Amelia (The Marriage Market Book 1) (3 page)

"Miss Westcott? Amelia?" he asked hesitantly, his hat in his large hand.

Amelia gave one tiny nod and felt her knees quaking. She raised her hand as if to reach out to him and then did something she could never have imagined in a million years. She launched herself into his arms. Wrapping her arms tightly around him she buried her face in the curve of his neck and began to cry as he instinctively caught her and tightened his hold.

Her slight weight still managed to have him taking a step back. "What is it? Are you ill?" he asked in concern as he held her close, her feet far from the platform.

Amelia shook her head, but refused to let go as she inhaled the faint scent of bay rum.

"Did something happen to hurt you?" he growled, looking around for a nefarious soul.

"No," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

Ignoring the curious onlookers, he slipped his arm beneath her legs and held her against his chest as he strode to a bench and sat down, placing her on his lap. For several minutes he gently patted her back and tried to come up with something reassuring to say. Was she sorry she'd come? Did his looks disappoint? Was it fear that had her trembling in his arms, her hot tears wetting his collar? Finally he placed a finger beneath her chin and gently forced her to look at him.

"Amelia, if you don't tell me what the trouble is, I have no way to fix it," he said, frustration creeping into his voice as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her tears. She was a beauty, he realized with a start as she raised her eyes to his. Gray in color, with tiny golden flecks, they glistened with tears. Her straw hat, trimmed with a band of dark gray sateen was askew on her head, the tiny bird nestled on the brim looked ready to fly away and he couldn't control his grin.

Appalled at her behavior, Amelia stiffened her spine and took the handkerchief from his hand, wiping her eyes quite fiercely and blowing her nose before handing it back to him.

"Please forgive me, Mr. Jordon. I don't know what came over me and I do apologize for making a spectacle of myself, and you," she said shakily.

When she made to hop off his lap, he tightened his arm around her waist, holding her in place. He quite enjoyed the weight of her on his lap and was loath to release her. Each little wiggle as she inched closer to his knees was extremely enjoyable as he was becoming painfully aware.

"Tell me what has upset you so?" he demanded firmly, making it clear he was not yet ready to let it go.

"It's nothing really," she replied softly with an embarrassing blush. "It was a long trip and I've left my family and my closest friends behind. I guess I was lonely and a bit scared."

"And are you a woman given to tears? I've always found them hard to abide except under certain circumstances."

"No, Mr. Jordon, absolutely not. Usually I'm quite eager to experience new things. As I said, I don't know what came over me."

Hugh sighed and easily lifted her to her feet before he rose, towering over her.

"Well, now that you've somewhat recovered, I suggest we make our way to our hotel where you can uh…freshen up or whatever it is women do after a long journey and rest until it's time for dinner." Taking her hand he tucked it securely in the curve of his arm.

"I am quite rested, Mr. Jordon," Amelia insisted, gripping his arm tightly as he wove their way through the throng of passengers. "In fact, I would love to see some of the city as soon as I've gotten settled in my room."

"All right, if that is your preference," he agreed.

"Thank you, Mr. Jordon," she said, looking up at him with a small smile.

"I think you'd better call me Hugh."

"Oh, I couldn't," she gasped. "Not yet. After all, I hardly know you."

"Amelia," he began, his lips twisting in an ironic smile. "You jumped into my arms, cried all over my shirt, sat on my lap and blew you nose into my handkerchief. I believe we've moved beyond the formalities," he teased, patting her hand.

"Yes, Hugh," she whispered back. "I'm sorry if I caused you any embarrassment by my actions and I'll understand if you want to withdraw your proposal."

Hugh stopped and turned to her. Her dry eyes were now a beautiful clear gray as she slowly lifted her chin. There was a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose he hadn't noticed. She'd said she was small of stature, but that would be true standing next to a normal size man. Beside him, the top of her head didn't reach his shoulder, but she was perfectly lovely.

Her pink lips formed a sweet bow and her curls spilled over her shoulder, having escaped from her cock-eyed hat. The faint scent of lilacs drifted past his nose, as he lowered his head to speak quietly in her ear.

"Not only do I not wish to withdraw my proposal, but I fear even if you should like to change your mind, I could not allow it. While you're not quite what I expected, I am not at all disappointed. I will hold you to your promise, Amelia," he said firmly. "When we board the ship for home, you will be my wife."

Hugh didn't leave any room for discussion as he slipped his arm around her waist and proceeded to assist her into the closest carriage for hire. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, he was registering her at the hotel, escorting her to her room and unlocking the door.

"I will return for you in an hour," he said, pulling a watch from his pocket. "Keep this door locked at all times. Despite the apparent grandeur of this hotel, San Francisco can be a dangerous place for a woman alone. I'm just down the hall in room 312. Should you need anything have the desk ring my room. Remember, door locked," he repeated as he kissed her on the forehead.

Amelia stood, silently shocked, until he moved her backward into the room and closed her door. Reaching out, she turned the key, knowing he was still standing on the other side, waiting. Walking to the bureau, she unpinned her hat and promptly dropped it to the floor as soon as she saw her reflection.

Her hair was a tangled mess; there were streaks of dust and tears on her face and her traveling outfit looked downright rumpled and on the verge of disreputable. Good grief, and the man still wanted to marry her! She'd made a total fool of herself, flinging herself into his arms like a frightened child. How much worse could things get before he changed his mind and sent her packing? She couldn't return home in disgrace, she just couldn't, despite what she'd told her friends. Perhaps she could find employment here in San Francisco, she thought as she unbuttoned her jacket and peeled it off.

Another lone tear ran down her cheek as she pictured Effie and Grace in the secret garden discussing the situation. Effie was sure to be home by now; it had been eight days. Oh how she missed them and hoped Effie hadn't gotten into too much trouble.

An hour later she was just pushing the last pin into her hair when he knocked on the door.

"Come in," she called, checking her appearance for a final time. She'd washed, given her hair and her skirt a good brushing and felt immeasurably better. Her clean shirtwaist sported tiny pink rosebuds along the high collar and cuffs and she'd even managed to repair the bedraggled little bird on her hat.

"Do you think we could have a cup of tea in the dining room before we set out?" she asked, patting a curl into place. "I'm simply parched and…" As soon as she turned to look at him she knew something was dreadfully wrong. He stood for a moment in the open doorway, his scowl far surpassing anything she'd ever seen on her father's face.

Giving him a tentative smile, she noticed he'd also changed his shirt and as her eyes traveled the length of him, the recently polished boots. It wasn't until he sighed and closed the door behind him that she began to tremble slightly.

"I think we should leave the door open, Mr. Jordon," she stammered. "For propriety's sake," she continued, forcing a firmer tone.

"Hugh."

"Hugh," she repeated, taking a tiny step back as he approached her and tossed his hat on the bed.

"We'll need the door closed for this discussion," he assured her as he took her upper arms gently in his hands. "Did I or did I not instruct you to keep the door locked?" he questioned softly.

"Yes, you certainly did," she replied crisply.

"Then why wasn't it locked now?"

"I did have it locked, the entire time," she insisted. "I just unlocked it a few minutes ago as I knew you'd be coming to get me."

"Amelia, locked means locked. I don't issue orders for no good reason."

"Was it an order?"

"It most certainly was. It is now my duty and responsibility to ensure your safety. When you are alone and someone knocks, you don't unlock your door until you know who is on the other side, especially when you are not familiar with your environment."

"I'm sorry," she said with a somewhat indignant sniff, her shoulders stiff. "I didn't realize how serious you were."

"Yes, I can see that," Hugh sighed. At first he was only going to scold her, but her tone struck a chord that was strangely reminiscent of one he'd heard his mother take with his father a thousand times. While not exactly argumentative, it did have a bite of sarcasm. Clearly she was affronted and it bordered on disrespectful. It was a recipe for a marriage full of constant bickering and was not on his agenda, now or ever. He would not put up with having his authority constantly challenged. Releasing one arm he picked up her hairbrush and hefted it in his hand.

"I'm sorry you did not understand how serious I am about your well-being. I'm about to remedy that right now," he told her as he pulled her to the bed.

Amelia didn't resist. It wasn't until he sat down and pulled her over his knees with ridiculous ease that it dawned on her what his intentions were.

"You can't be serious, Mr. Jordon," she squeaked out, too stunned to struggle.

"Hugh," he reminded her as he gathered both of her wrists at the back of her waist. "Because we are not yet wed, I'm going to emphasize my feelings over your skirt. Once you become my wife, should this be necessary in the future, rest assured it will be on your bare bottom."

Amelia couldn't help it, she began to laugh.

The hand that held the hairbrush stopped in mid-air as soon as he heard it.

"Are you laughing?" he demanded incredulously.

"No, oh no," she replied before more snickers escaped.

Hugh's arm dropped to her back, still holding the brush.

"Would you mind telling me what's so all fired funny about this?" he asked, stunned.

Amelia laughed harder and turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"Mr. Jordon, I mean Hugh," she began, her eyes twinkling. "I am a young woman on my own for the first time. I've traveled thousands of miles, slipped away from my family and some very dear friends, all in my quest for adventure and independence. I clearly stated in my letter that I believed in the emancipation of women. I've known you approximately two hours, and in that time, I've made of fool of myself in front of hordes of strangers, made my prospective husband think I'm incapable of following the simplest instructions and am about to get spanked for the first time in my life. I find the absurdity of the situation remarkably amusing."

"Well let me see if I can take some of the amusement out of the situation for you," he growled, raising the brush and bringing it down smartly on her backside.

"Ouch!"

"First and foremost, are you telling me you left without telling your family where you were going?" he asked after smacking her again.

"Ouch," she squealed. "That hurts."

"It's supposed to and it's likely to get worse if you don't answer my question."

"My mother passed away a few years ago and my father would have tried to stop me," she panted, twisting to get her hands free. "He's been trying to marry me off for months."

"Settle down," Hugh warned, giving her two more robust spanks as she yipped. "What was wrong with the men he presented that you would travel this far to marry a virtual stranger?" he asked, truly curious.

"You mean other than being a bunch of prissy stuffed shirts, nothing I guess," she groaned, trying to kick her way free.

"Stop it. If I decide to spank you, you can bet your sweet bottom you'll get spanked," he informed her, glad she couldn't see his self-satisfied smile. "So you wanted a real man's man, huh?" Cheerfully, he walloped her again.

"I wanted a man who would see me as his equal," she cried. "Oh, oh, stop it. I wanted a man who wasn't merely looking for an attractive hostess for his dinner parties; but someone who would value my ideas and opinions," she huffed before giving up the struggle and going limp over his knees. "I guess I jumped from the frying pan into the fire," she hissed.

"Not entirely," he replied, setting the brush aside and rubbing the sting from her bottom. "I will value your opinions, and I have no issue with you campaigning for women's rights. I will, however, insist on your obedience. You know nothing about this part of the country and I know a great deal. I expect you to value my opinions in return, but more than that, I expect you to listen to me when I tell you something for your own good. Amelia, we will not have a home full of tension and arguments. In certain instances, you will just have to trust that I know what's best."

"What's best is that I return where I belong," she snapped, "and kindly remove your hand from my derriere."

Hugh laughed and did as she requested. "See, in this instance I will do as you asked," he replied picking up the brush, and spanking her nicely rounded bottom with five hearty smacks. "It happens to be one of those times I feel your request suits both of our needs."

Amelia screeched anew with each crack of the wooden brush against her stinging backside. When he released her, she scrambled off his lap, cupping her bottom as she glared at him and backed away.

Rising, Hugh walked across the room and placed the brush back on the bureau.

"Dry your tears and fix your hair, Amelia. I believe you mentioned you wanted some tea," he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the four-poster bed.

"You're a brut," she sassed, making no move to obey him. "I'll not go anywhere with you."

Hugh eyed the brush meaningfully until Amelia scurried across the room. Picking it up, she began repairing her lopsided bun. He ignored her outburst.

"After you've had some refreshment, we'll send a wire to your father informing him of your whereabouts and our upcoming marriage," he said as he moved to stand behind her.

Amelia's jaw dropped in shock as she met his eyes in the mirror.

"You can't imagine I'd marry you now that you've beaten me!"

Hugh laughed loud and hearty. "A mild exaggeration, but still adorable," he said, turning her to face him and pulling her to her toes with his hands on her shoulders. Lowering his head, he claimed her lips with his in a firm, yet gentle manner. After several seconds, the brush fell from her fingers and clattered to the floor as her arms crept around his neck.

He may have been more surprised than she as heat engulfed them. Pulling her closer, he released her lips and trailed kisses along her hairline, down her cheek until he felt the rapid beat of her heart in the pulse at her neck.

"Sweet, so sweet," he murmured involuntarily.

"Mmm," she moaned, offering him better access.

He crushed her to him, molding her to his large frame, but when his hand slipped to her tender bottom she stiffened. With a sigh he released her and stepped back.

"Best wait until after the ceremony for more of that," he said with a grin.

"If there's a ceremony," she shot back, spinning around and plopping her hat on her head.

"Oh, there's going to be a ceremony," he said. He smiled as he held out his arm for her. "Let me put it this way, sweetheart. If there's not, a certain stubborn young lady will be making the return trip east standing for several thousand miles."

"Humph, and why would I want to do that?"

"Because sitting will be much too painful," he promised, opening the door and escorting her from the room.

They by-passed the hotel dining room, and he took her to a little Chinese tea room where she indulged in so many exotic treats she was rubbing her tummy.

"You have the look of a little girl who's had too many sweets," he remarked, rising as she hurriedly finished the delicious tea served in a tiny cup with no handle. He bought her a beautiful fan delicately hand painted in shades of blue, gray and gold, which he said matched her eyes.

Amelia accepted the gift and snapped it open, batting her eyes over the top as he laughed.

They stopped at a jeweler where he pulled her inside and purchased a simple gold band, insisting she try it on. She argued the point until he gave her a stern look, his eyebrow rising to an alarming angle before she conceded, and he slipped the ring into an inner pocket on his coat. Leaving the shop, he kissed her forehead, obviously pleased to have gotten his way.

Amelia wanted to give him a slight kick in the shin, but restrained herself as her bottom was still a touch tender.

They walked along the wharf looking at ships of all kinds. The ocean breeze made her think of home.

"See that one there?" he asked, pointing to a sleek schooner. "That's the Mystic Maiden. We'll be sailing home in a day or two on her. You'll love it; she glides through the waves like a fish."

"Hugh, I…"

"Shh," he whispered, holding a finger to her lips. "Trust me, Amelia."

Squinting up at him, Amelia held her tongue. Hugh was so nice to look at that she found herself giving him a small nod. He'd been a charming and considerate companion all afternoon, indulging her at every turn. Despite the many men on the wharf, she felt completely safe with him by her side. Whenever they passed a rough and rowdy seaman who looked at her too intently, Hugh's arm slipped around her waist as he made it clear to whom she belonged. Oh, she could have shrugged him off, stating she didn't need his protection and could take care of herself, but she knew it wasn't true. With him beside her, she felt brave and much protected.

By the time they arrived back at their hotel, there were two return cables from her father, one for each of them. Amelia flinched and stuffed hers into her reticule but Hugh opened his and immediately sent a reply.