His Substitute Wife. Dorothy ClarkЧитать онлайн книгу.
with her when he’d just learned the woman he loved had wed another. She remembered the raw hurt when John had cast her aside to make an advantageous marriage. She bit back words of apology and commiseration and followed Blake into the dark interior. Sympathy would do no good. Words could not ease the pain of an aching heart.
She stole another glance at Blake, but the store was too dark and shadowed to see clearly. He led her through a door at the back into another, smaller room, his footsteps and the rustle of her skirt loud in the silence. How much effort it must have cost him to pretend to be a happy bridegroom when he was suffering from her sister’s betrayal. What inner strength he had! Even she hadn’t detected his hidden emotions until the pastor pronounced them man and wife, and he’d kissed her.
She raised her hand and touched her fingertips to her tender lips. Thankfully, the pastor had interpreted Blake’s vehemence as love, not anger. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. How he must have hated being forced to kiss her, to pretend—
“Wait a moment until I light the lamp, Audrey. It’s not safe for you to climb the stairs in this dim light.”
She blinked the tears away and squared her shoulders. A match flared. Blake lifted the globe of a hanging lamp and touched the match to its wick. Light spread over the area and highlighted the taut features of his face. She looked up the open stairs into a soft circle of light at the top. The home he’d meant to share with Linda was up there. Her breath shortened. Oh, Lord, what have I done? This is madness! I can’t—
“Do you want me to go first?”
Blake’s strained voice snapped her thoughts back to him. Her discomfort was nothing compared to the turmoil of emotions he had to be experiencing. She shook her head, gripped the railing and started to climb.
The stairs led to a U-shaped interior hall lit by a pewter oil lamp sitting on a shelf centered between two doorways in the wall they faced. Blake gestured toward the door on the left. “That’s the sitting room. You’ll find it sparsely furnished. I thought—” He stopped, stood beside the door for her to precede him.
He’s thinking about what was to have been. Talk about things! Distract him. She stepped into the dark room and swept her gaze over the furnishings: lamp stands, a chest, two armchairs with cushions facing a settee. Light from the hall lamp shone on the padded arm. Blue damask. Linda’s favorite color. She looked at Blake and forced out words. “It’s lovely. And more than sufficient.”
He nodded, and she followed him back out into the hall, glanced toward a door he indicated on their right. “That’s my office.” He swept his hand toward a door at the end of the short hallway. “And a bedroom.”
She drew a breath, found a bit of courage and spoke before it fled. “Is that where I—”
“No. The room is empty but for a cot. I’ll sleep there.”
She started to protest, noticed his taut face and kept quiet.
Lamplight gleamed on Blake’s dark hair and broad shoulders as he walked past the stairwell and gestured toward that second open doorway now on their left. “That’s the kitchen.”
She glanced into the dark room. The light from the hall gleamed on the polished wood of a dining table surrounded by Hitchcock chairs. It was all she could see in the quick glimpse. She stifled a wish to look around the kitchen and hurried after Blake, almost bumping into his back when he stopped at the door centered in the short hall at the right of the stairs that formed the second arm of the U.
“This is the dressing room. You’ll find everything you need in it—piped-in water, a bathing tub...” That muscle along his jaw jumped. “Towels and other necessities—soaps and creams and such—are in a cupboard.”
All bought for Linda. Her stomach flopped. She couldn’t—
“I’ll light the lamp.” He did so quickly then stepped back out into the hall and opened the door across from the kitchen at the end of the short hall. “This is where you will sleep. You can hang your gowns in here.” He yanked open a door on a cavernous wardrobe, set her satchel down, strode to a nightstand beside a four-poster and lit the lamp. Golden light glittered on a small heart-shaped silver box, spilled onto a beautiful blue-and-white woven coverlet on the bed.
Her gaze froze on the heart-shaped silver box and the thumb of her left hand turned inward, touched the ring on her finger—Linda’s ring. She lifted her gaze to Blake’s rigid back, remembered the tremor that had shook his hand when he’d pulled the ring from his suit coat pocket and put it on her finger. She slipped the ring off and cupped it in her hand.
Blake scrubbed his hand over his eyes and turned, his face as fixed as stone. “I’ll go to the station and get your trunks. You’ll be wanting to settle in.” He strode out into the hall and walked down the stairs.
She lifted her hand, stared down at the circle of gold on her palm and thought of all it stood for—of what it meant to Blake. Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away, walked to the nightstand and put the ring in the box. It was difficult enough to live with the knowledge that your betrothed rejected the love you carried in your heart for them without seeing a reminder all day. She might stand in Linda’s place, but she’d not wear the symbol of Blake’s love for her.
* * *
Blake threw a blanket over the cot he’d slept on while his store was being built, then turned away before he broke the folding bed into pieces. The quiet sounds from the other bedroom stabbed into him like knives. He wished Audrey would put off unpacking the trunks he’d brought from the depot until tomorrow when he was downstairs at the store. But he had no good reason to ask her to do so. He couldn’t tell her the truth—that every rustle of movement reminded him of Linda’s betrayal, of what should have been. That she was sleeping on the bed that had arrived only yesterday. His and Linda’s wedding bed.
He clenched his fists wanting to smash something the way his dream had been shattered. But there was only the cot. Or the walls. He stared at the wood partition separating him from his bride and jerked his mouth into a bitter smile. If he started punching the wall, he’d likely frighten Audrey into a faint. And how would he explain his bruised and bloodied hands to any customers tomorrow—to Mr. and Mrs. Ferndale, who were certain to come around to wish them well?
His stomach curdled at the thought of the town founder and his wife. They would want to meet his bride. How would Audrey handle that? How would he? He’d best do better than he had at the wedding! His face tightened at the memory of his agony during the ceremony. He’d been so angry over Linda’s betrayal, he was shaking. Still, he shouldn’t have kissed Audrey like that. Remorse washed over him. Audrey had come all the way out to Wyoming to help him keep his store, but there had been nothing of gratitude in that kiss—only anger and frustration. She didn’t deserve that.
What a mess his life was! All of his hopes and careful plans were brought to ruin by Linda’s fickleness. A strangled moan burst from his throat. He shoved his hands through his hair and looked around the empty room that was meant for the children he’d hoped to have someday. His gut twisted into a painful knot. If only he could get out of here and go for a walk, but the moon was too bright. He couldn’t take the chance that one of the few people in town would see him striding down the road. Men didn’t go for solitary walks on their wedding night. At least he could get some air to breathe! He strode to the door leading to the porch that roofed the store’s loading dock and grasped the knob.
A floorboard in the next room creaked. The sound shot through him like an arrow from a warrior’s bow. He froze. There was a door onto the porch from the other bedroom as well. If he went out there and Audrey heard him and came outside... He released his grip on the doorknob. It wasn’t worth the risk. He couldn’t bear to see her again tonight.
Linda... Oh, my heart’s desire...
Memories exploded. Images of his beloved laughing up at him, her blue eyes glowing, her soft, full lips enticing him to kiss her. The silky feel of her blond curls beneath his hands, the warmth of her arms sliding around his neck, the ardor of her return kiss. Pain ripped through him. How could