Unclaimed Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  She smiled up at him, extremely content, but the seriousness on his face stole a piece of it.

  “I’m sorry I never told you about Ashton’s will. That was wrong, and not something I’m proud of.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  She nodded, wondering how to prove it. “I wondered if it was because you wanted the land, but I couldn’t imagine why. You already have so much land, and…” She shook her head. “All I could come up with was that you wanted me to stay long enough to host the holiday party.”

  “The holiday party had nothing to do with it. It was me. All me, and my inability to believe you’d stay if you had somewhere else to go. I felt as if I coerced you into working for me. That’s why I didn’t have you sign our agreement.” He shook his head. “Thinking somehow that made it better. I want you to know, and understand, whatever you own, whatever you bring into our union, is yours. Now and forever.”

  Seeing how serious he was, she nodded instead of insisting she wanted to share everything she had with him. That could come later.

  He bent down and picked his hat off the floor, after setting it on the bed beside him, he asked, “Now, what was Byron Carmichael doing here?”

  The swift change of subject stole the gust from her sails. “How did you know it was him?”

  “I don’t. I’m assuming.”

  His nearness—his love, kept fear at bay and allowed her to speak and think coherently. “I don’t know what he wanted. When I recognized him I shut the door and told him to go away.”

  “I need you to tell me everything, Constance. I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m up against.”

  “I was told he was dead,” she said. The fact Byron had been at the door seemed impossible. “Did you see him?”

  “No. Jeb lost him in the woods. When I met Jeb on the trail, he said there had been a man pounding on the door that you knew in New York and England.”

  Still confused, Constance shook her head. “How did he find me? What does he want?”

  “I don’t know, but I need you to tell me everything you know so we can figure it out. Start with the first time you met him.”

  It took a moment for Constance to push aside all the wonderful things Ellis stirred inside her and go back to the past she didn’t want to recall, then she began to tell him the exact tale she’d told Lula Mae—almost.

  * * *

  Ellis had listened to her every word, asking questions when needed, and digesting all Constance said. His guts churned. Lula Mae was right. There were too many things that didn’t add up, and the idea of Constance being left, injured, in a London alleyway had his jaw locked tight and his fingers itching to get a hold of Byron Carmichael by the throat.

  He spun around, facing the table where Constance now sat. The way she chewed on her bottom lip said she had something more to say, but didn’t know how. It was amazing how he knew so many little details about her. Some were probably things she didn’t even know about herself. That’s how habits are. Others see them, whereas the person who has them doesn’t.

  “What haven’t you told me?” He wrapped a hand around the one she was tapping on the table. Even years from now, when he was old and feeble, he’d have the desire to touch her.

  She continued to chew on her lip. He knelt down, looking directly into those adorable blue eyes, which right now were full of anxiety. “What is it, honey?”

  “When…” She wrapped her other hand around the one he still held. “When I told you I was shot…”

  “Yes,” he softly encouraged her to go on.

  “Well, the surgeon—” She swallowed. “The surgeon said I’d never have children. He removed the bullet, but the damage had already been done.”

  The wave of anger engulfing his system was quickly overshadowed by her distress. “Aw, sweetheart.” He drew her from the chair and held her close. “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Ellis folded his arms completely around her and wished he could absorb her pain.

  Constance wasn’t weak or frail; other than the two times she’d cried in his arms, he’d barely seen her upset, let alone shed a tear. But it did surprise him that she wasn’t crying now. Was she too distraught over her loss? He leaned back and used both hands to tilt her head up. Her eyes were misty, but not teary.

  “I’m sorry, Ellis. I just have to be honest with you. You have the right to know in case someday you decide—”

  “I decide?” he interrupted, somewhat taken aback.

  “Yes, if you decide to remarry and want childr—”

  “I’ve already decided to remarry,” he interrupted again. “You.” He held her face firmer, so she couldn’t do anything but look at him. “And I don’t want anything but you.” He kissed her forehead. A sense of loss bit at his heart. He’d never wanted more children, didn’t want to take the chance such an event could steal Constance from him, yet the knowledge they’d never share a child rolled painfully around in his chest. “I love you, and if someday we decide we want children, there are plenty around that need good homes. We’ll find a couple, or a dozen, or however many you want.” He met her gaze again. “I’ll share Angel with you. I know that would make her very happy.”

  Her smile filled her eyes with stars. “That would make me very, very happy.”

  His hands slid over her shoulders and grasped her upper arms. He should have asked her before, and wasn’t about to wait any longer. “Constance Jennings, will you marry me? Will you be a mother to my daughter, a wife to me and the one person I want beside me until the day I leave this earth?’

  A sparkling droplet slipped out of the corner of one eye. “Yes, Ellis Clayton, I’ll marry you. I’ll love Angel like a daughter, you as my husband, and I’ll never want to be anywhere but at your side, until we both leave this earth.”

  The emotions he’d felt today—the excitement of seeing her, the thrill of holding her, the anguish of hearing her story or the fury he held for Carmichael—couldn’t compare to what he experienced at this moment. None of it had gone as deep as the devotion overtaking his heart. It went beyond his mortal presence. Encompassed his very spirit. “I love you, Constance. From this moment on, don’t ever doubt how very much I love you.”

  “I’ve never doubted you, Ellis, and I won’t start now. I love you too much for that. I’ll always love you too much to have any doubts.”

  His lips had barely touched hers when a knock sounded on the door. He wanted to ignore it, to kiss her deeply, thoroughly, and then carry her to the bed along the wall and show her how genuine his love for her was, but, there was business to attend to first.

  “It’s probably Jeb and Miles. It’s been a long time since they left us alone.” Her hands roamed up and down his sides as she spoke, leaving him begging for more.

  “Yes, I suspect it is Jeb or Miles.” He kissed the tip of her adorable little nose. “But I’ll never have enough time alone with you.”

  “Nor I with you.” As the knock sounded again, she added, “You get the door. I’ll warm up their meat pie.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Jeb started as soon as Ellis pulled the door open. “But that fella might be all the way to Montana by now.”

  He hadn’t forgotten about Carmichael, or the fact the man still had a hold on Constance. “He’s not in Montana,” Ellis said. His guts told him the man hadn’t gone far. “Come on in, Constance has supper about ready.” He nodded through the open doorway. “You, too, Miles.”

  “You don’t want us to see if we can pick up his trail?” Jeb asked, removing his coat.

  “No, we aren’t going to chase him.” Ellis shut the door. “He’ll be back, and we’ll be waiting.”

  Miles glanced to the table where Constance set plates down. “I’ll go get a couple more chairs. If that’s all right?”

  “Yes, Miles, please get two more chairs. The food will be ready soon,” Constance answered, with a gleam in her eyes that renewed the excitement in Ellis’s veins.

  He followed her to t
he stove and laid a hand in the small of her back. “What can I do to help?”

  “Eat fast,” she whispered.

  It was downright hard not to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight—until the end of time. “I will,” he assured, picking up the plate of bread she’d sliced. “I will.”

  The hour that followed was extremely long. Jeb and Miles were intent on talking about Byron Carmichael. Concern the man would return weighed heavy, but the idea of lying Constance down on the bed and her soft body merging completely with his held precedence on Ellis’s thoughts. He still had to tell her about Eli’s letter, and would as soon as Jeb and Miles settled into watch duty in the barn.

  As if she read his mind, Constance gave him a shy yet excited glance out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll pack up the leftovers for the two of you,” she said to Jeb and Miles. “You can take them out to your room.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Jeb replied. “That meat pie sure was good. Is there any of that left?”

  “I’m afraid not, but there is cheese and bread and

  oranges, besides a few cookies.” She stacked the empty plates from the table upon one another.

  Ellis leaped to his feet so fast the legs on his chair bounced, and moments later, saw the men to the door. They spoke, told him their plan of action for the night, and he must have responded—habitually, because his mind was across the room, where Constance was quickly cleaning, and on the other side of the cabin, where the bed rested along the wall. His insides were full of tiny bits of lightning, striking specific spots fueled with anticipation.

  When he shut the door, he moved to the sink. She glanced over her shoulder, and the quiver tugging at her lips made his insides pitch. Covering the swell of her hips with his palms, he nuzzled the side of her head. “Hey.”

  She trembled, and he massaged the gentle curves beneath the material of her dress.

  “I’m scared, Ellis. What if Byron returns tonight?”

  “I’m here,” he whispered, kissed the tip of her ear.

  She leaned against him. “I’m so thankful you are, but—”

  “I’m here,” he repeated, running his lips down the side of her neck, nipping at the skin. “Even if he makes it past Jeb and Miles, he’ll never make it past me. I promise.” He caressed the flatness of her stomach and the firmness of her rib cage.

  She sighed and tilted her head, giving him more precious skin to kiss. “You’re making me forget what I’m doing,” she whispered. “Making me forget about—”

  “Good. I don’t want you to think about anything….” He nibbled on her earlobe and trailed his hands along her arms until his fingers met hers in the warm soapy water. “Except the dishes we’re washing,” he whispered.

  Her fingers intertwined with his, and she swayed, burrowing her back into his chest, and her charming backside against his groin. “Do you know how to wash dishes?” she asked teasingly.

  “Yes,” he mumbled against her neck. He knew how to make her forget all about Carmichael, and was more than willing to do so. “I even know how to bake bread.”

  Her giggle rumbled the skin beneath his lips. “That was one of the most amazing nights of my life.”

  “Mine, too,” he admitted, pressing her forward, trapping her hips between his and the counter. She arched, intensifying the divine connection and indulging the intensive swirl of desire building between them. As one, their hands washed and then dunked the dishes in the rinse water before setting the dripping items on the towel she’d laid on the counter. The simple actions became a game of sharing and teasing that quickened his breath and had the air around them sizzling with anticipation.

  When the last dish was washed, she used a towel to wipe his and her hands simultaneously, and then gracefully twisted around to face him. No trepidation lingered in her eyes. He lifted her until her pelvic bones slid between his with perfection.

  “I need to dump the water,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck.

  “Later,” he said. “I’ll dump it later.” His lips found hers, not in a heated rush, but in a slow perfection of mutual bonding. Her sweet essence flowed through his veins as their waists rolled in tune with majestic inner music. They had all night, and he planned on loving her the entire time. No rushing, no quick, hot explosions that would leave them gasping for air. That could come later, after he’d shown her exactly how precious and adorable she was to him.

  Walking backward, he towed her across the room, never taking his gaze off her face. She was so beautiful, and the adoration filling her eyes had his heart tripling in size. “I love you,” he whispered several times as they maneuvered across the room.

  The backs of his knees bumped the bed. She folded their clasped hands beneath her chin. “I almost feel like I’m dreaming. Like I’m in a land far, far away where everything is perfect and wonderful.”

  “Everything is perfect and wonderful.”

  She tilted her chin. “Kiss me.”

  “You want me to kiss you?” he teased, hovering his lips above hers.

  “Yes.” She arched, pressing against him.

  The effect she had on him was amazing, extraordinary. He had every sense ticking and his pulse pounding. “A delightful thought,” he whispered, barely brushing his lips over the tip of her nose. “What will you do if I kiss you?”

  “Kiss you back,” she answered, breathlessly.

  “Mmm,” he mumbled, loving the sparks dancing between them. “You will?”

  “Yes.” She tried to catch his lips as he brushed them over her cheek.

  The teasing was driving him crazy, to heights unbeknownst, but he wanted to make sure her thoughts were on nothing but him. Them. “Right now?” he asked.

  Her whimper, and the way she moaned, “Ellis,” told him exactly where her thoughts were.

  He gave in, and as he’d known it would, the kiss led to another and another, each more commanding. The thrill racing through him said he’d soon be too far gone to take it slow and easy. Constance’s needs were on the surface, too. She’d wrenched his shirt out of his britches and was now kneading his skin, growing as impatient as he.

  She stretched, following his lips as he pulled them from hers. Finding an ounce of restraint, he slowly unfastened the buttons at her throat, taking time to kiss her glistening skin before moving to the next button, and the next. Admiring the wonders being revealed, he eased the material off her shoulders. Let it fall to the floor.

  “Shouldn’t we douse the lights?” she whispered.

  “No,” he answered. “I want to see you.”

  “But I—” She held the material tight across her stomach.

  Understanding flooded his mind, and a fierce bitterness erupted over her previous suffering. He couldn’t erase her past, but he could release her from it. “You are the most beautiful woman on earth,” he said. “And I love you. With all my heart and soul.” Tilting her chin so he could see deep into her blue eyes, he continued, “No one has ever been more beautiful, nor will they ever be.”

  Her lids fluttered shut and an adorable blush tinted her cheeks. “It’s the truth,” he said between kissing her brows. “Everything about you is beautiful.”

  “I love you,” she whispered, kissing his chin.

  “Then let me see you. All of you.”

  She took a step back, and with a deft tug, let loose the pink ribbon bow on her camisole. His breath caught as the edges fell and the laces parted, exposing the flawless, creamy flesh of her breasts. He all but groaned as the peaks, lovely, perfect in every way, came into view, but remained still, waited, as she pushed the straps off her shoulder and shrugged out of the garment.

  His heart wrenched at the way she swallowed before untying the band holding up her pantaloons. She drew an audible breath as the silky garment fell over her hips. The scars marring her skin, proving the pain she’d experienced, tore at him, but it was the torment in her eyes, the bits of fear she was trying to hide that he reacted to.

  Placing his
palm on her stomach, he kissed her forehead. “We all have scars, Constance. They make us who we are. And yours—” he stroked the scarred skin softly “—make you more beautiful. They demonstrate your strength, the will you have to survive against all odds. They prove to me you are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Oh, Ellis,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers.

  He knew he loved her, had for some time, but the emotions bubbling inside him grew stronger than he’d known they could, and he kissed her. Let the depths of his devotion spew between them.

  A delicate, delightful moan sounded as his fingers brushed the underside of her breast, and again when he ran the pads of his thumbs over her nipples.

  “You have no idea how you make me feel,” she said between tiny gasps.

  Nuzzling her neck, kissing her collarbone, he answered, “I hope it’s good.”

  “Oh, yes—” She shivered and her nails dug into his arms as he licked the tips of her breasts. “Very good.”

  He tasted her thoroughly, reveled in how the hardened nubs teased his tongue with a charm that was downright wicked. The sweet torment was pushing him to the limit.

  “Ellis,” Constance whimpered. “I can’t take much more.” She pushed at him, yet tugged at the same time.

  His breathing was as ragged as hers. Her fingers were tearing at his buttons, and he straightened, gave her leave to unfasten each one. His hands went back to her breasts, cupping the weight and plying the tips.

  “Ellis,” she chided, though her tone said differently. She shoved his shirt over his shoulders, making his hands momentarily leave her breasts. Her hands were on his chest, flesh upon flesh, and teasing him with a hunger a thousand lonely nights had never caused. Taut and hard, he ached and throbbed, and when her hand slid downward, inching toward the part of him that begged to be released, he could bear no more.

  Ellis caught her hand. Excitement and anticipation had her eyes glowing with a smoldering light. He kissed her gently. “I want to take it slow, pleasure you—” His hoarse whisper caught as her other hand tugged at his waistband.

  She unbuttoned his britches, and found him so quick and deftly he jolted. “We can take it slow next time,” she whispered. “We’ve waited too long as it is.”