Gwyneth Atlee (23 page)

Gabe’s fingers trembled over every button, and he watched her
carefully for any sign that she might change her mind. But all he saw
was her moist lips, pink with kisses and slightly parted in anticipation.
All he heard was the faint rasp of her quick breaths. Like him, she was
quivering with anticipation, or nervousness, perhaps.

With her closeness, his exhaustion and pain receded like the
memory of an unpleasant dream. Yet his bandaged hands were clumsy,
so she helped him remove her bodice. When his fingertips next grazed
the laces of her corset, her eyes closed. A faint flush colored her pale
flesh, and he bowed his head to kiss away its bloom.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her shaking growing
more pronounced. “I—”
“Shhh . . . It will be fine, I promise,” Gabe told her. “I won’t do anything
that feels bad. There, you liked this, didn’t you?”
He kissed her neck again and was rewarded by another gasp of
pleasure. Her trembling ceased, and she seemed to hold her breath.
His mouth slipped lower until he was kissing just above her breasts.
“Oh. . .” she whispered, and her right hand strayed to the lacings.
Playfully, he nipped her fingertips, then, with her help, freed her of
the constricting undergarment. When he had bared her breasts, he
cupped them with his bandaged hands, then followed his fingers with
gentle suckling, first at one side, then the other.
She arched her back and moaned his name aloud, arousing him so
painfully that he paused to undress. He saw fear play across her features
at the sight of him.
“You’re not going to . . . ?” Her question trailed off into confusion.
“Nothing you don’t want,” he swore as he climbed back into bed
with her. “Just tell me and I’ll stop. As much as I would like to, we
have time. Our whole lives . . . together.”
“I don’t want you . . .” She closed her eyes once more, and her brow
wrinkled with emotion. “I don’t want you to stop. I want to know this,
feel this . . . the way you make me feel.”
Her eyes opened, those long-lashed hazel eyes he’d grown to love.
And she looked at him, her face so full of everything he felt that he
had no choice but to kiss her, to run his hands along her sides and
stroke her hardened nipples with his fingers.
How could it be that touching had somehow numbed his pain
when all his other senses blazed to life? With a smile, he imagined her
the cure for all his wounds, inside and out.
He lingered at her breasts, though he wanted more than anything
to undress her lower body and to fully make her his. Instead, he forced
himself to aching slowness, determined not to steal from her anything
she did not wish to give.
So it was that Yvette herself removed the last scraps of her clothing,
letting them fall carelessly onto the floor. And so it was she eagerly
accepted his caresses and eventually took courage to touch and
explore his body on her own. So that when he finally entered her, she
welcomed him, and after that first pain flashed across her features, he
saw nothing but the joy that climbed and climbed until it burst upon
the pinnacle into a thousand dazzling shards.
And with her release came his, so brilliant, so explosive, that he felt,
for the first time since Georgia, fully free.

The bay danced and tossed her head as Darien Russell smoothed
out the strap and fastened the final buckles on her harness. Colonel
Patterson tightened his grip on the driving lines and patted the horse’s
sleek brown neck.

“Needs a bit of a run to get the tickle out of those heels,” Colonel
Patterson advised him. “Gabby’s full of the devil, but she’s young and
willing. Keep her firmly in hand and she’ll settle right into her work.”

Darien thanked Patterson for the loan of his mare and a neat, black,
two-wheeled shay. The army mount Darien had borrowed earlier had
thrown a shoe and pulled up lame. But that at least gave Darien an
excuse to ask the colonel what had happened to the promised guards.

“Funny you should ask that,” Patterson told him. “Morrison and
O’Hara left here about an hour and a half ago. Someone at the
Soldiers’ Home told them Private Davis had been moved to Overton.
But when they got there to check, nobody knew a thing about him. I
sent them back out to ask at the hospitals about the girl. Assuming that
they’re not successful, I’ll put both men at your disposal. I’d like both
Miss Augeron and Private Davis found as quickly as possible.”

Patterson glanced down the street toward two soldiers walking in
their direction. “There they are now,” he said.
When the men saw the colonel outside watching, one quickened his
pace and broke into a jog. The second hesitated, then fell into step.
“We have an address on the young woman, sir,” the first and taller
of the two men said. He passed a slip of paper to the colonel.
“Mrs. Beacon’s on Beale Street. She’s at a boardinghouse?”
“That’s what one of the women at Gayoso told us,” the private
answered. Despite the fanged appearance given by a pair of jutting
eyeteeth, the young soldier had such a look of steely-eyed intelligence
that Darien was surprised by his low rank.
“Bring her in,” the colonel said to Darien. “I’ll want to speak to
her myself.”
“If this is the right one, she’s going by the name of Mrs. Caroline
Edwards,” the gray-eyed private continued, now speaking to Darien,
“and she’s played on the nurses’ sympathy with some tale about a
missing husband.”
“But the woman’s description matches?” Darien asked.
The other soldier nodded in response. A thick scar split his eyebrow,
and a surly expression marred his face. Something in his posture
convinced Darien he’d be reluctant to respond to any question that
couldn’t be answered with a movement of his pointed chin. The
soldier reminded him of a sullen schoolboy, but since the colonel
made no comment, Darien ignored the impulse to correct the private.
“Perfectly, sir,” the younger soldier added, as if he felt it necessary
to elaborate.
The woman was Yvette. Darien’s neck tingled with that conviction,
but he tamped down his optimism so it would not infuse his voice. He
had to find a way to be the one to capture her, and he must be certain
he did so alone.
Colonel Patterson squinted at him, then used his hand to shield
his eyes from the bright sunshine. “How about if I ride along,
Captain? It’s a fair enough day, and I’m feeling anxious to see this little
murderess of yours.”
Darien’s mood plummeted, even as he scrambled for some plausible excuse. He could almost hear the sharp snap of the rope at the
New Orleans gallows as his old friend Major Stolz was hung for
fraud. Nausea roiled in his stomach as he remembered the way the
man squirmed, suspended like a silk-wrapped fly caught in a spider’s
web. Darien refused to die in such disgrace, to make lies of his
grandfather’s predictions.
Yet he would if Yvette convinced the authorities where to look for
evidence. He would die, and she would watch and, worse yet, laugh.
Imagining that moment beaded perspiration on his forehead, sweat
unrelated to the brilliant sunlight.
But the awful images convinced him that, once again, he had no
other choice. He had to find some way to silence Yvette before
Patterson could meet her.

Beside Yvette, Gabriel slept soundly, one arm draped casually
across her shoulder. She watched his short gold lashes vibrate, the
way the muscles of his face spasmed just beneath the skin, then saw
his expression smooth out, all as if some dream had briefly troubled
him, then fled.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she stroked his blond hair, so pale
and fine against her own black tresses. Noon against her midnight,
North against her South. At that moment, all their differences came
into sharp relief, and Yvette wondered at the enormity of what they
had just done.

Had they forged an enduring link across the chasm of their varied
backgrounds, cultures, and religions? Or had their lust and loneliness
leapt the boundary of good sense?

He might think better of this now that he had taken what he’d
desired. No, she might as well be honest with herself. Gabriel had not
taken; she had given, willingly. But now that she had, would he still
want her? Would he still take her with him?

Gabriel sighed contentment in his sleep and pulled her to him,
spooning her body with his own. And with the closer contact, her
misgivings lifted like a haze of smoke cleared by a river breeze.

This
was home now, she realized as his arm tightened about her.
Not the Augerons’ fine town house, not the Creole quarter of New
Orleans, not even the South itself; those places were nothing but a past
forever lost. This place—these arms, this heart, this man—meant her
future. Gabriel was her home, wherever he might take her, and she
knew beyond any question that she would do anything to keep him
and all they would have safe.

Even if that meant leaving him right now to send another telegram
to Uncle André in St. Louis. Because now she felt more pressure than
ever to clear herself of charges and implicate Darien Russell in the
deaths of both her sister and Lieutenant Simonton. Because she knew
without a doubt that if Russell caught her first, he’d silence not only
her but Gabriel, and she could not allow that.

Nor could she allow Gabriel to come with her. For there was always
the possibility that Russell would anticipate this move, that he would
be watching the telegraph office with his steady raptor’s gaze. She
could only bear this risk if it were hers alone.

Yvette had nearly finished dressing when Gabriel awakened.
He reached out for her. “Come back here, Yvette.”
That sleepy smile and the tousled hair nearly melted her resolve.

Instead, she leaned over him and kissed his cheek.
“Dressing with an injured arm is not so very simple, and I suspect
that if I come too close, I’ll have to struggle through it all again.”
His smile stretched into a lazy grin. “I may be a little tired, but I
believe that I could make it worth your while.”
She felt herself blushing at the images that his words conjured.
Mon
Dieu,
but she would love nothing more than to taste his kisses one
more time. And so much more . . .
Wistfully, she sighed. “Gabriel . . . I will count the minutes until I
can return. But I have a thing that I must do right now.”
He sat up and reached for his pants. “Then I’ll come with you. I
don’t want Russell catching you alone.”
She shook her head. Despite his eagerness to bring her back to bed,
she could not forget how near to collapsing he had seemed before.
“You still look exhausted. Stay here, where you can eat and rest. It will
be better, anyway, if I do this thing alone.”
“What thing?”
She shook her head. “I have to send a message to the one person
who might make it possible for us to stay together.”
“Your uncle?”
She nodded. “It would be better if I tell you the details later.”
She bent to kiss his forehead and fought the temptation to linger
and then drop her lips to his.
Not now,
she warned herself. First she
must protect him from the consequences of her past.
“Please, Gabriel, just trust me. I will come back very soon,” she
promised.
He nodded. “All right, Yvette, but please . . . be careful and
be quick.”

When Patterson sighed and handed Darien the address, Russell
could scarcely believe his luck.
“I’m being unrealistic,” the colonel told him. “Much as I’d like to
come along, the general will send me to the godforsaken Indian
Territory if I don’t attend another pressing matter this afternoon.
Report back later this afternoon to apprise me of the situation. Oh, and
perhaps you’ll want to take this with you.”
Patterson passed him his own revolver. “It’s been fairly quiet here,
but since the president’s death, we’re afraid there may be pockets of
insurrection. Besides, this girl you’re after has already shown what she
can do. I suppose I don’t need to remind you not to go too easy on her
just because she’s female. We’ve had our own problems with vipers in
petticoats hereabouts. Not killers, perhaps, but the most treacherous
spies I’ve ever seen. One of them was engaged to half a dozen Union
officers throughout the occupation. I’m still trying to undo some of the
disruptions she caused.”
“Don’t worry,” Darien assured him. “I have no intention of proposing
to Miss Augeron or of turning my back on her for a second. Have a
good afternoon, sir.”
Feeling jubilant, Darien saluted the officer as he hurried back inside
the appropriated mansion. He then turned back toward the two soldiers
and held up the address.
“This could easily be another woman passenger,” he said in an
almost dismissive tone. “It wouldn’t do to harass an innocent survivor.
I’ll check with the owner of this boardinghouse. I’d like both of you to
go to the rail and steamboat ticket offices. I don’t want those two getting
out of Memphis. Why don’t you see if you can get mounts to speed
this up a bit?”
“Yes, sir.”
Predictably, only the younger soldier spoke. If this new order surprised
him, he didn’t show it.
Darien was too eager to leave the two to bother chastising the mute
man. Instead, as soon as the gray-eyed man directed him toward
Beale, he dismissed both men and climbed into the shay. With barely
a flick of the reins, the bay mare started off at a smart trot.
As he drove, a warm breeze carried the scent of river through a host
of bright spring blossoms. Darien sneezed and reached into his pocket
for a handkerchief to wipe his running nose and eyes. Despite the blue
sky and sunny weather, he despised this time of year.
In tribute to either the brilliant day or Memphis’s thriving commerce,
the streets were crowded with pedestrians, riders, carriages, and wagons
loaded with merchandise. Far too crowded to allow the energetic mare
a needed canter. As if to protest, she strained against the lines and
threw her feet out in an animated gait. Russell smiled, enjoying the
challenge of handling the spirited horse after years spent flogging
half-dead army hacks into sluggish trots.
He wondered if this fine animal and the little shay, too, had been
confiscated from the owners of the house Patterson had taken. For no
reason in particular, he thought back to the abandoned doll beneath
the bed where he had slept, then shrugged off an unexpected twinge
of pity.
When he reached the Beacon residence, a short, plump woman
answered the door. She wiped her floury hands on her apron.
“Yes?” she asked, eyeing his uniform with what appeared to be
suspicion.
Surely she didn’t imagine he’d come to requisition this hovel for
military use. He only took advantage of the greed of men already rich;
he had no intention of stealing from children and old ladies. Intent on
getting information quickly, he managed what he hoped passed for a
charming smile to put her mind at ease.
“Good afternoon, madam,” he told her. “I’ve just learned that a
dear friend of the family, Mrs. Caroline Edwards, was rescued from
the river and is staying here. I would so like to speak with her and
offer my assistance.”
The woman’s expression warmed immediately, and she returned
his smile with a far more genuine version.
“You’ll be so glad to know her husband’s turned up safe, too,” she
volunteered. “Poor young man has his hands all bandaged, and he
looks plenty tired, but I declare he’ll be just fine. He’s upstairs resting
right this very minute.”
Gabe Davis had found her then, and quickly, too, Darien thought.
And the two of them were posing as man and wife. He smiled, thinking
of this chink in Yvette’s armor of Southern feminine morality. She was
repaying the soldier for his help in the very coin he had imagined.
“And what of Mrs. Edwards?” he asked. “Is she resting upstairs
as well?”
“Oh, no. I’m afraid that you just missed her. She left about ten
minutes ago to run an errand,” Widow Beacon said, pointing out the
direction. “If you hurry, though, you might just catch her.”
This time, his smile was genuine. “Thank you so much for your
time, madam. I believe I’ll do that.”