The Gamble (I) (58 page)

“I am. I’ve known since the day of the wedding. Maybe even before that.”

She looked pained. “Then why have you waited all this time to tell me?”

“I didn’t know what you wanted first, t’ be told or shown. And you’re so different. You’re fine and special and pure, the kind of woman a man woos for a while.”

“Then put the lantern down, Scott... and the gun...” she begged softly. “And show me.”

He stooped and in one fleet motion left them in the dark. When he came back up their embrace was immediate, their kiss intemperate, all seeking tongues and circling arms and driving breath—a clinging desire filled with impatience and a need to make up for lost time.

She threw her arms up and her head back, and the towel came loose from her head. He plunged one hand into her damp hair while hers spread upon his shoulder blades, running their width to learn the exquisite feel of his cool skin and taut muscle. He clamped an arm around her waist and drew their bodies so close the dampness from his trousers
seeped through the dressing gown along her thighs.

One kiss followed another, growing more ardent, slanting this way, then that, while he found her breast with its cold, puckered nipple pressing against the wet garments. The moment he touched it she caught a breath in her throat and held it.

He fondled her until she began to breathe again... as if she were running uphill.

He reached for her belt and she thought of Violet’s words and put up no resistance. The belt joined the towel on the floor and he parted the dressing gown, running his hand inside. She shivered.

“You’re cold,” he murmured against her forehead.

“Yes.”

“I can warm you.”

“Shall I let you?”

He kissed her and found the buttons at her shoulder. The wet undergarment folded beneath its own weight, exposing a single breast. Cupped, it filled his palm, the skin still cold, beaded, drawn. She shivered again from the transfer of heat as much as from the response that skittered down her stomach. Inside her wet clothing he found her other breast, puckered, too, with cold, and warmed it. Warmed her mouth with his tongue. Her wet stomach with his own. Her thighs with his thighs.

So fast,
she thought,
so fierce the transition from want to wanton. So this is how it happens, not in a marriage bed, but in a hall, standing at a doorway while your knees turn to pudding and your skin to embers and you experience for the first time a man’s turgid body impressing yours.

Ignorant but eager, she lifted to him, took her fill of kisses, touched his damp hair as he’d touched hers, followed the tutelage of his tongue and lips, wondering if in a lifetime she would ever be able to make him understand what he meant to her. Words seemed paltry, yet she whispered, clasping his cheeks and letting her breath mingle with his.

“When you left Kansas I wanted to cry but I couldn’t. My sorrow went too deep. But I grieved daily, and it could have been no harder had you died.”

She kissed his chin, felt his jaw move as he spoke in a voice thick and gruff. “I asked myself over and over why I was leaving you. I didn’t want to, but there was nothing else I could do.”

“I thought about dying,” she whispered. “Sometimes I wished I would.”

“No, Gussie... no.” He kissed her in quick hard motions, as if to force the memory from her head.

“It seemed preferable to living without you. I had always been lonely, but after you were gone I thought I’d never before guessed the true meaning of the word. I despaired of ever feeling this with you, and you were the first man I’d ever lain beside and I knew there could be no other. Not for me. Not ever.”

“Shh! Love, that’s over.”

Again they kissed while his hands moved over her with new urgency, as if to reiterate the promise. Her breasts warmed, his caress grew gentler.

“That night we kissed on the landing it was hard for me to keep from doin’ this.”

“I wouldn’t have let you then.”

“Why?”

“Because you were leaving.”

“But I didn’t want t’ leave you. At the last minute I was sick at the thought.”

“Sick? Were you really? I thought I was the only one who felt like that—sick, from longing, from emptiness.”

“No, you weren’t the only one.”

“But you had Jube. You didn’t have to be alone.”

“When you don’t love someone, you still feel alone.”

“You never loved her?”

“Never. We used t’ talk about it, wish we felt more for each other. But we just never did.”

Inside her opened garment he ran his hand down her cool back, down her cold buttocks. She pressed closer and found herself amazed at how little guilt she felt at letting him fondle her so intimately.

“Scott?”

“Shh!” He kissed her and swept a hand around her hip, to the front, down her stomach.

She drew back gently and halted it. “There’s something I must say to you. Please... please stop and listen.”

He obeyed, holding her by both hips, while she rested her hands on his chest.

“When I was leaving Proffitt, Violet said something to me that has been on my mind a lot since then. She confessed that when she was young she had a lover. She called it the most wonderful experience of her life, one that no woman should miss.”

“Violet?”

She sensed his surprise, though she could see nothing of his face in the blackness. “Yes, Violet.” With her fingertips she feathered the hair on his chest. “Then she said she hoped Mr. Gandy would see the light and take me for his lover, if not for his wife. I imagine that’s where this is heading, and I want you to know, Scott, that if you want me for only a lover, I’ll agree. I’ll invite you into my room and... and... I would learn to... that is... I would do whatever...”

In the dark he tipped her chin up and kissed her, then folded both arms around her and clasped his hands at the base of her spine.

“How brazen of you, Miz Downin’.”

She knew the dimples had appeared, though she couldn’t see them. Flustered, she rushed on. “But if it’s possible that you want me for something more than a lover, I’d like to request respectfully that we put this off so that it can happen in the master bedroom, in the bed where you were conceived and born, because I should not want to conceive any of your babies anyplace else in this house.” She felt the chuckles building in his chest and her face became hotter and hotter, but she drew a shaky breath and forged on. “And if there is not even the remotest possibility, well, then I respectfully request that we delay this until I have the opportunity to ask some personal and highly feminine questions to Leatrice, because I’m quite sure she would know how I might prevent myself from getting with child.”

Now she was certain she felt his chest shake with silent laughter.

“Why, Agatha, is this a proposal?”

She bridled slightly. “It most certainly is not. I’m simply stating my wishes before it’s too late to do so.”

“But you’ve even brought up conceivin’ babies—it certainly sounds like a proposal t’ me. Shouldn’t we have the light on for this?”

“Don’t you dare, Scott Gandy!”

She felt his hands enclose her upper arms and put her away from him. When he spoke again, all vestiges of teasing had left his voice. “Button up anything you want buttoned, and tie anything you want tied, because I’m goin’ t’ turn the lantern back on, Gussie.”

“Please, don’t, Scott.” She would wither with self-consciousness when the lamp shone on her flushed face. But it flared to life and she had no choice but to cover herself hastily and confront the man who’d just caressed her wet, naked skin in the dark.

He held both her hands and looked her full in the face, utterly sober now.

“Agatha Downin’, will you marry me?” he asked—just like that. Her mouth dropped open and not a word came out as he rushed on. “In the wedding alcove with everyone we know and love actin’ as witnesses? Just the way my parents planned it, and with Willy there to put his stamp of approval on us, which is the way it oughta be since we’re already a family, right?”

She covered her lips with three fingertips and her eyes flooded.

“Oh, Scott.”

“Well, you didn’t think I was goin’ t’ let you conceive my bastard babies in the downstairs bedroom just so Willy could have some playmates, did you? What kind of example would that be for the boy?”

“Oh, S... Scott,” she blubbered again. But she was clinging to his neck and crying. “I love you so much.” She kissed his neck, hard. “And I’ve wished for this, for Willy and you and me, for so long, but I never thought it would happen.”

With his excitement growing, he held her far enough away to delve into her eyes with his own. “Say yes, Gussie.
Then we’ll wake up Willy and tell him.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

She hugged him once more. Then they kissed, standing in their mutual puddle, with her bare toes on top of his and her hair plastered to her head and his drying in spikes.

When she backed away, she laughed and covered her hair with both hands. “Scott Gandy, you’re awful, asking a woman such a thing when she’s wet and bedraggled. If you knew how many times I’d imagined this scene, and how many times I fussed with my hair and primped with my dresses because I knew I was going to be with you. Then you pick a time like this to ask me. I look awful!”

He grinned. “I was just goin’ t’ mention that, Agatha.” Then he handed her the lantern—“Here, hold this”—and plucked her up in both arms. “You look fine t’ me,” he told her as he headed for the grand staircase. “However, if you’re goin’ t’ turn into a nag, I may decide t’ change my mind.”

She folded her free arm around his neck. “Just try it.”

“Oh, and by the way, the weddin’ night at Waverley is fine, but I intend for us t’ honeymoon at White Springs, where we can have a little privacy.”

“White Springs... mmm...” she murmured against his lips.

Climbing the stairs and kissing simultaneously made for uncertain progress. But they managed it beautifully.

Heedless of their damp clothes, they sat on the edge of Willy’s bed and shook him awake.

“Hey, Willy, wake up.”

Willy opened puffy eyes and screwed up his face. “Hmm?”

“We have somethin’ t’ tell you.”

He sat up and rubbed both eyes with his knuckles. “What?” he demanded grumpily.

“Gussie and I are goin’ t’ get married.”

Willy’s eyes flew open. “You are?”

“How ‘bout that?”

“Really married?”

Agatha beamed. “Really married.”

“You mean so you could be my ma and pa then?”

“Exactly,” she repeated, “so we could be your ma and pa then.”

“Garsh!” he enthused. Full realization hit him and a crooked smile began to tilt his face. “Garsh... really?” He lit up like the Willy they’d expected, and he popped up on his knees to hug Agatha, the closest one.

“A real ma and pa!” He backed off suddenly. “Hey, you’re wet!”

“We’ve been swimmin’.”

“Oh.” He considered a moment, then said, “In the middle of the night?”

“We were hot,” Scott added.

“Oh.” Without missing a beat, he inquired, “Could we have some babies then?”

Agatha colored, laughed, and flashed a brief glance at the man behind her. “It’s all right with me if it’s all right with Scott.”

“Could we, Scotty? I want a brother.”

“A brother, huh? What about a sister?”

“I don’t want no sister. Girls are dumb.”

Scott and Agatha laughed. Then he agreed. “All right, one brother. But will you give us a while t’ work on that, or do we have t’ have him as soon as the knot’s tied?”

Willy grinned and suddenly decided to act silly. He braced his hands on the bed and kicked twice like a donkey. “Right away! Right away!”

Agatha recognized wildness when she saw it coming on. “All right, Willy, you can celebrate in the morning. Now it’s time to tuck back in again.”

When they’d kissed him and received giant hugs and Willy had exuberantly beaten his heels against the mattress, and they’d laughed and settled him down once more, they slipped from his room, leaving the door ajar.

Scott picked up Agatha in his arms and started down the stairs.

“You don’t have to carry me, you know.”

“I know.” He nipped her lips with his own, then licked her ear. “I like to.”

She laid her head against the arch of his neck and savored the ride. Reaching her room, he pushed her door wider with
a bare foot, carried her through sideways and laid her on the bed, then braced a hand on either side of her head.

His voice became an intimate murmur in the dark. “I want t’ start workin’ on that baby brother right now, y’ know.”

“I know. So do I.”

“Are you sure you want one?”

“Maybe more than one. How about you?”

“If they all turn out like Willy, how about seventeen?”

She laughed and pressed her stomach with both hands. “Oh, please, no.”

Their playfulness ended and he kissed her lingeringly. “I love you, Gussie. And, God, it feels so good.”

“I love you, too, Scott, and I’ll make the best wife you could ever wish for—just wait and see.”

He kissed her again until they both felt their resolve dangerously weakened.

“See you in the mornin’,” he whispered.

She held him to her with sudden fierceness, marveling that he was he, and she, she, and that fairy-tale endings happened after all.

“And for all the mornings for the rest of our lives.”

He kissed her forehead and slipped from the room.

When he was gone she crossed her arms over her breasts, fists tight, guarding it all fiercely so none of it could escape, not a nuance, not an iota.

Mrs. LeMaster Scott Gandy!
she rejoiced disbelievingly.

They would be married the afternoon of July 15, a day that began with heavy morning rains. When the sun came out it blanketed Waverley with sweltering heat. Inside, the mansion was bearable, however, with the veranda doors and jib windows thrown open downstairs, the rotunda windows opened high above.

One of the wedding guests would be Violet Parsons. She’d come a week earlier to help Agatha make her wedding gown, and now, as Agatha donned it, the blue-haired woman tittered and beamed.