Ryan's Bride

by James, Maggie

  Impulsively.

  Foolishly.

  And probably wished a hundred times over that he hadn’t.

  Her arms were folded, nails digging into her elbows. Her knees were trembling, and she managed to make it to a nearby chair and lower herself into it lest her legs give way.

  Such a silly fool she was to have let herself fall in love with a man who had only married her to keep from losing his inheritance…a man who loved another woman and always would.

  Then, slowly, from deep within, the spirit that had once made her want to seize all life had to offer and be willing to face any obstacle to make her dreams come true suddenly began to surface.

  Fate had hammered her into the ground, but she had managed to survive and would, by God, continue to do so. As long as Ryan wanted her, she would stay at BelleRose, but if she ever felt that she was a burden; that he honestly and truly regretted having married her, then she would go.

  Until then, she was going to fight tooth and nail for what was rightfully hers…even if he did love another.

  And so what, she asked herself with fiery determination, if he had married her because Denise refused him? Had he not chosen her, then it would have been some other woman. Certainly there was no cause to worry or stew over that. Angele knew what she had to concentrate on was making him ultimately glad she was his wife.

  And she would start this very night.

  She was naked.

  She was also in Ryan’s bed.

  And if Miss Appleton could know, she would probably scream and fall into a dead faint.

  It was quite late. Ryan had rushed through supper, then gone back to the stables. He was leaving for Richmond early in the morning and would be gone for two days, so there was a lot he had to take care of.

  She was far too nervous to sleep. She lay there staring at the silver webs the glow of a full moon had spun across the ceiling. She had left the French doors open, wanting the hallowed light to creep inside, and also to smell the fragrance of the jasmine twining about the porch railing.

  She didn’t have to worry about a manservant hovering about waiting for Ryan to come in, because he refused to have one help him dress and undress as Corbett did. Angele smiled to think how Selma had told her he thought it was silly and that he also liked his privacy.

  So far, she hadn’t regretted letting Selma know they could understand each other. Selma was a talkative sort and liked to gossip, so she had learned a lot in only a short while, most of it quite interesting.

  She knew that Corbett and Clarice fought a lot, and that Clarice had sworn she would never have another baby, because having little Danny had hurt so much.

  She also knew that Clarice drank more wine and brandy than she wanted people to know about, and that she made Selma sneak the empty bottles out of the house.

  And she had also found out, thanks to Selma, that Roussel Tremayne enjoyed music and had been known to visit the slave cabins once in a while and pick a little banjo himself. He was a good man, and all the Negroes loved him.

  “He never sells a family,” Selma had told her. “Once a man and woman jump the broom, he never lets ’em be separated.”

  Jumping the broom, Angele learned, occurred when, after the ceremony, someone held a broom a few inches off the floor, then, holding hands, the newlyweds hopped over it to seal their marriage.

  “Actually, he hasn’t sold anybody in years,” Selma had explained. And, proudly, she had recited how she knew America had banned slave trading from Africa and the West Indies ten years earlier, so Master Roussel had kept the ones he had, decided to pay the artisans small wages, and said he regarded all his slaves as part of his family and would not have them broken up.

  “A good man,” Selma repeated several times. “A fine, God-fearin’ man. And it scares us to think what’ll happen when he dies, ’cause Mastah Ryan, he’s always left things to Mastah Corbett, and…”

  She had stopped talking at that point, a fearful gleam taking hold of her eyes, and no amount of prodding by Angele could entice her to continue.

  The sound of a door opening and closing snapped her back to the present.

  It was Ryan.

  He came in from the parlor, and she saw in the moonlight that he had already stripped off his shirt and was working on his belt buckle.

  He yawned, and she knew he would not have crossed to her room this night, but she was leaving him little choice now.

  He liked to sleep naked, and she liked to look at him when he did without letting him know it. And she could watch him now, as well, because he was not yet aware of her presence.

  She held her breath against a heavy sigh to think what a glorious body he had. His buttocks were high and round and tight. His waist was narrow, and his back was broad and strong. Just to look at his sinewy arms made her tingle with wanting to have them hold her tight.

  His thighs provoked a delicious tremor, as well. Firm, muscular.

  Her heated gaze moved to the place between his legs, and she gasped in awe at the size of his manhood even when not aroused.

  He turned toward the bed, and that was when he saw her.

  “Angele? What are you doing here?”

  Mustering every thread of bravado she possessed, she slowly drew the sheet away so he could see the rest of her…see that she was not wearing a gown.

  “Do you have to ask?” she said in a voice so husky with desire that she didn’t recognize it as her own.

  He laughed uneasily. “What’s this all about?”

  “Is it so difficult to figure out?” she purred, stretching lazily, arms above her head so her breasts would lift provocatively. “You’re my husband, I’m your wife…and I want you to make love to me.

  “Come here…” she beckoned, boldly reaching to caress his penis, which had quickly grown hard, and tug gently on it.

  With a soft groan, he sat on the bed, bending over her. Folding her arms about his neck, she leaned back to offer her breasts to him. He devoured each nipple, then kissed his way on up to her mouth. And when his lips closed over hers, she heard a smothered growl of raw animal desire come from deep within him.

  She reached down and cupped him between his legs. “Now,” she commanded. “I want you now.” She spread her legs wide, inviting.

  He surprised her with a gentle laugh. “No, my sweet. This was your idea tonight, so it’s up to you to do all the work.”

  He lay down on the bed, then lifted her up to straddle him and firmly impaled her.

  She gave a soft cry, for he went deep, but it didn’t hurt. In fact, she gloried in how he filled her.

  In the moonglow, she saw how he was looking at her not only with longing but something else. What? Adoration? She dared not think love.

  But there was no time to ponder, for he was guiding her up and down on his shaft. “Like this. And wiggle your hips around. Yes, ah, that’s it. That’s good…keep the rhythm…harder, yes…that’s the way…”

  He closed his eyes in ecstasy, his fingertips pinching her nipples ever so gently. But if her movements slowed, he pinched harder and whispered for her to go faster.

  Hot, sweet needles of pleasure rippled through her belly, and soon she needed no coaxing. She was finding her own cadence, her own thrusting speed.

  She gave her hair a reckless toss and threw back her head as she made soft, moaning sounds deep in her throat.

  She rocked faster, bouncing up and down, almost rising from his shaft before slamming back down and undulating about.

  “Now…” she cried. “Oh, yes, now…”

  And after they climaxed together, Angele wasted no time in moving off him to burrow her face in the pillow to stifle any sound she might make in that honeyed moment of glory.

  She was afraid she would say that she loved him.

  Ryan couldn’t fall asleep.

  Long after Angele was breathing deeply and evenly, he was wide awake.

  To find her waiting in his bed had been shock enough. But add the fact she was naked and
then turned into a tigress was enough to keep him up till dawn.

  What was wrong with her?

  And what was wrong with him?

  Hell, he stayed away from her because he couldn’t bear being around her for fear of letting her know he had come to care for her so deeply.

  He also hadn’t liked how she seemed to submit to him out of duty alone.

  And he was damned if another woman would make a fool of him again. Angele had married him for one reason and one reason only: it was the lesser of all the evils she faced.

  Also, she knew he was wealthy, and she was no fool. She wanted to live in the lap of luxury and had nothing to lose by accepting his offer.

  Only now things were getting complicated, damn it, because he was falling in love with her, which could be a big, big mistake, because she could be planning to leave at any time.

  Clarice said she wasn’t happy, that she whined and complained all the time. She griped that she was bored, she sassed Clarice when she tried to show her how things were to be done, and when she had shown up at the tea—deliberately late, according to Clarice—she made no attempt to communicate through her to the ladies present.

  But he well knew how Clarice exaggerated. He also knew she was not an easy person to get along with, and if the truth be known, he couldn’t stand being around her, himself, and wondered how Corbett was able to put up with her.

  Then there was the tea incident. There was no way he would ever believe Angele had intentionally tried to harm his father, but he had to agree with Clarice that she was obviously clumsy and irresponsible.

  Now there was this new side of her to try to figure out. Seductive, wanton, sexual, sensuous—everything he wanted in a woman…a wife.

  But why?

  What had changed her so suddenly?

  Was she pretending to want to make him happy in order to lull him into thinking she was completely content as his wife…while all the time planning to leave?

  He shook his head in the darkness, brushing against her. She gave a little sigh of contentment and snuggled even closer.

  He felt a stirring in his loins.

  God, how he had come to care for her…desire her.

  Maybe, he decided there in the stillness of the night, it was a good thing he was going to be away for the next few days. He needed time to mull things over. But then he asked himself what good it would do. After all, if she decided to leave, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop her.

  A gentle breeze wafted through the open doors to set the filmy curtains to dancing in the ribboned moonlight.

  Suddenly he was struck with the idea that if she became pregnant, she would not go. She wouldn’t dare strike out on her own in such a condition.

  He smiled and drew her closer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Angele had never dreamed she would miss Ryan so much.

  He had been gone two days and sent word he would be gone a third. A meeting of horse breeders had lasted longer than expected, but he found it too interesting to abandon.

  Clarice kept her promise to keep her busy. Angele let her think she was teaching her basic words in English. She also pretended to practice her tatting and embroidery. Then there were the lessons in table manners, holding tea cups properly, and arranging flowers—all things Angele knew almost better than she did.

  And through it all, she endured Clarice’s criticism and sarcasm. She was miserable, but Clarice didn’t give her a chance to get away from morning till bedtime.

  Then one afternoon Danny was crying and not feeling well, and Clarice had to go to him. She left Angele with instructions to continue with her sewing, but the minute she was gone, Angele slipped upstairs to the south wing and knocked on Uncle Roussel’s door.

  Willard came to the door and grinned. “Miz Angele. How’d you know Mastah Roussel’s been sayin’ he hoped you’d come to see him?” His hand flew to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I keep forgettin’ you don’t know a thing I say. Well, come on. At least Mastah Roussel can talk to you.”

  Roussel was in his bedroom, sitting in his usual spot by the window. At the sight of Angele, he cried with delight, “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. Come sit down and tell me everything you’ve been doing.”

  “What I’ve been doing…” she said anxiously as she pulled a chair closer and sat down, “is wanting to tell you how sorry I am for what happened. But Clarice didn’t want me bothering you, and I was so afraid you might be angry with me.”

  He grunted. “Humph. That old bat. Always tending to somebody else’s business. Hell, no, I’m not angry. I didn’t blame you for anything.”

  “Thank goodness. And though I don’t know how it happened, it certainly wasn’t intentional.”

  He looked shocked. “Who said it was? I sure never thought so. I’m just sorry me being sick kept you from visiting. I’ve enjoyed our little talks.”

  “No more than I have. You taught me more about Virginia than I would have known otherwise.”

  “Nonsense. I can tell you’re smart. You’d have learned on your own. But tell me, how are you and Ryan getting along? Are you happy?”

  The question took her by surprise. “Well…yes…I suppose so. I can’t answer for him, of course.”

  “I worry about it, because I like you, and we both know why he married you.”

  She felt her hair prickle on the back of her neck.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’m sure he told you he had to take a French wife or lose BelleRose. I would have arranged a marriage for him, myself, if there’d been any suitable Frenchwomen around, but there weren’t—except for Denise, of course. I guess Clarice has seen to it that you know about her.”

  Angele nodded.

  “Well, I don’t mind telling anybody how glad I was to hear she turned him down. Hell, she’s Clarice’s cousin, and just like her, and the two of them in one house would’ve put me in my grave a damn sight sooner than I’m planning on going.” Narrowing his eyes, he apologized. “Sorry. I’m cursing again, and I know you don’t like it.”

  Angele shrugged. “I don’t mind the hells and damns. It’s blasphemy I can’t abide.”

  “And you’re right. You’re right. I’m glad you brought that to my attention.” He grinned. “Nobody else around here ever dared. Now back to you and Ryan. Marriages arranged by families aren’t unusual and you know it, and even though yours was done in a different way, there’s no reason you two won’t be happy together. My wife and I married because our fathers agreed we would from the time we were babies. I learned to love her, and I believe she loved me.”

  “I don’t suppose it really matters,” Angele offered, “as long as we get along well.”

  “Maybe,” he said, almost dreamily, looking over her head as though into the past and smiling at what he saw. “But love makes everything better. I hope that happens to you and my son.

  “Now then…” He motioned to Willard and spoke to him in English. “We’d like some sherry.”

  Willard took on a worried look. “Sir, you know the doctor said you’re not supposed to drink anything like that till he has a chance to come by and make sure you’re all right.”

  “And you know how much I care what that old goat said,” Roussel snapped. “Now get my best bottle of brandy from the cabinet and two glasses.” He cut his gaze expectantly to Angele. “You will join me, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” She would never have dreamed of refusing—not because she cared so much about the brandy but because she knew it would make him happy, and that had come to be very important to her.

  Willard poured them each a glass, and as they sipped, Roussel gazed wistfully out the window. “I’d give anything to go for a ride. Do you think maybe you could go with me one afternoon? I’d like to show you all around my paradise, because that’s what it is to me—paradise.”

  “Uncle Roussel, I would love to,” she said with gusto, and meant it.

  “Then it’s all settled. Today’s
Friday. We’ll go Sunday afternoon. I’m sure I’ll be up to it by then.”

  They held up their glasses in promise, and Angele’s heart warmed to think how she had made a new friend.

  Clarice was furious to find Angele had slipped away and nagged about it all through dinner. Afterward, she ordered her to her room with the warning not to come out till morning. “I’ll not have you bothering Uncle Roussel, and I’m sure Ryan will agree with me.”

  Angele didn’t care. She would find a way to visit the dear old man.

  It was a sultry night but still beautiful. The moon had only begun to wane, and as she stood on the porch outside her bedroom, she breathed in awe to see the gardens below bathed in silver.

  It was not a time to be alone, and she wished Ryan were there with her. They hadn’t shared such moments since the voyage to America, when they would stand on deck and marvel at how the moonlight made the ocean sparkle as though heaven had sent a shower of diamonds.

  She missed him terribly.

  The last night they were together, when she had so brazenly offered herself, he had made love to her again as the sun was rising. And it had been wonderful. She felt such a part of him, coveted not as chattel but cherished as something—someone—he cared for deeply.

  But, of course, it had only been lust on his part, and the magic ended when a servant called through the door that it was the time he had asked to be awakened to get ready for his trip into Richmond.

  So now she was fighting the demons within that made her wonder if he would see Denise while he was there. Selma had told her the woman lived right in town in one of the big, two-story brick houses shaded by great oaks and magnolias. She knew because she had gone there several times with Clarice to serve her while she visited for a few days.

  The house was richly furnished, Selma had gushed, maybe even more so than BelleRose. Denise’s father was also a planter but so rich he didn’t want to be bothered with tending the land and hired overseers to do it for him and report back to him in Richmond. He didn’t want to farm himself, it was said, and everyone thought Denise probably felt the same way. Not wanting to live out in the country on a plantation was thought to be the reason she had refused to marry Ryan. She liked the busy social life in town, and everyone said Ryan would never leave BelleRose to live there.