Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
When his lips met hers, she knew she was in trouble. It wasn’t in her mind to respond. Yet she did. One moment, the man was all but a stranger to her, the next, he was an undeniable part of her.
His hands came up to cup her face, his fingers massaging her neck, her cheeks, her ears, the back of her head, her shoulders, as though only by the sense of touch could he come to know her.
She breathed in, and his masculine scent, fresh and musky, filled her senses.
Her head spun as she inhaled again, committing his clean fragrance and this instant to memory.
Briefly, he ended the kiss to press his cheek against hers, and absentmindedly, she noted his lack of a beard.
Was this an American Indian characteristic?
She had no chance, however, to debate the observation. His breathing was deep and ragged, and the knowledge she was affecting him in this way made her pulse race.
She scooted in against him. She couldn’t help herself. It was madness, pure madness, for she knew nothing of this person, and yet…
Once again, his lips captured hers, only this time his mouth nudged hers open.
It was not in her to refuse, and when she consented, he invaded her senses, his tongue sliding over her teeth, the inner makings of her lips, her own tongue.
It was as though he would commit the very act of love with her using no more than a kiss.
But this was no mere kiss. Certainly, William’s affectionate embraces had been nothing like this. This was different from anything in her experience. This was soul-stirring, an awakening of spirit to spirit, being to being.
Even while his kiss rampaged her sensibility, his hands were caressing every part of her face, her ears, her cheeks, her eyes. Downward his touch ranged, over the sensitive spot on her neck, stopping at her shoulders.
Again, he drew back. Again, she surged forward.
“Who are you?” she asked as she fought to catch her breath.
“I am called Black Lion.”
“No, I mean who are you?”
“Your soon-to-be husband,” he whispered against her lips. “Perhaps it is good we desire each other.”
“But I…”
“Do not deny it. You are here in my arms.”
She should leave those very arms. She should simply step away from him; it would be the right action for her to take. But she didn’t. It was as though in this matter her body and mind operated without her consent, just as if they knew exactly what they wanted, even if she did not.
“There is a medicine man here amongst my people. He will marry us tonight.”
“No. A man of the cloth—a person from one of our churches—he must administer the ceremony.”
Black Lion shook his head. “Mark my words. The white people will not marry us. If we are to do this, it will have to be a secret marriage, I think.”
“I dare to disagree. I will find a minister. You will see, for I must find one. Perhaps you do not yet understand, but in the eyes of the world, our marriage must be legal.”
He nodded. “Hau, you are right. I do not understand, but I will wait, then, and see if you are able to do this. Still, I will tell the medicine man to be in preparation…” she frowned at him, “…in the event he is needed. Shall I arrive here for you tonight?”
“Yes, once the others are well asleep.”
Again, he nodded. It was only then he dropped his arms from around her and stepped away, and despite herself, Suzette felt bereft. With a dangerous light in his eye, he said, “I do not think we will have a problem with kisses.”
Amazingly enough, she grinned up at him. “No, I don’t expect we will.”
He had turned, and she watched him walk away from her. Truthfully, she had little choice in the matter, since her gaze followed the man as though her mind, temporarily separated from her will, would imprint his image on her, whether she wished it or not.
Who was he? she wondered for the second time in so many minutes.
His was a slender build, tall, she was keen to observe as her eyes caught and held on to his jeans-clad figure.
His shoulders were wide, his hips slim, and those jeans clung indiscriminately to rock-hard rear muscles.
The jeans disappeared into high, over-the-knee, leather boots, while the man’s hair, loose and long and almost reaching to his hips, tumbled down his back.
His image was a mixture of stark contrasts, black mane against a crisp white shirt.
He had worn beaded earrings tonight, a look which seemed more than a little exotic for a man.
Though one might usually consider such jewelry to be reserved for the female of the species, there was nothing but pure masculinity in the manner of this man.
He had also worn a breastplate, which was made of bone and beads, an item he had worn in England, as well, she recollected.
Atop that necklace and dangling around his neck had been a navy-blue-and-white neckerchief, neatly tied.
Half cowboy, half American Indian, his was a strange way of dressing.
But it was also uniquely his own. Who was this man who should affect her so? And why was she affected?
Had it been because he had shown himself to have a sympathetic ear?
Perhaps this was his cause, for it was a welcome relief to meet someone willing to take on her troubles without so much as a word of judgment.
But there was more to it than this, for she had responded to him as though he were perfect for her… and she for him.
She prayed, however, for this not to be so. Indeed, she was counting on him being her exact opposite.
Still, whether they were one another’s antithesis or rather a match made by the gods, it made no difference to her. They were to be married…and tonight.
Did people in the Wild West Show never sleep? Suzette inspected the timepiece Irena had given her. It was a little after one o’clock in the morning. Where was he?
Pacing the width of the small room that was marked off by a set of three partitions, Suzette listened to the faint sound of the Indian drums, which was coming from the opposite side of the camp.
An occasional gunshot broke the monotony, but even that was fast becoming a commonplace sound.
Irena was gone, had not returned from the reception Buffalo Bill was hosting—an event meant to entertain a few visiting dignitaries.
Fortunately for her, Suzette had warned the show’s chaplain that she and her fiancé would be arriving late. But she hadn’t meant to be this negligent.
Suzette was undecided as to what to do. Should she put Black Lion’s tardiness down to the fact that show people rarely, if ever, arrived on time? Assume he wasn’t having doubts and leave to go in search of him? And, if she did have the nerve to seek him out and find him, what would she say to him?
Luckily she was saved from answering her own questions when a softly spoken male voice said from behind her, “Put out the light.”
She spun around quickly, too quickly. She lost her balance and fell forward. At once he stepped to her side and prevented her from falling.
Of necessity, Black Lion’s arms came around her, and feeling much like a rabbit looking into the eyes of a lion, she gazed up at him. Immediately, his brisk male scent, enhanced with the fragrance of mint, enshrouded her. She swayed slightly.
“Are you hurt?”
She backed away from him, but only minutely. “No, I am all right.”
“I am happy to hear it.” He stepped back from her, then instructed, “Put out the light.”
She gaped at him.
He repeated, “Put out the light.”
“But why?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped toward the gaslight himself, reached for the knob that lowered the flame, and with a flick of his wrist, threw the room into darkness.
Suzette was aware that they stood no more than the distance of a hand’s-breadth apart. She shut her eyes as she wondered again why this man created such havoc within her.
He leaned in toward her, and she whispered, “Why did you shut off the light?”
“Because shadows are easily seen through the canvas of these tents,” he answered, his voice low. “And unless you wish to announce my presence here, it is better for us to have our talk in the dark.”
“Our talk?”
“Hau, we must talk.”
“Of what?”
“I have questions I must ask you.”
His statement earned a frown from her, but all she said was, “Very well. Won’t you be seated, Mr. Lion?”
“I will, but we will sit on the floor close together, I think, for we must speak in whispers.”
Taking hold of her waist, he guided her to the floor, her body tingling at his touch. But she ignored the feeling and complained instead. “It is cold here.”
“Sit close to me—our body heat will warm us, each one.”
Body heat? The thought of this man’s body pressed up close against hers stirred her pulse. She swallowed.
Meanwhile, he continued, “We whisper so we might save your reputation. We are not yet married, and I am here at an hour of the night used traditionally by lovers. I am also in your bedroom.”
“Ah. Again, you try to save my reputation.”
“Hau. Someone must think of it.” He paused as though to let the implication wash over her.
“And now, my questions. They are not many, but they must be asked. First, however, I would present these beaded moccasins to your family in appreciation of the honor of taking you for my wife.” He handed over the prize.
“I…I thank you, on behalf of my family.” She ran her hands over the tough leather that had been softened to fit around the foot. Tiny beads decorated the entire circumference of the shoe. “Though I cannot see them in this light, I am sure they are most beautiful.”
“Sece, I think they are. They are made by Blue Feather, a winkte, whose craft is known throughout the Lakota Nation.”
She nodded. However, realizing he could not very well see the action, she added, “I am certain they are beautiful, and I thank you. Now, what are these questions you have for me?”
“Hau. My first question is this: does the man who did this to you know you are with child?”
Suzette sighed. “Yes. I could not very well leave England without informing him of the matter.”