The Bad Luck Bride

by Janna MacGregor

  His impish tone announced a cheerful mood. She almost shared that she was ready to consummate their marriage but dismissed the thought. With the promise of tonight’s storm, she’d better not take the risk. After dinner, she’d venture out for a short walk to see the movement of the clouds.

  “Would you like a glass of sherry?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. Not tonight.”

  Alex approached and gave her forehead a quick kiss. “Why is that?”

  Claire stumbled for a response. He wouldn’t understand her need to be alert if a storm hit while she slept.

  Without waiting for an answer, Alex took her hands in his. “I know we’ve had a less than auspicious start to our marriage. I’d like to start anew and hope you’re in agreement.” He handed Claire a large jewelry box. “This is a promise to our future.”

  Inside was a large opal pendant the color and size of a robin’s egg. Diamonds surrounded the stone and sparkled like stars. The rest of the necklace was made of graduated diamonds that ended in a clasp made of sapphires.

  Claire was at a loss for words as she stared at the exquisite necklace. “Why—why are you giving this to me?”

  “I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked. You’ve given tirelessly to the tenants with little thought to yourself. The tenants, the staff, and the townspeople are impressed with their new marchioness, as am I. It means a great deal to me.” His eyes softened as he brought her hand to his lips. Without letting go, he rubbed her hand against his cheek. The faint hint of bristles tickled her skin. “What you said to Camden about us wanting to make Pemhill and its residents a priority was extraordinary. You made me feel as if I could conquer the world.”

  The look of gratitude in his eyes was something she’d never seen from him before. She drew near. “Thank you.”

  “I’m the one who should say thank you. I couldn’t ask for a more committed partner or a more perfect wife. Together, we’ll place our mark on Pemhill and leave it with pride for our son and the same for our daughter at Wrenwood.” Alex took a deep breath and looked out the window. He played with her hand until whatever internal battle he fought was over. He gave a gentle squeeze and returned his gaze to hers. “I also wanted to apologize … for ever having any doubts about you or, more importantly, causing you any doubts about our marriage.” He exhaled and his gaze captured hers. “I consider you the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

  In that sweet moment, their marriage changed. Alex believed her. She suspected his apologies were rare. Without much reflection, Claire accepted it. It was enough to build their future. They needed to move forward.

  She reached up and brushed her lips against the warm skin of his cheek. He turned and caught her lips with his. Each time she kissed him, the pull to be near him became stronger.

  “My lord, my lady, I beg your pardon.” Simms hesitantly cleared his throat. “The steward has returned with one of the tenants. There’s a fire in one of the small granaries.”

  Alex nodded with a grim smile. “Sweetheart, I have to go. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up if it’s late.”

  A fire in a granary was a danger to everyone. If it spread to the surrounding buildings, the last harvest would be lost. Depending on the cause, the fire and its fury could kill or maim dozens.

  She’d worry until he came home. “Be safe.”

  He squeezed her hands one last time and left the room.

  Claire asked Simms to keep her informed. Two hours later, she made her way outside. Toward the north, black smoke billowed upward, meeting the dark sky. The winds still came from the west, which did not bode well for a quick end to the fire or for a restful night. If the storm hit with enough rain, it might extinguish the flames. There was some comfort in the thought as she feared what the night promised to bring.

  She walked the perimeter of the house, and Alex was never far from her thoughts. He’d be in the thick of things, trying to help those dependent upon him and Pemhill for their welfare.

  Claire turned back inside for the long night ahead. She decided to retire early and have Aileen stay in her suites until Alex returned.

  When she arrived at her chambers, she discovered Aileen flushed with a nasty fever. The poor woman looked as if she’d drop to the floor. Claire made the only decision she could before she sent her maid to bed. She would weather the night on her own.

  * * *

  The crack of thunder overhead jarred Claire awake. She sat straight up in bed and looked for Aileen. Immediately, she remembered she was at Pemhill and alone in her bedroom. Within seconds, another explosion hit. Then silence descended and surrounded her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her body began the uncontrollable but familiar trembling.

  Another boom crashed in the distance. As she scrambled to leave the bed, her legs caught and tangled in the bed linens. Giant tendrils seemed to clench her body, fighting to make her stay. The more she struggled against the fabric, the tighter the grip became. The sick sense of drowning flooded her mind like that night at the river, but her father wasn’t here to save her. Finally, Claire hurled herself out of the vise and stumbled to the window.

  Lightning flew across the sky, and the flash rendered a clear outline of the trees swaying in the wind. Another bolt came straight down before splitting into four legs. Then the darkness returned.

  Claire counted to forty before a low roll of thunder rumbled. She rushed to the armoire and flung open the double doors. The violent shaking of her hands made it difficult to grab the new pair of boots. Desperate to count again, she needed to know how much time she had before disaster struck. She’d slept in a linen shirt and buckskin britches, prepared for whatever the night might bring.

  And it brought her worst nightmare. She rushed back to the window, closed her eyes, and willed herself to look again.

  At first glance, the grounds were pitch-black. Then, out of the west, a bolt of lightning streaked in a faint line. Thirty seconds after the flash, the air crackled with a resounding boom.

  Her stomach cramped with nausea. She’d vowed never again to be in the same deadly situation as her parents.

  Long ago, her uncle’s grief had caused him to confide the horrific details of her parents’ accident to Aunt Ginny. He’d never meant for Claire to overhear, but she’d hidden from sight. Claire’s father couldn’t free her mother from the carriage. Her mother’s heavy dress had caused their deaths when the skirt caught in the carriage wreck. Her father had fought to free her from the capsized vehicle, but the floodwaters had overwhelmed them both.

  She balanced on one foot as she struggled with her boots. As illogical as it was, she needed the boots. With her two hands, she forced her right foot down the shaft with little success. With a hard fall, she landed on her backside as she tried to pull the damn thing off. She realized her error—there were no boot stockings. Aileen hadn’t told her where she put them. Claire raced to the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She forced herself to watch the sky a third time. She needed boots to keep her feet warm and dry. She always wore her boots.

  Claire took a deep breath, then exhaled. She repeated the pattern several times but stopped when she realized the night had stilled. Nothing stirred. The air hung heavy, without a breeze. She glanced to the left in time to see a single bolt of lightning hit the earth. She counted again. One, two, three. This time she made it to twenty before the thunder roared.

  With little time left and little hope of finding her stockings, her only chance to survive was to take a pair from Alex.

  She ran with boots in hand through the hallway connecting their apartments until she reached his dressing room. Every drawer within reach, she threw open. The first contained his folded cravats, and the second held personal items, including his razor. Another drawer across the room held a neat line of cravat pins and cuff links. Finally, the next drawer contained the boot stockings.

  Claire gathered what she needed and turned to leave. A strong clap of thunder caused the windows to rattle in their sashes as the
walls shook. The vibrations invaded her body, making her teeth chatter.

  Unable to control the rising panic, she pushed her way through the unlocked door and entered Alex’s chamber.

  Claire clutched the boots and stockings in her left hand as she stopped to gather her bearings. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the outside wall. She listened for Alex’s breathing.

  With her emotions in turmoil, she lost the ability to concentrate. Someone had left the windows opened, and the window coverings pulled. The force of the wind caused the bunched curtains to billow until they resembled an old-fashioned hooped petticoat for a court dress. She fought the panic that threatened to consume her and walked toward Alex’s bed. She’d sit on the edge and wait for the storm to pass. Even asleep, his presence would provide comfort.

  Deceptively, nothing except for the low rumble of thunder disturbed the night. She took a deep breath and smelled the moisture again. The rain would start any minute.

  A blinding fire bolt lit the sky, its numerous streaks flashing to the ground. From the brief reprieve of darkness, she saw the storm clouds roll through the sky. Five seconds later the clap of thunder reverberated around the room, causing the floor to vibrate.

  The thin thread holding Claire to her sanity stretched to the breaking point. Her thoughts confused and clouded, she stood frozen, unable to reach Alex as another bolt ripped through the sky and veined outward.

  The only sound in the room was her own scream before she went flying through the air.

  Chapter Ten

  The boom of thunder woke Alex from his sleep. Lightning illuminated the room for a split second, accompanied by another rapid crescendo of thunder. That’s when he saw him. In two steps, he reached the intruder and threw him to the ground as a scream sliced the air.

  The interloper landed on his face. Alex locked the man’s arms behind him. The feminine softness of the slight limbs offered no resistance.

  “Don’t.” The small, childlike voice trembled in protest.

  Lightning continued to blast the room in a shattering show of light. Stunned, Alex released his hold. Stark terror radiated from her eyes. A long braid of hair twisted around the front of her shirt—a man’s shirt, tucked into a pair of buckskins.

  Alex reared back. “Claire? Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

  He heard her deep intake of air as she struggled to breathe. Then her words tumbled free. “Help me.”

  Alex caught her in his arms and hauled her to his chest. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

  In the full blaze of the lightning, she shivered and begged him for something he didn’t understand. Her eyes were wild with terror.

  “Darling? What are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, Alex kissed her cheek and said, “Tell me.”

  Claire’s drawn face was haunted with fear.

  “Listen to me,” Alex commanded. “It’s all right. I’ll help you.” As she struggled in his arms, he bent down and picked her up. In one stride, he reached the bed. When he went to toss her in the middle, she clung to his shoulders for dear life, bringing him down with her. “What can I do?”

  “Make it stop.”

  He caressed her neck as she buried her nails in his bare shoulders. “Make what stop?”

  Thunder rumbled again, and she whimpered.

  “Is it the storm?” That night in Lady Anthony’s alcove, she had been scared of the storm but managed to contain her fear—until the thunder. Now, it all made sense why she’d reacted to him and rushed into his embrace. In an effort to calm her, he whispered in a soothing voice, “Let’s close the drapes on the bed. That will help.”

  “Don’t leave!” She was terrified, more frightened than the night of Lady Anthony’s ball. Claire turned her focus from the window. She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t. Her eyes reflected a depth of torment he’d never seen in his entire life. She reminded him of a blackbird once trapped inside his room. The bird had careened from one place to another, desperate to find escape.

  “Watch, Claire. I’m closing the drapes. Then, there’s only us, nothing else. All right?” He kept his voice confident, but he was at a loss as to how to calm her.

  Her chest puffed in and out like a small fireplace hand-bellows. His gaze held hers until he had closed all four curtains that framed the bed. Total darkness surrounded them. He kept his movements slow, in a careful, relaxed manner. She tried to roll away, but he found her by touch. In one swoop, he gathered her into his arms and placed her on his lap.

  Alex mulled what to do next. He rested his chin on top of her head. She burrowed her face deep against his chest. He had to get her attention away from the storm. “Claire, the men and I put out the fire by midnight. Thank God, no one was hurt. I came to your room to say good night, but you were sound asleep.”

  When she didn’t reply, he tried to engage her again. “What did you do this evening?”

  “I took a walk, then went to bed.” His chest muffled her voice.

  Alex bent and kissed her cheek. “When did you wake?” His hands stroked the same path up and down her back. He repeated the pattern over and over, the rhythm designed to comfort.

  “I don’t know. Maybe hours ago.” Claire trembled as another burst of thunder cracked. The storm’s intensity had died down over the last couple of minutes. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t,” he whispered into her hair. Her plea sounded as fragile as it had the first night he’d seen her terror. He brought her tight against his chest. “Why are you dressed in men’s clothing?” Not wanting to provoke a fight, he subdued the desire to know if these were the items she had ordered from the London shops. The information could wait until tomorrow. He coaxed her answer by kissing the sensitive area below her ear.

  If he kept her interest, he could calm her. He rubbed his hands down her back and brought her nearer. Definitely, his wife was a sensuous piece dressed in breeches. To increase his torment, her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples were hard. He might not be able to survive the night himself if he had to hold her without having more.

  Claire exhaled a breath, tickling his chest. “You’ll throw me in an asylum if I tell you.”

  Alex chided, “Come now, I’ll do no such thing. I commend your choice of tailor. You’re well turned out.” He gentled his voice. “You’re scared. I need to know what this is about.”

  “I have a tailor in London who makes my clothing for nights like this.” Resignation filled her voice.

  He nipped her earlobe, then soothed it with a kiss. God, he couldn’t get enough of her. He forced those thoughts out of his mind. She needed him.

  Alex recalled Macalester’s last conversation about the mysterious purchases of apparel. “Do your boots fit as well as the rest of your clothing?” He kept his tone light, trying to hint at his jesting.

  “I have them made by Hoby.” There was a slight tinge of huskiness and challenge in her words. She had no idea how seductive her voice sounded.

  Nuzzling her ear, Alex replied, “I would expect no less from my marchioness.” His tone turned serious. “Why for nights like this?”

  “When it storms, I never allow my legs to become entangled in ball gowns or dresses or nightgowns.”

  None of this made sense. “Why?”

  “I can’t free myself. You won’t understand.”

  Wrenwood was the cause of her fear. “This is about your parents?”

  “I can’t talk about this. Why are you naked?” she asked.

  He exhaled a sigh of relief. If she noticed his lack of clothing, she had calmed somewhat. “I sleep this way. Do you like it?” Alex was determined to get a “yes” from her if he had to work all night. He rubbed his hand up and down her neck, much like petting a cat. Lightly, he placed another kiss on her ear.

  “Yes. You’re so warm.”

  Sweet victory flowed through his blood. Her panting had settled, and she moved her face toward his neck for her own nuzzle. “Are you more comfortable?” he whispered.

 
“Yes, but hold me for a minute or two.”

  He brought her tighter against him. As the storm departed, the thunder’s boom was barely audible in the distance. The pounding tempo of her heartbeat had slowed. He’d push for answers later.

  Alex traced a path under her shirt. Her skin shimmied as if startled by the touch. He gentled his movement and slowed his caress of the silky skin under her breast. He’d die a slow death if he couldn’t have her.

  She pulled away and rose to a sitting position facing him. With the slightest touch as soft as a down feather, she placed her lips to his.

  Alex found her face in the dark. With a tender stroke, he slid his hand down the side of her face. He took his time and freed her hair from its braid. It was thick and curled from the moisture in the air. He carefully brushed it out with his fingers. With her head in his hands, he angled his lips and gently touched his mouth to hers. He heard her quick breath as she curved her lips to match his.

  His kiss was calm. Slow. She needed to know there was no need to hurry. But Claire opened her mouth like a siren and lured him into her spell. Groaning, Alex took her mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue mating with hers. Her movements matched his in depth and intensity.

  Alex drew back and kissed a trail underneath her jaw as she arched her neck. He explored the soft, fragrant skin until he found the hollow at the base of her throat. He kissed his way back to her ear. Nuzzling her earlobe, he murmured, “Claire, I’ve thought of you in my bed ever since the night at Lady Anthony’s ball.”

  Claire placed her hand in his and brought it to her heart as her lips found his in the darkness.

  Within a soft sigh—the sweetest sound he’d ever heard—she kissed his mouth, her lips exploring his.

  From this moment forward, they would be committed to each other. All doubts and insecurities fell away. Tenderly, Alex sat Claire against the headboard. He fumbled with the buttons on the fall of her buckskins. With a tug, the breeches caught at her hips. His fingers traced the buttonholes until he found two he had missed. To distract her, he caressed her exposed skin, soft as butterflies’ wings. Finally, gently, he pulled them off. She wore nothing underneath, and the sweet scent of her arousal made him stop and close his eyes. Overwhelmed by her fragrance mixed with musk, he was drunk with desire. Slowly, he caressed her calves, kneading and massaging, before making his way to the upper part of her legs. He would take his time with her tonight—show her she was safe. Show her all the pleasure she’d find with him.