The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (43 page)

"Mmm?"

"They're waiting for you. It's time."

"Oh. All right." Damnation. Nick's brow knitted in a frown. He'd intended to take a private moment with Charlotte, to wish her well and verify this was what she truly wanted. Not that he had any doubts. Only a woman deeply in love would willingly take Lady Pratt on as her mother-in-law.

Before Nick had quite made it to the back of the church, Jenny McBride signaled the organist and Aurora, a vision in blue, started down the aisle. Nick expected Sarah to have performed that particular service, and he glanced around for his wife in confusion as he took his place beside the bride. Leaning over, he whispered, "Where's Sarah?"

When she didn't respond, he remembered his brotherly duty and added, "You look beautiful, love."

Not that he could tell too much with that veil covering her face. He did note the flattering cut of her wedding gown and wondered idly what tricks Jenny had used to give his sister a bosom. Then there was no more time. Claire McBride gave Nick a gentle push to start them down the aisle.

Almost immediately, the hair on the back of Nick's neck rose. Something was wrong. His gaze flicked around the church. "Good Lord," he murmured to Charlotte, "Lady Pratt is wearing chartreuse."

As unpleasant as that sight was, it wasn't the source of Nick's unease. He spied his Scottish sisters, Robyn, Flora, and Gillian, and their husbands. Robyn finger-waved, and he returned the acknowledgment. Then, spying a flash of black and white at the end of one church pew in front of them, his eyes rounded.
Oh, no. Not the skunk!

He exhaled sharply when he passed and realized the perceived threat was simply a lady's fur jacket.

Like days of old when he'd scanned Kualistani mountain passes for potential trouble, Nick surveyed the wedding guests. Other than a few additional crimes of fashion, he saw nothing to justify his disquiet. Then his stare flickered to the front of the church and a dozen different curses fluttered through his brain. Rodney wasn't waiting. That bastard Lord Pratt was nowhere in sight.

Oh, Charlotte. Not again.

Damnation. What was it about Nick and weddings that brought such a run of bad luck? It must be a powerful evil spell to offset all the good luck charms Sarah had incorporated into this ceremony.

They were almost to the altar, and Nick knew Charlotte must have realized by now that her groom was missing. From the corner of his mouth, he said, "Don't panic, love. It'll be all right. I'll fix this.' Somehow I'll fix it."

They halted at the altar steps. Nick gripped his sister's hands. She had yet to speak, and he assumed she must be in shock. "Love, what do you want me to do?"

The bride pulled away from him and grasped the ends of her veil. Slowly, she raised it up, revealing Sarah's beaming, breathtaking, and beloved face. "Please, Nick. Will you marry me again?"

At that point the vicar's voice boomed, as did Nick's heart. "We are gathered here today to witness the renewal of wedding vows between the Most Honorable, the Marquess of Weston and his lady wife."

* * *

Bathed, powdered, and perfumed, Sarah awaited her husband in the master suite at Weston Abbey. They had made the journey to Nick's country house after the wedding breakfast and had spent the afternoon walking in the gardens, discussing family matters like Charlotte's elopement, Sarah's future as a wedding consultant in London, and the frequency of their visits to Texas, settling on three times a year. Nick had suggested four transatlantic trips, but since Sarah liked the idea of spending summers in Scotland, she didn't see how they'd have time to fit everything in.

As the day wore on, Sarah found herself anticipating the coming night with pleasure. To her great surprise, she wasn't in the least bit scared. It was a shame she couldn't say the same about Nick.

One would think he was the inexperienced near-virgin here tonight. For her part, Sarah would have been happy to retire to their suite shortly after their arrival at Weston Abbey. Nick had been the one to delay the matter. He'd been the one to seem skittish.

They'd shared an intimate dinner before a crackling fire in the sitting room upstairs, sipping champagne and eating strawberries. Finally, she'd excused herself and retreated to her bedroom to prepare for what was, in effect, her wedding night. She wore a clinging gown of crimson silk, something Jenny had stitched up for her while she was with the jewel cutter she'd rousted from his bed early that morning. She'd left her hair down and brushed it until in shimmered in the lamplight. Now all she needed was her groom.

The man was slow in arriving. Sarah waited and waited some more. Finally, the butterfly wings of nervousness made themselves known in her stomach, and she lost her patience. Crossing to his chamber door, she banged on the thick dark wood with her fist. "Nick, are we going to do this or not?"

"Come in, Sarah."

He stood by the window, still dressed. Mostly. His jacket and necktie were gone. His snowy white shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal a torso dusted with hair and rippling with muscles. His gaze made a slow journey from her head to her feet, then back up again. His eyes blazed, and Sarah's mouth went dry. But when the fire sank to a smolder, she frowned. "Have I misunderstood how this works? I thought you were supposed to come to me."

He sipped from the glass in his hand. "I'm slow tonight."

Milk? He's drinking milk?
"Should I be insulted?"

"Savored, Sarah. You should be savored."

His words sent a shiver streaking down her spine. Blue eyes glittered as he gestured toward a tray. "Would you care for some refreshment?"

She tore her gaze away from him. Milk and cookies. The smile began in her heart and flowed to her lips. "Yes, I would."

He made a move toward the food and drink, until her next words stopped him cold. "I'd like a kiss, please,"

Nick closed his eyes.

"What's the matter, Nick?" she asked gently.

"You are a bold woman, Lady Weston."

"I'm trying."

"You're doing well."

"Kiss me, Nick."

"Damnation." He drew her into his arms and kissed her hard and quick.

Sarah melted against him. "I thought you were going to go slow?"

A reluctant chuckle escaped Nick, and this time when he kissed her, he took the time to do it right. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroked her, explored her, demanded. He tasted of milk and molasses cookies, a sweetness that flowed through her senses and made her moan. His scent was a mixture of man, magic, and moonlight that was deliriously Nick. Like always, the touch of his mouth on hers made Sarah's blood catch fire. This time, however, the restlessness inside her demanded daring. This time, her commitment to her marriage and her love for Nick demanded boldness.

He was her husband. Legally and morally. Resolved, she ignored the butterfly wings of nervousness and doubt fluttering inside her and brazenly reached toward his trousers to touch him.

He tore his mouth from hers. His eyes were hot, hungry, and a little wild. "Damnation, Sarah!"

An exhilarating sense of power swept over her, and she laughed. She fitted her hand against him as he had done to her that night in the garden, and when he groaned low in his throat, instinct and the driving force of passion swept every other thought from her mind.

She skimmed her hands beneath his shirt and over the rippling muscles of his back. Wildness streaked through her, and she arched against him, softness to steel. She ached. A hollow, glorious aching that shuddered through her bones.

As if sensing her need, Nick pressed his hand to her lower back and brought her against him. She gasped at the hard, heated length of him, at the zing of pleasure such pressure provoked.

And she wasn't afraid.

He bent her backward, trailing his lips downward to the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. A low moan, almost a growl, rumbled from Nick's throat and he nipped at her gently. Sarah shuddered. "Nick, take me to your bed. Make love to me. Now, please."

"Oh, lass," he said, the brogue of his youth thick in his voice. "I dinna want to rush you."

She offered him a wide, heartfelt smile. "Ten years is not exactly rushing, my love."

With that, he picked her up, carried her to his bed, and lay her gently upon his mattress. Then he stepped away, his eyes hungry as if feasting on the sight of her.

Sarah stretched sensuously against the sheets, once again feeling the force of a woman's power over a man. Was it different this time, or had she missed it the first? "Take off your clothes, Nick. I want to see you."

"You're a temptress, woman. A wicked siren," he said as he flung his shirt to the floor. Then he stripped off his trousers and rose above her on the bed. "I plan to thank God for it every day."

Her gaze locked on the proof of his desire, and she felt a frisson of nervousness. From out of long ago came her mother's words, and they spilled from Sarah's lips. "The Rod of Steel."

In the process of slipping the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and revealing the full, round globes of her breasts, Nick froze. "What did you say?"

"My mother's instruction on lovemaking." He frowned down at his erection. "Oh. Now I remember. No wonder you panicked."

"I'm still a little nervous. May I touch you and get accustomed to the feel?"

"Lass, if you don't touch me I think I'll probably die."

He was steel, but velvet, too. She ran her fingers over him, around him, learning him. The weight of him felt lovely in her hand, and the way he sucked his breath past clenched teeth created a rush of power and desire within her.

"Enough," he said in a raspy tone, closing his hand around her wrist and pulled her away from him. "I'm hanging on by a thread here."

She gave him a saucy look. "A thread. Hardly."

“Seductress." He grinned and lay down beside her. "This isn't what I anticipated from you, you know.”

"I'm surprising myself, too. What's the difference, do you think?"

He lifted her hand and gently kissed her palm. "Love." Kissed her wrist. "Mature love." Kissed his way up her arm to her shoulder. "You and I are woman and man now. Not girl and boy like before. Our bodies were ready, but our minds still had some growing up to do."

"I'm all grown up now."

"You won't see me arguing." He leaned close to kiss that sensitive skin just below her ear.

She arched her neck to offer better access and purred. "What
will
I see you doing, Lord Weston?"

He lifted his head and stared at her. The teasing light in his eyes had died and was replaced with somber sincerity that she knew came straight from his heart. "You will see me love you, now, always, and forever. I won't lose you again, Sarah. You are my heart, my soulmate, my friend. I will cherish you and honor you all the days of my life."

These, too, she thought, were his marriage vows, as much as those he'd spoken in church that morning, and certainly those he'd repeated to her a decade ago. She lifted her hand to his face, stroked his cheek, gazed deeply into his eyes, and made a vow of her own. "I will go where you go, Nick. I will make a family with you, a home for you, and it will be filled with happiness and love. I offer you my heart, my body, my faith, my trust. I love you, Nick. Now, please,' finally, make me your wife."

And so he did. Sweetly, tenderly, and gently—and finally—Nick breached her maidenhead with a minimum of pain. While her body adjusted to the novelty of being filled, he feasted on her breasts, kissing and licking and sucking until she felt the pull of desire deep in her loins and her inner muscles gripped him. "Mmmm..." he murmured against her. Then he moved inside her, and Sarah gasped with pleasure and once again caught fire.

Soon she whirled in a storm of sensation, the musky scent of arousal in the air, the salty taste of sweat on bare skin, the sound of one heart calling out to its mate.

A wild, primitive force took control of her, and Sarah met Nick thrust for thrust, her nails sinking into his back as she arched and drew him deeper. Ribbons of lightning sizzled along her nerves and tension coiled in her womb. His breathing was ragged, her own whimpering, aching, needy gasps.

It went on forever, but not nearly long enough.

The pressure within her built slowly, fiercely, hotter and hotter and higher until she wanted to scream. "I love you, Sarah," he said, repeating it in time with his strokes. "I love you... love you... love you."

She screamed. She shattered. A great quaking spilled from her womb, the inner tremors gripping Nick, milking Nick, until he gave a cry of his own and emptied his life force inside her.

They fell together back to earth. Nick collapsed, then rolled to his back, taking her with him. He tucked her head against his chest and held her, his hand gently stroking her hair. Contentment enveloped them like a cloud, and for a short few minutes they lay together without speaking, cherishing the moment and one another.

Then Sarah lifted her head and looked at him. "That was, by far, the most thrilling moment of my life. Can we do it again, please?"

"Now?"

"Right now."