The Orchid Hunter

by Jill Marie Landis

  She waved away his concern a bit too quickly before she said, “I’m sure Joya just wants everything to be perfect. Why are you frowning? It’s your wedding day. You should be happy.”

  “Happy? It wasn’t ever my intention to marry Joya or anyone else at this point in my life, and now I suddenly find myself a bridegroom. I’m not sure how to feel.”

  “There are some things you can’t catalogue or categorize, Trevor, especially when fate intervenes. Joya loves you and even if you’re uncertain about your own feelings, I know that soon you’ll realize you love her, too.” She looked down at her hands. “She is coming into this marriage in love with you. It would wound her deeply if she ever finds out that you married her because you felt you had no other choice. I pray you never hurt her.”

  “I can only give you my word.”

  “You gave me your word before and look what happened. I know you find her hard to resist. I just pray that your desire will be enough to hold your marriage together.”

  He sighed and came around the desk. Life had grown far too complicated of late. He knew how much Janelle had done for him over the past few days, making all of the wedding arrangements, dealing with his grandmother and Joya.

  “Everything was perfect today, thanks to you. Joya looked radiant. The orchids in her hair were a lovely touch and they actually stayed in almost all day. And I noticed that she didn’t even rattle when she walked.”

  Janelle laughed. “I can’t believe I succeeded in getting her to leave her dog’s-tooth anklet at home.”

  “You must have been very convincing.”

  “I reminded her she would have other occasions to wear it. When she balked, I told her that some English think it’s actually bad luck to wear dog’s teeth to a wedding.”

  He found himself laughing. “You were right about having a small celebration. It was a welcome diversion to have a few close friends gathered for dinner this evening.”

  “I hope you did not mind my asking Cecily and Lord Langley to join us. They certainly helped keep the conversation going.”

  “I just wish Grandmother had been in a better mood.”

  “Grandmama will come around eventually. I think she is upset because your marriage to Joya was not her idea. She must still be very embarrassed about the scene she witnessed at the mill.”

  He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “It was irresponsible of me, but we were only kissing, Janelle.”

  “Your spontaneous reaction to having saved my sister?”

  “Something like that. I hope you are right about Grandmother coming around.” He ran his hand through his hair. When was his new bride going to send Mrs. Billingsley after him?

  Uncomfortable with indecision, he tried conversation. “I heard Lord Langley tell you that he has two more friends interested in acquiring your paintings.”

  Janelle nodded. Her eyes shone with pride. “To think that my work is actually becoming sought after is very exciting. Don’t ever tell the viscount, but I would happily give my paintings away. The fact that his friends actually pay for them is a pleasant reward for the joy of doing something I love so.”

  “And you’ve had no nightmares?”

  “None since we found Joya. I’m ecstatic over this marriage between you. It will keep her with us forever.”

  Just then, there was a soft knock at the door.

  Trevor called, “Come in.”

  Mrs. Billingsley stepped into the library. Her cheeks were bright as two beets, her brown eyes huge.

  “She’s ready, sir,” she announced. Sims was hovering in the hall behind her.

  Trevor felt his face heat up. Now that he had taken the vows that gave him the right to touch her, to hold her, to have Joya completely, he found himself nervous as an untried youth. His collar felt too tight, his mouth too dry. Anyone would think he was going to the gallows instead of his wedding bed.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Billingsley.” Both the housekeeper and Sims were beaming at him as if he had already accomplished a tremendous feat. He dismissed them for the night and closed the door.

  Since the scene at the mill, he had wrestled with the notion that he would be married, with his needs and his wants, with the fact that Joya was going to be his wife. One of the hardest things he had ever done was to write to Dustin Penn and relate the circumstances behind his proposal and marriage to Joya and apologize for his behavior. He was not looking forward to Penn’s response.

  He had gone over and over his own plans and debated his future. Although his voyage would naturally have to be postponed, he was still determined to return to Venezuela and search for the Queen’s orchid. His grandmother was of the opinion that he should not give up on the hunt, but he knew there was no way he would leave England if Joya was with child, no way he could leave her alone the way her true father had left Stephanie Oates.

  No matter what transpired in their bed tonight or on any other night before the voyage, he was determined to take every precaution against getting her pregnant.

  “Trevor?” Janelle was staring at him expectantly.

  “Are you going up yet?” He forced himself to sound calm.

  She shook her head, took off her spectacles, and carefully folded the stems. “No, I think I’ll sit here alone for a while. I’ve always loved this room. It smells of brandy and tobacco and old leather.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good-night, then. And thank you for everything.”

  “Good night.” The more he studied her, the more he thought she appeared to be fighting for control. She was, he supposed, like most women. Weddings made them emotional.

  As he closed the door and stepped into the hallway, he thought he heard her add, “And good luck.”

  * * *

  After Trevor left the room, Janelle poured herself a splash of brandy and then curled up in one of the deep armchairs near the hearth. There was no need for a fire tonight, for Joya’s wedding day had been warm and sunny, the most beautiful of English summer days. Except for the fact that Grandmama had made only a brief appearance for dinner, the festivities had been quite successful.

  The only thing that hampered the day for her was that she could not stop musing over Garr Remington. Even now she found herself thinking of him in ways that made her cheeks burn and her heart flutter.

  As Trevor and Joya spoke their vows, she imagined standing before a minister with Garr, her hand in his, staring up into his dark, laughing eyes and hearing him pledge his troth in rich, deep tones.

  Impossible, ridiculous thoughts. Even with his notorious reputation, he had never pressed her for more than companionship and friendly conversation, which led her to believe that he was not interested in her as a conquest. Perhaps because of that realization, lately she had found herself wondering what she would do if he ever did try to kiss her.

  She had purposely not invited him to the wedding supper, but all evening long she had missed his company, his gregarious nature, his witty banter.

  Dear heavens, was she falling in love with him? With a rake who would never be true? A penniless fortune hunter?

  Taking a sip of the heady, richly scented liquor, she let it warm her to her toes and closed her eyes. How could she, who had always prided herself on her independent nature and her level-headed logic, be falling in love with a man like Garr Remington?

  Perhaps the direction of her thoughts was unconsciously driven by what was happening to Joya tonight. Even though she was not trying to dwell on what was going on upstairs, being emotionally connected to her sister, she found it hard to concentrate on anything but the sensual pleasures that Garr Remington could surely give her.

  After a few more sips of brandy, she found herself enticed by seductive, erotic images, and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Garr’s hands on her body, his kisses on her lips, her throat, her breasts. Her mind had strayed into dangerous and forbidden territory. What would it be like to have him touch her in that most intimate of places?

  “Get hold of yourself, J
anelle,” she said aloud. Finishing off the last of the brandy, she stood. The clock on the wall chimed ten, still a ridiculously early time to retire when sleep would no doubt elude her tonight.

  Working in her studio would be a much better way to spend the next few hours, she decided. At least working, her mind would be well occupied with something other than Garr Remington. She hoped.

  As she turned out the light and closed the door behind her, she could not help but chuckle. Surely by now, Joya’s rendition of the fertility dance of the Matarengi had begun.

  * * *

  Trevor stepped into his dimly lit suite and closed the door, but when he went to turn the key in the lock, he found it missing. He took a step, stopped, and looked around his room in shock. His usually uncluttered, well-ordered sanctuary had been transformed. Tall potted palms filled every available space. A golden, gossamer fabric shimmered from the ceiling above his bed to drape the huge four-poster like mosquito netting. Various blooming orchids from the conservatory had been brought up and interspersed with lit candles on every tabletop and even the mantelpiece.

  If he had not known better, he would have thought he had stepped through a magical portal into a jungle paradise.

  Since there was no sign of his bride, he uttered her name softly. He walked over to the bed and slowly pulled back the golden netting.

  His heart thundered, stirred by the notion that tonight he would no longer have to worry about convention or containing his desire for Joya. Janelle was right. Fate had wanted them together and now, for better or for worse, she was his.

  He looked down at the empty bed and frowned.

  “Joya?” He straightened and glanced around the room.

  “Undress, please, Trevor. I cannot begin until you do.” The sound of her voice came from his dressing room. He started to walk toward the door that connected the small anteroom to the larger chamber.

  “You cannot come in here!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you cannot see me yet. It will ruin everything.”

  “When and how did you get all these plants and candles up here?” He had left the room not an hour before dinner. Everything had appeared to be quite normal then.

  “I drew a sketch of what I wanted the room to look like and gave it to Sims and Mrs. Billingsley. How do you like it, Trevor? Do you feel as if you are back on Matarenga?”

  He stared at the cold fireplace hearth crowded with orchids and pots of pothos vine. The chandeliers were draped with blossoms and trailing greenery.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest with you—”

  “I am so happy with what they have done. I feel so at home.”

  He sighed. If she felt comfortable, perhaps the rest of the night would go smoothly.

  “I think it looks like…Matarenga.” He scratched his head. “When are you coming out of there?”

  “After you take off all of your clothes and lie down on the bed.”

  Despite his misgivings, he had already worked his necktie loose. Any preconceived notions of what his wedding night might be like went out the window.

  He sat down and took off his shoes and socks.

  His fingers fumbled with his collar. He removed it and went to work on the studs down the front of his shirt. Finally he managed to free his arms and slipped his shirt off. Instead of folding it as usual, he tossed it across the back of a nearby chair.

  A soft rhythmic rattle issued from the dressing room.

  Dog’s teeth.

  He desperately fought with the buttons at his waistband.

  “Are you ready?” The teeth rattled again.

  “Not yet.”

  His hands faltered. He was already fully aroused. Who could blame him? He had not had a woman for weeks, and now the object of his desire was demanding he strip off his clothes and climb into bed.

  Damn. She was actually making him nervous. He was beginning to feel as if he were the virgin here. He stepped out of his trousers, then shucked off his silk stockinette drawers in one fell swoop. They missed the chair and hit the floor. He hurried over to the bed. Lying atop the counterpane, he decided his erection might frighten Joya, so he slipped beneath the bedclothes and covered himself to his waist.

  “I’m naked.” He had to clear his throat. “And I’m in bed.”

  The light in the dressing room was extinguished. He heard footsteps accompanied by the rattling of something much louder than a dog’s-tooth anklet and could not resist lifting aside the edge of the filmy netting.

  His breath caught in his throat when Joya appeared wrapped in a crimson and saffron pudong, a much smaller pudong than he had seen on any of the women on Matarenga. Slung below her navel and knotted on the side above one hip, it barely reached the tops of her thighs. Her lovely, full breasts were completely exposed.

  Her body, in the few places where it had not seen the sun, was creamy white. She had let down her hair so that it fell in long, flowing golden waves past her shoulders. He couldn’t recall ever being with a woman whom he had not had to coax out of her clothing.

  Joya did not walk, but appeared to glide into the room, pausing after each step to thrust out her hip and shake it to the beat of the clacking rattles she held over her head.

  Clack, step, shake. Clack, step, shake.

  Slowly, seductively, she inched her way over to the bed, weaving through the sea of palms, illusive, enticing, pausing now and again to lean forward and shake her shoulders. Unabashedly wanton, her gaze locked with his. She never looked away.

  His mouth went dry. His palms ached. His erection throbbed. He wanted her so bad his teeth hurt.

  She was driving him over the edge and she was nowhere near him. He was afraid that if she kept this up he would leap off the bed, plunge into her, and spill his seed. His well-laid plans for the future would fly out the window right along with his preconceived notions of their wedding night.

  Clack, step, shake. Clack, step, shake.

  “Stop!” He sat up, calling out with more force than he had intended. The entire household had probably heard him.

  The rattling slowly faded away. She dropped her hands to her sides. “What’s wrong, Trevor?”

  “Nothing, I just…wanted you to stop, is all.”

  “Why have you covered yourself like that?”

  “I didn’t want to frighten you.”

  “Are you deformed?” Dancing forgotten, she walked the rest of the way to the bed. The clacking was softer now that the rattles hung neglected.

  “No, I’m not deformed!”

  “Then why are you hiding your body?”

  “I happen to have a modicum of modesty.”

  “Is it painful?”

  He started over, gently this time. “What is that…that dance that you were doing?”

  “The Matarengi fertility dance. Did you like it?”

  He nearly choked. “Fertility dance?”

  “Janelle assured me that it would be best to surprise you.”

  “Surprised doesn’t come close to describing the way I feel right now. I’ll remember to thank her.”

  She laid the rattles on the side table and sat down on the edge of the bed, casually, without a trace of embarrassment, as if it were perfectly normal for her to sit beside him for an intimate little chat wearing no more than a scrap of crimson and saffron across her pelvis, and with her breasts fully exposed. She was as relaxed as if they did this every evening of their lives.

  For the life of him, he could not stop staring at her bare breasts. They were firm and high with blush-pink nipples, and the sight of them was slowly rendering him speechless.

  She ran her finger over the satin counterpane that covered his thigh and then looked into his eyes. “Should I finish?”

  “Finish?”

  “The dance.”

  “No.”

  “Do you think I have done enough to ensure fertility?”

  I hope not. He picked up one of the rattles with a slim piece of tree branch for a handle. The sound cam
e from the curved hoof pairings of some beast all strung together. There were green parrot feathers woven into the colored beads that banded the handle.

  “Goat hooves,” she volunteered.

  He set the rattle back down.

  “Joya, there is something I have to say.”

  “Don’t worry, Trevor. I have heard it said that many men worry about the size of their…well, their manly staff, but since I am still a virgin, I probably will not know the difference, if that is what you are trying to tell me.”

  He drew himself up against the headboard. “There is nothing wrong with my…manly staff, Joya.”

  “Oh, good.” She sighed, leaned over, and laid her cheek against his heart.

  Her warm breath tickled his nipple. When she began to run her fingernails up and down his chest, he gently took her by the shoulders and nudged her into a sitting position again.

  “If you keep doing that, I will never get this said.”

  “Then tell me what it is you have to say, Trevor, for seeing you there all warm and naked and dark and handsome is making me melt inside. I want to climb beneath the sheets with you.”

  He tried to pull his thoughts together so that he could deliver the well-rehearsed speech he had outlined over the past few days. She needed to know that he was still planning to leave for Venezuela, and because of that, he intended to take every precaution against her becoming pregnant.

  But then she shifted and propped her knee higher upon the bed, treating him to the sight of her entire thigh. The pudong gaped open. His gaze shot to the mirror on the opposite wall. In its reflection, he could see up her sarong. Just as he had suspected, she was not wearing a stitch beneath it.

  ‘Trevor?” She had reached for his hand and was holding it tight.

  “Yes, Joya?”

  “This is the happiest day of my life.”

  Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, her dimples enticing, her smile bright as the sun over the lagoon around Matarenga. The idea of taking time to outline their future, to try to stress to her the importance of the work schedule he expected to keep, and to add that he fully intended to leave her very soon all seemed absurd now that this moment was at hand.