The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (5 page)

Waves of exquisite sensation crashed over him. He shuddered, but not with pleasure. He'd gone off before he'd even breeched her innocence to the music of her screams.

It was by far the most humiliating moment of his life.

* * *

She lay by his side, not touching him. Without speaking. A single thought kept running through Sarah's head:
Mama was right.

The private side of marriage was painful and distasteful and downright messy. It burned her, made her so sore. She wanted to get up and wash. How could she bear to go through this again? How often would he truly wish to do it? That was one question she'd never thought to ask her mother.

She certainly wasn't going to ask Nick. In fact, she might never speak to him again. He'd said she'd think she had died and gone to heaven. Under her breath, she said, "You had half of it right, anyway."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Silence settled between them like an unwelcome guest Sarah didn't know what to do. What was proper etiquette between a husband and wife following the folly of the marriage bed? It was yet another question she'd not known to ask.

Finally, Nick took care of that problem. Heedless of his nakedness, he climbed from the bed and crossed the room to the wardrobe where a change of clothing hung. Though she didn't intend to look, her gaze strayed to his backside. She fleetingly wondered how those firm, sculpted muscles would feel to the touch, and wished she'd explored the answer to that when she'd had the chance.

When she realized the direction her thoughts had taken, she choked and coughed.

Fastening his trousers, Nick glanced over his shoulder. "You all right?"

"Um, yes."

He removed a shirt from the cabinet and slipped it on. "I'm hungry. I thought I would go down to the dining room and order something to bring up. Is a sandwich all right with you?"

Sarah didn't want a sandwich, but she did want a few moments alone. She guessed that might be what Nick wanted, too. "That's fine."

He finished dressing without further talk, then headed for the door. There he paused. He raked his fingers through his hair, then addressed her without looking at her. "Sarah, I am sorry. It will be better next time."

Then he was gone and Sarah darted from the bed in a rush to wash and dress before he returned, the words "next time" echoing through her brain like a death knell.

Nick took longer downstairs than she expected, so she had time to fix her hair and bolt back another fortifying two sips of brandy. She wasn't certain if the liquor had made it any easier or not, but under the circumstances, if Nick wanted to do it again, better safe than sorry. She decided to keep the bottle close.

As it turned out, nothing would have prepared her for what happened next. Her husband returned to their room a pale, shaky imitation of the man who had walked out half an hour earlier. Shocked by his appearance, she said, "Nick, what is it? What happened?"

His deep blue eyes were dazed and glassy as he lifted the sheet of paper he held in his hand. "A letter arrived for me at the rooming house. The Widow Larkin sent it over. It is from England. From my father. My brothers were racing horses. There was an accident. Both of them. They're dead."

"Your brothers? Oh, Nick. I'm so sorry. Were you close?"

He shook his head. "I never met them. They were my only brothers and I never even met them. He wouldn't allow it."

Compassion swept through Sarah. "That's terrible. I understand why you're upset."

"No, you don't. Think about it, Sarah. My father is the Marquess of Weston. His eldest son is the Earl of Innsbruck. Sarah, that's me. I'm now legally my father's heir. We must depart for London immediately."

"What?"

"It's true, lass. I'm an earl. Lord Innsbruck. And you, Sarah, are Lady Innsbruck. You are my countess."

The brandy bottle slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

It's bad luck to change your bridal clothes before nightfall.

Chapter 3

"I won't go." Sarah repeated her assertion for the fifteenth time in the past fifteen minutes. She was dressed and perched primly on the settee in the sitting room while Nick paced the room. "It's not what we agreed. We have a nice house waiting for us to make it a home."

He halted in midstep and faced her, scowling. "Sarah, I am the Earl of Innsbruck. I own a townhouse in London, a castle in Scotland, and an estate in Surrey the size of Tarrant County. You’ll have three houses to make a home. "

"I don't care." She brushed an imaginary speck of dust off her sky-blue skirt. "I don't want to live there. I want to live in Fort Worth. My mother is here."

"Your mother can come with us. She'll like London. She can attend the theater every night if she wishes."

"My mother won't leave Texas. This is our home, Nick. We have roots here. We have family here."

"Well, I don't! My family is in England. I have three sisters and a father who want me back."

"That brings up the question of why they let you go in the first place. I'm sorry, but I have no desire to claim as relatives people who abandon a family member with no more than a flicker of conscience. Frankly, I'm surprised you can."

Fire flared in his eyes. "It is so easy for you, is it not? Only someone who has never been alone, who has never suffered a moment's doubt about belonging, could stand there and say what you just said. Lass, you are so spoiled you stink."

She gasped and shoved herself to her feet. "How dare you!"

"How dare I?" Nick braced his hands on his hips. "What about the vows you took this afternoon? Whatever happened to 'Wither thou goest, I will go'?"

She folded her arms and stuck out her chin. "You promised to 'goest' to a ranch just outside of town!"

"I didn't know my brothers were going to collide their horses and kill themselves when I said it."

"That doesn't change the fact that you want to go back on your promise. Just like you did a little bit ago." Sarah gave her head a toss and her golden hair went flying. "Your word, Nicholas Ross, is no good. You're a liar."

"Now wait just one minute."

"You promised not to hurt me." Now it was Sarah's turn to pace, and she did so while waving her arms about theatrically. "You promised not to hurt me, but you
did
when you took my virginity, and you
are
trying to break your word about staying in Fort Worth."

He muttered something beneath his breath, then snapped, "You're still a virgin, Sarah. I did not break your maidenhead. 'Tis as hard as your head. As far as hurting you goes, I apologize. I could have done better. However, your lack of cooperation didn't help the situation at all."

She stopped short and brought her hands to her chest. "Are you attempting to lay the blame on me?"

"I'm not laying anything—certainly not you. And 'tis my wedding night, too. Who the hell would have believed
that?"

With that, Sarah burst into tears. Nothing was going right. Everything was a mess. Nothing was turning out as she had planned. As Nick stabbed his fingers through his hair, she whirled around, threw herself down on the settee, buried her head in her arms, and sobbed. So wrapped up was she in her misery, she didn't notice he'd taken a seat beside her until he pulled her into his arms.

"Shush, now, lass. Dinna cry. Tis all right. Everything will be all right. Shush, now."

"I... I... I don't want to live in England!" she wailed against his shoulder.

"I ken. Perhaps we will not be required to live there. I dinna know the rules, Sarah. I simply know we must make the trip to Hunterbourne Manor to find out."

"But that’s not my dream. I don't want to go to your father's manor house. I want to stay here and crochet doilies for our tables and hang pictures and plant daisies in clay pots on the front porch. I love daisies."

"Aye, Sarah, I ken. Except the part about crocheting, that is. I wasn't aware you could crochet."

That surprised a little laugh out of her, and the atmosphere between them eased. He drew back, putting space between them, then tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and attended to her tears. He followed each dab of the square of white linen against her cheek with a kiss, and Sarah felt her defenses melt with each gentle brush of his lips.

Nick truly was a good man. He was honorable. She needed to remember that. It wasn't right of her to hold the marriage bed business against him. He was just a man, after all, and like any man, he wanted it. Like her mother said, putting up with it was a woman's lot in life. As far as this circumstance of his brothers' dying went, he certainly hadn't planned that. She wasn't being fair.

Sarah sniffed, then said, "I'm sorry, too, Nick. I know you're not a liar."

His smile was both tender and bittersweet as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "We will work it out. Dinna worry. Now, it has been a long day. Let's he down and take a wee nap. I want to hold you, Sarah. That's all, I promise. Just a wee cuddling. I will snore in your ear and perhaps when I awake, I will ken what to do about all of this. I have found it happens that way sometimes. I will go to sleep with a problem on my mind, and when I wake up, I have the solution."

Sarah agreed with little hesitation. She did enjoy being in his arms, and she wasn't worried he'd take advantage of her. Nick wasn't one for sneak attacks.

A few minutes later, they crawled into bed fully clothed. Despite the trauma that occurred last time they'd stretched out on this mattress, Sarah relaxed right away. She drifted off to sleep cradled in his arms, cushioned by the warmth of his body and blanketed by his spicy, masculine scent that had grown so familiar so quickly and both curled her toes and made her feel safe.

Half an hour later, she was awakened by a man's bellow and a knock on the door. "Nicholas Ross, you sonofabitch. Open this damned door! Open this door, you fornicating bastard, so I can kill you!"

It was, by far, the rudest awakening of Sarah's entire life.

* * *

Damnation, what now?
Nick rolled out of bed and headed for the door. He didn't recognize the voice, but that didn't really matter. Whoever was there would pay for interrupting Nick's wedding night.

Such as it was.

"This had better be good," he warned as he cracked the door open.

He'd never seen the man before in his life.

Whoever he was, he was older than Nick by thirty years or more. He wore a banker's suit and a furious scowl, and his gunmetal-colored eyes shot bullets. Nick caught himself before he could glance down toward his heart to check for wounds. "Do I know you?"

"If we'd met before, you'd already be dead," the man ground out through gritted teeth.

"Sir, I do not know what this is all about, but you are interrupting my honeymoon."

"Well, that's your bad luck, isn't it?"

Nick couldn't argue with that. From the moment he'd knocked on the hotel room door, this had been one bad-luck-filled wedding night. Now what?

He got his first hint when the man pushed against the door and barreled past Nick into the hotel suite, dragging a young woman behind him.

"Susan?" Nick asked.

Susan Harris was a pretty, petite woman with dark hair, lush curves, and a normally ready, winning smile. She lived up in Birdville, northeast of Fort Worth, where her father was the preacher at the Baptist church. Today her expression showed no sign of a smile, and suddenly Nick had a bad feeling about what had brought her to town.

He had met her shortly after his arrival in Fort Worth. She'd made the trip into the town's tenderloin district with members of her father's church for the purpose of saving souls. Instead, she'd been intrigued. At twenty-two, she chaffed at her "preacher's daughter" bonds, and at least twice that Nick knew of, that streak of wildness inside her had led her into trouble in the dens of sin that made up Fort Worth's Hell's Half Acre.

And Nick was grateful for it. If not for Susan, he'd be dead right now. When a murderous thief attacked Nick in a dark Ft. Worth alley one harsh, rainy night last winter, she and a fellow named Tom Sheldon had intervened and rescued him. Nick still wondered how a Baptist preacher's daughter came to handle a knife so well.