The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (20 page)

Aurora snickered. "You should have seen him the night before Charlotte's first wedding, Sarah. He paced and drank and paced some more. He went to her room twice before he managed to knock on the door and ask to speak with her. We tried to eavesdrop, of course, but he made certain the balcony doors were shut tight. Anyway, he was white as a wedding gown when he came out, and all he'd say to us was that women should know what they're getting into, but not too soon."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I have to agree with your brother in that respect. If women knew ahead of time what would happen on their wedding night, I could never make a living doing what I do. One out of every two weddings surely would be canceled."

Aurora and Melanie shared a knowing look as Charlotte gasped. "Is it that bad?"

Sarah shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I'm not going to speak about this. It's not my place."

That's the damned truth,
Nick thought
,
fuming.

"But you must, Sarah. Charlotte needs to know. She has been trying to work up the courage to ask you, but she is unaccountably shy."

The young woman nodded. "That's true. I am."

"Then ask Gillian or her twin. They're both married. They're better ones for you to discuss this with than I."

Melanie shook her head. "We can't ask Gilly or Flora about their marriage beds. That's private."

Incredulously, Sarah said, "But you'll ask me?"

"You're a wedding planner. Wedding nights are part of your job."

Sarah drew back, her expression appalled. "No, they're not."

I need to put a stop to this,
Nick told himself. But he couldn't seem to make his feet move.

Aurora lifted her chin. "They certainly should be. After all, I would think that in the long run, the success of one's wedding night has greater impact upon a person than how good one's wedding cake tastes."

Sarah cocked her head, her lips pursed in thought.

Hidden behind the drapery, Nick silently moaned.

Charlotte's teeth tugged at her lower lip. "I would appreciate the benefit of your experience, Sarah. I was a bit concerned following Nicholas's, um, talk, but I didn't have time then to dwell on it. Now... well..."

"Tell her what he said, Charlotte," Aurora said. "That way she'll know—"

Sarah attempted to interrupt. "I don't think we need to go into much detail."

"I can't go into much detail because Nicholas didn't," Charlotte insisted. "Mainly, he said the best thing to do was to relax and trust my husband."

"He said what?" Sarah asked with a squeak in her voice.

Nick mouthed the words along with Charlotte. "To relax and trust my husband."

Sarah, curse her black soul, snorted and said, "The
best
thing to do is to get good and tipsy so you can get through it."

Good and tipsy?
Outrage erupted like a geyser in Nick.

His dear wife continued, "The good part is it only lasts five minutes, so at least it's over with quickly."

Everything within Nick froze. Surely he hadn't heard that right.

"I thought it took longer than five minutes," Aurora commented.

"No. From my experience, five minutes takes care of it."

Nick's throat felt as if the drapery cord were wrapped around his neck like a hangman's noose. His jaw dropped and his mouth worked uselessly. He seriously wondered if his eyes might pop out of his head.

Five minutes. Good and tipsy and five damned minutes! To my sisters, no less. My sisters!

He dragged his hand slowly down his face. His gaze slid to the floor, where he imagined his masculine pride lay tattered, beaten, sliced to shreds.

Meanwhile Sarah, having apparently warmed up to the idea of spreading the word about how poor a lover her husband was, continued, "Now that I think about it, you do have a point, Aurora. Perhaps I do have a duty to my brides. Not all of them have mothers as I did who can prepare a girl for what happens on her honeymoon."

"That's right." Melanie started thrumming her fingers on the table. "We don't have a mother, and we really should know what to expect. I think it's beyond silly to keep girls in the dark about such matters. What if we get the wrong idea about such things?"

"Melanie is right." Aurora nodded. "For instance, I thought sexual intercourse was something to look forward to. Am I wrong?"

Nick's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped against the cool window glass.

"I mean, it can't be all that bad, or women wouldn't cooperate. Look at Gillian. I think it's safe to say she likes it."

Melanie said, "I agree. Sometimes the way she looks at Jake almost sets the carpet afire."

"If that's the case, I suspect Mr. Delaney is especially gifted in that area," Sarah observed. "Aurora, you have hit upon an important point. Some women must find marital relations pleasant. Otherwise, women like my friends Jenny and Claire McBride wouldn't light up like candles whenever their husbands happen into the shop."

"But not every woman finds it pleasant?"

"Frankly, no."

"But every man does?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Hmm..." Melanie frowned. "I don't understand. Why do some women enjoy it and others don't?"

Sarah sighed. "Honestly, I'm not certain, although I suspect it has something to do with a man's talent."

"Did you like it, Sarah?"

Nick swallowed a moan.

After a long moment of hesitation, Sarah said, "I'll answer your other questions, but I'll not discuss any particulars about your brother or what happened between us."

"But how do we—"

"Girls, what do you know about the mechanics of lovemaking?"

Nick knew he should interrupt this now. He should have interrupted it five minutes ago. He should have locked his sisters in a convent and thrown away the key.

And he never, ever, should have left his marriage bed until he'd made his wife see heaven.

Braving another look into the room, he saw that Charlotte's skin was as red as the Texas chili Gillian was learning to make. Melanie wore a sheepish smile, and Aurora looked intrigued. She said, "I know it has something to do with getting naked and touching, and I suspect it makes a woman feel as if she's being sunburned, only on the inside. I think that because sometimes when I'm being kissed I get so feverish. So hot."

Nick felt a groan well up in his throat, and he swallowed hard against it.

Aurora questioned her sisters. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do," Melanie offered. "And it does seem to depend upon the man kissing you, doesn't it? Remember Lord Wesley? His kisses made me burn, whereas Mr. Starling's left me wanting to brush my teeth. Why is that? Sarah, do you know?"

"A woman definitely reacts differently with different men. For instance, with Nick's kisses..."

His sisters—even Charlotte—leaned forward and spoke simultaneously. "Yes?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, I'll not be indiscreet."

Too late now, dinna ye think?

"Although I will say his kisses fell toward the fiery end of things rather than the teeth brushing."

"Well, I should damned well hope so," he muttered beneath his breath as he squared his shoulders, preparing to betray his presence.

"So am I right, Sarah?" asked Aurora. "Is it like a sunburn?"

"I think it's like a rash," Charlotte said, surprising everyone. "I get itchy just thinking about it."

"We've gone a bit off track. I'm not referring to the sensations, but the physical mechanics. As in who puts what where. Do you girls know those details?"

Not surprisingly, Aurora spoke for them all. "No."

"Very well. I think a visual aide might come in handy for this. Hmm..." She glanced around the room and lifted a bud vase from her dressing table. "Imagine this is the female. And the male..."

As his wife moved toward the fireplace, Nick's gaze went unerringly to the tall, thick cylindrical candle that sat on the fireplace mantel. But Sarah's hand passed right over it. Instead, the damned woman picked up a taper lying on its side.

A thin, little four-inch taper.

With that, Nick reached the end of his wick.

* * *

The figure emerged from behind the window drapery, snarling and snapping like a rabid coyote. Sarah dropped the bud vase. It banged against an andiron and shattered into a dozen pieces.

The three sisters shrieked, then Charlotte said, "Nicholas?"

"I will not have it!" He scorched the girls with a glare and declared, "You will each go to your rooms and pack a bag. I am sending you to Our Lady of Mercy convent today. And you..." He jerked his head around and leveled his glower on Sarah. "You have more nerve than a broken toe. How dare you speak of such things to my sisters."

"Me? Me!" Sarah braced her hands on her hips and stepped forward. "You were the one playing Peeping Tom in my bedchamber. For shame, Nick. What sort of man hides in a woman's room and spies on her? Were you content with only that, or did you search through my things, too? My underwear, perhaps?"

The tiniest flicker in his eyes betrayed him, and she gasped. "You did! Why, Lord Weston, you are a pervert."

"I'm no pervert. If I were, I'd have entered your room during the night and watched you sleep, watched you dress. Instead I waited until you left to do my job."

"And what job, pray tell, is that?"

He put his hands on his hips and stepped forward, too, until they stood but a foot apart. "Though I am no longer active, I am still an agent in Her Majesty's secret service. I'm a spy. Part of a spy's job is to search for clues and information, and that's exactly what I was doing."

"Searching for clues and information. Uh-huh. And what state secret did you expect to find in my corsets?"

"I thought to find something in your handkerchiefs. The corsets were a personal bonus."

"Pervert."

"I'm a man, Sarah. Your husband."

She lifted her chin, a matador waving her red cape. "Not for long."

"Maybe not." Each of Nick's senses was heightened, on full alert. He stood on the verge of battle, the precipice of war. And adrenaline pounded through his veins. "Girls, go to your rooms and pack. I intend for us to leave before noon."

"Leave!" Melanie exclaimed. "We're not leaving. You are not going to send us to any silly convent just for asking a few questions we need answered. We've discussed this in the past. It isn't fair of men to keep women in the dark about—"

"Haud yer wheest, Melanie," Nick said, slipping into Scots, his gaze never leaving Sarah's. "We'll debate this later. Now leave us. I've business with your guid-sister."

"But—"

Aurora grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her toward the door, murmuring in the other girl's ear. Nick overheard some of it. "Look at them, Melanie. That is the picture of passion. This is what we want."

Sarah's cheeks flushed. Either she'd heard them, too, and was embarrassed, or else her temper was ready to blow. The question seemed to be, who would explode first? Waiting for his sisters to make themselves scarce, Nick considered it even odds.

The moment the door shut behind the girls, both Sarah and Nick started talking. She said, "Just because some legal paper somewhere says we are married doesn't give you the right to paw through—"

"You had no business talking about sex with my sisters. They are young, impressionable girls, and you don't know what the hell you are talking about.
If
you feel the need to impart your so-called wisdom, then at least respect them enough to get it right."

"—my things. Privacy is a basic... What did you say?"

"I said you shouldn't try to be a teacher unless you've gone to school yourself. And, Sarah," he added, reaching for the hand that still held the taper, "while you're there, pay extra attention to measurement skills. They are obviously sadly lacking."

He yanked the taper from her hand and threw it over his shoulder, then tugged her against him and took her mouth in a long, demanding, make-her-toes-tingle kiss. Finally, breathless, he lifted his head and murmured, "Just call me Professor Nick."

Sarah, the wench, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him back to her, saying, "You think you're the only one who has studied? See what you think of my lecture."

This time Sarah took Nick in a kiss that was part challenge, part dare, and totally consuming. She took control, nipping at his lips, stroking him with her tongue, breathing need—fierce, hot, and aching—into every inch of his body.

He needed her skin. Craved to have her skin, soft and smooth, against him. So sleek and silky around him. Driven by instinct rather than intellect, he rather desperately tugged her skirts up in search of the prize.

At the first brush of his hand against her thigh, she broke away. "Sarah," he groaned softly, his gaze dropping to the rapid rise and fall of her bosom as she struggled to catch her breath.

"So, do you still say I don't know what I'm talking about?"