The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (2 page)

"And you blushed pink as your dress. Wilhemina Peters leaned over to my mama and said, 'John Simpson must be rolling over in his grave at the notion of his little girl with that boy. Nicholas Ross is a devil in denim.' "

Sarah sniffed. "My papa would have liked Nick. He's no devil. He may look a little dangerous since he's so tall and broad for a man of eighteen, but he's really sweet and kind and gentle."

"Maybe she meant devil in a good way," Abby reassured her. "But it's good that he's gentle with you. That will make tonight easier."

Both girls' gazes traveled toward the tall poster bed partially visible through the half-opened doorway into the suite's second room. Sarah's stomach took a nervous roll.

Tonight. The bedding. Though she'd managed to avoid dwelling on it during the festivities, the subject had hovered at the edge of her mind all day. She couldn't ignore it any longer. Not since her mother had sent her up to the room to prepare for her new husband's arrival.

Sarah sank into a chair and shut her eyes. She loved Nick. She really, truly did. But all in all, she'd rather crawl under the bed and hide than crawl into it with Nick.

Abby cleared her throat. "Did your mama have a talk with you about it? Did she tell you what to expect? I've been dying to know, Sarah."

Sarah swallowed a little moan. "Yes, she spoke with me, although I almost wish she hadn't. You know this isn't the first time we've discussed it. I've told you what she said in the past. What she had to add today was... well... just a little more detailed."

Eyes going round and wide, Abby sat on the sofa across from Sarah. "You mean she didn't take it back? All the previous talk was true? She didn't say it to scare you off from acting loose?"

"It's all true," Sarah said glumly. "And I hate to tell you, but according to the new information she told me today... well... It is even worse than we thought."

"No! You mean the part about the tongue is true?"

Sarah felt the warmth of a blush steal up her throat. "Uh, actually, I know about that myself. That part is kinda nice."

If possible, Abby's eyes went even rounder. "Why, Sarah Simpson. Or, I should say, Sarah Ross. You let Nick use his tongue? Before you were married?"

"Technically, it was a kiss. Mama always said kisses were allowed with a fiancé. Besides, sometimes he gets all het up and the Scot comes out in his voice. The sound of it makes me go all soft and... willing."

"But still..." Abby leaned forward, her eyes bright "His tongue? And you liked it?"

Embarrassed now, Sarah nodded.

Abby waited. When her friend failed to elaborate, she said, "Well. Maybe you'll like the rest of it, too." After a moment's pause, she asked, "What
is
the rest?"

Sarah wasn't certain how much she should say. Mama told her a lady didn't discuss the private side of marriage, not even with her husband, except to prepare her own daughter when the time came. But she and Abby had always shared secrets, and if Abby learned the truth now she'd have enough time to get used to the idea before she herself married.

Sarah thought that would be a good thing. She certainly wished she'd had more than one day to prepare herself. She might not be so scared in that case.

She cleared her throat. "Remember last year she told me how men sometimes want to pinch and pull at women's bosoms?"

"Yes, and I know that's true because one time not long ago my papa wasn't paying attention, and he took a wrong turn on the way home from church and we drove through Hell's Half Acre. I saw a man with his hands on a painted lady's breasts."

"Well," Sarah said, wincing, "according to what Mama told me this morning, men like to do more than touch. Mama says that sometimes men act like babies and suck on them."

Abigail's mouth dropped open. "No."

"Uh-huh. And that's not the worst of it." Sarah drew a deep breath, then exhaled with a sigh. Frowning, she leaned forward and crooked a finger, gesturing her friend to come closer. Then she whispered, "Mama says his tallywhacker will turn into a Rod of Steel, and he'll want to put it between my legs and ram it into me until I bleed."

Abigail responded with a horrified gasp. "What?"

"I know." Sarah's stomach took another roll. "It's awful. She says it hurts, but it's a woman's lot in life, and the reward is children, which makes it worth the pain. And, she said maybe I'll be lucky and have a considerate husband who will get it over with fast."

Eyes glazed with shock, Abby slumped back against the sofa. "Oh my. A Rod of Steel. Oh my. Do you believe her?"

Sarah swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "My mother doesn't lie."

The two girls sat quietly for a time, pondering the mystery. Finally Sarah said, "I've tried to be sensible about this. If it's as bad for every woman as it was for my mother, the human race would have died out long ago. Men might be stronger and physically able to force their desires on women, but we have the advantage of our superior intelligence."

"That is true," Abby said, her yellow hair ribbon swinging as she nodded in agreement.

"So, if it is
that
awful, surely women would have figured out a way to avoid it long ago. Or make it better, anyway."

"I think some women actually like it," Abby declared. "How else could one explain mistresses? Soiled doves might be forced into the life by circumstance, but from what I've heard while eavesdropping on Mother's quilting circle, some women actually choose to have affairs with men. They must like to do it."

"True." Sarah sighed. Actually, she had considered that notion herself Her stomach almost always got fluttery when Nick kissed her, and once after they'd been kissing for a long time, he'd pulled away groaning and said she was wicked. She'd certainly felt wicked at the time. Hesitantly, she put her question to her friend. "Maybe I'm an evil woman, too, and I just don't know it."

"You're not evil, Sarah, although in this one case it might be better if you were." Abby stood and paced the room, pausing beside the wardrobe where Sarah's veil hung like a lace waterfall. She fingered the seed pearls at the crown and gave a nervous little laugh. "All of a sudden I'm glad Jerry is stubborn, and my papa won't permit me to marry anytime soon."

"All of a sudden, I wish I were still a fiancée, not a bride. I adored being a fiancée."

Abby stepped away from the veil and crossed the room to sit beside her friend. Taking Sarah's hand in hers, she said, "Are you certain you want to go through with this? Do you have to do it? Is it a law or something? Maybe you could talk Nicholas into playing chess instead. You said he loves to play chess."

"I get the feeling he's gonna love doing it more," Sarah replied, recalling the hardness she'd felt against her when he'd tongue-kissed her senseless at her front door after walking her home last night. For a minute she'd wondered if he carried a pistol in his pocket, then she'd realized it must have been his Rod of Steel.

Sarah wanted to bury her head in her hands and shudder and shake. Instead, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "It will be fine. I'll be fine. I love our new home, and I can't wait to arrange all the pretty gifts we received. I look forward to cooking for Nick—he loves my molasses cookies—and I'll plant roses by the front door and wash our clothes on Mondays, and we'll attend the Literary Society meetings on the third Thursday of every month. I want to do all those things. I look forward to doing all those things. We'll have a happy life, Nick and I, and someday we'll have children. I vowed to be his wife for better or worse. I keep my word, Abby. I won't deny him his husbandly rights."

"Oh, Sarah, you are much braver than I."

Sarah squared her shoulders and spoke in a martyred tone. "No, I'm a wife now, and I will accept my lot as such. Besides, Nick has always been a considerate man. Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll be quick about it."

* * *

Nicholas Ross wondered if acute sexual frustration could make a man ill. Considering he'd been walking around with his wick constantly lit for weeks now, he was in trouble if that were the case.

Luckily, it was almost time to take the cure, and Sarah was certainly the cure for everything that ailed him.

Nick grinned at the thought. Actually, he'd grinned at just about anything and everything today. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. He had a family again.

Family meant the world to Nick. Two years ago, through a combination of his own hardheadedness and the capriciousness of fate, he had lost the family of his heart, the family that had taken him in as an infant and raised him as their own. The one dark cloud in the sunny sky of this special day was the fact that his Scottish loved ones had to watch him wed from their places in heaven.

The thought sent a pang of emotion through him that he swiftly suppressed. He wouldn't think of sad things now; he'd turn his thoughts to merrier matters. He'd think about his bride.

Nick glanced at his pocket watch. Her mother had asked him to give Sarah an hour, and he still had twenty minutes left to wait. He could wait twenty minutes. Barely. He'd wanted Sarah since the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

She sparkled. She was blond, with rich, whiskey-brown eyes and a ready smile and laugh that warmed him from the inside out. Most men would call her pretty rather than beautiful. Most men would prefer a few more curves on her thin, relatively straight figure. But to Nick, Sarah was perfect, and he'd challenge anyone who claimed that Fort Worth had ever seen a more beautiful bride.

He wondered what she'd wear to greet him this evening. He had fantasized her in a filmy, Greek-goddess gown with one shoulder bare and tantalizing shadows visible beneath the clinging ivory silk. He would open the door and she'd smile invitingly, lifting her arms and beckoning him toward her.

Or, maybe she'd smile, then reach up and release the clasp at her shoulder and the gown would slip, slowly revealing the breathtaking beauty of milky skin and pink-tipped breasts and...

A spattering of laughter from the wedding reception guests still gathered in the hotel ballroom shook him from his fantasy. One side of his mouth twisted in a rueful grin. Knowing Miss Modest Sarah, he'd find her wrapped in flannel.

Sarah wasn't one to flaunt her femininity. Indeed, when it came to romance, the girl was downright shy. It had taken him two full weeks of determined pursuit to coax her into letting him kiss her the way he desired. As a result, Nick found himself a wee bit apprehensive about the wedding night to come.

Not that he was complaining. A man valued virtue in a bride. Besides, judging by the way she had taken to his kisses, once she got over being shy, Sarah worked up a fine enthusiasm toward the activity.

His task tonight would be helping her past her shyness. He prayed he had the patience to do the job properly.

A hand clapped him on the back. "Well, son," boomed Sarah's uncle's voice. "This is the first time I've found you alone since the wife and I arrived in town from Galveston. How about we take a short walk outside?"

All in all, Nick would rather have his teeth pulled out one by one than take this particular walk. He knew he had to do it, though. With Sarah's father dead for a decade, her uncle was her closest male relative. Nick hadn't expected to avoid the
Hurt our little girl and I'll kill you
conversation entirely. Hoped, yes. But not expected.

Outside the Blackstone Hotel, streaks of scarlet, orange, and gold painted the western sky. Wagons rattled up Main Street, while from the direction of Hell's Half Acre came the tinny sound of piano music and an occasional raucous shout that heralded the beginnings of a hell-raisin' Saturday night.

Nick resisted the urge to tug at his collar. "It is a beautiful evening."

"Yes, and I trust it will stay that way." Michael Banks opened his suit coat and removed a cigar from an inner pocket. After going through the ritual of lighting it, he blew out a pair of smoke rings and said, "You have a challenge ahead of you, son. I hate to say it, but the girl is spoiled."

Nick immediately jumped to her defense. "She's high-spirited."

"That, too. Make no mistake, I love her like she's my own, but the girl has suffered from not having a father around. Not that her mother didn't do her best, but Sarah was a willful child and my sister never learned how to say no. Take an old man's advice, young Nick, and teach her the meaning of the word from the git-go. Otherwise, you'll pay for it for the rest of your life."

Nick relaxed a bit with the unexpected direction the conversation had taken. It turned out he relaxed too soon.

Banks blew a puff of ratafia-scented smoke his way, then abruptly demanded. "Who are your people?"

Now Nick gave in to the urge to pull at his collar. "My people, sir?"

"Your family. The Rosses. My sister says you claim to be a Scot, but she mentioned some confusion about English parents, too. While I don't hold a man's character hostage to his family background, I do consider it something important to know. So, tell me about your family, Mr. Ross. Who is your father?"

Nick bristled at the older man's words. He refused to ruin this happy day with talk of his sire. "I'd rather not."

After two more puffs on the cigar, Banks asked, "What are you hiding?"

"Not a blessed thing. Sarah knows of my past. She has a right to know." Left unsaid was the charge that her uncle didn't share that right.

It didn't deter Michael Banks. "I understand you purchased the Seven-F Ranch just last month. You have family money?"

Nick sidestepped the question and attempted to guide the conversation in another direction. "I promised Sarah we'd live within a half day's ride from her mother. Since it's been just her and Mrs. Simpson for so long, Sarah is worried about leaving her mother alone in the house. In fact, we asked if she'd want to move out to the ranch with us, but she declined. Mrs. Simpson has worked hard to establish her private school, and she loves teaching. Although, after the way those McBride children acted at the wedding today, I am inclined to wonder why. Now I know why townspeople refer to them as the McBride Menaces."