Moonwitch (22 page)

An ache lodged in her chest. Perhaps it was her fault. Kyle had called her cold and unresponsive. But how else could she have behaved toward him? She had been raised a lady, taught to exhibit restraint and proper decorum, even in the most trying of circumstances. And her upbringing made it impossible to be other than cool and polite when she was upset. Indeed, she had cultivated such a talent as self-protection against her waspish stepmother. But Kyle would never understand that.

Bleakly, Selena glanced up at him again. He seemed so distant. She longed to recapture the intimacy that had been between them the night of the storm. She wished they could share their thoughts and aspirations and truly talk together, instead of relying on the politely constrained words that usually passed for conversation between them. If only he would show her even the kind of teasing humor he had shown his crew.

Selena bit her lip as she gazed at Kyle. She truly was in love with him. Why else would she be experiencing this painful yearning that was equal parts giving and fear and want? She was finding it harder and harder to retreat into cool reserve when she was near him, especially when memories of his caresses, hot and wild and sweet, kept swirling around in her mind.

She was still reflecting on the tenderness of Kyle’s lovemaking when a clanging bell made her jump. Kyle reached out to steady her, and Selena tensed at his touch.

Abruptly, he released her arm. “Why do you flinch, Moonwitch? I seem to recall a night not so long ago you welcomed my touch.”

So he did remember that night, she thought. He had seemed to be able to dismiss it entirely. She couldn’t, though. When he touched her as he had just now, it made her recall aspects of that night in vivid detail: his warm, hard mouth and the feel of his hands, the rhythm of his sleek, heavy body as he moved against her.

Discomfited, Selena moved a step away, chastising herself for allowing her thoughts to suggest what her body wanted to experience again. “Everything about that night was a mistake,” she said stiffly.

“Oh, come now, you enjoyed it.”

She slanted a glance up at him. “How can you be so sure?”

Kyle rested a hip against the rail and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. Leaning against the column at his back, he surveyed her dispassionately. “I know when a woman is feigning passion and when she’s not. And you—” his glance traveled down her body, assessing her with a detachment that was almost an insult “—my dear wife, most definitely were not.”

Selena looked away. If he knew that, why had he called her cold? She suddenly felt a wild urge to prove she wasn’t as unresponsive as he said. But she fiercely clamped it down.

“I could make you want me.”

The sudden, quiet emotion in his voice startled her. It was a challenge, softly said, and his words possessed a husky resonance that quivered down her spine. Selena found herself clenching her hands to keep herself from trembling.

“I think I will return to my cabin, after all,” she managed tightly, her back going rigid at the resulting sardonic smile that curved Kyle’s lips.

She took his arm only because courtesy dictated it, trying to ignore the solid play of muscle under her fingers as he escorted her through the common room to the door that led to the private cabins. The corridor was lighted by a single wall sconce and was fortunately too narrow to accommodate two people. Selena was able to release Kyle’s arm as soon as they entered.

“Would you like me to come in?” he asked when they reached her cabin door.

Her back still rigid, Selena glanced up at Kyle. In the lamplight, the amber gleam in his eyes was like rich brandy.

“I don’t have need of your services,” she replied with flawless enunciation. “I can see to my own clothing.”

“That wasn’t,” Kyle murmured, moving closer, “the only service I had in mind.” Placing a hand against the bulwark, he effectively barred her from entering her cabin.

He towered over her, his overpowering physical presence so close that Selena felt dizzy. “I can manage without you,” she said breathlessly.

Kyle didn’t seem to hear. He leaned into her, pressing his body lightly against hers, making her feel his arousal. The hardness and detail of him made Selena’s cheeks go crimson.

“Why are you so flushed, Moonwitch?” Casually, he raised a hand to her face. “Your cheeks are hot. Is your body hot, as well?”

Selena gritted her teeth. “How could it be? You said I was cold.”

“Not always.” His large hand cradled her throat, then glided downward to the ruched neckline of her gown. Curving his fingers over the edge, he slipped them inside her bodice, against her skin, against the warm swell of her breasts. “Not when I do this,” he observed in a husky whisper, finding a taut nipple and stroking it with the backs of his knuckles.

Selena caught her breath on a gasp.

“Do you like it when I caress your breasts?”

She closed her eyes in dismay, deploring the stiffness of her nipples beneath his questing fingers.

“Are you shocked, Moonwitch? You shock so easily.” Each low, sensuous word stroked her. “Your breasts are beautiful. So full on the underside…tilted up at the peaks.”

He dragged his knuckles sensuously across the rigid crests, then paused, closing his fingers around a tight bud. It sent an unexpected tremor of pure desire racing through her. “Kyle!” The word was a gasp and a plea as she clutched desperately at his corded forearm. “Someone might come.”

“If they do, they’ll see me saying good night to my wife. That’s what you are, aren’t you? My wife?” He bent his head, nuzzling her open lips. “A man has certain rights with his wife.”

“No,” Selena breathed, trying to avert her face as she realized where his thoughts were leading.

His hand left the bulwark to grasp her chin gently while his lips continued their sensual assault. “I warned you before we were married, you would have to be available to me whenever and wherever I chose.”

Selena quivered. He had threatened to take her anytime, anywhere, and she was half-afraid he would make good his threat right there in the corridor. But she couldn’t find the will to push him away. His fingers were still wickedly arousing her breasts, while his hard mouth was drugging her senses.

“I could assert my husbandly rights.” The husky murmur caressed her lips before he drew her lush bottom lip into his mouth, his tongue outlining its softness.

When she gave a quiet moan of protest, Kyle drew back briefly to stare down at her. His face was taut, his eyes smoldering with a desire so intent it scorched her.

His hand moved across her cheek to nestle in the soft, silken hair just below her ear. But as he bent his head to kiss her, he lost the careful control he had been forcing on himself. The tender persuasiveness vanished, replaced by burning demand. His fingers twined in her hair; his thighs and chest crowded her against the bulwark. Selena could hardly breathe through the heady rush of sensations that assaulted her. Her mouth opened to him, welcoming the fierce, probing thrust of his tongue.

Kyle felt her response. With a low, tearing groan, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, his mouth fastening on hers with a hunger that seemed to want to devour her, mastering her, robbing her of breath.

Selena moaned in earnest this time as he plundered her mouth. He was searing her with his heat. She was filled with the scent of him, the taste of him, her head swimming, her knees weak.

Her body was sagging bonelessly against his when he finally dragged his lips away and drew a shuddering breath. “I should be getting something out of this marriage.”

The muttered words were ragged, shaken, and it took her a moment to digest their import. Then she stiffened in pain. The sound of her own gasping breath was loud in the sudden stillness as Selena stared up at Kyle, regarding him numbly. Was her willing body all he wanted from their marriage? Was lust all he felt for her?

A cold shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the night of the storm, when she had given herself to him without reservation. But what had been such a soul-wrenching, wonderful experience for her had meant nothing to Kyle beyond the gratification of his physical desires. And when they had arrived in New Orleans, he had gone straight into the arms of his mistress.

She wouldn’t be such a fool again.

Defiantly, she clenched her fists, her breasts gently heaving as she stared up at him. “Yes,” she acknowledged hoarsely. “You could assert your rights. And as my husband, you could command my obedience.” She hoped her disdainful tone and rigid body made it clear she wouldn’t submit to him willingly.

Kyle drew a sharp breath. His gaze narrowed, meeting Selena’s in a deadlock of passion.
“Command
?” Skepticism flickered in his eyes. Then his voice gentled. “Would it be such an onerous duty, then?”

Selena could tell by the husky charm in his voice that he had reverted to his earlier strategy; he meant to batter her defenses with another assault of tenderness.

She tensed in alarm, not sure she could withstand another such offensive. When Kyle lowered his lips to her swollen mouth, she gave a gasp of protest and strained away from him, pressing her back against the bulwark.

“Are you denying that you enjoy my lovemaking, Moonwitch?”

His lips found the vulnerable underside of her jaw, moving down the line of her throat, pressing a kiss tenderly against the pulse that was hammering there.

“Kyle…” A whimper escaped her even as she edged closer to her door in a desperate attempt to escape.

“Can you forget the way my mouth moved over your body? The way I moved inside you? The way I filled you?”

“Please…” Wildly, she fumbled for the latch at her back.

“Would you like me to fill you again, my beautiful Selena?”

The door swung open.

Half stumbling, Selena twisted from his grasp and fled into the safety of her cabin, frantically slamming the door shut behind her, leaving Kyle alone to deal with the painful state of arousal he himself had created.

* * *

They spoke little to each other during the remainder of the journey and certainly never regained the friendly intimacy of that first afternoon. Selena spent a good deal of time watching the boils and whirlpools of the Mississippi, pondering what she should do about her marriage.

A heaviness centered in her chest whenever she considered her future with Kyle. She had driven him into the arms of his mistress, she was sure, and the thought filled her with pain.

But her own unfulfilled yearning for Kyle was somehow worse. She had discovered what it was like to be pleasured by a man, by a considerate and tender lover, and her discovery had marked her physically: a hot, restless longing that she couldn’t control; a quickening between her thighs whenever he was near; the tightening of her nipples when Kyle merely looked at her. All these were manifestations of her shameful condition. She wanted to touch Kyle at every turn, to run her fingers through his thick chestnut hair and over his body, to have Kyle possess her the way he had the night of the storm. She had once hoped that he would grow to love her, but sometimes she found herself amending that to a wish that he would simply make love to her again.

She could have brought that about, Selena thought. Kyle might prefer voluptuous redheads like Veronique, but he
was
attracted to her as well—at least to a small degree. He wouldn’t have refused her advances.

But she couldn’t bring herself to go to him. Not on those terms. Not when he wanted her only for the physical pleasure her body could bring. Not when he would satisfy only her wanton need and not the ache in her heart. She wanted to be his love, not simply the means for him to slake his passion.

Adding to her misery were the conditions on board the steamboat. She had trouble sleeping, for the
Washington
ran on clear nights and always tied up after dark to forage for wood, even when visibility was poor. She never became accustomed to the excessive noise, either—the roar of steam, the cries of the deckhands and shouted commands of the mate, the sounding of signal bells or the explosive exhaust that announced the approach of the boat for miles in advance.

The only positive aspect of the journey was that she had lost much of her homesickness; the yearning she felt for her island had been far overshadowed by her longing for Kyle’s love.

Yet as they neared their destination, Selena couldn’t help but feel a stir of excitement. She was going to live in a new place, among new faces, with new challenges and adventures. And she had no choice but to be impressed by the virgin wilderness that flanked the river and stretched as far as the eye could see. More and more often she found herself wondering what her new home would be like in this vast, beautiful land that was America.

It was with great anticipation that Selena looked forward to disembarking at Natchez. When the afternoon finally arrived, she was ready hours ahead of time, standing on the small upper deck gallery, with Horatio’s cage at her feet.

Eagerly, she studied the towering red-brown bluffs that rose two hundred feet above the crescent of the river. “Is that Natchez?” she asked with excitement when Kyle joined her at the rail.

“That’s the Natchez landing at the base of the bluff,” he replied. “The town is built above it.”

Lifting her gaze to the windswept heights, Selena could see where the abundant forest of papaw and palmetto and pine that hugged the Mississippi gave way to bright green hills. It looked lovely, basking in the afternoon sun.

But as the steamboat grew closer, the scene lost all of its loveliness. The waterfront was swamped by flatboats and keelboats and edged with half-drowned willows and weather-beaten huts perched on pilings. The landing, which resembled a table of muddy ground, was just as congested as the river’s edge. Crowds of river men and slaves, bales of fur hides and cotton, herds of livestock, throngs of drays and carts pulled by mules all vied for space.

Beyond, on the steeply sloping mud flat, were two tiers of streets crisscrossed by alleyways and scattered with long, straggling lines of flimsy shanties. Above that, the long, winding road that climbed upward from the landing, hugging the bluff, was lined with more rude huts and disreputable-looking taverns.