The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy)

by Geralyn Dawson

  "Yes."

  Nick needs to be here to hear this. Where was he? She was having to do his job for him while he was off with another woman. "Do you harbor any deep-seated resentments against the inheritance laws of England and the aristocracy such a system has created?"

  "No," he said slowly, frowning as if struggling to follow her train of thought. "Not to any great extent. I will admit to preferring the opportunities afforded a man in the American system, and while I have resented my status as a remittance man over the years, I now consider the day I sailed from England as being the luckiest day of my life."

  I thought so. He has nothing to do with any assassination plot. He's too busy trying to build a seed pavilion.

  That decided, Sarah still had a question or two. "But if you came all this way to convince me to sell you my property, why didn't you simply come out and ask? Why ah the afternoons in my parlor pretending to court me?"

  Wincing bashfully, he dragged a hand down his face. "That wasn't pretense, my lady. If you intend to end your association with Lord Weston, I would be very pleased for you to seriously consider my suit. You are a lovely woman, inside and out, and I've come to admire you tremendously. I would be most pleased to become the gentleman in your life."

  Sarah's mouth quirked. "But all in all, you'd rather buy my house."

  He blinked, and his chin dropped in shock. But he recovered quickly, and for the first time since she'd known him, Robert Endicott cracked an honest grin. "Well, yes. Actually I would."

  Now she laughed aloud and rose to her feet. "I think I'd like to take that stroll in the garden now, Mr. Endicott. While I am an independent woman accustomed to making my own decisions, in this particular case I insist you run your proposition past my husband. I suspect in this instance he'll be quite interested in hearing your plans for the Texas Spring Palace."

  "Perhaps he would be interested in investing in the project. He does, after all, have ties to Texas."

  "That he does, Mr. Endicott. For the moment, anyway."

  * * *

  Nick seriously considered tying Helen up and dumping her in the bushes. He was trying to be a gentleman about this, but how long did good manners require he stand there and allow the woman to chastise him?

  She'd gone on for a good ten minutes, and a man could only take so much. He wouldn't have been this patient if she had said anything about his sisters that wasn't true, and he knew that much of her fury arose from an attempt to save face in the wake of his ending their burgeoning relationship.

  "Helen," he said, attempting once more to interrupt her tirade. "Please. You're repeating yourself. Besides, we can't be certain my sisters are the ones behind the prank."

  "What I have to say bears repeating, and of course your sisters are the perpetrators of this vicious deed. Those girls are troublemakers, and they should be punished. They're vicious and wicked and cruel."

  Now she'd crossed the line. "Enough," he said, a jagged edge to his voice. "Such talk is beneath you. You are welcome to deride me as much as you wish, but I cannot and will not allow you to denigrate my sisters. Mischievous acts aside, they are not at fault for what has transpired between us. I am sorry if I hurt you, Helen. It was never my intention."

  "You made promises to me," she accused. "You purposely deceived me."

  "No," he quietly defended himself. "That I never did. I spent time with you, provided you escort, but I never made you promises. I never took you to my bed."

  "No, you didn't. You didn't, curse you. You didn't."

  She raised her hand to slap him, but Nick grabbed her wrist When she would have used the other hand, he grasped that one, too. Disturbed to see the Ice Queen lose her composure, Nick spoke in a conciliatory tone. "Helen, please."

  "Do you know how many men have invited me to their beds since my husband died? Dozens. Do you know how many men have proposed marriage to me? Dozens. Do you know how many men I've wanted in my bed, wanted to marry? One. You, Lord Weston. You are the only one. You are the only man for me. I love you."

  Damnation. Her confession left him at a loss for words. He'd known she admired him, desired him, but he never realized her feelings went this deep. He'd always believed she was more interested in being the Marchioness of Weston than his wife.

  Then a tear spilled from her eye to trail slowly down her cheek, and Nick could stand no more. He wrapped her in his arms and gave her a comforting hug.

  She caught him by surprise when she lifted her face, pulled his head down to hers, and trapped his mouth in a kiss.

  Wasn't it just Nick's luck that at that particular moment, Sarah strolled down the garden path?

  When a hen walks into a wedding reception and cackles, it brings good luck.

  Chapter 18

  When Nick spied his wife standing in the muted glow of Chinese lanterns lighting the garden, his lips still damp from Helen's kiss, he felt like howling at the moon. Was this not the worst sort of cliché?

  He immediately stepped away from Helen and toward Sarah, and that was when he noticed she was taking her garden stroll on the arm of a suspected assassin. His temper, already strained from his own situation, soared. "Sarah, what do you think you are doing?"

  Even as he said it, he thought it quite likely the dumbest comment he'd ever made.

  Apparently, Sarah agreed because she laughed. An honest, amused giggle. That, more than Helen's declaration of love, shocked Nick speechless. That was why he didn't say anything when she turned to Endicott and said, "I do believe I'm ready to bargain, Robert. You get that woman out of my garden and away from my party, and I'll reconsider selling you my house."

  Endicott, curse his black soul, beamed a grin, then leaned down and kissed Sarah. Right on the mouth. "I make it a practice to always seal my bargains with a kiss."

  Nick snarled and came close to baring his teeth as Endicott approached. As little as he wanted Helen clinging to him, his conscience troubled him at releasing her to this man. What if he was part of a plot to kill Queen Victoria?

  He's not going to do it tonight in your garden, no more than in your drawing room on a weekday afternoon while he's calling on your wife.

  "I'm losing my mind," Nick muttered.

  "I'm not leaving," Helen snapped, her chin lifting.

  "Yes, you are." Endicott took her hand and tugged. "I have my heart set on that house." When she planted her feet and refused to budge, he lifted her up and carried her from the scene.

  "Well," Nick said. "Alone at last."

  Sarah folded her arms. "I wondered what was keeping you."

  Distracted by the way her arms pillowed and pushed up her breasts, he fumbled for a response. "Sarah... um... it's not... I didn't... you arrived at an awkward time."

  "Obviously."

  "That's not what I... oh, damnation." He raked his fingers through his hair, then made a stab at distracting her. "What is this about selling Endicott your house?"

  Her brow arched pointedly. "All right, I'll start. But we will revisit the subject of Lady Steele."

  Lovely.

  "Mr. Endicott is not your assassin, Nick."

  Grimly he replied, "From the appearance of things, he is your assassin, Sarah."

  Her lips twitched. Nick wanted to bite them. "Are you jealous?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I am."

  "Good. That makes two of us."

  So she was jealous? Well. Good. That was a positive sign, wasn't it?

  As Nick mulled over that question, she launched into a tale of how Endicott came to be in England, and why she didn't consider him a candidate for the mastermind of a plot to kill the queen. Once Nick got past the idea that the man had followed Sarah all the way from Texas to London, he focused on what she was saying. When she had finished, he frowned. "Endicott's reported involvement in this project may be a cover story for his true reason for being in London—an assassination attempt."

  "True, but I don't believe that. He spoke with such enthusiasm and conviction. It occurs to me that one wa
y to prove his intentions would be to sell him my house and see if he leaves London."

  Everything inside Nick froze. He wanted to ask her if that meant she'd made up her mind to stay in England. To stay with him. But a flash of emotion he saw in her eyes convinced him to choose his words with care. "You'd sell him your house?"

  She shrugged. "He convinced me that the Texas Spring Palace is a good idea and important for the future of Fort Worth. He tells me it might be possible to move my house, and I could transplant Mother's rosebushes. I wouldn't mind being farther from downtown. It's quite noisy on Saturday nights."

  Nick's stomach slid into a dive, and finally he lost his patience. "Damnation, Sarah. What are you saying? Have you decided to return to Fort Worth?"

  She closed her eyes and spoke softly. "A vision plays across my mind. It's my home with its yellow roses in bloom, the McBride Menaces pushing their little brothers and cousins in the swing hanging from the branch of an old oak tree. I see myself laughing with Jenny over silks and satins in Jenny's workroom and swiping a spoonful of chocolate icing from a bowl in Claire's bakery, then sharing it with her little ones. I picture sitting in my office sipping tea with my aunt and mother during their biannual trips to Fort Worth."

  Then she looked at him, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She was so lovely, almost ethereal in the soft, hazy light. Dressed in a gown of sunbeams and sparkling jewels, Sarah was a fairy princess stepped from the pages of a book.

  However, the tale she told was worthy of the Brothers Grimm.

  "The McBrides' arrival has brought it all back to me," she explained. "It's reminded me how much I love my home. For a while, I ached with the need to be there. We're different in that way, Nick. You're the adventurer, the wanderer, the world traveler. I'm a small-town homebody who builds a nest—with lots of frippery, true—but it's my space and that's where I belong. That was true on the day we wed and it's still true today."

  "You've been happy here with us, with me," he told her.

  "Yes. I have. Lady Steele reminded me of that tonight."

  Nick drew back. How was it this woman always managed to surprise him? "She did?"

  Nodding, she approached him, her hips swaying gracefully, an enigmatic glint in her eyes. "Your family has made a place for me. I love that. I love them. The McBrides and Lord Endicott helped me remember all the good things about Texas. It's your turn, Nick. Seeing Lady Steele in your arms convinces me that you should remind me of why I like it here in England."

  She completely robbed him of all conscious thought when she lifted her hand to his face, pulled him toward her, and said, "Nick, if you wanted to indulge in moonlit kisses, why didn't you ask me?"

  Then Sarah, completely of her own volition, fused her mouth with his.

  Nick was accustomed to the lust that slammed into him like a hot, greedy fist. What he didn't expect was the sense of coming home that flooded through him like a warm and gentle rain.

  He wrapped his arms around her and gathered her against him, drowning in the sweet, luscious taste of her tender kiss. She felt like heaven in his arms. He'd missed her. Caught up in the strategy of winning her, of denying himself the pleasure of seduction, he hadn't realized how much he missed just holding her.

  Nick groaned against her mouth and she stretched like a cat and purred in return. The sound shuddered through him. Unable to resist, he deepened the kiss.

  His tongue delved into her mouth, stroked her sweet velvet softness. She answered him, played with him, tested the bounds of his control. Seconds passed and the need within him spiraled. Again and again and again he plundered her mouth, giving her the reminder she'd requested, stoking the desire that had hummed between them for so long. God, how he wanted this. Wanted her.

  What would he do if she left him?

  Fear struck like a bullet. No. I won't let that happen. I won't let you go. You're mine, Sarah. Mine!

  In an instant, the tenor of his touch changed. She wanted reminding, did she? Fine. He was good at this, better than good, and it was time she allowed him to show her. She'd given him an opening, and Nick, by God, would take it.

  He growled deep in his throat and yanked her against him. He crushed her mouth with his as his hands swept mercilessly over her, determined to arouse, to inflame, to bring her to the razor edge of need upon which he himself stood in balance.

  She whimpered and wriggled and dropped her head back, offering herself. Nick felt the pounding of her pulse as his lips feasted on her neck. His nostrils flared as the scent of arousal perfumed the air, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to toss up her skirts and take her then and there.

  Wild and feral, he half carried, half dragged her deeper into the shadows and there, in the darkness, he blessed the current fashion of ball gowns and made short work of baring her breasts.

  Allowing her no time for fear or doubt, he drew one nipple into his hungry mouth while his hand kneaded the other breast. She gave a soft cry and tellingly clasped him to her. Ruthlessly his hands delved beneath her skirt, coaxed and stroked and pushed past the barriers of fine underclothes to find the softest silk of all.

  She gasped out his name, and he groaned in reply. His mouth trailed hot hungry kisses against every inch of skin bared to him. She trembled in his arms. Shuddered. Nick's fingers played across that slick, heated skin, and he decided the time had come to show her what she was missing. To give her some of what he was aching to give her, dying to give her.

  The weeks of slow seduction had taken their toll on Nick. Lust was a living, fire-breathing animal inside him. He wanted to use his mouth on her, to give her the most intimate of kisses and feast upon her until she screamed. He wanted to rip off his trousers and take her, to bury himself in her tight, wet passage and pound away the months—the years—of frustrated desire he felt for this woman alone.

  But Sarah, he remembered—just barely—was a virgin. His frightened little virgin bride. She deserved better than a tumble in a darkened garden while hundreds waltzed in the ballroom only a shout away. No matter how badly he wanted it, wanted her, he couldn't do this. Not here and now, maybe not ever.

  He would allow her the choice, even if it killed him.

  But in the meantime, he'd give her something to think about. He slipped a finger into her weeping sheath and his thumb found that little knot of nerves. Slowly, lovingly, he worked her.

  "Nick?"

  "Let go, lass. Don't fight it. Give us this. You said it was my turn to remind you. Let me give you something you'll never want to forget."

  Nick closed his eyes and submersed himself in the sensations available to him. Slick, satiny heat. A salty taste on his tongue. Soft, needy whimpers and the musky scent of sex. Moments later, he sent her flying. Sarah cried out as release found her and she shook in his arms like a tree in a gale.

  "Yes, lass. Yes," he murmured fiercely, her satisfaction his own.

  When she finally calmed, Nick cradled her gently and tenderly kissed away the tears that had slipped from her eyes to spill silently down her cheeks.

  The last walls guarding his heart shattered.

  From out of the pieces came the words that pride and self-preservation had kept silent. I love you, Sarah. I love you. Don't leave me.

  * * *

  In the days following the engagement ball, the pace of life picked up considerably. Awnings went up on the grand flower-decked mansions of Belgravia as the gaiety of the Season shifted into full swing. Between the fashionable flower shows, luncheon engagements, appearances among the bustle of Rotten Row, visits to the theater, the opera, concerts, dinner parties, and balls, Sarah was busy with wedding preparations and trying to control Lady Pratt. The groom's mother was driving poor Charlotte to distraction.

  Nick, on the other hand, was driving Sarah crazy.

  After their exchange in the garden—which still had the power to bring a blush to Sarah's cheeks—the tone of their relationship had taken yet another turn. Her husband had resumed his Pillow Book entries, but rat
her than writing letters of seduction, he'd taken to telling her stories about his family. He wrote little snippets about his life either during his childhood or in the years since his return. Sarah enjoyed reading them, and she was happy for the view inside the family. It made her feel included.

  But all in all, she rather missed the risqué letters, especially since she now had a clearer understanding of what he'd written.

  Nick never referred to the incident in the garden, but then, she didn't see him all that much. His social calendar and hers seldom overlapped. Whether due to coincidence or his design, she couldn't say for certain, but she liked to think it was because of the differences in their individual pursuits. She was making wedding arrangements. He was tracking a suspected assassin—Lord Chambers.

  Sarah still didn't believe Trevor had anything to do with a plot to kill the queen. The man didn't have a murderous bone in his body, despite the bloodthirsty looks he shot her husband whenever their paths had crossed since the night of Charlotte's ball. Trevor had caught her sneaking up to her room to tidy herself after her gambol in the garden with Nick, and her swollen lips and mussed appearance had left little doubt as to her activities. His pursuit of her had cooled since then, and he'd stopped paying his afternoon calls at Weston House, hence Nick's need to venture farther afield to keep track of his suspect.

  Now if Sarah could do something to weed out the others who had taken his place in her parlor. What was it about these Britons anyway? Were there not enough women to go around? Why did so many feel compelled to pursue a woman whose annulment might yet take months to work its way through the legal system?

  Yes, months. Perhaps even a year. After consulting with her attorney husband, Claire McBride had let Sarah in on that little fact. Sarah was still trying to figure out how to feel about that revelation. Claire claimed her difficulty in making a decision about her future was, in fact, a decision in itself. Jenny had agreed with her sister-in-law, saying if Sarah truly wanted the annulment, she'd have taken up residence someplace other than the bedroom next to Nick's.