My Darling Melissa (6 page)

Quinn shot out of his seat, muttering, and stormed over to Melissa, maneuvering her along the windy little walkway leading into the next car, where a few diners were lingering over lunch.

She stared up at him with wide eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

Quinn realized that he’d taken a hard grasp on her arm and relaxed his fingers. Annoyed as he was, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Melissa. Ever. “Women aren’t allowed in the club car,” he informed her in a tight whisper.

“Oh,” she replied lamely. “I forgot.” Her whole countenance brightened like a Christmas tree with all the candles lit. The scent of Quinn’s brandy indicated that she’d been fortifying her courage during their brief separation. “And there was no harm done, after all, was there?”

Quinn wasn’t so sure about that. “Melissa,” he began in a low, impatient voice. “What do you want?”

She beamed up at him, and he saw rainbows in her eyes. “I’ve decided that I’m ready to have that child we talked about,” she announced.

Several forks clattered against plates around the dining car, and Quinn would have been willing to bet that more than one wine glass had been overturned. “What?” he asked, feeling and sounding as though she’d just clasped both her hands around his neck and squeezed with all her strength.

When he saw she was about to repeat herself, he hastened to cover her mouth with one hand and pleaded, “Don’t!”

The azure eyes looked baffled, but when Quinn lowered his hand Melissa was quiet and obedient.

“Go back and wait for me, Melissa,” he said, feeling bold in the face of her docile acquiescence. “We’ll be in Port Riley in an hour or two, and then we can talk about this notion of yours—”

“We’ll talk about it now,” Melissa broke in, and even though she was smiling, she was talking through her small,
white teeth. She grasped Quinn’s hand and all but dragged him through the dining car.

In the privacy of their quarters Melissa stood beside the bed, flung her arms out wide, and toppled over backward onto the mattress. “Let’s get started,” she said cheerfully.

Quinn stared at her in absolute wonder for a few moments, and then he began to laugh. It started as a chuckle and quickly advanced to a roar that stole his wind and made his sides ache.

And still Quinn could not stop laughing.

Melissa was stunned, filled with shame. She’d offered herself to her husband, and he was laughing at her.

She raised herself up on her elbows, too proud to cry, though she was sure she’d burst if she didn’t find a way to give vent to all the confusing emotions clamoring inside her.

Quinn finally recovered himself, collapsing into the chair where he’d sat reading to her only the night before. “I’m—sorry,” he gasped out, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

Melissa knew full well that he was not sorry, that he’d had a good laugh at her expense, and she sighed. “Don’t you want me?” she asked.

Quinn’s expression was instantly and completely serious. “Very much,” he said gruffly.

“Well?”

He brought one booted foot to rest on his knee, took a cheroot and a match from the pocket of his jacket, and commenced to smoke. After an excruciatingly long time had passed he said in a pensive tone, “You’re simply not ready.”

“Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

“Not after the way you fell spread-eagle on that bed, I don’t.”

Melissa was mortified. It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand what went on between a man and a woman, because she did. And she’d certainly sensed the strange electricity that arced between her brothers and their wives.

Quinn reached out and collected Melissa’s novel from a
nearby table. “Tell me,” he began wryly. “Do you write from experience?”

Melissa wanted to slap him. “I told you that I was a virgin,” she hissed.

“I didn’t believe you,” he immediately answered. “Not until a few minutes ago, anyway.”

Embarrassed anew, Melissa sat up very straight and smoothed her skirts. She could not have spoken for anything.

“What made you decide to give yourself to me, Melissa?” Quinn asked gently, after a long time.

She sniffled, unable to look at him. “I was remembering when we—when we kissed this morning. I developed all these strange feelings.”

Quinn chuckled. “Then there is hope,” he said, so quietly that Melissa almost missed the words. Then, more loudly, he added, “Why don’t you lie down and rest until we arrive? You’re still not completely well, you know.”

Melissa looked at him imploringly. “Will you lie down with me?”

He was silent for a moment, and very, very still. But then, without a word, he came to the bed, and he and Melissa stretched out on it together.

His body was long and hard, but his muscular shoulder pillowed Melissa’s head comfortably. She snuggled against him and wondered at the low groan this elicited. It came from the depths of his chest, like some subterranean rumble.

“Melissa,” he muttered, and the word rang with despair and hope and reprimand.

Melissa had hoped to be ravished; instead she awakened, sometime later, feeling rested and strong. Quinn had long since left the bed, apparently, for he was standing in front of the bureau mirror, wearing clean clothes and freshly shaven.

He turned and grinned at Melissa as the train whistle shrilled. “Well, Mrs. Rafferty,” he said when the ear-piercing sound had died away, “we’re home.”

Melissa felt a strange mingling of panic and brash eagerness. “So to speak,” she said primly. Now that she’d napped
and gathered her forces she was glad that her husband hadn’t taken her up on her brazen offer.

She sat up and began wriggling back into her shoes, and when she’d finished lacing the first one she raised her eyes to Quinn’s face. He was watching her with a frown.

“The first thing you’ll have to do is get yourself some decent clothes,” he said.

Melissa was taken aback. “I will,” she answered patiently, “as soon as I’ve gotten myself a job or started some sort of business.”

Quinn turned and grasped the brass bed railing in his hands for balance as the train began its long, shuddering stop. The whistle was blowing again, punctuating his words. “No wife—of mine—will be seen—dressed like that!”

“May I remind you of our agreement?” Melissa shouted, trying to be heard over the whistle. “I’m going to take care of myself!”

The train came to a final and jarring halt, and Melissa and Quinn were still glaring at each other, speechless with vexation, when the door of the car opened and a sunny female voice sang out, “Quinn, darling, I’ve missed you terribly!”

The woman was tall and blond, and she swept into the car, her violet eyes dancing with mischief and merriment. She was older than Melissa, and clearly more sophisticated, and the two women disliked each other within the instant.

Melissa had already deduced that this was Gillian; she enjoyed the advantage that knowledge gave her, however briefly.

“Who is this?” Gillian trilled, giving her closed parasol a pretty little spin with her fingers. It was pink and ruffled, to match her pink and ruffled gown. To Melissa’s mind, all the woman needed was a lamb and a hoop and she’d look exactly like Little Bo-Peep.

Quinn cleared his throat, looking patently miserable. “This is—”

Melissa bounded off the bed, hand extended. “I’m Quinn’s wife, Melissa,” she said happily. “So glad to make your acquaintance.”

The parasol fell to the carpeted floor of the railroad car with a discreet little thump. “Wife?” Gillian echoed.

“I can explain,” Quinn said quickly.

Melissa’s high spirits were fading. It was obvious that Bo-Peep’s opinion was important to Quinn, and that was not a good sign. If he thought he was going to keep a mistress while she was his wife, he was sadly mistaken.

“No, he can’t,” she argued. “He can’t explain. There isn’t a single thing he could say—”

“Shut up,” Quinn warned.

Gillian turned in a swirl of pink skirts and swept toward the back of the car. “I don’t have to stand here and endure
this!”
she cried with pathos.

“Gillian!” Quinn yelled.

“My, but she hates you now,” Melissa said sweetly, her hands folded in her lap.

Quinn gave her a look that would have set a less sturdy soul to quaking and then hauled her roughly to her feet. “Go home and stay there!” he shouted.

“I can’t,” Melissa responded with equal spirit. “I don’t know where we live!”

For a moment Quinn looked as though he might do her bodily harm. His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed, and his breathing was quick and shallow. In the end, however, he only marched Melissa to the door and outside.

The weather was springlike and sunny, though recent rains had turned the ground to mud. Port Riley was a busy, bustling place, and from the depot platform Melissa could see the dancing blue waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

There were stores and neat white houses set close together, and in the far distance, on a rocky point, the white column of a lighthouse towered against the blue sky.

Melissa drew in a deep breath, enjoying the frankly curious stares she and Quinn were getting from passersby. It seemed that Gillian’s dramatic exit had not been wasted.

A mud-splattered carriage drawn by two mud-splattered horses was waiting at the end of the platform. Quinn opened the door before the driver could do so and fairly flung Melissa inside.

He remained in the street himself, his hands on his hips, and spoke brusquely to the driver. “See my wife safely home.”

Aware that she was about to be abandoned, probably so that Quinn could make amends to the disgruntled Gillian, Melissa struggled with the handle of the carriage door. The vehicle was well underway when she finally got it open. She never made the decision to leap, for the choice was taken out of her hands. While she was gauging her chances of making a safe landing one foot slipped, and she went tumbling unceremoniously into the mud.

Nervous laughter greeted her from the sidewalk, but Melissa was unconcerned. Two booted feet were striding toward her through the muck as she raised herself. When Quinn reached her and grasped her by her shoulders, Melissa twisted to be free.

Quinn cursed and then lifted her into his arms. His neck and the lower part of his jaw turned crimson as he strode back to the carriage and put Melissa inside, much to the amusement of the townspeople, which was plain to hear. This time he joined her.

“I ought to blister you!” he raved in a ferocious undertone when they’d settled on opposite sides of the carriage.

Melissa was inspecting her filthy calico dress. “I wouldn’t advise that,” she said calmly.

Quinn folded his arms across his chest. “Well?” he prompted.

“Well, what?”

“You got your way—I didn’t send you home alone. Just what exactly did you hope to accomplish by embarrassing me in front of half the town?”

Melissa sat as straight and regal as a princess on her way to a ball. “We made certain agreements when we decided to marry, Mr. Rafferty. Your panting after Gillian was not part of the bargain.”

He looked truly insulted. “Panting? I was merely trying to—”

“You will not keep a mistress, Mr. Rafferty,” Melissa
went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Not as long as you are married to me.”

“Fine. Then we’ll dispense with the separate bedrooms, and you’ll settle yourself in mine—Mrs. Rafferty.”

Melissa shook her head. “I’m sorry, that isn’t possible,” she said stiffly.

Quinn stared at her. “What happened to my eager bride?” he asked. “Are you or are you not the same woman who hurled herself backward onto my bed and demanded that I get on with it?”

Melissa’s aplomb was crumbling. The scene they’d made in front of the Port Riley depot had been bad enough. “Keep your voice down!” she ordered in an angry whisper.

“I will not keep my voice down!” Quinn bellowed. “And I’ll thank you to stop telling me what to do and how to do it, woman!”

In that moment Melissa came undone. Perhaps it was the strain of the past few days; perhaps it was the realization that she’d been incredibly rash. Whatever prompted her, she flung herself at Quinn Rafferty like a hissing, clawing cat.

He wrestled her into submission with a strange mingling of strength and gentleness, and she found herself lying face up across his lap, her wrists caught in his hands, her sodden, muddy skirts gathered around her thighs.

Quinn glared at her for a moment, and she thought the amber fire in his eyes would consume her, but in the end it was his mouth that did that. It fell to hers, fiercely tender, threatening to draw the very soul from her.

She struggled, but then one of his hands closed over her breast, and the kiss deepened. Melissa had lost all desire for battle; she was a willing captive.

Four

Quinn’s house was large and white, with an English air about it. There was a bay window on the first floor, and dormers lined the second. At one end of the structure was a turret, similar in shape to ones Melissa had seen on castles in Europe.

Under other circumstances Melissa would have been charmed. As it was, she imagined she’d end up imprisoned in that tower like some fairy-tale princess. The fiery kiss they’d exchanged in the carriage had done nothing to change Quinn’s mood—he was coldly, recalcitrantly furious.