The Right Wife

by Beverly Barton

  “I dream of your breasts.” His mouth lowered, his tongue flickering over one erect tip and then the other.

  With her body still shivering, he kissed each breast, his mouth moving to caress her waist and then her belly as he pulled her drawers downward over her hips, her shapely legs, and her dainty feet. She lay before him completely naked, the pink glow of dawn bathing her in its iridescent light.

  Maggie looked up at the big blond hovering above her, the eagerness in his emerald eyes at war with his patiently progressive actions that were fueling the fire of their passions. Even fully clothed, he was huge and hard and manly. The very fact that she was vulnerably naked while he remained dressed created erotic sensations within her.

  He lay beside her on the soft feather bed, his hands soothing her feverish flesh as his lips took hers in a series of quick, intense kisses. He explored her face with his mouth, worshipping her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, finally closing over her open mouth, their tongues joining in a frenzy of inducement. They begged silently, pleading for pleasure only they could give each other.

  “I want you,” she moaned, reaching for him.

  He grabbed her hand, halting her. “And you are going to want me even more.” He brought her hand to his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around and around, inside her palm. “You’ll want me more than you want air to breathe. And then, when I make you wait just a little longer, I’ll take you and give you a pleasure beyond bearing.”

  Maggie cried out, her body fighting his rejection, demanding his penetration. “Don’t make me wait. Love me now!”

  How could he do this to her? Did he realize that she was already half mad with desire? Her body ached with need. Her breasts were swollen and sore and overly sensitive. Her flesh tingled from his constant administrations, and the secret place between her thighs throbbed almost painfully.

  His tongue slid up and down each finger of her hand, slowly, tantalizingly sucking each tip. Her hand trembled.

  “I love the taste of you,” he groaned against her wrist as he began kissing the inside of her arm.

  “Aaron, love me. Please love me.”

  “All in good time, sweet Maggie,” he promised, standing up beside the bed, shrugging out of his coat and shirt.

  Ivory sunlight fell across his massive, hairy chest, turning his bronze skin and tawny curls to pale gold. His big, muscular arms pulled her against him, the feel of her fully aroused nipples brushing his flesh, almost sending him over the edge, making him forget his deep need to pleasure her thoroughly.

  She reached between them, stroking him, her fingers running through his chest hair. He grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his body.

  “You mustn’t touch me. Not yet,” he said, holding both of her hands behind her back.

  “But I want to touch you. I need to touch you. It would please me if I could touch you.” She squirmed against him, trying to free her hands, but simply creating more flesh-against-hairy-flesh stimulation.

  “It will please you even more if you wait.”

  “Damn you, Aaron Stone. I can’t bear any more of this. Let go of my hands.”

  Immediately he released her, a wide, sly grin curling his lips. She touched him, his face, his neck, and his shoulders. She buried her face in his silky chest curls, her eager mouth planting kisses everywhere.

  But as quickly as he had freed her, he flipped her over on her stomach, pinning her to the bed when his big body covered hers, his hands bracing him above her.

  “Aaron!”

  “Hush, my love.”

  She shuddered from head to toe when his mouth made loving contact with the heated flesh of her back as he anointed every inch of her from neck to heels with hot, provocative kisses.

  “Aaron, please.”

  “Please what, my Maggie?”

  “Please make love to me.”

  “I am making love to you.”

  “I want more.”

  “Do you want me inside you? Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Oh Aaron. I want you inside me now!”

  He stood up, allowing her to turn over and watch while he stripped off his breeches and tossed them to the foot of the bed.

  He hovered above her, naked and manly proud, his golden shoulders heaving from the force of his labored breathing, beads of sweat dotting his brow.

  “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you,” Aaron said, gazing at her beauty, loving her more than he had ever thought possible.

  Her legs opened instinctively to receive him, urging him inside her. At long last, he thrust himself into her hot, wet warmth, groaning, trembling as he plunged again and again. Maggie’s hips moved in frantic rhythm, encouraging each stab of his swollen manhood. Taking, giving, taking, they drove themselves to the very brink of fulfillment. As she shook with release, the sensations of pleasure rippling through her body, she heard his harsh cry and felt his seed spilling into her, filling her with his love.

  Satiated and exhausted, they slept in one another’s arms, waking later to make love again. Before the sun blazed high in the sky and the reality outside intruded on the lovers’ fantasy world, Aaron took her yet again, knowing this would have to be their last time together.

  Chapter 14

  “It’s hotter than blue blazes,” Judith said as she sat by the open window, fanning herself with the silk fan Thayer had given her, a reward for her good behavior the last few weeks.

  “I hope the rain holds off until Daisy and Phineas can get to White Orchard.” Maggie looked out the window at the cloudy sky, a heavy gray haze obscuring the sunshine.

  “I’m not going to get married in August,” Jude declared, laying her fan on the kitchen table. Taking the dipper from the water bucket, she put it to her lips and drank greedily. “I think I’ll marry Thayer in the spring before it gets so blooming hot.”

  Maggie laughed. “You do that. But, for now, run into the parlor and see if Daisy’s about ready to get this wedding started.”

  “I don’t want a little-bitty wedding like this, with just the preacher and three guests.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t. You’ll want hundreds of people there and a brass band playing.”

  Judith giggled. “Maybe not a brass band, but an organ playing, and afterward a grand reception with lots of wine and music.”

  “Go on.” Maggie swatted the child on the bottom. “Get in there and ask Daisy if she’s ready.”

  Maggie busied herself, setting a small cake on the table, arranging six crystal glasses by the china plates, and placing the bottle of wine Aaron had brought.

  Perspiration trickled down between her breasts, her drawers stuck to her skin with moisture, and damp tendrils of fiery hair curled about her flushed face. She hated that the day was so unbearably hot, making any movement more strenuous than breathing a discomfort. She wanted everything to be perfect for Daisy.

  She had grown to love Daisy over the years since Pa had first brought the battered, half-starved fourteen-year-old home. Ma had been dead two months and Maggie, at eight, had been struggling to take over her duties. She and Daisy had worked side by side, cooking, cleaning, canning, gardening, and mothering Micah and Jude. Maggie had always known that Daisy was a servant, but somehow, on their poverty-stricken Tennessee farm, it hadn’t mattered all that much. The young Negress had known her place and kept it, but with the Campbells she had been one of the family.

  And now the family was going off in different directions. After today, Daisy would be Phineas’s wife, and they’d have their own family, living and growing up at White Orchard. Micah was already gone, gone up the river to a new job and a life far removed from the one Maggie had planned for him. He had promised to write, but she wondered if he would. He was half man and half boy, on the verge of maturity, longing for adventures that could satisfy the wildness in him.

  Jude had a different kind of wildness in her, an all-consuming rage for life. That chi
ld was born wanting and taking, and Maggie was afraid she might never get enough. Was there any hope of turning that little hellion into a proper lady?

  Maggie lifted a red rose out of the cup of water sitting in the window and pinned it on the bodice of her tan muslin dress. During blooming season, Ma had always pinned a rose on herself and on Maggie before heading off to church the Sundays the circuit preacher came to Grovesdale. Roses would always mean happiness to Maggie. They’d always remind her of her ma.

  She’d been thinking a lot about her mother lately. Maybe it was because she was carrying a child of her own and wondering what was to become of them both. Even as a last resort, she could never marry Wesley now that she knew what kind of man he really was. She wanted to tell Aaron about the baby, but her stubborn Scottish pride kept her from it.

  Jude stuck her head in the kitchen doorway and motioned for Maggie. “Come on. They’re ready. And Daisy wants me to sing.”

  “Oh Jude!”

  “I’m going to sing ‘Beautiful Dreamer.’ Hurry up.”

  When Maggie entered the elegant parlor of the Coleman town house, she could actually feel the love and happiness radiating from the black couple standing, in their Sunday best, before the minister, an open Bible in his ebony hands. The room was quiet with the hushed stillness of a lazy summertime day. Jude cleared her throat once, and then began to sing, high and sweet in her clear soprano voice.

  When the song ended and the minister began the ceremony, Maggie turned her head slightly to catch a stolen glance at Aaron, who stood a few feet to her left, idly stroking his gold pocket watch. She hadn’t seen him since he had kissed her good-bye in her bedroom upstairs ten days ago. She was a fool when it came to that man. All he had to do was call, and she went to him. What would happen if he married Eunice? Would he want her to be his mistress? Did she have the strength to resist him?

  Undoubtedly, he had been working outside because his hair was sun-bleached to a yellow white, and his dark complexion was a deeper bronze. He had never looked more handsome than he did today in his ivory coat and dark blue trousers.

  She could feel his eyes on her and wondered if he was remembering as she was the last time they had made love. Without speaking, they both knew that they had to end their affair. They were destroying themselves and everyone they held dear. If Aaron could never forgive his father and accept himself for who and what he was, there was not hope for them. Could she tell him about his unborn child? Did she have the right to burden him with a knowledge that could only lead to more heartbreak? He was already torn between his love for Maggie and his determination to claim a birthright denied him.

  Aaron had missed her terribly, had longed to come to her and love her again and again. He had admitted to himself that he was obsessed with this flame-haired witch whose luscious body and tempestuous lovemaking tormented his every thought. He had worked like a madman at White Orchard, spending every daylight hour from dawn to dusk outside in the fields or on horseback. No matter how weary and exhausted, he had been unable to erase the sight of her sleek, naked body from his mind. He had lain alone in bed every night remembering the taste, the feel, the scent of her body, hot and aroused, begging him to take her.

  She looked so beautiful today in her plain tan dress, the big red rose adding a touch of color to the muslin’s drabness. The humidity had curled her wavy hair, moist strands framing her creamy face. Her full, pink lips parted slightly, tempting him to partake of their sweetness.

  He had never been so confused and uncertain. For five years, he had planned and dreamed and worked. His one goal was to gain his rightful place in society by finding and marrying a woman whose social prestige was unquestionable. He had hated Richard Leander, had even despised his own mother. Having consummated their love without a marriage license, they had denied their only son his heritage.

  Phineas held Daisy in his arms while tears filled Maggie’s eyes and Jude rushed to grab the black woman.

  “I’m Miz Phineas Moulton,” Daisy said, holding up her left hand where a plain gold band glistened brightly.

  “And I’m a happy man.” Phineas beamed with pride.

  “And a lucky man.” Aaron patted his friend on the back. “You’ve married the woman you love.”

  So could you, Maggie thought. If you’d be willing to let go of your dreams, forgive your parents for loving each other, and accept what no power on earth can ever change.

  “I’ll get the cake. Jude, you help me bring in the refreshments,” Maggie ordered.

  “Do I get a glass of wine too?” Jude asked, smiling demurely up at Aaron.

  “You most certainly do not, young lady,” Aaron told her.

  Maggie looked at Aaron and smiled. Looking at her and not being able to touch her was breaking his heart. After today, he’d have to make a point of staying away from her.

  “It’s not fair,” Jude said. “Grown-ups won’t let you do anything fun when you’re ten years old. All I hear is ‘no you can’t’ and ‘don’t do that.’ I wish I were seventeen like Micah. You just wait. I’m going to do everything then. I might even run off on a steamboat.”

  “Come on, little adventuress, you can help me pour the wine,” Aaron said.

  Maggie sat on one brocade sofa sipping wine from a crystal glass as Phineas and Daisy sat across from her on the twin sofa, gazing into each other’s eyes. Jude sat on the floor between them, her lemonade glass resting on the brown marble-topped table where a bouquet of red roses filled a round, silver vase, their flowery scent saturating the air. Aaron stood by the windows, an empty wineglass in his hand, watching the preacher disappear down the front brick walkway.

  “I guess we need to get started,” Phineas said. “We want to get home to White Orchard before the rain sets in.”

  “Your house is all ready,” Aaron told the happy couple. “Thayer sent Ludie over with a week’s worth of food.”

  “Thank Mr. Thayer for us,” Daisy said.

  The moment she heard the door chimes, Maggie rushed to the foyer, wondering who would be calling. All their acquaintances were aware that the black couple was getting married today. Perhaps some of Phineas’s friends were stopping by to wish the newlyweds happiness.

  When she opened the front door, she gasped in surprise. There stood a neatly groomed Wesley Peterson, a book under his arm.

  “Wesley!”

  “Good afternoon, Cousin Margaret. May I come in?”

  “I . . . we’ve just had a wedding here and—”

  “Yes, yes. Of course. That’s one of the reasons I stopped by. I have a gift for the couple.”

  “You . . . you . . .” Maggie stood staring at the reverend, unable to believe he was actually standing there saying he had a wedding gift for the woman he had beaten and raped.

  While Maggie watched, open-mouthed and speechless, Wesley walked into the foyer. “It’s a Bible. Every home, white or colored, should have one. May I give it to them?”

  “No!”

  “Why, Cousin Margaret, whatever is the matter with you?”

  “Daisy and Phineas were just fixing to leave. They’ve a long ride ahead of them to White Orchard.” Maggie moved quickly alongside Wesley as he walked toward the parlor.

  “I’ll just give them the Bible and wish them well.” He was at the open parlor doors, Maggie beside him. “Then perhaps you’ll spare me a few minutes of your time. We have some important plans to make, dear Margaret.”

  Oh Lord, what could she do? Maggie grasped his arm, but he continued walking. “Wait.”

  But Daisy saw him, her blue eyes widening with fear. Wesley walked over to the sofa, Maggie unable to slow his stride.

  “Congratulations, Daisy. I have a present for you and Phineas.” Wesley held out the Bible to the young woman. “It’s the Good Book.”

  Daisy’s slender body tightened, her huge eyes darting from the small book in Wesley’s hand to the man’s smiling face, then to Maggie’s concerned amber eyes. “No. No. I don’t want it.”

 
; “I’ll take it,” Maggie said, grabbing the Bible out of the minister’s fleshy hand. “Thank you, Cousin Wesley.”

  “You all seem to be celebrating,” Wesley said. “The Lord is always with us on these happy occasions. Perhaps you’d like me to pray for these two people on their wedding day?”

  Daisy trembled, her nervous hands clutched together in her lap. “No, please. We . . . we have to go.”

  Phineas turned to his bride, his big hand covering hers. “What’s wrong, Daisy, you shaking all over.”

  “Miss Maggie,” the servant girl pleaded.

  “Phineas, you take Daisy on out to the buggy. You two go on now,” Maggie said, placing her hand on Wesley’s arm. “Wesley’s come to see me. We—”

  “You don’t want to see this man, Miss Maggie.” Phineas stood, his gigantic body rigid. “And neither does Daisy. You both afraid of him.”

  “No,” Daisy cried. “We ain’t. Please, Phineas, let’s go, I want to leave now.”

  “Not till you tell me why you and Miss Maggie behaving like this.” Phineas stepped right up to Wesley. “Maybe you can tell me, Revered Peterson.”

  “See here, Phineas, you forget yourself,” Wesley said.

  Aaron walked between Wesley and Phineas, his hand reaching out to grab his servant’s arm, his stern look reminding the man of the danger he was evoking. “Take your wife and go home, my friend. There’ll be another time and another place.”

  “Please, Phineas.” Daisy placed her trembling hand on her husband’s shoulder as she stood behind him.

  “My goodness,” Wesley said. “This is quite a to-do over nothing. I merely sought to be Christianly. But you need to remind your coloreds how they should and shouldn’t conduct themselves, Mr. Stone.”

  Maggie tugged on the reverend’s sleeve. “I think now is a good time for us to talk. Let me pour you some lemonade out in the kitchen.” She had no desire to be alone with this man, but, in order to spare Daisy another moment of this insanity, she had no choice.

  “That would be delightful, dear Margaret.” Wesley offered her his arm, escorting her out of the parlor when she accepted.