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Bogus Bride. Emily French
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He thrust the memory away sharply, turned again to the dancers. Elfin Caitlin might be, but she had a nice shape, curves in all the right places. She had an unconscious grace, and her slim hips swayed in an enticing manner. He did not think she did it on purpose. She always had been a spritely creature.
Samuel idly swirled his drink and watched the candlelight spinning off her glossy black hair as she tilted her swanlike neck to the music. The arch of her throat made him feel heavy in his chest. Her vivid smile generated conflicting emotions deep within him. His hunger was like a pulse, a living thing existing deep inside him, separate and undeniable.
Samuel knew now that nothing would permanently slow or alter the quick, impatient way Caitlin moved. What was she now? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Her character was volatile, complex, and her restless intellect reached out for knowledge that was neither attractive nor necessary in a woman.
It was ridiculous, of course, but he felt the tension growing inside of him. He felt his insides clench, and he could hear the rushing of his blood in his inner ears as if it were part of a spring thaw. His hammering heart seemed to be threatening to choke him.
God, this was torture! He had not lain with a woman in a long, long time. Another dismaying thought flitted through Samuel’s mind. What of Caitlin? Why had she come all this way to marry him?
Caitlin’s eyes strayed to the corner where Samuel was leaning on the counter and conversing with Liam Murphy. She felt her skin tighten and tingle all over. Though she could not like the way he was paying more attention to his business partner than to his bride, she had to concede he did look very handsome in his dark blue evening coat.
She also had to concede that Saint John, at least, was above her expectations. Samuel’s letter had hinted that this country was crude, full of inconveniences and uncouthness, and that she would need all her strength for what lay ahead of her.
On the contrary. The hotel ballroom was as grand as any in London. From the lovely green-papered walls to the fine trio of crystal chandeliers that hung from the high gilded ceiling, the room reflected elegance and refinement.
Caitlin was partly amused, partly provoked, by Samuel’s harsh evaluation of his new country. She hoped that his opinion of her destination would prove as inaccurate. Until this journey, her childhood dream of having a true adventure had seemed unattainable. She sighed with pleasure, feeling a delicious sense of anticipation.
Samuel suddenly looked up, directly at her. She experienced again that queer breathlessness whenever he looked in her direction. He studied her for a moment, an intensity revealed beneath those half-closed lids that shocked her. It was as if there were a kind of vexation there, a frustration, held in check.
A heartbeat more, and he inclined his head. A smile appeared and vanished on his lips, so quickly that Caitlin was not sure she had actually seen it. The noise in the ballroom seemed distant, dreamlike, unreal.
It was happening again—that disturbing feeling was back, deep in the pit of her stomach, an awareness of the pressing softness of her shift across her breasts. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling. All she knew was that it made her uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.
She felt her face warm, certain that it was wrong. Sinful. Caitlin was fully informed as to sex and reproduction. She had seen and studied things that would make any modern young woman blush, but she had never felt this upsurge of femaleness before. Perhaps it was simply that she was viewing Samuel as—
“Mrs. Jardine.” The banker’s voice interrupted her train of thought. “Your charming presence will be missed when you travel north. It is a shame you could not stay longer in Saint John.”
What was she thinking? Not wishing to appear impolite, Caitlin smiled demurely. “It’s a long journey, and Samuel is anxious to show me my new home.”
She wanted nothing more than to retire for the night and be alone with Samuel. But he was preoccupied with men’s business, and a squire’s daughter did have some sense of the proprieties. She understood, and she would wait for him. She had always waited for him, from the beginning.
As if he followed her thoughts, Martinus Soule’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, young love. It warms the cockles of my old heart. Here am I hogging you, when you’re no doubt wishing it was your young scalawag who was on the dance floor with you.”
That was true enough. Were her own feelings so transparent? The thought was appalling. Caitlin’s breath quickened, and she was acutely aware of a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. She shook her head.
“Samuel and I have all our lives ahead of us, Mr. Soule.”
The banker’s voice lowered earnestly. “We are rather apt to forget that our destinies are not always in our own hands—even for such a winsome beauty.”
Was the statement rhetorical or serious? Caitlin’s brightest smile flashed across her face. She couldn’t imagine what lay before her, but she embraced it with all her being.
“Beauty will pass—but love lasts forever.”
The banker smiled indulgently. “You are still very young.”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, accepting the edict without reservation. “Quite young. But Samuel and I have known each other since childhood, and been pledged these many years past. I just wish—” She broke off, catching herself before she said the unthinkable.
“I wouldn’t like to see you hurt.”
Caitlin drew her delicate eyebrows together. “How can Samuel hurt me? He doesn’t gamble, and he has courage and genius and works hard—that’s what it takes to be successful in the lumber business—and you know he’s carved a fortune out of the wilderness, made a name for himself.”
“Too big a name for peace and comfort, and there are other faults a man can have. Sam Jardine is a mere man, not a god to revere.” Martinus Soule smiled as he said it, but his black eyes held a warning that was genuine. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Now, it’s time he rested on his laurels and settled down.”
Something in his expression caused Caitlin’s heart to flutter painfully. There was a sense of disapproving judgment, and the banker’s bland insinuations had created an uneasiness in her.
She wanted to hear about Samuel, about the tall timber that he said was like a vast green sea, endless, enduring, stretching into infinity. She felt that she would trade her soul for a few more bits of information out of which she could fashion her dreams.
With outward calm, she asked, “What are these awful faults?”
“Oh, he’s simply been a bachelor far too long, and in the past he has had other goals to occupy his attention.”
In America, a man has a chance to better himself, Samuel had told her. Promise to remember me, he had said to herself and Caitryn on that long-ago day.
And she had. During the weeks, the months, the years, that passed. Time had blunted her hope, and driven her to more practical matters, but she bad gone on doggedly preparing herself until she had done all she could.
Then the letter had come, with its confusion of names. Her deceit would be all right. Caitryn had wanted her to go. Had she not said, “I wish it. It must be so. Samuel has sent for you and I know you love him. I wish to devote my life to God, but can I rest quiet in the cloister, knowing you lie alone at night?”
Caitlin raised her gaze just in time to see the hint of a smile register on Samuel’s face. She inclined her head. The immediate tightening of his jaw rewarded her. She felt a pulse flutter in her throat, and a sudden weakness in her knees.
“Of