The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) Read online

  The Bad Luck Wedding Night

  Bad Luck Abroad

  Book Three

  by

  Geralyn Dawson

  Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  © 2001, 2011 by Geralyn Dawson Williams

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  Dedication

  For Andrew Hobbs

  with thanks for the title

  and

  Steve Williams

  for your love and support.

  It's bad luck to marry in May, on Friday, or on an odd-numbered day, especially the Thirteenth.

  Chapter 1

  Friday, May 13

  Fort Worth, Texas 1877

  In the two-room honeymoon suite at the Blackstone Hotel, Sarah Ross extended her left arm, wiggled her fingers, and smiled with delight as the lamplight glistened off the shiny gold band. "Mrs. Nicholas Ross," she murmured with a sigh. "Sarah Ross. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Ross."

  Happiness bubbled up inside her as she clutched her ring hand to her chest and twirled around. Her wedding gown billowed in a cloud of satin and lace, and she laughed aloud. She was gleefully, joyously, jubilantly in love with being in love. "Oh, Abby. Wasn't the wedding wonderful?"

  Sarah's best friend, Abigail Reese, smiled dreamily and nodded. "It was a fairy tale. Everything about it. Your wedding was without a doubt the most spectacular this town has ever seen."

  "That's sweet of you to say."

  "It's true, though. The flowers especially were divine. Whatever gave you the idea to give miniature rose bouquets to all the little girls in the congregation?"

  "They were perfect, weren't they?" Beaming, Sarah kicked off a slipper. "I believe now more than ever that a wedding should be enjoyed by both family and guests. The perfect wedding should create warm memories that will linger in the minds of all who attend—not just the bride and groom. The bouquets were part of my effort to make those memories."

  "You accomplished that." Abby brought her own bridesmaid bouquet up to her face and inhaled the sweet scent of roses. "Did you hear all the squeals?"

  "I did."

  "And so did the girls' parents and the other guests. Sarah, those sounds of delight were as much a part of the wedding music as the songs the organist played." Abby sighed and set down her bouquet. "Plus they perfumed the church and enhanced its beauty."

  "St. Paul's is lovely, but a bit dark. All that yellow helped make it bright and cheerful inside, but more important, the flowers made each girl feel like a bridesmaid. They'll have fond memories of my wedding for years to come. Now the boys might have preferred something other than the little wish boxes we passed out, but I think they'll put them to good use. Tommy Wilson said he wished his way out of church during the ceremony."

  She smiled slyly as she kicked off her second shoe and added, "While the girls dreamed of their own wedding day, the boys wished themselves far away."

  Abby laughed. "But they were quiet."

  "They were quiet." Sarah wiggled her toes. "And their parents enjoyed the ceremony."

  "You have a special talent," Abby said, staring wistfully into the future. "I hope someday you'll help me plan my wedding."

  "Of course I'll help. I'll be honored to do so." She clasped her friend's hands and gave them a squeeze. "And I hope that stubborn Jerry Johnson quits piddling around and asks for your hand soon. Wouldn't it be lovely to do a Christmas season wedding? I have lovely ideas about poinsettias."

  "Christmas! Maybe Christmas two years from now. My papa is different from your mother, Sarah. He thinks sixteen is too young to marry."

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I never told you this, but my mama tried to convince us to delay the wedding until I turn seventeen in August, but Nick and I didn't want to wait. May weather is so much more pleasant for wedding festivities, and besides, I can't wait to move into the house Nick has built for us. I can't wait to put all our beautiful wedding gifts to use. Did you see the silver service the Washingtons sent?"

  "I did. I love the curlicues on the end of the handles."

  "I do, too. I intend to display it atop the teacart my aunt and uncle gave us."

  "It'll be beautiful. Just like the wedding and just like the bride." Abby beamed a teasing smile Sarah's way and added, "Nick looked poleaxed when you started down the aisle on your uncle's arm."

  Dreamily, Sarah recalled the moment. "He was the one who looked beautiful. That thick dark hair and those brilliant blue eyes. Oh, Abby, when he smiles at me I feel a flutter all the way to my toes."

  "Sometimes when he smiles at you, his eyes get a wicked gleam in them. I'll never forget how at your piano recital last month he slouched against the wall with his arms folded. He never once looked away from you, and when you finished your piece, he straightened up and clapped real slow."

  Sarah sighed breathlessly. "Then he winked at me."

  "And you blushed pink as your dress. Wilhemina Peters leaned over to my mama and said, 'John Simpson must be rolling over in his grave at the notion of his little girl with that boy. Nicholas Ross is a devil in denim.' "

  Sarah sniffed. "My papa would have liked Nick. He's no devil. He may look a little dangerous since he's so tall and broad for a man of eighteen, but he's really sweet and kind and gentle."

  "Maybe she meant devil in a good way," Abby reassured her. "But it's good that he's gentle with you. That will make tonight easier."

  Both girls' gazes traveled toward the tall poster bed partially visible through the half-opened doorway into the suite's second room. Sarah's stomach took a nervous roll.

  Tonight. The bedding. Though she'd managed to avoid dwelling on it during the festivities, the subject had hovered at the edge of her mind all day. She couldn't ignore it any longer. Not since her mother had sent her up to the room to prepare for her new husband's arrival.

  Sarah sank into a chair and shut her eyes. She loved Nick. She really, truly did. But all in all, she'd rather crawl under the bed and hide than crawl into it with Nick.

  Abby cleared her throat. "Did your mama have a talk with you about it? Did she tell you what to expect? I've been dying to know, Sarah."

  Sarah swallowed a little moan. "Yes, she spoke with me, although I almost wish she hadn't. You know this isn't the first time we've discussed it. I've told you what she said in the past. What she had to add today was... well... just a little more detailed."

  Eyes going round and wide, Abby sat on the sofa across from Sarah. "You mean she didn't take it back? All the previous talk was true? She didn't say it to scare you off from acting loose?"

  "It's all true," Sarah said glumly. "And I
hate to tell you, but according to the new information she told me today... well... It is even worse than we thought."

  "No! You mean the part about the tongue is true?"

  Sarah felt the warmth of a blush steal up her throat. "Uh, actually, I know about that myself. That part is kinda nice."

  If possible, Abby's eyes went even rounder. "Why, Sarah Simpson. Or, I should say, Sarah Ross. You let Nick use his tongue? Before you were married?"

  "Technically, it was a kiss. Mama always said kisses were allowed with a fiancé. Besides, sometimes he gets all het up and the Scot comes out in his voice. The sound of it makes me go all soft and... willing."

  "But still..." Abby leaned forward, her eyes bright "His tongue? And you liked it?"

  Embarrassed now, Sarah nodded.

  Abby waited. When her friend failed to elaborate, she said, "Well. Maybe you'll like the rest of it, too." After a moment's pause, she asked, "What is the rest?"

  Sarah wasn't certain how much she should say. Mama told her a lady didn't discuss the private side of marriage, not even with her husband, except to prepare her own daughter when the time came. But she and Abby had always shared secrets, and if Abby learned the truth now she'd have enough time to get used to the idea before she herself married.

  Sarah thought that would be a good thing. She certainly wished she'd had more than one day to prepare herself. She might not be so scared in that case.

  She cleared her throat. "Remember last year she told me how men sometimes want to pinch and pull at women's bosoms?"

  "Yes, and I know that's true because one time not long ago my papa wasn't paying attention, and he took a wrong turn on the way home from church and we drove through Hell's Half Acre. I saw a man with his hands on a painted lady's breasts."

  "Well," Sarah said, wincing, "according to what Mama told me this morning, men like to do more than touch. Mama says that sometimes men act like babies and suck on them."

  Abigail's mouth dropped open. "No."

  "Uh-huh. And that's not the worst of it." Sarah drew a deep breath, then exhaled with a sigh. Frowning, she leaned forward and crooked a finger, gesturing her friend to come closer. Then she whispered, "Mama says his tallywhacker will turn into a Rod of Steel, and he'll want to put it between my legs and ram it into me until I bleed."

  Abigail responded with a horrified gasp. "What?"

  "I know." Sarah's stomach took another roll. "It's awful. She says it hurts, but it's a woman's lot in life, and the reward is children, which makes it worth the pain. And, she said maybe I'll be lucky and have a considerate husband who will get it over with fast."

  Eyes glazed with shock, Abby slumped back against the sofa. "Oh my. A Rod of Steel. Oh my. Do you believe her?"

  Sarah swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "My mother doesn't lie."

  The two girls sat quietly for a time, pondering the mystery. Finally Sarah said, "I've tried to be sensible about this. If it's as bad for every woman as it was for my mother, the human race would have died out long ago. Men might be stronger and physically able to force their desires on women, but we have the advantage of our superior intelligence."

  "That is true," Abby said, her yellow hair ribbon swinging as she nodded in agreement.

  "So, if it is that awful, surely women would have figured out a way to avoid it long ago. Or make it better, anyway."

  "I think some women actually like it," Abby declared. "How else could one explain mistresses? Soiled doves might be forced into the life by circumstance, but from what I've heard while eavesdropping on Mother's quilting circle, some women actually choose to have affairs with men. They must like to do it."

  "True." Sarah sighed. Actually, she had considered that notion herself Her stomach almost always got fluttery when Nick kissed her, and once after they'd been kissing for a long time, he'd pulled away groaning and said she was wicked. She'd certainly felt wicked at the time. Hesitantly, she put her question to her friend. "Maybe I'm an evil woman, too, and I just don't know it."

  "You're not evil, Sarah, although in this one case it might be better if you were." Abby stood and paced the room, pausing beside the wardrobe where Sarah's veil hung like a lace waterfall. She fingered the seed pearls at the crown and gave a nervous little laugh. "All of a sudden I'm glad Jerry is stubborn, and my papa won't permit me to marry anytime soon."

  "All of a sudden, I wish I were still a fiancée, not a bride. I adored being a fiancée."

  Abby stepped away from the veil and crossed the room to sit beside her friend. Taking Sarah's hand in hers, she said, "Are you certain you want to go through with this? Do you have to do it? Is it a law or something? Maybe you could talk Nicholas into playing chess instead. You said he loves to play chess."

  "I get the feeling he's gonna love doing it more," Sarah replied, recalling the hardness she'd felt against her when he'd tongue-kissed her senseless at her front door after walking her home last night. For a minute she'd wondered if he carried a pistol in his pocket, then she'd realized it must have been his Rod of Steel.

  Sarah wanted to bury her head in her hands and shudder and shake. Instead, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "It will be fine. I'll be fine. I love our new home, and I can't wait to arrange all the pretty gifts we received. I look forward to cooking for Nick—he loves my molasses cookies—and I'll plant roses by the front door and wash our clothes on Mondays, and we'll attend the Literary Society meetings on the third Thursday of every month. I want to do all those things. I look forward to doing all those things. We'll have a happy life, Nick and I, and someday we'll have children. I vowed to be his wife for better or worse. I keep my word, Abby. I won't deny him his husbandly rights."

  "Oh, Sarah, you are much braver than I."

  Sarah squared her shoulders and spoke in a martyred tone. "No, I'm a wife now, and I will accept my lot as such. Besides, Nick has always been a considerate man. Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll be quick about it."

  * * *

  Nicholas Ross wondered if acute sexual frustration could make a man ill. Considering he'd been walking around with his wick constantly lit for weeks now, he was in trouble if that were the case.

  Luckily, it was almost time to take the cure, and Sarah was certainly the cure for everything that ailed him.

  Nick grinned at the thought. Actually, he'd grinned at just about anything and everything today. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. He had a family again.

  Family meant the world to Nick. Two years ago, through a combination of his own hardheadedness and the capriciousness of fate, he had lost the family of his heart, the family that had taken him in as an infant and raised him as their own. The one dark cloud in the sunny sky of this special day was the fact that his Scottish loved ones had to watch him wed from their places in heaven.

  The thought sent a pang of emotion through him that he swiftly suppressed. He wouldn't think of sad things now; he'd turn his thoughts to merrier matters. He'd think about his bride.

  Nick glanced at his pocket watch. Her mother had asked him to give Sarah an hour, and he still had twenty minutes left to wait. He could wait twenty minutes. Barely. He'd wanted Sarah since the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

  She sparkled. She was blond, with rich, whiskey-brown eyes and a ready smile and laugh that warmed him from the inside out. Most men would call her pretty rather than beautiful. Most men would prefer a few more curves on her thin, relatively straight figure. But to Nick, Sarah was perfect, and he'd challenge anyone who claimed that Fort Worth had ever seen a more beautiful bride.

  He wondered what she'd wear to greet him this evening. He had fantasized her in a filmy, Greek-goddess gown with one shoulder bare and tantalizing shadows visible beneath the clinging ivory silk. He would open the door and she'd smile invitingly, lifting her arms and beckoning him toward her.

  Or, maybe she'd smile, then reach up and release the clasp at her shoulder and the gown would slip, slowly revealing the breathtaking beauty of milky skin and pin
k-tipped breasts and...

  A spattering of laughter from the wedding reception guests still gathered in the hotel ballroom shook him from his fantasy. One side of his mouth twisted in a rueful grin. Knowing Miss Modest Sarah, he'd find her wrapped in flannel.

  Sarah wasn't one to flaunt her femininity. Indeed, when it came to romance, the girl was downright shy. It had taken him two full weeks of determined pursuit to coax her into letting him kiss her the way he desired. As a result, Nick found himself a wee bit apprehensive about the wedding night to come.

  Not that he was complaining. A man valued virtue in a bride. Besides, judging by the way she had taken to his kisses, once she got over being shy, Sarah worked up a fine enthusiasm toward the activity.

  His task tonight would be helping her past her shyness. He prayed he had the patience to do the job properly.

  A hand clapped him on the back. "Well, son," boomed Sarah's uncle's voice. "This is the first time I've found you alone since the wife and I arrived in town from Galveston. How about we take a short walk outside?"

  All in all, Nick would rather have his teeth pulled out one by one than take this particular walk. He knew he had to do it, though. With Sarah's father dead for a decade, her uncle was her closest male relative. Nick hadn't expected to avoid the Hurt our little girl and I'll kill you conversation entirely. Hoped, yes. But not expected.

  Outside the Blackstone Hotel, streaks of scarlet, orange, and gold painted the western sky. Wagons rattled up Main Street, while from the direction of Hell's Half Acre came the tinny sound of piano music and an occasional raucous shout that heralded the beginnings of a hell-raisin' Saturday night.

  Nick resisted the urge to tug at his collar. "It is a beautiful evening."

  "Yes, and I trust it will stay that way." Michael Banks opened his suit coat and removed a cigar from an inner pocket. After going through the ritual of lighting it, he blew out a pair of smoke rings and said, "You have a challenge ahead of you, son. I hate to say it, but the girl is spoiled."