The Irish Devil (21 page)

This time, Viola also rolled her shoulder, bowing herself into close contact with the soft rope. An end fell into her hand. She caught it and slid her finger into the loop. A few seconds of intense effort later, she pulled the knot free and brought her hands around in front.

She looked back triumphantly at William.

“Bloody hell.” His jaw dropped. He looked utterly dumbfounded and quite frustrated. His trousers no longer sported a spectacular bulge behind the fly.

Viola gulped as she realized she’d bested him. Outmaneuvering Edward had always brought swift, and unpleasant, retribution. Casting her eyes down, she tried to think of an apology.

Then William started to chuckle. She smiled demurely, hopefully.

He threw his head back and laughed. Viola looked up at him through her eyelashes and smirked. He caught her up into his arms and sat down on the bed, roaring with glee. “You brazen little filly, you took me at my word. You escaped my harness.”

Viola laughed, chin high in triumph. For the first time, she felt like his trusted friend as she shared his laughter. It emboldened her enough to tease him. “Where’s my dozen roses, oh expert ropesman?”

He laughed again. “In the garden, oh lady of a thousand surprises. They shall be spread before you in moments, after your humble servant recovers.”

They laughed together at his tomfoolery, savoring the moment.

William chuckled again. By the saints, Viola had been sweeter than sweet when she freed herself from his rope. And when she smiled, with all that demure mischief in her gaze, like a filly who’d escaped from the paddock and was now happily munching her way through the kitchen garden, joy had bubbled through his veins like champagne.

William controlled himself finally and lifted his eyebrow at her. “Well, sweetheart, shall we try again? After you’re tied, I’ll fetch your roses.”

Viola’s eyes twinkled and she dropped a demure curtsy. “As you wish, sir.”

William tied her again, making very sure she couldn’t escape. The dance excited her even more this time until she was flushed and panting, with dew sliding over her pussy, when she lay fully bound on the bed.

To his delight, she was even more responsive when bound. She couldn’t touch him when she was tied like this. All she could do was what he permitted. And he wished her to think solely of the pleasures found in her own body.

He nuzzled and licked her pussy, feasting on her dew for a few minutes, before he reluctantly went into the rose garden.

She turned her head to watch the door and smiled when he returned. She was blushing, but she didn’t ask to be released.

“Your reward, sweetheart.” He offered the roses with a sweeping bow, and she laughed.

Then he tickled her with her dozen roses until her giggles became gasps of arousal. Viola moaned and bucked as he urged her excitement higher and higher until she shattered, sobbing her rapture. “William, oh William, thank you.”

His heart stopped beating and triumph surged through his veins. He’d taught her something new about pleasure.

Then and only then did he finally take her. He lay down on the bed and draped her over him like living silk as his cock slid home. He stayed still for long minutes, enjoying how her pussy held him. By all the saints, he’d pleasure her well before he released her.

In this position, she had to focus solely on his movements. Given her liking for cock, this should be the ultimate reward for a woman who also enjoyed being bound.

She shuddered slightly but didn’t try to escape. A soft moan escaped her lips.

Then he kissed her and fondled her back in all the ways she liked, while his cock slowly teased her inner muscles. He rebuilt her arousal slowly, until carnal fires burned fierce and bright in both of them.

William groaned as he climaxed, feeling her sharp teeth bite his shoulder as rapture rocked her. Triumph bubbled through his veins.

Afterwards, William carefully untied Viola’s wrists and slid her under the covers. She always slept so very soundly after lovemaking.

Paradise, here in this room. In an isolated town, circled by hostile Apaches as dangerous as any castle’s moat. For now, he could forget about the outside world where no amount of wealth could make men forget his Irish parentage.

He needed to be careful not to believe too much in the warmth of her embrace. Fantasies were greatly enjoyable, and they could lay bare the heart as nothing else he’d ever done. But society would exact its tolls when one left the bedroom’s sanctuary.

He’d learned that lesson in San Francisco years ago, when he’d first been flush with his share of the Comstock. Marriage had seemed a good idea at the time, since it would give him the home and family that he longed for. He’d been a member of San Francisco’s leading fantasy club by then, a place where willing men and women met discreetly to explore the darker side of their carnal imaginations. Lady Irene had sponsored him years ago to London and Dublin’s best fantasy clubs. His acceptance there, combined with an extremely large sum, had gained him membership in San Francisco’s version.

His favorite filly at the San Francisco fantasy club had been Belinda Carlyle, a widow from a respectable eastern family. Given their carnal compatibility, he’d decided to ask her to go driving with him, a respectable activity that could lead to a relationship outside the club. Possibly even marriage.

He’d arrived early on his next visit to the club and looked for her in the parlor outside the women’s retiring room, the usual place for masters and fillies to meet. To his surprise, he’d found himself alone in the overheated room, with its red damask wallpaper, fussy little chairs, and explicit paintings.

In the hush, he’d heard Belinda talking to her best friend from inside the dressing room. “Donovan? Don’t be absurd—I’d never let myself be seen with him in public. He’s good enough for a fantasy or two, but nothing more. No matter how much money he may have, he’s still Irish.”

Those few sentences had destroyed his half-formed dreams of a wife who’d also be a true companion in the bedchamber.

He’d never enacted another fantasy with Belinda, of course. Now he reminded himself, yet again, that an affaire was not marriage. A woman could enjoy one without tolerating the other.

T
he waltz stuttered to a stop. Viola sat perfectly still, fingers resting lightly on the keys, as she tried to regain her concentration. But she couldn’t remember the passage, even though she’d first memorized it at age ten. All she could think of were Mrs. Smith’s girls.

Would William’s next mistress be one of them? She’d overheard tales of how gentlemen selected a companion for the evening in a brothel. She could see the scene now: a dozen simpering women, each preening and posing to catch his eye, while he studied them from the doorway. They’d throw their chests forward to better display their abundant bosoms, and they’d lick their lips at the chance to gain his affections.

Sluts, every one of them. At least a parlor house’s madame would choose a suitable companion after conferring with the gentleman, thus removing any chance for the trollops to thrust themselves upon his notice.

She cursed softly, using a phrase that would have shocked Edward. She tried to play again, this time an exercise so fundamental that she’d first learned it under her grandmother’s watchful gaze.

Grandmother. Family was so important to Grandmother Lindsay. Three sons, nine grandsons, and two granddaughters. She’d always teased her husband, the Commodore, that he provided for the sons so it was her joy to look after the girls.

Sons. Donovan & Sons. One day, William would marry to gain those sons.

Unbidden, a vision of his wife rose up between Viola and the piano. She’d be tall and richly curved, the picture of fertility as she carried a baby in her arms, while a little boy clung to her skirts. The lad would be the image of his father, with raven black hair and bright blue eyes.

Viola’s fingers curled into claws. Even the security of wearing European clothing, instead of the Chinese silks William preferred when they were alone, didn’t make her happier.

The stamp mill’s beat swept through the room, muffled somewhat by distance.

Viola swept her hands across the keyboard and slammed the lid shut, repudiating the vision. It was none of her business whom William married. Besides, he was so intent on building a fortune, he’d likely have little attention to spare for his family.

She pushed the bench back and stood up. William had encouraged her to stay in the compound this afternoon, instead of working in his office. She’d planned to play the piano, but now she’d have to think of something else to do until he returned.

The courtyard outside was silent, except for the stamp mill’s steady beat and a few desultory clucks from the chickens. Abraham stood still as a bronze statue by the shrine, listening to something beyond the compound. No billiard balls clacking, no pans banging in the kitchen, no sentries whistling as they watched for Apaches.

Viola looked up at the watchtowers to see what they were studying. Both telescopes were focused on the depot below, not sweeping steadily across the landscape beyond Rio Piedras.

A distant roar came from the depot, composed of thuds and men’s voices saying nothing understandable. The hair pricked on the back of her neck.

Picking up her skirts, she ran up the stairs of the closest watchtower.

The sentry jerked back from the telescope and reached for a rifle when she burst in. He was unknown to her, probably one of the teamsters William had brought from San Francisco.

“Let me see,” she demanded fiercely, made nervous by his tension.

He hesitated. “Mrs. Ross, you shouldn’t. It’ll overset your nerves.”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “Apaches?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Of course there aren’t. You’d have raised the alarm if there were, wouldn’t you? And anything else can be dealt with. So stand aside.” She tapped her toe impatiently.

He looked down at the telescope, then slowly moved away with a final, plaintive, “Mrs. Ross, it’s really not a sight for ladies.”

She ignored him as she pounced on the instrument. A moment later, she stared at a brawl that seemed to involve most of the town’s male population. Miners fought teamsters hand to hand, kicking and biting and gouging when fists weren’t enough. She could hear no gunfire, but every other weapon and fighting technique imaginable was being employed.

Where was William? What if this riot had been staged by Lennox to crush him?

She scanned the riot in a desperate search for her lover. Her breath stopped when she found him, fighting for his life against three of Lennox’s thugs who were armed with knives and cudgels. The thugs were obviously accustomed to working together, coordinating their attacks well enough to threaten William from all sides.

Then she found Lennox, standing aside as he eagerly watched. His expression wasn’t aloof and remote; instead it reeked of hunger and carnal excitement.

She turned to the sentry to demand intervention.

He shook his head, reading her mind. “Sorry, ma’am. My duty is here, against the ’Paches. If one of them shows up, I can shoot. If someone fires a gun down there, I can shoot. But I can’t fire a shot otherwise unless someone gets killed.”

“That could happen any minute.”

“But it hasn’t yet. Sorry. Believe me, if anything happens to the boss, I’ll kill the fellow responsible.”

“Damn.” Viola whirled and ran back down the stairs. No use in looking for the sheriff. He was probably pouring whisky down his throat while waiting for Lennox to tell him whom to arrest.

Abraham still stood guard in the courtyard.

“Can you stop that brawl?” Viola demanded.

“No, madam, I can’t leave you. I swore I’d guard you, no matter what.”

“Mr. Donovan could be killed.”

Abraham flinched slightly, the first sign of emotion she’d seen in him. Then he shrugged. “I would be very sorry to see that happen, madam.”

“So I must be the one to do something.”

“Mrs. Ross…”

“I promise you I will not go within reach of anyone’s fists. Is that good enough?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Then bring an incense censer from the shrine and come along.”

His eyes widened, but he obeyed without further discussion.

Viola snatched a loaded shotgun from the armory. Then she ran down Main Street to the general store, glad she’d chosen to keep William’s coins and their comforting jingle in her pocket at all times.

The shopkeeper stood on the boardwalk in front, watching the fight a few blocks away, as did other businessmen. Even Mrs. Smith was watching, with all of her girls beside her. Unlike yesterday’s scuffle, no one was wagering on the brawl’s outcome, which spoke volumes about its ugly atmosphere. And with Lennox involved, they’d be risking their leases and their livelihoods if they tried to intervene.

The prematurely gray proprietor turned as she came up. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ross.”

No time now to ask about his wife’s health, although Viola had visited her daily before Maggie’s departure. “A half dozen quarter sticks of dynamite and a box of your special shells, Mr. Graham. The ones loaded with rock salt.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you sure about that, Mrs. Ross?”

A man cried out from the depot, the long chilling scream of someone shocked by pain. Viola’s jaw set. “Now, Mr. Graham,” she ordered coldly.

He had the wisdom to hold his tongue. She followed him into his store, Abraham beside her like a faithful shadow. Dynamite and a small wooden box quickly appeared on the counter.

“Thank you, Mr. Graham.” Viola handed the dynamite to Abraham and put down one of Donovan’s gold pieces. She quickly reloaded the shotgun, pocketing the original shells, and ran for the door.

“Good luck, Mrs. Ross,” Graham called after her.

She simply nodded and picked up her skirts for extra speed.

The riot was worse now, with men limping or rolling on the ground. Mules bugled their distinctive alarm call.

Evans punched one miner in the jaw, then ducked to avoid another’s blow.

William was still on his feet, but there was blood on his arm as he faced the three thugs. One of the thugs was limping but held a knife ready. Lennox watched avidly from a few steps away, one hand fondling his groin while the other twirled his sword stick.

Viola took up position across the street from the depot, which placed her only a few yards from the edge of town. “Ready, Abraham?”

“Yes, madam.” He sounded curious, but she had no time to consider his thoughts.

She took a quarter stick of dynamite, lit it from the incense censer, and tossed it into the desert. The resulting explosion was loud but brief, sending a momentary swirl of dust into the air.

Mules and horses screamed. Hooves beat against a mud-brick wall. Men froze, then cautiously turned to look for the cause of the explosion.

William’s eyes caught hers, widened, and returned to the thugs. One of them started to swing his cudgel again.

Viola cocked the shotgun. The sound carried clearly in a break between the stamp mill’s booms. Abraham stood beside her, holding the dynamite in plain sight. The two of them could mow down any, or all, of the rioters in seconds.

“Gentlemen, your shindig is delaying my supper. Please shake hands and call it a day,” Viola shouted.

A man took a step toward her, no one she recognized. Viola took aim at the fool where he stood next to the depot’s bell. “Now, mister, this shotgun is loaded and I will use it,” she warned him.

“I ain’t taking no orders from no damn woman,” he complained, and took another step. She shot the bell beside him, which erupted into furious clanging. The fool dropped to the ground and curled into a ball.

As she reloaded, she sent up a silent thank-you to Edward for his insistence on shooting lessons. She was merely passable with rifle or revolver, but quite comfortable with a shotgun. Which did not prevent a bruised shoulder, as she would have later.

The other men glanced around, then dropped their weapons. The fool cautiously lifted his head.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” She lowered the shotgun and swallowed hard.

Lennox glared at her and started to say something, but fell silent. She’d have trusted him more if he’d cursed her.

The fool sat up slowly, then stood up to dust himself off. Handshakes were exchanged as miners and teamsters complimented each other on a good fight. Viola rolled her eyes at masculine thinking.

Sheriff Lloyd finally arrived, reeking of whisky and panting hard after propelling his bulk forward at an awkward trot. “What happened here? Don’t stand around, folks. Off with you all, now, and be quick about it.”

Graham snorted and turned for his store, along with the other businesspeople.

“Gentlemen, the infirmary is open,” Doc Hughes announced. He was a successful horse doctor for Donovan & Sons, and he treated people as successfully as most medical doctors would. Men murmured and a few followed him to his office in the depot.

Miners departed quickly, many pausing to shake hands with Viola. Teamsters dispersed to clean themselves up or return to their chores. Thankfully, no one remained in the dust, too injured to move.

The three thugs nodded at William and left the depot, following Lennox back up the street. Viola’s blood ran cold at the look in Lennox’s eyes when he passed her. Merciful heavens, what would happen when the cavalry came and most of the teamsters left for the new fort?

She shivered as William crossed the street and kissed her hand. “Many thanks, Mrs. Ross.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Donovan. How did this function begin? Did Mr. McBride arrive, with a few of his friends, to speak to Mr. Lowell?” Her voice quavered a bit.

“Exactly so, Mrs. Ross.” His eyes searched her, then he offered his arm. “Shall we proceed to the depot? I believe there are horses and mules in need of soothing.”

She handed the shotgun to Abraham and accompanied William to the stables. Abraham separated from them with a polite bow and walked toward the magazine, carefully holding the dynamite and incense censer very far apart.

Her knees wobbled as she entered the friendly darkness. The horses in here were much calmer than the mules outside. She could already hear their restless movements slowing down.

William wrapped both arms around her in a comforting hug. She clutched him, letting his strength seep into her. His heart was beating hard and fast under his respectable wool suit.

“Your arm needs to be seen to,” Viola murmured, her cheek resting against his chest.

“Merely a scratch. It’s already stopped bleeding.” He kissed the top of her head and kept his grip close. His voice was entirely Irish. “Ah, Viola sweetheart, my heart stopped beating entirely when I saw you standing there. Give me a few minutes to catch my breath, will you?”

Viola nodded, making no other movement. If she’d lost him to those hoodlums…

Saladin poked his big gray head over a door to study them curiously. Two doors farther down, another horse placidly chewed straw as she watched. What was Lennox’s new mare doing at Donovan’s depot? Then his voice recalled her.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Viola. Aye, you’re as brave as a lion,” William crooned, then added in a husky whisper. “But your beautiful body can make my heart skip a beat, as well.”