The River Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  “Devil take it, hasn’t anyone been looking after that dog?” Lindsay grumbled, hanging his hat beside the door. “Ezra!”

  He pounded his fist against his hand as he stared upward. The dog wagged its hind end violently, making its shoulders knock against the banisters. Then it pulled back and limped toward the stairs, trailing a man’s red flannel undershirt behind it.

  “Damnit, you should be in the carriage house,” Lindsay growled. “What the devil was Ezra thinking of?” He started up the stairs slowly, grumbling threats at the absent Ezra under his breath, while Rosalind hung up her hat and watched.

  The terrier was nearly frantic with excitement now, and its gait was very unsteady. It wobbled as it reached the carpet runner leading down the stairs, but didn’t hesitate, its eyes still fixed on Lindsay. One foreleg stepped down, the other moved to follow…and the little fellow lost its balance, shoulders plunging forward as it started to tumble.

  Lindsay lunged upward and caught the dog before it could roll down the stairs. His feet slipped and he fell full-length onto the carpeted oak treads. Twisting, he rolled to protect the rascal, landing on his back with the dog clutched to his chest. It wriggled, whined, and licked his face, vibrating with happiness.

  “Damn,” Lindsay muttered and sat up slowly, still holding his pet.

  Rosalind coughed, trying to cover a giggle as she reached the landing. Lindsay glared at her as he hoisted the dog over his shoulder and up to the top of the stairs. The dog tried to turn around, but the flannel undershirt had become a tight knot between him and the man, keeping him immobile. He whined.

  Lindsay cursed.

  Rosalind giggled.

  Lindsay glared at her as if he’d like to see her drawn and quartered.

  Rosalind choked and helplessly giggled again.

  A wizened Negro man burst into the foyer. “Did the dog…I’m sorry, sir. I thought he was asleep for the night.” He didn’t sound apologetic in the least.

  Lindsay cast him a fulminating stare, but the other was unmoved. “What the devil is this dog doing in the house, Ezra?” He yanked at the flannel, but it was firmly caught on one of the brass rods holding the Oriental carpet against the oak stairs.

  “He continued to bark after you left, sir. So I brought him in, gave him the shirt to guard, and he was quiet again. Do you need any help?”

  “No,” Lindsay said shortly, as he finally freed himself. The dog, however, was still bound to the carpet rods and whimpered plaintively. Lindsay said something quite rude under his breath.

  Rosalind laughed out loud, and Lindsay’s eyes promised her retribution even as he spoke to Ezra. “Just be ready to rejoin the Belle tomorrow. I’ll look after the dog. Good night.”

  “Good night, sir.” Ezra, obviously an intelligent man, disappeared without a backward glance.

  Choking down a giggle, Rosalind leaned down and quickly freed the shirt from the dog and the stairs.

  Lindsay yanked her down across him and kissed her. Fast and hard, his tongue dived between her teeth.

  She stiffened, affronted by the unexpected familiarity.

  His mouth gentled. His tongue delicately caressed her lips as he rumbled something persuasive.

  She sighed, captivated, and her jaw relaxed, admitting him. Then it was too late for objections as her sanity fled under his expert attentions.

  He kissed like a devil intent on sweeping a woman’s soul away. His neat goatee caressed her cheeks and chin as his tongue claimed hers. He tasted of bourbon and sugar…and man. She moaned, and her fingers caressed the whisker stubble on his cheeks. He was warm, and real, and infinitely better than any lonely dream.

  Lindsay growled something and stood up, lifting her into his arms as if she were a petite demoiselle, not an overly tall Amazon. Fire flowed down her spine, from her throat to her core, at his easy mastery of her.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Rosalind gasped, stunned by how easily he carried her. Her breasts firmed, all too aware of the heat of his big body.

  “What do you think?” Lindsay wasn’t even slightly winded.

  “Put me down!” she protested, trying to deny her own reaction to him.

  “Not yet.”

  “What if Ezra thinks you’re making love to a man? Won’t he gossip?”

  Lindsay laughed. “He knows me better than to think I prefer men. Besides, he’d keep his mouth shut, even if I slept with pigs.”

  She considered shouting for help but decided against it: Only his servants could hear her. Besides, the warmth building between her legs made it difficult to argue with him.

  The terrier limped after them, his tail wagging jauntily. The undershirt was now just a distant lump on the carpet, an inconsequential oddity in the magnificent hallway.

  Hal pushed open a door and dropped her on his big carved mahogany bed, taken by his godfather from a British merchantman during the War of 1812. The crystal lamps and brocade coverlet had come from France by way of New Orleans during the last war; legally paid for, unlike the bed. Winds from an approaching thunderstorm set the Irish lace curtains to dancing at the windows. Lightning sparked the sky in nature’s fireworks.

  But his prize was more unique than anything captured by his ancestors. He’d beguiled her into his house as neatly as he’d grabbed that last pot at Taylor’s house with an unexpected bluff. And now he could savor her to the fullest.

  She fascinated him. He had a million questions for her, ranging from how she’d managed to disguise herself to her opinions on lower Mississippi riverboat traffic. But none of them came to his lips, not once he’d felt her lovely ass as he carried her. He needed more of the woman hidden inside that far-too-concealing frock coat.

  His cock lengthened at the prospect.

  Hal caressed her jaw lightly, surprised at how his fingers trembled. “Where did you get the name Frank Carstairs from?” he asked hoarsely.

  She tilted her head slightly to consider him. Hal smiled inwardly; of course, his little poker shark would want to think first. He’d enjoy burning all that cool consideration out of her. Damn, he’d like to see her knocked off balance and into overwhelming lust, after watching her icy control at the poker table.

  “My mother’s maiden name was Carstairs,” she answered slowly. He continued to fondle her, wondering how he’d ever mistaken cheeks this smooth for a man’s.

  “And Frank?” His fingers trailed through the fine locks of hair at her temples.

  “My second name is Frances.” Her head turned slightly to follow his touch.

  “Mine is Andronicus.” Hal traced the outer curve of her ear and knew he deserved a medal for making conversation when his cock was this hard. But he needed to wait, needed to seduce her, his little poker shark, who was all too comfortable with the guns at her waist. Damn, she was a better challenge than piloting the Belle through the great rapids before Fort Benton.

  “Henry is your first name?”

  Hal’s mouth thinned briefly. No one, except his father, had ever addressed him as Henry, and he’d never accepted that hated name from a lover.

  Rosalind’s breath caught as his fingers teased the pulse point under her jaw.

  “Indeed. But you’ll call me Hal tonight.” He breathed the last syllables against her lips before he kissed her again.

  And he’d wager a year’s profits that this lady wouldn’t bore him within an hour, unlike every other respectable woman he’d ever met.

  Rosalind’s willpower fled as soon as his lips met hers again. Her body had even less interest in maintaining sanity this time than it had exhibited on the stairs. Months of loneliness fled, banished by the hunger racing through her blood, fueled by his demanding mouth and hands.

  His hand fondled her back and swept down over her ass, cupping it and pulling her close. She moaned and wiggled against him, driven half wild by the first feel of his magnificent hard cock, outlined by his trousers’ rough wool. The scent of lilacs spilled into the room from the garden beyond, like a
call to sensual delights.

  He growled something and slid his hand inside the back of her waistband.

  Rosalind jerked and stared up at Hal, panting for breath. How had he known she loved to have her backside fondled? Her breasts ached for his touch, her pulse thundered through her veins, and heat pulsed and melted and then pooled between her thighs. “Hal,” she moaned.

  He stared down at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes blazed blue fire, like a pirate gazing at golden treasure. “Damn, I need to see you.”

  Fire seared her at the hunger in his gaze and his fierce growl. She managed a weak nod, but he didn’t wait for her permission as he lit a single lamp beside the bed.

  Lightning scorched the air outside. The distant electrical storm was coming closer.

  Hal’s fingers made short work of undoing her string tie and crisp wing collar. He growled softly as he kissed the pulse at the base of her throat. The vibration ran through her blood, bringing more dew onto her thighs. She shuddered and arched under his kiss. She caught his head, her fingers plunging into his silky hair as her thumb brushed the scar on his jaw.

  He kissed and licked her throat before slipping her collar aside to explore other sensitive spots. Rosalind jerked and moaned, her head tossing against the brocade coverlet. She clutched his shoulders desperately, her fingers digging into the hard muscle under the fine linen. His scent reached her, a mix of sandalwood and male musk.

  He nipped her lightly, then licked the hurt until she sobbed for more. Her black wool vest yielded to his impatient fingers, and Rosalind gasped at her sudden ability to catch a deep breath.

  “It’s too damn stiff for a typical vest,” he muttered and bent the edge over his hand. It stuck out awkwardly, like a breastplate and without the fluid grace of first-rate merino wool. “Is that how you do it? Built a corset inside your vest so no one can see your breasts?”

  She licked her lip and tried to answer. But the hunger in his voice seemed to have snatched away her voice.

  “Well, tonight this fellow is going to have a damn good time with your breasts,” he growled, his eyes sweeping over her as if trying to decide what portion to taste first. “And you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

  Suddenly her clothes were too confining against the heated blaze of her skin.

  Hal rapidly unbuttoned her shirt, somehow managing not to rip anything, made equally fast work of her undershirt’s buttons, then pulled it open to expose her.

  Rosalind stilled, her breath catching in her throat. Her breasts were flushed and pointed, surmounted by her nipples’ hard little peaks. Would he find her lacking in feminine charms?

  “Perfect,” Hal growled and dived for her nipple.

  Rosalind shrieked at the fiery lance that blasted through her body. She arched until her hips nearly came off the bed. His hand cupped her mound, perhaps for reassurance or to control her, as he suckled her. She sobbed her pleasure, unable to form words.

  He paid equal attention to her other breast as he rubbed her woolen trousers against her mound. Rhythmically, again and again, matching the tempo of his mouth working her. The roughness incited her delicate skin to further gushes of dew.

  She writhed under him, her hips moving to the beat he set. “Hal,” she groaned. “Hal, do that again. Please.”

  “Beautiful. You are so goddamn beautiful,” he muttered as he switched breasts.

  She couldn’t even think well enough to wonder why he said so. Instead, his deep rumble heated her veins like a glass of Scots whiskey. And she cursed him when he took his hands away, in language better suited for Mississippi levees, but he simply chuckled.

  He removed her Colts from her waistband and laid them on the bed, next to her hips. A few practiced moves by his strong hands saw her trousers open just enough to expose her canvas money belt.

  She watched him, panting, unconcerned about anything except regaining those wicked fingers of his.

  “Of course, your money’s concealed but you wear your guns openly. Damn, but you’re sexy with all these hidden surprises,” he muttered. He shuddered slightly and his tongue ran out over his lips. He laid a kiss on her belly, where bare skin showed above the last button. She shivered, and her eyes fell shut.

  He finished unbuttoning her trousers, pulled her shirt free, and paused to stare. “Men’s drawers too? Christ, you’re a special lady,” he growled softly as he lightly touched her linen drawers.

  His words triggered another gush of dew onto her thighs and she cursed. She’d claw his eyes out if he didn’t do something, anything, to fill her.

  He chuckled, a harsh broken sound, before his hand delved into her drawers, one callused finger finding her clit with arrogant ease. She moaned and her legs tightened around him. He fondled her, exploring her folds until she thought she’d scream. His hand left her, and she snarled, “Goddamnit, get your hand back there!”

  Hal chuckled as he brought two fingers back to her pleasure. She groaned as he worked her, and she sobbed her gratitude when he circled her needy channel. One finger slipped in and she gasped.

  “You’re a tight one, aren’t you, Rosalind? Will you take another finger for me?”

  “Yes! Just finish me, damn you.”

  He chuckled and plunged two fingers into her channel.

  Rosalind howled and arched at the invasion. She’d only taken David’s member twice, and her body seemed to have forgotten the knack.

  Hal’s hand stayed motionless. “Not much accustomed to men, are you, sweet Rosalind? Take a deep breath.”

  He nuzzled her breast. “And another.”

  Heat shimmered through her skin.

  He swirled his tongue around her nipple, then nibbled it gently. “And another…”

  Her pulse speeded and she shuddered. Her inner muscles slowly melted around those strong digits inside her as he suckled her.

  “Good girl. Now relax, then tighten.” His fingers moved a fraction further in, then out. Her channel promptly clamped around him in protest.

  “That’s my girl,” he praised hoarsely. “Now we go faster.”

  And he did. One hand thrust into her faster and faster, while the other squeezed her breast. She writhed and moaned, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm as old as time.

  He added another finger until she was stretched wider than she’d ever been before. She wanted a climax, demanded a climax, couldn’t believe there was anything else he could do that wouldn’t provide a climax.

  Yet still Hal pumped her, harder and faster, until her entire body was ablaze with heat and passion. Need built deep in her core, stoked by his wicked fingers pushing her into an agony of need.

  Lightning burst from the skies, but Rosalind paid no heed. She flung her head back and cursed him, begged him, promised him anything, if he’d just finish her.

  But his hand continued to ride her until she was a being of fire and hunger, completely focused on his touch and the agonizing pleasure he promised.

  Her climax came closer and closer, but she couldn’t quite reach it. She sobbed in frustration, thrashing against the coverlet.

  Thunder crashed overhead and rain poured from the heavens.

  “Take it, Rosalind. Come for me now,” Hal snarled. He pressed down hard on her clit and waves exploded through her core and up her spine, like an engine’s steam bringing the train’s wheels to life. She howled soundlessly as the orgasm burst through every fiber of her being, changing her into a sensual being she’d barely glimpsed before.

  Purring with delight afterward, Rosalind stretched and considered her prospects. She was still fully dressed except for her money belt and bow tie, both lying on the bedside table. Her frock coat was open, as was her shirt. She flexed her fingers and easily managed to touch her Colts.

  Rain pounded on the roof and poured past the windows, filling the room with its delectable fresh-washed scent. Another lightning bolt flashed across the clouds, but farther away than before.

  She turned her head toward the window
and saw Hal beside his sea chest, stripping out of his clothes with ferocious haste. He was a magnificent sight, all broad shoulders and heavily muscled masculinity in the golden lamplight. Blond hair and a few puckered bullet scars marked his body, somehow adding to his attraction. A golden king of the beasts.

  Mouth dry and guns forgotten, Rosalind rolled onto her side and leaned up on her elbow to see him better. Given his notorious distaste for good women, he was no candidate for a husband. But that was of no account now, only the chance to drown her senses in his arms.

  Oddly, his shoulders and buttocks were completely covered by a network of silvery diamond-shaped scars, reminding her of an escaped slave’s flogging scars. But these marks were very different. They were too regular, as opposed to the branching pattern left by a whip, and they were far more numerous on his buttocks, even marking the top of his thighs. Who could possibly have done that to him and why?

  Then he turned around and her breath stopped. Dear God in heaven, he had an enormous cock. It neatly matched the rest of him, but would have seemed a monster on a smaller man. It was certainly longer and much thicker than David’s member.

  She stared, openmouthed. And moisture surged out of her core as if her previous climax had never happened.

  Chapter Four

  Hal tossed his drawers aside and began to don a condom. He’d barely managed the good sense to excavate a tin of those necessities from the sea chest, as protection against paternity. None of them lay anywhere else in this room, since he’d never brought a lover home before.

  He always used condoms with a lover, whether friend or paid professional. He’d seen enough whores, grown rotten from syphilis, to rank pregnancy and disease as equal threats. Rosalind bore no signs of the pox, but he needed the sheath as defense against her fertility.

  Something thumped against the carpet.

  Hal glanced back at the bed and growled his appreciation. Blood raced into his cock, driving out any plans for leisurely seduction.

  Damn, she was beautiful. Heavy-lidded eyes, tousled curls, mouth swollen and flushed—all evidence of her passion and an enticing contrast to her masculine attire. A single rosy nipple peeped out of her shirt.