Page 56 of Silver Lining
A push and a wiggle eased the nightgown over her hips and she let it drop around her ankles. "Last time anyone saw me buck naked I was a baby," she said uncomfortably, resisting an urge to clap an arm over her breasts and a hand over her private parts.
Nobody thought she had any standards, but she did and modesty was one of them. Standing in front of a man while naked as a jaybird, even if the man was her husband, meant standing on a mound of anguish.
But this wasn't the night to expect Max to battle the nightgown; she had to undress herself. The point here was to ease his anger, not add to it.
He didn't say anything, didn't do anything. And she suddenly wondered if offering herself had been a terrible mistake. Worse, there was naught to do but go forward. Tentatively, she reached a hand to his hair, paused, then drew him toward her.
A sound erupted from deep in his throat, and his arms came around her waist so tight she thought he'd crush her, and he pressed his face hard against her bare stomach. "Damn."
"It's all right," she whispered, stroking his head, holding him against her.
She had a sense that he resisted but lost the battle. Releasing her, he bent to yank off his boots, then he stood and ripped open his shirt, sending buttons flying every which way before he jerked open his belt and shoved down his denims.
His skin was pale in the frosty moonlight, and she supposed hers was, too. But his eyes burned at her through the darkness, and she gasped and didn't feel the chill.
When they were both naked, they stood looking at each other, peering through shadow and dim glow.
Not touching. Just looking, seeing with incomplete memory and imagination.
When Louise thought her racing heart would pound through her chest, Max finally reached a hand to her throat and drew his fingertips down between her breasts, down to her waist. Swaying on her feet, she followed his lead and stretched a trembling hand to his bare chest, stroking her palm down washboard muscles that tightened at her touch.
The strangeness of being naked in front of someone and of touching the firm warmth of a man's skin imparted a dreamlike quality. Whatever they did tonight would not seem real tomorrow. Thus she could kneel on the duster she had spread across the chilly planks and reach a hand to pull him down beside her. She ran her hands from his jaw to his shoulders and felt the tension and anger bunched beneath her palms. And when she gazed at his face, into his eyes, she understood that she had to lead and offer permission each step of the way because he feared the anger that had led them here.
Gently, she caught his hands and curved them around her breasts, heard the hissing noise he made at the back of his throat. "You won't hurt me," she whispered, knowing it was true. He would use her tonight and use her roughly and selfishly; she understood that, and it was what she offered. But he would never hurt her. He was not that kind of man.
Eyes locked to his, she shook the pins from her hair and felt the coils tumble down her back, instinctively sensing this was something he wanted. Then she lay back on the duster and cushioned her head on her folded shawl. Even though it felt as if they moved in a dream, she still burned hot with embarrassment and had to close her eyes when he rocked back on his heels to stare at her nakedness.
A low groan rumbled up from his chest, a growl of pain and fury and desire and hunger. The sound shot lightning through her body, flashing fire that lit her from within and tingled and burned and made her whimper and writhe beneath his stare.
When she could stand it no longer, she opened her arms and he came to her with the same primitive sound, covering her with the hard heat of male muscle and sinew. His mouth ravaged her breasts, his hands plundered at will. And he took her as she had known he would, thrusting hard and deep and furiously, spending his anger as he spent himself.
Afterward, when they had returned to the bedroom and Max slept beside her, Louise touched her stomach through the folds of her nightgown. She hoped they had made a baby tonight on the kitchen floor.
It seemed that a woman should remember the night a new life began inside her. Such a miracle should not be the result of routine or an ordinary coming together. Life should begin in a cataclysm of heat and fury bathed in the sweat of passion and urgency.
Tonight had been all of that, and she would never forget it.
CHAPTER 13
«^»
Philadelphia 's father brought trunks of clothing and personal items to the ranch and stayed for an hour on the second day. On the third and fourth days, Philadelphia pressed and put away her clothing, annoyed there was no maid to perform the tasks for her. On the fifth day she had nothing to occupy her time except embroidery, and that was of no interest. She was so bored with her self-imposed seclusion that she wanted to scream, but she refused to go downstairs while that creature was in the house.
Irritated and feeling out of sorts, she stood beside the bedroom window where she couldn't be seen, and peered through lace curtains down at the long table where the hands would eat their dinner. Occasionally Gilly or the creature passed in and out of view, setting up utensils and condiments and carrying out dishes that didn't require heating.
Philadelphia could not keep her eyes off the Low Down person when she appeared. The nasty creature was tall and raw-boned and moved with purpose instead of grace. Given her shocking and disreputable background, there was no reason to suppose she would have any sense of fashion, and she didn't. Her skirts were six inches too short, revealing indecent glimpses of thick everyday stockings, and the shirtwaists she wore were dark, utterly plain, and totally lacking any stylish detail. If the creature spent twenty minutes arranging her hair, Philadelphia would be surprised, as Low Down's hair was just twisted into a utilitarian coil at the nape of her neck.
Still, she wasn't entirely as unappealing as Philadelphia had hoped she would be. Her features were regular if not delicate. She had well-shaped brows and especially fine clear eyes, a light brownish color flecked with green and gold if Philadelphia remembered correctly. Even without a corset, her figure was molded to a desirable hourglass shape. The creature was not pretty except when she smiled, but she possessed an indefinable quality that drew one's attention. She was what Philadelphia 's father referred to as "a handsome woman" or "a woman of presence."
What made Philadelphia feel sick inside was noticing the creature's only jewelry, a gold wedding band.
This plain, immoral opportunist was the no-account woman Max had married instead of her. She didn't care that Low Down had nursed Max through his bout of small pox. She didn't care how the marriage had come about. The fact was, Low Down had taken Max. Philadelphia didn't believe for a single instant that chance had determined the outcome. The creature had decided she didn't want the other miners and had somehow arranged for Max to draw the scratched marble. Philadelphia felt certain of this. And Max had obliged by forgetting his bride and his upcoming wedding. He had thrown her aside rather than appear less than fair and noble before a group of strangers he would never see again. It would have been better if he had died of the pox. It would have served him right.
Well, she thought furiously, no doubt Max regretted his choice every time he glanced at his debauched, graceless wife. And every time he thought of the woman he could have had instead. Every time he remembered their evening together and considered her pregnancy and how he had walked away from his responsibility. She hoped guilt and remorse gnawed at him day and night.
Pushing the door open, Livvy popped her head inside. Instantly, Philadelphia stepped away from the curtains, irritated at being caught peeping at the dinner preparations below.
"Are you ill?" Livvy inquired, entering without an invitation.
