The Bride (6 page)

With one arm around her waist John helped her stagger onto the rocky beach. “Over there,” he yelled above the roar of the wind and surf.

At first Eleanor didn’t know what he was saying, or what he meant as he pulled on her arm. She was tired. More tired than she’d ever been in her life and she’d just escaped a sea that seemed eager to swallow up her existence. Her breath was coming in gasps. She needed to rest. To drop to the ground and give in to exhaustion.

But he wouldn’t let her be, and finally she twisted toward him, ready to strike out if she must and see what he was coaxing her toward.

A shack of some description. Fishing or something. Eleanor was in no condition to care. But she yanked on her skirts and struggled across the wind and rain swept beach. She’d lost her shoes to the ocean and catching her toe on an exposed root, tripped.

But before she could fall, John scooped her into his arms. She nestled her face into his neck and he rushed on toward the shelter.

The door was open, hanging from its hinges, and pounding back and forth with each gust. As soon as John stumbled inside he dropped to his knees. “Are you all right?” His voice sounded raspy as he bent over where he’d settled her on the rough-hewn wood floor.

Eleanor nodded. Then after taking a deep breath she opened her eyes. “Are you?” He was very close to her and despite the dim light she could see the droplets of water on his long dark lashes. She reached up to touch his cheek, her breath catching on a sob when he covered her hand with his own. “I thought I was going to die.”

His eyes closed and he turned his mouth into her palm. The warmth of his breath seemed to force the chill from her bones.

“Then I saw you.” Her other hand reached out to brush aside the wet hair plastered to his face. “And I was so frightened.” She paused as his lashes lifted and his eyes met hers. “For you,” she finished, curving her fingers around his neck.

Eleanor didn’t know if she urged him down or if he came of his own volition, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and opened her mouth to him when his lips met hers. He tasted of salt and fear and the victory they’d both won over the storm and the sea. And she savored the flavor.

Outside, the fierce squall raged, sending the waves crashing against the shore. And inside, soaked and battered, a storm of another kind exploded between Eleanor and John.

T
here had been other women, other needs burning brightly through the years. But none so strong, so urgent as the one consuming him now. John drank of her kisses like a man possessed. His breathing rasped, nearly as loud as when he first staggered from the water.

The hem of her sodden gown lifted beneath his eager hands and he skimmed the moist warmth of her flesh. Her legs were long and slender. His fingers inched aggressively up the smooth skin, pressing higher with each ragged moan she uttered.

John quickly discarded her drawers, pulling them down, and tossing them aside. She gasped when he tangled his fingers in the curls at the apex of her thighs, but he swallowed the sound into his own mouth, and continued his quest.

Eleanor bucked, pushing herself more firmly into his palm when his finger entered her. Somewhere in the back of her mind rang a warning that she should stop him. He was touching her, caressing her, in places she’d been warned never to even think about. But it felt so wonderful. The heat, the passion engulfed her completely. And she banished any thoughts of bringing this magic to an end.

Clutching his broad shoulders, digging her fingers into the wet fabric of his coat, Eleanor answered him kiss for kiss. His tongue demanded, and she answered the call, spearing her own into his mouth. Sending her heart on a mad thundering ride.

And then something sent Eleanor’s head spinning. She cried out, unaware of what was happening, knowing only that she soared above the ramshackle cabin. Wave after wave of incredible pleasure washed over her and she held onto John now to keep herself from floating away completely.

A touch was all it had taken. John looked into her face, and marveled at how receptive she was to him. He never expected a response like hers. His own need burned till he thought he might explode. One hand fumbled with the wet fastener on his pants as his mouth dipped down to capture her lips. And that’s when he heard the voices.

It amazed John how he could hear Eleanor’s name being called, when earlier his desire had blocked out the rage of the storm. But now he realized the storm was past and only a smattering of raindrops sounded against the roof.

“What is it?” Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes round, her lips still moist from his kisses. “What’s wrong?”

“I heard something.” John pushed up on his elbows, the passion of moments ago still coursing through his veins.

“I don’t—” Eleanor paused when she heard the voices. “Oh, my goodness. It’s my father.” The truth of what was happening came crashing down on her, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move. She was lying on the splintery floor of an abandoned shack, soaking wet. Her skirts where pushed above her waist and she’d been doing the unspeakable with a man she hadn’t even known before this summer.

And she was about to be caught by her father.

Except that John seemed to have his wits about him. He was up reaching down and pulling her to standing before she knew what he was about. He yanked her sodden skirts down, then turned toward the door just as it fell open.

~ ~ ~

“How could you, Eleanor?”

Letting her head fall back against the pillow, Eleanor shut her eyes to the sight of her mother pacing about her bedroom. Every time she turned, Matilda paused to grab up her train and swish it around behind her.

“How could you go to that... shack with that man?”

Eleanor wasn’t sure which her mother resented most, that she’d been rescued by John Bonner, or that she’d sought refuge in a shack. Thank heavens she didn’t know what Eleanor did in that shack with John Bonner.

“Mother, I didn’t try to be swept off the sailboat,” Eleanor said wearily. Now that the ordeal was over she was incredibly tired.

Matilda looked as if she might argue that point, but just pursed her lips instead. “Your clumsiness was nearly the death of you. Now you know why I disapprove of you going out on boats.”

“Is that truly why, Mother?” Eleanor lifted her head. “I always thought it was because you knew I enjoyed it.”

Matilda’s eyes narrowed. They seemed as hard and cold as flint. “I see your ordeal has left you insufferably disrespectful.” She turned, flipping her train behind her. “I shall have to assume it is because of that Bonner man.” With her fingers on the gold door handle she paused. “Get some rest, Eleanor. Sir Alfred has already called once and I told him you were indisposed. By tomorrow I should think you could receive him.”

Eleanor watched her mother leave, then settled back on the velvet bedcover with a sigh.

She was being impertinent, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And she didn’t think it had anything to do with John Bonner. Though he overwhelmed her so completely that maybe he controlled her mind too and she just didn’t know it. Eleanor giggled at the thought, then clasped her hand over her mouth in case someone might hear her.

Wouldn’t they wonder why she was so giddy? Tall, awkward, Eleanor Fiske. Giddy with love.

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Eleanor rolled over. She pressed her breasts into the mattress, nearly moaning at the memories her tingling nipples brought to mind.

John Bonner. Tall, brave and incredibly handsome loved her. He’d risked his life to save her. Like a knight in shining armor. At first when she saw him in the water Eleanor had assumed he’d been swept overboard much as she was. But her father and Sir Alfred both saw him dive in after her.

How fearless. How courageous. Eleanor couldn’t come up with enough adjectives to describe her beloved. She remembered how frightened she’d been, the waves tossing her about. And how she felt when she knew he was there with her.

She loved him There was no denying it.

And he loved her, too.

Oh, perhaps he hadn’t said so. Not in words anyway. But he jumped in after her. And later, in the shack, he did such marvelous things to her with his hands and mouth. Eleanor nearly swooned thinking of it. She nestled her cheek against the pillow, a smile on her lips and fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

She wanted to see him. Eleanor was fairly bursting from her skin with the need to be with John Bonner. To hear his voice. To touch his whisker-roughened cheek. To see his grin.

“Would you sit still, Eleanor.” Matilda straightened her hat and stared out the victoria’s window at the procession of polished black carriages traveling along the horseshoe shaped circuit along Bellevue Avenue.

“I don’t know why I had to come calling with you this afternoon, Mother.” Eleanor let out her breath in exasperation.

“I told you. Your escapade is the talk of Newport and we have to show everyone that you are all right.” Matilda settled back against the velvet upholstery. “There’s Minny Simpson, sending her card into the Van Mullins’. Doesn’t she realize they aren’t going to receive her?”

The Van Mullins received Eleanor and her mother, of course. While they would normally have had their footman simply deliver their card to Mrs. Van Mullin’s footman, today Matilda marched Eleanor up to the door.

The drawing room was decorated in French Gothic, with huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the frescoed ceiling. Eleanor sat on a coral silk chair and listened as Mrs. Van Mullin went on and on about her rescue at sea.

“I just can’t believe how gallantly you were plucked from the arms of death,” she remarked, spreading her own arms out in a melodramatic parody of her words. She wore a collar that nearly touched her chin and Eleanor wondered how she could swallow, wrapped up as she was.

Of course, Eleanor was none too comfortable herself. Her mother had chosen the gown, a dark burgundy with ruffles and bows and enough padding to make her feel she might topple over backwards when she walked. Her eyes strayed to the ceiling high windows and she looked longingly out over the manicured lawn to the sea below. If she could only escape for a bit to walk along the rocky shore, perhaps John would be waiting for her.

Eleanor didn’t realize how much her mind had wondered until her mother reached over and gave her a pinch. “Mrs. Van Mullin asked you a question, dear.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Eleanor felt color creep up to her cheeks.

“It’s to be expected Eleanor, after what you’ve been through. I’m just so thankful Sir Alfred was there to rescue you.”

“Sir Alfred?” Eleanor blinked, “It wasn’t Sir—”

“Of course, he wasn’t alone,” Matilda interrupted. “My dear Franklin searched frantically for our Eleanor, too.”

“But—”

“Now we mustn’t bore Mrs. Van Mullin with all the details, Eleanor. I’m sure she has calls to make and goodness knows we do.”

Matilda managed to hustle them out of the house smoothly and it wasn’t until mother and daughter were settled in the carriage that Eleanor asked, “What were you saying in there? You know very well it was John Bonner who rescued me.”

Matilda took a deep breath, sucking her cheeks in as she did. “It really isn’t important that everyone know all the details.”

“Leaving out a few details is different from lying, Mother.”

“That will be enough, Eleanor. I have heard entirely too much about this John Bonner. Entirely too much.”

The rest of their ride was accomplished in silence. Matilda left her card at a half-dozen mansions, then headed home to see who had called on her while she was away. Such a silly routine, Eleanor thought. Sometimes the good ladies of Newport society dressed themselves, spent the afternoon on “visits” and never saw anyone.

But at least this visiting time was over and Eleanor decided she would not go with her mother tomorrow. Somehow she would get word to John Bonner to meet her. Perhaps down past the orchard where they—

“Are you listening to me, Eleanor?”

“What? Oh, yes. You said to wear the purple Worth gown... didn’t you?”

“I said that Sir Alfred is joining us this evening and that you are to take special care with your toilette.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And Eleanor do try to think of something clever to say to Sir Alfred tonight.”

As it turned out, Eleanor had no trouble with what to say to Sir Alfred. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” They were walking along the porch, enjoying the sea breeze. And Sir Alfred had just asked her to marry him.

He stopped, and in the light shining through the French doors, Eleanor could see the astonished expression on his pinched face. “I don’t understand. I thought you wished to wed me.”

“If I’ve given you that impression, please forgive me.”

His eyes narrowed and he reached out grabbing hold of the balustrade with both hands. Hunched forward, he stared out toward the sea for so long Eleanor was at a loss what to do. She would never have expected her refusal to affect him so. Tentatively she reached out and touched his sleeve.

“Sir Alfred, I don’t think—”

“That’s quite right, Miss Fiske. You don’t think.” He turned on her so quickly, Eleanor stepped back, her hand fluttering to her throat. “You have been hovering about me all summer. And your mother certainly led me to think—”