Paxton Pride (4 page)

Karen's hands traveled the path his imaginary hands must take, touching lightly her cheeks, lifting a curl from her shoulder, touching her breasts, with fingers inscribing small circles around the taut, distended nipples. And then the hands alive and of their own volition traveled down, down to brush lightly over mons and stroke aching thighs … her warmth, his hands.…

She bolted upright at the voice. A man's voice, clear and strong, deep and melodious, singing softly, evidently to no one in particular. Karen jumped to her feet and with fumbling fingers quickly laced the bodice. Sweat beaded her forehead and she glanced around. Had someone been watching her? She could see no one. She wanted to hide, to run, but couldn't decide where to or in what direction. The singing drew closer. Someone was walking up the stream. She could make out the splashing steps. If she could only find her shoes … but there was no time. The owner of the voice stepped from around a hillock and stopped short, but fifteen paces from her. “So beat the drum slowly, and play the pipes …” The singer halted in mid-song, startled by her presence. Karen stood unmoving, shocked. The man before her was none other than the Texan she had seen at the Capitol. He stood ankle deep in water, boots in hand, and doffed his flop-brimmed hat.

“Pardon me, ma'am. I never figured on running into anyone out here.”

Karen forced her eyes from the bronzed, brown fur-matted muscular chest and the gold, strangely shaped amulet that nestled there. “I … I come here quite often,” she finally answered defensively. “I live near by.”

Vance's eyes roved approvingly over her lithe figure, stopped at swelling breasts and tiny waist, then strayed back to the shock of unruly honey gold hair. With a grin he stepped from the water. Karen stepped as quickly back from the bank. “Begging your pardon, ma'am,” he assured her, “but I just realized the water is mighty cold.”

Karen was determined not to let him sense her discomfort. He's even taller, close up, she reflected. She attempted to assume her most aristocratic pose, despite her muddy feet.

“I don't mean to be forward,” the Texan said, “but don't I know you?” Vance was very close now and his voice was quiet, soothing, as if directed for her ears only, so even the trees wouldn't overhear.

“Why … no … I don't think …”

“Of course. This morning at the Capitol. You were in the rotunda. I remember well.”

“Why, yes … I suppose you're correct, but I don't seem to remember you,” she lied, her breath coming a little too quickly.

The Texan smiled, displaying two even rows of white teeth. “Well, you did look kind of busy.”

“I think I remember …” Why was she talking so rapidly? “I was conversing with Senator Duffy.”

“I didn't have time to pay my respects, but I certainly intend to do so this moment, Miss …?”

“Hampton. Karen Hampton.”

“I'm Vance Paxton. And most pleased to meet you.” The lanky Texan squatted down where Karen had been lying and looked up at her. His eyes, blue and deep, flashed innocently. “Care to join me, Miss Hampton?”

Karen considered. Proper etiquette required her to leave immediately, but curiosity and an adventuresome spirit insisted she stay. The scales tipped to the latter as the innocent look in the Texan's eyes gave way to one of daring. Karen was willfully confident she could handle any dare.

She sat next to him, arranging the full skirt daintily. Vance smiled, his eyes narrowing as he squinted up at the receding late afternoon sun. “I didn't think Washington ladies ventured into the forest unescorted,” he said, his voice faintly mocking.

“This is a park, Mr. Paxton. They don't have parks in Texas?”

Vance chuckled aloud. “Ma'am, all of Texas is a park.” He paused a moment. “You know where I'm from.”

Karen started, embarrassed at being caught in the lie. To cover her embarrassment she picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them one by one into the creek, the plink plink of each stone interrupting the uncomfortable quiet. Vance appreciatively studied the curve of her back, partially hidden by thick golden cascades of hair. Now that her eyes were averted, he could examine her profile. A wave of hair couldn't disguise completely the high forehead. Her nose was slightly upturned, a nose bespeaking curiosity and impishness. Lips a little too tight, a little too dry, parted and hinted of secret, hidden sensuality as her tongue flicked nervously over them. The chin not weak, not too strong; argumentative perhaps but not intransigent. Her skin was creamy white, but not the sickly pale of the rest of the northerners. Rather a healthy, glowing ivory. Green eyes, into which one might wish to dive, to be willingly lost forever, glowed with an inner light and hinted of the woman hidden beneath the child-like innocence of her face.

Karen sensed his perusal and despite her efforts a soft flush crept up her cheeks. “I … I come here often … to be alone,” she said, her voice giving further evidence of her discomfort.

“Miss Hampton. It would be ungracious of me if I did not say you are a very lovely woman.”

Karen felt his hand touch hers, grasping it in his own sun-browned, calloused fingers, lifting it to his lips, kissing it softly. She withdrew her hand from his grasp and rose abruptly, head swimming and legs weak. She had to clear her throat before speaking. “As you are a visitor to Washington, sir, perhaps I might take it upon myself to guide you through Rock Creek Park. It's a lovely place. Much that is special and beautiful about Washington is to be found here.”

“So I have discovered.” Vance rose and gave a slight bow. “Ma'am, following you would be one of the few pleasurable experiences of my entire stay here in the capital.”

“Is that what they call ‘southern cordiality,' Mr. Paxton?”

“Only the truth, simply stated, Miss Hampton.”

Karen flashed a smile, put on her slippers and stepped off down the trail. Vance fell in behind her, watching the gentle sway of her hips. He wondered to himself whether or not to reveal to the ravishing woman in front of him how he had been so struck by her beauty he had spent the afternoon following her all over Washington to the foot of Rock Creek Bridge, how he had watched her from afar, desperately pondering the best way to make her acquaintance. It was a game he was unused to playing. Karen turned, smiled back at him. The path was wide enough for two now and she held out her hand. He took it and joined her and they started off together. The clean, heady scent of spring clover and newly-budded flowers clung to her shapely form. If it was a game, Vance thought, it was well worth the playing.

Karen and Vance followed the path as it led from tiny glade to high brushed knoll and down again to creek side. From there it sloped gently up again through dogwood, white blossoms blazing in dappled golden afternoon light, to pause on the fringe of an expansive meadow. An old blockhouse had fallen to ruin near the wooded fringe, leaving behind only half a vine-choked wall and a length of stone fence along which a host of berry bushes clung. Having cooled themselves with water from the creek, the couple meandered through the high growth toward the blockhouse.

“This is a famous spot in Georgetown.”

“Famous for what?”

“Fighting. People call it the Dueling Wall. It hasn't been used for ages. Dueling is illegal, of course. Still, if a couple of senators or congressmen want to have it out and settle their differences violently, there would be no one to stop them. The police are too busy catching pickpockets and lawless Negroes to worry about enforcing the law when it comes to politicians.”

“You are too young and beautiful to be so cynical, Miss Hampton,” Vance chuckled.

“My father is too wealthy for me to be anything but cynical, Mr. Paxton,” Karen retorted, playfully darting out of sight among the vines. Her voice came from behind the wall. “I used to play here as a child.”

“What did you play?” Vance asked, plunging in after her.

She waited by the wall until he appeared, her delicate features set off by the dark, rough-hewn stones. “Why, house, of course. What do little boys play in Texas?”

Vance stopped in front of her, suddenly serious. “I never got around to playing much. As soon as I could walk Pa had me out tending to any chore I could manage. And some I couldn't. When I got so's I could ride the local trail boss took me on as a button on a drive to Kansas.”

“A button?”

“Yep. That's what they call the fellow who gets all the jobs nobody wants. And the first one everybody kicks when the going gets rough.”

“Goodness,” Karen said excitedly.

Vance sighed before continuing. “Pa always figured a man's got to earn his lumps before taking on the responsibilities of a ranch. It's the only way he can figure out if he's right or wrong for the job. Try it on for size, so to speak.” Vance drew closer to Karen who stepped back, stopped by the wall behind her blocking her retreat. “A man … and a woman … ought to try the thing out before deciding whether it's right or wrong, too. Makes sense, doesn't it?”

Vance's face was only inches from Karen. She wanted to flutter her eyelids, laugh and spin away flirtatiously, keeping her beauty out of reach. All she could manage was a weak, “No.” The protest was cut short as Vance brought his lips to hers and slowly, slowly forced her head back against the wall. I should be fighting, calling for help, anything but this, Karen thought, but her arms, as if with a will and mind of their own, encircled his neck. He felt even stronger than he looked, she reflected as her hands ranged the length of his back. Her breasts tightened, strained against the bodice so cruelly holding them in, so cruelly interceding between flesh and flesh. His left hand pressed along her throat, then down to her right breast, the fingers probing gently under the bodice and chemise, hungrily seeking the taut nipple and touching it with fire. Karen's lips parted greedily to accept the tongue that entered. Dazed and afire, wildly seeking to fulfill the newfound hunger, she arched feverishly to him, moaning as she felt the hardness of his manhood pressed to her thigh, straining, as her breasts, to be free and find the flesh it so desperately sought.

My God, she suddenly thought, I am Karen Hampton, not some street hussy or Texas bar queen. A sharp cry of protest broke from her and with a surprising show of strength she pushed Vance away, tears springing to her eyes. “No … no! You have no right … you forget yourself, sir. They were right …” Her voice caught and she sobbed. “You … you're a barbarian. Worse. A … a … Texan!” And with that worst of all epithets, she broke from him and ran from the blockhouse, scrambled through a gap in the fence and tore across the meadow toward the distant palatial homes.

Vance, taken totally unaware by Karen's outburst, watched helplessly as the diminishing figure of the young woman fled. Even when her body was no longer in sight he could see the flashing of her golden hair in the dying light of the sun. He watched spellbound until even that disappeared before turning back to the woods and thoughtfully heading back for his carriage. Karen Hampton … Karen Hampton … Karen Hampton. The name echoed through his mind over and over again, accompanied by the ache in his loins and the disturbing, haunting image of flashing green eyes, cascading golden hair and warm breasts.

CHAPTER III

Karen paused behind the row of hedges marking the farthest boundary of Iantha's garden. She sank to her knees, choking on the sobs that refused to stop. “Damn him,” she cried, “he had no right … no right at all … to be there.” She tore a bit of cloth from her petticoat and dabbed the tears from her eyes and face, fighting for control, for breath until the sobbing finally subsided. Trembling fingers laced the front of her dress for the third time that day as she made her way to the ornamental pool. The last bare glimmer of light showed a red and puffy face and eyes, and hair beyond any hope of order. There was nothing to be done about the hair so she didn't try. Her face was another matter though, so she ripped a larger strip off her petticoat and set to work. Fifteen minutes later the cool water had done its work and, her composure recovered, she began the brief walk to the front of the house.

She drove the images of the afternoon's experience, the confused array of thoughts that endangered her self-control, from her mind. As she rounded the corner of the house she noticed a carriage drawn up before the front porch. Alfred's! That was all she needed.
Oh, God! What could he possibly be doing here at such an hour?
She hesitated for a moment, then struck out boldly in the realization his presence would be an advantage; Barrett would hardly make a scene in front of the young congressman. She thrust the afternoon from her and concentrated on the confrontation to come.

Ross was there to let her in. Cold and efficient as ever, he allowed not the slightest expression of surprise to cross his face. “Shall I announce you, Miss Hampton?”

“That won't be necessary,” Karen answered curtly, breezing past him imperiously.

Ross' voice halted her in mid-stride at the bottom of the great staircase. “Your father and Mr. Whitaker are in the library.”

“I'll go up and change first, Ross. I'm afraid I'm quits a mess. If you'll be so kind as to tell Retta I'm here.”

“Karen!” Alfred Randol Whitaker II exclaimed from the doorway of the library. Karen's face soured with resignation, but by the time she turned to greet her intended the scowl had turned into a demure smile, somewhat at odds with her disheveled appearance.

Barrett Hampton appeared behind Alfred. “This waiting is simply inexcusable … Dear God! What ever has happened to you?”

Karen shrugged, her eyes wide in an expression of total innocence. “Nothing, Father. I spent some time in the park. As I was walking in I fell. I'm afraid I must appear a trifle scruffy. Perhaps I'd better continue upstairs and change.”

“And you may come right back down and join us. It's a good thing your mother isn't here to see you. I only hope none of the neighbors …”