Cactus Flower smiled gratefully. “I would like that. It was the only sadness I felt when I offered to bring the horses back.”
“And you can help me with the wedding plans. Olga did tell you?”
Cactus Flower giggled, and Miguel grinned. “In that case, I’ll leave you two ladies to it. I’ve got a meeting with an old friend I haven’t seen in a while.” Whistling, he headed off toward the barn.
Arm in arm, the women headed toward the house, both of them talking at once.
• ♥ •
The wedding day dawned with blue skies, sunshine, and a zephyr breeze. The ranch wives decorated a Maypole with fresh prairie grasses, meadow flowers and ribbons. Olga persuaded farmwives from neighboring homesteads to help her with the food. From the kitchen came the smells of fresh bread and country pies, and from the massive pits near the patio, Olaf oversaw the roasting of steer, javelina, and deer.
Guests began arriving in mid-afternoon, even though Elizabeth had opted for a candlelight ceremony. While the garrison remained on alert, every soldier not on duty had been invited, as well as the townsfolk of Village Creek and Johnson Station. The Rangers were there, of course: Tate-Johnson, and Echols, Parker, Turner and Farrar. To Elizabeth’s surprise, the grandson of José Antonio Navarro, who had signed the Texas Declaration of Independence from Santa Anna’s Mexico, arrived from San Antonio. Governor Bell sent his regards, as well.
Lily arrived with several of her “ladies” late in the afternoon and checked into rooms above the saloon in Johnson Station, much to the delight of the single men in the group. Miguel sent word to Elizabeth not to be shocked when she arrived at the church. She smiled when she got the note. She knew how much Miguel valued Lily’s friendship, and she had grown fond of the older woman, too.
Outside the hacienda was a blur of movement. Elizabeth watched the activities from her upstairs window for both Olga and Cactus Flower were adamant Miguel not see her before the service. She stepped away from the window as Miguel looked up from the courtyard.
Just a few more hours, and he would be hers. The rumors that Miss Parsons had tried to start had been quickly squelched as Miguel promised. A little talk from the school board had convinced the schoolmarm to cease her efforts. Still Tate-Johnson was going to make sure she didn’t attend the service although there wasn’t much they could do about the wedding dance in town that evening.
Elizabeth soaked in the warm, rose-scented water, hoping to calm her jittered nerves. Thoughts of lying naked with Miguel sent rivers of fire jettisoning through her body and yet—she had seen the size of his manhood. Would she really be able to take all of him? She desperately didn’t want him to be disappointed. Virginity was expected in the nineteenth century, but ironically, Elizabeth wished she was more experienced.
Cactus Flower interrupted her thoughts to do her hair and she had no more time to worry. Olga arrived to help her slip into the yards and yards of filmy ivory silk, trimmed with Venetian lace. It was an exquisite gown that two of the town’s most skilled seamstresses had spent days on, but Elizabeth was not quite sure how she would breathe in it, for Cactus Flower had managed to cinch the corset an extra two inches so her waist looked nearly as small as the legendary Scarlett O’Hara’s. But when the veil was placed on her head and she looked in the mirror, she decided the torture was worth it. Her dream was finally coming true.
They walked down the stairs to where Olaf waited with the surrey. Miguel had ridden on ahead to wait for her at the church. Just as Elizabeth was opening the door, Cactus Flower halted.
“I almost forgot. Just a minute.” She rushed up the stairs to her room and returned moments later, holding a dream catcher.
“This is for you. My father made it himself as a peace offering.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said as she held it up. It was larger and heavier than the one her students had given her and done in dark leather with black and red beads. Three black raven feathers hung from the bottom part of the ring. Overall, it had almost an ominous feel to it. She gave herself a little shake. That was ridiculous. Dream catchers were supposed to catch bad dreams. The Shaman had crafted it to make amends. She smiled at Cactus Flower. “It’s beautiful. Just let me put it in Miguel’s room and I’ll be right back.”
A short time later, as the carriage wheels crunched to a stop near the church, Elizabeth drew a shaky breath and peered out the window. Where was Miguel? There were so many people. She couldn’t find him anywhere. She spotted Lily and some of her girls, already being friendly to the men.
And then Miguel was there, helping her down. He looked magnificent, dressed formally in broadcloth black breeches and spats, a gray pin-stripe waistcoat, stiff collar shirt and silk ascot. He could have stepped off the cover of Esquire, although his shiny dark hair still fell stubbornly across his forehead. She reached up and brushed it back.
He stared at her for a moment with something akin to awe. “You’re beautiful, Elizabeth,” he said as he offered his arm. “I don’t suppose I could give you a taste of what’s to come when we can get these clothes off later?”
She knew she was blushing. “Behave yourself.”
He grinned. “Only for a little while.”
Together, they entered the church. To Elizabeth, the ceremony was surrealistic, the priest speaking in Latin, which she didn’t understand. Brooke would have said it had a Faerie feel, the day being Beltane, and all. Perhaps there was magic in the air. Elizabeth knew she’d never been happier. In just a little while, she would be kissing her new husband. Husband! Nothing would ever take her from Miguel’s side.
Thank goodness the priest switched to English for the vows. She wanted to make sure she heard Miguel say the “until death do us part” thing. That would make it real.
She needn’t have worried. The look Miguel gave her as he slipped his mother’s gold wedding ring on her finger said what no words could. She knew from Olga that he hadn’t made the offer of his mother’s ring to Elena.
“I pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said. “You may kiss the bride.”
Miguel raised an eyebrow at her, mischief in his eyes, as he lifted her veil. She knew that look—
He lowered his head to hers and whispered, “Do you want a real kiss, Red?”
She stared at him. Was he talking tongue and all? Here? In church? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lily’s girl, Sharee, watching them. How far would Miguel go?
She handed her bouquet to Cactus Flower and put her arms around Miguel’s neck. “You were saying earlier—”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him in one crushing sweep, his mouth covering hers, ravaging her lips, probing them open for his tongue. His kiss was thorough and deep, and he lingered at the parting. Thank God he was still holding her up, for she had no breath left.
She saw the shocked look on the priest’s face; Olga was trying to look stern, but Olaf was grinning like a schoolboy. “Wow,” Raul said and then the crowd broke into good-natured applause. Miguel kept his arm around her as they ran toward the doorway, getting showered with rice along way.
Outside, he kissed her again, more respectably, and then grinned. “I can see I’ve made a good choice. Perhaps there are some things you can teach me tonight.”
She kept the smile on her face, but her stomach fluttered as anxiety filled her. She’d forgotten how experienced he was and what he would be wanting. Would she know what to do?
Perhaps holding unto her virginity all these years while other women were gaining experience wasn’t such a good thing, after all. Even Edward had not gotten as far as Miguel did the night she was drunk. She entertained a wild notion of trying to find Lily and get a crash course.
She realized Miguel was looking at her quizzically. “You have the strangest expression on your face,” he said. “It makes me think you’re planning on doing all sorts of delicious things to me later.”
She smiled weakly. Oh, dear.
• ♥ •
Rangers
clapped Miguel on the back and told Elizabeth it was about time there was a woman in his life as they stood in the reception line. Olaf and Olga beamed with the joy blood parents would have shown. Lily hugged them both and whispered to Elizabeth that Miguel would treat her right. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she meant in bed or otherwise and found alarmed butterflies battering their wings in her stomach again.
Sharee approached and took Miguel’s hand. “A pity we never got to know each other,” she said, and then looked at Elizabeth. “I think you’re a lucky woman.”
“I know I am,” Elizabeth answered with a big smile. She felt almost giddy. Miguel hadn’t spent that night with Sharee after all! And then Beauregard was there offering congratulations. Sharee gave him a big smile. He promptly extended his arm to her and Elizabeth watched them walk away.
“I don’t think she’ll miss me too much,” Miguel said with a grin.
Elizabeth swatted his arm and they moved on to the dance. The Grand March consisted of one circle of the rather small Town Hall and then Miguel swept her into his arms for a waltz.
“This is one dance that I’m going to have you all to myself,” he said. “No one’s going to cut in.”
Elizabeth sighed contentedly. She could have danced all night, as happy as she was. Unfortunately, a short time later, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Miss Parsons. Did the woman never give up? Miguel had made his displeasure well known, so what was she doing standing there and smiling at him in the middle of a crowded dance floor?
“I know what I did wasn’t right,” she purred to Miguel. Elizabeth was surprised cream didn’t dribble out of her mouth. “Would you forgive me and let me have one dance?”
“I think not, Miss Parsons. I prefer dancing with my wife.”
“Abby! What are you doing here?” Sharee asked as she and Beauregard stopped dancing close to them. “I thought you had followed the gold miners to California.”
The schoolmarm looked decidedly uncomfortable. Miguel frowned. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” Abigail said.
Sharee looked puzzled. “Of course we do. We worked together at Le Céleste in New Orleans, remember?”
“I think you must be mistaken. You’re a prostitute, aren’t you? I don’t associate with them. If you’ll excuse me.” Miss Parsons walked away quickly.
Sharee stared after her. “What’s got her so hoity-toity? Like she’s suddenly too good to talk to me?”
A corner of Miguel’s mouth twitched. “Are you saying that you—uh—were in the same profession in New Orleans?”
“Oui. The house was well known.” She patted her bright hair and then smiled at Beauregard. “She wasn’t as popular as I was, but Abby was much sought after.”
It was too much. Elizabeth nearly doubled over with laughter. All this time, that creature had been pretending to be a schoolteacher—and had been a prostitute. And Miguel had thought she was one when she really was the schoolteacher. What delicious irony! Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes, trying to control another fit of giggles.
Miguel glanced at her, trying to look stern. “It seems we’ve been deluded then. She’s our schoolmarm.”
“Not for long,” Elizabeth tittered and then cleared her throat. She really needed to take this seriously—and then giggled helplessly again.
Sharee gave her a doubtful look and then turned back to Miguel. “I’d no idea Abby had gotten out of the business. I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m glad you did,” Miguel said. “Arrangements will have to be made. For tonight though, everyone needs to enjoy themselves.”
He watched as Beauregard swept Sharee away and then turned to Elizabeth. “Am I going to have to kiss you into behaving?”
“Please do,” Elizabeth said as she smothered another fit of laughter.
Miguel took her at her word, leaving her barely enough air to breath as he conquered her mouth.
• ♥ •
Finding out the truth about Miss Parsons had been most gratifying. The dinner and reception had been lovely, and Olaf had hidden the surrey and horse so she and Miguel could steal away and come back to the hacienda while everyone else was still enjoying the dance in town.
In their bedroom now, she slipped on the black silk and lace gown Miguel had bought her for Christmas and looked at herself in the mirror. Dear Lord. The lace barely covered the lower half of her breasts and the silk was so fine that it clung to her body leaving little to the imagination. She felt suddenly shy—this was it. She really was going to lose her virginity. Wrapping a thick terry robe around herself, she stepped out from behind the dressing screen that Olga had put in Miguel’s bedroom.
He was lying propped up against the headboard, the corner of the sheet draped casually over his nude hip. The long, muscular legs were bare as was his broad chest. Elizabeth tingled in anticipation—and a little dread—of what that bit of cloth covered.
Miguel raised an eyebrow at her attire. “It took you that long back there to put on that?” Then he grinned. “Come here.”
Elizabeth fidgeted with the robe’s belt and her eye caught the dream catcher lying on the dresser. She needed just a little more time to calm her nerves before she got into bed with him. She picked it up. “Let me hang this first.”
“It won’t be catching any dreams tonight, Love. I don’t intend to let you sleep until you’re fully exhausted.”
Elizabeth blushed and tried to ignore the fact that as she knelt on the bed and removed a small picture to replace it with the dream catcher, Miguel was nearly beneath her. Her fingers were shaking. “There,” she finally said as the dream catcher swung from its hook. “All done.”
“We’ve yet to start.” Miguel’s hands circled her waist and brought her down across his lap, cradling her shoulders with one arm as she leaned against him.
He undid the robe with his other hand and slipped it off her shoulders and for a moment he just looked at her, a teasing smile lifting a corner of his sensual mouth. “I knew you’d wear it for me, Red. I was hoping it would be tonight.” He fingered one of the delicate straps. “We’ll play with this later.”
He tilted her chin with his hand and began kissing her face, light butterfly touches to her forehead and eyelids, tracing a pattern along her cheek and down her throat. Elizabeth mewled softly as he nipped gently at the lobe of her ear and moved to the nape of her neck. He brushed her lips with his, teasing her. again and again, until she ached to feel his mouth hard on hers, and demanding. She tried to put her arms around his neck and pull him to her, but he caught both hands in his and held them to his chest.
The first kiss was slow and soft and sensual. He lingered, his mouth playing with her upper lip, then nibbling at the corner before taking her lower lip and sucking it between his. A thousand flames flared in her veins. She needed his tongue. Now.
Sensing her need, his tongue teased her lips before he began to fully explore her mouth, playing with her, pretending to withdraw so she would pursue him, the pressure steadily increasing. Could a man actually make love to a woman’s mouth? Elizabeth panted softly. Apparently, he could.
Somehow, he had lowered her to the bed and was leaning over her. Elizabeth had no idea of when that had happened, but the touch of his hand through the lace sent more tingles pulsating through her. He kneaded a breast, his thumb flicking over the nipple, causing it to bud immediately. Miguel caught the hard tip and rolled it between his fingers, bringing her to another peak of delight.
He slipped one of the straps down and exposed her breast. His warm tongue circled the nipple and darted back and forth across it, the friction sending another wave of sensation washing over her. She shivered slightly as the cool air fanned over her and that adept tongue moved to where her other breast lay exposed. When did that happen? How had he gotten her gown off? He teased the nib slightly, then covered it with his mouth and began to suckle.
Elizabeth whimpered, feeling sudden wetness between her legs as a parallel throbbing
began there. She pressed his head closer to her breast, urging him on, not wanting that delightful feeling to stop.
Miguel cupped her breasts and brought them together, alternating his attention between them. His hand began the long, slow stroking of her torso, the fingers gliding lower to bring the most feathery of touches to the mound of auburn curls and then trailing upward again, only to wander intimately over her ribs and belly and below again. Her body began to tremble. It couldn’t get any better than this!
Could it? Sweet Mary. He kissed a trail down her stomach, stopping to nuzzle and kiss the sensitive area on the abdomen just above her curls. Elizabeth’s stomach did a roller-coaster drop, but before she could gain her breath, he lifted her knee toward him, exposing her womanhood, and nibbled his way down her inner thigh. Virginal instinct kicked in; she brought her other knee over to close her legs.
“Uh-uh,” Miguel said catching her leg and shifting his weight so that he was kneeling between her legs, facing her. “This is where it gets interesting.”
Gets interesting? Gets? She was already weak as a kitten. How—? Oh!!! Miguel spread her legs slowly and then lowered himself to his feast. Gently, his fingers opened her swollen folds and he lapped at her juices, swirling his tongue deep inside of her. He began to lick her with long, slow, flat strokes. The velvety roughness of it made Elizabeth writhe, a moan escaping her lips. Then she gasped as he nibbled her, his mouth hard against her as her body flexed to meet him. She was spiraling upward, lost in sensation, the throbbing between her legs growing in urgency until she felt she was going to explode. And still, he did not stop. She was trembling in earnest now, crying out for him to stop—and not stop. What unbelievable, exquisite torture. And then, just when she was sure she could stand no more, he suckled deep on that jutting tip. Spasms rocked her body as the volcano inside her erupted and spread through her veins like molten lava.
Elizabeth lay panting, feeling her heart pounding harshly. Would she ever be able to breathe normally again? She felt Miguel slide up beside her, his hands caressing her body, and then lightly fondling a breast. As sated as she was, her traitorous body flared to life, the nipple hardening instantly.
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