Removing her hat, she set the hat pins on his dresser top among his personal items. The brush and comb had been carelessly tossed down, the shaving brush was still damp in its mug and the bottle of bay rum uncorked. Erin replaced it and took up the crumpled linen towel, smoothing and folding it. She saw the rumpled bed reflected in the mirror, and averted her gaze.
She couldn’t think about later. She didn’t dare.
The knock on the door signaling the arrival of hot water put an end to her musings. She already knew Mace was an impatient man. There was no sense in irritating him by making him wait longer for her.
Chapter Five
Erin toyed with the scalloped lace edge of her collar. The meal that Mace had ordered was meant for those with hearty appetites. Neither one of them had done justice to the food, and she was thankful the last of it had been cleared. The return of barely touched food caused the proprietor, Mr. Philbrook, to come to the table, asking what was wrong, offering to make them something else.
Embarrassed by the attention they drew, Erin didn’t listen to Mace’s whispered explanation, but a bottle of champagne arrived with the man’s compliments. Erin had never tasted the sparkling wine and, urged on by the feeling that if she didn’t drink one glass, Mr. Philbrook would return, she indulged. Mace, she noticed, had no qualms about filling his glass before it emptied.
“Will you share the last of it?” he asked her, annoyed with the way she fidgeted and refused to look at him.
Erin did not look at him, but at the bottle he was holding midway across the table. She nodded, hating herself for being grateful that he broke the silence stretching her nerves raw.
Focusing on the tiny bubbles rising from the bottom of the glass, Erin wondered what he would have done if she had stated her preference for chicken instead of the thick steaks he had ordered. It was petty, she knew, but suggested to her that her likes and dislikes did not matter to him.
And then, as the floodgates opened on his transgressions, she had to remind herself of the curt introductions he had made for her when the curious stopped by the table to offer their congratulations. It was unfair of her to be angry with him for the brevity of his announcement that she was from San Francisco, had had an uneventful journey and was anxiously looking forward to ranch living. He had saved her from lying, and that was the only reason she held her tongue.
The few questions she had braved about the children and his ranch earned her a repeated, “You’ll see for yourself when you get there.”
She didn’t understand his cutting her off before she had been able to utter a word to the two women who ventured to suggest that she might join their church and sewing circle, for they had the best socials. Did he intend to keep her imprisoned on his ranch? Or was he ashamed of her? Erin wished for the courage to ask him, but one peek at his face revealed the same hardened expression that had greeted her on their first sight of each other.
Beneath her napkin, her hand crept to curve over her belly. She knew before long she wouldn’t dare let anyone see her, for everyone would know that the baby wasn’t his. And that was all she should be worrying about. What his reaction would be.
Her gaze pinned on his hands. Small scars that bespoke his hard living marred the skin of large, strong fingers. The glass appeared almost fragile-looking when he lifted it; Erin refused to think of those hands touching her.
With the same recklessness that set her on this path, Erin lifted her own glass and fixed her gaze on the flame of the candle burning steadily inside the glass chimney of the table lamp. She sipped the champagne until it was gone. Carefully setting the glass down, she hoped the tiny bubbles would rise inside her with a flush of lightness to dispel the dark mood the brooding man she married had created.
Within seconds, Mace finished his drink, settled the bill and came around to help her on with her serviceable black coat that had seen better days. When his hands stilled on her shoulders, Erin was sure he was staring at the mended tears on her sleeve. If he dared to say one word, she would tell him about her uneventful trip, which resulted in those tears. He didn’t utter a sound.
Taking her arm once more, he led her outside. Erin shivered in the cold. The coat was thin, and the green silk gown, so carefully made over to a modest style to be her wedding gown, offered little protection against the chill. She inhaled deeply and knew she had been granted a part of her hope. The champagne had brought a lightness, for her head felt as if it were drifting off somewhere.
Watching where they walked, she began to hum softly, ignoring the man at her side. All too soon they were at the hotel door. The lobby was deserted when they entered; even the desk clerk had abandoned his post. Two wall lamps spread a dim light to see by.
Erin glanced across the lobby to the stairs looming before them. Fear surfaced. The fear she had succeeded in almost burying throughout the day. She had entrusted her life and that of her child to this man. This stranger.
Her shoe seemed to stick to the rug and she lost her balance, pitching forward.
Mace caught her and swung her up into his arms. She found herself staring owlishly up at his face. His cheeks were already darkened by the shadow of a beard. A slow smile broke the hard line of his lips. Erin closed her eyes. His body warmed hers, and beneath her hand she felt the strength of his shoulder. Curiosity forced her to look at him. She hadn’t imagined it; he was smiling at her. A small corner of fear snapped off and she thought of how he must feel, married to a woman who was as much of a stranger to him as she felt he was to her. The corners of her mouth lifted as she hesitantly slid her arm around his neck.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t play the courting swain,” she teased, trying hard to release the tension between them.
“I’m not. Couldn’t let you fall and hurt yourself, Miss Dunmore.” But he didn’t even think about setting her down. He liked the feel of her in his arms, enjoyed the sensation of being stronger and powerful enough to protect her. But he didn’t understand why her smile faded and she looked away.
Intoxicated by the unaccustomed champagne and sense of being soft and fragile in his arms, Erin no longer guarded her tongue. “I must beg your pardon, Mr. Dalton,” she intoned in a voice that would have done a society matron proud. “I’m no longer Miss Dunmore. I am your wife, sir. Entitled, I believe, to all the rights and privileges of that position.” With the last said, she nestled her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and waited.
Rights and privileges? Mace repeated silently, having spent the last uncomfortable hours brooding over the fit of his pants and the coming night. Well, he wasn’t about to deny her any one of them.
He took the stairs so quickly that Erin was forced to cling to him. She averted her gaze from him when he set her down to get the key from his pocket.
She knew when he opened the door and disappeared into the darkened room. She heard him move around, but made no attempt to follow him. With both hands, Erin held her head. She wanted the spinning sensations to stop.
Her mind was intent on replaying the very moment she had lost her balance and he swung her up into his arms. The man had been cold, rude and silent, but she had felt the protective strength he offered.
As if she were standing apart, watching herself, she heard again exactly what she had said to him.
Clasping her gloved hand over her mouth, Erin sagged against the wall. Mace Dalton must think her a brazen piece of baggage. She had practically demanded that he bed her.
The thought was more than sobering; it was horrifying. The pleasant sensations she enjoyed from the champagne dissolved like her backbone. She had presented herself as a respectable woman and he would know as soon as she told him about the baby that she wasn’t. There had been no need for her to foolishly plant the wrong idea in his mind. Lord, grant me time, she prayed. Let me be everything he wanted before I tell him my secret.
“Do you need help?”
Erin looked up at him, partially framed in the doorway. The spill of light from the room behind h
im enhanced the darkness of his hair. He had removed his suit jacket. The cream linen shirt stretched across his shoulders, and the ends of his black string tie trailed alongside the now open buttons of his shirt. She tried not to stare at the strong brown column of his throat, but curiosity held her gaze to the spot where his pulse visibly beat. With an unconscious gesture, Erin raised her hand to touch her throat.
“What’s wrong?” Mace asked, answering himself with the next breath. She claimed that she had never been married. He didn’t think she was lying. He knew, likely better than she did, that society’s rules demanded a woman be kept ignorant about sex. Did she suddenly find the thought of intimacy with him distasteful? What the hell did she think marriage meant? The remembered feel of her lips softening, parting slightly for his kiss made him dismiss his questions. Erin hadn’t been the one to pull away, he had.
Tunneling his fingers through his hair, he tried to stem the flashes of another wedding night from coming to mind. Sky, lovely and innocent, had not been shy with him. She had been as eager as he to consummate their marriage. Her gentle manner had been no less passionate than his fierce tenderness to claim her as his wife. But Sky was dead. And he was very much alive. He could no longer name Sky his wife. Erin Dunmore held that place in his life now.
“Is the room not to your liking? Are you sick? Do you need something? Good lord, woman, tell me what’s wrong?”
He offered her the opening she needed. Erin gazed at his face and found nothing soft. His eyes drew hers, and there was no mistaking the desire within those dark eyes. The words she needed to say stuck in her throat. He repeated his question.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
Stepping closer, he gently grasped her arm, drawing her near. “Come inside.”
The warmth of his breath brushed her cheek. Erin hoped for gentleness and preceded him into the room. She refused to look at the bed, but she wished he would leave.
Mace had no intention of leaving. He knew he was deliberately misconstruing her remarks about being his wife. But there were times, he was learning, when a man boxed up his conscience for other needs.
Survival needs. Like today, when he didn’t mention that his children weren’t accepted by society before he married her. And now he was doing it again. He wanted this woman. Wanted her before he had teased himself with the taste of her mouth. The impossible demands his body had been making since he had first seen her were intensifying.
Instinct told him that once he had bedded her, she wouldn’t leave him. It wasn’t from vanity for his skill as a lover that this certainty came, but from the woman herself.
His patience was in short supply at the moment. He wasn’t going to try to figure all the reasons this strength of conviction about her was there. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer when passion upped a notch from heat to burning.
He watched her withdraw the pins from her hat, then the hat itself. He attributed her continued silence to nerves. Uncertain what he could say to put her at ease, he gave in to his need to touch her and stood behind her, cupping her shoulders. Feeling the tension in her body, although she made no move to pull free, he finally realized that she would like, even welcome, privacy.
A rueful smile creased his lips. With Sky he had shared everything. There had been no shame for the passion that claimed them wherever they were. But Erin was a lady, he reminded himself. She was unused to a man’s ways, his ways. With a cynical twist of mind, he knew that every kindness and consideration he offered her now would pay off once he brought her home.
From behind her, he reached out to touch the small feathers on her hat, gently crowding her body with his. The tiny catch her breath made told him she was aware of him as a man. His lips brushed against the delicate shape of her ear. When he took a breath, he inhaled the faint smell of flowers and her skin. The scent went through him like lightning, for it carried a promise of warm woman, a promise repeated in the soft press of her back against his chest.
“Am I wrong in believing that you’d like a few minutes alone?”
Erin turned her head so fast her lips grazed his cheek. Her green eyes had darkened. She stared at his mouth, far too close, and a fine tremor rippled over her skin. “Please,” she managed to whisper, moistening her lip with the tip of her tongue.
Desire knifed through him, hardening him with a speed that shocked him. “Then I’ll wait outside until you’re ready. But Erin,” he murmured, brushing his finger over the arch of her brow, “don’t keep me waiting long.”
His slow smile made a warmth awaken and shimmer deep inside her. “No. I won’t be long.” Heat climbed into her face at the breathless sound of her voice. For a moment she thought he would kiss her and her breath rushed in, wanting the touch of his mouth again. Her lashes drifted closed, but as her breath sighed out, she heard the door close softly.
Erin never tried undressing so fast. The more she hurried, fed by an urgency to be fully covered in that bed before he returned, the more clumsy she was. The ties on her corset knotted, her fingers frantic to get them undone. She couldn’t find the buttonhook for her shoes until she searched the second valise. Throwing a panicked look at the still shut door, she slid the voluminous flannel nightgown on, unpinned her hair and quickly braided it. With pounding heart she gathered the thick folds of the nightgown and ran for the bed.
Mace opened the door seconds later and glanced at her, hiding with the covers pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were closed, but with the soft glow of the lamp, he could see the faint flutter her lashes made as she watched him. He stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the chair. And Mace knew then that he didn’t just want to satisfy the desire obsessing him, he wanted Erin to want him. Kicking off his boots, he smiled to see how hard she was pretending not to watch him. Since he didn’t need her screaming at her first sight of a naked man, he turned his back toward her to unbutton his pants.
With the carelessness of a man who more often than not worked eighteen hours a day, fell asleep in his clothes and didn’t have a woman nagging him, Mace left his socks and long underwear where they fell. He came to the side of the bed and tossed back the covers.
Erin’s eyes flew open and were snagged by his intense gaze. “Please, the lamp. You can’t mean to leave it on.”
The crude words of wanting to see exactly what he had bought himself remained unspoken. She lay there, rigid as a board and terrified. She stared up at his face, giving him the feeling that if she dared look anywhere else she’d fall to pieces. Ladies! Hell! He strode to the dresser and turned down the wick until dark enfolded them.
Erin felt the bed dip beneath his weight. The soft feather mattress depressed and she had to clutch the side so she wouldn’t roll up against him. With her free hand she grabbed for the quilt and pulled it up to her chin. She had never thought about this part.
“Listen to me,” he began, hating the feeling that she was cringing away from him. “Erin?” he asked softly.
She saw the faint outline of his body looming over her and her chest rose and fell with the erratic breaths she drew.
“I won’t hurt you. We can take this slow and easy.” Mace groaned hearing his promise. Slow? Easy? What the hell was the matter with him?
What was he talking about? Erin asked herself. Slow and easy? Maddie had not neglected to inform her of all the ways a man took his pleasure. Slow and easy was not one of them. Or had Maddie mentioned it and she, flushing with embarrassment, hadn’t listened? He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.
“Fine. That will be fine.”
A sigh of pure disgust that he didn’t attempt to hide escaped him. Mace leaned away from her but not far enough. He heard the small frightened sound she made. He strove to take control of his body, but need came clawing like a steel spur over his skin. He punched up his pillows and rested against the headboard, knowing he should have given this more thought.
But he wasn’t good at talking. He’d never had any complaints when he left a woman’s bed. Flo Jamison c
ould attest to that even if she refused to marry him. With Flo it hadn’t been the children, just too many years of being under a man’s hand and wanting her freedom. But Flo was part of the past, and Erin, shaking rabbit that she was, was all he had for a future.
And he wasn’t about to start this marriage off with her having any control. “Erin, come here.”
He counted off the seconds before he felt her wiggle a few inches nearer. At this rate the night would be half gone before she managed to get next to him. Mace reached for her and drew her tense body to his side. Again he began to count, striving for patience, but by five, he turned, one hand on her waist the other stroking her hair.
He lowered his head, feathering kisses across her temple, brushing her cheeks with his lips, tracing the rigid line of her jaw. Lifting her arm, he placed it around his neck, fitting his mouth to hers. He kept the kiss light, finding the corners of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, stroking over her bottom lip, coaxing her response.
Mace refused to believe she was cold. The thick flannel nightgown had enough yardage to make a man-size tent and he wanted it gone. Sky had never slept with anything wrapped around her but him.
But when his fingers touched the top button, her hand snaked between him and the cloth, stopping him. “What in the Lord’s name are you doing?”
“Something the good Lord intended when he made you a woman and me a man.”
Rather than fight her to open the button, Mace lifted her hand to his mouth. Turning her hand over, he kissed her palm, sliding his tongue over the chilled skin until his teeth gently bit the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb.
With a tiny flip, Erin’s stomach turned over. She felt the silky brush of his mustache against the pulse in her wrist. His body heat surrounded her, making the shimmering sensations inside her turn to an ache. Her heart increased its beat and she didn’t resist when he pulled her fingers to the warm curve of his neck. Her hand measured the strength there and, unable to deny her curiosity, she explored the thickness of his hair.
Gifts of Love Page 6
