The Wife He Always Wanted

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  She shook her head to dispel her scattered thoughts and returned her attention to Mister Harrington. She watched her husband shuck out of his fringed coat and place it over the chair. His shirt stretched across his wide back and muscled arms. Despite her nonexistent experience with men, she suspected most women would believe he cut a fine figure.

  Her bear of a husband was no mincing fop.

  “It is not too late for me to make use of the bedroom across the way,” he said softly as their eyes met.

  Did he find her that unappealing?

  She crossed her arms to hide the outline of her small breasts from view. She had lost weight, and her curves had all but vanished, but to have him see her in her nightdress, and reject her, was too much to bear. Her lower lip trembled.

  “Sarah.” He closed the distance between them and took her chin in his large hand. “I meant nothing by the offer. You’ve gone through much on this day. I thought you would fare better with time to become used to the marriage before we consummated our union.”

  The roughness of his fingers on her face infused her with warmth. In the years after her aunt’s death, she’d ached for someone to care for and to care for her. Now she had her unexpected husband under this roof, and she discovered that she did not want to be left alone, again.

  She twisted her fingers into the worn fabric of the nightdress and stared down at her toes.

  “I have never been kissed,” she whispered, her honesty laid bare. Her face burned with the admission.

  His soft chuckle made her humiliation worse. “My innocent Mrs. Harrington. How neglected you’ve been.” He tipped up her face and peered at her from beneath unruly dark hair. “If nothing else, I can do that for you.”

  He lowered his head until their breathing mingled. She stood frozen in place as his lips pressed gently against hers. Then he slid the tip of his tongue between her lips, just enough to shock her but not enough to make the kiss unpleasant.

  In fact, the kiss was rather . . . interesting. Her body flushed with the intimacy of the moment. He tipped his head slightly to the right and his tongue touched her clenched teeth.

  Lud! Was a tongue part of kissing?

  From the back of her throat, she was certain she moaned involuntarily. He must have taken the sound as encouragement.

  Slowly, he walked her back to the bed, never losing contact with her mouth. From some distant place, she felt herself lowered onto the coverlet.

  When he lifted his head, he asked, “Are you certain this is what you want?”

  Thinking he meant kisses, she nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

  He reclaimed her mouth and his hand went to caress her thigh. Suddenly, she understood his question, and it was not about kisses but consummation.

  Remembering what Aunt said about men and beddings, she ended the kiss, turned her face away, closed her eyes, and braced herself for entry.

  “If you please, I would like to keep my nightdress on,” she said and gripped the item at her hips.

  Above her, Mister Harrington went still, his breath still brushing the side of her face. After a moment, she opened one eye and looked askance at him. Puzzlement etched his features.

  “You are not ready,” he said softly.

  “I am,” she replied, her voice quivering.

  Mister Harrington pushed up from the bed, stealing the warmth of his body from her. She shivered. He raked his hands over his head, further mussing the locks, and let his gaze move down to where her fingers still tightly gripped the nightdress. Quickly, she unlocked her hold and smoothed the fabric. He chuckled and shook his head.

  “I think it better for us to wait until we are both ready.” His voice was low, rich, and confident. “We have a lifetime to figure out exactly when that will be.”

  Sarah wanted to protest, but the words did not come. He was correct. She wasn’t ready to be a wife, not in the least. So instead, she slid over to the far edge of the bed to offer him room. “Will you stay with me?” She glanced to the empty hearth and rubbed her arms. The cold night air was already creeping through the cracks in the windowpanes. “I have only enough wood to cook with. Perhaps we can share our warmth?”

  Frowning at the lack of fire, he turned back to her and nodded. “I agree. I fear I am too weary to start a blaze anyway.” A yawn followed.

  He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. Sarah resisted the urge to touch the muscles on his back or ask him to kiss her again. After the dismal end to his attempt at seduction, she thought it wise not to tempt the man to change his mind about completing the bedding.

  The mattress moved as he finally joined her still wearing his fringed trousers and white shirt, lay back, and closed his eyes. “Good night, Sarah.”

  “Good night, Mister Harrington.” He opened an eye. She smiled sheepishly. “Gabriel,” she corrected.

  Despite the suggestion of shared body warmth, he remained on his side of the bed, and she, hers. The intimate kisses and his compassion had not been enough to completely settle the unease she felt with her husband. And for a moment, she considered asking him to take the other bedroom, cold night or not. She would certainly rest better without him sprawled on her mattress.

  A soft rumble in his chest showed that she was too late to make the case for separate sleeping quarters. He’d fallen into an exhausted slumber.

  She reached out and turned off the lamp. She might as well get used to sharing the bed. They were married after all.

  There was just enough moonlight to see him framed in the darkness. His bearded face, his long body, the way his feet hung off the end of her bed all drew her curiosity.

  He was not anywhere close to what she’d pictured when she’d dreamed of a husband. Yet, he was kind and not without humor.

  Truthfully, it wasn’t as if men were knocking on her door to court her, Mister Campbell aside. All but penniless, she had nothing to offer a man; no dowry, no influence. All she owned was a ramshackle cottage and the few shabby furnishings that she hadn’t yet bartered for food or coin. The scrawny chicken in tonight’s stew was gifted out of pity by her neighbor, and her garden was nearing the end of its offerings. No, Mister Harrington had been God-sent and perfectly timed when she needed him most.

  But as she lay there beside him, it was not Gabriel or marriage that held her thoughts. No, her mind was on London, a place she barely remembered from her childhood and the city she never expected to see again.

  The city where her father was murdered.

  One night, on a quiet street, an assassin had ruined her family. Yet, the city held all of the answers to Father’s last days if she chose to seek them out.

  When Gabriel mentioned living there, all of her long-buried desires to see her father’s death avenged came to the fore. In that moment, she accepted her betrothal. In fact, she’d hurried things along, lest he change his mind and leave her behind.

  Marrying Mister Harrington had been a fated step toward solving the long-forgotten mystery, and the marriage would be the price to save herself and unlock her history.

  Ever sensible and exceedingly practical, she vowed to make a success of her marriage despite its bumpy start, and to find Father’s killer, no matter what lay ahead.

  Chapter Two

  Sarah kept her eyes averted from Gabriel as if the mere sight of his face was enough to send her into hysterics.

  Was Sarah prone to hysterics? She’d shown no sign of a predilection to that emotion thus far. Still, it was impossible to know her true nature with an acquaintance of only twenty-seven hours and thirty-six minutes in which to base his conclusion.

  This time frame included attempting to inform her that her brother was dead, mankind’s shortest courtship, and a hurried wedding that was her idea, in fact. She certainly could not hold that, or his dismal attempt at seduction, against him. He’d wanted to wait. She’d asked for his kiss. What man, after mon
ths of celibacy, would ignore the invitation to kiss a willing woman? Why then was she ignoring him now?

  Could she have been hiding her true nature yesterday? She might be shrewish, mentally unstable, or worse.

  Still, if anyone should be in hysterics, it was he. She’d done nothing since he appeared on her stoop but morosely agree to the marriage with the enthusiasm of a woman who was about to die a slow, painful death, rush him to the parson, and then respond with some surprising passion to his kisses.

  Certainly, she’d not be angry over a few small liberties taken on their wedding night?

  He’d awoken this morning to find her valise packed and Sarah dressed for traveling. After offering a small heel of dry bread for his breakfast, she’d coolly shooed him off to arrange their passage to London and spent the rest of the morning pointedly ignoring him.

  He wasn’t certain he could recognize his own wife’s voice with his eyes closed.

  Bound together forever, and he couldn’t make it through one day without wishing he could rewrite everything from the moment he knocked on her door.

  Worse, the guilt over betraying his friend did not soothe his conscience. Unfortunately, it was too late for regrets. He had to make the best of the situation.

  “There is an inn up ahead,” he said amiably, fighting to hide his impatience. “We can stop there for rest and food.”

  She lifted her deep violet eyes above the rim of her book and shrugged. “Whatever is your pleasure.” As soon as the sentence was out, she flushed crimson, as if remembering last evening’s ill-fated attempt at lovemaking with the poorly chosen words.

  The book snapped back up and covered all but the top of her forehead and a bit of light brown hair.

  He bristled. She was put out. Why, he could not fathom. If he lived another fifty years with this puzzling woman, and spent the majority of those looking at her, or rather, the cover of some book, he’d go mad.

  He’d thought marriage was the simplest way to keep her protected from whatever had caused Albert to flee England. As he looked at his wife, he knew plots were often made complicated when moved from mind into practice.

  Though Gabe only knew pieces of the story, he understood enough to realize Sarah could be in danger now that Albert was dead. It was the details of that danger that were murky.

  Their father had served the Crown early in the Peninsular War and had died mysteriously. Albert had feared his father’s past and knew a secret that could endanger Sarah. So he’d dropped her at the cottage with an elderly aunt and broke off almost all contact with his sister, hoping the distance between them would protect her from harm.

  No amount of cajoling ever convinced Albert to share his secret. On his deathbed from a fever, he’d been adamant that Gabe find and protect her from an unknown foe. Any secrets were taken to the grave.

  Albert expressed the hope that his death would set Sarah free. Gabe was not entirely certain that the deaths of both men ended the matter. When he was in New York awaiting the ship, he was convinced he was being followed. Then his trunk, including Albert’s few possessions, was stolen. Coincidence? He couldn’t be sure.

  The longer he considered everything he did know, the more he realized that marrying Sarah would best serve the man who’d saved his life. Unfortunately, he wasn’t convinced Albert would feel the same.

  All he could do now was remain vigilant and hope to learn the mysteries of both men. For now, he had to familiarize himself with his wife.

  “According to the coachman, this inn serves a magnificent lamb stew,” Gabe continued, searching for a way to get her out from behind her book. As the only coach passengers, he was bored and tired and longed for conversation to pass the time.

  “How nice,” she said politely, book unmoving. “I’m certain I will enjoy a pleasant repast.”

  Gabriel Harrington, world traveler and adventurer, glared at the damned book and the prim figure that was his wife, and growled low in his throat. With the swiftness of a lioness running down an antelope, he leaned forward, snatched the book out of her hand, and tossed it out the open window.

  Sarah gasped; her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

  He brushed his hands together, satisfied he’d finally gotten her attention, and slumped back against the well-worn squabs. Stretching out a long and dusty buckskin-covered leg, he grinned wickedly as her pink-hued lips vanished into a thin line of disapproval.

  “I do apologize, Wife, but I grew weary of talking to your book.”

  She frowned. “You could have asked me to put it away. I am now out one of my few remaining possessions. And it was a very interesting book.”

  “I shall buy you a new one when we get to London. In fact, I’ll buy you an entire library full of books.” He ran his gaze from her expressive eyes to her downturned mouth. “Until then, I intend for us to converse during the rest of this journey like civilized people.”

  She let his words settle before lowering her attention to his buckskin breeches. “Civilized?” One brow went up. “I have lived a sheltered life and have never had the chance to move in London society. However, I am quite certain that no gentleman, from baron to duke, wears breeches made from fringed animal hide.”

  He snorted at her tart comment. Finally, he’d wrung some emotion from her. Well, unless one considered the horror on her face when he arrived at her small and tumbledown cottage, announced he was her fiancé, and hauled her onto the back of his big black horse before dragging her to the nearest parson.

  The tightly held emotions he suspected were buried deep beneath her blank façade would come out eventually. She’d lost her mother, father, aunt, brother, home, and freedom. This was a heavy weight for anyone to carry.

  He hoped they’d be home at the Harrington town house before the dam released. His mother was better skilled at handling female tears than he.

  “I do like to shock,” Gabe said. Now that he was stuck with her, he wanted to make the best of the marriage. “I think I shall make my societal debut in these. I’ll be gossiped about for years hence.”

  Sarah gaped, clearly mortified. “You would not dare.”

  He’d certainly chosen a prissy and humorless wife. She didn’t understand teasing. “Perhaps not. We Harringtons are already known as a wild bunch. Socializing dressed as an American woodsman would only serve to confirm the fact.” He glanced out the window. The coach was nearing the inn. “The surprise of my unexpected return will be enough to set the gossips twittering. My arrival with a wife in tow will notch up the news to a feverish level without adding buckskin breeches to the mix.”

  She relaxed, a bit. “Thank you for your consideration.”

  The coach stopped and Gabe helped Sarah down. Her cool hand was small in his as he led her into the inn.

  They ate the stew, served with bread and butter. Both turned out to be quite good. After her fifth suppressed yawn, Gabe decided they should spend the evening there and use the last of his funds to procure seats on the morning coach to London. He’d put off their travel for one more night to give Sarah a few extra hours to settle into the idea of her new life.

  “We will arrive rested and ready to face my family,” he said as he guided her into a small but tidy chamber. “I fear my letters were clipped and far between. They know of Albert from my letters but nothing about his death, or our marriage. It will be a jolt.”

  Sarah moved to the window.

  He stepped aside as a pair of servants carried in a hip bath and set it before the fire. Buckets of water followed. Soon the tub was filled with steaming water. A maid set out a pair of towels and soap and withdrew.

  Gabe reached above his head to stretch then scratched the sides of his face. Several weeks of beard growth covered his skin and added to the heathenish first impression he’d left on Sarah. Bathing aside, it had been years since he’d worried about proper grooming. When traveling across the plains of Ameri
ca or stomping through jungles along the Amazon River, no one cared if he’d missed a few days of shaving or had a decent haircut.

  Mother would be appalled.

  He smiled.

  “Would you care to have the first bath?” He planned to see her settled, bathe himself, and spend the rest of the evening partaking of ale in the tavern room below.

  A sniff followed his question. A quick examination and he could see her visibly trembling.

  “Sarah?” He crossed the room to her. She stood, stiff, peering out the glass. A light rain had started to fall. Gently, he turned her around. Tears were flowing unchecked down her face when she looked into his eyes.

  “My brother is dead. I have no more family,” she whispered.

  His heart dropped. “I know, dearest, I know.” He eased her into his arms and drew her to his chest. She resisted only for a moment before she slumped against him with a soft sob.

  Rain pattered against the window while Sarah cried for the brother she’d never see again. “I’d hoped the author of the letter I received about his death was mistaken and Albert was not truly gone. Your arrival took that hope away.”

  “He was a good man and loyal friend,” Gabe said, hoping to give her comfort. “He loved you very much.”

  “Why then did he never come back?” Sarah said with a catch in her voice. “I was left alone with my aunt after Father died and my brother sent very few letters. Auntie did her best by me, but life wasn’t the same without Albert.”

  Gabe knew her mother died in childbirth and their father had a shadowy past. Sarah deserved a sensible explanation to a mystery for which he had no answers.

  “I believe he thought he was protecting you.”

  Sarah lifted her head. “Protecting me from what?”

  Her red face and swollen eyes tugged at his heart. She looked so fragile and wounded. “That, I do not know. What I do know is Albert was hiding a secret that he thought would endanger you. He thought keeping away from England was best and hoped that when he left, any danger would be drawn away from you. He never spoke of the reason for his fears to me.”