This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

He couldn’t keep his gaze from straying to her; the curved shape of her was a magnet. The straps of her chemise drew his attention to her shoulder blades. As she combed her hair, he watched the rippling movement down her spine to a waist so slender his hands could easily span it. Her rounded buttocks and hips tantalized him, fully outlined by the chemise.

“This lady wasn’t an ordinary immigrant.” Lorna stayed with the topic, although another woman was the farthest thing from Benteen’s mind. “I know she’s special. She referred

to ‘the earl.’” She combed the ends of her hair around a finger. “That’s a title, isn’t it? Like a duke?”

“I believe so.” Benteen had an aversion to titled nobility. His mother had run away with a remittance man, a member of that class. “Fancy titles mean nothing. Don’t be impressed by them, Lorna.”

His abruptness with her brought renewed concentration to combing her hair. Lorna resented the way he’d made her feel wrong for being fascinated by the woman she’d seen. She didn’t see the harm in it. The teeth of the comb became snagged by a tangle in the back. Her attempt to tug it free pulled at the roots.

“Ouch!” It was an involuntary exclamation. The snarl was in the back. Lorna tried to twist around so she could see to comb it out, but it wasn’t possible.

“I’ll get it for you,” Benteen volunteered.

Lorna hesitated an instant at the thought of having him so close to her. It hardly made sense when she’d slept with him last night. She handed him the comb and continued to face the mirror, resting her hands on the edge of the dresser with its pitcher of water and basin.

There was something about the touch of his fingers on her hair as they tunneled under its damp weight to hold the snarl that started her heart pattering. After he gently worked loose the tangle, he began slowly running the comb through her long hair. Lorna half-closed her eyes in involuntary enjoyment of his hand following the comb to smooth her hair. When he bent his head closer to hers, she took little notice of it.

“Your hair smells good,” Benteen murmured as the comb ceased its movement. His hand settled onto the bare point of a shoulder, his callused skin pleasantly abrasive on sensitive flesh. “You smell good.”

When his hand began a caressing movement, Lorna stiffened. Her fingers tightened their grip on the edge of the dresser. Benteen felt her silent protest and immediately took his hand away. The comb was thrust in front of her. The instant she took it, Benteen moved briskly away. She held the comb, looking at it, her breath running shallow.

“Thank you.” It was an awkwardly polite expression of gratitude for his help with the snarl.

“It’s no good, Lorna.” His reflection in the mirror showed a nerve twitching near his mouth. “I’m a man, not a priest. We’re going to have to reach some kind of understanding, because I don’t know how long I can keep from touching you.”

She turned very slowly to face him, aware of the harsh reality of his statement and the choice she had made to stay with him. It was going to be very difficult to say these next words, because she knew it was too soon.

“I told you on our wedding night, Benteen, that I had no right to deny you the privileges of the marriage bed. That’s still true.” She tried to brace herself to endure what was to come.

Benteen stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “My God, Lorna,” he muttered thickly. “Why don’t you just call me an animal for expecting you to submit to me, instead of being so meekly dutiful?”

“Because I know what you said is true.” She had the intelligence to understand that, even if she wasn’t sure she was emotionally ready to become intimate with him again. “I recognize it’s a man’s need. It’s something you enjoy.” She couldn’t look at him while she explained the reasons behind her acquiescence.

“And you?” Benteen challenged quietly.

“I’m not sure I will without …” Lorna had intended to say, “… without remembering when you took me in violence.” But she left it unsaid, knowing Benteen would read in the rest.

He walked to within a foot of her and stopped. All expression was kept from his face as he hooked a finger under her chin and raised it. There was a panicked acceleration of her heartbeat, but Lorna quelled it and tried to return his steady gaze.

“We’d better find out if you can,” Benteen said.

With calculated deliberation, he slowly bent his head toward her, watching closely for any adverse reaction from her. Inside, she was recoiling, but she was able to keep it from showing. When his mouth made its first tentative brush against her lips, Lorna didn’t resist. His mouth came back to move gently over them, mindful of their chapped soreness. The kiss was warmly reassuring. Lorna could accept its gentle pressure and find a small degree of corresponding warmth.

His body did not touch hers, but she could feel its heat radiating from him. If it could stay like this, she could handle it. His hand moved onto her neck, lightly tracing its long curve to the hollow of her throat. She started to feel the tension threading through her nerves. When his mouth tried to coax her lips apart, her mind flashed back to the last time when no such persuasion had been used. She tried very hard to block out the degrading memory, but she felt herself growing rigid under his touch. She didn’t want it to be like this. She wanted to feel that raw passion of all the other times before the last.

Although she let her lips part in an attempt to force the feelings, Benteen sensed the difference. The kiss was stopped cold as he slowly drew away to look at her. Her gaze wavered under the deliberately aloof inspection of his.

“You aren’t any good at faking it, Lorna.” He knew if he let her go through with this charade of desire and made love to her, as he desperately wanted to do, she would ultimately resent this exercising of the privileges she said he had. She would despise him more than she already did.

“Benteen, I’m trying—”

“If it can’t come naturally, I don’t want it,” he broke in roughly. “Be honest about what you’re feeling, even if it’s hatred.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lorna said, but didn’t enlighten him about what she did feel.

“I’ll stay away from you for a while. You tell me when you want me to be your husband.” And he hoped to God he’d have the strength to wait for that day—and that it wouldn’t be too far into the future. He turned from her and walked to the window to look onto the street below. Without looking, Benteen was conscious that Lorna was still standing in the same spot. “Your hair is dry enough now. You’d better put your dress on.”

“Yes.” Her head was bent. She realized she had been foolish to think she could pretend to feel pleasure. But accepting his advances had appeared to be a way to assuage her guilt for goading him with her threat to run away, which had brought about the rape. She couldn’t plead ignorance, because she’d known how violently angry Benteen had become over his mother’s picture. She should have guessed he would be overly sensitive to any hint that she might repeat what his mother had done.