Louisa Rawlings (26 page)

She sank to the chaise, trembling, and let the tears come at last.

In the days that passed, Nat could not get the incident out of his mind. There was no one he could discuss it with until his weekly visit with his grandfather. As they sat at the table, Nat cut another piece of cake and handed it to his grandfather. “And there she was, Gramps, with her skirts up, giggling like a schoolgirl.”

The old man took a bite of the cake and licked his lips. “They do make a fine cake on that Lake George steamer.”

“That’s why I brought it to you. I enjoyed it myself during luncheon…”

“So he had her skirts up.” The old man shook his head. “He sounds like a scoundrel.”

“Yes.” Nat had begun to pace the small cabin. “I don’t even think she realized what he was up to. But I swear he would have had her in another minute if I hadn’t come in. Her eyes were half closed. She didn’t see the look on his face. Like a leering satyr.”

“And now you’ve got to be decent to the man?”

“She’s invited him for supper tomorrow. And he’s Bradford’s friend as well. Or at least his confederate.” He smacked his palm angrily against the arm of his grandfather’s wheelchair. “I don’t know if I can prevent myself from throttling the bastard! But I intend to keep my eye on him the whole evening. There’ll be no repetitions of that boathouse scene, by God!”

His grandfather chuckled. “I don’t care what you say, boy, I think the girl’s got under your skin.”

He looked at his grandfather. Could it be so? Willough—with those melting eyes? “No. No. It’s just that she’s so damned gullible. She thinks if a man talks like a fine gentleman, he can be trusted.”

“Does she trust
you
?”

“Hardly. I don’t have the gift of gab. Not like that snake. And I touched her. Put my hand on her arm. You should have seen her face then.” He sighed. “I can’t decide whether she was disgusted at my effrontery—and my low station—or afraid of me. Or afraid of all men,” he added thoughtfully.

The old man snorted. “They’re raising them that way nowadays. Helpless little creatures who don’t know the first thing about a man, and take a fit on their wedding night!”

Nat laughed. “How do
you
know?”

“Remember that nicely padded baggage I had for years? Mary-Rose? She worked as a housekeeper at the Lake George Hotel. The stories she told me about what went on in that bridal suite…!” The old man rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Maybe that’s why she’s afraid. Maybe that’s what she’s been taught. Or
not
taught. But she must have longings. We’re all Nature’s children under the skin. I wonder how she explains away her feelings.” He had a sudden vision of Willough’s tender mouth. “I wonder if she’s ever been kissed.” He laughed harshly. “But she’s afraid of me.”

The old man watched him, his pale eyes shrewd and searching. “Is she right to fear you?”

“She’s safer with me than with Gray!” He began to pace again, his heels clicking on the old floorboards. “Dammit!” he burst out. “Sometimes I want to shake her—I’ve got half a mind to…”

“Do you have feelings for the woman, Nat?”

“Of course not! It just makes me angry, that’s all. That man fawns all over her with his smooth talk, and she falls for it. He’s a hero to her.” He frowned, remembering the terror in Willough’s eyes. “I touch her in friendship,” he said, “and I’m a villain, clearly out to ravage her. But I swear, Gramps, he would have talked her out of her virginity. Just with the right words.”

“And she doesn’t see that.”

He laughed bitterly. “Maybe it’s her snobbery. Rich men are safe. Poor men aren’t.”

“You could always seduce her with words—like a rich man would—just to prove your point.”

Nat laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it! But I’d have to be damned mad at her first!”

“Why?”

Why did her face keep rising up before him, with those beautiful eyes that opened on to her soul? Her fragile, vulnerable soul. “Because it would be too easy,” he said softly. “And so unfair.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh God, Gramps, why is life so complicated? Isn’t there any peace anywhere?”

Marcy waved to the stationmaster of North Creek. “Morning, Tom,” she called. “Is the night train from New York City due in on time?”

“Morning, Marcy.” He nodded and pulled out his large watch. “She left Saratoga right on time. I reckon she’ll get here on the dot. You meeting a hunting party for Old Jack?”

“No.” She blushed, feeling suddenly shy. “Just a…a friend.” She turned away. It was too wonderful, too exciting to share with anyone just yet.

They knew in Long Lake, of course. The Plumleys had thrown a big party, and all the neighbors had wished her well. Even Zeb Cary had managed to smile and shake her hand, though he allowed as how that city slicker hadn’t seemed like much to him.

She smiled and looked around at the flower-trimmed depot, the sunny street. What a beautiful day for a wedding. She smoothed the skirt of her gown, a dark green wool with a plain bodice and small lace collar. It was her best dress, but she wished she had a prettier one to get married in. Foolish Marcy, she thought. As long as the groom was her own Drew, what did it matter?

There must be a rich swell in town, she thought. On a siding at some distance from the station, there was a private railroad car. As she watched, two young men in gray linen stepped down from the car and crossed the dusty road, heading for the hotel. As they passed her, one of them slowed his steps, appraising her in the early morning sunshine.

Not today,
greenhorn
, she thought, laughing to herself. Today I’m getting married!

She examined the railroad car more closely. It was very nice, with its polished mahogany and brass, but it no longer held the fascination it once would have. It represented a silly dream. She heard the toot of a locomotive in the distance. The reality was coming down the track, with Drew.

She felt her heart begin to pound. Drew! It had been more than a week. She hadn’t thought she could miss anyone as much as she missed him! She waited, filled with anticipation, as the train chugged into the station, and waved excitedly when she spotted him. He was down the steps and pulling her into his arms before the engine had squealed to a halt.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he said and kissed her exuberantly. She clung to him and returned his kiss with all the aching passion in her. She would never tire of his kisses! She watched him with hungry eyes as he directed the removal of his luggage from the train. He seemed to have a great deal of baggage, valises and carpetbags and large boxes tied up with ribbon. He grinned and put his arms around her waist. “Did you stay at the hotel last night?”

“Yes. I took a bedroom with a small parlor.” She felt herself blushing. “I told them…my husband would be joining me tonight.”

His mouth twitched in a lopsided smile. “You were mighty sure of me!”

“Dang you, Drew Bradford. What made you so sure
I’d
be here?”

He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “That last night in Long Lake,” he said, and laughed as she blushed again. He arranged to have his baggage put into their room in the hotel, then insisted on finding a restaurant that could serve him the largest breakfast in town. “For my strength tonight,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. While Marcy worked on toast and jam, Drew dug into venison steak and eggs and flapjacks, washing it down with strong coffee. And all the while he bombarded Marcy with questions.

“Did you get the preacher?”

“Reverend Carpenter. The church is the other side of the depot. He said he could marry us at four o’clock today.”

“And Uncle Jack?”

“He went out with a fisherman at dawn. But he’ll be here at four.”

“Did you ask any friends to come?”

“No. It’s a hardship for them to make the trip from Long Lake. Ten hours by stage, and then back again as soon as the wedding is over.”

He grinned wickedly. “Didn’t you even invite that young man who debauched you?”

“Drew Bradford! You polecat! I don’t even know what that means, but it just plain sounds awful!” She giggled in spite of herself “But I didn’t invite Zeb.” She watched him as he finished his breakfast. Her eyes could never get enough of him. “What about
your
family?” she said at last.

A small crease appeared between his eyes. “I didn’t have a chance to track down Willough.”

“Willough?”

“My sister. I thought she was at MacCurdyville, but she’s not. She may be at Saratoga, but I wasn’t about to march in on her—and my father—when my train was passing through.”

“You don’t get along with your father?”

He shrugged. “We’re not enemies We’re just…strangers. He doesn’t like my life, and I don’t much like his.”

“And your mother?”

He gulped the last of his coffee. “I’ll write to Willough before we leave, and tell her about our wedding. She’ll enjoy breaking the news to Mother.”

“Drew…” Marcy said softly, seeing the pain in his eyes. She had grown up with love; somehow she had thought that all families were happy.

“No. No serious talk. It’s our wedding day. Tell me, Mrs. Bradford that is to be, do you get seasick?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know!”

He laughed. “Well, we’ll soon find out. We’ll take the train for Boston tomorrow. Our ship sails from there. And then, nine days later, we’ll be in Le Havre. That’s a port in France. We’ll take the train to Paris from there. I have a few letters from some artist friends in New York. With their help, we should be able to find cheap rooms in the Latin Quarter.”

She smiled in delight, her eyes shining. “Oh Drew, it sounds so wonderful and magical!”

“Come on,” he said, counting out the cost of their meal and dropping the coins on the table. “I want to walk off this breakfast, and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“What for?” she purred seductively.

“My God, you’re becoming a hussy already!” He reached out and pinched her sharply on the behind, managing to look innocent when she squeaked loudly and every other patron in the restaurant stopped eating to stare at them. “You know very well what for,” he said, taking her by the elbow and steering her out into the sunshine. “And then, maybe, if you’re good, I’ll show you your wedding dress.”

She gasped in delighted surprise. “Wedding dress? But how could you…how did you know what size…?”

He stopped and put his hands around her waist. He nodded in satisfaction. “Uh-huh. I was right.”

“What about the…other measurements?”

“I studied the clerks for a while, until I found one who looked about your size and shape.” He grinned. “Of course, I had to hold her in my arms to be sure she felt just about the way you did.”

“Did you kiss her, too, you slack-jawed wolf?”

“Only her ears, to get the proper measurement for the earrings.”

She frowned in mock seriousness. “When we’re married, remind me to measure a rolling pin for your head!”

He laughed and swung her around in his arms, then bent and kissed her on the mouth.

She trembled down to her toes. “You can’t keep kissing me on the street like this,” she said breathlessly.

“No.” His eyes enveloped her in their warmth, blue and clear as a summer sky. “Damn the walk,” he whispered. “I want to make love to you right now.”

In their hotel room, he lay on the bed—shoes and frock coat off, hands comfortably behind his head—and watched lazily as she undressed. It didn’t take her long. The green dress, all one piece, unbuttoning from collar to hem; her muslin petticoat; flannel drawers and short-sleeved chemise. Plain black stockings, high, laced black shoes. She undressed in a leisurely manner, enjoying his eyes on her body.

“You’re tanned all over,” he said. “How do you manage that?”

She smirked. “There are dozens of waterfalls to bathe in…”

“If I ever thought you’d played that scene for anyone else…” he growled.

Her smile faded. He wasn’t joking. There was the edge of jealousy in his voice. She ran to the bed and leaned over him. “Drew. I’m yours. Always.”

“Marcy.” He pulled her down to lie beside him, caressing her with gentle hands, praising with his kisses her face and bosom and soft neck. He kissed her until she was quivering; then he rolled off the bed and began to remove his own clothing, his fingers working impatiently at his waistcoat buttons. She snuggled against the soft bed, stretched voluptuously, her arms over her head, and watched him. “Oh, God,” he said, his hands poised on his cravat. His voice was husky with passion. “Someday I’ll paint you like that, a beam of sunlight setting fire to your hair, your breasts rosy with love and anticipation.”

She sat up and put her hands on her hips. “Tarnation! You can be the painter tomorrow! Will you please hurry up and be the lover today?”

He laughed at that and shed the rest of his clothes quickly, but when he held her in his arms, it was with a tenderness that made her want to weep. He kissed her breasts, her flat belly, her neck and ears, then turned her over and kissed her shoulders, the hollow at the small of her back. She moaned in pleasure and rolled back, reaching for him. Their bodies fused, came together, warmed by their passion and the bright sunlight that streamed across the bed. It seemed a glorious eternity while she soared like a bird in the heavens, her body trembling and pulsing, her heart and soul joined to his as surely as was her flesh. At last he sighed and moved away, sated. He leaned on one elbow and gazed lovingly at her. She smiled at him through half-closed eyes, too content even to speak.