Deadly Illusions (30 page)

Images flooded his mind then—Leigh Anne radiant and glowing in a ball gown, dancing in his arms; Leigh Anne in the girls' bed, reading them a fairy tale, each child snuggled against her; Leigh Anne in his bed, moaning in pleasure, desperately accepting every inch of him.

He tossed his shirt aside, unfortunately aroused. Nothing had changed for him since her tragic accident. She seemed to
have lost interest in the physical act that had until recently been their single bond. He gripped the edge of the vanity, wondering if he dared even try to make love to her. He knew he could bring her so much pleasure and it felt as if that might be the only way to reach her now.

But he was a coward, afraid to make any seductive move.

“Rick, I know you've had a difficult day but—oh, excuse me,” Leigh Anne said, her cheeks coloring. She had wheeled herself into the boudoir and now glanced at her lap.

He turned his back to the mirror, facing her. He did not understand her reaction to his bare chest, not at all. “What is it?”

Not looking up, she shook her head as if she could not speak, then began to try to wheel herself and turn around, clearly wanting to leave the small dressing room. “It's nothing,” she said just before she crashed the chair into the wall.

He seized the handles of the chair. “Let me help,” he said, staring down at her.

She kept her face turned down, but he could see that her eyes were closed, her lashes thick and black and wet on her still-pink cheeks.

He touched her shoulder without thinking and she jerked, as if burned. “Just let me help,” he repeated, acutely aware of the fact that somehow, his partial nudity disturbed her. Worse, the small room made him aware of every inch of her. He wheeled her back into their bedroom, grim.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone barely audible.

He walked around to face her, taking a deep breath in the hope of recovering some composure. “Is there something you wish to discuss?” he asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She looked up and kept her eyes on his face. “Could you get dressed?”

He was very surprised. “You've seen my bare chest a hundred times.”

She looked past his shoulder. “Everything has changed,” she whispered.

He stared, making no move to retrieve a shirt. Her cheeks remained high in color and if he was not mistaken, her breathing was somewhat rapid. So many carnal images chased one another through his mind then, and the fist of desire that slammed into him made it impossible for him to breathe. The one thing he had always been able to count on was their insatiable desire for one another. Maybe, just maybe, her apparent lack of interest was a pretense, a façade, a lie.

What if he could reach her this way?

She looked up and for an instant, their gazes met. And she must have sensed his purpose. “What are you doing?” she asked warily.

And he slipped off the bed, kneeling besides her, his intent making it almost impossible for him to breathe. “What I have wanted to do since you first came home from Bellevue.” And he tilted up her chin.

Alarm widened her eyes. “No, Rick,” she began, but he cut her off, covering her mouth with his lips.

At first he held her face with one hand, his other hand on her arm, and as he touched her mouth again, he felt like a dying man being given a new lease on life. His heart slammed wildly against his chest and he knew an insane giddiness, wondered why he hadn't kissed her sooner, because her taste was all he would ever need, and then he felt her lips soften and yield. He pressed harder, opening her, tasting all of her that he could, and the elation turned into pure, mindless excitement. His entire body shook, desire raging, so much so he had the urge to throw her onto the bed and take every inch of her then and there. But somehow, he knew he must be very gentle and very tender now. Instead, he lifted her carefully into his arms, smiling at her.

Her hands pushed against his shoulders, her eyes wide and aghast. “No! Stop!”

He could barely comprehend the words as he laid her down
on the bed. “Let me make love to you,” he whispered, their gazes meeting, and he felt triumph when he recognized the haze of passion in her eyes. He smiled and kissed her throat, just once, and then the hard peak of one breast.

“I said no!” she cried, two fists slamming into him.

He jerked back.

She began to cry and he somehow knew that if she could, she would be crawling away from him, but of course her leg was useless and she could not move. “What could you possibly be thinking?” she accused.

He straightened, his chest heaving, the air burning his lungs. No, it wasn't the air, it was his heart causing him so much pain. He rubbed his chest. “I want to make love to you.”

She was clearly disbelieving. “
Like this?
Why? Is this an act of
pity?
”

He swallowed. His heart continued to pound with maddening, lustful force. “No. There is no pity involved, just…” He hesitated. He was consumed with lust, but it was so much more. He was afraid, though, to name it. “I still desire you, Leigh Anne.”

“Desire someone else!” she shouted at him. Tears fell now in a stream. “I want you to take a mistress. Because of the girls, we can't divorce. I mean, you have every right to divorce me now, of course you do, but I know you love the girls the way I do!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

He felt certain he had not understood her correctly. “What?” He could feel all the color draining from his face. It also seemed to be draining from his life.

She looked up at him through the sheen of tears, shaking wildly. “Or do you want a divorce? I won't deny you now, Rick. If you still want the divorce, of course I will give it to you, but we must somehow take care of the girls.”

What was she talking about?
“I don't want a divorce,” he heard himself say, as shocked as if a stick of dynamite had blown up right beside him.

“I know this isn't fair to you,” she began, more tears falling, and his mind came to life.

He cut her off. “I'll decide what is fair for me and what is not,” he said in absolute disbelief. Could this really be happening? “Do
you
want a divorce?”

Their gazes locked. A long moment passed before she spoke. “I want the girls,” she whispered hoarsely, her mouth quivering. “I love them so much. I know you love them, too. We have given them a good home, the kind of home they deserve. I can't bear to send them away. They already love us—dear God, they would not understand!”

And he began to understand. If it weren't for Katie and Dot, she would disappear from his life forever. He folded his arms across his bare chest, when what he wanted to do was kneel beside her and hold her hands. He was sick, so sick, inside. “I don't want a divorce,” he said thickly. He hesitated and added, “And I'm not taking a mistress, either.” Now he began to shake, the horror of it all finally sinking in.

She was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, and finally she looked up. “I cannot take care of your needs,” she whispered. “I will look the other way…please.”

How clear she was. He smiled coldly at her. “Don't worry, Leigh Anne. You have been very clear and I won't bother you again.” Suddenly furious, he started from the room.

She watched him go.

Sunday, April 27, 1902 5:00 p.m.

F
RANCESCA FOLLOWED
H
ART
into his library, still consumed with dread. He closed both doors behind her. “I am sorry,” he said gravely.

“This is not your fault!” she cried.

He went to her and took her into his arms. “Isn't it? And isn't Rick right? If this portrait finds its way into a public gallery, I will be the reason you can never hold your head up again. I will be the reason you are scorned. I will be the reason you are hurt.”

She gripped his lapels. “I agreed to pose nude. I agreed freely. There was no gun pointed at my head.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “I had thought, until now, that I would begin a new life, and even acquire a new reputation with you. Suddenly the opposite seems to be the case. Rick is right. Eventually I taint everything I touch.”

“That is not true! Do not abandon me now!” she said fiercely.

Their gazes met. “I would never abandon you. I don't want to ever be without you. In fact, I miss you terribly.”

She started. “What do you mean?”

“I hate being at odds,” he said vehemently. “These past few days, my life has felt so utterly cold and devoid of all meaning. The way it was once, before I met you, before you became my loyal and true friend.”

She leaned close, laying her cheek against his chest, her heart
pounding now. “Calder, I miss you, too. I miss you terribly! I have come to count on my days being filled with you.”

“Really?” he asked softly, tilting up her chin so that their eyes met.

And the look there was so warm that it stole her breath away. Desperately, she wanted to tell him that she loved him. She wet her lips. “I cannot imagine life the way it was before we became engaged to one another. I cannot imagine life without you,” she said quietly.

He started, his gaze flying wide. “Do you mean it?” he demanded, as if stunned, his hands on her shoulders. “Did I just hear you say that you could not live without me?”

Had she said that? But it was the truth—she could not live without him. Without Calder Hart, her life would never be the same. She bit her lip even as she somehow smiled. “Yes, Calder, I mean it. I mean it with all of my heart. I cannot live without you.”

He stared at her with sheer incredulity.

She swallowed. “You are an enigma—a very difficult enigma—but you are the enigma I want to be with,” she said roughly.

He pulled her into his arms, his mouth finding hers, the urgency stunning. Thrilled by his fierce response, Francesca felt the urgency not just in his lips, but in every muscle and tendon of his body and she was desperately relieved. Nothing had changed, dear God, had it? And then she recalled the fact that her father was now dead-set against them. “Calder?”

He lifted his head, his eyes ash-gray with desire. “I want to make love to you,” he said. She froze.

And every single time he had declared that he did not believe in love filled her mind. But there was more. He had said he had never made love to a woman, not once in his entire life. She pressed against his shoulders.
“What did you just say?”

Staring intensely at her, he repeated, “I want to make love to you.”

It was impossible to breathe, nearly impossible to think. “You told me once that you have never made love to a woman.”

“I haven't.”

What did this mean? Was he telling her that he loved her? “Calder?”

“I want to show you how I feel,” he said roughly, stroking his thumb over her jaw. “I want to make you feel the same way.”

She was ready to swoon. Every inch of her body had turned to fire. She was ready; she had never been more ready. “Please,” she whispered, a plea.

He smiled a little at her. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured, and with dexterous fingers he unbuttoned her jacket, sliding it from her shoulders and tossing it to the floor. As he unbuttoned her shirtwaist, her heart had never beat more swiftly. She had difficulty continuing to stand.

He watched her, dropping the shirt and reaching behind her to unfasten her corset. “Don't faint now, darling,” he said, pressing his thigh between hers. “We have hardly begun.”

She gasped, holding tightly on to him for support as her undergarments hit the floor as well. “I am so excited,” she managed to say, “and you haven't even touched me.”

He smiled. “I can rectify that,” he said softly, and he touched his forefinger to her hard, distended nipple, then began to rub it. She cried out, waves of pleasure engulfing her, making her dizzy. He bent and laid his tongue over the hot, hard tip. Somehow, her skirts and petticoat dropped to the floor, pooling at her feet.

He sucked on her, hard.

Francesca moaned shamelessly, filled now with desire.

Hart lifted his head, his tone thick but surprised. “Darling, are you peaking?”

“Hurry,” she gasped, barely able to open her eyes and meet his smoking gaze.

Before she knew it, he had laid her on the rug, their mouths instantly fusing, his hand now between her thighs, inside her drawers. The moment he touched her sex, she screamed, racked by a violent climax.

When she was floating somewhere in time, she felt him kissing her throat and her breasts, his hands stroking over belly, her thighs, her sex. Her drawers were, miraculously, gone.

She struggled to open her eyes and look at him.

“I want to give you so much pleasure,” he said, his eyes hot. He bent over her and laid his tongue between the thick folds of her sex. Instantly, Francesca collapsed back on the floor, moaning.

He spread her wide and continued to caress her with his tongue. She spiraled out of control so quickly that there was no time to protest and disrobe him. Reaching down, clinging to his shoulders, she wept in pleasure and pain and more pleasure again.

He moved beside her when she was done and she drifted back into his arms. Toying with her breast, he whispered, “Perhaps we should argue more often.”

She was still floating; she managed to look at him. Still breathless, she took his hand. “I hate arguing with you, but for some reason, your every look, word, touch is making me insane with more desire.” She moved his hand down her belly and lower still.

He smiled, smug and pleased. He found her mouth and kissed her slowly, deeply, for a long, long time. This time his dangerous hand moved down her buttocks, playing there in a terribly sensual, suggestive manner.

From behind, he prodded and caressed, toyed and searched.

She tore her mouth from his, gasping in violent need. “You said you wanted to make love to me,” she cried, reaching for his trousers. “I think this moment is highly appropriate.”

He smiled at her. “I am making love to you, darling. I am
making love to every inch of you that I can.” His smile faded and he turned her onto her stomach. Her hair had long since come down and he moved it aside, kissing her nape and then slowly working his way down her spine. He had straddled her, and when he moved over her buttocks, she finally felt him and her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Beyond weak, beyond hollow, she arched upward, seeking to feel him again.

“Yes, darling, I know what you want and what you need,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. And she felt every inch of his manhood, hard as steel, encased in fine wool, pressing against her buttocks. She cried out.

Holding her tightly now, his breathing harsh, he moved against her, thrusting long and slow. “One day,” he said, “you will know what this really feels like.”

She was sobbing but soundlessly now. “One day?” she wept. “You said you are making love to me tonight!”

It suddenly crossed her mind that they had a serious miscommunication. She tensed, torn between fury and despair, and she felt his mouth on the corner of her lips. “I never said I was intending to break the vow I made to wait until our wedding night,” he murmured.

“You are a complete bastard,” she cried.

“So much passion in one tiny woman,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder, and then she felt the naked length of him as he unfastened his trousers and sprang firmly against her but tocks. He surged deep and low, between her thighs, directly against her sex.

She rode him as he thrust, her swollen wet sex on his hard determined length, and the explosion was cataclysmic, throwing her far away into a black star-spangled universe. She wept and wept as he thrust with increasing urgency, and at some point, lost in time and space, she was vaguely aware of his climax joining her own.

And then she was in the circle of his arms.

He was panting hard, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her ear.
“That was too soon,” he whispered. “I want to give you so much pleasure tonight.”

She found his hand and held it tightly, her composure slowly returning. Being with this man was like nothing she had ever dreamed of. She had never imagined that so much passion and desire could exist, that it could be so raw, so urgent, so consuming. Dazed, she spooned into him and he kissed the swell of her breast. Amazingly, her body was eager to respond to his again. And bemused, she realized that once again she was completely naked in his arms, and he was fully clothed. She could not form any coherent words just yet.

He raised her hand and kissed it. “We need to be in my bed,” he murmured. “Because I am hardly through with you, darling.”

She twisted to look up at him, smiling, while hot need shafted inside her.

He smiled with real amusement at her. “Cat got your tongue, darling?”

She had never felt more relaxed or more languid. Yet her sex had begun to ache in the most insistent manner. She closed her eyes and kissed his shirt and as she sighed, she guided his hand where it belonged. “Yes,” she finally murmured.

He laughed, sounding a bit too pleased with himself. “You are such a strumpet! You are so easy to set off!”

She felt slightly annoyed and she lifted her lashes to look at his impossibly attractive face. His eyes danced now. “And that is a problem?”

The laughter died. He became thoughtful and his skilled fingers slipped low, stroking there. “It is an interesting dilemma,” he said. “I wonder if I might have a certain effect on you—say, from across a crowded ballroom or a supper table?”

She understood and gaped.

And his expression became self-deprecating. He sat up. “Yes, I am depraved to the very end, it seems.” His good humor was gone.

She seized his hand. “Then I am depraved, too—and happily so. Because if you meant what I thought you did, I should very much like to experiment and see what we can achieve.”

He looked at her.

She stared back, aware of a blush on her cheeks. “Your very look has a certain power over me,” she said softly. She cupped his cheek. “Am I being too naughty?”

“No,” he said, inhaling. He pulled her close, his eyes closing, and kissed her deeply. Then he shifted and stared at her. “I sensed this in you the moment we met.”

She was surprised. “Calder, I myself had no idea I was capable of so much passion.”

He stroked her face, her shoulder. “I knew. I knew it right away. I knew the bluestocking and the sleuth were but the outermost layer.” He hesitated. “As much as I want to take you upstairs, I can't risk us getting caught.”

She understood. “What are we going to do about Papa?” she asked.

He met her gaze, then slowly stood, adjusting his clothing. Francesca watched, making no move to get up. He smiled a little. “Have I created a monster?” he asked softly and with a tender smile.

“I think so,” she said, knowing that they had to talk but also wanting to be back in his arms in a wild frenzy of passion.

He handed over her drawers and chemise. “Please.”

As she put on the two garments, she thought about the way Calder had touched her and kissed her and held her. She had felt far more than passion and lust in his touch. What exactly had he meant when he said he wanted to make love to her? She thrilled just recalling his words. “Calder? You said you would not break your vow to wait for our wedding night.”

He met her gaze, his expression utterly serious. “Your father has now refused us. Rick has pointed out the trouble I am causing you with the portrait stolen. And then there is Daisy.”

Her heart lurched with fear. She bent and stepped into her
petticoat. Then she faced him. “If you're asking me if I still want to marry you, the answer is yes.”

His jaw flexed. “What did Daisy and you speak about earlier today?”

She trembled. “She told me why she went to your office. She told me what she said. And she told me that she wants revenge.”

“Revenge? For what?” he exclaimed.

“I think she is always the one to walk away, Calder, I do not think any man has ever been the one to walk away from
her.
”

He absorbed that. “Did she tell you
exactly
what she said at my office?”

Francesca tensed with dread. Her ears began to ring and her cheeks to burn. “Yes.”

He stared at her. A bead of sweat had formed on his forehead.

She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. “Daisy approached me in the Lord and Taylor store,” she said slowly. “Earlier in the week. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say to me to disturb me no end. I was incredibly distressed by her, enough to begin endlessly worrying about our engagement, our future and even your loyalty.”

“What did she say?” he asked abruptly, his gaze dark and intense.

She stiffened. She did not want to be that honest with him, oh no.

“Darling, if you intend for me to be honest with you on this matter, then you will have to do the same.”

She walked away and sat down on an ottoman. Not looking at him, she said, “She told me what I already believe. That you will soon find me boring and stray to someone else.” She dared not look up.

He knelt before her. “Look at me,” he exclaimed.