpets. The lamps on the wall were shaped like torches with great globes and long handles, while the single lamp hanging from the ceiling resembled Aladdin’s lamp—as if the medieval knight had brought back trophies from the Crusades. The big bed, with its four posters, could easily hold two people in comfort and there was also enough space to walk easily around the furniture, rather than eternally dodging other occupants. Even the small stove in the corner, which had come from the Russian railroad system, was an ornate oriental affair. The overall effect was surprisingly hedonistic and comfortable at the same time.

  If she hadn’t known that it was Lucas’s father’s private Pullman, Rachel would have concluded that the Empress had been built as a love nest.

  She came up against the bed and turned around, ready to ask Lucas what he wanted her to do.

  Lucas unfastened her buffalo coat and tossed it aside carelessly, close to the stove.

  Rachel stiffened, appalled by possible damage to the fur, and started to protest. His brilliant gaze caught her, his eyes hooded but oh, so very hungry.

  She stopped, the first syllable hanging in her throat, and stared back at him, utterly unable to move. The heat that she’d teased him about, on that small railroad platform, twisted through her spine and into her veins like a match to kindling.

  He was watching her as if she alone would satisfy him. As if she was the most delightful, seductive woman he’d ever hoped to find.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her? Scrawny, brown-haired Rachel?

  She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. He avidly studied every millimeter of movement.

  Oh my. Her core tightened, sending a jolt of heat into her breasts.

  He took one step forward, then another.

  Dear heavens, every step brought his scent closer to her, spreading the heat through her body. If she’d tried to lift a finger, turn, take a step—she couldn’t have done so.

  He lifted her hands and began to take off her gloves. Every time he uncovered a finger, he kissed it.

  She stared at him, her eyes enormous. The simple caresses seemed to be ricocheting to places deep inside her that she hadn’t known existed, weakening her knees. The spirals of fire and hunger reached into her toes and her fingers. “Lucas, she breathed, “shouldn’t you kiss…”

  He glanced up at her from over her knuckles. “Your fingertip, dear? What an excellent idea.”

  He sucked it into his mouth, gently scraping his teeth over it.

  Rachel felt the tug all the way to her womb. She moaned and grabbed for his shoulder with her other hand. “Dear heavens, Lucas!”

  His smile was full of masculine anticipation. “You have nine more fingers, Rachel,” he pointed out, “and I’m not sure I’m done with the first.”

  He licked her finger again, increasing her sensitivity, and sucked. Her knuckles turned white where she gripped him and she spread her legs for balance. By the time he took her jacket off, she was begging for more than kisses.

  He dropped her jacket onto the floor and unfastened her skirt, his hands fumbling slightly. Moments later, her petticoats followed it onto the pile with her cloak, leaving her standing in her corset, chemise, drawers, stockings, and boots. She blushed, ducking her head since she had no veil of hair to hide behind.

  “Dear God in heaven, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Rachel’s head jerked up in surprise and she stared at him. He truly was watching her avidly, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been racing the train.

  A slow smile bloomed on her face, matching the liquid fire in her core. “Lucas, sweetheart…”

  “What?” He wasn’t looking at her face. She eyed the great bulge behind his fly and a secret, feminine smile touched her lips. Surely an experienced woman would know how to tease her lover into removing his clothes.

  “You’re still wearing things that could scratch my skin.” She tried to pout; wasn’t that what flirts did?

  His head shot up, sweeping an adorable lock of hair back off his brow. “Damn, I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  He managed to very quickly remove his jacket, with its few buttons. He yanked his boots off and thr
ew them into the corner beside the stove.

  Rachel propped one foot up on the small footstool and stretched, pretending she wasn’t watching him. If she looked directly at him, she was very much afraid that she’d leap on him in a most improper fashion. She closed her eyes and hissed in the near pain of frustration, rubbing slow circles over her stomach and wishing desperately that she could fondle herself more intimately, given the tendrils of lust curling between her breasts and her core.

  He growled and fumbled at his shirt, with its infinity of small buttons and tight cuffs. He kept stealing glances at her, which she glimpsed in the mirror over the dressing table.

  Was he growing more excited because they weren’t facing each other, with their eyes open? Was the same eagerness driving her?

  She daringly fondled her breasts, as she would if she was alone. “I’m definitely melting, Lucas,” she murmured, trying to remember the words he’d used for flirtation.

  He cursed and yanked his cuff open, sending buttons flying. He shoved his suspenders and whipped his shirt over his head off his shoulders.

  It was her first sight of him, naked to the waist. Forgetting all pretense of disinterest, she spun around and looked her fill at her magnificent male animal

  She’d already known he was strong, because of how he’d carried her through Omaha. But had she truly realized how clean-limbed he was, how superbly his smooth sweeps of muscle worked with sharp lines of bone and sinew to form such a potent, barely leashed strength? Even his stomach was ridged as though it too was banded with muscle. Blue veins twisted and rippled across his creamy skin like foreign artwork. He was as primal and irresistible as the train itself, carrying her ever onward to an unknown destination.

  He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling quickly under the neat, thick dark mat of hair as he watched her. Dark coppery nipples gleamed amidst it, looking tight and hard. Did he enjoy love play there, as she did? He’d never spoken of his likes, nor truly allowed her time to discover them.

  A great silver slash ran across his left arm and a half dozen puckered scars marked bullet wounds gained through service to his country. Dear heavens, he was even more masculine and attractive when seen in the light, than in the dark.

  She choked, unable to breathe or voice her hunger. Surely he burned, too, given the flush darkening his chest.

  Her nipples pebbled hard against her corset, desperate to rub against him.

  He pulled her into his arms. “You’re tumbling me into your bed.”

  Her tongue ran over her lips. “Wonderful.”

  “Witch,” he said feelingly and tipped her up onto the bed. An instant later, he’d stripped off his trousers and joined her.

  He leaned over her. “Minx. You passionate darling—and my wife, thank God.”

  He kissed her and she responded immediately, giving herself completely to the enticing caress. His clever fingers found their way to her breasts, fondling and tweaking, insidiously courting her. The combined sensations overwhelmed her senses and she finally pulled her head back, unable to catch her breath against her corset’s constriction.

  Lucas rumbled approval and dropped his ebony head. If his fingers were clever, his mouth was devilish in its ability to incite her into madness.

  Her northern devil, with his eyes like the blue-green fires in a block of ice’s heart. Outside, everything was frozen but here, everything was on fire.

  Her core was burning for him, cream melting onto her thighs for him. Her most intimate flesh was rich and full, infinitely sensitive in readiness. She couldn’t think clearly past the need to feel him more deeply.

  She gripped his shoulders and back, pulling him closer. Once she scratched him—but he growled her name and went back to loving her with redoubled passion.

  Waves were hurtling through her blood, demanding fulfillment.

  His blunt finger sought her pearl and she willingly opened for him, eager for more of his touch. He toyed with her folds, teasing her, until she thought she’d go insane. Her hips rocked back and forth, desperately seeking him.

  And then—there he was, wonder of wonders, kneeling between her legs, gathering her up by the derrière to prepare her.

  Rachel was almost blind with lust, but she threw one leg up around his hip—and almost died for the infinite delight of feeling Lucas pressed against her thigh.

  She was so burning hot and wet that he came completely into her on his first thrust. He lay solidly against her, his heart sounding as loud as any steam engine. He wrapped his arms around her to steady her and she instinctively wrapped her other leg around his hips. A moment later, he began to move.

  He rode her hard, fire ripping through them both. The waves of lust were too great, too close to the surface, too easily transferred between them to be long denied.

  She clawed his back, silently demanding completion. He came immediately, shouting her name in shock. The hot pulses deep inside her triggered a startling climax, tumbling her into it as if it had been days since she’d experienced release, orgasmic waves shaking her spine.

  And always, jet after jet of his rich, hot seed filled her womb. Somehow, this time he was deeper than ever before.

  Afterward, all she could do was lay on top of him and try to catch her breath, while he gently petted her back. The fact that she was still wearing most of her underclothes was quite unimportant in comparison.

  “Damnation, but I’m a lucky man,” Lucas muttered and tossed the light, embroidered coverlet over her.

  “Hmm?” She probably needed to eat something but that would mean leaving his arms. No.

  “Having a wife who’s eager to make love with me.”

  Rachel blinked and briefly stopped trying to wrap some of his chest hair around her little finger. He was so wonderfully furry there.

  They’d been friends for more than five years. She might not know all the reasons why he’d married her, but she had managed to lure him into bed for their mutual pleasure. With that ability, his ring on her finger, and his child under her heart—her place in his life should be very solid.

  Even if he might one day take another mistress…

  She smiled and smoothed out the little lock of hair. “And I’m the luckiest woman in the world—having a husband who’s eager to give me pleasure.”

  Lucas rumbled approvingly, deep in his throat, and pulled her up his body for another kiss.

  The train’s whistle blew long and low. The Empress’s great iron wheels screamed softly, warning of a stop.

  Lucas nibbled on her nose. “Dinner time. Do you want to disembark and eat in Grand Island?”

  Rachel jerked her head back and shot him an appalled look. “Are you joking? After tasting lunch, I’ve been waiting all day for Lawson’s first dinner.”

  “In that case, we should rise and dress.” He didn’t move.

  “Could Braden serve us in here?” What a hedonistic evening that would be…

  A wicked smile played over her husband’s lips. “Of course he would. I’ll ring for him.”

  He stretched out his arm but couldn’t reach the bell pull without disturbing her. Rachel sniffed, trying to sound disgruntled, giggled, and slid off her husband.

  He lightly swatted her rump, making her jump. “Silly wife,” he teased her.

  Their train blew its whistle once again, the wheels screeching to a stop and steam hissing up past the windows.

  Another train’s whistle sounded very, very close.

  They both froze, listening hard to the unusual sound.

  Rachel frowned. “That sounds like it intends to stop here, too, Lucas.”

  He sat up, frowning. “I wonder…”

  She watched him with growing alarm. “What do you mean?”

  Harsh lines appeared beside his mouth, deeper than when he’d faced down Holloway and Collins’s thugs for her outside the saloon.

  The other train’s whistle blew again, very close, signaling its stop.

  The other train’s wheels started to scr
eech.

  Lucas threw back the covers and stood up. The lines beside his mouth were white now and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “It sounds like a Baldwin from the Pennsylvania Railroad, one of those used for private trains.”

  He poured water from the jug on the stove into the big bowl and began to sponge himself off quickly, looking as though he was considering a dozen revolting options. She was hardly surprised that he didn’t use the tub in the small private bathroom.

  “A private train?” Rachel sat up. “Who do you think it is?”

  “My father.” He caught sight of her face through the mirror and spun to face her. “I’m not ashamed of you, dear—never, never think that!”

  An ugly fear died before it had ever been truly born. She managed a tremulous smile for him.

  The other train’s wheels screeched loudly, sounding as if it would stop on the track beside the Empress.

  Lucas slapped the paneling, his expression shifting back into wariness and rage. “Damn, I hope I’m wrong and it’s someone else.”

  Braden had laid out dinner clothes for both of them, which Rachel had thought far too formal for a train in the middle of Nebraska, even if Mitchell had somehow managed to acquire a superb Parisian evening gown for her.

  Now Lucas began to jerk on the finely made raiment with scant regard for its quality. He even dug out pearl studs and an elegant diamond stickpin to wear with his black frock coat, immaculate white linen, and charcoal gray trousers. It was the attire a man would wear for the opera or dinner at the White House, certainly not for a comfortable gathering en famille.

  She opened her mouth and closed it with a snap. For once in her life, she didn’t ask any of the questions trembling on the tip of her tongue. Elias had told her nothing of Lucas’s relationship with his family, although he’d known much about their social and financial importance. Lucas wasn’t talking and she gave him the quiet he needed.

  An impatient halloo sounded outside just as he finished. A woman’s voice called for Braden.

  A muscle ticked in Lucas’s jaw. “Damn.”

  “Who?” she whispered.

  “Mother.” The single word sounded like another man’s name for all of the four Furies.