His-Yankee-Bride--Rose-Gordon Page 14

  “Shh,” was the only response.

  Carolina scanned the moonlit ground outside her window. “Who's there?” she asked again, whispering this time.

  “Me.”

  Carolina's breath caught. “John?”

  “The very one,” John said, stepping out into the moonlight from a little grove of bushes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “Talk?”

  A series of soft thuds sounded, presumably created by the rocks he'd been holding hitting the ground. “And possibly something else.”

  Carolina's chest tightened painfully. “Does this something involve a bed?”

  “Gads, Carolina,” he burst out in a harsh whisper. “Must you always be so forward?”

  Stung by his harsh words which only compounded the hurt she'd already felt from his not-so-subtle insinuation, Carolina gripped the edge of the window pane and brought it down decisively.

  Immediately, rocks or acorns, or whatever it was he was throwing, started pelting her window again. Thank goodness her room was the only one on this side of the house and her mother was a sound sleeper, or they might have a visitor.

  A slow smile spread across her lips. He was mighty determined to talk to her. Slowly, she eased the window back open.

  “Did that make you feel better?” John asked from below.

  “Perhaps a little.”

  John shook his head and took a step closer to the window. “All right, just jump whenever you're ready.”

  “Jump?”

  “Yes, jump,” he confirmed. “I originally thought I'd scale the wall and convince you to leave with me in a dignified manner, but then I realized you'd probably find jumping all the more romantic.”

  “And why would I be jumping?” She cringed at her tone. It was that same sarcastic, condescending tone Mother used when speaking to anyone she felt inferior.

  “So you can ride off with your prince—or should I say, me—into the moonlight.”

  “Wh-what?”

  John ran his hand through his hair. “You were right, Carolina. Must I say more?”

  “Yes. I think you must.”

  “Of course you'd think so,” he muttered. He blew out a deep breath. “Carolina, I want to marry you.”

  “You do?”

  “Didn't my eyes tell you that already?” he teased.

  “Well, yes, but your mouth has refused to acknowledge it. Usually, it settles for an unflattering statement—”

  “Do you plan to recount all of my faults, or do you want to get down here so we can leave for town before anyone catches us?”

  His words ran through her head. Leave for town before anyone catches us. “You mean to elope?” she asked with a slight squeal.

  “That was my plan for the night.” He did a slow sweep of the windows of the lower level of the house. “What was yours?”

  “I don't know. I didn't have one.”

  He shook his head. “I find that hard to believe. You always have a plan.”

  “I know,” she said pertly. “But I didn't realize yours was to run away with me tonight, when you threw rocks at my window.”

  “And what did you think my plan was?”

  “To seduce me.”

  Cicadas and crickets chirping in the grass was the only sound.

  “I didn't realize you thought so poorly of me,” John said at last; his tone low and serious, a stark contrast to how he usually spoke.

  “It's not that I think poorly of you, John. It's just that when a young lady is drawn to her window by a pebble-throwing suitor and told his plans include to talk and ‘possibly something more’, she assumes he...” Her face burned and she shrugged, unable to voice the words of explanation.

  “Plans to ravish her,” he finished for her. “Don't worry. I do plan to do that, but first I plan to take you to town and give you my last name; however, if you continue to waste precious time, the only place we'll be going tonight is to the woodshed with your mother.”

  A small burble of laughter passed her lips. “You know her very well.”

  “Too well,” he retorted. “Now, would you like me to climb up there and help you down, or do you wish to chance the stairs?”

  “I'll just jump down.”

  “I was only jesting when I suggested you jump,” John rushed to say.

  “Don't worry. I've jumped plenty of times. It's not that high.”

  “It's two stories,” he pointed out.

  Carolina ignored him and reached under her bed for one of the pairs of leather shoes she'd hidden and claimed she'd lost, so she could give them to one of the field hands' children who often outgrew their shoes long before May, when they all received a new change of clothes. She slid her feet into them, then went to the window on the adjacent wall and opened it, and reached for the thick tree branch that grew so close to her window. Using the skills she'd perfected from many nights of sneaking out to sleep under the stars, Carolina climbed down the thick branch as agilely as a cat. When she reached the tree trunk, she jumped the remaining four feet to the ground and then walked around to the side of the house where John waited.

  “Are you ready?”

  He jumped and then his gaze shot to her. “How did you get down here so fast?”

  “I told you. I climbed down.”

  Nodding, he said, “And did you happen to drop a bag of clothes down, too?”

  “No. You said to hurry. I didn't think I had time to pack.”

  “That's all right,” he said slowly, his eyes traveling up and down her barely covered form. “What you're wearing is more than appropriate for tonight.”

  A measure of pride shot through Carolina. He desired her. And even better, he wasn't denying it. “What of tomorrow?”

  “Don't worry about tomorrow, either. You're perfectly dressed for the rest of our lives, as far as I'm concerned,” he said thickly. He jerked his eyes away and swallowed. “But first we need to go find a Mr. Murphy. Come.” He led her toward the pasture where he'd tied up his horse.

  John picked up the dark green bag he'd set next to the tree and dug through it until he found what he was looking for.

  “What's that?”

  “A coat,” John said, airing it out. “You'll have to wear something while we travel and see the judge.”

  She flushed. “Of course.” She took the garment from John and slipped it on. Naturally, it was too large for her, and with only the moon for light, it was obvious the coat was dirty and ragged, but that didn't matter; she was proud to wear it.

  John helped her mount the horse, then untied him and climbed behind her, nestling his body against hers. His large hands came around her and took the reins. When he flicked the reins, the horse began to walk and then run.

  Carolina leaned against John's large body, pressing herself against his chest. The scent of his coat filled her nostrils. She loved the way it smelled of sandalwood and fresh grass, just the way John always smelled. She pulled the garment tightly around her, barely believing what was happening, but not daring to question it, too afraid she'd wake up to find that it had all been a dream and she was still lying in her bed.

  But it wasn't a dream, and her confirmation came only a short time later when she was awakened by a softly whispered, “We're here,” followed by a warm kiss just behind her ear that made her skin prickle with excitement.

  John dismounted and then helped her down.

  With as much grace as a lady could possibly possess at an hour when the moon was ruling the sky, Carolina dismounted the beast.

  John's arms wrapped around her to steady her. “You're all right. I've got you.”

  She nodded and regained her balance. “Thank you.”

  He pressed a quick kiss to her brow. “You're welcome. Now, let's go get married, shall we?”

  ~Chapter Twenty-Two~

  John flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing to them again. He'd been so nervous during his impromptu wedding ceremony that he'd cl
asped his hands too tightly to conceal his nerves and had cut off the circulation.

  Carolina peeked up at him from beneath her lowered lashes, her full, pink lips beckoning his to take them in a passionate kiss to mark the start of their marriage.

  He couldn't deny her that, could he?

  He reached forward and cupped her face with his still numb fingers then pressed his lips to hers. Reluctantly, he pulled away, reminding himself it would only be a little while longer before he could explore every inch of her and make her his.

  The blush that stained Carolina's cheeks was his reward for being patient, he supposed.

  “There's a little place called Tuffy's just up the road a block or two,” said Mr. Murphy, the man who Gabriel suggested he seek out to marry them. He put his pipe back into his mouth and then added, “It's not much, but it'll do for a pair of young, penniless newlyweds, I should think.”

  Had John thought Carolina actually cared about this man's opinion of her, he'd clarify that there was no reason for a hasty marriage other than genuine feelings between them. Instead, he briefly exchanged nods with the dark-eyed stranger who appeared anxious to get back to his game of cards, then took Carolina's clammy hand and led her outside where Hammond was waiting.

  “Your steed, Mrs. Banks,” John said, helping her onto the horse.

  She giggled and a broad smile took his face. “Thank you, Mr. Banks.”

  John mounted Hammond and they headed down the street to the inn Mr. Murphy had indicated. A cry that sounded decidedly like that of woman of ill-repute entertaining a customer filled the air.

  “What's that?”

  “Nothing,” John said. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there's a stray cat in heat around here.” It was an attempt to satisfy her curiosity and not scare her at the same time.

  “Not that. Lord knows I've heard Silas and Bethel getting 'better acquainted with one another' more than enough to know what that was. I was curious about that.”

  Praying he wouldn't regret what he was about to see, John followed the imaginary line from her outstretched finger to the boardwalk beside them where a small, brown triangular object lay.

  “It looks like hair,” she said before he could form a response. “Like the hair that's—”

  “It's a toupee,” John blurted, choking—whether due to his indirect lie or from shock at seeing a merkin just lying on the ground, he'd never know. He slapped his chest twice with his open palm, but it did nothing to relieve the pressure that was clogging his throat and crushing his chest.

  “What's a toupee?”

  “Pardon?” he croaked. “Oh, right, it's a wig.” That was true enough. Unfortunately, this particular wig was not worn by a man, but was definitely for a man. That made it qualify as a toupee, didn't it?

  “I've never seen a wig like that before. Where does one wear it?” The innocence in her voice brought him from his fog.

  He gave her an affectionate squeeze. “That's enough, Carolina. Sometimes there are things you don't want to know the answer to, and I can assure you, that question is one of them.” He was pleased beyond measure that she didn't question him any further, because he doubted he'd be able to make up anymore lies to avoid explaining exactly what kind of wig that was and why it was used. “Let's be off. I know of a superior inn we can stay at.”

  “We don't have to stay in something so fancy,” Carolina said as they approached an inn across town.

  John chuckled at her weak protest. “Of course we do. It's only fitting for a groom to take his bride to the best lodgings available on their wedding night.”

  “Does that mean we'll have to spend tomorrow night in that other place?”

  He shuddered. “God willing, neither of us will ever have to clap eyes on a place like that ever again.”

  Carolina looked at him in interest, but didn't ask anything.

  But he'd have told her if she had. She was his wife and he owed her that.

  Brushing away a fleeting thought of uncertainty, he flashed her his best smile and escorted her inside the inn.

  “We'd like a room,” John said, approaching the counter.

  The grey-headed man behind the counter looked at him through his spectacles, pursing his lips.

  John pulled a handful of change from his pocket and slid two coins in the innkeeper's direction. “I can pay upfront, if you'd like.”

  “No, no, that won't be necessary,” the innkeeper said. He flipped open his log book and ran his finger down the page. “You're in luck. We have a vacant room on the third floor.”

  “Very good; we'll take it.” John slipped his coins back into his pocket. “And a bath, please.”

  The innkeeper nodded and handed him a brass key from one of the pegs behind him. “Fifth door on the left from the top of the stairs.”

  John turned to Carolina and scooped her up.

  “What are you doing?” she said laughingly.

  “Carrying my bride to my bed,” he whispered in her ear. Ignoring the stares they were receiving from the onlookers they passed, he brought her to their room and, with minimal help unlocking the door, carried her over the threshold and to the bed. “Are you crying?”

  Carolina wiped away a tear. “Yes, John, I am. I know you, being a gentleman, don't understand feelings and emotions, but I find this all very romantic.”

  He shook his head. It was always one emotion or the other where Carolina was concerned. He placed one forearm on either side of her and brought his face closer to hers. “As long as that's the only reason for your tears tonight, I'll gladly offer you my handkerchief.”

  ***

  “You don't think I'll regret what happens between us tonight come tomorrow morning, do you?” Carolina asked, pushing a swath of his blond hair away from his eyes.

  A shadow crossed his face. “I hope not.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I know you've dreamt up some version of love at first sight from the moment I entered that ballroom, but you might regret your decisions when I cannot keep you living in the same style you are accustomed to.”

  His solemn, honest statement made her heart ache. “Never,” she murmured before giving into the temptation she'd been fighting all night and brushing her lips across his.

  John's blue eyes grew darker and more intense, holding her captive. Before she could even think to move away, John's lips were back on hers, kissing her in a way that was more demanding than he had before. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she gasped his name.

  “Carolina,” he whispered in return, framing her face with his large hands. His heavy body pressed against hers, crushing her swollen breasts against his hard chest and setting her blood to simmer in her veins at his closeness. He drew her bottom lip into his mouth and raked his teeth across it, exerting just enough pressure to make her gasp his name again.

  He released her lip and sought to deepen their kiss. She froze at the sensation of his tongue exploring her mouth, but her uncertainty didn't last long and she boldly pushed her tongue past his lips to mirror his actions.

  A gasp, followed by a groan sounded, but Carolina didn't know who'd made which noise, nor did she care. John's left hand was suddenly on her right breast. Instinctively, she arched her back, pressing her breast more firmly against his palm.

  He pulled back, panting. “Too many clothes,” he rasped. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed audibly and reached for the buttons that went the length of the coat she wore. He leaned forward and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her lips each time he slipped a button free. Then, when he'd undone the last, he straightened to his full height and pushed open the coat. He lowered his lashes and held his hand down toward her.

  She accepted his help to stand and then stood stock-still as he bent to remove her boots and peel her coat from her. She remained motionless as nothing more than a thin piece of silk, which was soon to be removed, stood between his eyes and her body.

  Nervous excitement set her pulse to race as he lowered his lashes and pushed th
e straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, baring her to his hungry gaze in one short second.

  John's eyes swept her from her flushed face to her swollen breasts, then all the way down to her toes.

  “Am I what you expected?” she forced herself to ask to fill the intense silence.

  “Better,” he growled, capturing her lips in another demanding kiss.

  Carolina wound her arms around his neck and shamelessly pressed her bare breasts against his hard chest, the coarse fabric of his shirt lightly scratching her sensitive, erect nipples; but she didn't care, she wanted more. More of his kisses. More of his touch. More of him.

  He pulled away again and yanked his shirt over his head in such haste the seams along the shoulder split. Seemingly oblivious to the recent destruction of his shirt, John pulled her to him again; this time the soft skin of her chest was pressing against the smattering of wiry hair that covered his.

  His large, callused hands roamed up and down her back while she kneaded the hard muscles in his broad shoulders and back. He ran his fingertips up and down her spine, making her shiver. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the wide plane of his chest, succumbing to the delicious sensations his wandering fingers created in her.

  Pressing a row of kisses along her hairline, John pulled a pin from her long, curly hair. Then another. And another. Never had she taken her hair down in front of anyone except Bethel, and then it was only to wash or comb it. John pulled another pin free and dropped it to the floor with a soft clink.

  Carolina closed her eyes and let the comfort and excitement from his touch envelope her, sighing with both pleasure and relief when he'd pulled loose the final pin and combed his fingers through her locks, freeing them to fall completely.

  He leaned his face closer, burying it in her hair and inhaling. “Mmm.”

  Carolina swallowed, her body reeling at the simple gesture.

  John moved her backward until she felt the edge of the mattress against the back of her legs. He pulled back then, putting about a foot of space between them, and unfastened the flap of his trousers then lowered them to the floor.