He gripped her arm, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh like iron claws. “Are you completely certain that the boy’s problem is the measles? That you’ve had it before? That being immune will protect my child?”
She stared at him. “Your reasoning is absurd! I have followed the counsel of Boston’s finest physicians, yet you are asking questions that would shame a country quack. Are you so blinded by guilt for a dead child that all you can see is a flickering chance of illness?”
“Yet if that disease occurs, my child will die! However small the chance may—or may not be—the potential cost is huge. Do you care so much for another woman’s babe that you won’t give a thought for your own, madam wife?”
She flinched, remembering the horror stories of miscarriages and distorted fetuses, after an expectant mother had been touched by measles.
But it was silly to quail at that, since the odds were so very, very slight.
She rallied, forcing her hammering pulse to slow. “The chance of that is small, compared to this boy’s illness. He lacked people to help his family care for him. Would you have asked your child to go untended?”
“My child will never be untended in his lifetime.” Lucas’s eyes glittered like a tiger’s, daring her to challenge him. His fingers tightened into her soft flesh.
Her breath slammed in her throat, as if contact with a predator had banished generations of civilization in an instant. She stiffened her spine and glared at him.
The silence stretched, neither of them yielding.
A deep whistle sounded in the valley below. Then another, and another.
Someone shouted. Their trains hooted, and blew their whistles long and loud, calling out surprise and pleasure. Echoes tumbled over each other throughout the surrounding valley.
Lucas stilled, listening.
“Where is it coming from?” Rachel asked desperately.
“East?” he muttered. “But there are no plows there and nothing else could have reached us so quickly.”
He turned to stare, his expression raw with hope. She followed his look, their earlier animosity forgotten—at least for the moment.
A massive train chugged slowly into sight. A great bucker plow led the way, pushed by three closely coupled locomotives. The bucker plow itself was shaped like a great naval battering ram, with a steel-shod prow, heavy timbers, and an upper deck for its skipper to command its usage. Before it, mountains of snow frothed and fell back, like ocean waves before a ship of the line.
Following that came two sturdy freight engines, also coupled together, pulling another small train, which included enough coaches to house two hundred men, some cooking and provision cars, a coal car, a water car, and a caboose. Men hung out of the windows and marched alongside, waving their caps and shouting greetings.
It was a snowplow and its army was fully capable of opening the transcontinental railroad track.
The sight snatched Rachel’s breath away. “Thank God, we’re saved,” she murmured.
“How the devil did T.L. do that?” Lucas demanded simultaneously.
She glanced at him. “T.L.? Your father? What does he have to do with this?”
“Look at the engine immediately behind the plow. Which railroad did it come from?” Lucas’s eyes narrowed, focused solely on the enormous plow.
She squinted. “Pennsylvania?”
Impossible. Well, barely possible if someone with great power had forced that superb railroad to immediately send one of its most prized assets across half the continent. But still…
She looked again. “The Pennsylvania Railroad sent a snowplow to Wyoming?” Her voice ended on a high note.
“Correct.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What the devil will I owe him for this? He can’t demand anything from me any more.”
“Perhaps it’s a gift.” She might be furious at Lucas on her own account, but she could still be rational.
Lucas shook his head, turning pale beneath his tan. “How did he manage to persuade the Union Pacific to allow it on their line? My word, the blow to their pride!”
“He’d need a very powerful hold on them, or a very large bribe,” Rachel agreed. “Something to do with those big hearings in Washington, perhaps?”
“How the Union Pacific is entangled in the Crédit Mobilier scandal?”
“But Elias said your father had kept himself away from the Union Pacific’s crowd.”
“No. But those hearings could bring down the railroad and much of Congress, even possibly the administration. The Union Pacific will need allies.”
Their gazes met, linking them with much of their old camaraderie. “More than enough reason to join forces,” Rachel said softly.
“Indeed,” Lucas agreed and firmly took her filthy hand in his. “With due caution, of course.”
She flinched slightly at the warning to her, but set her chin and met his stare, look for look. She’d do exactly the same again, given the chance. If she was the only one who could help a child, she’d do it.
Maitland threw his head back with a sigh of relief. “Thank God, we’re finally out of those damn mountains.”
Collins smiled at him fondly. His son’s spirits were improving daily, along with his health. He’d even had the energy for an evening among the lower orders in Ogden, enjoying blood sports and a cheap whore, who Collins had paid off afterward in gold. But he’d have shelled out double the amount to see his son so cheerful, even laughing, while he practiced that bitch’s future punishment.
“Just a couple of days to Nevada and more mountains,” he reminded him.
Maitland shrugged. “But our mine will be there and our friends. After we take care of Donovan, we’ll have its riches to turn against the bitch. And, given just a little luck…”
Were Maitland’s wits working again, too? “Yes?”
“That husband of hers will follow us and we can kill him there, too.”
Finally, you’ve realized that…
“Splendid idea, son. We’d need to lay our hands on the bitch first. Otherwise, his family would claim everything through her, saying something about how the grieving widow is expecting his child.”
Maitland frowned. “Pity. I was hoping to simply kill her immediately but, very well, we’ll snatch her.”
“And you’ll teach her true obedience,” Collins purred.
His only son’s smile was a true one, which lit his eyes and his mouth. Collins would not have tolerated it directed at his late wife, but it was perfect for the bitch.
“Yes, I will need to do that. Immediately and thoroughly.” Maitland lifted his chilled glass of champagne in a toast. “To the Bluebird, Father!”
“The Bluebird!”
They drank deeply, in perfect harmony.
Where the devil had Rachel gotten herself to now? Had she found another charity case to risk her life for?
Lucas leaped back into the Empress, scanning every corner of the drawing room. All the curtains were open, yet he hadn’t been able to see her from outside, where the sun had set. If she wasn’t here, dammit, he’d turn the entire train upside down to find her.
It was bad enough that he’d been delayed for so long, chattering interminably with his train’s conductor, the Union Pacific roadmaster, and the Pennsylvania Railroad conductor about how best to utilize the shoveling gang he’d hired. For all he cared, they could take the lot and have them dig their way to China, if it meant he’d have his hands on Rachel five minutes earlier.
When he found her, he was either going to wring her beautiful neck or ride her into the ground, so she’d know who she belonged to and whose orders she had to obey. Both options appealed to him.
Braden straightened up from trimming a gas lamp, its fellows casting a warm golden glow over the room. “Good evening, sir. Would you care for some dinner? Lawson saved some very fine antelope steak.”
Lucas waved the suggestion off as unimportant, even after a long day’s brutally hard work. “Has Mrs. Grainger dined?”
“Yes, sir, and has retired to the main bedroom.”
“Thank you.”
He brushed past without another word, not about to respond directly to Braden’s superbly blank expression.
He gave a single hard knock on his bedroom door and went in.
“Braden? Did you have a question?” Rachel poked her head out of the bathroom. “Oh, you.”
Her disgruntled tone left no doubt as to her mood. She also looked delectable. She wore a flowered silk wrapper, which clung suggestively to her damp form. Her chestnut curls were piled loosely up, with a few tendrils escaping to draw attention to her slender neck and alabaster skin. Her cheeks were flushed and she smelled delicious. His chest tightened, his lungs heating.
Lucas pounced. In a single, swift movement, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the bedroom. An instant later and he had command of her other wrist, which he manacled with the first in one of his hands. He slammed her up against the wall, braced against a solid section of walnut paneling. “Yes, it is I—your husband.” He slid his leg between hers, boldly parting her silk robe.
She wore nothing underneath and she squirmed slightly, deliciously over his leather trousers. His heart slammed against his chest, sending a matching pulse through his cock. It grew, lying fat and heavy inside his trousers—close to her but not close enough.
She gaped at him. “Lucas!”
“I’m glad you remember who I am.” He caressed her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. “Because you have to know who’s giving you orders so you’ll know who you have to obey.”
She frowned, clearly not inclined to submit easily. “Lucas,” she began.
She was hardly in a position to argue, though. “I’m sure a few moments more will remind you of some of the activities done with your husband,” he said sweetly. “Such as this…”
He nuzzled and licked the pulse point on the inside of her wrist, the one that always weakened her knees—and made his pulses sing in anticipation.
She gasped and sagged slightly before snapping back erect. “Don’t be absurd!”
“Or this…”
He bent her arms to one side, opening her lovely throat for his kisses and teasing nibbles.
His passionate Rachel moaned and writhed, helpless before one of her favorite forms of loveplay.
His cock surged forward, growing in heat and size inside his trousers. His balls were fat and heavy, swollen with seed, pulsing with the same mad current that ran through veins and muscles and bones, demanding he hold her forever.
“Or this.” His voice was so deep and rough it seemed to belong to someone else.
He abruptly released her wrists and caught her by the hips, sliding her up the wall until his aching cock pressed against her belly.
Her golden eyes blinked open, dazed. “Lucas?”
Gritting his teeth against the urge to yank—and destroy one of her few articles of clothing—Lucas undid her robe’s belt. The slippery silk fell open, baring her. She had perfect breasts—firm and large enough to fill a man’s hand—but not a bounty that distracted from the elegant lines of her waist. And as for the wonders that were her nipples…
He raked her with his eager gaze. “Oh hell, yes, you’re beautiful.”
Her nipples firmed, lifting upward as if demanding more attention.
He chuckled and she blushed. “Lucas, please.”
“Exactly.” He took the first one into his mouth and enjoyed it, thoroughly, leisurely.
“That’s not what I meant,” she protested weakly, wriggling against him in a highly suggestive fashion.
He raised an eyebrow at her, in no mood for maidenly vapors. “You’re my wife, Rachel. Are you saying you’re not enjoying yourself?”
His thumb slowly rubbed her nipple. She panted, her eyes closing.
He raked his teeth lightly down her neck. Devil take it, if his own body would slow down and give him a little more time, he might be able to teach her a few lessons, instead of simply wanting to jump on her. “Rachel?” he reminded her, no doubt sounding damn harsh.
“Anything, Lucas.” Her eyelids fluttered. “But don’t we need to lie down first?”
“Hell, no!”
He fumbled at his trousers’ fly. Only instinct and long experience took him past blinding need and overly tight cloth long enough to free his cock. It sprang free, fiery hot, slicked with his juices—and snug against her satiny smooth belly. The same place where their child would grow.
He lifted her by the hips. His cock slipped between her legs, gliding between her intimate folds. “Wrap your legs around my waist, Rachel.”
Her eyes opened wide with shock. “Are you joking?”
He was about to be rendered insane by her hot, sweet juices…“Dammit, Rachel, just do it!”
She obeyed, settling herself firmly for a very long ride.
Thank the Almighty, he had her against a very smooth piece of wall there against the corridor wall and beside the door. It was also extremely well polished, of course, as befitted anything aboard the Empress.
He groaned something wordless, his pulse hammering in his veins. His balls were fat and tight, tucked up high and aching for release.
He surged forward, sheathing himself in her, and slammed her against the wall. She shrieked and clung to him, her channel enfolding him in the hottest of welcomes.
He rode her thoroughly, desperate to stamp himself on her, pounding over and over against the wall. Instinct dictated his timing, not sanity nor his own body’s needs. Did one climax shake her or two? Or three?
But she was still hot and willing, gasping for breath and chanting his name, when he brought her up the last, long climb to rapture, her exquisite body still caught between him and the wall. He was panting, heat streaking through his veins, and his seed boiling in his balls, desperate for release.
He nipped her shoulder in her favorite spot and sent her over the precipice into ecstasy, her voice breaking on his name.
That note of pure desperation unleashed him. He roared his triumph and climaxed, flooding her with his seed—trusting her with every hope he had for a tomorrow.
She was half-asleep afterward, when he brought her carefully down, totally disinclined for conversation.
Lucas was glad of her unaccustomed silence because he had no words to offer. Instead, he was full of the unsettling suspicion that this time, they truly had created a baby and he’d tied himself to a woman who took risks he abhorred.
And that he might be falling in love again—this time with a woman whose heart belonged to another man…
Two days later, Lucas was only willing to bet on one thing: Riding Rachel at all hours of the day and night might be extremely pleasurable for them both, but it would not make her yield an inch on any subject she considered to be a matter of honor. In fact, her idea of diplomacy was to not mention such difficult topics, just as she was doing at the moment while they rode down the last canyons toward Ogden.
A patch of sunshine swept through the Empress and passed over Rachel, where she slept in one of the custom-designed recliners. It illuminated her chestnut hair until she seemed an angel too pure for mortal men and then the sunlight vanished.
The beautiful Pullman shook, rattling and vibrating, matching the wheels’ clickety-clack. The train raced downward through the narrow gorge, sweeping out over every hairpin turn until it seemed ready to brush the snow-covered trees on the opposite side. It slowed occasionally, gathering itself for each longer, steadier passage along the hairpin’s leg until the next tight corner. But always, always, it offered its passengers a superb view of the tumbling, icy waters below and the fantastic spires and cliffs beyond.
Lucas paced the drawing room’s length, paying no heed to stupendous sights he’d seen dozens of times before. They had no part in the decision he had to make now, while they were still hours outside Ogden.
He and Rachel had never spoken directly about their fight over her behavior aboard the emigrant train. He’d certainly ne
ver apologized for dressing her down. She’d behaved abominably by endangering their unborn child when she’d exposed it to the measles. On behalf of their baby—if not now, then the one which would someday exist—he could not—and would not—allow her to risk herself.
He shuddered, remembering the last time he’d seen Martha—her features so incredibly still, her skin translucent with great purple bruises coming up underneath.
Ogden was where they’d change trains for Nevada. After that, they’d travel for two days across trackless, appalling deserts to reach the Bluebird Mine and finally confront Collins. God willing, he’d have an answer from Donovan to his telegrams by then. But if not, he’d face Collins on his own.
In either case, did he want to take Rachel with him? She believed Humphreys, the Bluebird’s manager, would obey her orders and spare Donovan, if he heard them from her personally. But who truly thought Collins’s henchman would behave in such a civilized fashion? Was that slight chance enough to wager Rachel’s life on it?
Or worse, what if Maitland Collins brutalized and killed Rachel as Ambrosia had been destroyed? Removed all semblance of her as a woman until she was only a lump of flesh, barely visible in a pool of blood?
A cold sweat broke out over his body, tightening his gut worse than any charge into battle. He pounded his fist into his palm, not seeing the Witches’ Rock when it flashed past.
No, never!
He could not do it. He would be breaking his oath to cherish and protect her, if he did so. Rachel, who had no more idea of how to protect herself than a day-old kitten did.
So he had to keep her behind, even if it meant physically forcing her—which she’d see as an unforgivable betrayal, given how she’d been imprisoned by Collins. Rachel—would refuse to discuss any disagreement on a point of honor, which she’d undoubtedly consider this.
He came to a halt, staring at rocks as granite hard and twisted as his choices—and as bleak as his future.
That brief taste he’d had of a warm, comfortable home was exactly that—brief. He needed to set it aside now before the memory set roots too deeply in him. It was a small price to pay for his wife and child’s safety.
The Northern Devil Page 20
