The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (27 page)

He wouldn't be so cruel, would he? Sarah looked up, found her husband staring at her, his blue eyes bright with challenge, She worked to find both her voice and the strength to move. "I can't," she said to the child, backing away from the fence. "I'm sorry, I can't." She turned around and started to hurry away. Away from the park, away from her husband, away from her past and unacknowledged dreams of the future.

Then he stopped her with a word. "Don't."

Her breath came shallow and fast as if she had run a mile. She remained frozen in place, even when she heard his footsteps approach.

Nick said, "You drive me crazy, woman. Worse than all my sisters—all six of them—lumped together. I want you to turn around and come meet the children and speak with Susan. She'll have some questions for you about Fort Worth."

Finally, she found her voice. "You want me to talk to her?"

"I
expect
you to talk to her. Have some faith in me, Sarah. I think it's about time."

Seconds dragged out and felt like minutes. Hours, even. And during that silent passage of time she heard the echo of his voice from long ago.
I'm not that baby's father.

I believe him.
She believed in him. In the very marrow of her bones, Sarah knew that Nick was not the father of those children, and as she closed her eyes and absorbed the truth, the ice around her heart cracked and slowly began to melt.

"Sarah?"

He was asking her to have faith in him. Faith in him as a man, a friend, a husband.

She turned around. He was tall and handsome and oh so annoyed. Fiercely annoyed.

It made her want to smile. In that moment, as the vise around her heart eased and the lump in her throat dissipated, she realized she'd
never
lost faith in him. Not on that awful wedding night, and not the following morning when he left her.

What Sarah had lost was her courage.

It was true. When the moment of truth arrived, she'd been afraid—of lovemaking, of leaving home and family and friends, of being a wife.

She'd been much better at being a bride.

"Sarah!"

She cleared her throat and said, "By all means, Lord Weston, introduce me to Susan's children. They appear to be quite delightful."

He shot her a hard look, then visibly relaxed, although the dare in his look didn't entirely fade. "Actually, they're scamps. Lovable, but constant trouble. They keep Susan busy from dawn till dusk."

He extended his elbow and waited for her to take it, then escorted her to the park bench where Susan Harris now sat making an obvious effort not to eavesdrop. "Sarah, you remember my friend Susan."

Sarah nodded. "I do. Hello, Miss Harris. It is nice to see you again."

"Welcome to England, Lady Weston. May I introduce you to my children, Thomas and Millicent Sheldon?"

"Hello Thomas, Millicent. It's very nice to meet yo..." Sarah's voice faltered as the import of Susan's words filtered through her brain. Sheldon. As in Tom Sheldon?

Nick watched her with a knowing look. "Their father is an old friend of mine."

"Oh, I see." But of course, she didn't.

Susan took pity on her and, after sending the children to the basket to get their treat, explained. "Tom and I married secretly shortly before he left Fort Worth. He signed on with a cattle drive with the intention of making enough to give us a start, and that was the last I saw of him. I thought he'd died."

She turned a luminous, grateful gaze upon Nick.

"Until a few moments ago, I still believed that. What I don't know is what happened to keep him away from us. It must have been something horrible."

Sarah recalled her reaction to Tom Sheldon upon his return to Fort Worth. He'd been a bear with a thorn in his paw—and money in his pockets. She hadn't liked him at all. Considering the uncomfortable questions he'd asked, it was a natural reaction on her part. She had a vivid recollection of the morning he'd knocked on her front door and made sharp inquiries about events Sarah had spent years trying to forget. "He asked about you."

"He did?"

Sarah nodded. "He'd heard you'd left town with my husband and he wanted details."

"What did you tell him?" Nick asked.

"Not much. All I knew was that Susan had boarded the train with Nick."

Nick's gaze followed the path of a sparrow flying from a lamppost to a winter-bare tree. "You never asked about her in your letters."

She looked away and admitted, "I didn't want to know. I didn't want to think about it."

"You didn't believe me when I said I wasn't her child's father."

"Children," Susan hastened to correct. "You're not my children's father, Lord Weston." To Sarah she said, "They're twins."

Twins. Oh, of course. That explained it. Sarah's gaze found the two youngsters now seated on a blanket chomping happily on scones. "Now I understand Mr. Sheldon's ire. He knew he'd lost his family."

"But why?" Bewilderment filled Susan's expression. "Where was he, and why didn't he come back to us?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out. First, I need to be certain you want me to tell him how to find you. Do I have your permission?"

Susan nodded. "But I want to go with you, Nick. Now. I want to see him now."

"Let me approach him first," Nick said, taking his friend's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "It's important that I see his reaction."

"Why?"

Nick looked from Susan to the children, then back to their mother. "Trust me?"

"Of course."

Susan said it so quickly that Sarah knew a twinge of shame—until Nick shot her a smug look, that is. Then she reminded herself that whatever her own failings in the matter of their marriage, Nick was far from blameless. Her fear may have been the major stumbling block between them, but his pride had been a problem, too.

He could have told her the entire truth about Tom Sheldon and Susan Harris. Sarah still didn't understand why he'd played the hero for Susan without explaining the entire matter to his own wife.

Once Susan and the children retreated to their townhouse, leaving Sarah and Nick alone in the small park, Sarah posed the question. Nick answered with aplomb. "Ten years ago I was stupid. I expected blind faith from my bride."

"You still expect that."

"True. But you know me better now, so it's an educated blind faith."

The statement was so ridiculous that it startled a laugh from Sarah. Distracted, she was anything but prepared when he leaned over and kissed her.

The first one was quick and hard, an unconsidered afterthought. But even as he drew back, Nick seemed to reevaluate. He leaned forward once again, a mesmerizing glint in his sapphire eyes. His breath fanned her lips, then he touched her mouth with his and gave her the gift of gentleness.

Satin-soft and sweet with the taste of Scottish scones, his kiss transported her from the winter-weary park to a world of rainbow colors, where sparkling sunshine heated tropical waters that slowed a woman's blood and caused her to sink into crystalline depths ruled by sensation.

Sarah's eyes drifted shut and her arms stole up to wrap around his neck. Her limbs felt heavy and pliant, and she was vaguely aware he'd backed her against a tree. She moaned faintly. He hummed a groan in reply, then escalated the intensity of the kiss.

Now came the passion, the heat. Her lips parted as his tongue swept inside her mouth, stroked and played and plundered. He made her forget her fear, his folly. Forget everything but the hot fire of passion now flowing like lava through her veins.

Until he fitted his body against hers and she felt the evidence of his need like a hot brand against her skin. The long-buried memory of her mother's voice on a day long ago speared through the haze of pleasure numbing her mind.
He has a Rod of Steel. A Rod of Steel.

In a flash, she was sixteen again and her fear reignited. Sarah's eyes snapped open and she broke the kiss, wrenching her head away. Her heart pounded and her breasts ached and her womb wept with need, and Sarah considered screaming in frustration.

Nick stepped back, narrowed eyes drilling her, and she felt as if he could see into her soul. She waited for him to mock her, to chastise her. Instead, he simply held out his hand. "Would you accompany me to pay a call on Tom?"

She blinked. The question was almost as surprising as the kiss. Almost. What happened to his protests about it being too dangerous for her to assist in uncovering the bombing plot? Whatever the reason for his change of heart, she wasn't about to question it. "Yes, Nick, I'd like that."

"Very well. Let's stop by his rooms on the way home, shall we? Susan has waited for him for ten years, and I'm of the opinion that is long enough. Entirely long enough."

As he escorted her from the park, her lips still tingling from the force of his kiss, Sarah suspected he was talking about more than Susan Sheldon's wait.

* * *

Nick prowled his bedchamber that evening and wondered if a man could die from acute sexual frustration. Probably not, but it could at least make him ill. Especially when the condition was combined with frustration of a general sort, and at the moment, he was filled with that, too.

Tom Sheldon had disappeared from London a little over a week ago. Nick had learned that disturbing piece of news after speaking with the manager at the Savoy earlier that afternoon, though he'd been reassured to learn that Sheldon had indicated he'd return within two weeks. A subsequent search of his rooms supported the claim. The framed pencil sketch of Susan on the beside table suggested that Tom would, indeed, be pleased to learn the news Nick had to share. Still, Nick could kick himself for not confirming Tom's current whereabouts before sharing the news with Susan. He truly did hate to make her wait.

Waiting was hell on a man. It made him itchy. What he needed was some good, strenuous exercise.

What he needed was sex. A long, lusty bout of sex. With Sarah. Strenuous, sensuous sex with Sarah.
Now that would put some spring in my step.

Unfortunately, it wasn't in the cards for that night. Unfortunately, his plans for his wife for that evening would no doubt only increase his frustration.

But his strategy was sound. He needed to remember that.

Every part of him needed to remember that.

With that admonition, Nick entered the sitting room he shared with Sarah. Hie firmness that lingered in his trousers melted away at the sound of feminine giggles coming from his wife's chamber.

Nick grimaced. He knew that particular noise well. That was the giggle that Aurora and Melanie made when they were up to something and dragging poor Charlotte right into trouble with them. Finding the girls in his wife's room, making that sound, worried Nick more than just a little. Had they pulled Sarah into one of their schemes? Had the Terrible Trio convinced his blushing bride to make it a Fearsome Foursome?

"That's all I need," Nick grumbled as he rapped lightly on the door in warning, then stuck his head inside. "Is it safe to come in?"

They sat in the center of her bed, surrounding a tray of sweets and wearing milk mustaches. Nick developed a sudden and severe craving for the dairy product he'd never particularly enjoyed. Had Sarah been alone, he couldn't have resisted the urge to lick it off her.

She looked adorable, sitting cross-legged on her bed, dressed in a voluminous cotton nightgown that didn't show so much as a hint of skin. The dance of laughter in her eyes faded as he entered the room, and she scooted backward on the bed. Against her pillow. Then she blushed.

Nick's mood lightened considerably at that. The Pillow Book was obviously doing its work.

Aurora scrambled down from the bed and greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Nicholas. We were just off to bed. Weren't we, sisters?"

"Yes, we were," Melanie agreed. Charlotte only nodded.

While Nick folded his arms and frowned at the females, Melanie scooted off the bed, then reached for the tray. At the same time, Charlotte handed Sarah a notebook and pencil along with a significant look. Adopting an air of nonchalance, Sarah slipped the notebook beneath her pillow, then busied herself brushing cookie crumbs off the bedclothes.

Nick's curiosity, already aroused, notched up another inch or ten at the delicious sight of his impish angel of a wife slipping secrets beneath her pillow. "What mischief have you girls been up to?"

Aurora faced him boldly. Melanie tried to hide a grin, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. Charlotte stared over his shoulders. "Charlotte?" he asked the sweet, weakest link.

For a split second, she met his gaze. Guilt. Now he knew he was in trouble. "Why do I suddenly suspect I'd have been better off sleeping at my club? What have the four of you done?"

"Oh, don't be silly," Melanie said as she brushed past him. "We've been busy making preparations for Charlotte's engagement ball. We have so much yet to do, but it's going to be such a wonderful event. I suspect that by the time the night is through, this good luck theme will have brought us all good luck. Don't you, sisters?"

"I do," said Aurora as she sailed out the door with a wave. "Good night."