The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity
Page 5
She gasped. A slab of thickly cut ham. A loaf of crusty bread. Sliced cheese. And a large bowl of strawberries. Her mouth watered at the sight of the plump fruit. Her favorite.
“Where did you get all of this?”
He seated himself on the blanket, leaning against a shady oak tree, his hat beside him. The wind toyed with his dark hair, rebellious strands falling over his forehead. “I went shopping, lass. What do you think? The fairies brought it?”
“Everything looks perfect.” She busied herself with preparing plates for both of them. “Thank you for getting it all.”
“My pleasure. It’s not every day I take such a lovely lady for an excursion. One who not only mends and cooks but assists in operations as well. I wonder what other talents she has?” A grin played on his lips.
A lovely lady? She almost looked around to see whom he referred to. He couldn’t mean her. She wasn’t lovely, but plain and practical. Boots, not satin slippers.
“Th–thank you,” she stammered. As quickly as she could, she handed him his plate. If he kept on with these compliments, she’d be liable to drop his lunch all over the blanket.
He took the plate. “It was a compliment, Gracie. Not a million dollars. Hasn’t anyone ever given you a compliment before?”
She fiddled with the edges of her napkin. “I don’t really remember. I’m sure someone must have, but I can’t recall.”
“Then there’s a great deal of back payments to be made. I hope you’re ready for the onslaught.” He grinned, so much charm in it, she smiled back.
“I’ll accept only truth.” A flush warmed her cheeks, and she focused her attention on the lake.
“Since there are so many wonderful things to be said about you, there will only be truth. Now, let’s get to work on this fine meal, so we can go play in the lake.”
“Play in the lake?” Her eyes widened. What was he suggesting? That they swim in their underthings like a couple of adolescent boys? Although she’d visited Lake Compton many a time, she’d never so much as gotten her feet wet.
“Right you are, lass.” His eyes sparked with amusement.
After their meal, he insisted on putting everything away himself, while she sat and rested. What had come over him? He was giving her the sort of attention he’d paid to Audrey, only somehow it seemed different. A girl could become drunk on such kindness and compliments.
“Ready to play in the lake?” He latched the lid of the picnic hamper.
“Perhaps you should tell me what you mean by ‘play.’”
“We’ll just get our feet wet. Nothing too drastic. Haven’t you ever been wading before?”
She shook her head.
“Then it is high time you did.” He helped her up, and they made their way to the water’s edge. “You haven’t really lived until you’ve felt the sand beneath your feet and the water around your ankles. Take a doctor’s word for it.”
“I’ve been living just fine, thank you.” She kept her tone prim.
“You won’t think so after you do this.” He bent and unlaced his shoes then pulled off his socks. Every ounce of ladylike decorum commanded her to turn away. She ignored it, staring at his feet and legs. Tanned and corded with muscles, dusted with dark hair. She drew in a breath. If it weren’t for the cool breeze, a fire would have started in her cheeks.
He crossed the sand, stepped into the water, and stood there, the gentle waves lapping around him. The wind was doing crazy things to his hair.
His hair was doing crazy things to her heart.
“Now it’s your turn.” He held out his hand.
She hesitated only momentarily. Then bent and untied her shoes. Unrolled her stockings and placed them inside. The sand tickled her toes, and she tunneled her feet deep into the pearl-white grains, lifting her skirts a bit.
“Come here.” He held out his hand.
She placed her hand in his, let herself be drawn along by his strength. The first step in the water stole her breath, as icy pinpricks rushed over her skin. Yet as she went farther, moved to stand beside him, the chill lessened and she concentrated on the waves frolicking around her. The solidity of his fingers mingling with hers.
He was right. There was freedom in this. In risks and improprieties. In stepping out of the mold placed around oneself.
“Like it?” He studied her.
“It’s glorious.” The sand squished between her toes, water spraying her hem. Her heart pounded, but surely it was because of the adventure rather than his nearness, the gentle pressure of his arms as he wrapped them around her waist. A tingle of heat spread over her. She pushed it aside and concentrated on the view stretched out before them, a canvas of beauty.
He whispered something she couldn’t catch. She wondered what he said, but didn’t ask. Words weren’t needed. Somehow, it felt right without them.
She could have stood there for an eternity. Nothing plagued them here, no household cares or family pressures. It was just her and the waves. And … him.
“We should go now,” he said at last. “You’re probably freezing.”
She nodded, placed her hand in his again, and they went up the shoreline, back to hard reality. Back from what had, for a few short moments, been something like their own secret world. Secret world? With him? Had she gone mad?
When they returned to the buggy, she turned to him and shyly took both of his hands in hers. “Thank you for taking me.”
“You’re welcome, luv,” he answered, reaching out and brushing back a windblown strand of hair from her cheek.
She gasped at the feel of his fingers against her skin, tried to still her racing heart. Love? She wasn’t his love. Could things become more confusing than they already were?
“I’m cold,” she murmured. “Ought we not to go back?”
The moment shattered and was gone.
Since their lakeside picnic, things changed between them. Conversation filled what had formerly been silent mealtimes. They talked of the day’s activities, mutual acquaintances, the latest headlines in the paper. Anything but their relationship. It was easier that way. He let himself enjoy the companionable moments. Having someone to come home to at day’s end, to share dinner and laughter with … perfect. The home he’d never had.
After hours of studying her, he learned things. The furrow in her brows when she was deep in thought. Her hesitant smiles. Sometimes, even her laughter. Her favorite color was pink, she found organization relaxing, and had a weakness for Shakespeare and strawberries.
He wanted, no needed, to go deeper. Friendship was all well and good, but it wasn’t enough. Nor would it ever be.
Together, they cleared the table, and he helped with dishes. Thank goodness, no one needed medical assistance tonight.
“Raymond.” The sound of his name on her lips wreaked havoc with his good sense.
“Yes.” He dried a plate and placed it in the cupboard.
“I was cleaning out the closet today and found this.” She crossed the room and held up an instrument case, hidden behind the table. “What is it?”
“My old guitar.” He closed the cupboard and went to where she stood. She handed him the case. “Haven’t seen the thing in ages. Must have been buried behind all my old fishing gear.” He ran his hand across the case, dusting it off.
“Can you play it?” Interest flickered in her eyes.
“Sure as shamrocks are Irish, I can.” He grinned at her and opened the case. The polished wood and smooth strings hadn’t changed since he’d last played it several years ago for a friend’s wedding. He picked it up and strummed a few notes. A wee bit off but nothing some tuning wouldn’t fix.
“Would you like me to play something for you?” He finished the tuning.
Her smile answered for her.
He strummed a few notes, the sound taking him back to his boyhood when he’d take his guitar to Lake Compton and play for hours, sitting on the sand, the gentle waves his only audience.
He launched into the first verse a
nd began to sing softly:
“The pale moon was rising above the green mountain,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea;
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,
That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, ’twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.”
She propped her chin in her hands, eyes wide. He studied her, the curve of her throat, her delicate fingers. How could he have overlooked her before? Perhaps it was true, the saying that love went beyond beauty. Not that Grace lacked loveliness, but it deepened with her. The sweetness and purity of her heart, her kindness, all of it shone through. Far more attractive than mere superficial prettiness that faded like a piece of calico with time and wear.
Grace would be beautiful fifty years from now, because her spirit would still be beautiful. Untarnished by time.
“The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading,
And Mary all smiling was listening to me;
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding,
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
Though lovely and fair as the Rose of the summer,
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, ’twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
That made me love … Gracie, the Rose of Tralee.”
He winked at her. She smiled, a rosy blush flushing her cheeks. He hadn’t meant the song to be a declaration of his feelings, merely something to make her smile. Still, the words rang through his mind. Had she won him? Become his Rose of Tralee? Lovely and fair with truth in her eyes?
He strummed the last notes. He couldn’t consider the answer. Too dangerous. For both their hearts. When he’d wed Grace, his motive had been simple. To marry a wife for the sake of respectability. Could he risk having more with the sister of the woman who’d jilted him? He wanted to, but …
She clapped, her eyes sparkling. “That was beautiful. You sing so well.”
“Thank you, thank you.” He gave a mock bow then launched into the next song. Why did all Irish songs have to be about love or death? Singing about the latter was too depressing, the former too close to his own emotions. Too bad he’d never bothered to learn any of the American ones.
“Fancy brings a thought to me
Of a flow er that’s bright and fair
It’s grace and beauty both combine
To make the thought more rare.”
The jaunty music released the tension knotting through him. Grace clapped her hands to the music, her feet tapping under the table.
A lass who so loved music deserved to be danced with. Didn’t she?
He set aside his guitar and held out his hands to her. She laughed and took them, all traces of the shy sparrow vanishing like mist over a sunlit meadow. He twirled her in and out, her skirt swirling, while he kept singing. Then waltzed her around the kitchen, bypassing the table and stove. Although she faltered at first, she soon followed his lead easily and with surprising elegance. His gaze traveled the length of her, the wisps of light brown hair haloing her forehead, the fullness of her lips, the soft curves of her figure, her small waist …
Her hand felt right in his. Perfectly so. He drew her closer. Closer still. She gasped but didn’t pull away. The faint fragrance of lemons surrounded him like a heady perfume, uniquely her. He breathed it in. She gazed back at him with those wide eyes a man could drown in.
If only this moment could last forever. And ever.
Though his singing was the only music, and the kitchen their ballroom, the sweetness of this dance rivaled any done by Bristol high society. Perhaps because the woman in his arms was one he’d grown to care for. Much more than he’d ever intended to.
The moment it ended and he stepped away, a void yawned deep within him. He considered making up more verses just to keep holding her, but all rational thoughts had fled his mind.
“That was fun.” Her voice was breathless.
“You’re a grand partner, Gracie McNair.” He moved to the table and placed his guitar in its case.
She moved to the kitchen and wiped the counter with a towel then crossed the room, pausing at the door.
“I best say good night then.”
“Good night.” He closed the lid and hefted the case under one arm.
Good? With her so near, yet so far away? Hearing her stir in the next room while he lay on his cold, solitary couch?
Anything but good.
Chapter 9
Grace scoured the pot, rubbing furiously to eliminate the final specks of grime. If only she could scour her thoughts away just as easily.
She’d barely slept last night, her mind full of their dance. The rich baritone of his voice. The pressure of his hand against her waist. No wonder some churches forbade dancing. The thoughts that it could make one think … highly improper.
He made her feel so much. Made her believe she was beautiful. And she drank it in, every last delicious drop. Like a wilted flower finally receiving water, she’d begun to bloom. All because of him.
Softly and slowly, she’d given him her heart. Only he didn’t know it yet.
Should she confess her feelings? Tell him she wanted their marriage to be more than one of convenience? Surely he felt something for her. He’d added her name into the song, hadn’t he? If he felt nothing, he wouldn’t have done that.
She closed her eyes and let herself dream. Of days spent in this little house, helping him with his practice, cooking his meals. Of children with his hair and her smile. Of being treasured and adored. Finally feeling worthy.
She’d tell him. Not doing so would leave her with too much regret. She’d plan dinner by candlelight, fix his favorite dishes, and afterward she’d tell him.
Stepping to the cupboard, she pulled out a bag of flour.
“Love me, too, my darling,” she whispered, pressing the bag to her chest. “Oh please, love me, too.”
Three cases of hay fever, a splint removal, and a tooth extraction. All in all, a busy morning.
Humming, Raymond washed his hands at the sink and dried them with the towel. No time for lunch. Mrs. Cooper and her baby were due to come at noon for a one-month checkup. He’d have to starve now and eat later. Donning his suit jacket, he opened the examining room door and stepped into the waiting room. A lady stood at the opposite end, her back to him. Her dark green skirt brushed the ground and her feather-bedecked hat concealed her hair.
A thread of recognition wove through him. Along with a niggling sense of worry.
“Can I help you?” He ran a hand through his hair.
She turned. His world stilled.
Trouble had knocked at his door. In the form of a petite brunette too pretty for her own good.
Audrey.
“Yes, I believe you can.” A smile tilted her lips. She sailed toward him, stopping a few inches away. “It’s nice to see you again, Ray. I’ve missed you.” Her lashes fluttered, deceptively sweet.
He was through with deception.
“What are you doing here?” He ground out the words.
“Just passing through and thought I’d say hello.” She pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time, in a motion intended to tantalize. “Why? Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“You know I’m not.” At his side, his hand clenched into a fist. She’d wooed him with her charms, dumped him at the altar, and now returned weeks later, insisting he should be glad to see her. As if he were some doll that she could throw on the ground and pick up at her pleasure, still expecting to see a smile on the china face. Well, she had a surprise or two coming.
“I must confess I’m hurt.” Her lip quivered. “I thought a gentleman such as yourself would at least greet me with some common courtesy. I suppose that is too much to ask.”
“So your Christian charity still hasn’t forgiven me?” Bitterness leeched into her words. “I’m surprised at you, Ray. Doesn’t the Bible say to forgive seventy times seven? I thought you professed to be a man of God.”
He sucked in a breath, the words finding their mark.
“I’ve done my best to forgive you for the wrong you’ve done me.” He kept his tone even, low. “But that still doesn’t mean I welcome your presence.”
She laughed. “You don’t understand. I’m reformed. Completely repented of my girlish folly and with full intentions of righting the wrongs I’ve done. Starting with the fulfillment of my promise to marry you.”
“You forget one minor detail. I’m married to someone else.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“Yes. I heard about that. You married my mouse of a sister. Dearest Ray, you’d be lying if you told me you were happy with Grace. I don’t know how you’ve endured it thus far. So meek and retiring.” She leaned closer, her perfume overwhelming. “A man like yourself could never be truly satisfied with her.”
Hot anger boiled through his veins. If she’d been a man, he’d have struck her for those derogatory words about Grace. Knocked her down and taken satisfaction in it. But even if she were not a lady, he would remain a gentleman.
“If I were you, I would not say such things. Even my ‘Christian charity’ has its limits.”
She laughed again, harshly. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with her. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. No, my darling Ray. You’re mine. And nothing will stand in our way. Especially my sister.”
The door swung open, the jingling bell announcing the presence of Mrs. Cooper and her baby.
“I shan’t disturb you any further.” Audrey lowered her tone to a whisper. “But be warned, Ray. We’re not finished.” She spun around and headed for the door, nearly plowing into Mrs. Cooper and her cooing baby. Raymond ran his hands down the front of his waistcoat and forced himself to smile.