Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by Rainy Kirkland

  Chapter Sixteen

  The morning of the wedding bloomed bright and clear. As Sarah entered the grand salon, she couldn’t believe the transformation. Roses, in every shade of pink, had been artfully woven into the garlands of green that Nick and Chris had hung the night before. Their fresh scent filled the room, and Sarah realized that their full glory would be revealed as the heat of the day coaxed their petals to open. Delicate chains of white paper scalloped the garlands and huge white paper bows filled the corners. The effect was magnificent and Sarah could only wonder if Mrs. Carlson had seen her bed at all the night before.

  Carefully she ventured further into the room. The musicians had left their instruments resting on the chairs that had been provided for them in the far corner, but Sarah resisted the urge to inspect them at close range. In her mind she could still hear the melodies they had created the night before, and although she found the situation not at all unpleasant, the teaching of her ministers ran deep.

  Crossing the room, she saw a long table covered with white linen. In its center rested the most splendid cake she had ever seen. It stood four tiers tall and the white icing that covered it formed flowers and lattices of the most delicate nature. Two maids laden with heavy silver trays entered the room and immediately crossed over to her. They smiled shyly in her direction, then set about assembling a grand pyramid of sweets on either side of the cake.

  Mrs. Carlson bustled in carrying yet another immense tray. Sarah rushed to assist her. “Are you expecting many for the ceremony?” she asked, amazed at the quantity of food being set forth.

  The woman sighed gratefully, allowing Sarah to take the weight of the tray. “Since the weather has held I think we should have just under two hundred.”

  “Two hundred people?” Sarah could not contain her amazement.

  “Yes. Except for the Thermonts and the Fitzwaters who sent their regrets, I think everyone else is expected.” Mrs. Carlson shifted the tray and frowned. “Where are those boys?” She added an additional jelly to the pyramid on the right. “They’re never nearby when you need them. And God forbid I should get them to wear their wigs today like proper gentlemen.”

  “Are you looking for Mr. Beaumont and Master Chris?” the youngest maid questioned. “They’re down by the woodpile. That’s what all the cheering is about.”

  “At the woodpile?” Mrs. Carlson and Sarah spoke in unison.

  The girl nodded. “They made a bet with each other as to who could split a cord of wood the fastest.”

  Mrs. Carlson rolled her eyes toward heaven. “What next?” she muttered.

  “Oh, it is all right,” the maid added hastily. “Mr. Carlson is holding the money.”

  Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she offered no resistance when Mrs. Carlson took her hand and announced they were going to see for themselves.

  “So who do you think will win?” Mrs. Carlson winked as they reached the edge of the crowd that had gathered. Slaves stood with house servants, and wedding guests in all their finery circled Nick and Chris as their axes rose and fell with startling speed.

  Mrs. Carlson stepped to the front of the circle and clapped her hands smartly. “Chris, Nick, stop this immediately.” Amid the groans of protest from the crowd, the two axes fell silent. “Christopher Carlson, what can you be thinking of? Your sister is getting married today. And you,” she turned on her husband. “You’re as bad as these two scallywags. I have chores that need tending and a wedding to see to, and I can’t accomplish anything if the help is in the yard. Now, just how long is this going to take?”

  Nick straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. Like Chris, his jacket and waistcoat hung from a nearby fencepost and his once-white shirt was completely pulled from his breeches. He glanced at the stack of wood already chopped. “I say we chop for thirty minutes more, then call the contest ended.”

  Mrs. Carlson eyed her son and the growing crowd, then looked at the small timepiece she wore pinned to her gown. “One half hour and not a minute longer and then I expect everyone to help make up for this lost time. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, madam,” Chris and Nick said in unison, exchanging grins.

  “Then stop standing there resting and get on with it,” she commanded. “Mr. Carlson, I place five pounds of my egg money on Christopher.” The crowd cheered but she raised her hand for silence. “And I want to place five pounds of my house money on Nicholas.” The roar of the crowd doubled and both men bowed in her direction.

  Nick spit in his hands and rubbed them together briskly. Blisters were already forming, but he was not put off, for he had looked up to find Sarah standing directly before him on the inner edge of the growing circle.

  Chris saw Sarah, too, and his smile turned devilish. He rubbed his own sore hands on the sides of his breeches. “Same odds as last night?” He gave Nick a challenging wink.

  Nick returned the grin. “You’re a glutton for punishment, my friend.”

  Chris glanced again in Sarah’s direction, then to the hoots of the men and squeals from the ladies, he pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the ground. His well-defined shoulder muscles glistened in the sunlight. “You might be a fish, Beaumont, but then, fish don’t do very well on land, do they?”

  Nick’s eyes flashed his own determination and his shirt followed suit. But instead of dropping it to the ground, he tossed the damp garment in Sarah’s direction and smiled when she reached to catch it. “Hold that for me, would you?” he called. “I won’t be but a minute.”

  Chris flexed his muscles and raised his axe. “It’s thirty of them, and you’d better be ready.”

  Nick threw back his head, laughed at the sky, then took his position. A pistol sounded and Sarah jumped as the contest began anew.

  Sarah didn’t even realize she pressed Nick’s shirt close to her heart as she watched the axes rise and fall. Never in her life had she seen a naked chest, and now two stood displayed boldly before her. Transfixed, she watched the blue veins on Nick’s powerful forearms trace a pattern up his inner arm. The fluid motion of his axe whistled as it sliced through the air to land again and again. His broad shoulders were soon covered with sweat and they glistened as they flexed and stretched in the sunlight. The muscles of his chest revealed hidden strength, and Sarah could not stop her eyes from following the dark hair that curled down the center of that flat, broad expanse to disappear into the waistband of his snug breeches.

  Her mouth went dry and her head grew light as she watched each well-placed stroke of his axe. And when the sudden thought of lying naked within the circle of his arms struck her soul, Sarah felt her insides melt.

  The gun sounded again, and Sarah blinked with a start. Could a half hour have truly passed so quickly? The she realized that beneath her gown her chemise was soaked with perspiration from standing unprotected in the blazing sun. Blinking against the sudden glare, she watched the two men shake hands, then lean back on their axe handles. Chris joked good-naturedly with the crowd as his own wood was stacked and measured. But Nick’s smile didn’t return until his pile was declared higher and he was officially proclaimed the winner. Even then his expression was more of satisfaction than pleasure.

  Two buckets of icy water were hauled from the stream and Sarah gasped along with Nick as one was dumped over him. He shivered and shook his head, reminding her of a dog caught in the rain as he sent water droplets flying.

  Chris retrieved his shirt from the ground and slapped it against his thigh to remove the dust before wiping it down his chest. “The next time I’ll not let you beat me so easily,” he teased, trying to catch his breath.

  Sarah tried to ignore the money changing hands all around her as she hesitantly stepped forward to hand Nick his shirt. “That was quite a contest,” she said as the crowd melted away to find cooler entertainment. “I had no idea that you two were so . . .”

  “Competitive?” Nick offered, glaring at Chris’s exposed chest while his own heaved with each bre
ath.

  “Heavily muscled?” Chris winked, holding the stitch in his side.

  “Athletic,” Sarah stated firmly, looking from one to the other. “Whatever made you do such a madcap stunt.”

  Chris flung his arm around Nick’s shoulder. “You’d never know it, but usually I can beat this clown.”

  “And pigs can fly,” Nick snorted, pulling his damp shirt on over his head.

  “But why do it at all?” she questioned, trying not to stare at the wet cloth as it clung to his chest.

  “Usually for the fun of it.” Chris laughed painfully. “But today the stakes were too rich to pass up.”

  Sarah shook her head as she studied them. “But neither of you have need for money.”

  Chris shrugged and threaded his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes money is not the answer.” He glanced at Nick and despite the pain in his side, his eyes began to twinkle. “I would not put my body through this torture for a mere handful of coins.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you did this,” she waved toward the towering stacks of wood, “just for the folly of it?”

  Both stood sheepishly and refused to meet her gaze.

  Sarah folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing. “Then tell me, just what is this magnificent prize that would make two grown men chop wood until they practically collapse?”

  Chris flipped his shirt around his neck and let his hands hang on the ends. “Why you, my sweet.” Then giving a wink, he trotted off toward the house leaving Sarah to stare at Nick with eyes full of wonder.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midday and the wedding proceeded exactly as planned. Julie, dressed in the palest of pink, joined her young man to speak their vows before friends and family in the grand salon. Then all the guests were herded out onto the lawn where huge tables had been arranged.

  Clad in her new gown of sapphire, and feeling uncomfortably aware of herself, Sarah sat beside Nick on one of the long benches. Chris sat across from them and kept the entire table of twenty amused with his anecdotes. The sun was about to set when the last course was finally served, and Sarah felt she would not be able to eat another bite for days.

  “I shall have to add gluttony to my list of sins,” she sighed, leaning back from the table.

  Nick turned to watch her. The idea that anyone, save the clergy, would care enough to keep track of their sins amazed him. Yet as he viewed the sincerity on her delicate features he was struck again by the vast differences in their life-styles. He absently kneaded the growing stiffness in his shoulder and wondered if she’d run in fright to find that he owned a harpsichord and was quite accomplished at its keyboard.

  They could hear the call of the French horn from the house and the violins being tuned, and soon the lilting sounds of a minuet drifted down the lawn, compelling many of the guests to retreat to the salon in hopes of dancing off the grand meal they had just consumed.

  Nick took Sarah’s arm and helped her from the bench. “Have I told you how lovely you look in your new gown?” His eyes were dark and unfathomable when she looked up at him.

  “Madame Rousseau made it,” she stammered, unable to forget the sight of his bare chest.

  “Actually I find it doesn’t matter what you wear,” he said, taking her arm and steering her toward the house. “You would still be the most beautiful woman here.”

  Sarah turned and smiled at him as they reached the steps. “And you are well in your cups if you think that,” she said easily. “Everyone knows that the rule clearly states that the bride be the most comely one at a wedding.”

  Nick leaned closer. “And do you always follow the rules?”

  Startled by his intensity, Sarah took a step back. “I have to go in,” she said quickly while her heart pounded loudly in her throat. “I promised Mrs. Carlson I would lend a hand. Why don’t you go to the salon and join in the dancing?”

  Nick propped his foot on the step and rested his hand on his knee. “I’ll come looking for you later,” he stated solemnly. “I want you with me for the bedding ceremony.”

  Eyes wide, Sarah couldn’t begin to voice an answer. Feeling the heat again stain her cheeks, she fled into the house.

  Nick watched until her skirt disappeared into the doorway before he turned away. He didn’t know what hurt more, the aching muscles in his back and chest or the constant throb of his manhood. He tried to flex his shoulders and bit back a groan. He had been a fool to let Chris goad him into that insane contest. But he had been an even bigger fool the night before with Sarah. How neatly she had tossed things back in his lap, insisting he make the decisions for both of them. The responsibility weighed heavily on his sore shoulders and he dreaded the decision he knew he must make. Never before had desperation entered into one of his liaisons. His women were always more than willing and eager to please. They knew his wants and serviced him well; he, in turn, returned the pleasure. But now all he could think of was Sarah. Desire filled his veins, making him throb with want and hard with need. Deciding there was no hope for it, Nick turned his step toward the stream in search of another freezing swim. If his body was numb, perhaps his mind could find some answers.

  At Mrs. Carlson’s insistence, Sarah joined with the other unattached girls as they led Julie to the special chamber that had been prepared for her first night of marriage. Huge bouquets of baby’s breath and pink carnations filled the corners of the room, and candles flicked shadows on the walls. Julie’s elaborate white wig was carefully removed and returned to its stand on the dresser. Fascinated, Sarah watched as Julie perched on a padded stool and allowed two companions to draw down her braids and brush her hair until it hung about her shoulders like a glowing golden cloak. Embarrassed by the lack of privacy afforded the new bride, Sarah stayed quietly on the edge of the merriment as Julie was helped from her wedding dress and into the lacy nightrail in which she would meet her husband. The diaphanous gown drew sighs of envy, and as Julie waved aside the outer dressing robe, the room filled with giggles and advice on how to pleasure a man. Julie was placed in bed, and all but a few candles were extinguished. Anticipation became a tangible force. But Sarah stared in confusion when skirts were raised and stockings were lowered.

  “Sarah, hurry,” Julie commanded from her lofty perch. “Take your stocking down. The men will be here any moment. And you don’t want them to see your legs.” Julie stretched immodestly, pressing herself against the lacy front of her gown. “Or maybe that is why you tarry – you do want them to see what’s hidden beneath your skirt.”

  At a loss to what was happening, and completely unnerved as center of attention, Sarah felt her skin grow hot. Not wanting to cause Julie further embarrassment, she complied as quickly as she dared, then stood awkwardly with one bare foot tucked in her shoe.

  Riotous laughter floated up the stairs and down the hall; then the door to Julie’s chamber flew open. Sarah’s eyes went round as saucers and her breath stopped completely as she watched a rowdy host of gentlemen with Chris in the lead carry Clarence Morgan on their shoulders. And when she realized that Mr. Morgan’s feet were bare and he wore only his nightshirt, Sarah felt her skin turn to flame. What could these people be thinking of? She wondered. Had they no respect for Julie’s sensitivities in such a delicate matter? Then a more shocking thought occurred. Surely they would not be expected to stay and watch. Inconspicuously, she tried to edge to the back of the group, but the room was now crowded with well-wishers and Sarah found she could hardly move. Horrified, she watched as Clarence Morgan was neatly tucked under the covers beside his bride. The jokes grew more risqué and the advice more bawdy, and Sarah, embarrassed beyond her wildest imagination, desperately hoped the floor would open to swallow her.

  Chris turned, and, spying her for the first time, smiled with anticipation. “Stockings,” he called. “Ladies first. Let’s not be shy, my dears. Which one of you lovelies is going to be next?”

  Sarah watched as each girl stood at the foot of the bed and tossed a stoc
king over her shoulder toward the married couple. Cheers filled the room again and again until her head ached from the consuming noise. Her own stocking fell like a stone in her hand and nervously she tried again to edge her way to the back of the room. But Chris would have none of it and, as he tugged on her arm, she reluctantly let him move her into place at the foot of the bed. Deciding there could be no harm in the game, and desperate to have it done with, she was ready to toss it when her eyes met Nick’s. He smiled knowingly, and she felt her stomach turn to butterflies. With a flick of her wrist, Sarah sent the stocking sailing. The roar in the room turned deafening, and Sarah spun about to see Julie dangling her stocking from one finger.

  “Yours landed the closest to Julie,” Chris explained, planting a smacking kiss on her forehead. “That means you’ll be the next to marry.”

  Sarah felt her smile freeze in place and she wondered desperately what would happen if she were to snatch her stocking back. Unable to move, she watched without breathing as each man tossed a stocking toward Clarence Morgan. Cheers went up when Chris’s stocking covered the most distance on the counterpane. But when Nick threw and passed Chris’s marker by the breadth of two fingers, Sarah lost her courage and fled the room.

  Nick had seen Sarah’s eyes grow wide with panic as he tossed, and when he heard the cheers, he knew that he had hit the mark. Smiling with satisfaction, he accepted the bottle of Brown Betty wine that was his prize, then retrieved both stockings from the impatient couple as the room began to clear. Leaning over, he placed a chaste kiss on Julie’s forehead. “Be happy, little sister,” he whispered. Nick turned and never saw how Julie’s eyes filled with tears as they followed him to the door.

  Nick felt his impatience growing. It was well past midnight and Sarah was nowhere to be found. He had searched the salon, still filled with dancers, then the library. He had even crept up the stairs like a thief to sneak a peek into her bedroom. The windows had been opened wide, her trunk sat primly at the foot of the bed, but the room was empty. Walking slowly down the stairs, he heard bawdy laughter from the back hallway. He had bypassed the three gaming rooms, for he knew her aversion to dice and gambling. Now, pausing in the foyer, Nick wondered if he should have checked the gaming tables after all.

  He felt a touch on his back and knew it was Sarah before he even turned around. Helpless to erase the wide grin that covered his face, he stood silent and smiled at her.

  Sarah looked up into his dark eyes and her determination grew. “Will you come with me?” she questioned softly, extending her hand.

  Like a dreamer afraid of waking, Nick said nothing, but allowed her to take his gloved hand. He remained silent when she led him out the door and through the gardens at the back of the house. But when her steps took the path to the barn, Nick felt his pulse quicken. Had she changed her mind? Was the decision no longer his alone?

  “Do you know where you are going?” he asked, willing it not to be a mistake.

  “I know.” Her smile was gentle and full of promise as they continued silently.

  Nick paused once more at the barn’s great red door. “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

  For a long moment she seemed to be studying him, and Nick found his breath caught in his throat like a green lad with his first woman – eager, impatient, and desperate not to be found wanting.

  “Do you trust me?” she challenged softly, her eyes shadowed by the darkness of the night.

  “With my life,” he answered, more surprised than she by the conviction of his words.

  Silently she turned and beckoned for him to follow. With a sure step she picked her way through the barn’s shadowy interior, around bales of hay and sacks of grain. The sweet smell of fresh-cut grass tickled his nose. Then he saw it. A lantern set on a low stool illuminated the interior of the far stall. Coming closer, he realized that the ground had been raked clean and then covered with fresh straw. A dark blanket spread over the straw completed the pallet. Nick felt his heart stop at the sight, then the blood raced so fast that his head grew light. Determined to let her set the pace, he waited, waited while every nerve in his body clamored for release, waited while his mind took on the clarity of a fog-laden field. He could not have moved if his life had depended on it, for it had become suddenly difficult to remember to draw breath.

  “Will you take your coat off?” she coaxed, with a gentleness reserved for children.

  Dumbly he nodded. Simple words like “yes” now seemed completely beyond his vocabulary. But as he reached back to let the jacket slip from him, his muscles sang in protest from his morning’s folly. Instinctively she stepped behind and eased the garment from his stiff shoulders.

  She guided him into the stall and directed him to kneel on the blanket. Moving to stand before him, she drew his gloves off his hands and gasped at the torn blisters that covered his palms.

  “Oh, Nick.” His name on her lips sent chills of anticipation coursing through his veins. She cradled one injured hand between her own and brought it to her cheek.

  For Nick, the world beyond the barn ceased to be. He would have wished the softest of linen and a wide feather bed on which to take her, but now his only desire was to feel the warmth of her damp flesh pressed close to his.

  “Why did you do this to yourself?” she whispered, her voice filled with pain.

  His eyes said that was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. She only shook her head. “How foolish to try to win what you already have,” she scolded gently. “Would you take off your shirt?’

  His eyes never left hers as he slowly dragged his shirt from the waistband of his breeches. But when he would have pulled the garment over his head, her hands brushed his away. “Let me,” she said softly. And then he was naked to the waist before her.

  It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out and run his hand down the cool porcelain skin of her cheek. But he resolved to let her see it through. He’d be ready when she faltered, but until then . . .

  Gracefully she rose and moved to stand behind him, making her shadow flicker on the rough-hewed walls of the stall. Nick inhaled a pungent tang, but his befuddled mind failed to register its source until the bite of the horse liniment hit his shoulders.