Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by RainyKirkland

  You're hooked, old friend, Chris thought with satisfaction as he watched Nick help Sarah fill her plate from the food-laden table. You've never lacked a beautiful woman for your arm, but you've also never truly cared where their eyes wandered or with whom they danced. And now, Chris rubbed his hands together in delight. I think you care more than you know.

  The hour was just past midnight before Nick was able to extract himself and Sarah from the festivities. Mrs. Carlson had insisted that he and Chris were the only ones sober enough to finish hanging the garland. And when she failed to complain that neither man had yet to don his wig, Nick knew she was truly desperate. So for hours he had stood trapped atop the ladder. At first, Sarah too, had offered help, handing him bows of twisted greens. But whereas she had no reservation in enlisting Nick's assistance, Mrs. Carlson's social conscience wouldn't let Sarah, as a guest, help also. She had whisked the girl away and deposited her with a group of neighbors who had arrived early to enjoy the festivities to the fullest.

  Nick's first inclination had been to climb down from his ladder and rescue her; then his heart had swelled with pride as he watched the smiles grow around her. Chris, perched atop his own ladder, had given him their special thumbs-up sign, and Nick decided that his best course of action was to get the task completed as quickly as possible.

  He worked like a demon, causing Chris to scramble to keep up, but, despite his hectic pace, he was careful to keep Sarah constantly in view. He smiled when he heard the delightful sound of her soft laughter and struggled to conceal his frown when the men seemed to spend too much time trying to impress her. But each time he was tempted to climb down, she would look up at him. As if reading his thoughts, she would glance at the hung garland and nod her head in approval.

  They had been on the last piece when he had watched Julie take Sarah aside. She had looked up at him twice as Julie spoke to her, her violet eyes searching his for answers. And as Julie turned and left, he realized that Sarah's smile had vanished.

  In his haste to be done, Nick smashed his thumb soundly with the hammer. His hearty curse rang out at the exact moment the musicians decided to stop practice. All heads turned in his direction and he clamped his jaw hard to remain silent as pain soared through him.

  Relieved that her garland was finished, Mrs. Carlson had insisted Nick come down from the ladder immediately so she could inspect the damage. His thumb, already turning blue, was the least of his worries. Brushing aside the motherly attention, Nick navigated the crowded room with Sarah in tow, leaving Chris to contend with his mother and any other chore she deemed must be completed before morning.

  Nick guided Sarah through a maze of rooms until they reached the privacy of the back porch. He watched her shiver in the moonlight and silently doffed his coat to place it about her shoulders.

  "You really should do something about your finger," she said softly. But her head stayed bowed and her eyes refused to meet his.

  Nick stopped, leaned back against the railing, then turned Sarah to stand before him. "It's not my thumb I'm worried about." His injured hand reached up to touch her chin, raising her eyes to his. "What did she say to you?" He watched a single luminous tear gather.

  For a moment he thought she would remain silent, then, taking a deep breath and gazing past his shoulder, her words tumbled forth. "I didn't mean to shame you." Her eyes darted to his then away again. "And I have a new dress for tomorrow, but I never thought that tonight would be considered part of the celebration."

  Nick frowned. "What makes you think you have shamed me? I considered myself most fortunate. In case you didn't notice, you were the most beautiful woman in the room." Even in the moonlight he could see the color bloom in her pale cheeks.

  "It's just so hard to remember," she continued, daring to look at him. "At home this dress would be considered too grand to wear except for the most special of occasions. And even then I would be setting myself apart from my neighbors. But here . . ." she gestured about them. "Here I am dressed like a housekeeper."

  "Sarah . . ." his voice was tender. "I don't care what clothing you wear."

  Her smile was slow in coming. Did he think she hadn't noticed the questioning looks or heard the chuckles behind her back? Agatha had been right – unless she dressed the part, she was going to cause Nick nothing but embarrassment.

  Nick gave her a leering grin. "In fact, I think I would like it best if you wore none at all."

  Sarah's laughter rang out at the absurdity of his thoughts, and suddenly she realized that, like her father, Nick possessed the ability to utter a few simple words and her world became right again. "I do have a grand dress for tomorrow," she assured him as the heat from his smile began to penetrate. "Your grandmother spent a fortune on it."

  Nick's smile deepened and he edged her closer between his legs. "Why didn't you dance this evening? I noticed you were never in want of company."

  "That's because you never stopped watching me." She tilted her head and raised a brow. "Were you afraid that I'd do something wrong?"

  Nick rested his hands on her waist and ignored her pointed look that said he should remove them. "Do you not know how to dance? I could teach you if you'd like."

  Sarah folded her arms across her chest and tried to ignore the tremors his thumbs caused as they reached up to brush back and forth across the velvet nap at her ribs. She tried to keep her voice calm, but his nearness was making it impossible. "We don't believe in instruments," she said quickly, hating the breathy sound of her words. "The ministers say they are the voice of the devil."

  Nick's eyes mirrored his astonishment. "But you sing. I've heard you. What harm can there be in an instrument that plays a tune?"

  Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s never made sense to me. Once, many years ago, a man came through Salem with a lyre.” Her questioning eyes looked up at Nick and she instinctively leaned closer, “His songs were so sweet that they could bring a tear to your eye. I thought it grand, for you know that David once played a lyre for King Saul.” Her voice faded off and Nick edged her closer still.

  “What happened?” he whispered. When she turned her face up to his, the light of the full moon danced on her pale cheeks and Nick felt his breath leave his body.

  “The ministers ran him out of town.” She paused in thought. “I don’t think he minded leaving until they broke his lyre.” Her body trembled and again her eyes sought his. “Why do you think they did that? He had already agreed to go. Why did they have to break his lyre?” Again Nick felt the tremors run through her. “That was the first time I ever saw a grown man cry,” she stammered.

  Lost in the beauty of her, Nick struggled to find words that might offer comfort, but finding none, he simply pulled her close and enfolded her in his arms.

  Sarah luxuriated in the warmth of his body. The clean, manly scent of him permeated her being and she felt her insides begin to melt. “I should be going,” she whispered as her cheek rubbed against his muscular shoulder. For the longest moment they stood pressed tightly together, exulting in feelings that could not be openly acknowledged. Then his head lowered and his lips touched hers. For Nick the waiting had been too long, and as his mouth moved hungrily over hers, he thought he might die from the wanting.

  Sarah pressed closer still as her arms reached up to encircle his neck. His lips drew everything from her, then returned the feelings a hundredfold. She tasted the dark, mysterious flavor of him and wondered if her thirst would ever be sated. His heart pounded against her breast and her body ached for the touch of his hands. But even so it was she who broke the kiss and stood on legs that threatened to crumple.

  “Don’t ask this of me,” her voice trembled. “I have not the strength to tell you no.” she watched passion flare in his eyes but as Nick stepped forward, she stepped back. “I wish I could be closer to you than your clothing when you’ve been caught in a spring rain, but I know for us this cannot be. I have no defenses against the desires you stir in me, so the responsibility to kn
ow what is right must belong to you.” She turned to go, slipping Nick’s coat from her shoulders. “If left to me,” she whispered, “I would throw caution to the wind and then we would both be lost.”

  Christopher smiled as he strolled by the back porch. He could hear the soft, rich baritone of Nick’s voice. And as his steps took him from their view, he couldn’t help but envy Nick for finding Sarah first. His feet moved soundlessly down the well-trod path to the barn, and he wondered what great emergency awaited him there. Nick had gone so far as to extract a promise that he would see to it, and a promise was something they rarely demanded of the other.

  He entered the barn and heard the muffled weeping even before he lit the lantern.

  “Julie?” he called, recognizing the sound of his sister’s sobs as he climbed the ladder to the loft.

  “Nick, is that you?”

  So that’s the way of it, Chris thought as he swung over the last step. In the lantern light he found his little sister propped against a bale of hay, her eyes swollen and red from crying. His chest swelled in sympathy as he crossed over to her. “Oh, little one,” he soothed, pulling her close to cry on his shoulder. “When are you ever going to learn?”

  “Where is Nick?” she demanded with a sniff. “Did you tell him to stay away from me? Is that why he didn’t come?”

  Chris brushed her tears with his thumb. “Julie, you are being married tomorrow. What are you thinking of?”

  “He told me he would come,” she whined.

  Chris stared up at the ceiling and prayed for divine inspiration. “Dear heart, Nick never told you he’d meet you here.”

  “But I’m in love with him.”

  “You might be in love with Nick, but Nick is in love with Sarah.”

  Julie pushed herself away from her brother’s shoulder so she might see his face. “Did he tell you that? Did he say those exact words? Did he say I am in love with Sarah?”

  Chris pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “My sweet, you have only to look at them to see. Have you ever known Nick to care if his lady smiled at another? Have you ever watched him scowl if she but laughed at another’s joke? He’s in love, and if my guess is not mistaken, Sarah’s in love with him, too.”

  Julie scrubbed the handkerchief across her face and soundly blew her nose. “But it’s not fair,” she pouted. “I’d be better for him than she would. She doesn’t even know how to dress. Tonight she could have been one of the servants.”

  Chris gave her curls a playful tug. “And did you see that to Nick it mattered not in the slightest?”

  Still frowning, Julie pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms about them. “I think he’s making a mistake.”

  Chris hugged her shoulder. “I think you are the one who might be making the mistake. Why are you crying over Nick when you’ve promised your heart to Clarence?”

  She shrugged and stared into the shadowy corners of the loft. “I thought I could force Nick’s hand.”

  Chris swore softly under his breath. “But if you don’t love Clarence, you should call the wedding off.”

  “What, and return all those glorious wedding presents?”

  “The presents aren’t going to keep you warm on a cold night when you’re married to a man you don’t love.”

  Julie pulled herself to her feet and gave her brother a haughty stare. “Unlike some people,” she paused, “Clarence worships the ground I walk on. I don’t’ think he’ll have any trouble keeping me warm. And Mr. Nicholas Beaumont can just put that thought in his pipe and smoke it.” With the dignity of a queen and the stubbornness of a willful child, Julie flipped her leg over the ladder and left the loft.

  “Is she all right?” Nick questioned from his perch on the back step.

  Chris reached the porch and nodded wearily. “She brings it on herself, you know, but still one can’t help feeling sorry for her. Our parents spoiled her so much when she was little that now she just doesn’t understand when she can’t have everything she wants.”

  Nick stood and stretched. “And what of tomorrow?”

  Chris shrugged. “She’ll be fine, as radiant as always. Her pride will allow her no less.”

  “What of her husband? Is he going to make her happy?”

  Chris snorted. “If giving into her every whim will make her happy, then Clarence Morgan is the right man. Julie can wrap him around her little finger.”

  Nick shook his head. “Julie is a sweet child, but she’s going to make them both miserable.”

  “Just as long as she does it at home. Her new home that is . . . Where is Sarah?”

  “She’s gone to her room.” Nick’s voice was tight as he struggled to keep his thoughts from imagining Sarah snuggled beneath the covers.

  Never one to mince words, Chris looked Nick straight in the eye. “And are you gong to tell me how you two really met or are you going to stick to that nonsensical story of her being the granddaughter of a friend of Agatha’s?”

  For a long moment Nick was silent; then he turned and nodded toward the woods. “Does that creek still run along the northern border?”

  Chris’s grin turned devilish. “Deep enough to dive and cold enough to freeze your privates off.”

  Nick reached for the top buttons of his waistcoat and began to pull them open. “Let’s go,” he challenged, hoping an icy bath would cool the fire that burned in his loins and threatened him with tossing caution to the wind. “And I’ll wager a keg of my finest brandy that you turn blue a full lap before me.”

  Chris’s laughter rang out as he tossed his own coat over the railing. “Brandy be hanged. Let’s make it interesting. The winner gets to partner Sarah at dinner tomorrow.”

  Nick nodded. “It’s a bet.”

  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.”