It was nearly dark by the time they arrived at Conn’s ranch house. It was a one-story dogtrot home common to this part of Texas, with a central hallway running down the middle and rooms on either side. Emaline noticed the wood-frame structure had a fresh coat of white paint.
Conn’s hands were warm through her dress as he lifted her down from the wagon seat. She was horribly aware of the blush on her face as he hefted her into his arms—what a feat that would have been for most men!—and carried her over the threshold of his home.
He kicked the door closed behind them before setting her back on her feet. She was aware of the raucous catcalls and lascivious jeers just beyond the door. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure what to do about them. One spilled before she could blink it back.
“Well,” Conn said.
That was all. Not, Welcome to my home. Just, Well.
Emaline couldn’t blame him. She felt overwhelmed herself. How had they let themselves get talked into this?
“What shall we do now?” Conn said at last.
Emaline couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know.”
“We have to—”
“Please,” Emaline interrupted. “I know what I’ve agreed to do. Can’t we wait? Just a little while?”
“It’ll only get harder,” Conn said.
“I can’t do it,” Emaline said quietly. “Not like this. I don’t even know you.”
“Fine,” Conn said, his voice no less quiet or agitated than hers. “I’ll go out there and tell them we’ve changed our minds.”
He had his hand on the doorknob when Emaline spoke.
“All right. You win.”
He turned a bleak look on her. “No, Emaline,” he said, using her name for the first time, “I think we’ve both lost.”
They stood frozen in a tableau of tragedy, of love lost and love uncelebrated. Until, at last, Conn reached out a hand to her. “Let’s go to bed, Emaline.”
She took the two steps necessary to place her palm in his and looked up at him with somber eyes. “Please be gentle, Conn.”
His hand clasped hers and gently squeezed. “I’ll do my best.”
Conn led Emaline to his bedroom door and left her there. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he said.
Emaline closed the door. It was already dusk, and there was barely enough light to see what she was doing. She noted the large four-poster bed and found the dry sink with a pitcher and bowl and a wardrobe where Conn must keep his clothing. There was also a long, low cedar chest—his former wife’s hope chest?—at the foot of the bed. She could feel the rag rug beneath her feet and see a slight shine on the hardwood floors in the rest of the room.
Emaline was afraid to light a lamp, knowing the wild crowd outside would realize where she was and hoot and howl all the louder. So she undressed in the dark, letting her precious wedding dress drop to the floor at her feet and then stepping out of it. It didn’t take long to strip down to her chemise and pantalets. She had delivered a carpetbag of clothing to Conn’s house the previous day, and it was beside the chest at the foot of the bed.
She opened it and quickly pulled out a chambray wrapper that would cover her from neck to ankles. She debated whether to leave on her chemise and pantalets, but decided it was better to take them off. If Conn planned to undress her, she didn’t want to prolong the agony. She stripped down and slid the nightgown over her head. It was an old garment, and the fabric had been worn soft and smooth.
Emaline turned back the covers and slid underneath them. She sat upright, her back braced against the pillow at the head of the bed, and waited for Conn to appear.
He was nothing more than a shadow when he entered the room, it was so dark, but she could see enough to know he was wearing only his long johns. He quickly slipped under the covers to lie beside her.
“You could have lit a candle,” he said.
“You know why I didn’t,” she retorted. “Some of the ribald things they’re yelling aren’t fit—” Emaline cut herself off. There was no sense angering him, especially not now.
The noise from outside of a shivaree in full swing—a serenade in pots and pans to the newly married couple by both their families—was the only sound in the silent room.
At last Conn sighed. “Emaline, I don’t know a way . . .” He paused and started again. “I have to . . .”
“I know,” she said. He had made his feelings clear at church. There was no way he knew to prevent a virgin’s pain. Emaline inched down until she was lying flat in the bed. “Just get it over with, Conn. Please.”
Conn didn’t feel in the least aroused. It had occurred to him once before that he might not be able to perform on cue, but he figured things weren’t going to get any better if he laid here thinking about it. So he reached over and grabbed a handful of her gown and began to move it out of his way.
He could feel Emaline’s rigidity as he said, “Lift your hips.” She moved so he could shove the nightgown up. He felt himself becoming aroused as his hand brushed the softness of her skin. It seemed his curiosity about her freckles wasn’t going to be assuaged, at least not tonight. The room was pitch black. He was feeling his way through what had to be done.
He eased himself onto her, bracing most of his weight on his elbows. “Spread your legs, Emaline,” he murmured against her cheek. Conn realized his body was ready, even if his mind still shied from what was before him. At least he would be able to finish without entirely losing his dignity.
Emaline blessed the darkness that hid her fear and embarrassment. She grasped Conn’s shoulders. “Conn. Please.” She wouldn’t beg him not to hurt her. She had too much pride for that. But it was frightening to be so vulnerable to him. She shivered as his hand slid down her belly. “Conn?”
“Lie still, Emaline. I just want to see . . .” His voice drifted away as his hand slid between her thighs.
Emaline pressed her legs tightly together. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Emaline,” he said patiently, “I’m doing what a husband does with his wife.”
“Oh.” She forced herself to relax, allowed her legs to ease open enough to allow Conn’s hand free access.
She gasped as he cupped her, then slowly parted the folds and tried to slide a finger inside her.
“That hurts, Conn,” she said in a ragged voice.
His finger withdrew. “You’re as dry as a bone,” he said in disgust.
Emaline lay still. “Is that bad?”
“Bad enough,” he admitted.
“I . . .” She swallowed over the painful lump in her throat. “Is there something I should do?”
Conn had two choices. He could take her now and get it over with, or he could spend some time arousing her first. He wanted this over with, but it was going to be hard enough for her without making it any worse.
“There are things I can do, Emaline, to make this easier.”
“Such as?” she ventured cautiously.
“Your body isn’t ready for mine. I have to . . . to touch you.”
“Oh.”
“I can do what’s necessary to help your body accommodate mine better. Or I can just get it over with right now,” Conn said. “The choice is yours.”
Emaline thought about it a moment. “If there’s a way to make it easier . . . I’d rather you do that.”
“Let’s get rid of this nightgown, shall we?” Conn said.
He was already tugging it up over her head as he spoke, not really giving Emaline the option to refuse. A moment later she was naked. She had sat up as he tugged off the gown, and Conn pressed her shoulder to lower her back to the pillow. It took her a few moments to realize he was stripping himself, as well. Lord, she was grateful for the dark!
“Relax, Emaline,” he instructed. “I’ll do all the work.”
Since she had never planned to marry, she had never been courted. Not that she hadn’t been kissed when she was younger, thirteen or fourteen. But those kisses had been nothing like the kisses Conn placed on her body now. And she was totally unprepared for the feelings Conn aroused as his callused fingertips caressed her. She was soon writhing beneath him. “Conn,” she said desperately, “what are you doing? I feel . . . I can’t . . .”
Conn told himself he was only doing as much as was necessary to prevent hurting his wife any more than he had to when he broached her. But she was so responsive! Her back arched as his hands cupped her breasts—a bare handful. And she groaned, a wrenching guttural sound, as his lips closed on a nipple. He suckled and her hips rose to search out his own.
He didn’t kiss her on the mouth. That would have made more of this than it truly was. He had a job to do, that was all. He wasn’t making love to her, he was merely coupling with her.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist touching her. Her skin was so incredibly soft. He tried to imagine the sight of her freckles beneath his fingertips but couldn’t. His hand slid down her hip, across a flat stomach and into a nest of curls, which he suddenly realized must be as red as her hair.
That was better. She was wet now. He could do what had to be done.
But he wasn’t willing yet to stop touching her. She couldn’t know that what he did now wasn’t strictly necessary. He indulged his need to feel her flesh beneath his fingertips. His hand slid up to grip her waist, then followed the outline of her slender hip back down her thigh all the way to her knee. Then he caressed his way back up the inside of her leg to the folds that he parted for a more intimate invasion. He heard Emaline catch her breath as his finger intruded. But the way was slick now, and his finger slid easily inside.
Until he reached the proof of her virginity.
It reminded him of what he was supposed to do. Broach her. Get her with child.
It was time to get on with business.
Emaline had never felt more strange. She was in a euphoric state that made time stand still. She knew it couldn’t be long now. She had recognized the difference when Conn touched her. “Conn?” she questioned.
“Lie still, Emaline. I’ll try not to hurt you any more than I have to.”
She braced her hands on his arms. The muscles were hard, and she realized suddenly how strong he must be. She could not stop him, not if he didn’t want to be stopped. She was totally at his mercy.
Conn pushed her legs farther apart with his knees. His body was slick with a sheen of sweat. He wanted her. His body ached with wanting. It had been a long time, and his heart pounded. He tried to go slow, to enter her a little at a time, but he felt her tensing and realized the longer she had to anticipate the moment the worse it was going to be.
He thrust hard and felt the membrane give way at the same instant that she gave a sharp cry of pain.
He held himself perfectly still. “It’s done now, Emaline. The painful part is over.”
There was a moment of silence before she said in a small voice, “But you’re not finished, are you?”
He felt his smile and was glad she couldn’t see it. “No. I’m not finished yet. There is the seed to plant.”
“Oh.”
He began to move slightly, feeling the exquisite friction of their bodies as he lifted himself away from her and then thrust again. He felt her lift her hips to meet him and almost groaned aloud. It was a matter of embarrassingly few moments before he spilled his seed.
He rolled away, releasing his hold on her. He lay on his back with an arm across his eyes. His breathing was ragged. It had felt good. Too good. He wanted her again already, and he knew that was impossible.
The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was the sound of his new wife sobbing quietly against her pillow.