Hunter grasped Alexandra's arm. "Why don't you two discuss this tomorrow. Right now, we need you down the hall, Jon."
"Christ! I'm not marrying her. What do you need me for?"
"Witness." Hunter started for the door, taking Alexandra with him. "I want this wedding legal and binding. You can be my best man if you like."
Jon followed them, trying to reason with Hunter. "You're making a big mistake. You'll regret it in the morning."
Hunter flashed him a lopsided grin over one shoulder. "But I'll have had one hell of a night, won't I!"
"Have one hell of a night here." Jon hooked a thumb in the direction of the twins. "Take one, take both. All to yourself. I'll sleep in the hall."
"I'm going to marry her." Hunter started down the narrow, dark hallway with Alexandra in tow. "You're not going to stop me, Jon."
"But I don't want to marry you," Alexandra protested.
"You're not going to stop me either."
Jon groaned, running to keep up. "Is this out of a sense of guilt, Hunter? Is that it? Because if it is—"
"Shut up, Jon!"
"Hunter—"
"You with me, Jon?" Hunter never broke stride, but his tone was steely. "You going to help me out here? Because if you're not, you can go back to the twins. My mind is made up. It has nothing to do with the past. I'm going to marry her with or without your blessing. I just wanted you to be there."
"I'm not dressed. And damn, it's cold out here!" Jon slapped his bare chest.
"I can't believe you're going to go along with this, Jon," Alexandra argued. "I can't believe you're going to let him force me into marriage!"
Jon shrugged as the three entered the dim light of Alexandra's bedchamber. "What can I say, sweetheart? Hunter's the best friend I have in the world. The only one that's saved my life. If he wants to get married, I'll be here to witness it."
Alexandra saw the reverend standing near the fireplace in a flannel nightrobe warming his hands. An ominous sheet of onion-skin along with a quill and ink bottle lay on the small table by the bed.
"I can't believe this is happening," she muttered, dizzy with fear.
Hunter rested his arm around her waist and ushered her toward the reverend. "A witness! A bit of paper to sign." Hunter slapped his bare chest. "Damn well sounds like a marriage to me!"
Alexandra covered her face with her hands. What need was there to fight him? To fight any of them? They were going to do what they wanted with her. Wasn't that always the way with men?
Hunter made a motion for the ceremony to begin and the reverend started to chant his obligatory words. Alexandra was so numb she couldn't think. She squirmed to get away, but Hunter held her fast. When the sorry excuse for a man of the cloth got to the point where it was necessary for the bride to give her sanction, Alexandra pressed her lips tightly together. They might marry her against her will, but be damned if she would consent to anything! But Hunter gave her a sharp prod in the side and she gave an involuntary squeak.
The minister took that to be a sign of her approval.
When they arrived at the part in the ceremony where the groom was to provide a wedding band, the minister started to pass over it, but Hunter stopped him.
"No wait! I've a ring."
Alexandra watched in total astonishment as he pulled the copper ring from his earlobe and, grasping her shaking hand, slipped it over her ring finger.
"And with this ring, I thee wed . . ."
Hunter's voice was still ringing in her ears as he led her to the table to sign the document. He signed with a scrawl of illegible names and then pressed the quill into her hands.
"Be damned if I'll sign," she muttered from clenched teeth.
Hunter grabbed her hand and guided it across the onion-skin page making a X on the appropriate line. "She doesn't write," he explained to the minister.
"Don't write! How dare you—"
Hunter clamped his mouth down on hers, refusing to budge until she thought she would suffocate. When he withdrew, she was gasping for breath. "Didn't yet kiss the bride, did I?" he remarked. "Now if you'll excuse us, gentlemen, my wife and I would like to become better acquainted. I'll bring payment to your room on the morrow, good Reverend." Hunter snatched up the still-wet document and handed it over Alexandra's head to Jon. "Take this for safe-keeping and lock us in, will you?" He grinned at Jon.
"You're going to regret this," Jon muttered, following the minister out the door. "You know you are."
"Good night," Hunter called. "Don't expect us early. We'll get on the trail after we break the fast." He gave a wave.
Jon stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. It was not until Alexandra heard the bolt slide that Hunter finally let her loose.
"To us, wife," he said, lifting a pewter mug of ale apparently left by the minister. "May our days together number many and our sons more."
Alexandra swung her fist and knocked the mug from his hand, splattering the contents across his bare chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Hunter slammed the mug down on the table and touched his bare, broad chest. Foamy ale ran in rivulets to the waistline of his broadcloth breeches. "Damnation woman! What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" She took a step toward him, too angry to be afraid of him. The weight of the copper band on her finger was heavy. "What's wrong with me? You just forced me to marry you and you ask what's wrong with me?"
He grabbed from a chair the dress she'd worn that evening and began wiping the ale off himself. "I've heard nothing from you for weeks but prattle about how you have to have a husband. I provide you with one and you're hot with me!"
"You didn't provide me with a husband! You married me yourself!"
He shrugged, throwing the dress to the floor in a damp heap. "What's the difference? You're a respectably married woman now. A bride with her maidenhead still intact! A rarity indeed in London society!"
She balled her fists, bringing them to her face in frustration. "You're missing the point!"
He shook his head, wide-eyed. "And just what is the point, pray tell?"
"The point is," she spoke slowly, as if to a child, "that the marriage was not of my choosing."
"And what?" he scoffed. "You chose the last two men who dumped you?"
She thrust out her jaw.
"Did you?" he asked.
"No!"
He lifted his hands heavenward. "Then there you have it. Women don't choose their spouses." He pointed an accusatory finger. "But I've got news for you, men don't either. It's all politics. The decisions are left up to the family. A man is lucky if he's ever met his bride when she comes to him at the altar! Then dog-faced or old as his mother, he's stuck with her the rest of his born days."
The circumstances of her first betrothal flashed before her. It was true enough. Their families had drawn up the betrothal papers. Geoffry Rordan had never laid eyes on her. She, at least, had had the opportunity to see him close enough to know he wasn't infirm or disfigured. He, on the other hand, had never had that option. Geoffry Rordan was to have met her at the betrothal party. It had never occurred to her until this moment how unfair that was to both of them.
Alexandra turned away. She was so angry, so confused. She didn't know what to say.
"At least we've met each other, Alexandra," Hunter said, his tone softening. "We've talked together. We've laughed together. We've spent enough time together to know that we at least have a fighting chance at being happy with each other." He came toward her and she felt his hand on the curve of her shoulder. "We know that despite our differences we can make each other's blood boil with a single kiss. That's a hell of a good start to a marriage, I'd say."
When he turned her around so that she was facing him, she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to admit that somewhere in his senseless words was a tiny thread of truth. She didn't want to admit, even to herself, that somewhere deep inside she was excited by the thought of being married
to this wild, unpredictable, virile man.
"Kiss me, Alex," he said softly, lifting her chin with the tip of his finger.
"No," she whispered, her eyes still shut. "I'm still mad at you. You should have asked me."
"And what would you have said if I'd gone down on one knee and begged for your hand?"
She lifted her lashes to stare up at him. His breath was warm on her lips. "I'd have said no, of course."
His mouth touched hers. "Of course," he murmured. He grasped her wrists and raised her hands, leaving them to rest on his bare shoulders. "You'd have done the logical thing, the thing a decent Englishwoman would have done. But the path of logic is not always the best path to take. Sometimes you have to follow your gut instinct, remember?" He nibbled at the lobe of her ear. "Sometimes you have to go with your heart."
He kissed her again, but this time she couldn't help herself. She responded. She touched his tongue with the tip of hers. She tasted the ale and the intoxicating flavor of passion on his mouth.
"Ah, sweet Alexandra," he whispered in her ear, bringing his hand up to cup her buttocks through her night robe. "Tell me you'll let me make love to you. Tell me you give your consent."
She brushed her fingertips over his bare chest, still damp with the ale she'd splashed on him. She was fascinated by the hardness of his muscles and the crispness of the dark red hair sprinkled across his chest.
"Tell me," he whispered, pressing his mouth to the hollow of her neck. "Let me love you, Wife. Let me teach you the ways of a man and woman. Let me show pleasure you've never known."
Her hand fell to his hard, muscular buttocks and she kneaded them as he had kneaded hers. She leaned back as he kissed a trail down between her breasts, peeling away an inch of dressing gown at a time.
"Tell me," he repeated.
"Yes," she heard herself say in a voice so filled with sensuality that she didn't recognize it as her own. "Yes, love me. Show me."
With one sudden movement he swept her into his arms and carried her to the narrow bed. He laid her down and then, drawing the candle closer on the small table he slid in the bed and stretched out beside her, his hand gliding over her quivering body.
"Blow out the candle," she whispered. She could feel her cheeks burning. She'd said yes. She'd given her consent. There was no turning back now.
"No, no," he murmured in her ear. "Making love is an act meant not just to feel, but to see, to hear." He brought his mouth to hers, sliding his hand down the curve of her side. "Now lie back and relax. I'll not rush you. We've all night."
Following his instructions, she relented and lay back on the soft goosedown tick. She pushed all thoughts of fear or embarrassment far from her mind. She was married now, wasn't she? She had a right to take her pleasure with her husband.
Hunter slowly opened her nightrobe to her waist, then untying the drawstring bodice of her shift, he pushed aside the delicate material and brought his mouth down to take her nipple. He teased the pink nub with the tip of his tongue and she arched her back, sighing softly.
She ran her fingers through his shoulder-length red hair, still intensely aware of the copper ring she wore on her finger. As waves of pleasure washed over her the word husband echoed again and again in her head.
When Hunter pulled the nightclothes off her shoulders and slipped them down around her ankles, she made no protest. The caress of his labor-roughened hands felt too good against her flesh. His kisses were too enticing. All that mattered now was the stroke of his hand and the soft, tender endearments he whispered in her ear.
He caressed her with his fingertips, flesh barely brushing flesh, sending chills of anticipation through her veins. When he wove a trail across her flat stomach toward the bed of soft curls below, she stiffened involuntarily, but he kissed softly, whispering assurances. Against her will, she felt her muscles relax. She had never known such exquisite pleasure.
When Hunter slipped off the edge of the bed to drop his breeches, she opened her eyes to watch him by the light of the candle. A smile played on her lips as she watched him lower the broadcloth material to reveal to evidence of his ardor.
Perhaps she should have been shocked by the sight of his engorged member. She'd heard enough servant chatter to know that some delicate women were known to faint at such a sight, but to her, at this moment, he was shamelessly beautiful.
He smiled a silly smile as he climbed back into the bed and lowered himself over her. "Not as shy as you thought," he teased.
She lifted her hips to meet his, shifting beneath him until she felt his hardness pressing against her woman's mound. A sweet, burning, aching had spread through her, an aching she knew only he could ease.
Hunter pressed his hips to hers in a rhythmic motion again and again, covering her face, her neck, her breasts with soft, fleeting kisses.
How perfectly our bodies mold together, she thought, as she spread her legs in what seemed a most natural gesture. How flawless this act of love between a man and a woman.
"I've tried to control my lust," he rasped in her ear, "but I'm sorely getting ahead of myself." He brushed his lips against her cheek. "Are you ready, sweeting?"
Alexandra could feel her heart pounding. No matter how fast she breathed, she seemed unable to fill her lungs. "I'm ready," she answered.
With the aid of his hand he parted her soft folds and slipped inside her. Her first reaction was one of surprise. "Oh," she murmured. She had expected pain or at least discomfort. There was none, only an overpowering sensation of a task yet to be completed.
"You all right?" he whispered.
"Yes, yes . . ." Instinctively she lifted her hips to accommodate him.
Hunter was breathing heavily in her ear now. She could feel his heart pounding. Slowly he moved, rising and falling, filling her.
"Hunter," she called, lifting her hands behind her head, writhing in the ecstasy of his well-timed movements.
"Alex, sweet Alex," he crooned.
Time seemed to stand still as she felt her skin grow flushed with excitement. Higher and higher her expectations rose. Faster and faster they moved, once separate, now rising and falling as one. She felt herself sinking her fingernails into the flesh of his back, driving herself harder against him, all thought but to reach some unreachable pinnacle gone from her head.
Then, without warning she lifted up in a cry of ultimate ecstasy. She was so surprised by the sudden, violent pleasure that her eyelids flew open. There was Hunter, staring down at her . . . smiling.
He was laughing, softly, all-knowingly. He gave her a moment to rest and then he began to move again. Alexandra clung to him, moving with him, wanting to give him the same joy he had given her. Finally with one long thrust he groaned, burying his face in her hair that spilled across the pillow. Then his movement ceased and nothing could be heard but their erratic breathing.
After what seemed a long time to Alexandra, Hunter lifted off her and rolled onto his side, drawing her into his arms. When he spoke he sounded sleepy but content. "With a wedding night like this, I'm going to have to work hard to best it," he murmured.
She smoothed his stubbled cheek with her fingertips, wanting to hold on forever to the feeling she had at this moment. "So this was a decent first effort, hmm?" She was as pleased with herself as she was with him, certain she had given as well as taken pleasure.
"Damned decent." He lifted up, kissed her soundly on the mouth and then rested his head on her pillow again. "Now cease the chatter and sleep, Wife. Give me a little rest and perhaps in the morning I'll show you a trick or two."
Alexandra raised her hand. The candle had nearly burned out and was now sputtering in its wooden stand. But even in the semidarkness she could make out the outline of the copper wedding band on her finger. She lowered her hand to his bare chest and closed her eyes, snuggling against his shoulder. She wouldn't think now of the consequences of tonight's events. She was too exhausted, too utterly satisfied.
There would be time enough in the morning fo
r regrets.
Seated at a table, Hunter rested his forehead on the heel of his hand and slid his mug out to be refilled with thick, dark coffee. The serving girl, Martha, filled it to the brim and backed up and out of his way. He took a loud slurp.
Jon entered the room dressed in a freshly ironed linen shirt complete with a stock, and a pair of durable but finely cut breeches. He carried a coat over one shoulder. "Good morning, lover." He slapped Hunter good-naturedly on the shoulder and plopped down beside him. "What you drinking?"
"Coffee."
"Coffee? Gag. Sweetheart!" Jon clicked his fingers, signaling to Martha who was serving breakfast to several soldiers at the other table. "Ale for me and for my friend."
The girl nodded that she'd heard and went on doling out biscuits.
Jon turned his attention back to Hunter seated beside him. "Headache?"
"It's pounding."
"Too much fine fort ale?"
"Too much futtering."
Jon grinned. "But you wanted to marry her," he mimicked. "You knew what you were doing."
Hunter lifted his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd been certain last night that he'd made the right decision in marrying Alexandra. It was the least he could do to make up for leaving her back in London. But this morning, watching her sleep in his arms, her soft hair spilling across his chest, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Not enough time had passed since Laughing Rain's death. It was unfair to Alex . . . unfair to Laughing Rain. "Who said I regret it?"
"You don't sound like the happy bridegroom."
Hunter sipped his coffee. "How many happy bridegrooms have you known in your life?"
The serving girl brought two ales and a plate of fresh-baked biscuits. Jon picked up one and dipped it in his ale. "So just tear up the evidence. It's safe in my pack. Tell her it was a joke." He bit down on the soggy bread.
Hunter refused the ale Jon slid toward him. "I wouldn't do that to her."
"Damnation." Jon took another bite of his biscuit. "Must have been one hell of a wedding night."
His Wild Heart Page 15
