Nora (14 page)

“The child should be our primary concern, not our own welfare,” he reminded her bluntly. “It didn't ask to be created.”

She flushed, remembering that frenzy of creation that had occurred. “You don't want me.”

“I don't want a wife,” he said stiffly. “But I'm not so dishonorable that I can leave you to the mercy of strangers. Come.”

She followed him to the platform, standing back while he bought tickets. Her eyes lingered on his tall, broad-shouldered form warmly, loving the strength and size and authority of him. He had an air of command about him, something she decided that he had acquired while serving his country during the Spanish-American War of '98. But it was more than that, too. He spoke with such authority, as if he were used to people jumping when he made demands. And he hadn't hesitated to strike her father when he attacked her. Amazing, that he had no fear of a rich man. It delighted her that he was so fearless. She knew him in a physical way, but actually she knew nothing about him.

He turned, tickets in hand, and escorted her to a seat inside the depot on the smooth wooden benches with their curved backs and arms. She ran her hand over the wood while she sat, waiting.

“Would you care for a soda or some tea?” he asked politely.

She smiled impishly and didn't look up. “Actually,
I think a neat whiskey would be more in line with the way I feel, except that I have never tasted spirits in my life.”

He sat down beside her, the gun thudding as it brushed the seat. He moved it carefully and leaned toward her. “Are you all right, Eleanor?” he asked gently.

Surprised, she lifted her eyes to his, tingling as she met them at closer range than she'd expected. She laughed a little nervously. “Of course. Thank you for coming—for defending me.” Her thin shoulders lifted and fell as she rested her hands in her lap. “I would have fought my own battle, had I not been so ill from the return trip.”

“You would not have been up to your father's weight, I fear,” he said, glowering as he remembered her cheek. He touched it, lightly. “Does it still hurt?”

“It is only sore.”

“That was unforgivable,” he said tautly, stroking the soft flesh. He watched her lips part, heard her breathing quicken, and he smiled as she tried to hide the reaction he provoked. “Is this a common thing for him to do, Eleanor?” he added.

“No,” she said. “He used to use a cane on me, when I was younger, but he was never brutal,” she added quickly.

He looked shocked. “A cane!”

She shifted. “Why, yes. Isn't it the usual thing for a child to be struck for infractions?”

His jaw tautened and his pale eyes narrowed in
anger. “Not a girl child,” he said roughly. “It is outrageous!”

She smiled. “He has not done it for many years. Now he only swells up in the face and blusters at me, as a rule. He cares, in his own way. So does my mother.” She remembered their horror at her condition and their censure, and tears stung her eyes. She turned her face away to hide them.

“You were never allowed to play with dirty children, were you?” he asked suddenly.

“With those of the lower classes? Of course not,” she said at once, and watched the light go out of his face. She grimaced. “I am sorry. That was rude.”

He looked away. She had a long way to go, he thought irritably, and it was going to be a difficult road for both of them. “How about that tea?”

“That would be lovely. Is there a tea shop close by?”

“Yes. And something even better,” he added, as his sharp eyes spotted a sign hanging over a doorway just down the street. “Come.”

They left the bags with the porter, since the train was not due for an hour—at least—and he escorted Nora down the long wooden sidewalk to a small house apart from the row of shops.

“Here?” she faltered, holding back.

He nodded solemnly. “Here. We might as well get it over with,” he added under his breath.

That comment hardly alleviated Nora's own misery as Cal led her inside.

It didn't take very long. The justice of the peace listened to Cal's tale of woe about the two of them having to go all the way to Texas under a cloud of scandal since they weren't married and wanted to be. Nora's reputation would be ruined. He mentioned nothing about her condition, but went on and on, until the justice of the peace's little wife was in tears.

“Why, of course, I shall marry you at once!” the small, elderly man said, and his wife patted Nora's shoulder comfortingly. “Step right in here, Mr. Barton, and we shall fill out the necessary papers.”

Cal hesitated. He was going to have to do some fancy talking here, for sure. He couldn't marry under an assumed name, but he had no intention of letting Nora know his surname. He and the justice of the peace filled out the papers, but Nora signed before Cal's last name was added. Cal made sure that he had the license, not her, so there was no chance that she might see her true married name.

The ceremony was very brief, just the usual marriage service, and Nora stood beside Cal—who had taken off his gun for the occasion—in a miserable silence while the words were spoken. She had always envisioned a huge society wedding with all the right people attending, and herself gowned by Worth with a spray of white roses in her hand. Here she stood with a single yellow chrysanthemum, which was the only live flower the little woman could procure for her. She was wearing her oldest gray dress, not even a white one, and had not hat or veil because she hadn't
time to search for the hat that matched this garment. In fact, the dress was already too tight in the waist; if it hadn't been a little big and belted to fit in the past, she wouldn't even have been able to wear it. She was pregnant, and the man at her side didn't want her. She felt as if she were being sold into slavery, and it was her own fault. She wanted to bawl.

And she did, when the justice of the peace declared them man and wife. She didn't even have a wedding band. Nor had Cal moved one step nearer when the little man invited Cal to kiss her.

Cal looked down at his reluctant bride and saw the tears rolling past her mouth. His teeth clenched. He produced a handkerchief and slowly dried the tears.

“I didn't even have a proper dress, whether or not I deserved it,” she whispered miserably, “and no bridesmaids or a bouquet or a minister…”

Cal's face froze. “Well, you have a husband, at least,” he said sharply. “A woman in your condition should be glad of one!”

She gnawed almost through her lower lip and couldn't look up. He was furious. She felt the anger as a tangible thing.

“There, there,” the justice of the peace comforted her, “it's a very emotional moment, isn't it?”

Cal said nothing. Her hasty words had made him aware once more of her condescending attitude toward him. Had he not precipitated this crisis by seducing her, he felt certain that she would never have married him. She would have been counting his money and
checking the social register before she agreed to consider it.

Summerville was much more her sort. But she found the man repulsive, didn't she? And, too, there was the matter of those veiled remarks she had made about the man. He glanced at her as she stood talking to the minister's little wife, his eyes narrowing on her slender body. She was pretty and elegant, but except for that afternoon in the line cabin, he had thought her oddly cold. She had been a surprise and a delight to him, with her unexpected complexities. He remembered so vividly the way she had comforted him when he returned from the devastation of Galveston. But he also remembered her attitude toward his work and his clothes. She had been taught to be a snob. He wondered if she could be untaught.

His parents would never understand this lightning marriage. They would have to be told, and his mother would be outraged that her son had ruined a decent woman and had to marry her to save her reputation. She would be good for a fifteen-minute tirade when he finally went home. And as he looked at Nora's shattered face, he wondered how she was going to react to the news that she'd married a very wealthy man.

He would have to tell her eventually. But not right away. He couldn't risk letting the cat out of the bag until he finished gently guiding her uncle into more modern methods of cattle production. There were still a few details he had to work out with Chester. Then
Miss Eleanor Marlowe—no, Mrs. Eleanor Culhane if she did but know it—was in for a few surprises.

He took her to the small tea shop and ordered sandwiches as well.

“I could not eat a thing,” she said wearily.

“But you will, Mrs. Barton,” he replied. “I want a healthy son.”

She flushed and glared at him. “Have you told God yet?”

He chuckled at her unexpected fire. “Not yet,” he admitted. His pale eyes narrowed on her thin face. “You haven't had an easy time of it, have you?” he asked with quiet sympathy. “The trip overseas must have been an ordeal, coming and going. And I gather that Summerville was present all the time?”

She shook her head as she stirred the tea in the china cup with a distinctive Rogers silver spoon. “He found out from my parents that I was in London and followed me there. His family was friendly with my relatives, the Randolphs, who invited him to stay.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I detest him. Was it Melly who told you about Africa and what happened there?”

He scowled. “No. What about Africa?”

Her hand stilled. “But you said that you knew about Edward.”

“I knew that he was in Europe with you,” he said flatly.

That put a different complexion on things. She didn't know what to say now. It was easy enough to tell him, but why put that burden on him, along with
the others? Why inflict a worse ordeal than he already had to endure by informing him that he had married an invalid? His poor fortunes were worsening, because now he would have to support her. If she became ill, what then? How would he work and care for her? He was a proud man. It would devastate him. She stifled a sob as she realized the misery she had caused everyone by not being strong enough to refuse him in the cabin that day.

“Are you thinking about the wealth you gave up to marry me and regretting your hasty decision?” he asked when he heard the small sound and misinterpreted it. “Summerville might take you yet.”

“You are my husband now,” she began.

“And divorce is as unwelcome a prospect as unwed motherhood to you and your family, of course,” he said curtly.

“Oh, you infuriate me,” she retorted with a cold glare. She sipped her tea, enjoying its warmth. “I was looking forward to a grand party at Thanksgiving with my family and friends at our home, and now I shall eat beef in a cabin instead!” she said with deliberate hauteur, striking back at him where she sensed it would hurt most.

“Not beef, my dear,” he informed her blandly. “Turkey. Wild turkey. I trust you can cook. I have no culinary skills.”

“Cook?”

The look on her face brought a smile to his. “And clean,” he added. “And wash and iron and the other
things that Texas wives do so cheerfully and with such pride.”

“My aunt…!” she began.

“Your aunt is now your social superior, or hadn't you remembered that you are the wife of her husband's foreman?” he said with deliberate sarcasm. “Imagine that, Mrs. Barton. Far from eating on delicate china, you may well find yourself working in the big house, washing it.” He leaned forward. “And as to the turkey, not only shall you have to cook it, my dear. First you shall have to catch it, and kill it, and clean it!”

“O
H, FOR
G
OD'S SAKE!”
Cal muttered as he knelt to support Nora's sagging body in her chair while she struggled back to consciousness.

She could barely breathe for the corset. How she hated the old-fashioned contraption!

“It's this damned thing, isn't it?” he murmured, plucking at the corset under her dress. “It can't be good for the baby, Nora.”

He'd used her nickname, and tenderly. If she hadn't been so faint, she might have enjoyed hearing it in his deep, slow voice. She pulled herself up by the edge of the table and leaned her head forward, trying to get blood back into her head. The nausea that came with it was the worst.

“Speaking of things that are not good for the baby, I would number among them telling me that I shall have to kill a turkey!” she said angrily.

“I'll wear a gag,” he said irritably. “If the mere mention of preparing food disturbs you, we will probably both starve to death.”

He sounded so male that she began to laugh. His temper wasn't frightening like her father's. Sometimes it was even amusing.

“There, you sound more chipper,” he said, relaxing a little. He rubbed her hands, bringing circulation to them. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “It's the heat, I think, as much as anything,” she said.

“This nice cool place?” he burst out.

She remembered East Texas and how hot it had been during her visit. But it was November now. Surely…

His face told the story. “East Texas has very mild winters,” he said gently. “And it doesn't get very cold.”

“Well…that might not be so bad.”

“It's almost time for the train, and you have eaten nothing. I'll have them pack the sandwiches. We can eat them on the way.”

She laid a hand on his sleeve. “I can't.”

He clasped her fingers gently. “You shall,” he said softly, “if I have to feed you every bite myself.” She colored prettily and his eyes twinkled. “Oh, you like that idea, do you? Is it romantic, do you think, to have your husband put tiny bits of food into your mouth?”

She colored even more. “Stop!”

He chuckled. “In some ways, you are far younger than you look. Wait here.”

She loved him when he was protective and gentle with her. It was such a change from his usual mocking way. Of course, she mustn't allow herself to become dependent on him. And as for the future…well, that would have to be taken one day at a time. Her aunt Helen had adapted to a wild, rough life. Perhaps Nora could, too. She still worried about the reception they would get when they arrived.

“Have you cabled them that we're coming?” she asked uneasily, once they were in the private compartment Cal had arranged for them. The train went all the way to St. Louis, so they didn't have to change until then. She worried aloud at the cost, but he had waved away her comment.

“Of course I cabled them,” he said. “I work for your uncle, remember?” he added deliberately.

She flushed. “I could hardly forget.” She shifted uncomfortably. The sun was setting and she felt sleepy.

“Why not lie down, Nora?” he invited. “I can turn down the berth for you.”

She looked at him blankly. It would mean getting undressed, of course, and they would be sleeping in the same room. Would he want… Would he expect…?

Her wide eyes and flushed cheeks told him what she was thinking.

It irritated him. “You are in a weakened condition and ill,” he bit off. “Do you really think that I would consider insisting on my conjugal rights now?”

She linked her hands together tightly. “Forgive
me,” she said unsteadily. “I am… I am tired and not thinking clearly. Of course you would not.”

He moved her gently aside and prepared the berth for her, right down to turning down the sheets. He closed the blinds as well, shutting out the sparse traffic down the hall.

“I'll go to the smoking car while you change into your night things,” he volunteered before she asked. “Take off that damned corset, will you?” he added irritably. “It's insane to expect a woman carrying a child to wear such a torturous garment!”

She wasn't used to men making such intimate comments about her apparel. But he was her husband.

“I cannot go without it,” she began.

“You certainly can,” he retorted. “You can wear a suit coat tomorrow. No one will notice.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “It is indecent.”

He took her by the shoulders and held her in front of him. She had forgotten how tall and strong he was until he came close. She smelled the faint scent of cologne and wondered at how neat he looked. Even his fingernails were immaculate.

“Indecent, but comfortable,” he said. His eyes searched hers quietly. “How do you feel about the baby?”

The question caught her off guard. She was lost in his eyes, in the touch of him. “Joyful,” she whispered.

He hadn't expected the answer. His chest rose and fell roughly. “Joyful,” he repeated, as if he didn't understand or believe the word. His eyes fell to her
slender body and then lifted to her face. He was confused about the emotions she raised in him. He was a stranger to love, although not to women. But this one made him feel warm inside. She gave him peace. They were odd sensations, and he was also aware of a swelling in his lower body, a tightness that presaged needs she could not, in her condition, satisfy. The urge had been conspicuous by its absence since he had last seen her. How odd that he hadn't realized it.

Nora sighed softly, afraid to break the spell. “And you?” she asked. “Are you sorry about the child?”

His broad shoulders moved under his buckskin jacket, disturbing the long fringe and making it sway. “No,” he said briefly.

“But…not glad?”

He looked troubled. His hands contracted. “I am thirty-two years old, and I have lived rough. I still do. I hadn't thought of settling down yet, much less of a family. I will…adjust. But it needs a little time, Nora.”

“I see.” Her disappointed eyes fell to his jacket. She liked the soft feel of it under her splayed hands.

His own big hand spread against her cheek and tipped her sad eyes up to his. He didn't like that sadness. He bent slowly and drew his lips over hers with exquisite tenderness. He wanted just to offer comfort. But then he felt her tremble and heard her breath catch. He felt her fingers turn down against his coat. His head lifted and he looked into a face that displayed embarrassment and longing in equal proportions.

She was a puzzle. So haughty until he touched her, and then so responsive that she sent the blood raging through his body.

“The smoking car,” she prompted unsteadily.

He frowned slightly. “Does it embarrass you so to want my kisses?” he asked gently. “For I assure you, it delights me to have a wife who cannot hide her pleasure in my touch.”

“It…does?”

He found her shy smile fascinating. He returned it. His thumb tugged at her lower lip and he bent his head again, fitting her lips exactly to his in a silence that echoed the slap of the metal wheels against the rails at each joining.

His arms slid around her, drawing her gently against the length of his lean, fit body pulling her up to press her closer. “No, don't close your mouth, Nora,” he whispered when she drew her lips together. “Open it, very slowly… Yes, little one, just like that…”

She felt his tongue tease her upper lip and then work its way around to the lower one. All the while she heard his heavy breath, belying the patience he showed her. Her hands slid up to his throat and pressed just at his collarbone, savoring the thickness of chest hair that covered him.

Her hands excited him. “Wait,” he whispered. He paused to shed his jacket. Then he lifted one hand away from her waist and moved it between them, watching her curious face while he unfastened his shirt and slowly pulled it out of his belted blue jeans. Her eyes
dilated as she stared at him, her breath unsteady, loud in the car.

He felt himself shudder at the fascinated, hungry expression on her face. With a harsh sound, he threw the shirt off and dragged her hands to him, shivering as he guided them over the hot muscles of his bare, hair-roughened chest. Her breathing matched his now, and her hands were unsteady where they touched him. They felt…glorious on his skin!

“Nora!” he whispered in torment, as he bent to grind his mouth into hers.

She clung to his mouth, her legs involuntarily pressing to his and not withdrawing even when she felt the surge of his body against her, the hardness that pressed insistently against their child.

His lean hands released hers and went to her slender hips, to pull them in quick, jerky movements against him and then rotate them in so blatant a seductive dance that she moaned under his demanding mouth.

The heat they generated was blinding. She felt his hands on the buttons of her dress and arched back to give him total access. Her misty, dazed, half-closed eyes looked into his as he fought tiny buttons out of buttonholes and his body shivered with its need.

He skinned the dress down her arms and found the laces of the corset, cursing it through laughter. He managed finally to get it loosened enough that he could tug it up over her head and toss it onto the berth.

She didn't try to cover herself when he turned back to her. He looked at her small breasts with pleasure
that was tinged with curiosity when he recognized the changes that the baby had made in them.

He touched the wide areola of one and traced a pale-blue vein up to her collarbone while she stood trembling at his fingertips.

“They're…different,” she faltered. “I don't know why. It isn't something I could ask a man, even a doctor.”

His thumb slid over the areola tenderly and he smiled. “Then shall I tell you what they are?” he asked softly. “A cattleman learns quickly about conception and birth, and the changes that occur in your body occur also in that of other creatures. These,” he said, tracing the noticeable veins, “bring more blood to your breasts so that they can prepare milk for our baby. And this,” he added, tracing the nipple until it hardened and she gasped, “enlarges to fit his mouth so that he can suckle you.”

The imagery and the tender, deep, smoky sound of his voice made her knees weak. “I never dreamed…” she whispered.

He bent and lifted her, and then sat down on the seat with her in his arms. His hand traced her breasts softly, lovingly, while hers pressed deep into the thick hair over his breastbone.

“Your skin is like alabaster,” he whispered. “And you smell of roses. I want the feel of you under my body, Nora, and the softness of your legs sliding against mine as I press deep into you.”

“Cal!” She pressed her hot face against his chest,
embarrassed at the things he said to her so uninhibitedly.

“You are so shy, my wife,” he said at her ear, “to be so responsive to me. Come closer. It's been a long, long time since I felt your skin against mine.”

He guided her hands around his neck and brought her up against him, holding her eyes while he moved her softly against his rough chest.

“It feels good, doesn't it?” he asked solemnly.

She hesitated to speak, and he smiled at her.

“A lady does not admit to these dark pleasures, is that it?” he teased.

“A decent woman is not supposed to feel pleasure,” she said worriedly.

He chuckled. “Oh, Nora, are you really so naive? Do you think that because society dictates stoic indifference to the sensual, it does not exist? Tell me that you have never peeked at the words of Swinburne.”

She colored prettily and her face sought his chest.

The sensations he felt wiped the smile away and his lean hands caught her head, stilling it.

She felt him shiver. Why, he liked her face against his chest, she thought, fascinated. Would he like more than this? He was hesitating, as if he might like to ask something of her but hesitated for fear of shocking her.

Her breath trembled in her throat. “Cal?” she whispered. “I… I will do anything you like.”

His eyes closed on a silent groan. His hands tightened in her hair. “Nora, sweetheart, put your mouth on me,” he whispered. “No, little one. Open it. And…
here.” He guided her to the counterpart of her own nipple and pressed her face close.

She was shocked, first at the request and then at the way he reacted, and then at the pleasure it gave her to make him groan aloud. Under her mouth, she could feel the small, tight nipple, and beneath that, the dampness of his skin and the roughness of hair and the deep, dull, racing pulse of his heartbeat.

She nibbled at his chest lazily, delighting in their intimacy. Why, marriage was exciting, she thought! She smiled and lifted her head to look into his pale, glittering eyes.

“Do you like making me like this?” he whispered roughly. “Do you like seeing me at your mercy?”

She nodded, her breath too shaky for speech.

“Do it again, then.”

She slid against him to find the other side, and her hands smoothed over the warm muscle of him while she tasted the strange maleness of his chest with soft, eager lips.

When he could bear it no longer, he bent to find her mouth and he kissed her until her lips were swollen and her body was lifting rhythmically to the slow tracing of his hand.

He had her dress around her hips now, and his fingers were wandering over the faint swell of her waist and stomach. He lifted his head and looked down, and smiled with possession at the soft rise.

“You look very smug,” she accused breathlessly.

“I gave you my child,” he said simply. He met her
eyes with a faint frown. “It disturbs me that I did it so easily, and so quickly.”

“Because there could be a great number of children,” she said, understanding.

He nodded. “The alternative is abstinence.” He smiled ruefully. “Or other women. And that, I could not contemplate,” he added before she could speak. “Nora, I find that I have no desire for other women, since that afternoon we spent together.”