The Bridal Veil (33 page)

But a bath sounded wonderful. She had
to wash off the soot and smoke, and dragging in the tub and filling
it was a big job even on easier days. After the long day and
frantic night she’d put in, to just sit and soak would seem like
heaven.

Luke didn’t wait for her response. He
opened the door and dragged in the oblong, galvanized tub from its
storage place on the back porch. Then he stoked the fire in the
stove to heat pots and kettles of water.

“
One of these years when the
crops are really good,” he said, “I’m going to buy a stove with a
hot water reservoir on it so we don’t have to go through this every
time we want to wash.”

He went about the business of readying
her bath, pouring kettle upon steaming kettle of water into the
bottom of the old tub, followed by a few pots of cold water. He
even brought her a towel and a clean, white cake of Ivory soap,
still in its wrapper, from the pantry. In her whole life, no one
had ever waited on Emily and she wasn’t sure what to make of it
now. It felt odd to sit idly while someone else pampered
her.

“
Well—” He gestured in the
general direction of the hallway. “I guess I’ll just go on upstairs
and get washed myself,” he said, suddenly seeming almost as awkward
and bashful as she felt. “Don’t worry about bailing out the tub.
I’ll take care of it in the morning when I get up. It’s too heavy
for you to lift, anyway.”

Emily heard his footsteps on the
stairs and she was left alone with an oil lamp and her bath. When
she stood, she was surprised to find herself a bit unsteady, but
she got her balance and stripped off the smoke-ruined shawl and
nightgown. There would be no saving them. Just as she’d told Luke,
the smell would never come out, no matter how many times she washed
them.

Stepping into the hot water, she sank
into its warmth to let it cover her shoulders. She barely noticed
the corrugated bottom of the tub, which she usually found
uncomfortable. Heated from the inside as well as the outside, she
breathed a satisfied sigh.

Emily wasn’t sure how Luke felt about
her, but right now, her barefoot farmer seemed like one of King
Arthur’s knights.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Luke stood at his mirror in dry
drawers, shaving by the light of his lamp. This was such a dumb
thing, he pondered, shaving at midnight, but he had a plan. And if
that plan went as he hoped it would, a shaved face would be a
necessary part of it. He’d already washed himself off once at the
pump and then finished the job here at his washstand.

Plying a virginal woman with
alcohol to get her into his bed probably wasn’t the most noble deed
he’d ever committed. But, what the hell, it wasn’t the worst,
either. He wanted to make love with his wife and he suspected that
she’d be a little nervous. He knew
he
was. His insides were jumping
around like a drop of cold water bouncing across a hot stove top.
Night after night he’d lain awake, knowing that only a wall
separated them, just a few feet of flooring.

But night after night, he’d wrestled
with Belinda’s ghost, as well. She’d risen in his dreams to accuse
him of breaking his promises to her, of letting another woman into
her house. In his nightmares, she hadn’t moved her mouth when she
spoke, but he’d heard a voice just the same. Cora’s voice. Strange
that when Cora moved out, the dreams stopped. He’d decided that
Belinda wouldn’t care what he did. Death was a final break with the
living and whatever fate awaited departed souls was known only to
them. In the meanwhile, Luke had Emily living under his roof as his
legal wife.

And he wanted to make her his wife in
fact.

Just thinking of her sitting in the
old galvanized stock tank that they used for a bathtub set his
pulse to racing. In his mind, the tank became a fancy copper tub,
like he’d once seen in the window of a hardware store in The
Dalles. Emily’s long, pale hair would be draped around her in wet
hanks, covering some places and letting others peek through. Her
milky skin would be pink from the hot water, the lather from her
soap would make it smooth like velvet dipped in cream. He imagined
crystal sheets of water flowing over her as she rinsed away the
bubbles, streaming over her breasts and belly—

“
Goddamn it!” He muttered
another curse and pressed his thumb to the nick he’d gouged in his
chin with the razor. That was what he got for not keeping his mind
on what he was doing. Hell, one wrong slip and he might take off
his whole head, picturing Emily in her bath.

He managed to finish with no further
mishaps. Just as he was wiping his blade on the towel around his
neck, he heard the creak of soft, bare footfalls on the steps. He
glanced at his bed, and then once again at his reflection. At least
his chin had stopped bleeding.

“
Emily?” he called softly
and went to his open doorway.

She stood there in the light of the
lamp she carried, poised for flight like a deer.

Luke swallowed hard.

She wore nothing but her
towel.

It covered just her torso, leaving her
arms and most of her long, slender legs exposed. Her hair was towel
dried, and twisted into a rope that hung over the front of her
shoulder.

She clutched her flimsy covering to
her, and the pulse pounding in Luke’s head almost drowned out her
words. “Oh! I—I didn’t want to put on my dirty nightgown after my
bath. I thought you’d be asleep and—” She seemed torn between
making a dash for her own bedroom or running back down the
stairs.

Luke stepped forward, took the lamp
from her hand and set it on a corner table. She smelled of soap and
water and a sweetness that he’d never known on any other woman. Not
even Belinda.

“
Emily . . . ” She still looked as if she
might bolt. “Emily . . . ” he repeated. “You’re
beautiful.” And it was a simple truth. In his life, in all his
experience with women, he’d never seen anyone as captivating as
this tall, willowy female dressed in just a towel. The pulse
thumping in his brain sent echoes through the rest of his body and
straight to his groin. But rising within him, just as strong and
hard, was an awe, a reverence, that Emily Cannon, decent, loving,
steel-spined, and almost painfully attractive, was his wife. What
if he’d sent her away that day on the dock? What if he’d been
damn-fool enough to let Cora chase her off?

All the smooth charm he’d
used on those other women in his youth was forgotten. He hadn’t
loved them, but he’d loved Belinda, and now he loved Emily. The
realization was both startling and a relief. He
could
care for someone again. He’d
assumed that he had no room in his heart for anyone except his
first wife and his daughter. That thought had haunted him these
last few weeks, almost as much as Belinda’s ghost had. It foretold
a dreary future, one that he probably deserved. But damn, didn’t a
man also deserve some reward for changing his ways and working hard
from sunup to sundown to make a home? Was it asking so much to love
and be loved in return?

But he must win a place in Emily’s
heart. Words failed him—he’d always found his tongue tied when it
came to expressing his feelings. That wasn’t especially surprising,
given the way he’d grown up. He’d learned to take his whippings
without making a sound or shedding a tear. If the old man saw a
hint of weakness, he’d flay Luke and his brothers with his belt
even harder.

How could he tell Emily how he felt
about her? Almost involuntarily, as if a heavy hand had landed on
his shoulder and pushed, he dropped to his knees before her. If he
looked foolish, he didn’t care. Laying a light touch on her
forearm, he asked, “Emily, will you be my wife?” He let his hand
drift down her arm to take her hand in his. He lifted it to his
lips and kissed it.

She looked into his face.
“But, I
am
your—“
Then she stopped. “Oh . . . ”

Luke leaned forward and pressed his
forehead against Emily’s knees. She thought they might buckle from
shyness and surprise. Here was Luke Becker, her big, strong
husband, a man wanted by every available woman in town—and perhaps
even some who were unavailable—and he kneeled at her feet like a
supplicant, begging for her favor.

He looked up at her again, that raw
flame flickering behind his eyes. “Will you?”

She drew a breath. “Yes, Luke. Now and
always.” This promise meant so much more than the one she’d made in
Judge Clifton’s office. Now she was pledging her heart and soul.
That day, she’d given only her word.

Luke rose to his feet and with no
warning, picked her up in his arms. “I’ve been waiting for this
night for weeks,” he muttered against her ear, sending delicious
shivers over her. Even in the face of her butterflies and the
thrill of anticipation, she couldn’t ignore the fact that in his
embrace, she felt as light as swan’s down and as delicate as the
silk illusion of her bridal veil.

He stopped in the doorway to his
bedroom and pressed a fevered kiss to her mouth, hot, soft, and
demanding. It was nothing like the other kisses he’d given her.
This one seemed to consume her breath, and made her heart thunder
along all of her nerves.

He shut the door with his hip and
carried her to his bed. Rain pelted the windows and she could just
make out his silhouette as he loomed over her. The mattress sagged
under his weight and she could feel the heat of him next to her
even though he did not touch her. He kicked off his drawers and
flung them across the room.

He covered her with soft, moist
kisses, working his way down her arms and, dear God, up the insides
of her legs. With each kiss, her heart gained another ten beats and
her breath grew shorter.

At last she felt his hand at her
waist, on top of the towel. “I’ve been looking forward to
unbuttoning all those buttons of yours and unbraiding your hair,”
he said, his voice husky. “That will have to wait until tomorrow
night, I guess.”

His hand slid up from her waist to
cover her breast, and a quiver of fear and excitement sizzled
through Emily. She turned her face to his and he claimed her mouth
with his once more, this time outlining her lips with his tongue.
With one finger, he untucked the top edge of her towel and
unwrapped her as if she were a gift. She remembered the crude
comments she’d overheard at the general store about young Luke’s
prowess with women. She had nothing to compare this to, but
suddenly her nervousness fell away. At this moment, all the hurts
and slights in her past no longer mattered, and lying naked in
Luke’s arms seemed honest and right.

As if reading her mind, he whispered,
“Are you scared?”

“
No.” She paused and then
asked, “Are you?”

“
A little.”

But nothing about his actions gave it
away. Why on earth he should be nervous made no sense to her, but
it pleased her just the same.

He covered her nipple with his mouth,
warm and moist, and tugged lightly, sending wave upon wave of
gooseflesh over her body. She jumped, unaccustomed to the
sensation, but Luke soothed her with more kisses and wordless
murmuring that she found both exciting and comforting.

With one arm holding her close, he
pressed his hips against hers to give her the feel of him. She
stroked the length of his strong back, as she’d so longed to do
every time she’d watched him wash at the pump. Beneath his skin,
she felt hard muscles move and flex. It was all new, this touching
a man, new and wonderful. A low moan escaped her and she felt like
a wanton, reaching up to twine her fingers in his hair and twisting
beneath his ministrations.

Somewhere in a cobwebbed corner of her
mind, she knew that her behavior was shameful. Although marital
relations were never discussed in her manuals, it was generally
believed that it was a wife’s duty to submit to her husband’s more
earthy—and dreaded—demands, and that from this submission she would
know the joys of motherhood. So far, she’d found nothing about this
to dread. Then all cognitive thought left her as his fingers
skimmed the underside of her breast, trailed over her belly, down
the insides of her legs, and up again to her most secret place at
the apex of her thighs.

His fingertips delved the slick, hot
folds of her, testing, experimenting, looking for the exactly right
place to stroke her. When he found it, Emily let out a muffled cry
and turned her face against his neck. Luke tightened his grip
around her waist and murmured to her while continuing his torturous
massage.

“
I want it to be right for
you,” he whispered. “I want it to be good.”

She thought her heart would burst from
her chest, it pounded so hard against her ribs. Tongues of flame
flicked through her, all gathering in the tight fireball that
burned between her legs beneath Luke’s questing touch. Her own
hands began seeking him, feeling the hardness of his hipbone, the
smoothness of his flank, the rigid maleness throbbing against her
thigh. When she closed her fingers around him, he sucked in a
breath and increased the friction of his touch on her. Suddenly,
her body seemed to be spiraling into a vortex of heat and sensation
that was almost frightening in its intensity. As if her body had
developed an instinct of its own, her hips reached for his hand,
reached for an ending or a beginning, she didn’t know which. The
vortex spun faster until it pulled her into a place where nothing
and no one existed but she and Luke, as wave upon wave of spasms
racked her body. She sobbed his name between breaths, weeping with
powerful sensations that had overtaken her.