Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (24 page)

Lucy recognized the cloth; it had once been an overskirt on one of the many impractical dresses hanging in her closet.

The nightgown came up high, demure but elegant, sporting a spill of ruffles above tiny gathers across the bodice with pink ribbons lacing through the pleats. It was modest in its cut with long sleeves ending in another swirl of delicate lace. It was an innocently charming design except for the material, which was the sheerest lawn and totally wicked.

While Lucy gaped speechlessly at the gift, Brody slipped out and came back from the barn with the men. Everyone stood looking expectantly at Roberta and Lucy.

Lucy found herself dispossessed of the spoon, her fingers wrapped around the nightgown. She stared at the floor and not the males spilling through the door.

Hamilton asked, “What’s up?”

Roberta answered smugly, “Lucy wanted to show Ambrose his birthday gift.”

Lucy wanted to sink through the floor, mortified when she risked a glance upward and saw Alex peering over the shoulders of the men. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Her face flaming, she clutched the sheer night rail as everyone admired it.

Alex said, “But it’s too thin to keep you warm.”

He seemed confused until Hamilton nudged him and Ambrose answered, “Your mama won’t catch a chill. Don’t you worry about that.”

All three Quince males grinned wickedly at her.

“I didn’t get a cake made for you,” was all Lucy could think to mumble.

Proudly, Brody held a cake aloft, stepping out of her hiding place behind Roberta. “I baked Pa a birthday cake, Mama, just like you taught me.”

Ambrose, grinning from ear to ear at the fuss the womenfolk had gone to for his birthday, made the most of it. He stuck a thumb into the icing and tasted it, winking at Brody. “Mmmm, mmm, mmm… That surely is delicious, sweetheart.”

Then he looked at Lucy and added, “I can’t wait to eat it up.”

She jerked the nightgown down and nervously folded the sheer material, blushing even redder under his gaze. When Ambrose reached for the cake and carried it to the supper table, she stayed in the kitchen trying to put out the fire in her cheeks.

They’d been married eleven years, had two children and had experienced carnal knowledge of each other a thousand times, but Ambrose felt as if this was his wedding night all over again. He let his children fête him, pleased that they’d remembered the day since he hadn’t.

Alex handed him a box holding a brand-new hat. He crammed it on his head, molding it to please himself. “Mighty fine, Alex. Thanks, son.”

Hamilton gave him a pair of leatherwork gloves, and Roberta had stitched some handkerchiefs that he could use.

They got through supper without Lucy bursting into flames, although after they’d all admired her new nightgown, her cheeks were so fiery from embarrassment that Quincy feared she might. Lucy retreated to her kitchen, using the after-supper washup as an excuse to hide.

Roberta followed behind Lucy and Ambrose could hear the tart sound of his wife’s voice giving her friend what for as the kitchen door swung shut.

Hamilton grinned and nudged him out front where four horses stood saddled and ready. “Thought you might want the house alone tonight. Roberta’s been after me to show her the hot springs.”

Hamilton mounted his horse, ready to leave. ”I can’t be spending time with that woman without the young’uns to protect me.”

Ambrose knew his brother was only half joking. Roberta was in determined pursuit, with Brody and Luce lending support.

Roberta bustled outside carrying a stuffed satchel and gazed up at Ham with one of her flirtatious looks.

When he saw the stuffed bag, Hamilton growled, “You fixin’ to stay a while, Roberta?” But his voice was a little hoarse as he shifted uncomfortably under the hand she’d laid on his thigh.

“Hamilton Quince, it’s nothing more than night gear and for a few things for Brody and me—some soap, some drying cloths and our clothes for tomorrow. Don’t you be an old grouch.”

Ambrose hid his grin from Hamilton and silently wished him well. Roberta’s simpering smile would have done credit to any debutante on the hunt in Boston.

Alex rolled his eyes at her antics and mounted, waiting impatiently for his sister. Brody finished the washing up and came outside ready to leave. Lucy followed her to the porch and stood twisting her hands in her apron as the four of them prepared to go.

Roberta motioned Ambrose over so she could whisper instructions, determined to manage his night for him. Then she straightened her new riding skirt and gathered up her reins. “We’re ready, Hamilton. Let’s be off now.” If her smile was any indication, she was as excited about her upcoming evening as Ambrose was.

It seemed to Lucy as she stood on the porch and watched the tail end of the horses disappear into the summer twilight that her family had conspired against her. Ambrose stood next to her but he wasn’t watching the horses—he was watching her.

“You think you might wear that tonight, Luce?” He nodded at the infamous nightgown now accordion-pleated in her hands.

If Lucy had been Roberta, she would have found some eyelash-batting way to sidestep the question. But she didn’t bat her eyes because she had no talent for such and because there was only one answer possible.

Lucy peered into the night, evading the question. “Brody saw a skunk out by the chicken coop yesterday. I expect Alex is hoping I’ll be the one to brace Mister Black-and-White rather than have it fall to him.”

Ambrose grunted and said no more. The silence between them reminded her that they were alone. She retreated into the house—and when he followed—into her kitchen. He followed her there too. She put down the sheer nightie and fumbled with the coffeepot, ready to boil some more for want of a better idea. He stepped behind her and took the makings from her hands.

Instead, he lifted a bucket of water and poured it into the kettle over the fire. “For your bathing tonight.”

Lucy frowned at the expectant look on her husband’s face. That needed to be dismissed immediately. Connubial bliss in a bed beneath sheets was within her capability but revealing her flawed body to his interested eyes during naked bathing was not.

“No,” Lucy said. Neither of them pretended to misunderstand what she meant. He didn’t argue but began filling the tub for her as she stood watching, tongue-tied, unable to say a word.

“Be a shame to tear that nightgown,” Ambrose chided her as he swung another bucket toward the kettle. He was filling the tub up to the top, as she liked it, but rarely took the time to do.

She looked down at the thin night rail that Roberta had sewn for her. She’d been clutching it in her hand again, and it was a wrinkled mess. “I’ll not be wearing this either,” she stated emphatically. Even squeezing it two layers thick in her nervous hands she could see the flesh of her palm through the transparent material.

Tub full and steaming, Lucy stepped behind the curtains that served to separate the bathing area from the rest of the kitchen. When she reached to pull them shut, Ambrose stepped through, ducking his head to avoid the cord she had strung there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” It was a silly question on her part because Ambrose was already rolling up his sleeves.

“I figured on playing lady’s maid for you,” he said. “Roberta said you’d be needing help.” It was true that Lucy couldn’t get out of the dress she’d been buttoned into by Roberta without Ambrose’s assistance. She considered cutting her way out.

Before she could attempt such desecration, Ambrose began the task of sliding each covered disc out of the loop that held it in place. His hands were big and the buttons small, so it wasn’t long before his fumbles had her half irritated and half laughing at him.

As cool air touched her back, she realized he’d distracted her right down the row of buttons. Those big hands that had fumbled over the tiny fasteners had no trouble easing under the material of the open back and around her sides until he cupped her chemise-covered breasts.

“Ambrose, this is not a good idea.” Lucy needed time to think about this.

As though he read her mind, he replied, “This is not something you have to worry about. Relax, sweetheart.” As he spoke, his hands palmed her flesh through the sheer material and he kissed the nape of her neck.

She didn’t want him to see her scars again. She stiffened and prepared to shrug him away but he caught the fabric of her dress from inside and pushed it from her shoulders. It drifted to the floor in a continuous slide.

In a blink, she stood before him in chemise only. He squinted at her as though in thought and then turned her around again, this time unbraiding her hair. “I used to do this for you, Luce. You enjoyed it then.”

“You bathed me like I was a child?” It sounded demented to Lucy.

“No,” Ambrose mumbled, raking his fingers through the loosened waves. “I bathed you like a man bathes his woman.”

Quincy spread her hair across her shoulders, his clever fingers finding the straps that held her chemise in place, pushing them down so that the scrap of lingerie that hadn’t covered much was now only a memory.

Lucy wished for a corset to hide and confine her flesh. She had stopped wearing them long ago, but this moment needed the bite of discomfort to strengthen her mind. Instead she stood naked but for her drawers, with Ambrose working on capturing those.

She was too aware of the ugly marks that marred her body to concentrate on her husband’s touch. No sooner did her pantalettes find the floor than Ambrose lifted her into the warm water he’d prepared for her.

In spite of her resistance and her embarrassment, Lucy found herself seated in the tub as he crouched beside it, sleeves rolled up, sponge in hand.

“You used to buy scented oil for your bath. We’ll have to make do with plain soap tonight, though that needs to be something we get you,” he said gruffly.

His touch was brisk as he rolled the soap across the sponge and then lifted her hair to scrub her back. She wanted to complain at his high-handed behavior but it felt too good. Ambrose took off his shirt and then his pants, finally climbing in behind her as she fussed about the water on the floor, trying to ignore the feel of his shaft pressed against her back.

Ambrose experienced heaven with his arms wrapped around Lucy, enjoying the slippery seduction of warm water and heated flesh. His wife’s back pressed against his chest, her hair cascading over her shoulder to half cover her left breast. She’d tried to hide her scar with the last coherent act of her opposition.

And yet, when his fingers traced the zigzagging pattern to cup her breast, her nipple pebbled and she shivered.

“The want for me is still there,” he told her fiercely, proud that the scar didn’t prevent her being aroused by the sensation of his touch.

He let his hands rove freely, feeling her response to his gentling as she went from rigid resistance to surrender. With a sigh, she relaxed her back against his chest and he held her between his legs, his member standing at attention against her spine. He wanted to slide inside her and tuck himself into the warmth of her body—but not yet.

He fondled her breasts, circling the areolas radiating from her peaked nipples. “Your breasts are bigger, I think.” He rubbed the sponge across her chest, abrading the nubs, giving her pleasure. His observation distracted her from the slide of his left hand as he cupped her below.

“Maybe I’m not your wife.” She twisted in his arms, looking at him with concern. It was an impossibly absurd moment, caught in his arms the way she was, with his hands making acquaintance with all of her parts.

Instead of reassuring her with words, he nudged hard against her back with his erection. “Do you doubt it?” Her answer was a shake of her head and a slide of her own hands up his thighs. If she kept that up, his control would go to hell.

“When I saw you the first time, I was a twenty-eight-year-old rancher, not long home from the war. I wasn’t a randy boy without control, yet at my first sight of you, my cock got hard and wouldn’t behave—about like it’s doin’ right now.” He rubbed the proof of his words against the silk of her back.

“Roberta says that that’s common among men.” Her words clearly challenged his proof. “That thing you’re nudging me with would do the same for any other female, wouldn’t it?”

“It never has.” His words were accompanied by a warm chuckle. “But maybe what Roberta knows about male parts is a mite exaggerated.”

The water eased his movements, lulling her into trust, he thought. His words were a soft rumble accompanying his toying strokes. But then she asked, “Why didn’t you bed other women when I was gone?”

He smiled against her hair. “All my wants seemed to leave with you.” And then he added, remembering the moment he spoke of, “But when I saw you take a bead on me as I stood with my head in a noose, I got a hard-on like I’d not had in three years. And all I could think of was bedding my wife one more time.”

As he told her that story, he knew it was true. It had been a hell of a moment for his cock to spring to attention but it had, and he’d come roaring back to life from some twilight place he’d been grieving in since she’d left.

Trussed up like a turkey, his children watching his demise, his last look should have been toward them. But something had pulled his gaze to the woman riding into town next to his brother. His gaze had locked on her, even as she’d shifted rifle to shoulder and he’d breathed, “Lucy.”