by Barbara Dan
He laughed. "I'm comfortably well off, but I'm no millionaire. However, within reason—"
"No," she quickly amended, "I didn't mean things. I meant—" She ducked her head, afraid to voice the deepest secret longings of her heart.
Grinning broadly, Bruce took her hand. "I'm glad. I hope you will feel free to tell me your every need, so I may try to satisfy it."
Lydia hardly knew how to respond, but somehow the words tumbled out of their own accord. "And I would . . . want you to . . . to let me know your . . . that is, your likes and dislikes, Captain . . . so I could . . . meet your needs," she said with barely contained joy.
"We have made a great deal of progress already, Lydia. And I'm sure you will find it much more comfortable living as my wife than in a jail cell," he added teasingly.
"Oh, yes." She laughed, her heart thumping happily. "The reality of my situation forces me to agree with you completely."
Bruce raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, one by one. "I am honored to be your champion, dear lady." Then he turned her palm over and gently placed his lips to her life line, tickling her with a subtle touch of his tongue. Feeling a delicious sensation start up her arm, Lydia breathed a sigh, thinking that any poet's mistress could not help but envy her.
As her eyes closed and her head ached slowly, Bruce began working his way up her arm, steadying the slight wobble of her knees with one arm around her waist. By the time his lips found the pulse on her throat, she was panting, and a fine bead of perspiration had broken out on her upper lip. Concentrating on the tiny freckle just below her right earlobe, Bruce decided to broach the subject of the ceremony itself, while he had her thus occupied.
"I wonder. . ." he said huskily, pausing to savor the delicate tip of her lobe. "Lydia, I'd like to take you home with me this afternoon."
He deepened the pressure of his lips. as he began to trail a plethora of sensuous kisses down her swanlike neck to the first button on her prim little gown.
"Castle, you mean," she said with a dreamy look on her face. She reached up to entwine her fingers in his raven black hair. With her eyes closed and her lips softly parted, she never looked more ravishing.
"We could be married in a trice." He lowered himself to the window seat and pulled her down to his lap, the better to persuade. "Judge Perkins is waiting back at the house to marry us."
She felt him unbutton one . . . two . . . five buttons. Suddenly she opened her eyes wide. "Waiting? What do you mean, right now? Today?" she gasped.
The lady wants an answer, Bruce. Feeling like a man with all his cannons loaded and primed, and not sure where he put the match, Bruce lifted his head from her cleavage and stared at close range into his pretty adversary's steely violet-blue gaze.
"Why, yes," he said cautiously. "On the outside chance you might say 'yes,' I took Judge Perkins into my confidence. He is more than happy to help a damsel in distress."
Lydia moved as far back in his embrace as she could. Her pursed lips told him she wasn't buying any of it. "That was presumptuous of you, sir."
"It may comfort you to know that I'm giving up my freedom, just to set you free." Meaning to be humorous. Bruce aimed a kiss at her luscious lips, but she dodged.
Falling short of the mark, his amorous salute landed much lower—on the tip of her breast—and evoked a startled shriek from its owner. Miffed that she seemed intent upon reverting to argument, Bruce blew through the material covering her raised nipple. He fully expected her to assault him with words, fists, and anything else within her grasp.
Instead Lydia wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and launched herself at him.
Taken by surprised, Bruce landed on the floor with a crash. He looked up to find Lydia on top of him, disheveled and panting. Shocked, he raised up on his elbows, just as her head came down in a lip lock that left them both breathless.
"Lydia!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a hearty embrace. "What's gotten into you?"
Swept away in the flash flood of passion which his kisses had awakened, Lydia wasn't exactly sure what had happened. But years of careful upbringing brought her up sharp. Looking at the great sprawling male beneath her, she turned beet red. With guilt written all over her face, she scrambled off the floor and began trying to straighten her disheveled appearance.
Watching her fuss with her buttons, her face a picture of passionate confusion, Bruce silently congratulated himself. Thank God! His gut instincts had been correct. Chuckling, he slowly got to his feet and gathered her close. "Oh, Lydia," he crooned into her ruined hairdo. "You're everything a man could ever want in a wife."
Puzzled and touched by his gallant words, she tipped her head back. "You mean you still want to marry me?" she asked, and was relieved to find acceptance in his handsome smile.
"Most assuredly yes!" He planted a tender kiss on her nose.
Not warned by the mischief brewing in his eyes, she raised up on tiptoe and shyly kissed his mouth.
Tasting victory on her lips. he popped his next question: "Tell me, Lydia, how would you feel about getting married, wearing nothing but a barrel?"
Chapter Eleven
"Only joking, you sweet thing." He dodged, as she came at him with flying fists and flashing eyes.
"What kind of a crude suggestion is that?" she said hotly, intent upon giving him a black eye. If only he weren't so tall!
"An outrageous one, I agree." He raised his hands over his head in mock protective stance. "But it has some merit, Lydia, if you'll hear me out."
She glared indignantly at him. "What sort of a joke is this?"
"No joke, Lydia." Bruce knew he had her pegged, but the situation required tactful persuasion. "I just want you to know I'll marry you, no matter what you wear—or don't wear."
Oh, he is slick, she thought, backing away. "You've been playing me like a fish on a line ever since you walked in here, haven't you, Captain? Poetry and fudge. Oh, you are a devil of a man, to play upon my—ooh!"
Bruce grinned and again became the gentle pursuer. "All right, I admit I preyed on your weakness. But did it ever occur to you that you might be my undoing?"
"Liar!" she stormed, punching him in the chest.
He grabbed her to his heart and kissed her hard. "Why else would I be here?" he asked, deepening his kiss until he felt her relent.
Tingling heat pulsed through her, reaching the depths of her belly and reducing her resistance to the consistency of melted butter. She slipped her fingers inside his shirt and felt his powerful muscles. When he released her suddenly, she glanced up furtively, only to confronted by his amused scrutiny. "Well, Lydia, why do you think I'm here?"
Evasively, she considered his question, while she curled his chest hair around her fingers. "Because you need a housekeeper?" she asked, knowing full well she had flunked the exam.
"Wrong, woman. It's because I can't keep my hands off of you."
She tossed her head in happy confusion. "That's no reason to insult me."
Puzzled, Bruce tried to recall what had triggered her attack. "Oh, you mean that business about the barrel? Why, Lydia, that's just my dumb way of paying you a compliment!"
Her laugh pealed like a delicate tinkling bell. "Now I know you're touched in the head, Captain MacGregor."
"Bruce. Call me Bruce, Lydia." He kissed her again, and she blushingly whispered his Christian name.
"That's better," he said approvingly. "Now to get back to our wedding: Suppose I could show you a way to wipe out all your debts by one strictly voluntary act on your part. What would you say to that?" He was careful to keep her well supplied with mind-numbing kisses.
"It sounds like a wonderful idea." Her eyes shone admiringly up at him. "As long as I'm not breaking the law."
"It's perfectly legal," he assured her.
"I won't let you pay my bills, Bruce," she said, thinking he had some exchange in mind, such as her favors in return for his liquidating her bills.
"I appreciate that." He nibbled lightly
on her earlobe. "I want you to come into our marriage debt free, and not feeling obligated to me in any way. My equal in every way."
"Bruce," she sounded puzzled, "what are you talking about?"
"It's possible to cut all ties with the past and write off your late husband's bills. All it takes is the conscious exercise of your own free will."
"You’re confusing me," she laughed. "I don't have enough money to pay Frank's bills. Unless someone else does it, I'll be working to pay them off until I'm old and grey."
"There is a way. Trust me, Lydia." His eyes twinkled as he gazed steadily into her flushed face. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Bradshaw highly recommends what I am about to suggest."
"Oh. Then it must be all right." She shrugged, as if a great burden had been lifted.
He toyed with a button on her bodice. "Have you ever heard of a smock wedding?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Why no. Does the bride wear a smock?" she asked innocently. "Is it anything like those new Empire gowns?"
Since no explosion had shook the room, Bruce decided it was safe to take the subject a step further. "Now hear me out," he said, proceeding cautiously. 'If you don't like the idea, I shall understand completely. As I said, what I am about to propose is strictly voluntary."
"Yes, I understand that much. So what is a smock wedding, Bruce?"
"The widow brings nothing to the ceremony that she owned during her first marriage."
"That's easy. I don't exactly have a lot of—"
He stopped her mouth with a slow melting kiss. "That includes clothing, mistress," he said, watching her begin to tense up in his arms. "She says her wedding vows with no—" he gulped, "—well, in the buff, if you get my drift."
She stared up at him in disbelief. "This is the plan Mr. Bradshaw approves? What sort of fool do you take me for?"
"I take you for better or for worse, Lydia, with or without your debts. I know it sounds—"
"Uncivilized! That's how it appears to me," she blazed, tears of humiliation in her eyes. "If you cared for me at all, you wouldn't suggest such a thing."
"Forget I mentioned it, since it bothers you." He waved his hand dismissively. "I just thought you'd rather start our marriage with a clean slate. If I pay your debts—and I would, as a point of honor—you'd always feel as if you'd been bought and paid for." He let the idea sink in.
He watched her struggle through a losing battle between pride and modesty. Just how important was it to her to enter the marriage on equal footing, he wondered.
"If you think—" Fists balled, she looked him in the eye and drew a deep breath before setting him straight. "I won't let you do it, Bruce. If you think I will permit me to spend your money, you are sadly mistaken!" She stopped, as an admiring grin spread across his face. "Why, you rogue! How did you get me to say such a thing?"
"Freedom is a very precious commodity, my lady," he gently reminded her. "But it's worth the price. What do you say?"
"Oh, Bruce!" She burst into tears. "I might do it, if everybody wears blindfolds." She buried her face in his cravat, her slender body seeking the warmth of his arms.
"I'm sure we can manage something to protect your modesty." He felt strangely moved, that she would participate in such an archaic ritual. "We'll make sure no one sees more than they should."
She accepted the handkerchief he offered. "Thank you, Bruce." She blew her nose and eyed him with one final look of suspicion. "You're certain this is legal?"
"That's what Mr. Bradshaw claims."
His twinkling eyes beamed down at her, and she took the bait. "Then I'll do it!"
* * *
Downstairs, Lydia found her rig waiting, and the Rathbuns' carriage hitched up alongside. She was glad that the Rathbuns were traveling separately behind them. She and Bruce needed to talk. Even so, the waiting carriages strongly suggested that the Colonel knew the outcome all along. And now it appeared that she was about to be shanghaied into this marriage, although not exactly against her will. Even so, her reckless assent left her quaking in her small, fur-lined boots.
Bruce tucked a warm lap robe around her, and suddenly apprehensive, she looked up at him. "Everything is all happening so quickly."
"Slightly overwhelmed, are you, lass?" Bruce put his arm around her, lending warmth and moral support.
"Yes! I confess we must both be a little mad."
Yet she couldn't help herself. His body, warm and strong against hers, made her feel as if this handsome giant could shelter her through all of life's storms, just as his size blocked the strong winds blowing off the river and kept her safe.
As they drove along, he turned frequently to gaze gently down at her, as she snuggled under his arm. Wrapped in a cocoon of happy thoughts, she had nearly drifted off, when Bruce broke in on her fantasies and jolted her back to the present.
"Tell me, Lydia, do you come from a large family?" he asked. His eyes swept over her slender figure, as he recalled the full breasts, dainty nipped-in waist, and trim rounded hips.
"I'm the youngest of ten children. Why do you ask?" She stretched deliciously.
"I just wondered why, with such fertile parents, you never had any children."
Instantly she pokered up. "Are you looking for a brood mare or a wife, Captain!"
"I'd like to have a family, Lydia." The hot look in his eyes left little to her imagination. "Sons and daughters. Can you give them to me?"
His shocking frankness rendered her speechless. Her face turned hot with blood, as she looked up at him, then burst into tears. Here was a man asking for the very thing she had wanted all her life! How could she tell him the truth about her sham marriage? He would surely think the fault was hers. And the longer he waited for an answer she had no way of knowing, the more likely he might decide she wasn't the woman for him.
"I hope I didn't embarrass you, Lydia," he said, his amusement now turned to concern. "I do hope we can speak candidly, since we've both been married before."
"Perhaps you'd like to examine my teeth," she snapped, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
"The outstanding way you're put together is what first attracted me to you," he admitted with a mischievous chuckle.
"Or should I jump a fence to prove I'm sound of wind and limb?" she said, still evasive.
"From all the flap you're givin' me, I have no doubt you're sound." Switching the reins, he pulled her gently into the circle of his arms. "You can drop the shyness with me, Lydia. Just tell me you want children."
"Yes, I want children, but—" She studied his Adam's apple carefully. "I don't know how to answer your question."
"Why's that?" Smiling, he kissed one of her eyelids and then the other.
"Please don't ask!" Flustered, Lydia tried to pull away.
Bruce frowned. He knew she'd had a difficult marriage. Every time her late husband was mentioned, she froze up. What had happened between them? Had she miscarried? Lost a child? A smock wedding might cancel Masters' debts, but perhaps he should set forth a few ground rules, or history could be repeating itself.
"One thing's certain." Authority rang in his voice. "There will be no separate beds or feigning headaches. If that doesn't sit well with you, Lydia, I need to know now."
He heard her gulp. "I-I have no objection."
"So what's troubling you?" he said gravely. "Have you ever had children?"
"No, of course not."
She raised such innocent eyes that he wondered what he was looking at here.
"Of course not?" he echoed.
"Could we talk about something else?" she stammered, suddenly chilled to the bone.
"Look, Lydia, it's best if a husband and wife don't keep secrets from each other."
"We aren't married yet!" she reminded him, blushing violently.
"Lydia, didn't you and your late husband ever discuss physical relations?" he asked, concern written all over his face.
Lydia closed her eyes to block out the past and shook her head vehemently.
"When we're mar
ried, Lydia, you must never hold anything back from me."
"But I . . . Must I remind you that getting married was your idea, not mine?"
Why was she being so evasive? "It's not too late to back out," Bruce said, his fingers lightly caressing her soft cheek. He lowered his head and tasted her soft lips.
At his touch, a tingling rush of passion waxed through her like a wanton reflex. Lydia collapsed against him on the carriage seat. "Bruce," she moaned. "Oh, Bruce . . ." She clung to him, her head rolling on her slender neck. Lips parted, eyes closed, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, not caring what he must think of her uninhibited response to his caress.
"Lydia, Lydia, my love—" He nuzzled the throbbing pulse on her throat, his breath warming her inside.
"I shall endeavor to be a proper wife," she told him earnestly. "Only please don't ask me about my first marriage. I wish it never happened."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, for bringing up such an unhappy topic."
"You didn't. He did! I'll do everything I can to make you happy always."
"Then together let us agree to make each other's happiness our constant goal."
Through shining tears, Lydia raised her lips to seal their private pledge. It was a moment as sacred as the vows they would exchange before the judge within the hour.
* * *
They were greeted at the front door by Mrs. Harris, whom Lydia had never met, and by Mrs. Rafferty. Ushered into the parlor, along with the Rathbuns, who arrived only seconds behind them, Lydia stretched her hands toward the roaring fire in the fireplace and glanced around.
Close to a hundred people were present, she realized with a shock. Long years of solitude left her unprepared for such a throng of well-wishers. With every eye fastened upon her in curiosity, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. Before she had time to panic, Bruce pressed a glass of blackberry brandy into her hand.
"Drink up, my dear," he said in a low solicitous voice meant only for her ears.
"You were quite sure I would agree to this, weren't you?" she said, taking a tentative sip. It went down smooth and sweet, almost like fruit juice.
"I'm grateful that you didn't let me make a complete idiot of myself." Eyes lively, he smiled, showing a flash of white teeth. He was so romantic looking, it took her breath away as he bent his head down to hers.