A Cry at Midnight (34 page)

Only then did he pull the torn chemise from beneath her and toss it aside with his trousers. Only then did he stand before her naked and proud, and let her feast her eyes on him.

"I want you," she said after her eyes had caressed him intimately. He felt nearly bursting with emotion and desire, but vowed to make this night last, to love her completely.

He lifted her farther onto the mattress, then lowered his body on top of hers. With a soft sigh, she cradled him between her thighs and sought his lips once more. With seeking hands, she urged him tighter against her damp warmth. Finally, after an eternity of kisses, he eased inside, to the place where he so desperately wanted to be . . . to the comforting home that he'd searched all his life to find.

She moved with him, gasping his name, enthusiastic in her response. She knew what she wanted and urged him to give it to her. Yet all the time, she gave as much in return. More, because he wanted to please her with a passion as strong as his desire to fill her completely. When her movements quickened, he urged her on. When she gasped his name and stiffened, he took her lips hard and sure. When the spasms racked her body, he followed her to that mystical place where souls join and hearts beat as one.

At the very last second, he managed to pull himself from her quivering body. With a roar, he found his own release, joined in the heart forever, but not in the flesh. She sobbed and held him tight as he collapsed on her sweat-dampened body.

As his mind drifted to a place of sweet dreams and even sweeter reality, he moved enough to pull a cover over them. Then he slept, held tight in her arms and in her heart.

#

Randi awoke to the sound of thunder, rumbling in a long, booming vibration that gently shook the house. She opened her eyes and looked out the bedroom window, closed against the night's chill. A faint flash of lightening, not too close, lit up the inky sky. More rain. With a sigh, she snuggled back against Jackson's warm chest.

Making love with him had been the best, the most incredible, experience of her life. She'd known they'd be explosive together, but she hadn't realized exactly how much. Jackson seemed to need her more than air or food. In fact, she felt as though he was feasting on her. Not in any negative way; he just relished every kiss and caress like a starving man devours a feast.

She'd never been a feast before. In the darkness, she smiled. She rather liked being the appetizer, the main course, and the dessert.

Another rumble of thunder made her think of their situation outside these four walls. More rain might mean a higher water level, more chance of flooding. Would the main levee along the river hold? Would the smaller one around the house help, once it was finished? She hoped the answer to both questions was yes.

The restless urge to capture the magic of this night filled her with energy. She eased away from Jackson, careful not to wake him when he so desperately needed his sleep. She couldn't believe they'd made love not once, not twice, but three times during the past hours.

And he'd already been exhausted from working all day. Gesh, she wondered what they might have done if he'd been completely rested. Could her body take Jackson at one hundred percent?

With a smile, she swung her legs out of bed, turning her warm pillow into his chest so he would still think she was there. She suppressed a groan at the soreness between her thighs and the sensitivity of her breasts as the sheet slid over her body. She was out of practice--as if any previous encounter could have prepared her for Jackson.

Since her dress and chemise were ruined and she hadn't worn any undergarments, she searched along the dark floor for his robe. She definitely remembered that at some point last night, he'd been wearing clothes. A fortunate flash of lightning helped locate the paisley-patterned garment lying in the tangle of his white shirt and black trousers.

She slipped the soft robe around her naked, slightly aching body, then inhaled Jackson's scent. The smell acted like an aphrodisiac--as if she needed one, she thought with a smile. Walking carefully across the floor meant avoiding her torn dress and the beautifully set table near the fireplace.

On each mantle throughout the house she'd seen matches, so she assumed Jackson's bedroom wasn't any different. Sure enough, with only a minimum amount of searching and aided by occasional flashes of lightning, she lit a new candle. The ones that had been burning earlier must have gone out.

The golden glow made the room seem cozy, more intimate. As her eyes adjusted to the new level of light, her gaze strayed to Jackson's large, high bed. His body lay relaxed, yet still impressive, beneath the white sheet. During the last hours, she'd tried to memorize each muscle, each bone, each plane of flesh. She'd tasted his skin. Her nails had dug into his back and butt.

Now she wanted to memorize him another way. She found her paper and pencils in a chair, then tiptoed to the bed. As she hugged her supplied close to her chest, she watched him sleep. He looked younger, more vulnerable, than she'd ever seen him.

Because of her . . .

Silently pulling up a chair, she positioned her candle on the bedside table and balanced the sheets of paper on bent knees. Within seconds, she'd started a new drawing of Jackson, tousled and relaxed in sleep. Her fingers flew as she captured his essence on paper.

She didn't know how long she'd been sketching when a loud boom of thunder made her look up from the paper. The storm was moving closer. Rain pelted the windows.

"It's raining." Jackson's soft, sleepy voice startled her as much as the thunder.

"Did I wake you?" she whispered.

"No, I think the thunder did. What are you doing?"

"Sketching."

"In the middle of the night?"

"It's closer to morning, I think. This is one of the few times I've seen you completely relaxed and still for more than two minutes."

He reached across the bed and captured her left hand. "There's a reason I'm relaxed," he said, his voice deeply seductive. "Come back to bed, chere, and I'll give you something better to do than draw my rough face."

"Rough face?" she asked, resisting his gentle tug. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm not blond and handsome like the young men around here."

"That's the silliest thing I've ever heard," she said, wondering if his earlier exhaustion and the overexertion of making love three times had completely addled his brain. "You are without doubt the most handsome man I've ever met." She let her words sink in, then added, "And even if you weren't, I'd still love to look at you. Your face has character and strength, as well as great gentleness and passion."

He seemed surprised. "You see all that in my face?"

"Absolutely."

"You should light more candles, chere," he said gruffly, obviously uncomfortable with her praise.

She put her paper and pencils down on the mattress, then scooted out of the chair onto the bed. "I think you're just fishing for compliments," she teased, pushing him back onto the pillow. "You know darn well you're the best looking man in Tipton County. Maybe in all of Tennessee."

He actually blushed. Randi laughed, leaned down, and kissed him. "I just love getting in the last word."

"As you said, if I dispute your opinion, you'll simply say I'm hoping for more praise. Perhaps I'd best be quiet."

She eased closer, pushing her pillow out of the way so she could lie next to him. "That's the way I like my men, Jackson Durant. Handsome and silent."

He laughed, pulling her on top, holding her fast with his large, strong hands on her hips. "And this is the way I like my women, Randi Galloway. Beautiful and . . .," he paused while his fingers worked the knot of the belt loose, "naked." He spread the robe wide, his eyes taking in every inch of her body.

Her blush matched his earlier one, plus her nipples puckered and her thighs tightened around his hips. "Darn it, Jackson, I was already sore," she mumbled before she leaned down and kissed him deeply.

Jackson
looked at Lebeau's raised eyebrow and felt compelled to answer. "I overslept. Yesterday was quite draining."

"Yes, I imagine it was."

The knowing look his friend gave him made Jackson pause at the bottom of the stairs. "What do you mean by that?"

"Only that I was concerned when you hadn't arrived for breakfast, so I went upstairs to check on your health. From the sounds coming from inside you room, I at first thought Miss Galloway was murdering you in your sleep. However, I soon came to realize that my first assumption was wrong. Just the opposite, in fact."

Jackson felt his face heat up like a wood stove on a cold winter's day. "I assume no one else noticed."

"I believe Suzette commented on Miss Randi's absence in the nursery this morning, but I steered her away from that line of thinking. She believes that a temporary problem of digestion kept her away from Little Miss Rose."

"Good. I wouldn't want anyone else to suspect . . . or to know."

"Ashamed of yourself?" Lebeau asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Of course not! I'm concerned for her reputation."

"Then you're not ready to declare her your mistress."

"No! She's not . . . Hell, I'm not sure what she is."

"I suspect you should give that some serious thought, my friend, because you can be assured that Miss Galloway will certainly be contemplating more formal arrangements."

"She has no intention--"

"Perhaps she didn't before. Trust me, an unattached woman--and a free thinker at that--will not accept your vague assurances of a pleasant future for long."

"Since when did you become an expert on women?"

"I didn't say I was an expert on all women. I simply claim to know something of the way her mind works."

Jackson scoffed. "If you would so kindly tell me, I'd be eternally grateful."

Lebeau gave him a long, hard look. "Think back to your younger days, my friend," he said, his voice low and intense, "to when you had high ideals and even higher hopes for the future. To when each day was lived with intensity of purpose long forgotten as we age. Forget the fact that she is a woman, or your lover. Only then will you understand her."

Jackson stared at Lebeau, wondering where the words, the passion, came from. Had Randi worked some magic on him, too? "What did she say to you to make you feel so strongly?"

"Not much . . . and yet everything I needed to hear." Lebeau shook his head again. "I should see to our supplies. The water is rising, and we may need another trip to Randolph before the road washes out."

"That bad?"

"Yes. The lumber I order was delivered just a short time ago, and the driver said his wagon had become stuck twice on the drive out."

"You're right. We need to stock up on everything." Jackson felt as though he was coming out of a trance--albeit a warm and wonderful one. For a scant few hours, he'd forgotten his responsibilities and problems. Now, in the wan light of a dreary, rainy morning, he needed to face reality. "Tell me if you need anything from me. Otherwise, I'm going to see about the small levee around the house."

"You might want to extend it around the cabins, as well. I'm sure the field hands won't fancy floating if the main levee breaks."

"You're right again. I'll have Brewster start on that as soon as we get a sufficient height around the main house."

Lebeau started down the hall toward the back door.

"Thanks for reminding me about the workers."

The black man turned, his face unreadable in the dim hall light. "No need to thank me. As Miss Randi reminded me not long ago, they're my people too."

Jackson frowned as the butler walked toward the kitchen. He'd never heard Lebeau say anything that joined him to other freemen or slaves. As a matter of fact, he'd always seemed to avoid the subject. Randi had caused this change? Jackson wondered just exactly what she'd said to make Lebeau shift his thinking so radically.

He didn't have time to ponder this development, Jackson reminded himself as he strode to the front door. Constant monitoring would be necessary from this point on. One large snag, a runaway boat, or simply a surge of water could create an opening in the earthen dam. And a small opening could become a large crevasse in hours, even with men working around the clock.

He squinted against the rain slanting across the porch, dampening his trousers and shirt. Brewster had the men working, slipping as they used shovels and trowels to pack the mud into position on the new levee. Jackson felt the urge to join them, to do whatever was necessary to protect his house and the people he loved. Rose, who he'd checked on this morning before going out, and Randi, who held a place in his heart he hadn't realized was empty before.

He should tell her how he felt, he realized, looking upward as though he could see through the many feet of wood to where she was now dressing. The problem was, he didn't know how to say the words. He hadn't known he was capable of romantic love until this morning, when he'd opened his eyes and looked into her softly glowing face.

She loved him. She would stay at Black Willow Grove now, and they would all be safe. Together, they'd make a home for Rose, the baby they both loved. Randi would want another child. In time, he'd find a way to defy convention and marry his daughter's governess.