Chapter 7

Josette walked slowly with Mr. Dugas—Alexandre—by her side. One lone kerosene lantern flickered on the wall at the end of the upstairs hall, offering scant light for their path. Their arms brushed against each other in the narrow passage, but neither said a word.

The past two hours had been like a whirlwind. The justice of the peace had been called in with a special license Josie had requested earlier in the day, and the ceremony was over before she could catch her breath. She had stood next to Alexandre and pledged her life to his, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death parted them.

Her foot stumbled at the thought. Alexandre reached out and placed his large, steady hand under her elbow. Their gazes met, and her stomach filled with butterflies. She’d never been alone with a man before. It was both exhilarating and frightening—and to know this was her husband …

After the ceremony, Ruth had disappeared into their room, while Josie and Alexandre faced a ballroom of disgruntled men. Many left angry, but those that remained offered their reluctant well-wishes.

Now Josie stopped in front of her hotel door, realizing they hadn’t discussed their sleeping arrangements. She suddenly felt overly warm, yet she shivered. “H–here’s my room.”

Alexandre turned, half his handsome face shadowed by the light. He stood tall and powerful before her, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he had not been married before.

Another shiver ran up her spine. She didn’t know much about him at all.

He studied her face, and she felt a flush creep up her neck.

Muffled noise seeped up the stairway, but the hall remained empty.

“My room is two doors down.” His voice carried just above the noise.

She lowered her gaze to the tie at his throat. Would he ask her to go to his room? It was within his rights—but gooseflesh rose up on her arms at the thought. There hadn’t been enough time to discuss their expectations. She had intended this marriage to be in name only.… What did he intend?

“The stagecoach will take us to St. Paul the day after tomorrow.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “We will book passage on the first available steamboat back to St. Louis.”

“I plan to go to Belle Prairie in the morning to tell them about the change of plans.”

He stood so close, she could smell the fresh scent of soap on his clothes, and her thoughts became jumbled. “Of course. They must know.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

Her gaze traveled back to his face. She tried to focus on his question and not how close he stood. “I would.”

He looked pleased. “I’ll rent a buggy, and after we visit the mission, we can go for a ride—if you’d like—to get to know one another better.” His stilted words revealed his own discomfort, and Josie felt a measure of relief.

“I’d like that, very much.”

“Could you be ready by eight o’clock, Miss—” He paused, his thoughts imperceptible. “Mrs. Dugas.”

“Please, call me Josie.”

The flickering light revealed half his smile. “May I call you Josette?”

Only her father and mother had called her Josette. Her stepmother had been the one to call her Josie, telling her it was more American—and Papa had acquiesced—like he had with so many other things. “You may. And what shall I call you?”

“You’re my wife, non? You must call me Alexandre.”

She was his wife—yet she had imagined being a wife would be so … different. For now, she carried his name.… Would she ever carry his child? The thought made her heart race, and she reached behind and fumbled for the doorknob.

“Wait, Josette.” He placed his hand under her elbow, and a tingle of both pleasure and apprehension ran the length of her arm.

“In all the commotion, the justice of the peace forgot to have me kiss my bride.”

Josie’s breath caught in her throat. The ceremony had happened so quickly—she hadn’t even realized. But he was her husband, and he deserved at least one kiss on his wedding day—didn’t he? He had sacrificed his plans to help her manage her half of the inheritance. Surely he deserved more than a peck on the cheek. He deserved her heartfelt appreciation—for the rest of her life.

She let go of the doorknob and clasped her shaky hands. She lifted her gaze to his face and saw tenderness—and attraction—in his eyes. Heat coursed through her limbs.

Alexandre’s eyes caressed her face. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Josette. I’m proud to call you my wife.”

The warmth from her limbs flooded her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“May I kiss the bride now?”

Josie’s backside pressed up against the solid door. She was thankful for something steady and certain at the moment. “You may.” Her words were breathless, and she was afraid he hadn’t heard her. “You may,” she said a bit louder.

He grinned, and his eyes twinkled.

Clearly he’d heard her the first time. Oh, he must think her a silly, inexperienced young woman! She closed her eyes to hide her embarrassment—and wait for the kiss.

The door suddenly opened, and before Josie knew what had happened, she was on the floor of her bedroom, with Ruth standing above her.

Ruth gasped. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, Miss Josie. I heard talking outside the door and I thought maybe you’d forgotten your key.” She scrambled to help Josie from the floor just as Alexandre stepped into the room and offered Josie his hand.

A lantern illuminated the room, and Josie was certain Alexandre could see her red cheeks. Her bottom stung, but nothing compared to the sting of humiliation.

She took his hand and stood to her feet. “Merci, Mr. Dug—”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She forced herself to nod as she smoothed the front of her gown.

His eyes told her he didn’t believe her, but he backed out of the room. “I’ll return to collect you in the morning.”

Josie couldn’t wait for the door to close behind him.