Lost Lady (James River Book 2)

“YOU’RE A SWEET TIDBIT TO COME BACK TO,” TRAVIS whispered, nibbling at her earlobe. As she began to awaken, he stepped away, wanting to watch her as she stretched, her curvy little body molding the shirt she wore into enticing hills and valleys. As she stretched, her eyes still closed, her breasts strained against the buttons, pulling the fabric apart and letting him glimpse an exquisite diamond of flesh. A little smile touched her lips before she opened her eyes and saw him.

“You!” she gasped. With an agile leap, she flew out of the bed and dove for him, fists clenched, shirttail riding up.

Travis caught both her fists in one of his. “Now that’s what I call a greeting,” he practically purred, pulling her into his arms. “It’s not easy for me to remember I’m supposed to treat you like a lady when you fling yourself into my arms like that.”

“I did not fling myself at you,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Why do you always twist everything so? You couldn’t possibly believe I want anything from you except to be released. You have no right—.”

A quick kiss cut her off. “You know I’ll release you just as soon as you tell me where to take you. Surely a young lady like you has relatives. Give me a name, and I’ll take you there.”

“And have you brag about what you’ve done to me? No, I couldn’t possibly agree to such a thing. Release me, and I’ll find my own way home.”

“You are not a good liar,” he smiled. “Those eyes of yours are as clear as a doll’s. Every thought you have is written across them. I’ve told you several times the conditions under which I’ll release you, and that’s the end of it. I’m not going to give in, so you might as well resign yourself to the fact that you will have to.”

Jerking away from him, she set her jaw. “I can be as stubborn as you.” She smiled wickedly. “And besides, I know you’re leaving for America soon. You’ll have to release me then.”

Travis seemed to consider this idea for a moment. “I’ll have to do something with you then, won’t I?” he replied, rubbing his chin. “I’d certainly hate to sail for America and leave those legs of yours without a proper protector.”

Gasping, Regan grabbed an edge of the bed sheet and tried to pull it off, but a far corner was caught. As Travis moved toward her and leaned across the bed to release the corner, he slipped a hand up under her shirt and gave her buttocks a firm caress.

Regan squealed once before she stood up and snatched the sheet from him, wrapping it tightly around her lower body. “How can you treat me this way? What have I ever done to you to deserve this? I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

Her words were so heartfelt that Travis lowered his eyes. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Maybe I should just release you, but somehow I can’t. It would be like throwing a wildflower into a snowstorm or, considering the life on these docks, more like a fireplace.” When he looked back at her, his eyes were soft and tender. “I don’t have much of a choice about what I do. I can’t let you go, yet I don’t want to keep you prisoner. Lord! I don’t even own slaves, much less lock up innocent little girls.”

When he’d finished his speech, he sank heavily into a chair in a corner of the room, and Regan had the oddest feeling that she wanted to comfort him. During the awkward silence she noticed the boxes on top of the big trunk. “Did you bring me a dress?” she asked quietly.

“Did I bring you a dress,” he grinned, seemingly over his momentary distress. Pulling string from one box, he began to unfold a piece of velvet of a color that Regan had never seen before: almost brown, almost red, but with an overall gold sheen to the fabric. As he handed it to her, draping it across her arms, he said, “It’s the color of your hair, not red, not brown, not blonde, but all of them.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “How…how romantic. I didn’t know you’d—.”

Laughing, he took the dress from her. “You don’t know anything about me and I know even less about you. You haven’t even told me your name.”

Hesitating, she ran her hands across the velvet in his arms. All her clothes had always been of the cheapest cloth available. The velvet was the most beautiful fabric she’d ever seen, yet as badly as she wanted to feel it next to her skin, she was cautious. “I’m Regan,” she answered quietly.

“No last name? Just Regan?”

“That’s all the name I’ll tell you and if you think you can bribe me with a pretty new dress, you’re wrong,” she said haughtily.

“I don’t use bribes,” he said flatly. “I’ve told you the conditions for your release, and the dress has nothing to do with them.” Tossing the velvet garment onto the bed, he went to the other packages, tearing them open one by one and dumping them on the bed. There was a dress of pale blue silk crepe trimmed with peacock blue ribbons and a nightgown of cotton lawn embroidered with hundreds of tiny pink rosebuds. Two pairs of thin leather slippers, dyed to match the velvet and the blue, tumbled from the last package.

“They are beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” Regan gasped, holding the silk to her cheek.

Watching her, Travis was enchanted. She was such a mixture of child and woman—raging one moment, looking like an angry kitten, then changing to a girl of innocence and great charm. As he watched her smile lighting her turquoise eyes, he felt as if he’d been bewitched by her, as if a spell had been put on him so that he could think of nothing but her. He’d spent hours today in dress shops, feeling damnedly out of place but wanting to make her happy.

He sat down by her on the bed. “You like them? I didn’t know what kind of dresses or colors you liked, but the woman said these were the latest fashion.”

As she turned her smile toward him, he felt a flash of possessiveness tear through him such as he’d felt only for his land in Virginia. Before he could think of what he was doing, he leaned across the clothes and dragged her to him. Giving her no time to protest, he kissed her hungrily, trying to make up for every moment he’d thought of her during the day.

“My clothes,” Regan gasped. “You’ll crush them.”

With one movement, Travis swept all the clothes up and tossed them toward the chair. “All day I’ve thought about you,” he whispered. “What have you done to me?”

She tried to sound uncaring, in spite of the fact that Travis’s nearness caused her heart to race. “Nothing I want to do to you. Please release me.”

“Do you really want me to?” he asked throatily, running his lips along her throat.

Why, she thought, does this disgusting, vile man do these horrible things to me? But even as she was thinking this, she didn’t push him away—so badly did she want to be held in his arms, so much did she like the way he kissed her, the way his breath smelled, and how his hair caressed her face. The bigness of him made her feel small and safe, taken care of, protected.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Travis’s lips found her bare breasts. No more thoughts were possible as she groaned and ran her hands across his shoulders.

Slowly, Travis left her, and when she opened her eyes in bewilderment she saw him standing over her, removing his jacket. Unable to take her eyes off him, she watched as he leisurely removed his clothes.

The light of the setting sun came through the window and filled the room with a red-gold glow, transforming the ordinary room into a place of magic and jewels. Speechless, Regan could not take her eyes off the sight of Travis’s body as bit by large bit was exposed. She’d never seen a naked man before, and her curiosity was acute.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of a nude Travis. His body was heavily muscled from years of work his arms sculpted, his chest like an ancient Roman breast plate that she’d seen once in a book. Yet his waist was slim the stomach etched with rivulets of muscle. When his pants were removed, massive thighs were revealed, each muscle outstanding, separate.

“Oh my,” she gasped, her voice betraying her awe. Only when her eyes reached his manhood did she blink.

Travis laughed at her and stretched out beside her. “For all your protesting, I wager you’ll be a lusty wench when you’ve been taught properly.”

“No, don’t,” she said in one last feeble attempt to push him away, but Travis paid no attention to her. Deftly, he removed the last bit of her clothes and began to stroke her stomach, kneading it lightly, his fingertips playing with the sensitive area, his palm exciting her skin. All the while he kissed her, using his teeth on the curve of her ear, his tongue just grazing the warm, pulsing spot beneath her earlobe.

She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, her fingers tracing each long indentation where one muscle joined another. His hard body was so different from her soft one, so strong to her weakness. Moving under him, she slipped her arms down to caress his ribs, to feel the muscles in his back as they rippled under his hot, dark skin, and then to touch the sides of his tight buttocks. Wonder was mixed with the pleasure she found in touching him, and with each fondle her heart seemed to beat harder, her breath coming deeper and faster.

“Regan, sweet Regan,” Travis said in a voice she felt as much as heard in the place where their chests joined.

When he seemed to pull away from her, her fingers dug into his arms painfully. “Yes, my eager kitten, yes.”

Travis entered her slowly, easily, and although she would have thought it impossible, her heart rate increased. There was no pain, just something she wanted very, very much. As she arched against him clumsily, erratically, Travis held himself away from her. “Slow, kitten, slow,” he murmured, his hand on her hip, his thumb making love to her navel.

Although she had no idea what he meant, she had no choice but to obey him. As new as she was to lovemaking, she could still feel that he was holding back, taking the time to be a teacher instead of a blind participant. By slow, careful tutoring, he showed her how to enjoy herself, how to lead as well as to follow.

Regan thought her body would burst, that it was getting larger and larger, and that when it did explode she would perhaps die. Suddenly Travis increased his pace, and his excitement flowed through to her. She arched against him, and it was as if fireworks exploded inside her—brilliant, hot, dazzling fireworks.

Travis collapsed on top of her, his body limp and sweaty, and Regan felt drained and weak, but oh so very good, as if a great burden had been taken from her.

She wasn’t sure, but she believed she dozed for a while, and when she awoke, the intimate time with this man who was still virtually a stranger seemed like one of her dreams. As she lay there, one of Travis’s arms sprawled across her; she imagined what it would be like to see Farrell again. Of course, he’d have heard about her time with this American, and he would be ashamed of her, perhaps wouldn’t even speak to her. She imagined trying to explain, saying she’d resisted, but he’d know the truth. The American said that all her thoughts showed in her eyes. Would this new experience of hers show also? Would everyone in the world see her as a woman of no virtue?

Beside her, Travis stirred, lifted himself up on one elbow, and smiled down at her. “I was right,” he murmured. “With a little training….”

Regan pushed his hand away from a curl of her hair. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “You have forced me to do too many things against my will.”

Travis gave an exasperated little laugh. “Are we back to that again? I thought perhaps you’d see the truth this time.”

“The truth! I see the truth! I know you are holding me against my will, that you are a criminal of the lowest order.”

Sighing, Travis rolled from the bed and began to dress. “I’ve told you why I’m holding you.” He turned back to her quickly. “Do you have any idea what those men on the docks want from you? They want a violent version of what we just did.”

“And what’s the difference between them and you?”

“Even with your innocence you should realize that I make love to you, but they’d just throw your skirts over your head and do whatever they wanted—one after another.”

“I have no skirts!” Regan gasped. “All I have is one very torn nightgown.”

All Travis could do was throw up his hands in despair. “You are only going to see what you want to see, aren’t you? Therefore I feel it is my duty to protect you from yourself and your rosy dreams, as well as from men who’d do you harm.”

“You have no right! Please, please let me out of here.”

Acting as if she hadn’t spoken, Travis went to the door and bellowed down the stairs for supper to be brought up. “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,” he said, closing the door again.

“I am not hungry,” she said, her nose in the air.

Travis clasped her chin in his hand and twisted her head to look at him. “You are going to eat if I have to force it down your throat.” His eyes were hard, unlike the softness she’d always seen.

All she could do was nod in answer.

“Now,” he said, cheerful once again. “Why don’t you put on one of the dresses I brought you? That will make you feel better.”

“You’ll have to leave the room,” she said weakly, still somewhat frightened by his threat. She hadn’t felt the least fear of him until now.

Lifting one eyebrow at her request, he picked her up out of the bed, and stood her naked on the floor. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, and if you don’t want the landlord to see you like that you’d better get dressed.”

As she looked at the clothes Travis tossed to her, she realized there was no underwear. But rather than ask for it, she slipped the velvet gown over her head and had just finished the last button when the landlord knocked. The dress was high-waisted, the deeply cut bodice front filled with sheer silk gauze. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror opposite the bed, she was pleased that it wasn’t a child’s dress. Her hair hanging down her back in a mass of unruly curls, her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, all went together to present a picture of a woman who had just been made love to—and had enjoyed it.

The landlord’s appreciative looks made Travis almost push him out the door.

“Why did you do that?” Regan asked in awe, wondering if Travis was jealous.

“I don’t want him to get the wrong idea,” Travis answered, lifting the cover off a piece of roast beef. “I have to leave you alone again tomorrow, and if he thought I wouldn’t mind, he just might send someone else up here. The last thing I want is a fight or any other trouble so close to sailing time. Nothing is going to stop me from going home. I’ve been in this cursed country too long.”

Deflated, Regan took the seat he offered her. After one whiff of the food, she realized how long it had been since she’d eaten. Her last meal—her eyes widened when she remembered—had been with Farrell and her uncle.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, filling a plate for her.

“Nothing. I just—.” She put her chin up. “I don’t like being held prisoner, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Eat your supper before it gets cold.”

All through the meal, Travis tried to get her to talk, but she wouldn’t since she was afraid she would inadvertently give him some clues about where she lived. There was no possibility now that she could go back to the life she once knew; after what had happened this evening, she probably no longer qualified as a lady.

Putting his hand over hers, Travis leaned close to her. “It’s a shame Englishwomen are taught that they shouldn’t like lovemaking,” he said sympathetically, correctly reading her thoughts. “In America the women are earthier; they like their men and aren’t afraid to show it.”

She gave him her sweetest, most insincere smile. “Then why don’t you go back to America and the women there?”

Travis’s laugh made the dishes rattle, and he planted a hearty kiss on her cheek. “Now, little one, I have some paperwork to do, so you can snuggle up in bed and wait for me or—.”

“Or leave perhaps.”

“You are persistent, if nothing else.”

And you are stubborn, she thought, watching him stack the dishes on the tray and put it outside the door. Later, when she was in her nightgown and in the big bed, she watched the back of him, saw how he ran his hands through his hair as his quill pen flew across the papers before him. She was curious about what he was doing but refused to ask, refused to make their relationship more personal than it was.

As she stretched out in the bed, she began a dream in which Farrell came to rescue her, beating the American in a sword fight. Her Uncle Jonathan would be there begging her forgiveness, saying he was quite lonely without her. The thought of Travis cringing in fear made her smile. In her vision she imagined pulling away from Farrell’s arms and going to Travis, giving him her hand and forgiving him, telling him to go back to America and forget her—if he could.

When Travis slipped into bed beside her, she pretended to be asleep, but he just pulled her to him, nuzzled her ear, put his hand on her stomach, and eased into sleep. It was odd, but she felt that now she too could go to sleep.

In the morning, she was alone in the big room, but no sooner had she awakened than the maid let herself in. “Oh, beg pardon, miss. I thought you were still asleep. Mr. Travis said I was to bring you a bath if you’d like one.”

Regan wouldn’t humiliate herself by a repeat performance of begging the maid to release her. She told the girl to bring the tub and hot water, and in spite of herself she enjoyed the bath. It was almost a comfort to be able to do something for herself. Always before, a maid had dressed her, and washed her hair, and her uncle had chosen cheap, childish clothes for her. Clean once again, she toweled her hair, ate a big breakfast, and put on the blue silk dress. A delicate scarf embroidered with flowers in several shades of blue filled the deep neckline.

The day was long, and since she had nothing to do, she was bored. It was cool in the room, yet there was no fireplace, so she walked about, rubbing her arms. The early spring sun was weak through the window, but it was still the warmest place in the room. She pulled up a chair, gazed absently out the window, and made up her dreams, ranging from a garden plan to how she would never forgive Travis and would let Farrell run him through.

When the sun was setting and she heard what could only be Travis’s voice—deep, golden-toned, filled with humor—she found her heart pounding. Of course it was only because of the sheer loneliness of the long day, but still she had to force herself not to smile when he entered.

His big brown eyes raked her as he smiled in greeting. “The dress looks good on you,” he said, removing his hat and then his jacket. Practically collapsing in a chair, he gave a big sigh. “Working the fields all day would have been less work,” he said. “Your countrymen are a bunch of close-minded snobs. I could hardly get anyone to listen to my questions, much less answer them.”

Running her finger along the edge of the table in a nonchalant way, Regan tried to hide her curiosity. “Perhaps they didn’t like your questions.”

Travis wasn’t fooled for a moment. “All I wanted to know was if someone had lost a pretty but unreasonable young female.”

Opening her mouth to retort, she closed it, realizing he was baiting her. “And had they?”

Frowning before he answered, Travis seemed to be puzzled by what he’d discovered. “Not only couldn’t I find out about a missing girl of your description, but I couldn’t find anyone who’d even met a girl looking like you.”

There was no reply Regan could make. There had never been visitors at Weston Manor. All she knew of life was what she’d learned from the stories of her maids and governesses, with their talk of love and gallant gentlemen, of the world outside the grounds of the house. Of course there was no one who knew of her.

Watching her, Travis tried to read what was in her face. All day the question had been haunting him: What was he to do with her when he sailed for America? He didn’t tell her, but he’d hired three other men to help make inquiries about her. The night he’d found her she couldn’t have run from very far, so she lived in either Liverpool or the surrounding area—or she’d been traveling through. After checking every lodging house in the area, he knew she must live there, but he could find no trace of her. She seemed to have materialized on that dark night near the docks.

“You’re a runaway,” he said quietly, watching when her expression confirmed his thoughts. “Only I can’t figure out who you’re running from and why no one is moving heaven and earth to find you.”

Turning away, Regan tried not to think that it was because the people she thought loved her didn’t care where she was.

“The only thing I can figure,” he continued slowly, “is that you did something to make your people pretty damned angry at you. I know for a fact you weren’t caught in bed with the gardener’s boy, so maybe you refused to do something they wanted you to do. Did you refuse to marry some rich old duffer?”

“Not even close,” she said smugly.

Travis only laughed because her eyes told him he wasn’t too far wrong. But his laughter covered his true feelings. It made him very angry to think that anyone could just toss out a pure young girl into the streets, wearing only her nightgown. Perhaps in the heat of passion it could have happened, but how could they have let days go by and not searched for her?

“I was thinking that, since there doesn’t seem to be any reason for you to stay in England, maybe you should go with me to America.”