Married At Midnight (15 page)

to ask—not as though I am asking you to share the marriage bed with me."

The mere mention of a bed made Victoria's heart leap into her throat. The thought of the two of them together upon it made

her swallow convulsively. Her gaze reverted to his face. She studied it through the shadows. "Surely you don't intend to ask

for such a thing?"

He didn't answer.

Panic filled her. "Because the answer would most assuredly be no!"

"Of course not," he replied easily. "And I certainly would understand how
that
might, indeed, frighten you. But a simple

kiss ..."

"It most assuredly does not frighten me!" Victoria persisted. "It merely does not appeal to me, is all!"

His brow arched a little higher. "No?"

"No!" Victoria assured.

"Still and all... I do hope you'll reconsider the request," he suggested. "That is... if, in fact, you aren't afraid," he added softly.

It was a challenge. A gauntlet cast at her feet. One Victoria could scarce ignore.

If the truth be known, she'd never considered herself so fetching that a man should crave so much to kiss her. The fact that he wished to, somehow, did, in truth, appeal to her. She smiled softly, though her composure was hardly returned, and said with more aplomb than she felt, "Mister Parker ... I repeat, I most assuredly am not afraid of any mere kiss."

"Of course not," he yielded. "But do call me Thom, if you would," he suggested. "After all, we are soon to be wed. Whatever will the parson think when he hears you speak to me so formally?"

Victoria's lips twitched at the thought. "I don't suppose it would seem so very appropriate to call you Mr.

Parker, now would it?"

"Not very," he agreed. "So, then, Victoria .. . may I call you Victoria?"

Why did she feel he was baiting her? And yet it was a simple enough request from a husband to a wife.

Victoria frowned. "Certainly, you may."

"Thank you," he said, and continued to stare, unsettling her. "So, then, Victoria," he persisted, "won't you reconsider the request?"

Victoria swallowed convulsively, and somehow managed to find her voice. "Request?"

"The kiss," he reminded her.

Warmth crept into her breast. Shadows permeated the small carriage, but there was no mistaking the glitter of amusement in

his eyes. Her flush crept higher with the realization. And yet she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away.

"That's it? Just a kiss?"

"No more," he swore.

She was suddenly grateful for the obscurity of darkness to hide her blush. Those full lips of his curved a fraction more, and Victoria was doubly unsettled to find her gaze drawn to his wickedly sensuous mouth once more.

She couldn't seem to help herself.

How could she possibly say no? He was to be her husband, after all, and it was no longer a demand, but a request. ..

Certainly that deserved a reward of sorts? It'd be best if he learned straightaway that demands would get him nothing, that requests would garner him so much more.

Whatever harm could a simple kiss come to?

It wasn't as though she needed to be in love with the man to kiss him, she reasoned.

And she certainly wasn't. She wasn't even entirely certain she believed in love. If one couldn't touch it, or smell it, or see it,

one couldn't be entirely certain it even existed. Could one?

"Very well," Victoria relented. "A kiss .. . and no more ... once we're wed."

He grinned, looking entirely too much like the little boy who'd coaxed the mouse from the cat's jaws, and she wanted

suddenly to take it all back.

She wouldn't, however.

For better, or worse, she owed the cad a kiss after midnight—but just a kiss, no more—and it certainly didn't mean a

bloody damned thing! That concluded, she lapsed into a brooding silence for the entire remainder of the journey.

However had he managed to make her agree to such a thing?

Gretna Green had been highly overpraised, Victoria determined upon their arrival. Her mood was pettish, her bottom numb from travel, and her companion entirely too high-spirited for her liking.

Lord, but tales would have had the village be some grand sanctuary for lovers, with parades to greet runaway sweethearts,

and grand huzzahs for their mad, courageous dashes over the border. As it was, the sleepy village was little more than a

handful of clay houses with their carefully thatched roofs.

The streets were abandoned, save for a single barking dog, a stray mule, and a drunkard swilling his whiskey outside the

town's only two-story structure.

Victoria wasn't particularly impressed.

Then again, neither was she some starry-eyed bride.

They arrived with little enough time to spare. Mr. Parker—Thom—she wrinkled her nose at the awkwardness of using

his given name, even in her thoughts—alighted before her. Her legs numb from the jouncing ride, she stumbled out of the carriage, and into his arms.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, and was helpless to do anything but allow him to steady her upon her feet. His hands

grasped her at her waist, his fingers strong and lean and firm. Victoria tried not to construe anything into the way that his

fingers slid upward along the sides of her ribs . .. and lingered there just an instant too long.

She refused to be caught up in the delusion of this elopement—refused to consider it a lover's clasp.

Certainly, it was nothing more than a friendly assist—and the look in his eyes as she peered up to acknowledge his aid was nothing more than a trick

of her overweary mind. He wasn't staring at her as though he were waiting for her to confess her undying gratitude and love, she assured herself, nor was he considering that shocking kiss he'd finagled from her.

It was her own monstrously wicked

mind that imagined he restrained himself from lowering his head to hers just now .. . and brushing his lips ever so softly against her own.

A frisson raced down her spine at the merest thought.

Gracious! Whatever was wrong with her? Victoria admonished herself. It certainly wasn't like her to be so fanciful.

It was that bloody kiss she'd been contemplating for most of the journey! she decided. Moreover this
was
her wedding night, business arrangement though it was. Perhaps it was only natural she have such soppy notions?

"We'll have done with this soon enough," he promised. "And then we shall acquire ourselves a room at the inn."

Why did even that sound so scandalous?

The images that came immediately to mind made Victoria chasten herself for a silly romantic fool. And yet her heartbeat quickened at the vision of the two of them embracing so. Lord only knew, he
was
an exquisite-looking man.

He'd yet to release her, and Victoria could scarce find her voice to ask him to do so.

"There will be plenty of time to rest then," he assured her.

"Yes, of course." She nodded. "But we'll have to have separate rooms," she felt inclined to point out.

He made some sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter. "Of course," he agreed amiably. "Separate rooms."

He released her then, and proceeded to give the driver instruction. When he was done, with a gentle hand upon her elbow,

he guided her toward the single street occupant who, she assumed, might better lead them to the marrying house.

"What if they will not perform the ceremony so late?" she fretted, her legs feeling suddenly as unsubstantial as water.

"Goodness only knows, we should have departed Blackstone long before we did!" She wavered a little on her feet, feeling suddenly as though she would swoon.

She couldn't believe she was actually going through with this!

He placed an arm about her shoulders, steadying her, and though it gave her a little start, she allowed it.

She didn't have

much choice, lest she fall flat upon her face, for she felt suddenly more anxious than she'd ever been in all of her life.

"Don't worry, Victoria ... I'll take care of everything," he assured her.

"But what if they should refuse us?"

"They won't," he asserted.

"How can you be so certain?"

He peered down at her, his blue eyes shuttered by the darkness, and yet the intensity there was more than apparent

somehow. "No one could refuse you anything," he told her with certainty.

Victoria tried to gauge his expression. Perchance did he think her too bold?

Well, she didn't care! It was the only way she knew to accomplish anything at all in this man's world.

And yet his gaze didn't seem particularly reproachful. He was, in truth, peering down at her rather strangely. She would

think .. . rather fondly, even ... if she didn't know better.

"Money speaks, remember?" he pointed out quite reasonably. "And we both have an ample supply of it.

They'll not refuse

you," he maintained.

Why did she suddenly feel so disheartened? He certainly couldn't have intended the remark to be a doting one! "Perhaps so," Victoria agreed. "Though it must be done before midnight," she reminded him a little snappishly. "What if we cannot get these laggards to stir from their beds?"

"Never fear... they'll smell the gold in their dreams, I'll warrant."

Victoria clasped her hands together fretfully. "And what if they do not?"

He gave her a sidelong glance and a disarming grin. "Then I shall, personally, go and drag them from their beds, Victoria.

Have no fear."

Though she understood he was jesting with her, Victoria grimaced. Why was it that something so simple as the way he said

her name sent quivers down her spine? She reached up to tug her bonnet more firmly down upon her head, telling herself that

it was the chill Scots wind that made her shiver so ridiculously.

They approached the drunkard, though he never stirred from his seat beside the door, rather he simply watched them, looking rather mystified by their presence. Victoria felt a surge of irritation, eager as she

was to be finished with the task at hand. Lord, but it simply wasn't fair that she should be forced to give over her life into the hands of a man simply because she was a woman!

Well, she reminded herself, she certainly didn't intend to!

"I shall speak to him," Thom suggested.

"I shall do it!" Victoria informed him at once, her expression quite mutinous. "I believe, sirrah, that I am perfectly capable of addressing the man!"

Thom knew better than to chuckle at her ready defiance, endearing though it might be, and so he ceded graciously, "As you wish." But he couldn't quite wipe the smile from his face as she turned to address the drunkard.

"How do you do, sir?" she asked the man.

"Fine as a fiddle, can ye no' see?" he replied. The drunkard lifted his flask of whiskey for her perusal.

"Hoozyersel' hinnie?"

"Well enough," Victoria answered quickly, and without pause. "Good sir, I thought perhaps you might direct us to the

marrying house?" she told the man, dispensing at once with idle talk.

"The marryin' h-house!" the drunk sputtered, staring up at her rather stupidly.

She nodded. "Yes, sir, the marrying house."

The drunkard took another swig of his sour-smelling whiskey before bothering to reply. "Och! But I dinna ken why everyone

is lookin' for the marrying house!"

"I'm certain I don't know, sir. But we are, alas, and are in quite a terrible rush, besides. Do you happen to know where it is?"

"Och, lass, everyone iss in a rush!" he admonished her, slurring his words. "Do y' see what hurryin' did tae me? I'm a drinkin' me whiskey oot in the blessed cauld while me wife is snug in her bed all cozy and warm!"

"I really am terribly sorry, sir," she relented. " Tis only that we really must be wed by midnight, you see!

Perhaps you might

wish to join her ...
after
you direct us to the parsonage?" she persisted.

"Och, nay!" the drunk declared, "but even if her tongue wouldna lash me back oot the door, I canna walk through walls!

She's locked the door." He took another hearty swig from his flask, mumbling something to the effect that women were

born with unprecedented tempers.

Thom could almost see Victoria's hackles rising over the disparaging remark. He wanted to remind her that she was

conversing with a drunk, but refrained.

"I see. So she's locked you out?" Victoria asked.

"Thass what I said!" The drunk took another swig of his whiskey, and exclaimed, "Stubborn fashious wench that she is!"

"I, of course, would never presume to know why she would do such a thing, dear sir, but—"

"Victoria," Thom interjected, placing a hand gently upon her shoulder, "perhaps I should handle this?"

She shrugged free of him, as though he were a pesky bug.
"I believe I am quite capable, sirrahl"
she assured him at once, her voice beginning to rise. She turned again toward the drunk. "The marrying house, sir... you see, we are sorely in need of directions, if you please.. . and then we shall leave you to your ... er ..."

"Och, noo, laddie!" the drunkard exclaimed, having watched the exchange between them with keen interest. He stumbled forward within his chair, waving a finger at Thom, dismissing Victoria's presence suddenly as he presumed to lecture him.

"Are ye certain ye wish to wed this lass? Seems tae me ye go' yersel' a pawky one here, son. 'Tis no' too late to run, you know?"

Not that Thom particularly wished to, but it was time to step in, he realized. Victoria wasn't going to get anywhere with the man. He placed a hand quite firmly upon Victoria's shoulder, drawing her back. "Quite certain, old man," he said, "I can

handle this particular lass just fine." He winked at the drunk. "If you know what I mean."

"I beg pardon!" Victoria exclaimed, her hands going to her hips in indignation.

The drunkard crooked a finger at him, ignoring Victoria completely. "Aye, weel.. . thass what I thought too." He sighed

loudly. "Sae ye're lookin' for the parson, are ye noo?"

"Yes!" Victoria replied at once. She glared up at Thom. "And we are in a terrible ..."

"Rush," the drunk finished for her. "O' course!" he exclaimed. He cocked his head up at Thorn. "And ye're certain ye dinna wish tae be waitin' 'til the morrow, son?"

"No!" Victoria answered, sounding perfectly furious now.

Thom squeezed her shoulder gently. She shrugged away once more. "No," Thom replied. Victoria peered up him, frowning,

her eyes casting daggers at him. He grinned down at her, his brows lifting. "I said no," he pointed out.

"Verra weel," the drunk relented, lifting himself from his seat. He began at once to pound upon the door beside him.

"Oopen up, Constance!" he demanded. "We've customers! Ooopen up this instant!" He banged upon the wooden door, shaking it, but never budging it. After the longest interval, a thin, pink-faced woman answered. She threw open the door,

and glared at the drunk as though she would murder him where he stood. In her hand, she held, of all things, a horsewhip. "We've customers," he told her matter of factly, unshaken by the strap she wielded in her hand.

Thom, for his part, couldn't help but wince. The woman said nothing, merely cast the door open wide, glaring at the three of them each in turn.

'They're wantin' tae be wed t'night," the drunk told his wife.

"Now?" the wife asked.

"O' course now!" her husband declared. "Why d' ye think they're standing here?"

"Verra weel," she relented. "Come in."

Victoria merely stared.
"You
are the parson?" she asked, sounding utterly shocked.

"Aye!" the wife exclaimed in disgust. "He's the bluidy parson while he's no' otherwise occupied with his whiskey!" She turned

to her husband. "I thought I told ye tae sleep wi' yer bluidy bedfellows at the bluidy rotten tavern!" she railed at him, lifting the horsewhip and snapping it in the air after her obliviously drunk husband. She left the door wide for Victoria and Thom to follow.

If they dared.

Victoria peered up at Thom in stunned surprise, lifting her brows. Thorn offered a shrug. "Marital bliss,"

he replied, and chuckled.

She made no move to enter the house, and he had the sudden urge to shove her in the door. Surely she knew it was too late

to change her mind; he already had his heart set on this. He lifted his brows. "Does it not warm the cockles of one's heart?"