“OPEN THIS DAMNED DOOR!” BELLOWED A VOICE THAT could only belong to Travis. Obviously he was unconcerned about waking the other occupants of the inn.
Her head feeling as heavy as a piece of granite, Regan tried to sit up, staring through her swollen eyes at the door that threatened to break under Travis’s pounding.
“Regan!” Another shout came that sent her flying to the door.
Turning the knob, she said dazedly, “It’s locked.”
“The key’s on the dresser,” Travis replied, his voice heavy with disgust.
The door was barely open before Travis burst into the room—but Regan could hardly see him, for he was buried behind the most flowers she’d ever seen in her life. As an amateur gardener, she recognized many of them—tulips, daffodils, hyacinths, irises, violets, three colors of lilacs, poppies, laurel, and beautiful, perfect roses. There was no order to the flowers as they trailed behind Travis, hung down in front of him, some tied together in bundles, some loose and falling, a few covered in mud, others beaten by the rain. Even as he stood there, they fell about him like a colorful riot of lovely raindrops.
Going forward, scattering more flowers, walking on some, he tossed the whole mass on the bed and exposed himself as a man covered in mud—and his face showed his anger.
“Damned things!” he said, pulling a bunch of violets from his shirt collar and throwing them onto the bed. “I never thought I could hate flowers, but tonight I may change my mind.” As he removed his hat, water poured onto the floor. Disgustedly, he pulled three dwarf irises off his hat and tossed them with the others.
So far he had barely glanced at Regan, and his anger was so great that he didn’t even notice her sheer gown or the way the early sunlight made her body glow beneath the gossamer silk.
Heavily, he sat down in a chair and started to remove his boots, but first he lifted himself and with a grimace removed a thorny rose from beneath him.
“All I planned was a simple trip north,” he said as he pulled a boot off, pouring water out of it. “I have a friend who has a glasshouse, and he only lives five miles north of here. And of course a bride should have flowers, so I thought I’d just get you some.”
Still, he didn’t look up as he began removing his soaked, filthy coat. A flood of flowers fell from inside his jacket; crushed, falling apart, they cascaded to the floor.
Travis ignored them with a determined aloofness. “I was halfway there when it started to rain,” he continued his story. “But I kept on, and when I got there my friend and his wife got out of bed and personally cut the flowers for me. They cleaned out the garden and the glasshouse.”
His shirt, soaked to his skin, came off next, and more flowers drifted to the already considerable pile at his bare feet.
“It was on the way back that the trouble started. The damned horse threw a shoe, and I had to walk in that strip of mud Virginia calls a road. I couldn’t stop and have a new shoe fitted and miss my own wedding night.”
Fascinated, Regan could only watch him, her heart beginning to heal with every word he spoke.
“Then lightning flashed, and the horse reared and knocked me in the mud. If that animal lives two more days, it won’t be because I allow it,” he threatened. “I would have let it go, but the damned flowers were on the saddle, so I had to spend two hours in the storm looking for that animal, and when I found it the saddle was gone.”
Angrily, he stripped off his pants. “Another hour went by before I found the saddle and all these…these….” he said, pulling what was left of a peony from his pants and giving a crooked smile as he slowly crushed it before letting it drop. “The bags were broken, and there was no way to carry them, so I started stuffing them wherever I could.” His eyes locked with hers for the first time. “There I was, a grown man, standing in the middle of one of the worst storms of the year, filling my clothes with these thorny, itchy, smelly flowers. Do you know how much a fool I felt like, and what the hell are you crying about?” he said in the same breath and tone.
Picking up a slightly damaged and very wet rose from the bed, she held it to her nose. “A bride should have flowers,” she whispered. “You did this for me.”
Bewilderment and exasperation showed on Travis’s wet face. “Why else would I go out on a night like this, on my own wedding night, for God’s sake, unless it was for my bride?”
Regan couldn’t answer, just kept her head down, tears beginning to flow.
After a moment’s silent thought, Travis came to her, lifted her chin in his hand, and studied her face. “You’ve been crying a lot,” he said quietly. “You didn’t think I was coming back, did you?”
Jerking away from him, she walked to the head of the bed. “No, of course not. It’s just—”
A soft chuckle from Travis made her turn. He was naked, standing like some god of old in a wealth of fragrant flowers, and she began to smile too. He had returned to her, and he’d gone to a great deal of trouble to give her what she wanted.
Travis’s eyes, looking at her in the sheer gown, turned hot with desire. “Don’t I get a reward for all my work?” he whispered, opening his arms to her.
With one giant leap, Regan flew at him, her arms going about his neck, her legs around his waist.
Surprised for a moment, Travis caught her. “How could you think I’d leave you after all the trouble I’ve gone through to get you?” he murmured before fastening his lips to hers.
The feel of his bare skin, cool and damp between her legs, made her shiver with pleasure as she tightened her legs about his middle until she threatened to sever him in half. Only the thin bit of silk between them kept their skin apart as she rubbed against him, her breasts nearly crushed by the hard mass of his chest.
Her hands went to his hair, pulling on the wet thickness of it, her fingers disappearing into it as her lips made a hot trail across his mouth. He was here; he’d come back to her, and he was her husband, hers to do with as she wanted.
In glee, feeling powerful, she bit his earlobe much too hard.
Within an instant she found herself pulled from Travis and being flung through the air, landing in an explosion of flowers of hundreds of shades and hues and a swirl of delicate silk. Brushing four daffodils off her face, she smiled up at Travis as he stood over her, hands on hips, muscles bulging, manhood towering.
“Now that’s the way a bride should look.”
“Stop talking and come here,” she laughed, holding her arms up to him.
But instead of going to her, he knelt and kissed her toes, one by one, his tongue teasing the soft pads. His hot mouth moved to the bottoms of her feet, and as he raked his teeth along the arch she jumped as a nerve inside her tightened, jolting her entire body.
Travis laughed, a deep rumbling sound that touched her foot, traveled up her leg, and reverberated in the center of her being.
“Travis,” she gasped, lifting herself and reaching for him. Flowers under her crackled and released their heady fragrance. But he ignored her as his lips moved upward to her knees, exploring, kissing, caressing.
Regan, ready for him, actually eager for him, felt she would go insane as he toyed with her senses. His mouth tortured one leg, and as if that weren’t enough, his hand, so strong yet so sensitive, caressed the muscles of the other leg until she was weak with helplessness. Yet at the same time she felt like a tigress, wanting to claw and bite, wanting to tear at this man who threatened her sanity.
When he reached the center of her with his hands and lips, she nearly screamed, rolling her head in agony at what he was doing.
“Please, Travis, please,” she begged.
Within seconds he came to her, his mouth hard on hers, but no harder than hers as she attempted to devour all of him. When he entered her, she arched high, completely off the bed, supporting him, needing him, using her hips to drive him onward.
His passion was as great as hers and his need as violent. After only a few powerful, deep, filling thrusts, his body jerked, and he clutched her to him in a bone-crushing hug as spasms racked both their bodies.
It was several moments before Regan realized she couldn’t breathe, that Travis seemed to be trying to pull her inside him, and that she wanted him to.
As he relaxed his grip but still held her, his face buried in her neck, she opened her eyes and saw a long line of crushed flower petals clinging to his sweaty skin. Turning her head, breathing deeply of the lovely fragrance, she began to laugh as she put out her hand, grabbed some flowers, and playfully tossed them into the air.
One eyebrow lifted, Travis moved to look at her. “And what is so amusing?” he asked.
“Flowers for the bride!” she laughed gaily. “Oh Travis, I meant a bouquet, not a whole garden.”
Leaning across her, he grabbed a handful, catching the flowers upside down and sideways, and he held out the funny bouquet. “I’m sure you could find what you wanted in this.”
She moved out from under him, rolling in the flowers, tossing clumps into the air, and then began pelting him with them. “She wants flowers,” Regan laughed in a mock deep voice. “I’ll give her flowers. Oh Travis, everything you do is so…so big!” she laughed, trying for the right word. “Everything is so oversized, blown out of proportion, overpowering, domineering.” Sitting up, watching him, looking at that magnificent body reclining lazily on a bed of flowers, her heart seemed to turn somersaults.
“Perhaps,” she said in a cat-soft voice, “not all of you is overpowering all the time.”
After a sharp intake of breath, Travis grabbed her by a handful of silk, but a short, sharp scream from Regan stopped him.
“Don’t you tear one more piece of my clothing,” she warned, but flung the silk gown off before he could disobey her.
“Orders and taunts,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he lifted himself up onto all fours and began to stalk her like some great beast of prey.
With a squeal of delight, Regan backed away from him, bombarding him with flowers as he slowly came toward her. When she was backed against the wall, she threw her hands up in surrender. “Oh, kind sir,” she said in mock fear. “Do what you will with me, but do not take my virtue.”
Her skin alive, anticipating Travis’s delicious pounce, she was startled when he uttered a heartfelt “Damn!”
Turning her head, she saw that he’d sat up, holding his knee. “How can you crawl around on these damned things without injury? Look at that! Have you ever seen a thorn that big?”
Regan burst into laughter so hard her stomach threatened to split. Her knees drawn up, she rolled in laughter.
Pulling the thorn from his knee and angrily tossing it onto the floor, he gave her a nasty glare. “I am glad I afford you some amusement.”
“Oh Travis,” she cried. “You are so, so romantic.”
He stiffened at her sarcasm, his mouth turning into a straight line. “Why the hell did I get you all these goddamn flowers if I wasn’t the very soul of romance?” he demanded seriously.
This statement, and especially the way he said it, sent Regan into new spasms of laughter, and it took some minutes before she became aware that she was hurting his feelings. He really had tried, she admitted to herself. It wasn’t his fault if he didn’t understand that a bunch of violets was often more romantic than enough flowers to fill a wagon. She’d said she wanted flowers, and he had gotten them for her. And neither was it his fault that a thorn in his knee forced him to interrupt a lovely little romantic game.
As he started to leave the bed, she put her hand on his shoulder and swallowed her laughter. “Travis, the flowers are lovely. I really do like them.” When he didn’t respond and she saw the muscles standing rigid on his neck, she really was sorry that she’d laughed. He’d done what he did to please her, and all she did was laugh.
“I’ll wager I can make you stop being angry with me,” she whispered, nuzzling his ear, her teeth running along the cartilage edge, her tongue touching the lobe. “Maybe if I kiss your sore knee, it will stop hurting,” she murmured, running her lips down his arm.
“It might,” Travis said, his voice especially deep. “I’d sure like to try it.”
Regan, aware of how he’d tried to please her, wanted to please him. Pushing him gently, she found he was putty in her hands, and the look of wonder and pleasure on his face was intriguing. The strength of him surrendering to her was a powerful feeling.
Beginning at his knee, her lips traveled upward, her hands trailing behind, massaging his leg, glorying in the great muscle there. When she reached the center of him, Travis groaned, whispering her name. With one fluid motion he pulled her up in the bed, his eyes black and hot as he roughly threw her down beside him and mounted her in moments. He was not his usual, calm self, but a man driven beyond endurance with his blinding lust.
His violent need of her was exciting, especially because she knew she’d driven him to it. Lifting her body under him as if she were a rag doll, he thrust hard and long, pulling her, pushing her—owning her.
When at last the fury died in one massive flash, Regan was limp, weak from the raw tempest of their wild, savage lovemaking. Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
“Get up!” Travis commanded, slapping her firm, lovely buttocks. “If we don’t get started, we’ll never make it to Clay’s house, and if you think I’m going to spend a night on that little sloop with you, you’re wrong.”
Having no idea what he was talking about, she didn’t make a comment but pushed her hair out of her eyes and pulled a tulip petal from where it was stuck to her cheek. “Why wouldn’t you spend the night on a ship with me?” she asked idly, sitting up, feeling dazed and drained—but happy.
“It’s not a ship,” he answered, “but a tiny little boat, and we’d probably sink it with your acrobatics.”
“My—?” she began, trying to look haughty, but sitting naked in the midst of the large pile of crushed flowers, her cheeks pink, her eyes liquid and lazy, she couldn’t look like more than a tempting little wood-sprite.
Travis, his cheeks covered with shaving soap, looked at her in the mirror, and his glance made her smile and start to lean back on the bed. “Oh, no you don’t,” he cautioned, immediately changing his look to a threatening one. “If you don’t get out of that bed this minute, I’ll see that we have separate bedrooms at my house.”
That absurd threat made her laugh, but just the same she got up and began to wash. She felt so good that she couldn’t seem to do anything in a hurry, yet Travis wouldn’t help her get dressed but stood to one side impatiently waiting for her.
When at last she was ready to leave, he half-pushed her down the stairs and to a chair where an enormous American meal awaited her. Travis set to the food like a starving man, grumbling that he never got regular meals anymore and that she was wearing him out in the prime of life, but his eyes danced with merriment.
In very short order their trunks were stowed on the little boat, they were heading up the James River toward Travis’s home, and Regan began bombarding him with questions. Before, she had fought so hard against going to America that she hadn’t thought much about where Travis lived.
“Is your farm very large? Do you plow the fields yourself, or do you have employees? Is your house as nice as where the Judge and Martha live?”
Looking at her in bewilderment for a moment, Travis began to smile. “My…ah…farm is a good size, and I do have a few employees, but I sometimes plow my own fields. And I believe my house is rather nice, but then maybe that’s because it’s mine.”
“And you built it with your own hands,” she said dreamily, trailing her hand in the water. Perhaps in a simple country like this, her lack of experience in household management wouldn’t be so devastating. Farrell had said he knew she couldn’t manage his estate, and she was sure he was right. But with a little place like Travis’s, maybe a one-or two-room house, she could manage.
The increasing warmth of the sun and the pleasant thoughts soon made her drop off to sleep.
Quite a while later, she woke with a start as a shot rang out over her head. Practically falling into the water, she jumped and saw Travis holding a smoking pistol pointed toward the sky.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
From the excitement on his face, she knew something was about to happen and didn’t answer his silly question. Stretching her cramped body, she looked around as Travis reloaded the pistol, but all she saw was the river and the lush greenery on each side.
“We’re near Clay’s place,” he said as he fired into the air again.
After a glance at the dense trees around them, she wondered how anyone could build a house there, but even as she thought it she saw the trees abruptly stop just ahead on the left.
Protruding into the water was a large wooden wharf with two boats, both bigger than the one they rode in, and as they sailed closer many buildings came into view. There were large and small houses, gardens, fields neatly plowed, workers everywhere, horses, wagons, and in general a great deal of activity.
“Is your house in this town also?” she asked as Travis maneuvered them toward the wharf.
A low chuckle she didn’t understand came from Travis. “This isn’t a town. It’s Clay’s plantation.”
To her knowledge, she’d never heard the word before. As she opened her mouth to start asking questions, she was interrupted as a squeal of children’s laughter took Travis’s attention. Quickly, he leaped from the boat and hauled Regan onto the wharf after him, just in time to catch two of the prettiest children she’d ever seen.
“Uncle Travis!” they laughed as he twirled them about. “Did you bring us anything? Uncle Clay was getting worried about you. What’s England like? Mama had two babies instead of one, and we have a new litter of puppies.”
“Mama, is it?” Travis laughed.
The boy gave his sister a disdainful look. “She means Nicole. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that she’s not our mother.”
Close behind the children came a man, tall and slim, with dark hair and eyes, sharp cheekbones, a look of great happiness on his face. “Where the hell have you been?” the man demanded, holding out his hand to Travis and then hugging him exuberantly.
“I’m weeks early, and you damn well know it!” Travis answered. “No one was there to meet me, and I had to store my goods and borrow this sorry excuse for a boat.”
Gesturing offhandedly toward the boat, Travis caused Clay to notice Regan, who was standing quietly on the edge of the wharf. But before the man could ask any questions, Travis gave a long sigh.
“Here’s who I wanted to see.” Hurrying forward, he caught a deliciously pretty young woman in his arms, kissing her heartily on the mouth. Instantly, the other man’s attention left Regan and went to the two of them. He seemed to be working at controlling some inner emotion.
Within moments Travis was leading the woman toward the wharf. “I have someone I want you to meet,” he was saying.
At close range the woman was even prettier than from a distance, with a heart-shaped face, big brown eyes, and a sensual mouth. After a quick assessment, Regan saw she was wearing a dress of deep purple muslin, with tiny green ribbons under the high waist. So much for wanting to show the Americans the new fashions! This woman’s gown could be worn at court.
“This is my wife Regan,” Travis said gently, looking at Regan with pride. “And this is Clayton Armstrong and his wife Nicole. And these scamps,” he grinned, “are Clay’s niece and nephew, Alex and Mandy.”
“How do you do?” Regan said quietly, still puzzled by these people. They were far from her idea of what Americans were like.
“Won’t you come to the house?” Nicole said. “You must be tired, and I doubt if Travis has let you rest much.”
To that, Travis snorted and Regan held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t say something crude.
When Regan merely followed Nicole docilely, Nicole smiled. “It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
Regan was looking about her, trying to understand just what sort of place she was in.
A big, broad, blonde woman came running toward them, her skirts lifted high above her ankles. “Was that Travis what just come in?” she shouted before she even reached them.
“Yes, and this is his wife Regan. Regan, this is Janie Langston.”
“Wife?” Janie asked, surprised. “He did do it! That Travis is a wonder. He said he was going to England and bring back a wife. Honey,” she said, putting her hand on Regan’s arm. “You got your work cut out for you being Mrs. Travis Stanford. I hope you got courage enough to stand up to him.”
With that, she started running toward the wharf.
