Calhoun Chronicles Bundle (80 page)

“It’s all right to close your eyes,” he whispered.

She did so, and felt him shift closer to her on the blanket. His hand rested on her thigh, imparting a new kind of warmth. She was so filled with panic and yearning and excitement that she could scarcely breathe or even think. She remembered seeing him in the White House garden that night, sliding his hand beneath a woman’s skirt, lowering his head to the cleft between her breasts, and now she knew exactly how that woman had felt.

“It’s all right to hold on to me, too,” he said.

She gripped his shirt, closing her fist into the soft fabric. Her knuckles grazed his chest and she felt that startling firmness again, that heat.

“You’ll like this a lot better if you relax,” he told her.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I already like this far too much.”

He pressed his hand possessively against her side, and she thought perhaps that his thumb had strayed inside her robe, but she didn’t dare look. She felt dizzy, overheated with sensation. It was vexing indeed, to have to remind herself that her purpose tonight was not pleasure but instruction.

“Is that so?” he asked.

“Lieutenant Butler will think me depraved if I behave this way with him,” she said, forcing her eyes open.

“If he does, then he’s even more stupid than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“A man dreams of this, Abby. Dreams of a woman who welcomes his touch, is crazed by it. He dreams of a woman who is bold enough to touch him, who laughs at false morality and—how did you say it in your last letter?—consigns herself to the fire of passion.”

“I never should have let you read that.”

“It’s powerful stuff, Abby. Powerful and rare.”

“Really?” she said, but she didn’t hear his answer because inside the robe, his hand did something that drove every last coherent thought out of her head. The last thing she heard was a ragged, indrawn breath—his—and a soft, almost musical moan—hers.

Then their lips touched, brushing and recoiling, then coming together again.

Her first kiss. It wasn’t what she had expected, not even close. She supposed she had envisioned a fairy-tale moment, a touch of the lips and the world would turn candy pink.

Instead, this was a dark passionate clash, generating a forbidden yearning. There was nothing remotely sweet about it, or about her fiery reaction. She moved as close to him as she could, until his arm gently pressed her back so that she lay beneath him. She wanted the aggressive weight of him, wanted it all, and acknowledging the desire gave her a strange and soaring joy.

Each moment of the kiss was more shocking and delicious than the last. He coaxed her mouth open with his, probing with his tongue in a manner so startlingly intimate that she nearly came out of her skin. When at last he eased up the pressure of his body and lifted his mouth from hers, she couldn’t think, had no idea where she was. She blinked up at the majesty of the night sky. “Oh.” The sound of amazement slipped from her, borne on a sigh. “Oh, Jamie…”

“Mmm?”

How could she be feeling such bliss in the arms of Jamie Calhoun, a cynic and a womanizer? She was no different from Caroline Fortenay or some other conquest. Forcing her thoughts to her true purpose, she asked, “Do you think this is what it will be like with Lieutenant Butler?”

His strong arms drew her up, then thrust her away. He moved back, the night air cool on the parts of her body he had been covering a moment ago. “Well done, love,” he said curtly. “You know all you need to know about kissing.”

She peered at him through the dimness, trying to recover from the dizzy heat of his embrace. “Heavens, you’re angry at me.”

“Nonsense. Why would I be angry?”

“Because I brought up Lieutenant Butler’s name just now.”

“Fine. That means I’m doing my job. This is about him. It’s been about him from the start.”

“That was my first kiss,” she confessed.

“You’re a quick study, then. You have nothing to worry about.” His voice was terse, perhaps slightly strained as he wrapped up the remains of the picnic in the tablecloth. “You’re a natural.”

“Am I?” She touched the front of her robe. Somehow, it had come unbuttoned. She hastened to refasten it.

When he stood, he didn’t bother offering a hand to help her up. Instead, he turned away, heading for the attic door. “Bring along that blanket, will you?” he said over his shoulder.

She came awkwardly to her feet, staggering a little until she regained her balance. Scooping up the blanket, she followed him, wondering at his brusque attitude. Had she done something wrong? Had she been too bold? Too timid? But he said she was a natural.

“Mr. Calhoun?”

“At this point, you could probably start calling me Jamie.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “Jamie—”

“Hush.” He stopped walking and she bumped into him from behind.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I heard something.” Setting down his bundle, he moved to the railing. Abigail followed, detecting the sound of voices. A man’s rasping whisper, a woman’s giggle. Abigail spotted them first, picking out two figures crossing the yard. Barefoot and carrying their shoes, Helena and Professor Rowan headed through the garden, presumably to sneak back into the house.

“I see I guessed correctly about the adventure,” Jamie said, and went to relight the lamp.

Still flustered from the kiss, Abigail followed him down through the attic and nursery. Jamie escorted her to her chamber. Muted noises from inside indicated that Helena had already arrived.

“Good night, Abigail,” he said.

“Good night.” She turned to the door, then turned back. “Jamie?” She felt odd using his given name, but after what they’d done on the roof, it would have been odder still to call him Mr. Calhoun.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I…thank you.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking him for. Showing her the stars? The picnic? Heavenly days, the kiss? There should probably be some other term for it. A mere kiss didn’t begin to describe the long, languorous encounter on the roof. And was she actually grateful for that?

He settled the matter by flashing a grin and saying, “You’re welcome.” Then, humming softly under his breath, he disappeared into the night shadows.

Abigail pushed opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows. Standing on the round hearth rug, Helena gasped, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“It’s only me,” Abigail said.

“You frightened me half to death. Were you out viewing the stars?” Helena didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you were.”

Abigail hated that she was so predictable. But, in fact, she
was
predictable. Helena was used to her sister’s midnight comings and goings.

“Where were you?” she asked. “You’re soaking wet. And what’s that smell? Seawater?”

Helena grabbed a towel and rubbed her hair. “You mustn’t tell Papa.”

Fondness and exasperation tugged at her. “When have I ever told Father?”

She dropped the towel. In the eerie moonlight, she resembled a fairy, delicate and otherworldly. “I went swimming. With Michael.”

“With—oh. Professor Rowan.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know how to swim.”

Helena laughed. “I do now.”

“Wasn’t it cold?”

“Yes. But after a while, I didn’t notice.”

“Well, you’d best hang your wet clothes on a chair so they’ll be dry by morning.”

Helena started brushing her hair with long, slow strokes. “My clothes aren’t wet.”

It took Abigail a moment to realize what she was saying. “Dear Lord. You swam in the nude?”

Helena giggled. “It was glorious. So natural and elemental. Michael says among the aboriginal peoples of—”

“I can’t believe you swam naked with a man.”

“It would have been dangerous to swim without him.”

Abigail told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. Doing outrageous things was Helena’s specialty.

“I certainly wasn’t going to do it alone,” Helena added. “Michael said—”

“And did Michael say your reputation didn’t matter one whit?”

“My reputation.” With practiced fingers, Helena braided her hair and climbed into bed. “It has been in tatters ever since I ran away from finishing school. Miss Madeira said I’d never marry well. I think she put a curse on me.” She pulled the covers over her knees. “Thank heavens.”

Abigail sat on the end of the bed and tried to hold in her anger. Helena had forced her to cultivate Lieutenant Butler’s suit, yet she thought nothing of gallivanting with Professor Rowan.

“Anyway,” Helena went on, “my carefree days are nearly over. Papa will be so happy when I finally settle down with—with…” She frowned, thinking. “Lieutenant Butler, is it?”

A chill rippled through Abigail. How could her sister encourage one man while cavorting with another? The lieutenant would be devastated if he ever found out. Abigail renewed her conviction to protect him from being hurt by Helena’s carelessness.

“Actually, there’s only one aspect of marriage that interests me,” Helena said. “And now, well…” Helena yawned and stretched, then snuggled down into the covers. “I’ve discovered that my interest can be fulfilled without benefit of matrimony.”

Abigail shifted to her knees. “Good heavens. Are you saying what I fear you’re saying?”

Helena laughed, her mirth liquid with delight.

“You are,” Abigail whispered. “You…you…didn’t?” She couldn’t even put words to it. “With Professor Rowan.”

“Ever since he moved to Dumbarton Street, he’s pretended to ignore me, so I decided to force the issue. Seduction is remarkably easy, Abigail. You should try it sometime.”

Abigail stared at her sister, who smiled sleepily at the ceiling, as though she were in some other world. Helena didn’t look different, or did she? “You could conceive a child,” Abigail whispered. “Have you even thought of that?”

“If it happens, I’d have to get married in a great hurry, wouldn’t I?”

Abigail couldn’t help herself. She had to ask the next question. “So is this going to cause you to change your mind about Lieutenant Butler?”

“Papa would never forgive me if I rejected the vice president’s son. Besides, Michael doesn’t want to marry me. I don’t even think he loves me.” Helena laughed. “You’re staring at me as though I’d grown antlers.”

Abigail considered chastising her sister for loose morals and worse, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. “So was the discovery worth the sacrifice of your virginity?”

“Virginity is a commodity prized only by those who have no idea what else to want in a wife.” She grinned. “And the answer to your question is yes. Absolutely, unequivocally, yes, it was worth it.” She settled deep into the bed, hugging her pillow. “It is the most wonderful thing in the world, Abigail. That’s what they never want young women to find out. It’s truly wonderful.” She sent her sister a last, glowing smile before closing her eyes. “It is like soaring.”

“I
’ll be damned. They’ve done it, haven’t they?” Jamie asked Abigail the next day as they started off on their tour of Albion’s breeding farm. He indicated Helena and Professor Rowan walking close together, furtive hands brushing as they pretended to listen to Jeffries, the breeding master, talk of Thoroughbred bloodlines.

Abigail forced herself to stare straight ahead at the little man and listen to his earnest assertions about his craft. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jamie chuckled, the sound as low and intimately modulated as a lover’s whisper. A warm smell of oats and horse filled the stables as Jeffries led the way down a long aisle flanked by stalls.

“Then I’ll be more explicit.” Leaning down, Jamie whispered a phrase in her ear. Though she had never heard such a thing before, she had no doubt as to its meaning.

“Stop.” She shoved away from him in a fury. “You are unbelievably crude.”

“Believe it. I am crude.”

“And what you accuse my sister of—”

“I’m not accusing her of anything. Besides, your blush confirms my suspicions.”

“If I’m blushing, it’s because your disgusting suppositions and your language offend me.”

“You shouldn’t be offended, but please, don’t stop blushing. It’s very becoming.”

“Don’t try to distract me with insincere flattery.”

“Dear girl, a bluebottle fly could distract you. That’s what I like about you, Abby. You notice everything.”

She had no idea whether or not to feel complimented, and was rescued from responding when they reached the end of the stables and emerged into the coach yard. The elder Mr. Calhoun drove up in a small open buggy, her father at his side. Relaxed and jovial, they were framed by nodding oaks and the deepening sky of late autumn. Father looked wonderful today, Abigail thought. In his tweeds and tall boots, he resembled a country gentleman. He truly seemed to be enjoying the visit, and his pleasure in Jamie’s home gratified her.

“Hello, Father,” she said. “Hello, Mr. Calhoun. We were just admiring your farm. It’s a remarkable place. You must be very proud of it.”

“Indeed I am, Miss Cabot.”

“Hello, Abigail,” her father called. “Helena, do come along and join us in the buggy. You’ll get too fatigued by all this walking.”

Abigail felt Jamie’s stare jabbing into her, but she ignored him. Father naturally spent more attention and worry on Helena. It had always been so. And it had always been warranted. Abigail was safe, predictable, easy to manage. Helena was none of those things.

“Coming, Papa.” Helena tucked her hand into the crook of Professor Rowan’s arm. “Good morning, Mr. Calhoun.”

Jamie’s father was as taken with Helena as the rest of the world, his pleasure evident when she gifted him with that dazzling smile. Professor Rowan handed her into the buggy and took a seat beside her. In her split riding skirt, Helena looked as dashing and countrified as their father. She’d insisted on making Abigail wear a split skirt as well, excavating it from an old cedar chest in the guest room, even though Abigail swore she had no need of riding togs. For her own private reasons, she favored fashions that denied a woman even had feet. But like the rest of the world, she did Helena’s bidding. Fortunately, the hem of the split skirt brushed the ground, concealing her shoes.

“Miss Abigail and I will finish our tour on foot.” Jamie rubbed the buggy horse’s velvet muzzle. “We’ll give poor old Lord Byron less of a burden that way.”

“As you wish.” Charles slapped the reins. “We’re off to inspect the mile oval.”

As the buggy rolled toward the seaside racetrack, Jamie absently rubbed Abigail’s arm, seeming not even to notice he was touching her, reminding her of the previous night. “Does your father always do that?”

She stepped away from him, out of his reach. “Do what?”

He shook his head. “You know what. I suspect it’s been this way for years.”

“What way?”

“Don’t play stupid, Abigail. It ill becomes you, and the whole world knows better, anyway.”

She flinched and went over to the paddock fence, pretending great fascination with whatever Jeffries was doing with a glossy-coated, balky mare. She was less upset by her father’s dismissal of her than she was by the fact that Jamie had noticed.

She gripped the peeled cedar rail of the paddock, concentrating hard and praying he wouldn’t push her for a reply. Mercifully, he did not. He came and stood beside her, his warm presence causing her thoughts to shift once again to the moment on the roof the night before.

She couldn’t seem to drive the memory of what they’d done from her mind. His touch, his kiss, had confused and overwhelmed her, and here in the broad light of day, things were no different. She still felt confused and overwhelmed. How could something as simple as a touch set off such a complicated reaction? And what was a kiss, after all, but another sort of touch? The inexplicable touching of mouth to mouth. Flesh and blood warmed by the flush of life, nothing more. Magic had flared between them, a spell so powerful she could feel its lingering effects even now. She shuddered with a delicious, forbidden pleasure at the mere thought of it. And this was with a man she didn’t even love, didn’t even much like. A man who didn’t care for her. How much more powerful would it be with Lieutenant Butler, whom she adored?

“What are you thinking?” Jamie asked.

“Why do you suppose I’m thinking anything at all?”

“Because you’re Abigail. You’re always thinking. And whatever it is you’re thinking about right now has brought a bloom of roses to your cheeks. It’s quite lovely, as a matter of fact.”

She sniffed. “If you must know, I was thinking of Lieutenant Butler.”

He didn’t move or speak, but a perceptible frost chilled the air.

“Do you disapprove?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“Not if you’re telling the truth,” he fired back.

The breeder and two grooms had managed to halter the mare. She seemed agitated, switching her tail and flaring her nostrils, her noble head tossing as she tried to throw off the halter.

“What are they doing to that poor creature?” Abigail asked.

“Just watch.”

An eerie equine whistle shrilled through the air, coming from the shed adjacent to the paddock. Then there was a series of whinnies, and a wild thump of hooves hammering the wooden gate. Jeffries shouted an order. The grooms freed the mare and cleared the area, leaping to the paddock rails and vaulting over. At the same moment, something streaked from the shed, so swift and unexpected that it took Abigail a moment to realize it was a powerful, angry-looking horse.

After the initial charge, he stopped short, forelegs splayed in a challenging stance. He dropped his head, bright eyes never leaving the mare, who trotted back and forth at the fence. Then the new horse burst into motion again, rearing up, hooves tearing at the air.

The mare increased her speed, half-crazed panic glinting in her eyes.

“This is cruel,” Abigail said. “The poor creature’s frightened half to death. Why don’t the grooms do something?”

“Sometimes they use a teaser to bring the mare to readiness.” As he spoke, he never took his eyes off Abigail. “In this case, it’s not needed. They’ve already done their job. Now it’s the stallion’s turn to do his.”

The new horse lowered his head and charged, nostrils flaring, a vicious intent burning in his eyes. Abigail pressed a fist to her mouth to keep from crying out in alarm.

He’ll kill her, she thought, wanting to squeeze her eyes shut but unable to look away.

The stallion came at the mare with eyes on fire and mouth wide open for the attack. At the last second, the mare swiveled and met him, biting back with a far more accurate and controlled fury, causing the stallion to squeal in pain.

“Daisy’s our best breeding mare. She always makes them suffer,” Jamie murmured.

“Then why don’t you stop this? It’s barbaric.” A thick ooze of blood streamed over the stallion’s flank.

“Because it’s a natural process. In the end, no matter how much abuse she heaps on him, she always gives him what he wants. And he’ll suffer any pain to get it.”

Abigail knew Jamie was perfectly aware of how disturbing and offensive this “lesson” was. He was probably also quite well aware of her sick fascination with the entire event.

The sentiment appeared to be shared in a different way by the breeder and grooms, who slapped each other on the back and swapped coppers to place bets on various aspects of the encounter.

Steam rose from the big bodies of the horses, and sweat mingled with the blood of the stallion. They performed an elaborate dance that had the primal rhythm of ancient ritual. She sidled close, raised her tail, and he subjected her to such an intimate inspection that all the words of outrage were burned from Abigail’s throat. After what seemed like a long time, the mating took place, a violent coupling as brutal as it was compelling. Abigail watched with a mixture of horror, amazement and a peculiar heat. She suspected that the heat was a form of lust. It embarrassed her to feel lust and to realize it came from watching horses mate.

The violent ritual went on for some minutes, then the stallion made a deep grunting sound and ceased his attack. The mare hung her head, sides fanning in and out. She looked defeated, spent, and so did the stallion, still covering her. Sand and dust rose in little clouds around them.

Finally the stallion moved away. The two horses ignored each other entirely, tails twitching, bodies running with moisture. The air was filled with a rich odor of sweat and blood and something she could not identify, but could feel in her bones.

“I imagine you don’t see that every day,” Jamie said.

“Are you trying to shock me?”

“Yes.”

“Then it worked.”

“Good.”

“Why did you want to shock me? And why is it a good thing?”

“It’s always useful for a person to see new things. No one ever said mating was pretty. A hurricane isn’t pretty, but you can’t deny its power.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to witness a hurricane, either,” she retorted.

“Maybe you should consider it,” he shot back. “You spend your time stargazing and studying pretty things. Well, the world is not all crystal and velvet. You’re hiding, Abby, with your eyes to the sky. You’re hiding from life, from grit and reality.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “Have I said something I shouldn’t?”

No one had ever spoken to her like this. No one had ever criticized her for being interested in beauty and science.

She pushed away from the cedar fence and stomped down the lane. She had no idea where it led, but away was good enough for her. Hearing his boots crunching on gravel, she knew when he caught up with her. She stared straight ahead.

“I didn’t realize you’d be averse to witnessing an act of nature,” he said. “You being a scientist and all.”

He was right, curse him. What could she say?
I’m not that sort of scientist?

“You didn’t show me that in the interest of science,” she accused. “But to embarrass me.”

“And it worked.”

“How proud you must be.”

“Look, you claim you want Boyd Butler to sweep you away into marital bliss. I thought that meant you were interested in all aspects of mating.”

“What do mating horses have to do with my attraction to Lieutenant Butler?”

“Love isn’t always all perfume and magic. It has a physical side, one that has nothing to do with tender feelings, fluttering hearts, sentimental poetry.”

“Are you hoping I’ll find it all so off-putting that I’ll grow disillusioned with Lieutenant Butler?”

“Of course not. My purpose is to make your romance of letters become a romance in fact. But I don’t believe in self-deception. You should know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Lieutenant Butler is not an animal. He would never—”

“Trust me, love. He would. Does that frighten you?”

What frightened her now was that she could only think of Jamie’s hands on her, Jamie making love to her. But of course, she excused herself, he was the only man who had ever touched her. So far. “Should it?”

“No.”

“Good. Because unlike you, I believe in the magic of love. It is what elevates us above the beasts.”

“But we still mate in a manner not so very different from a mare in heat and a hot-blooded stallion.”

Abigail thought about what she’d just witnessed. Did a man and woman actually sweat and bite with such wild abandon? Such intense, single-minded purpose? She was surprised that she didn’t feel more disturbed by the spectacle. Or maybe that was not so surprising. It was a natural event, and even Helena had nothing bad to say about it. Abigail reminded herself to stay loyal to Lieutenant Butler, particularly now that Helena had taken up with the professor.

“This way.” Jamie steered her toward another long, low building with a fenced yard at one end.

“Now what? The mating habits of ring-necked pheasants? Hampshire pigs?”

“This is a bit different. Do you ride?”

“Ride what?”