Courting Susannah (26 page)

He knew the touch, had selected the diamonds and sapphires himself, on various trips to San Francisco. He raised his eyes to meet Delphinia's gaze, but otherwise he didn't move at all.

“Just one dance?” she asked softly.

He spoke in quiet tones, well aware that the exchange was being observed, that any implied intimacy would result in a spate of gossip that might well hurt Susannah and, one day, even Victoria. “You shouldn't be here,” he said in a flat voice.

She snapped open the silk and ivory fan she carried, another gift from him, no doubt, though he couldn't rightly recall the purchase, and fluttered it in front of her finely structured face. She was, he thought as analytically as if he'd been judging horseflesh, probably much more beautiful than Susannah, in the classic sense. God knew, he'd enjoyed the pleasures of her bed. Then, too, in a place where almost everybody had a colorful past, he could have taken her for a wife with relative impunity; after the initial social uproar had died down, Delphinia surely would have been taken into the fold, if only because of her money and status.

For all that, he had never once considered marrying her. It was an odd insight, and it caused him to frown.

“You are a fool if you think that little mouse can make you happy,” she hissed through lips parted in a
winsome smile. “Look at her. She doesn't know the first thing about dancing. As for social graces—”

“Social graces?” Aubrey interrupted. “This is Seattle, not Boston or Paris. Not much call for fancy manners here.”

The fan fluttered faster. “Then what is her attraction?”

Aubrey turned and assessed Susannah. “I don't know,” he said. “But I mean to marry her, Delphinia, whether you approve or not.” He paused, raised an eyebrow. “Didn't we agree, you and I, that you would catch the first available steamer for San Francisco? It would seem that you've missed a few.”

Delphinia's cheeks were bright with color; she was the perfect portrait of a woman scorned. “You will regret your treatment of me, Aubrey Fairgrieve,” she said in an undertone, and the fancy fan was practically a blur. “You will regret it sorely.”

He resisted an uncharitable urge to roll his eyes. “Maybe,” he said. “I believe there's a steamer tomorrow afternoon. Maybe if you start packing now, tonight, you could secure a cabin.” With that, he walked away, found Susannah on the dance floor in the arms of one of her more energetic piano pupils, and rescued her by taking her hand and pulling her aside.

Looking down into her face, her glowing, innocent, beguiling face, he realized for the first time that Ethan had been right, out there in the garden earlier in the evening. Susannah cared for him. The knowledge caused him a twinge of guilt, but then he consoled himself with the fact that he'd never misled her. Never claimed to feel any of the gentle sentiments for her or any other woman. She was entering this marriage with her eyes open.

“It's like a dream,” she said, a little breathless. “The
music, the dancing.” She looked down at her dress. “This gown. Have you seen Ethan? I was hoping—”

Aubrey felt his jawline clamp down. He forcibly relaxed, but it was too late; he knew by her expression that she'd seen and comprehended his reaction. “He's gone home, I'm afraid,” he said.

She let that pass without comment but made no effort to hide her disappointment in learning that Ethan had already left the party. “Oh,” she replied in a dispirited tone.

“One more dance?” he asked.

She nodded, and he took her into his arms, and that was all it took, for that moment, for that night, to make everything all right.

Susannah awakened to a pounding rain and peered through her bedroom window to see that the last dirty rags of snow had been washed away. The cobblestones shimmered in the thin light of day, and the lawn was already brown with mud. She might have been demoralized but for the ring sparkling on her left hand.

She was going to be married! It hardly seemed possible, after so many years as a spinster, and yet here was the proof. Aubrey had given her his pledge and announced their imminent wedding to virtually all of Seattle.

Victoria cooed in her cradle, legs bobbling, grasping at her toes with both hands. Susannah let her forehead rest against the cool, damp glass of the window. “I'll be a good mother to her, Julia,” she murmured. “I promise.”

A brisk knock at her bedroom door startled her; she jumped and, expecting Maisie, called out, “Come in.”

Aubrey stepped over the threshold, looking unreasonably handsome in his starched white linen shirt and well-tailored black trousers. He wore suspenders, too, and shining boots. He grinned, knowing full well that Susannah had not been expecting him. “You should be
more careful,” he teased. “About whom you invite into your bedchamber, I mean.”

Susannah's hand had gone of its own accord to the buttoned collar of her flannel nightgown; she clenched it like a maiden about to be ravished. Amusement flickered in Aubrey's eyes, and she flushed, releasing her hold. “I certainly wouldn't have invited you,” she said in belated response.

He chuckled and swept her with his gaze. “Wouldn't you?”

“Of course not. It's improper, your being here. Before our—before our—”

“Wedding?” Aubrey prompted. His hazel eyes were still smiling. He showed no signs of leaving but instead held out a celluloid collar. “Would you mind fastening this thing for me? I can't seem to get it closed without choking myself.”

Susannah hesitated. She was still in her nightclothes, after all, and she was naked beneath them. She and Aubrey were alone in the room, perhaps in the house, except for Victoria, who certainly would not suffice as a chaperone. She let out a long breath and stepped closer, accepting the collar.

The air between them seemed to shift and buckle, like the shimmering mirages Susannah had seen over Nantucket waters on hot summer days. A strange ache implanted itself deep within her and set every nerve end to trembling. Her hands shook as she reached up to put the collar around Aubrey's neck.

He smelled of laundering soap and some subtle, spicy cologne, and his chest seemed to exude heat. His brown hair brushed the backs of her fingers, a touch of silk, light as a breeze yet possessed of the power to rock her on the deepest levels of her being.

She fumbled with the buttons at the front of the collar,
aware of the man gazing down at her in every tissue and fiber, finally managed to close them.

“Susannah,” he said. His voice was pitched low and a little ragged, and all he said was that one word. Just her name. Yet something shifted inside her, and she knew she would never be quite the same again. That he had changed the very shape of her soul once more, as he had done a few days before, with a single, consuming kiss.

She shivered, though the room was warm. Far too warm. She commanded her legs to carry her back a step, then another, until she was out of his reach. Her legs didn't listen. “The baby,” she said.

“Let me take you to my bed,” Aubrey responded.

Susannah felt herself sway. Squeezed her eyes shut, opened them to find that he had taken a loose hold on her nightgown, bunching the worn flannel in both fists. She was too breathless to speak and would not have trusted herself to reply sensibly in any case.

“Don't you think we should at least seal our engagement with a kiss?” He was so persuasive. He drew her close, by her nightgown, and bent his head to claim her mouth with his own. He was gentle at first, then more demanding, and Susannah's body responded in a most unspinsterly fashion, expanding somehow, opening like an orchid that has been coaxed and nurtured to blossom. She gave a slight moan and parted her lips, allowed him to deepen the kiss.

She was vaguely aware that the nightdress was rising slowly, trailing over her calves, her knees, her thighs, her stomach. She knew she should protest, should at least
want
to protest, but instead she clung to him. When he broke the kiss long enough to pull the gown off over her head and toss it aside, she merely moaned and took him back eagerly when he claimed her mouth again.

He stepped back, his hands weighing her breasts, and
Susannah stood before him proudly, utterly without shame. Unschooled though she was in the ways of men and women, she knew she had a certain power over this strong, confident man, and she reveled in it. Let him look, she thought with gentle defiance, but she gasped softly when he passed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, causing them to harden and strain.

“So beautiful,” he breathed.

“The baby,” Susannah reminded him, but weakly. He had, without her knowing it, maneuvered her behind the changing screen that stood in the corner of her room.

“Is a baby,” he replied, and bent to take the tip of one breast between his lips.

Susannah made a sobbing sound and grasped the back of his head, plunging her fingers into his hair, holding him tightly lest he pull away. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, and he chuckled again and worked her with his tongue.

“Do you want me, Susannah?” He whispered the question while nibbling at the other breast.

“Oh, yes,” she choked. “Yes.” She waited for him to sweep her up into his arms and carry her down the corridor to his bed, but he did not.

“Good,” he replied, and went on enjoying her. Presently, just when Susannah thought she would lose her mind for certain, he slipped one hand between her legs, through the moist hair that sheltered her most private place. She sagged back against the wall, her breathing rapid and shallow.

He caressed her for a time, then, without warning, slipped his fingers inside her, while his thumb lingered outside her body, wreaking havoc of its own. She gasped and closed her eyes, at the same time thrusting her hips forward. Welcoming his attentions, scandalous though they were.

“If you have any doubts that I can keep you happy,”
he said, tracing the length of her neck with the lightest of kisses, “remember this.”

Susannah swallowed a lusty groan as he pleasured her; it seemed to her that things progressed at a breathtaking speed and, at the same time, took forever. She did not understand what he was leading her toward, what he was promising, for she had known only vague, fevered yearnings until then. One thing was vividly clear: she would perish if he let her go too soon.

Her hips were busy—they seemed to know what to do, without being told—meeting every thrust of his hand with no sort of restraint, and then it happened, the unexpected, undreamed-of cataclysm, seizing her like the teeth of some great beast and shaking her violently, causing her back to arch spasmodically, over and over again. It was only when she came back inside herself that she realized she'd been shouting her surrender for all the world to hear and that Aubrey had covered her mouth with his own all the while, catching and swallowing her cries.

She started to sink, and he caught her by the waist. Brought her back to her bed. She waited for him to lie down beside her and finish what he'd begun—his erection was obvious, even to a spinster—but instead he simply stood over her, a man engaged in a private struggle. She held out one hand to him, for her wanting was greater now that she had tasted glory.

He shook his head and retreated a step. “No, Susannah. Not yet.”

“But why?” she asked, wounded. Aware suddenly of her nakedness, like Eve in the garden, having taken the forbidden fruit, she snatched at the covers in a vain effort to cover herself.

Aubrey took in her body with a slow, hungry gaze. A muscle flexed in his cheek, and his right temple
throbbed visibly. “Not because I don't want to,” he said. “That's for damn sure.”

She simply looked at him, too mortified by his rejection really to comprehend his meaning. “You were only mocking me, then,” she accused, near tears but holding firm against them. “When you asked me into your bed, when you—when we were behind the screen—” She felt her face go hot and toppled into wretched silence.

“No,” he said, almost growling the word. “I would indeed have taken you to bed, if you'd agreed.” He thrust a hand, the same hand that had brought her to release, through his rumpled hair. “But it wouldn't have been right. There will be time enough for that when we're properly married.”

She pulled the sheets and blankets up to her chin while Victoria cooed on in her cradle, blessedly oblivious to everything but her own tiny, elusive toes.

“And what just happened?” She could barely force the humiliating words past her throat, but she had to know. “Did that mean anything?”

He had turned his back, gained the door, and stood with the knob in his hand. After a moment, he looked at her over one broad shoulder. His smile was saucy, even impudent. “I hope so,” he said. “It sure as hell meant something to me.”

A heartbeat later, he was gone, leaving the door ajar, whistling as he made his way down the corridor.

Infuriated, frustrated because Aubrey was leaving and she wanted him to stay, Susannah flung one pillow after him, then another. At the same time, to her great consternation, she was wondering how long she'd have to wait for their next encounter.

In his private bathroom, minutes after the interlude with Susannah, Aubrey stripped off his shirt, ran cold
water into the basin, and splashed his face and chest until his teeth chattered. His erection finally went down—out of sympathy for the rest of his body, he supposed—and he stood there dripping, both hands braced against the sink, head lowered. With Julia and Delphinia and every other woman he'd ever known, he'd been able to detach himself from their pleasure, to stand back emotionally and wait until the storm had passed and he could appease himself in good conscience.

With Susannah, it was different. Her delight in their lovemaking was so intertwined with his own satisfaction that he could barely separate the two. He'd come perilously close to taking her, to losing himself inside her. To caring.