James River - Lost Lady Part 2

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say anything to shock you, but I want you to get your facts straight. Had I known you were a virgin and not a street girl, I wouldn't have touched you. But we can't change the facts. I did touch you, and now you're my responsibility."

"I* most certainly am not your responsibility. I a.s.sure you I can take care of myself."

"Like you did last night?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow. "It's a good thing you ran into me, or there's no telling what could have happened to you."

Moments pa.s.sed before Regan could speak. "Is there no end to your arrogance or your insufferability? There was nothing good in meeting you, and I now know I was better off on the streets than locked away with a mad, despicable ravisher of women such as you are, sir!"

The corners of Travis's eyes crinkled as he broke into a dazzling smile. Running his hand through his dark hair, he chuckled, "My, my. I believe I've been cursed by an English lady. " As his eyes roamed over her bare shoulders, he smiled at her. "You know, I rather think I like you."

"But I do not care for you," Regan said, exasperated at his ignorance and lack of understanding.

"Let me introduce myself. I am Travis Stanford from Virginia, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He held out his hand to her.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Regan looked away. Perhaps if she ignored him and was rude to him, he would allow her to go.

"All right," Travis said, rising. "Have it your way, but we will get something straight between us. I am not going to release you onto the Liverpool docks by yourself. Either you tell me where you live and who takes care of you, or you remain locked in this room."

"You can't do that! You have no right!"

He towered over her, his face serious. "Last night I earned the right. We Americans take our responsibilities seriously, and last night you became my charge—at least until I find out who your true guardian is. "

As he finished dressing, he watched her in the mirror, trying to puzzle out her reasons for not telling him who she was. When he had his coat on, he leaned over her. "I'm trying to do what's right for you," he said softly.

"And who gave you the right to decide what was good or bad for people you don't even know?"

Chuckling deep in his throat, Travis replied, "You're beginning to sound like my little brother. How about a kiss before I go? If I find your guardian, it may be our last moment alone together. "

"I hope I never see you again! " she spat. "I hope you fall into the sea and no one ever sees you again. I hope—."

He cut her off as he lifted her out of the bed, one arm behind her back, and the other pushing the sheet from between them. As his hand caressed the soft, peachy flesh of her hip and thigh, his mouth touched hers. Gently, ever so gently, he kissed her, careful not to frighten her or to be too harsh with her.

For a moment Regan pushed at him with her hands, but his big hands on her body, and the sheer power of him as he pulled her to him were overwhelmingly exciting. It surprised her that such an arrogant bully of a man could be so gentle.

Putting her arms around his neck, she turned her head to one side as her hands lost themselves in his hair.

Travis was the first to pull away. "I'm beginning to hope I don't find your guardian. You make an awful nice armful."

As her arm went back to strike him, he laughed and held it, kissing her knuckles one by one. "It was only a wish. Now, you stay here and be a good girl, and I'll bring you a pretty dress when I get back. "

She heard him laugh when the pillow she threw hit the door as he closed it behind him. The key turning in the lock sounded as if chains had been clamped to her ankles.

The awesome silence was nearly deafening as Regan sat, stunned, and gazed sightlessly at the big room. For a while she couldn't believe that she wasn't at home in her own blue bedroom, that Matta wasn't going to bring her chocolate at any moment. Instead, in the last few hours her world had crumbled about her ears. She'd heard the man she loved say that he didn't want to marry her and her only relative admit that he cared nothing for Her. And now, worst of all, her virtue was gone and she was held prisoner by some savage American. Prisoner, she thought. She hadn't known it, but she'd been a prisoner all her life, held in a gilded cage of a pretty garden and a rundown house.

As these thoughts went through her mind, she began to look about the room. There was a large window along one wall, and it occurred to her that perhaps she could do something about her imprisonment this time. If she could escape, then surely she could find help, perhaps someone to take her in or to employ her. At that thought, she stopped. What could she do? How in the world could she earn her keep for five years until she came into her inheritance? The only thing she was really good at was growing flowers. Perhaps*

No, Regan, she cautioned herself. Now is not the time to run off on a tangent. First she must escape and show this boorish Colonial that he could not kidnap an Englishwoman and have her remain docilely in custody.

Once out of bed, she realized that her first problem was clothes. A trunk stood in one corner of the room, but a quick examination showed it to be locked.

At a knock on the door, she jumped and had only time to slip into Travis's shirt before a rosy-cheeked, plump girl entered bearing a heavy tray of food.

"Mr. Travis said I was to bring you food and a bath if you want it," the girl said nervously, her eyes searching the room, her back firmly against the closed door.

"Can you get me some clothes?" Regan asked. "Please. I could return them later, but I have to have more than that man's shirt."

"I'm sorry, miss, but Mr. Travis said I was not to give you clothes or anything else besides food and hot water and that I was to tell you he'd hired a man to stand below the window all day, in case you tried to escape that way."

Running to the window, Regan saw that what the girl had said was true. "You have to help me," she pleaded. "This man is keeping me prisoner here. Please, please, help me escape."

The girl hastily set the tray down, her eyes wide with fear. "Mr. Travis threatened me life if I let you go.

I'm sorry, miss, but I've got meself to think of." Without another word, the girl was gone from the room, and the heavy lock was securely refastened.

Regan wasn't sure at first of the feeling that ran through her. All her life had been pleasant, uneventful, almost bland, with few problems to cope with and fewer people to know, but now everything was piling on top of her, weighing her down. She hadn't wanted to leave her uncle's house, nor did she want to remain the prisoner of some horrible man.

Picking the tray up with both hands, she threw it against the wall and then stood watching as eggs and jam went sliding down the smooth plaster surface. Her outburst did not help her mood but instead made it worse. Flinging herself onto the bed, she screamed into a pillow, kicked her feet, and slammed her fists into the feather mattress.

In spite of her anger and her complete frustration at her helplessness, her exhaustion was stronger. As her muscles began to relax, she fell into a heavy, lifeless sleep. She didn't even wake up when the maid cleaned the food off the wall, nor did she awaken when Travis entered the room, his arms full of bright boxes, and leaned over her, smiling at her sweet, innocent face.

Chapter 3.

"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 bills and valleys. As she stretched, her eyes still closed, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s strained against the b.u.t.tons, 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 b.u.t.tocks a firm caress.

Regan squealed once before she stood up and s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 peac.o.c.k 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 d.a.m.nedly 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. "NothingI 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 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 breastplate 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, ma.s.sive 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 l.u.s.ty 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 b.u.t.tocks. 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 partic.i.p.ant. 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 thorough 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?