Bogus Bride

Samuel frowned, leaning forward slightly to study her upturned face. Her head was so close to his that he could smell the fresh scent of her hair. “You’d better walk very carefully,” he said, “because it’s rather slippery.” That was true enough. “You’re wondering what happens next, aren’t you?”

She looked at him fiercely. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper, a muted feminine sound that caught him off guard.

Samuel lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. His sun-browned hand looked very dark against her pale, delicate skin. “It’s a bit complicated, and you’re just going to have to trust me!” His fingertips lingered at her face.

He gently traced the outline of her face, pausing at her chin and tilting it upward. He groaned inwardly. He badly wanted to kiss those wet, shiny lips, not to confess some past indiscretion.

Dammit! What was the matter with him? Why was this so difficult? He wanted very much to tell her the truth, but just as he was about to do so, he paused, biting his lip.

Why should he confess? That was the honorable thing to do, and he was tired of honor. Wasn’t it better to let Caitlin find out the truth about himself now, rather than a couple of weeks from now?

Caitlin ran her index finger along the back of his hand. Samuel was strangely astounded at the incredibly erotic effect the simple caress had on him. And he certainly shouldn’t be having these feelings now.

If he once gave way to this raw emotion, he’d burn like straw. He could not accept it. He concentrated grimly on controlling his arousal. It was not easy. He took a grip on his resolve.

Caitlin stiffened imperceptibly, her mouth becoming a tight line. “Those in glass houses can’t afford to throw stones. Who am I to judge?”

Samuel cursed under his breath. Obviously, what he had been thinking showed on his face. Embarrassed, he turned away and ushered her into their cabin.

The small, musty cell contained several narrow wooden bunks, all of them shorter than Samuel’s length by a good six inches. A small commode stood nearby, atop which was a cracked porcelain bowl and pitcher.

Standing erect, Caitlin could easily touch the planked ceiling. How could a man possibly be comfortable in such a small cubicle? At the thought of sharing one of those bunks with Samuel, her insides turned upside down, and there was a strange, trembling sensation in her knees that she couldn’t explain.

Not a very sound medical diagnosis, she knew, but it did describe how it felt. What she needed was an explanation of Liam Murphy’s insinuations and innuendos.

“Care to share your thoughts?” he said from the doorway.

Caitlin looked away from her husband, so that he couldn’t see her face. She wanted to give away nothing of what she was feeling. Pain…betrayal…nothing she wanted him to see.

She thought quickly. If she framed her answer carefully, she could be honest, yet not tell too much. She gave a little laugh. “Actually, I was just thinking about the lack of accommodation. I was wondering where the little ones were going to sleep. Very unromantic thoughts, I assure you!” She was talking too fast, and she knew it.

Samuel’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “You like children?” His tones were unfathomable.

Caitlin’s eyes darted to his eyes, and once again she found him looking at her. She wasn’t sure how to describe the look he gave her. Intense. Penetrating. Probing. It made her nervous.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said in a small, defensive voice. “It’s natural that the children should be in my thoughts. Young ones are very vulnerable to the damp night air.”

“Caitlin, you’d best sit down.” He paused, as if trying to decide how to phrase his next words. “We must talk.”

His face wore a curious expression. It was what Caitlin was beginning to think of as his “American” look—a look in which humor and sheer savage determination were very oddly mingled.

The wooden floor planks creaked as she took a seat on a bunk. She stared at the husband who had become a stranger. “What is it that you are so determined to talk about? Does it have anything to do with the absurd conversation we overheard just now? Or the fact that you fell asleep last night at a most inopportune moment?”

Both were questions he had feared. Samuel settled himself so that he could look straight at her. Seated, he dropped his laced fingers between his spread legs and raised his eyes to her face, where a smile that he could not interpret seemed only a challenge. He said nothing for a moment, sitting in silence while he gathered his thoughts.

Actually, he didn’t have a thing to say. It had simply been a wild idea that he must tell her about Zoe before they arrived at Fairbanks. Better to wait until they were home. He let the silence grow.

Caitlin made a sharp movement of protest, and scooted so close to the edge of the bunk, she was in danger of falling off. She hugged her knees. “I may be naive, but I’m not stupid. Are you not going to tell me there was some mistake, some exaggeration? That the friends you invited to the wedding are not friends?” she asked, with an odd rasping note in her voice.

“Enemies come to your wedding. Friends come to your funeral.”

“With friends like yours, who needs enemies?” Caitlin swallowed the lump in her throat and blurted out, “Is Zoe your mistress?”

Samuel shook his head and said absolutely nothing, but she could see the change in his red-brown eyes. They held a speculative, half-amused look. It was like being slammed into a brick wall.

“So why don’t you deny these allegations? Why won’t you even try to defend yourself?” Caitlin choked out. She was so angry she felt she might burst.

Samuel stood up. “Caitlin, I’ll thank you to stay out of my—”

“Your what? Your affairs? After what just happened, how you can even think about—”

“Caitlin, I didn’t ask your opinion. Zoe is not my mistress. It is a simple matter of trust. Either you are with me or you are against me. As my wife, you have no other options. I will tell you that much.”

“What is it exactly that you want from a wife?”

Samuel’s brown eyes were cautious. He shrugged and said, “Oh, I want a woman who is so besotted with me that she won’t worry óver who or what I am. She won’t care what I have done in the past and will enthusiastically embrace every project I undertake in the future. She’ll be a faithful helpmate, a mother to my children, and never give me cause to suspect her loyalty….”

Samuel fell silent. His mouth twitched a little, as if in self-ridicule, but Caitlin did not find the expression reassuring. Her breath was coming fast, and her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

For a moment, she almost voiced her own sentiments, then her ever-present sense of humor came to her rescue. She suppressed a giggle and fixed him with a meek, understanding, dutiful look.

“You want a woman to follow you barefoot wherever you choose to lead?” she asked, a little too sweetly.

“Exactly,” he agreed, obviously pleased at her perception.

Caitlin caught her breath. The temper she had tried to control flared, and she did nothing to control it. Grabbing for a weapon, her hand curled around a metal candlestick. She hurled it. He didn’t so much as flinch, even when it hit his shoulder.

“You sound as if you want a doormat, you great oaf. Murder and mayhem sound very attractive to me right now.”

His brown eyes widened, and then he half smiled, teasing. “To love, honor, and obey…”

She took the point, but faced him undefeated. “You’ve had the only promise you’re getting. Go take a walk, else I shall be converted into a doormat instantly.”

“I just might do that.” This time he dodged the missile, which hit the door frame. His rich laughter followed him down the passageway.

Chapter Four (#ulink_a1ba0b8c-ccc4-54aa-8aca-a0f1ae3e2329)

Zoe. Zoe. Zoe. The name spun like a fiery litany in Caitlin’s head, sharp and painful, keen as the blade of a sword cutting through her sensibility, releasing those wretched twin failings of hers, anger and pride.

Don’t think about it, she told herself fiercely. She stood in the center of the cabin, shivering, alone with the empty bunks, and fought to put one coherent thought in front of the other.

She was being too intense again. Overreacting.

Zoe. Zoe. The name kept ringing in Caitlin’s mind, an interior thunder drowning out the rational words she kept trying to think of, to cling to.

For a little while, she thought Samuel would come back to her. That he would smile, and she would run into his arms, and angry constraint between them would dissolve.

But he did not.