A Lady of the West by Linda Howard
She hadn’t expected him to react with such violence, but he had jerked her head back around to face him. His eyes had been green with rage, his neck corded. But his rage had broken his control and he had begun driving into her, hammering his body into hers. Afterward, he had gripped her chin and said in a cold, hard voice, “Don’t you ever turn away from me like that again.” He forced her to lie close to him all night.
What was it he wanted of her? Why had he been watching her like that? Her lips trembled before she could control them.
He already had the ranch. As her husband, he legally owned everything that had once been hers. He had already deeded half of the land to Ben. She didn’t resent him for that; the land was really theirs, after all. But what else did she have that he wanted? He didn’t need her at all now; if he wanted to, he could easily be rid of her.
But she had also felt his passion; despite his roughness the night before, she’d felt it in him even then. He had been as much at the mercy of his body as she was to hers. If she truly believed that he could kill her after the nights she had spent in his arms, then she might as well put the gun in his hand because just the belief itself would be the death of her hope, her love. No, he wouldn’t kill her. But neither did he love her, and that knowledge was behind all her fears and wild imaginings. Her body was safe with him; her heart was in mortal danger. It took all of her self-control to protect it and keep it hidden from him.
She sighed as she opened the door to Celia’s bedroom, dragging her mind back to the matter at hand, which was finding her sister. She had had the embroidery hoop last, and Victoria couldn’t find it.
It had been almost dark the day before when Luis had ridden up with Celia behind him. He’d found her under a tree over a mile away, he’d said, playing with the kitten. Now she had disappeared again, but surely she wasn’t walking in the rain.
She went to the kitchen. “Has anyone seen Celia?”
Lola shook her head. Juana said, “I think she went to the barn. She took the kitten so he could play.”
Victoria sighed. At least now she didn’t have to worry about Celia’s safety when she was out like that. She didn’t want to find the embroidery hoop bad enough to get wet running down to the barn. She’d just keep looking for it in the house.
She began methodically searching every room and was on her hands and knees looking under the desk in the library when Jake came in. She glanced quickly away, feeling uneasy after the strange violence that had erupted between them.
He tossed his wet hat onto a chair and ran his hands through his hair. “What’re you looking for?”
“The embroidery hoop.”
“Under my desk?” he asked incredulously.
“Celia had it last.”
He understood and reached out to help her as she got to her feet. Victoria would have drawn away, but his fingers tightened on her arm. He closed his hands on her waist to hold her. His voice was low. “Are you all right?”
She knew what he was asking and somberly studied him in the dim light. He smelled of fresh air and dampness, she noticed, but his body heat burned through his rain-spattered clothes. “A little sore, but that’s all. You … didn’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry. You made me angry and I lost control.”
If it got much darker, they would need to light the lamps. The rain pattered on and cool air blew in through the open window. She could feel her own pulse beating through her body. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter.”
He drew her forward just a fraction of an inch, but he’d been standing so close already that the movement brushed her breasts against his shirt. She slowly inhaled, feeling her breasts tighten and swell. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said against her temple.
Her throat was tight, and her eyelids heavy. “You know … you know that there’s no need.” She had climaxed before he had, and he had groaned aloud at her inner contractions. Even in anger, he had been able to make her respond to him.
He pressed his mouth against her temple, his lips hot on the delicate skin. He covered her breast with his hand. “I think there is.”
Her hand was on his shoulder, his powerful muscles firm under her palm. Without thinking she flexed her fingers, her nails biting through the damp cloth of his shirt.
“Jake.” Her voice was low. “We can’t. The door—not here.”
Slowly he released her, his green eyes glittering in the dim gray room. He stepped backward until he reached the door, and with careful restraint shut and locked it. Then he began unbuckling his gunbelt.
Her lower body felt heavy. She watched him disarm himself, then looked around at the library. There were chairs, very comfortable leather chairs, but no nice long sofa where they could lie down. She ought not to let him do this—a lady never would—but they were locked in a shadowy world, surrounded by the smell and sound of rain, and her body was quickening. He reached for her, his hands sliding up her back to clench in her hair, his mouth coming down over hers in a deep kiss that filled her with his breath and taste.
He lowered her to the floor, and she didn’t even notice that the dark wood was hard against her back. She felt his hands opening the buttons of her dress and sliding it off her shoulders. The soft straps of her chemise followed. Her pale bare breasts felt the wash of cool air, then his wet mouth seared her nipple and she moaned.
“You taste sweet… and cool.” He gave the heat of his mouth to her breast, and the nipple puckered against his tongue. He sighed in deep, almost painful satisfaction, sucking in a rhythm that pinned the tight nub between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Victoria moved beneath him, her legs shifting, her hips reaching for his. Her nails were digging into his shoulders, a primitive signal of passion that made his manhood surge against the restraint of his pants. He tugged at the buttons to free himself.
Her senses were so heightened that she could feel her own pulse as the warm blood pumped through her body. She smelled the hot musk of his arousal and shifted to aid him as he fought through the bunched layers of skirt and petticoats to find her legs. She wore the common, convenient open-crotch drawers, and his fingers went straight to the open seam, sliding into her soft folds. His touch burned like a brand, and she made an incoherent sound that could have been a plea.
He shifted his weight on top of her, opening her legs wider with his own thighs. The motion caught the fabric of her drawers and pulled them to the side, blocking his entry. He reached down, hooked his strong fingers in the opening, and ripped the garment from front to back. Victoria gasped, but didn’t protest; she wanted him too much. She reached for him, needing the hot slide of his flesh into hers. She could feel him probing and lifted her hips in silent invitation, but he held back, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face so he could look at her.
She knew that her soul was in her eyes, and desperately she closed them. It was the same act that had so enraged him the night before, but she couldn’t help it. He would plainly see the aching tenderness of her heart, the silent yearning for more than he wanted to offer, and that was more than she could bear.
Jake looked down at her face, cameo pale in the gray, rain-washed light, and his chest tightened as he watched her close him out. Last night he had lashed out in anger, hurting her, but he wouldn’t do that again. He murmured a soft reassurance, and slid his arms under her to protect her from the hard floor, as he slowly penetrated. The sensation made both of them catch their breaths, and against her will her eyes flew open.
His face was very close, his breath mingling with hers as he made a small movement that lodged him deeper. “All right?” he asked in a soft, guttural tone.
“Yes.” The word was barely audible.
The reassurance was all he needed, and he pushed inward until she had accepted his full length. He watched every nuance of her expression, hungrily soaking in her response. Maybe she didn’t trust him, but she wanted him. She was his wife; he was entitled to make love to her as often as he wished, strengthenin
He shuddered as a wave of pleasure washed through him. Not yet, God, not yet. He tightened his arms around her and rolled onto his back, taking her with him in a tangle of skirts and legs. She looked deliciously wanton with her breasts exposed and her dress rucked up to her waist, her eyes dazed with passion. He put his hands on her hips and guided her motion. He could feel her thighs trembling as they clasped his body, and she bit her lips to hold back a moan, lest anyone hear them.
The floor scrubbed at his shoulder blades, and would be doing the same thing to her knees. Her skirt and petticoats were bunched up, hindering her movement, blocking his view. Their big, comfortable bed upstairs was much better, but there was no way he could wait long enough now for them to get there. He lifted her off himself and got up.
“Jake!” She looked at him, her eyes dazed and bewildered.
“Easy, honey. I’ll take care of you.” He hoisted her onto the edge of the desk and pushed her skirts up again, then moved forward between her thighs. His entry this time was rougher, but she was ready for him and felt only relief.
His thrusts were harder and faster, his mouth hungry over hers. Victoria cried out, the sound muffled. He was burning her alive and she loved it, loved him. Her body was screaming for release. How swiftly she had changed from the prudish young woman who had been horrified when he had seen her bare breasts! Now she would guide his hands or mouth to her breasts when she needed his touch; now she no longer even thought of putting on a nightgown, but crawled naked into his arms. He no longer had to coax her body into surrendering to every new sensation; she was eager for the hot, blinding pleasure of his penetration.
“God … I wish … we were … naked,” he said with clenched teeth, his shoulders rigid with tension. He was panting, the speed and rhythm of his strokes approaching frenzy. She cried out, convulsing, and again he caught the sound with his mouth, holding her as she heaved in his arms and her soft internal muscles milked at his erection. He soared to the edge, and held back only because he wanted to feel every one of those small contractions. Even then, the timing was so close that she had barely gone limp in his arms when his back arched and he shook violently, spewing his seed into her.
What had begun with slow, dreamy sensuality ended with raw lust, and he felt drained. But he wanted more. He always wanted more. He slumped over her, and began kissing her again.
She moaned, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. He was getting hard inside her again, and she didn’t know if she could summon enough energy to respond. Every nerve was tingling, her heart pounding. How could he push her like this? Always before he’d held her in his arms and let her rest before taking her again. This time he wasn’t even pausing.
He loomed over her, his hands curving under her arms and over her shoulders to keep her from sliding on the desktop. His hips hammered and recoiled and hammered again, his shaft reaching deep inside her to her womb. She stared up at him, glassy-eyed; his face was so hard and intent that he looked brutal. His eyes were narrow and molten, the color a deep, hot green. Sweat ran down his face and matted his hair.
The edges of reality blurred and swirled. She heard a high, keening sound and knew it was hers, and he’d made no effort to muffle it.
She was burning, her flesh damp in the cool room. Her body shuddered under the impact of his thrusts. She tried to struggle up, but he pinned her down with his powerful hands. Her inner tension was already unbearable and getting worse. She began to fight him, sobbing with frustration. He controlled her, pushing her higher, his attention focused on her so intently that he was aware of nothing else in the world.
“Tell me,” he rasped, wanting those damned shadows out of her eyes, wanting nothing hidden between them.
She was drowning, losing herself. The gray mists were crowding in, her defenses crumbling. The final victory was his, after all. “I love you,” she whispered, and a small part of her was stricken even as her flesh shuddered at the climax of pleasure.
Jake crouched over her in writhing orgasm, his mind shattering. She loved him? Elation swelled in him; until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he had wanted, needed, for her to love him. But the secrets were still there, because even as she had said the words he’d seen the sadness in her eyes.
Victoria heard both the echo of what she’d said, and the silence of what he didn’t say.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She counted again, then a third time, ticking the days off on her fingers to make certain. She had waited each day for the beginning of her monthly time, dreading it because Jake would have to know; husband or not, she didn’t know how to broach such a subject with him. But the day when it should have begun had passed without sign, and a sort of incredulous certainty had begun to grow in her. She was never late, not even by a day. Now, a week later, she had no doubt as to the cause of her body’s failure to remain on schedule: she was pregnant.
She wasn’t surprised, really, though she hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. They had been married barely three weeks. But he’d made love to her every night, at least twice a night, and sometimes during the day, too. One of those times had borne fruit.
A baby. Victoria smoothed her hand down over her flat abdomen, then looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Outwardly, nothing was different. Inwardly, everything was changing. She was both frightened and elated. She carried Jake’s child.
He didn’t love her, but his child would.
The young woman in the mirror, sitting half-dressed in her petticoats and chemise with her long hair streaming over her shoulders and down her back, had an eerily serene expression on her pale face. Her eyes were calm, although darkened by her introspective mood. Victoria didn’t feel calm at all; she felt shaky. She wanted both to cry and laugh. She wanted Jake’s arms around her, now, in this moment when she first admitted and faced the fact that his baby was forming inside her. She wanted his strength and his passion. She wanted to lie with him on the white sheets and take him inside her in the act that had created this new life.
Her breasts throbbed, and she put her hands over them. Her eyes closed, and her lips parted. For the first time she didn’t regret blurting out that she loved him.
He’d said he would be out all day. She would have to wait through the long hours until he returned home before she could tell him. Should she tell him right away, or wait until they were in bed together?
She would wait and see what his mood was, she decided, as wives had for thousands of years. If he was tired and irritable, she’d wait until after he’d eaten dinner and rested.
As it happened, Jake and Ben got back to the house earlier than expected that afternoon. The sun was a hot red ball low on the horizon and Victoria was helping in the kitchen when she heard the ringing of their boots on the tile floor. She stopped what she was doing, her heart going wild with excitement. She felt a little dizzy and smiled to herself; was it because of the child or the father?
“Victoria,” Jake called.
“I’m in the kitchen.” She wiped her hands and hurried out to meet him.
Both he and Ben were extremely dusty, their faces caked with mud where their sweat had run. She looked down in dismay at the clumps of dirt they had tracked onto the clean tile. They followed the direction of her gaze, then gave each other amused glances. They weren’t accustomed to having to watch where they walked, but in the past three weeks they had been forced to adjust to the realities of living with three genteel women. Even Celia was growing up and becoming amazingly sedate, for Celia.
“We’ll bathe outside,” Jake said, trying not to smile. “Get us some clean clothes so we won’t have to track mud upstairs.”
“Certainly,” Victoria agreed, giving their boots another appalled look before she went upstairs.
“I thought we were going to have a hot bath,” Ben said.
“I have
Victoria returned with clothing for both of them, as well as fresh towels and a thick bar of soap. “Supper should be ready by the time you’re both clean,” she said as she gave them their bundles.
There was already a line of men waiting to use the shower contraption. Cursing and mumbling under their breaths, they resaddled their horses and rode to the river, which was faster than waiting their turn. They stripped and waded into the water, catching their breaths at the chill.
Ben brought it up again. “We could have been having a hot bath.”
“We could have been having a war, too.” Jake whistled as he soaped himself. “Why didn’t you tell her to have some water heated up?”
“She’s your wife. It wasn’t my place.”
Jake grinned. As much as he would have preferred a hot bath, too, he didn’t like upsetting Victoria. Like Ben had said, she was his wife. It gave him a pleasant feeling of possessiveness and of belonging. In the days since she’d told him she loved him he’d been treating her with a gentleness he’d never before imagined himself capable of. She hadn’t said it again and the sadness was still in her eyes, but knowing that she loved him softened the hard inner core that had formed the day he’d seen his mother raped and killed. He was even more patient with her maddening reserve and withdrawals, knowing that she loved him.
Ben dunked his dark head, then came up blowing. He rubbed the water out of his face. “Ladies sure are a lot of trouble compared to whores,” he muttered.