Gerrity'S Bride (16 page)

Such a haphazard way of doing things was beyond her, Emmaline decided forlornly as she went down the hallway to Matthew’s office. There she pulled his large armchair from behind the desk and plopped into it, feeling small against the high-backed piece of furniture. Made to fit her father’s big frame, it dwarfed her, and she snuggled into its soft leather depths as she sensed another facet in the circle of her life here.

He’d sat here, the man who had fathered her and loved her for two short years. Dimly she remembered being in this room as a child, a baby, really, not old enough to climb into this chair by herself. She recalled looking over the wide expanse of the desk, held firmly in the arms of the man who cuddled her here. There, in the doorway, she remembered her mother, slim, fair and unsmiling. Always unhappy, always speaking in a fretful voice, which, even now, was imprinted on her memory.

She closed her eyes against the vision, but it returned still more clearly. Amazed, she recalled the deep, harsh sounds of her father’s words. Not the meaning, just the tones that had sent her flying to her mother’s arms for comfort as he argued against the peevish words that beat against her ears.

It had been the day they left, she realized. He’d been holding her and hugging her to himself, and then her mother had come for her, had commanded her to leave his arms, and she’d done so, ever the obedient child. Only with her father had she been laughing and mischievous. Early on, she had learned that in her mother’s presence she must behave, must be quiet and subdued.

She frowned and her eyes opened at the memory. Even in her growing-up years, she’d learned to withhold her laughter, relaxing only in the barns, where she was accepted by the men who dealt with the horses and who welcomed her with gentle courtesy.

And now, here with Matthew, she’d once more felt able to break the mold, that tightly restricted life that had labeled her a lady, had kept her dignity inviolate and preserved her to this point. She’d been a girl on the verge of womanhood, needing only the impetus of Matthew’s touch to propel her into his arms and the knowledge that she was where she belonged, finally.

It’s come full circle, she thought. My earliest memories are here, in this room. And now I’ve returned. To the man my father chose for me. The rebellion she’d harbored over that choice—or the lack of it—had somehow become subdued, almost forgotten, in the days past. Unconsciously she’d begun to accept her father’s will as just that...his will for her life, his inheritance to her.

“He really cared about me,” she whispered in the quiet of the room. “He wanted me to be here, and this was the only way he could be sure I’d be able to stay.” The thought warmed her, and she hugged herself as she relaxed into the chair, pulling her feet up to curl beneath her bottom.

It was there that Matt found her, her head tipped against the leather upholstery, her hands lying loosely folded in her lap, her eyes shut and her mouth soft as she breathed slowly, relaxed in sleep.

He stood in the doorway and gazed his fill, aware of the rare treat he was offered. Bristly more often than not, well armed against his every suggestion, she pitted her soft feminine strength against him with fierce splendor. He reveled in every battle, every word spoken, every thrust of her barbed tongue. He had let her have her way while it pleased him, and then reeled her in for his pleasure, delighting in her sputtering and feasting on her sparkling wit and flashing temper.

Now she was quiet, asleep in the shadowed room, unaware she had taken the prescribed siesta that she had opposed as unnecessary. Other days since her arrival, she had retreated to her room during these silent afternoon hours when the whole house shut down for a peaceful repose, but he was sure she had written letters or read one of her innumerable books while everyone else settled back for an hour of quiet rest.

His smile widened as he approached her and, bending, he lifted her into his arms, soothing her murmured protests as he gathered her close and retreated to the deep cushions of the leather couch beneath the window. There he laid her gently on her side, snug against the high back. Quickly he pulled off his boots and lay down beside her, molding her slender form close to his own muscular body.

She smiled, as if she were caught up in a particularly pleasant dream, and snuggled against him, seeking the warmth that radiated through the layers of clothing that separated them. Her murmurs were soft against his throat as she tilted her head up to nuzzle his flesh, and he shivered at the sensations she evoked.

It was enough, this tenderness she gave him. Although his body readied itself for more, he suppressed the reflexes that urged him to press her against the evidence of his need. For now, he would hold her, bask in the gentle movement of her mouth against the weathered flesh of his neck, enjoy the pressure of her breasts against his chest and sate himself with her fragrance. His eyes flickered shut as he held her with a possessive yearning, his arms about her, his hands curved to hold her close, one about her rounded bottom, the other across her back. Gently he slid one leg between hers and felt the clasp of her thighs as she tightened them about his knee. A low growl passed his lips before he could stop it, and he shuddered again as he restrained the urges that prodded him.

If she heard the sounds of the household about them as the afternoon passed, Emmaline gave no sign. She lay asleep in his arms for over an hour. All the while he held her, his own thoughts were too rampant to allow him to sleep.

When she awoke, her eyelids fluttered, once, twice, and then in a rapid succession against his throat that brought a deep chuckle from within his chest.

“Matt?” It was a bewildered little sound, and he chuckled again, unable to resist.

“Matthew Gerrity! What are you doing?” she sputtered against his shirt, shifting and wiggling against him. “This is broad daylight, and you’re lying down with me right here where anyone can see us!”

“I closed the door, Em,” he drawled softly, unwilling to release her from his hold, yet aware that this time of quiet had come to an end.

“I don’t care,” she said vehemently, lifting herself from his embrace and smoothing her dress with one hand as she struggled to escape. “Get off me,” she said through gritted teeth, and she pushed at him.

He raised his brow and grinned up at her. She was clamped between his big body and the back of the sofa. “Now, Emmaline, if I was on top of you, you’d have somethin’ to holler about. I’m just layin’ here, takin’ a siesta with you.”

She pushed at him again and gained a few inches of space. Gathering herself together, she reached for him. Then, catching a handhold on his leather belt, she pulled herself over and atop him and slid to the floor. Before he could turn over, she had scrambled to her feet and was running her fingers through her hair, attempting to comb it into some semblance of order. She tugged at her dress, pulling it about her waist and brushing distractedly at the wrinkled skirt.

“Just look at me,” she muttered. “I’m a mess!”

“I am looking.” He stretched to his full length on the leather sofa, his hands folded against the breadth of his chest as he watched her flustered movements. “I think you look just fine, Emmaline. A little wrinkled around the edges, but then, if I’d taken your dress off before I laid you down, you probably would have woke up.”

“Taken my dress off! Not likely!” she said tartly. Her frown deepened. “My other dresses are both in the wash, Matt. I’ll have to go to dinner looking like this.”

“You can make do for today, honey,” he said soothingly. “You’ll be all decked out before long. You’ll be getting some baggage from Lexington before you know it.”

She stilled her motions and looked at him askance. “What on earth do you mean?” she asked slowly, narrowing her eyes on him.

He lifted his hands and then replaced them against his chest before he answered, chagrined at his disclosure. “I mean that I sent a telegram to your grandparents and asked them to send your things here.”

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

“Better believe it, Em,” he said cheerfully. “I sent the wire when I went into town and got your dress and things and talked to the preacher. The stuff should be here in a couple of days or so, depending on how fast they get it packed up.”

“What did you tell them? What did you say in the wire?” she asked quietly, her face pale in the subdued light.

“Told them we were going to get married and you would be needing your things since you weren’t goin’ back east.

“I don’t believe you!” She was vehement in her doubt. “You wouldn’t just tell them that way.”

“Oh, but I did,” he said, disagreeing with her judgment of him. “Didn’t know any other way to say it, so I just said, ‘We’re getting married. Send her things.’ Or something like that,” he amended.

“Didn’t you think I’d want to tell them myself?” she asked with deceptive calmness.

He grinned at her, pleased with her. Doggone, she wasn’t even angry, he thought. Here he’d taken the whole thing out of her hands, planning the wedding and announcing it to her family. And then the honeymoon, such as it was. She’d been a good sport about it, he decided.
She even spent the night in my bed without squawkin’,
he mused, his grin widening.

He should have been warned. He should have recognized the fury that smoldered within the depths of her eyes. She’d agreed to most everything he said...till now. Too late, he realized he’d pushed her beyond her limits.

“Damn you, Matthew Gerrity!” The words exploded from her lips with the fury of a keg of dynamite being set off. “Who do you think you are, pushing me around this way? You must think I’m some sort of a ninny, that you can run me around in circles!”

He lifted himself from the couch, soon realizing the full extent of his folly. But it was too late. She had turned to the desk, desperate for a weapon, and had hurled the first thing her hands fell upon.

The heavy crystal inkwell hit him midchest, and the ink spewed forth with a vengeance, splattering his shirt generously, missing his eyes by the barest fraction of an inch and freckling his face with tiny spatters that stood out against his tan, like spots on a blue tick hound. With a thud, the heavy missile hit the floor, where it lay draining its last against the flowered carpet.

Emmaline gasped, pale with dismay, as she viewed the results of her temper. Then, as if unable to face his wrath, she turned and fled the room, tugging for a moment at the doorknob before she managed to turn it and open the heavy door. Her steps were hurried, just short of a run, as she traveled the corridor to the big room at the corner of the house. Once within its shelter, she leaned against the door, panting, her chest heaving as she filled her lungs over and over again.

It was several long minutes before she heard him coming and she stepped aside, aware that her strength would be futile against his when he opened the door.

Strangely, he knocked, and she suppressed a gasp as she leaned closer to speak through the barrier.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling, much to her distress.

“I want to come in, Emmaline,” he answered with infinite patience.

She caught her breath, her head swimming at the relief she felt. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound upset. Her hand rose to grasp the doorknob, and she opened it slowly, stepping back as his tall form stepped over the threshold.

He was naked from the waist up, his chest bare but for the wide thatch of dark hair that curled there. And splashed over that whole area was the evidence of her fit of temper, the dark stain of ink that had penetrated the thick mat of curls and coated his skin. Below and above the hair, he wore small droplets of ink, which were scattered in profusion—even on the muscles that flexed in his arms. But it was the pinpoint specks on his face that drew her eyes, and she found herself backing away as he approached, one hand lifting to cover her mouth as she viewed the full extent of her deed.

He was silent, one foot prodding the door closed. He watched her as he moved closer, intent on the stunned expression she wore.

She’d gone as far as she could go—her legs were pressed against the bed—and still he watched. “Matt...” The single word was not much more than a whisper, muffled in her hand.

“Yes, Emmaline.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” she asked, with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Probably because I can tell you’re having a hard time not laughing right now,” he said matter-of-factly.

She shook her head vigorously. “No, I’m not,” she vowed, finally daring to take her hand away from the mouth that yearned to widen in a grin. “Well, I might laugh, if I weren’t afraid that you’d really be mad,” she admitted after a moment. She leaned forward, looking at him searchingly. “You don’t look angry, Matt,” she said finally, relief apparent on her expressive face.

His shrug was an answer in itself. He approached her slowly. “I’m not sure I can be mad at you, Emmaline. You had a right to pitch a fit. I’ve run roughshod over you for a couple of days now, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you finally got your back up.”

“You’re really not angry?” she repeated hopefully.

He shook his head. “Nope.” The trace of a grin tilted the corners of his mouth. “It was almost worth it just to see the look on Maria’s face when she saw my shirt. She had it snatched off me quick as a wink, and I left her scrubbin’ away at it in the kitchen. Hated to tell her she might as well throw the dang shirt out and work on the carpet instead.”

“You don’t think it’ll wash out?” she asked anxiously, peering at his face.

He shook his head. “You owe me, Emmaline.”

“I do?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I reckon this is about the worst thing you’ve done to me.”

“It is?” Dolefully she considered his face once more. Her eyes narrowed. “What else have I done to you?” she asked suddenly, aware of his accusation.

“I don’t think you want me to name everything, Em.” He reached for her with a quick movement she was too slow to evade. “Let’s just say you’re about to make payment.”