You Belong to My Heart (28 page)

When finally the long hot day had passed and she walked tiredly up the front steps of Longwood, she found herself looking about anxiously for the tall, dark Captain. She spotted him in the War Room with a couple of his men. One was the red-haired Ensign Briggs. The three were standing, and she could tell by their conversation that the meeting was coming to a close. The Captain glanced up. She was sure he saw her.

Her heart fluttering, she decided she’d make it a point to be close by when he came out of the War Room. She was more than a little curious to see how he would behave.

Mary Ellen went out into the marble-floored foyer and picked up the messages left in the silver note basket on the lower shelf of the petticoat mirror. The messages had been there for a couple of days and she’d read them before, but the Captain wouldn’t know that.

Momentarily the freckle-faced Ensign Briggs and the other sailor came into the corridor. Both smiled at her, nodded, then went outdoors. A long minute passed. And then all at once she felt that unmistakable electrical charge in the air when the darkly handsome Captain was close to her.

Acting as if she had no idea he was there, Mary Ellen dropped the messages into the basket and turned around as he walked into the foyer. His chilly gray eyes touched her, then dismissed her. She might have been a total stranger. He said nothing to her, didn’t so much as acknowledge her presence.

He went directly to the mahogany coat tree, pulled his white uniform jacket from the top peg, slung it over his shoulder, and went out the fan-lighted door.

Stunned, Mary Ellen stood there and watched him walk unhurriedly across the shaded gallery and descend the front steps into the summer sunlight. He paused then, unhurriedly drew on the white uniform blouse. He strolled down the front walk and stepped through the gate just as a groom led his saddled black stallion around.

The Captain took the long leather reins but did not mount immediately. He stood for a time leaning against the huge black stallion, a long arm thrown over the creature’s saddled back, talking with the youthful blond sailor.

Mary Ellen had eyes only for the Captain. His wide shoulders strained the white uniform blouse, and his blue-black hair gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. He said something, then threw back his handsome head and laughed. Then he nodded to the shorter man, looped the leather reins over the stallion’s sleek neck, and swung agilely up into the saddle.

Mary Ellen stood and watched as he cantered down the pebbled drive and out onto River Road. She turned from the door, feeling empty and confused and miserable. No one else was around, yet he had said nothing to her. Hadn’t even spoken or smiled and acted as if he knew who she was. He had ignored her. Cut her cold.

And he had ridden away from Longwood at the hour when she usually returned to the mansion. He was freshly shaved and wearing his summer white dress uniform. A strategy session at the Gayoso House with General C. C. Washburn, perhaps?

But if that were the case, where was his trim black naval dispatch case?

Dear Lord, he had already tired of her. That was it. He had bent her to his will, had coaxed her into unconditional surrender, and that was what he’d really wanted. He had stripped her of all decency and decorum. Had persuaded her to say things and do things that were shocking and shameful. He had encouraged her to cast off all inhibitions and behave scandalously with him. And now the insensitive son of a bitch was through with her!

Mary Ellen stormed up the stairs and into her room. She paced edgily back and forth, fuming and imagining the worst. She supposed the easily bored Captain had gone out in search of fresh female companionship. Or perhaps he had an arranged engagement. He’d surely met any number of women since arriving in Memphis, plus all those he’d known as a boy.

Leah Thompson had said the ladies of the gentry were atwitter over the darkly handsome Captain Knight. Mary Ellen ground her teeth. She knew it was true. Knew he’d have little trouble finding a woman—or women—quite eager and willing to entertain him in their parlors.

And in their bedrooms.

Angry, tense, Mary Ellen left her room, went back down the stairs. She stuck her head in the kitchen and told the old servants not to fix her any dinner. She wasn’t hungry. She was going to walk down to the old Templeton place and visit with her friend Leah Thompson.

Mattie just nodded, but old Titus shook his head worriedly. “Now, Miz Mary Ellen, I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

“You’re not me,” she said crisply.

“Night’s comin’ on,” he told her, “and you know that the Cap’n don’ like you bein’ out by yo’self after dark.”

“I don’t give a fig what the Captain likes,” she said irritably. “I go where I please, when I please, Titus Preble!”

“Yes’m,” he said, but he hobbled after her when she left the kitchen, mumbling about how she shouldn’t be out traipsing around and she was gonna get herself in a whole lot of trouble if she wasn’t careful.

Knowing he meant well, Mary Ellen paused at the front door. She came back to the bossy old servant and put her arm around him. “Titus…dear, sweet Titus, I’m not a little girl anymore.” She smiled and gave his stooped shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “Please don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

I
T WAS AFTER NINE
o’clock when Mary Ellen started home from Leah Thompson’s. Admittedly she was a little nervous. The city and riverfront were swarming with Yankees and Northern merchant riffraff.

When she’d gone less than a hundred yards, Mary Ellen saw a group of mounted Union soldiers riding toward her. Apprehensive, she started to turn back, return to Leah’s. But it was too late.

The soldiers reached her, and Mary Ellen felt her heart beating in her throat. They shouted and whistled, and one leaned down from the saddle and asked if she’d like to take a little ride in the woods with him. She made no reply, didn’t look up, kept walking at a brisk determined pace down River Road. Finally the soldiers rode on, laughing and calling out to each other.

But Mary Ellen felt a great measure of relief when she reached the front gate of Longwood.

The coxswain on guard rested the stock of his rifle on the gravel drive with one hand and opened the iron gate for her with the other.

Going up the walk, she saw several sailors lolling about on front gallery, as usual. Mary Ellen pointedly ignored them. Her chin lifted defiantly, she stepped around a long-legged young man sprawled out on the top porch step. As regally as possible, she crossed the wide gallery and went into the silent house. She hadn’t so much as glanced at any of the men, but she knew that their Captain was not among their number.

Her jaw hardened as she crossed the marble foyer and started up the grand staircase.

Likely the Captain wouldn’t be returning to Longwood before sunup. Mary Ellen bristled at the thought of him lying naked in bed somewhere in the city with a pretty young girl. Or a lonely widow. Or even a wayward wife. Worse, the lady in question might very well be one of her own friends or acquaintances.

Sickened by the thought, Mary Ellen went inside her darkened room, closed the door, and leaned back against it. After a moment she sighed heavily and pushed away. She moved to the marble-topped dresser, lifted the globe of the coal-oil lamp, and lighted the wick. Soft mellow light filled the white-and-yellow bedroom. Mary Ellen replaced the glass globe, turned, and saw him.

And her hand flew up to her mouth.

Captain Knight lay naked in her bed.

Sleeping.

Stretched out on his back in the middle of the soft mattress, he looked very large and dark and out of place amid the frothy, feminine white-and-yellow lace bed hangings and lace-trimmed white pillows and matching white sheets.

Venturing closer, her hand coming down from her mouth, Mary Ellen stared at him. Cautiously she studied every shadowed plane of his hard, handsome face. The firm, chiseled features and long raven eyelashes and straight, well-shaped nose and cruelly sensual mouth. She examined every inch of the lean, bare body that had once been so familiar, was now so strange, just as he was strange.

He was a stranger.

A dark, erotic stranger was in her bed, and he looked menacing even in sleep. He didn’t appear totally relaxed and boyishly vulnerable. Not at all. There was a coiled tension about his well-honed body, as if at any second he could be fully awake and highly dangerous.

Mary Ellen’s assessing gaze touched the wide-muscled shoulders, the broad, hair-covered chest, and slid lower to the corded ribs and drum-tight belly. Finally she came to the part of his anatomy that had so easily proved to her that she was no lady.

Mary Ellen’s face grew warm as she stared unblinkingly at the flaccid male flesh at rest amid the dense, curly blue-black hair of his groin. She trembled at the recollection of what that innocent-looking organ could do to her when it was fully erect.

Mary Ellen’s dark eyes widened with disbelief, her gaze riveted on the sleeping member, when the soft, limp flesh began to rise and stiffen. Her mouth rounding into an O of surprise and amazement, she continued to stare helplessly while it lifted to life before her marveling eyes.

“If you can do that with just a look,” came that deep, baritone voice, “imagine what will happen when you touch it.”

Mary Ellen’s head snapped up. He was wide awake and staring at her accusingly. Stammering, she said, “I…I didn’t…know you—”

“Come here,” he cut in smoothly, continuing to lie there on his back while his erection swelled. Mary Ellen went to the bed. He patted the mattress beside him. “Sit down, Mary.”

Mary Ellen sank to the edge of the mattress, facing him. He lifted a hand, curled long fingers around her upper arm, and drew her down to him. He kissed her, his lips warm from slumber and wonderfully smooth against her mouth. He parted her lips with his tongue and swiftly deepened the kiss.

When finally their lips separated and Mary Ellen sat back up, he looked into her dark eyes, took her hand in his, and slowly guided it across his chest, over his belly, to his pulsing tumescence. He released her hand.

“Love me,” he said coaxingly, and reached up to unbutton her bodice.

“I will,” she promised, entranced.

Mary Ellen’s slender fingers wrapped around him cautiously. She touched him gently, she stroked him up and down, she toyed with the jerking head, licking her forefinger and drawing a wet circle around the smooth tip’s tiny opening.

“Oh, God, baby…baby.” He groaned, breathing heavily. Finally he ordered, “Stop. Please, Mary.”

“Shhh,” she murmured, and continued to caress and tease and drive him half crazy with desire.

A vein pulsing on his dark forehead, the Captain lunged up momentarily, tore her hand from him, and drew her down on the bed.

Too aroused to waste precious time undressing her, he swept her full skirts up to her waist, swiftly removed her lace-trimmed pantalets, and moved between her shapely legs.

A foolish little smile of guilty pleasure crossed her face as Mary Ellen drew a quick breath and arched up against him as he thrust deeply into her. Her sharp nails punished his hard biceps as she pulled him to her eagerly. Then her hands slid beneath his muscled arms, and she clutched at his corded ribs.

Mary Ellen looked up at his handsome face as he plunged deeply into her, then slowly pulled almost all the way out, leaving only the glistening tip inside.

“No,” she whimpered in protest, her nails biting into the smooth flesh of his clefted back.

“No, what?” he murmured huskily, poised there above, withholding that which she most desired. “Tell me what you want.”

“You…you…know…,” she gasped, pressing him closer, frantically clasping his hips, attempting to draw him back into her.

“It has a name,” he told her brazenly. “Say it and it’s yours.”

Both excited and agitated, Mary Ellen frowned up at him, frantic to have him back inside her, reluctant to say such a word.

He read the reservation in her expressive dark eyes. She wanted it badly, but she hesitated to say it. He was determined to hear it. The Captain leaned down and kissed Mary Ellen passionately; then, trailing his lips across her flushed face, he whispered in her ear.

“No. No, I can’t,” she argued as he rose back up above her.

“You can. I know you can,” he coaxed softly. “For me. Just for me.”

On fire, in desperate need, Mary Ellen finally relented. Looking directly into his burning charcoal eyes, she said, “Captain, give me your cock!”

He gave it to her.

All of it.

She sighed with the sweet wonder of it.

And as they moved together in hurried, heated excitement, Mary Ellen wondered at herself and at him. They were shamelessly reckless and impetuous, behaving more like animals than civilized human beings. She had spoken a word aloud she’d never dreamed she would hear a man say, much less say herself.

And here she was, fully clothed save for her pantalets—she even had on her shoes and cotton stockings—making passionate love with this totally naked Yankee Captain in her lace-hung white-and-yellow girlhood bed while the lamp across the room washed over them and the bedroom door remained unlocked.

And it was pure heaven.

Much later that night, when the door was locked securely and the lamp had been extinguished and the two of them were naked in the midnight darkness of her room, Mary Ellen was curled comfortably against the Captain. She lay on her side, backed up to him, the crisp hair of his chest pleasantly tickling her back, his hard, hair-dusted thighs cradling her bare bottom. His long arm was around her, his hand cupping her breasts gently.

She could tell by his deep, even breathing that he was asleep.

She sighed.

She liked lying in his arms while he slept. She could almost forget—as he slumbered so peacefully and held her so possessively close—that he was a cold, cruel man who was manipulating her, exploiting her for his own greedy sexual pleasure.

Tears sprang to Mary Ellen’s eyes as she recalled what a sweet, good-hearted boy he had been when they were children. Clay Knight had never been able to inflict pain on anyone or anything. And when he unwittingly hurt somebody, he suffered more than his victim.