by Phoebe Conn
"I think you've had enough," she said as she took his goblet and set it aside. "Will you help me remove my gown, please? Be careful," she cautioned. "I shall have to wear it again in the morning."
Pleasantly tipsy, Ian leaned down to kiss her bare shoulder. "I've never been a lady's maid," he apologized. "You'll have to tell me what to do."
With a deliberately languid pace, Melissa provided suggestive directions, and they peeled away her gown, then her hoop-skirt and the first layers of petticoats. She had only to think of Alanna to portray a virginal shyness Ian never questioned, but she also led him on with her well-practiced charm. She leaned close to brush the tips of her breasts against his chest, and then drew away as though her motions were the natural ones required of disrobing, rather than a seductive dance meant to further cloud his already befuddled mind.
"Do you plan to come to bed in your uniform, Lieutenant?" she asked as she again stepped free of his arms.
Ian had not appreciated how much time Melissa would need to disrobe, and he was aching to make love to her. That he would have to remove his clothes first was only a minor annoyance. "Certainly not," he assured her, but he was grateful the room was too dark for her to see what he feared was an ungentlemanly haste, or how clumsy he had become.
"Water!" Melissa suddenly remembered. "We'll need water in the morning, and there's none in the pitcher. I'll get some while you undress."
Ian was about to argue that the morning would take care of itself, when he realized she might have a greater need to bathe than he. Not wishing to be inconsiderate, he did not object, but he moaned softly as Melissa hurried away. Because he would have no change of clothes, he lay his uniform coat across a chair to keep it from becoming wrinkled, and placed his wig on top. He discarded his shirt and boots, but remained in his pants. Enough moonlight entered the room for him to believe the bed looked wonderfully inviting, and he turned down the covers as he waited for his bride. When she came through the door carrying the now-filled pitcher, he hurried to relock it behind her.
"I simply took the water from my room rather than go out to the well, but it's directly below this one, and I heard you drop your boots! We must be more careful. We don't want Alanna to hear us when she comes home."
Ian followed Melissa to the washstand, wrapped both arms around her waist, and gave her another enthusiastic hug. His words were slightly slurred as he made a heartfelt vow. "I want to make love to you all night long, and I don't care whether or not Alanna hears us."
"My goodness, I had no idea making love created such a racket. Isn't it as quiet as kissing?"
"Not if you're enjoying it, and I do so want for you to enjoy it," he promised.
"Well, so do I," Melissa replied. She eluded him for a moment to cast off the last of her lingerie, and donned her nightgown. She then crossed to the bed, where the snowy white linens suddenly brought home the enormity of her deceit. She was nearly overcome with anxiety, and couldn't bring herself to climb in. When Ian again came up behind her, she knew he could feel how badly she was trembling.
"I'm frightened," she admitted, knowing he would never guess why.
Ian wanted to promise that he'd not hurt her, but he knew it would be a lie. He'd not want to, not mean to, but the pain was inescapable. His heart too full of love to say anything at all, he helped her into the bed, tossed his pants aside, and then joined her. He drew her into his arms, meaning to be gentle, patient, and tender rather than demanding, but when Melissa responded to his first tentative kiss with the same unabashed joy she'd displayed in the palace gardens, all his good intentions were lost.
He slid his hand under her gown to caress her bare thigh, and she leaned against him, silently coaxing him to trace each of her lush curves. The fullness of her breast filled his palm with rounded perfection, while beneath his fingertips the pale pink crest puckered like lips eager for a kiss. Wanting to taste as well as touch, Ian tugged on her gown, and Melissa pulled it off over her head.
Whether it was her own natural flavor or the lingering taste of the peach wine, Ian thought she was absolutely delicious. He suckled at her breast, and then returned to her lips for more devouring kisses. He had been fascinated by Melissa from the hour they had met, and that he had somehow performed the miracle of making her his wife surpassed the wildest of his dreams.
Melissa felt no such elation. Her mood now one of total despair, she ran her fingers through Ian's brilliant red curls and remembered another man whose long, ebony hair had streamed through her hands in a silken cascade. She didn't want Hunter to be a part of her wedding night, but the more ardent Ian became, the more impossible it was to force the Indian from her mind. It was Ian she wanted to love, but there was no magic in his caress, and his clumsy sweetness could not distract her from the pain that filled her heart.
Too excited to delay any longer, Ian entered her in a heated rush, and, without having to act, Melissa recoiled with an anguished cry. It was her body's instinctive response to the husband she knew she should have welcomed lovingly; overwhelmed with shame, she began to sob. If her innocence had died with Hunter, it was the natural joyousness of her spirit that died now, and she would forever mourn the loss.
Terrified that despite his best intentions, he had given their marriage the worst of beginnings, Ian tried without success to dry Melissa's frightened tears. Failing, he craved the release her fervent kisses had promised too greatly to withdraw without succumbing to that need. He completed the act required to make them husband and wife, but he was devastated that she had not shared his bliss. He held her cradled in his arms, and prayed that he had not ruined their chances for happiness.
Melissa knew she was behaving very badly, but she couldn't stop crying. It wasn't until she heard her parents' carriage roll through the yard that her fears of facing them finally silenced her hoarse sobs. She then lay silently trembling in Ian's arms, her heart broken in a thousand jagged fragments. The morning would only bring more lies, for somehow she would have to convince her family that she was happy to be Ian's bride. She did not know where she would find the strength.
"I'm sorry," Ian whispered.
Melissa raised her hand to his lips. "No, you mustn't apologize."
"But I should have—"
"No!" This time Melissa silenced him with a kiss. They lay cuddled together as her parents and Alanna entered the house, and, more than a little drunk, Ian soon fell asleep. Her conscience hurting badly, Melissa was far too anxious to rest. For as long as she could remember, she had been diligently tutored to be a rich man's bride. She had been encouraged to captivate men with the flirtatious ways that had betrayed her with Hunter.
She still blamed herself for that indiscretion, for surely Indian maidens didn't flaunt their charms the way she had with him. Hunter hadn't known it was all an amusing game she had never meant to carry so far. No, he had simply fallen prey to the wiles that had brought her so many devoted suitors. Virginia boys all knew the rules, however, and enjoyed flirting without believing it meant anything more than momentary fun.
Brushing away a last tear, Melissa knew exactly how costly her brief romance with Hunter had been. But Ian was a fine man, although he wasn't rich, she knew he would do his best to give her a good life. If it wasn't the elegant existence she should have had, the fault would be entirely hers, not his. Drained of all emotion, she prayed that by marrying Ian she had not merely compounded her mistake. Then, shoving that wretched thought aside, she vowed to be such a good wife to him, he would never feel cheated of the love she now doubted she could ever truly give.
Chapter 8
With her marriage to Ian, Melissa had expected to instantly replace her dread with hope. Instead, she had sunk even deeper into despair. When the dawn brought enough light for her to study her new husband while he slept, she was again moved to tears, but hurriedly brushed them away. By sheer force of will, she convinced herself that the time for weeping was over. She wanted their marriage to mark not only the beginning of their life togeth
er, but a return to the laughter and joy she and Ian had shared in the past.
She had always admired his vivid coloring, and considered him a remarkably handsome man. Even asleep, his even features radiated the strength of character that had drawn her to him. He was so honest and good, and what was she? Not even the sharpest-tongued gossip could revile her with worse names than she had already called herself.
Unable to bear the thought of their next conversation taking place in bed, she slipped from Ian's arms cautiously, so as not to disturb him. She knew she had the wine rather her affection to thank for the depth of his slumber, but she planned to make good use of it. Her nightgown lay in a wrinkled heap on the floor; she quickly wadded it into a tight ball and shoved it under the bed. Later, when she mentioned it had been stained, she knew he would believe her. It would be a lie, but preferable to splattering the bed with chicken blood while he slept.
She was glad she had remembered to fill the pitcher, and washed before donning her lingerie. She would have preferred to shampoo her hair rather than comb her pomaded curls, but she would need warm water for that and would have to see to it later. She and Alanna had helped each other dress for so many years that neither had ever had a maid. She missed her cousin now, and wondered who would be helping her with her clothes from now on.
Once dressed, Melissa sat down by the window, propped her arms on the sill, and looked out toward the river. The ducklings she and Hunter had fed would soon equal their mothers in size, but the little families still presented a charming sight swimming along in undulating lines. She glanced over her shoulder at Ian, who remained lost in his dreams. He was her family now, but she hoped that the rest of her relatives wouldn't be so angry with them for eloping that she was disowned. That would be unspeakably cruel, after all she had suffered of late. Of course, they were unaware of her problems, and would continue to be blissfully ignorant of them, but she did not want to lose their love.
At least an hour passed before she heard anyone stirring downstairs. It was Sunday, and she assumed the household routine would continue undisturbed, and that everyone was preparing for church. Would they be praying for her and Ian to be granted many blessings, or mourning the loss of a daughter? Not eager to discover which choice they had made, she enjoyed the beauty of the sunlight on the river, and hoped Ian would sleep until noon.
Ian did sleep nearly that long, and when he awoke with an excruciating headache in a pale green room he didn't recognize, he let out a low moan.
"Good morning, my darling," Melissa called to him, "although by now it may be afternoon."
At the sound of Melissa's voice, Ian sat up with a start, causing his already aching head to throb even more painfully.
He raked his hand through his curls to sweep them off his forehead, and stared at the beautifully gowned young woman seated by the window. "Melissa?"
"I didn't realize there was any danger you might forget my name, especially not after last night."
"Last night," Ian repeated, and the echo of his voice sent a fresh wave of pain rumbling through his head. He could recall attending the Governor's Ball, but then his memories grew faint. He struggled to bring them into focus, and then felt even worse.
"My God, did we get married?"
"Have you come to regret our marriage so soon?"
Ian leaned forward and propped his head in his hands. "Where did you get that peach wine? I fear it's lethal."
Melissa had not sipped more than a few drops and didn't share his pain. "It was a gift from a neighboring plantation. You seemed to enjoy it last night."
"I must have." Ian was positive marriage was one of the most significant events in a man's life, but he'd not realized how easily a few glasses of wine would wipe the memories from his mind. "Would you please bring me my pants?"
Melissa plucked them from the chair where she had placed them that morning. She handed them to him and then returned to her chair by the window, to provide him with the necessary privacy to dress. From that safe distance, she took refuge in practical matters. "There are so many things we need to discuss. Where are we going to live?"
Ian rolled out of bed, nearly fell, but caught himself and hurriedly pulled on his pants. Expecting some evidence of their passion, he glanced back toward the bed, but when the wrinkled sheets bore no trace of their union, he was in too much pain to care. He pulled the spread up in a hasty attempt to make the bed and then sat down on it.
"I don't know," he replied. "I'll try and rent us a house in town until we can build one, but I don't feel up to discussing real estate today. I'd rather just go back to sleep, but I can't leave you to face your parents alone."
Melissa rose and went to him. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have suggested we toast each other last night, had I known how badly you'd feel today."
Ian took her hands and pulled her close. "You needn't fear you've married a drunkard. I'll not make this great a fool of myself ever again."
Melissa had to bite her lower lip to prevent her ravaged emotions from betraying her. "You're no fool. Don't even think that."
Ian had not expected her to take his remark so seriously. "Thank you, but I know just how wretched I feel."
"We often have guests during Publick Times. Fortunately for us, this is one of the few springs that we haven't, but these bedrooms are always kept ready. There's shaving soap, a razor, water, although I'm sorry it's cold."
Taking her remarks as a gentle prod, Ian slid off the bed. "Yes, my dear, I'll make myself presentable."
"Don't wear your wig. Your hair is really too beautiful to hide."
"Do you really mean that? I've always thought it was hideous."
Melissa's pretty blue eyes widened in surprise. "No, it's certainly unusual, although not for a Scotsman I don't suppose, but it's a very attractive shade." She reached up to kiss his cheek. "I like your freckles, too."
"My God, woman, you've become absolutely shameless with your flattery."
"I think every woman ought to flatter her husband," Melissa protested, "and I intend to keep right on flattering you."
Despite the pain of his headache, Ian longed to take her back to bed, but knew he would have to face her parents first. "I shall strive to deserve it then," he responded with a mock bow.
He walked over to the washstand, and she returned to the window. He poured himself a drink first to rid his mouth of the awful taste of peach wine, and then added water to the bowl. As he scooped it up in his hands to wash his face, he had a startling recollection of tears, and his heart fell. He couldn't remember much of the night, but now recalling Melissa's heartbreaking sobs, he glanced toward her.
She was gazing out the window, smiling slightly, and from the affectionate way she had greeted him that morning—or afternoon, if that were the case—she wasn't displeased with him. He debated with himself a minute, and then decided there were some questions that were better left unasked. If his wife wished to pretend their wedding night had gone well, when all he could remember was wine and tears, then he would not challenge her on it. He was touched that she would try so hard to make the day seem like any other, when in truth they would probably never face a more difficult conversation than the one they would soon have with her parents.
That he had seldom felt worse wouldn't help any either, and he forced himself to concentrate on shaving, but he laughed to himself as he recalled Melissa's comment about his freckles. He was twenty-six years old, and he had more freckles than most ten-year-old children, and Melissa liked them! He would thank God every day of his life for sending him a wife whose love was truly blind.
* * *
Neither John nor Rachel Barclay had felt up to attending church services that morning, but they had gone anyway and insisted Alanna accompany them. They left while the last notes of the recessional hymn were still echoing through the nave and, without lingering to speak with friends, rode home in the same sullen silence with which they had arrived. When they walked through their front door and found Melissa and Ian waiti
ng in the parlor, Rachel again burst into tears, while John fought to control his temper. Alanna saw the protective way Ian's arm encircled her cousin's waist, and envied the newly married couple their love.
They had been downstairs only a few minutes, and Ian had scarcely had enough time to prepare, but he seized the initiative and spoke first. "I want to apologize to you both for any anxiety we may have caused you last night. I know what we've done must seem selfish, and perhaps it was, but we had been discussing marriage for several weeks, and felt we were ready to take that step. I love your daughter dearly, and you have my word that I'll give her the best of lives."
John Barclay's vision was clouded with a scarlet mist exactly matching the coat of Ian's uniform. "Anxiety?" he repeated in a hoarse croak. Ignoring his new son-in-law, he addressed his remarks to his daughter. "Anxiety does not begin to describe the suffering you've brought your mother and me. Barmaids and scullery maids elope, but the well-bred daughters of respectable families, which ours most certainly is, do not elope! Now I want both of you to sit down, and we'll try our best to undo the terrible mess you've made."
"Our marriage is no mess," Melissa argued.
"Sit down!" John bellowed.
"I'll not allow you to shout at my wife," Ian replied.
"She is also my daughter, young man, and I'll shout at her all I please."
"Not in my presence you won't, or we shall have to leave," Ian insisted.
Rachel placed her hands over her ears. "Please, I can't bear the sound of strident voices. Let's all sit down and discuss things calmly."
Alanna wondered if she ought to go, after all, the discussion at hand didn't really concern her, but she was too curious to excuse herself, and when her uncle didn't demand that she leave, she moved to the closest chair. Ian and Melissa chose the settee, and John and Rachel took the chairs across from them. For a long moment, the two couples simply stared at each other, but then John spoke in a more reasonable tone.