Shades of Honor (35 page)

“I know.” He smiled down at her, allowing her to see his love as his gaze moved seductively over her body. “But I was about to kill him. You are a beautiful bride, Mrs. Grayson.”

“You're the only man who's ever made me feel that way.”

“That’s part of loving someone,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “You bring out the beauty inside them that they can’t find on their own.” He kissed her temple. “Because of you, I'm beginning to feel free again.”

He lowered his mouth and Evelyn leaned into his embrace. The slow kiss, the lazy way he held her, stoked her need more than if he was crushing her to his chest. He reached down and lifted her in his arms, twirling her in a slow circle.

“I believe it is customary to carry the bride over the threshold, Mrs. Grayson. Would you mind if it's up the stairs instead?”

She twined her arms around his strong neck. “You'll break your back.”

“You’re worth it.” He grinned down at her and crossed the room, halting at the foot of the stairs. “Can you grab my valise for me?”

Evelyn caught the handle of his bag and nearly pulled herself from his arms. Amid much flailing and laughter, they managed to hang on to each other. “Maybe I’d better walk.”

“Not on your life.” Radford stumbled up the stairs and bumped against the railing, groaning in great exaggeration, until finally he stood gasping on the landing. “Too much...cake...for the bride,” he panted.

Evelyn’s laughter bubbled forth, echoing in the empty hallway. “I love you.”

“Show me our room,” he whispered in her ear.

She pointed to his door and Radford pushed it open with his foot, blinking in surprise at the transformation. Evelyn's bedroom suite had replaced the bed and dresser he’d used. A long, thick mauve rug ran the length of the bed and a candle burned on the nightstand. His old trunk was still in the corner, but several pictures now rested on the surface. Pictures of his parents and brothers and Rebecca, as well as Evelyn's parents.

Lying in front of them was a single pine bough with a huge red ribbon tied around it.

“The sprig of pine is to remind you where you came from,” Evelyn said quietly, “and the red ribbon is to remind you of who you are.” She stroked her palm across his cheek. “You’re a good man, Radford, and a wonderful father. That’s what a hero is made of.”

Radford looked down at her, his love threatening to burst his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers. He let her body slide down the length of him until she was standing flush against him. Their bodies strained toward each other after being separated for such a painfully long time. Radford gloried in the knowledge that he would have a lifetime to love this woman.

He cupped her face between his hands, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I'll show you every day that you helped a man worthy of being saved.” He kissed her with slow deliberation. Every nuance of love that radiated between them was poured into that tender, heartrending kiss. It was filled with promises and dreams, with love and passion. For the first time, Radford experienced the peace of coming home. Having the love and support of his wife and family gave him the security to be himself and that was a freedom more precious than any gold.

He plucked the pins from her hair and released the fasteners and ribbons on her dress. He took the magnolia pin from her overskirt and placed it on the stand beside their bed, then pushed the gown off her shoulders. Overheated and eager, he stripped off her undergarments then moved his fingers over the hardened peaks of her bare breasts. Like fingers across guitar strings, Evelyn’s musical moans of pleasure were the sweetest song he'd ever heard.

He shed his clothes as they explored each other, touching, kissing, stoking the passions that raced through their bodies. “My wife,” he whispered, lowering her to the mattress where his hips moved to join them as man and wife. “My beautiful wife.”

The slow rolling of hips, the murmurs, the ebb and flow of two bodies straining toward each other filled his ears. The brush of starched sheets against Radford's knees contrasted with the satin of Evelyn’s thighs as they soared together.

Afterward, Radford eased to Evelyn’s side. “I’ve never loved like this.” He traced the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “But I’m never letting you go.”

As the candle burned low, it cast a pale luster upon Evelyn's magnolia pin that lay on the table beside it. Feeling truly blessed, she hugged the man in her arms, knowing her lonely soul had finally found its true mate. She slipped her fingers through Radford’s hair, loving the soft texture, the rebellious wave, the reckless length of it.

“Do you ever wish for anything?” she asked quietly, believing that inside every heart there lived an unfulfilled longing, a private hope, a secret dream lost in the shadows of obligation and duty.

“Sometimes I wish you had another mole...right here,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he touched a fingertip to the corner of her lip. She wrinkled her nose at his teasing and his expression grew tender, his smile fading as he gazed down at her. “I have no wishes, Tomboy. All my heart could ever hope to hold is right here in my arms."

END

Preview Kyle Grayson’s story

Fredonia, New York, May 1871

Cold spring rain pounded across Kyle Grayson’s broad back and he hunched his shoulders as lightning sliced a jagged white line across the sky. The desire to find cover for his skittish gelding warred with Kyle’s need to reach Tom Drake’s sawmill and discover why the man was betraying him.

Tom Drake had been friends with Kyle’s father for years. Despite being competitors all their life, the men had respected each other, and when Kyle’s father died five years ago, Tom had shown Kyle how to manage his father’s sawmill business. Although Tom was twice Kyle’s age and still a competitor, they had formed a deep, respectful friendship with each other. Now, for some unknown reason, Tom was changing and Kyle’s instincts warned him to beware.

A violent crash of thunder shook the earth and Kyle’s gelding pranced sideways. Kyle cursed the storm and guided his nervous horse beneath a small lean-to beside the Pemberton Inn at the top of West Hill.

As soon as he’d settled his horse, Kyle entered the tavern. A rank smell filled his sinuses and he wondered why the hell
anyone
would want such a business, especially a place that stank of stale smoke, yeasty ale, and sweat. But just as Kyle had expected, his youngest brother Boyd was sitting on a barstool as if he already owned the place.

“I thought you were going home,” Kyle said, tossing his soaked hat onto the bar beside his brother.

Boyd glanced up. “This
is
home.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. Owning a tavern is a bad idea.”

“For you, it would be. You don’t have the personality for this kind of business.”

The truth of Boyd’s statement didn’t bother Kyle at all. He was proud of his reputation as an ambitious but respected sawmill owner. He didn’t have time for leaning on a bar having inane conversations with inebriates over which girls would lift their skirts or whose wife was the biggest nag. He had money to collect from Tom Drake, a new top rig sawmill on its way from Ohio, and an upcoming shipment of railroad ties to get ready. He didn’t have time to indulge Boyd’s ridiculous fantasy of owning a tavern. And neither did his wild ass of a brother.

Another violent flash of lightning illuminated the windows and Kyle resigned himself to waiting out the storm. He sat on a stool and propped his elbows on the thick oak bar. He nodded to Patrick Lyons, the current tavern owner, to bring him an ale, then turned back to Boyd. “You’ll drink away your profits in the first month.”

“Maybe, but I’m tired of working the depot,” he said, using the nickname they’d given their family-owned sawmill to eliminate confusion when talking with other mill owners. Though Grayson Lumber and Timber Works was the largest mill within twenty square miles, Tom Drake had a sizable mill of his own, and there were several one-man mills that dotted the countryside. It got damned confusing when referring to a sawmill unless you tied it to a last name. With fathers and sons in the same business, that didn’t always determine whose mill you were talking about either, so a few months past Kyle and his brothers started referring to their mill as the depot.

“Maybe you just need a short trip somewhere,” Kyle said.

“What I need is to do something more exciting than sawing wood.” Boyd looked Kyle in the eye. “I want out.”

Kyle and his three brothers owned the depot together and kept the bulk of their money in one joint account to cover operating expenses and to fund future investments. If Boyd withdrew his money, it would lessen Kyle’s ability to continue expanding their business. It would also force Kyle to shoulder the burden of running their family sawmill alone because Kyle’s eldest brother, Radford, was now too busy with his livery business, and Duke’s new position as sheriff had left him with even less time for the sawmill than Radford. It was inconceivable that Boyd wanted to walk away from something he’d sweated over for years.

The tavern door swung open and the noise of the storm spilled into the room as a man stomped inside. He shook the rain from his coat and wiped his feet, dispelling any sense of recognition Kyle had felt. The men that Kyle knew would have tromped right to the bar in mud-covered boots. Kyle turned back to Boyd. “We’re making a decent profit. Once we set up our new saw our output will double. That’s reason enough to stay. If not, let your nose convince you. Pine and fresh air smell a hell of a lot better than this place does.”

Boyd sniffed as if he’d just inhaled the sweet scent of a good cigar. “Smoke and ale...the smell of a man’s world.”

Kyle snorted with disbelief. “It smells like a piss-sodden, sweat-drenched pair of trousers in here.”

Patrick Lyons smirked and thumped two mugs of ale in front of Kyle and Boyd. “That comment will double the cost of your drinks.”

A gusty laugh came from the rain-soaked stranger as he crossed the room. “You haven’t changed a bit, Kyle.” He tossed his wet coat over the neighboring bar stool then lifted his hat and swept his blond hair back with wet fingers.

At the sight of Richard Cameron, Kyle’s mouth dropped open. It astounded Kyle to see his oldest, dearest friend standing in a stench-filled bar in upstate New York on a stormy evening instead of sitting in his plush lawyer’s office in Philadelphia. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, grabbing Richard’s hand in a firm, welcoming clasp as he stood up and looked his friend in the eye.

Richard returned the handshake. “I’m looking for someone to share a mug or two with.” A grin split his handsome face and he slapped Kyle on both shoulders. “Damn! It’s good to see you.”

Kyle assessed his friend, whom he hadn’t seen in four years. Richard still sported his good looks and cocksure attitude. A charming, rakish man, Richard was a blond, fair-skinned version of Boyd, but rather than irritating Kyle at every turn as Boyd did, Richard had always made Kyle laugh.

Richard eyed Kyle’s thick, hard biceps. “How did a mean-looking cuss like you ever finagle Evelyn Tucker into marriage?”

“I didn’t. Evelyn took the trip down the aisle with my older brother a few months past and is now the lovely Mrs.
Radford
Grayson.”

Richard’s expression flattened and the teasing glint in his eyes disappeared. “Damn, Kyle, I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry.”

Kyle shrugged and feigned indifference. Though he’d forgiven his brother and fiancée for falling in love with each other, Kyle’s wound was still tender and he had no wish to share the painful circumstances with anyone.

As if seeking a graceful exit, Richard turned to Boyd and renewed their acquaintance with a handshake. “Are you going to become the new owner here?”

“He’s not buying a damn tavern,” Kyle insisted, then met Boyd’s arched black eyebrow with his own look of challenge. Kyle had no illusions about the dismal earning potential of a tavern and he refused to watch his brother risk everything he’d worked for on a business that would only feed Boyd’s self-destructive habits. “It’s a stupid investment and you know it. You need to start managing your life like a business instead of a party.”

Boyd snorted. “I’d rather blow my head off.”

“He’s got a point, Kyle,” Richard said. “If life was all work, I’d be looking for my gun, too. That’s why I gave up my law practice to go into the banking business with my uncles.”

Kyle stared dumbfounded. He remembered how excited he and Richard had been when they’d decided to head for law school together. Unfortunately, Richard had ended up going alone because Kyle’s father had died and Kyle needed to stay home to support his mother and two younger brothers, Duke and Boyd. It had taken Kyle months to get over the searing disappointment and resolve himself to his obligations, but he had. Then two years ago, when he received the bittersweet news that Richard had opened his own law office in Philadelphia, Kyle knew he’d fallen too far behind to ever catch up.

Unsure whether to congratulate Richard or offer his sympathy, Kyle avoided commenting altogether. “Where are you staying?”

“At my father’s house with Catherine.”