The Lady Who Drew Me In Page 6

  He moved toward Daisy, who stood stiffly on the center of the carpet, arms crossed to her chest. She looked more like a frightened virgin than a seasoned widow.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She gave a slight smile.

  “Don’t be nervous, Daisy.” He took another step toward her. “Not with me.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m not nervous.” She glanced at the bed, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Not about that, anyway.”

  He stared in confusion. What the hell else was there? At this moment, he couldn’t muster a coherent thought that didn’t involve her naked body, and he found thoughts of anything other than kissing her senseless were escaping as the moments passed.

  “If not that, then what?” He took her hand between his and placed a kiss in her palm. He kissed her wrist, several slow, light kisses against her pulse. The faint tremble in her arm aroused him more than it ought.

  She slipped her hand from his, shaking her head. “Jackson, wait,” she said, composing herself. “I must tell you something.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Are you certain about that?” He nuzzled her neck, breathing the smell of her. Unleashing her passion was so damn hard to resist. “I can think of nothing more pressing than the matter at hand.” To his delight, she tilted back her head in total agreement. He smiled against the soft wisps of her hair. “I will please you, Daisy,” he murmured in her ear.

  “I’ve no doubt about that,” she murmured back. “I only hope you survive.”

  He pulled back in surprise.

  Her eyes flashed wide, as though she hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Her freckles faded in the crimson shade of her cheeks. “That’s what I wanted to tell you,” she said. “It’s all very personal, but I thought it fair you should know. “Lawry—”

  “What about him?” Jackson asked, irritated by the mention of her late husband on their wedding night.

  “He…he died…in bed. Right after we…”

  Jackson cocked his head as her cryptic words became clear. He’d heard from his associates that Lansing’s heart had seized while he slept. He’d obviously heard wrong. Daisy was young and beautiful, and so passionate Jackson was surprised the old man had lasted as long as he had.

  “Ah.” Jackson considered her dilemma amid his crushing disappointment. “If you need more time—”

  “No.” She shook her head, and he wanted to jump for joy at her adamant reply. “It’s just… I wanted a child, you see. I shouldn’t have…”

  “Daisy.” He took hold of her tense shoulders. The troubled look in her eyes made him ache. “You are not responsible. I’m sure he died more as a result of his age than anything you might have done.”

  Her face flushed with relief. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “I just thought you should know.”

  Comforting her evoked a pleasant warmth in his chest, a swell of contentment that felt foreign and new. “In case you’re worried for me, you needn’t be. I’m in perfect health.”

  The start of a smile played on her lips. “That’s true.”

  “And while I appreciate the warning, I am willing to take my chances.” He touched his forehead to hers. “There are worse ways to go.”

  She smiled broadly then, and Jackson had never seen anything prettier. He lowered his head and kissed her hard. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed back. Sliding her tongue against his, she moaned into his mouth, pressing closer. Her open desire aroused him further.

  With shaky hands, he undressed her, fighting hard to stay calm. His fingers fumbled at the tiny buttons at her back until her skirts slid with a rustle to the floor. Lifting her from the heap of ruffles and petticoats, he carried her to the bed, sinking alongside her into the plush coverings.

  Staring into her face, he felt awed by his want for her. His strong need to please her surprised him. Straining for control, he unwrapped her from inside layers of cursed pantaloons and corsets until she lay naked at his side. His gaze roamed with his hand over the soft curve of her hip. Her nipples peaked like tight buds, her breasts rising and falling with each anxious breath as she awaited his move.

  He leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her jolt of pleasure beneath his lips made him drunk, and he feared he might burst on the spot. Arching toward him, she raked her hands through his hair, driving him mad.

  He sat upright, peeled off his shirt, and then returned to the warmth of her breasts. Circling with the tip of his tongue, he licked and teased her breasts, lost in the sound of her moans, the press of her soft thighs against his, as her legs slowly parted.

  A loud knock sounded on the door.

  It took several more seconds and several more knocks for his mind to register. “I am sorry, Mr. Gallway, but it’s urgent,” Josephine called through the door.

  With a curse, Jackson pounced bare-chested from the bed and strode to the door. Shielding his upper torso from view, he cracked open the door and reached for the note.

  He closed the door, moving toward the candlelight as he unfolded the message. “It’s from the jailhouse,” he uttered as he read. “Randal Morgan took a turn for the worse. The physician says he won’t make it till morning.”

  Jackson gazed across the room at Daisy. Her knees were drawn beneath the sheet she held loosely to her chest. Her disheveled hair hung to her bare shoulders. The gleam of desire in her eyes faded as she parted her luscious lips. He sensed the one word was as difficult for her to say as it was for him to hear, but she spoke it, anyway.

  “Go.”

  Chapter 6

  At the soft click of the bedroom door, Daisy bolted upright beneath the covers. Jackson slipped into the shadowy room, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he closed the door quietly behind him. He glanced toward her, the lamplight illuminating his surprised expression.

  “Did I wake you?”

  She shook her head, straightening her hair into some semblance of order. The mantel clock read half past two, but she felt wide awake. “How’s Mr. Morgan?” she asked, swinging her feet to the side of the bed.

  Exhaling a weary breath, he stripped from his coat, then tossed it over the footboard, sinking beside her on the mattress. “He died an hour ago.”

  She scooted closer, placing a hand on his slumped shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  He stared down at the floor, shaking his head. “That man didn’t deserve to die in a jail cell.”

  “No, he didn’t. But you—”

  “I never should have gotten involved. What the hell was I thinking?” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “You were defending an innocent man.”

  The sarcastic snort of laughter didn’t suit him. “Markelson assigned me to this case because it was a loser. That’s what he called it when he told me to have Morgan plead guilty. Morgan claimed innocence all along but had no money for a proper defense, so Markelson didn’t provide one.” His face hardened. “He knew I was in over my head.”

  “But we know Mr. Morgan was innocent.”

  “We are alone in that belief. Even his children turned against him. He asked me to clear his name for their sake, and I made a promise to do that.” The anger in his voice dissolved in sorrow. “A promise I’m not sure I can keep.”

  The humble admission proved there was hope for him yet. A sudden realization filled her with guilt. In the wake of their sudden marriage, she’d forgotten that it was Jackson’s dedication to help Randal Morgan that brought them together in the first place. Why was it so easy to overlook the good in this man? Was it because he was a lawyer? A rogue? Or a combination of both? “You’ll clear Mr. Morgan’s name, Jackson. You know he’s innocent, you just need more proof.”

  The usual confidence in his sapphire eyes was clouded with doubt.

  She lifted her chin. “He entrusted you to clear his name, and you’ll honor your promise.”

  “I’ve never kept a promise in m
y life.” He shot to his feet, then strode to the table. “Promises are worthless. You said so yourself.” He tossed the reminder over his shoulder, reaching for the decanter of brandy. He poured a tall drink. The bottle clanked on the marble tabletop before he snatched up the glass and quickly drained it. The tense lines of his face eased a bit from the brandy’s effect. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

  The defeat in his voice tugged at her heart. He looked so tired. “All right,” she agreed. She watched in silence as he poured another drink. The fear he’d fail Randal Morgan was understandable, but she sensed Jackson feared something more. That he wasn’t good enough to see this through. That he’d quit.

  Daisy had never struggled with issues of commitment. She’d move heaven and earth to succeed at a cause she believed in, but Jackson had limited ambitions. As Dannion had mentioned, Jackson had the intelligence and education to do anything he set his mind to. Unfortunately, he didn’t set his mind to much other than skating through his bachelorhood, no matter how thin the ice, no matter how deep the consequences, until he plunged into trouble. When he was in it up to his ears, his brother was always there to pull him out.

  Only this situation was different. This was between Jackson and a dead man. Jackson hadn’t saved Randal Morgan in time, but he had to prove the man’s innocence to ease his own conscience. Daisy sensed Jackson had something to prove to himself as well, and her heart ached with his burden. She’d been in those shoes.

  At the moment, the inappropriate quips Jackson made to lighten bleak situations were sorely missed. Seeing him now, like this, reinforced her suspicion that this case was more than a case to him. The word atonement chimed in her head. Her chest constricted at the thought.

  She watched him from across the room, admiring his tall form, his wide shoulders. Beneath narrowed brows, his eyes were heavy with thought. She was consumed with an uncontrollable need to wipe away his turmoil, the painful image of a dying man in a jail cell, and make him forget everything outside this room’s walls.

  “Jackson.” She spoke with tender purpose, her voice gentle but firm. “Come to bed.”

  His gaze penetrated her flesh like intense rays of sunlight. Heat coursed through her veins. He looked wild and unruly and handsome as sin. He was everything Lawry was not, and she’d never wanted anything more.

  No one had ever looked at her this way, as though she were all that mattered in the world. Lawry’s disinterest in her as a woman, the Palmers’ neglectful treatment of her as a girl, disappeared in Jackson’s eyes. He wanted her, and the thought was overpowering.

  A surge of excitement shot through her. He set his drink on the table, loosening his collar as he strode toward the bed. After pulling her to her feet, he kissed her hard.

  Breath hitched in her lungs; heat flooded her veins. His grip on her shoulders tightened as he opened his mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips. The taste of brandy, hot and sweet, filled her mouth as he slowed the kiss with long, sweeping glides, the rhythm of his tongue working her body into a frenzy. She clutched his neck and his hair, and he moaned deep in his throat, lifting her closer.

  There was nothing rote or meek in his touch, nothing proper in his need. His raw passion was fierce and contagious, and she wanted it all.

  Life with Lawry and months as a widow hadn’t eased the yearning that had lived like an unwelcome guest inside her. It had been so long since she’d been touched. Even cold hands had been better than none….

  Thoughts fled with her zeal to have what she wanted. To take what she needed. Clutching Jackson’s shoulders, she drew him closer, the scent of him filling her nose, stoking the sizzle in the pit of her belly.

  Reaching to her waist, he slid his hands over the curve of her hips, down the side of her thighs. Clenching fistfuls of fabric, he lifted her night rail. Slowly. His fingers slipped beneath the hem as he lifted it higher. Gazing into his eyes, she raised her arms as the flimsy silk glided upward and over her head.

  She shook her head, freeing her hair from the garment. Something sparked in his eyes as he stilled to watch her hair tumble to her shoulders. She touched a finger to his perfect mouth. His lips parted as the simple gesture spurred him back into action.

  He caressed her breasts, the taut nipples beneath his thumbs. His palms cupped the weight of her sensitive flesh, igniting a blazing fire through her core.

  Burying his face in her hair, he nuzzled her neck, each touch of his lips on her skin sending tingles all the way to her toes. Her knees trembled, her body a mass of sensation and need. She clutched at his shirt, eager to feel him. He leaned to unbutton his shirt. Reaching to assist, she tugged it from the waist of his trousers as he opened it wide. Splaying her hands, she roamed the firm planes of his chest. The soft patch of dark hair tickled her fingertips, then her lips, the virile smell of his skin inciting her further.

  In one fluid movement he scooped her off her feet and onto the bed. Tearing off his shirt, he climbed next to her. She squirmed as the tingle between her legs grew stronger. Her heart raced, and her breath came short and hard. She pulled him on top of her, grinding against the thigh he pushed between her legs and the rising sensations. His mouth covered hers, their tongues gliding and swirling. The taste of him in her mouth, the feel of him between her legs, was thrilling and new.

  Rolling to his side, he unfastened his trousers. His boots hit the floor with twin thuds. He shimmied his trousers down to his calves, kicking them to the foot of the bed. And then he was naked. Naked and lovely between her legs, his hardness pressing against her thigh, the dampness between her legs. She urged him with her moans, her hands clenching his shoulders.

  He kissed her throat, her neck, her ear. She wrapped her legs around his, capturing him so he couldn’t escape.

  He pushed inside her, filling her with a rush of pleasure she hadn’t expected. He was perfect, so thick and so hard. Her head whirled with their movements as she writhed in the wonderful friction, the exquisite feel of him deep inside her. She clung to his back as he moved faster, each thrust driving deeper, winding her tighter and tighter. The knot of sensations between her legs erupted, spreading outward through her body. She cried out in surprise at the overwhelming pleasure. The sound of her release quickly melded with his as he shuddered on top of her.

  The room stilled to everything but the sounds of heavy breathing and her heart pounding in her ears. Several moments passed before her pulse began to slow. Her body succumbed to the pleasant ache and the peaceful exhaustion, but her mind couldn’t rest. Making love to Jackson had awakened her to a whole new side of marriage.

  As she lay in Jackson’s strong arms, in the hazy aftermath of their first night together, one joyous thought became vividly clear. She’d fall asleep eventually, and when she did, it would mark the first time as a married woman she’d close her eyes feeling completely and utterly satisfied.

  * * * *

  Jackson sat in the Chippendale chair by the window, wide awake, despite the ungodly hour. The light of day crept closer, the view of Daisy’s form on the bed emerging in the fading darkness. He watched her sleep, the serene expression on her lovely face warming his blood.

  He’d watched her sleep the night at Cuffy’s cabin, a guilty pleasure he’d enjoyed for only a few moments for fear she’d wake to find him staring down at her for no other reason than he hadn’t been able to help himself. That he could now linger on the sight of her for as long as he liked was a bittersweet realization.

  She was so beautiful. Waves of blond hair spilled across her pillow. Languid breaths passed through slightly parted lips, the savory taste of which still left him hungry for more.

  Sunlight pierced the dim room, a sliver of gold that caressed the skin of her bare shoulder, her partially exposed leg coiled around the tangled sheet. Only two men in this world had the privilege of seeing her like this, and Jackson was one of them. Daisy belonged to him now, and he’d never felt more unworthy of anything.

  Pul
ling his gaze from the enticing sight of her, he walked barefooted to the window. A few short weeks ago his only concern had been choosing a companion for the night and landing a position in St. Louis.

  Catching the wrath of an irate husband, then losing his livelihood as a result had been a mere inconvenience compared to his latest dilemmas. Now he had to keep a promise to a dead man and finagle some way to salvage his plans for St. Louis. Plans he couldn’t execute with a wife in tow. He wasn’t sure which would be more difficult, but he knew what he had to do first. Randal Morgan would be buried this morning, and until Jackson solved this case, someone else’s crime would be buried with him.

  * * * *

  Daisy opened her eyes to see Jackson standing by the open window, gazing thoughtfully to the street below. He turned toward her at the sound of rustling covers as she stirred.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

  She stretched her arms to the rosewood headboard, sinking deep in the pillows. “I expected to toss and turn all night, but I slept very soundly.”

  “You assumed I would snore?”

  She laughed. “No. I’ve grown used to sleeping alone. I’ve always had my own bed.”

  His brows shot upward. “Separate beds?”

  “Lawry insisted.”

  “You snored?”

  She laughed. “No. I do not snore.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” he said with a wicked grin. “Though you could snore as loudly as a saw mill, and I’d still keep you in my bed.”

  Her cheeks warmed at his words and the sultry thoughts they inspired. Lawry had never spoken to her so boldly—so seductively. Not even in bed.

  “My late husband had other concerns,” she said. “He believed it was healthier for married couples to sleep separately. We shared a room but not a bed.”