The Preacher's Daughter (18 page)

She’d sat awake long nights imagining liberation, dreaming of a soul-reviving taste of life. She didn’t intend to miss a minute of the experience by being timid. She’d vowed never to miss anything by holding back or being afraid of new experiences. Benjamin was fulfilling her dreams one by one and she meant to enjoy each step of the way.

She wanted to be the wife Benjamin needed. She never wanted him to regret choosing her. She had no idea what was going to happen or exactly how it would, but she knew they’d figure it out. Men and women had been doing this since the days of Adam.

She flattened her palms against his chest and raised her face for a kiss. He obliged her, skimming his hands down her sides and around to her back. He stroked the flesh of her buttocks and Lorabeth shuddered.

Ben lost himself to the sensations and textures and scents of his eager new wife. He hadn’t expected her touches, though he had anticipated the feverish response of his body. He cautioned himself to go slowly, take his time, be respectful.

When she pressed against him, her soft breasts crushed to his chest, his head roared. Sensation took over reason. His head was filled with the scent of her hair and skin, his hands craved discovering all of her. His body thrummed with pent-up desire.

He urged her to the bed and they collapsed into its softness. Intuition took over and skill had nothing to do with what came next. Sheer instinct drove him. The ache of unfulfillment compelled him until fire consumed reason and caution.

Nothing existed except Lorabeth, warm and willing with no idea of the madness her explorative touches and throaty murmurs caused. He’d forgotten everything he’d promised himself.

Lorabeth gasped, the sound echoing, transforming into something piteous. The bed creaked beneath their movements, forcing his memory to recall another place, another time. Lorabeth cried his name in passion, but he heard pain and alarm.

She clung to his neck and wept, her body convulsing.

He hadn’t been tender or respectful. He’d allowed lust to drive out all his good intentions. Sense returned and his world turned dark.

“Don’t cry.” His own voice was hoarse with self-disgust. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m not scared,” she told him.

He laid his cheek against hers. “Please don’t cry.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

He rolled away from her, recognizing the cool sheen of sweat on his body, the harsh sound of his breathing.

“I hurt you.” The knowledge tore a ragged crater in his heart. He turned to look at her, pale and beautiful in the moonlight. He peeled down the bedding and helped her underneath the covers. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lorabeth.”

“Not so much,” she said. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he disagreed. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, and I did.”

She turned toward him and rested her hand along his cheek. “Only a little pain. Far more pleasure.”

He wasn’t listening to her assurances. Something he’d dreaded his whole life had taken over his will and his body, and he’d given himself over to it, like dry kindling touched by a match. He’d been lost to everything but the fire of wanting her.

He hated his weakness. “I’m just like those men I hated my whole life,” he said aloud. “No better.”

Lorabeth sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts. Her hair was gloriously tousled in the shadows. “You’re nothing like those men,” she insisted adamantly. “If you’re like them, then you’re saying I’m like your mother.”

“Never,” he denied, his heart pounding in slow agonizing thuds. Even breathing hurt when she spoke those words. “You’re nothing like her. You’re pure and innocent and perfect.”

“Am I wicked then for wanting to do that with my husband?”

“No, Lorabeth.”

“Then don’t ever say that again. And don’t think it. You’re my husband, Benjamin. Husbands are supposed to take pleasure in their wives. Aren’t they?”

He nodded. That was what Caleb had assured him.

“Say it,” she told him. “You’re a good and loving husband.”

“I’m a…”

“Say it.”

“I’m a good and loving husband.”

“My wife loves me,” she added.

She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. And she loved him. “You can’t, Lorabeth. Still?”

“More,” she told him and leaned to kiss him, caressing his cheek as she touched her lips to his.

He loved her, too. Loved her with all his heart. But the words wouldn’t push past his lips. He needed to deserve her love. And he didn’t.

L
orabeth lay awake for what seemed the entire night. The clock downstairs had only struck twice, however. She’d never slept more than a few hours a night, and usually sat up reading. She didn’t want to disturb Benjamin. He was a fitful sleeper, turning his head, moving his limbs, occasionally muttering something incoherent. Right now he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax.

His soft, even breathing was a sound she cherished, though it was like a freight train rumbling past for all its oddity in her experience. Something magical had finally happened to her. She’d become a bride. And her husband was handsome and clever and not at all stuffy or pretentious. She adored him.

She lay on her side and studied his profile in the dim light. Her mind kept returning to the sights and sounds and sensations of their coupling earlier. Just thinking about it made her heart flutter. She’d tried to imagine, but her limited knowledge hadn’t allowed her to even dream up the actuality of such an incredible act. How perfectly they were created! How clever of their Maker to plan such a wondrous thing.

Thank You,
she breathed silently.

Her husband stirred beside her, rolled on his side to face her and his hand brushed her arm. She knew the moment the touch woke him. He drew away in surprise.

Lorabeth took his hand, locking her fingers through his. She loved the contact, reveled in the warmth and magnitude of his body beside hers. The wedding ring she’d bought for him was warm, and she loved the solid smooth feel of the gold on his finger.

“You’re awake?” he asked, voice husky with sleep.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Was I snorin’?”

“No. Go back to sleep.”

A few minutes later she could tell he’d done just that. The house was more familiar to him, the room one he’d used for some time. She would grow comfortable here, too.

She hadn’t known what to say or do when he’d seemed so upset after their lovemaking. She’d assured him he hadn’t hurt her. His regret tortured her. He’d seen too much during his formative years and knew only the dark side of a man’s nature.

Now that she knew—really
knew
what it was his mother had done for money—she tried to better understand his concerns. He’d known that act as something shameful, not as an expression of love between two people. She would help him understand the sanctity and purity within the bonds of marriage.

Lorabeth was on the edge of sleep, somewhere between exhaustion and blessed relief, when the mattress jerked and the bedcovers were tugged away as Benjamin sat straight up in bed. “No!”

“Benjamin?”

He raised a muscled arm and swiped his hand down his face. As he became more alert, he turned to find her propped on one elbow watching him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

“What was the dream about?”

He adjusted his pillow and rested back against it. “Don’t remember.”

“That’s probably good.”

“Yeah.”

“Benjamin?”

“What?”

“I never shared a bed with anyone before. I think I’m going to like it.”

“Not if I don’t let you get any sleep.”

“I’m not much of a sleeper. Did I ever mention that?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m not. I do a lot of reading late at night.”

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Maybe because night is the only time I have a chance to do something just for me.”

After a minute he said, “Not anymore. You can read in the day if you like.”

She closed her eyes and listened to a soft patter against the roof. “It’s raining. I love to hear the rain at night.”

“I saved a present for you,” he said.

“You did?” She was wide awake again. “Another present? You bought me a dressing table and mirror, what more could I need?”

“We arranged for you to have several days away from my sister’s,” he reminded her.

“She insisted.”

“I’m taking a few days off, too,” he told her.

She smiled in the darkness. “That will be nice.”

He scratched his jaw. “We’re gonna take a little trip.”

Lorabeth raised up. “We are?”

“Yup.”

“Where are we going?”

“How does Denver sound?”

“Colorado? All the way to Colorado? Oh, my goodness!” She would never sleep now! “On the train?”

“Yup.”

“Where will we stay?”

“Plenty of hotels there. It’ll be our wedding trip.”

“Maybe I am asleep,” she said. “But if I am I sure don’t want to wake up.”

“You look awake to me,” he replied. “Go to sleep now. In the morning we’ll shop for anything you need before we leave. Tomorrow you can pack, and the following day we’ll head out.”

She leaned over, rested a hand on his chest and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Sleep now,” he said. And with that he rolled to his other side, adjusting the covers and finding a comfortable position.

Lorabeth settled back on her side of the bed and focused on calming herself. It wouldn’t do to look haggard and tired in the morning. She needed to discipline herself to rest. Her life just kept getting better.

Lorabeth loved the train ride. They had berths in a sleeping car and spent one night crammed into bunk-style beds one above the other as the locomotive chugged and swayed and cinders hit the window glass on the curves.

They ate in the dining car, mostly sandwiches and fruit, but each meal was an experience to cherish. She visited with other passengers, and Ben taught her to play gin rummy with a deck of cards he produced from the pocket of his topcoat. She’d beaten him three hands in a row when the conductor called their stop.

Lorabeth was almost sorry to see their train adventure end, but there was still more ahead. Denver was a bustling city filled with new sights and sounds. Their hotel was modest, but clean and adequate. Lorabeth anticipated their time together after the train ride, eager to be alone and to recreate the night of their wedding.

Benjamin provided her with privacy while she dressed and bathed, but as he had the second night of their marriage, he made no move to kiss or touch her. She sat in the chair with a lamp burning low beside her and read a book of poetry he’d purchased for her. His restless sleep concerned her as from time to time he’d mumble or his body would jerk.

Once, when he groaned and sat up, she crept onto the mattress behind him and eased him back down, threading his golden hair away from his face and pressing her cheek to the back of one shoulder. She imagined reasons to explain his lack of interest: travel had been tiring; perhaps relations weren’t acceptable when they were away from home; he hadn’t enjoyed that night together as much as she.

The last possibility made her chest ache. In the recesses of her heart she’d known this time had been waiting for her. That Benjamin Chaney had been destined for her. She would let nothing spoil her newfound happiness.

Instead of being overly concerned with Benjamin’s seeming disinterest in lovemaking, Lorabeth enjoyed herself in the stores where they shopped for clothing and accessories for the house, in the restaurants where he introduced her to new foods and especially during an evening at the theater.

He bought her gifts and asked her preferences about everything. Benjamin went out of his way to see to her daily needs and give her all the experiences she’d dreamed of. She worked to douse nagging doubts that plagued her about the lack of intimacy since their wedding night. Perhaps this was all normal. Perhaps men needed time between experiences. Perhaps there was more she should be doing.

Maybe she simply didn’t know how to please him or encourage him.

Denying himself what he wanted was wearing on Ben’s composure. The least little smile or touch from his new wife had him grinding his teeth in frustration. He’d thought the trip would help, that they’d be too busy and distracted for the physical issue to be a concern temporarily. But he hadn’t planned on the days and nights with little separation and without the buffer of him going to work.

He admired Lorabeth’s lack of inhibition and appreciated her childlike joy over every little thing. He learned she liked to get up early to see the sunrise. She didn’t mind getting wet when it rained, and she preferred walking to taking cabs. The things he was growing to love about her, like spontaneity and passion, were the same things he feared in himself.

On their last night in Denver they shared dinner in a restaurant and then attended the performance of an orchestra at the opera house.

“Wouldn’t Flynn have enjoyed that?” she asked, linking her arm through Ben’s as they walked from their cab to the hotel door.

“You think so?”

“I do. All those violins playing in harmony was incredible.” She smiled up at him. “You knew I’d enjoy that, didn’t you?”

“You enjoy everything, Lorabeth.”

He climbed the stairs beside her and turned the key in the door that led into their room. “I’ll find a newspaper down in the lobby while you’re gettin’ ready for bed.”

As he had every night, he departed, leaving her to enter the room alone. Polite was good, but how would they ever get comfortable with each other if he kept being so standoffish? Benjamin had entered the room and turned down the lamps each night without so much as a glance at her.

Opening the armoire, she took out yet another delicately embroidered and trimmed nightgown that she and Ellie and Sophie had painstakingly worked on for her trousseau and that Benjamin hadn’t seen.

During the day he was attentive and he had showered her with gifts and concern. But at night she might not have been there for all he noticed. She washed and changed into the gown. The fabric was cool and satiny against her skin, unlike the plain cotton and woolsey she’d worn all her life.

Undressing her hair, she stacked the pins and ran her brush from scalp to ends. She hadn’t worn a braid since she’d been married. Her gaze fell to the wedding band on her finger and she turned her hand, watching the light catch the gold.

The key turned in the door, and she met Benjamin before he could take more than a few steps into the room. The fabric of the gown swished around her ankles as she moved. She stopped before him. “It’s our last night in Denver.”

He kept his attention on her face and replied, “We’ll come back another time.”

“The maid brought hot water only a little while ago. It will still be warm for you.”

“I washed in the bathing chamber at the end of the hall.”

As he had each night. And each morning.

She stood between Benjamin and the lamp. He removed his black topcoat and hung it in the armoire. After busying himself with his tie until it came away, he removed his shirt.

With both lamps burning, she had her first opportunity to look at him. His skin was tanned and his chest broad and firm.

“When do you go without your shirt in the sun?” she asked.

“Cuttin’ grass, puttin’ up hay.”

She took a step closer and noted raised marks on one shoulder that were lighter in color. “How did you get those scars?”

He glanced at his shoulder. “Long time ago. Doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

He looked aside and then back at her. “Heath.”

She frowned, thinking. “Wasn’t that the name of the foster family that took in you and Flynn?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t mean by accident, either. The man whipped you?”

“I took care of myself. And then Ellie and Caleb came for us.”

“What about Flynn?” she asked in horror. “He could’ve only been—”

“Heath didn’t hurt ’im. I saw to that.”

She studied the face of this proud kind man who’d endured cruel treatment yet grown into a loving and protective adult. Understanding dawned on her. “You took his beatings, too, didn’t you?”

“I was older. Stronger.” He moved to step around her then, but she placed her hand on his arm, preventing him from evading her.

“Any other scars?” she asked, holding his arm and moving around him. The muscle and sinew of his back was defined by the shadows, a sight so stunning it took Lorabeth’s breath away. She’d seen pictures of Greek and Roman statues, but pictures of cold marble couldn’t compare to Benjamin’s strong male body in the flesh. Here and there a faded scar marred the perfection of his skin. She couldn’t resist placing her hand on his shoulder and running her palm over the planes and across his shoulder blades.

Her blood pounded in her veins, and boldly she stepped right up behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing her lips to the center of his back. He smelled so good she wanted to cry with the pleasure. Ironed linen and spice and man.

Benjamin took her wrists in his gentle grasp and caressed the delicate insides with his thumbs.

“Benjamin,” she whispered.

He turned and folded her against him. She pressed her cheek to his warm skin and he ran his hands over her back, down her sides, to her bottom and pressed her against him.

He wanted her. The certain knowledge buoyed her spirits and produced a lilting song of joy in her heart.

“I love you,” she assured him. “I love the man you are. I’ll love whoever you want to be.”

She thought she loved him because she didn’t know enough to jade her romantic notions. He covered her mouth with his, silencing her. With open mouths they tasted and explored as tension built and heat rose. Breathing became difficult. Thinking became impossible.

Benjamin raised his head and played his lips over hers in slow damp strokes, pausing at each corner to press a firm kiss, halting a hair’s breadth away to taunt her with his absence.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and took the kisses she wanted. Her head swam with delight and promise. Pleasure rose and possessed.

Moments later they sprawled on the bed, bodies sliding and straining in a rhythm as natural as breathing. Stars burst behind Lorabeth’s eyelids. Benjamin spoke her name and a tremor shook his body. Remarkable longed-for sensations flooded through her and she clung to him.

There was no yesterday and no tomorrow in his arms. Only this moment, this night.