Sarah attempted to interrupt. "I don't think we need to go into much detail."
"I can't go into much detail because Nicholas didn't," Charlotte insisted. "Mainly, he said the best thing to do was to relax and trust my husband."
"He said what?" Sarah asked with a squeak in her voice.
Nick mouthed the words along with Charlotte. "To relax and trust my husband."
Sarah, curse her black soul, snorted and said, "The best thing to do is to get good and tipsy so you can get through it."
Good and tipsy? Outrage erupted like a geyser in Nick.
His dear wife continued, "The good part is it only lasts five minutes, so at least it's over with quickly."
Everything within Nick froze. Surely he hadn't heard that right.
"I thought it took longer than five minutes," Aurora commented.
"No. From my experience, five minutes takes care of it."
Nick's throat felt as if the drapery cord were wrapped around his neck like a hangman's noose. His jaw dropped and his mouth worked uselessly. He seriously wondered if his eyes might pop out of his head.
Five minutes. Good and tipsy and five damned minutes! To my sisters, no less. My sisters!
He dragged his hand slowly down his face. His gaze slid to the floor, where he imagined his masculine pride lay tattered, beaten, sliced to shreds.
Meanwhile Sarah, having apparently warmed up to the idea of spreading the word about how poor a lover her husband was, continued, "Now that I think about it, you do have a point, Aurora. Perhaps I do have a duty to my brides. Not all of them have mothers as I did who can prepare a girl for what happens on her honeymoon."
"That's right." Melanie started thrumming her fingers on the table. "We don't have a mother, and we really should know what to expect. I think it's beyond silly to keep girls in the dark about such matters. What if we get the wrong idea about such things?"
"Melanie is right." Aurora nodded. "For instance, I thought sexual intercourse was something to look forward to. Am I wrong?"
Nick's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped against the cool window glass.
"I mean, it can't be all that bad, or women wouldn't cooperate. Look at Gillian. I think it's safe to say she likes it."
Melanie said, "I agree. Sometimes the way she looks at Jake almost sets the carpet afire."
"If that's the case, I suspect Mr. Delaney is especially gifted in that area," Sarah observed. "Aurora, you have hit upon an important point. Some women must find marital relations pleasant. Otherwise, women like my friends Jenny and Claire McBride wouldn't light up like candles whenever their husbands happen into the shop."
"But not every woman finds it pleasant?"
"Frankly, no."
"But every man does?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Hmm..." Melanie frowned. "I don't understand. Why do some women enjoy it and others don't?"
Sarah sighed. "Honestly, I'm not certain, although I suspect it has something to do with a man's talent."
"Did you like it, Sarah?"
Nick swallowed a moan.
After a long moment of hesitation, Sarah said, "I'll answer your other questions, but I'll not discuss any particulars about your brother or what happened between us."
"But how do we—"
"Girls, what do you know about the mechanics of lovemaking?"
Nick knew he should interrupt this now. He should have interrupted it five minutes ago. He should have locked his sisters in a convent and thrown away the key.
And he never, ever, should have left his marriage bed until he'd made his wife see heaven.
Braving another look into the room, he saw that Charlotte's skin was as red as the Texas chili Gillian was learning to make. Melanie wore a sheepish smile, and Aurora looked intrigued. She said, "I know it has something to do with getting naked and touching, and I suspect it makes a woman feel as if she's being sunburned, only on the inside. I think that because sometimes when I'm being kissed I get so feverish. So hot."
Nick felt a groan well up in his throat, and he swallowed hard against it.
Aurora questioned her sisters. "Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I do," Melanie offered. "And it does seem to depend upon the man kissing you, doesn't it? Remember Lord Wesley? His kisses made me burn, whereas Mr. Starling's left me wanting to brush my teeth. Why is that? Sarah, do you know?"
"A woman definitely reacts differently with different men. For instance, with Nick's kisses..."
His sisters—even Charlotte—leaned forward and spoke simultaneously. "Yes?"
Sarah shook her head. "No, I'll not be indiscreet."
Too late now, dinna ye think?
"Although I will say his kisses fell toward the fiery end of things rather than the teeth brushing."
"Well, I should damned well hope so," he muttered beneath his breath as he squared his shoulders, preparing to betray his presence.
"So am I right, Sarah?" asked Aurora. "Is it like a sunburn?"
"I think it's like a rash," Charlotte said, surprising everyone. "I get itchy just thinking about it."
"We've gone a bit off track. I'm not referring to the sensations, but the physical mechanics. As in who puts what where. Do you girls know those details?"
Not surprisingly, Aurora spoke for them all. "No."
"Very well. I think a visual aide might come in handy for this. Hmm..." She glanced around the room and lifted a bud vase from her dressing table. "Imagine this is the female. And the male..."
As his wife moved toward the fireplace, Nick's gaze went unerringly to the tall, thick cylindrical candle that sat on the fireplace mantel. But Sarah's hand passed right over it. Instead, the damned woman picked up a taper lying on its side.
A thin, little four-inch taper.
With that, Nick reached the end of his wick.
* * *
The figure emerged from behind the window drapery, snarling and snapping like a rabid coyote. Sarah dropped the bud vase. It banged against an andiron and shattered into a dozen pieces.
The three sisters shrieked, then Charlotte said, "Nicholas?"
"I will not have it!" He scorched the girls with a glare and declared, "You will each go to your rooms and pack a bag. I am sending you to Our Lady of Mercy convent today. And you..." He jerked his head around and leveled his glower on Sarah. "You have more nerve than a broken toe. How dare you speak of such things to my sisters."
"Me? Me!" Sarah braced her hands on her hips and stepped forward. "You were the one playing Peeping Tom in my bedchamber. For shame, Nick. What sort of man hides in a woman's room and spies on her? Were you content with only that, or did you search through my things, too? My underwear, perhaps?"
The tiniest flicker in his eyes betrayed him, and she gasped. "You did! Why, Lord Weston, you are a pervert."
"I'm no pervert. If I were, I'd have entered your room during the night and watched you sleep, watched you dress. Instead I waited until you left to do my job."
"And what job, pray tell, is that?"
He put his hands on his hips and stepped forward, too, until they stood but a foot apart. "Though I am no longer active, I am still an agent in Her Majesty's secret service. I'm a spy. Part of a spy's job is to search for clues and information, and that's exactly what I was doing."
"Searching for clues and information. Uh-huh. And what state secret did you expect to find in my corsets?"
"I thought to find something in your handkerchiefs. The corsets were a personal bonus."
"Pervert."
"I'm a man, Sarah. Your husband."
She lifted her chin, a matador waving her red cape. "Not for long."
"Maybe not." Each of Nick's senses was heightened, on full alert. He stood on the verge of battle, the precipice of war. And adrenaline pounded through his veins. "Girls, go to your rooms and pack. I intend for us to leave before noon."
"Leave!" Melanie exclaimed. "We're not leaving. You are not going to send us to any silly conv
ent just for asking a few questions we need answered. We've discussed this in the past. It isn't fair of men to keep women in the dark about—"
"Haud yer wheest, Melanie," Nick said, slipping into Scots, his gaze never leaving Sarah's. "We'll debate this later. Now leave us. I've business with your guid-sister."
"But—"
Aurora grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her toward the door, murmuring in the other girl's ear. Nick overheard some of it. "Look at them, Melanie. That is the picture of passion. This is what we want."
Sarah's cheeks flushed. Either she'd heard them, too, and was embarrassed, or else her temper was ready to blow. The question seemed to be, who would explode first? Waiting for his sisters to make themselves scarce, Nick considered it even odds.
The moment the door shut behind the girls, both Sarah and Nick started talking. She said, "Just because some legal paper somewhere says we are married doesn't give you the right to paw through—"
"You had no business talking about sex with my sisters. They are young, impressionable girls, and you don't know what the hell you are talking about. If you feel the need to impart your so-called wisdom, then at least respect them enough to get it right."
"—my things. Privacy is a basic... What did you say?"
"I said you shouldn't try to be a teacher unless you've gone to school yourself. And, Sarah," he added, reaching for the hand that still held the taper, "while you're there, pay extra attention to measurement skills. They are obviously sadly lacking."
He yanked the taper from her hand and threw it over his shoulder, then tugged her against him and took her mouth in a long, demanding, make-her-toes-tingle kiss. Finally, breathless, he lifted his head and murmured, "Just call me Professor Nick."
Sarah, the wench, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him back to her, saying, "You think you're the only one who has studied? See what you think of my lecture."
This time Sarah took Nick in a kiss that was part challenge, part dare, and totally consuming. She took control, nipping at his lips, stroking him with her tongue, breathing need—fierce, hot, and aching—into every inch of his body.
He needed her skin. Craved to have her skin, soft and smooth, against him. So sleek and silky around him. Driven by instinct rather than intellect, he rather desperately tugged her skirts up in search of the prize.
At the first brush of his hand against her thigh, she broke away. "Sarah," he groaned softly, his gaze dropping to the rapid rise and fall of her bosom as she struggled to catch her breath.
"So, do you still say I don't know what I'm talking about?"
He exhaled a sigh, then dragged his gaze upward once more. "Lass, I'll cede you this. While you do need lessons in taking a man's measure, if kissing were a discipline of study, Oxford would be happy to have you."
She wrinkled her nose and sniffed but couldn't hide the smugness in her expression. When she added pursed lips to the look, she drew his attention back to her ripe and kiss-swollen lips. Damnation, every man at Oxford would be happy to have her, period.
Nick groaned again, stepped toward her again. "Teach me some more, Sarah."
Now she scowled. "No. You are just trying to distract me. I want to know why you invaded my privacy, Nick, and I want to know now."
Her prissy demand was almost enough to push him into pushing her further, but now that distance had allowed some of the blood to flow back to his brain, Nick recognized it wasn't the proper time for further lessons. However, he did take a moment to make himself a quiet, simple promise. One way or another before they were done, he was going to give Sarah, Lady Weston, a close and very personal demonstration of how the right candle can light up a bud vase.
"You want to know why I searched your things? All right, I'll tell you. I was looking for love letters."
She blinked. "Is that how you thought of them?"
It took him a moment to realize she referred to the letters the two of them had exchanged. So Sarah connected their letters with love letters, did she? Nick filed away that piece of information to consider later.
Warming up to the story he was creating on the spot, he clarified, "I meant love letters from other men."
"What?"
"Letters from your lover. I was going to read them."
She folded her arms, her expression mutinous. "You're not going to read my letters."
Wait a minute. She did have love letters from another man? Nick's temper reignited in a flash. "You claimed not to have a lover."
"Then why were you looking for his letters?"
"Are you telling me you lied?"
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"Damnation, woman. You are as prickly as a thistle." He dragged his fingers through his hair and started over. "I was simply reassuring myself that nothing unexpected would appear to interfere with the annulment."
"Unexpected as in a beau?"
"You were rather insistent about avoiding a physical examination. You can't blame me for wondering..."
She sighed, and shook her head. "You are such a man, Nick."
"Considering your choice in candles, I am pleased you noticed," he grumbled.
She smirked. "I meant this display of possessive jealousy. It's quite unattractive. You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me, either."
"No, I never said I don't want you. I happen to want you rather desperately, which you must have noticed a few minutes ago. In any case, it's been my experience that women like being the object of a man's jealous feelings."
"Oh?" Her Texas drawl dripped sugar. "And I suppose you are a man of substantial experience on the subject?"
Nick bit the inside of his mouth to hold back a laugh. Still, he couldn't help but say, "What's the matter, lass? Jealous?"
But his wife gave as good as she got. With a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, she said, "Hardly. Lady Brass is welcome to you. I have my share of unattractive characteristics, but jealousy is not among them."
Marginally annoyed with her reply, Nick nodded toward her shoulders. "I explained the significance of poking at a chest in Kualistan. Care to guess what a shrug means?"
"Nothing I want to hear, I'm certain.”
Now he did laugh. "I've missed you, lass."
To Nick's surprise, his comment appeared to sober her. She gave him a bittersweet smile. "You haven't missed me, Nick. You don't know me. You know a memory, not the woman I've become."
She was right and he knew it. That's what had brought him to her room this morning in the first place. He needed to know this woman standing before him today so he could woo her, not the girl he'd married. And so, like any good secret agent, Nick spiced his lie with the truth.
"I know the woman who writes me letters, Sarah. I like having that woman in my life, and I don't like the thought of losing her to an annulment or another man."
"What?"
"It's true. That's why I searched your things. After yesterday, I discovered I need a little reassurance. The next man in your life won't like you writing to your ex-husband. I find I am in no rush for this connection between us to end."
It was only after he'd said it that Nick realized every word was the truth. He hadn't needed to act the cad and rifle through her things to learn that she had a liking for lace on her drawers. All the time he thought he was lying to her, he'd actually been lying to himself.
His accidental honesty served him well, because Sarah's pique melted right before his eyes. "Oh, Nick. Your letters have been a joy in my life. I have no intention of stopping them, and if in the future any man in my life tries to make me, well, I'll just tell him to go suck a lemon."
He grinned at that and stuck his hands in his pockets. It was either that or reach for her.
"Your letters are... well..." She shrugged, then said, "I don't know how to describe it other than to say they steal into a place deep down inside of me. I treasure them. I'd be lost without them."
Her vehemence took him aback, and Nick knew nothing more to say than, "Thank
you, Sarah."
"No, thank you. You know, Nick, your profession as a reporter might have been only a cover for clandestine activities, but the fact remains you have a true talent for the written word. Much better, I daresay, than with spoken communication. Your letters never make me angry or frighten me or upset me, even when you deal with unsettling events. So be assured that once I've returned to Texas, I'll be making regular trips to the post office to look for letters from Britain. I won't let anyone interfere with my exchanging letters with you, and I hope you will say the same."
"Um, certainly. Yes. Of course." Nick drew his hands from his pockets and glanced down at them, halfway expecting to see them holding a silver platter. Could it be this easy? Had she just handed him the secret to her seduction?
Aye, she had.
It was all he could do not to grab her up there and then and plant a kiss on her. That would be a strategic mistake. From now on, all important matters would be introduced on paper, not in person.
Well, except for this one detail he thought needed addressing right away. "I am pleased that's settled. I feel much better. There is one more issue here, however."
"Yes?"
"About the girls. I don't mind you telling them about sex. In fact, upon reflection I think it's probably best they have a decent understanding of the mechanics of it heading into marriage. However, I would appreciate it if in the future, you used more thought in your choice of visual aides. You see, lass, men tend to be sensitive about the size of their... candle, so to speak. Considering your knowledge in this area arrives from but a single source—me—I'd appreciate it if you would choose a visual aide a bit closer to actual size than that little bitty taper you used earlier."
"All right. I don't mind doing that. What would you like me to use?"
"Well, I don't know." Nick gazed around the room, a vague sense of embarrassment inhibiting his choice. "You choose."
Sarah gave him a long look, then pursed her lips, clasped her hands behind her back, and made a studious circle around the room. She flipped up the lid on the humidor and studied the short, stumpy cigars inside before rejecting them in favor of a pencil, which she lifted and ran her fingers across. Nick almost growled. She was killing him.
The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) Page 14