Teresa Bodwell (17 page)
Authors: Loving Miranda
“Patience, love,” he murmured as he pressed his lips against her throat.
She rose off the ground. Surely she did, for she was definitely flying, soaring across the sky like an eagle on a fine summer’s day.
Miranda cried his name and the sound went deep into his chest.
“Have I given you enough, love?”
“Yes. Yes.” Miranda pulled at the blanket. “Please take me now. You’ve given me enough, I promise you.”
“No, love. Not yet. I haven’t given you nearly enough.” Ben kissed her. He combed his fingers through her hair, pulling her close to him and demonstrating with his tongue what he was about to do to her womanly parts, driving deep inside of her. She was ready to let him in. Yet, he delayed. “Take my shirt off, love.”
Her hands trembled as she worked the buttons, but it was well worth it to touch his bare chest. She relished the feel of his corded belly and his powerful shoulders, first with her palms, then with her tongue. The scar she’d glimpsed before was now fully revealed. It looked as though his breast had been shattered and stitched back together—one nipple was missing, and lines scattered up and away from it like the spokes of a broken wheel. She kissed him there and stroked the soft fur of his chest with her cheek.
“Look at my face, love.” Ben lifted her chin so that she was looking into his eyes. “That’s better. You don’t have to look at the ugly scar.”
“Only wondered how . . . how you lived.”
“This is no time for telling stories, Miranda. We have business to take care of.”
“Of course,” she said and pulled the blanket away from her legs and her most private places.
“You’re beautiful,” Ben murmured against her belly before dipping lower.
Before she knew it, he was licking her knee and working his way up the inside of her thigh, slowly, driving her to distraction until she was certain she couldn’t wait another moment. She noticed the blanket had dropped from his waist; he was fully aroused. He was so large she worried for a moment whether she’d be able to keep her part of the bargain. She promised herself not to flinch or do anything to show her fear. She didn’t want to make him angry.
His kisses reached the apex between her thighs and he lifted his head. “I’m going to come inside you now, love.”
Miranda nodded, not trusting her voice. His smile reassured her, but she closed her eyes, bracing herself.
He touched her. And she felt him solid against the moist opening. She spread her legs, opening to him, and he slipped inside slowly, pressing and pulling back again before he thrust deeper and filled her. She opened her eyes and let out a little breath. Somehow he fit inside her, and it was nice. He started to move slowly at first, then a little faster and faster until she was caught up and felt herself moving with him. Then it happened.
The pleasure that she’d felt, the soaring eagles in flight, swept her up again, and this time she flew beyond the sky and hurtled past the stars. She dug her fingers into his ribs, wanting to hold him there to continue on this flight forever. He surprised her by pulling out. He pressed against her chest and pulled her breasts together around his shaft until his seed spilled against her. He collapsed next to her and used the old shirt to wipe her clean before he pulled her close. Without letting her go, he pulled blankets over the two of them.
“Miranda,” he whispered into her ear. “Miranda, love.”
She examined his face—his eyes closed. He wore a contented smile such as she’d seldom seen before. It was not an expression she’d ever hoped to see on grim Ben Lansing.
He bent to nuzzle her ear, and she curled up against him. As the wind howled and the freezing rain beat against the windows, Miranda fell asleep in Ben’s warm arms.
When they awoke, the moon gleamed bright against a frozen hillside. Ben dashed outside for more wood, and they built the fire back up to warm themselves.
“I think our clothes may be dry,” Miranda said. “We’d be warmer if we put them on.”
Ben’s grin shone in the firelight. “I think I know a better way to get warm.”
Miranda grinned, too, then bent to kiss his nipple, teasing him with her tongue.
“Oooh. You, my dear, are a quick study,” Ben whispered. “I think I shall teach you a few more tricks.”
In fact, he taught her several tricks that pleased them both until they were, if not sated, at least exhausted. They slept skin to skin on the bear pelt with blankets piled upon them, and neither of them suffered any cold even when the fire died.
Chapter 14
Benjamin woke feeling a cold draft on his shoulder. He turned to Miranda and smiled, remembering their play of the night before. She’d fallen asleep curled into a tight ball and had pulled the blankets away from him. Although he remembered whispering only a few hours ago that he would need a week to recover, strong desire pounded through him as soon as he saw her. He glanced at the window. The sun would rise soon, but they had enough time if he acted quickly.
He rolled over onto his side and brushed a kiss against her naked back. She screamed and pulled away.
“I’m sorry!” He rose to his knees. “I didn’t mean to frighten—”
“No!” She held a blanket tightly against her chest. “I ain’t . . . I’m not . . .”
“I think I must have surprised you.”
“No.” Miranda inched away from him. “I . . . It wasn’t because you . . . I was asleep.”
“You’re shivering.” He wrapped a blanket around her.
She leaned away. “I need to”—she looked around the room—“it’s time I dressed and . . . I’ll make us some breakfast.”
He pulled the drooping blanket back over her shoulder. “I would never hurt you.” He kept his voice low.
She stared at him, her eyes small points in the near darkness. “I know.”
He placed a hand on each of her arms. “Someone has. Another man?”
“I told you, I was in a deep sleep and—” She choked on a sob.
He pulled her against his chest, careful to hold her loose enough that she could escape if she wanted. She leaned against his shoulder, until her tears streamed down his chest.
“Shh, shh.” He combed his fingers through her hair.
“Please, I don’t want to.” She sobbed against him.
“Go ahead and cry, love. Do you mind if we get back under the covers before we both freeze?”
Miranda nodded and stretched out next to him on the bear pelt that still held their warmth and the musky sent of their lovemaking. He held her close with one arm and used his free arm to cover them both with blankets.
“Will you tell me?”
“I can’t—” She sniffed. “I’m sorry about all these tears.”
“What’s wrong with crying, sweetheart?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with cryin’, it’s showing weakness to a man that—”
“I know you’re not weak. You cry all you want, love.”
She sniffed and Ben reached for his jacket hanging from a peg in the stone wall of the fireplace. He managed to pull his handkerchief out of a pocket without letting go of her. The desire to keep her warm and safe was nearly as strong as other desires she gave him. He forced his mind not to dwell on those thoughts.
She blew her nose in the handkerchief he offered her.
“Now, tell me,” Ben said. “Who did this to you?”
“Don’t follow your meanin’.”
“Who turned a brave girl like you into a frightened kitten? Was it the man who did this to you?” Ben traced the scar on her jaw.
“That was an accident—”
“Truth now.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Yes, you can.” Ben stroked her hair and held her close, keeping his own breathing calm, trying to soothe her until she told him everything. Until she identified the man Ben intended to hunt down and bring to justice—preferably with his bare hands. “I’ll make a fair trade: You tell me your story, and I’ll tell you about the scar on my chest.”
“Promise you won’t”—she choked on a sob—“won’t tell anyone?”
“You have my word.”
She sniffed and pulled the blanket across her eyes. “It was in Philadelphia. And it was my fault, you see. My family can’t know about this. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Your story won’t leave this room.”
“I went to Philadelphia to get away. Thought I was going to die from a broken heart.” She made a sound that might have been an attempt to laugh. “I realize now I was more embarrassed than heartbroken.”
“Your beau found another girl?”
“How did you guess?”
Ben shrugged. “So you left. Why Philadelphia?”
“I had a good friend—Lydia. She was from Philadelphia and she wanted to go back. So we left together. I took a job in a dress shop.”
“Where you learned something about fashion design.”
“I wasn’t doin’ anything so special. Just stitching dresses together.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He said he loved me. Lawrence was his name.” She took another deep breath. “Promised to marry me.” She swallowed and rested her head against Ben’s chest. Luckily it was still dark, since she couldn’t bear to look at him. “I was so foolish, to think a man like him would love the likes of me.”
“Likes of—” Ben touched her cheek. “Miranda Chase, I will not have you talking as though you were anything less than—” Guilt stopped him from scolding her. “You’re a beautiful and appealing young lady. Don’t think any less of yourself on account of some lout who doesn’t know his ass from a mule.”
“I don’t know that I’m much of a prize.” She sighed and he thought she would argue with him. “But you’re right, he wasn’t either. He was a buyer for a mail order store. Bought women’s dresses from the shop where I worked. And he started paying attention to me the first day I went to work there. Complimentin’ my fine stitching and such. Soon it was comments about my eyes and my, well, lots of things. Damned foolishness. I know I’m pretty—or I was anyhow.”
“You mustn’t say ‘was.’ You
are
beautiful, Miranda.” He drew the side of his finger along her jaw and pressed his lips to her head. “So the idiot wasn’t blind. What happened next?”
are
beautiful, Miranda.” He drew the side of his finger along her jaw and pressed his lips to her head. “So the idiot wasn’t blind. What happened next?”
“He said we would be married as soon as his mother was better. She was ill, he said. I was so stupid I didn’t even get suspicious when he wouldn’t take me to meet her. Turned out his mother had died years before. It was his . . . his wife who was ill.”
“Wife?”
“Yes, that’s the true reason why he couldn’t marry me, not that he would have. I mean, even if there hadn’t been a wife, I don’t imagine he’d really wanted to marry me. But at first, I had believed he cared about me. I . . . I let him . . . he said he needed a woman and he’d go pay a . . . a whore if I didn’t allow him in my bed. It didn’t seem right for me to make him wait until we were married, not when he was worryin’ about his mother and all. He had a way of talkin’ that made me feel guilty no matter what I did.” She swallowed. “And so I let him come to my bed. I did everything he asked of me, but I could never please him. And he . . . when I did something wrong he would . . .”
“He hurt you?”
“Usually it was just a slap. But sometimes, when he was really angry, it was worse than that.”
Ben stroked her hair, trying to comfort her, knowing that he couldn’t.
“I had decided to leave him, to pack up and move somewhere he’d never find me. And then I . . . I found I was carrying his child. I thought if he knew about the baby he’d want to marry me, start treatin’ me better.” She swallowed, picturing the wild look Lawrence had in his eye when he came after her. “Instead, it made him ferocious mad. Worse than I’d ever seen him before. He shouted and then . . . then he started to beat me. While he was beatin’ on me, he told me about his wife, his children. I don’t remember what all he said. I was so scared. I tried to protect the baby, tried to run away. He had this walking stick and he used it over my head until it broke. I don’t remember much after that, except that my friend Lydia found me half dead on the floor of my room. She got me a doctor. I don’t know how.” Miranda shivered, remembering those dark days. “Somehow Lydia convinced me I shouldn’t die.”
“You lost the child?”
Miranda closed her eyes, remembering the small flutter of life she’d felt only days before Lawrence had tried to kill her. “I remember crying with Lydia, telling her my baby had gone to heaven and I would never see him because I was going to hell.”
Ben kissed her forehead. He tried to take away the pain but understood that he couldn’t. It was too much pain. Too difficult to dull.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Well, it’s over and done. To tell the truth, I’m glad I told someone. Tellin’ the story, it’s almost like it happened to someone else.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No.”
“You should tell Mercy about—”
“No! And you promised you wouldn’t tell either.”
“I won’t. But . . . won’t it be difficult for you, helping with her baby?”
“I thought so, at first. But she’s my sister and her havin’ a baby doesn’t add to my loss. I reckon when I see her holdin’ her little one, I might feel an ache inside. But I think I’ll feel more joy for seein’ Mercy happy. And I’ve found with Jonathan that I enjoy bein’ an aunt, too.”
“You’re a remarkable woman, Miranda Chase.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “Will you . . . tell me one more thing?”
She turned, and he could see her features in the glimmer of dawn.
He took a breath to keep his voice calm. “What happened to him?”
“The accident. The one I’ve been telling about? It was real. He was driving his buggy and he was drunk. He ran into a farm wagon and his carriage overturned. He was killed.”
“I’m glad.”
Saves me the trouble of killing the bastard myself.
Saves me the trouble of killing the bastard myself.
“Don’t seem right to be glad a man died,” Miranda said. “But it is hard for me to be sorry.”
Ben held her close as he watched the rain pelt against the window. “What do you say we make a fire and warm ourselves before we head out into that?”
“Good idea, then you can tell me about your scar.”
He kissed her for good measure before he braved the cold outside of their warm nest. When the fire was blazing, he snuggled back under the blanket with her. “I suppose we should get dressed now.”
“You’re not gonna avoid keeping your promise, are you? I want to hear your story.”
“There’s not much to tell. I was shot in the back; I’m told the wound is small. You may have seen it.”
Miranda nodded.
“I survived because the bullet came straight through without damaging anything important. The ugly scar in the front is where it came out.” He took a breath.
“That wasn’t a fair trade.” Miranda pouted. “I told you the whole story.”
“There isn’t much more to it. There was a battle, lots of gunfire . . .”
“What were you doing? Why would someone shoot you in the back?”
“You have to stand up in the open to fire a cannon. We made a good target when they could get to us. That day they had riflemen out to try and stop us.”
She rested her head against him, tracing a finger over the scar on his chest. “Your arm and your hand—did that happen at the same time?”
He closed his eyes and nuzzled the top of Miranda’s head. “You don’t really want to hear about this.”
“You promised.”
“The arm . . . was the same battle.” He lifted his right arm and looked at the old wound. “It wasn’t as bad as the scar makes it look; the bullet ripped through pretty cleanly. We had to keep the cannons firing. Our infantry troops were depending on us.”
“You kept fighting even though you were hurt?”
“You make it sound heroic, but it wasn’t really. You get caught up in a battle and you keep going until you can’t go on.”
“And so you were nearly killed by this bullet.” She brushed a kiss to the scar on his chest.
“I didn’t die. I was lucky. When I got my strength back, they sent me back to my company and I was able to finish out the war.” He pulled her tight against him with his right arm. “Luck is a strange thing. I might have lost my right arm and been sent home a cripple.”
“And you would still have your left hand.” She took his battered hand in hers and stroked the remaining fingers. “You would still be able to paint.” She kissed his left hand. “Ben.” His name seemed almost a sigh escaping her lips.
“I’ve had more than one person tell me it makes no sense to prefer the loss of an arm to a few fingers, but . . .” He swallowed. “It’s not as though wishing could change any of it.”
“No, I reckon not.” Her tears dripped onto his chest and she wiped them away. “I know it was hard for you to tell me. And to listen to me.” She caressed his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his beard. “Thank you.” They held each other in silence as the room filled with the light of a gray dawn. “And thank you for showing me how nice a man’s touch can be.”
“That last was my pleasure. I only hope this night hasn’t made things more difficult for you.”
“One thing’s certain: I’ll remember Ben Lansing for the rest of my life.”
Ben felt something squeezing his heart. “You’ll remember me, but not for long. Soon you’ll find an honest, hardworking man who will want you desperately. You’ll marry, bear him children, and think of no one else but him. I only hope the man will realize what a treasure he has.”
“You’re a kind soul to imagine such a life for me.”
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