If I Wait For You (31 page)

Evelyn Dawes had raised Sara to be a
lady and yet told her to never look above her true low station.
She’d made certain Sara knew how to read and write, to eat
properly, to sit straight and hold herself proud. But she’d also
told her time and again to expect nothing from life but drudgery.
She wanted her daughter to act the part of a wealthy woman but tore
down even the tiniest efforts Sara made to comply. She was, in
effect, preparing Sara for her own twisted reality of what life had
become.

Though only a small number of people
were invited to the wedding, Sara feared hearing tell-tale gasps of
outrage when the reverend said her name aloud during their vows.
Having lived through the hysteria of a mob, Sara couldn’t help but
picture the wedding guests turning against her, chanting,
“Murderer, murderer.” She’d told West her fears and he’d
chuckled.

“
They won’t even notice the
name, and if they do, not one of them would have the courage to say
anything.”

Sara had been less than convinced, and
now, as that sense of wonder and happiness completely dissipated,
leaving her with a growing sense of panic and dread, she convinced
herself she would end up running from a raging mob by the end of
the day. It was the story-teller in her that turned the sedate
wedding into something horrific.

“
She fled, her gown ripped
and torn from the hands that reached out and clutched at her.
Scratched and bleeding, the young bride tried to break through the
throng only to be stopped again and again. Finally, she broke
through, her hair falling about her, her beautiful gown nearly in
shreds, and looked back to see her groom standing at the altar with
another woman.” Sara giggled at her fancy despite the real fear
behind such a tale. She re-wrote it quickly in her mind, making
West force his way through the angry throng to rescue her. Yes,
that was much better.

The door to her room opened after a
knock, and Julia walked in. “I’m glad to see you smiling on your
wedding day. I was terrified.”

“
You were?”

“
I’d discovered that behind
my husband’s handsome face was a man with a terrifying temper, and
was a bit frightened on my wedding day. I thought I could change
him.” She shrugged, a self-deprecating gesture.

“
I haven’t discovered any
major flaws in West yet,” Sara said. “In fact, I find him rather
too flawless. I’m the one bringing all the secrets to the
marriage.”

Julia waved a dismissive hand. “Enough
of that! Do you think for one minute I’d let one of my sons marry
someone I didn’t approve of?”

“
I think you are too
soft-hearted,” Sara said, ignoring Julia’s sad attempt at a stern
look.

As if to prove just how pliable she
was, Julia burst out laughing. “You are right, dear. But I maintain
that a woman could not ask for a finer daughter-in-law. Of course
it would be better if all that ugliness was resolved. But West
believes, and I agree, that it may never fully be resolved. And
what would you do, Sara? Wait? Leave?”

Sara smiled. “Get married, I
suppose.”

“
Yes. Precisely. And if you
wish to do so today, I suggest you pull yourself out of bed. The
wedding, my dear daughter, is in four hours.”

Sara’s eyes widened and she shot a
disbelieving look out the window to confirm the late hour. “Four
hours!”

“
Plenty of time,” Julia
said briskly, and set about preparing Sara for her
wedding.

As West predicted, there were no gasps
of outrage, not even any questioning looks. If anyone noticed she
had the same last name as New Bedford’s most notorious murderess,
they either hid it well or assumed they heard
incorrectly.

A small reception, one
hundred guests or so, gathered in the Mitchell’s ballroom, a modest
room that could not have comfortably fit a larger gathering. A
twenty-piece orchestra played in one corner, the light from the
waning day their only illumination. It was a mixed group that
milled around the pretty room, with its sweetly-smelling lilacs set
in large pots around the room. Officers from the
Julia
were in
attendance, rubbing elbows with some of New Bedford’s most wealthy
and powerful citizens. Many in the crowd wore the simple dress of
the Quakers, who held most of the property and money in the
flourishing city. All would have been perfect but for the large and
deeply-felt absence of Gardner. In the past week, he had refused to
speak to his older brother, deigning only to see his mother. Even
those meetings had been strained since it was clear Julia had had a
change of heart about West and Sara.

Sara stifled a sigh at the thought of
Gardner, refusing to allow her sadness and guilt mar what had been
a perfect day. Though the sun had yet to set, hundreds of candles
had been lit in the four glimmering chandeliers high above the
guest’s heads—light that did not quite reach the corner in which
the orchestra played. Sara fought the urge to gather up some
candelabras and set them near the orchestra.

“
Relax,” Julia had told her
when she’d caught Sara wiping a bit of dust from one of the brass
planters. Sara feared she would never become accustomed to having a
household of servants. She'd exasperated her maid for two years by
insisting she was quite capable of making her own bed and changing
her own linen.

Sara looked about the room and
couldn’t help but feel giddy with happiness. West stood among a
group of men Sara knew were fellow whalers, but his eyes would lift
above the other men’s heads and seek her out time and again. Sara
Dawes was now Mrs. West Mitchell. She gazed out the window to see
if any stars were yet visible in the sky. There was one particular
star she needed to thank for making her wishes come
true.

“
My dear, how lovely you
look today,” Judge Reynolds said, looking down warmly at Sara. He
grasped her hands in his and Sara fought the irrational urge to
pull away from his touch. She simply could not help feeling an
illogical discomfort whenever she was around the man. Perhaps, she
thought, it was because he had once been her mother’s lover, for
the gent had never done or said anything that would give her reason
to feel uncomfortable around him.

“
Thank you,
Judge.”

“
I’m so glad you will be
safe from speculation now,” he said, lowering his voice.

“
I’ll feel much better when
West’s hired man has discovered who the killers are.” Sara didn’t
want to talk about such ugliness now, but good manners prevented
her from asking the judge not to discuss such a topic on her
wedding day.

“
So, you’ve heard nothing?
A shame. Truly a shame. But nothing you have to worry about on this
happy day,” Judge Reynolds said heartily.

Sara murmured her agreement and
surreptitiously sought a way to extricate herself from the judge’s
company.

“
Your brother is here,” he
said, his brown eyes seeking out Zachary.

“
Of course. I hope his
presence does not make you uncomfortable.”

“
On the contrary, my dear,”
Judge Reynolds said. “It’s wonderful to have us all
together.”

“
Um, yes,” Sara said,
feeling awkward. She didn’t care much for the judge’s proprietary
view of them as some strange family. “Please forgive me, Judge, but
my husband is motioning for me to join him.”

“
Of course,” he said,
bowing.

Sara went to West, grateful to escape
the judge, even though such thoughts made her feel slightly guilty.
Poor man was just lonely.

“
You have been too far away
from me for too long,” West said, taking up both her hands. “Have I
told you how delectable you look in your wedding gown? Just how is
it fastened, anyway?”

“
It’s quite impenetrable,”
Sara said, teasing.

He took out his pocket watch. “I’m
quite tired. What do you say we head to bed.” He waggled his brows
and Sara laughed.

“
It’s but six o’clock,
West. We cannot leave yet.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps we could hide
in the library for a moment and steal a kiss.”

“
I’m afraid I would steal
far more than a kiss.” West let out a beleaguered sigh. “Very well.
We’ll stay until eight. And then I want you to start acting
exhausted.”

By the time eight came, Sara did not
have to pretend to be ready to collapse. Her face hurt from
smiling, her eyes burned from the combination of perfume and smoke
from the candles and lamps—even though the Mitchells used only the
most expensive wax and oil. And her nerves were frayed thinking
about the night to come. She was no innocent and perhaps that is
why the thought of consummating their love made her feel as if she
were close to jumping out of her skin. What she’d felt those years
ago with West had been so wonderful, so perfectly rapturous, she
feared this wedding night she’d thought about for years would
somehow be disappointing—for both of them.

Sara Dawes Mitchell couldn’t have been
more wrong.

She wore the sheerest of night
dresses, soft, white, flowing and entirely luxurious. Just putting
the garment on made Sara feel wonderfully, wickedly sensuous. Her
entire body prickled with anticipation, her mind vividly recalling
the times she and West had been together. It seemed so long ago.
And yet, each time West kissed her, it felt familiar, as if their
lips were meant for only each other. Sara smiled at the fanciful
thought. Perhaps it was true, that she and West were meant for each
other—and only each other.

She stood in the center of
West’s room, their room now, feeling a deep sense of contentment so
profound her throat ached with it. Dozens of candles had been lit
by overzealous servants and the smell of wax was thick in the air.
Silver candle-snuffer in hand, Sara went around the room dousing
the flames until only four candles remained lit. The room was now
much cozier, reminding her suddenly of the
Julia’s
cabin with its dark paneling
and richly masculine furnishings.

West entered without knocking, a
mischievous smile on his lips. The room was muted by smoke from the
doused candles, swirling around Sara in the soft candlelight. She
looked like the angel he’d always thought her, standing there in
her wisp of a gown, her golden hair flowing in long waves down her
back, the candle snuffer, like a scepter, still in her
hand.

Suddenly, Sara thrust the snuffer over
her head in a threatening manner. “I must warn you, sir. I am a
married woman and my husband is terribly jealous. He does love me
so.”

“
That he does,” he said,
and that low rumble of a voice did the most wonderful things to her
insides. Sara smiled, bringing down the snuffer, feeling foolish
for playing such a game on her wedding night. The truth of it was,
she was so terribly nervous all of a sudden.

West walked slowly toward her, removed
the snuffer from her hand and tossed it onto the thick carpet. He
wore only a burgundy robe tied loosely at his waist. It gaped open
revealing his brawny chest and ended at mid-thigh, giving him the
appearance of being entirely naked beneath it. Sara had the
strongest urge to push the material from his shoulders but an
unexpected shyness prevented her. His dark hair was tousled, as if
he’d hastily tore off his formal wear over his head rather than
take the time to unbutton.

West stood before her, his eyes dark
and hooded. He pushed her heavy hair from her shoulders to reveal
her neck, her scar. Then his lips were there, trailing along that
reddened line.

“
Every time I see this
scar, I die a little bit, Sara. It makes me think how close I was
to losing you before I really ever found you,” he said softly, his
lips moving against her sensitive skin.

“
I think your habit for
saving me started that day.”

He drew away and looked down at her in
a way that made Sara feel more loved than any woman who’d ever
lived before. She wanted to capture this moment, that love she saw,
and hold it forever against her heart.

“
It was you who saved me,
Sara. I love you more every day. I hardly can believe there is room
for more, then the next day comes and I look at you and realize I
have found a way to love you more.”

Sara kissed his lips softly. “I do
believe you have turned into a poet.”

His eyes widened with mock alarm. “I
was waxing poetic, was I? Then I must turn myself toward more manly
pursuits.”

Sara raised a provocative eyebrow.
“Such as?”

He crushed her against him, and just
before he brought his mouth down upon hers in the most possessive,
searing, mind-boggling, breath-stealing kiss of her life, he said,
“Such as ravishing my wife.”

Sara let out a small sound of
surrender or protest, West wasn’t quite certain. He only knew that
this dream he’d held in his heart for years was coming true—he was
making love to Sara, his wife. With a deep growl, West lifted her
into his arms, reveling in the feel of her arms wrapping around his
neck. Everything about Sara set him on fire: the soft sounds coming
from her throat, her eager response to his kiss, her tongue, her
lips, her small teeth that nipped at his lower lip, her hands
moving through his hair, her soft breasts pressed against his madly
beating heart.