Читать книгу Bogus Bride - Emily French - Страница 11

The usual confusion prior to departure from the wharf at Saint John was in full swing. There came a clang of a bell from the shallow-draft riverboat. The sound ricocheted under the iron roof of the pilothouse and echoed across the poop deck and along the quay.

People descended the gangway to the squat and powerful craft in a rapid stream, and a flood of mingled French and English reached Caitlin’s ears. From her vantage point on the poop deck, she watched a dozen men stringing in from the road, bearing bundles and bags and rolls of blankets.

They were big, burly men, unshaven, flannel-shirted, with trousers cut off midway between knee and ankle so that they reached just below the upper of their high-topped, heavy laced boots. Two or three were singing. All appeared unduly happy, talking loudly, with deep laughter.

It dawned on Caitlin that these were loggers. They were a rough lot—and some were very drunk. The men began filing down the gangway to the bulwark amidships. One. slipped, and came near falling into the water, whereat his fellows howled gleefully.

Caitlin shivered, glanced up, and found Samuel watching her. He raised a well-defined auburn brow, managing offense and amusement at the same time. Her mouth compressed. “It’s plain folly employing such ruffians, picturesque though they be.”

He shook his head slowly. A grin eased up along one side of his sculpted mouth. “A strong back and a good sense of humor is all that’s required in a lumberjack. Comeliness is not a requisite.”

Caitlin felt hot blood go to her face at the mild rebuke. There was an edge to his voice that disturbed her. She felt as if he had dealt her a light but very decided buffet in the face. Again it struck her that Samuel had changed in some indefinable fashion.

Perhaps it was simply the aftereffects of the liquor he had consumed last night? While she must make allowances for the excitement of getting married, she must ensure that he did not indulge in such intemperate behavior on a regular occasion.

The Samuel she thought she knew was not a drinking man, and manifestations of liquor were most inconvenient, especially when it came to marital intimacies. Her eyes, refusing to obey her edict of caution, drifted downward, taking in the long, muscular line of his thigh, outlined by his breeches. She swallowed, wanting nothing so much as to reach out her hand and touch him right there.

Caitlin touched her upper lip with her tongue, excited and a little perturbed at the shocking drift of her thoughts. She saw Samuel’s eyes flicker to her mouth at the movement and linger there.

He was very close, so close she could see the pulse beat in his throat. She released a shuddering breath. He swallowed hard. Then he cleared his throat and shifted his feet.

Studying him, her heart swelled anew with love and did a mad dance along her rib cage. The pose of polite calm was a facade. Underneath, he was as tense as she was.

Samuel’s eyes found hers at last. She lifted one hand a little toward him, and let it fall helplessly. The shadow of something came and went across his face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Caitlin’s mouth went dry, her palms damp. For a moment she wished she could look inside him, and just see for once what he was actually thinking.

There followed a long, tense moment when nothing happened. He did not smile. His brown eyes did not waver. But they were alive, hot—and hungry.

It came to her suddenly that he wanted to kiss her. Her heart did a little flip of anticipation. The blood surged in her ears, and her breath was in short supply.

But he did not.

There came a rumble and sputter through the boat’s side as the valves of the steam engine plunged into the pistons, and the steady thrum of its power reverberated through the wooden craft.

Samuel looked away. Deep creases formed in his forehead. He looked as if he were in pain. What was the matter with him? Perhaps he had the headache? Of course, that was perfectly logical, she told herself. After all, he’d consumed a considerable quantity of liquor the previous evening.

Caitlin’s initial rush of relief at this interpretation quickly started to fade. It was beginning to be followed by doubts. Samuel looked, if anything, a little annoyed. Maybe she’d been wrong about him?

After all, she had not had a great deal of experience with Americans and their strange ways. And her husband had been in this country for nigh on ten years, sufficient time to have assimilated thoroughly its culture and habits.

What was certain was that his virile handsomeness was quite different from the insipid, pale-faced young men she had known in Cornwall. Most likely, the foolish notion that he wanted to kiss her had been all her imagination, she counseled herself.

No, she realized, with dizzying relief. She had not imagined the way he looked at her, the tension, the desire that seemed to vibrate in the air between them as loudly as the engine.

Samuel was a considerate, genteel man—even if he was forced to associate with ruffians. He was trying to act with propriety. This was not the time and place for a gentleman to kiss his wife. He would wait until it was appropriate.

Caitlin swallowed the thick knot of love that pushed high in her throat, understanding what he felt, overcome that for Samuel it should be as splendid as it was for her. She slipped her hand around his upper arm and hugged him, leaning her head against his jacket. She could smell the deep, male scent of it.

“How true. It’s always best to be chosen on your merits, nothing else. Otherwise you’re just a player in a masquerade. All show.” She made her voice very cool, in order to mask her emotion.

Samuel did not reply. Perhaps he had not heard her. He stood, hands on the rails, idly watching a wagon from which goods were being unloaded. A motley array of passengers trailing around the wagon were forced to dodge barrels and casks as two men piled its cargo aboard.

Caitlin stood next to Samuel and took deep breaths, inhaling the crisp fragrance of the morning air. A small smile played around the corners of her lips as she fantasized life in the future.

There would be Samuel, a pleasantly ordered home life, and, of course, a variety of social activities. They would be delightfully happy. If she had remained in Port Isaac, except for the matter of being married, things would have moved along the same pleasant channels. But what else did women do in this country? she wondered.

And, abruptly, the thought triggered in Caitlin a doubt, a welling of uncertainty, of the mind’s apprehension, that she had allowed a girlish infatuation to trap her into the narrow, conventional mold that she had tried for years to escape from.

There had been a time when she thought Samuel had forgotten his promise, and she began helping Dr. Jardine. At first, she had washed bottles, folded linen, ordered supplies and sent out accounts.

Gradually, things had changed. She had a quick and eager mind, and Dr. Jardine, somewhat to his own astonishment, had found himself not only acquainting her with medical facts, but also initiating her into the practical aspects of medicine.

While she had not been permitted to go to Edinburgh and sit the examinations needed for formal qualifications, she’d been able to work with patients, instead of just learning theory from books. It had been many years since the sight of Caitlin Parr perched up beside the good doctor as he made his rounds raised eyebrows in Port Isaac.

What was her life to be? While marriage was all well and good, she hoped Samuel would understand that he had acquired a wife whose horizons had been broadened by none other than his own father.

The hush between husband and wife allowed normal activities to intrude on her thoughts—the creak and groan of the timbers of the sturdy riverboat, the shush of water beneath pilings and a man’s laugh. The clang of the ship’s bell brought her out of herself.

Caitlin looked around, catching sight of the drunken loggers. Their actions were theatrical—even melodramatic. They reminded her vaguely of a pantomime. Precariously they negotiated the slanting passage. All but one. This beefy, bearded, dirty-looking brute sat himself down on his bundle at the slip head and began a quavering chant.

Samuel’s mouth set in grim lines. His breath hissed out, and she saw his chest rise and fall with a deep, controlled breath. He hailed the logger sharply.

From below, his fellows urged the recalcitrant one to come along. When the call went unheeded, Samuel excused himself, then removed her from his path without the smallest ceremony, and was gone before she could protest. A man of action at all times was Samuel. A couple of passengers smiled at her, but she quickly looked away.

The ship’s bell sounded again. From the bridge, the captain called, “All aboard!”

Samuel ran lightly up the slip. Arms akimbo, he stood before the logger. He spoke now with authority, impatiently. “Hurry aboard, Raoul. We’re waiting.”

The logger rose, waved his hand airily, and turned as if to retreat down the wharf. Samuel caught him by the arm and spun him to face the slip. “Come on, LeFeuvre,” he said evenly. “I have no time to fool around.”

The fearsome creature drew back his fist. Evidently he was angry at Samuel’s decree. This looked serious, which didn’t come as a surprise. It was serious. Somehow it seemed an irresistible force was about to meet an immovable object.

The crowd at the rail watched, stilled either by fear or by anticipation. Something quaked in Caitlin, and her heart fluttered painfully. She went still, her breathing labored, as she steeled herself for imminent disaster.

The logger was a big, barrel-chested man. But if he had it in mind to deal a blow, he failed, for Samuel ducked and caught him with both arms around the middle. He lifted the logger clear of the wharf, hoisted him to the level of his breast and heaved him down the slip as one would throw a sack of bran.

The man’s body bounced on the incline, rolled, slid, tumbled, until at length he brought up against the boat’s guard, and all that saved him a ducking was the prompt extension of several stout arms, which clutched and hauled him to the flush poop deck. He sat on his haunches, blinking.

Then he laughed. So did Samuel and the lumberjacks clustered on the boat. Homeric laughter rang out in an explosive roar, as at some exceedingly funny jest.

The man who had taken that shameful descent clambered unsteadily to his feet, his mouth expanded in an amiable grin. “Hey, Sam!” he shouted. “Can y’ throw me blankets down, too, while yer at it?”

Samuel’s rich laughter spilled across the space. He caught up the roll, poised it high, and cast it from him with a quick twist of his body. The woolen missile flew like a well-put shot and caught its owner square in the chest, tumbling him backward on the deck—and the laughter rose in double strength.

The captain called, “Got a schedule to keep. All aboard!” The bell clanged again. The sudden jarring was so overwhelming it set Caitlin’s heart thumping—or was the reaction caused by the sight of Samuel, still on the wharf? She felt a moment of panic when the boat began to swing.

Arms flung wide, Samuel ran down the length of the gangway. At the very brink, he leaped the widening space as the steamer, chugging steadily, drew away from her mooring. It seemed impossible that he set down on his feet, for from here, the distance seemed vast, but for all his size and hard muscle, he was as graceful as a dancing master.

Caitlin’s breath came a little faster. Her lips parted, and her heartbeat leaped wildly within her bodice of green sprigged cotton. The fingers of one hand moved to the underside of one breast, as if to keep her heart confined within her body. A shuddering breath fell from her.

For a brief moment, her heart sank, as she looked at her husband and let herself think of the gigantic step she had undertaken. What in the world had she stepped into? Caitlin wondered.

Everything had changed. Nothing was the same as it used to be.

She stood there with her eyes closed, and was glad of the support of the rail, or she probably would have fallen.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Samuel caught her arm, and spun her around. He stood before her and grinned like a little boy who’d just done a magnificent feat.

“Cat, you should see yourself, standin’ there all in a panic, wonderin’ whether you’d be a widow before becomin’ a wife.” His voice still held traces of laughter.

Before she could answer, a voluble French family of four crowded against them and they were overwhelmed by a clatter of tongues, which, for the next few minutes, made any further conversation impossible. What was there to say?

Even after the riverboat had set its course, some time elapsed before their fellow travelers began to subside, and Caitlin contented herself in the interval with gazing out at the landscape. Somewhere distant along that stretch of water was to be her home.

Standing at her side, Samuel felt a confusion of emotions such as he’d never felt before. Guilt at marrying a woman he did not love, chagrin at his earlier uncharacteristic drunkenness, irritation at himself for his primitive male weakness in wanting to bed Caitlin. To top it all off, his head ached dully.

He looked down at the water that rushed past and felt physically sick. The river was like a sheet of silver that reflected and enormously magnified the sun. He could scarcely bear to turn his eyes toward it. The piercing, metallic sheen of it was unendurable.

He let his eyes blank out the bright daylight that hurt his already throbbing head, but he turned his head too fast and grimaced at the resulting pain. He sucked in a sharp breath.

There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask her about the previous night She’d been in his arms, dancing across a floor of glass, while he drowned in the green depths of her eyes. There’d been smiles and kisses, even sweet words, but none of the words reached his brain now.

He could still feel the warmth of her pressed against him, the soft dampness of her. His last coherent thought had been how she clung harder when he pushed his knee between her legs and thrust…

The churning of the engine below had begun to recede. The boat seemed to be rounding a bend.

Samuel became aware that they were being watched. As if suddenly mindful of the loggers staring at her, Caitlin turned toward him.

Samuel took her hand and held it for a moment, marveling at its smallness. It seemed to go to nothing in his grasp. He rubbed his thumb absently over the back of her wrist and watched goose bumps ride her skin, which prompted him to ask, “Sure you’re warm enough?”

She nodded. He cocked his head to one side, his eyes focused on her mouth. He watched her with the same hungry eyes she’d seen before. There was silence between them for a few moments. Then a sudden tremor shook him.

Caitlin gave him a weak smile. “Samuel! People are watching.”

Samuel took a step backward. Damn. This was going all wrong. Her sharp green eyes made him tense. He inhaled a deep, slow breath. “Cat, let’s go somewhere and talk. I have a great deal to tell you—and I want to talk about last night.” His voice came out low and muffled.

Understanding, and a silent message to be cautious, met his gaze. Again he was struck by the self-possession that seemed to go oddly with her fragile appearance. He drew a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“Let’s not talk about anything unpleasant on this lovely day.”

She met his gaze steadily, and without flinching, and certainly never had she looked more attractive and alluring. With her dark hair slightly ruffled beneath the fringe of her bonnet, she looked even younger than when he had left Cornwall.

Caitlin was exquisitely made, and her sprigged gown gave her a fairylike aspect. Around her slim waist was tied a green satin ribbon to match that on her bonnet. Wide white skirts, like a puffy cloud, were lifted by the breeze, while the bodice hugged her slender frame and pressed firmly upward on breasts that rose and fell sharply.

Samuel didn’t want to argue with her, but suddenly he wanted all his cards on the table. “I think we do need to talk.” He held his arm out to her. “Shall we go?”

Without waiting for her agreement, he guided her gently toward the row of cabins reserved for first-class passengers. The glare lessened as they reached the accommodation area. There was a good deal of bustle and, apparently, some difficulty in finding accommodation for all the passengers.

Caitlin knew she was looking distracted as they walked along the deck. She had just caught a glimpse of a woman who had a fragile new baby, and who had lost two of her four other children on the voyage between Plymouth and Saint John. When she and Samuel were settled in their cabin, she would go find them in the mêlée of trunks, bags and milling people and renew their acquaintance.

It had been Caitlin who stood at her side when the two small bodies, almost too weightless to sink, were slid into the curling waves. At twenty-five, Eliza Freeman had already borne her phlegmatic husband, Tom Freeman, five children. Now three survived, and Caitlin wondered what the new country would do to the remaining children.

She was deep in thought when a familiar, throaty laugh sounded from one of the cabins. “Wait and see how things’ll change now that Sam’s taken a wife. No more late nights drinkin’, no more cardplayin’, no more visits to the Indian camp. Anyways, I made sure he had a good start t’ marriage. OF Sam drowned his sorrows like a man.”

Caitlin stumbled, halted, and applied a bit more pressure to the arm she was holding. Samuel narrowed his eyes and studied the woman by his side. Her green eyes widened and a red glow spread across her cheeks, and Samuel knew without asking that she’d already comprehended Murphy’s words. Ouch, he thought, was he in trouble.

Someone replied in a high-pitched feminine voice that echoed along the passageway, “Are you crazy or something? Don’t try to kid me that encouragin’ Sam t’ drink himself blind was for Sam’s own good, Liam Murphy!”

Murphy and that hellcat Kate Flaherty! Samuel swore under his breath, and his gaze shifted for the briefest moment to Caitlin’s face.

“Sure it was. I was only tryin’ to be of some help! A desperate man’s an irrational man, Kate. Sendin’ for a woman you haven’t seen in ten years is a foolish t’ing t’ do.”

“Sam Jardine didn’t need your help, you idiot! Succeed too well, and you fail completely! Sam’s quite capable of tending his own affairs. He may have been a little too far gone to handle straight logic last night, but he could still handle a woman.”

“Let’s not be downright churlish about this, Kate! Even if he didn’t disgrace himself last night, it’s going to be a little difficult for Sam to explain away little Zoe.”

Samuel winced inwardly. That insensitive turnip-brain! Now what was he to do? He pushed past the cabin, dragging Caitlin with him.

When she tried to jerk free, his fingers tightened. She glanced down at his hand, and then her eyes slanted up at him. Her green eyes glittered, as if she were trying to decide how to deal with this unexpected and puzzling information.

Samuel frowned, leaning forward slightly to study her upturned face. Her head was so close to his that he could smell the fresh scent of her hair. “You’d better walk very carefully,” he said, “because it’s rather slippery.” That was true enough. “You’re wondering what happens next, aren’t you?”

She looked at him fiercely. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper, a muted feminine sound that caught him off guard.

Samuel lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. His sun-browned hand looked very dark against her pale, delicate skin. “It’s a bit complicated, and you’re just going to have to trust me!” His fingertips lingered at her face.

He gently traced the outline of her face, pausing at her chin and tilting it upward. He groaned inwardly. He badly wanted to kiss those wet, shiny lips, not to confess some past indiscretion.

Dammit! What was the matter with him? Why was this so difficult? He wanted very much to tell her the truth, but just as he was about to do so, he paused, biting his lip.

Why should he confess? That was the honorable thing to do, and he was tired of honor. Wasn’t it better to let Caitlin find out the truth about himself now, rather than a couple of weeks from now?

Caitlin ran her index finger along the back of his hand. Samuel was strangely astounded at the incredibly erotic effect the simple caress had on him. And he certainly shouldn’t be having these feelings now.

If he once gave way to this raw emotion, he’d burn like straw. He could not accept it. He concentrated grimly on controlling his arousal. It was not easy. He took a grip on his resolve.

Caitlin stiffened imperceptibly, her mouth becoming a tight line. “Those in glass houses can’t afford to throw stones. Who am I to judge?”

Samuel cursed under his breath. Obviously, what he had been thinking showed on his face. Embarrassed, he turned away and ushered her into their cabin.

The small, musty cell contained several narrow wooden bunks, all of them shorter than Samuel’s length by a good six inches. A small commode stood nearby, atop which was a cracked porcelain bowl and pitcher.

Standing erect, Caitlin could easily touch the planked ceiling. How could a man possibly be comfortable in such a small cubicle? At the thought of sharing one of those bunks with Samuel, her insides turned upside down, and there was a strange, trembling sensation in her knees that she couldn’t explain.

Not a very sound medical diagnosis, she knew, but it did describe how it felt. What she needed was an explanation of Liam Murphy’s insinuations and innuendos.

“Care to share your thoughts?” he said from the doorway.

Caitlin looked away from her husband, so that he couldn’t see her face. She wanted to give away nothing of what she was feeling. Pain…betrayal…nothing she wanted him to see.

She thought quickly. If she framed her answer carefully, she could be honest, yet not tell too much. She gave a little laugh. “Actually, I was just thinking about the lack of accommodation. I was wondering where the little ones were going to sleep. Very unromantic thoughts, I assure you!” She was talking too fast, and she knew it.

Samuel’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “You like children?” His tones were unfathomable.

Caitlin’s eyes darted to his eyes, and once again she found him looking at her. She wasn’t sure how to describe the look he gave her. Intense. Penetrating. Probing. It made her nervous.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said in a small, defensive voice. “It’s natural that the children should be in my thoughts. Young ones are very vulnerable to the damp night air.”

“Caitlin, you’d best sit down.” He paused, as if trying to decide how to phrase his next words. “We must talk.”

His face wore a curious expression. It was what Caitlin was beginning to think of as his “American” look—a look in which humor and sheer savage determination were very oddly mingled.

The wooden floor planks creaked as she took a seat on a bunk. She stared at the husband who had become a stranger. “What is it that you are so determined to talk about? Does it have anything to do with the absurd conversation we overheard just now? Or the fact that you fell asleep last night at a most inopportune moment?”

Both were questions he had feared. Samuel settled himself so that he could look straight at her. Seated, he dropped his laced fingers between his spread legs and raised his eyes to her face, where a smile that he could not interpret seemed only a challenge. He said nothing for a moment, sitting in silence while he gathered his thoughts.

Actually, he didn’t have a thing to say. It had simply been a wild idea that he must tell her about Zoe before they arrived at Fairbanks. Better to wait until they were home. He let the silence grow.

Caitlin made a sharp movement of protest, and scooted so close to the edge of the bunk, she was in danger of falling off. She hugged her knees. “I may be naive, but I’m not stupid. Are you not going to tell me there was some mistake, some exaggeration? That the friends you invited to the wedding are not friends?” she asked, with an odd rasping note in her voice.

“Enemies come to your wedding. Friends come to your funeral.”

“With friends like yours, who needs enemies?” Caitlin swallowed the lump in her throat and blurted out, “Is Zoe your mistress?”

Samuel shook his head and said absolutely nothing, but she could see the change in his red-brown eyes. They held a speculative, half-amused look. It was like being slammed into a brick wall.

“So why don’t you deny these allegations? Why won’t you even try to defend yourself?” Caitlin choked out. She was so angry she felt she might burst.

Samuel stood up. “Caitlin, I’ll thank you to stay out of my—”

“Your what? Your affairs? After what just happened, how you can even think about—”

“Caitlin, I didn’t ask your opinion. Zoe is not my mistress. It is a simple matter of trust. Either you are with me or you are against me. As my wife, you have no other options. I will tell you that much.”

“What is it exactly that you want from a wife?”

Samuel’s brown eyes were cautious. He shrugged and said, “Oh, I want a woman who is so besotted with me that she won’t worry óver who or what I am. She won’t care what I have done in the past and will enthusiastically embrace every project I undertake in the future. She’ll be a faithful helpmate, a mother to my children, and never give me cause to suspect her loyalty….”

Samuel fell silent. His mouth twitched a little, as if in self-ridicule, but Caitlin did not find the expression reassuring. Her breath was coming fast, and her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

For a moment, she almost voiced her own sentiments, then her ever-present sense of humor came to her rescue. She suppressed a giggle and fixed him with a meek, understanding, dutiful look.

“You want a woman to follow you barefoot wherever you choose to lead?” she asked, a little too sweetly.

“Exactly,” he agreed, obviously pleased at her perception.

Caitlin caught her breath. The temper she had tried to control flared, and she did nothing to control it. Grabbing for a weapon, her hand curled around a metal candlestick. She hurled it. He didn’t so much as flinch, even when it hit his shoulder.

“You sound as if you want a doormat, you great oaf. Murder and mayhem sound very attractive to me right now.”

His brown eyes widened, and then he half smiled, teasing. “To love, honor, and obey…”

She took the point, but faced him undefeated. “You’ve had the only promise you’re getting. Go take a walk, else I shall be converted into a doormat instantly.”

“I just might do that.” This time he dodged the missile, which hit the door frame. His rich laughter followed him down the passageway.