He also disdained hothouse flowers and guilelessly confessed he lacked ambition, not realizing that his contentment with himself was even more attractive. He refused to let her drink too much and made her heart ache for the child raised in a brothel.
Steadfast, she had called him. Strong. Dependable.
He was the kind of man who could capture her heart if she wasn’t careful.
She saw him every day after that. He called at her office, took her riding in Central Park on Sunday afternoons, and even arranged to have her move to smaller quarters in an apartment hotel that provided meals in a dining hall and maid service, so she didn’t miss Tilly. If Honor didn’t have paperwork to do at home in the evenings, she joined him for dinner several times a week. They talked for hours as if they had known each other all their lives. Afterward they shared sweet kisses. That was all.
She found herself looking forward to their times together.
Then came the raw, rainy fourth of November that Honor would never forget.
That afternoon she stood at her office window staring glumly at the flat gray sky and the driving sheets of slanting water. Below her a sea of black umbrellas bobbed and wove as pedestrians scrambled for shelter in the nearest doorway.
Behind her she heard her office door open. “Don’t you believe in knock—” The remonstrance died when she turned and saw Nevada standing there.
Water plastered his fair hair to his skull and dripped off the ends of his mustache. Just one look at his ashen face and dazed expression, and Honor knew his world had come to an end.
“What’s happened?” She went to him and grasped his hands, wet and ice cold. “Tell me.”
He said nothing, just looked at her helplessly and shuddered. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him close. He clung to her so tightly she feared he’d crack her ribs.
“Tell me,” she murmured, rubbing his back with sure, steady strokes, suddenly afraid for him. He was soaked to the skin. What news could be so terrible that it had sent him rushing headlong into the cold and rain without an overcoat or hat?
“Let’s get this off before you catch your death,” she said, stepping back and removing his frock coat while he stood there, silent and shivering. Honor took her warm woolen cape from the rack and flung it around his shoulders, then made him sit down. She stroked his wet hair and saw the devastation in his bright, red-rimmed eyes. “Say something, please. You’re frightening me.”
He took a deep breath and forced out the words between his chattering teeth. “The Delancys’ son is dead.”
“Oh, dear God.” Honor pulled him against her and held him, returning the strength he had so often offered her. She knew that the Delancys’ son, William, had been a baby when they fled to England, so how old was he now? Three? Four? Poor Catherine. Poor Damon. Honor’s eyes filled with tears. “My poor Nevada.”
She held him until his shudders subsided. Then she released him and knelt beside his chair. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said, grasping his hands. “How…”
“Cholera. I just got the cable. Sorry to barge in on you, but I didn’t know where else to go.”
She touched his cheek, still wet with either rain or tears. “I’m glad you came to me.”
He sighed deeply and cradled his head in his hands. “I only remember little Wild Bill as a baby, so I suppose I’m grieving for Delancy and the doc all alone in a strange country, with no kin to share their grief.”
Honor placed one reassuring hand on his shoulder. “They have each other, and they know your prayers are with them.”
Nevada said nothing, just stared into space, his thoughts in a place that Honor couldn’t reach. She knelt beside him quietly, comforting him with her silent presence. Finally he gave one deep, heartfelt sigh, flung off the cape, and helped Honor to her feet.
“I need to go to Coppermine for a few days,” he said, retrieving his wet frock coat and preparing to leave.
“You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” She took a deep breath. “May I come with you?”
He raised his brows, his surprised gaze boring into hers. “Much as I would appreciate the company, what about your reputation? There won’t be any other guests there this time, just old Mr. and Mrs. May, the winter caretakers.”
Honor knew that to spend a weekend in the country with a bachelor gentleman and a houseful of other guests was perfectly acceptable, but to go off alone with a man amounted to an illicit tryst. “I understand that, and I would still like to come.”
He grew very still and eyed her as warily as a hawk. “You’re sure?”
Unspoken between them glimmered the tacit understanding that if she went with him, they would become lovers. “I’m sure.”
Nevada kissed her swiftly, his lips cold. “I would welcome your company.”
That was all he said. He wouldn’t ask her to go.
Honor went over to the window and tugged at her locket as she looked out at the pouring rain. She turned to face him. “Can we leave this afternoon?”
“What about your clients?”
“I have no appointments for several days. If there are any emergencies, Elroy can refer my clients to another lawyer.”
His cool eyes burned. “Just let me send a telegram to the Mays to let them know when to expect us, and we’ll be off.”
Chapter Sixteen
They arrived at Coppermine after dark, in the pouring rain.
Once inside the atrium, Nevada removed Honor’s damp cape and handed it to Mrs. May while her husband shuffled off with their bags.
Nevada took off his own coat and gloves, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “It’s cool in here,” he said to Honor. “Shall we have a sherry in the library?”
“My shoes are soaked through, and my skirt is wet,” she replied, shaking it out to avoid catching his eye. “I’d like to go to my room and change.”
“Of course.” He turned to Mrs. May. “I know I don’t need to ask if our rooms are ready.”
“They were readied the minute we learned you were coming, sir.”
“I can always count on you, Mrs. May.” He placed his hand beneath Honor’s elbow and guided her upstairs, stopping in front of a closed door. Honor noticed that this was not the same room that she and Robert had occupied.
Nevada opened the door and stepped back. “My room is right next door.”
Honor didn’t comment or even look at him. She entered the room and closed the door. A freshly trimmed lamp burning dimly on the nightstand revealed what she hoped to find, a connecting door.
She closed her eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. Oh, Honor, she thought, I hope he wants you as much as you want him.
She searched her heart and realized that this was more than a case of mere wanting. She loved him. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with him, but she had, and now that love justified her presence here.
On the bed her suitcase waited like Pandora’s box.
He knew she would come to him tonight.
He had known ever since that brief, electrifying moment in her office when she asked if she could join him, ostensibly to share his grief. Behind that most innocent of motives, he had recognized the decisive air of a woman finally embracing the inevitable.
He knelt on one knee before the fire to put on another log. He listened to the rain beating against the roof and the November wind moaning through the trees. He shivered, but not from the cold, for his room was warm and cozy. For her comfort.
The women he’d known had taught him that lovemaking was more than knowing when and where and how to touch a woman. Gentleness and caring were as important as filling the hollows in a woman’s heart, even if just for the night.
He jabbed at the logs with the poker. Grief had left a few hollows in his own heart that needed filling.
Nevada stared at the connecting door. What was taking her so long? What if he had misread her and she was down in the library waiting for him and that sherry?
Above the roaring rain, he heard the unmistakable sound of a doorknob turning. The connecting door opened. His heart gave a queer little lurch at the sight of her.
Honor’s thick, lustrous hair, usually pinned up so demurely, cascaded wild and free down over her shoulders to her breasts. Spellbinding black eyes held a potent mixture of defiance, anticipation, and a nervous fear of the unknown.
Nevada rose, stepped forward, then extended a hand in wordless invitation.
Honor closed the connecting door and crossed the room in a soft rustle of blue silk. She solemnly placed her hand in his, her long, delicate fingers ice cold.
He rubbed warmth into them as he stared into the dark depths of her eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to.” Her gaze shifted to the bed. “Unless you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to let you come here if I didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re worried about conceiving a child—”
“I—I’ve already taken care of that possibility,” she said, blushing to the roots of her hair.
“Good.” He knew unresolved issues hung between them, but desire overrode caution. He simply couldn’t resist. He drew her into his arms, reveling in the uncorseted, yielding softness of her through the smooth, cool silk of the tea gown she wore. He sought her mouth with his own.
She entwined her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer, parting her lips in sweet surrender. He teased her tongue with his own, tasting her, and felt her tremble with delight, while her soft rose scent evoked images of spring and renewal.
His head spinning, his body aching and taut with desire, Nevada broke their kiss just long enough to push the hair away from her face, where several wild strands had gotten caught against her lips.
“Black-eyed witch.” He kissed her again, feeling her smile against his mouth, and strained the bonds of his self-control almost to the breaking point. He tested her resolve by stroking her breast, raising the nipple through the silk with an erotic flick of his thumb. Her smile died and she moaned deep in her throat, but did not pull away, giving him her tacit permission to continue.
Though the bed beckoned from the far side of the room, Nevada ignored it, tossed some pillows from a nearby chair onto the floor, and pulled Honor down beside him in front of the fireplace. Tucking the pillows beneath her head and fanning her glorious hair about her, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her, feeling himself go gloriously hard. He wanted to give her pleasure such as she had never known. He wanted her to will him her soul.
He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, then her mouth again, while undoing the tiny pearl buttons running down the front of her tea gown.
To his surprise and delight, she opened the gown herself, offering him a gift of her bare breasts. No corset or chemise impeded his ardor. Honor’s eyes closed, her lips parted, and she arched her back in invitation.
He caressed her breasts tenderly, watching her expressive face. She struggled and cried out, a gratifying sound of feminine torment and mounting excitement.
When he moved away, her eyes flew open and he saw both need and desire. It was time. He rose, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. He looked down at her lying among the scattered pillows like a tantalizing, newly opened gift on Christmas morning, in a tangle of pale blue silk, with her dainty bare feet and slender ankles exposed.
He grinned. “If the gentlemen of the jury could see you now…”
Honor grabbed a pillow and flung it at him. “I would win every case.”
“You surely would.” He removed his shirt and watched her carefully as he unfastened his trousers.
Honor could not tear her eyes away. His shirt came off to reveal a hard, lean torso, lighter than Robert’s physique, but roped with muscle. And scarred. She counted five scars—two round, puckered bullet holes and three knife slashes. Instead of fascinating Honor, as they had Lillie Troy, the scars angered her.
She rose and stared at the long, raised white slash just beneath his rib cage, her eyes dampening. “That someone would dare to hurt you…I’m appalled.”
He caught her hands and held them tightly. “They don’t hurt anymore. They belong to my past. Different time, different place, different man. So don’t cry over them.’”
She smiled and nodded. When Nevada released her hands to remove his trousers, she shrugged out of her tea gown. It slid down her naked body to the floor in a beguiling whisper of silk.
His sharp gasp of surprise pleased and excited her, as did his lean, powerful body and proud, insistent arousal. He drew her into his arms, hot skin touching hot skin, hardness against softness. Honor tucked her head against his neck, holding him. He smelled deliciously of woodsmoke and male arousal.
I’m going to make love to a man who is not my husband, she thought. I am committing adultery; so why don’t I feel ashamed?
Because I do love him. I don’t know how or why it happened. I don’t even know if he loves me in return or just desires me. For tonight I don’t care.
Nevada swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where the light from the fireplace barely reached the dark corners. He set her down gently on the cool, smooth sheets and slid in beside her.