Jennifer Wilde

by Marietta Love Me

The grin still curled on his lips, and his eyes were full of teasing mockery. I longed to slap him silly. He was so insufferably handsome in the moonlight in the tobacco-brown vaquero outfit with its silver studs and dark blue embroidery. The breeches were very narrow, the short jacket form-fitting, accentuating broad shoulders and slender waist. The blue silk bandana was knotted around his neck.

  "I left the fiesta because I wanted to be alone," I said, emphasizing the last word.

  "Can't have you wandering about like this," he replied. "Much too dangerous."

  "I suppose you're going to tell me there are Indians."

  "None that I know of, but there are rattlesnakes. Coyotes, too."

  "Coyotes?"

  "Vicious animals. Travel in packs."

  "Only in wintertime," I said, "when they're looking for food. And rattlesnakes are more prevalent farther west, where it's hotter and drier."

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  "Em told me. She checked before she bought the rancho."

  "Okay, so I merely wanted to be with you. Is that a crime?"

  I was at a loss for an answer. Jeremy moved closer, his broad cheekbones polished with moonlight, shadows beneath them. His lips were parted, and his eyes were very dark. He smelled of soap and leather and a woody scent I recognized as pine. Behind him, far, far in the distance, I could see the swaying splotches of color from the lanterns hung around the patio. Music drifted across the night, lilting now, very faint. The dancing had begun.

  "Shouldn't you be dancing with Dolores?" I inquired.

  "Probably should be," he said, "Poor girl will pine. I'd rather be with you,"

  "I—I'm not in the mood for company."

  "That's too bad."

  "Jeremy—"

  "Look, lass, you wanna fight, we'll fight, but I intend to stick close by your side. I've missed you."

  "Indeed?"

  "A lot," he said.

  A lovely, tremulous feeling shimmered to life inside of me, welling up and making me almost giddy. I sternly repressed it, irritated with myself and irritated with him. Jeremy smiled and took my arm, and we turned away from the river. I went along willingly enough, but I held my chin high nevertheless. Instead of heading back toward the rancho, we moved across a gently rolling pasture, a line of trees in the distance. I frowned, fully intending to protest, but for some reason the words remained unspoken.

  It was completely dark now, and the stars that had been silver pinpoints before were blazing, thousands of stars blinking radiantly against the dark black sky. I had never seen such stars, flashing, sparkling, glimmering bright and so close it seemed I could reach up and touch them. There was a warm, gentle breeze. My skirts billowed lightly. The bandana around Jeremy's neck Happed against the lapel of his jacket.

  "The stars are gorgeous," I said. "They're so big."

  "Yeah, they're something. I like to sleep under them."

  "Oh?"

  "Fixed me up a place, a heap of straw, some blankets. I'll show you."

  "I really don't think—"

  I paused, slowing my step, and his hand tightened on my arm. I tried to pull free. He gave my arm a jerk. I stumbled. We had reached the trees now, and he led me through them, limbs groaning overhead, leaves rustling, blotting out the stars. I was angry, irritated, afraid, and that glorious, giddy feeling was stronger than ever. I felt as though I had drunk a whole bottle of the finest champagne. We entered a small clearing, completely surrounded by trees, and the stars flashed and gleamed overhead again.

  Jeremy released my arm. In the light of the stars his face was grim and determined, the mouth set in a firm line, his eyes dark under lowered brows. I knew the time had come, knew it would be useless to protest, and I didn't really want to. I wanted him to pull me into his arms. I wanted him to hold me tightly, so tightly I would forget my doubts, my fears, forget everything but feeling. I was tired of thinking, tired of fighting, tired of being strong. I wanted to love him—I already loved him—but I was still afraid of the commitment. I couldn't bear to be hurt again.

  "You planned this?" I said.

  "I've been planning it for a long time."

  "I—"

  "You want it, too, Marietta."

  "I—I'm afraid."

  "Of me?"

  I didn't answer. I folded my arms at my waist, clutching tightly, afraid of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me, desperately trying to remain aloof, above feeling, to use my head and avoid disaster. Behind him, in the middle of the clearing, I saw the small pile of hay covered with blankets. He had planned this very carefully, knowing full well the rancho was too crowded to allow us privacy. Starlight filled the clearing with a fine silvery haze. The makeshift bed looked soft, inviting. I was so weak I could barely stand. My knees, at any moment, were going to give way.

  "Love me," he crooned. "Love me, Marietta."

  "I can't," I said. My voice was surprisingly cool, my manner, composed. "I can't—I won't allow myself to—to love anyone. I've been hurt, Jeremy. I couldn't bear it if—"

  He pulled me to him and placed a hand over my mouth, silencing me.

  "Ah, lass, do you think I could ever hurt you? Do you think I could ever cause you pain?"

  His voice was low and melodious and soothing, beautiful. He removed his hand from my lips and curled his fingers lightly around my chin, tilting my head back. I looked up into those dark, determined eyes, fighting the weakness that had become a sweet, seductive ache in my blood, in my bones. He curled his left arm around my waist, drawing me nearer, and his warmth and strength seemed to envelop me. His lips parted in a thoughtful halt-smile.

  "There've been times, true, when I've longed to shake you," he continued, each word a husky caress. "I've never known a lass so stubborn, so proud, so willful. You're infuriating, exasperating, and I love you—ah, lass, I love you to the point of distraction."

  "Don't," I whispered. "We need to—to talk."

  He shook his head. "I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of being patient. I want you. I intend to have you—now."

  There was a stern note in his voice, and his face was suddenly hard. Leaves rustled. He tilted his head to one side and lowered his mouth until his lips brushed mine. Then his arms crushed me to him and I was lost, utterly lost. He kissed me as I had never been kissed before, with a passionate frenzy that mounted and mounted. I clung to his back, caught his hair with my fingers, and tugged, fighting still, but it was futile, futile, and I didn't really want him to stop,

  I was whirling, drowning in sensations that were bright and new and blazing inside me. Never, never had it been like this, and I was afraid now that he might release me, that the cool, sensible Marietta would return and ruin the happiness that had been within my grasp for so long. This was meant to be, I told myself. This man, this moment, this magical glory that swept all reason aside. My lips parted. I melted against him, pliant, submissive, no longer my own person, his, completely his. He made a moaning noise in his throat, thrust his tongue into my mouth, and held me so tightly I gasped.

  The kiss lasted for a blissful eternity that was all too short, and then he grasped my upper arms and lifted his head and looked into my eyes. I would have fallen had he not been holding me so firmly. He kissed my lids, my cheeks, my chin, my throat, tenderly now, murmuring soft words that were even sweeter than the tender touch of his lips. I was trembling, and my eyes were moist with tears. Jeremy led me over to the pile of hay covered with blankets. I stumbled, so weak I could barely walk. Arms curled around me, he kissed me again, passionate frenzy restrained but still there, deliberately, painfully held back.

  "I've been waiting," he murmured.

  "And—and I."

  "Too long, it's been too long. I should have taken you that first night in New Orleans."

  I turned, gazing up at the stars, and, behind me, he curled an arm around my throat and kissed my temple. With his free hand he began to undo the back of my gown. The bodice loosened, fell forward, the sleeves slipping down to my elbows. His
arm was warm and strong, a tender bar across my throat, and with his lips brushing my earlobe he cupped his hand around my left breast, his fingers digging beneath the frail cloth of my petticoat to grasp and squeeze, his palm rubbing across the nipple that swelled and hardened, hurting. He caught my lobe between his teeth and nibbled gently, and I closed my eyes, whirling in a delirium that threatened to eclipse consciousness. I may actually have fainted for a moment, for when I opened my eyes he was in front of me, holding me up and slipping the sleeves from my arms.

  I managed to stand while he fumbled with the blue silk, clumsily removing the gown. I stepped out of the circle of silk and, wearing only the frail petticoat, collapsed into his arms. He kissed me again, a long, lingering kiss, his lips firm, warm, his throat working as he moved his head from side to side with lips locked on mine. The sensations inside blazed, the sweet ache a torment now, each moment of delay exquisite torture. He moaned and drew back and parted his lips, flattening them against the edge of his teeth. He made a low growling noise, a splendid male animal, reason gone, driven away by the savage urge throbbing inside him.

  He caught my shoulders and lowered me onto the blankets. The hay beneath them crackled, rustling crisply. The pallet was soft. I arched my back, every fiber of my being aching for fulfillment. He removed his jacket, tossed it aside, and unfastened his belt and began to fumble with the buttons in front of his trousers. I sighed, aching, writhing on the blankets and lifting my arms. Jeremy scowled, impatient, too impatient to finish undressing. He knelt down and raised the hem of my petticoat and lowered himself on me, entering me with a forceful thrust that made me cry out.

  Pinioned beneath him, crushed by his weight, I spread my legs and wrapped my arms around his back, my fingers tearing at the silk of his shirt. Jeremy Bond filled me, pulsating inside me, moving, thrusting, strong as steel and soft as velvet, the torment unbearable, growing, growing, building as he thrust deeper and deeper and the dam of sensation weakened, crumbling, a flood of feeling ready to drown us both. He growled again, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of my shoulder, his body tense, rigid atop mine as the moment of release drew nearer, nearer.

  When he had scaled the highest peak, when he hung suspended over the abyss of ecstasy, he paused, deliberately, waiting for me. I shredded his silk shirt with my nails and moaned, moving beneath him, wrapping my legs around him, and that great dam of sensation began to give, began to topple. I opened my eyes and stared up at the stars flashing, glittering, dancing with silvery brilliance. He dove into me with one final thrust and broke the dam. Tumultuous waves

  of sensation swept over us, and it seemed all the stars in the sky exploded inside me. I cried out, clinging to him as wave after wave crashed, and Jeremy shuddered violently, finally growing limp as we washed to shore.

  We made love again and yet again, and when, depleted, I lay in his arms, I knew a peace such as I had never known before. He slept, limp, heavy, breathing deeply, half atop me still, and I reveled in his weight and his warmth and the strong, virile scent of his flesh. I stroked his hair, so thick, so silky, and he made a grumpy, grunting noise and snuggled closer, pulling me nearer, throwing a leg over mine. I smiled, the ashes of aftermath still glowing beautifully inside me. I looked over his shoulder at the stars. They were beginning to fade now, slowly disappearing as a faint pink blush touched the sky.

  Slowly, carefully, I pushed him off of me. He grunted again, rolling heavily to one side. The hay crackled beneath the blankets. I climbed to my feet and stretched, languorous, my limbs aching with a lovely ache. I adjusted my petticoat and retrieved my gown, slipping it on, fastening it in back, I straightened the bodice and smoothed the skirt down and ran my fingers through my hair. He sat up, blinking in the early morning light.

  "We'd better get back to the rancho," I said.

  "Yeah," he said. "I suppose so."

  He brushed a heavy wave from his brow, rubbed his eyes and got to his feet, wobbling just a little. He did up his trousers and fastened his belt. I handed him his jacket. He put it on, wearing a sheepish grin, and then he pulled me to him and gave me a long, lazy kiss. I pulled away, smiling, and he" shook his head and yawned. We started back toward the rancho, moving slowly through the trees and across the rolling pasture as the pink faded to a pale gold and a bird warbled sleepily.

  "Happy?" he inquired.

  "I've never been happier."

  "It's gonna be this way from now on," he promised.

  "Yes," I murmured.

  "We belong together, Marietta."

  "Yes."

  "The future is ours,"

  I nodded, moving along beside him, my step light, youthful, all the weight of the past years lifted from my shoulders, I had made the commitment, and it was right. With Jeremy Bond I would begin a whole new life. I smiled, believing again in happy endings. I could see the rancho in the distance. I could hardly wait to tell Em of my newfound happiness.

  "I guess you've put that nonsense about Roger Hawke out of your mind," he said.

  "That—that belongs to the past, Jeremy."

  "Just as well," he remarked. "Roger Hawke is dead."

  I was startled. I stopped, Jeremy looked at me.

  "He got his, Marietta. He was murdered. Two weeks after that night on the docks he was shot to death in an alley in New Orleans,"

  "Who did it?" I asked.

  Jeremy hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. He looked down at his boots, not wanting to answer.

  "Who killed him, Jeremy?"

  Jeremy lifted his head, frowning. His eyes held mine for a moment, and then he gazed at the rancho, still hesitant.

  "His cousin shot him," he said.

  "His cousin? But—"

  "Derek Hawke murdered him."

  The ground seemed to give way beneath me. I started to reel. He grabbed my shoulders, supporting me. I shook my head, refusing to believe what I had heard. Jeremy held my shoulders tightly, and it was several moments before the dizzy sensation receded. I felt cold, icy cold. His eyes were dark with concern when he saw the expression on my face.

  "He wasn't killed, Marietta. He was wounded, badly wounded in the shoulder. A couple of sailors fished him out of the water. He was barely alive. They found a doctor. The doctor patched him up, kept him for over two weeks. Hawke was in a delirium most of the time. When he was finally able to be up and about, he set off in search of his cousin."

  "He—he thought I was dead."

  "I don't know what he thought. He found Roger Hawke. He killed him. He took the next boat to England. All this happened before I returned to New Orleans. Hart told me about it before I crushed his windpipe."

  "You knew," I whispered, "All along you knew—"

  "Hawke left for England," he said sternly. "He made no effort to find you. I'm the one who tracked you down. I'm the one who—"

  "He thought I was dead! He wouldn't have gone if he—"

  "He doesn't deserve you! You belong to me!"

  I swung my arm back and brought my palm across his face with all the force I could muster. The slap exploded loudly. My palm throbbed, I felt certain I had broken my wrist.

  "I'll never forgive you!" I cried. "Never!"

  I turned and ran toward the rancho as fast as I could, my skirts billowing about my legs, my eyes blind with tears. I ran, stumbling, sobbing, leaving behind the shards of a beautiful dream that had been broken into a thousand jagged pieces.

  BOOK FOUR

  The Beloved

  Twenty-Nine

  The road was long and narrow and dusty, and the oak trees on either side spread heavy boughs overhead, creating a shadowy tunnel. Ghostly streamers of Spanish moss hung down like tattered gray veils, waving slightly in the breeze. Only a few rays of sunlight seeped through the thick canopy of boughs, wavering columns of pale yellow aswirl with motes of dust. The crude wooden wagon creaked noisily. The two stout gray horses plodded on patiently, unaware that we would soon reach our destination and the ordeal would be over.

&nbs
p; I sat on the raised front seat beside Jeremy Bond, stiff, silent, aloof, as I had been ever since we had left the rancho almost three weeks ago. He was relaxed, nonchalant, clicking the reins every now and then and indifferent to my icy hauteur. At the beginning of our journey he had made a few feeble attempts to bring me round, to establish some kind of rapport, but they had been futile. I had made it quite clear that I tolerated his company only because it was absolutely necessary and that I wished to have nothing whatsoever to do with him. He finally accepted things with a weary resignation and made no more attempts at reconciliation.

  The trip had been long, arduous, extremely uncomfortable, but I had refused to bend. There had been days on end when we had not seen another soul. We had slept out in the open, huddling under the blankets, close to each other physically but miles apart. J had done my share. I had helped gather firewood. I had cooked the meals, cleaned the utensils, packed and unpacked the wagon. When, after a rainstorm, the wagon had bogged down in the mud, I had helped get it unstuck, pushing with all my might at the back as Jeremy pulled on the reins. We had forded rivers, had trudged up hills, guiding the horses on foot, had shared all the hardships without my once giving way.

  We spoke only when it was absolutely necessary. My voice was invariably icy and crisp with contempt. Jeremy pretended to ignore my tone, unperturbed, acting as though nothing had happened. On the rare occasions when we had been fortunate enough to find an inn along the road, we had dined together and shared a room, Jeremy lolling in a chair or on the floor while I slept in the bed. The intimacy we had shared under the stars the night of Em's wedding might never have happened. We might have been strangers, thrown together by circumstances and barely civil.

  We had ferried across the Mississippi earlier this morning. We would be in New Orleans before nightfall. I would take a room and sell the jewels and, somehow, get a berth to England. Derek was alive. Derek was in England. He would be living at Hawkehouse, alone, lost, desolate, convinced the woman he loved was dead. I couldn't dwell on that or, I knew, I would go mad. I must be cool, patient. It would be weeks, perhaps months before we were reunited, and I would have to take it a day at a time.