Cachet (19 page)

"It's going to be bad, isn't it?"

He nodded without glancing up. "Rough seas ahead, aye. Go sit in the chair by the stove. I'll get our trunks stowed and be there in a moment." She watched him latch their trunks and wedge them against one another to keep them from shifting. "We'll be all right, Rachel."

She waited beside the stove and eagerly curled onto his lap when he took the chair. "Thank you," she sighed. "You know I can't take bad weather. And I'm very glad you're here. I'd have gone crazy facing this alone. I know it may be too late, but—" She abruptly abandoned the attempt to talk and instead gave him an ardent kiss. "I've missed you so much!" she murmured afterward, burying her face against his shoulder. "You seem to have forgotten how much I enjoy your arms and your kiss. I don't want you to go back to England without me."

"Ah, Rachel." He slanted his mouth across hers. His arms tightened around her until she could barely breathe. They were still locked in a passionate embrace when seawater sloshed under the cabin door.

She scrambled off his lap. "Morgan, the door! The ship must be sinking!"

He crossed to the window in two strides. "No, it's not. The waves are just so high, they're breaking over her bow." He dragged the bathtub out and set her trunk inside it. He wedged his large trunk between the foot of the bunk and the end wall of the cabin, then set his smaller trunk on top. "There. At least your things will stay dry, no matter what."

The puddle of seawater spread toward the stove. Morgan tossed several lumps of coal inside. "We can anticipate a damned chilly night. Banking the fire should help dry out the flooring. Hopefully there won't be much more water coming across the decks, but we'll stay driest in the bunk."

She hesitated. "I'll need my trunk to get my nightdress."

"You don't need one," he told her, thinking he'd only peel it off her, anyway. He'd been waiting for a sign from her. Her claim that she'd missed his attentions and her kiss were enough to have him randy and ready. He watched her disrobe and slip into bed. He turned down the lamp, leaving the cabin dark but for the glow from the stove. He stripped quickly and climbed into the bunk to envelop her in his arms.

"Please do what you did at the cottage that day. Kiss me and make me forget about the storm," Rachel whispered, shivering.

"Aha! So your sudden passion has more to do with the evil weather than with me."

"Not completely. I have missed you. It just took a storm and thunder to make me brave enough to curl up with you despite your reluctance."

"Consider it dissolved. Were you always so terrified of thunderstorms?" She was still trembling, but not quaking as violently as before he'd wrapped his body around hers. Morgan concentrated on her answer rather than the feel of her flesh.

"No, something happened one night in Oregon during a storm. I can't forget it, and now storms just seem to bring the whole horrible episode to mind."

"One of those beatings from Cletus"

She shook her head. "He wasn't there. I was all alone and it had been pouring rain in buckets the whole day." Morgan wondered if she realized tears were trickling from her eyes. She seemed almost in a trance. "It was dark when my labor started. I tried walking to the neighboring farmstead, but the mud was so deep, I just sank in it to my knees. The pains were too bad. I called out for help, but no one could hear me over the rain and thunder. I made it back into the house and stripped off my muddy clothes, tried to build up the fire...If I'd had someone, help...My daughter was born late that night. Dead."

"I'm sorry, sweetness," he whispered, cradling her against his shoulder. "So damned sorry."

"I named her Sara. I held her to my breast and tried to warm her, but she went cold. The rain stopped two days later. I wrapped her in a blanket and buried her on the edge of our property."

"Where was Cletus? Why wasn't he with you?"

"He went to town for supplies. Of course, the main supply we were low on was sour mash. He always forgot the time once he found a card game or saloon."

Morgan swore softly under his breath. No wonder she hated to see a man drink, he thought. He cursed Cletus Nash and secretly agreed with her that the man deserved eternal damnation.

"My only reward for putting up with Cletus would have been that child," Rachel hiccuped, "And she was taken from me. I never forgave him, never spoke another civil word to him after that. Sara was my second failure. I'd miscarried a year before. But it was better that way. No child should have a useless drunken father. He just stood there when I told him his child had come stillborn. He just stared at me. It meant nothing to him, except another excuse to crawl into a bottle."

Although he suspected she was right, he tried to lessen her mental distress. "Perhaps he did care in his own way, Rachel. It's hard to imagine any man not being affected by the death of his own flesh and blood. Perhaps he didn't know how to show his feelings, or maybe he simply had no better to give."

"He knocked me across the farmhouse not a month later and blackened my eye. Kicked me face down in the mud because his supper was cold. How could that be anyone's best?" She struggled to sit up. "Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not. But I want you to finally accept that he's gone. He can't answer your charges or defend himself. He can't hurt you anymore. He's dead, Rachel."

"Yes, and I only wore black because my father made me. I hated Cletus. Hated that I'd ever been forced to live with him."

"Then why do you still?" Morgan asked her. She sucked in a gasp, clearly surprised. "You're wed to me, but still living with Cletus. You still fear you'll be beaten. You're still afraid of letting your husband know what's in your heart. I may have manipulated you into this union initially, but you haven't given me or the marriage a fair chance."

She turned tormented eyes to him. "It's not just Cletus. There's so much in my past that can hurt us! I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to lose another child. God, not
your
child! I couldn't take that. This time it would kill me."

Not your child
.
I couldn't take that...it would kill me
.

Morgan closed his eyes and opened them again to make certain he wasn't dreaming. Rachel was huddled with her back against the cabin wall, crying softly. She'd just confessed what he'd been aching to hear. Selling his granary, chasing her down in London, forcing her to become his wife—it had all been worth it. She loved him.

"Love, listen to me." He gently shook her until she met his gaze. "It's different when I kiss you and touch you, isn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Then the rest can be different, too. Don't you see that? Sweetheart, I'll teach you everything about loving. I'll never beat you like he did. And should God grant us a child, I'll have the doctor to the cottage. Every day, if that's what it takes to ensure you and the baby are well. I'd never leave you to face childbirth alone. I'd help you through it, I swear." He pressed his signet against hers. "On my family's name and my honor, I swear, Rachel."

"I should have told you long ago I'd fallen in love with you," she confessed sadly. "You probably won't believe it now. But I do love you, Morgan."

His voice was thick with emotion. "How could I disbelieve it? You couldn't be so distraught if this didn't mean the world to you. But it was important to hear you say the words."

"I love you."

His hand caressed her damp cheek. "I swear I only want the best for you. I love you more than life itself. You told me back in London that I could work miracles because I'm the Bargainer. Then accept that you're meant to love me and bear my child, because I will it."

"You're bullying me again."

His eyes burned into hers. "You're damned right, I am. Find the courage to love me back and be my wife. I know you have it in there. I've seen the strength of your inner courage. Love me, and let me love you."

"Do you think it's possible I had to go through all the horror and misery to find you? I've wondered about that. Maybe everything had to happen exactly the way it did, even boarding that stage in Carson City—just so I'd have to go to England and meet you. There's something else I should tell you."

He abruptly rolled and trapped her body beneath his. "You've told me more than enough tonight. Whatever it is can wait, but I can't. Let me make love to you and show you what I should have on our wedding night. No more talk."

Her protests were lost in the overwhelming passion and tenderness he poured over her. His hands stroked her everywhere, his lips nibbled and tasted. "Let it go, Rachel. Just love me."

He peeled the bedclothes down, knowing the heat of his blood and extra coal in the stove would keep her warm enough. "This is your first lesson about pleasure. It won't hurt. If it does, just tell me to stop. Close your eyes."

His lips met hers, teasing them apart, and again he was thrilled by her eager response. Her tongue thrust into his mouth and mated with his. Morgan groaned. He'd never enjoyed kissing any woman the way he did Rachel. "Now where?" he asked.

"My shoulders."

His tongue lingered, warm and pliant on her left shoulder, then slowly traced across her throat to her right. "And now?" came his soft question.

"Wherever I'd least expect it."

"An excellent answer, from the wench who's going to prove to be my best pupil."

Her eyes flew open. "You've taught other women about this?"

"Numerous," he chuckled. That jealous gleam was back in her eyes, and he doubted she'd even noticed the thunder had abated. "None had any complaints about my schooling. Of course, none of them were hearty, stubborn Colonials and none of them were married to me at the time. I shall have to put extra effort toward my instruction tonight. After all, these lessons are meant to last a lifetime."

He'd never let her annul the marriage, Morgan inwardly vowed. Not after what she'd told him and what he'd seen in her eyes. Not when he loved her to distraction. "Close your eyes," he reminded. "Trust me."

His wet mouth came down on a bare ankle. She twitched and giggled, but soon the sounds became whimpers as his tongue moved to her inner thigh. His hands slid to her hipbones. He held her pelvis gently but firmly and began to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh of her lower abdomen. "I remember you especially seemed to like this." His tongue explored the well of her navel. She would have come off the mattress if he hadn't been holding her down.

"My breasts now," she moaned. He released her pelvis and she wantonly arched her back, offering him her ripe mounds. He cupped her breasts in both hands and began to work the nipples with his thumbs. She released a fresh moan of pure unabashed enjoyment.

"The day the sailors were here, the young one put his hands on my breasts like that."

Morgan went still. "I told you not to think about that day, Rachel. And don't tell me any more details. They'll only make me want to drown those two rats in the hold, if this storm doesn't do it for me."

"You don't understand. The sailor pinched my nipples, but he couldn't make them harden and ache. Yet while you were sick, you slept with your head on my chest. Just having your face so close, feeling your breath on my skin, my nipples were like pebbles. I wanted your mouth on them, even though you were ill. It's wicked and only with you. I never had wild thoughts like that before."

"You're making it quite a challenge for your teacher to keep his excessive lust in check. Please be quiet! I'm supposed to make you hot now. Later comes your turn to tease me."

"Ooh, I like that." She smiled up at him, that certain warm smile that always fired his blood. The smile he knew she bestowed on him and no one else. Despite her trepidation, she'd married him. She loved him. And he'd explode soon if he couldn't get to loving her. Intensely and thoroughly.

He suckled at each stiff nipple in turn. She writhed and whimpered so loudly Morgan was grateful for the fierce winds and driving rain, else the sailors would have had an earful. He had to rest a palm on her belly to still her. His fingers moved into the triangle of dark auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs and found her already slick and swollen.

His mouth returned to hers. Their tongues met and rubbed in a slow, sensuous dance. Morgan couldn't restrain the low animal sounds coming from his own throat. He was supposed to be stimulating her, but damned if it wasn't wreaking havoc on him!

His palm pressed firmly to her mons, he circled her woman's pleasure center with his thumb. Rachel caught her breath and clutched at his shoulders. "Oh, God! Can a woman die from this? I don't know if I can take this."

"You won't die, Colonial. In another minute or two, you'll find out how very much alive a woman can be."

"I can't take another minute or two!" She bucked and sobbed. With his free hand, he reached to tweak a stiff nipple. "Morgan, stop! No, don't...I...Oh!"

Waves as powerful as those off the bow crashed over Rachel, spinning her in an eddy of swirling sensation. A deep throbbing pulsed from somewhere deep inside her. She gasped for every precious breath of air, but at last her racing pulse began to slow. She lay uncaring and limp, dimly aware that Morgan had stopped touching her.

Maybe she'd failed the training lesson. He wasn't kissing her or saying a word. She hoped he wasn't angry. After all, she tried. She'd given herself over to him, trusted him completely and done what he'd asked. Kept her eyes closed, kissed him back, let him work his magic on her . . .