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Wild West Weddings

Mail-order brides for three hard-working, hard-living men!

Three penniless East Coast ladies are prepared to give up everything they know for the lure of the West. Will they find new beginnings, new families and eventual happiness as mail-order brides?

Their advertisements answered, three rugged frontiersmen await their new brides—with eagerness and not a little trepidation!

What have they all let themselves in for?

Read Olivia’s story in

Bride by Mail Already available

Anna’s story in

Promised by Post Already available

and discover Selina’s story in

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Author Note

This is the last story of three friends working in a Connecticut cotton mill who decide to become mail-order brides when the Civil War causes the mill to close. California was booming at the time, and was little affected by the war, but there was a severe shortage of women. According to census rolls, men outnumbered women by approximately seven to one—so it was no surprise that many men decided to advertise for brides in the East, where women were far more plentiful.

After the exchange of a few letters, couples made the commitment to marry. Taking a complete leap of faith, mail-order brides travelled for months to reach virtual strangers who would become their husbands.

This is the story of Selina and John, and it begins with their marriage on the day they meet in person for the first time—a situation that must have been awkward and scary, especially when they both arrive at the altar with baggage from their past.

I hope you enjoy their story.

Visit me on the web at katymadison.com or on facebook.com/katmadison.

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Katy Madison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning KATY MADISON loves stories. At the age of eight Katy went to her mother and begged for a new book to read. Her frustrated mother handed her a romance novel and Katy fell in love with the genre. Now she gets to live the glamorous life of a romance writer, which mostly means she stays in her pyjamas all day and never uses an alarm clock. Visit her at katymadison.com.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Owner of general store looking for a wife to start a family.

Stockton, California, August 1862

Selina Montgomery stood at the altar, marrying the man she’d first laid eyes on that morning. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in through plain glass windows illuminating unused wooden benches and a bare plank floor. The empty church echoed the hollowness inside her.

Hardly believing the ceremony was happening so quickly, she stole a glance at her groom. Upon her first sight of him, she hadn’t believed this could possibly be the distant man with whom she’d exchanged letters. Convinced a less virile specimen would step forward and claim her, she’d kept looking past his tall, broad-shouldered frame for her fiancé.

His smooth, low delivery of his vows made her shiver. She was soon to become Mrs. John Bench. But with each step closer to the completion of the marriage ceremony a knot tightened in her stomach.

She’d thought a man who had to advertise for a wife would have serious shortcomings as a suitor. In her mind what she offered as a wife was supposed to be an even exchange. Her looks, her willingness to work, her loyalty were supposed to balance out the drawbacks she brought to the table, but he wasn’t a man who needed to make concessions to land a wife.

Her voice shook as she parroted the minister. Her closed throat allowed only a thin warble through.

John’s hand cupped her elbow, offering support. Support she didn’t deserve. He’d been nothing but perfect since she’d stepped off the stagecoach. He’d shielded her from the barrage of questions that assaulted her from the townsmen following her wild arrival. He’d guided her away from the pandemonium to a dressmaker’s quiet parlor, where he’d left her while he retrieved her luggage. The soothing darkness of the room and the comfort of a cold glass of lemonade from the matronly, gray-haired Mrs. Ashe had gone a long way toward calming her after the attempted robbery of the stagecoach and the mad dash to town following the exchange of shots that had repelled the thieves.

But the robbery was no longer on her mind. Selina should have told him her secret—secrets, she should say—but everything had happened so fast. She hadn’t had a moment alone with him. She’d intended to tell him before he married her. Withholding that information wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t the kind of thing to reveal in a letter. She bit her lip. Would he have refused to marry her if he knew about the son she’d left behind in Connecticut?

He might still repudiate her when he learned. No matter what he’d promised at the altar. A quiver ran through her and she tried to stop shaking.

Selina wanted to be married. She needed a man to give her a good life. She’d come almost three thousand miles to marry this man she barely knew, and would do anything to make him happy so he wouldn’t abandon her. When her mother had been left on her own, the family had nearly starved. Selina had needed to take a job in a mill, but even that hadn’t been enough to keep the wolves from the door.

Too many times in the last year she’d thought she’d descend into the hellish life of a woman who had to sell sex to survive. If it wasn’t for her friends Olivia and Anna she might now be walking the streets. A ruined woman with an out-of-wedlock child had few options.

She would do whatever it took to be married and make her husband want to be with her. It was a man’s world. A woman without a husband was nothing. She would let John kiss her—and, well, the rest of it—just to have a roof over her head where she couldn’t be kicked out. To have regular food and not to have to do anything shameful to get it was worth any price. What she hadn’t expected was to look at him and want him to kiss her.

Wiping her damp palm against the skirt of the green sprig muslin dress that had been waiting for her on the dressmaker’s form, she tried to slow the pounding of her heart. She hadn’t expected such thoughtfulness. Everything inside her had gone soft when Mrs. Ashe showed her the letters from her good friends that explained how John had managed to arrange to have the dress made for her by secretly requesting her measurements.

The minister neared the part of the ceremony where her groom would put a ring on her finger.

This was what she’d wanted for so long, but it felt strange, the moment too ordinary and small to mark the change from fallen woman to respectable wife.

The minister told her to face John, and she turned. His expression was steady, giving nothing away. He took her hand, his hot fingers searing hers. Then he slid a warm gold band onto her cold finger. She stared down at the bright yellow metal with roses etched into the surface.

Her throat grew thick, and she blinked rapidly, holding back the sudden rise of tears. The ring was beautiful.

She had to stop weeping at the slightest provocation, good or bad. Leaving her son behind with an older, childless couple who adored him was the right thing, but an aching, empty hole remained. John deserved a caring, helpful wife. She firmed her shoulders. That was what she’d be: the most helpful, hardworking companion a man could have. This was her fresh start and she was going to make a wonderful new life with this thoughtful, handsome stranger.

Clasping her hands in his, he rubbed her icy fingers between his palms.

His kindness undid her.

The minister pronounced them man and wife and John leaned forward and brushed his firm lips against hers. It was done so quickly she could hardly credit the tingles left in his kiss’s wake.

“I’ll need you to sign here,” said the minister.

She took the pen, signed her maiden name for the last time, then handed the pen to her husband.

He bent over the register and started writing.

“Your full name,” the minister said.

John exhaled heavily. Next to Selina Ann Montgomery he wrote out John Park Bench.

Her eyes jerked to his. “Park Bench?” she echoed.

“Foundling,” he muttered, as if that explained it all. His mouth tightened.

Her shoulders lowered and she drew in the first deep breath she’d had in forever. Her icy fear melted away. My goodness, she thought, if he was a foundling, he would likely not cast judgment against her. At least not for the child she’d had. Her husband was kind to her, attractive, and likely to be the one man who wouldn’t cast aspersions on her for having a baby out of wedlock. With his background, thinking she was horrible would be condemning his own mother.

“I need to get back to the store.” He caught her elbow and steered her down the aisle.

She barely had time to thank the minister, or Mrs. Ashe and her husband, who had stood witness to their ceremony.

John opened the church door and they stepped out onto a wooden porch. He led her across the street, guiding her over the ruts dried in the dirt, the peaks chipping off with the summer weather.

“I didn’t know you were a foundling,” she said. Questions bubbled in her. She was certain in learning of his background she could find a way to tell him of her child.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t speak of it.”

She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Why ever not?”

He stopped and turned to face her. His brow knit. “Would knowing have stopped you from marrying me?”

Had he feared that? A wash of empathy flowed through her. She took a step toward him. “No, of course not.”

“Then the circumstances of my birth don’t matter. There is no reason to talk about it.” His expression closed.

She opened her mouth and shut it. There was every reason to talk about it, but he didn’t know why. Somehow to tell him about her situation while standing in the middle of the street didn’t seem right, nor was his tone encouraging.

If he didn’t want to talk about it, she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “If anything, knowing only makes my regard for you stronger.”

He looked away, his eyes seeming very blue in the bright sunshine. “I don’t want your pity.”

Pity? No, he misunderstood her. But he didn’t know that his being a foundling could only cement their bond. He couldn’t know how relieved she was to know an abandoned baby could grow into a successful, good man. She could put paid to the idea that her own son would never make anything of himself because she’d left him behind.

John shook his head and then walked away, back the way they had come earlier. Only he was no longer holding her elbow.

For a second she stared at his back. The bright sunshine was no longer warm.

“Are you coming?” he called.

She had to skip to catch up to him. Her stomach echoed the motion.

Ahead of them, gathered in front of his closed store, was a line. She hoped his wanting to reopen the store was the reason he was in a hurry. If her curiosity about his beginnings perturbed him, she didn’t know how to fix that. But until she told him about the son she’d left in Connecticut, he couldn’t know her curiosity sprang from a sympathetic place, not from shame or pity.

She’d had enough shame and pity herself. But for the first time she had hope. Hope that John wouldn’t judge her harshly, hope that her son would turn out all right, hope that her new husband wouldn’t abandon her. They had a connection much deeper than either of them could have suspected from their letters.

* * *

Once inside his store, John pulled his apron from the hook. Closing the store on the day the stage came in and the day before the largest packet ship to San Francisco went out was never a good idea, but he’d taken one look at Selina, her rich mahogany hair, her luminous skin and her hourglass curves, and any thought of delaying the marriage was squashed.

He’d wanted his ring on her finger as fast as possible, before every single man within a hundred miles was sniffing at her skirts. Before she had enough time to have second thoughts. After all, why would she want to marry him when a woman as beautiful as her could pick any one of a dozen men with gold lining their pockets? Not that he was poor, but there were men with big houses and more time to attend entertainments. Now, he wanted to hide her away so no man could tempt her from him.

“What should I do?” she asked.

What did she mean? She should start settling into their home, as women did. He suddenly had no idea what wives did all day. Or at least he didn’t know what they did before the children came. Well, beyond the cooking and cleaning, it seemed unmarried women were always changing from one outfit to another. Perhaps married women did that, too.

“Go upstairs, unpack and change.” He lifted the counter gate and ushered her through. The minute he touched her, a buzz shot through him. He yanked his hand back, lest he just throw her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs.

“Are you?”

The words could have been uttered in a foreign language for all the sense they made to him. He shook his head to clear it. “What?”

“Are you changing?” she asked.

“No.” He had his apron to protect his suit. The apron dangled uselessly from his finger. Besides, if he went upstairs and took off his clothes, and she took off her clothes—well, the chances of him returning to the store before everything was carted off were nil.

The corners of her mouth slipped down.

Women never understood a man’s urgency and need. As if by claiming her he could keep her by his side, he derided himself. He had to figure out his role as a husband. “I have to mind the store.”

“I don’t want to change just yet.” She smoothed the skirt at her hips. “I’ll be careful of my new dress.”

Her new dress made his loins ache. It was tightly fitted, unlike the dark jacketed thing she’d been wearing when she stepped off the stage. That had been bad enough. He’d stepped forward, mindful of not tugging at his trousers, which would have only drawn attention to his newly sprung problem. The hours until he could close the store and get her alone seemed an eternity. Somehow “get out of my sight so I can calm down” didn’t strike him as a good thing to say to his new wife. “You should get settled in.”

Her dark eyes narrowed, then transferred to his apron.

He pulled it over his head. It would at least hide his response to her. And he had to think of something else besides bedding her before his brain stopped working entirely. He had a hundred questions to ask her, but right now he couldn’t frame a single one.

She stood, still not heading for the narrow staircase at the back of the storeroom.

His heart pounded crazily. He pointed in case she didn’t see the stairs past the crates, barrels and sacks. If she was out of his sight he could concentrate on filling orders, stock shelves with his newly arrived goods, and get the mail sorted. He could scarcely keep his eyes off her or keep his mind on serving his customers. He’d be trying to keep other men from stealing her. Or too busy staring at her himself.

While he’d known she was pretty from her picture, he’d expected her to have some flaw, crooked or missing teeth, an annoying squeaky voice, a clubfoot or something that would have prevented her from finding a husband back East. He’d heard plenty of tales of woe regarding mail-order brides. Most arrived with shortcomings. Rarely were they pretty, no matter how much they’d gussied up for a nice photograph.

Wasn’t as if he had a whole lot of choice in brides, with bachelors outnumbering single women seven to one in California. Still, he’d been prepared to settle for whatever he got as long as he could have children with her. Children would fill that missing part of him. He hadn’t really thought a woman would fall in love with him, but a practical bargain he understood.

But so far his wife made him wonder if more than a practical marriage could be had. Or was there some flaw in her she just hadn’t revealed yet? More than likely she’d leave him when she realized he’d never learned how to be part of a family. He’d never had an opportunity to be a son or a brother, let alone a husband. He had to learn now and fast.

“Who’s the gal, Bench?” asked a sunburned miner, jarring John back to where he was.

“My wife.” The word was foreign on John’s tongue.

Her eyes widened and she stared up at him. His wife likely wanted a husband who could control his urges, not a brute. He never lost control, but damn, he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her thoroughly.

As if his eyeballs were glued to Selina, he had a hard time peeling his gaze away.

The miner, Olsen, had been one of the group waiting for the store to reopen. He regularly showed up after the mail came in on the stage, and often received thick letters. With a smirk on his face he looked Selina over.

Wanting to punch him, John drew in a slow breath. The man was a customer. “Haven’t had a chance to sort the mail yet. But I have a fresh shipment of tobacco.”

Olsen leaned his arm against the counter.

Selina grabbed his spare apron and pulled it over her dress.

“What are you doing?” John sputtered.

“I’m helping. Don’t you want me to?” she asked.

“No. I mind the store and you mind the house. That is the way it is supposed to be.” Wasn’t it?

Her brow clouded, but then she smiled brightly. “Oh, come now, surely you could use a helping hand.” She finished tying a saucy little bow in the front of the apron—a bow he never would have tied with the same strings—and turned her palms up. Her head tilted and her smile turned teasing. “And I have two of them.”

He was as breathless as if he’d been punched in the stomach. But he wasn’t prepared with a reason to tell her she shouldn’t help in the store. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined that she’d want to work alongside him. He had a hard enough time believing she would actually show up and marry him.

She seemed to take his lack of a response as an answer and glanced toward Olsen. Her mouth rounded and opened for a tiny space of time before she stepped toward the counter and painted a friendly expression on her face. She sweetly asked, “Are you here for your mail?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The miner’s half-unbuttoned red flannel undershirt had faded to a grayish pink. And he wasn’t wearing a shirt over it.

Funny, John had never really noticed how uncivilized some of his customers looked. Nor had he ever before felt an urge to tell them to cover up. He stepped between her and Olsen and reached for the mailbag. The sooner he found any letters for the miner, the sooner he could get him out of the store.

Olsen leaned to look around him. “Didn’t know you was married.”

The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Selina with Olsen. Or have every lonely Argonaut flirting with his wife. “How’s your lode holding out? Brown said he was going to start blasting soon. The vein he was following played out.”

She stepped to his side and her dark eyes bored into him. John wanted to forget the customers in his store, haul her upstairs and lock her out of sight of other men, but that would be just as uncivilized as not wearing a shirt. Probably not what a good husband would do, either. He couldn’t lock her away forever. If she was going to leave him, she’d leave him sooner if he tried to cage her.

Olsen shrugged. “You’re a right pretty thing,” he said to Selina.

She inclined her head and gave the faintest of smiles in response.

“And my wife,” repeated John. The jealous burn in his gut surprised him. He should have complimented her first. Even now his tongue was thick. “I’ll have the mail sorted soon, if you want to look around for anything else you need.”

Olsen ignored his hint and watched Selina. Heat crept under John’s collar. He couldn’t exactly throw the man out for ogling his wife, as much as he wanted to. Did she see working in the store as a way to look over all the other men and see if another one was more to her liking? She didn’t seem to be encouraging Olsen with smiles or coquettish looks.

John caught her elbow and guided her toward the back. This time he was prepared for the low thrum of excitement that heated his blood. But he had absolutely no indication from her that she felt it, too.

“Don’t you want to look around upstairs where we’ll live?” he asked. Didn’t she want to rearrange and tidy up the way women always did?

“Of course I do. I’d love to have you show me our home, but I know you can’t while the store is so busy.” She patted his arm, sending jolts through him. “Don’t worry. I’ll go upstairs in plenty of time to prepare supper.”

“You needn’t do that. I’ve arranged for the hotel to provide our dinner tonight. I didn’t want you to have to cook today.”

“Oh, that is so sweet,” she said. There was that smile again that almost made him brainless and sent jolts to his lower region. But he had to get their roles straightened out.

“Minding the store is my job.” He’d likely be working like a fiend through the next few hours, which would help him keep his mind off her and their wedding night.

Her brow crinkled, but her dark eyes seemed sincere. “It seems like I should help, since there are so many customers.”

He couldn’t breathe deeply enough. He tugged her farther into the storeroom, out of Olsen’s view. John could watch the store and the cashbox through the doorway. He definitely should be watching the cashbox, because watching her made him wish all the people who bought his goods and paid his way in life to perdition. “Your job is to keep the house. You don’t need to help in the store.”

Her eyes flashed as if he’d wounded her. She twisted her new wedding ring. “Unpacking won’t take me long and if I don’t need to cook...” Her brow furrowed. “I’d like to be a helpmate in the store. Besides, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk.”

“We won’t have a chance until later.” His spine tightened. The last thing he wanted was to talk, especially if she was going to pester him about how he came by his name. As if it weren’t obvious he’d been left on a park bench. For the first time since he’d kissed her at the altar, his randy urges eased. He knew he’d have to talk to her, be gentle with her, seduce her properly, but she didn’t need to go digging at his sorest spots right away. “The store will be too busy today.”

She twisted to look over her shoulder. “Then won’t we be able to take care of everyone faster if I help you?”

“It won’t get us alone any sooner.”

For a second she just stared at him, her smile frozen. Her smile cracked and fell from her face. She clasped her hands in front of her, holding the fingers of one hand tightly.

His collar tightened on his neck. No, he didn’t expect she wanted to be alone faster or for the same reason. He would just have to keep his eagerness in check.

Her eyes dipped, but then her chin firmed and tilted up. “Come now, it can’t be that hard compared to the work I did in the mill.” She tilted her head and her voice turned cajoling. “I could sort the mail for you.”

A couple of other men stepped up to the counter. No doubt they wanted to know if they had any mail. Trying to convince her to go upstairs delayed helping them even longer.

“Have no fear, I won’t expect you to cook or clean just because I spend time in the store,” she stage-whispered conspiratorially. “Truly, I just want to help.”

Why in the world would she want to take on more work when he’d said she didn’t need to? He scuttled a half-dozen reasons almost as fast as they popped into his mind. Rather than wanting to be with him, or get onto the business of marriage, she most likely just didn’t want to be alone. She had been through a horrific experience earlier in the day with the stage holdup and shooting. Had Selina been terrorized? “Are you all right?”

Her gaze darted down and away. His heart kicked hard. If she wasn’t all right, he had no idea what to do. He could make conversation with strangers all day long, even offer sympathy for a plight—but he had no knowledge about how to comfort a wife.

He could kiss her, but that could make matters much worse. Especially since it was broad daylight and his store was full. And while he’d take a great deal of comfort from kissing, he didn’t expect she’d see it in the same light.

“I’m fine,” she said in a way that left him skeptical. “Thank you for being so protective of me. I do appreciate it.”

But he didn’t want to dig too deeply into her state of mind. When she’d looked over his shoulder as if searching for someone else after he’d stepped forward to introduce himself, he hadn’t been surprised. No one had ever chosen him. But if she’d hoped for a better man, he didn’t want to know. He sure as hell didn’t want to see her toss aside his apron if some superior specimen came into his store to woo her.

“All right. If you want to sort the mail, I suppose that will help.” He guided her back into the store, showed her the eighteen cubbyholes for the mail and explained his system.

“Mr. Bench,” nagged one of the customers. “I need half a pound of lard, five pounds of flour and a pound of salt.”

“I’ll be right with you.”

Selina pulled a handful of letters from the canvas mailbag and began reading the names.

John stared at the white stripe of skin under the heavy bun on the back of her head. Would she like kisses there? It would be hours before he could find out. Having her so close would be torture.

“If you come across anything for Pete Olsen, that would be me,” said the miner still leaning against the counter.

“I’ll let you know, Mr. Olsen,” she said in an even, pleasant tone. “But I better get to sorting so it gets done.”

She turned her back on the leering man.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she sounded normal and seemed to understand there was a fine line between discouraging attention and being rude, John spread out a length of paper and scooped flour onto it. Hell, he was just glad she was not encouraging the miner. She could have been a hussy or worse. Did he dare to hope that their marriage might be more congenial than he’d envisioned? That they might do more than come to like each other?

As he lifted the paper onto the scale, Selina bent for another handful of letters. Her backside bumped him. He nearly jumped right out of his Sunday-best suit. Flour showered over the floor and counter.

She swiveled and said, “Excuse me.”

Heat pounded through him. His response to the brush of their bodies was worse than spilling a bit of flour. He fought for control. Breathing hard, he scooped out more flour to replace what littered the floor.

Grasping at the ordinary and normal motions of running his store, he reached to put the paper on the scale and very nearly dropped the flour bundle as Selina darted under his arm and scraped the counter clean.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and then winced. He shouldn’t curse around his wife. Usually he didn’t around ladies.

Her face pinked. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he managed to reply between gritted teeth. He only hoped his response to their backsides touching was hidden by his apron. He wasn’t used to having anyone behind the counter with him, let alone a beautiful woman. Who was his wife.

Her scent flooded his brain. He forgot how much flour he was supposed to be packaging.

In just a few hours he could touch her and kiss her more thoroughly than the entirely unsatisfactory kiss after their wedding. But he couldn’t function while he practically vibrated with need because she was so close.

Her head ducked. “I’ll sweep it up.”

“Go unpack.” He pointed. “Now.”

Her eyebrows drew together, and her mouth flattened. For a second he thought she might protest, but she cast a glance toward Olsen, gave a shake of her head and then moved through the door to the back room. Her spine was stiff and her chin high.

“Now you’ve done it,” said Olsen.

Yeah, John rather suspected he’d not gotten off to the best start with his new wife.

Chapter Two

My name is Selina Montgomery. I am the oldest of five. After my father passed I began working in a cotton mill, as my mother couldn’t afford to take care of all of us.

I live in a boardinghouse with my two close friends and fellow mill girls, Anna and Olivia.

I am a hard worker, frugal and of a generally cheerful nature. I get along with most everyone and make friends easily. My closest friends would describe me as determined and practical.

Selina scrubbed the brush across the cold stove surface and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. She had no idea when John might be finished in the store, but she didn’t dare go ask him. If he wanted her to clean and take care of their home, then that was what she’d do. She would have, anyway. But she’d thought if she showed him how much she was willing to help in every way, he’d be glad of it—of her.

But he’d been gritting his teeth, likely to hold back anger, when he’d told her to go unpack. That she’d angered him so soon after becoming his wife had her heart twisting and her stomach churning. Granted, it was mostly her fault the flour had spilled. But surely he had to recognize it was an accident.

She hadn’t realized she would bump him when she bent over. She’d known he was behind her, but she’d been trying very hard to sort the mail as quickly and efficiently as possible. She didn’t want him thinking he’d married a lazybones. She intended to become so invaluable to him that he’d never regret marrying her.

Since she’d been banished to their living quarters, she’d cleaned every surface in his—now their—stifling hot apartment. The place had been neat and swept, but since he kept insisting her place was taking care of the house, she presumed he wanted her not to merely unpack, but to start in on housekeeping.

She heard a steady thump, thump, which could be John walking up the stairs or a hammer working in the distance. All day long she’d heard the sounds of new construction, the clicking of the myriad windmills, the creak and clop of wagons passing in the street. Too many times already she’d thought it was John ascending the stairs to call her back, but it never was.

In spite of her dismissal of the noise, her heart raced. Still, she wouldn’t run to the door and peer down the stairs to see if he was coming. She’d done that once, to see him stacking crates in the storeroom. He’d looked up at her, but hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t smiled. Hadn’t taken a step toward her. She’d simply left the door open and returned to scrubbing the floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked from the doorway.

“Settling in,” she said flatly.

He stood in his white shirt, the sleeves folded back, exposing sinewy forearms. Her eyes were drawn to the long length of his legs under his black trousers. Her breath caught and her knees threatened to buckle if she left the support of the stove.

His head turned, but his eyes stayed on her for a second before he looked around the room. The space was large, probably three times the size of the room she, Anna and Olivia had shared in the boardinghouse back in Connecticut. A bed was in the back, a small sofa and an overstuffed chair in the middle, then the table she’d covered with an embroidered cloth stood nearest the stairs.

“Everything is sparkling.” His brows drew together. “You didn’t have to spend all afternoon cleaning.”

Was he displeased with her efforts? Just what had he expected her to do, twiddle her thumbs all afternoon? “I am in the habit of working, not sitting idle.”

His eyes came back to her, but he’d yet to step into the room.

Suddenly unable to stand still, she swiped a towel across the stove surface, wiping the suds away. A good wife would cross the room and welcome her husband home with a kiss.

“I didn’t want you to work on your wedding day,” he said.

“You did.” Had he expected her to laze about, waiting for him to finish for the day? She couldn’t stand to do nothing, because then she would think of the son she’d left behind.

John’s shoulders lifted. “I would have lost too much custom if I closed the store. Tomorrow will be the same until the packet ship leaves for San Francisco. In the afternoon, I can show you the ropes.”

“Did I do so badly sorting the mail?” she asked, drying her hands.

Was he waiting for her to greet him in the doorway? He’d yet to step inside. She just couldn’t bring herself to close the space and offer up a kiss. She’d wanted a different start, too. She’d expected to be carried over the threshold the first time she entered her new home as a new bride, but that hadn’t happened, either.

“It, uh, no.” His face darkened. “You’re a great distraction.”

She had no idea what he meant. “I’m sorry?”

“I couldn’t concentrate on orders with you so close. You’re—you’re so...such a beauty.”

It took her a second to realize he’d complimented her. In an odd way it almost felt like an accusation of intentional disruption, but then the very awkwardness of it convinced her that he was sincere. Warmth crept under her breastbone.

His face screwed up. “I knew you were pretty from your picture, but I didn’t realize how pretty until you were standing beside me in the church.”

The corners of her mouth curled. “Took you that long?”

He smiled back and the tightness in her neck eased away. If only being pretty was enough to keep a man around. Her mother had been pretty, but that hadn’t kept her father from abandoning them and leaving them destitute.

“I think we’ve gotten off to a bit of a bad start,” she offered. “Perhaps we should begin anew.” Men weren’t always clear in their speech. She knew that. Otherwise she never would have been in the predicament she’d been in, where she’d had no choice but to do horrible things to survive. So it was up to her to try and bridge the gap. She took a step toward him. “You said you’d arranged for our supper?”

He nodded and stepped into the room. “Let me wash up and then we can go to the hotel.”

That was the crux of it. Marrying someone you knew only from letters was awkward, and they were both feeling their way.

* * *

After a short walk through the streets, John led Selina into a large white building with marble floors and flocked wallpaper. The hotel was barely a year old, he told her as she looked around with wide eyes. He wondered if she’d expected Stockton to be as uncivilized as the rest of the West. There were still differences between California and back East, but Stockton was quickly becoming just as modern as any city in the world, maybe even more modern, because there weren’t any old buildings, and only a handful built more than a dozen years earlier.

Before he could say boo, they were being shown into a large dining room with a few men—properly dressed men—sitting at various tables. Most of them watched Selina, although she didn’t seem to notice as she commented on how elegant the dining room looked in a hushed, reverent voice.

The maître d’hôtel showed them to a linen-covered table in an alcove. He lit a candle in the center of the table next to a spray of flowers, congratulated them on their marriage and promised their waiter would arrive shortly.

In short order a plate of bread and butter was on the table, bowls of tomato soup were in front of them and wine filled their glasses.

Selina pulled her napkin into her lap.

The first course conversation was little more than a polite exchange of strangers. All John could think about was that after dinner they would return home and go to bed, and he couldn’t seem to find a decent conversational gambit to save his life. He would have to do better with the entrée.

The waiter cleared her mostly full bowl of soup with a frown and set their main dish on the table. If she hadn’t liked the soup, John hoped the chicken and the chilled cabbage salad would go better.

“It smells heavenly,” she said.

“I hope you don’t mind, but chicken is a safer bet this time of year.” The last thing he wanted was his wife suffering from a sour stomach on their wedding night because the meat had turned.

“It is exactly right,” she said with a nervous smile.

Their conversation seriously needed to improve or they would dance around real topics all night. Maybe she had something in mind. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“I want to know everything about you,” she said brightly. “Where were you born?”

His birth was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but he had given her the opening she likely had been waiting for. “I assume Boston. That is where I was found.”

“And did you have a family?”

His stomach clenched as if he’d been punched. What an absurd question. He set his fork down with a thump. “What part of I was a foundling do you not understand?”

She reached across the table and put her hand on his. Her touch jolted him. “I am your wife. Don’t you think I should know about your history? I would like to know all about you. And I have something to tell you that only those closest to me know. We shouldn’t have any secrets.”

She was reaching out to touch him, which augured well for the wedding night. Her hand rested lightly on his, but it made his pulse jump. Somehow he pulled his mind back to the matter at hand. “It isn’t a secret. I’d just rather not talk about it. I’ve tried to put those years behind me.”

She patted his hand. The effect of her touch faded. “I just thought a family might have adopted you.”

He stared at her. “No, my bitch of a mother made sure that would never happen.”

Selina jerked her hand back as if his words had burned her. Her face went white.

He regretted using such a crude and ugly word to describe the woman who’d given birth to him as soon as it left his mouth. He looked around to make certain no other diner had heard, but no doubt his foul language shocked her. She needn’t worry. His venom was reserved for the woman who’d left him on a city park bench as if he was trash. He didn’t want to discuss it, or think about it, especially not now.

“How can you speak so about your mother?” she whispered.

He sighed. Damn it, he wanted a smooth wedding night.

He’d hoped for a congenial dinner, a leisurely stroll back to the store and an early bedtime. Or perhaps sitting beside her on the settee for a spell, talking about anything but his miserable childhood. He was doing a lousy job of setting his bride at ease.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used such language around you.” He dragged out his words to show his anger wasn’t at her. And it was far from the worst name he’d called that woman. The sentiment was what it was, but he didn’t usually voice it.

He supposed he should have expected curiosity once Selina learned his full name. Obviously she wouldn’t let this subject rest until she knew the whole of it. She was his wife; he owed her the truth. He pulled on the mantle spun by years of pretending it didn’t matter.

“I spent my first nine years in an orphanage. Then I was apprenticed to a shopkeeper for six years.” More like enslaved by a shopkeeper. The man had owned him, worked him eighteen hours a day and given him only a pile of empty sacks to sleep upon. John could talk about it coldly and rationally, even though the wound festered like a canker deep inside him. “But as for the woman who bore me, she wasn’t much of a mother, was she? She left me to freeze to death.”

“You don’t know that,” said Selina. She ducked her head. “She could have watched until you were found.”

He pulled his hands into his lap and rubbed his thighs under the table, out of her view. “The man who came along wouldn’t have noticed me except I was crying, and he didn’t see anyone around. He looked.”

John relayed the details as he’d been told them. He’d even gone to the place where he’d been left, back when he’d been searching for a place to belong, before he understood there never would be a family for him.

If anything, Selina went whiter. She stared at him, her eyes like dark pools in her face. “Surely, your mother was just trying to make certain you were cared for. She probably couldn’t care for you herself...”

“No, she was trying to get rid of me.” His stomach burning, he leaned back and folded his arms. “I doubt if she cared if I lived or died. She probably just didn’t have the spine to throw me in the bay and live with the certainty of it.”

Selina shook her head slowly, as if she were in shock. She leaned forward. “Don’t you think she was likely an unfortunate young woman who...who may have been abandoned by her beau or—”

“No. There isn’t any fairy tale here. Just a heartless whore who saw me as a burden.”

Selina squeaked faintly, like a small kitten. He examined her stricken face. Was she too softhearted to understand there were evil people in the world? Or was she merely appalled that his mother was a whore?

At least her questions had pulled back his lust to a manageable buzzing. He still wanted her, but with her mouth otherwise occupied.

“Maybe she couldn’t afford to take care of you. Maybe she was trying to prevent you from starving. Maybe she was trying to ensure you had a better life than she could give you. She might not have had family or friends to help her.” Selina’s brows drew together as she persisted in ignoring the obvious conclusion.

Granted, it had taken him years to realize the truth. But if the woman who had borne him had meant well by him, his surname would be Church or Station, where he would have been sheltered inside and was certain to have been found. She also wouldn’t have left the torn-in-half playing card on him, which ensured no family would adopt him for fear she’d be back to claim him. “No good woman would ever abandon her baby, no matter what her circumstances.”

Selina gasped.

That she wanted to find an excuse for his abandonment or simply couldn’t accept that a woman would throw away a child was sweet, even as it poked at raw places inside him.

“No excuse you could make for her will change my mind. Now are we done talking about my past?” He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of chicken. He would do anything to turn the conversation, and most people loved to talk about themselves. “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

Color rushed back into Selina’s skin, and her eyes widened. She shook her head. Averting her face, she stared at the window across the dining room.

“Now you don’t want to tell me.” Was she already thinking this marriage a mistake?

Her head jerked back in his direction; her gaze darted to his and then down to her plate. She swallowed audibly. “It is just that I was engaged to another man before I wrote you.”

Her voice was high and thready.

His spine knotted. Was this the flaw he anticipated? He’d known better than to hope. “And?”

“He married another girl, whose father promised him a job.” Selina twisted her fingers together.

“His loss then,” said John.

Her gaze lifted. He’d hoped for a smile, but she chewed her lip. She still had one set of fingers clenched in her other hand. There was more to this confession. Perhaps she had allowed her fiancé liberties she shouldn’t have. If that was it, John really didn’t want to know. His hands balled. “Would you rather be with him?”

Her jaw dropped, then she shook her head. “I don’t think I loved him, but I thought I did then. I just wanted to be married.”

“Well, you are married now. To me.” John didn’t care, really. Still his gut churned. “Selina, I don’t need to know anything more about him. You are my wife now and the past is the past. We don’t need to dredge it up.”

She shook her head, but stared at her untouched plate of food.

He didn’t look back at his past, and he didn’t examine other people’s pasts too closely. “Lots of people in California fled unpleasant lives back East.”

Her lips flattened and her hand fluttered as she creased her napkin. Was she disappointed in what she’d found here? Disappointed in him?

He needed to reassure her, but he was off-kilter from her questions, which exposed his raw underbelly first off. His throat went dry. “I will give you a good life.”

Her lips smiled, but her eyes didn’t. “You already have.”

What he’d given her seemed puny. By eastern standards his store was tiny and crudely built, the goods he carried minimal. Nor had he provided a house. He tensed. “In a couple of years, we’ll build a home. Close to the store. We don’t have to live above it forever.”

“Living above the store is convenient, though, isn’t it?” She earnestly leaned forward. “Your living quarters seem quite large. I lived in a much smaller space with Olivia and Anna.”

He had no idea if she was being honest or trying to be kind instead. “For the two of us, perhaps, but when we start having children...”

Her eyes shut. Her lips pressed together and her chin quivered. What now?

A stone dropped through his stomach. He stared at her, trying to understand what her sudden distress meant. “Don’t you want children?”

“Yes, oh yes!” The words gushed out of her as if she couldn’t stop them. But then maybe she thought he needed reassuring, since his own mother had abandoned him. Selina was the most confounding creature.

“Good.” All his life he’d wanted to belong. He’d never have parents or siblings, but he could have a wife and children. “I’ve always wanted my own family.”

She blanched. Her hand shook as she tried to raise her glass, the stem clinking on the edge of her plate. She set the wine back down on the table without taking a sip and drew her hands into her lap. Her eyes dropped and her lips trembled.

The tension was rising like the river when it had crested its banks last winter. The water had crept up and up until it had sloshed over his toes while he’d rushed to get all his goods off the floor of the store. He’d carried a thousand loads up the stairs, not knowing when the floodwaters would stop rising.

If it wasn’t the children, she must be scared of the act of procreation, and here he could think of nothing else. He didn’t know what to say to calm her except to offer to give her time, but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted his wedding night to be a wedding night. He’d waited too long for her to make the journey to him.

He carefully cut a piece of chicken from the bone, so she’d know he was civilized. The orphanage’s patroness had insisted they learn proper manners. “Now eat.” He almost said because she’d need her strength later, but given how frightened she looked, that would likely scare her worse. “You said you were hungry.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can eat. I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be. I’m not going to force you... We don’t have to do anything before you’re ready.”

She met his eyes, hers softening. “Thank you.”

Damn it, he’d said it, and now he had to live by it.

Chapter Three

My 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.

Chapter Four

I hope you do not mind, but I shall write you every week even though I know it will take months for a reply. I feel I will get to know you much better if we exchange more letters.

I very much want the security of a husband, a home of my own, and a family, too. What is important to you?

John wanted nothing more than to make Selina his wife. Excitement coursed through his veins. He didn’t like the darkness, but it at least rid him of the concern about shocking her by undressing in the state he was in. But before he kissed her, he wanted no barriers to the rest of what was to come, especially not if she was willing. And he took from her whispered words that she was amenable to becoming his, scared though she might be. Really, she’d told him twice now, which was two times more assurance than he should have needed. It just would be better if her manner matched her words.

He stood, untied his drawers and reached for the buttons of his undershirt.

She rustled on the bed. He imagined she was ridding herself of her nightclothes, and his heart pounded harder. The bed’s squeak as she moved shot anticipation through his veins.

He couldn’t see her baring her body to him, but if he couldn’t see her, she likely couldn’t see what he was doing, either. So his haste wouldn’t scare her as he tore his underwear off half unbuttoned.

Hopping and nearly yanking his own feet out from under him, he shoved off his drawers, which wouldn’t have won him any praise in the seduction department. What woman would want to make love to a man who was acting like a randy schoolboy?

He had to calm down, slow down. Sucking in a deep breath, he filled his lungs and forced himself to move slowly, deliberately. She’d still be in his bed if he took the time to take care of his clothes. After her thorough cleaning of the flat, he didn’t want her thinking she’d married a man who would chuck his clothes every which way and expect her to pick up behind him. He sucked in another deep breath and exhaled out of his nostrils.

His heart thundered as he folded his underwear and set it on the chest at the foot of the bed.

The covers rustled on his side of the mattress. Was she coming toward him? His anticipation spiked. She must be eager and ready—thank goodness, because trying to go slow was like trying to hold back floodwaters.

Her cool fingers and the sleeve of her nightgown brushed his fevered skin at his hip. Desire burned in him, and he groaned.

She gasped and jerked back her hand.

Even if his naked state surprised her, she had come toward him, reached out to touch him. She must be prepared for more to happen. His heart kicked.

“Take off your nightgown.”

“No!” Her voice was high and tight, a match to her frigid hands.

The shock of her resistance stole his breath. She might as well have tossed a bucket of cold water over him. He winced. He’d thought her ready, at least a little aroused, but it was his own fault for barking an order at her. He should have hailed the warning sign of her cold fingers. In his own anticipation, he’d nearly come at her as if she were as primed as he was. She sounded terrified, not the least bit keen, in spite of her words.

A weight bore down on his shoulders. Seducing his wife was not going to be smooth or easy, after all. He wouldn’t use brute force to plow through her resistance, as the shopkeeper had done with his miserable wife. If it was possible for Selina to care for him, John wanted a wife who viewed him with affection, not resentment and anger. “I don’t want to fumble with fastenings I can’t see in the dark.”

“I mean...it’s not necessary.” Her hushed whisper spoke volumes. “I don’t have to take it off for you to...us to...”

No, he supposed it wasn’t entirely necessary, but he hadn’t planned some shameful coupling with a barely lifted nightgown, as if their joining would be a sinful thing. That wouldn’t go far toward making her view the intimacies of marriage with any pleasure.

The fire in his loins reduced to a glowing ember of need. Even though she didn’t desire him, he still wanted, needed to make her his tonight. God help him, he had to find a way to make her relax and then enjoy their joining. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I know what I’m doing.”

The bed swayed as he sat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She jerked as if he’d scalded her.

“Easy,” he murmured, as he rubbed her upper arm. She shouldn’t find anything threatening in that.

Except she was coiled up tighter than a wound spring.

“I’m just a little nervous,” she whispered.

“More than a little,” he said dryly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Try to relax.” He slid his hand down to her elbow.

Her forearm came up, blocking him. If he continued it would be like making love to a porcupine. His gut turned. He wouldn’t let himself think her fear was of him specifically, but of the act. But this wasn’t going to happen tonight. He would have to give her time to get used to him, to be comfortable with him. He sighed. “We aren’t doing anything you aren’t ready to do.”

Her stillness was louder than a scream would have been. As tightly coiled as she was, reaching down under her legs to scoot her back on the bed might result in her landing on the ceiling or fleeing across the room. No, he was better served sitting with her and talking, even if it was odd to be on the side of the bed, their feet on the floor.

“You’re not ready.” He half wondered if he should put his underclothes back on, but it might seem even more awkward. “It’s okay. I’ll just hold you tonight.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

Yeah, he could tell that from her lack of eagerness. Still, his ears buzzed, his entire body buzzed. “I would like to kiss you again.”

A quiver moved through her.

Fear or the beginnings of desire? He couldn’t tell because the darkness cloaked her expression. He shifted closer.

She tensed.

Fear. His gut churned. “When you’re ready for me to.” He closed his eyes—not that they were of much use, anyway. All he could make out was the vague outline of things as his vision adjusted to the darkness.

She twisted toward him. His breath caught.

Her lips landed more on his chin than on his mouth. As she tried to reposition, her nose bumped his. Her ineptness was charming. He’d been worried about misgauging distances in the dark—not that he expected his wife to be skilled at kissing, but the darkness was as problematic for her as it was for him. He wanted to tell her that, but wasn’t sure she’d appreciate his attitude.

“Easy,” he muttered, as he caught her head and held her still. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. The soft, moist flesh trembled slightly. The gesture was as much to locate her mouth as it was to test if she would yield to him. But the charge of wanting slammed him square in the chest, like being bowled over by a galloping horse. Taking his time was killing him. But he had to grab the reins of his need and control it. He had to give her time. He would give her time to get used to him. He would kiss her a few times and then insist they go to sleep.

“I’m sor—”

His mouth on hers silenced her apology. Once, twice, three times he brushed his lips against hers. Even though every fiber of his being screamed at the restraint, he wanted her to know that he wouldn’t attack her. He could control himself. He would control his desire.

She’d had enough time to twist away or push him back, but when she didn’t, raw energy thrummed through him.

He angled his mouth across hers, probing at the soft seam. She let him in, and his pulse buzzed in his veins.

Her mouth was warm and sweet. She turned more toward him, so it was easier to position her against his chest. He had a plan, which involved slow, thoughtful kisses and a full stop, but it flew out of his head. As their mouths pressed against each other, and her tongue swirled with his, he crushed her against him. The feel of her breasts squishing against his chest sent desire charging through him.

Her arms circled his neck. The brush of material against his skin was a reminder of her blowing out the light, balking at removing her nightgown, and blocking him when he slid his hand down her arm. But she was kissing him now. Still, he loosened his grip and stroked her back, slowly, carefully, hoping to provoke a moan. Then he was lost in the long slope of her back.

Her fingertips pressed lightly into his shoulder, still cool, but not as bad as they’d been earlier. Was she warming to him a little?

His heart pounded, and he burned with need. His breathing was so rapid he couldn’t measure the cadence of hers. Had it quickened at all? He had to hear her, because he couldn’t take any clues from what he couldn’t see.

He ended the kiss, and moved to her neck.

She stiffened.

Damn. No progress. He should tell her to go to sleep. “We should stop now.”

“No. Don’t stop,” she said. “I don’t want you to.”

Her arms tightened around his neck, but he had no idea if it was in protest or encouragement. Finding her lips again, he kissed her deeply. She kissed back, and he had a hard time keeping his hands to places he could touch her in public. But he couldn’t measure her willingness, not without seeing if her skin was flushed or her eyes bright. He scraped her hair back, looking for a sensitive spot behind her ear. Surely she had one.

Pulling away, he stood. “I’m lighting the lamp.”

“No!” She snatched his hand and pulled him back toward the bed. “I’m undoing my buttons now. Please.”

He pressed his knees against the edge of the bed. “Selina, what is it you don’t want me to see?”

“Me.”

Was she scarred or malformed? She seemed too sound of limb to be suffering anxiety over an unusual body, but she could fear a scar would repulse him. “I will not find fault. I only want—”

“I can’t. I’m not ready to be seen naked by you. I don’t know you.”

He barked a laugh. “I’m damn sure trying to rectify that.”

He sensed more than saw her turn away. His mouth went dry and his jaw ticked. If he could pull back his laugh, he would. Or his raw language.

“Which is why I want a little light.” He slid his hand across the bed to her. He found her still-covered form and moved his hand along until he touched her arm. “I just want to see you to be certain I am not hurting you.” Or rushing her, or if he was pleasuring her.

“You’re not hurting me,” she whispered.

“I haven’t done anything that might hurt you, yet.” Somehow that sounded as if he would hurt her. Swallowing a growl, he found her hand and pulled it up to his mouth. “That didn’t come out right.”

He kissed the back of her hand, then turned it over and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her fingers trembled in his grip. Desperation to calm her warred with desire that was building too rapidly. A man’s passion poured easily and rapidly, like water, while a woman’s was slower and sweeter, like honey or molasses. But John was beginning to think he was trying to pour stone.

She made a small sound as he flicked his tongue across her pulse. Yet as he went to push her sleeve up, the cuff was buttoned tight.

He plucked at the material. He’d dreamed of this night for a long time. He wanted it to be perfect, but need and desire rushed through him, squelching his plan of restraint. It would all be over too quickly if he unleashed his desire. Still, he could only think about thrusting between her legs, until he was spent.

Yet she seemed an unwilling passenger swept along on this current. He needed her to at least feel desire for the act, if not for him. But he had no knowledge of what she liked, except kissing.

He would show her kissing. “Selina, I am your husband. I promised to cherish you and I will.”

It was a not too subtle reminder of her vows. She was his wife. He didn’t have to be gentle or patient, but he would be.

“We don’t have to consummate the marriage tonight,” he said firmly.

“But isn’t that what you want?”

“Hell, yes!” He meant to say more, to tell her more... A white thing lifted in the air, distracting him and stealing his breath.

He caught the nightgown, pulled it from her hands and tossed it toward the trunk. His eyes must have adjusted a little more, because he could at least see she was kneeling on the bed. But it wasn’t enough.

Her wants mattered, too. Certainly her comfort was more important than his gratification.

He caught her shoulders. Her skin was cool to his touch. He couldn’t tell if she was pushing forward only out of a desire to please him. Slowly he slid his hands over the delicate collarbone to her neck and up to her jaw. Holding her head still, he pressed his lips to hers, gently. Then he told her, “I’m lighting a candle.”

Selina tensed all over. Her heart pounded. “No,” she protested.

But he was already off the bed and crossing the space.

Her spine knotting, she scrambled to get under the covers, pulling them to her chin as she lay flat on her back.

The strike of a match was like nails on a chalkboard. She couldn’t let him see the damage her pregnancy had wrought on her body. But she also needed the marriage consummated so he couldn’t spurn her.

Her husband was near the stove. His back was broad and more firmly muscled than she would have expected in a shopkeeper. Her eyes dipped to his narrow hips and the firm hemispheres of his backside. Her breath snagged and then came out shakily.

He turned, a stubby candle in a holder illuminating his chest, and lower, where his instrument stood tall, surrounded by a nest of dark hair. Her breath whooshed out. A frisson of energy rolled through her.

She snapped her eyes shut. But the image of John seemed glued to the inside of her eyelids. The covers lifted beside her, the breeze making her shiver even though it wasn’t cool. The mattress swayed and dipped as he slid in beside her.

“You can open your eyes now. I’m covered,” he said flatly.

She opened her eyes.

Propped up on his elbow, John lay beside her. His brow puckered. He wasn’t entirely covered, as the sheet was tugging down where he’d put his arm over it, and she was trying to keep it up to her chin. Poor man, she must be confusing him with her nunlike modesty.

Although what was he waiting for? She’d thought she’d indicated her willingness to proceed several times. She’d even kissed him, a bold move if ever there was one. Her face heated.

“I’ve never seen a man naked before.” Technically, that was true. When Clarence had had intercourse with her, she hadn’t really seen his member, as her skirts and petticoats had been heaped between them. The closest she’d come to seeing a man in the altogether was the museum paintings she’d viewed when she was younger. Although they had never shown a man in such a state.

“You didn’t see any natives in loincloths on your travels?”

She shook her head. Even if she had, the loincloths would have covered that part of them. “I have only seen old paintings and statues or plates of them in books.”

He watched her steadily. Did she have to kiss him again to get things going? Truly, she hadn’t had to prompt Clarence.

“I think they would have been glad to paint you,” she said.

John cocked his head a little and narrowed his eyes.

Did she have to spell it out for him?

“You could have been a model for Michelangelo.” She wanted to snatch the words back. Did he even know who Michelangelo was? How comprehensive an education would a boy from an orphanage have?

Goodness, she was lying naked next to an equally naked man. She shouldn’t be worried about whether she was offending him because his education might not have been up to snuff.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “And you look like a scared rabbit.” He touched her cheek with the pads of his fingers and she tried very hard not to flinch. “A beautiful, enchanting, scared rabbit. A woman any art master would love to paint or photograph...”

She flinched, dismay grinding like broken glass in her stomach.

His brows beetled together and he lifted his hand from where it rested against her jaw. “What?”

“You don’t have to compliment me.” No, all he had to do was get on with it. Kiss her, knee apart her legs and mount her. A strange energy slid through her and mingled with the churning apprehension in her stomach.

She didn’t understand. His body seemed ready, but he was taking forever to do anything. And his gaze on her made her want to die. How could he look at her and not see she was trying to hide a huge secret from him?

If they were engaged in the act, his stomach would be against hers, and he wouldn’t be able to see her belly.

“What are you waiting for?” The question burst from her before she could hold it back.

“For you to relax,” he answered. His gaze dipped to where she held the sheet with a death grip.

She turned her face toward the flickering candle. “I don’t think I can.” Not as long as she feared he’d discover her secret. But she loosened her grip and cast up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t want to lower the sheet. If only she knew he couldn’t see the scars on her belly.

“The candle is not so bright,” he said softly. “And we can keep the covers pulled up. All I need to see is your eyes, sweetheart.”

So he could ferret out the lies in them? “Why?”

He ran his fingers down her neck, and her stomach felt as though she were sailing on a swing. “To know when I am giving you pleasure.”

Her mind went blank while her body jolted. Her muscles went slack and tight at the same time, if such a thing were possible. “But...”

His lips curled, exposing strong white teeth. “You look confused, wife.”

A wife’s duty was to submit to her husband. If she could just get him to that point. Her mind tumbled over the time with Clarence, looking for a tool to use. Reaching out over the sheet, she caught John’s wrist and brought his hand down over her breast.

The jolt that ran through her as his fingers closed around her flesh caught her unaware. Perhaps she was still sensitive there. She’d ached for days after she’d passed the baby to the older couple. She mentally braced for the pain when he would squeeze her breast as if he was trying to extract juice from an orange, as Clarence had. John didn’t squeeze. Instead he cupped her and slid his thumb across her nipple.

A new jolt shimmered down her spine and landed between her legs. He leaned closer and whispered across her lips, “You like that?”

Did she like it? She didn’t know whether to rear back and look at him or just tuck her head into his neck. “I thought it would give you pleasure to touch me there.”

He had been about to kiss her; she’d been sure of it. Instead he grinned. “My pleasure is not in doubt.”

Then why wouldn’t he...finish? “Isn’t it? You don’t seem very eager.”

“I am more eager than you could know.” His fingers circled lazily around her breast.

Her cheeks heated. Looking at him as he moved his fingers on her breast was more than she could stand. And it was doing strange things to her. She turned her head and tucked her face against his shoulder.

“Anything and everything about you pleases me,” he whispered against her ear as he ran his thumb over her nipple again.

The jolt that ran through her was unmistakable this time.

“See there, you do like it,” he said, between kisses on her neck.

Did she?

His fingers plucked at her tightened nipple through the sheet and her woman’s place tightened. She sighed into his shoulder.

He bent over her and shifted her hair to kiss along her shoulder. His fingers slid upward, and she moaned a protest. His touch, his lips against her neck and shoulder, the smell of his skin left her spineless, as if her bones where melting and she would just flow around him and into him.

The sheet shifted downward, brushing across her sensitized skin.

He was baring her.

The realization sliced through the melting sensations with a cold truth. She could not let him see her belly.

She grabbed the edge of the sheet and jerked it back up to her neck.

“Hey,” he muttered. He caught her chin. “Look at me.”

She let him turn her face so they were eye to eye again. His brow had a tiny pucker in it, but his eyes were intense and compelling.

“I just want to kiss you here.” The rough, low timbre of his voice ran through her as his fingers skimmed over her breast.

Her lips parted as she stared at him.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her breasts tingled in protest, as if her body welcomed the idea of his mouth on her skin. But she couldn’t allow it. Not so long as it required lowering the sheet.

“Selina—”

She twisted toward him, bringing their bodies in contact. Her breath whooshed out in a whimper she couldn’t hold back. “I’m ready. Please.”

“You’re not,” he growled, but his hand splayed against her spine, drawing her closer. Bringing her knee up over his hip, she tried to encourage him. The sensitive inner flesh of her thigh rubbed against the coarse hairs of his leg. She resisted the urge to slide her leg back and forth and ended with her folded limb against his side.

He groaned and rocked his hips forward. That male part of him pressed against her belly.

Squirming higher, she tried to get positioned correctly.

“I can’t fight both of us,” he said.

If he was fighting himself, she had no indication of it.

He rolled her to her back. His mouth crashed against hers as his weight bore her down into the mattress.

His kiss was insistent, impatient. He positioned her head as he wanted it, and he seemed to want to fuse them together. Air rushed across her cheek as he breathed hard, but didn’t unlock his lips from hers. He sucked on her tongue, drawing it into his mouth as if he was done allowing an unequal pairing.

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