Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“No more pain, sweetheart,” he whispered, pushing his finger a bit deeper. He began to caress her with his thumb, and to his delight, she shuddered, and her thighs grew utterly lax. Her face was burrowed against his shoulder, and she breathed in his scent. This is terrible! I don’t want to feel anything! Please, no!

She moaned his name, pounding her fists against his shoulders, wanting to push him away but drawing him nearer.

“That’s it, love,” he said, satisfaction in his deep voice, his eyes glittering into hers. “Come for me now. I want to see your eyes, taste you when you let go.” He could feel her resistance, see the struggle in her dazed eyes. “Let go, love,” he said, and felt her body tense, then begin to convulse in climax. He kissed her deeply, taking her cries of pleasure in his mouth, then eased back to watch her face. She arched her back, her head lolling on the pillow, tangling her hair around her face. Her eyes, filled with dazed surprise, met his. He wanted to weep with the pleasure of it. He continued to caress her and stroke her as intense pleasure convulsed her body.

“Ah, that was sweet, so sweet,” he said. Quickly, before her climax ebbed, he knelt between her thighs. He parted them wide, his breath quickening at her willingness. He guided himself inside her, feeling the heat of her enclose him. To his surprise and undoing, her hips thrust up, drawing him deep within her. “Raise your legs around my hips,” he managed to grind out between clenched teeth.

She did as he bid her, and he was lost. He thrust deep, and felt his body explode in incredible pleasure. He cried out her name, murmuring sex words, love words.

He felt a surge of tenderness, and yes, satisfaction as he collapsed on top of her. Another moan escaped his lips as her thighs tightened around his hips, holding him deep within her.

He managed to pull himself up on his elbows. “You are some woman, wife,” he said softly, pushing deeper.

Chauncey blinked up at him, her mind working furiously. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, unable to accept what her body had forced upon her. “I didn’t want to feel so—”

He dipped down his head and kissed her lightly on her lips. “Do you have any idea how soft your breasts are?” he asked, smiling at her bewildered, confused expression. “How can you blush, love?” He grasped her and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. His thoughts stretched toward the future, a future filled with passion. It was a pleasing thought, and he squeezed her more tightly against him.

Chauncey felt numb with shock. She tried to remember the Chauncey who hated this man, the Chauncey who smiled cruelly at the thought of destroying him, bringing him to his knees, the Chauncey who was in control of everything.

She burst into tears.

16

Captain O’Mally’s dining table provided an interesting assortment of people and an array of equally fascinating foods. Heavy chandeliers glittered above the long, rather narrow room. Gilt-framed paintings covered the three oak walls, the other being all glass. The tables were covered with pristine white cloths and graced with sparkling silver cutlery and fine English china.

“Most impressive, Captain,” Chauncey said as he held her chair.

“Del insisted on the best,” Rufus said, giving her his most charming leprechaun grin. “As he usually does,” he added, sweeping his gaze admiringly over her peach silk gown.

The dinner menu was printed in a flowery script, and many of the myriad dishes were unfamiliar to Chauncey. Broiled plover, hare chops in salmi, venison steak . . . The list seemed endless.

Delaney saw her blink and said softly, “The brains, love? Please, forgo those if you wish. I already dread that you have a surfeit. I would recommend the braised chicken with oyster sauce.”

“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She could still see him staring at her aghast when she had burst into tears but two hours before. He had held her, not demanding an explanation, not demanding anything from her. He had already taken everything, she thought now, her thoughts confused and desolate.

Delaney gave his order to the white-coated waiter who stood at his elbow, then leaned back in his chair, a crystal goblet of dry white wine in his left hand. He responded equably to a question from Colonel Dakworth, and commented suitably on the rather stormy situation now brewing over which city should become the capital of California. But he didn’t give a damn about any of it at the moment. Such a puzzle she was, he thought, listening to his wife’s soft voice as she asked the waiter for the braised chicken. A beautiful, responsive puzzle. He saw Brent Hammond, a friend, a gambler, womanizer, and something of a pirate, eyeing her speculatively. You haven’t a prayer, old man, he wanted to tell him, his lips curling sardonically. Not a prayer. Brent hadn’t been able to come to their wedding. And Captain O’Mally’s first mate, Mr. Hoolihan. His look wasn’t at all speculative in the manner of Hammond’s; it was rather assessing, and utterly emotionless. Odd man, Hoolihan, he thought. If he could force his mind away from Chauncey, he wanted to find out more about him.

Dakworth, the blustering old fool, was expounding in fine style to Reverend Divine about the thieves and villains the viligantes had routed out of San Francisco two years before. Delaney didn’t care what exaggerations the bewhiskered old man propounded, he just wanted the damned meal over with and Chauncey back in their stateroom.

The talk remained animated throughout the long meal, with tales from Reverend Divine about his trials with the filthy, savage Indians. “Ugly brutes” seemed to be his sniffing refrain. Chauncey, Delaney observed silently, ate next to nothing. What was she thinking? he wondered. Was she mortified that she had experienced sexual pleasure with him? Was that the reason for her tears? Surely she hadn’t been raised to believe that ladies were simply to endure their husbands’ brutish demands and, that to feel anything was ill-bred. Her obvious ignorance indicated that no one had told her anything about sex.

Chauncey was pulled from her roiling thoughts by Captain O’Mally’s cheerful lilting voice. “A moment, everyone! I propose a toast. To Delaney and Elizabeth Saxton, our newlyweds.”

Brent Hammond’s black brows arched upward and there was a decidedly wolfish gleam in his dark eyes. “To the lovely bride,” he said, his deep voice bland as the white rice.

“May your union be blessed,” Reverend Divine added in a pompous voice.

Chauncey’s eyes flew to his face. Blessed! He must mean children! She felt her temples throb. Delaney had promised her, had assured her . . . She could feel his seed explode deep w

ithin her body, filling her. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“What, Mrs. Saxton? Another toast?”

It was Mr. Hammond’s smooth, mocking voice. Damn him! She lifted her chin, looked at him full in his darkly handsome face, and announced in a thankfully calm voice, “Yes, indeed, Mr. Hammond. A toast to the Scarlet Queen. And to my husband’s excellent taste in wineglasses.”

Chauncey couldn’t face the array of sweet desserts, and nibbled on a small bunch of grapes. She could feel Delaney’s concern, his puzzlement. God, she wanted to be alone! When the meal was finally over, she heard Captain O’Mally ask to speak privately with Delaney about some urgent business matters. She turned swiftly, schooled her features into what she hoped was the understanding-wife look, and said, “I shall be fine, Del. Indeed, I think I should like to walk on the deck for a while. It is a beautiful night.”

Delaney wasn’t fooled for an instant. Very well, his expressive eyes told her, I shall leave you be for the moment. “Soon, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “Your stateroom, Rufus?” he asked.