Читать книгу Cold Case, Hot Bodies - Jule McBride, Jule Mcbride - Страница 6

December 1890

GEM O’SHEA GLIDED her hands beneath her lover’s shirt, feeling his nipples contract. It was exactly the kind of well-made shirt she’d sewn in sweatshops when she’d first come from Ireland, and her lips curved into a smile against the linen. “Do you remember when you first…bought me, Nathaniel?”

He grinned, his eyes catching light through the carriage window, from one of the gas lamps lining the dark river road. “I don’t believe I do.”

But he couldn’t have forgotten the night she’d presented herself at Angel’s Cloud, in New York’s notorious Five Points neighborhood, determined to sell herself to the highest bidder. “Should I remind you?”

“Of every detail.” He urged her closer, between his legs, and the satin dress she’d worn to the wedding bunched between them, an unwanted barrier. She brought her mouth to his, and the taste of wedding cake invaded her senses.

“I had too much champagne,” she whispered.

“You won’t hear me complaining.”

Heat surged through her limbs despite the cold. Everything but passion vanished as Nathaniel deepened the kiss—the pounding hooves on the cobbled road, the rushing of the East River’s wild currents, the crack of the driver’s whip. Hungrily, her fingers opened the studs of his shirt. Just as quickly, his tongue swept inside her mouth. Heat exploded as she stroked his chest hair, and she felt it catch on the backs of her rings—beautiful rings that were gifts from him, just a few of the countless jewels he’d given her over the years.

As desire took her, Gem thought of another kiss, the one they’d just witnessed at the altar between her and Nathaniel’s son, Mark, and his young bride, Lily Jordan. With the memory, her arms swept around Nathaniel’s neck, and she wished with all her heart she could marry him. How many nights had she lain awake, knowing her heart’s deepest desire would remain an impossible dream?

She dropped down, moaning against his chest, her tongue searing a nipple, his answer a sound of need as he grasped her hand, urging it into the folds of his trousers. Soon they’d be at Angel’s Cloud, where countless warm beds waited—either in the hidden rooms, or in the bawdy house, or in the rear building where she’d lived—but she wanted Nathaniel now. Her body was burning all over, just as it had the night they met.

She’d been desperate then, still speaking with a brogue so thick that most American natives couldn’t understand her. She’d rarely even kissed a man, but she’d heard other, less reputable girls talk at the sweatshop, claiming men paid them for sexual favors, and because she’d been determined to earn her mum’s passage from Ireland, she’d soon found herself standing on the shell-strewn floor of a Five Points bawdy house.

“Two hundred dollars,” a man had called.

She’d nearly fainted. When he’d stepped from the shadows, his sparkling blue eyes had captured hers, then she’d recognized Nathaniel Haswell. He’d gotten his start as a self-made, import-export man, a buyer and seller of whatever prospered, and he owned acres of real estate on Manhattan Island. His picture was always in the papers. Without ceremony, he’d grabbed her hand and hauled her toward the stairs, and she’d foolishly blurted the first thing that had come to mind, “You’re married!”

He’d turned to stare, the set of his mouth incredulous. “Don’t tell me that bothers you?”

“Of course not,” she’d managed quickly. All the men in Angel’s Cloud were probably married. “In fact,” she’d added brazenly, “I do prefer it, sir.”

He’d continued toward the room. “And why might that be?”

“No messy attachments. I’m a professional, you know.”

“I see,” he’d returned as they reached the bedroom. “Experienced at this sort of thing, are you?”

“Indeed,” she’d enthused, the pulse at her throat ticking madly as he’d shrugged out of his jacket.

She’d been trembling all over, still scared of the rowdy men downstairs, her head pounding from cigar smoke. Her throat had tightened as Nathaniel undid his trousers, and she’d considered running, but she’d thought of circumstances in Ireland, and of her mum, then of the poor girls still working in the sweatshop, scarcely earning a wage to buy adequate food. Her stomach growling, she’d taken a deep breath, stared boldly in the general direction of Nathaniel’s private parts, then she’d plunged on. “Why, I’ve been to Angel’s Cloud many a time, sir.”

With a yank, he’d brought her against his chest. “You’re a virgin if I’ve ever seen one.”

“No, sir!” she’d protested, tears stinging her eyes.

“What are you doing this for?”

She’d been so surprised at his demanding tone that she’d started crying, then the whole story had tumbled out. She’d lost her father in Ireland, and her mum had been left behind, trying to work land that could no longer grow potatoes, much less anything else.

Nathaniel had comforted her, and she’d cried harder, then his lips had settled on hers, nibbling at the beauty mark beside her mouth, and within the hour, they’d made love. Ever since, she’d been his mistress, and his alone. He’d arranged for her to keep accountancy books for Angelo Donato, at Angel’s Cloud, earning far more than she had making shirts, and for her to live on the upper floor of a building behind the bawdy house, removed from the rowdy clientele. She’d benefitted from being Nathaniel’s lover in other ways, too. He’d given her jewels, and most important, brought over her mum who’d died due to natural causes on American soil. He’d given her a son, too. Twenty-three years ago her reputation may have been lost, but she’d fallen in love.

“Can you stay tonight, darling?” she whispered.

When he didn’t respond immediately, Gem imagined trouble was brewing on the home front. Long before she’d met him, he’d been carousing in Five Points, searching for the love his wife withheld. He was an honorable man, though, and did as Isme wished by maintaining separate bedrooms and attending public functions together. Isme had borne him one son, just like Gem, a boy the same age as Mark, named Dirk. The young man was reputed to be wild, even dangerous, and Gem suspected it was due to the loveless bond that had created him.

Suddenly feeling furious with herself, she shook her head in self-admonishment. “Never mind. I’ve no claim on you. I shouldn’t ask—”

He tilted back her head, to look into her eyes. “We have a son…”

She craved more of him, though. He rarely shared a bed with Isme, but they did share a home. A real home. He could come and go in sunlight, not under a cloak of darkness. Why can’t you let this be enough? she thought. Nathaniel escaped to her bed at every opportunity. He loved her. He adored their son. But she wanted times to be different! Codes of morality to change…wanted their passion to have full rein.

Something broken came into his voice. “How could you believe I’d leave you on our son’s wedding night? Damn it, Gem. You’re the one I love.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered, the depth of their passion drawing them together. Like the current of a river, it ran between them—reliable and unstoppable, so when his lips found hers once more, an arrow seemed to pierce her heart. He would leave in only a few hours! His tongue thrust deeper. She met the thrust, pushing back. The carriage was flying, bouncing on cobbles, throwing her into his arms. His hands raced down her sides, flesh seeking flesh. He moaned when his fingers stroked the smooth skin of her thighs. Grasping a garter, he opened it. As he pulled down the stocking, she gasped.

“Let’s recreate the night we made our son,” he murmured.

He was rocking her against his hips now, making her feverish. She shuddered from the heat in the wandering caresses of his hands. When he squeezed her thighs, she thought passion had seized him, but no…he was alarmed! Abruptly, he broke the kiss, and she craned to stare through the carriage window, but she saw only the black winter’s night.

“What was that?” she whispered, hearing a rattle as she fumbled with her clothes, in case they needed to get out of the carriage.

“The wheel,” Nathaniel returned hoarsely.

The carriage was wobbing, but the horses continued to run. If the carriage overturned, she hoped no reporters would find them…a town father with a woman associated with Angel’s Cloud. Nathaniel drew back the curtain and leaned his head through the window to shout. “Something’s wrong with—”

Before he could finish, the wheel spun away. The rear of the carriage dropped and the driver screamed. Gem thought he’d been thrown. The horses reared, rising on their hind legs, then hooves came down hard, clattering on cobbles as the animals galloped, dragging the carriage. Gem’s head slammed into the seat. She could hear metal dragging on stone, then through the window, she saw sparks from the friction.

“Oh, God,” Nathaniel muttered hoarsely. He was trying to grasp her waist, but his hands couldn’t find purchase. Neither could hers. They were being tossed like weeds in wind. Pounding hooves raced on, and as the sound diminished, she realized the horses had broken free. The carriage was flying on its own momentum, careening toward the river.

Nathaniel reached past her for the door handle. “Somebody’s tampered with the carriage. Jump!”

Had their carriage been sabotaged? If so, who had done it? And why? His words were in her ears as she realized the carriage was rushing down the riverbank. She tried to jump, as he’d commanded, but her dress caught, holding her back. Just as they plunged, she heard the fabric ripping, and as her dress gave away, Nathaniel pulled her through the open door, into the dark currents.

He was her hero. Her only love. He was trying to save her, but the water was too cold, and she was sure they were going to die. Not on our son’s wedding day, her mind shrieked in protest as her fingers laced with Nathaniel’s. Stay with me, my love, she thought, but then she felt his fingers slip away.