by Jillian Hart
“Now, I’m not worried about you failing as a wife in the bedroom, Elizabeth. I’m not sure what I have to convince you of, but surely you had feelings for a man before. Good feelings, I mean.”
And at that, she sighed, shaking her head. “Not likely.”
“Not even when you planned on marrying the other fella—what was his name? Amos something or other, wasn’t it?”
“It’s not something a well-brought-up lady does, Lucas. My mother would pitch a fit to hear you speak so. And my daddy would be after Amos with a shotgun had he thought such a thing had come to pass.”
He laughed, and to her mind, relief rode his countenance. “I’m just wondering how to go about this whole wedding-night thing with you. I don’t want to scare you off, but it seems that someone should have spoken to you about it when you were growing up.”
“My mother didn’t think such things were fit topics of conversation, even between women, certainly not between mother and daughter. I suspect she thought I’d find out all I needed to know on my wedding night. Which didn’t come to pass, as matters went.”
“Ah, but it will tonight, Elizabeth. And I need to know that you aren’t frightened of me. I’m rather relieved, to tell you the truth, that you’re a tall woman, not likely to feel overpowered by a man of my size. I also want to let you know that I will never in any way cause you harm. I have nothing but disdain for men who misuse their wives and children. You won’t ever see me beating on my boys, for although a good swat on the seat may sometimes be of good use, harming a child with a belt or fists or anything else is beneath a decent man’s dignity.”
“I feel the same way about children, Lucas. I don’t think you realize that I worked with fifty children or so at the orphanage in Boston. It was less than a mile from our home and I offered to lend a hand there when I was but a young woman. They were thrilled to get a volunteer so easily, and accepted my offer.”
He laughed, picking out one phrase of her explanation and commenting on it. “You’re still a young woman, Elizabeth. You’re hardly ready for a rocking chair and slippers yet.”
“Well, I found my niche there anyway. I cooked and showed the girls how to clean and keep house and the boys were happy to eat everything I put on the table. I donated three full days a week to the orphanage, and enjoyed every minute of it. It was so rewarding and I grew to appreciate the life I’d been given as a child. My father wanted a son and so taught me the things he would have taught a boy when we lived on the farm in my early years. I’ve ridden a horse for almost twenty-five years.”
“Well, that’ll come in handy when we have to round up the steers for market, won’t it?”
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked, cutting him a sharp look.
“Heavens, no—just pleased not to have to hire another cowhand for roundup.”
“My, I’ll be saving you all sorts of money, won’t I? Will I be able to keep what I earn from selling butter and eggs to Harvey Klein if he’s willing to buy them from me?”
“Oh, he’ll be willing. Eggs are in short supply in town. The ladies there don’t soil their hands with chickens and such, and butter is always a good item. They don’t own churns in town either, it seems. Doris used to sell her butter and eggs weekly.”
Elizabeth sobered, not able to judge if her query would be unanswered by the man across the table. “Was she pretty? Your wife, I mean?”
He looked at Elizabeth, took in her measure slowly, his gaze traveling over her tall form and resting for a moment on her dark hair, twisted up in a thick bun atop her head. She’d secured it with bone hairpins before dinner, for it had a tendency to slip from place and look untidy most days. She used to braid it in the mornings, but traveling had meant she must look a lady in all ways, and her bonnet kept her hair in place pretty well.
And then he shrugged. “I suppose you could call her pretty. She was short and delicate, looked like a good stiff wind would blow her away. Light haired and small boned she was. Probably that’s what killed her eventually. She hadn’t been well since Toby was born, for she labored long and hard to deliver him. The doctor said it was a miracle she survived it. And eventually she managed to let it take her from us. Almost like she was weary of the life she led here. She just closed her eyes and gave up.”
“I doubt it was her choice,” Elizabeth said, thinking of the woman who had left two little boys to be raised by their father.
“I don’t know. She felt bad one day and stayed in bed. Then the next day she got up and made breakfast and told me she thought she was sickening, and by noontime she was back in bed. She’d bled something fierce, and I got the doctor out and he said she had a problem with her female organs, and it didn’t look good for her. He was right, for she lived less than a month after that. Just kinda faded away, like she was too tired to breathe.”
“A mother would not have left her children by choice, Lucas. She couldn’t help dying.”
He looked up, his eyes weary. “I know that. But at the end there, she just didn’t care anymore. Said she was tired of working and not seeing an end to the work. I don’t think she was cut out for this life. But she wanted to marry me real bad. Even proposed to me at a dance in town one night. Said I was the best prospect around, and I had a good piece of property and a house all built.”
“Did you love her?” It was a daring question, but for some reason Elizabeth needed to know the answer.
He shook his head, then denied the gesture. “Hell, yes. I loved her. All men love their wives, don’t they? And I’m a man.” And then he dropped his head. “I don’t know if I loved her or not. I wanted her, sure enough. She was pretty and all. But she didn’t have any…call it depth, maybe, to her. She only thought about herself and what she wore and said that she was the envy of the women in town because she’d caught the most eligible bachelor around.” He looked up at Elizabeth again and his words were harsh. “Hell, I don’t know if I loved her or not. But like I said, most men love their wives or they wouldn’t have married them, would they?”
“No, they don’t, Lucas. There are a lot of unhappy women in this world who’d give their right arm to have a man around who truly loved them.”
“And how would you know that, Miss Spinster?”
She was silent, her heart aching from his words. She shook her head and rose from the table, then stepped into the hallway and toward the stairs. Her hand on the newel post, she turned to where he stood in the kitchen doorway.
“I’m going up to bed, Lucas. I’m weary, it seems. Perhaps you’ll excuse me from being a wife tonight. I feel the need of sleep. And I don’t feel brave enough to tackle a husband tonight.”
She lifted her skirts and walked slowly up the stairs, and the man behind her watched, noting her feet as they touched the risers, paying special mind to the slim ankles that were on display beneath the hem of her skirts. She might be a bit hefty, but doggone if she didn’t have pretty ankles, he thought.
Then he remembered her dismissal of him, her words of sleeping and not being a wife tonight. His mind latched on to that phrase and anger was set alive in his chest, but so was a grudging respect. He watched her reach the second floor and walk from him, and his mouth uttered words she could not hear. “We’ll see, lady. We’ll see.”
It was well past dark when Lucas entered his bedroom, carrying a candle, for he knew there were none on the table beside his bed. The boys were settled, their doors closed. He’d blown out the lantern in the kitchen, latched the door and then had trodden the stairs alone. And if he had things straight, his loving wife did not plan on welcoming him to the bed tonight.
That was too bad, he thought, tugging his boots from his feet and tucking his stockings inside for tomorrow. He slid the suspenders from his shoulders and lowered his trousers. His drawers were shed next and he walked to the bed, naked as the day he was born thirty-six years ago.
And that was another thing. Elizabeth hadn’t told him her age. He’d guess her past her mid-twenties, but who knew? Sh
e’d already spent a number of years working at an orphanage, but he doubted she was over thirty yet.
He lifted the top sheet and lay down on the pillow, left on his side of the bed. He wasn’t used to having any specific side to call his own—usually he spread out over the whole expanse since he’d been sleeping alone. Elizabeth was facing the window, her back covered with a white fabric of some sort. A nightgown, he suspected, and then his mind wandered to the soft skin that lay beneath.
The thought was enough to harden his manhood to a point of pain. It had been a long time since Lucas had held a woman in his arms, and the one sharing his bed tonight was surely woman enough for any man.
He’d make a subtle approach, he decided, tapping her shoulder and feeling her stiffen beneath his hand.
“Go to sleep, Lucas,” she said quietly. No anger, no fear, just a woman intent on denying him his rights.
“Not a chance, Lizzie. Not a chance.”
She turned over and faced him, holding the sheet before her like a shield. “And what do you mean by that? Do you plan on attacking me like a—”
“You’re my wife and I’ll be damned if I’ll look at your back all night on my wedding night. At least let me hold you in my arms and allow me to enjoy the scent of a woman before I go to sleep.”
“I didn’t know that a woman had a particular scent,” she said, looking puzzled in the dark. “And I don’t want your arms around me while I sleep. I’m used to sleeping alone.”
“Well, you won’t sleep alone here, ma’am. You’ll sleep with me, and since you asked so nicely downstairs, I’m willing to forgo my wedding night, so long as you don’t give me any hassle about having my arms around you.”
She sat up beside him, her hair long and flowing, released from the prim bun she’d concocted atop her head earlier. It lay against her gown, looking as dark as the night, even though he knew it was not black but a dark brown—a pretty dark brown, now that he considered it. He touched it, there at the small of her back, where the last wave curled. He twined it around his finger and she turned, taking it from him.
“What are you doing?”
“Just touching your hair. It’s beautiful, Lizzie. You should leave it down all the time.”
“A lady doesn’t let her hair hang loose. It’s slovenly. I sometimes braid it up and let the braid fall down my back, but otherwise I put it up.”
“I can handle the braid, I think. But I’m not real fond of the bun thing. If you had any idea how pretty it looks right now, you’d never wind it up on top of your head again.”
“Sometimes I put a braid in at night. Otherwise it’s all tangled in the morning.”
He smiled, reaching to touch a wave at the side of her face. “I can’t wait to see you in the morning, all tangled and blushing.”
She looked puzzled, pulling her hair from his hand. “Why would I be blushing?”
“You’ll find out, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart. You don’t even know me, Lucas. I’m barely your wife.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You’re not my wife yet. But, trust me, you will be, maybe sooner than you think.”
She cast him a dubious look, her face in shadow. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to sleep. I’ve had a dreadfully long day. And tomorrow doesn’t look to be any better.”
She turned away and his hands were quick, reaching for her and turning her in the bed. He then lay back down, with Elizabeth tucked neatly in his arms. Her head was on his shoulder, her body pressed against his and he knew she had to be feeling his arousal pressed against her.
She was silent, almost appearing frozen in his embrace, and he rued his quick action. This was almost guaranteed to give her a case of newlywed fright. But it seemed his fear was unfounded, for she slowly relaxed beside him, though both of her arms were against her chest, as if she would protect the soft curves of her breasts.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Lizzie. I’ve already told you that. You can let go. I won’t deny I’m mighty tempted to touch those pretty breasts of yours, but I’m not a man to be grabbing at a woman.”
Her breath was warm against his chest, her skin pebbled in the chilled air, and he took pity. Reaching down, he pulled the sheet up to cover them both and tucked it around her shoulder, protecting her from any stray draft from the windows.
“Thank you, Lucas,” she murmured, the words almost lost against his chest, the movement of her lips bringing him to an even higher state of arousal.
“You’d better thank me, sweetheart, for I’m about to burst. I can’t think of any other way to describe how I feel, but you’ve got me all tied up in trying to be nice and still have my way about some small thing tonight.”
“Lucas.” She wriggled against him. “Lucas, let me sit up. I want to say something.”
He relaxed his hold and she leaned on the bed, sitting up beside him gingerly.
“What is it, Lizzie? Are you moving out of my bedroom?”
She turned to look down at him, a ghostly vision in white, outlined against the window appearing almost as a spirit. “Where would I go? The parlor? The sofa there looks awfully uncomfortable for anyone more than five feet tall, and I surely don’t qualify in that department.” She lifted her hands from her lap and her fingers worked at the buttons of her gown.
“What are you doing, Lizzie?” He sat up beside her and took careful note of the bodice of her nightgown opening downward, farther than he’d thought it would go, for the buttons apparently ended well below her waist.
“I’m undoing my gown. You won’t be happy unless you claim your rights tonight, Lucas. And I don’t want to argue with you over the consummation of our marriage. It has to happen sometime, so it might as well be tonight. I’m not planning on enjoying this, you might as well know. Sissy told me all about wedding nights, and if she was on target, this promises to be more than painful and messy.”
She scooted her gown upward, lifting her hips from the mattress to facilitate its removal. In seconds she had pulled it over her head and dropped it to the floor. “All right, Lucas. Do what you like with me,” she said in a whisper that sounded as if it carried a hint of tears.
Lucas watched, awestruck by her actions. Never had he thought to see such a thing happen. He’d planned on coaxing her, playing on her good nature, perhaps eventually opening the bodice, the better to see her breasts. And here she was, tossing the damn thing on the floor and lying down beside him again.
“I don’t want any fooling around first, Lucas. I don’t know how long I can hold my nerve, to tell you the truth. I want you to go ahead and claim my body, as is your right. I won’t fight you or cause a fuss of any kind. Just get it over with, and then let me sleep.”
He pulled the sheet from her, for she’d pulled it up over her breasts, and he wasn’t planning on missing one inch of her ample curves when he took this chance to look her over. She lay on her back, her face pale in the glow from the windows, and her gaze touched his.
He leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss soft and seeking, with no trace of impatience, for he wanted to taste her, to know the womanly scent she exuded, the soft, plump curves of her breasts tempting him to touch them.
She would have spoken then, but his kiss silenced her and he pressed a bit, his tongue touching her tightly sealed lips. “Open for me, Elizabeth. Please.”
She allowed the penetration of his tongue and he gloried in it, careful of his possession as he explored the ridges of her teeth, the length of her tongue, the heat of the woman. She whimpered a bit and then her tongue touched his, a quick, small nudge, but enough to let him know that she was not totally immune to this sort of love play.
He lifted his hand to her breast and held it in his palm, the weight of it overflowing, the tight crest hardening even more as he shifted his fingers and he touched the fullness surrounding it. He caught that small, hard peak between his fingers and squeezed gently, hearing her indrawn breath, her sigh of wonder as h
e played gently with the bounty she had offered him.
And then he bent his head and took the tender bit of flesh into his mouth, suckling a bit, careful not to frighten her, but wanting to give her some small bit of pleasure. Even as her breathing seemed to cease and she stiffened beneath him.
And as he suckled there, he moved his hand down her body, touched her navel briefly, felt her squirm as he did so, and he almost smiled. Indeed, had he not been so engulfed in the breast he claimed, he might have laughed aloud. The woman might be a virgin, and he had no reason to think otherwise, but she was also a flower about to open, just for him.
Elizabeth was untried, untested by any man, yet she offered him the knowledge that she was enjoying his touch, that he brought her pleasure of a sort. His hand crept lower, touched the tightly curled hair that covered her mound, and then stopped. For the woman had ceased to breathe. He lifted his head from her breast to look up at her.
“Breathe, Lizzie. You’re frightening me here.”
She inhaled deeply and laughed softly. “I forgot to breathe, Lucas. I’m too busy thinking of all the things you’re doing to me.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he told her, his hand separating the soft folds he’d discovered and his index finger exploring the length and depth of her most secret place. As he entered her with one long, wide finger, she made a sound of distress in her throat and he stopped again. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, an abrupt movement, and opened her eyes as he looked closely at her face, seeking out any sign of tears and fear that might be there. “I just didn’t expect you to do that, Lucas. I didn’t know that a man would want to…”
Her voice trailed off and he took pity once more. “Every part of your body is important to me, Elizabeth. And some parts are more tempting than others. Your breasts are round and firm and more luscious than I expected.”
