Only My Love Read online

  "He doesn't."

  "He was smiling though."

  "He does that. Lots of things amuse Jarret."

  "Not much amuses Rennie. She's so... so serious."

  In the darkness of the closed carriage Ethan smiled, pressing a kiss against her fragrant hair. "I didn't know Judge Halsey was your godfather."

  "You don't think I could have gotten just anyone to marry us tonight, do you? My father has that kind of influence, I don't."

  What Ethan thought was that Jay Mac had done everything in his power to see that his daughters were cared for and well-protected. He couldn't give them influence but he provided connections. "I hope I see to our daughter half as well as Jay Mac saw to you."

  "Daughter?" Michael snuggled against him. "Do you really think it will be a girl?"

  "I'm counting on it."

  "Have I told you I love you?"

  "Not since you married me."

  "I love you, Ethan."

  "That's a damn good thing, Mrs. Stone."

  * * *

  She was shy undressing in front of him. After he unfastened the buttons at her back she started to go to the dressing room. He stopped her, slipping his fingers around her wrist. "Don't you want me to look at you?" he asked.

  "I look like an apple on legs."

  He bent and kissed her mouth. His lips were warm. "It's all right," he said. "I like apples."

  Her eyes were uncertain.

  Ethan turned her and gave her a small push toward her dressing room. "Go on. I'll warm the bed for you."

  He was as good as his word. The sheets were warm when Michael slipped between them a few minutes later. "Thank you," she said, moving closer, curving her body against his. She drew his arm around her thickened waist and warmed her feet against his calves. He didn't move. "Ethan?"

  Michael peered in the darkness, raising her fingers to his face and traced the line of his mouth, his cheek. His lids were closed, his lips slightly parted. His breathing was gentle and even. Her smile was tender as she leaned into him and touched his mouth with hers.

  In a few minutes Michael was asleep as well.

  * * *

  His mouth was on her breast. His tongue flicked her nipple and it swelled. Her skin was warm and damp where he touched her, the scent of her flesh musky. The taste of her was sweet.

  Ethan's fingers curled around her neck. His thumb dipped in the hollow of her throat. The hair at her nape was downy, as soft as a child's, and his touch there made her whimper at the back of her throat. His mouth moved to her collarbone and placed teasing, tormenting kisses along its length.

  Michael liked coming awake to the taste of Ethan against her mouth and the feel of him under her palms. Her movement against him was sleepy and sinuous. Her nightshift had been unbuttoned to her waist. It slipped off her shoulders as Ethan's fingers trailed from her throat to her breasts. Her swollen nipples hardened more. His head moved lower and his teeth caught her flesh, worrying the buds gently.

  She sipped the air as a frisson of pleasure tripped down her spine.

  "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

  His voice was husky and it washed over her with its heat and desire. She shuddered. "No, you didn't hurt me. I want you to touch me." Michael arched toward him, lifting her breasts. The suck of his mouth made her gasp again and this time he knew it was pleasure, not pain, that had pulled the small cry from her.

  Ethan's hand caressed the swell of her abdomen. His knuckle grazed her distended navel. The baby kicked and Ethan withdrew his hand as if scalded.

  Laughingly, Michael drew back his hand. "Feel? There she is again."

  "She wants out."

  Michael shook her head. "She's just stretching." Her own arms circled Ethan's neck and she uncurled along his length. "Like her mother."

  Ethan's mouth slanted across Michael's. He drew in her lower lip, tracing it with his tongue. She opened her mouth under his, sweeping the ridge of his teeth, sharing the same breath, the same husky and urgent cry.

  "I won't hurt the baby, will I?"

  Reaching between their bodies, Michael's fingers curled around him and stroked the hard, hot length of him. She giggled softly. "Don't flatter yourself," she said. "The baby will be fine." For her impudence she was kissed breathless.

  Ethan's hands slid along the curve of Michael's thigh to her hip. His caress was gently insistent and her legs parted beneath his touch as her mouth parted beneath his. His tongue intruded in the same moment as his fingers.

  "We've already waited too long, Ethan," she whispered. "I want you inside me."

  "Then take me."

  She raised his fingertips to her siren's smile and kissed each in turn. She moved to straddle him. His hands fell to her heavy breasts where her nipples had darkened to dusky rose. She guided herself onto him. The tangle of curls that was her magnificent hair fell forward over her shoulders. She began to move. Shadows tinged with hues of blue unfolded across her pale skin. She moved through them like a sylph, caressing the length of him intimately with her body.

  Ethan did not take his eyes from her face until the moment of his coming. His back arched, thrusting into her deeply as his eyes, the same blue-gray shade as the shadows, closed in the taut agony of pleasure.

  Michael clung to him as Ethan withdrew and turned her onto her back. His mouth trailed over her flushed skin. His hand slipped between her thighs and his fingers passed in a whisper-stroke across the bud that was all sensation. She twisted in her desiring and when she said his name it was as a plea.

  His practiced touch became a shower of pleasure. The heat concentrated at the very center of her burst and became a cascade of sparks skittering along the surface of her skin. Tension dissolved and her fingers unwound in his hair and in the sheet she was clutching.

  He watched her, loving her abandonment, her wild pleasure. She was so beautiful to him that he couldn't imagine he had ever thought otherwise. Ethan tugged at her nightshirt, pulling it down as he tucked the sheet around Michael. Her breathing quieted and Ethan listened, stroking her hair, her face. He turned on his side and propped himself on an elbow.

  "I should have never let you leave Denver," he said. "I'm going to regret it all my life."

  She touched his face, brushed the square angle of his jaw with her forefinger. "There are too many things you should never have done, things that I shouldn't have done. I can't find it in my heart to regret them anymore. You're with me now. It's what I want."

  "And you must have whatever you want."

  Michael's expressive green eyes were solemn. "Absolutely."

  He dropped a kiss on her lips. "I didn't mean to fall asleep before," he said. "It's probably not the wedding night you imagined."

  "I've never imagined any wedding night. I never imagined any wedding. I thought you were lost to me, Ethan. It's incredible that I have Houston and Detra Kelly to thank for you being here."

  Ethan didn't want to think about that.

  "I wished I had been braver," she told him. "I wish I had asked you to marry me back in Stillwater."

  Ethan smiled, intrigued by the idea. "Did you think about it?"

  She nodded. "But I was afraid it was too forward a gesture—even for me." Michael turned on her side, drawing her legs up as the baby seemed to press into her back. "That's not quite true. I was afraid you'd say no."

  "I don't know what I would have said, but I know I loved you then." His fingers threaded in her thick hair. Soft strands curled around his knuckles. "And now... I love you now."

  An abrupt yawn changed the shape of her beautiful smile.

  Ethan chuckled. "Go to sleep, Michael."

  Beneath the sheet she searched for his hand, found it, and slipped her fingers between his. She closed her eyes. A moment later, so did he. They fell asleep together.

  * * *

  "I have an address for her," Dee said. She was careful not to jar Houston's leg as she sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled a slip of paper from her reticule and handed it to him. "It w
asn't difficult to get at all. I merely told one of the secretaries I had an appointment with her at her home and I'd misplaced the address. It was as simple as that."

  "The St. Mark Hotel. 305." Houston folded the slip and returned it to Dee. "She wasn't at the offices?"

  "Not today." Her deep blue eyes were almost feverishly bright as she tried to relate her news calmly. "Perhaps not tomorrow either. There was quite a buzz at the Chronicle this morning. I couldn't help but learn what it was about. Everyone was talking."

  Houston's tone was dry. A faint white line of pain tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well? Can everyone in New York know but me?"

  Dee stood, put aside her reticule, and took off her coat. In the cracked mirror above the washbasin she fingered her hair, securing a few wayward strands behind her ear. She wanted to relish her secret a moment longer, wanted Houston to feel the frustration of waiting, of being dependent upon her. "It seems Michael Dennehy was married last night."

  "Married?"

  Dee nodded, shooting Houston a sly, sidelong glance. "To Ethan Stone of all people."

  Grimacing, Houston pushed himself upright in bed. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. For a moment he didn't say anything, pushing back the pain. "So he's here, then," he said softly.

  "Apparently. The announcement will be in the afternoon paper."

  "Has he been here all along or—"

  "Just arrived," she said. "I had the distinct impression that the people she works with were surprised. Ethan hadn't been courting her."

  "Then he's here because of us."

  It was the same conclusion Dee had reached. "It seems likely."

  "Do you think they're really married this time?"

  "I don't know. It doesn't matter though, does it? You wanted to draw Ethan out, to have him suffer. He will watch her die."

  Houston nodded slowly, his black eyes distant as he stared at the yellowing wall opposite him.

  "There's just one other thing, Houston."

  He turned.

  "It seems the new Mrs. Stone is very pregnant."

  * * *

  Michael and Ethan sat in the second floor family dining room of the St. Mark. They were seated near one of the large arched windows at the rear of the room. They could look down and see the parade of bonnets and derbies as people crossed Broadway or alighted from carriages. Dusk was shading the thoroughfare; crowds gathered in front of the St. Mark preparing to take a meal in the hotel's renowned restaurant. Gas lamps flickered on, brightening the street with warm yellow light.

  No one shared their table. Ethan thought they must have looked as if they wanted to be alone. The waiter set their plates on the white linen table cloth and served them. Ethan had roast beef and potatoes and carrots. Michael had chosen the honeyed chicken and a salad. Ethan drank red wine with his meat. Michael sipped from a glass of white.

  "Are you feeling all right?" he asked. "You're only fiddling with your food."

  Michael pushed her plate away. "I'm really not very hungry." Her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass but she didn't raise it to her lips.

  "Is it the baby?"

  "No. Baby's fine." She paused, then plunged in. "Ethan, are you really going to follow me around at the office tomorrow?"

  "I don't know about following you around. I certainly hadn't intended to get in your way, but I'll be there. Unless you decide not to go back to the Chronicle, there's really no other way."

  "I have to go back."

  "You don't have to work," he said. "I own a silver mine."

  She laughed. "I didn't marry you for your money."

  "Well, I didn't marry you for yours."

  "What a relief. I only make forty-five dollars a week."

  "That's more than I earn as a federal marshal."

  "You don't have to work either," she reminded him gently.

  But he did. It was no different for Michael, he realized, only more difficult to accept. "I'm trying," he said.

  She reached for his hand. "I know. Someday I'm going to take you to hear Susan B. Anthony and Mrs. Stanton speak on women's rights. The world's changing, Mr. Stone."

  His grin was lop-sided, his tone dry. "Next you'll be wanting the vote."

  Her steady stare and silence was eloquent.

  "Oh, God," he sighed.

  Pretending sympathy, Michael patted his hand. "Here," she said, pushing her plate toward him. "Eat up. You're going to need your strength."

  Chapter 15

  Michael scooted off the bed and padded quietly into the bathing room. One hand supported the small of her back as she poured a glass of water. She didn't drink it herself, but carried it back to the bedroom. Skirting the four-poster, Michael stopped beside the rocker where Ethan was sitting. She handed him the water, which he took without a word, and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

  "You're a little warm," she said, lighting one of the lamps. "How long have you been feeling sick?"

  "An hour. Perhaps a little longer." He sipped the water. His stomach roiled and he closed his eyes. "I didn't mean to wake you."

  "You could have. 'In sickness and in health.' I made a vow."

  The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "I thought we would be married longer than three days before I challenged the sickness part." He sipped the water again, sloshing it around his mouth before he swallowed. There was a painful contraction as soon as it hit the pit of his stomach.

  Michael went to the bathing room and returned with a cool, damp cloth. She wiped his face, then folded it in thirds and placed it across his forehead. "Perhaps I should ask the manager to send for a doctor. I could request Scott Turner. He's already seeing me because of the baby."

  He handed her back the glass. "I don't need a doctor. It's nothing more than indigestion. I ate all of my meal and most of yours. And mixing both wines didn't help. I'll be fine in the morn—" His eyes opened wide and his face went from gray to ash. The wet cloth slipped from his forehead as he leaped out of the rocker and ran to the bathing room.

  Even through the closed door, Michael could hear the sounds of her husband retching. She patted her belly and spoke to her baby. "And aren't we glad we didn't have the chicken?"

  Michael gave Ethan a few more minutes alone before she walked in. He was leaning against the wash-stand. She handed him a clean nightshirt to replace the damp one he was wearing and bathed his neck, face, and shoulders. "It's probably a touch of food poisoning," she said. "The chicken, most likely."

  Ethan nodded, grateful that he hadn't bullied her into eating her dinner and regretting he'd been so hungry. He leaned against her, surprised by his own weakness, and let her lead him back to the bedroom. He started for the rocker but she insisted he lie down.

  "If anyone spends the rest of the night in the rocker," she said, "it will be me."

  Ethan surprised himself again by not arguing. He crawled under the covers, curled on his side, and let her tuck another blanket around him.

  "Perhaps if I order some tea and dry toast?" she suggested. "It always helped me with sickness in the mornings."

  "I'm not pregnant."

  Michael sat beside him and stroked the hair at his temple. "Are you certain? The world's changing, Mr. Stone."

  He closed his eyes. "Very amusing."

  * * *

  In the morning Ethan was only marginally better. Michael got ready for work in the dressing room so she wouldn't disturb him. When she came out, wearing a plain gray gown with a white smock, her mother's brooch at the collar, Ethan was pulling on his trousers.

  "Oh no," she said. "Back in bed."

  "If you're going, then so am I."

  "That's ridiculous, Ethan. You don't feel well enough to be going with me to the office."

  There was a world of truth in that. "Then stay here and take care of me."

  "And you're not that sick." She brushed her hair and arranged it carefully at the back of her head. Her spectacles were lying on top of the vanity. She put them on and regarded him over
the wire rims as he struggled with the buttons on his shirt. "Ethan, please go back to bed. I've already arranged with the manager to have someone check on you throughout the day. It's not as if you'll be unattended. There's hot tea and toast waiting for you in the sitting room. Jam if you don't want it dry and orange juice if you're feeling up to it. I'll bring it here if you'll put yourself in bed again."

  "I'm not letting you go to the Chronicle alone."

  "What is it you expect Houston to do? Gun me down in the street? This is New York, Ethan. That kind of thing doesn't happen here."

  Ethan sat down. His unsettled, empty stomach growled. His muscles ached in the aftermath of his sudden, acute illness.

  "Have you given any thought at all to how long you'll want to be my shadow? A few weeks, a month, six months, a year? If Houston makes no move against me in two years, will that be long enough to convince you he means me no harm? We haven't really talked about this, Ethan, but I envisioned our marriage lasting a lifetime. If you're going to insist living in my pockets, we'll be fortunate to get through the next month."

  His head jerked toward her, his eyes narrowed angrily. "And if I don't live in your pockets you might not last a lifetime. What's six months or a year compared to forty or fifty more? I want every one of those years with you, Michael. Don't you dare cheat me."

  Michael was silent. Tears welled in her eyes. She took off her spectacles, rested them on the crown of her head, and swiped at her eyes when she couldn't blink back the tears. "I'm being selfish again, aren't I?" she asked. "Just like Mary Francis said. Oh, Ethan, what if I'm not very good at marriage?"

  His smile was weak. He patted the space beside him. When she sat down he put an arm around her shoulders. "You're going to be just fine at marriage."

  Michael looked at him skeptically, unconvinced.

  "Give me fifty years, Michael, and I'll prove it to you."

  * * *

  The Chronicle sent around work for her to do in her suite. It had been months since she had been active as a city reporter anyway. Many of her assignments required research and interviews rather than rushing to the actual scene of a story. She collaborated with some of the site reporters to give background and rich detail to human interest pieces. It was a satisfying compromise to the more demanding role she had once wanted for herself.