Susan Johnson (50 page)

“It’s a family name,” Empress returned briefly, sitting in a rocker opposite him. She would have preferred not nursing Max in front of Trey, but one glance at his lounging posture convinced her he could outlast a glacier. Short of shooting Trey where he sat, there was no way out of the situation, so she nervously began unbuttoning her dress. “What did you do with Nanny?” she inquired, inclined to feel that Nanny would lend an air of professional authority to this nursery scene in addition to diverting her from the intensity of Trey’s indolent gaze. Arranging Max at her breast, she forced herself to a reasonable equanimity, as though she nursed her son before Trey every day of his life.

Although Trey didn’t answer immediately, Empress kept her glance lowered, knowing his eyes were on her, knowing the riveting focus of his gaze was fixed on her bared breast.

His voice sounded preoccupied when he answered. “In the five minutes I had before you arrived, I cut her into little pieces and chucked her out the window. What a stupid question.” His voice was soft. “I sent her away.” He had a son, he was thinking.
My son.
He experimented with the pure, sublime sound of those two words.

Empress looked up, startled at his gentle answer. “And she went?” Nanny was a Scotswoman who could meet even Trey eye-to-eye.

He only raised his dark brows fractionally at her naïveté and slid a little lower in the soft-cushioned chair, his pale eyes intent on the scene of mother and child. Both his. It was feeling, not reason, and it was so powerful, he held on to the chair arms to keep from jumping up and pulling them both into his arms.

The room was suddenly quiet except for the faint suckling sound, and Empress quickly looked back down at her son to escape Trey’s disconcerting gaze. How could he reenter her life with such abruptness and yet, in his quiet, comfortable sprawl, seem as though he sat here every day? What was worse, his potent presence was like a powerful door knocking in the dead of night: insistent; compelling; impossible to
ignore—the only man she knew who activated and quickened her amorous instincts simply by looking at her. And she fought those feelings, that white flame of excitement, by reminding herself that she was only one of a long line of women equally affected. The mercurial sensuality was Trey’s trademark, second nature to him, as effortless as breathing. But too difficult for her to deal with, too fickle. There would be no more weak, helpless succumbing to Trey’s passion. She wouldn’t.

“I don’t want you with other men,” Trey said abruptly and very low into the quietness, so it seemed to vibrate through the still air like a living current of sound.

After the first repressed shock at his statement, Empress closed her eyes briefly to resist the defenseless feelings flooding through her at the hushed words, words inflected with infinite shades of meaning and interpretation. Words tinged with wanting, rendered with authority, pronounced in that rich, caressing resonance that recalled warm bodies and soft beds. “I didn’t want you with other women, either,” she replied, lifting her dark lashes, her voice trembling with the inner struggle she was waging to resist him. Her tone grew suddenly steadier when she thought of her last interview with Valerie, “But it didn’t matter,” she added, “did it?”

“I haven’t been,” he said gently. He didn’t say he’d spent tortured days in an opium world because of her, killed a man because of her, avoided female company, left the comtesse this morning because—of her.

“I don’t believe you.” With effort she matched his moderate tone, but a simple denial was unsatisfactory now … and too late. Too many tearful nights with visions of Trey and other women repudiated acceptance of his word. “When was the baby born?” she asked to deliberately remind him of his faithlessness.

“September fourteenth. A girl,” he added before she asked. “Valerie relinquished custody to me. She didn’t want her. Her skin was too dark.” He spoke with no implied censure, but the plain statements were shocking nonetheless.

“Where is she?” The baby must be his, Empress thought with a sinking heart, if he was caring for her. Trey wouldn’t do that for another man’s child.

“My parents have her in Washington, and Belle is going to
be the first woman president if Mama has her way.” His smile now was very different from those of the last days. The cynicism was gone, the warmth genuine, and when he said, “Belle and Max can be great friends,” in a soft tone saturated with pleasure, it took every concentrated bit of willpower Empress possessed to withstand the splendor of his smile.

“It won’t work!” she retorted so violently, Max’s arms and legs flew out in a startled reflex, and he whimpered softly before resuming nursing.

Although Empress’s sharp rebuttal was completely out of context, Trey replied promptly, “It
will.
” Nothing had ever pleased him so as the sight of his son and Empress.

“No!” She didn’t want to argue or debate how much her wanting him counted against his notorious reputation for dalliance. She didn’t want to weigh passion against security, or gauge degrees of passion and love. Even the strongest love died without honesty and faithfulness, and Trey wasn’t capable of faithfulness. Never had been … never wanted to be, she sadly thought. “Go away!” she ordered angrily. “I want you to leave and never come back,” she added emphatically, as though saying the words would serve as protection against her tumultuous feelings.

The stark rejection reminded him that Empress Jordan was settled in her new life, and while they shared a son, apparently they shared different memories of their weeks together. “I
want
my son,” Trey countered bluntly. She could turn him away in favor of other men, but he would not be refused his son.

“I’ll fight you with my last franc. He’s
mine.
”

“He’s
ours
,” he said, hard-featured and grim. He had a prize horse stolen from him once when he was fifteen in one of the continuing internecine raids between the Blackfeet and the Absarokee. After the rest of his party gave up in the January cold, he’d tracked it alone, tracked it for four hundred miles far beyond the border into Canada. And recovered it. If Empress had known, she may have reconsidered her answer.

“Never,” she said.

“Never?” Trey laughed unpleasantly. “Don’t you think it’s a little late, darling?” If Empress wanted preemption, he was more than willing to oblige; in fact, he never doubted his power to take what he wanted. But with Mademoiselle Jordan’s
penchant for business, surely they could come to some more amiable agreement. “Now then, dear,” he began mildly, “you were always good at bargaining and after seeing the full array of … what’s the polite term for those lusting men you surround yourself with?”

“You should know,” Empress replied, maliciously sweet. “When it comes to lust, you’ve investigated the sensation a thousand ways, I’m sure.”

“Let’s not get into name-calling, sweetheart.” The anger in his voice was controlled, a skill he’d acquired in his legislative battles. “Shall we simply say ‘your friends’ are all being juggled with that complacent frankness I’ve always admired in you? All I’m asking is you include me in the juggling act and add a codicil for time with my son. I’ll happily pay for the privilege. Surely your mercenary soul will consider the practical aspects of such an arrangement. It must cost dear to keep up this house.”

“And if I say yes?” she remarked acidly.

“Well, then, since all the world knows you for a ‘friendly’ widow, I’d say why not extend that cordiality to an old friend? Put little Max to bed since he’s apparently fallen asleep, lock the door, and we can test out Nanny’s narrow cot over there. It only remains to ask,” he said with charming mockery, “whether you would prefer francs or dollars.”

His rudeness was beyond belief. “I’d prefer you take your silky lust,” Empress said, quivering with rage, her voice barely controlled, “and entertain some other woman.”

He gave her a glittering smile. “But I want to entertain you.”

“Get in line, Trey, darling.” Her malice was as sparkling and tinsel-bright as his glittering smile. “I seem to be much in demand.”

“And with good reason,” he replied, his glance slowly drifting down her body and then up again to rest indolently on her full, exposed breasts.

“You haven’t changed,” she snapped.

“Well … neither have you, except,” he murmured very softly, “for those extremely lavish breasts. The Earth Mother becomes you, love.”

“You can look all you want,” she said, ill tempered, deliberately lowering the sleeping baby into her lap so Trey’s view
was unobstructed, “but that’s as close as you’ll get.” If he thought she was for sale, she wanted to make it plain she was
not
for sale to him.

“Don’t challenge me, Empress.” He measured the distance between them with his eyes. “I never lose. You’d be wise to remember that.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” she replied sweetly, complacent in her position of strength with her small son as bulwark, irritated at Trey’s assurance and presumption.

“I remember
your
first time,” Trey breathed softly, and was rewarded with a spontaneous blush that pinked even the pale fulness of her heavy breasts.

She covered herself up then, as though a thin silk barrier was enough to nullify the spiraling heat his words provoked in the pit of her stomach. Forever etched in her memory was the stark, handsome sight of him, his luminous eyes hot with wanting her that first moment when she stepped out of the tub at Lily’s. She had never seen a maid dismissed with less movement and more authority.

He knew what she was doing when she bared herself to him, and he kept his feelings tightly leashed. No callow youth, he refused to respond to the deliberate provocation. But he’d seen her hasty, fluttering gesture before she’d pulled the bodice of her dress shut, and experience suggested that the lady was feeling the same prominent desire as he. Did she really think she could keep him out?

The men in her life angered him more than he cared to admit; he wanted her more than he wished; Empress Jordan was more of a callous businesswoman than he cared to consider. All seething, frustrated emotions combined to temper his compassion and force a merciless bluntness to his statements. So when she said, dismissively, “That was a long time ago,” he rose in one swift movement, intent on making his position clear.

As he advanced toward her, she shivered, his towering size menacing, his expression ominous. But his voice was gentle when he spoke. “It
has
been too long, hasn’t it?” And standing beside her now, he reached down and touched her shoulder, his hand slowly sliding downward until his fingers covered the swell of her breast, the weight of his hand heavy for a moment like an explicit demonstration of ownership. She should fight
such conspicuous power, Empress thought, but her traitorous body sighed into the authoritative pressure, and her eyes closed to absorb the sensations. “And regardless of the line of men in front of me,” Trey whispered, stroking the fine silk, feeling the warm resiliency of her breast beneath, watching with satisfaction her closed eyes and the blush stealing up her throat, “I’m not waiting my turn. I’ll be coming into your house.” His thumb circled her nipple, rising through the dark silk. “Your room.” A drop of milk oozed through the fabric, and Empress groaned, a small stifled sound, her eyes opening languidly to follow his velvety voice, as exquisite, pulsing heat descended downward. “Your body …” He lightly touched the telltale stain, and a muted whimper escaped Empress’s lips as an intense pleasure spread from the feather-light pressure of his fingers. “So be warned.” His hand moved upward until his palm rested on the pulsing vein under her ear, then his fingers splayed out, twining in the softness of her hair, holding her head gently. “And my apologies for not using prettier language,” he murmured, his grip tightening so her face was lifted to his, “but I mean to fuck you.”

He smiled, just the faintest curving of his mouth, and released her hair. The pad of one finger touched the fullness of her lower lip. “Lock your doors if you wish, Empress, darling, but I’m coming in.”

She was still sitting in quivering shock when he turned and walked from the room.

A
nd in the following days he was underfoot, at lunch, or taking the children out on excursions, in the nursery every time she turned around, it seemed, insinuating himself—damn him, she thought—into the very fabric of their life. But she would have been a brute to refuse the children the enormous pleasure he brought to them. She hadn’t seen them so happy in years.

Guy was learning Absarokee horsemanship in addition to his dressage, and the day she went out to the riding ring to view his accomplishments, her heart almost stopped. Guy was balancing atop a galloping horse, standing with his arms out and swaying precariously, it appeared from Empress’s vantage point, as the horse thundered down the length of the ring. Forcing her scream back, she watched, terrified, expecting any minute that he would tumble from his unsteady perch. Seeing her, Guy waved gaily, and rigid with fear, she waved back, her heart only resuming its regular rhythm when he slipped back into a seated position. Trotting up to Trey, who was supervising his lesson, Empress watched her brother
speak to him in an agitated, gesturing conversation that appeared to be a coaxing monologue. Trey, mounted on a sleek bay, listened without responding for several moments and then nodded his head once. Apparently Trey had agreed to Guy’s persuasion, for a moment later Guy wheeled his mount and shouted, “Watch us now, Pressy, watch us!”