Unclaimed Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  Her eyes flitted from their hands to his face. “No, I think three times was enough. Today she’s reading Around the World in Eighty Days.” A smile brightened her face. “For the second time.”

  There were times, like right now, when he pulled forth in his memory the days he was ill, wondering all over again if they had really kissed. She acted as if they hadn’t, yet he no longer believed it had been a dream. With regret, he let her hand loose. “Angel does know we have a full library?”

  “She claims she gets more out of a story the second time around.” Constance walked across the room and gathered a rag to wipe the snow he’d left upon entering. “Perhaps,” she said, kneeling in front of the door, “you’d like to read the report she writes on this one.”

  The familiarity of her simple actions awed him. They’d grown companionable over the past weeks, conversing as they’d gone about their individual tasks. She often dusted his office while he worked on ledgers, and they talked then, too. About nothing ever too serious, and it often was him that left the room, escaping before he had to think too deeply about the effect she had on him. It was here again now, this heated stirring inside him whenever she was near. “I will,” he answered. “Tell me when she’s done, and I’ll grade it.”

  “Oh, and what gives you the authority to hand out book report grades?” she asked teasingly.

  The heat inside him picked up a notch. Instilled an urge to cross the room and pick her off the floor by wrapping both hands around her slender waist. He clenched the coffee mug beneath his fingers. “I’m her father.”

  Constance stood slowly, and the coy smile on her lips made her entire face glow. “Oh, and that’s enough?” Keeping one eye on him she moved to the sink. “Have you read Around the World in Eighty Days?”

  “One doesn’t need to read the book to recognize a good book report.” He finished his sentence by poking a forkful of cake in his mouth.

  The gleam in her eyes could charm a snake as she challenged, “How would you know if her assumptions are correct?”

  She had the uncanny ability to make the simplest conversations stimulating, and today, right now, her teasing had him wound tighter than a cheap clock. He pushed away from the table at the same time she left the sink. They met in the middle of the room. Eye to eye, nose to chin. Something flashed deep in the depths of her sparkling blue eyes. Excitement? Desire? The thrill of that hit him dead center.

  “I’ve read the book.”

  “Have you?” she asked softly.

  “Yes. Have you?”

  “Of course.” Her breath tickled his chin and made his lips quiver with anticipation.

  It was like playing with fire. Dangerous. Challenging. Exhilarating. “Then,” he said, working hard to keep the topic foremost in his mind, “we shall both read the report, and compare notes.” His gaze slipped to how her breasts gently rose and fell with each breath, making him think of other things he’d like to compare. Like how perfectly the round mounds would fill his hands.

  “Compare notes?”

  He tugged his eyes upward to meet blue ones that had gone from sparkling to smoldering. A bolt of heat shot into his loins, but it was the tip of her tongue wetting her bottom lip that drew him forward.

  “Yes,” he whispered, lowering his face. “Compare notes.” Her sweet breath flowed between his lips, entering his mouth with tender, sensitive heat that made his lungs expand, begging for more. The time had come. The urge to kiss her had been with him for weeks. Only a fool would fight it any longer.

  The softness of her lips was delicate and fragile, making him wonder what they were made of. Their honey-dipped taste had him pressing his lips to them a second time. This time he tilted his head sideways, to fully engulf her mouth and experience the full effect. It was like dancing with an angel, completely impossible, yet the ultimate accomplishment.

  Her fingertips clutched onto his shoulders, as if she needed him to brace her stance. Pleased—he wanted her to need him as he’d grown to need her lately—he spanned her waist with both hands and brought the firmness of her hips against his thighs.

  Some things in life shouldn’t be pondered, but merely experienced, and this—kissing Constance—was one of them. Finding the gracious curve at the small of her back, he secured the connection of their lower bodies as she cupped his lower jaw with one hand. The tiny fear that she’d reject his advance, or perhaps his own reluctance holding him in check, dissolved as their kiss deepened.

  He never thought it possible, to feel this deeply, to want an embrace to last for hours upon hours. There was more, he knew that, as did his throbbing body, but right now, just holding her, kissing her, was heavenly.

  “Constance!” Angel’s voice, though muffled by the door, had his eyelids flying open. The startled expression on Constance’s face was so adorable the urge to kiss her one more time almost won out.

  She pushed at his chest as her cheeks turned bright red. He took a step backward, and let his hands slip off her hips. She immediately turned about face. Her shoulders heaved as she drew in short, fast breaths. The desire to grab her and tug her back into his arms made him clench his hands into fists when the door flew open.

  “Oh, hey, Pa,” Angel greeted.

  “Hey,” he croaked while walking to the table—as stiff-legged as a British solider. “How’s the book reading coming?”

  “Good. You ever read Around the World in Eighty Days?” Angel asked, stopping near the table.

  “Yes, I have.” He picked up his fork, but the chocolate cake had lost its appeal. “So,” he asked his daughter, “what were you yelling about?”

  Angel twirled to face Constance, who’d busied herself at the stove. “I was wondering how long it took you to get from London to New York.”

  Constance carried the coffeepot to the table, and Ellis was amazed. Not only by how easily she crossed the room—his loins were still throbbing to the point that sitting was difficult—but by how innocent she appeared. Other than a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks, there was no indication she’d been in his arms moments before.

  “Oh, why?” Constance asked, refilling his cup.

  Why had she been in his arms? Because he’d lost control, could no longer fight the desire that ate at him night and day. He’d known what he was doing, yet at the same time, it had been as though he was someone else, watching the scene from afar.

  “Just fact checking,” Angel replied.

  “The book is a novel, a work of fiction,” Constance said, carrying the pot back to the stove. Ellis found it impossible to keep his eyes off her backside and his hands from tingling, wanting to cup one particular cheek again.

  “I know.” Angel pulled out a chair and sat. “But don’t you think the author needed to make it as real as possible, so people would believe it?”

  Ellis waited for Constance to answer. For some reason he wondered if she knew what they shared was real, understood the underlying sizzle of the air whenever they were in the room together. Surely the embrace moments ago had had some effect on her.

  “What do you think?” Constance reiterated while slicing another piece of cake.

  “I think he’d have to. The story wouldn’t be as interesting if it didn’t seem possible.” Angel turned to him. “Don’t you think, Pa?”

  His mouth was full, thankfully. He gave an agreeable nod, and chewed. Possibilities certainly made things more interesting. Constance had yet to meet his gaze. Was it possible she was afraid? Didn’t want him to know just how deeply the kiss had moved her?

  Constance set the cake, along with a glass of milk, in front of Angel, and then she pulled out the chair on the other end of the table. “Actually,” she started. “The story was first published as a serial in a very popular publication, and therefore, some people thought Mr. Fogg was real and his journey was actually taking place.”

  “Really?” Angel asked, frowning.

  Ellis still watched Constance, wanting to see a reaction to their earlier action.

&
nbsp; “Yes. It was the topic of conversations everywhere, whether he’d make it in time or not,” Constance said. “It was also said that railroads and ship lines contacted Mr. Verne, the author, requesting Mr. Fogg and his valet, Mr. Passepartout, travel exclusively on their lines.”

  Was kissing him so unmoving a novel held more interest?

  “They thought it was really happening, too?” Angel asked.

  “Yes,” Constance assured. “My Aunt Julia was quite taken by the adventure, and gave us an update every day during afternoon tea.”

  The tiny bit of English accent she still carried came through loud and clear as she spoke. Ellis couldn’t help the chuckle it evoked. Constance glanced up, and the soft blush upon her cheeks made him want to kiss her again. And again.

  “I wish I could have met your aunts. They sound so wonderful,” Angel said.

  “I wish you could have met them, too.” Constance patted Angel’s arm. “They were delightful, and would have loved you.”

  Angel remained quiet for a moment before she said, “I bet you miss them a lot, and wish they hadn’t died.”

  Ellis took a sip of coffee, waiting for Constance’s answer. His mind had circled about, made him wonder what she wished. Did she still want to be in England?

  “Yes, I do miss them,” Constance admitted. “But it was time for me to leave England.” She flicked the end of Angel’s nose with the tip of one finger. “If I hadn’t, I would have never met you.”

  “Or Pa,” Angel added.

  Constance grew thoughtful, and Ellis’s heart quickened. He pressed his heels into the floor, bracing for her reply.

  “Or your pa,” she answered shyly, but the way her eyes settled on him shouted the words into his heart.

  “And that would have been awful.” Angel let out a silly snicker.

  Simultaneously, he and Constance turned to look at her. The humor emitting from his daughter was contagious.

  “Yes,” he agreed, chuckling. “Awful.”

  “Downright dreadful,” Constance added with that lifting giggle that had his insides flipping again.

  * * *

  That evening as they sat in the parlor, books in hands, the only sounds were the snapping of the fire and the wind as it knocked every now and again against the window. It wasn’t all that different from any other night they’d shared over the past few weeks. They gathered here each evening, sometimes playing cards, or discussing Angel’s studies, or simply talking, sharing stories or even gossip from town. It was Constance’s favorite time of the day—prior to this afternoon.

  Tonight Ellis held a thick book whose title she couldn’t make out from where she sat next to Angel who was devouring the last few pages of Around the World in Eighty Days with renewed force. The book in Constance’s hand was unimportant. Her mind wasn’t interested in reading. The memory of the kiss she and Ellis had shared in the kitchen had consumed her all afternoon, but now, in the quiet, cozy time of evening, the actions played out so vividly she could almost feel his lips again. The after-effects, both on her insides and in the air when she’d catch Ellis looking at her, seemed almost magical.

  She sighed, and let her eyelids close. Kissing wasn’t new, Byron had kissed her. Not a lot, but then again, they’d only been married two days before he left England. Her brows tugged tight. His lips had always been hard and his movements harsh. The frown on her brows relaxed. Whereas Ellis’s had been gentle and… She sighed again. Amorous. That’s what his lips had been. The kind of kiss written about in books, the kind girls dreamed about.

  She’d dreamed about kisses lately, almost every night. The past few weeks she’d felt an energy inside her every time Ellis was in the same room, it was as though an invisible rope stretched between them and kept trying to pull her closer. It left her pondering little else except him.

  Prior to coming here, she’d never dreamed of kisses. Taking care of Julia and Theresa had been too consuming to think about such things. Besides, neither of her aunts had held very high opinions of men. They assured her an unmarried woman was by far better off than a married one. Perhaps that was part of the reason she’d never taken their dislike of Byron too serious. They hadn’t been rude to him, nor refused her to see him, but they’d warned her to be wary. In all actuality, if the poor dears hadn’t died, she’d never have married him.

  Angel’s earlier question slipped forward. Constance was sorry her aunts had died, and she did miss them, but she’d spoken the truth: if they hadn’t died she’d never have met Ellis and Angel. A long, appreciative, contented sigh escaped her lungs.

  An obvious throat clearing had her opening one eye, directing it at Angel.

  A petulant expression sat upon the girl’s face as she glanced from Constance to the book she held.

  “Sorry,” Constance mouthed.

  As Angel turned back to her book, Ellis set his on the table with a thud. “If our company is disturbing you, perhaps you’d like to read in your room.”

  “No, you’re fine,” Angel replied, never lifting an eye.

  Constance bit her lip. Sometimes she couldn’t help but laugh at Angel’s conduct, while other times she cringed. Ellis’s gaze was on her, had her senses peaked. Biting her bottom lip, she chanced a glance his way.

  Humor danced in his eyes. “Angel,” he said expectantly.

  The girl let out an exaggerated sigh. “I only have five pages left.”

  “You’ve read it before,” he stated.

  “So?”

  Constance was going to giggle. She shouldn’t, but for whatever reason, the happiness filling her heart wanted out. Not willing to do it in front of the others, she stood and carrying her book, walked toward the doorway.

  “Where are you going?” father and daughter asked simultaneously.

  Without turning around, she told them, “I have things to see to. Enjoy your books.”

  The fit of giggles contained themselves until she entered Ellis’s office. Muffling the sounds by keeping her lips tight, she crossed the room and stuffed the etiquette book on the shelf with the half dozen others.

  “Coward.”

  She spun about. Ellis leaned against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. It was there again, that invisible rope tugging her toward him, stronger than ever. “Why do you say that?”

  He grinned, but it was his eyes that held her attention. “As her tutor, shouldn’t you have reprimanded her?”

  Constance bit the tip of her tongue. He was teasing her, with both his words and eyes. It was fun and enticing, and she didn’t want it to stop. “For what?” she asked, moving to stand behind one of the chairs.

  “Perhaps for speaking to me so rudely?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  The cheerfulness inside her wasn’t done being released. It also gave her a keen sense of courage. She moved, letting her hand trail along the back of the chair as she walked away from it. Stopping a few inches from where he stood she said, “Because as her father, you are her first and foremost teacher. I’ll reprimand her if and when she misbehaves around others….” The air between them was intensely warm, causing her to pause for a breath.

  “So you’re saying I’m in this alone?” His arms fell to his sides as he straightened his stance.

  Constance shook her head. “No, I’m not saying you’re in this alone.”

  “Then what are you saying?” He took a step. Just one, that caused the tips of their stocking-covered feet to touch.

  A bold, hot heat flared inside her. She wouldn’t be able to keep up the conversation much longer. The need to touch him had her trembling and was hampering her ability to think. With the end of one index finger she tapped the center button of his shirt, the one closest to his heart. “That your daughter already knows how far she can go with you, and how far she can’t.”

  “Do you?” His whisper floated next to her ear.

  “Do I what?” Spicy and fascinating, his scent filled the inside of her nose, leaving her
breathless while a million little tingles raced about inside her body.

  “Know how far you can go?”

  She looked up, knowing what he’d see in her eyes, but not caring. Her ability to hide how badly she wanted him to kiss her was nonexistent. She’d never craved something like this before. No longer able to recall his question, her gaze went to his lips. He filled her mind, nothing except him. “Ellis,” she whispered.

  Everything happened within a split second—him stepping forward, grasping her arm as the door closed, and the room spinning while he twirled her around, pressing her back against the door.

  His hands held both her upper arms, and his gaze bored into hers. “I’m going to kiss you, Constance.”

  Excitement shot through her veins, and she nodded.

  “You want me to kiss you?” he asked, leaning closer.

  She cupped his jaw. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please kiss me, Ellis.”

  His lips landed on hers, and the kiss was nothing like the soft and gentle one of this afternoon. This one was hot and frantic, and made her arms fly around his neck. Their lips, moving upon each other’s as if searching for a place to land, was sweet torment and left her pulse echoing in her ears and beating in unique, special places.

  It wasn’t just one kiss, but a series of them, short and fast and long and deliberate. A restless, wild ache sprang forth within her. She stretched on her toes, pressing her body against his.

  As if he understood exactly what she needed, Ellis gripped her hips and lifted. Her spine inched up along the solid door until their hips met. His body, firm and taut, held her there as her toes dangled near his ankles and the fire in her center danced hotter by the delightful, intimate fusion of their bodies.

  When his tongue ran between her lips, instinct had her mouth opening. Another profound thrill was released as his tongue engaged hers in a wild, sensual game of hide and seek. He pressed her deeper into the wood, and she grasped him tighter, overwhelmed by the excitement flaming inside her core. She’d never known her body could ache there. Ache and throb and swirl to the point she wanted to scream. It came out as a moan, rumbling deep in her throat.