Escape To Love: Banished Saga, Book 6

by Ramona Flightner

  Jeremy froze at Jonas’s name, and his eyes became haunted. “No,” he murmured. “You couldn’t have. That’s not who you are.”

  Lucas frowned. “I thought Savannah would have told you this. I spoke with her of it a few nights ago.”

  “Savannah will never refer to him. She attempts to act as though that part of her life never happened,” Jeremy said. “As do I, most of the time.”

  “Does she feel like a charity case?” Gabriel asked. “I can’t imagine that would make any woman inclined to tender sentiments.”

  Lucas sighed. “She fears caring more for me than I do for her.”

  Patrick snorted. “From what I’ve seen, I’d think it’s the reverse.” He shared a commiserative glance with Lucas.

  Colin focused on Patrick after his comment. “How are things with Fee, Pat? I’d hoped to see some change in your situation.”

  Patrick shrugged and took a long swallow of his beer, nearly draining the glass. “I knew what my marriage would be like when I married her. I have no regrets.” He raised his eyebrows in challenge as he met his brother’s concerned gaze. “I have little Rose, and I couldn’t ask for more.”

  “I highly doubt that’s true,” Gabriel said with a snort. “You wouldn’t mind warming your wife’s bed once in a while.”

  “Patience is a virtue,” Patrick snapped before rising to buy another round.

  “A virtue, my foot,” Jeremy said to Patrick’s retreating back. “He needs to push her. Prod her to open up and let him in. Or nothing will ever change for him.” He turned his gaze to Lucas. “The same goes for you. Don’t wait too long, allowing her fears to take over. She deserves more than that, and so do you.”

  Clarissa rubbed a hand over her protruding belly, wincing as the baby kicked. She arched her back while she attempted to find a comfortable position, but the small wooden chair in the kitchen afforded little wiggle room.

  “Why don’t you sit in the chair in the living room? Patrick piled it high with cushions just for you,” Fiona said as she looked over her shoulder, her arms nearly elbow deep in dishwater.

  Clarissa made a face but shook her head. “I refuse to miss another gossip session. Especially with the men absent. Geraldine is minding the children in the living room, and Rose is asleep.” She sighed with appreciation as Savannah moved a low footstool in her direction, and Clarissa propped her feet up on it.

  “I’d think ’twould be the men who’d have all the gossip, seeing as they scurried away with Lucas,” Fiona said with a smile. Her eyes were less haunted this evening. “Have you had any news from your suffragist cousin and friends in Boston?”

  Clarissa grinned. “Zee’s just returned to Boston from her honeymoon with her Teddy. Her Christmas card arrived the day before we left for Butte. I’m so relieved that he survived the war and returned to her.”

  “Lucas said her wedding was beautiful, with the room filled to burstin’ with yellow flowers,” Fiona said as she scrubbed a pot. “Can you imagine having one with his talent perform for you?”

  Savannah laughed. “The best part is he taunted the majority of the guests with pro-suffrage songs after he played her wedding waltz.” She giggled with Clarissa. “It was his way of rebelling against the staid Boston society he despises.” Sav took the cleaned pot from Fiona and dried it. “I still wish we’d traveled for Zee’s wedding. We would have been able to see Florence and ensure she is truly better.”

  Fiona frowned at Florence’s name. “I’m unfamiliar with her.”

  Clarissa rubbed at her stomach absently. “She’s married to the third McLeod brother, Richard. They lost a child two years ago.” Her eyes clouded before she gave her head a firm shake. “The baby died at birth.”

  “Oh, the poor lamb,” Fiona said. “I can’t imagine.” She studied Clarissa with concern as she forced a peaceful expression.

  “Why don’t you mind us invading your house? Especially at Christmastime,” Savannah said, tactfully changing the subject. “I’d think you’d want to have your own traditions and be with your family.”

  When Fiona remained silent, Clarissa asked, “Why weren’t your sister and cousin with us for Christmas dinner, Fee?”

  Fiona’s lightheartedness faded and she overscrubbed an already clean pot. “My family left Butte last month. Decided they’d rather try their luck in a city like San Francisco.” She shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to show it didn’t bother her.

  “Oh, Fee, that’s awful,” Savannah said. “I know how much you loved having them nearby.”

  Fiona’s breath hitched as she washed and rewashed the silverware. “I wanted them to know little Rose.”

  “Of course you did. She’s such a darling girl,” Clarissa said with a smile.

  When Fiona’s shoulders shook, Clarissa shared a worried glance with Savannah. Savannah found a dry towel and nudged Fiona away from the sink. “Come, dry your hands, and sit. There’s little left to do,” Savannah said, holding out a chair for Fiona at the kitchen table. Savannah’s concern heightened when Fiona didn’t argue with her.

  “What is it, Fee?” Clarissa asked. “I can see what a beautiful home you’ve made with my brother, and that brings me such joy. To know Patrick is happy again.” Her smile faded as Fiona continued to cry.

  “My sister and I had a terrible fight before they left,” she said. “She warned me that, although Rose is good now, I should do everything possible to ensure none of her real father’s tendencies became pronounced.”

  Savannah gasped, and Clarissa’s jaw dropped open. “She never,” Clarissa breathed. “Why would she say such a thing?”

  “My aunt and uncle in Ireland raised a child who wasn’t theirs. Not naturally theirs. And she was wild. Even though they were good people.” Fiona brushed away a tear. “After my sister reminded me of our cousin, it made me want to freeze time. Rose is such a darling little girl.”

  Clarissa grasped Fiona’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “What did Patrick say when you told him of the argument?”

  “He was hurt. He thinks of Rose as his.” She brushed at her cheeks. “I haven’t wanted to speak of it with him again. He’s been kind and generous to me, where he had no obligation to be.”

  “He cares for you, Fee,” Savannah said to the woman she considered her cousin and then frowned. “At some point, you have to trust him. For who he is. For who he is not. It seems that all the women in this family have trials we must overcome. Thankfully we’ve chosen good men.”

  Fiona sighed. “I’m not like the two of you. Or that Genevieve.” She nodded her head as though in the direction of the Finlen Hotel. “You think I’m strong, but I’m not.”

  Clarissa laughed and then waved her hand in apology. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve heard in a long time. And that’s saying something as Billy is my son.” She fixed a stern gaze on her sister-in-law. “You have to stop hiding behind excuses and fear, and face the reality of your life. When you do that, then you’ll realize how fortunate you are.” She sighed when she heard fighting in the living room. “I’m afraid I have to prevent bloodshed.” She pushed herself up and waddled from the kitchen.

  Savannah sat beside Fiona a moment in companionable silence. “I would never presume to say that I understand what Samuel … Henry, whatever he is called, did to your spirit. I would say that I’ve found that I’m always stronger than I ever imagined I could be.” She met Fiona’s weary gaze. “Only you can decide what is worth the energy to fight for and what you are willing to forego. I only hope you come to believe your happiness, and thus Patrick’s, is worth the struggle.” She tapped her knuckles on the table a few times and then rose, following her cousin into the living room.

  Lucas slipped into the room he shared with Genevieve, swaying a bit on his feet. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself and gave a quiet belch. After toeing off his shoes, pulling his shirt over his head, and shucking his pants, he climbed into bed next to his wife. He sighed with pleasure as he pulled her up against h
im.

  She snuggled her back against his front, letting out a small moan of contentment. When his hand found her breast, she arched into his touch.

  “Kick me out of bed, Vivie. I’ve had at least one drink too many, and I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret,” he whispered into her ear before he bent to kiss her nape.

  “You know who I am?” she asked, moving into his touch as it roamed over her chest and belly and up again.

  “Of course. You’re my wife. My Vivie.” He kissed her neck. “My little love,” he said as she rolled to her back and then faced him.

  He groaned as he buried his face in her neck, kissing and giving her little love bites down her neck. “I want you, Vivie. I want you so much. But not like this. Not when I’m half drunk.”

  She reached forward and traced patterns on his chest, molding her hands around his chest muscles and scraping her palms over his nipples. He closed his eyes and groaned. “God, that feels good.”

  He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a deep kiss, their tongues tangling as he pushed her backward on the bed, moving until he loomed over her. “Let me show you pleasure. Let me show you that not all touch leads to pain.” He leaned back, squinting in the darkened room as he attempted to see her eyes.

  He felt more than saw her nod of agreement. “Yes, teach me pleasure,” she whispered.

  “We’re not making love tonight,” he rasped as he reached down for the bottom of her long flannel nightdress. “When that happens, I refuse to be half out of my mind with drink.” He eased her nightgown up, feeling her shudder as it skimmed over her hips. “Rise,” he coaxed, his palms on her hips. He kissed her collarbone when she lifted her hips, allowing him to move the flannel farther up. When he reached her shoulders, he murmured in her ear, between kisses, “You can leave it on or we can remove it completely.”

  “Take it off,” she whispered, squirming under his soft caresses to her breasts, belly, and hips.

  “Gladly,” he said with a chuckle. “I wish there were more light. I want to see you.” He ran a hand over her. “I’ll have to learn you by touch first,” he breathed, bending his head to follow the trail of his fingers.

  After a few moments, he whispered, “Relax, my Vivie. Learn what joy can come from a man’s touch. Learn that I will only ever want to give you pleasure when I touch you like this.”

  She groaned and became lost to everything but his caresses, his kisses, and his seductive words.

  She lay on Lucas’s chest, her fingers playing with his chest hair. Aftershocks of pleasure continued to provoke little shudders, and she breathed deeply in, hoping to catch her breath. “I never imagined …” she whispered.

  Lucas chuckled. “Of course you didn’t. It’s not something most people discuss in a ballroom.”

  She turned to bury her face in his chest as she attempted to fight tears. His long fingers scraped through her hair and massaged her scalp and upper back. “What is it, Vivie? Forgive me for touching you when I’d promised to wait for some sign from you.”

  She slid her face side to side on his chest, loving the feel of his skin against hers. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his musky scent mingled with beer and tobacco. “No, that’s not it. I can’t believe I was nearly consigned to a life where I would never have known this.”

  “Oh, Vivie,” Lucas whispered, his voice cracking. “Please, I can’t bear to think of what almost befell you.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her close.

  He felt a slight tension in her shoulders and continued his caresses over her shoulders and upper back. “What is it?” he asked, kissing her head.

  “Did you think of her when you were touching me? Did you compare us?” She squealed at his growl of anger as he pushed her backward until he hung over her.

  “How can you ask such a question?” he demanded. “You. I thought of you and no one else. I gave thanks that you, my wife, was finally in my arms and trusting me enough to allow me to touch her. To show you what can exist between us. I thought of no other.”

  She raised a trembling hand to his ticking cheek. “Now I’m the one wishing there were light,” she whispered.

  He groaned and muttered a string of expletives as he flung himself away from her and sat on the edge of the bed. “So that you could better decipher if I lied to you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “At some point, you have to decide whether or not you fully trust me. I foolishly thought you had tonight. Forgive me my mistake.” He rose and moved through the darkened room, gathering up items of clothing. She heard him rustle into his clothes, and then the door opening and slamming shut.

  She laid in the bed and began to shake. Swiping at her useless tears, she rose. She banged her toe into the leg of the vanity and squelched a yelp. Finally finding a light switch, she turned on a low lamp. After changing into one of her simple travel dresses, she pulled on a pair of wool stockings and thrust her feet into her still-damp boots. Shivering at the slight chill that action caused, she yanked a shawl from a peg and wrapped it around her. She left the light burning as she departed from the room.

  When she reached the basement of the hotel, she paused. She gripped the edges of her shawl tighter to her and thrust her shoulders back as she walked down one darkened hallway. She walked the entire distance without hearing a sound from behind any of the closed doors. She huffed out a breath and spun on her heel, marching past the elevator and continuing down the hallway toward the other end. She cocked her head at the doors on her return trip, her shoulders stooping when she heard nothing.

  As she approached the elevator, she stilled. She shook her head, chiding herself for imagining hearing the piano. However, she remained stock-still, straining for any further sound. After a few moments, when she’d decided to return to their room in defeat, she heard a soft piece being performed. She moved toward the room and pushed the door open.

  She closed it behind her, thankful the door made no sound as she neared Lucas, bent over the piano, playing a mournful, angry piece. It ranged from sweet and hopeful to despairing and harsh. She swiped away tears as it came to an end. When she sniffled, he raised his head and met her gaze.

  “I didn’t expect you to invade my privacy,” he said.

  For the first time when he looked at her, his gaze held a disdainful regard. The warmth, the hope she’d come to expect in his expression had disappeared. “Lucas,” she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat even though tears continued to threaten. “Who do you think of when you play that song?” She moved into the room away from the door. “Who did you think of when you wrote that song?”

  He turned angry, mutinous eyes toward her. “I wrote it after your sister.” He saw Genevieve recoil. “I needed to do something with the emotions she’d evoked in me. The piano has always been my place of refuge.”

  She nodded as she fumbled around in her dress pocket, looking for a handkerchief. She didn’t find one and accepted Lucas’s when he offered it to her. “It’s still a refuge for you. She didn’t ruin it.”

  He turned back to the piano and played again. “I thought she had in the beginning. However, once I started playing and composing again, I realized nothing and no one would be able to take it away from me.”

  She took another step closer to him. “I’m glad, Lucas. We all need our places of refuge.”

  He hit a wrong note and flinched, his fingers stilling over the keys. “What are you doing here, Viv? Why would you bother to seek me out?”

  She cringed at him calling her Viv rather than Vivie. “I didn’t want there to be a misunderstanding between us.”

  He turned to look at her, shaking his head. “Believe me, there was no misunderstanding. I understood what you meant perfectly.” He turned back to the piano and resumed playing. “Don’t make too much noise as you let yourself out.”

  She stood there, trembling at his dismissal. She moved toward the door and stepped into the hallway. When she glanced back at Lucas, he bent over the keys before forcefully sla
mming his fingers on them as he quit playing. He let out a stuttering sigh as he raised a hand to his eyes.

  Moving into the room again, she shut the door. She walked on her tiptoes to him and raised a shaking hand to his back. He jerked at her soft caress.

  “Goddammit, Vivie, I told you to leave.” He shuddered again as she stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Forgive me for my fears.”

  He eased from her embrace and moved so that he faced her. He opened his legs so she stood between them. “Why do you continually compare yourself to your sister? You’re not her.” When she flinched at his words, he frowned. “You’re a remarkable woman who has no need to compare herself to Parthena.”

  “She was always what I was told to aspire to be,” Genevieve said as she swallowed tears. “She was prettier and smarter and bolder. My father took joy in those traits when we were younger. He despaired of me because I thought about what I’d say. I was too plump, too hesitant, and not as witty.”

  “Do you think having a sarcastic repartee is a sign of intelligence?” Lucas asked. “You’re smart, Genevieve. Don’t hide that from me. You’re talented with your violin. The few times I’ve heard you play, I’ve been transported by the beauty of your playing.” He watched her with pure male appreciation. “As for you being too plump, you are perfect as you are. If you like sweets, eat them. It won’t change my regard for you.”

  Genevieve’s jaw quivered at his words. “You say that now, but I know the fickle nature of men.”

  He gripped her jaw with a firm hold that didn’t cause pain. “Look at me. Me.” He met her gaze with one of fierce intensity. “I am not some man. I am your husband. What I say is true, and every time you doubt me, you insult me and harm me.” He was pleased to see her expression change as understanding slowly dawned.

  “You’ve spent time with my family. You know the types of men they are.” He growled with frustration as she broke their gaze and glanced over his shoulder. “Dammit, why can’t you see me? You keep saying that I look for Parthena in you, but you never really see me. You continue to look for that bastard Carlisle in me. He’s not here, Vivie. I am.”