The Railroad Baroness Read online

  “Yes,” Conn said.

  “Until then.” With a nod, she turned on her heel and drew Aileen away.

  “Breakfast? What was that all about?” Aileen whispered

  Lillian shrugged. Her heart still pounded, racing from the fear she’d felt for Conn and the primal excitement that followed the fight. “Just getting on with my adventure.”

  “Adventure. You just be sure, Lillian, that you don’t take on more than you can handle.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, concealed a smile when she saw that Charles and Conn stood staring after her. “I don’t think I have.”

  “We’ll see,” her friend said darkly. “We’ll see.”

  * * * *

  Edward Yorke watched Lillian Cabot look on Lowell Adams and the Irishman with an expression full of more warmth than she’d ever shown him. Instead of disgusted by the grubby display, she seemed impressed by the Irishman’s fighting skills, judging by the sparkle of interest in her light-green eyes.

  Yorke had served her father faithfully for more than three years, and it was more apparent than ever that she had little use for him. He assumed she looked down her nose at him because he wasn’t the fool her late husband was. A fool, because Edward Yorke wouldn’t have left a woman like Lillian Cabot behind while he rode off to war and got himself killed. Instead of being seen as faithful and dependable, he suspected Lillian Cabot thought him a coward. Well, she’d come to regret her dismissive treatment of him.

  He watched for a moment longer, very aware that his presence had been forgotten by everyone. Even the Irishwoman, Aileen McCurdy, ignored him. Disgusted, he strode away. At first, he’d felt a twinge of guilt about what his other employer required of him. Then Mrs. Cabot interfered in his dealings with the cook, O’Brien. It would have made his job easier if the crews became too ill to work. Not all of them, just enough to slow work on the line. But no, O’Brien had to kick up a fuss just when Mrs. Cabot stopped in for a chat.

  Thinking about the way she looked at Lowell Adams and Maguire firmed his resolve about working against Worthington and the Great Western Rail Company. The money from the railroad’s competitor was simply too good to refuse. And now, he’d get a different kind of satisfaction as well.

  The lovely Lillian Cabot would regret dismissing Edward Yorke as unimportant.

  Chapter 6

  “The men bunk together in barracks-like tents. They eat together, sleep together, work together and game together. Privacy is very dear in a railroad camp. The wise learn to seize it when they can.”

  — Charles Lowell Adams, Dispatches from The Iron Road, Great Western Rail Company

  Lillian turned down the lamp on her bedside table and nestled under the covers. Clouds had moved in, blocking the glow of the stars just barely visible through the glass skylight over her bed, and the chamber was very dark. After a few moments, she lifted her head to tug the thick braid of hair out from under her nape and toss it to the side on her pillow. That irritation dealt with, she closed her eyes.

  Though she couldn’t see the clock, she was certain minutes must have passed. She’d never noticed how stifling the room was. She flung back the heavy spread, leaving just the sheet to cover her. Folding her hands on her chest, she took a number of deep, slow breaths, willing sleep to come.

  Instead, she thought of how Conn Maguire’s eyes blazed blue, framed by a tangle of black curls and dirt-smudged, tanned skin sheened with sweat. She imagined that was what he’d look like, fierce and primal, a victorious Celtic warrior, as he loomed over her in this very bed. Oh, now there’s a naughty thought!

  Forcing the beautiful Irishman from her thoughts, she tried to concentrate on how tired she was and how much she needed to accomplish the next day. The next several days. Weeks, even.

  Charles, gambling winnings clutched in one hand after Conn thrashed his opponent, had looked as appealing as a bashful boy caught dodging his lessons. She smiled at the memory. There was nothing boyish about his physique, though. The talented cut of his clothing showcased an athletic body, firm, trim and, she suspected, highly agile. Those long thigh muscles of his practically begged a woman to shape them with the palm of her hand. Would they be bare of hair or lightly furred?

  Lillian snorted at herself and rolled to her side. Her own words came to her. Not only am I to slip into sin with the gentlemanly Mr. Charles Lowell Adams and the delicious Mr. Conn Maguire... She blamed Aileen for putting lustful thoughts in her head. Affairs with a dozen men, indeed! She had to admit, though, that Conn and Charles were each extremely desirable. A woman could do worse than end her celibacy with one of them.

  But which one?

  Lillian gave up the pretence of sleep and returned to her back. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and worried it with her teeth as she considered the possibilities.

  In her mind’s eye, she imagined Conn stepping into her room. Charles followed close behind his friend. The men took up positions on either side of the door, like guards in a treasure house. Or a harem. Neither spoke. They watched her expectantly, as if waiting for her next move in the midnight dance.

  Lillian felt a bit bashful just imagining them here in her private compartment. She knew it was foolish. Who would ever know? But this was different. While no novice to fantasy, this was the first time she’d dared put a face to an imaginary lover. It had seemed wrong to populate her sexual fantasies with men she might have to converse with at the next evening’s social function. Then again, none of the men of her acquaintance tempted her like Conn and Charles did.

  They began to disrobe.

  Charles slipped off his coat and placed it neatly on a nearby chair.

  Conn shrugged his duster off and let it drop to the floor.

  Charles slowly unfastened his waistcoat and draped it over the coat. Then his fingers went to the buttons on his finely made shirt.

  Conn unbuttoned the first few fastenings of his shirt, then reached back to grip the fabric at his shoulders and pulled the shirt off over his head. As he did, the ridges of his belly, which she’d noticed and enjoyed after the fight, rippled. He dropped the shirt carelessly on the floor to stand bare-chested. His golden-toned skin stretched taut over well-defined muscles made sharper by intriguing shadows her fingers itched to trace.

  Lillian’s chest rose and fell in increasingly ragged breaths as she savored the seductive scenario unfolding in her mind. She pushed the sheet down and away to join the spread. Unlacing her nightdress was quickly done. She pushed the sides apart, exposing her breasts in the darkness of the room. They trembled as her fingers grazed the sides of the sensitive mounds, blazing an exquisite path to the tinglingly erect nipples that topped them.

  Charles removed his shirt and added it to the pile of his clothes. Leaner than Conn, his musculature was more subtle, yet just as appealing. What color would the hair on his chest be? Pale brown, like his hair? Darker? Or hidden gold treasure? The hair on the back of his hands was certainly fairer. She pictured her dream Charles with a smattering of crisp, golden-brown hair across his pectorals that arrowed down in a thin trail that disappeared beneath his waistband. A waistband he began to unfasten under her urging thoughts.

  Dream Conn, lips forming a crooked smiled as his blue eyes darkened with desire, briskly dispensed with pants, smalls, shoes and socks.

  Lillian gasped and pinched her nipple. A thready moan escaped her parted lips as she arched her breast into the palm of her hand. Her other took a handful of fabric and tugged her skirt up her legs to her waist. She shifted restlessly on the mattress as cool air washed over her skin. Her thighs rubbed together, further stimulating the throbbing flesh of her clit.

  In her mind, she stared at Conn. He was beautiful. A very male animal, in every sense. His cock jutted out from a tangle of black hair at the apex of his thighs. She thought she could see the flushed skin of his balls, tucked up tight and hard under a handsome pole.

  Her eyes flicked to Dream Charles as he skimmed trousers and smalls down his long legs,
easily kicking free of shoes and the rest of his clothes. Where Conn was dark, he was light. She imagined the thin trail of golden-brown hair on his belly joining a thicker thatch of slightly darker hair around the base of an erect cock that was in perfect proportion to his long-muscled body.

  Lillian pushed her hand between her thighs. Her fingers dipped into the wetness pooled between the swollen lips. She touched the pebbled bud of her clit and helplessly thrust her hips up. The thought of Conn and Charles watching as she did it spurred her on. Her finger rubbed tight, speeding circles around her clit, sliding through the juice of her passion. She pinched her nipples again and again until they pulsed with every beat of her heart. The bite of pain made her pleasure spike, and she loved it.

  Almost in unison, her dream lovers took their cocks in hand. Wrapping long, masculine fingers around their heavy erections, they began to stroke themselves. Eyes hot and hungry, they watched as Lillian thrust her fingers into her cunny, keeping her thumb strumming her clit. Their hands fisted their cocks, jerking and pulling, rubbing and squeezing in a rising frenzy.

  Lillian could barely hold on to the fantasy as pleasure roared through her. She let out a high, breathless cry as her hips rocked her cunny into her hand, drenching it in a wash of liquid heat that melted her bones. She imagined masculine groans and cries joining hers as her dream lovers reached their peaks with her, ejaculating thick, creamy semen into their palms so it ran over their fingers.

  Panting, she felt tears of release trickle from the corners of her closed eyes. Gradually, the tension eased from her body. Her hand fell limp against her thigh. She suspected her nipples, if she could see them, would be bright red from her own pinches. Her belly quaked with the aftershocks of her release.

  Lillian’s breaths returned to a more even measure, and she opened her eyes. As expected, she lay alone in her pitch-black room, her dream lovers faded into memory for the night. She felt wicked and sated. Exhaustion urged her to do up her gown, pull the covers back up and fall asleep. Instead, she got out of bed and felt her way to the bathing room, and the cloth and water she knew she’d find there.

  She wondered if Conn and Charles looked as she imagined them. She wondered if she’d find out firsthand.

  Once more clean and properly gowned for the night, Lillian got back into bed. Pulling the covers very correctly over her shoulders, she couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread her lips.

  Let the adventure begin.

  Chapter 7

  “The mountains are almost primal in their beauty, by turns stark and lush. There is the bold power of rugged rock and challenging terrain that makes a man want to conquer it. Then, with breathtaking suddenness, one stumbles upon a hidden waterfall in a fairy glade made for sweethearts.”

  — Charles Lowell Adams, Dispatches from The Iron Road, Great Western Rail Company

  Lillian guided her horse through the trees, keeping close to Conn’s mount in the lead. She heard a mutter from the rider behind her, and twisted in the saddle to see Aileen swat the air in front of her nose. Swarms of buzzing insects met them as soon as they entered the forest. They seemed to have a preference for Aileen, since no one else was overly bothered by them.

  The air was crisp and fresh. The pleasant bite of fir and pine needles blended with the greener scent of the leafed trees, which were beginning to take on the multi-hued palette of fall. By the time the excursion of railway investors and members of the press arrived, they should be able to enjoy the season in all its brilliant glory. The morning sun filtered through the branches to shine warmly on Lillian’s shoulders, making her glad for the shallow brim that shielded her face.

  Charles, bringing up the rear of their small exploratory party, rode his horse with the easy grace of one raised to the saddle. Conn, imperturbable as ever, sat on his animal just as comfortably. She imagined he perfected his skill during the war, riding all over the south with his photographic equipment strapped pillion behind his saddle.

  “Are you certain this excursion might not be too strenuous for the ladies in the party, Lillian?” Aileen called to her.

  “The glen Conn and I have in mind is not much farther,” Charles said. “And the path the ladies would take to reach it is a fairly gentle one. We’ll follow it back to camp, so you can see for yourself. This route is simply to give you an idea of what might appeal to the gentlemen who prefer hunting over hiking.”

  “It does appear to be the kind of thing to make a hunter take notice,” Lillian said. The forest around them seemed alive with animals unused to human predation, despite the proximity of the railroad crews below. She noticed more than one rabbit, coat flashing the first signs of winter white, hop across the trail, and once a covey of game birds burst from the underbrush in a flurry of feathers and sound. The surprise made her glad for her mount’s rather unexciting disposition. Unlike the spirited animals she preferred to ride in Boston, the camp’s animals were dull, but dependable.

  Without warning, they rode clear of the trees. Lillian gasped in delight. She pulled her mount to a stop beside Conn, who paused to wait. Aileen and Charles joined them. They sat in silence for long moments, looking at the tiny vista bounded by trees.

  The woodland meadow was a jewel in the wilderness. Long grasses waved in the breeze, some tipped by blooms of scarlet, amber and palest violet. Across the meadow, the trees gave way to an escarpment of dark, craggy stone that had been invisible from the forest. It stretched high into the deep blue sky before giving way to more trees and shrubs at the top. In camp, it was easy to forget the line had reached the foothills of the mountains. Here was a stark reminder of the work the crews faced in the coming months. It was either go over the mountains or through them. Soon, they would begin the first tunnel. Rather than daunting, Lillian found the idea impressive, thrilling.

  Water flowed down the exposed rock in thin, glass-like sheets. At the base of the escarpment, it joined a larger course that frothed over a pile of fallen stone, sending up a rainbow-painted fog of mist before settling into a fast-moving brook that disappeared into the forest.

  It would take only moments to walk from one side of the meadow to the other. Lillian was certain it was an ideal setting for a party of women to enjoy a picnic.

  “What do you think?” Charles asked.

  “I think it’s perfect,” Lillian said. “Absolutely divine.”

  “Good,” Conn said. He nudged his horse into motion, which prodded the other animals to follow. When they reached the ribbon of water threading through the creek bed, Conn dismounted and came to Lillian’s side. Without a word, he held up his arms to help her down.

  Lillian noticed Aileen’s wince of discomfort when Charles performed the same service for her. Her friend was more used to riding behind a horse, comfortably seated in a carriage, than on the back of one. “Aileen,” she said. “Why don’t you rest for a bit while I look around with Charles and Conn?”

  “Good idea,” the young woman said on a sigh of relief. She shook out her skirts and walked to the stream’s edge. There, she settled herself on a large, round-surfaced boulder and gazed into the water.

  “Shall we?” Charles’s voice drew Lillian’s attention to the arm he proffered.

  Smiling, she accepted it. Conn, hands shoved in his pants pockets, fell into step as they strolled along the edge of the clearing. The rustle of leaves as the wind moved through the branches created a subtle, surf-like sound. The trees bordering the clearing were sparse, and it was easy to see between the trunks despite the lush vegetation that grew at their bases. The graduated shades of green in the distance reminded her of childhood games she’d played with her cousins at the seaside. The idea was to sit on the sandy bottom under the water and see who could hold their breath the longest. While she played, Lillian liked to stare into the cold, clear water until the stinging salt made her close her eyes, captivated by the ever-deepening blue of the depths stretching into the distance. It was wonderful and terrifying at once. An adventure.

  She
looked at the men who paced on either side of her—and saw them watching her.

  “Is this what you had in mind?” Charles asked.

  She felt her cheeks flush at his innocent question when she was thinking about adventure and her fantasy and the two very attractive men who gave every indication they were at her disposal. “I beg your pardon?”

  He chuckled and used his free hand to gesture around them. “Won’t your guests enjoy such a scenic, not to mention rustic, picnic spot?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. It’s better than I imagined. I’m certain the ladies in the group will enjoy it immensely. The chef’s helpers could come ahead and set up the luncheon while the ladies take a more leisurely stroll. Conn, could you take photographs of the guests for them to keep as mementoes?”

  Conn didn’t look pleased at the thought, but said, “Aye, if the weather is with us. I would need to bring my equipment ahead, as well.”

  “Excellent.” Lillian looked across the meadow at Aileen. Her friend had removed her bonnet and, head tilted back, eyes closed, appeared to be enjoying the cool sunlight. It was highly unlikely she could hear their conversation.

  Almost unconsciously, she tightened her grip on Charles’s forearm. It felt strong and firm under her fingers. A comforting heat seemed to radiate from him. The sun glinted on the light brown of his hair, and his mobile, masculine lips curved in a smile. She imagined what his skin would feel like without the barrier of coat and gloves.

  Conn, a strong, silent presence, scanned the glade as they walked, gaze touching here, pausing there. She wondered if he saw everything as if through the lens of his magic wooden box, unconsciously framing it with an artist’s eye. Then his eyes settled on her. His expression was as forthright as his words tended to be. She’d come to learn that if Conn thought something, he said it, politesse be damned. If he saw something he wanted, he wasn’t shy about letting it show.