Caged (9 page)

Cage’s blood chilled in his veins as he entered the room to find it empty of her presence.  “Did you catch who it was who came for her?”

He knew he’d have to move heaven and Earth to find her, no matter who it was.

“I believe it was her father, Cage.”

He stopped his fist inches from driving it through the wall.  She’d’ve made a scene, he knew, if Mr. H. had come for her.  But her father?  He knew much less about that man—except that he had apparently given her over to a sadist who enjoyed terrifying young women, and that she had seemed just as afraid of him as she had been of Hemmingway.

It had been a very long two months since he set out to get the invention back, full of attempts on his life, attempts on his father’s life—although those were much less frequent because his father followed the guidelines and let the bodyguards do their jobs.  He was home again, although he felt like part of himself was still missing, hence his fervent search for the woman he had come to see as his own.

Cage spent all of his spare time looking for Rachel, and coming up with completely empty hands.  It was as if she had been a figment of his fevered imagination.  His wound was healing, but his heart was not. He had to see her again.  He just had to.

They had come to an arrangement about his father’s invention.  Cage wasn’t any too happy about it—he thought it made his father look weak when he was the genius who had come up with the invention, but he had acquiesced because he knew it was what his father wanted.

There was a big meeting tonight Cage, his father, Quinlan and their respective lawyers.  Dinner was planned afterwards, and they were meeting at the home Quinlan was renting, which was a few miles from theirs.

It was a beautiful estate, no doubt bought at a bargain after the War.  They were left off at the bottom of the steps to the grand verandah, which wrapped around the entire house.  Arthur Quinlan was there waiting for them, and he greeted them quite warmly, guiding them into the grand foyer and through it to the impressive study, where he introduced his lawyer, who was at least as old as he was.

Cage was, as usual, the youngest man in the room.

Their business was conducted quite congenially, mostly because Cage had conceded and wasn’t contesting any of the components of the agreement, even though he felt that they weren’t necessarily in the best interests of the invention itself or his father’s business.  His father wanted peace, and Cage wanted Rachel more than he wanted to argue with his father over a company he didn’t much care about any more.  Eventually, everything was signed and legal, and handshakes, brandy and cigars were distributed all around. 

His father, Clare Lincoln, stood and was about to dismiss his lawyer, as they were apparently moving to the more social aspect of the evening.

But Arthur stood, too, saying, “You might not want to jettison your counsel quite so quickly, Mr. Lincoln, if I might suggest.”

With that, the door to the study opened and, for some reason, Rachel stepped in.

Cage, in his shock, rose to go to her, but his father wisely put a hand on his son’s arm to prevent him from doing so.

Rachel didn’t so much as look at Cage.  Instead, she glided elegantly over to stand beside Mr. Quinlan.  “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Rachel Hemmingway.”

The older gentleman let everyone bow to his daughter, but when it was Cage’s turn, he said, “I don’t believe introductions are necessary between you two, are they, Mr. Lincoln?”

Every eye in the room settled uncomfortably on him, except for Rachel’s.  She was staring studiously at the floor.  And there was something unusual about how she was standing, too.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Leave it to his father to say the awkward thing, turning to him and looking puzzled.  “Do you and Mrs. Hemmingway know each other, son?”

But Arthur answered before Cage could.  “Indeed he does, Mr. Lincoln.  Indeed he does.”  And he did not sound very happy about it.  Not happy at all.

Cage didn’t care much about how Arthur Quinlan sounded.  All he cared about was the man’s daughter.  He’d been looking for her for so long—spending all of his off time bribing police officers and wastrels and gamblers and pimps and not coming up with a crumb of information about her whereabouts, but he’d had no idea that she was his father’s rival’s daughter.  No wonder she’d gotten so quiet when he’d told her Arthur’s name.

He would have thought that a couple of months under what he assumed was her father’s watchful eye and she would have looked the picture of health.  But when he took a better look at her, he could see just how wan she was.  Her face was drawn, her eyes red rimmed as if she’d recently been crying and she looked unbearably unhappy.  And, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, she kept laying her hand over her stomach protectively, almost, as if she wasn’t feeling very well.

While he’d been ogling the woman he coveted, who was, apparently, married, Arthur had been working himself up into a frenzy about something.  All he heard, really, was the first word when he began to listen again, and it proved to be the most important.

“–
pregnant
and Mr. Hemmingway, understandably, has decided to divorce my daughter, who will then be in public disgrace because of your son!”

The older gentleman came to stand in front of Cage, practically spitting at him with every word that left his mouth, “What do you intend to do about this situation, Sir—and I use the term very, very loosely?”

Cage had been unable to catch Rachel’s eye until then, when he caught and held it as he moved past Arthur as if he didn’t exist and headed towards her.  Once he got there, he dropped gracefully to one knee and reached out to take her hand—the one that had been, apparently, cradling the slight bulge of their child—kissing the back of it and saying quite loudly, for the benefit of all who were there, “Miss Quinlan.”

Her father harrumphed at his use of her maiden name when she was still legally married, but he wasn’t going to utter that bastard’s name if he could avoid it.

“ Would you do me the great honor of agreeing to become my wife?”

Rachel bit her lip but didn’t say anything.

“Rachel!” Arthur yelled.  “Tell the man yes before he comes to his senses and packs off home leaving you in the lurch.”

There were tears in her eyes as she dutifully parroted, “Yes.”

Not quite the response he would have wanted, but he stood and took her into his arms for a kiss anyway, whispering, “I will see to it that you are treated like the princess you are all the rest of your days.”

Rachel, upon hearing those words from him, fainted dead away. Cage caught her up in his arms, demanding from Arthur where her room was so that he could let her stretch out on her bed.

And he didn’t wait for the old man to get over his outrage at the idea that he would do that, either, but crossed the grand foyer with Rachel in his arms, taking the stairs two and three at a time, while Arthur finally unbent enough to say, with severe reluctance, “Last door on the right.”

When he got her to her room, Cage laid her on her bed as gently as possible.  He began to pat her cheek and her wrists carefully, saying, “Come back to me, Missus.  Come back.”

Eventually she began to stir, trying to sit up but he wouldn’t let her.  “Are you thirsty?”  Without waiting for her to answer, he put the glass to her lips.

Rachel tried again to sit up but he pushed he back down.  “Let me up,” she enunciated each word clearly.  He surprised her by doing what she asked, and she couldn’t resist getting a bit of her own back by saying, “I’m not your captive any longer, Cage.”

He sat gingerly down beside her on the bed.  “No, you’re my fiancée.”

“Not by choice. Those seem to be words to live by around most of the men in my life.”

He frowned.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like hearing that I’m not marrying you because I’m madly in love with you but because another man—my father—isn’t giving me any choice?  If I don’t agree to marry you, he’ll throw me out.  He sold me off to Hemmingway, and now he’s marrying me off to you because of the baby.  No one seems to care a bit about what I want.”

Cage considered this for a moment.  “What do you want, Rachel?”

Tears cascaded down her cheeks at his question.  “I want to go back to my place in West Texas and pretend that all of this–” she met his eyes head on “–every bit of it, never took place at all.  I was happy there.  No one was telling me what to do.  I had control and the responsibility for everything.  It was wonderful.”

He couldn’t suppress his snort.  “Did you forget?  You were starving.”

“I didn’t care!  I was in control of all of it, good, bad or indifferent.  I was free.  I didn’t care if I failed.  I was free enough to fail.  There wasn’t someone who could countermand my orders dictating what I had to do with my life.”

“You had no one to protect you.”

Rachel sighed, lying back on the bed, knowing it was like talking to the brick wall that was her father. She sighed heavily, looking away from him.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll marry you.  I don’t want my baby born a bastard any more than my father does.”

“Our baby,” Cage corrected, but he noticed that she didn’t bother to correct herself.

“I’m feeling tired.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to sleep now.”

She’d dismissed him quite neatly, and Cage found himself wandering towards the door, while in his mind an idea solidified, and he headed downstairs to put it into action.

A few days later, Rachel found herself ensconced in new rooms at her soon to be husband’s family home, and both of the men she would be sharing it with seemed delighted to have her.

It was a very different family life from what it had been with her father, which was very stifling and rigid.  Her first dinner with Clare and Cage was eye opening, especially since they took to arguing about the issues of the day very vociferously, even over dinner.  But no matter how heated an argument got, they never took it personally.  One minute they sounded as if they were at each other’s throats, on opposite sides of a very delicate issue, and the next they were laughing about something stupid either one of them had done and clapping each other on the back.  It was obvious that they loved each other; she’d never really been around such a blatantly affectionate family as they were.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it.

Her divorce was accomplished as quickly and quietly as possible, and Cage was adamant that she never have to confront the man she was divorcing ever again. When their lawyer left carrying the final paperwork, she turned to him.

“Thank you very much for standing up for me about not seeing him again.”

“You will never see him again.  I will never let him within a twenty-five mile radius of you.”  He smiled at her, but she knew he wasn’t really satisfied by just a mere divorce.

When she’d moved in, she’d insisted on separate bedrooms, which, as far as she knew, was the norm.  Apparently, though, his parents had been among those who did things a little differently, and Cage had assumed that they would be sleeping in the same room.  She had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that that was not going to be the case for them, and he hadn’t liked it one bit, although she had to admit that, unlike with Mr. H, she never felt concerned that he would ever hit her when he got angry.

Spank her, yes.  He still threatened to do that, although his father cautioned him that that was not a good idea with a baby on the way.  And Rachel had just grinned at him, glad to have someone on her side, who would protect her from his less civilized size.

Not that she didn’t miss him at times, she did, and she would never cease to be amazed by that fact.  She definitely did, even more so as the baby grew.  She’d never had feelings like these before for anyone, and she was truly horrified by them, but she sincerely wished that he would be as forceful with her as he had been when they’d met—that he’d tie her up and take her, as he had while they’d been cloistered together in that little cabin.

But she couldn’t find the gumption within her to say anything to him about what she wanted—what she needed—and he wasn’t offering. He treated her like a frail, spinster aunt, kissing her on the forehead or maybe her cheek, but certainly not making any kind of advances towards her at all.  She despaired that they would have that kind of relationship ever again.

Their wedding was small, really just close friends, but that was perfect as far a she was concerned.  She didn’t want anything big, and it didn’t really suit their situation, anyway.

They couldn’t go off on a grand honeymoon because of her condition, but he did make arrangements for them to stay a few nights at a beautiful hotel downtown.

Rachel played it off as if he was spending money unnecessarily—it wasn’t as if they were experiencing a grand passion.  But Cage hadn’t really told his father all of the circumstances that surrounded the conception of his first grandchild—he thought the older man might find it too upsetting—so he wanted to play the newlywed thing to the hilt.

It was a beautiful hotel, and he had booked the bridal suite, even insisting on carrying her up to their room from the lobby, which he did without so much as breaking a sweat or breathing heavily. He set her down just inside the door and patted her protruding tummy as he turned to close the door.

Rachel unpinned her hat and put it on the nearby mahogany table, strolling to the windows to open the curtains.  “It’s a beautiful view of the city.”

Cage came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.  “It’s not the city I’ll be looking at.”

She colored prettily and tried to back out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her.  Instead, he turned her around within them and lowered his mouth to hers as he looked into her eyes, one big hand cupping the back of her head as his tongue stormed into her mouth, the other’s fingertips trailing down the slope of her breasts to find a tight nub even though the fine lawn of her shirt.

“Cage,” she whispered when he raised his head, and he fully expected to hear her chide him for taking liberties, but damn it, she was his wife.

And what she said had him reeling.

She popped up on her tippy toes, because even in heels he towered over her, put her arms around his neck and said, “Cage, make love to me, please.”

If she’d breathed a little heavier, she could have knocked him over. That was truly the last thing he ever expected to hear from her.

In fact, as he pulled her to him, he said, “I don’t believe I caught that.  Would you mind repeating it, Missus?”

She smiled, because that nickname had taken on an entirely different meaning for the both of them.  “Would you please make love to me, Sir?”

His smile filled the entirety of his face as he lifted her back into his arms and whirled around with her a little, and then looked stricken at having done so while she was pregnant.

But she allayed his fears immediately.  “I’m fine.  You’re going to make us dizzy, probably, but we’re fine.”

That was all he needed to hear.  He deposited her on the bed and caressed her cheek as if his world was contained within her eyes.  He had long since come to realize that what he felt for her was much more than mere possessiveness, and he knew that he certainly couldn’t blame her for not believing him when he eventually—some time in the future—got up the courage to tell her, considering how he’d treated her, but he
did
love her.

The fact that Hemmingway, whom he had found quite easily using the Pinkertons, was still alive was a huge testimony to that fact.  He had told her the day he’d found him, and told her that he fully intended that this would be the last day that that man drew a breath on this Earth.

But Rachel had implored him not to do that.  She didn’t want him to end up in jail.  She wanted their child to have a father, and not one who murdered out of revenge.  “He’s an old man.  The only thing I care about is that no other girl finds herself in that kind of situation with him.”

So Cage had set the wheels in motion to assure that her wish was granted.  He vowed to her that he would protect the rest of womankind from that monster and that he would happily devote himself to his wife and his family.

And here and now, he intended to continue living up to that vow, setting about removing her clothing piece by complicated piece.  But he seemed to know his way around them, regardless.

“You would make a wonderful lady’s made if you ever needed a new position in life.”

Cage smiled down at her.  “There is only one lady in this world for whom I will play maid.”

Soon, she was naked and he was in awe of her beautifully altered form.  She was even more gorgeous than he remembered.  Since she had moved in with Cage and his father, she had been fattened up, and not just in conjunction with the baby, but over all.  He took every meal that he could with her and made sure that she ate her fill—which was something that her father didn’t believe in, especially for girls.  She had been required to leave the table hungry—sometimes very hungry.

But neither Cage—nor Clare—was going to allow anything that stupid to happen ever again.  Both of them listened very carefully to what foods she liked and what she didn’t, and made sure—sometimes on their own and sometimes in unison—that Cook knew about them so that he could adjust meals around her.  The two of them would eat whatever was put in front of them.  She was the most important member of their family, and they would happily cater to her every wish. 

But it was the baby that had wrought the most changes, overall, and he reveled in every one of them. Delighting in the fact that her breasts were almost overgenerous now, he suckled eagerly at each yearning nipple, allowing himself to drown in her cries of pleasure as he buried his face into each mound.

Although his shyly eager wife plucked at his clothes—since the only thing he’d shed since they’d arrived was his coat—he caught her hand and moved it away from him, leaning down to whisper into her ear, “If I take off my clothes I’m not going to be able to stop myself from ravishing you.”

He was amazed when her arms wrapped themselves around his neck and she whispered back at him, “Promises, promises.”

But he didn’t want to rush things.  He wanted to take his time with her, to indulge himself in her—and he did.  No part of her went untouched, from the backs of her knees to the insides of her elbows.  His mouth ravaged every part of her, until it finally settled where they both wanted it to be—between her spread legs.

Even here she seemed a bit different, her skin tone a bit darker, but the rest of her was absolutely the same in that his fingers were baptized as soon as they parted her outer lips.  “And I didn’t even have to spank you,” he murmured against her slit.

She went still beneath him.

“What do you mean?”

Cage looked up at her, a teasing expression on his face.  “Surely you realized that your body adored it every time I took you in hand?”

“It did not!”  Her face was redder than he’d ever seen it.

“Do you want me to prove it to you?”

“No!” she practically screamed.  “I’m pregnant!”

He grinned up at her.  “I don’t believe it’s not safe during pregnancy, but we’ll talk to the doctor.  In other words, you’d better behave.”

Two fingers worked their way inside her, and she found it harder and harder to protest about what she knew in her mind she should have been quite strident about.

But she just couldn’t think two thoughts together for the life of her when she felt his tongue lap at her as if she was an all-day sucker.

Cage settled in for a long haul, and he made it just that, using his lips and his mouth and his tongue and those torturous fingers to bring her inexorably to peak after peak until she cried out for mercy. Then he rose up, tore his clothes off and joined her on the bed, pressing himself into her immediately and establishing a slow, gentle rhythm.

But that was not what he wife wanted.  She began to whine and cling to him, lifting her hips to meet every thrust, pounding on his back until he let himself go a bit, but not too much.  It would kill him if he hurt her or the baby.

“Harder!” his demanding little wife pouted from beneath him.

“No.  And if you don’t stop begging, I
am
going to blister your behind.”