Linda Castle Read online

  “Is that all?” Melissa said evenly. She folded the bed jacket and placed it in what was left of her shrinking lap. “I’m sorry, Linese. I have been a poor hostess. Pull that rocker over here and sit a spell while we get acquainted.” Melissa smiled warmly and her face lit up. She was a pretty thing, and younger than Linese.

  “Where are you from, Melissa?” Curiosity and relief that Melissa had not laughed at her made Linese grow more bold.

  “Georgia. My family was all killed when the fighting broke out.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I—I was—violated when our plantation was overrun.” She shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, but her eyes were misty and her voice held the taut control of someone fighting to remain apart from a hellish memory. “It didn’t seem to matter much whether I lived or died. Luckily, Miss Doralee found me and brought me here.”

  The impact of war’s price settled on Linese like a shroud. Fate had forever altered Melissa’s life by a chance encounter, a happenstance of destiny. Under different circumstances, Linese might very well be the woman sitting by the window in the house of ill repute, waiting for the birth of her child.

  “I don’t believe in dwelling in the past. Now let’s figure out how I can help you. Who is it you want to seduce, Linese?” The girl was obviously puzzled by Linese’s request, but she kept a straight face and acted as if the question were an everyday occurrence.

  “My husband.” Misery settled in her stomach when she forced herself to voice the humiliating truth.

  “Your husband?” The young woman’s eyebrows rose. She looked at Linese with equal portions of pity and disbelief in her face. “I don’t understand. Is your husband an old man?”

  Linese sighed heavily. She didn’t understand, either, but she was determined that she would. “No. He’s young. He went to war right after we were married.”

  “Was he injured? Is that why he’s back?”

  Linese nodded. “Yes. His hip—he was in the hospital for some time.” She looked at the young prostitute hopefully. “Do you think the problem could be his wound?”

  Melissa shrugged. “Is he—whole?”

  “Yes.” Linese thought about the letter from his aide, describing the wound in detail. She wished her cheeks would stop burning.

  Melissa frowned. “Men are mystifying creatures. Who knows what drives them. If he’s well healed, then I doubt it would keep him from, well, keep him from performing naturally. I have, uh, known of men who were ashamed of their bodies. But your husband doesn’t have any peculiarities, does he?”

  “No. He’s a handsome, strong man.” Linese thought of her honeymoon, the only time she had seen him partially clothed, and of the injury to his hip. “I haven’t seen him unclothed since he returned.”

  “Maybe his pride is keeping him from letting you see him. Maybe he is shamed by the scar.” Melissa rubbed her palm over her belly. “My baby’s papa is off fighting. He’s as vain as a leghorn rooster. Could be your husband is, too.”

  Linese smiled. They were not very different, she and this young woman who earned her living by selling her body. If you scratched deep enough, it was plain to see, the love of a man was the most important thing in their lives. If this worked it would be well worth the effort.

  “I want you to explain to me how—how I can make him want me.”

  “Easy as falling off a log. If a woman goes about it the right way, there aren’t many men who can stand up against their own weakness. Not for long, anyway.”

  Chapter Ten

  Linese finished her scented bath and stepped from the big brass tub. All the things Melissa had told her swirled through her head. She had had no idea women held such power over men. It was intoxicating to think about it, mystifying, to realize God had given her such ability.

  A smile tickled the corners of her mouth while she slipped on the sheer night rail Melissa had sent home with her. When she stepped in front of the mirror to assess herself, she gasped.

  Every contour of her body was evident. She could see the dark rings of color around her nipples and the honey-colored triangle of hair between her legs. She had never seen herself like this before. It was a bit shocking. For a moment, her courage nearly failed her, while hot color rose from the low neckline to the roots of her hair, but she steeled herself with all the stern teachings of her aunt.

  “Whatever it takes,” she told herself. After all, she was Chase’s wife. Anything they did together was blessed by the Lord. It wasn’t as if she were trying to seduce him outside of marriage. If she had to act a little wanton in order to see their marriage back on solid ground, then so be it. She was more than prepared to play the harlot for her husband. In fact, a part of her was actually looking forward to trying some of the shocking things Melissa had explained to her, just to see if they were true.

  *

  Hours later, Linese heard the front door close with a soft thud of air. Captain Cordell had long since retired. She wondered if Chase had eaten anything before he came home, then she wiped the thought from her mind. The last thing she wanted to do at this moment was cook for him. She wanted him hungry—for her.

  She listened to each footfall on the stairs and felt her pulse quicken. There was no limp in his step tonight, and she breathed a sigh of relief. If, as she and Melissa surmised, the wound was the problem, it made her confident to know it was not bothering him tonight.

  The louder the steps grew and the closer he came, the more her body burned with desire and anticipation. She gasped when she watched her reflection in the mirror and saw her own nipples rise up against the soft fabric like tight little buds. There was a feeling in her lower belly that was beyond description. She didn’t remember ever feeling all the parts of her body in such vivid detail before.

  Linese felt predatory.

  Chase’s door shut with a thunk.

  Linese swallowed the lump in her throat and took one last look at her reflection. On impulse she picked up the cameo she had laid on the low chest and pinned it at the neck of her gown.

  “For luck,” she told herself. Then she turned and stepped toward the connecting door with the sound of her own pulse thrumming in her ears.

  Chase had just taken off his coat when he heard the knock at the door. The thought of seeing Linese made his heart pound. Each day the temptation to hold her became more and more unbearable. He had started staying at the Gazette until late at night in order to refrain from touching her.

  At least one good thing was coming of it: he had managed to figure out part of the printing process. He was almost able to perform the tasks necessary to run the Gazette. The knock came again and his mouth went dry.

  He knew he should do something to fortify himself against the feelings he had for his wife. He was weakening more each day. He decided not to respond to her knock, hoping she would go back to bed and leave him in his desolate misery.

  The knock came again, a third time.

  She was not going to give up and leave him in tortured peace. He dropped his coat onto the rocker and walked to the door.

  Chase told himself he could withstand it one more time. He lowered his eyes and hoped he could avoid looking into hers, while he opened the door between their rooms. His knuckles were white on the glass knob when he pulled the door open.

  All the air compressed from his lungs in a painful whoosh. The light from his lamp, and the one burning beyond in her room, bathed her form in a golden silhouette.

  He could see her ankles and calves in clear relief. He was afraid to allow his eyes to wander any further up her body, but travel they did. The smooth contour of her womanly hips sent his heart pounding at double its normal beat. A dusky triangle between her legs made his throat constrict painfully. He gulped down his growing passion and forced himself to look only at her face.

  “Did you want to talk to me about something?” Chase suddenly felt a hundred years old while he tried to ignore the beauty of his wife. His eyes drifted from her face again, even while he tried to stop them.


  She was wearing the cameo, clipped at the neck of her nightgown. It struck him as an odd thing to do, but it pleased him in some silly private way that made his knees liquid and his heart ache. The cameo rested in the dewy valley between her ample breasts. He ached to hold them, ached to see his children suckle them, cursed himself for the thought.

  “I’ve made a decision. I’m going to move back into our bed, Chase.” There was not a trace of indecision in her shocking declaration.

  Chase gulped down his surprise and tried to stop the flock of butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in his middle. Move into this room? Lie beside him in the bed that appeared to shrink to half its former size while he stood there with his heart on his sleeve?

  Equal measures of dread, bliss and randy lust marched through his chest. Torment, sharper and more raw than anything in his memory, ripped through his soul.

  “What?” He gulped incredulously. She was his wife and it was her right. She deserved better than him. Yes, he agreed bitterly with himself, she deserved more—more than he could ever hope to give her.

  “I’m moving back into our bedroom—tonight.”

  Chase couldn’t think of anything else to say. There was nothing to say. She had told him how it would be. She did not ask his permission. He felt as if he had been struck by an iron fist sheathed in a velvet glove.

  “You can’t, Linese,” he declared loudly. He turned away from her beautiful image and the bitter taste of unanswered need filled his mouth.

  “Chase, I don’t think you heard me.” Her voice was calm and unruffled. “I said, it is time. We need to begin to rebuild the bonds between us. I will sleep in here tonight and every night, from now on.”

  A swish of cloth brought Chase whirling around in time to see her slip between the crisp white sheets. Her nightgown was lying in a heap on the braided rug. The pearl-rimmed cameo winked in the lamplight from the chest beside his bed.

  This conversation was over.

  Many hours later Chase sat in the rocker and stared at her in complete astonishment. He tried not to notice Linese’s soft, even breathing coming from the bed, tried and failed. He was still numb with shock at her actions. She had fallen asleep within minutes of climbing into his bed. She had simply slipped between the sheets and gone to sleep as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  If only God would grant him the solitude of sleep. But he could not sleep, not when the object of his desire was mere feet from him. It was hell, knowing she was naked and willing, and forbidden as the fruit in the garden of Eden.

  Chase yawned and raked his fingers through his tousled hair. He was tired, so tired, and the annoying buzz in his ears had returned sometime while he stared in astonishment at Linese.

  Around midnight he had finally accepted the fact she wasn’t going away, she wasn’t some apparition that would disappear if he willed her to. She had said she intended to sleep here every night, and he had no doubt she meant what she said. For better or worse, he was obliged to find a way to deal with this latest complication in his sordid life.

  In defeat, he blew out the lamp and crept toward the bed. Linese never stirred while he quietly took off his clothes. When he was standing beside the bed, naked and partially aroused, he realized that he had no nightshirt—apparently had never worn one—since he had found none among his old clothes.

  He cursed harshly under his breath.

  At this moment he would give just about anything to have a thin layer of cloth between their bodies. But like most things, wishing would not make it so. He grated his teeth, lifted the sheet and slid into bed beside her.

  She moved.

  The soft firmness of her bare thigh settled against his own. Warm, pliant flesh touched him. A thousand needles of desire and knowledge came alive and coursed throughout his tense body from that single point of contact.

  For a fleeting moment, he remembered, or thought he remembered. A cloudy image of holding her beneath him in physical ecstasy filled his mind. Then it flitted away. He had probably imagined it anyway, he told himself sourly. Just because he wanted to know the delight of making love to her, he was probably concocting pictures of it in his twisted, perverse mind. He socked his pillow with his closed fist and cursed aloud again. Then he flopped over.

  It was a mistake. The heavier weight of his body on the down mattress brought her petite body rolling closer to his side of the too narrow bed. It sent him into a heart-pounding quandary.

  God in heaven. This could not be happening. What horrible cruel deed was he guilty of to be tortured in this way?

  All he need do was turn over, lift his leg over her hip, and they would be touching intimately. Images of her silhouetted in the light between their rooms assaulted him again. He now had a tantalizing idea of what her body looked like. He longed to know what it felt like.

  His loins burned and his palms itched to know her. He wanted to mold her breasts to fit his grasp. He wanted to taste her mouth and hear her sigh. He wanted to brand her with his desire and make her his wife in more than just name.

  Chase’s heart cried out to remember claiming Linese’s body. He wanted to remember her soft sighs. He wanted to have the memory of filling her to the hilt.

  He wanted all there was of Linese.

  He tossed back the sheet and stalked from the bed half-mad with lust. Chase looked toward the sanctuary of the adjoining room. Perhaps he should move into the room she had been using.

  No.

  He could not, would not, hurt her like that again. He was stuck. Stuck with the most beautiful, desirable woman he could imagine, and he couldn’t allow himself to touch her.

  With a frustrated groan, he flopped into the window seat in the room she had been occupying. He rested his feverish forehead against the cool panes of glass while he stared out into the night in frustration.

  The sound of galloping hooves broke the silence around Cordellane. Chase squinted into the night. The image of a lathered black horse emerging from the thicket was the first thing his brain registered. The next was the fact that his grandfather was the man riding the horse.

  “What the devil?” Chase looked at the tiny porcelain clock on the mantel. It was well past three in the morning.

  “What is that old madman doing out at this time of night?” Chase muttered to himself. An odd feeling of affection, pride and annoyance blended inside his chest.

  If the old fellow were sane, Chase would go down and ask him what the hell he was doing, but he was not. He knew he would only answer him in gibberish, and Chase was confused enough tonight, with Linese’s soft breathing coming from his room. No, Chase could not ask what the old ranger was up to, but he would have to find out. The mayor and his cronies would like nothing better than to have more leverage over him. He had to remember the night they were threatening him with—and whatever terrible thing his grandfather had done.

  He snatched up an old quilt and settled naked into the window seat again. He knew he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep, so he resolved to use the time to sift through the muck in his head and try to find the answer.

  All of Mainfield seemed to be in the street when Chase and Linese rounded the corner and stopped in front of Go-ten’s Livery. Mayor Kerney flashed a menacing look at Chase and her heart constricted. She didn’t know what business was going on between them, but her instincts told her Chase was not a willing party.

  “Have you heard the news?” Kerney asked.

  “No, I guess we haven’t.” Chase turned and helped her down from the buggy. His gaze lingered on the cameo at her bosom. His relentless gray eyes softened for a moment and she remembered the passion she had seen within their depths last night. She hoped Melissa was right about men not being able to stand against their own weakness. Last night had not gone exactly as she had planned, but she was hopeful with a bit more prodding, she would be victorious.

  “Some abolitionists managed to sneak some runaway slaves north into Kansas last night,” Kerney said sharply. “Ne
ws like that should be in the Gazette, along with an editorial for the citizens to remain neutral—for the sake of the town, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose that’s one point of view,” Chase said flatly. He placed his hand in the small of Linese’s back and picked a path through the milling crowd. She glanced back once to see Kerney glaring at them.

  “Chase, is there some difficulty between you and the mayor?” she asked while they walked to the Gazette.

  “No, Linese,” he lied. He knew she was waiting for some kind of explanation and searched his mind for one that would suffice. “I’ve had enough of war and politics. All I want is to live quietly. I want some peace.” A half-truth was better than no truth at all.

  “I want the same thing, Chase. A quiet life with our children and grandchildren growing up around Cordellane.”

  Her words were a bayonet that went straight through his heart. How could he tell Linese that to remain his wife would mean she would never have children. How could he live without her if she learned the truth and left him?

  Hezikiah appeared in front of the Gazette and wiped the question from Chase’s thoughts. A large bandage was around his right hand and wrist. Chase’s mind was forced in a new direction.

  “Hezikiah? What happened?” Linese rushed forward to administer comfort.

  Hezikiah shook his head. “I was coming out of the storeroom this morning. I guess I tripped over a bundle of paper and must’ve knocked myself out cold on the press. I have a lump as big as a hen’s egg on the back of my head,” He looked sheepish, embarrassed about his accident.

  “When I woke up, I found the copy press on my hand. It’s broke. Doc Lukins says I’ll be out of action for at least six weeks.” He looked up with his sharp blackbird’s eyes. “Sorry, Chase. I guess you’ll be doing all there is to do at the Gazette for a while.”

  Had Hezikiah fallen? Or had Kerney and his friends made sure Chase started printing their opinions immediately? He felt his impotent rage flare. He had to remember—must remember.