Dream Time (historical): Book I (16 page)

Her fingers dug into his back, and she gasped out the word, “More!”

“Aye,” he said hoarsely. “This is not enough. Not yet!”

The power of her senses escalated, so that the sound of their breathing, the slap of the river against the bank, the salty taste of his skin, the feel of his muscles contracting beneath her hands, the scent of the damp earth, the vegetation, the dank river, and he and she commingled, overrode all external reality.

In an instant, within her body a multitude of sensation points burst in an overflow. She cried out, her surprise and intense pleasure were strangled sighs, crashing one upon the other like waves slamming against the beach.

He held her tightly against him. Then, with a mighty shudder, he collapsed on top of her.

For what seemed a long time, they lay together, unstirring. She could hear his heavy breath in her ear. Her own had already evened out. And, as she lay there, she wondered if she had been the ultimate of fools.

Had she given away freely that from which she might have wrung a price?

Yet something very certain, very strong, very female, whispered in the recesses of her mind that what she wanted from a man like Francis, she wouldn’t have gotten in barter for sex.

No, what she had that most women did not was the use of her brain. Or rather, no fear to use her brain to achieve her will.

Her hands captured either side of Francis’s face, and she kissed him with abandon. She could tell she had caught him off guard by his fleeting expression of amazement. He had undoubtedly expected her to bemoan the loss of her virginity.

With a husky laugh, he returned her ardent kiss. Gasping, he released her lips to whisper raggedly, “I cannot let you wander far from me, my Amazonian maiden.”

Nor you from me, she silently promised both herself and her nemesis, Nan Livingston.

§ CHAPTER THIRTEEN §

“You haven’t changed your mind about refusing to marry Francis, have you, Celeste?”

“Of course not.” The young woman walked the length of Amaris’s bedroom, tiny enough to fit in the Livingston pantry. Celeste’s hands rubbed together. For once, her eyes weren’t lustrous. Her teeth chewed nervously on her lower lip. “Sin leaves for the outback in two days, Amaris. With a wagon train Major Hannaby has put together. I can’t give Sin up.”

Amaris sat back on her bed in a most unladylike fashion, with her knees drawn up. She clasped her hands behind her head and leaned against the wall. “I have a suggestion.”

Celeste paused in her pacing. Hope shone in her eyes. “What?”

“I’ll marry Francis. Cheated of her prospective son-in-law, your mother will have to give her blessing to your marriage with Sin.”

Celeste’s wing-tipped brows knitted in perplexion. “Francis wants to marry you?”

“He will. With your help.”

“And you want to marry him? You love Francis?”

“No, I don’t love him, but I could come to love him. And, yes, I want to marry him. We could make a good life together by starting out somewhere new.”

The light went from Celeste’s face, and she sighed. “Even if Francis were to marry you, I don’t think Mother would permit me to marry Sin. Not now, anyway. You see, I gave my word to wait a year.”

“She would agree to a marriage, if she thought you were carrying his child.”

Shock at the implications behind the suggestion played across Celeste's lovely face. Then she said quietly, “You know I couldn’t lie to my mother.”

“You will if you ever want to see Sin again.”

Celeste’s expression revealed the inner battle being waged. “All right,” she said at last. “What do I need to do?”

“First, manage to talk with Francis when he calls on your mother tomorrow. What is it—around elevenish they do business? Tell Francis to meet me at the Brigsby Pub tomorrow night at eight.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am. Talk to your mother—and, Celeste, don’t let her talk you out of what you want to do.”

Celeste stopped before her. Determination steeled that usually gentle expression. “I shall be Sin’s one way or another.” She smiled brightly. “I feel like we’re conspirators. It’s terribly exciting, don’t you think? I’ll take care of Mama, you take care of Francis.”

Amaris deliberated all that night about what to say to Francis and how to say it. In the end, he made it
very easy for her to lead into what she wanted to say.

He was already waiting for her, sitting at the same table where she had watched the fracas among the newly arrived female prisoners that rainy afternoon. His tankard was nigh empty. Pipe smoke hazed the air, lending their tryst a further air of mystery.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “About last Sunday afternoon at Paramatta.”

His eyes held the same heat she had purposely ignited on the sloop. She delayed a moment, sipping from her pint o’porter. “I would have thought you would have more important matters, like business for instance, to occupy your thoughts.”

He chug-a-lugged the last of his ale. “Business matters are exactly what I don’t want to think about.”

“That gloomy, eh?”

He sighed, set the tankard down, and stared at its tarnished pewter. “One gets tired of being a puppet.”

“With Nan Livingston pulling the strings? You don’t have to continue to be the puppet, you know.”

He raised his gaze to meet hers. His mouth twisted wryly. “I do. I happen to enjoy living in the style of luxury in which I was raised and would like to continue doing so.”

She leaned forward and stared into the depths of those brown eyes, hoping to touch a chord somewhere inside. “You can do that, and never have to have a puppet master again.”

He laughed dryly. “Were you drinking earlier, before coming here, because there is no bloody way I could ever—”

“Francis, a great wealth awaits the stout of heart who aren’t afraid to brave the Never-Never.”

He made an exasperated sound. “A pipe dream, my girl."

“A pipe dream?" she scoffed in turn. “Not when one can get hundreds of acres for merely applying for a grant from the governor. Or you can do what Sin and others are doing. Simply become a squatter. With your connections, I would imagine thousands of acres would be more applicable. Think of it, Francis! With a sheep station, you could create your own empire.”

“Sheep station? What do I know of sheep?”

“I know enough to make a start.”

Those weeks of preparation would now be tested. She had made it a point to talk to anyone who knew anything about sheep: a former convict who had herded sheep in Ireland; an old woman who had worked in a carpet shop, weaving wool; a retired soldier who was running a few imported Merino sheep on land granted him by the governor.

She had even ridden to Elizabeth Farm to talk to Macarthur’s wife, who ran the place in his absence in England. Elizabeth had told her that sheep were more important than cattle. Sheep had two advantages over cattle. One, they needed less water and did less damage to the edge of the creek; the other was that sheep produced income from wool without having to be slaughtered.

Amaris leaned forward. “Francis, there are vast open areas in the Never-Never with potential grazing land belonging to no one. All you have to do is apply! Most of the sheep stations have been started by people who knew very little. I’m not afraid to try. I’m not afraid to take risks. I can learn. Most important, I have saved enough from my writing to buy a small flock.”

“You’ve already given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

“Francis, a wagon train leaves for the outback in a week. You weren’t afraid to take risks as an insurer of ships and cargo. Can this be any more risky?”

“What about Celeste?”

She looked straight into his eyes. “She’ll never marry you. I think she would kill herself first.”

He looked at her in amazement. “Am I to understand that
I am that repulsive?”

“She is a woman in love—and you’re not the man.”

He raised his tankard to finish off its contents, and she placed the flat of her hand over the tankard’s rim. “Francis, I am the woman you need.”

For a second, the expression in his eyes was bleak. “But am I the man you need?”

“You suit my purposes perfectly.”

“Which are?”

“A home, someday children. The usual things a woman wants.”

“I have the distinct feeling, Amaris, that you are not the usual woman.”

With a slightly bewildered expression, William Wilmot intoned the words for the early morning marriage ceremony. Clearly, the hasty double wedding wasn’t quite proper, even though it was understandable with the wagon train leaving within a mere matter of hours.

The two brides wore hastily sewn gowns of blond lace over white satin and blond lace veils held in place by wreaths of orange blossoms. Francis Marlborough had donned the traditional black coat and pantaloons and gold-trimmed chestnut-colored cashmere waistcoat. Sin Tremayne was dressed more conservatively in a double-breasted blue coat and drab-colored breeches.

William’s gaze passed over Celeste Livingston’s radiant face to settle on that of his daughter. Radiant, no, but a calm, serene expression transformed that wistful, defiant look that he often caught in her eyes when she didn’t know he was watching her. His daughter was doing what she wanted, what she needed to do, and that was enough for him.

The two grooms each wore dispassionate expressions. This troubled the rector. What was going on in their minds? Why did they take no joy in the occasion? He peered at Amaris again, and his heart overflowed. She had brought such joy to his household.

The little changeling was so different from him and Rose. Headstrong and determined she was. But where his wife’s mercurial emotions bubbled to the surface for all to view and his own ran like a quiet, shallow creek, Amaris channeled her emotions into a subsurface stream. He was never quite certain what his beloved daughter was feeling.

More than that, he wondered every so often what her natural parents were like. Convicts of the lowest class, most likely. But from somewhere in their ancestral lines had come that challenging intelligence inherent in Amaris.

Amaris rolled off her garters and carefully peeled down her white silk stockings. Meanwhile, Celeste unfastened the heirloom pearl necklace her mother had bestowed on her as one of many wedding gifts, few of which would fit into the bullock dray Sin had purchased for the trip.

Amaris had asked her parents only for her mother’s cane rocker and several of her father’s books. In the outback, where diversion and socializing were limited, one could easily go through a hundred books in one year.

The two young women hastily changed. The wagon train was leaving Sydney in less than two hours. Celeste held the necklace in her palm, as if weighing its worth. “I’m putting all this behind me, Amaris.”

Amaris sat on a low, three-legged stool, with Rogue lying patiently at her feet. “I know you love Sin, Celeste, but I don’t think you realize just how much you will be giving up.”

“Whatever it is, it is worth the sacrifice. I’m not blind with love. I’m stronger than anyone realizes, even you. Sin needs me to temper his wild streak. And you need Francis, whether you know it or not.”

She laughed. “Do I? I would say he needs my strength.”

Celeste’s mouth set in serious lines, so unlike her usually mild expression. “You need to discover that soft, nurturing part of yourself, Amaris. Francis will force you to face yourself.”

Dumbfounded, she stared at the girl. Then she smiled. “Am I really five years older than you?”

Celeste stooped to hug her fiercely. “Oh, Amaris, I can’t believe our good luck! Married on the same day, going on the grandest adventure of our lives toge—”

“Hmmm.” Behind them, Nan cleared her throat.

“Mama!" Celeste said happily. “Wasn’t the wedding wonderful?!”

Nan entered the tiny bedroom, and Rogue gave a low growl before Amaris hushed him. He lay back down again beside the stool.

“Aye,” Nan said, her voice terse. “That it was.”

Amaris often wondered how such a small woman could intimidate others. Money was power, of course. But Nan had knowledge, knowledge of people, their inner desires and fears, and she used that knowledge effectively.

“Celeste, I also have a wedding gift for Amaris, and I’d like to be with her alone for a moment.”

The girl looked puzzled. “All right, Mama. But we have to hurry.”

Nan glanced at Amaris. “This won’t take long.” When Celeste was gone, Nan faced Amaris and took a small package from her reticule and passed it to her with a shrug. “A gold and ivory brooch. Hardly useful where you’re going.”

“How kind of you,” Amaris mocked.

“You fight hard.”

“So do you.”

They spoke in hushed whispers. “I fight fairly. Until now. I want you to know that twenty-five years ago, I did what was best for everyone all around. I did not intentionally hurt anyone.”

Amaris’s hands clenched. “You thought only of yourself.”

“And you are not doing so now? You haven’t given a thought to the possibility that your revenge will hurt others besides just me. You have ruined my dreams for Celeste. Even more, you have taken her from—”

“To go to the outback with Sin was her own choice."

“She would have had second thoughts had you not encouraged her by going yourself."

Amaris shot to her feet. “You can’t control people’s lives, Nan Livingston!"

Fury blazed in the older woman’s pale eyes. “I have and I will. Beginning with yours. I shall never forgive you for this. Someday, I’ll destroy your dreams, as you have mine."