Silken Promises

by Lisa Bingham

  “Why?” She drawled the word again. “Life is so short, Jacob.”

  He cringed, hauling her close to bury his face in her shoulder.

  “Don’t say that. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.”

  There was a desperation to his words, one that echoed with hidden meaning.

  “Jacob?”

  “Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

  “What—”

  “Promise me. You won’t go anywhere without me, do you understand. I don’t care if the Beasleys have you swaddled in iron, I won’t have you taking any more chances.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  He bent to kiss her again, passionately, boldly, then abruptly drew away. “Now go to bed.”

  “But—”

  “Tomorrow will be a big day. We’ll need to make last-minute preparations for the journey. The day after, we’ll be boarding the train and your role will begin.” When she hesitated, he urged her in the direction of the bedroom. “Go.”

  Reluctantly, she complied, but he stopped her again just as she would have disappeared into the bedroom.

  “There will be no more such… encounters, Fiona.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, noted the rigid line of his spine, the resolute expression. Smiling, she whispered, “Liar.”

  He looked away. Obviously, he couldn’t deny that what had occurred between them would ultimately prove stronger than any hasty resolutions he might make.

  “Do you have any worries about the upcoming excursion?”

  “No.”

  “Your role—”

  “The Beasleys have been excellent tutors. I think that even you will be pleased with all I’ve learned.” She wanted to tell him that the Beasleys hadn’t been solely responsible. Jacob had also taught her and taught her well. He’d shown her the power connected with being a woman. She would probably never become meek, and she would certainly never become fragile, but she had learned the importance of having a man see her as a woman.

  This man.

  Jacob.

  “I want this job to be finished as quickly as possible. I need to be back so that I can help take care of Krupp. Only then will I take some time off to go home to Madison. I promised Lettie I’d be here before the baby is born.”

  His abrupt statements caused her brows to raise.

  He stood for some time, surrounded in a bar of moonlight, so serious, so inscrutable. “Things are brewing, Fiona. Things that I can’t explain—that probably can’t be explained. But know this: If anything happens to me during the journey, return immediately to Chicago. Rusty and the Beasleys will help you. Then I want you to go to my sister. She’ll see to it that you receive an appointment with the governor. Hold him to his bargain.”

  The warning as well as his unspoken worry caused a shiver of disquiet.

  “What’s wrong? That man at the hospital: Was he someone you—”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing you need to concern yourself about. Dub Merritt was involved in business that had nothing at all to do with your own duties.” He chose his words carefully, saying, “I’ve merely discovered that the past can be a very difficult thing to outrun.”

  That was something Fiona could understand.

  Specters from the past had a tendency to pop up at the most trying moments. Fiona had learned that such gremlins didn’t soften with age but sometimes grew more powerful, more worrisome.

  She felt a sudden kinship, the tumbling of final barriers. The two of them weren’t really so different as Jacob might have her believe. They were haunted by mistakes they’d made as well as events over which they’d had no control. And did the past and all of its mistakes really matter when compared to a person’s tomorrows? If it didn’t, why not live the day for what it could give, for what it could mean? For the comfort she could offer Jacob Grey?

  He needed her. Maybe just for the moment. But he needed her—not as an actress, not as a gambler, but as a woman.

  Fiona retraced her steps, knowing that with each step, her commitment to this man increased, her emotions intensified, her need expanded. Stopping mere inches away, she took him by the hand.

  “Come with me, Jacob.”

  He regarded her questioningly.

  “You’re tired. You need to rest.”

  When he still didn’t move, she tugged until he followed her.

  “While I, for that matter, need the warmth of a pair of arms wrapped around me while I sleep.”

  Chapter 13

  He didn’t demur.

  Their feet made no sound as Fiona and Jacob approached her bedroom.

  “The Beasleys—”

  She shook her head when he would have inquired as to the whereabouts of the elderly women. “They’re in their own room across the hall.”

  “I thought I relayed a message for them to stay with you.”

  “They did, for a time. But with the guard you posted to follow our every move, I couldn’t see the point. Once he took his position in the hall, I insisted that the women get something to eat, a periodical to read, and go to bed.”

  His lips twitched in wry amusement. “You and the Beasleys avail yourselves quite freely of money which isn’t your own.”

  “We do whatever needs to be done.”

  She stopped in the center of the bedroom. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Fiona felt the way the darkness shivered about them, expectantly.

  “You look so tired.”

  He didn’t answer, not that she had expected him to. It would have been against Jacob’s nature to admit that he needed anything, even something as basic as sleep.

  “Will you rest with me?” Her hands spread wide over his chest, feeling the strength to be found beneath his shirt. “Will you lie with me?”

  His breathing hitched ever so slightly. She felt the action beneath her fingertips, and it gave her a spark of hope. She might not have a future with this man. She might fall short of the type of woman he should claim as his wife. But he was hers this night, and the next, and the next. And Fiona McFee was not above begging for Jacob Grey’s attention.

  A reverence stole through her body, a hunger that throbbed so deeply in her it became a near spiritual ache. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for this man, nothing she wouldn’t give to keep him. But since that could never be, she would offer him her most prized possession: She would offer him her heart.

  Only three buttons kept his shirt closed, and she loosened them, one by one by one. His skin was warm next to her own, the faint friction of hair arrowing down into the waist of his pants tickling her hands.

  He stopped her only once. “You don’t have to do this.”

  She allowed all she felt to appear naked on her face. “Yes. I do.”

  After that, he didn’t try to prevent her from continuing. When she slid the shirt from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor, he closed his eyes. Her palms ran over his skin, testing the shape of his shoulders, his chest, the arch of his ribs, the taut muscles of his stomach. Then she began to work on the fastenings of his pants.

  Fiona was not a naive woman, but she had never seduced a man. Indeed, she had never seen one completely aroused. So when he pushed his trousers to the floor and stepped free, she gasped, staring at the part of him that stood so proud, so full, waiting, wanting.

  He was watching her closely. Fiona knew that if she refused, if she showed the slightest sign of retreat, he would walk from the room, and this night would never be spoken of again. But rather than being frightened by what she saw, she was emboldened. He desired her.

  Her fingers tugged at the sash holding her wrapper closed. The covering plunged to the floor in a rush of fabric, leaving her clad in nothing more than a nightshift of sheer silk.

  In an instant, Fiona knew that she had thrilled him even more with such a move. Moonlight spilled through the draperies, piercing the delicate weave of her gown but leaving h
er body in shadow—hinting at what lay beneath without allowing it to be seen.

  His hands snared her hips and pulled her closer, rubbing her stomach to him, against that hard, heated ridge.

  Her eyes closed and she surrendered herself to the flood of sensation spilling through her veins. Her fingers sank into his hair, that dark, silky hair. A feeling like she had never experienced bubbled inside her, building, blooming. A restlessness consumed her, an inexplicable languor. She needed to arch, twine her body about his own, even as she longed to lie down.

  His head came down, his lips pressing to the spot beneath her ear. She gasped, never having known that such an innocent location could send a bolt of reaction spearing to her abdomen. One of her legs bent, rubbing his thigh, and he sighed, stringing a row of kisses across her jaw, down her throat, to the hollow between her collar bones.

  Her fingers curled into his hair. Her breath came in short, uneven pants. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she whispered desperately.

  She thought her words might have startled him because he drew away. He swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. Laying her atop the tangled covers, he stood back one last time, silently offering her the opportunity to reject him.

  Fiona held out her arms, knowing that she could never turn him away. As long as he would have her, she would be there for him.

  An expression approaching humility crossed his face, and he sank onto the bed. But when she expected him to draw close for a kiss, he moved lower, taking her nipple between his lips and suckling.

  Lightning shot through her and she arched, her fingers plunging into his hair in an effort to push him away, then to pull him closer. She gasped again and again, scarcely able to absorb the sensations he’d created. She’d never dreamed that such ecstasy could be found in a man’s embrace. Why had no one told her what to expect?

  His mouth strayed lower, to her ribs, her navel. He followed the ridge of her hip bones, then, when she would have pulled him up again, he rolled her onto her stomach.

  Gripping the pillow, she squeezed her eyes shut as he blazed a tormenting trail of kisses from her ankles to her calves. His tongue explored the insides of her knees and slid up her thighs, skirted the swell of her buttocks, lingered in the small of her back. Then he continued up her spine to nuzzle her shoulder blades, her neck.

  By the time he’d turned her to face him again, she was writhing with need. Her arms wound about his shoulders, drawing him down for her own kisses, her own explorations.

  When his weight settled over her, she welcomed it gladly. She wrapped one leg around his hips. She would do anything for this man. Anything to make him happy, to give him pleasure. But when his hand slid between them, resting low on her woman’s mound, she cried out, realizing that he would not be the only one who would be gratified. Biting her lips, she arched her head into the pillow as the aching of her lower body intensified, increased, building like thunder within her. His fingers slid intimately over her, providing a delicious friction, and she lifted her hips from the bed, seeking to intensify the sensation.

  Then he shifted, his hand moving away. She would have whimpered in protest, but the sound died in her throat when the strength of his palm was replaced by another sort of pressure, a more intimate and tantalizing hardness.

  She bucked under him, needing… What?

  Jacob drew away and the hardness nudged her, testing the delicate flesh. She held her breath, her hands clenching, her body tightening, as, bit by bit, that hardness moved closer and closer.

  Slowly, powerfully, stretching her, gauging her readiness, Jacob moved above her, infusing her with a heat such as she would never have dreamed. There was a little pain, a little tightness, but the sensation was so new, so frightening, so wonderful, she couldn’t push him away.

  When he rested on her, fully, heavily, her eyes blinked open. What she saw filled her with a joy that could know no bounds. He loved her. Dear heaven above, there was no disguising what she saw in his gaze. Yes, there was passion. Yes, there was a mindless need. But he also loved her. He loved her.

  The thought gave her strength as well as a frantic pleasure. She began to move, tentatively at first, then, when he moaned, more boldly. Soon there was no time to think. Her eyes squeezed closed and she gave herself up to the moment, to the indescribable feelings.

  A taut anticipation brewed deep in her body, a delicious pain. She found herself moving, lifting, twisting, anything to intensify the feeling to assuage it. She didn’t know what her body sought, she only knew she needed more. More.

  Just when she thought she would lose all coherent thought her body grew still, tightened. She paused in her frantic movements, her legs holding him firmly to her. She felt Jacob shake; he had braced himself on his arms and she noted the trembling of his body. Then, without warning, he thrust into her, deeply, powerfully.

  Fiona cried out, her body imploding, contracting. Jacob groaned and shuddered, spilling a warmth into her womb, a sweetness. Then, bit by bit, their bodies seemed to drain of all energy and he lay upon her, pressing a weary kiss to her ear.

  Later, so much later, he lifted himself to his elbows, easing the weight of his body. Fiona felt a twinge of disappointment. The heaviness of his body had felt too wonderful, too comforting, too real.

  Smoothing the hair away from her face, he examined her curiously. She saw the regrets lurking on the fringes of his consciousness. She pressed a finger to his lips, stopping the apologies before they could be formed.

  “I gave myself freely. Don’t take that away.”

  Closing his eyes, he rolled to her side, then gathered her close, resting her head upon his shoulder.

  “I do care for you, Fiona,” he murmured into the darkness.

  For now, it was enough that he had said the words. Even though they weren’t the ones she wanted to hear.

  “What does S-C-J stand for?”

  Dawn was beginning to peek over the tops of the buildings across the street, and Jacob had rolled from bed long enough to shut the drapes. But Fiona’s question halted him in midstride.

  She sat up in bed, pulling the linens over her breasts.

  “I heard the policemen whispering the letters over and over again. At the hospital. Does it have anything to do with the vigilante group that is looking for you?”

  He shook himself loose. Whipping the curtains shut, he turned, but even the deepening of the shadows could not conceal the way he’d become suddenly tense. Suddenly wary.

  “Don’t concern yourself with these things.”

  “What happened to that man?”

  He walked to the washstand in evident agitation and poured a healthy measure of water into the basin.

  “He was a lawman. He was injured.”

  “Someone killed him.”

  His head reared, and he met her gaze in the mirror.

  “I saw the knife. What happened?”

  “I told you before: It has nothing to do with you.”

  The words were harshly spoken, but she refused to be cowed.

  “You came to me for help, you embroiled me unwillingly in your business. I think I have a right to know about anything that might affect me in the long run.”

  “What makes you think it has anything to do with you at all?”

  “Don’t take me fer a fool, Jacob. The Beasleys an’ I are in a carriage an’ we see ye rushin’ t’ the hospital as if ye were bein’ chased by the hounds of hell.” When her brogue got the better of her, she took a deep breath to calm herself again. “What happened?”

  Jacob splashed some water over his face. When he straightened and wiped the moisture away with a towel, an unaccustomed agitation had begun to nibble at her nerves.

  “Dub Merritt was… wounded in a totally unrelated situation.”

  She waited until he turned around and she could read his face, his eyes.

  “Do you swear that it has nothing t’ do with me or my father?”

&
nbsp; “I promise.”

  “Then it must have something to do with the vigilantes.”

  “Yes,” he supplied reluctantly. “He was a witness to their escape.

  “Poor man.” She sighed. “Poor, poor man.” She leaned on the headboard. “So what happens now?”

  “We board the tourist train as scheduled.”

  “What happens with us, Jacob?”

  He dropped the towel on the dresser and moved to the window. “I don’t know.”

  Although she’d been expecting such an answer, it wasn’t any easier to accept.

  “At least yer honest with me.”

  He sighed as he opened the drapes a crack. The rose-colored light spilled over the sharp planes of his profile and limned the tousled waves of his hair.

  “I’ve grown to care for you, Fiona. I never thought I would.”

  “But?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been a lawman for so long, I don’t know how to be anything else. I started in the business when I was just a boy, pinning up wanted posters and running errands for the town marshal. How can I stop being what I am?”

  “No one is asking you to stop.”

  “I know that. But you were right: If you and I were to… make something permanent of this, there would be ramifications.”

  She pleated the sheets with her fingers. “If I could erase what I’ve been, I would.”

  “I understand that.” There was a wealth of empathy in his tone. “And I know I’m partially to blame. It shouldn’t matter to me what other people think, but…” His voice became low, defeated. “Dammit all to hell. It does.”

  Fiona’s heart became tight, brittle, as if Jacob had taken it in his hand and squeezed. Somewhere, long before, she’d heard that love conquered all. But she was beginning to see that the trite phrase did not hold true in all occasions.

  “Will I see you after we’ve caught Kensington?”

  He paused, then said, “I don’t know.”

  She stared down at the sheets again, at the bed where she’d given him her heart as well as her body. At that moment, she realized that pride had no place in her situation. “Then will you at least let me have this?… For as long as it can last?”