Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) (27 page)

"Why would you consider going to America, Breanna?"

She could not tell him that her life would cease to have any meaning with him gone. Instead, she told him a half-truth. "You have told me so much about your America. I want to see it for myself."

"It is impossible, Breanna. The journey will be difficult. You have not been brought up to endure hardships such as the ones I will encounter once I leave civilization as you know it. Besides," he reminded her, "you have been ill and will need time to recover."

"When do you leave?"

"Within the week."

"I will be well by then, Dakota. Your father took your mother to America, and conditions then were much worse than they are now."

"Yes, my father took my mother, and you know what happened to them. Had he left her safely in England, they might both be alive today."

Breanna heard the bitterness in Dakota's voice.

"I am strong, Dakota. If you take me with you, I will not once complain. I promise you."

In many ways she reminded him of a little girl. He could feel himself weakening. Perhaps if she were to see where he had come from, she would better be able to realize the person he was.

"No, Breanna" he said regretfully, "and that is my final word. If I took you, there would be times when you would curse me for allowing you to come along. Will you stay here and look after my grandfather? The family is what he lived for. Do not allow him to die without a member of the family at his bedside. Will you do this for me, Breanna?"

She felt the pain of tears behind her eyes and turned away. "Yes, I will do this for you." She hurried from the room, fearing she would cry in front of him.

***

As night settled over London, dark clouds gathered in the east. Breanna felt restless, as she always did when a storm was brewing, and she paced the floor.

Dakota had been in his grandfather's room all day, and she dared not disturb him. She knew it would do no good to keep begging him to take her with him, for he would never relent.

The servants had gone to bed hours ago, and Breanna was caught up in the silence of the house.

Streaks of lightning flashed across the sky, and the double doors flew open from a gust of wind, fanning the candles until they flickered and went out. Breanna used the light from the fireplace to guide her across the room. Icy wind and rain pelted her face and body, and she had to clamp her teeth together to keep them from chattering, but she finally managed to close the doors and bolt them.

It wasn't a sound that alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone in the room; it was more a feeling. When she turned around, a flash of lightning revealed Dakota's face.

Breanna caught her breath at the sight of intense longing she saw in his eyes. Were the thunder and lightning reminding him of that first stormy night they had come together in a uniting fire that had threatened to consume them both?

She wasn't aware that she had moved, but she must have, because she found herself locked in Dakota's arms. A whimper escaped her throat as his warm lips nuzzled the lobe of her ear.

"I have wanted this for so long," he murmured. "I thought you would never allow me to touch you again. I am glad you willingly came into my arms.''

She glanced at him questioningly. Had she come to him? "Dakota, I . . . wasn't . . ."

"Shhh," he whispered as he framed her face with his hands. "Have the servants gone to bed?''

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her across the room. "You are wet and will become ill if you don't get out of these clothes."

Breanna leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes as he took the stairs with ease. The thundering of his heart matched the racing of her pulse.

Dakota walked past the bedroom she had been using and carried her to his. On entering the room, he did not bother to light a candle.

Placing Breanna on her feet, he began the slow process of undressing her. Each movement he made left her trembling, not with cold, but with wild anticipation. The troubles of yesterday did not matter—tomorrow did not exist—there was only now, and the desire that burned between them that would not be denied.

Breanna felt a coldness creep into her body as Dakota removed the last article of damp clothing. In the darkness, she felt something soft and warm enclose her body and knew that he had wrapped her in a blanket. With soft motions, he began rubbing her dry. Her knees went weak when his hand slipped across her breasts. Moments later, she felt his tongue encircle her nipple. Then she felt him lift her into his arms.

The storm intensified, with lightning and thunder charging the night sky and rain pelting the roof. A flash of lightning revealed Dakota's hard, muscled body as well as the heart-wrenching longing in his green eyes.

"Breanna," he breathed. "You are like a cleansing wind; you sweep through my body, leaving nothing untouched. Like a fire, you ignite a flame in my heart. I am overwhelmed by you, consumed by you. You are as much a part of me as the heart that pumps blood to my body."

This was not the first time Dakota had compared her to the wind. His beautiful words went around and around in her mind, heightening her feelings to a fevered pitch. Her body was on fire, and she gravitated toward the virile body that promised joy beyond endurance, fulfillment that would leave her breathless. His arms were a comforting heaven, his lips invoked burning desire. With every nerve in her body, she was conscious of Dakota.

With gentle control, he brought her fully against him. "I burn for you, Breanna. Can it be that you have missed this also?"

"Yes, I admit it."

"Give me something to take with me when I leave, something I can remember when I can no longer see you or touch you."

Tears wet her cheeks as she clutched him to her, wanting to hold on to him so he would never want to leave her.

His hands were working magic on her body, and she became his to command. "Sweet Breanna," he said, smothering her lips with a fevered kiss.

She was mindless, and unable to do more than press her lips against his. With a groan, he rolled her over, murmuring her name over and over.

Breanna was lost in a world that had no beginning and no end. As Dakota pressed against her soft body, she was burning with a fire that raged out of control.

She did not see Dakota's eyes fill with pain or the anguished twist to his lips. Dakota knew he could rule Breanna's body with a touch of his hand, but would he ever rule her heart?

Her heart was what he craved above all else.

He sank into her and sensuously pulled back, repeating the motion until it reached fever-ridden heights. When Breanna's body erupted in total satisfaction, he crushed her to him, knowing he held a part of her that no man would ever have. He had made joy sing in her blood, and she had given her whole being to him in the moment of her surrender.

Breanna felt her body relax, and Dakota rolled over and pulled her into his arms. For a moment, while the tide of passion ebbed, Breanna was content to lay his arms. But suddenly she remembered the picture of Rye Saffron in Dakota's arms and it tore at her heart.

"Dakota," she said, hating herself for needing to know. "How can I know that you did not . . . make love to Lady Rye Saffron?"

He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was hardly above a whisper. "I have rarely had my word challenged, but you do not yet know that I am an honorable man. I have already told you once that I did not lie with that woman. What else can I say to convince you?"

"I saw her—"

"You saw what she wanted you to see. I never liked the woman, but at first I believed she was destitute and needed help. I did not know what her deceitfulness would cost me."

"What did it cost you, Dakota?" she asked, remembering the pearl necklace and the extravagant gown the woman had been wearing.

"It cost me your trust, Breanna, it almost cost me you." He hugged her tightly. "And it could have cost you your life."

Breanna had decided that her husband was either the kindest man she had ever known, or the most devious. "I want to believe in you, Dakota, but I know what I saw."

"Until you learn to trust me, Breanna, there can be no real substance between us." He sat up and moved off the bed. "I will always hope the time will come when you will come to me with more in your heart than questions."

She could hear him pulling on his clothing. Why did she have the feeling she had wounded him deeply? But surely it was he who had betrayed her?

"Breanna, I have several letters to send out. You needn't worry that I will disturb you again tonight."

She heard the door open and close. With a heavy sigh, she wondered if she would ever know this complicated man she had married.

That night Breanna slept very little. What she didn't know was that her husband slept not at all.

***

Dakota paced back and forth, damning the circumstances that had burdened him with the knowledge of two different cultures, making him at war with himself. If he were an Arapaho, he would go to the woman he loved and bend her to his will. But his English side cautioned him to be patient with Breanna.

It was almost dawn when he went to his grandfather's room. Nodding, he indicated that the nurse should leave them alone.

Dakota seated himself on the edge of the bed, wishing this man who held on to life by the thinnest thread would give him some sign, some insight on what to do.

He held the old man's hand, which was hot and dry to the touch.

"I have to go away, Grandfather. It is not my wish to leave you alone at this time. I have to think you would understand that I owe something to the people who raised me. I did not ask to be your grandson, nor do I want to take your place as head of this family. If God wills it so, I will return. If I do, I will take it as a sign that I should take my place as Marquess in your stead."

There was no sign that the Marquess had heard. Dakota gently tucked the hand under the coverlet, looking for the last time upon the face of his grandfather.

With a heavy heart and a much-troubled mind, he left the bedchamber, silently closing the door behind him.

26

Breanna was up before daybreak because Dakota would be leaving early this morning, and after what had passed between them the night before, she wasn't sure he would seek her out to tell her goodbye.

She hurriedly dressed in a cream-colored gown and twisted her hair into a knot, securing it to the top of her head. Pinching her cheeks to add color, she dashed downstairs, hoping she would be in time to share breakfast with her husband.

Hearing voices in the small dining room that was just off the kitchen, she pushed the door open and entered. Dakota, John, and Levi all came politely to their feet.

John smiled at Breanna and pulled out a chair for her to be seated. "You are up early," he commented.

She seated herself, noticing that Dakota hadn't spoken to her. "It's a lovely morning for travel," she murmured incoherently.

Levi tossed his napkin on the table and stood up, thinking it was time to give Dakota and Breanna a chance to be alone. "Me and John will be waiting for you out front," he told Dakota, "but there's no need to hurry."

"Wait," Breanna said, getting up and moving quickly over to stand beside the old hunter. "I just wanted to tell you that I will miss you, Levi. I feel that you are a great part of this family."

Levi saw tears swimming in her eyes and, on a crazy impulse, enfolded her in his arms. "I have been honored to know you, Breanna. You are one of the finest ladies I have ever met, and I will also miss you."

She rested her cheek against Levi's rough face and whispered so only he could hear. "Take care of him, Levi. Don't allow anything to happen to him."

The hunter nodded and released her. "No long faces today, Breanna, and don't you fret. Before you get to missing us, you'll look up one day and there we'll be."

Breanna turned to Dakota, who still had not spoken. "I shall keep busy, Levi."

John stifled a make-believe yawn, while ambling out of the room. "I will not miss either of you. The life you live has played havoc with my peaceful existence," he said over his shoulder. "I yearn for a quiet life."

Suddenly Breanna and Dakota were alone. He walked slowly to her side, pulling her into his arms. "I shall count every day we are apart, dearest heart," he murmured in her ear. "If God its will, and circumstances permit it, I will soon return to hold you in my arms once more."

He raised his head, his green eyes probing her golden ones. "I will take the memory of last night with me and keep it in my heart always."

"Don't talk like that, Dakota." Desperation laced Breanna's words. "You make it sound as if you won't be coming back."

"Breanna, as long as there is breath in my body, I will return to you, for my desire for you is great."

She longed to hear him say he loved her and not that he merely desired her. "I will await your return."

"You will be with my grandfather as long as he needs you?"

"Yes, I will stay with him until the end," she assured him.

"Should you need anything, look to John, and he will lend you his support."

"I shall, Dakota."

His eyes moved over her face, taking in every soft curve, the blush of her cheek, the tears in her eyes. He wanted to imprint her likeness on his heart to sustain him through the days ahead, To leave her was to tear his heart out.

With his thumb, he wiped away her trailing tears, knowing he would always remember how her golden eyes glistened with sorrow at his leaving. Tenderly he kissed her lips. "An Indian does not like a lengthy good-bye, Breanna. It is enough to say I will think of you every day." He then abruptly turned away and left the room.

Dakota did not look back, so therefore, he did not see the beseeching hand Breanna held out to him.

She wanted to run after him, to once again beg him to take her with him. She felt as if a part of herself had been torn apart.

Calling on all her strength and willpower, Breanna moved down the hallway and into the salon. Pulling the pleated draperies aside, she watched Dakota and Levi get into the carriage. John stood on the steps, waving good-bye.

Leaning her cheek against the soft velvet draperies, Breanna allowed herself to cry out her misery. The silence of the house crept into her heart, as she watched the coach pull away and disappear down the tree-lined driveway.

Loneliness hung heavily in the room, and she was overcome by the silence. After allowing time to compose herself, Breanna made her way slowly up the stairs to sit with the Marquess so she would be fulfilling her promise to Dakota.

***

The old Marquess died that night without ever regaining consciousness.

Breanna and the doctor were with him when he breathed his last ragged breath. She cried, not out of affection for the Marquess, because he had not been a lovable man, but because he was Dakota's grandfather, so therefore worthy of her grief.

The Marquess's body had been prepared so he could be transported to Weatherford Hall, where he would be interred in the family crypt with generations of Remingtons.

***

It was a dreary day. Breanna and John stood beside the graveside, surrounded by the servants from Weatherford Hall, while the village vicar spoke glowing words about the old Marquess.

Tears blinded Breanna's eyes as she thought about the sad old man who had so few people who mourned his passing.

John stood stiffly at her side, and Breanna could tell by his eyes that he was sad at his uncle's passing. She understood how he felt, because the Marquess had been head of the family.

As a flock of ravens winged their way through the darkened heavens, gloom hung heavily in the air. John put his arms around Breanna and led her back toward the house, while the servants disbursed, going their separate ways.

As Breanna and John walked slowly along, John reflected on the Marquess's life. "My uncle was a forceful man, and he almost always got his way. But oddly enough, I respected him and I shall miss him," John said sadly. "He was the last of a proud breed of Remington men with his kind of thinking. He always put the survival of the family name above all else, never weighing the consequences or how it would affect any individual family members.''

"I did not have the chance to know him very well," Breanna replied. "But I have to say in all honesty that in our few meetings, I did not gain an affection for him."

"He was not the kind of man who encouraged affection. I wonder how different he would have been if Holden and Cillia had lived."

"Many things would have been different if they had lived" Breanna speculated. "Dakota would have been raised here in England and . . . oh, well, that did not happen. Tell me about Dakota's parents," Breanna urged, wanting something to take her mind off the sad old man who had lived his life without true affection.

By now, they had reached the steps of the house and John steered Breanna to the library.

She walked over to the desk and stared up at the portrait of Holden and Cillia. "They look like they belonged together," Breanna said, noting the green eyes of the woman—green eyes that she had passed on to her son.

"They were very much in love. I was young, but I always felt good just being around them. They laughed a lot, and made the people around them laugh also. I can remember being devastated when we received word that they had died so tragically."

John walked over to the desk and opened the drawer, pulling out Holden's journal. "Have you read the last entry my cousin made in his journal before he died?"

"No, I haven't," Breanna said, sitting down in the chair and allowing her eyes to move over the yellowed pages of the journal. Tears blinded her as she read:

On this day, the first day of November, in the year of Our Lord, 1833, Cillia died, delivering our child while I was away. It is my belief that the child lives and has been taken by Indians. It is my hope that every effort will be made to find the baby so it can be sent to my father in England. It is my wish that my wife and I be buried in a common grave so we might spend eternity together.

"Even after all this time, it is so tragic," she said, wiping her eyes on a linen handkerchief. "It must be wonderful to have such a love as Dakota's father had for his mother."

John could only stare at Dakota's beautiful wife, thinking how exceptional she was. He would always have a special place for her in his heart. But she must never know how he felt, or he might lose her friendship, for John knew that Breanna belonged to Dakota.

"You realize that one or the other of us will have to leave today for the townhouse in London, Breanna. If we stay under the same roof, it won't take gossiping tongues long to draw the wrong conclusion."

Breanna rose and stood beneath the portraits, unmindful of John's concern for her reputation. "Cillia never allowed her husband to go anywhere without her, did she, John?"

"No, never. I recall Holden once commented to me that since their marriage, he and Cillia had never spent one night apart." John looked at her suspiciously. "What makes you ask, Breanna?"

Baxley chose that moment to enter the room, carrying a tray. "Mrs. Hopkins thought you might like your tea served in here, my lady."

"Baxley," Breanna said, still staring at the portrait of Cillia, "you knew my husband's mother and father very well. Would Lord Holden have considered going to America without his wife?"

"No, my lady, never!"

Breanna's eyes took on a glow, as she turned to face both men. "Then Dakota should not have gone without me."

John shook his head, knowing by the gleam in Breanna's eyes that trouble was coming. "I know there is a bee in your bonnet, Breanna. What are you thinking?"

She raised her chin with defiance etched on her face. "I am going to join my husband in America."

"No, you are not," John said emphatically. "Where Dakota is going is no place for a lady."

"Be that as it may, I am going. I will take a page of courage from Cillia's book. I promised Dakota I would stay with his grandfather as long as he needed me, and I have fulfilled that promise. There is no longer anything to keep me here."

John turned to Baxley, hoping to enlist the valet in his argument. "You went to America with my cousins, Baxley. Tell her ladyship it would be impossible for her to go."

The old retainer's eyes danced with excitement. "I would never presume to tell the new Marchioness what to do, sir."

For the first time Breanna realized that on the old Marquess's death, Dakota had become the Marquess of Weatherford. "See, John, Baxley doesn't believe that my joining Dakota is a bad notion."

Baxley smiled broadly. "If your ladyship will allow it, I will be honored to accompany you. I know a lot about the land and would be of great help to your ladyship."

John threw up his hands. "I think you are both mad. Dakota would not approve of your going to America."

"You cannot know that, John," Breanna said, her mind already filled with preparations for the voyage.

"I will not be a party to such a scheme," John stated, disconcerted by the far-off gleam in Breanna's eyes.

"With or without you, John, I am going. My mind is made up."

Seeing the determination in Breanna's eyes, and knowing he would do anything she asked of him, regardless of the consequences, he conceded. "I will accompany you if you persist in this madness, but you will have to explain it to Dakota when we see him."

Breanna, in her glee, threw her arms around John. "You won't regret it, John, I can promise you." She smiled at Baxley. "Make all the arrangements, because I want to leave as soon as possible. My husband has already had a week's head start on us."

***

The
Phoenix
was a steam-powered merchant ship that could make the voyage between London and New York in less than three weeks. John had told Breanna that they might even reach New York ahead of Dakota and Levi, since the two men had been forced to sail on a frigate, which could take four to five weeks to cross the Atlantic, depending on the wind.

The
Phoenix
had set sail from London on a cold, dreary morning and had been under way for a week. As they neared the end of the voyage, the weather had changed from cold damp fog to clear days and warm breezes. Even though it was late autumn, the weather was so warm that Breanna had exchanged her heavy wool cape for a light shawl.

John's cabin was located on one side of hers, while Baxley’s was on the other, and both men had appointed themselves her faithful watchdogs.

In her weaker moments, she wondered if Dakota would be angry with her for her impulsiveness, but she pushed those concerns aside, having convinced herself that she was doing the right thing. Besides, it was too late to be concerned now. She was on her way to America to join Dakota, and there was no turning back.

Breanna felt her heart lighten and her cares melt away in the heady salt air. With the wind in her hair and a warm sun on her face, she stood on deck, feeling exuberant and alive. No longer would she have to dream about sailing away to some far-off land; it was a reality.

"America," she said aloud, loving the way it lingered on her tongue. In her mind she pictured America as wild and unpredictable as her husband.