The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance) (24 page)

Parr tucked the lock of her hair behind her ear. “I can keep this up for a good while if you can. It’s been way too long I’ve been wantin’ ya.”

She took him in her arms and replied, “And likewise. I’ve been trying to push you out of my mind for a long time and we do have a lot to catch up on. I can’t wait for us to be married, so we can make love to each other every night. And maybe during the day, too, since I kind of enjoy being with you in the stable. If our first child turns out to be a girl, we’ll just have to come back and revisit the barn for the second one.”

“Ah, my saucy one. Who figured you’d be so right for me?”

“Colleen did, a long time ago. I swear she’s part leprechaun.”

Parr smiled as he leaned in for another kiss. “Leprechauns and fairies are what I believe in. And now you. But did you come here today for a reason? Other than to make love to me, that is?”

• • •

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Jasmine rose off the blanket and the soft hay and began to pull her clothing back together. “It occurred to me that you probably are going to need dance lessons before our wedding, so I came out here today to teach you the waltz.”

“Ach, but I’m no dancer. If you try to get me to do something other than an Irish jig, I have two left feet.”

“Well, I won’t object to some Irish jig music at our wedding reception, but I also will insist that you join me for a waltz. Come on, put your clothes on.”

She ran her eyes over Parr’s naked form, lying on the blanket. What was she saying? She didn’t want to cover his magnificent body with clothing. What she wanted was to lie back down with him and start another lovemaking session. To hell with dance lessons. She knelt beside him and he cupped the back of her head, drawing her in for a long, sensuous kiss as the other hand caressed her bare bosom again. Her hands crept, of their own accord, over his springy chest hairs and she followed the line of hair down to his manhood, which was again showing signs of life. She touched it, marveling at its velvety feel, and knowing she could make it as hard as steel by merely running her hand over it.

“If it’s a dance lesson you’re wanting to teach me, you’d best remove your hand,” he replied as he deepened the kiss.

Jasmine explored his mouth, but moved her hand away from his shaft and instead plundered it into his heavy, black hair. Her fingers had longed to touch it for months, and now she could, as often as she wanted. He wrapped his legs around her and touched her breasts, pushing aside her open blouse. Heavens. This must be what her mother was talking about when she said her husband made her heart flutter. She was fluttering all over the place, and wanted to do nothing more than lie here beside this man all day.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, but still had a hand on his strong shoulders. “Come on, you Irish devil. Stop tempting me. I need to teach you to waltz.”

With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, and one more kiss to her breast, Parr rose from the blanket and began to pull his clothing on. “I’ll learn the waltz if you learn how to dance a jig.”

Jasmine grinned at him. “We’ll have to think of some kind of payment schedule. For each jig I dance with you, I want to be kissed.”

“Gladly. Let’s learn the jig first then.”

“And what will you want as payment for each waltz?”

Parr gave her a wicked grin. “You’ll see, my muirnin, my sweetheart. You’ll see.”

Jasmine spent several sleepless nights fussing with the details of her wedding gown. She wanted elegance, most definitely, but she also wanted something different from the customary gowns of the day. When the ladies of society got a glimpse of her dress and were made aware that she had designed it, she could become a specialist in wedding gowns and really make a name for herself in the fashion industry. So every detail needed to be carefully thought out, decided upon, and changed at least three times.

Her gown was to be a one-piece dress, made from a pure white silk satin with a subtle pattern of swirls and filigrees stamped into the cloth. Colleen added seed pearls, cascading down each arm as they followed the swirl patterns of the cloth. The sleeves stopped just below the elbow, and were tied with a wide silk ribbon and trimmed in tulle, which Charles Frederick Worth was experimenting with in France. The cloth of the skirt was gathered into a bustle in the back and fell in graceful folds from her derriere to the floor, forming a small train. The sides of the skirt had an overlay of solid silk satin, and were attached to the skirt with a wide white ribbon, which emphasized the curve of her hips.

She wanted the back of the gown to be embellished enough to entertain her wedding guests during the ceremony, but the front of the gown was decorated to please her. It was cut in a low V shape, with tulle and seed pearls around the low neckline. Beneath the see-through tulle, the front was gathered in row after tiny row of ruching, which narrowed into a point just above the apex of her thighs. On either side of the ruching, Colleen had worked the silk satin into tiny rosettes, which followed the neckline and ruching, further emphasizing Jasmine’s small waist.

The boots were a gift from her cobbler, who appreciated the work she had given him over the past few months. They were also white, had a small heel on them, and were above the ankle in height. Big pearls served as buttons, which ran up the sides of the boots.

But the pièce de résistance was the wedding veil. It was held in place by a crown of orange blossoms, signifying eternal love. The sheer tulle fell to the floor, but was delicate enough to be able to view the back of the dress. The veil puddled out behind her and had been edged in small shamrocks, constructed from green silk. Just enough difference to create a stir. She would carry a bouquet of the same flower as she stepped forward on her father’s arm to meet her Irish lad, her one true love.

As her mother helped her adjust her veil, she cupped Jasmine’s cheek, as her happy tears fell. “You realize what you’ve done, daughter, don’t you? You may not be marrying Alistair, but you’re still marrying into British aristocracy, even if he was born on the wrong side of the sheets.”

Jasmine wiped away her mother’s tears. “And you know what’s ironic about it? I really don’t care about a title. All I want is to be known as Parr’s wife. And I will be just that, in a few minutes. Go, take your seat, so we can get on with it.”

She stopped at the doorway to smile at the gathered crowd, and to imprint this moment forever on her mind. She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled the scent of the lilies, which filled the room. As requested, Heather returned from St. Louis with her parents, along with Basil and Temperance, to attend the ceremony. It was only appropriate that her identical twin take on the role of matron of honor. Her dress was a light brown silk, shot through with strands of pink. Her bridesmaids, Amanda and Colleen, were each dressed in matching gowns of a light pink shade. Jasmine cast an appraising eye over the gowns and declared them to be perfect. Alistair stood beside Parr, acting as best man, while Blake and Basil performed the duties of groomsmen.

Jasmine took a moment and let her eyes feast on Parr. He was in a grey morning suit with tails, and appeared every inch the fine, titled, gentleman he was. She smiled at him, hoping he’d managed to brush all the hay from his glorious head of hair before he dressed. How had she ever thought she could live without him? He recognized her potential before even she did, and she fell in love with him the moment he picked up on her fear of horses and didn’t laugh at her, but decided to help her overcome it.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her father as the crowd shuffled and rose to its feet.

“Are you ready, my darling Jasmine?” he asked.

“I’ve never been more ready for this in my life, Papa. Let’s go.”

• • •

Parr and Jasmine took their places in the center of the ballroom for their first dance as husband and wife.

“Are you ready?” she asked with a smile.

Parr grinned at her. He hadn’t been able to stop grinning like an oaf all day. Jasmine was truly his now. No more sneaking around in the stable to make love to her, or to steal a kiss from her saucy, full lips when no one was paying attention. He could not believe his good fortune. He took her hand and readied himself for the first strains of the waltz. They glided through the dance without having Parr’s feet fail him, although he did breathe a sigh of relief when the others joined in.

As the dance floor filled up, he tightened his grasp on Jasmine. She tapped his arm with her fan. “That’s not the proper hold, Parr. Remember our lessons.”

He dipped his head lower and whispered in her ear. “And remember what came after each lesson.” To add emphasis to his statement, he licked her ear lobe before he straightened up again, eliciting a short gasp from her. She allowed him to continue to hold her tightly.

She surprised him by taking to the steps of the traditional Irish jig as if she were a native. He suspected she’d gotten some extra lessons from Colleen, although he never once mentioned it to her, nor did she. All around them, folks were dancing, laughing, and having fun. He spied Alistair and Lydia off in a corner, sharing a private moment. They seemed lost in each other, and he nodded his approval of their union. They were well suited, and their wedding would not be far off, he was certain of it. Alistair didn’t want to take any chances that another man would entice her during the season.

Parr and Alistair had shared a few long evenings between the fire and today, where Alistair filled him in on what it meant to be the son of a duke and a viscount, both from the standpoint of official duties and from the wealth involved. Alistair’s father was still a vibrant man and would continue to carry the mantle of the official duties for many years, so Alistair and Parr were free to pursue the breeding farm and racetrack. Parr continued to pinch himself. His only regret was that his dear mum was not here to share in his good fortune. But he had no doubts she would have loved Jasmine dearly. She had told him from the time he was a mere lad that he would know his true love the moment he spied her, and she had been so right.

• • •

A few days later, Jasmine and Parr took their places for the first dance as the debutante ball got underway, signaling the beginning of the cotillion season of 1857. Although Parr had cursed mightily at the thought of their nightly dance lessons for the week prior to the wedding, he seemed to be having a great time now. He eagerly grasped her around the waist for a waltz.

“You do know what me payment will be for a night’s dancing with you, don’t you, muirnin?”

She dipped her head and glanced up at him through her lashes. “I’ll gladly pay your fee, sir. One bout of lovemaking for each dance. I might even ask the orchestra to play one extra tune this evening. I can stay up all night, if you can.”

He tightened his hold on her, bringing her scandalously close to him. “Ah, me sweetheart, you make me heart beat out of me chest.”

Jasmine laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing we’re married now, because we’d be causing all kinds of talk with our dancing so closely together otherwise.”

Lifting his head and looking around the dance floor, he caught the flutters of fans and whispered conversation behind them. “It looks as if we’re causing talk, anyway. But I know how much you enjoy being the object of their discussions, so I’ll just be holdin’ you tight a bit longer.”

“I’m just so grateful that I’m not sitting on the sidelines as one of the poor unfortunates.” She nodded her head at the group of young ladies sitting up against the wall. “At least Amanda is engaged, so she doesn’t have to wait with that group for someone to come along and ask for a dance. Oh, look. At last, some men are heading in their direction.”

“I would, too, if I was still single. After all, America is full of bonny cailíns.”

“Well, you can’t have more than one.” She tapped his arm with her fan.

“I have the only one I’ve ever wanted.” Then he proved his point by being totally scandalous. He leaned in and kissed her on her lips.

As is the case with most writers, Becky Lower began to write stories as soon as she could figure out how to put pen to paper. Her career got off to a rocky start, though, because she was a defiant teenager. A journalism teacher in high school told her she should become a writer, so she went in a totally opposite direction, majoring in International Studies for her first two years of college, nearly flunking out in the process. It wasn’t until she switched over to an English/Journalism major that her grades improved. So, she owes a much-belated thank you to Mr. Tanner, who actually did know what he was talking about.

Today, Becky lives in an eclectic college town in Ohio with her puppy-mill rescue dog, Mary. She uses her love of history as an excuse to roam around old graveyards and Civil War battlefields, and to spend large chunks of time watching old westerns when she’s not writing romances. Learn more about her at
http://www.beckylowerauthor.com

St. Louis, July, 1856

Basil Fitzpatrick removed the handgun from the bank safe and put it in the shoulder holster before putting on his suit jacket. As he shut the metal safe door and spun the combination lock, he pictured his father opening the doors of the main branch of the National City Bank in New York City. His father wouldn’t have to strap on a gun to go about his business. But this was the West, not New York. More than miles separated them. He took out the gold pocket watch given to him by his father on his twenty-first birthday, two years prior, when he left home. It was engraved with Basil’s initials, and he ran his finger over the letters.

A noise from the street interrupted Basil’s morning routine. He flicked open the timepiece and glanced at it. The bank was due to open in ten minutes. Time enough for a cheroot on the porch while he explored what was making such a racket. He walked out to the front of the bank and lit his cigar.