The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy)

by Geralyn Dawson

  "I shall be a tortoise, sir."

  "Good. I do believe with time I can convince the lady to agree with me." He flashed an irreverent grin and added, "You see, Mr. Franklin, while you're being a tortoise, I am going to be a bull."

  * * *

  Sarah ran up the stairs to her room as if a herd of cattle stampeded at her back. An annulment. She'd signed the petition seeking a marriage annulment.

  She thought she might lose her breakfast.

  Once in her chamber, Sarah took refuge in her bed, pulling rich floral brocade curtains shut, enclosing herself in a private sanctuary where no one could question the tears that threatened to spill.

  It was silly, really. She shouldn't be so upset. She herself had told her husband to send for his attorney. "My husband," she whispered as the first tear slipped from her eye to roll slowly down her cheek. Her husband for a little while yet. After that, she'd no longer be a married lady. She'd be a—what? A spinster? Was there a term for a woman whose marriage had been annulled after a decade?

  Yes. The word was fool. Sarah's lips twisted in a rueful smile. Fool certainly fit. It's what people would say, anyway. Who else but a fool would have been content with a phantom husband all these years?

  Not that anyone would know. She couldn't let that happen. The citizens of Texas—Fort Worth in particular—set great store by the vagaries of luck. Years ago, someone had questioned if hiring a wedding planner whose own marriage was unhappy might prove unlucky for a bride. Sarah had seen no option but to create a few stories about her life with Nick—all right, they were lies—so now she could not possibly go home and announce her marriage had been annulled. An annulment would be as bad for her business as a divorce.

  "Maybe I'll say he died," she mumbled into her pillow. He died and she married someone else. "I'll be Lady Liesalot."

  The tears began to flow faster then as a dozen different emotions bubbled inside her—sadness, confusion, and an odd sense of relief among them. She didn't understand why she felt as she did. She wished she had a friend here to talk with, to help her make sense of all that had happened. Someone like Abigail or Jenny and Claire McBride. As desperate as she felt right now, maybe even her mother.

  Under other circumstances, she'd write a letter to Nick Ross.

  She'd miss his letters.

  She'd miss Nick.

  "Don't be stupid," she muttered, sitting up and digging in her pocket for a handkerchief. How could she miss Nick? The man had been out of her life for a decade. He'd been on the other side of the world, for goodness' sake.

  On the other side of the world, true, but always in her heart.

  While for him, thoughts of her apparently had been centered somewhat lower. I have a hunger for you, he'd said. Aren't you curious about what I've learned?

  He'd frightened her. So intent. Almost violent with it. He'd have taken her where they stood, she believed. Right there against the bookshelves, between Milton and Wordsworth. What had stunned her even more was the part of her that wanted to tell him, Yes, show me.

  The repercussions of such a move were enormous. Ridding her of her virginity would also do away with any possibility of annulment. Plus, Nick had made it perfectly clear he would protest a divorce. Why, if she'd gone along with the man today, the lawyer could have gone home empty-handed. Without an annulment or divorce, their situation would have to remain the same.

  Their situation would have to remain the same.

  The handkerchief slipped from Sarah's hand. Her heart began to pound. If Nick bedded her, he'd have an awfully difficult time getting rid of her.

  "And what would that get you?"

  Marriage to a man who, despite professing a hunger for her, had taken his own sweet time coming to claim her. And then he didn't even come himself, but sent an escort "Probably too busy sampling the hors d'oeuvre trays across Asia and Europe to drag himself away."

  Groaning, she buried her head in her pillows. With her eyes closed, she saw a mental picture of the way he'd looked, the intensity in his expression when he'd professed his desire for her.

  It made her shudder. It made her ache in a way she'd never ached before. It made her wonder.

  What if she did give him what he wanted? What if she gave up her home, her friends, her livelihood to live as Lady Weston? What if she let herself love him again?

  "I can't."

  Nick would break her heart. Again. She couldn't trust him not to. Ten years ago he'd vowed to love, honor, and cherish her until death, and what had he done? He'd left her the very next day. Rode off into the sunset—actually to Dallas—with another woman.

  Today, all he'd claimed was desire, and even if he said he loved her, she wouldn't believe him. He couldn't love her. He didn't know the woman she'd become. She loved her home. Loved her friends. Loved her work. It was her life, and she was happy enough with it.

  She wouldn't give up her life for a man.

  Sarah sat up, scrounged for the handkerchief she'd dropped, then wiped away her tears. It was right, what she'd done. Annulling the marriage was the only choice.

  Nick Ross could just go hungry.

  It's bad luck to wear a green wedding gown.

  Chapter 10

  Like any good spy, Nick knew the value of information. As a result, daylight the following morning found him skulking in the corridor near Sarah's room, waiting for her to make her way downstairs, where every morning she invaded the kitchen and charmed a cup of coffee from the cook.

  Today, he waited longer than expected for his wife to leave her room, causing him to wonder if she'd overslept. Had she had as much trouble sleeping as he last night? Was she as plagued by thoughts of him as he was of her? Nick took some comfort in the notion.

  Finally, just when he'd begun to wonder if he'd have to send someone in to shake her awake, she exited her room with an annoying spring in her step. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Nick ducked into her room.

  His search was methodical, thorough, and distinctly contrary to the rules of hospitality. He searched her wardrobe, studied the dresses, and scrutinized the shoes, seeking clues to the woman she'd become from her choice in buttons and bows. He might have dawdled over her lingerie and allowed his mind to wander a bit, but for the most part, he remained at his task.

  His search proved fruitful. He found she kept a small hoard of chocolate, was reminded that she liked the color yellow, and learned she had an admiration for silly love sonnets—all pertinent information he could possibly use. It was only when he looked in the round candy tin that he had second thoughts about what he was about.

  He recognized the collection of a dozen or so small stones inside. He'd given her each one of them during the short months of their courtship. The first evening they'd walked out, needing something to do to keep his hands busy and off her, he'd scooped up a handful of rocks to peg, one at a time, at the trunk of the cottonwood tree in her front yard. When she'd admired a smooth, amber-colored stone, he'd given it to her. She'd exclaimed with delight, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. Nick, always a quick thinker, had turned his head so that she missed his cheek and hit his lips.

  From then on he'd kept a sharp eye for rocks with unusual shapes or colors to give to her. Years later, he was still picking up rocks for her. That was part of the reason he'd returned from Afghanistan with a fortune in uncut rubies.

  "She kept the rocks," he murmured. All this time she had kept the rocks. And, she'd brought them with her from Texas. What did that mean? He had an idea or two, but he needed to take some time to think it through. Nick knew that information analysis was just as important as information retrieval.

  He had just returned the tin of rocks to her dressing table drawer when he heard the murmur of approaching voices. Damnation. Sarah would be furious if she caught him at his work. He saw no need to analyze that.

  He ducked behind a heavy velvet window drape just as the door swung open and Sarah and three of his sisters stepped inside. His wife was speaking. "... a stunning des
ign, not at all similar to the other gown. It would be perfect for you, Charlotte."

  Silently Nick adjusted the drapery so that he could see through a slit. When Aurora and Melanie tugged back the bed curtains and climbed up to sit cross-legged on Sarah's mattress, he was glad he'd chosen the window as his hiding place. He could only imagine what his sisters would have to say if they found him in his wife's bedchamber.

  Charlotte placed the tea tray she carried on the small fireside table, then proceeded to pour chocolate for herself and his wife, his younger sisters having declined their sister's offer of a cup. Sarah removed an emerald-green dress from her wardrobe and a sketch from a file of papers he'd shuffled through moments before, and the women settled in and started talking weddings.

  Lovely. Just lovely. They were liable to be at this for hours.

  Silently, Nick sighed. He was prepared to listen to wedding plans. It was part of his plot to get closer to Sarah, in fact. He intended to stand in as father of the bride and develop an interest—a detailed interest—in the arrangements his wife made for his sister. He was prepared to dither about dates, languish over lace, and vacillate over veils until his eyes rolled back in his head. He just didn't want to do it while skulking behind a window drape.

  Nor was he prepared to seethe about sex.

  But a few minutes later, that's exactly what he was doing.

  The conversation began innocently enough with Melanie saying, "I think we should remove ourselves to Berkeley Square. It would be ever so much easier for Sarah to contact merchants and suppliers if we were in London rather than Scotland."

  "You just want to shop for shoes," Charlotte accused.

  Melanie's grin was fast and guiltless. "Of course. A lady can never have too many pairs of shoes."

  "Or gentlemen callers," Aurora said casually. "When we're in London we always get gentlemen callers, no matter what time of year. You might like that, Sarah. Since you don't want our brother, maybe we could go to London and help you find someone you do like."

  That little tidbit told Nick three things as he peeked around the drapery. One, Sarah had told them about the annulment. Two, he hadn't been paying enough attention to the girls during their London visits—the younger two weren't even out yet; they shouldn't be having gentlemen callers. And three, he didn't at all like hearing that his wife didn't want him.

  "I like Nick," Sarah protested, taking a seat at the table and sipping her chocolate. "I just don't want to be married to him."

  The sisters exchanged glances, then Charlotte asked, "Why not?"

  Yeah, why not? Nick silently echoed.

  Sarah winced. "It's complicated. Besides, we're supposed to be making a decision on the wedding gown."

  Melanie plumped up the bed pillows and leaned back against them. "We have all afternoon. Let's talk about Nicholas a little first. We think he'd make an excellent husband. Maybe there are some things you should know about him that you don't, Sarah. For instance, our brother is strong and courageous. Has he told you about the time a rock slide buried him alive and he had to dig his way out?"

  Charlotte stirred her chocolate with a silver spoon. "He's so intelligent, too. Do you know he speaks five different languages—or is it seven? I forget."

  "And our Nicholas is kind and generous," Aurora added. "One of the first things he did as marquess was to give all his employees, from stableboy to estate manager, a substantial raise in wages."

  "If Robyn were here instead of helping Gillian pack for the trip back to Rowanclere, she'd tell you he's talented, too," Melanie added, her eyes twinkling as she stretched out on the bed. "She's very impressed that our brother can touch the tip of his nose with his tongue."

  Nick's mouth twisted in a grin at that. He'd known a woman or two who, for different reasons, was impressed with his talent with his tongue.

  Charlotte continued, "And of course he's handsome and gallant and quite magnificent all in all. A girl couldn't ask for more in a brother, and frankly, I don't see how a woman could want more in a husband."

  That remark put Sarah on the defensive. "A number of qualities pop to my mind. Honesty, for one. Steadfastness is another. Gentleness a third. A husband should be faithful and friendly and..."

  "You make him sound like a dog," Aurora protested.

  "A dog often makes a better companion," Sarah snapped back.

  "Well I think Nicholas is all those things," Charlotte said. "Honestly, Sarah, Nicholas is a fine man. I don't understand why you want to end your marriage to him."

  Sarah set down her cup with a clatter and her voice sounded just a bit shrill when she said, "That's not what I want. I'm happy with matters the way they are. It's your brother who wants to change everything. Nick is the one who is forcing the issue, not me."

  She attempted to stand, but Charlotte outmaneuvered her by passing a basket of fruit. "Apple?"

  "No, thank you."

  She made a motion to move, and again Charlotte blocked her way. "Why?"

  "I'm not hungry."

  "Not the apple, the man. Why are you content with being married to my brother but residing an ocean away from him? You can't possibly find him physically unattractive."

  "No."

  "Dull?"

  "No."

  "Parsimonious? Critical? Quarrelsome?"

  "No, none of those. Well, quarrelsome does fit him at times."

  "That's true," Aurora agreed.

  "Maybe she doesn't like the way he smells," Melanie offered. "My friend Miss Anna Lawrence has a particularly sensitive nose, and she says that even if they bathe regularly, some women and some men can be olfactory incompatible."

  Charlotte sniffed. "Oh, that Anna Lawrence, don't believe her. She's always making things up. Is that even a word? Olfactory?"

  Nick didn't know about the word itself but damned if that condition had anything to do with him and Sarah. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her fragrance called to him, made him want to sink into it, into her, like a warm bath on a cold morning, and he had no reason to think Sarah felt differently. Back in Texas when they'd been necking, he distinctly remembered her telling him she loved the way he smelled.

  Now she said, "Your brother's scent is pleasing to me."

  Nick nodded decisively and relaxed.

  "Thank heavens," Aurora said, sighing with relief. "That might be a problem that is difficult to overcome. So what is wrong with Nicholas, Sarah? Is it because he cannot dance? I know he's terrible at it, but we are trying to teach him."

  Sarah gaped at Nick's sisters, whose expressions glowed with curiosity and determination, and wondered aloud, "How does Nick manage you? Counting his Scots sisters, there are six of you. With that many females around the house at one time or another, why does the man want a wife?"

  Again his sisters shared a look. Charlotte blushed, but Aurora's eyes developed a wicked twinkle. "I should imagine it's sex."

  Nick jerked back his head. It hit a metal bolt that supported the drapery hardware. As pain radiated through his scalp, he watched Sarah almost slip out of her seat. "Um... well... oh."

  His scandal of a sister continued, "That's just a guess, mind you. Nicholas doesn't talk about it. I don't think he beds Lady Steele, and he pretends mistresses don't exist. If he has one himself, he's very discreet and he doesn't visit her often. He watches over us too closely for that."

  "Hush, Aurora," Melanie said. "You're not helping."

  "But it's true. He's the most overprotective brother you can imagine. Why, he doesn't want us to know a thing about mistresses or sexual relations. Not until we're getting married, anyway."

  Shyly, Charlotte added, "And even then he didn't have much to say."

  Aurora snickered. "You should have seen him the night before Charlotte's first wedding, Sarah. He paced and drank and paced some more. He went to her room twice before he managed to knock on the door and ask to speak with her. We tried to eavesdrop, of course, but he made certain the balcony doors were shut tight. Anyway, he was white as a wedding gown
when he came out, and all he'd say to us was that women should know what they're getting into, but not too soon."

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I have to agree with your brother in that respect. If women knew ahead of time what would happen on their wedding night, I could never make a living doing what I do. One out of every two weddings surely would be canceled."

  Aurora and Melanie shared a knowing look as Charlotte gasped. "Is it that bad?"

  Sarah shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I'm not going to speak about this. It's not my place."

  That's the damned truth, Nick thought, fuming.

  "But you must, Sarah. Charlotte needs to know. She has been trying to work up the courage to ask you, but she is unaccountably shy."

  The young woman nodded. "That's true. I am."

  "Then ask Gillian or her twin. They're both married. They're better ones for you to discuss this with than I."

  Melanie shook her head. "We can't ask Gilly or Flora about their marriage beds. That's private."

  Incredulously, Sarah said, "But you'll ask me?"

  "You're a wedding planner. Wedding nights are part of your job."

  Sarah drew back, her expression appalled. "No, they're not."

  I need to put a stop to this, Nick told himself. But he couldn't seem to make his feet move.

  Aurora lifted her chin. "They certainly should be. After all, I would think that in the long run, the success of one's wedding night has greater impact upon a person than how good one's wedding cake tastes."

  Sarah cocked her head, her lips pursed in thought.

  Hidden behind the drapery, Nick silently moaned.

  Charlotte's teeth tugged at her lower lip. "I would appreciate the benefit of your experience, Sarah. I was a bit concerned following Nicholas's, um, talk, but I didn't have time then to dwell on it. Now... well..."

  "Tell her what he said, Charlotte," Aurora said. "That way she'll know—"