by Lisa Bingham
“It seemed like the best alternative at the time.”
“And why is that?” he queried, forcing her to look at him eye to eye.
“It’s a very long and boring story.”
He waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t he said, “I wonder.” He released her, raking his fingers through the long, ash-brown waves of his hair. “You’d better get out of those wet things.”
“I’ll need you to retrieve the bags you took this afternoon.”
A ghost of a smile teased his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
Orrin returned nearly twenty minutes later and, without knocking, shouldered the door open and entered with her carpetbags.
“I managed to…” His words died.
Ginny stood on the opposite side of the room, her back to the lamp, clutching a bath sheet to her breasts. Orrin could scarcely believe his own eyes.
Gone was the bedraggled waif from the railway station. In her place was a beautiful woman with thick, wavy hair the color of roasted chestnuts—damp, rain-kissed hair that curled in natural waves to a point far beyond her hips.
And she was wearing nothing but a delicate petticoat, a waist-hugging corset, and a camisole.
Orrin cleared his throat and took another step forward. The door swung closed with a grating squeak behind him.
He could tell that Ginny had come from quality people. No sturdy underwear made of cotton or no-nonsense flour sacks like those Jessie had worn. This woman wore silk and lace.
“I, uh…” He lifted the bags for her inspection. “I brought your things.”
She motioned for him to set the satchels on the floor. And when she moved, Orrin caught a glimpse of the soft mounds of her breasts and the swell of her hips.
“It’s really coming down out there.” He set the carpetbags on the rug, all the while staring at her and wondering what he would see if she were to drop the bath sheet.
“Eden Creek tends to flood in a rain like this,” he continued, damning the husky quality of his voice. “I thought it might be best if we stayed here for the night and started fresh in the morning.”
“I see.”
Her tone was soft and sweet as honey. Orrin tried to still the reaction that was beginning inside him.
“I arranged for us to share the adjoining bedroom for the night.”
“Can I get dressed?” Ginny asked, breaking the silence that filled the room.
“Of course.”
She paused. “I don’t suppose you could … could you at least turn around?”
Realizing he’d been watching her like a hound eyes a bone, he spun on his heel and jammed his hands into his pockets. Behind him he heard the rustling of her clothing and the snap of her bags.
Orrin tried to remember that he’d seen Jesse dress and undress countless times. He tried to remember he’d married Ginny simply for convenience.
But heaven help him, his body wasn’t remembering anything but how long it had been since he’d felt the soft brush of a woman’s touch, the sweet moan of a woman’s voice.
“Thank you.”
He turned around to see that she’d put on a simple serge skirt and a white blouse with some kind of frilly thing at the neck that emphasized the delicate cast of her jaw.
In an effort to dispel the tension Orrin unlocked the door to the adjoining room. “The Bluebonnet Hotel has never been known for being fancy, but…”
The portal opened to reveal a high brass bed laden with quilts.
Orrin’s body responded immediately to the sight of the plump goose-down mattresses and the scent of the woman who’d walked up behind him. He saw the way Ginny’s cheeks blanched. She didn’t speak, but he knew that the thoughts tumbling through his head were tumbling through her own.
They were two people—two strangers—expected to become familiar. As familiar as a man and woman could be. Yet, neither could think of a thing to say to break the quiet—a silence thick with the insecurities of a newly married couple who would soon have to become intimate.
Once again the uneasiness began to twine between them like some gleeful morning glory intent upon infiltrating a patch of garden. Orrin wished that he could read Ginny’s expression more easily. He needed to know what she was thinking. But when he spoke it was to say, “I suppose we’d best go downstairs and eat.”
Plymouth, Missouri
Billy Wicks swung from his buggy and bit back a weary curse when the motion jarred muscles that were cramped and sore from a week’s worth of riding. Pausing for only a moment, he squinted up at the ever-darkening sky.
Why the Parker family had decided to settle in Plymouth, Missouri, he’d never know. There were certainly other places more sophisticated and more welcoming, especially to a man who’d been traveling for weeks.
But the homes on Constitution Knoll did have a certain charm. Up here, in the older, more refined section of town, the pace was slower, more relaxed, since these were the homes of those who didn’t have to scramble for their daily living. Even the din of town traffic had been muffled to a genteel murmur, and the evening breeze sifted through the trees with a desultory listlessness that only money could buy.
As he looped his horse’s reins through the brass ring next to the carriage block Billy savored the money he was sure he could smell in the air around him. For too long he had existed by his own wits—which had managed to earn him a comfortable living, but little more than that Now he could feel a hunger burning in the pit of his belly. He craved the kind of wealth that surrounded these gracious homes. If all went according to his plan, Billy would have what he wanted—money and respect. He was an enterprising young man with a head for business. There remained only a few loose ends to tie up.
He focused upon the pristine house before him. Because he’d been impatient to see Ginny, he hadn’t taken the time to change. His suit was rumpled and dusted with soot, but he didn’t care. Eagerly he anticipated the moment Ginny would fall into his arms like a ripe peach. It had been over a month since they’d been together.
He grinned at the memory. He’d always enjoyed deflowering virgins.
That thought had the power to stir him, and Billy smoothed his hair and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. Moving purposefully, he hurried toward the towering brick home. He pushed the gate open, allowing the spring to snap it back with barely a squeak. At the stately front door he twisted the brass bell to announce his arrival.
He heard the tapping of footsteps from inside the house, and the door opened to reveal a uniformed maid.
“Yes?”
Billy offered the red-haired immigrant girl a smile. “I’ve come to see Miss Ginny.”
The girl regarded him warily, then finally relented. “I’ll just be tellin’ Miss Miriam yer here.”
Not allowing for a response to her odd statement, the girl closed the portal in his face, leaving him to wait on the stoop like an unwanted peddler.
Billy tugged on the hem of his vest, fighting back a surge of impatience.
The door opened again, bringing with it the scents of hothouse roses, beeswax, and candles. Billy caught a glimpse of the thick Aubusson carpet skimming the vestibule’s gleaming oak floors before confronting the imperious matriarch of the family, Miriam Parker. She leaned slightly upon the support of an ebony cane, but there was no disguising the strength of purpose in her posture: She wanted Billy Wicks to leave.
Billy offered her a perfunctory bow. Deciding the awkward moment called for a little charm, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
“Why, Mrs. Parker, what an honor to see you again.”
The older woman carefully disengaged herself from his grip. Despite the mellow cast of lamplight streaming around her shoulders, the frosty texture of her eyes was evident. In fact, the woman had the nerve to wipe her knuckled against her skirt as if he’d somehow fouled them.
Billy had always thought that Miriam Parker was a bit of a dragon, but she’d never interfered in his relationship with her daughter. Now she appeared
reluctant to talk with him at all, as if his more humble beginnings were beneath her dignity. But he soon realized Miriam Parker’s reasons for avoiding him had nothing to do with pride … and everything to do with simple dislike.
Hoping to cajole her from her mood, he affected a boyish grin. “My, but you’re looking lovely today, ma’am. As fresh as—”
“My daughter isn’t here.”
Billy’s words snagged in his throat when Miriam’s voice fairly vibrated with disdain. Once again he smiled. “Then you won’t mind if I take it upon myself to wait here.”
“You misunderstand, Mr. Wicks. My daughter has gone abroad.”
“Abroad?” Billy frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“My daughter has gone abroad,” the woman repeated, offering Billy nothing more.
“Perhaps I could impose upon you to tell me when she is expected to return.”
“My daughter will not be returning.”
Billy straightened in disbelief even as Mrs. Parker began to close the door. His palm slapped against the polished wood to keep her from locking him out.
“You’re lying! Ginny wouldn’t have left without telling me.”
“Then perhaps you should have been here these past few weeks, Mr. Wicks. If you had, I’m sure she would have told you a great number of things.” Her voice dripped with frost, and she glared pointedly at his restraining hand. “And now I must insist that you leave.”
Billy caught the insulting tone in her words, but before he could react, Miriam Parker had shut him out of the house. Even then it took several long moments for him to adjust. Virginia had gone—left him—without so much as a word. Damn her! Why?
Sensing that Miriam Parker stood on the other side of the door, Billy growled and strode down the walk. The gate thumped shut behind him, and his horse shied, but he paid the animal no mind. Instead he swung into the buggy and grasped the reins.
“I’ll find her,” Billy vowed to himself as he took one last look at the Parker home. “I will find her.”
Inside the house Miriam faltered. Seeing the older woman stumble, Bridget McClure hurried from where she’d been standing next to the staircase and helped Miriam toward a chair.
“I’m fine, Bridget, I’m fine.”
“Yer not fine, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.” Bridget assisted her employer back into the drawing room. “I’ll just go fetch y’ some tea.”
“Bridget.” Miriam clutched the girl’s arm with a strength that belied the pallor of her skin. “You mustn’t say anything to Mr. Parker about Billy Wicks’s visit.”
“No, ma’am. As if I would!”
Miriam tried to smile, but her limbs were still trembling. “Thank you.”
“It’s a sad time indeed, isn’t it, ma’am—what with Miss Virginia runnin’ away from home an’ all? And Billy Wicks wonderin’ where she could be.” She broke off and leaned over to pat Miriam’s shoulder. “I’ll just fetch y’ that cup o’ tea.”
Bridget bustled out of the room, and Miriam stared sightlessly at the sun streaming through the windows. Yes, it was a sad time. Although Virginia had only been living at home for a short while, the house felt so empty without her. So bleak.
But there’d been no alternative. After Miriam had found her daughter sick and crying about what Billy Wicks had done to her, there had been no other way to avoid a scandal than for Miriam to send her daughter away. Again.
Miriam pushed herself to her feet, moving toward the window that looked onto the street. For the last nineteen years she had been sending her daughter away—to the nursery, to school, on tours of the Continent—when all she’d really wanted was for Ginny to be near her.
But Herbert Parker had been a difficult man to please. He’d never forgiven Miriam for the fact that she had given him a daughter but had never given him a son. So in order to protect Ginny from Herbert’s cold disapproval Miriam had lived away from her own flesh and blood, waiting for those infrequent days when she and Ginny could spend some time together.
It would be better for all concerned, she thought, if Herbert never discovered where Ginny had gone, or why. Miriam would live with the lie that her daughter had run away. She would even insist on clearing out her daughter’s belongings in a fit of mourning, when in fact she would ship them West.
One day she would find a way to tell Herbert the truth. In the meantime, at least Ginny had a chance at happiness.
Miriam restlessly brushed at a piece of lint upon the curtain. The Ghants were good people. Ginny was better off with a man from a family like that Much better. Otherwise she would have become tangled in a trap with a cold-hearted man like Billy Wicks.
Chapter 4
Ginny folded the last of her clothing into the carpetbag at the foot of the bed and straightened. She became overtly aware of the intimacy of the room: the brass bed, the gleaming highboy, the battle-scarred armoire. Tonight she would not sleep alone.
Drawing back the quilt and fresh-smelling sheets, she slipped into the bed, damning the myriad of squeaks and groans that accompanied each movement. Already she could feel a betraying heat flood her cheeks, then an answering chill. Unlike most young brides, she knew what would happen to her, she knew what intimacies Orrin would perform. And heaven help her, she hoped she could see it through.
She sought to banish the image of the man in the outer room from her mind. She tried to forget that he was so tall, so broad. Most of all, she tried to forget the brooding intensity she’d seen in his eyes just before she’d come into the bedroom to change.
“See to the loving the first night, Ginny.”
Denying the memory, Ginny concentrated instead on the rain outside. But she couldn’t ignore that she’d grown cold as ice, that her limbs shook. She just wanted the night to be over.
Over.
In the sitting room Orrin propped a hand against the window jamb and stared out into the storm. He knew Ginny was in bed. Long ago he’d heard the splash of water in the wash set and the rustle of her clothing, followed some time later by the rattle of the bed. Then nothing.
When he’d agreed to Ruby’s hasty plan he hadn’t really thought about his wedding—or his wedding night, for that matter. In fact, he’d thought of little more than having someone to tend his children, cook his meals, and care for his home. He was slowly coming face-to-face with the fact that he had married a woman, not hired a servant. As a husband he had been endowed with certain rights and privileges.
With Jesse, he hadn’t pondered on whether he intended to consummate their union. He’d known her for years before they’d married. She’d been the first girl he’d met after he and his father had journeyed to Utah. Her parents had owned a farmhouse on the outskirts of Ogden when Ogden had been little more than a cluster of homes and a feed store. Orrin and Frank Ghant had stopped to water their horses, and she’d stepped onto the porch, her eyes bright and inquisitive.
Even now Orrin didn’t know why he’d married her. She hadn’t been terribly pretty or smart. But she’d known how to cook and clean, and at the time she’d been one of the few girls without a wedding band on her finger.
But Jesse was gone now.
And he was married once again.
His new wife was beautiful, desirable. He rubbed a thumb against the moist, chilly pane of glass. Was it wrong to want to share the closeness of a female again? Was it wrong to want to touch a woman’s soft skin? He’d been denied those things for so long. And he’d been faithful to Jesse—to her and to their vows.
Instinctively he knew his new bride needed time—and he was willing to give it to her. Somehow he would find a way to spend the night lying next to her, breathing her scent, feeling her warmth, without succumbing to the need to touch her.
That was something he’d grown used to doing with Jesse. He’d lain next to his first wife for months before he’d been able to woo her into making love with him. And even after that she hadn’t liked it much. It was a miracle they’d managed to create three ch
ildren.
But damn, his body craved the touch of a woman.
Growling in disgust at his own thoughts, Orrin turned away from the window and went toward the door. He’d stripped off everything but his union suit, and now he wished that he’d at least left on his trousers—but they’d been filthy and unfit for sleeping.
The doorknob turned easily, and Orrin stepped into the bedroom. Since the lamp had been doused, he could barely see the shape of the bed, let alone the figure lying on its extreme outer edge.
Moving as quietly as he could, Orrin tiptoed inside, swearing softly when his toe caught the wooden caster of the highboy.
“Damn it!”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m fine.” He hopped and hobbled the rest of the way to the bed. There he paused, wiping his sweaty palms down the legs of his union suit.
“You cold?” he asked, trying to delay the inevitable.
“No.”
“Because I could get you a quilt.”
“No. Thank you.”
When the silence settled about them more heavily than any quilt, Orrin pulled back the covers and slid inside. As his weight dipped into the ticking he felt the resistance caused by the body lying next to him. For a moment he didn’t move. The heat of Ginny’s skin seeped into his side. He couldn’t see her clearly in the darkness, but he could tell that she was wearing something soft and frilly and feminine.
“It’s been a hell of a day, hasn’t it?” he said into the quiet. Then he realized he probably shouldn’t have cursed. Not in front of his new wife. Not on their wedding night.
“Yes. Yes, it has been … quite a day.”
Ginny lay as stiff as a poker. But he still wanted to touch her. Just once.
Orrin struggled for control. He tried to ignore the silky tangle of her hair. He tried to think of anything but—
Sniff.
Damn, she was crying!
“Ginny, I’m not going to touch you.”
“Why not?”
Orrin’s head reared from the pillow, and he turned to stare at her in disbelief.
