Chapter Twenty #2
“And Kyle got a real star,” she said, a momentary sadness passing over her as she wondered if Kyle thought he’d lost anything he couldn’t replace.
Now she remembered the sudden pallor beneath his dark complexion in that first instant she’d glanced at him after Gray had declared they were to be married.
She raised her glass, drained it quickly, and peered into it.
“Empty,” she announced, raising it higher.
“So it is,” Gray agreed. “No more,” he said.
“I know you’ve had gallons more in your dark past, ma’am, but two glasses are enough now.
They’re not even champagne glasses. When we get back to Wyoming Territory, don’t you let it get out that you’ve been swilling champagne from tooth glasses, or there won’t be a ranch hand who’ll talk to you.
Sure, we’re rustic, but we’re not peasants! ”
She laughed with him, but then asked, frowning with sudden worry, “Will your friends like me, I wonder?”
It was exactly that same slightly exaggerated emotion that had marked all her statements in the past half hour that told him she had, indeed, had enough for now.
He only hoped it was enough for what he had in mind.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, he thought—with a fine flair for drama she’d have enjoyed if he’d dare share his thoughts with her now—and then they’d be married.
But from everything she’d said tonight, and every emotion he could read on her face—and that was every one that came to her—she was preparing to be panicked, as well as married.
And who could blame her? he thought, remembering her past experiences.
So tonight he determined he’d seduce her.
If he succeeded, in all ways, she’d never have to worry about it again.
Even if he failed, it was far too late for her to back out now.
He knew it was taking advantage, because no matter what happened she’d never want to disappoint her friends or embarrass her father, but he was sure that if they left it to tradition and their wedding night, she’d be cold as ice by New Year’s Eve.
In fact, it might be well into the new decade before she’d be able to relax like this with him again.
Thinking about it would only make it worse for her, and him.
And being married would mean that she’d be thinking about it every day and night. He certainly would be.
Now he remembered every word Doc had said to him, and just looking at her face when she even said the word “marriage” made him think of all those dozens of secret, tiny, hidden muscles already beginning to tighten up against him.
If she could drink just enough to relax enough tonight, and he could ease his way…
He wasn’t sure he was doing right, but he was sure he couldn’t be that far wrong.
“Sure, all my friends will purely hate you—just look how Royal feels about you,” he said tenderly, gazing at her, glad, at least from the way his body was accepting his plans, that he’d made them.
“You,” she said, pointing to his untouched glass, “aren’t drinking. Isn’t it bad luck to not drink a toast?”
Worse luck to drink them, he thought, wondering about the story of her first husband again.
“Mmm,” he said, wetting his lips with the wine, before taking hers again.
She despaired, even as she rejoiced in his kiss.
He wasn’t drinking enough, he was as amusing and controlled and sensible as ever.
And she’d never take him off guard if he were so sober.
There were only three days left until their wedding.
There was still time. She hoped he wouldn’t back out, whatever happened tonight.
But at least she was determined that he know all the facts so he could, if he wanted to. It was only fair.
She’d decided to seduce him tonight.
She’d never had to practice such arts on John, but she knew what had made him want to do what he couldn’t do with her.
Kisses had been enough at first, taking off her clothing had been sufficient at the end.
She’d done both with Gray, though, and failed.
Still, she’d seen enough plays on the subject to know how it was done.
And with enough wine, she could surely enact them.
Although she realized she was a bit dazed now, she worried, thinking she could use a jot more champagne just so she could lose her last fears and cautions.
But the bottle, she noted with a distant sort of grieving, was being emptied into Gray’s own glass even as she stared at it longingly, though he hadn’t so much as sipped what remained of his first share.
Gray saw her petulant expression as he put the empty bottle down, and moved his filled glass far out of her reach, knowing he’d done the right thing. She needed to be a little more relaxed, not limp as a dishrag and out of her mind.
“Well, now, what else is bothering you, honey?” he asked, as he wrapped his arm around her again.
He scarcely heard her answer, he was so appalled at how false he sounded, as if he really was one of the villains in a melodrama.
All he needed, he thought with some disgust, was a nice smoking jacket and a big mustache, and he’d get the part exactly right.
Hannah murmured something about when they’d go shopping for something or other, as her mind worked as furiously as it could under its twin burdens of champagne and self-doubt.
“I don’t suppose I need many new clothes,” she said, “because winter is winter whether we’re in New York or Wyoming Territory.
Heavens!” she exclaimed suddenly. “That’s why I feel so warm, I’m still all dressed for a blizzard, and here we are so warm and snug inside.
I wonder if I ought to slip into something more comfortable,” she said too brightly, blushing a little as she blatantly parroted the most famous line in the seduction scene of The Bridge at Midnight, Her Fatal Lover, and a dozen other plays she’d seen, as she fidgeted with a button at the throat of her high-necked frock.
She’d gotten four of them undone when his hand came down over hers on the buttons. Her heart picked up its beat as it raced in triumph, even as it did with sudden fear; she hadn’t thought she’d get such immediate results.
“Now hold on, it isn’t that warm,” he said with grim dislike.
So she’d had experience with liquor, had she?
She was on her ear after two glasses, he thought angrily, now he’d have to wait a while for her to sober enough to make it a fair encounter.
Knowing how it was with novice drinkers, he heaved a sigh as he removed his hand, for there was every chance she’d fall asleep before that happened.
As best Hannah could remember in her shaken state, her next line had to do with asking him to make himself comfortable, too, but from the look on his face, she was afraid to ask him the time of night.
There was only so much her experience in the theater could do.
She had to rely on her own intuition now.
So she brought a hand up to the side of his grim face.
And then bereft of easy words, and too frightened to think of difficult ones, she lifted her face to his and kissed him.
It felt like nothing he’d ever felt before, but he was fairly sure that it didn’t feel like the kiss of a drunken woman.
After one moment of hesitation, he decided he didn’t want to analyze it anymore, whatever it was, he was sure he couldn’t go on living without more of it.
She was warm, willing, and entirely relaxed in his arms, and when he could think at all about his planned seduction, he could only think that it was well underway.
She burrowed into his embrace and tried to bury all her fears in his arms, as his lips silenced all her doubts.
This was her Gray, and he’d make it all, all right, she thought, as his hands covered over her breasts, and his mouth left hers to the mundane business of drinking air, as it got on with the life-supporting business of sipping at her neck.
There was no doubt that it was far too warm in the little parlor now, but she’d not the words to ask to slip into something more comfortable, because the only comfortable thing she could imagine was to be deeper within his arms than she was, and she knew that to be impossible.
And though she was upset at first when his hands left her, she soon realized, as they began to work at less rewarding, but more vital tasks, that he was quite right, her clothes were definitely in the way.
She’d only a moment to realize she was sitting in her parlor, entirely naked, when she discovered herself clothed again, with him, in his arms. But now, although his mouth was more than enough attire for her breasts and his stroking hands sufficient to blanket all her body, she found his being dressed unfair and unjust. He laughed when she managed to say something to that point, and obligingly struggled from his jacket.
It was when he’d finally thrown off his shirt and emerged from his undershirt that he saw her eyes losing the sweet glaze of shocked sensation that they’d worn, and take on a sudden, stricken look of doubt and fear. He saw it clear, because in their haste, they’d forgotten to turn down the lights.
“No, and no,” he said at last, shaking his head, his bare chest heaving from the effort of not reaching for her, where she sat, naked, frozen with indecision, staring at him. “This is not the place,” he said.
Oh damnation, she thought, and tried not to weep.
A moment before when he’d left her to her own thoughts and the accusing light, she’d been terrified of his continuing.
Now she was horrified at the thought of his stopping.
His eyes were brilliantly blue, and his face as taut as her nerves were as he stared at her.
He hesitated, and then bent to her again.
Only this time one arm went beneath her legs, the other around her shoulders, and he lifted her high and easily.