Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 01]

by The Matchmaker

  “What are you doing? I was in the middle of something.”

  “Yes. And you were coming uncomfortably close to the end of it. I had to stop you somehow.”

  “By dragging me to the floor? Marcus, that was a prop—”

  “Here. This will be more comfortable.” Marcus rearranged his arms, using one of them to pillow her head and shoulders. He gazed down at her urgently. “Better?”

  She blinked in confusion. “Yes.”

  “Good. Then marry me, Molly.”

  “Marcus! I—”

  He kissed her once, just to be sure she understood he meant it. When their lips parted again, her eyes were still widened in shock, but at least she wasn’t protesting now.

  “Marry me,” he begged, his heart pounding wildly with the fear that she might, after all this, say no—possibly out of sheer contrariness that he’d foiled her proposal. That would be like her, Marcus thought wildly, and knew he had to press on. “You might not think you need me. But you’ll never find a man who loves you the way I do—”

  “On the floor?”

  “—no matter how hard you try.”

  “I haven’t tried. I—”

  “I need you, Molly. I need you more than I ever knew.” With a trembling hand, Marcus touched her face. Love swelled within him, making him feel both humble and afraid. Humble that he’d gotten this far…afraid that she’d say no. “Please,” he said hoarsely. “Say you’ll be my wife, and make me the happiest man in Morrow Creek. I love you, Molly. So much.”

  “Oh, Marcus.” Her eyes turned moist with unshed tears. She reached for him there, on the floor. “I am already yours. I was yours from the moment you brought me to your mill, and from the moment you regarded me with such seriousness. I was yours from the moment you treated me as a business equal, and a woman to be courted. No man had ever treated me as such—no man was exceptional enough for that, save you. I may as well say it now, before we go on…your good opinion of my work meant so much to me.”

  Her shining gaze captured his, stirred guilty discomfort within him. If Molly ever discovered the truth of the machinations that had brought her to his lumber mill…the subterfuge that still went on as he paid his men to buy her sweets…Lord, he could not stand it.

  “I think that quality in you may well have turned the tide between us,” she was saying, cheerfully. “That is why I know we can be happy together. Ours will be a union of equals.”

  A union of equals. To his surprise, Marcus wanted that, too. But not if it was based on a lie. That, indeed, was what his initial encouragement of her bakeshop had been.

  He tried to turn the subject. “A union of equals? Your sister Grace has been evangelizing her beliefs at home, as well as on the street.”

  Molly smiled. “Only you would be so accepting of her.”

  “Jack Murphy is not. That is for certain.”

  “I know. You are a unique man. Encouraging me at my bakeshop was only the beginning of it. So tonight, as far as your question goes—”

  “Wait! Don’t tell me your answer now.”

  Desperately Marcus stopped Molly with a kiss. He felt ashamed of having deceived her as much as he had, woefully fearful that if she continued as she’d begun, she would talk herself into marrying him for all the wrong reasons. For his false support, his sham encouragement, his pretended good opinion of her baking. He should at least, he told himself, give her other reasons to care for him.

  “Let me show you the dinner we’re to share,” he coaxed, hitting upon the strategy in just that moment. “Before you decide.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Molly.” He stroked her hair away from her face, trying not to show the bullheaded need he felt to make her love him for himself…not for a thing he’d done in an attempt to uncover the secret matchmaker in as unobtrusive a manner as possible. For that, precisely, was what bringing Molly to his lumber mill had been.

  At first.

  He pressed further, willing to appear as foolish as necessary in order to win her. “Or did you think,” he asked, “that you are the only one who wants encouragement in your endeavors?”

  Molly’s expression, initially confused, turned canny…then teasing. “Encouragement, my eye! You simply want me sated and pleased before I give you my answer. You think to influence me with roasted chicken and potatoes.”

  “And boiled carrots. Don’t forget those.”

  “Very well.” Laughing, Molly pushed his chest as though to move him so they could get to their feet. “Let’s have this great feast of yours. But I warn you, it won’t change my mind a bit. My answer is formed. Despite my past, I’m more decisive than you or anyone else in Morrow Creek really knows.”

  He hoped she was wrong about that.

  “Hmm,” was all he said.

  Marcus rolled aside. He helped Molly to a seated position, then leaped up to help her stand. She shrieked with surprise when he pulled her immediately into his arms again.

  “Perhaps dinner won’t change your mind,” he agreed, pausing to press a leisurely kiss to her lips. “But I’d be willing to bet that what I have planned for afterward…might.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  That evening, Molly was swept off her feet.

  First, quite literally as Marcus tumbled them both to the floor for his sudden proposal. Then, figuratively as he proceeded to shower her with attention, ply her with delicious food and drink, tease her with laughter and good humor. As it happened, Marcus Copeland could make himself nigh irresistible when he chose to…and tonight, he most definitely chose to.

  They finished dinner unhurriedly, lingering over the succulent chicken. They sat together in the candlelight, Molly exclaiming over Marcus’s newly learned talents in the kitchen. They talked and laughed, occasionally kissed. Molly, emboldened, even dared to try a sip of ale.

  “Bah! How can you drink the stuff?” she exclaimed afterward, covering her mouth in horror. “It tastes awful!”

  But then a pleasant wooziness stole over her, and Molly understood. Ale gave a sensation similar to the feeling that newfound love engendered—tingling fingers, and all. Under its influence, the room seemed cozier, the lamplight brighter, the company wittier.

  “No wonder all those men linger at Jack Murphy’s saloon,” Molly marveled, nodding toward the pint. “They’re looking for the experience of love! I wonder if they know it.”

  She explained her theory to Marcus, who only laughed. He did not agree with her that this revelation only proved what Molly had known all along—there was a need for the matchmaker in Morrow Creek. The men’s very actions proved it.

  “I don’t want to talk about the matchmaker tonight,” Marcus said. “And two sips is more than enough ale for you.” He held out his hand. “Come. I want to show you my home.”

  “I’ve already seen it. When I—” Invaded it, had the locks changed, mistook you for a burglar and threatened to bludgeon you with a ledger. No, that would never do. “Lovely! Let’s.”

  They wandered through the place hand in hand, Marcus showing the things he’d bought to furnish his home and also pointing out the things he’d built himself. While a lantern’s light enclosed them in a moving circle of brightness, he entertained her with stories of the house’s construction, and made sure she saw all the most newfangled features.

  “Any woman who chooses to become mistress of this household,” he said with a meaningful squeeze of her hand, “will enjoy all of this. I keep the roof repaired, the wood box full and all the mattresses stuffed. Outside there’s room for a vegetable garden, too. Even flowers might grow there.”

  Thoughtfully Molly merely nodded.

  They moved onward, stopping in the room Marcus used for an office. He indicated his shelves of ledgers with a wave of the lantern. “One look through those would tell the new mistress of this household that she’d joined futures with a man of business. A man who’d built a lumber mill from nothing, and made it one of the top timber suppliers in the territory.”


  Thoughtful, Molly merely smiled.

  They climbed the stairs, emerging in a hallway with a paneled alcove bordering it. Marcus tugged her inside the small space. He cleared his throat, frowning slightly.

  “I’m told this will make a good sewing area,” he said. “I can bring in a chair and a machine, and there’s good light from that window for fancywork. A woman who liked to sew—or knit—would enjoy it.”

  He raised his eyebrows hopefully at her. Molly gave a small “hmm.”

  Next they traversed the hallway, peeking into two sparsely furnished rooms before entering the largest bedroom. There, a massive carved-pine bedstead occupied most of the space. It was covered in a thick burgundy coverlet and several pillows, and looked fluffy enough to bounce upon.

  Molly and Marcus stared at it. Molly was suddenly aware of exactly where they were: in Marcus’s bedroom. In his private space, a room which only Marcus and his beloved ought to share. Being there felt dangerous, in a way…but it also felt, somehow, right. In the lamplight, a seeming loss for words fell upon them both. Marcus released her hand to rub the back of his neck in an uncomfortable gesture.

  Almost defiantly, he spoke. “This is my bedroom. It will be the mistress of this household’s chamber, as well. I keep it warm and clean, and the bed is of the newest design.”

  Marcus strode farther inside the room. He set down the lamp on a bureau nearby and tested the mattress with his hand. “The way I constructed this bed makes it very sturdy.”

  Molly merely smiled. Then, she spoke.

  “Why does it need to be so sturdy?” She followed him, thinking of her initial impression of the bed. She paused beside it, her heartbeat quickening at finding herself in so intimate a space with a man. With Marcus. “I wonder…do you bounce on it?”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  He stared back, looking momentarily befuddled.

  “It might be fun to bounce on it,” Molly added.

  “Yes.” He sounded slightly strangled. “It might.”

  The moment stretched between them, fraught with unspoken questions. Unvoiced desires. Unpracticed longing. Marcus’s dark gaze held hers, promising love and protection…and something more. Something heady and wonderful.

  Abruptly he grabbed the lantern. Its circle of light bobbed crazily as he shifted it to his opposite hand. “We should look at the outbuildings now. I have a small carriage house. Although it only holds a wagon at the moment.”

  Molly touched his arm and felt the strength emanating from him as surely as she sensed the tension within him, as surely as she wanted to ease it. “Let’s stay here.”

  “I keep the wagon in good repair,” he went on, still fixed on his mission. “I have two good horses. No mistress of this house would ever need to worry about making a long journey.”

  “I know I would be safe with you.”

  His jaw tightened. His gaze swept her face. Then, as though he wasn’t sure she’d understood him, he tried again.

  “Those linens are the finest I could buy,” Marcus blurted, swinging the lantern to illuminate the bed again. “Goose down pillows, fine cotton sheets, warm woolen blankets.”

  Molly stepped nearer. She lay her hand on his chest, then gave him a solemn look. “The mistress of this house will doubtless enjoy them…perhaps sooner than you think.”

  His whole being stilled. With an expression torn between raw male need and a fierce wish to show her everything else he’d intended to, Marcus regarded her. His eyebrow rose.

  “She will?”

  She nodded, feeling as though she might laugh aloud with joy—that, or let the tears in her eyes fall at last. “I will, of course. Me. Did you think I’d changed my mind? Marcus, I accept your proposal.”

  He looked dumbstruck. “I haven’t even shown you my root cellar yet. I keep it very thoroughly stocked, with—”

  “You don’t need to show me anything.” Gently Molly pried the lantern from his hand. She set it on the bureau, then stepped still nearer to Marcus again. “You never did. I love you, Marcus. I love your smile and your wit, your intelligence and your caring. I love your kisses. I love the way you touch me, and I love the way you make me laugh. I love you.”

  He still looked mystified. Molly knew why. She knew Marcus believed he could only be loved when he was giving to someone. Caring for someone. Protecting someone. His words before dinner—and his actions during his household tour—had told her that much.

  They love me because I help them. I know it.

  For as long as it took, she would prove to him that he was wrong about that heartbreaking notion. That he could be loved merely for who he was, not for what he had to give. Not for what she might or might not need from him.

  “So if you have not changed your mind between my arrival and this moment…yes, Mr. Copeland.” Molly drew in a deep, jubilant breath, fixing her gaze upon his face. “I will marry you. And I will do my best, my very best, to make you happy.”

  “Ahh, Molly.” He blinked, seeming to return to himself. A wide smile spread across his face, making him twice as handsome to her…twice as beloved. “Just seeing you smile makes me happier than I’ve ever been.”

  He touched her, his hands trembling, with relief or passion, Molly didn’t know. All she knew was that Marcus tilted her face within the masculine planes of his palms, that his warmth penetrated all the way to her heart as he stepped nearer, that he lowered his mouth to hers and sealed their engagement with a wonderful kiss. His lips met hers in a union so true it was all she could do to hang on…to give herself to him as freely as she already had surrendered her heart.

  Wanting him, delighting in the rugged feel of his broad shoulders beneath her hands, Molly edged closer. Their bodies met, sharing heat even as their kiss went on and on. To Molly, it felt as though they’d been meant to enjoy such togetherness, as though Marcus had been meant for her, all along.

  Between kisses, he murmured sweet words to her. Molly loved them all. She reciprocated with compliments and gestures, with shy touches and tentative whispers. Being with Marcus was surprisingly easy, she found. Somehow he removed all awkwardness from their encounter; bridged her lack of knowledge with understanding and care. His caressing hands were a celebration of their betrothal, and so were the kisses he lavished on her, over and over again.

  Before long, Molly felt breathless with excitement. Nearly undone with anticipation. And positively overflowing with love. ’Twas something Marcus felt, as well. Molly knew he did, because his love showed in the reverent way he slipped his hands to her breasts, in the awestruck angles of his face as he marveled at her helpless reaction to his touch.

  “Molly, you are so beautiful to me,” he said hoarsely. “To know you’ll soon be mine…”

  “I am yours already,” she answered. “Yours forever.”

  With a moan of pleasure, Marcus carried them both down onto the bed’s soft coverlet. Its texture embraced them, cozy and warm. Caught within it, Molly relaxed even further. This was Marcus, the man she loved. The man she would marry. Whatever happened between them this night was right, and good.

  “I have dreamed of this,” he said, raising himself on his forearms above her. Tousled dark hair framed his features, giving him the look of a rascal, but in his face, she glimpsed only affection and caring. “Of being together like this, with you.”

  “I…have also,” she confessed. She ran her hands over the taut muscles of his arms, meandered her way to the solid strength of his chest. “My upbringing was liberal, as you know, and…well, I cannot pretend I never wondered what your embrace would feel like.”

  Truly, it was more than an embrace they shared. Marcus’s body pressed hers into the plush mattress beneath them. He felt more muscular than she could have imagined, and far more remarkable. His heat surrounded her. His smile rewarded her.

  “Does it meet your expectations?”

  She nodded. “It—you—exceed them.”

  Looking boyishly pleased, Marcus ducked his head. Then he
kissed her neck, her earlobe, her jaw…before long, Molly forgot they’d been speaking at all, much less what they’d been speaking of. She writhed beneath his touch, urging him as much as she dared to continue, to go on, please. She thought she might faint if he did not.

  “Truly, I feel quite giddy,” she told him. “I don’t even dare get up from this bed.”

  “I hope you don’t,” he returned, his next touch a bold sweep of his hand from her waist to her thigh. “Stay with me, Molly. Stay…and love me.”

  “Oh, Marcus. I will.”

  His was a request she could not deny. Did not want to deny. And so, when Marcus’s fingers deftly slipped her dress’s buttons through their holes, Molly helped. When his hands delved between the resulting gap to caress the bare skin he’d revealed, she arched herself upward to meet him. When his mouth lowered to her throat for a newer, more seductive kind of kiss, she gasped…and then begged him for more of the same.

  Long moments later, Marcus drew her dress fully from her shoulders. He pushed away its unbuttoned length, kissed her as he worked at her corset’s fastenings, whispered how beautiful she was as he let her undergarments fall beside the bed. Clad only in her chemise, Molly might have felt vulnerable, even frightened. Instead, she merely felt beautiful and adored. Marcus made her feel that way. Because of it, she loved him all the more.

  He cupped her breasts in his hands, stroking her through the delicate fabric of her chemise. He kissed her mouth, making her writhe in pleasure. He loved her and caressed her, praised her and admired her, and just when Molly thought she might die of newly discovered ecstasy, Marcus rapidly shed all his clothes and introduced her to a new level of wonder.

  His body was perfectly made, wide at the shoulder and lean at the hip. His limbs were formed of corded muscle; his chest was broad, made for her hands to press against. Unable to do so while Marcus stood beside the bed, Molly instead let her gaze follow the short dark hair on his chest. It trailed lower, passing over his flat belly to join the remarkable sight at the junction of his thighs.

  At her first glimpse of his…Molly couldn’t bring herself to even think the word, but the part of him it described was incredible…she thought she might swoon. She swallowed hard, unable to pull her gaze away.