The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (24 page)

I dream of you.

Every night as I lay down, I close my eyes and think of you. It's true. It's always you, and it's always something different. You offer me such a delicious variety from which to choose.

Last night, I dreamed of your hair. Unbound. Soft as the finest silks of the Orient. Brilliant as a chest of old gold against a sunset on the sea of sand of a Persian desert. Thick as a sumptuous cloak that could keep a man warm forever.

I dreamed it was a waterfall flowing over my skin. My bare, naked flesh. I wanted to drown in it. I want to drown in you.

It was a captivating dream, Sarah. An alluring fantasy.

Tonight, I believe I'll dream of your eyes.

So, lass, what will you dream of this night? Will you tuck this book beneath your pillow and dream of me?

I hope so. Because I'll be dreaming of you.

Nick

Sarah realized her hands were trembling as she finished reading the letter. She snapped the book shut, then tossed it down as if it had burned her. But then, it
had
burned her, hadn't it? From the inside out?

"Oh my," she breathed. "Oh my oh my oh my." She brought both hands to her face and felt the heat of her cheeks beneath her fingertips as she repeated, "Oh my oh my oh my."

The book—the Pillow Book, he'd called it—lay like a burgundy-and-gold serpent coiled on her bed. For a long minute she stared at it, her heart beating at double time. She slowly reached out and, with finger and thumb, opened it once again.

I want to be intimate with you, Sarah.

She closed her eyes. Swallowed hard. Peeked through her lashes.

I want to drown in you.

Slammed the book shut.

"Oh my oh my oh my." What was the man trying to do?

"Oh, come now, Sarah," she muttered to herself. "That's obvious even to you, isn't it?"

The Pillow Book was a forthright declaration of intention on Nick's part, simple and not at all pure. He was out to seduce her, never mind the annulment. He wanted marriage. He'd said that before. He wanted marriage and children, a home and family.

Apparently, he wanted these things with her.

The woman in Sarah couldn't help but wrinkle her nose and sniff. "So there, Lady Steele."

But nothing had changed since she'd signed the petition. She still didn't want to give up her home, her friends, her comfortable life. Nick could just write letters until his hand cramped. It wouldn't make a difference. After all, she didn't even like sex!

She glared at the book. Darned if in her mind's eye she didn't see indigo ink on a parchment page.

... flowing over my skin. My bare, naked flesh.

At the precise moment she whimpered aloud, a knock sounded on the door. "Sarah?" Charlotte called. "Are you still awake? May I come in?"

Sarah lunged for the book, shoved it beneath her pillow, and propped herself against it. "Yes. All right. Come in."

The door cracked open and Nick's sister peered around it. "Sarah? I've decided I don't like the turtledove theme for the engagement ball after all."

Sarah smiled brightly and tried to look comfortable. She didn't know how well she'd succeeded; any minute now her pillow was liable to start smoking. Thankfully, Charlotte didn't seem to notice, wrapped up in her thoughts and plans as she was.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah. I know I'm causing you a terrible amount of work by changing my mind what? Six times now?"

"Seven."

"Seven, then." Charlotte crossed the room and sank onto the foot of the bed. Worry dimmed the sapphire eyes that Sarah found hauntingly similar to Nick's. "Maybe I shouldn't try to be so original with my wedding plans. After all, I certainly had an original wedding last time, didn't I? Maybe we should have a small, quiet ceremony and forget about Lady Pratt."

Sarah patted her knee. "Honey, I'm afraid forgetting Lady Pratt is not an option. Not unless you and Rodney decide to move to America or Australia or somewhere far away. In fact, that would no doubt be worse. She'd come to visit and stay six months."

Charlotte groaned and buried her face in her hands. "That would be horrible. You're right. We need a spectacular event. But not turtledoves, Sarah. Not my favorite colors or faraway places or any of the other things I chose before. Not parasols and peppermints, either."

Sarah choked and covered it with a cough. "Parasols and peppermints?"

Charlotte nodded. "Nick suggested it."

"Oh." At that, she'd have sworn she felt the book beneath her pillow vibrate. Sarah wriggled around a bit, trying to get comfortable again. "Well, parasols and peppermints sound nice, but another thought occurs to me. Recall that I told you about how superstitious the citizens of Fort Worth are and about how love transformed Jenny McBride's Bad Luck Wedding Dress into the Good Luck Wedding Dress? And how Claire McBride's Magical Wedding Cakes have the reputation of bringing good luck to marriages?"

"I remember."

"Well, since Jenny and Claire will certainly be here for your wedding, why don't we capitalize on that? Cultures all across the world have wedding customs and beliefs that symbolize good luck. That could be your theme. After all, you've told me you consider yourself the luckiest bride in the world to be marrying your Rodney, and from seeing the two of you together, I am certain he feels just as lucky."

"A Good Luck Wedding Day," Charlotte said. She thought about it a moment, then clapped her hands. "I love it! Oh, Sarah, I think this one is it. It's the first one that feels just right."

"I see one problem. If we use luck as our theme, you'll need to change the wedding date, because the saying goes: 'Marry in the month of May, You will surely rue the day.' We'll need to either move it forward to April and get to work fast, or push it back until after the jubilee."

"Oh. I don't want to wait. Besides, isn't April supposed to be a lucky month to marry?"

Sarah smiled and quoted," 'Marry in April when you can, Joy for maiden and for man.' "

"April it is, then. What day in April?"

"We'll look at a calendar tomorrow, but I should think a Wednesday. That rhyme says 'Wed on Wednesday, luckiest day of all.'"

"A Wednesday in April. It sounds glorious." Then the ordinarily shy and demure Charlotte dove at Sarah, threw her arms around her, and gave her an exuberant hug. "It's perfect. Thank you. Oh, thank you so much."

Sarah couldn't help but smile. They launched into a discussion about good luck bridal tokens. They discussed Charlotte's wearing her grandmother's pearls and the possibility of using horseshoes in the decorations. The debate over which lucky floral choice to use—orange blossoms or ivy and white heather—lasted for quite some time. As a result, when Sarah reached back to plump her pillow, she forgot about the hot little bomb that lay beneath it and managed to scoot the Pillow Book right off the bed.

Charlotte reached down and picked it up, asking, "What's this? Is it your wedding design book?"

"No," Sarah replied, her smile going sickly as she firmly repossessed the book from her sister-in-law and tucked it back beneath her pillow. Her fingers almost burned to touch it, and when she turned back to Charlotte, her mind swirled with a nerve-wracking mixture of Nick, seduction, and good luck bridal tokens.

She blurted out. "We'll use orange blossoms
and
ivy and white heather. We'll get a white fur rug for you to stand on. We'll ask Rodney to wear odd socks for the ceremony and to pay the minister an odd amount of money for his fee. I'll make certain someone gives you a broom as a gift. And salt and pepper shakers. Lots of salt and pepper shakers. We'll have a hen ready to walk into the wedding breakfast and hope she cackles, and we'll drive a black cat in front of you as you leave the church. Another thine we can do—"

"Sarah?"

"—is ask all the wedding gifts to be wrapped in red and white."

"Sarah!"

"Yes?"

"Are you all right? What has you so flustered?"

Sarah tugged at her lower lip, then tried another smile. Judging by Charlotte's reaction, it was even less successful than the earlier one. "Bridal customs. Good luck tokens. That's what I'm thinking of. As your professional wedding designer, I think you should have as many good luck bridal tokens as we can manage during your bridal day."

She'd use anything and everything she could imagine that might help Charlotte avoid a Bad Luck Wedding Night.

It's bad luck to purchase a wedding ring on Friday.

Chapter 12

London

Seated at his desk in his Berkeley Square townhouse study, Nick reviewed his correspondence. It was times like this that made him yearn for the old clandestine days. He truly despised paperwork. Over the course of two hours, he answered letters and authorized payments and handled a myriad of other details required of the Marquess of Weston. All the while, he listened with half an ear for sounds of the women's return.

On this, their first full day in London, Sarah and the girls spent the entire morning on a shopping expedition. Nick had not anticipated their early departure, and as a result, he'd missed the opportunity to see his wife that morning.

In truth, he missed her, period. He'd had little contact and absolutely no private time with her since leaving Glencoltran. Sarah, he had learned, was not a good traveler. The constant sway of coach and railcar gave the poor woman a severe case of motion sickness.

It was no wonder she so bitterly resented being forced to make the trip from Texas. The voyage, then the overland journey from Scotland, must have been pure hell for her. However, bastard that he was, Nick couldn't find it in himself to feel too sorry he'd made her suffer, since it had brought her to him. Also, the certainty of
mal de mer
would make it difficult for her to look forward to a return trip to Texas.

Grinning, Nick set down his pen, propped his feet on his desk, and laced his fingers behind his head. All in all, matters were falling into place. He had sent word around to the house in Tavistock Square that he would call later this afternoon. He'd received answers to his queries about where Tom Sheldon had rented rooms, and most delightful of all, he had Sarah right where he wanted her.

Well, closer to where he wanted her, anyway. She wasn't in his bed, but she was installed in the master suite at Weston House, and since her chamber at Glencoltran had been in an entirely different wing, he considered it a fine improvement.

Now his task was to convince her to take the next step and join him in his bed.

Mentally, he began to compose the second letter for her Pillow Book, the entry he intended to make this evening. Words for the next planned target of his attention—her eyes—came quickly, so before long he'd skipped to later entries. Number fourteen, he thought was particularly interesting.

So lost was he in his fantasy that he neglected to listen for the women. As a result, the knock at the door caught him by surprise, and he still had his feet on his desk when Sarah barged into the room without a by-your-leave.

"Working hard, I see," she observed.

Absorbed as he was in the moment, Nick couldn't help but allow his gaze to wander below her tiny waist and the inviting sway of her nicely rounded hips as she approached. Luckily, she didn't notice.

"Thank goodness you agreed to bring the girls to London before the beginning of the Season," she told him, taking a seat in the upholstered armchair on the opposite side of the desk. "One day in town and it is quite clear to me that I need a bit of education, or I'll end up hurting Charlotte instead of helping her. You know, Nick, I have dined with governors and senators and captains of industry without a misstep, but a morning at the milliner's is enough to show me I am out of my depth."

As Nick returned his feet to the floor and sat up straight in his chair, he decided the glow in those whisky eyes of hers was as intoxicating as a fine Speyside malt.
I'll have to remember that line for the Pillow Book,
he told himself before replying. "You out of your depth? I don't believe it. Not after seeing the magic you worked with Lady Pratt."

"Magic? Hardly. I'm afraid London's ladies definitely caught me without my wand today."