With a swish of satin, Sarah stepped out of her dress. Nicholas untied a petticoat, and she discarded it. “How many of these do you have on?” he asked.
“Two more,” she said, and he grinned as she removed them.
His fingers went to work in her hair, removing the cluster of white flowers, finding pins and plucking them out. At last he had them all, and the mass fell across her shoulders.
He turned her back to him, but dropped his hands to his sides. “This,” his said, his voice a deep vibration, “is the way I’ve wanted to see you.”
He didn’t have to tell her she was beautiful. His eyes said it for him. To her surprise, he sank to his knees. One at a time he unbuttoned her shoes and drew them off while she steadied herself with her hands on his broad shoulders.
He glided his palms up her calves and inside the legs of her drawers to untie the ribbons on her garters. He removed each stocking slowly, brushing behind her knees gently, skimming her ankles, and setting the path on fire.
He stood again, seducing her with a lazy smile. Anticipation tingled along her skin and up her spine. A new kind of longing spread a surge of warmth on the inside, a bold urgency she hadn’t been prepared for.
Without unbuttoning it, she drew her satin corset cover up and off, tossing it aside. Nicholas reached for her corset hooks, a perceptible trembling in his fingers. The garment met the same fate as the last, and with incredible gentleness, he untied her chemise, leaving her standing in only her white silk drawers.
“I thought we’d never get all those clothes out of the way,” he said. “How does poor William ever wait?”
The air touched her breasts and her ribs where they’d been confined, and Sarah’s skin turned to gooseflesh. He caressed her breasts. “You’re skin is like touching silk.”
Self-conscious but eager, Sarah closed her eyes and concentrated on the exquisite sensation of his hands on her flesh. Too soon, his touch disappeared, and she opened her eyes.
He removed his boots and held his hand out to her. She took it and he led her to his massive bed, where he pulled back the counterpane. Sarah contemplated the white sheets, the mound of pillows, and the ornately carved headboard, and a thread of apprehension squeezed her heart.
She was his wife now. He’d married her for better or for worse. He’d pledged his love and his fidelity. And she was so undeserving.
As though sensing her hesitation, he pulled her to sir beside him and held her face in one palm, his mahogany eyes asking the question for him.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“You know I won’t hurt you,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed with me. I’m afraid you—” She drew a shaky breath past the lump in her throat. She’d been a disappointment to her father from the day she was born. It seemed no matter what she’d done or how hard she’d tried, she’d never done anything to please him. Or make him love her.
Obviously, she hadn’t pleased Gaylen, either, or he wouldn’t have turned tail and run at the first mention of commitment.
“I’m afraid you’ll be sorry.”
“Sarah,” he said, and pulled her head to rest against his bare shoulder. “I will not be disappointed or sorry. I love you.”
Twisting at the waist, she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his wide shoulders, clenching a fist in his hair. Yes, he loved her. Nicholas loved her. She didn’t have to do anything to make him love her. His love was hers already.
He loved her.
He wanted her.
He feathered his fingertips up her sides. She curved her upper body away from his without releasing him, so he could reach her breasts. He ran his thumbs back and forth across the tips.
Sarah bracketed his face and kissed him hard.
His tongue teased at her until she met it with her own. This kiss was wild and hot and daring, and she hadn’t imagined the emancipation a husband would bring. Excitement rushed though her—she was going to love being this man’s wife!
She never had to hide her feelings from him again. She never had to worry what anyone would think.
At once it seemed so natural to be here like this with him, to feel this incredible need to be closer, to have more, to have it all.
She followed his lead as he urged her to stretch out on the soft mattress, as he removed their last pieces of clothing and the entire length of his hard, hot male body molded against her side. Nothing lay between them now, not clothing, not miles, not lies. His mouth, hot and velvety on her breasts, created a rush of sensation deep inside her. His fingers touching her within fired a depth of want that had her quivering.
She strove to give him pleasure in return, eager to learn every column and plane of his body, to learn the sleek rough textures so delightfully different from her own. He rewarded her with seductive short-breathed sounds and reckless, passion-inflaming kisses.
Sarah’s body and emotions were strung so tightly, a little sob escaped her throat.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in a husky voice.
She gave a quick shake of her head, as confused as he. “Nothing. I don’t know.”
Beneath him, her body trembled.
“Tears aren’t the release you need, love.” He rose above her then, and joined their bodies with slow, measured ease.
Sarah closed her eyes, arched toward him and reveled in the heat, the wonder, the pleasure.
“Ah, you’re beautiful,” he praised, setting her heart to thrumming and their bodies to straining with sleek thrusts.
An unexpected wave of fulfillment spread from the point where their bodies were joined to each of Sarah’s limbs. The sensation took her breath away and brought a cry to her lips.
Nicholas closed the space between them, gathering her close, kissing her neck, her eyelids, her lips, and finally shuddering against her with swift thrusts and a deep groan of release.
Sarah feathered the damp hair from his temples and held him close. Their hearts, pressed against each other, beat in a frantic rhythm, and gradually slowed.
He slid his hip to the mattress to spare her his weight, one arm and thigh resting on her, and stroked her ribs with his thumb.
He was too much of a gentleman to ask, but she wanted him to know, so she said, “It was never like this before.”
Lazily, he kissed her neck and palmed her breast.
“With William’s father, I mean. It was all quite embarrassing and…”
He tipped his face up to look at her. “You can say it.”
He didn’t need her to stoke his ego. But she never wanted him to wonder. “I think I was drawn to him because he was forbidden. My father had given me choices. He wasn’t one of them. I learned why the hard way.”
Nicholas kissed the swell of her breast.
“I can’t say I’m sorry, Nicholas. Because I love William so very much.”
“I know.”
“I just want you to know that it wasn’t like this.”
“I know that, too.”
She moved her hand to his, and he entwined their fingers.
“I vowed to love and honor and cherish you today,” he said. “But I also vow to love and cherish William. He is my son, Sarah. From this day on.”
A rush of tears blurred her vision. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he rolled them to their sides to hold her tightly.
“You taught me how to love, Sarah,” he said into her hair. “You showed me that everyone has a right to his own choices. I promise you that William—and any other children we have together—will be allowed to make their own choices, fulfill their own dreams. I won’t try to mold them into the people I want them to be. I made that mistake with Stephen.”
She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. “Everyone makes mistakes. You haven’t held mine against me. You haven’t blamed me for Stephen’s death.”
“Because you’re not responsible for Stephen’s death,” he said insistently. “You told me Stephen would have done exactly what he wanted t
o, no matter what I’d done or said.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the fact that he wasn’t in his compartment that night doesn’t mean he would have lived if you hadn’t been there. No one can know that. You can’t hold yourself responsible any more than I can.”
She sighed. “You already knew how to love, Nicholas,” she said. “You loved Stephen, and I’ve seen how much you love Leda.”
“I’ll probably make more mistakes before we’re old and gray,” he said with a wry smile. “But you’ll help me keep my focus,” he predicted. “Won’t you, Mrs. Halliday?”
Sarah’s smile came from her heart, a heart so full, she didn’t know how she could contain it all. “I certainly will, Mr. Halliday. I certainly will.”
Epilogue
Mahoning Valley, Ohio
July 1870
Sarah tucked eight-week-old Harris Templeton Halliday into the buggy that sat in the shade and turned just in time to see William toddling away down the grassy slope toward the picnic festivities.
Nicholas captured him and, planting him securely on his shoulders, carried him back to where Sarah had spread a quilt. “I think your mama wants you to take a nap,” he said, running up the hill and bouncing William until he laughed.
“He’ll never sleep if you shake up his lunch.” Hannah laughed from her spot on the next blanket where she had convinced Amanda to lie down.
“Lie down there with Amanda,” Nicholas told him gently, but firmly, handing him to Hannah.
“A kiss, Papa!” William said with his chubby arms open wide.
Nicholas kissed him soundly and tousled his wheat-toned head of hair.
“You need to rest, too,” he said to his wife, wrapping his arms around her and gazing into the buggy at their son.
“I’m just fine,” she said, and leaned back into his strong embrace.
“I know you are, but sit and rest anyway.”
She did as he requested, and he brought her lemonade. “You didn’t spend this much time with me at last year’s picnic,” she said with a smile.
“You weren’t my wife last year.”
“But aren’t you missing out on the fun?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t miss out on anything anymore.”
She sipped her lemonade.
Mary and Elissa dropped by with slices of pie and admired Harris. Elissa wanted to hold him, and Mary finally had to carry her off, promising her a game.
A little while later Milos strode toward them, his shirt-sleeves rolled back, his face colored by the afternoon sun.
“How’s the new one?” he asked.
“As sweet and even-tempered as his father,” Sarah replied with a grin.
“Looks like him, too,” Milos said.
“Yes, he’s a handsome one,” she agreed.
“Is Amanda sleeping?” he asked.
Both William and Amanda had fallen asleep, his curly blond head contrasting with her straight dark-haired one, and the summer breeze entwined a few strands. Hannah looked up at Milos, and then over at her employers, a blush tingeing her cheeks.
“We’ll sit with Amanda while she naps,” Nicholas assured her. “Go have some fun.”
Hannah gave him an appreciative smile and stood.
“I’ll see you for the tug-of-war,” Milos said to Nicholas.
“You’ll see me win this year,” he replied.
Milos grinned, and he and Hannah wandered toward the games.
Sarah remembered how new everything had been to her and how much fun she’d found the activities last year. Today Hannah was no doubt learning new things about the community, her employer and Milos.
“Have you seen Mother?” Nicholas asked.
“Oh, yes. She and her quilting troop have an adviser this year.”
“An adviser? What’s that?”
“Well, it seems many of the women weren’t coordinating with their stitches, and they needed someone to—”
“Don’t tell me. Celia is down there telling them all how their quilts should be sewn.”
“Precisely. But no one seems to mind. She won them all over with that wedding dress she made for one of the workers’ daughters last spring.”
Nicholas lay back and tucked his hands beneath his head. “I have a surprise for you.”
“You always have a surprise for me.” She threaded his hair back from his temples with her fingers. “What have you bought me now?”
“I haven’t bought you anything.”
“Really? What is it, then?”
“I think I need a kiss to remember.”
She lowered her lips to his and kissed him gently. When she pulled back, his dark eyes were filled with the bountiful love she always saw there. “Did that help?”
“I might need another one.”
She kissed him again.
He smiled.
“What is it?” she asked.
“We’re going to Virginia to visit the Kleymanns this fall.”
“We are?”
He nodded.
“Oh, Nicholas, that will be wonderful! Is this a business trip?”
“Partially. But I will have plenty of time to sightsee with you and the boys. We can take Mrs. Trent, and that way you can do a few things with Kathryn, too.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He gazed up at her, ran his fingers over her cheek and tugged on a curl that lay against her neck. “I look forward to every day now that you’re part of my life,” he said. “Not a minute goes by that I’m not grateful to Stephen for bringing us together.”
“And Claire,” she added.
“And Claire.”
Something in his heart warmed and blossomed…as it did each time Sarah smiled.
* * * * *
CHERYL ST. JOHN
Cheryl St. John is pleased to be included among Harlequin Historicals’ talented lineup of authors! Since her March Madness debut and RITA nomination for Rain Shadow in 1994, her books have continued to please readers and garner glowing reviews.
The Mistaken Widow is her sixth historical novel. She has also published two Silhouette Intimate Moments and one Yours Truly. Watch for For This Week I Thee Wed coming soon!
eISBN: 978-14592-6132-7
THE MISTAKEN WIDOW
Copyright © 1998 by Cheryl Ludwigs
All rights reserved. Except for use In any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Printed In U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Praise
Title Page
Dedication
Excerpt
Other Books By
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Six
teen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About The Author
Copyright
Cheryl St. John Page 27
