Rose(86)
He resolutely forced down the apprehension trying to seep into his veins. Rose loved him. She wouldn’t expect him to do anything he couldn’t. And he would want to do anything that would make her happy.
“Promise you’ll tell me if you ever start to feel our marriage is suffocating you.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll let you go. I want you to stay with me because you enjoy being with me, because even though you have the freedom to go anywhere on earth, there’s no place you’d rather be. For the happiness that would bring both of us, I will be willing to give up having a family.”
“I couldn’t let you do that.”
“We all have to make choices, George. You asked me to marry you even though you were afraid that rot would topple you in the end. I’m willing to take the chance I can be happy without a family. Isn’t that fair?”
George nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.
“And for the record, there’s no rot in you. I’m not trying to change a word of what I just said. I just want you to know I believe you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. I believe you can do anything you want.”
Even after too much whiskey, George marveled at how wonderful Rose’s confidence in him felt. He might be his father’s son, but with Rose’s help, he wouldn’t have to turn out to be like his father.
Rose dropped her eyes and looked at her hand, held tightly in George’s grasp.
“In case you want to come to bed, you can’t father a child tonight.”
“You mean…”
Rose looked up. “I’ll always tell you.”
Rose withdrew her hand. Deliberately, she removed her robe.
It took George a moment to understand what she meant. She’d offered to be his wife on his terms, without the fear of children, without the fear of failure. The magnitude of her gift, the selflessness of her sacrifice, nearly overcame him.
Nearly.
His conscience reminded him that he still didn’t love her, that he shouldn’t take her innocence when he had nothing to give in return, but he clubbed the noisy little bastard into silence. Rose had invited him into her bed. As long as it was all right with her, he meant to accept the invitation.
George’s body responded immediately. He felt a little guilty that his needs should intrude on such a nearly holy moment, but he had become aware that Rose sat before him in nothing but her nightgown. The pull that had always existed between them leapt into full strength.
George staggered to his feet and threw open the door. Salty’s door pushed open in almost immediate response.
“More coffee,” George shouted. “And hot water for a bath. This is my wedding night, and my bride is waiting.” He had to lean against the doorway to steady himself.
“Ssshh!” Salty hissed. “It’s past one o’clock. You’ll wake up the hotel.”
“Wake ’em up,” George shouted.
“Can’t you do something with him, ma’am?” Salty asked Rose.
Rose couldn’t suppress a smile. “I already have.”
Salty grinned back. “He’ll be back here in half an hour even if he has to take a bath in the creek.”
“Don’t know why he can’t get his bath in the morning like everybody else,” the attendant grumbled as she hauled two buckets of hot water up to the tub in Salty’s room.
“You only get married once,” Salty explained. He carried two buckets as well.
“Don’t know what he wants a bath for anyway,” the woman grumbled. “He won’t do it regular, so she needn’t expect it. He’ll just come to her in all his dirt and sweat, take his pleasure rough like, and be snoring inside five minutes.”
“Gentlemen behave differently,” Salty said.
“Humph! He’s a man, ain’t he? He’s drunk, ain’t he? What’s so all-fired different about him?”
George didn’t feel very steady on his feet when he opened the door to their room. His bath had been warm and the coffee hot, but his head still felt like the inside of a bell tower during the ringing of the tocsin.
Worst of all, he felt terribly sleepy, almost as if he had been drugged. He wasn’t used to whiskey. Unable to forget his father’s violent behavior when he drank, George had stayed away from alcohol. It was a relief to know it didn’t affect him the same way, but this feeling was bad enough.
Rose was waiting for him. In bed.
God, she looked lovely in the lamplight. He’d never thought much about hair. He’d always pictured beautiful women pretty much like his mother. Her blonde hair had been the color of new corn silk. Long and straight and thin, it had added to her fragile appearance.