Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (18 page)

"The last thing I need is another bite of chocolate," she said, moving into his arms.

They took turns, slowly peeling the layers of formal clothing away, her silk gown, his linen suit, kicking off shoes, rolling down stockings, then with soft wet kisses, removing undergarments. "Not quite sporting," he murmured. "Men have so much less to unfasten than ladies."

"Ummm, all the better. I can taste your skin more quickly and it's more delicious than the chef's dessert," she whispered, nuzzling his chest.

When he had slipped her lace chemise over the sleek curves of her hips, she started to pull him toward the side of the bed, but he stopped her. "Not this time," he murmured, leading her to the foot of the mattress. "Sit down, if you please, love," he commanded softly.

Puzzled, Sky complied. Then he gently pushed her onto her back and raised her legs over his shoulders as he knelt in front of her. He began nibbling her inner thighs, his lips drawing closer and closer to the heat of her body's core. "No, you can't—" Her protest died on a gasp of raw pleasure.

"Yes, I can…and I will," he said, bringing his head to the silky black curls at the apex of her thighs.

Sky had never imagined making love this way. The heat of his mouth and the tip of his tongue worked blistering magic, leaving her too breathless to protest, or to think any more. He cupped her derriere in his hands and raised her hips like some pagan offering.

"Before dinner, when I said you looked good enough to dine upon...I was being quite literal." His voice was low and husky, brushing against her nether lips as she writhed in ecstasy.

Her hands, which at first had tried to push him away, now cradled his head, urging him to continue, her fingers buried in his pale curling hair. This was mindlessly sweet and yet scorchingly passionate at the same time. She moaned, feeling the wild contractions beginning to hum from that tiny bud, radiating through her whole being. Just as she cried out, unable to bear it another instant, he stood over her. Lifting her legs up on the bed, he plunged deep inside her, stroking hard and fast to prolong her pleasure.

But when she finally passed the crest, he stopped, making a deliberate effort to do so. Instead, he began kissing her breasts, caressing the soft curves of her body, nuzzling her throat while he held his weight on his elbows, gazing down at her face.

Sky looked up into his eyes, so green, not cold now, not harsh, but mirroring the same wonder as her own. Had they just crossed some new threshold in their strange and confusing relationship? She had no time to ponder the question, for he started to move inside her again.

She responded by placing her hands on each side of his head and lowering his mouth to hers, as if sealing some unspoken bargain with the kiss. He tasted of her. But instead of offending her finishing school sensibilities, the intimacy sent a thrill quivering through her body. She locked her ankles behind his back and arched into his strokes with renewed abandon, glorying in the muffled sounds of endearment he made as his staff swelled even harder and larger inside her.

Now!
The waves of culmination began within her once again, increasing as she felt him joining her in the unspeakable pleasure. Her own murmured words of love blended with his as they reached the summit together. Outside, gunshots echoed in the night and violence ruled, but joined together in their own private heaven, they were safe from its ugliness. Here was true beauty. And both of them sensed it as they lay side by side, holding each other fast, even though neither spoke a word.

At length, when their breathing returned to normal, Max pulled the covers over them to ward off the chill night air of the mountains. They lay beneath linen and brocade, locked in an embrace as they drifted off to sleep.

Toward dawn, a renewed burst of gunfire erupted near their hotel. Max turned restlessly and sat up, his nightmare beginning again as he raised his arm into firing position and issued commands. Feeling the loss of his body heat, Sky came quickly awake and reached out, taking him in her arms. She pulled him down beside her and crooned low in his ear, "Sleep, my love. I'll not let them have you."

Gradually, the sound of her voice, the softness of her touch, soothed him. She could feel the tension drain from his body as his head fell against the crook of her shoulder. Max Stanhope never awakened, but slept peacefully through the gunfire for the rest of the night, his nightmare banished.

Sky lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what new direction her life was going to take as his wife. If he would have her, she was his to keep for the rest of their days...

Chapter Nine

Max awakened to the sound of gunfire, but knew that the loud reports were not the reason his sleep had ended. Sky's body was no longer beside him. He could feel her warmth lingering on the pillow. She had just arisen. He quietly looked about the room and saw her belting a blue satin robe that matched her eyes. When she felt his gaze, she looked over at him and smiled shyly. He knew what they had shared last night was the most precious memory of his life. But how could he express that to her? Did he dare?

"I'll ring for coffee. Or, would you prefer tea?" she asked.

"Coffee's fine, love," he said, sitting up. Why in flaming hell were they both acting so awkward? Of course. He realized that her first husband had most certainly never made love to her the way he had last night. Did she feel guilty? If so, her soft smile gave no indication of it, only faint embarrassment. That was good.

Then he also remembered how edgy he'd been since arriving in this accursed town of trigger-mad drunks. A disturbing thought occurred. "Did I—that is, did the shooting keep you awake?"
Did my raving nightmares frighten you to death?

Sky shook her head. "No, I slept as peacefully as you." A lie, but one she could live with.

He watched her hips sway as she walked from the room and felt desire stir once more. A slow smile spread across his face, replacing the strained lines around his mouth. Insatiable lust for one's own wife was far from the worst thing in the world, he thought wryly as he climbed out of bed and reached for a robe.

The coffee arrived shortly and they placed an order for breakfast. While waiting for their poached trout and eggs Benedict, they perused the
Leadville Herald.
Sky read a review of an opera, then smothered a chuckle. "The Tabor Opera House next door enjoyed a rather unique performance of
Faust
last night. It seems the lady in charge of the production, a countrywoman of yours, one Miss Emma Abbott by name, inserted the old hymn, 'Nearer My God to Thee,' in the middle of the opera!"

"Well, this Miss Abbott certainly must've breathed new life into that rather depressing opus," he said. "I wonder if her addition came before or after Faust sold his soul to the devil?" He lifted an eyebrow and was delighted when she burst into laughter. "You're fabricating that. No self-respecting English actress would even consider performing
Faust
. Let me see that page."

Sky handed him the theater reviews, smirking. "Oh, Miss Abbott hasn't only produced her version of that odious German opera, but your beloved Bard as well.
Romeo and Juliet
—with a few embellishments, such as adding a trapeze to the balcony scene."

He scanned the page. "Egad! I can see it now, Romeo swinging across the stage into his true love's arms, accompanied by hoots of encouragement from the great unwashed in the audience." He shifted his normally cultivated English tones to a fair imitation of an uneducated Western twang. " 'Wal, Mater Nose, didja like Shakespeare last night?' 'Shakespeare? Hell, never seen the feller, but I done bagged me a Romeo flying through the air.' " Max pulled an imaginary six-gun from his hip and took aim at the ceiling. " 'I warn't sittin' by whilst some sissy in tights insulted a sweet lil' gal, askin' 'er, where fart thou?' "

Sky convulsed, doubling over and holding her sides. She barely managed to correct his literary license. "You've mangled Juliet's line. Now stop before I die laughing."

He, too, was laughing so hard it almost hurt. Then their eyes met and the laughter abated. "We could be good for each other, m'lady, were we to make this permanent," he said softly.

"Perhaps we could, m'lord," she replied solemnly. When the smile reached his eyes, he was so very easy to love. Did she love him? Did she dare?
Would I be able to erase the darkness inside you? What of the darkness inside me?

Sky had no answers. The waiter brought their breakfast before she could consider the disturbing questions further. They ate the superb meal in relative silence, each lost in dreams they dared not share.

* * * *

Just as they finished dressing, a bellman delivered a note from Mrs. Simmons, saying that she would be delighted to receive them at one that afternoon. Scanning the missive, written on expensive vellum, Sky noted the lovely penmanship. "Well, judging from this, she certainly is qualified to write to miners' mothers and sweethearts back home."

"She's probably from a good family fallen on ill times. Perhaps immigrated to America hoping to better her lot," Max said as he stood before an oval mirror expertly straightening the short Western tie he'd chosen to wear with his black suit.

"How sad," Sky replied, "being so far from home, without family."

"Family isn't always a blessing such as yours, love. Many people are only too happy for the opportunity to begin over again. Judging from the quality of her stationery, she's done quite well."

"I applaud her success, then." She cleared her throat nervously and asked, "Is that how you felt about the Stanhopes—I mean besides your uncle Harry? What of your parents?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I scarcely knew them. We're a standoffish lot, we English, none more so than the Stanhopes. My parents packed my brother, then me off to boarding schools while we were younger than your nephew Rob."

"That's horrible. Didn't they want children?" Among her father's people, children were considered the greatest treasure of a family.

"Oh, if one is a member of the upper class, one always requires heirs, but it is not necessary to suffer them underfoot. After my parents managed the requisite 'heir and a spare,' they went their separate ways. In spite of our age difference, Edmund and I were close. Harry was largely responsible for that, inviting us for holidays at his country house. Our parents never attended."

"What of Phillip? Have you any other cousins—besides that horrid Cletus?"

Max shrugged. "I seldom saw Phillip as we were growing up. He and my brother were of an age. When his father died, running the Stanhope estates fell to him. As to other cousins, there are a couple of much younger girls, one elderly bachelor uncle on my maternal side...not much else. I never spent time with any but Phillip, and that was only because we saw him when we visited Uncle Harry. As for Cletus, after his father died, no one else wanted anything to do with him."

She walked up behind him and placed her head against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist. "In spite of everything else, I've been blessed with a wonderful family. You had your uncle. I'm glad he was there to give you a home. Perhaps after he lost his wife, you were his consolation."

Her words stung, even though he knew she did not mean them to. Some consolation he'd been. "I was a spoiled, wild boy, grief stricken over my brother's senseless death, then an indifferent student at university who rejected the career path dictated by family custom. I was not destined for the army, but the church."

"The church? You—a priest?"

He turned and looked at her expression of utter incredulity. Smiling wryly, he said, "You see the obvious problem inherent in my fulfilling family expectations."

"But you were a fine soldier and you served with the highest distinction." Sky stopped herself when she saw his eyes harden. Now was not the time to press him about his nightmares. Instead, she changed the subject, looking down at the yellow muslin day dress she'd chosen. "Will this be suitable for such an English paragon of erudition as Mrs. Simmons?"

He, too, was more than happy to shift the conversation. "It's quite splendid. Let us only hope that Frances Simmons possesses more erudition than Emma Abbott," he added with a chuckle.

They set out for the parlor house in a hired carriage whose driver was an ancient black man so wizened he appeared to be approaching the century mark. But Eustace Freeman handled his spirited horse with calm competence in spite of the incessant gunfire.

"Is Mrs. Simmons' place by chance near the red-light district?" Max inquired.

Eustace laughed, revealing several gold teeth and the fact that driving a hack in a city filled with nouveau riche miners was lucrative indeed. "Capt'n, this here whole town be one big red-light distric' with a sprinklin' 'o lee-gita-mite bid-nesses here 'n yonda." As he held his horse in check when another burst of shots erupted down the street, he remarked, "A couply lawyer mans hang out they shingles hereabouts. Doan know how they keeps from starvin', bein's most folks settle things with guns."

Sky shivered and looked at Max's drawn face. "Are all boomtowns this prone to violence, Mr. Freeman?"

"Been in some bad 'uns. This be the wors' eveh, missus."

With that unsettling pronouncement, she cast about for a distraction, then saw a pharmacy on the right side of the street and read a large advertisement in the window. "Look, The Great English Remedy, a wonder elixir." She scanned the claims for what it cured as the carriage passed by, then burst into laughter. "Max, we must buy some of that for you," she said, pointing to the sign. "It is English, after all."