Wyoming Bride (2 page)

“Come in,” she croaked.

“Mrs. McMurtry? Are you there?”

Hannah cleared her throat and said, “You can come in, Mr. McMurtry.”

The door slowly opened. Mr. McMurtry stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but he didn’t move farther into the room.

Too late, Hannah realized she’d left the lamp lit, and that Mr. McMurtry would have to remove his wide-brimmed hat, string tie, chambray shirt, jeans, belt, socks, and hobnail boots—and perhaps even his unmentionables—with her watching. Unless she took the coward’s way out and ducked her head beneath the covers … or he had the foresight to put out the lamp.

Her new husband swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed, and said, “I had a cup of coffee downstairs.”

“Coffee will keep you awake.” Again, too late, Hannah realized there was a good reason why Mr. McMurtry might not want to go right to sleep.

Neither of them said anything for an awkward moment.

Then he said. “I’d better …”

Hannah watched as Mr. McMurtry blushed. His throat turned rosy, and then the blood filled his face, turning a hundred freckles into red blots on his cheeks.

He stammered, “I’ve dreamed about this … My whole life I … You are so beautiful.”

Hannah found herself staring back into her husband’s very blue eyes with astonishment. She’d known she was pretty, but this was the first time a grown man had remarked on the beauty of her blond curls and wide-spaced, sky-blue eyes, her full lips and peaches-and-cream complexion. It was surprisingly gratifying to hear such words from her husband.

Despite Mr. McMurtry’s speech, he remained backed up to the door.

Why, he’s scared, too!
Hannah realized.

Her fear returned and multiplied. The situation was already mortifying in the extreme, but if
he
was inexperienced, who was going to tell
her
what to do?

“I’m really tired,” she blurted. Hannah dropped the sheet and put her hands to her cheeks as they flamed with embarrassment. “I don’t believe I said that.”

He chuckled.

She glanced sharply in his direction. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No, Mrs. McMurtry,” he said. “I was laughing at myself.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

He continued, “I’ve just married the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m standing rooted to the floor a half a room away from her.” His smile turned lopsided as he admitted, “You see, I’ve never undressed a woman before … or undressed before a woman.”

Hannah swallowed hard and whispered, “Never? Not even a …” She couldn’t say the word
prostitute
or
soiled dove
or even
lady of the night
. Ladies did not speak of such things.

He shook his head. “I’m Catholic. Fornication is a sin.”

“Oh.” Hannah couldn’t breathe. It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. He was thirty-six, and he’d never been with a woman? This was going to be a disaster.

“Shall I turn down the lamp?” Hannah asked.

“No!”

She froze with her hand halfway to the lamp and turned toward Mr. McMurtry, her eyes wide.

He shook his head and smiled. “I didn’t mean to sound sharp.” He hesitated, met her gaze with serious blue eyes, and said, “I want to see you.”

It wasn’t often that Hannah found herself speechless, but she had no idea how to reply to a comment like that. He wanted to see her?
Naked?
“Are you sure?” she replied in a small voice.

He chuckled again and for the first time since he’d come into the room, he took a step toward the bed. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Hannah felt her heartbeat ratchet up. She sat even farther upright and once again pulled the covers to her chin. She’d been intimidated by the prospect of allowing Mr. McMurtry the rights of a husband. The thought of baring herself before this stranger sent a shiver—really more of a shudder—down her spine.

She watched with disbelief as Mr. McMurtry pulled his black string tie loose and tugged it free of his white collar, then yanked the collar free of his shirt at the back of his neck. He tossed collar and tie onto a nearby upholstered wing chair, then let his black suit coat slide down his arms. He folded it in half lengthwise and laid it carefully across the top of the chair.

He gave a little sigh as he released the top button of his striped cotton shirt, and she realized it must have been a little tight. He pulled the shirt free of his trousers, unbuttoned a few more buttons, then reached around to the back of his neck and pulled the whole thing forward over his head, leaving his unruly red curls even more wayward than before.

He was still wearing a long john shirt, but he looked positively skinny without the striped shirt and suit coat. He paused with the striped shirt in hand, and said, “You look like my sister did every time she saw a snarling dog on the road.”

“What?”

“Brigit was afraid of dogs. She always expected them to bite.” He shot her a crooked smile and said, “I promise not to bite, Mrs. McMurtry.”

Hannah wanted to believe he was harmless, but when the half-naked stranger took another step toward the bed, she heard herself whimper with fear.

He held up a hand and said in a soothing voice, “I’m not going to hurt you.” He grimaced and added, “At least, not any more than is necessary.”

Hannah swallowed noisily. “I know.”

“You know?” He frowned. “What do you know?”

He looked so formidable, Hannah regretted opening her mouth to say anything. “I mean, I know you won’t hurt me any more than you must.”

The frown was still on his face, so she continued, “I’ve only known you for a day, Mr. McMurtry, but you’ve been more than fair in your treatment of me and my sisters. I trust you not to hurt me.”

“Any more than is necessary,” he added.

Hannah lowered her gaze to her knees, which were knocking under the covers. She knew more than she should about what was to come. One of the girls at the orphanage had enjoyed marital relations with a man to whom she was definitely
not
married, and she’d shared that experience with Hannah and Hetty.

Hannah knew the first time would hurt, perhaps more than a little. She wasn’t sure whether to trust that things would be better the second time, and perhaps even pleasurable by the third, as her friend had promised. Would Mr. McMurtry want to do it three times tonight?

Hannah managed not to flinch when Mr. McMurtry sat down on the bed beside her. He reached out a hand to brush a stray curl from her cheek. She’d confined her blond hair in a braid that ran halfway down her back. She bit her lip to keep from protesting when he tugged the covers from her hands and let them fall to her lap. She stared into his somber blue eyes as he pulled the heavy braid forward over her shoulder, so it rested on the front of her nightgown.

She kept herself very still as he released the frayed ribbon on the end of the braid and unraveled it. His focus shifted to her blond curls as his fingers sifted through them. She shivered involuntarily, which caused him to look up and meet her gaze.

There was something about his half-lidded eyes that held her spellbound. He met her gaze with an intensity—and a depth of feeling—she’d never experienced. It left her breathless. She began to pant as if she’d run a race, even though she hadn’t moved an inch.

Neither had he.

He slowly leaned toward her, and Hannah realized he was going to kiss her. She held herself very still, but the closer he got, the more difficult it was to breathe. She put a flat hand against his chest to stop him, to give her a chance to catch her breath, but he moved inexorably closer, forcing her to cede him the space.

She could feel the heat of his body through his long john shirt. She could see the beat of his heart in the pulse at his throat and the dark auburn whiskers that were already sprouting on his cheeks and chin. He was so close she went almost cross-eyed trying to look at him, so she closed her eyes. And waited. It was her first kiss. Ever. And she wanted it to be perfect.

Her heart pounded in her ears, and she felt her cheeks flushing with heat. She wanted to like Mr. McMurtry’s kiss, but his lips were dry and cracked, and he pressed them against her own hard enough to mash her lips against her teeth.

Hannah felt suffocated and shoved hard with both hands against his chest, turning her head to break free. “Stop! Don’t!”

He jerked back as though she’d slapped him. Which she had, with words. She stared at him aghast. He was her husband. It was his right to do with her as he willed. He held her life in his hands. The safety of her sisters—their escape from the despicable Miss Birch—depended on her pleasing him tonight.

Hannah blinked back the tears that brimmed in her eyes and tried to smile. “Could you … Would it be possible … to go more slowly, Mr. McMurtry? More gently?”

He looked disappointed. And frustrated. And worst of all, embarrassed.

Hannah felt bad about chastising her inexperienced husband. She should be glad he was a morally upright man. They would be learning together. That is, if they could get through this first night.

When her husband started to rise, Hannah put her fingertips on his wrist to stop him. She took his hand in hers and lifted it to her cheek, pressing it softly against her warm flesh. His hand was rough and callused and hard. He was no gentleman, nothing like the sort of man she would have married if the Great Fire had never happened. Her father would never even have allowed her to speak to such a coarse, lowborn person.

But that life was gone, and she had to make the best of the one she had now. She forced herself to continue, leaning toward her new husband, afraid that, at any moment, he might reject her advances.

He sat still as a post, waiting to see what she would do.

Hannah pouted her lips out, as she’d practiced in front of the mirror with Hetty, when they’d imagined someday kissing the handsome prince who would arrive to carry them away to his castle. When her mouth finally touched Mr. McMurtry’s, she pushed her lips against his tenderly, softly. She felt his lips give under the pressure of hers, felt the surrender as his mouth conformed to her own … and something totally unexpected. A surge of desire.

Hannah backed away suddenly and stared with awe into dark blue eyes covered by eyelids lowered in a way that told her he wanted her, too. They were both breathing erratically.

She realized something else. She felt like prey, pursued by something savage that was capable of devouring her. She resisted the urge to flee, controlling her panic as she had many times at the orphanage, while waiting for Miss Birch to give her three hard strokes of the rod. Three only. That was the limit. Anything could be endured if one only freed one’s mind from what was happening.

This, too, would pass.

She lifted her gaze to the dark blue eyes staring intently back into her own. Instead of easing, the strange feelings inside got worse. Her breasts felt swollen, her throat felt raw and tight, and her womb contracted. Her body seemed not to be her own, out of her control, headed on a course toward something frightening and unknown.

Hannah didn’t resist when Mr. McMurtry reached for the bow holding her nightgown together at her neck and pulled it free. He eased the fabric off her shoulders, but before it fell all the way down, she caught it and held it in a knot against her breasts.

She could do this. She had to do this.

“I want to see you.”

His voice was so low and guttural she almost didn’t recognize it. The fierce, feral sound of it sent goose bumps of fear skittering along her arms. She swallowed hard, trying to clear the thickness in her throat so she could speak. She wanted to say,
All right
.

Nothing came out.

She loosened her grip on the front of the gown, leaving it in a crumpled ball at the top of her breasts. And held her breath. And waited.

At last, he shoved it down, pinning her arms against her sides, making her a prisoner, and revealing to his avid gaze her soft breasts, including the nipples that had turned to hard buds against her will.

He froze and stared. “You’re perfect,” he grated out.

Hannah was staring down, so she saw his hands cup her breasts—too hard, too tight—and lift them. Saw his head lower and felt his lips, unutterably soft and gentle, kiss first one breast and then the other.

Her body stirred and hummed and begged her to do something. She tugged her hands free of the sleeves that were pinning them and threaded her fingers into his hair, surprised to find the curls so soft. When he lifted his head to look into her eyes, her hands were still caught there.

She held his head close, wishing him to be gentle. Wishing him to be kind. Wishing him to be the prince that he was not.

He leaned forward and kissed her lips again. He was gentle at first, but that didn’t last long. His hands tightened painfully on her breasts as his mouth pressed harder against hers, crushing her lips painfully against her teeth.

She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as though she were going to suffocate. She tried to draw breath, but everything was happening too fast.