Read Lynna's Rogue (Curse of the Conjure Woman, Book One) Page 28
Two months from the day they met, Lynna became Mrs. Michael Devereux in a simply ceremony held on a cliff overlooking the ocean. She was breathtakingly beautiful in a simple white off the shoulder gown that had been stitched by her own hand and cried tears of joy and regret that Aunt Judith wasn’t there.
Uncle Cliff gave her away in her father’s absence and Crystal was her only attendant, scattering rose petals from a hand woven basket. After the ceremony Aunt Bertie insisted that Crystal visit with them for a few days while Lynna and Michael enjoyed a brief honeymoon.
On her wedding night Lynna was as fidgety as a schoolgirl as she slipped a lacy peignoir over her head.
Would Michael stir the same feelings of ecstasy inside of her that Joshua had?
Thus far, Michael hadn’t seemed overly romantic, since he had never even once tried to kiss her. But then, he was by no means the man of passion that Joshua was. He was more shy and reserved. Yet, she was comparing him to Joshua and that wasn’t fair.
Few men could compare to Captain Jordan.
Michael was kind, gentle, caring, and devoted to his daughter. He would make a wonderful father for their children, and Jamaica was such a marvelous place to raise them. Passion would come in due time, hopefully tonight. She longed for someone to love and be loved in return.
Breathing deeply of the smell of approaching rain in the air, her eyes went to the sky as jagged heat lightning flashed and low dark clouds, heavy with rain swept over the mountains. A gust of wind molded her negligee to her body as fat drops of rain began to fall. These brief thunderstorms were an evening occurrence in Jamaica.
An hour later she paced the room wondering at her husband’s delay. What could be keeping him on their wedding night? Surely there wasn’t a problem at the distillery, or he wasn’t in his office surrounded by paperwork and completely forgetting his bride.
On bare feet she hurried downstairs, at once beset by a flurry of emotions. She was offended, hurt, and angry to find him asleep and snoring on the couch with an empty rum bottle close by.
Was he drunk?
He couldn’t be. She had never even seen him tipsy. Yet his intoxicated state was proof that he had little interest in consummating their wedding vows. She had never felt more shocked or humiliated.
Was she determined to encounter heartbreak at every turn?
Feeling lonely, dejected, and with mounting despair she climbed the stairs, and after much tossing, turning, and tears, finally drifted into a restless sleep.
“Good morning.” Michael smiled across the table at her during a breakfast of hominy corn porridge, country ham, and thick cane syrup poured over flapjacks. “You slept well, I trust.”
“I slept alone,” she mused, sipping coffee and trying to keep the irritation out of her voice as she stabbed at a thick slice of ham. She knew she must look a fright with her eyes red and puffy from a night of crying.
“Oh, that.” Michael waved a hand in the air, dismissing his words. “Apparently, I imbibed in too much of my own rum.”
“Evidently.”
Michael was growing annoyed with her accusing tone. “Most women find that obligation more of a chore than a pleasure, do they not?”
“This wife wouldn’t, Michael,” she answered honestly. “I look forward to being your wife in every sense of the word and having your children, and I certainly would not consider making love to you a chore. If I felt that way, I would never have married you to begin with.”
Suddenly looking mad enough to spit fire Michael stormed out of the house without a word, leaving his breakfast untouched. Lynna could only stare after him, utterly confused by his erratic behavior.
What had she said to make him so angry?
In the weeks that followed, other than the disturbing lack of intimacy from her husband, Lynna’s days on the island were filled with joy. She and Crystal spent many carefree hours at the waterfall or down by the beach splashing in the waves, chasing fiddler crabs, or finding seashells to take home and deposit in a glass vase. Lynna’s days were wonderful.
However, her nights were nothing short of torture.
Six weeks after their wedding her husband still had not made love to her, or even attempted to for that matter. His nights were spent in a drunken stupor on the sofa, and a hurried peck on the cheek was the most romantic gesture he offered before rushing off to the mill the following morning. As embarrassing as it was for Lynna to admit, she had finally accepted the fact that her husband had no desire to bed her.
Was he repulsed by her? Did he already regret his hasty proposal and even hastier marriage? Was he in the habit of getting intoxicated every night to drown the sorrow he felt over being tied to her for a lifetime?
Just before drifting into an exhausted sleep Lynna decided to have a heart to heart discussion with her husband the following morning and ask if he would be agreeable to having their farce of a marriage annulled. She would cut her losses and find a way to return to home to France, and her father.