Gerrity's Bride

“Don’t count on it,” she said softly. “Don’t count on it, Gerrity.”

Her skirts swished about her, her head lifted in defiance, and he let her go as she brushed past him, turning to watch as she left the room.

It wasn’t until she closed the door of her room behind her that Emmaline crumpled. Leaning against the heavy planks, she slid down to sit on the floor, burying her face in her hands. Her fingertips traced the path his lips had taken, barely touching the surface of her flesh where the heated kisses had burned against her.

“Oh, Delilah,” she whispered against her palms. “You didn’t tell me about this. You didn’t tell me!”

Chapter Five

Olivia Champion could be an attractive woman, Emmaline decided. If only she weren’t so grimly determined to look like a typical teacher. Her primly clad body and her smoothly scraped-back hair advertised her calling, as did the subservient air she wore like a garment.

Like a chameleon against the sand, she blended into the atmosphere of the house, and only here at the breakfast table had Emmaline heard more than one-syllable replies from the woman. Apparently this was a daily routine. Matthew questioned and Olivia answered, reciting Theresa’s schedule for his approval.

Her dark eyes focused on Matt’s face as Olivia placed her napkin carefully across her lap. Emmaline watched as a faint softening of the other woman’s features was quickly concealed by the lowering of her head.

So that’s how the land lies, Emmaline thought with awakening interest. The words spoken described lessons and books, but the subdued glances and carefully orchestrated movements told a different story.

“Today we’ll be working mostly on letters and numbers,” Olivia said quietly, her eyes limpid as she lifted her lashes in Matt’s direction. “I’ve planned a geography lesson for this afternoon, but that will depend on Theresa.” She glanced at Emmaline, her expression tolerant, as she elaborated. “Sometimes she gets a bit cranky after noontime and needs a short rest.”

Emmaline nodded, striving to hide the smile that begged to curl her mouth. “I seem to suffer from the same problem some days,” she agreed. Glancing at Matt as if she were seeking his reinforcement, she continued. “She’s only five years old, Miss Champion. You’re not pushing her too rapidly, are you?”

Olivia shook her head. “Certainly not. Mr. Gerrity wants his sister to be more than literate. His plan is to send her back east, to a university, when the time comes. But for now she is only beginning the basics, learning her letters and numbers as I read to her from the classics. We look at pictures of other countries and read about them, learning history and geography at a primary level.” Her gaze swept across the table to rest with tender concern on Theresa, whose own eyes had moved from one adult to another.

Well said, Emmaline thought with a trickle of humor. The woman was a teacher to the bone, with hardly a shred of impetuosity within that dignified frame. Except for the sidelong glances that Matt seemed so oblivious of.

“I’m sure you have the situation well in hand,” Emmaline murmured, her attention on the butter knife she was using with a lavish hand.

Across the table, Matt’s dark eyes focused on the two women. Even as he listened to the words they spoke, he measured them in his mind. It was unfair, he decided. The contrast between them put Olivia at a distinct disadvantage. Next to the bright curls that surrounded Emmaline’s head and cascaded down her back in an early-morning frenzy, the tutor’s dark hair was commonplace, slicked back into a tightly wound knob at the nape of her neck. Only the somber clothing each wore placed them on common ground; Olivia’s dark gray morning dress just shades lighter than the black silk that adorned Emmaline’s curves.

He frowned as he considered the covered buttons that divided Emmaline’s fitted bodice, ending at the small stand-up collar circling her throat. Covering all the soft flesh there, except for an inch or so in front, where he caught sight of the vulnerable hollow his lips had touched only yesterday.

“I want you to put away the mourning, Emmaline,” he announced as he cut the beefsteak that lay on his plate.

“Really.” She managed to put subtle emphasis on each syllable as she softly defied his edict.

His fork waved in her direction. “Yes, really. You’re not likely to meet any members of high society out here, and the rules of behavior you followed in Kentucky don’t apply.”

She glanced at him with barely concealed disdain. “Rules of behavior never vary when it comes to civilized people,” she said politely.

Olivia Champion swallowed the last bite of her breakfast with almost indecent haste and snatched the white napkin from her lap to cover her mouth. “May I be excused?” she asked softly, and her eyes were shuttered as she rose from her chair. “I must prepare for Theresa’s lessons.”

Matt’s nod was curt, but Emmaline found her tongue. “Certainly, Miss Champion. We’ll look forward to dinner.”

His gaze was morose as Matt watched the young woman leave the room. “You’ve had a week to look her over. Is she any good?” he asked in an undertone. “I mean, do you think she’ll do for Tessie?”

Emmaline’s left eyebrow lifted as she considered him. “Why on earth are you asking me? Didn’t you check into her credentials before you hired her? How long has she been here?”

He shrugged diffidently. “For three months, just since Tessie’s birthday. My mother hired the woman, sight unseen, from a newspaper ad, when she decided that it was time for Tessie to begin schooling.”

“Well, I suppose she’s doing well. She seems to like Tessie, and she certainly admires you.”

“Me?” Matt shook his head as he swallowed the last bite on his fork. “What do I have to do with anything? You’re just trying to ignore the issue.”

Blankly Emmaline looked at him. “What issue?”

His hand waved in her direction, encompassing the darkness of her attire. “That black thing you insist on wearing,” he muttered with disgust.

Emmaline’s chin lifted, and her eyes glittered. The man was totally blind to the attachment Tessie’s teacher was forming for him, and yet managed to notice every detail of her own appearance. How dare he criticize her dress?

Matt chewed calmly, surveying the arrogant picture she presented, his own eyes lowering to his plate as he fought to hide the gleam of amusement he could not suppress.

“This black thing,” she announced with genteel anger, “is made of the finest silk, imported from France and sewn by Lexington’s most accomplished dressmaker.” Her head nodded once when she’d completed her announcement.

His drawl became more pronounced as he inspected her carefully. “Well, it sure won’t do for summertime in the Arizona Territory.”

“I beg to differ with you,” she said smartly. “We’ve had this conversation once before, if I remember correctly, and my position has not changed. I intend to remain in mourning for at least six months. Given the circumstances of our marriage, I consider that sufficient.”

His chair pushed back, silent against the thick rug that covered the dining room floor, and Matt rose to his feet. He spread his palms flat on the heavy pine table and leaned to confront her, parroting her words precisely.

“Given the circumstances of our marriage, I insist you send for some more appropriate clothing from Kentucky. Either that, or I’ll take you into Forbes Junction to sort through the ladies’ things at the dry goods.”

A flush rose from her throat to cover her cheeks, and Emmaline swallowed the angry words that formed in her mind. Just who did he think he was? This misbegotten...

“Well?” He leaned closer, and she fought the urge to scoot her chair back, fought the inclination to put more than a few inches between his hard-bitten features and her own.

Her fingers clenched into fists as she pounded them on the table, her elegant manners flying to the four winds. She met his arrogance in equal measure.

“Well, what?” she said between gritted teeth. “Who gave you the right to judge my wardrobe, Mr. Gerrity? Until I stand before a preacher and say all the right words, you have no right to dictate to me! About anything!”

His eyes flashed with smothered amusement as he assessed the haughty demeanor of the woman who faced him. He’d ruffled her feathers, that was for sure. He decided he might as well finish the job, as long as he was at it.

One hand lifted from the table and snaked out to cradle the curls that covered the back of her head. Fingers gripping securely, he pulled her forward, balancing himself with the other hand that pressed firmly against the table between them. Tiny flecks of amber glowed within her blue eyes as she tilted her head against the pressure of his wide palm. Not fear, he noted with satisfaction, but defiance, lit those gently slanted eyes. Her lips were firmly closed, her jaw clenched, and her nostrils flared with the force of her indrawn breath as he lowered his mouth to stake his claim.

As kisses went, it wasn’t much, he thought ruefully. She had clamped down hard, her teeth held tightly together, like a bulldog with a bone. He molded her lips with his own, amused by the pursing and pushing at him, and then, with a growl, he bit at the lower lip that protruded, nipping it gently until she protested.

“Um...bffft...” The words were captive within her mouth, and he quickly followed his attack with a gentle bathing of his tongue against the fullness of the flesh he had grasped between his teeth.

Then, as quickly as he had leaned forward to take hold of her, he released her and stood erect, his damp mouth slanted into a grin that bespoke his victory.

“I have the right, Emmaline,” he told her quietly. “I’m in charge here, over everything and everyone on this ranch. Most especially, my dear bride-to-be, I’m in charge of you. That gives me the right to be concerned for your welfare.”

He waited for the explosion that was sure to follow, but she only watched him warily, her tongue exploring the cushion of her bottom lip.

The worrying of her mouth had not hurt, she realized, only caught her attention, which was no doubt what he’d had in mind. He’d caught her attention, all right. Twice before, he’d kissed her, first with a harshness that branded her as his prey. The second time had been an awakening, a tender, careful perusal of her lips that had beguiled and tempted her into hazy desire.

Now, in a demanding fashion, he had arrogantly taken her mouth, riding roughshod over her muffled protest. As hard as his hand had been, holding her in place, as determined as his mouth had been, tasting of her own, she could not be afraid of his dominance. Only of the strange emotions his touch had forced into being within her.

“And what if I decline your generous offer, Mr. Gerrity? What if I choose not to shop at the dry goods?” She rose from her chair and waited, her eyes speaking her defiance.