The Lost Baroness Page 17

  A towel hung over a low stool beside the tub. He scooped her from the water and wrapped it around her.

  She screamed.

  "Oh, God, Siri. Your shoulder. I'm sorry. Here..."

  Carefully he set her on her feet and unwrapped her. "I need something... Mrs. Leong!" he yelled.

  She came through the door almost before the words were out of his mouth. "Clumsy man!" She held out a wide strip of cloth. "Here. You wrap tight, not hurt her more."

  Siri stood docile while he strapped her arm tightly against her body. She neither helped nor hindered when Mrs. Leong maneuvered her into a dark blue kimono. Silk, from the feel of it. "Did she eat?"

  "Little soup. No more."

  "Can you bring more? I'll see that she eats it."

  "I bring. Meat, too. She too skinny." In no time at all she came back, carrying a steaming teapot and a tray on which sat a bowl and a plate of thin-sliced meat. She set them on the floor beside the stool.

  Buff had seated himself on the stool with Siri in his arms. "Thanks. I'll take care of her now." He felt a little guilty for imposing on Mrs. Leong like this. But he hadn't known where else to turn. Taking Siri to the hotel would have gotten her fired in a minute. He could have gone to Longstreet, but he didn't want Siri anywhere close to the upstairs of the Deep Six. Just being seen there could have ruined her forever in Astoria.

  "Li Ching say you go see him come morning." With those ominous words, the Chinese woman slipped out of the door.

  Buff heard a bolt slide home. They were locked in. Well, hell!

  Were they captives? He looked around the room, his eyes having grown accustomed to the dim light. There was a pile of bedding in one corner, and beside it a low table on which rested a basin and ewer. In the opposite corner was a screen, elaborately carved, gleaming in the flickering candlelight from three ornately gilded wall sconces. A brazier filled with smoldering charcoal sat under a metal hood in the third corner, warming the room and giving off a faint odor of cloves.

  Soomey had sometimes added herbs to the fire to perfume a room.

  "All the comforts of home," he murmured.

  The soup was cooling. "Siri? Are you awake?"

  Her head moved against his shoulder.

  "Good. Sit up a little will you? I've got some soup for you."

  The head moved again, this time in a negative direction. Her body remained limp in his arms.

  "God damn it woman! I'm tired of your die-away airs. Sit up and eat the blasted soup. Or I'll pour it down your throat. And I won't worry about choking you to death, either!"

  She reacted to that. She shoved so hard with her good arm that she slid from his lap and ended up sprawled on the floor. The kimono gaped open. Quickly she snatched the edges and jerked them together. "Jävlar också! Du mår ond! Du mår djävul! Ge dig iväg..."

  Well, he'd handled that well. Buff picked up the tray and set it on the stand, moving the basin and ewer to the floor. Then he went to gather Siri up, amazed once again at how slight she was for all her height and womanly shape. She's been starving herself for weeks, he realized. Probably since her kids went missing. "I can't go away sweetheart, and I only seem evil because you're hurting."

  He made a nest of the bedding, sat her in it, propped against the wall. Kneeling before her, he held a spoonful of soup to her lips. " Here we go. Open wide," he said, using the words his ma had used with him whenever she'd fed him something that tasted bad.

  She shook her head.

  "Siri, I swear to God, I will pour this down your throat if you don't swallow it voluntarily. Now open your damned mouth."

  "Ge dig iväg," she cried, slapping his hand away.

  Patiently he wiped up the spilled soup. "I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. But you are going to eat." He refilled the spoon and held it to her lips.

  They opened.

  He shoved the spoon inside.

  Spoonful by spoonful, he got the soup into her. He set the meat aside, knowing miracles were hard to come by, particularly with a stubborn Swede. If they weren't turned loose in the morning, they'd use it for breakfast.

  When the bowl was empty, he laid her down against the wall, tucking the bedding around her. After a quick trip behind the screen, where he shed his clothing, he added more charcoal to the brazier. There seemed to be enough in the hod to last them until morning. At least they wouldn't sleep cold.

  Suddenly aware he was as tired as if he'd worked all day, Buff eased himself into the bed beside Siri. Tomorrow he'd worry about the locked door and about the next step in his search for her lost children.

  With a sigh of his own, he turned on his side and pulled her close. The faint scent of cinnamon filled his nose and followed him into sleep.

  * * *

  When Siri woke sometime in the night, her memory was clear and her determination renewed. Today she would fetch her few belongings from the hotel, demand her pay for the portion of this month she had worked, and find a place to live. Then she would find work--any sort of work, as long as it paid her well and left her time to resume the search for her children.

  She wondered what time it was. The only light in the room was a faint glow from one corner. Embers from a fire, one that had kept the room warm despite the wind she could hear howling outside. Experimentally she moved, and inhaled sharply at the pain in her shoulder.

  "Siri? You all right?"

  A dark shape came between her and the glow. She cowered back against the wall, even though she knew it was only Mr. Lachlan. "I woke," she said, "and tried to turn. It hurt, but I am fine now."

  "You sure?" His voice was low, sleep-blurred.

  "I am sure," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

  He settled down again, but she could tell he was not sleeping. She closed her eyes and told herself to sleep.

  He turned and his arm went around her. Gently. At her waist so it did not disturb her injured shoulder. "You're not sleeping," he whispered.

  "Neither are you." Her body wanted to melt against his, but she told it firmly to behave.

  He moved, and his breath was warm on her face. "I know a good way to get back to sleep. Would you like me to show you?"

  Because it was dark, because it was warm, because she felt safe and protected...because she wanted to taste him, touch him again, she said, "Please..."

  His fingertips on her cheek were like the kiss of a butterfly wing. His breath was scented with jasmine. His chest was hard, smooth. Hot.

  When his fingers threaded through her hair, a shiver went all the way to her toes, leaving her weak and trembling. She lay passive under his touch, as his fingers stroked under her ear and along the line of her throat to the hollow at its base. They hesitated there, and were replaced by a wetness as he touched his tongue to her.

  "So sweet," he whispered. "I love the taste of you. You smell of cinnamon. I could..." She felt the soft rasp of his tongue along her throat, felt his teeth nip lightly.

  He returned to her mouth, to run his tongue along its seam until she opened to him, helplessly in his power. When he took her lip gently between his teeth, she wanted to scream. When he slipped his tongue inside and explored the depth of her mouth, she did scream. A small scream.

  He swallowed the sound.

  Siri pressed her free hand across his chest, found a pebbled male nipple with her fingertips. She flicked a nail across it, experimentally, lightly so she would not scratch.

  He gasped. And took her mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss.

  His knee pressed against hers. The silk of her kimono slithered aside, no barrier at all.

  She opened her legs. The crisp hair on his thigh scratched against her tender inner thighs, a tiny pain, turning to heat.

  He ended the kiss, but only to nibble at her chin, at her throat. Once more she felt the hot wetness of his tongue against the racing pulse at the base of her throat. He moved lower, running his tongue along the skin just above the wide cloth that bound her right arm to her body.

  "Am I hurting
you?"

  She felt the words more than heard them, for his mouth was hot against her skin. "Ja...nej...nej!" Her breasts ached for his touch. She arched her back, pressing her chest against his face. "Please...oh, please." She was not sure what she was asking for, but she needed...needed....

  He pulled away from her and sat up. "I want to see you." She felt him leave the bed. In a moment a light flared and he lit a candle held in a wall sconce. Two more, and the room was filled with a soft, golden light.

  He was golden, too. His nude body was godlike, gleaming. Yesterday she had thought him beautiful. But now! He was indescribable.

  His lem rose boldly from a nest of golden hairs. So big! Fear tightened her throat. Valter had not been so large, yet he had hurt her, most times when he drove himself into her body.

  Yet then she had not felt so ready, so wet and hungry. He will not hurt me. She knew this with all of her being.

  Buffalo Lachlan would almost certainly break her heart, but his lovemaking would bring her joy, not pain.

  He knelt before her. "Let me help you sit. You can't be comfortable with your arm tied like that."

  She gave him her hand, let him pull her to a sitting position, with her legs curled under her.

  He did not release her hand. Instead he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the palm. A long, lingering kiss, with tongue and teeth. When he was done, he curled her fingers closed, as if to tell her to hold the kiss close.

  Still he held her hand in both of his, stroking her fingers with one thumb. "European women put a lot of store in having white, smooth hands. They perfume them and wear gloves and have conniption fits if they break a fingernail." He turned her hand over, opened her fingers and touched her work-reddened knuckles. "My ma did most of the gardening and the laundry, at least 'til us kids got big enough to lend a hand. Even then she worked hard. Not much time for putting lotions on her hands, or making her fingernails pretty." He rotated her wrist, so her hand lay open, so he could see the calluses on her palm, the rough skin of her fingertips. "You have hands like my Ma's. Strong. Capable. Beautiful." He lifted it to his lips again and took a fingertip into his mouth. He nipped, then suckled.

  Ah, Gud, he is pulling my soul from my body! She swayed toward him, aflame. Wanting him as she had never dreamed she might want a man.

  "Please," she whispered. "Oh, please...now...."

  "Not quite yet," he said. Releasing her hand, he untied the sash of her robe and slid the sleek, sensuous fabric from her shoulders. "You won't need this any more." He tossed the garment behind him.

  Instinctively Siri lifted an arm to hide her breasts, touched the coarse linen of her binding.

  "I wish I could see all of you. I'll just have to remember your breasts--high and round and delicious!"

  He laid his hands over the binding, and it was as if he had touched her skin. Again Siri shivered, and wondered how one could feel so hot and still wear gåshud.

  He must have felt the subtle pebbling of her flesh. "Goosebumps," he said, smiling. "I give you goosebumps."

  Of course. I should have known. Not for the first time, she concluded that perhaps English was not so different from Swedish.

  Before she could say anything, he had lowered himself to the bed. Siri started to follow, but paused when he shook his head. "You're injured. I'm probably a cad for my lack of patience. But I want you tonight, Siri, not someday."

  "Oh, ja! I want you, also." She swayed toward him, would have lain beside him. But his hands went to her waist and he lifted her to her knees.

  "Can you straddle me?"

  She did not understand what he was asking. "Varför?"

  "Straddle me." He gestured. "Ride me, Siri."

  Understanding bloomed in her mind, followed by a rush of heat so great that for a moment she could not move. He wanted her to be atop him. He would not crush her, would not pound her into the bed. Hesitantly, awkwardly, because she could not balance as well as she should, she slid one leg across his thighs. Without lowering herself, she said, "Like this?"

  His grin flashed. "Well, more or less. We're not going to get much of anywhere if you sit way back there." He bent his knees slightly, until she was all but sitting on them. Arms open in invitation, he said, "Come here."

  Siri worked her way forward until she straddled his hips.

  His lem bobbed against her bottom, startling her. "Oh!"

  His hands clasped her legs, just above her knees. "Can you stay like that for a while?"

  "Ja..."

  "Good."

  Siri gasped as his fingers stroked up her inner thighs, coming closer to the hot, aching center of her with each pass. When they tangled in the hair that concealed her womanly parts, she gasped, flinched away.

  "Did I hurt you?"

  But he did not remove his hand. Instead, he moved it just a little, until she felt his finger penetrate her.

  She tightened around him. She could not help herself.

  "Like honey," he said, his voice low and strained. "Honey on my hand." He moved his finger. In. Out. Again. Faster, until she felt her hips jerk, her legs weaken.

  Suddenly his hands were hard on her thighs and he was pulling her down, so his lem pressed against her. "Now, Siri. Take me."

  A sense of power swept through her. Wriggling a little, she lowered herself until she felt a pressure, a stretching of her inner flesh. Lower, and the pressure grew.

  Yet lower, her body trembling with the strain. She wanted to impale herself, to force herself hard onto him, until he filled her, until his lem touched her womb, where a strange, imperative fire burned.

  As if he had read her mind, Buffalo pulled her hard against him. "Ride me!" he shouted.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Her eyes went wide, her mouth opened in an O of surprise. Buff held her hard against his groin, for if she were to move, he would explode. He breathed shallowly, willing himself into control.

  She moved.

  Only a small move, settling herself more securely across his hips, but it was enough.

  He lifted her, brought her down, hard. Again. She caught the rhythm and rocked in synchrony with him, her inner muscles tightening and pulling at him, the fingers of her free hand digging into his shoulder.

  Suddenly she arched back. "Ahhhhhh!"

  He felt her come.

  Inner spasms milked him, until he erupted inside her. When she collapsed against his chest, he had scarcely enough strength to wrap his arms around her. After a while he slipped out, and that was all right. They had time. He'd let her sleep a while, then he'd kiss her awake and see if the second time would be as good as the first.

  Her breath was warm against his throat, her hair silky across his shoulder. When he could move, he stroked one hand down the long length of her spine, across the coarse linen that bound her arm.

  "Otrolig." The word came out on a sigh. "Underbar..."

  Buff kissed the top of her head, not sure what to say. Yes, it had been incredible, wonderful. He would be a long time forgetting how making love to her had been. A very long time.

  Again he stroked her back, feeling the small knobs of her spine, wishing he could figure out a way to get her to eat without being half-drunk.

  Her breathing quieted and her body relaxed. If she wasn't asleep, she was close to it.

  That was fine with him. He had some thinking to do.

  When he'd agreed to help Siri find her kids, he'd assumed it would be an easy task. Something he could take care of in a few days, at the same time he was following up the last few traces of the Dancing Goddess' cargo. Tied to the hotel the way she was, and without money to pay for information and for bribes, she hadn't been able to do much of a search. Before yesterday, Buff had figured that the reason no one had any information about the mother-in-law's whereabouts was because no one had bothered to look very hard.

  Now he wasn't so sure. The woman had done a good job of disappearing. Worse, if she'd really taken the children, she'd done an even better job of making them va
nish.

  There was a possibility the man in the stables had been there to discourage questions.

  He still thought it more likely the fellow was a vagrant, protecting his snug little hidey-hole, but he couldn't entirely discount the other possibility.

  So. He needed to think about the next step. Portland? Captain MacLasky had seemed to think it was a good possibility the mother-in-law had gone there.

  But first he had to make sure there weren't any loose ends here in Astoria.

  He still hadn't written that letter to Siri's mother. Or done much of anything else about tracing the eleventh girl on the Dancing Goddess. Nor had he read all of the documents in the packet Li Ching had given him.

  Maybe it was time he settled down and concentrated on the important things, instead of haring off on wild goose chases.

  No, yesterday hadn't been a wild goose chase. He'd established that the mother-in-law was not just off on a visit. She'd vamoosed, bag and baggage.

  He sure wished he knew how she'd taken the kids. If she'd taken them. He hadn't mentioned to Siri the possibility that her children might be gone forever. What better way to explain their disappearance than with a fake kidnapping? The old woman could have sold them. Or worse.

  He moved restlessly, feeling weighted down by tasks left undone. By responsibility. By choices he didn't want to make.

  "Ummm?"

  "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

  "Nej, I am awake now. You are thinking about something. I feel your spänning...your tightness." She moved her hand along his arm. "You cannot sleep when you are so unbending, like a board. You must let go of your worries."

  Just that small movement sent blood to his groin, heat to his belly. "You're right. But I'll need help." He sat up, still holding her, and folded his legs tailor-fashion. "Wrap your legs around me. Yes, like that."

  She sat on his crossed legs, held in the cage of his arms. His cock was trapped between them, cradled against her belly. "How's your shoulder?"

  "It does not pain me, but it is not comfortable," she admitted, "as long as I do not try to move too quickly."