Part 4 (1/2)
Something terrible.
A chill touched Wolfeas spine as he realized how deep Jessicaas fear must have been during the attack. Despite his vow to wear her down until she agreed to an annulment, he couldnat help but ease her closer to his body, cradling her, protecting her because at that moment she was too defenseless to protect herself.
aJessi,a Wolfe said very softly against her ear, alet me go. Donat make me hurt you any more.a Although he was certain she heard, she didnat answer him in any way.
aIs that what you want?a he asked roughly. aNo quarter asked and none given?a Jessica neither moved nor spoke. It was as though nothing had been said between them.
aSo be it,a Wolfe said, his voice bleak. aNo quarter asked and none given.a
4.
T HE Rocky Mountains rose steeply beyond Wolfeas home. Their icy peaks were swathed in clouds, their broad shoulders streaked by the changing season, and their feet firmly rooted in the plains Jessica had learned to love while on safari with Lord Stewart. She had never been to Wolfeas home, for Lord Stewart had preferred to hunt in Wyoming Territory. Even so, she hadnat expected Wolfeas house to be large, for she knew that most Americans couldnat afford such splendor as Lord Stewartas country mansions.
However, Jessica hadnat understood what living in a small house meant in terms of day-to-day intimacy. Wolfe had. He had been antic.i.p.ating her dismay with real pleasure, a.s.suming that it would bring him a quick victory in the battle for annulment.
aYour house is quite handsome, butaa Jessicaas voice died.
aYes?a Wolfe prompted, knowing very well what was bothering Jessica.
aThere is only one bedroom.a His black eyebrows lifted in silent, sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt. aAre you certain?a aQuite,a Jessica said, slipping back into the clipped accents she had worked so hard to shed. aAnd there is only one bed in that room.a He nodded.
Smiling, forcing her voice to be teasing, Jessica asked, aAre you going to make your bed in the willows with the birds?a aWhy would I do that? The bed is large enough for two.a aWolfe, Iam serious.a aSo am I. Iam not an aristocrat, your ladys.h.i.+p. Iam an unt.i.tled b.a.s.t.a.r.d. In America we have a quaint custom among the lower cla.s.sesa”husbands and wives share the same bed.a Jessicaas heart began to beat frantically. She clasped her hands together to hide their trembling and smiled coaxingly.
aSurely youare joking.a He laughed and said distinctly, aNo, I am not.a aYou must be,a Jessica said, her voice light despite the pleading in her eyes. aNo woman would suffer a man every night.a aNo aristocrat, surely,a Wolfe retorted. aBut a Western woman would. Ask Willow Black. She and Caleb share the same bed night after night after night, and both of them spend their days looking like theyave swallowed the sun.a The naked longing in Wolfeas voice irritated Jessica so much that she forgot her fear of sharing not only a bedroom with Wolfe, but a bed as well.
aWillow again,a Jessica said, concealing her annoyance beneath a sigh. aWhat a paragon she must be.a aYes.a aWhere do Western women who arenat paragons sleep?a Jessica asked mildly. aIn the stable?a aOnly if they donat spook the horses.a aNo stable for me, then.a She took off her hat and shook down her half-unraveled braids. aThe horses will take one look at my hair and think the hay is on fire.a Unwillingly, Wolfeas expression softened. In the days since the attack on the stagecoach, it had become nearly impossible to be with Jessica and not enjoy her company. She had been unfailingly cheerful, agreeable, charming, and witty. With one exception, she had enlivened the long stage ride for everyone.
The exception was the powerful blond stranger who had given them only one name: Rafe.
Wolfe and Rafe had tacitly realized they would tangle if they both stayed caged up with a laughing young woman dancing between them. Without a word spoken on the subject, Rafe had spent the remainder of the ride with the driver. At the second stage stop, Rafe had bought a horse and saddle from a homesick Easterner and ridden off toward the setting sun after expressing his appreciation of Jessicaas nursing once again.
Rafe had been much too appreciative of Jessica, as far as Wolfe was concerned. Watching Jessicaas glance follow the soft-spoken Rafe until he vanished into the incandescent eye of the sun had rankled Wolfe deeply. He couldnat help wondering if Jessica would have stared at Rafe in fright as she had at Wolfe when she awakened on the stage and found herself in his arms.
aYou may sleep in my bed like a Western wife or you may sleep on the living room hearth like a favorite hound,a Wolfe said coldly. aItas your choice, just as the marriage was your choice.a Jessica forced herself to smile. aThatas very generous of you. I know how well you like hounds.a Wolfeas indigo eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Jessica turned away and looked at his bedroom once more. At first she didnat really see it, but gradually the lines and colors beguiled her as they had at first glance. The room was like Wolfe himself, elegant and very masculine at the same time. It was the elegance of a falcon or a cougar, a matter of balance and strength rather than delicacy.
Like the exterior of the house itself, the roomas walls were composed of peeled logs. The inner face of the logs had been sanded to smoothness and polished to a fine l.u.s.ter, giving a warm, subtly rich feel to the room. Although the furniture had been made by a man who loved the grain and flow of wood, the stark simplicity of the design was almost startling to eyes accustomed to European luxury.
Yet the lines of bed and dresser, table and chair drew Jessicaas eyes again and again, pleasing her in the same way that patterns of geese flying against an autumn sky pleased her. The beautifully colored blankets and the pale, luminous fur throw that had been folded at the foot of the bed were as rich as anything owned by a duke. A sunburst of clear crystals had been placed like a bouquet on the bedside table, but unlike a bouquet, the crystals would never fade and die.
aYou have a fine sense of texture and proportion,a Jessica said slowly. aThe room is quite beautiful. The furniture isaextraordinary.a aSarcasm, Lady Jessica?a Wolfe retorted, looking around his bedroom.
She stared at him, startled by the bite in his voice. Before she could speak, he did.
aThe furniture was made by a backsliding Shaker in exchange for room and board over a long winter. The blankets are standard trade goods from the Hudson Bay company. So are the furs.a aIf I intend sarcasm,a Jessica said tartly, ayou wonat have to inquire. Youall know.a aWill I? Then tell me what you see in this room to please a gently raised ladyas eye.a aMany things,a Jessica said, accepting the unspoken challenge. aThe lines of the furniture are simple to the point of starkness, which emphasizes the appealing warmth of the fire, the rich colors of the blankets, and the inviting texture of the fur. The fireplace is quite clever, for it opens into two rooms at once. And is that a hipbath behind the screen?a aYes.a aItas quite large.a aSo am I.a Wolfe watched as Jessica ran her fingertips over the straight back of a nearby chair.
aYou have everything you need for comfort, and you have beauty as well,a she said quietly. aWhoever made this was a fine craftsman who loved wood. See how the grain of the wood both matches and repeats the lines of the chair?a Wolfe saw more than that. He also saw the latent sensuality in Jessica, the sheer physical pleasure she took from the feel of the smooth wood beneath her fingertips.
aAnd the fur,a she added, walking over to the foot of the bed, ais magnificent.a aIt comes from Arctic foxes. They live at the foot of glaciers whose creva.s.ses are the exact blue of your eyes.a aIs it a beautiful color?a she asked softly.
aYou know it is.a aIt never seemed so to me.a Jessicaas fingers speared through the thick white fur, seeking and finding its softest textures. The sound of pleasure she made as she stroked the fur brought every one of Wolfeas hungry senses to alert. The thought of those slender fingers tangling in his own hair sent a shaft of desire through his body. He turned away abruptly.
aIall bring your trunks in here. No matter where you decide to sleep, youall use this as your dressing room.a Jessica looked up curiously, caught by the husky note in Wolfeas voice.
aWhile I finish unloading the wagon,a Wolfe continued, ayou start fixing a cold supper and some hot coffee. The supplies are in the burlap sacks. You might as well put everything away. Then youall know where everything is when you need it for cooking.a aWolfe,a Jessica said quickly.
He turned around.
She started to explain that she didnat know the first thing about fixing suppers, whether cold or hot. The aura of expectancy in his stance told her that he was waiting for just such an invitation to bait her again on her inadequacy as an American wife. She wasnat certain her temper was up to that at the moment.
The long, uncomfortable wagon ride from the stage terminus in Denver had tried Jessicaas resilience and resolve to their limits. She was stiff, cold, bruised, and more exhausted than she had ever been in her life.
But she was expected to cheerfully conjure a meal for that most demanding of all creatures, a Western husband.
aYes?a Wolfe asked in a silky voice.
aI was just, er, wondering where to put my clothes.a aAs I didnat know I was going to acquire a wife in England, I didnat buy any dressers or armoires for your clothes.a His smile was a thin white curve against the darkness of his face. aNot that it matters. You wonat be here long enough to repay the trouble of unpacking even one trunk.a aOh? Does that mean weare leaving on another trip right away?a Jessica asked in an artificially bright voice.
aWe arenat. You are. Back to London.a aAh, that trip. Well, you know how foolish it is to count unhatched chicks. I feel the same could be said of unhatched trips.a Wolfe looked at Jessicaas bright smile and felt his temper fraying. If she had sulked or complained, he could have berated her, but her inexhaustible well of cheerfulness made that impossible.
She knew it as well as he did. Better, perhaps.
aThe kitchen, your ladys.h.i.+p, is through that door.a aWhy, so it is.a She gathered the skirts of her ruined travel outfit in her hands and eased through the doorway that was filled by her unwilling husband.
aIall expect supper within the hour,a Wolfe said as yards of soft wool brushed over his thighs, tightening every muscle in his body. aIall expect the coffee a h.e.l.l of a lot sooner.a aIam sure you will,a Jessica agreed.
But she wasnat sure Wolfe would get it.
The kitchen had a brick floor, cupboards everywhere, a pump, a sink, and a big stove. The small table in one corner obviously had been made by the Shaker craftsman who had furnished the bedroom. Sacks of supplies were lined up the length of the floor.
Now that Wolfe was no longer present to measure Jessicaas mood, her smile vanished as thoroughly as though it had never existed. In the place of her determined cheer was a physical fatigue that made even standing upright an ordeal. Mentally, she was no more resilient.
Nor was there any relief in sight. No matter how hard she tried to coax some simple human warmth from Wolfe, since the Indian attack he had remained abrupt, difficult, cold, and impossible to please. If that wasnat bad enough, the wind seemed to moan without pause over the land. When she was alone, she heard the wind with terrible clarity.
She was always alone now, and never more so than when Wolfe was nearby. Automatically, her hand went to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Beneath her clothes, the locket lay concealed among soft folds of lace. The familiar contours of the necklace rea.s.sured her.
aWell,a Jessica said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice, for anything was better than the unborn horror keening within the wind. aWhere do you suppose Wolfe has hidden his coffeepot? And what do you suppose it will look like when I find it?a The low ululation of the wind was more answer than Jessica wanted to hear. Hurriedly, she fumbled for the matches and lighted a lantern, for Wolfe had shuttered the windows before he left for London. She had watched various servants light various lamps all her life, but it took several tries for her to get the right combination of match, wick, and oil. The lamp smoked annoyingly, but it was better than nothing.
The wind raked over the roof and made the cap on the stovepipe rattle like distant chains, reminding Jessica of her childhood in Scotland, when she had hidden in the kitchen with the scullery maids because she could no longer bear the sounds coming from her fatheras suite of rooms. It had been a very long time since Jessica had thought of such things. She didnat wish to begin now.
Humming to shut out both the wind and her darkly stirring memories, Jessica set to work. The air she hummed was one of her favorites, aBonnie Laddie, Highland Laddie.a The words had always stuck her as over-simple, but the melody had a fine lilt that lifted her spirits. The more fiercely the wind blew, the more loudly Jessica sang her lively, wordless song, opening and closing cupboards as she searched for the coffeepot.
After opening every cupboard, peering in, and holding the smoky lamp aloft, Jessica still hadnat found anything that resembled the graceful sterling silver urns Lord Robertas servants had taken coffee from. Nor did she find anything like the small, plump sterling silver pots or tissue-thin china that had been used for service in the bedroom.
aBlazes,a she muttered.
Jessica began the search and the song all over again. Halfway through the cupboard, she sensed that she was no longer alone in the room. She spun around.