The Paper Marriage

by Bronwyn Williams

  It wasn’t so much that he’d frightened her as that he’d caught her looking frazzled and windblown, dripping with perspiration, her hair escaping her braids to stick to her damp face. She had planned to be bathed and changed into her most becoming outfit by the time he returned. He had mentioned wanting to see her in his office, at which time she fully intended to set the record straight.

  Still, it wasn’t like her to speak out that way, she didn’t know what had gotten into her. The heat, probably. That and her own guilty conscience.

  Taking a deep breath, she composed her features and said, “Please excuse me. Annie and I will be in shortly. As soon as I have her settled with a bottle, I’ll see you in your office, if I may.”

  Looking thoroughly out of sorts, Sandy yanked the lasso off his shoulders, glared at John and mumbled something about seeing her tomorrow at the usual time.

  John, his expression as inscrutable as ever, calmly coiled his line and hooked it over his saddle horn. Ignoring Matt, he nodded to Rose. “Send word when you’re ready for another lesson.”

  With a sigh, Rose thanked both young men. Why had she ever thought learning to sail and to ride would help her standing? She watched Matt pick up Annie’s basket and march down the sandy slope toward the house, shoulders rigid, long, powerful limbs covering ground without the least regard for all the hazards she’d been warned against.

  It was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that she picked her way through sandspurs, cactus, and a swarm of gnats that were obviously attracted to her damp, sunburned flesh.

  This time, she vowed, she was going to tell him the truth if she had to tie him to his chair to make him listen. She would tell him everything, from beginning to end.

  Well, perhaps not everything.

  If after that he wanted to send her away she would go without a word of complaint. Go and spend the rest of her life grieving over another broken dream.

  Not until the sun had set in a sulfury glare of color behind a bank of clouds did she appear at his door. Matt had purposely left it open to catch whatever slight breeze there was. Some thoughtful ancestor had deliberately planned the house to take advantage of the prevailing winds, setting it high enough off the ground to avoid the tides and catch the slightest breath of air.

  Sometimes even that wasn’t enough to break the stifling heat. Tonight, though, the wind was switching more to the east. With any luck, it would swing on around to the northeast and bring some relief.

  “Come in,” he said without glancing up from his desk. He’d bathed and changed into fresh linen, but he was soaked to the skin again.

  Hellish weather. Worse than the doldrums.

  “You wanted to see me?” She stepped inside, hands clasped so tightly he could see her white knuckles. “That is, I wanted to tell you something. You see—”

  “Take a seat.” Lilacs. Dammit, she had to go and smell of lilacs.

  She collapsed onto one of the straight chairs, then stiffened her back. Matt had about made up his mind to tell her he’d had the marriage annulled, then sign her on to stay with Annie. But it might be more interesting to cut her some slack and see how far she would run with it.

  He waited. She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly, then said all in one burst, “I’m the one you married. By proxy, I mean. I never deliberately set out to deceive you, but you see, I didn’t really want to marry anyone—I’d been married before, and—well, but that’s not important. What’s important is that I love Annie, and I’d like to keep her. That is, if you’ll still have me.”

  She was obviously waiting for a reaction. Matt steepled his hands before him, his eyes never leaving her face. He’d set grown men to trembling in their boots with just such a look.

  If it bothered Rose, she didn’t let on. Too wrapped up in her own story, more than likely. “Go on,” he prompted.

  “Yes, well—you see, I needed to find work, only nothing I could find suited, so when Bess said her nephew had a baby and needed help, I said yes, only she thought it wouldn’t be proper for a woman to stay in a house full of strange men, and so—”

  She caught her breath, prepared to plunge on. He had to admire the way she looked him straight in the eye, even knowing she’d been lying through her pretty teeth ever since she’d tumbled out of the wagon onto his doorstep.

  “As soon as I did it, I tried to undo it, but Mr. Bagby said it was too late. He did say, though, that I could behest my way out of it any time I wanted to, as long as the marriage was never—that is, as long as we didn’t—And of course, we didn’t, so—”

  Watching the flush of color rise above her collar, staining her face, Matt wondered if it extended down over her body. “We didn’t?”

  “Certainly not,” she said quickly. “At any rate, we—that is, you—I mean, if you’d like—”

  Oh, I’d like, all right. And I will, madam, before this farce is ended. I believe we owe each other that much.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Not tonight, Matt decided. Better to wait until he could look at her without feeling angry, betrayed. The last time he’d lost his head over a woman the results had been disastrous, and he was honest enough to admit that Rose affected him in ways that Gloria never had.

  A cautious man, he thought it better to wait until he could see his way past every shoal, every snag, every conceivable hazard. As captain, his policy had been to mete out punishment quickly once guilt had been established rather than to allow the culprit to wallow for days in fear and uncertainty. He prided himself on being a just man, not a vindictive one.

  Rose’s guilt had been established beyond a shadow of a doubt; she had even confessed, if that rambling discourse could be considered a confession. What punishment could be more fitting than to take her at her word? To treat her as he would a wife?

  That was neither revenge nor vindication, it was simple justice.

  But not tonight. Not until he could think about what she’d done without wanting to wring her delicate little neck.

  Restlessly, he turned to the window where his gaze was captured by the rising moon and the golden trail that spread across the surface of the water. Was there anything more beautiful in God’s creation than moonlight on the water?

  Soon he would be free to leave, to follow that golden highway over the horizon and beyond. But first…

  First he would send those two young jackanapes on their way. For as long as he was here at the Point, he could take care of his own livestock, and if Rose wanted to learn how to sail, he would teach her himself. He’d do a damned sight better job of it than any jumped-up clerk in a collar and tie.

  As long as she didn’t think about it, she would be all right.

  As long as she could sit here in the rocking chair, holding Annie’s soft warmth in her arms, gazing out at the path of moonlight across the water, she could go for hours without thinking. For whole minutes…

  Somewhere in the house, a clock began to chime. Now and then the old house protested as the heat of the day slowly faded. A familiar sound, Rose found it oddly comforting.

  Well, you told him. He didn’t send you away. What now?

  She didn’t know what, she simply didn’t know.

  She knew he needed her, and not just for Annie’s sake.

  She knew he wanted her, and that he was angry because he didn’t want to want her. Given time and experience, even the most witless woman could learn to recognize certain indications.

  Robert had wanted her money, but because she was a woman and she’d been available, he’d used her that way when it had suited his purpose. Matt wanted her services for Annie’s sake, but he wanted her body, too.

  And heaven knows, she wanted his. The trouble was, she wanted far more than his body, because that sort of thing had never really appealed to her. She wasn’t good at it. She’d been told so enough times that she believed it.

  She wanted those rare smiles he offered Annie, and sometimes Crank or Peg, but never her. She wanted his strength for wh
en her courage began to flag, and the kindness that had prompted him to adopt a newborn infant when he hadn’t the least notion of how he would look after her. She wanted that streak of tenderness he tried so hard to deny.

  What she didn’t want was his anger. Not until she was certain of her own strength, and she was working on it. Growing more self-assured with each day and every new accomplishment.

  But oh, how she wanted him to love her, at least a little bit. Wanted him to think she was beautiful and brave and beguiling, all the things she was not.

  Oh, you don’t want much, do you, Augusta Rose? Only the moon.

  It rained the next morning, a string of light showers that promised to clear, but never quite went away. Rose gave up and did the baby’s wash, boiling it on the kitchen range and hanging it on the lines in the attic. She needed to hem more diapers. Three dozen wasn’t nearly enough.

  Annie was fretful. Rose thought she was cutting another tooth, and rubbed her gums with a finger dipped in honey. She’d have dipped it in brandy if she’d dared, but she didn’t. With Matt watching her every move, she was walking on eggshells.

  “I’m moving Annie’s bed back into her own room,” he’d told her before she’d even had her breakfast. “She needs to learn to be independent.”

  Taking the words as an accusation, Rose had gone on the defensive. “I fully intend to teach her to be independent, but don’t you think she’s a bit young to start learning?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, well I—” She started to say she did, but caught herself before she could pick a fight. It wouldn’t serve her purpose. “You’re probably right. I asked Crank to move her to my room in case she woke in the night, but it was really because I like having her nearby.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she said quickly. Then, remembering the promise she’d made to herself to be honest in all her dealings from now on out, she said, “Not of the dark, at any rate. I’m a little bit afraid of lightning, but I’m working on it. I’m a little bit afraid of snakes and spiders, but John promised to show me which ones are dangerous and which ones are our friends.”

  “Our friends?” Matt was beginning to enjoy himself. She was a disarming wench, and he couldn’t afford to be disarmed. Couldn’t afford to start liking her, not when he fully intended to seduce her, then denounce her.

  “Snakes eat mice, and I do dislike mice. Frogs and lizards eat bugs, and I don’t particularly like bugs either, but then, snakes eat frogs and lizards, so I’m not sure yet how that works out.”

  “Snakes also eat birds. Baby birds, right out of the nest,” he told her solemnly.

  Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. “I knew that, of course. There are some things I prefer not to think about.” She said it with quiet dignity.

  Matt had been enjoying their little game, which was a good reason to cut it short. He’d never been skilled at games, especially not games played with women.

  “I’ll just bet you don’t,” he muttered, and left without waiting for a response.

  He could almost feel her eyes boring into his back. Those cat eyes of hers, more yellow than brown. Even her hair was more yellow than brown these days, with streaks that were almost white from staying out in the sun without her bonnet.

  Eager to be away where he could think without being distracted, he slammed out the front door, took the five steps in a single leap and strode toward the barn. A few minutes later he was racing across the damp sand on Jericho’s bare back, a light rain plastering his shirt to his back, his hair to his scalp.

  “Dratted woman,” he muttered.

  The stallion, intent on reaching the surf, didn’t so much as flicker an ear.

  “You’ve got six of ’em to deal with, old fellow. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.”

  And thus the day dragged on. Rose managed to stay busy. Unfortunately, the things that engaged her hands did little to distract her mind.

  In honor of Matt’s return, Crank produced another of his favorite meals. This time it was baked flounder surrounded by potatoes and onions and topped with strips of crisp bacon.

  Rose couldn’t eat a bite. Oblivious to the splendid view out the back door, where a drift of pink clouds presaged the sunset, she mashed fish and potatoes together with her fork and helped Annie feed herself. Held the cup for her to drink her milk, and ignored it when Crank coaxed a smile while she was still drinking, then cackled when milk dribbled from both sides of her mouth onto her bib.

  Matt had filled his own plate and taken it to his office. He hadn’t shared a single meal with them since his return. Obviously he hadn’t forgiven her for deceiving him. Either that or he’d decided he didn’t want to be married to her and was trying to think of a tactful way to tell her.

  Oh? And since when did Captain Powers bother with tact?

  More likely he was trying to think of someone to come and take care of Annie. “Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we, sugar?” Scowling, she wiped a gray blob of fish and potatoes off Annie’s chin and offered her another spoonful.

  “She’s growing like a weed, ain’t she?” The old man sat across the table, beaming proudly.

  “Not like one of my weeds,” Rose observed dryly.

  Some time later, having dragged the rocking chair back into Annie’s room, Rose rocked her to sleep and went on rocking until the sun had set and the first few stars appeared.

  Surely he wouldn’t come to her bed. She had worked herself into a state of nerves for nothing. She’d been on edge all day. Ever since he’d left her to go off on that horse of his, she’d been waiting for the ax to fall. If he hadn’t taken his supper into his office and shut the door she might have followed him there, but in this house, where comfort depended on a free circulation of air, a closed door had to be taken seriously.

  The rain had finally stopped. The air was perfectly still. Rose had bathed this morning, but after settling Annie for the night, she bathed again, using the last of her lilac soap.

  She was his wife. If he came, he came.

  If he wanted her, he wanted her.

  If he didn’t, then she would leave, and that would be the end of that.

  He came. She had worn her lightest nightgown because it was a warm night, not because it also happened to be her prettiest. She had sprinkled lilac water on her hairbrush before her obligatory hundred strokes because it was cooling, not for any other reason.

  And she was lying to herself because she didn’t dare admit to the truth, that she had fallen in love for the first time in her life, and she was terrified that he could never love a woman with no looks, no money, and no more backbone than a snail.

  A woman who had lived a lie for so long.

  She had just crawled into her bed when he appeared in her doorway. He’d changed from his worn denim trousers and the frayed cotton shirt he wore when he was working with the horses to his best white linen shirt and a pair of black trousers that fit his loins like a glove. If he wanted to make a favorable impression, he’d have been better served to wear a smile.

  “Did you want something?” Her voice sounded like a hinge that needed oiling.

  “You claim to be my wife. I thought we might as well establish the relationship before I leave again.”

  He moved to stand beside her bed, yellow light from the single lamp delineating the sharp, angular bones of his face. Determined not to be intimidated, she managed to say, “You don’t have to—that is, I don’t expect you to—”

  “Rose.” His voice was quiet.

  Hers was barely audible. “What?”

  “Move over.”

  She scooted as far to the other side as she could without falling off the bed. Mesmerized, she watched in the flickering lamplight while he shed his shirt, then deliberately unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down over his narrow hips.

  He was wearing nothing at all underneath. She tried and failed to tear her gaze aw
ay from the center of darkness at the apex of his powerful thighs. He was fully, proudly aroused. She felt her mouth go dry. After the first few months of her first marriage she had come to think of the male part as a weapon.

  Oddly enough, she was not afraid of Matt. What frightened her most was her own reaction.

  Matt allowed her to look her fill. He was what he was, a plain man with no pretense of fancy manners. If it wasn’t enough, then she should have taken the first boat out and left him in peace instead of hanging around until he…

  Until he got used to her.

  Now, having finally dealt with his anger, he intended to take as much time as necessary to pleasure her. Just why he needed to watch her eyes darken with passion, he couldn’t have said. Pride, perhaps. She’d held off long enough, keeping her options open. That still rankled. She had deceived him, and he meant to have his revenge, but the truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure of his own skills when it came to bedding a respectable woman. The other kind—the only kind he’d ever bedded—usually took the lead. They were paid to squirm and groan, whether they felt any pleasure or not. The quicker they sent a satisfied customer on his way, the sooner they could take on another one.

  He’d been almost fifteen when Peg had taken him to his first brothel. Flush with eight weeks’ earnings, plus the money his mates had chipped in and donated to the cause, he’d spent the entire night and come away late the next afternoon with barely enough strength left to stagger back to the ship.

  But he’d been grinning. He’d grinned for days, just thinking about it.

  “Would you rather be on top or bottom?” He thought it only polite to ask, but the feel of her beside him, warm and smelling of lilacs, was making it hard for him to remember his anger.

  “Um—whatever you want.”

  “I’m heavy. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” The words were strained between his teeth. They were sitting up side by side, backs supported on the cool iron spokes of the bedstead as she hadn’t rearranged her pillow.