Читать книгу The Scoundrel - Lisa Plumley - Страница 10

J ust as Sarah was beginning to appreciate the fine qualities of a good ale, Daniel fisted his hand around her cup and took it away from her.

“I’d say you’ve had enough of that.”

Stupidly, she stared at the simple gold band adorning his hand. Although her brain commanded that she protest the loss of her ale, all she could do was stare. Stare at Daniel’s big, rough, wonderful hand, so familiar and yet so changed. It was hers now, in a sense. Just as he was.

They were married. Well and truly married. Or at least they were, provided Daniel’s hasty kiss had correctly sealed their union. Everyone had seemed to consider that meager peck to be adequate. Privately, Sarah had hoped for so much more.

“I have not had enough,” she informed him. “Of ale or of kissing.”

He arched a dark brow. Drat it. Had she said that aloud?

It didn’t matter. Daniel was her husband now. He deserved her uncensored opinions. In fact, her freethinking sister Grace would have encouraged as much. Aside from which, Sarah felt certain that kissing and ale must both hold pleasures she’d missed until now. From here on, she was determined to miss nothing more.

She shook off her reverie to reach, unsuccessfully, for her cup. “You’ve had four ales. That’s only my second cup. Next to you, I’m a paragon of sobriety.”

“That might be true. I am a scoundrel.” Cheerfully, Daniel admitted the truth. “A slightly drunk one, in honor of the occasion.”

He smiled at that, leaving her to wonder if he felt happy to be married or merely giddy at the prospect of not having to scrub behind Eli’s ears anymore. Probably the latter, Sarah mused. She frowned. Making a proper and loving husband of Daniel McCabe would prove a challenge, to be sure.

“But I’m not the one who’s been dancing, now, am I?” An unaccountable glimmer lit Daniel’s brown eyes as he settled on the divan beside her. “With arm waving and skirt swinging and…what did you call that thing you were doing?”

“A fan dance.” If he’d noticed that, she was making progress already. Heartened, Sarah leaned nearer. None too subtly, she whispered, “It’s used for seduction.”

“Seduction?” Her new bridegroom nearly choked on his next mouthful of ale. “What in God’s name does a woman like you need seduction for? You’re a mother now. And a wife.”

Daft man. As if that summed her up in any way.

“I learned it from Molly.” Sarah gave a blithe wave. “She had plans to become a gypsy once, you know. Before she opened her bakery. She can tell fortunes, too.”

Daniel seemed unimpressed by her sister’s versatility. “She doesn’t need any of that now. She’s a wife, too.”

He said it as though that settled everything.

“Marcus doesn’t mind Molly’s interests.” Offering Daniel a nudge, Sarah nodded to her sister and her husband. “He loves her just as she is. See?”

At the other end of the Crabtrees’ parlor, Molly and Marcus engaged in conversation, smiling at each other. Unabashedly affectionate in spite of the family and friends gathered around, Marcus took Molly’s hand and cradled it to his chest. He listened, then laughed at something she said. They both fairly glowed with happiness.

Seeing their togetherness, Sarah couldn’t help but feel wistful. What was the matter with her, that her sister could make an effortlessly perfect love match, while she…she endured spitballs at her own nuptials?

Perhaps this was what came of marrying too quickly. And for all the wrong reasons. And to a man who did not know she was just the merest bit—desperately—in love with him.

Contemplatively, Daniel also surveyed the newlyweds, a move that offered Sarah the perfect opportunity to retrieve her ale—and to observe him. She hadn’t been able to do so during their vows. Then, the sheer remarkableness of their marrying had occupied her every thought. Now, after a fresh gulp of ale, she peered dazedly at his dark suit, his necktie, his enormous feet in his laced-up dress shoes.

She’d married a prince, she thought in an ale-woozy haze. A colossal-footed prince, wise and poetic and handsome.

Daniel gave a dismissive sound. “We’re lucky to be clear of all that hogwash. Romance. Bah.” Companionably, he slung his arm over her shoulder. “Who needs it?”

I do, Sarah thought plaintively. I need it. But what she’d gotten, it turned out, was a man who embraced her with all the seductiveness of a fisherman hooking a trout. Only with none of the attendant prize-winning demeanor one would expect in the event of a catch.

She wanted to feel like a prize. Wanted to feel like a real wife, one who inspired conversation and smiles and tender touches. Not to mention proper kisses. Feeling overlooked—as Sarah sadly did now—was already familiar to her. It had worn out its welcome long ago, during her years growing up.

“Daniel, I have a suggestion.”

He glanced back at her, impossibly appealing and woefully ignorant of how strongly she felt drawn to him. His expression looked open, his eyes clear, his demeanor happy-go-lucky. At any moment, he seemed liable to burst out with a hearty, “Look! My very own trout!”

Sarah stifled a sigh. Just then, she would have gladly sacrificed a month’s wages—no, her most treasured arithmetic text—to see Daniel regard her with one-tenth the romantic affection her brother-in-law had for her sister. But since that wasn’t likely to happen without some prodding, she knew she’d have to be clever.

“Let’s dance.” She stood, her skirts swaying, to urge him to his feet.

He resisted her efforts, his fist still curled around his ale. “You already have danced. After a fashion.” Another grin. “For a schoolmarm, you’ve got a fair amount of vigor.”

“I mean a proper dance.” He owed it to her after that stingy peck of a wedding kiss. “A dance together.”

Daniel eyed her suspiciously. “Are you turning sappy on me? Just because it’s our wedding day doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let the sentimentality of the day go to my head.” Sarah rolled her eyes, then tugged his hand. “Just so long as you promise not to tread on my toes with those oversize feet of yours.”

He grunted. “My feet go along with the rest of me.”

“Yes. They’re sized to match your big, fat head.”

“Careful, wife. People might think you’re not head over skirts for me.”

Wife. At the careless endearment, her heart swelled. If only he knew….

“Or perhaps you don’t know how to dance?” Pretending concern, Sarah propped her hands on her hips. She examined Daniel. “I’ve seen you flirt. I’ve seen you pour on your so-called charm with ladies visiting here from the States and beyond. I’ve even seen you parade through town with your britches split up the backside.”

“A bachelor’s not supposed to know how to sew.”

“But I’ve never, it occurs to me, actually witnessed you dancing. Hmm…”

“Pshaw. I can dance.” He gulped his drink. “Everyone can dance.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t need to. Sit, wife. Or make yourself useful and bring me another ale.”

“Sweet heaven, I wouldn’t have believed it.” She gawked, shaking her head. “Grace was actually correct. Marriage truly is a step-and-fetch institution created solely for the benefit of men.”

He scoffed. “What’s the benefit in your carping at me? I said I can dance. That’s that.”

“Hmm.” Sarah glanced to the couples near the parlor window, most of whom danced to the piano’s tunes. She sighed. Elaborately. Then she nodded to another group. “Perhaps one of those kind gentlemen would partner with me.”

“My cousins?”

She clucked at him, holding back a grin. “There’s no need to turn red in the face. They’re my family now, too. I believe George would make a fine dance partner.”

“George has two left feet and a laugh like a whinnying nag.”

“Frank?”

“Pickpocket. Leave your reticule with me.”

“James?”

“Only if you don’t mind his inviting you to pose nude for one of his ‘sketches.’ He claims to be an artist.” A contemplative pause. “Wish I’d thought up that one myself.”

My, but his family was a veritable rogue’s gallery—those who lived in the territory at least. His parents and sister had moved east some time ago. Sarah tossed another glance to the cluster of jovial, ale-drinking McCabe men. “Nathan, then?”

“Nathan is more of a scoundrel than I am.” Daniel shook his head—whether in admiration or consternation, she couldn’t tell. “He has only to look at a woman and her skirts fly up.”

“Really? Well. That would be inconvenient for dancing, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. It would.” Wearing a dark look, Daniel finished his ale. He set his cup beside hers. “Behave yourself. Sit down.”

“If I do, will you tell me what scandalous things happen when you look at a woman?”

“That grin of yours is not very wifelike.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

For a long moment, he only gazed at their wedding festivities, probably lamenting the day he’d been born a relation to so many scoundrels. Then he lifted his suddenly somber gaze to hers.

“Doesn’t matter anymore. Because none of those things will ever happen again.” With a heavy sigh, Daniel stood. “How long will it take you to say your goodbyes? It’s time we collected Eli and started home.”

For a woman who was supposed to make a convenient wife, Sarah had so far proved herself anything but, Daniel reflected as he strode homeward. First she’d shown up inconveniently beautiful for her own wedding. Then she’d ordered him to kiss her, gotten tipsy and volunteered to dance with his idiot cousins. And now…

“You cannot have lost your own shoes.” He frowned at her, disbelieving. “’Tis like leaving behind your ears.”

“I have, Daniel.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

“I suppose you can’t explain your mother’s sudden interest in corralling Eli for an overnight visit, either?”

Sarah blinked up at him with what he’d swear—if it weren’t impossible—was a coquettish gaze. “I can’t help it if Mama wants to be better acquainted with her new grandson. Or if she believes a bride and groom should spend their first night alone together. What should I have done? Refuse her?”

“Yes.” He set his jaw. “I’ll not be beholden to anyone. Especially not family.”

“‘Not family’? Don’t be silly. My family lives and breathes for helping other people.”

“For meddling, you mean. No need to put too fine a face on it. I’ve known the Crabtrees as long as I have you, remember?”

“Then you ought to understand they only have the best of intentions at heart.”

“Intentions change.” Darkly, Daniel shifted Sarah in his arms. When she’d lost her shoes, she’d insisted he carry her home. Fortunately, he was more than strong enough for the task. “So does your size. Damnation, woman. When I used to toss you up to that old tree we climbed, you were light as a feather.”

She gave him a mulish look. “I was only ten years old.”

“As I recall, you didn’t mind walking barefoot then, either.”

There’d been more than one time Fiona Crabtree had accused Daniel of being a poor influence on her daughter for that very reason. And others. She’d claimed he was turning meek little Sarah as wild as an Indian, and unladylike in the process.

Reminded of that now, he peered curiously at her lace-frothed form. By accident, his gaze nearly went to her bosoms. They rose cheerfully from her bodice in a way he couldn’t quite countenance. Now that he noticed it, Sarah didn’t seem especially lacking in female attributes. Even if they were usually shrouded in ugly dresses. Smugly, he decided he hadn’t been such a poor influence after all.

“I’m not so very heavy, Daniel. But you are getting on in years, you know. Nearly twenty-eight. Perhaps your advanced age is making you weaker. Too weak even to carry little old me.”

He grunted a denial. If he didn’t know Sarah to be the gentlest, most sensible of creatures, he’d have sworn she was trying to bait him. Just in case, though, he flexed his arms.

There. Let her see the kind of man she’d married.

“Goodness!”

That was better.

“Do your arms hurt? You seem to be straining to carry—”

He gritted his teeth. “My arms are fine.”

“If it would make you feel better, we could send for your cousin Nathan to carry me home.” Solicitously, she patted his shoulder. “I’m sure he’d be willing.”

“Maybe. But you wouldn’t be.”

She stilled, staring up at him. “I wouldn’t?”

Why did she look so startled? So…hopeful? “No. You’re far too sensible for the likes of Nathan. You’re practical, Sarah. Once you find your shoes, I expect you’ll make a fine and loyal wife.”

She snorted. “You make me sound like a hound dog.”

“Dependable, too.”

“Or a trout!”

Now that just didn’t make any sense at all. “You’re not nearly so slippery as a trout.”

Teasing, he squeezed her in demonstration. She laughed and squirmed against him. To Daniel’s relief, no strange, unexpected feelings assaulted him in response—no revelations of Sarah’s curvaceous figure or long, feminine limbs. Clearly he was cured of whatever malady had assailed him before.

Arriving at his house—their house—he stomped up the steps. On the threshold, he set down Sarah and opened the door. For some reason, she only stood there.

“What’s the matter? The door’s open.”

She slanted him a meaningful, if completely undecipherable, look. A look as cryptic as any Daniel had received from a cardsharp over the gaming table. Frowning, he peered past her. The path looked about as clear as it ever did, barring a few mislaid shoes and some of Eli’s playthings.

“I’m barefoot,” she said. “I’ll get a splinter.”

“If you do, I’ll pry it out. I’ve got a pair of blacksmith’s tongs handy someplace.”

Sarah seemed unimpressed by his practical suggestion.

“Carry me over the threshold, Daniel.”

“Why? It’s four steps, maybe five at the most. You’re an able-bodied woman. I’ve seen you corral three hooligans by the ear and drag them inside the schoolhouse all by yourself.”

She didn’t move.

He searched for more proof. “I reckon you can throw a baseball nearly as well as any man in the Morrow Creek league.”

A gasp. “You swore you’d never tell anyone about that!”

“I haven’t. I’m the one who taught you to do it.” After she’d pestered him endlessly when he’d joined the league himself. “But you’re no weakling, and we both know it.”

She crossed her arms over her middle. Arched her brow. “All I know for certain is that I begin to believe I’ve married the weaker McCabe. Next thing you know, I’ll be wielding your blacksmith’s hammer myself to spare you the exertion.”

Enough was enough. “Fine.”

He scooped her up in a flurry of lacy skirts and girlish squeals. Befuddled but determined—and slightly more deafened than he’d started out—Daniel carried her the few steps inside the house. He stopped with her still in his arms.

His burly, brawny, hammer-wielding arms. Blast it.

He glanced downward, keeping his expression fierce. His new bride needed to know that this order-giving of hers was a wedding-day exception. It would not be an everyday occurrence. He was the master of his own household.

Opening his mouth on a warning to that effect, Daniel gazed at Sarah. At the shining look on her face, the stern words he’d meant to say flew clear from his head. Had he ever seen her look so pleased? So…pretty?

“Now,” she said, eyes shining, “I believe we’re married.”

“Just because I carried you inside?” It was the most outlandish thing she’d said to him today, short of “kiss me.” Yet there was something about the look on her face….

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Daniel said gruffly. He put her down, then rammed his hat on his head. “I’m off to Jack Murphy’s saloon.”

Her husband had gone carousing. On his wedding night.

Still smarting at the realization, Sarah kicked aside a pair of gargantuan muddy boots. They had to belong to Daniel. No one else possessed feet that big. Or an arrogance to match. Did he truly expect her to stay here alone while he tossed back pints at the saloon?

Frustrated, she raised her skirts and went to the window. Daniel was just disappearing around the bend, his shoulders broad and his manner carefree. She’d done all she could to make him stay with her, short of clamping herself on his leg and begging. She did have some pride. But he’d refused to linger. In the end, Sarah had decided that if Daniel didn’t want her, she didn’t want him.

Until she’d made him love her, of course.

Resigned for now, she released the curtain. As the fabric flopped in place, it raised a billow of dust. Sarah frowned at her hand, then rubbed her fingers together. They felt gritty.

Daniel’s parting words came back to her.

“I tidied up this morning, on account of the occasion,” he’d told her. “I reckon you won’t have a thing to do while I’m gone but unpack all your dresses and whatnot.”

He nodded at the belongings she’d had carried over earlier. With one sweep of his beefy arm, he indicated the appropriate chamber down the hall. It had been Eli’s room, Daniel explained further, until he’d moved the boy’s things.

“You and I aren’t to share a bedroom?”

A frown. “Didn’t seem quite right to me. Seeing as how we’re only married on account of Eli.”

“Oh. That’s true. That’s fine, then. An excellent idea,” Sarah bluffed, not wanting him to know the notion bothered her. As near as she could tell, sharing a room was one of the cozier aspects of being married. She had—she was embarrassed to admit—looked forward to it. Dismayed, she peered down the hall. “But if I am in that room, where will Eli sleep?”

Clearly, Daniel hadn’t thought of that. “I guess we’ll likely take turns with my bed. Yep. That solves it.”

Then he’d set his hat at a rakish angle, given her an unreadable look and stridden from the house as if his heels were on fire.

Sarah didn’t understand it. Now, picking her way among the bits and pieces of his bachelor’s household, she realized that while she had spent the past several days in frantic preparations, Daniel had…not. In fact, he didn’t appear to have considered her arrival at all. Their marriage—a monumental event in Sarah’s life—didn’t mean anything to him beyond a means of solving his troubles with Eli.

She knew she should have expected as much. She’d gone into this arrangement with her eyes open, after all. Daniel hadn’t tried to deceive her. But somehow, a part of her had still hoped things would be different.

“Why, Sarah!” Daniel was supposed to have exclaimed upon seeing her today. “You’re beautiful! I don’t know how I haven’t noticed till now.”

She’d have blushed prettily, glowing with his praise.

“In fact, now that I think on it, I’ve been in love with you all along!” he’d have continued. “How could I not be? You’re an ideal match for me. So lovely, so kind, so clever.”

It would have been immodest to agree. She’d merely have smiled, linking her arm with his in a way that bespoke gentle, long-standing affection. He’d have chivalrously offered her a flower. A rare blossom, perhaps, like the ones from her mama’s greenhouse. She’d blink back sentimental tears, planning to press the flower and cherish it always, and—

A clatter in the kitchen shattered her reverie. Jolted into alertness, Sarah glanced to the cast-iron cookstove. A tabby cat streaked from amid the handmade pots and pans scattered atop it, giving her a baleful glare as it slipped beneath a chair.

“Hello, there.” Surprised, she stepped nearer. “I didn’t know you lived here, too.”

Frankly, Daniel had never seemed the sort to nurture a pet. Especially given how much of his time was devoted, of necessity, to blacksmithing. Perhaps the cat was Eli’s.

She crouched, her skirts whispering, then extended her hand. “Come here, little kitty. I won’t hurt you.”

The tabby regarded her suspiciously, whiskers twitching.

“Are you hungry? I am. I didn’t have a bite to eat at the wedding party.” She’d been too busy trying to catch the eye of her new husband for anything so mundane as food.

Straightening, she surveyed the kitchen. Her new kitchen. It looked as if a pack of donkeys had been here last, attempting to rustle up a noontime meal with two hooves tied behind their backs. Open cans of tinned fruit littered the tabletop, along with crumbs, pieces of twine and paraffin-coated baker’s wrap—the latter, more than likely, from Molly’s bakeshop. Most unmarried men in Morrow Creek bought their baked goods from her sister.

To the left, scrubbed plates and bowls sat higgledy-piggledy on the worktable, beside a bag of green coffee beans and a grinder. Near the unused cookstove stood a barrel of pickles—popular with the men of the household, judging by the blobby green trail of pickle juice on the floor nearby. Another barrel held oats, and a third, dried beans.

At least Daniel possessed some foodstuffs. He also had on hand at least a month’s worth of the Pioneer Press newspaper—her father’s broadsheet—and some cornmeal. The gritty stuff coated every horizontal surface in a fine dusting, as though a bag of it had exploded in here. Knowing Daniel and Eli, it probably had. There were tracks in the yellow meal here and there, as though someone had palmed up a handful to cook with and left the rest where it lay.

Ugh. Wrinkling her nose, Sarah left the mess for now. Her bridegroom may have absconded, but she refused to spend her wedding night tidying up.

Minutes later, she’d prepared a simple meal of bread and cheese. Between bites—some of which she fed to the cat as she carried it in her arms—she wandered through the rest of the house. The front room held hardy furniture, doubtless handmade. Clothes lumped on the chair seats and served as draft-catchers in the corners; Eli’s puzzles and toys had set up camp on the round braided rug. A cadre of blacksmith’s tools occupied a prominent spot near the fireplace, apparently keeping company with the supply of cut and stacked firewood.

Although Sarah had come calling on Daniel and Eli many times, today their home held new interest. This time, it was partly hers, to do with what she pleased. In her mind’s eye, she saw the windows stripped of their dreary, dust-clogged curtains and brightened with ruffle-trimmed adornments instead. She saw the chairs embellished with embroidered pillows and the floor scrubbed clean. Perhaps a new rug, as well.

“It’s so homey!” Daniel would say when he saw it, reaching impulsively for her hand. His expression would shine with amazement. “You are a marvel, Sarah. No wonder I find myself more in love with you every day. I don’t know how I ever lived without you.”

Satisfied at the thought, Sarah smiled. Daniel truly did not know how lucky he was. She was going to have a marvelous time putting everything in order—including her new husband. She could hardly wait to start putting her own special stamp on their shared household.

But first… Feeling her heart skip a beat in anticipation, she sauntered to the other end of the house. The tabby purred in her arms, content with their makeshift meal. It seemed Sarah had made at least one friend here. That was good. She entered the hallway, her footsteps loud on the floorboards, and approached the private chambers there.

She stuck her head inside the first, an austere room with bare walls, a small bed and a row of pegs on the wall. One of her trunks sat beneath the single window. Another waited just inside the door. Clearly, this room was meant to be hers.

Frowning, she crossed the hall. Daniel’s door stood slightly ajar, inviting her to investigate the room within. She’d never entered it before, of course. It wouldn’t have been proper, even for two friends as close as she and Daniel had always been. But now…now they were wed. She was well within her rights to explore the entire house.

“I expect he’ll want me in this room when it’s time to clean it,” she reasoned to the cat, giving it a gentle pat. “Let’s have a look.”

Inside, she found a brass bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a bureau with a washbasin atop it, several pegs hung with rough-hewn men’s clothing and a braided rag rug. A sheet of muslin tacked over the window provided privacy; a lantern held the promise of light. It wasn’t fancy, but it offered myriad possibilities…exactly like Daniel.

Arranged on the bed, a length of fabric caught her eye. Edging closer, Sarah lifted it. She gasped in surprise. ’Twas a fine lawn nightgown, trimmed in lace and finished with a deep ruffle at the hem. It was easily the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen—and the most seductive. In this, a woman would be nigh irresistible.

She would be nigh irresistible.

In that moment, Sarah realized the truth. She’d been mistaken about Daniel’s carousing! That rascal. He’d left her, certainly—but only long enough for her to find the romantic gown he’d gifted her with…and for her to prepare for their wedding night. He was a simple man, she knew, given more to action than words. Leaving this gown for her was exactly the sort of thing he’d do.

Well. This made her new husband’s intentions plain, didn’t it? Daniel wanted their marriage to be more real than he’d first implied. This nightgown was proof enough of that. Doubtless, he couldn’t wait to see her in it. Perhaps he was even waiting round the bend, eagerly anticipating her unveiling.

Excitedly, Sarah clutched the gown to her heart. When her new husband came home, there was one thing for certain. She’d be ready for him!