A Season Beyond a Kiss (55 page)

“You can’t possibly imagine how much I’ve missed you during our separation, madam,” he whispered above her mouth. “I wanted to run to you every day and beg you to come back to me, but I was afraid you’d draw away from me again, just like you did that night at Red Pete’s place.”

“Oh, Jeffrey, I don’t think there was a night during our separation that I didn’t cry myself to sleep, worrying about what was happening between us. You seemed so angry because of the doubts I suffered about you, and you had a right to be. I should have believed in your innocence, but I was so confused. On one hand, I was afraid you’d sever our marriage, but on the other, I was haunted by the possibility that you weren’t as noble and honorable as you seemed.” She laid her palm alongside his cheek. “It seems unthinkable now to imagine that I could truly, deeply love a man who’s capable of such a ruthless murder.”

“I should have been more patient with you,” he breathed, lowering his opening mouth toward hers. “You had a terrible shock.”

“That’s all over now,” she murmured before his lips covered hers in demanding fervor. Slipping her arms close about his neck, she rose on her toes and strained up against him, aware of his hardening maleness and the hungry throbbing in her own loins. Her nipples grew taut against his steely chest and throbbed for his attention as she pressed ever closer.

“We’d better get dressed, my love,” Jeff muttered at last. “Knowing Farrell, he’ll be back here in short order, and if we continue with what we’re doing, I’m going to make that old bed squeak like it has never squeaked before.”

A small, frustrated groan escaped Raelynn as she drew back, but she began unfastening her bodice, at least until her husband pulled her close again and slipped a hand within her chemise. Encompassing a round breast, he stroked a thumb across the softening peak, drawing it up into a tiny nub again. Raelynn smiled up at him questioningly, quite willing to continue the interlude, but when she leaned into him again, he sighed and shook his head.

“Enough of this, woman,” he whispered huskily. “If we don’t hurry, Farrell will be here pounding on the door.”

Though Jeff was feeling in dire need of a deep, warm soak in a large tub, he realized that a basin bath was the only thing he had time for. His muscles were still a bit sore after his confrontation with the masked man, but more than that, he would have enjoyed involving his wife in a good lavation as well. Many times while they were apart, he had reminisced on those moments wherein she had lain back against him in their tub. During their separation that singular, recurring vision had nearly brought him to his knees before her. It was a relief to know there would be more baths in the future to equal those he had stored in his memory.

Raelynn laid out her husband’s clothes as he began to bathe and had just settled into a chair to don a pair of stockings when she happened to glance up and found him standing stark naked before the shaving stand. It was a sight that normally awakened her admiration, but today she was especially intrigued. It wasn’t long before she had gained Jeff’s undivided attention.

“Have you acquired a fetish for my baser parts, madam?” he teased. “Truly, if you stare much longer, I won’t be able to hide myself underneath my trousers.”

“Jeffrey, how would you compare to other men?”

His brow jutted upward quizzically. “What brought that on?”

“Curiosity.” She lifted a grin to him before she raised a leg and smoothed her stocking over her calf. Considering the many explicit conversations they had been involved in, many times after making love, she wasn’t the least bit abashed about discussing his manly attributes. During their foreplay he certainly had never displayed any timidity about instructing her in what pleased him or, with rousing dedication, demonstrating the places where she was most sensitive to stimuli. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

Jeff chuckled at his wife’s inquisitiveness. “I’ve never gone around mentally measuring myself against other men, madam, if that’s what you mean. That never fell into my realm of interest.” Bending closer to the small, round mirror on the shaving stand, Jeff plied the straight-edged razor along his cheek, scraping whiskers away as he did so. After whisking away the last of the white froth, he scrubbed a hand over his face to check for areas still in need of smoothing and then wiped his face with a warm, wet cloth. Finally he tossed a glance toward Raelynn and realized from the playfully baleful gleam in her eyes that she was not about to desist until he had completely appeased her curiosity. “All right, my dear. You can sheathe those blue daggers. I’ll tell you what I know.”

Like a child who had anxiously pleaded for a story, Raelynn scooted up to the edge of her seat and waited, thoroughly captivated with the subject of their conversation. Jeff couldn’t help but chuckle as he took pleasure in the utterly fetching sight. She perched like a prim maid on the stool, yet her scanty attire utterly destroyed any idea that she was priggish, for she wore nothing more than a dainty chemise that left her rounded bosom nearly overflowing its shallow bodice and the soft, pale peaks of her breasts straining against the gossamer cloth.

“If only Gustav could see you now, my love. He’d run me through with the nearest sword just to have you for himself.”

“Oh, don’t mention that cad’s name. I dislike him intensely.” She lifted a hand and fluttered slender fingers to hasten her husband back to their original topic. “Go on, Jeffrey, I’m waiting.”

“Aye, that you are, my sweet.” He sighed, relenting to her winsome urgings. “When I was a youth, I had to endure a lot of ribbing when I went skinny-dipping with my friends. We used to swing out over the water on a long rope tied to one of the branches of the tree that grew alongside the stream. Sometimes it evolved into a contest to see which of us could sail the farthest before letting go and plunging into the creek. A few of us had more than the average handle, and there were many humorous suggestions as to what our companions could do if the rope ever broke. Their recommendations amounted to me or any like me climbing up in the tree as a replacement for the rope. Their hilarity was as vast as their imagination, for they wagered that since our members would have some flexibility, everyone would be able to fly farther. Otherwise, they claimed there’d be little difference between us and the rope.”

“Didn’t their teasing make you feel ashamed?”

Grinning, Jeffrey raised a hand and, with a finger, scratched his cheek reflectively, very near the intriguing cleft made visible by his grin. “Considering that a few of them had nothing more in their breeches than what amounted to a spit in a pot, I decided I wasn’t so unfortunate after all. At least no one ever mistook me for a girl.”

“I like the way you look.”

Feeling himself responding to her ogling stare, he offered a suggestion. “I don’t suppose you’d consider taking a moment to sport with your husband, would you? I could offer excuses for our tardiness downstairs.”

Raelynn could imagine the curious stares they’d receive upon returning downstairs. “The bed squeaks too much, Jeffrey. They’d know without a doubt what we were doing.”

Her husband snorted. “I’m going to take you home where the bed
doesn’t
squeak, madam, and then I’m going to keep you there until you plead for me to let you go.”

Her countenance brightened as she dimpled. “Promise?”

He winked at her. “You have my word on it, madam.”

21

His upper lip curled derisively as he observed the relaxed passage of several elegantly garbed couples on the street. “
As if zhey haf no care in zhe vorld
,” he mentally jeered. “
Fools! Veak, despicable fools!”

In his opinion, Charleston was a cesspool of languid self-indulgence and careless gaiety deserving only his contempt. Despite the fact that his many smuggling exploits and business affairs in the city and the surrounding area had made him a very wealthy man, he loathed the populace. People here seemed much more interested in enjoying the simple pleasures of life and being hospitable to their friends and neighbors rather than striving and working hard in a serious quest for fortune. He especially disliked its sheriff. If not for Rhys Townsend, he’d still own Raelynn. Possessing her would have served as sweet succor for his useless arm. He had never had a woman the likes of her before, and he was gut-wrenching tired of the jaded strumpets who eagerly bellied up to any man for a coin or two. Those he had attempted to ride after his shoulder had been shattered had left him writhing in shame and frustration. He had sent them fleeing in wide-eyed trepidation before the lash of his savage tongue and his bellowing rage.

But with Raelynn, it would be different, he consoled himself. The merest thought of bedding her kindled that part of him which the harlots, with all their knowledge and experience, hadn’t been able to stir from its limpness. Enchantingly beautiful, well-bred, and elegant, not to mention sufficiently young to be easily held underneath his thumb, Raelynn would have proven a delectable morsel in his bed.

It didn’t help knowing that his insatiable desire for her had already resulted in a horrible impairment, one which grieved him unmercifully. Now he couldn’t even bear to look at his own reflection, the girth of which was growing with each month’s passing. The dead weight of his useless arm, much like the one in his crotch, was a constant reminder of why he utterly loathed Jeffrey Birmingham. The constant awareness that the sheriff hadn’t yet seen fit to arrest the man for Nell’s murder only served as another sharp, nettlesome thorn in his flesh.

Dwelling on his grim musings, Gustav turned crisply into an alley to take advantage of a shortcut to the area where he had left the livery waiting. Oblivious to the two sailors, who, after exchanging a nod, followed him into the narrow lane, he strode angrily on, absorbed in his own violent musings and hatred.

Of a sudden, his good arm was seized, and he was shoved face-first against a wall, causing him undue pain as the force of the impact nearly broke his nose. He tried to look behind him, but a stout forearm wedged up close against the back of his neck.

“Here now!” Gustav barked. “Vhat iz zhe meanin’ of zhis outrage!”

A chuckling breath left him gasping in a cloud of fetid stench as a hoarse voice rasped near his ear. “Give o’er yer money, gov’na, or I’ll cuts yer throat here an’ now.” To emphasize his willingness to perform such a deed, the sailor pressed a large blade to his victim’s stout neck until a thin trickle of blood oozed from a newly inflicted cut.

The other sailor wasn’t up to wasting time with mere threats to get what he wanted. Kneeling beside the German, he started rifling through his pockets. When he could find no suitable amount of coin, he began searching upward underneath their victim’s coat. A bulge around the man’s waist made him whisk out his own gleaming blade. He made short work of the man’s suspenders, and soon he was dragging the trousers downward over taut hips. Once free of the ham-like buttocks, the pants dropped forthwith around Gustav’s ankles, leaving naught but the tails of his coat and long underwear covering his heavily muscled legs. The ties of the money belt were severed, and soon it was slung over a brawny shoulder.

“This should tide us o’er for a winter or two, mate,” the fellow boasted with a chortle and clapped a hand upon his companion’s shoulder.

“What do we do wit’ him?” the latter queried, looking to his companion for guidance.

“Slit his gullet, what else?”

Accustomed as he was to inflicting rather than being a casualty of fear, pain and death, Gustav was literally paralyzed by fright at the thought that he’d be murdered by a pair of lowly tars. His heart thudded against the inner wall of his rib cage, and his harsh breathing was now reduced to sharp gasps. As much as he loved money, he gave no tiniest thought to it at the moment. What loomed before him was his life in retrospect, the men he had ruined, the ones whose deaths he had arranged for his own gain, the women he had used in the foulest way possible, the elderly he had swindled and left to beg on the streets, the children he had kicked out of his way or the beggars he had backhanded and sent flying. A few of his victims had been pawns in his climb to wealth and power, others useless entities he had trod upon without regret after reaching the lofty height to which he had once aspired. Now, as he balanced on the precarious precipice between life and death, the faces of his victims came back to haunt him, at the forefront of which loomed Nell. Hadn’t he promised a thousand Yankee dollars to see Jeffrey Birmingham removed as an obstacle between himself and Raelynn? And what had followed but the death of the young mother!