"My goodness, I had no idea making love created such a racket. Isn't it as quiet as kissing?"
"Not if you're enjoying it, and I do so want for you to enjoy it," he promised.
"Well, so do I," Melissa replied. She eluded him for a moment to cast off the last of her lingerie, and donned her nightgown. She then crossed to the bed, where the snowy white linens suddenly brought home the enormity of her deceit. She was nearly overcome with anxiety, and couldn't bring herself to climb in. When Ian again came up behind her, she knew he could feel how badly she was trembling.
"I'm frightened," she admitted, knowing he would never guess why.
Ian wanted to promise that he'd not hurt her, but he knew it would be a lie. He'd not want to, not mean to, but the pain was inescapable. His heart too full of love to say anything at all, he helped her into the bed, tossed his pants aside, and then joined her. He drew her into his arms, meaning to be gentle, patient, and tender rather than demanding, but when Melissa responded to his first tentative kiss with the same unabashed joy she'd displayed in the palace gardens, all his good intentions were lost.
He slid his hand under her gown to caress her bare thigh, and she leaned against him, silently coaxing him to trace each of her lush curves. The fullness of her breast filled his palm with rounded perfection, while beneath his fingertips the pale pink crest puckered like lips eager for a kiss. Wanting to taste as well as touch, Ian tugged on her gown, and Melissa pulled it off over her head.
Whether it was her own natural flavor or the lingering taste of the peach wine, Ian thought she was absolutely delicious. He suckled at her breast, and then returned to her lips for more devouring kisses. He had been fascinated by Melissa from the hour they had met, and that he had somehow performed the miracle of making her his wife surpassed the wildest of his dreams.
Melissa felt no such elation. Her mood now one of total despair, she ran her fingers through Ian's brilliant red curls and remembered another man whose long, ebony hair had streamed through her hands in a silken cascade. She didn't want Hunter to be a part of her wedding night, but the more ardent Ian became, the more impossible it was to force the Indian from her mind. It was Ian she wanted to love, but there was no magic in his caress, and his clumsy sweetness could not distract her from the pain that filled her heart.
Too excited to delay any longer, Ian entered her in a heated rush, and, without having to act, Melissa recoiled with an anguished cry. It was her body's instinctive response to the husband she knew she should have welcomed lovingly; overwhelmed with shame, she began to sob. If her innocence had died with Hunter, it was the natural joyousness of her spirit that died now, and she would forever mourn the loss.
Terrified that despite his best intentions, he had given their marriage the worst of beginnings, Ian tried without success to dry Melissa's frightened tears. Failing, he craved the release her fervent kisses had promised too greatly to withdraw without succumbing to that need. He completed the act required to make them husband and wife, but he was devastated that she had not shared his bliss. He held her cradled in his arms, and prayed that he had not ruined their chances for happiness.
Melissa knew she was behaving very badly, but she couldn't stop crying. It wasn't until she heard her parents' carriage roll through the yard that her fears of facing them finally silenced her hoarse sobs. She then lay silently trembling in Ian's arms, her heart broken in a thousand jagged fragments. The morning would only bring more lies, for somehow she would have to convince her family that she was happy to be Ian's bride. She did not know where she would find the strength.
"I'm sorry," Ian whispered.
Melissa raised her hand to his lips. "No, you mustn't apologize."
"But I should have—"
"No!" This time Melissa silenced him with a kiss. They lay cuddled together as her parents and Alanna entered the house, and, more than a little drunk, Ian soon fell asleep. Her conscience hurting badly, Melissa was far too anxious to rest. For as long as she could remember, she had been diligently tutored to be a rich man's bride. She had been encouraged to captivate men with the flirtatious ways that had betrayed her with Hunter.
She still blamed herself for that indiscretion, for surely Indian maidens didn't flaunt their charms the way she had with him. Hunter hadn't known it was all an amusing game she had never meant to carry so far. No, he had simply fallen prey to the wiles that had brought her so many devoted suitors. Virginia boys all knew the rules, however, and enjoyed flirting without believing it meant anything more than momentary fun.
Brushing away a last tear, Melissa knew exactly how costly her brief romance with Hunter had been. But Ian was a fine man, although he wasn't rich, she knew he would do his best to give her a good life. If it wasn't the elegant existence she should have had, the fault would be entirely hers, not his. Drained of all emotion, she prayed that by marrying Ian she had not merely compounded her mistake. Then, shoving that wretched thought aside, she vowed to be such a good wife to him, he would never feel cheated of the love she now doubted she could ever truly give.
Chapter 8
With her marriage to Ian, Melissa had expected to instantly replace her dread with hope. Instead, she had sunk even deeper into despair. When the dawn brought enough light for her to study her new husband while he slept, she was again moved to tears, but hurriedly brushed them away. By sheer force of will, she convinced herself that the time for weeping was over. She wanted their marriage to mark not only the beginning of their life togeth
er, but a return to the laughter and joy she and Ian had shared in the past.
She had always admired his vivid coloring, and considered him a remarkably handsome man. Even asleep, his even features radiated the strength of character that had drawn her to him. He was so honest and good, and what was she? Not even the sharpest-tongued gossip could revile her with worse names than she had already called herself.
Unable to bear the thought of their next conversation taking place in bed, she slipped from Ian's arms cautiously, so as not to disturb him. She knew she had the wine rather her affection to thank for the depth of his slumber, but she planned to make good use of it. Her nightgown lay in a wrinkled heap on the floor; she quickly wadded it into a tight ball and shoved it under the bed. Later, when she mentioned it had been stained, she knew he would believe her. It would be a lie, but preferable to splattering the bed with chicken blood while he slept.
She was glad she had remembered to fill the pitcher, and washed before donning her lingerie. She would have preferred to shampoo her hair rather than comb her pomaded curls, but she would need warm water for that and would have to see to it later. She and Alanna had helped each other dress for so many years that neither had ever had a maid. She missed her cousin now, and wondered who would be helping her with her clothes from now on.
Once dressed, Melissa sat down by the window, propped her arms on the sill, and looked out toward the river. The ducklings she and Hunter had fed would soon equal their mothers in size, but the little families still presented a charming sight swimming along in undulating lines. She glanced over her shoulder at Ian, who remained lost in his dreams. He was her family now, but she hoped that the rest of her relatives wouldn't be so angry with them for eloping that she was disowned. That would be unspeakably cruel, after all she had suffered of late. Of course, they were unaware of her problems, and would continue to be blissfully ignorant of them, but she did not want to lose their love.
At least an hour passed before she heard anyone stirring downstairs. It was Sunday, and she assumed the household routine would continue undisturbed, and that everyone was preparing for church. Would they be praying for her and Ian to be granted many blessings, or mourning the loss of a daughter? Not eager to discover which choice they had made, she enjoyed the beauty of the sunlight on the river, and hoped Ian would sleep until noon.
Ian did sleep nearly that long, and when he awoke with an excruciating headache in a pale green room he didn't recognize, he let out a low moan.
"Good morning, my darling," Melissa called to him, "although by now it may be afternoon."
At the sound of Melissa's voice, Ian sat up with a start, causing his already aching head to throb even more painfully.
He raked his hand through his curls to sweep them off his forehead, and stared at the beautifully gowned young woman seated by the window. "Melissa?"
"I didn't realize there was any danger you might forget my name, especially not after last night."