She laughed again as Brett scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the church as the people in the pews all cheered and clapped.
On the steps he kissed her again before saying, “As much as I want to carry you straight home, I can’t. We have to attend the party in the meadow first. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
Fiona wouldn’t mind being carried straight home either, but this was Brett. He cared about people’s feelings, their needs, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Me neither, and there’s food.”
“This may be the only time you ever hear this, but I’m not hungry,” he said while carrying her down the steps.
“I did hear that once before,” she reminded him lovingly.
He winked at her. “I was a bit grumpy that day.”
“And I was a bit stubborn,” she said, kissing his cheek as he finally lowered her feet to the ground.
He held out his arm for her to hook her elbow with his. “This way to the food, Mrs. Blackwell.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Blackwell,” she answered.
He winked at her again. “Eat fast.”
She laughed. And laughed her way through most of the afternoon. It truly was a glorious wedding day by all accounts.
When Brett arrived at her side, she not only knew he was ready to leave, she was too. Rollie and Sadie Austin had invited Rhett and Wyatt to spend the night with them at the hotel, and Hannah had informed them with a shy smile that she’d stay the night at Martha’s. Therefore it was just she and Brett who entered the house shortly before evening.
No words were needed. Barely any were spoken other than whispered I love yous as they closed themselves in the bedroom and, with mutual consent, slowly undressed one another.
Fiona told herself there was no reason to be shy. She certainly wasn’t a virgin, yet she felt like one. Like a part of her was untouched. Maybe it was because she was untouched by Brett. Something she craved so intensely it made her slightly nervous.
She was breathless too. But that was caused by the sight of Brett. He was a handsome man, but unclothed, he was a magnificent being. His body was so sculpted, so defined; he was like some superior male specimen that God had only been able to create once. She truly couldn’t believe he was hers. But he was, and she was going to enjoy him for the rest of her life. “Are you ready to fulfill that promise? Show me how amazing you are?”
With a self-assured grin, he gestured toward his waist. “What do you think?”
She laughed as she sauntered toward him. “I do think that’s pretty amazing.” Reaching out, she grasped his shoulders and gave him a shove, making him land on the bed. “Now show me what it does.”
He did all right, but he took his time, treating her like a queen the entire way. The way he touched her, caressed her, kissed her with such tenderness she truly felt worshipped. She’d never imagined there was so much more to coupling than the final act.
When they ultimately came together as husband and wife, it was beyond comprehension. He took her further than anything she’d known existed and kept her there, riding wave after wave of immense pleasure. She’d never considered herself greedy, but in this instance, she was, and relished every second of it, and rejoiced in the ultimate freeing reward.
The aftermath left her suspended in an unearthly place too beautiful to describe. Surrounded by splendor, by peace and happiness, she snuggled against Brett’s side, loving the feel of his heart beating beneath her palm.
“That was so amazing, I’m going to have to pinch myself again,” she whispered. “To make sure I’m not dreaming.”
“Welcome to my world,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve been pinching myself for the last twenty-four hours.”
“You have not,” she said, giggling. His humor would always delight her. As would his love, and his amazing body.
“Want to see the bruises?” he asked.
“Yes,” she challenged.
He rolled over, trapping her beneath him as he balanced on his arms. “Only if you promise to kiss them.”
A thrill shot through her. “All right,” she agreed. “I promise.”
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want to
miss these other great reads from
Lauri Robinson
SAVING MARINA
HER CHEYENNE WARRIOR
UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER’S SECRET
THE COWBOY’S ORPHAN BRIDE
And make sure you look for
Lauri Robinson’s short story
“Surprise Bride for the Cowboy” in our
MAIL-ORDER BRIDES OF OAK GROVE
anthology!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A CONVENIENT BRIDE FOR THE SOLDIER by Christine Merrill.
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A Convenient Bride for the Soldier
by Christine Merrill
Chapter One
The dancers stopped and the musicians set down their instruments. Georgiana Knight had never been so glad to hear a song end.
‘You dance like an angel.’ Her partner, Sir Nash Bowles, showed no sign of releasing the hand he was holding, instead attempting to tuck it into the crook of his arm so he could escort her from the dance floor.
Had she heard the compliment, her stepmother would have been quick to point out that George was as far from angelic as it was possible for a girl to be. In Marietta’s opinion, George was lacking in both good sense and manners. In the years after her mother’s death, her father had allowed her to run wild in the country like a hoyden. The resulting damage to her character was most likely irreparable.
Which was just fine with George. She was happy, just as she was. She certainly did not want to be anyone’s angel. It made her think of dancing on a pinpoint, instead of the razor’s edge of courtesy on which she was balanced when dealing with Sir Nash. He was Marietta’s cousin. Any rudeness on her part would be reported back to her stepmother, which would result in another tiresome lecture on deportment during the carriage ride home.
She yanked her hand free of his grasp with such suddenness that she almost left him holding an empty glove. Sir Nash was sure to tattle about it and there would be another row.
Perhaps it was not too late to mitigate the damage. George gave him the sweetest smile she could manage, but made no effort
to take his arm. ‘Thank you, sir. You are an excellent dancer as well.’ It was one of the many virtues, along with wealth and family connection, that Marietta would throw in her face when George refused his inevitable offer.
Sir Nash reached for her hand again, as though he had more right to touch her than she had to refuse. ‘Another dance, perhaps? I hear the orchestra leader tuning up for a waltz.’
She had to fight the shudder that rose at the prospect. He had managed to stand far too close to her in the most ordinary of line dances. Lord knew what he might attempt if given an excuse to hold her in his arms. ‘I would not want to stand up, only to stop before the dance was over.’ She reached for her fan and snapped it open, creating a fragile barrier between them. Then she closed it and touched it to her left ear, using the language of signals that ladies had created to avoid embarrassing scenes.
I want you to leave me alone.
Then she finished with words that they should both know were nothing more than a polite lie to save him embarrassment. ‘The last set left me quite fatigued. I think it best to sit for a while.’
‘I will find us chairs,’ he said, ignoring her hint, her tone, and everything else she had done in the last weeks to dissuade him from pursuing her. There was a faint sibilance when he spoke that always reminded her of the hiss of a snake. Though his body was far too stocky too support the serpentine analogy, his movements, whether dancing or walking, were smooth and silent. Even when she was not with him, she feared that he might appear suddenly to offer an inappropriate word or an unwelcome touch.
Now she laid the fan against her left cheek.
No!
‘It is not necessary to escort me,’ she said to reinforce the signal, snapping the fan open and giving it a furious flutter. ‘I must attend to necessities.’ It would have been so much easier had he been the sort of fellow who trod on hems. Short of ripping her gown herself she had no excuse to give other than a call of nature, to hide in the lady’s retiring room. Let him think what he wished about her reasons for going there, as long as she did not have to say aloud that she was trying to escape from him.
He gave a nod of defeat and let her go. But she knew, by the creeping feeling of the hairs at the back of her neck, that he watched each retreating step to make sure of her destination.
Once safely behind the door, she dropped into the nearest chair, ignoring the bustle of the ladies around her. Why was it that the most unappealing men were always the most persistent? The fact that Sir Nash was from her stepmother’s family made it all the more awkward. Marietta was continually singing the man’s praises in hopes of a match that, if George had any say in it, would never occur.
She shuddered again. As much as she did not like Marietta, she must make some effort to maintain peace for Father’s sake. But that did not mean she had to dance more than a courtesy set with Sir Nash.
‘Georgiana!’ Her stepmother’s voice cut through her introspection like a shard of glass.
‘Yes, Marietta,’ she said with a sigh.
‘Sir Nash says you are unwell.’
‘And you came to see if it was true,’ George finished for her.
‘I do not want you malingering in the retiring room when you should be enjoying yourself.’
‘I am enjoying myself,’ George replied, unable to contain the truth. ‘I find it much more enjoyable to be here, alone, than dancing with your cousin.’
‘Horrible, wilful girl.’ Her stepmother was looking at her with the usual, thinly disguised loathing. The woman liked her no better at nineteen than she had seven years ago, when she had married Father. George had long ago given up trying to gain an approval that would never come.
Now she resisted the urge to pull a face and behave like the spoiled child Marietta proclaimed her to be. ‘I am trying to be polite. If I have no interest in his suit, it would be cruel of me to give him false hope.’
‘If you think rejecting him without reason is a virtue, you are sorely mistaken,’ Marietta snapped.
‘I have reason enough,’ she said, glancing around. Their argument was drawing enough attention without her elaborating on the sordid details of her time with Sir Nash.
‘If I thought that your desire to hang on your father’s coat-tails was a reason to avoid marriage, then I would agree with you.’
‘Were it true, it would be no different than marrying me off to your cousin, so you can get me out of your house,’ George said sharply. ‘I am more than willing to go. But not if I must marry Nash Bowles.’ Now her face contorted in the grimace she had been trying to contain. But she could not help it. At the mention of the man’s name, all that was in her recoiled in revulsion.
‘Georgiana!’
It was the beginning of what was likely to be a colourful harangue about her deficient character, made all the more humiliating by the dozen or so women and maids who were pretending that they were not listening to every word. She would not stand for it. She would go and sit in the carriage if she had to. Perhaps, if she begged, the driver would take her back to the country where she belonged, for she’d had not a moment’s peace since the day they’d arrived in London. George shot up and out of her chair, pushing past Marietta and through the door, slamming it behind her.
She had not thought it possible for the evening to get worse. But on the other side, she all but ran into the only person she wanted to see less than Sir Nash.
Mr Frederick Challenger was lounging against the wall just opposite the door. What reason did he have to lurk outside the ladies’ room? Or was he possessed of some evil instinct that drew him to be where she was, so he might prevent her from regaining even a little of her pride?
Now he behaved as he did whenever he saw her. He did not bother with the sort of polite acknowledgement she would have got even from a rotter like Sir Nash. Instead, he glanced in her direction with a half-smile and then looked through her, as if she didn’t exist.
It was just as he’d done since the first moment they’d met. If one could call a glimpse that had not ended in an introduction a meeting. It had been at Almack’s, some weeks past. Marietta had been all but dragging her by the ear towards him. ‘You must meet Mr Challenger, Georgiana. He is the second son of the Earl of Roston, a hero of Waterloo, eligible and rich!’ She had said it loud enough for all in the vicinity to hear.
At least, it had been loud enough for Mr Challenger to hear and be insulted. He had cast a blank look in their direction, then turned and walked away before they could speak to him. And so it had gone at each meeting since. Apology was impossible, since they had not been introduced. Not that she should have to be sorry for a thing that was none of her doing. In fact, if he were a gentleman, he should have pretended not to have heard words that were clearly not meant for his ears.
But it seemed that his chief talent was sticking his perfect nose where it did not belong. Wherever she went, he was there, always watching her while pretending not to notice, never speaking, but always smiling as she made one faux pas after another. Why should she be surprised that he’d caught her red-faced and angry, fresh from the latest argument?
For a moment, their eyes met, accidentally, she was sure. His were already sliding away to make her painfully aware of his disinterest. In response, she directed all the petty irritations of the night at him in a wordless cry that was part anger and part exasperation.
He awarded her with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if to say he was aware of her presence, but thoroughly glad he did not have to speak to her.
She took a deep breath to regain control and answered with what she’d hoped was a dignified sniff that would declare him rude and beneath her notice. Then she swept past him, towards the outer doors.
That was the moment she discovered her skirt had caught in the slammed door behind her. Her grand exit was marred by the sound of ripping gauze and a confetti shower of spa
ngles on the rug at her feet. Since the retiring room was one of the many places she’d been trying to escape, there was no point in going back for a repair. Instead, she grabbed what was left of her skirt and ran for the door, followed by the faint sounds of a man’s chuckle.
* * *
‘...and then she ran through the ballroom, with her petticoat exposed, almost to the waist.’
‘It was an accident,’ George muttered for what seemed like the hundredth time. She sat in the carriage seat opposite her stepmother, elbow on the windowsill and her chin resting on her fist, gazing outside at the London traffic.
‘Peace, Marietta.’ Her father’s voice drifted from where he sat beside his wife, staring out of his own window. ‘She did not mean to do it.’ Then he sighed.
Even as he defended her he sounded faintly disappointed. He had loved her once, George was sure. But lately, when he spoke, he always sounded tired. Was it of London and the demands of Parliament? Or was he simply tired of her?
‘Georgiana has far too many such accidents,’ Marietta proclaimed. ‘Since you did not bother to teach her manners, someone must. It amazes me that she has attracted any interest at all on the marriage mart.’
‘Which brings us back to Sir Nash, just as I knew it would,’ George said, grimacing again. ‘Marry me off if you mean to, but find someone else. I will not have him.’
Her stepmother drew herself up in indignation. ‘There is nothing wrong with Sir Nash. He is an honoured member of my family.’
‘I do not doubt it. But that does not mean I have been able to manufacture a romantic attachment to him where none exists.’
‘But, unlike the rest of London, he is quite taken with you,’ Marietta said.
So now all of London hated her. If Mr Challenger was any indication, perhaps they did.
Marietta continued. ‘In fact, he has assured me that there is no other girl in England who would make him happy.’
Winning the Mail-Order Bride Page 23