Sizzle All Day (28 page)

When she folded her arms and tilted her head, he knew he had managed to talk himself right into trouble.

"Yes, you are right," she said with a smile. "I do prefer to have Rowanclere as my home. And now that I think about it, I recognize how your plan would be advantageous to me."

"You do?"

"I do. A marriage of convenience has much to offer. I will have my home, the protection of your name."

"Wealth," he interjected.

"Yes, that." She tapped her lips with an index finger and trepidation slithered up his spine. "Also, the point about your mother's matchmaking causes something else to occur to me. I imagine that on your travels—should I choose not to accompany you—you will find that your married state frees you from any similar pressures your paramours might attempt."

"My what?" he croaked.

"Your paramours. Come now, Jake, you surely do not intend to remain celibate during your adventures."

"Well... I... uh... I'll probably be gone for years."

"Aye, I assumed so. And of course, no man or woman should be expected to deny his physical needs for years. So," she smiled brightly. "You say we shall be married today?"

"Huh?" He felt like he'd been knocked in the head with a fence post.

"You arranged for a clergyman to arrive today?"

As Jake cleared his throat, he felt the urge to take a step backward, but his feet remained planted on the ground. "Yes. I brought the preacher with me to Rowanclere. He's waiting for us."

"Wonderful," she said as if she meant it. She retrieved her shoes from where he had thrown them in his hurry to have her. Balancing first on one foot, and then the other, she clicked her tongue. "If we are to marry today, I must hurry. We Scots have almost as many superstitions involving marriage as we do about birthing bairns. Will you come down the hill with me now, or do you wish to remain here for a bit?"

He needed time to think. He wasn't exactly certain what had just happened here. "Actually. I think I will stay here for a time," he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "Enjoy this pretty day."

Gillian sent a curious glance skyward where rain clouds had started to gather. "Aye. Until later, then." She turned to go, then a dozen steps downhill paused and turned around. "Oh, Jake? What time should I be ready? What time do you wish to have the ceremony?"

"Talk to the preacher. Whenever is convenient with y'all is fine with me."

Jake watched his bride-to-be descend the hill, and in his mind's eye, he saw a man waiting to escort her back to the castle. However, the man wasn't him, but that damned David Maclean.

Shaken, he turned away, stalking across the ruins to where his shirt lay balled up against a stone wall. Bending down, he scooped it up, but when he tried to slip it on, his arms got tangled in the sleeves.
Shackled. Paramours. Celibacy.
David Maclean. Gillian and David Maclean. Rain splattered his back. Cold rain. Scottish rain. Jake thought he might just get sick.

* * *

"Jake Delaney is an idiot," Gillian muttered as she dressed for her wedding. "A kae-witted mell-heid. Looking for a convenient wife, is he? Well, I'll give him convenient."

In fact, she intended to be very, very convenient. Gillian had a plan. The seed of it had been planted in her brain when she'd watched him up at the watchtower. The man was a martyr on the altar of marriage, to hear him talk, but the message he had conveyed with his stance, his gestures, and aye, with his lovemaking, had told another story entirely. Jake had feelings for her. Gillian was willing to stake her future on it. She didn't fool herself that he loved her, not the deep, soul-binding, forever kind of love like Flora shared with Alasdair. Not the true love that would give her reason to follow him to the ends of the earth—literally, in this case. But he did care for her. His lackluster invitation to join him in his travels told her that much, as did the jealousy he displayed toward David. He cared for her and that was a start. With encouragement and a little time, love could grow, could it not?

Because, foolish or not, she loved the contrary man. She refused to give him up without a fight. He thought he wanted adventure? Well, she would give him adventure, all that he could handle, and neither of them would need to leave Scotland.

The adventure would begin with her gown.

It wasn't a traditional wedding dress, but then, this wasn't to be a traditional wedding. Part of Gillian, the dreamy, girlish side, bemoaned the fact. She would have liked to have had all the trappings of a Scottish wedding.

"This is what you get when you marry a Texan."

She found the perfect dress in the back of her armoire. The sky blue silk matched her eyes and revealed much of her bosom—too much of her bosom—which was why she'd never worn the dress. That, and the fact the dress was cut too snug. Gillian had made a mistake when she'd ordered it on the heels of a bout of illness. In this case, however, the gown would serve her purposes perfectly.

She was threading a ribbon through her hair a few minutes later when her door opened and Robyn darted inside. "Gilly? Are you ready? Everyone is waiting. Even Uncle Angus! He's all dressed up and sitting in his chair like a king on his throne. I think he looks better than he has for the longest time."

"That's wonderful," Gillian said, turning around.

Robyn's face brightened like a morning sun and she clutched the ever-present Scooter—adorned with a bright red bow for the day's festivities—close to her chest. "Oh, Gilly, you are so beautiful. You look like a princess!"

"I feel like a sausage squeezed into a casing."

Robyn didn't make her feel any better when she eyed Gillian's bosom in speculation. "I hope your brisket disnae pop out, though. Reverend Gregor's ears would turn red as his hair."

Gillian started to tug at the bodice, then stopped herself. She had donned her armor. Now it was time to engage the battle.

Minutes later, she walked into the green salon where her grand-uncle shared a glass of whisky with the minister, and her groom stood laughing with a woman Gillian failed to recognize from behind. Upon noticing her, the minister's eyes went inappropriately warm for a man of the cloth. Uncle Angus gave a misty-eyed smile. Jake broke off mid-chortle.

Gillian held herself regally beneath the heat of his stare. His gaze scorched a slow path from her head to her toes, then back up again, dawdling at her neckline both ways. His reaction was everything she'd hoped for when she chose her gown. The man might succeed in his intention to bed her, wed her, and leave her, but she wouldn't make it easy for him.

At some point during his perusal, the woman turned around. When Gillian managed to drag her attention away from Jake and see who had come to call, her stomach dropped to her ankles.

The American. David's wife. Gillian eyed the rug beneath her feet with the idea of crawling under it.

"Hello, Miss Ross." Annabelle Maclean's brown eyes sparkled and she flashed a brilliant smile. She was younger than Gillian and had a fresh-washed, friendly attitude that perfectly complimented her beauty. Today, however, she gushed. "It is such a pleasure to see you again. I understand I have happened upon a happy occasion. I was out riding, you see, and noticed the towers of Rowanclere in the distance. I decided the time had come to let bygones be bygones. Isn't it lucky I picked this particular time to renew our acquaintance?"

While Gillian fumbled for an appropriate response, the American entwined her arms with Gillian's husband-to-be. "Jake and I have proved what a small world we live in. Can you believe we have mutual friends in both Boston and New Orleans? Isn't that simply amazing?"

Gillian noted how Annabelle Maclean's breast nudged up against Jake's bicep and found herself wanting to rip her man away from the other woman. Instead, she forced a smile and said, "Yes, amazing."

Uncle Angus cleared his throat. "I don't mean to rush matters, but I'd like to see this settled this year. Are you ready, lass?"

No, she wasn't. Not now. She'd heard the stories about the elaborate society wedding Annabelle's family had hosted in Boston, and she did not wish to marry in such a shabby manner in front of David's wife. Gillian did have her pride, after all.

Then Jake stepped away from Annabelle Maclean and crossed the room toward her and Gillian realized she had nothing to fret about. All the champagne and edible delicacies could not overcome the superiority of her groom over Annabelle's.
And I should know. I've had them both.

The embarrassing thought warmed her cheeks. The flush intensified when her groom took her hands, then dipped his head to brush a kiss across her lips. "You look beautiful, princess," he said softly.

"So do you," she replied. It was the truth. He wore a crisp white shirt beneath a coat of charcoal gray and matching trousers, and she was encouraged he had bothered to dress up for the occasion. Maybe this marriage meant more to him than he allowed.

More likely, the suit was his only clean apparel.

On that cheery note, with her former lover's wife standing as witness on one side, her younger sister and a crippled dachshund on the other, Gillian prepared to say her wedding vows.

It would have been nice, though, if her groom hadn't appeared on the verge of fainting dead away.

* * *

Wedding nights, Jake told himself, were not for the faint of heart. Particularly after a strenuous wedding afternoon on a hilltop.

Gillian had retreated upstairs almost an hour ago, and he figured he'd put off joining her as long as he should. After they'd said their vows and while Gillian reluctantly gave young Mrs. Maclean a tour of the castle, Jake's first act as a married man was to send a letter off to his grandfather informing the earl that he'd been altered at the altar, so to speak. Then he spent some time with Angus discussing the purchase of Rowanclere and the documentation required for the elderly man to officially bestow the proceeds of the sale upon his grand-nieces. He found the familiar legal process soothing, and he had relaxed for the first time since the preacher opened his prayer book.

Then Gillian had to walk into the room. Barefoot. Everything had gone south from there. And, in the case of his blood to his britches, he meant it quite literally.

She'd stripped off her shoes because she'd stepped into a puddle of water, and she seduced him by wriggling her toes. From that moment on, he'd felt nervous as a virgin. He didn't understand it. He'd bedded women hundreds of times. Maybe even thousands. Hell, he'd bedded Gillian twice today. Why would he be nervous now?

Because, for the first time in his life, he would be making love to his wife.

Wife. Here came that sick feeling again. What was he going to do? A man couldn't concentrate on pleasing his woman when he worried about losing his lunch.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Jake realized he truly wanted to please Gillian Ross. Gillian Ross Delaney. His wife. He wanted to please her very, very much. He'd promised Angus he would remain at Rowanclere until such time that his trust fund was released and the funds safely transferred to Gillian, Flora, and Robyn. Until then, he wanted to make her happy, to be a good husband to her.

Maybe that way she would decide to make the trip with him.

As the hours passed, Jake had grown rather fond of the idea. The fact surprised him. Astounded him, actually. But he realized he'd told her the truth up at the watchtower. He did consider Gillian a friend and the notion of traveling the world with her set well with him.

Right now, though, they needed to get past this wedding night business. He faced the bedroom door as if a firing squad waited behind it, not Gillian. Swallowing hard, he reached for the doorknob and muttered, "I just hope she's gentle with me."

The moment he stepped into the room, he wondered if he'd get a chance to find out. Gillian wasn't waiting for him in bed. She wasn't in the bedchamber at all. Jake scowled and felt a spark of unease kindle.
Don't tell me she got tired of waiting on me. I wasn't that long.

Then he noticed the yawning dark hole in the wall where the passageway door opened. Her wedding dress lay in a heap in front of it. The sight worried him at first. Could something have happened to her? Quickly, he crossed to the passageway door and stepped into the gloom. Off to the right, an arrow made of rose petals pointed the way. "Well, well, well. This is starting to look interesting."

He found a petticoat a dozen steps away. A stocking, a flight of stairs beyond that. By the time he'd collected a second stocking, two slippers, a bustle, another petticoat, a corset cover, and a corset, Jake was whistling, his trepidation disappeared in the enjoyment of her game.

When he found the wooden head, he laughed out loud. "My, oh my. Looks like I stand to get another peek at the Headless Lady of Rowanclere's breasts."

The trail exited from the passage at the bottom of a narrow, winding stone stair. There, he discovered another rose petal arrow. Jake began to climb.

It was one of the old towers, an uninhabited part of the castle. Jake had visited it during those early explorations of Rowanclere and from what he could remember, it had served as little more than a storehouse.

He couldn't wait to find out what was stored up here now.

Jake climbed all the way to the top where finally, another door stood open. He stepped inside and his mouth went dry as a West Texas summer.

Standing in front of a small arched window, she wore the delicate white ghost gown. She was naked underneath, her generous curves tantalizingly displayed. Heat slammed into Jake like a fist. "If you're a real ghost this time or a figment of my imagination, I think I'll just lay down and cry."

She offered a slow, Jezebel smile, then knelt in front of the fireplace and gestured for him to join her. He eyed the thick rug covering the hard stone floor and the more than a dozen pillows cozily beckoned. He saw a plate of cheeses and fruit. Wine. Woman. Oh, what a woman. The setting was a hedonist's dream.

Jake took half a dozen steps toward her, then stopped abruptly when a cloud of scent descended on him. Exotic scent, erotic scent. Gillian's scent. For just a second, he closed his eyes and enjoyed. "Mmm..."