Chapter 18

"A bath? You want me to have a bath?" Waves of hot and cold washed through her body. She'd never felt so unsure of herself, so vulnerable. Yet, she'd never felt so much like a woman.

"You said that you love me." Shaw's hand, so powerful and callused, gently skimmed her collarbone and traced the curve of her throat. "Do you trust me, Becca?"

"Yes." Her breathy reply came from deep inside. She did trust him. Against all logic, she had always believed in Shaw MacCade. And selfish or not, she wanted to be here with him more than anywhere else in the world.

"Good." He dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "Do exactly as I ask you, no questions, no hesitations. Can you do that?" His voice was calm, soothing, his fingers steady. Yet, she sensed the barely controlled power in him—a raw force that might explode at any instant.

"I'll try," she promised. "But didn't the housekeeper say that we'd have to ring for someone to heat the reservoir on the roof if—"

He stilled her question with a teasing kiss on her lips. His mouth melted against hers, and then withdrew before she could barely respond. The caress occurred so quickly that she couldn't be sure if it was real or her heart's wish. It was only an instant, but that finite span was enough to convey urgency, a fiery heat of promise.

She nodded, knowing that she'd never felt more alive than she did right now. "Yes. I'll do anything you ask without question." She heard the words in the quiet room—heard them as if they had been spoken by another—and she knew she was bound to honor the vow.

Shaw rose lithely from the tangled covers, moving with the grace of some wild creature, all long limbed and hard muscled. He pulled back the sheet and took her hand. "Close your eyes," he commanded with such sensual potency in his voice that she shivered with anticipation.

Her heart knocked against her chest, but she obeyed. The air in the room was moist; she could almost taste the river on her tongue. The Missouri—or perhaps the Mississippi, she thought—and the familiar sensations eased her disquiet. This was Shaw, she reminded herself, and he would never hurt her.

From the garden below drifted the faint perfume of roses, and she wondered what color they were: snowy white, vibrant yellow, or bloodred. Then something rustled. "What's that sound?" Silky fabric brushed her face.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Remember your promise."

Rebecca felt a faint tickling as Shaw tied a silky length of cloth over her eyes. "You didn't tell me you—" Her lips were dry, and she moistened them before she was able to finish, "—were going to blindfold me."

Mischief sparked Shaw's chuckle. "If I recall, I've used this trick with you before."

She smiled as a flood of happy memories washed through her mind. "When you took me to your cave," she reminded him. "You didn't want me to know the way."

"I couldn't. Suppose you'd decided to lead one of those brothers of yours to my hideout?"

"Corbett never did like you very much, did he?"

"Not much," he said.

Shaw sounded exactly like the wild colt of a boy he'd been then: shaggy black Indian hair, skinned knees poking through holes in his trousers, and a marvel of a shiner he'd claimed he'd gotten wrestling with his older brother Will. His image formed crystal clear in her mind, and Rebecca couldn't hold back a small giggle as she saw herself as well, all elbows and eyes and freckles.

Softly, she repeated the same lines from Scott that she had so dramatically recited to Shaw that frosty morning."'The way was long, the wind was cold.'"

And he surprised her by replying, "'Steady of heart, and stout of hand.'"

"How did you—"

Shaw brushed her mouth with another fleeting kiss."'To beard the lion in his den, the MacCade in his hall'?"

Rebecca laughed. "I believe it was Douglas, not MacCade, that the bard penned." Leave it to Shaw to tease her out of her fright.

He'd eased her fear and made her laugh the afternoon they'd climbed the sheer stone face of Redemption Bluff to see the eagle fledglings and had nearly tumbled to their deaths in the attempt. And he'd used the same ploy when he convinced her to creep up on three sleeping Potawatomi hunters camped along the river. Shaw had wanted an Indian arrow for his collection in the cave. He'd gotten it, as he always got what he went for, but he'd left his mother's new scissors in payment. Always a rascal, but never a thief, Shaw had led her into one kind of mischief after another, but he'd always brought her home safely.

He'll do the same for me now, she thought. Still laughing, she felt her apprehension seep away, replaced by the soul-stirring thrill of impending adventure. And she remembered what Shaw had said that day, as he'd pulled her to safety over the lip of Redemption Bluff: Damn, Bee. If you don't take a few risks, how do you know what you 're missin '?

Smiling, she reached out to touch him, skimming the rugged planes of his face with her fingertips, committing his craggy features to memory with her touch. And the poet's words rose unbidden in her mind."'Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West'"

And not to be undone, he chuckled and replied,"'... listening she stands... guardian Naiad of the strand.'"

This time his kiss seared her mouth, making her tremble as an answering flame leaped within her. All the while his hands were moving over her body, making her truly his.

He leaned closer, clasping her shoulders with both hands, gently nibbling on her bottom lip and brushing the tip of his tongue along its curves. His nearness was overwhelming. Sweet heaven, she thought, how I love this man. "So long ago," she whispered as the floor seemed to tilt under her feet and her bones turned to water. "How do you remember those verses after so many years?" She stroked his forearm, feeling taut muscle beneath wind-tanned skin, and skimmed her fingers higher to caress his hard, swelling biceps. Even his scent was intoxicating: a blend of shaving soap, oiled leather, and that clean, woodsy, male essence that was Shaw's alone.

He groaned, clearly moved by her touch. "I never forgot anything that you read to me, Bee. Not a word." His voice grew husky with emotion. "Many a mile they kept me company between here and the Pacific and all the long while back. You forged a link between us with those words. The Nez Perce would say you're a witch."

"Me?" She swallowed, feeling light-headed and full of rising joy. "I'm the one standing here in my shift with my eyes bound. If anyone can work magic, it's you." She inhaled deeply, intoxicated by his nearness, filled with a yearning stronger than any she'd ever known. "It's always been you, Shaw."

"And you..." He moved away from her, and when she heard the sound of running water, she turned her head toward it. "No, stay right where you are," he said. "You're in my hands tonight."

"You're not putting me in cold—"

"The water's still warm from the sun, darlin'." Shaw returned and began slowly removing her combs and pins, one by one, so that her hair came undone and tumbled loose around her shoulders. And with each pin, he kissed her somewhere new—her hair, her eyebrows, her throat, or her shoulder.

Even so small an intimacy as that was enough to cause the flutter of butterflies in her chest and bring the blood racing back to heat her cheeks. She stood waiting, trembling from head to toe, trying to hide the rising tension in her belly.

It seemed that by blindfolding her, Shaw had intensified her senses, sharpening her hearing, heightening her ability to detect the faintest odor, and enhancing each sensation of touch. He had cast a spell over them, over this room, creating magic that she would hold dear all the rest of her life.

"Sweet, Becca," he whispered. "Sweet wife."

I am his wife, she thought. Shaw's mine. And if this is all we have, I'll make the most of it.

A night breeze tantalized her sensitive skin as he tugged at her corset ribbons. Warmth flooded her as she savored the feel of his lean hands sliding down her midriff to cradle her hips. She swallowed, trying to contain her emotion, as she stood naked before him—and as his hands trailed paths of fire over her bare skin.

"Sweet, sweet Becca." His quick intake of breath sent ripples of gooseflesh up and down her arms. "I've waited so long to see all of you." Kneeling, he pressed damp kisses down her belly to linger along the line of her nether curls.

Moaning softly, she fisted her hands into his hair as sensations of pleasure danced over her body. "Shaw..."

His mouth moved lower. She could feel his tongue... his lips... teasing, caressing. She let out a small sigh of astonishment as feather-light kisses and the heat of his breath touched the outer folds of her most secret place.

She writhed against him, pressing herself closer, her whole body throbbing with a strange, incessant pulse. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and arched her neck back as Shaw's long fingers glided sinuously over her naked thighs and buttocks.

This couldn't be happening, she thought. How could anything so lustful be so wonderful?

Blindly, she reached out, raking the back of his neck and shoulders with her nails.

"No fair," he said. "You were ordered to stay perfectly still." But when he rose and kissed her mouth, she melted against him and felt the hard length of his throbbing sex pressing into her flesh. Tearing himself away, he swore softly and reminded her. "Your bath first."

"I don't want a bath," she protested. "I want you. Now." She ran tremulous fingers down her belly to her aching loins. "I don't need games, Shaw. I need—" She heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Woman." His voice grew whiskey-burred with emotion. "Who's the greenhorn here?"

"Teach me. I'm a quick learner." She reached for the blindfold to tear it away.

"Nope. Not yet, darlin'. Trust me."

Gritting her teeth, she let him lead her to the tub. "You're a beast."

"I hope so." He chuckled evilly. Lifting her in his arms, he crushed her against his chest for bare seconds before lowering her into the pleasantly warm water until it covered her breasts. "Relax," he said, but she knew that he was far from feeling easy himself. Shaw MacCade was as near to the breaking point as she was.

But she would play out this game with him. So she sat, hardly breathing, as he rubbed soap over her back and buttocks. "How does that feel?" he asked hoarsely.

"Umm," she said. "Good."

"It will feel better." The heat of his callused hands was mesmerizing, at once erotic and soothing. Whenever she opened her mouth to protest, he kissed her. And each deep kiss made the temperature in the tub rise a few degrees and brought both of them closer to the point of no return.

"Shaw, stop." She squirmed under his provocative touch. "I... I can't stand it." The aching between her thighs had become a fierce drive for fulfillment. Her senses reeled, and her breath came in shuddering gulps.

But Shaw was merciless. His broad palm cupped her breast, sliding over it, coating her skin with a film of fragrant lather.

She whimpered, caught up in a glittering, tumbling plunge toward the unknown. His fingers moved lower, caressing... teasing.

Her throat tightened. She tilted her head back, trembling as he touched her where no man had ever dared. Heat blossomed between her thighs. "Let me out of here," she begged him. His fingers delved and probed deeper. She sobbed with urgent need, rocking back and forth in exquisite torture.

Then, he withdrew and slid those strong fingers over her breast, rinsing away the soap, then lightly pinching the nipple until it hardened. She groaned, then cried aloud as she felt his lips close over her nipple.

Molten fire rolled through her as he tugged at her breast with his mouth, suckling, first gently, then harder. Never had she felt anything so sweet, so wildly erotic.

She arched back, lifting her other breast. "Kiss it," she begged him. "It feels so good... so..."

"Don't hold back, Becca. Ride with it."

And then, when she could wait no longer, he pulled away the blindfold and she saw that a single lamp lighted the chamber. The pale yellow light spilled over the floor and the bathtub, capturing their fused forms in a large gilt-framed mirror.

"Tell me what you want," he said. "Say the words, Becca. Tell me."

She stared up into his face, into the glittering black eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, and felt the grip of love so strong that it nearly took her breath away. "I want you," she whispered hoarsely. "In me... Please!"

She locked her arms around his neck, and he lifted her effortlessly out of the water. Hungrily, his mouth sought hers, scorching her flesh, branding her as his own.

Whimpering, she dug her fingers into his sinewy shoulders. Wrapping wet legs around his hips, she slid down his hard, muscled body until she felt him enter her. Fierce desire made her bold. She arched her back and spread her legs wider, taking him deeply, feeling every inch of his length and breadth.

And he filled her with his love.

Vaguely, from far off, she was aware of a wall against her back, of a tiny prick of discomfort, soon drowned in a dazzling rush of glory. Time after time he plunged into her, withdrew, and filled her again. And this time, when she reached the peak and slid over the edge, Shaw fell with her. And they drifted downward, floating somewhere beyond tomorrow, knowing nothing but the rapture that had consumed them both.

In time, Rebecca became aware of Shaw's sweat-sheened body and the rise and fall of his chest. She opened her eyes and saw a lock of his damp hair, his clean-shaven cheek, and above that, bed hangings. "Where are we?" she asked him. One leg was between his thighs, the other tangled in the sheets. "Are we on the floor or—"

He chuckled, a warm, contented sound that sent warmth pulsing through her veins. "Sort of." He pushed her over and scooted up onto the feather bed. "I think you broke my back."

"Beast." She giggled and hid her face against his chest. "Did we crack the plaster on the wall?"

"I hope not." He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. They lay breast to chest, and belly to belly. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I..." He broke off. "I think I went a little crazy there when you—"

She made a small sound of amusement. "No, you didn't hurt me. Or, if you did..." Sighing, she asked, "Am I sufficiently deflowered?"

"Hmmm," he replied. "I'm not sure. Maybe we'd better try the whole thing—"

"I am." She smacked him playfully on the collarbone. "I am. I am no longer an innocent maid."

"You liked it."

"Hmmm," she teased, imitating him. "I'm not sure."

"You did. You're far too much for an ordinary man. And you're very lucky that I decided to make an honest woman of you."

"Cad."

He pulled her head down and kissed her, sliding his tongue between her teeth provocatively. She squirmed against him, rubbing his partially relaxed sex with her knee, and felt it harden. "I see you're not prostrate with pain," he said, his voice thickening.

"Maybe we didn't do it right," she suggested. "Maybe I'm still a virgin."

"I gave it my best, you witch. If you're still intact, it will take a better man than me to break—"

"You!" She tapped him again with a balled fist. He retaliated by tickling her in the ribs, and they wrestled until he was on top and Rebecca pinned beneath him.

"You're mine, woman," he declared. "Roped, branded, and corralled. Admit it."

"I admit nothing. Except..." She rubbed her toes against his knee. "Can we try it again? In the bed?"

He groaned dramatically. "Tell me I'm not dreaming. The best lay of my life and—"

"You've done this before? With who?" she demanded playfully. She supposed that Shaw had known many women in the past, but she didn't care. He belonged to her now. "I want all of their names," she teased, "so that I can hunt them down and—"

"Too many to count. Ouch! Careful with that knee."

"Get off me. You're an ox. If we can't do it again, I want to be fed. I'm hungry."

He laughed and dropped onto his back beside her, capturing her with one arm before she could wiggle away. "We can and will do it again, naiad. Just not in the next quarter hour. Even I need time to recover—"

"All those women, you've worn it out."

"I lied. You were the first."

She laughed merrily. "Tale teller."

He kissed her again. "Food. Your wish is my command, Mrs. MacCade."

"Where will you find us something to eat?" she asked. "Surely the kitchen—"

"Leave it to me," Shaw said as he rose and tucked the sheet over her. "A Missouri man who can't find dinner in a kitchen deserves to starve. You stay where you are, and I'll fetch you something to keep up your strength."

Once Shaw had dressed and left the room, Rebecca got up and recovered her shift. It lay in a puddle of water, so she draped and tucked the damp garment around her waist and walked to the mirror. Now that the immediate physical thrill of their union was fading, she felt suddenly shy. And yes, she had to admit that there was some soreness deep inside.

Rebecca laughed aloud. Whatever discomfort the loss of her virginity had caused, it had been a drop in the bucket compared to the pleasure Shaw had given her. "No wonder women are tempted into sin," she murmured aloud.

She stared at her reflection, wondering if there was a change in her that others could see. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes dancing with excitement, and her lips swollen and pouty.

Curiously, she touched her inner thighs and found a slick stickiness. If it wasn't for Shaw's childhood mumps, they might well have created a child with this night's loving. Now, there was little or no chance. She should be relieved, rejoicing. Theirs was only a temporary union, not one that could welcome a baby. So why did the thought fill her with such sadness?

Hugging herself, she paced back and forth. "I should be grateful for the time we have together," she murmured aloud. She loved Shaw enough to want to keep him alive at any cost. So long as there was no child, she could always go home. Poppa might suspect that she had been with Shaw, but he wouldn't be able to prove it.

Knowing Shaw would be back soon and wanting to be clean for him, she went to the bath and climbed inside. The water was tepid but not uncomfortable, and she quickly washed herself with the sweet-smelling soap.

By the time he returned, she had convinced herself that the odds of not getting pregnant were in her favor. She'd wiped up the puddles of water with a towel, put on a lacy nightdress she'd found in her valise, and remade the bed. She opened the door at his knock, and the sight of him, so beautiful in the lamplight, made her heart swell with happiness. Laughing, she flung herself into his arms.

"Miss me?" he asked.

She laughed, tilting back her head for his kiss. "Maybe a little."

One kiss led to another, and Rebecca discovered that she was hungrier for her new husband than for the food he'd provided. And it wasn't until they had made love a second time that they sat cross-legged on the bed and shared bites of bread with honey and slices of cold ham.

"Is it always like this?" she asked him dreamily as she licked a drop of honey off his finger.

"Lord, I hope so," Shaw answered.

They slept, finally, wrapped in each other's arms, and woke just after sunrise to taste the sweet rewards of marriage before running yet another bath.

"Mrs. Baker was quite clear. One bath per room, per day," Shaw said. "That means that if I have a bath, there'll be none left for you."

Rebecca averted her eyes and giggled. "I'm already in trouble. I used the tub a second time while you were gone last night."

"So," he mused. "We're already bath rustlers. There's only one solution."

She rolled over onto her stomach and propped her chin up with her hands. "And I'm sure you'll tell me," she teased.

"We'll both have to get into the tub together."

"Shaw!" She laughed. "It isn't big enough. We'd have to..."

"Exactly." He caught her hand and trailed a line of kisses up the underside of her wrist. "I'll get in first, and you..."

Disbelieving that such a thing was possible, and being from Missouri herself, nothing would do but that Shaw prove it could be done. And the results, they concluded, the better part of an hour later, were quite satisfactory.

* * *

Somehow, they missed Mrs. Baker's breakfast in the inn dining room and had to find nourishment at one of the many eating houses in the busier section of the city. After they had eaten their fill, Shaw insisted on taking Rebecca to an establishment specializing in ladies fine apparel.

"This isn't the right store for me," she protested when they reached the display window in front of the shop. "These clothes are too expensive. I have some money, and I'll go to—"

"We 've had this discussion," Shaw said firmly. "We're in Saint Louis, and I intend to see it while we're here. I want to take you to a fancy restaurant, maybe even a cotillion. You're my wife, and I don't mean for other folks to look down on you for how you're dressed."

"I'm not a lady," she answered. "I'll never be one, no matter what I wear. And you promised me that you'd help me find Eve. That's what's important."

"To me you're a lady," he declared. "And none finer. I said I'd find your sister if she's still here, and I will. But we don't have to do it first thing this morning." Taking her arm, he said, "Don't begrudge me what time I have with you, Bec. I mean to have you shine, darlin', and put all these city gals to shame."

"But the expense?"

He grinned at her. "I told you, I brought back a little dust with me from California. You let me worry about the money. This is your time, and I want you to enjoy it." There would be time enough to tell her about the dust he had hidden in the cave near his father's home. Bec being Bec, he wasn't sure how she'd take the idea. And she'd given him so much happiness in the past twenty-four hours that he didn't want anything to spoil it.

"But I won't be able to wear these things at home," she argued, bringing him back to the subject of her wardrobe.

He shook his head. "We'll worry about that later. Now, inside with you."

"I don't know anything about fashion."

"If I've got the money to pay for it, you can be certain someone will know what you should have."

And he was right. Once he told the clerk that he wanted three complete outfits for his wife, the entire staff became sweet as brown sugar. One girl found a chair for Becca, another ran to fetch her a cup of tea, and the manager began to select dresses for Becca's approval.

Leaving her in the capable hands of a haughty Miss Phillipa, he went to hire a horse and chaise from a livery stable. He planned to stay here in the city until they tired of it, and the thoughts of giving money to a stranger to haul them back and forth didn't sit well with him.

It was midafternoon before he finally retrieved Bee and convinced her that they ought to eat again before searching out her sister. Proudly, he took her into a fancy hotel dining room. Bee was all decked out in blue, and the other men at the table couldn't keep their eyes off her.

After asking a lot of questions and taking a few wrong turns, the two of them found their way through the streets of Saint Louis to the address that Eve had given them. High Street was a rough one in a poor neighborhood, but after asking for directions twice, Shaw finally reined in the hired gelding in front of a lot littered with charred beams.

"This can't be right," Becca said. "There must be some other High Street."

"Well, we've been up and down this one," he said, casting a glance at the dark clouds overhead. The temperature was sweltering, the air thick with moisture off the river, and thunder rumbled far in the distance.

"I don't understand it."

They'd passed two saloons, a tannery, a brickyard, and a gentleman's club in the last two blocks, but no private houses. "Maybe Eve didn't tell you the truth about where she was living."

"She had to. How else would she have gotten my letters? Mrs. Brown's boardinghouse. And that's where I sent mail and got it back from her."

Shaw noticed a boy throwing sticks at a cat in an alley between the brickyard and a disreputable establishment bearing the sign Keelboat Tavern. "Hey, kid!" he called.

The boy's aim went wild. The cat escaped through a hole in the foundation of the building, and the youth uttered a foul obscenity.

Shaw pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air. "I need the answer to a question."

"Yeah?" The child, a dirty-faced pup no more than eight years old, approached the carriage warily. "What you wanta know?"

Shaw motioned toward the ruins. "You know this part of town?"

"Should. Lived here all my life."

"We're looking for a boardinghouse, run by a Mrs. Brown," Becca said hopefully. "A Mrs. Thelma Brown. Do you know where it is?"

The boy grimaced. "Gimme the money first."

Shaw shook his head. "Answer first. If it's the right answer, you get the two bits."

The kid spat on the ground beside the chaise wheel. "That was it, right there." He pointed to the vacant lot.

Shaw tossed him the money. The boy caught it in midair and ran back across the street, then paused and looked over his shoulder. "But you're too late, lady. Church folks burned down Miss Thelma's whorehouse two months ago. Guess you gotta look someplace else fer a job."