Читать книгу Want Ad Wife - Katy Madison - Страница 9
ОглавлениеMy store is on Center Street, near the wharves. I stock dry goods and supplies for those seeking gold in Northern California. It is time I started a family and that is why I am looking for a wife.
I apologize for this letter being short.
The San Joaquin River flooded and I spent days clearing out the mud from my store. Fortunately, I didn’t lose any of my goods, but it was a near thing. Other shopkeepers weren’t so lucky. In the valleys many of the ranchers lost several head of cattle, the floodwaters rose so fast.
Selina blew out all but one lamp for when John returned from the storage room below. Her heart pounded in her throat.
Dinner at the hotel hadn’t gone exactly as she’d hoped. The hotel was beautiful and the food wonderful, but what he’d said about his mother haunted her.
The dinner had started well enough. She hadn’t expected such a modern and lavish structure after passing through hundreds of miles of empty lands to get to California. Certainly, it was a far cry from the way stations all through the West. She hadn’t seen a hotel as nice since Kansas City, and she’d only ever seen a hotel like that from the outside. She had been too poor to venture inside such a place. It made her wonder if her friend Olivia had found anything so nice in Colorado.
Somehow she doubted it. Olivia was by far the most refined and privileged of the three of them who had set out across the country to become mail-order brides, yet she had chosen to marry a fur trader who lived in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains. It seemed an odd choice for her. But by now Olivia would have been with her husband a couple months. Selina wondered if her friend had settled in. She worried about fiery Anna, too.
At least Anna wasn’t far away. The rancher she’d picked to marry lived outside Stockton in the river valley. Was she facing her wedding night, too?
Where was John?
After returning from the hotel, he had sent her ahead to get ready for bed. She was grateful for his consideration, but he had been gone so long she was worried she’d driven him away. She hadn’t meant for him to think she wasn’t willing to fulfill her duties as his wife, but his offer to give her time had sent a warm current running through the chill of his condemnation. But if he learned what she’d done...
She’d thought they would be able to find a bond in his circumstances and hers, but he’d extinguished that hope. She couldn’t let him know she’d left a child in Connecticut. She couldn’t give him any reason to be rid of her. He’d already given her so much that she hadn’t had before—stability, a roof over her head and a future to look forward to instead of dread. But could it all be gone in an instant? With his disparagement of a mother he called a whore, she couldn’t let him know about the posing she’d done, either. He would never understand. His words No good woman would ever abandon her baby kept slicing through her.
But Selina hadn’t exactly abandoned her baby. Her son was with good people who would love him and raise him as their own. She’d done the best she could in finding a family for him.
Now she had to get on with her life. It wasn’t as if she could keep harboring hopes of reuniting with him. While she might dream of taking him back, the harsh truth was it would likely disrupt her child’s life and create irreparable harm to him. He had a mother and, more importantly, a father who wanted him. Now Selina needed to be a good wife—in all ways. John wanted children, so she would do her best to provide him with them. The sooner, the better.
The only thing for it was to go fetch him. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door. The wood was cool under her bare feet and the air eddied under her nightgown, caressing her legs as she padded down the narrow staircase into the storeroom behind the shop.
Still, her palms grew damp and, in spite of the coolness, moisture shimmered along her spine. Would a virginal bride go after her husband? It didn’t matter. Selina had to lure him to bed, so he couldn’t toss her out. She would do whatever it took to please him. The months she’d spent not knowing if she could afford her next meal—and sometimes couldn’t—were heavy on her mind. She needed him to take care of her.
Halfway down, the lamp bathed the steps in a golden glow. She hesitated just outside of the light. John sat at a desk, a ledger under his elbows, his head dropped into his hands.
He’d been down here a very long time. Longer than necessary to count the money and update his ledgers, as he’d muttered he needed to do before bed. Clearly he wasn’t doing either. Had he already guessed her secret? Her mouth went dry. No, he couldn’t know, and she couldn’t let him know.
The stairs creaked and John looked up. His eyes widened.
“Are you still working?” she asked. She tightened the shawl in front of her, her lack of clothing making her want to turn tail and run back up the stairs. She swallowed hard and forced her feet down another step.
She’d left her hair unbound instead of braiding it as she normally would before bed. She’d scrubbed her skin pink and pulled the cotton nightgown on without her corset or shift.
This was the course she’d set, to marry and be a wife to this man. The Fates were cruel to put her with the one man who would never understand and never forgive her if he knew what she’d done. She just couldn’t let him know about her baby.
He closed the ledger and stood, his body unfurling to a height that forced her gaze up and made her breath catch. “I was just waiting for the ink to dry.”
That wasn’t true. He was avoiding her or he’d never have risked smudging the ink by putting his elbows on the book. His store was neat and orderly, his clothes were free of stains that carelessness with ink would have wrought, and his movements as he filled customers’ orders were precise and economical. He was a man who noticed details and carefully managed them. Or at least that was what she thought so far. Not a man given to flamboyance or grand passion—after all, he’d ordered up a bride with probably the same painstaking care that he ordered a sack of flour. But his very steadiness appealed to her.
The passion of her former fiancé had very nearly destroyed her.
“Will you come to bed, soon?” Her voice quavered as she asked the question. She should be smiling and encouraging, but she just couldn’t manage it with the coldness of his unwitting condemnation of her hanging over her.
He turned away and his voice was gruff. “I should make a pallet down here in the storeroom.”
A herd of butterflies stampeded in her stomach. Was he already thinking the marriage a mistake? Would he ask her to leave at first light? No, he didn’t know, she told herself.
She forced herself to weave forward through the maze of burlap sacks, barrels and crates. “Unless you are upset with me—” She couldn’t bring herself to say unless he didn’t want her. That much bravery was beyond her. “—there is no need.”
She’d been fairly certain from the sour expression on his face after he’d offered to give her time that a delay was the last thing he wanted. He’d wanted to have marital relations. Men wanted her in that way. They just didn’t see her as anything more than a plaything, as if she were deficient on the inside in some way.
Or had she repulsed him with her inquiries into the circumstances of his birth?
He stood and folded his arms. “You said you needed time.”
Her face heated. “No. I thanked you for making the offer. I wasn’t expecting it.” She tightened her arms across her chest. His offer had seemed incredibly considerate. “I’m sorry, my response should have been clearer, but I was surprised.” She dropped her chin and looked at him through her lashes in what she hoped was a come-hither look. “And touched.”
His eyes bored into hers and his nostrils flared.
Her heart was beating so fast she could scarcely hear her own thoughts. She should hold out her hand to John, but she’d never had to seduce a man. Clarence had pursued her, kissed and cajoled her, then claimed she didn’t love him until she let him take her virginity in an alley against a brick wall. Or rather she had just stopped fighting him. Then he’d blamed her for being too tempting. Not virtuous enough to be a wife.
She never would have done it if she hadn’t thought she needed to give him what he wanted in order to keep him. She’d thought his complaints about her resistance meant she was losing him. Fool that she was.
“Are you certain?” John asked as he moved around his desk.
She nodded. “My mother always said it is better to just do whatever you are dreading, rather than let your fear of it grow in power.”
He stopped a good five feet from her. His lips twisted to the side. “Dreading?”
“Perhaps that is not the right word.” Selina rubbed her arm, her body cold, her face hot. She attempted a smile, but was too nervous to pull it off. It was the right word, but not one she should have spoken aloud. She should try to make John believe she desired him. “I want you to make me your wife,” she said in a breathy whisper. “Tonight. If that is what you want.”
He stared at her a long second, then gently asked, “Do you understand what I want to do with you?”
A shudder rolled through her. She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. Her toes curled against the floorboard and a strange energy flooded through her, making her want to fling off the shawl. “I understand.”
His gaze dipped to her feet, then rolled back up to her face. Goodness, had he noticed her bare toes? Somehow that made her feel more exposed.
His brows drew together. “I can explain how it works, if that will make you less fearful.”
He was a man aware of little things. She didn’t know how she could fool him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have admitted to any knowledge, but if she was found out later that would only make her seem more of a liar. “I know what is to happen, but I don’t know if I will like anything beyond the kissing.”
“Trust me, you’ll like more than the kissing,” he said in a low voice.
A shudder rolled through her, but he was wrong. She certainly hadn’t enjoyed relations with Clarence, and it had hurt. He’d been rough and groping, twisting and shoving her corset until the whalebones stabbed her. But in the early days, when he’d simply held her hand and kissed her, she’d liked that.
That time with Clarence seemed so far away and so long ago. She’d been far more enamored with falling in love and getting married than she’d been certain he was the right man for her. And she shouldn’t be thinking about him now. John was her husband, and he’d offered to explain, which Clarence had never done.
She needed to focus on John. He seemed kind. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such an unpleasant undertaking with him. The tingling way she’d felt when he kissed her in the church was what she should be thinking about. His lips had been warm and coaxing, not demanding, as if he just wanted to take from her. But perhaps she had read too much into the kiss. Perhaps she wanted him to be caring and kind so badly, she’d seen what she wanted to see. “I just hope you will be gentle with me.”
“Of course.” His voice was rough.
She wanted to examine his face to see if he lied, but all her organs danced when she looked directly at him.
Why wouldn’t he close the space between them? Her knees were tapping together.
John tilted his head to the side. “Go on up to bed, and I will join you as soon as I close the safe.”
Behind the desk a thick black metal door stood open. So perhaps it was not an excuse to delay. Or was it? “I didn’t mean to anger you earlier.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have asked so many questions,” she offered.
“You have the right to know about my past.” He shifted and folded his arms.
An arrow of remorse shot through her. He had the right to know about her past, too. Only as she risked looking at him, she couldn’t force the truth past her lips. Not with the way he felt about his mother’s abandoning him. It was too risky.
Turning back toward the stairs, she put one hand over her churning stomach. It still pooched out a bit. The dark line that had formed below her naval had faded, but the red welts where her skin had seemed to break beneath the surface were highly noticeable. She’d been told that in time the redness would turn to a silvery white, but anyone looking upon her naked would know she’d borne a child, especially a man who noticed details.
Her step faltered and her shoulders knotted.
Of course she knew there was no need to undress completely to accomplish the marriage act, but he might want that. A great many men loved seeing a woman without clothes—they’d even pay to see a naked woman or photographs of a naked woman—and she had no reason to think her husband would be different. She would just have to insist on darkness or never bare herself completely to him. At least not until she was great with his child and the marks could be credited to a new pregnancy.
The idea of being naked for him washed through her, doing strange things to her insides. Her stomach fluttered, and she swallowed repeatedly.
She fled toward the stairs. She was a coward and a cheat, and would not only have to perpetuate a lie, but would have to make sure he never saw her naked.
* * *
John wasn’t certain what to make of his wife. She was clearly scared of what was to come in bed, but wanted to get it over with. He, on the other hand, wanted her so badly he ached with need. Yet to make her his wife when she was afraid seemed a horrible misstep. The entire tone of their marriage could hang in the balance.
He didn’t want a spouse who was fearful or distrustful of him.
She was so beautiful, her skin luminous in the lamplight. He was afraid the moment he touched her, he’d be unable to hold back. He had to keep his desire from getting out of hand. If he could make her comfortable, ease her fears, not lose his head...
He was so ready to take her, he wasn’t certain he could go slowly enough to seduce his frightened bride. Perspiration coated his skin.
He had to. He knew his way around a woman’s body and her pleasure, but he’d never felt so much was at stake before.
He retreated behind his desk, put the day’s proceeds in the safe and spun the tumblers to lock it. If he took her slowly and deliberately enough, he could initiate her into the joys of the conjugal bed.
Perhaps brides were always afraid. He didn’t know enough of what was normal for a genteel woman. He’d never been with an inexperienced woman.
His feet against the stairs seemed loud. He remembered how the sound of the shopkeeper’s approach had made him tighten in dread. John had often been beaten—in the beginning for not knowing how to do something and in the end for doing it too well.
Did his approach sound just as ominous to his wife? He’d seen enough of how his master had cowed his wife, too. He didn’t want to inspire that kind of fear. He never wanted to terrorize anyone the way the shopkeeper had.
Only one lamp burned in the flat. He set the lantern he’d used downstairs on the table next to the lamp. Selina’s dark eyes followed him from the bed, where she sat propped against the pillows. It was a relaxed position, but her hands were tightly clenched on the covers. She jerked them into her lap, as if his observation made her aware of what she was doing. His hope that she might be a little eager fell to the floor.
Needing every clue he could get about her level of fear, he wanted to tell her not to hide her reactions, but that would likely only make her more guarded.
While he undressed, he should talk to her. His mind blanked. His throat clogged. No, he had to project calm to soothe her. And the last thing he needed was to let her see how fervent he was. Reaching for the button of the collar that had grown tight, he managed to say, “Thank goodness you’re finally here.”
That was the sort of thing he should have said hours ago. But all the things he’d rehearsed in his head had been thrown out with the unusual arrival of the stagecoach with injured men. Now everything he’d planned to say seemed ill timed, and he couldn’t find good replacements. He could prattle about nothing to his customers all day long, but he was having difficulty speaking to his wife. His shirt buttons grew large and the holes impossibly small.
She pressed her lips together. Then said in a thin voice, “I am glad the journey is over.”
Not that she was glad to be here—she was twisting her wedding band—or be his wife, but perhaps that she wasn’t being rattled about in a stagecoach any longer.
“You will put out the lamps before you come to bed, won’t you?” Her eyes met his for a second before darting down.
He froze with his shirt half off. Did she find it difficult to look upon him? Wanting darkness when she was dreading what was to come didn’t make sense, unless she thought to hide her distress from him.
He searched for the right answer, an answer that would soothe her concerns, but not trap him in a promise he didn’t want to keep. He’d done that once already, and once was enough.
He needed to see her, needed to measure the fear in her eyes, needed to see if passion flared in her face. As he made love to her he had to know if he was reaching her in any way. “I will blow them out before we sleep.”
She drew her knees up and leaned toward them. “Could you blow them out before you come to bed?”
“No.” He wasn’t going to blindly knock around in the dark and risk making her more scared.
Her lower lip quivered before she tucked her chin against her knees.
He searched for a way to calm her fears. “We should talk awhile.”
She gave him a wide-eyed, incredulous look.
He deserved it. His conversation thus far had been less than stellar. Nor could she think him capable of decent conversation from their correspondence. Each letter he’d written had to be the dullest string of words in all creation. When he’d put pen to paper he’d managed to eke out a few sentences about the weather, the height of the river, how many customers he’d served on a given day and what he’d ordered for the store.
Still, Selina had continued to write to him when others who had answered his advertisement had not, so he’d proposed when he thought it likely she’d accept. Hell, he’d known the mill’s closing made her desperate, so he’d proposed and hoped if she were writing other men his offer would make it to her first. If she needed a husband, he had a shot.
He would have to figure out something to talk about. On the other hand, he couldn’t strip to his skin if he planned to sit and talk, but he’d already unbuttoned his trousers. He slipped them off and placed them on the wooden frame that already held his Sunday-best jacket.
In his thin summer drawers and short-sleeved undershirt, he moved to the washstand and poured water into the bowl. In spite of the feather storm in his gut, he wanted to act normal—or as a married man should around his wife. Whatever that looked like...
Married people shared the day-to-day aspects of their lives—or so he’d been told. But to bring up the hours she’d spent cleaning only made him regret making her leave the store. The only subject he could think of was probably the worst thing to bring up as a prelude to a seduction. Although maybe she was on edge because of what had happened to the stage on the way into town. Maybe it wasn’t fear of intimacy, but a delayed reaction to the event. “You haven’t said much about the stagecoach robbery. Were you very frightened?”
“In the moment I was more worried about Anna. I didn’t have time to be scared.” Selina wrapped her arms around her legs. Her gaze landed on him, then darted away. Her cheeks blossomed.
Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? He struggled to focus on her demeanor, instead of wondering how soft her skin would feel, if her fingers would be as cool as they had been during their wedding ceremony. A burst of wanting stormed through him. To feel those slender fingers on his skin would be heaven. “It was over quickly?”
“There was just a lot of shooting, and the thieves ran away after one of them was shot,” she said. “Then Anna and I tended the wounded men as the driver galloped the horses into town.”
John knew that much. His customers had been abuzz with the details, especially that her friend Anna had shot the would-be robber. Some had said there had been one man who stopped the stage. Others said two.
“I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time comforting you when you got here.”
“No. You were perfect and Mrs. Ashe was very kind.” Selina’s voice sounded relatively normal, so perhaps the stagecoach robbery wasn’t the reason she was tense.
No, it was her fear of him and the night ahead.
He took a deep breath to still his racing pulse and continue to talk. Perhaps he could lull her into being calm with a mundane discussion. Or bore her out of being scared. “The stage isn’t usually held up so close to Stockton.”
Her face—what he could see of it—screwed up. “Is there a place where it is usually held up?”
“No. Just that it isn’t wise to stop the stage so close to a town where a sheriff can quickly form a posse to pursue them.” He splashed water on his face, lathered up, then reached for his razor. “There are a lot more desolate places where it would take days to get word to a lawman.”
John didn’t normally shave before bed, but she might appreciate him doing so. Her gaze burned holes in his backside as if she wanted to look at him, just not while he was watching her. He tilted his head, catching her reflection in the small mirror.
She jerked her face away, but that she’d been looking at him built a fire in his gut.
His jaw stung. Damn, he’d managed to nick himself. Splashing water on his chin, he checked Selina’s reflection to see what she made of his clumsiness, but her head was tucked against her knees.
He tried again as he pressed the washcloth to his chin. He blew out slowly, fighting the heat in his blood. “I expect they’ll run for the mountains or for Mexico. The good thing is all the men who were shot are doing fine.”
She lifted her head, met his eyes in the mirror for a second, before her gaze darted away. He hoped the longer look meant she was relaxing. Goodness knows, he wasn’t. His body was buzzing with anticipation. He wanted nothing more than to cross the floor and yank her nightgown over her head and make mad, passionate love to her.
But he needed her cooperation for that. Better if he went slowly. He ran the washcloth over every inch of exposed skin, leaving the edges of his underclothing damp. She turned her head so she was staring at the lamp. Her mouth was flat and he wondered if he was missing something.
“I’m thankful you weren’t hurt,” he offered.
Her gaze darted back to his and his breath left him in a rush. He was thankful this magnificent creature was his. With her long wavy hair, her pale, luminescent skin and her deep dark eyes, she was beautiful.
“Why did you come to California?” she asked.
He tensed, fearing they would revisit the elements of his past that would drive a wedge between them. “Like the rest of the forty-niners, I came seeking fortune and gold.” He’d quickly discovered there was more to be made selling goods to the rest of those seeking their fortune. “And it wasn’t like I had a family to tie me to a place.”
Her eyes glistened.
Had he blundered by reminding her of her siblings and her recently deceased mother? Feeling like an idiot, he finished his preparations for bed, folded and hung the towel on the bar of the washstand. He took a step toward the bed.
“The light, please,” she said.
A puff of air escaped him. Why didn’t she want the lamps burning? “You can close your eyes if you don’t want to look upon me.”
Her eyes darted up and tracked him as he crossed the space.
Ignoring the churning of his stomach, he slid into the side of the bed she’d left open. Like her, he propped his pillows against the headboard, leaned back, then settled the covers over his lap, hiding his response to what even her skeptical glance did to him. She remained with her knees drawn up.
“I do not find you displeasing to look upon,” she said.
He had to sort through her words to understand she’d said he was not ugly to her. But she was determined to have darkness.
He put a palm on her rounded back. She jerked and the flesh under his hand tightened. If she didn’t relax, it was likely to be a miserable night. And nothing he’d done or said had calmed her, that he could tell.
“Are you very tired?” he asked.
“I’m tired, but I don’t think I could sleep.”
Trying to soothe more than seduce, he rubbed his hand along the side of her spine. “You are far more beautiful than I expected.”
She tensed more.
“I will not hurt you, Selina.” He slid his hand under the weight of her hair. The strands slid across his arm like silk. He kept his movements slow, easy, ignoring the rush of wanting, his pounding heart and hardening body. Desire clawed at him.
He should lie down and tell her that he could wait until she was comfortable with him, but she’d said she wanted to be made a wife tonight. He’d waited so long for her arrival, so very long until he had a wife. Since he’d begun courting her in letters he hadn’t been with anyone else; even though her responses had been months in coming, he hadn’t felt it was right. His body burned now with a need that wouldn’t be easily extinguished. And each time he looked at her, he only wanted her more. Touching her sent sparks flying until he thought he might burn to a cinder if he didn’t make her his.
She twisted and looked at him, her mouth pursed.
To taste that mouth...
She pushed her legs down and slid to the side of the bed. Had he betrayed his lust, the thin thread of his control?
She shoved back the covers and padded to the table. Holding back the curtain of her hair, she bent and blew out the flames.
The room plunged into darkness. Only then did he realize she’d draped dark curtains over the windows that might have let in moonlight.
“Darkness helps,” she said.
No, it didn’t help. Not being able to look into her eyes to gauge her fear put him at a disadvantage. Measuring the cadence of her breathing wouldn’t be enough, not when fear could account for the rapid breathing as much as passion could. Besides, he wanted to see her. What was the point in having a beautiful wife if he couldn’t look upon her? The mattress dipped and swayed. She must have climbed back in the bed. Certainly, he couldn’t see a blessed thing.
She scooted closer and his heart threatened to pound through his chest. Carefully, she leaned back against the pillows next to him.
“Then you don’t want to have a conversation first?”
“I’d just rather you got on with it,” she said, so softly he was certain he had imagined it.
