Jared resented being instructed on how to treat a woman. Intending to make a retort to that effect, he turned away from the liquor cabinet where he was getting a large bottle of whiskey. Carson’s face was guileless. He hadn’t issued a directive; he had made a plea. Jared stifled the rejoinder already on his lips, mumbled his goodnights, and plodded up the stairs.
* * *
For an hour, he had been in his room drinking steadily and listening to the light taps that small slippers made on the floor next door.
“To my wedding night,” he scornfully saluted himself in the mirror over his dresser. He was shocked by the reflection. He didn’t remember discarding his vest and coat, but a swift glance over his shoulder revealed them to be carelessly draped over the back of a chair. When had he taken out his cuff links and unbuttoned his shirt? In a characteristic gesture, he raked his fingers through his hair.
His bride was undoubtedly just as immaculate and cool as she had been when she met him at the altar. Or maybe she was already dressed for bed. What did she sleep in? Nothing provocative, he scoffed silently. Something chaste and…
Why not? Why not see for himself? Why should he be the only one to suffer through this hellish night? He was her husband after all and, by God, he had some rights!
He didn’t consciously decide to disturb her but, propelled by some mystical and obsessive force, he found himself before the door that connected their rooms through the bathroom.
He knocked sharply. No answer, but the movements in the adjoining room halted abruptly. He knocked again, this time saying her name. It came out as a tremulous sigh. He cleared his throat, shook his head, and repeated it with more force. Silence.
“Yes?” Apprehensive. Tentative.
“Open the door.” It was a command. He hoped.
Long pause.
Finally, calmly, “What do you want, Jared?”
He laughed mirthlessly, muttered a few unintelligible obscenities, and raised his voice another decibel. “Open this door!”
He heard her footsteps and the rustle of her clothing coming closer until he knew she was in the bathroom just beyond the door.
“We can talk from here, Jared.”
“If you don’t open this goddam door,” he growled, “I’ll kick it down. Do you want a ruckus? It won’t embarrass me, because I don’t give a damn.”
There was a momentary hesitation, then the key was turning in the lock made rusty by disuse. The knob rattled as she pulled the door open.
Her hair was down, framing her face in a black cloud and cascading down her back in heavy waves to her waist. She wore a rose-colored dressing gown cut in a deep V in the front and buttoning from her breast to her knees. Lace spilled over her delicate hands at the end of the wide sleeves. Her trembling lips were parted to allow agitated, quick breaths to escape. She tried unsuccessfully to mask her fear.
The sight of her stupefied him, and her flowery scent filled his head with a greater vertigo than had the vast amount of alcohol he had consumed. He longed to taste the smooth skin at the base of her throat, which fluttered with the frantic beating of her pulse. He wanted to investigate what treasures lay beyond that first button of her dressing gown.
By an act of will, he regained his self-control and said thickly, “You needn’t look so frightened, Mrs. Lockett. I have no intention of forcing you to give me my conjugal rights.”
Her only response was to moisten her lips with a dainty pink tongue. Jared swallowed hard, stifling an animal groan, and said, “I demand only one thing. There will be no locked doors. Separate bedrooms are not that uncommon, but a locked door invites speculation. Maids gossip, you know. One locked door between us and this whole farce is shot to hell. So no locked doors. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Jared,” she answered levelly.
Dammit! Why didn’t she scream or swoon or something? She was so damned composed, while he stood here like an adolescent idiot with his sweating palms and pounding heart and aching loins.
Not trusting himself any longer, he reached for the door and closed it quickly. He didn’t hear the key turn in the lock before her footsteps receded into the bedroom beyond, but he lacked the nerve to turn the knob and test her obedience.
“I guess I showed her who’s boss,” he boasted as he flung himself upon the bed, wondering why he felt no satisfaction in his victory. All he felt was a deep longing which he tried to obliterate with sleep.
Chapter 9
Elena gently shook Lauren’s shoulder and whispered, “Señora Lockett, wake up. It’s time to get ready for your trip.”
Lauren opened her eyes. She was greeted by a dark room and mumbled a protest into her pillow. She didn’t want to give up the sleep that had been so long in coming. Elena’s persistent needling finally penetrated her slumberousness, and with sudden clarity she remembered where she was going today. She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. Soon she was wide awake and, in spite of her misgivings toward Jared, was excited about seeing Keypoint for the first time.
As she performed her toilette, Elena chattered about how lovely the wedding had been, how beautiful Lauren looked in her bride’s dress, how handsome Jared was, and how lucky Lauren was to have such a husband.
The maid had been surprised only minutes earlier when she had knocked on Jared’s door to awaken him.