Sudden, irrational fear gripped him. He felt savage, mortified to the marrow of his bones. His fingers clenched almost white on the glass. What do I do now? The chaotic thought whirled around in his brain. Everything in his body and brain and blood screamed out to him to run, to save himself. Too late.
His thumb moved along the glass. He frowned, his eyes focused on the bottom of his glass. He was not at all accustomed to impulsive action on his own part, and yet he’d married Caitlin Parr an hour ago.
Dammit. Why was nothing ever easy? How had it happened?
Samuel put his glass down on the polished timber bar and ran a hard, call used finger slowly around the rim. What a fool I am, he thought. There was no future for them. Not when his bride should have been her sister, Caitryn.
He heaved a great sigh. He’d written to Caitryn. At least he’d meant to write to Caitryn—not her sister, Caitlin.
Despair gripped him. How could he have been so stupid as to confuse the names? But, of course, he wasn’t stupid at all. On the contrary, he was considered very shrewd, with a reputation from Montreal to Philadelphia for his sound business acumen. And he certainly was under no illusions about which sister he had wanted to marry—and it was not the sharp-tongued Caitlin.
In fact, he had never been able to be in the same room with Caitlin for more than ten minutes without finding her an aggravation. She was as irritating as a burr in a man’s breeches, and here he was shackled to her!
Liam Murphy’s voice cut across Samuel’s thoughts. “Don’t look so glum, Sam. A wedding’s meant to be a joyous occasion, not one for soaking yourself in whiskey.”
Samuel stiffened, his back going ramrod-straight. “What would you know?”
“I thought I knew you, Sam, an’ now I have me doubts. You’re not a drinkin’ man, so you must be the jealous type who resents your little woman dancin’ with every jobber in Saint John. Am I right?” Liam asked with a smug look. He raised an eyebrow archly, as if amused at his own foolish witticism.
Little woman. The phrase grated. Caitlin was small, Samuel could not deny that. Almost fragile. But that was deceptive. No one knew better than he that Caitlin’s delicate exterior hid a tough, shrewd interior, one that was resilient and held its own secrets. The innocence, the sweetness, were all Caitryn’s—which had been one of the reasons for his offer of marriage.
He flicked his eyes toward the dance floor, where his bride was dancing a reel with one of their wedding guests. Her face was aglow with enthusiasm, and even from this distance her eyes sparkled like the sun cutting across shards of ice.
One must admit, she was an elfin creature, all dark hair and wide eyes. Though one could not approve the nuance of recklessness in the faint tilt of the green eyes, one had to admire the porcelain skin, heart-shaped face and deeply etched, sensual lips.
The movement of the dance created an empty space between them, and they gazed at each other across it. Her head was tilted back now, her long cat eyes watching him.
Jealous type. The truth came unbidden and unwelcome, hitting Sam like a blow to the stomach. Dismay, stupefaction, guilt and desire swept him up in an intolerable chaos. His male hunger simmered just below the surface. It filled him with hot blood.
It was irrational, this surge of desire. This is Caitlin, not Caitryn, he reminded himself. He shook his head. She might not be his first choice as a bride, but Caitlin was certainly delectable. She made this so damn difficult.
Samuel didn’t know what it was about the woman that disturbed him. The idea of taking her to bed was driving him to distraction. The heat leaked up from his neck to his cheeks, circling his ears. He prayed Caitlin didn’t notice, but that was too much to ask.
As she was spun into the dance, Caitlin rotated her head so that she could keep him in her line of vision. She raised her delicate eyebrows in a subtle challenge. The woman had a way of taunting him without even opening her mouth.
Samuel had the oddest feeling that those extraordinary green eyes were seeing right through into his thoughts. He hoped not. He had to force himself to look away.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped at the Irishman. His voice lacked conviction even to his own ears. Murphy made a wry face.
Samuel considered taking refuge in silence, then changed his mind as, he looked at the Irishman. He’d have to do better, or Liam would be on to him.
“It’s not very civilized in Fairbanks, so this is probably the only chance Caitlin will have to show off her city finery.” He was glaring at Murphy now, so hard his eyes ached with the effort. “A logging camp in Maine isn’t exactly Paris.”
The wide smile disappeared. Liam eyed him thoughtfully, hesitated a moment. “I was only joking.” Murphy took a long swallow of whiskey. “Then again, maybe I wasn’t. My advice is to let the little lady have one last fling, ’n’ enjoy herself with all them handsome young bucks twirlin’ her about the dance floor, before she’s claimed by her lover and has all them wifely duties to attend.”
Awareness hit Samuel immediately as a tremendous surge in his loins. He felt it right in the center of his stomach. Like a kick. Claimed by her lover. The words echoed in his head.
What was he letting the woman do to him, for God’s sake? The answer was far too disturbing. His whole body was seething with unreleased tension and sensual excitement.
Mentally he chastised himself for his own weakness but the unexpected response of his body was unnerving, as was the strangely possessive, yet uncomfortably vengeful, sensation he was experiencing. Setting snares for women apparently wasn’t his forte.
At that moment, Samuel decided to get drunk. Soaking himself in whiskey was exactly what he needed. In spite of everything, his mouth curved faintly.
“Sure, why not? The end result will be the same. She is my wife.”
Murphy narrowed his eyes at Jardine’s display of male possessiveness. “You’re not worried about Sagamore, are you?” It was a statement, not a question.
Just don’t screw up now and ruin everything, Samuel finished wryly in his head. Something in his mind shied away from abandoning the project he’d planned for his bogus bride. It was becoming very important to make it work.
He shook his head once, very determinedly. “An uppity, unpredictable, difficult female like Caitlin will send that jackass on his way with a flea in his ear.”
“Sounds like you’re having regrets already.”
There was a sharpness to Liam’s tone that startled Samuel, and the bland innocence in the Irishman’s gaze made him decidedly wary. He made a disagreeable sound in the back of his throat.
“Certainly not. I haven’t seen Caitlin for ten years, and I’m feeling a mite nervous.”
Murphy made a face. “There’s a paradox there somewhere, but I’m damned if I know what it is.” His eyes flicked to the dance floor. “Just know if it was my missus, I wouldn’t have time to be nervous. I’d have her in bed quick smart ’n’ let nature take its course. And I wouldn’t be sittin’ here swilling whiskey like some drunken fool an’ abusin’ her feelin’s.”
A
