Texas Moon TH4 (16 page)

Except for the mention of Indians, it sounded better than she could have imagined. She wouldn't have any difficulty dealing with miners and their families. They were her kind of people. She was more than relieved that he didn't intend to return to Ohio and the civilized snobbery back East. The part that worried her most was the current lack of railroad.

"How will we get to this place if there isn't any rail line yet?"

He'd rolled his shirt sleeves up when he had carried in the wood. His tie had departed with his coat. He could be any hardworking man that she knew sitting across the table from her, not the wealthy financier she knew he was. Except she could see the confidence in the strong lines of his face and knew this man had never accepted defeat. She didn't know too many working men who could say that.

"There's a railroad out of Fort Worth that takes us up through El Paso. Once we reach Gage, though, we'll have to take the stage to carry your trunks into Butte. From there, I guess we'll have to rent a wagon to get your things up to my place. It will be a long while before those roads are ready for fancy carriages."

Fancy carriages didn't worry her. Betsy did. The journey sounded long and tedious and dusty. Janice frowned and bit her lip. "How far away is Gage from this place we're going?"

Peter gave her a cautious look. "I'd say fifty miles or more."

Janice's stomach churned. It sounded as if they would have to do a lot of traveling by stage and wagon. Maybe if she could find someone to keep Betsy until the winter when the dust and heat weren't so bad....

"It's a good thing it's summer. We can travel faster. When the snow falls, no one gets through." Peter reached for the pan of biscuits again.

Janice's hands fell in her lap, and she stared over his shoulder at the last ray of sun gleaming through the doorway. She'd really gone and done it now. How would she make the best of this new disaster?

It worried her all evening. They cleared the table and washed the dishes together, and she asked questions and listened carefully as Peter talked, but all the while, the predicament of transporting Betsy across desert territory worried at her. She had married this man to protect Betsy. She couldn't let her decision end up killing her child.

But the well-charted territory of the kitchen soon gave way to the next step in her new position, and she had other things to worry about.

There was a moment of awkwardness when they had the last plate dried and put away. Janice ended it when she left the kitchen for the front room. The sun was just setting, and she lit the lamp to fend off the growing dusk. She felt more than saw Peter as he followed her in and watched her move about the room.

"It's early yet. What do you usually do in the evening?" She tried to sound bright and serene, but the effort cost her.

She turned and saw her husband leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. She knew she couldn't run from the gleam she detected in his eye. She had never tried to imagine what lay beneath the smooth linen of his shirt, but she was aware of how it strained over certain portions of his anatomy. She didn't dare look to his trousers. They weren't cheap cotton denims but made of some rich material that draped neatly over his narrow hips and clung almost indecently to his thighs. She actually found herself trying to imagine how the material would outline his buttocks, but he was turned the wrong way. She had to turn back to the window to keep him from seeing the flush in her cheeks.

"Read. Play cards, I suppose."

He had taken so long to answer that she had to remember the question. She crossed her hands in front of her and nodded absently. The rumble of his voice seemed to touch her somehow. Little prickly footsteps were rising up and down her arms and creeping around inside of her. She would have to get this over with before she made it any worse than it was.

"Jenny."

The sound of Jason's pet name for her on Peter's tongue made her start, but not so much as the fact that he was right behind her. She jumped when he laid a hand on her shoulder, but he did no more than that. She tried to quiet her quaking nerves.

"We're neither of us children anymore, Jenny. We're man and wife. I think we're both levelheaded adults. We walked into this with our eyes wide open. We may have a lot to learn about each other, but I don't think there's anything to fear. Pardon my asking, but I need to know how careful I have to be. Have you ever known a man before, Jenny?"

He made it so amazingly easy for her. Janice nodded silently, and she could almost swear he gave a sigh of relief. His words confirmed her impression.

"Good. I didn't think I would have enough control to do it right if you were a virgin. It's been a long time since I had a woman, Jenny. I need one real bad right now. Would you mind too much if we skipped the preliminaries and got on with this?"

What a romantic declaration. Janice had to smile at his practicality despite the terror seizing her insides. He was a man after her own heart, going straight for what he wanted without letting anything stand in his way. The fact that he wanted her was almost reassuring.

"I'm ready when you are," she murmured obediently, turning in the direction of the bedroom.

"I'll give you time to get ready," he said to her back. And then, as she walked away, he added, "Don't bother with a nightgown."

Chapter 13

Peter watched the graceful sway of Janice's bustle as she walked away and swore he was salivating. He was aware that he was desperate for the relief of a woman's body beneath him, for the physical release that would come with blind lust. But he was also aware that he had always been able to control these physical reactions before. He'd never in his entire life ever wanted to fling a woman to the ground and jerk her skirts up. But that was how he felt right now.

He didn't even care who the man had been before him. He didn't care if it had been "man" in the plural. He was merely relieved that she knew what to expect and wouldn't be shocked when he took her with a great deal less care than he ought. There would be time enough to do it properly once he got some relief from this tension.

He knew part of the tension was worry over getting that loan and what would happen if he didn't, but he could scarcely think of that right now. Every time he tried, his mind strayed to the delicate sashay of Janice's shapely rear end or the narrow span of her waist.

She had never worn a gown revealing enough for him to guess the size of her breasts, but he was quite content with the swell of the curve he'd seen beneath the tight corseting of her wedding gown. She was small-boned and slender as any lady, but he already knew she possessed solid steel for a backbone. She would need it where he was taking her.

He wished for a drink while he listened to the rustling of silken clothes in the other room. Maybe he should have offered to help her undress. He rather imagined her elegant gown would have wound up a crumpled ball on the floor if he had. This was the proper way of doing things on a wedding night, even if the bride and groom weren't exactly innocent.

When he heard the squeak of the bed springs, Peter blew out the lamp and started unfastening his shirt. He had it undone by the time he crossed the floor.

The room was dark when he entered. He pushed the door closed and dropped his shirt where he stood. His knee bumped a chair, and he sat down to pull off his shoes. He could scarcely hear her breathing for the pounding of his own heart. This was his wedding night. The woman in that bed was his to have and to hold until death did them part. He was damned well terrified, but his body was taking care of that terror quite well. He had to unbutton his trousers to ease the pain of constriction.

He was grateful for the darkness. She would no doubt faint if she could see him now. He'd never felt so huge in his life. He stepped out of his trousers and, completely naked, approached the bed.

He hit his shin on the low bed, but Peter scarcely noticed as he pulled back the thin sheet. The June heat filled the airless room, so she didn't need the cover, but he found her modesty endearing.

Her skin was smooth silk as he climbed in next to her. He felt her flinch when he first touched her, but she didn't push him away. Whoever the man or men had been, they hadn't turned her into a whore. She was as rigid as a frightened virgin.

He'd scarcely even had a chance to kiss or hold her, and here he was reaching to caress her breast. Peter prayed she would forgive him because he couldn't help himself. His fingers closed around the soft yielding mound and he gave a sigh of pure pleasure. She was perfect.

He kissed her then, or tried. She didn't seem to know to open her mouth. He teased his tongue along the seam of her lips and caressed her breast until she shivered and tentatively circled his shoulders with her arms. That convinced him he was welcome. He moved his kisses along the line of her jaw rather than force her to do something she apparently found unseemly.

She moaned softly when he teased the tightening crest of her breast. Peter couldn't resist trying to capture that moan with his mouth. She froze up on him again, but it didn't matter. He was about to explode with need. He would teach her about kissing later.

He found the soft triangle between her legs and slid his hand deep between her thighs. Her moan sounded muffled, but her hips rose toward him when he pressed her there. She wasn't exactly moist when he inserted his finger, but he hadn't prepared her very well either. That was something else that would come with time.

He spread his hand and forced her to part her thighs. He held them apart with one knee while he bent to suckle at her breast. He could feel the shock roll through her, and he almost chuckled. The prim schoolteacher really didn't know much at all about lovemaking. He applied himself more diligently to this pleasure and was rewarded by the increasing moistness where his finger worked slowly in and out.

She shivered uncontrollably, and he thought he heard her whisper his name. He really couldn't wait any longer. He'd surprised himself by showing this much restraint. Beads of moisture coated his brow from the effort. The time had come to claim his wife.

He knelt between her legs and pushed her knees up when she didn't seem to know to do it herself. He was so engorged he feared he would hurt her otherwise. But then he lost any remaining restraint or courtesy. She was open and waiting and his for the taking.

She made a muffled noise when he pushed into her. He hesitated, but no membrane blocked his passage. He couldn't register more than that. Despite her passive protest, his body screamed "Now, now!" and his hips thrust instinctively. With relief almost at hand, he lost any remaining fragment of control, breaching her surely and thoroughly and so completely that he exploded within her in one final plunge that left his whole body throbbing. Not until he collapsed against her did Peter realize she was whimpering and weeping beneath him.

* * *

When her new husband finally rolled off of her, Janice turned on her side with her face toward the wall. Peter awkwardly caressed her bare shoulder, and she desperately tried to halt her hysterical sobs, but they bubbled from a hollow place deep inside her.

It had been the same violation all over again. She had hoped and prayed that it would be different this time, but in ways it had been horribly worse. Her breast ached where his beard stubble had scraped her, and she buried her face in her hands as she remembered the other humiliating thing he had done to her. His finger! He had used his finger where she scarcely dared touch herself.

It had to be proper. Peter Mulloney was more gentleman than she was lady. But she couldn't help this repulsion. It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Stephen, but she couldn't explain that to him. Peter's terrible weight had held her pinned just as Stephen's greater strength had held her then. She had fought Stephen when he had shoved her legs apart.

With Peter, she had battled herself. Still, she hadn't been able to fight the paralyzing terror when he had entered her. He had shoved his body up inside hers repeatedly, far more than she could remember Stephen having done, and it hurt. She felt raw and used and.... She didn't want to think about the last thing she felt.

The sticky liquid of his seed seeped down her thigh. At least this time it wouldn't contain her blood. But this time, she knew what it meant. In nine months she could be full to bursting with his child.