Chapter 15

15

Time for the reckoning with his father.

Sullivan tensed as the hackney carriage came to a halt under the sprawling cypress tree in front of his family home in New Orleans' Garden District.

Even if his father had received the letter ahead of their arrival, the Commodore would want proof of the marriage. In fact, the Commodore would probably require solid evidence, might even accuse Sullivan of fabricating a union, especially when he noted the date and time on the marriage certificate.

"Are you nervous?" Enya sat beside him, donned in her finest and most fashionable garment—a lovely pale blue gown that showed her every curve to perfection. Maybe even to too much perfection, if the constant heat in his low gut was any indicator.

Her matching blue bonnet was adorned in tiny roses and showcased her exquisite features. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the day and the green of her eyes as bright as the palm trees that lined the ornate black wrought-iron fence that surrounded the mansion and the sprawling gardens beyond.

Her gloved hands rested in her lap, and he had the sudden urge to reach for her hand and hang on to her, just as he had that night in the saloon over a week ago when she'd played the piano for him.

Even though he'd refrained from holding her hand or touching her every day since, their relationship had been different. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what had changed. Only that she hadn't seemed angry at him anymore, as if she'd finally started to accept that he wasn't Bryan. And her despondency was lifting too. He'd sensed the shift in her mood, that perhaps she was making peace with all that had happened.

She hadn't played the piano again, but she'd taught him her favorite card game, and they'd played almost every evening in their private dining room. She'd also purchased a novel at one of their stops and had insisted they take turns reading to each other.

There were still times when he saw tears on her cheeks. And there were still times when she pulled away from him and retreated behind her walls. Yet, in spite of the setbacks, she'd made more of an effort to get to know him, and he could almost believe they were on their way to becoming friends.

Enya gazed upon the mansion several dozen feet back from the street. The Greek Revival and Italianate style building was designed with a curved balcony across the second floor and a curved portico as well, with prominent white columns and graceful, tall windows. It was one of the largest and finest homes in the district.

As the coachman opened the door, Sullivan started to stand, but then he sat back down and faced Enya. He needed to be honest with her about his father so she wasn't shocked by how obnoxious the Commodore could be at times.

As much as he loved and respected his father, the Commodore's loud, unrestrained, and often brash communication was hard to take and had been part of the reason why he'd always loved being on the river, had even been part of the reason why he hadn't wanted to be taken off the river and forced to work in the office in New Orleans.

Sullivan cast a glance around to make sure his father wasn't anywhere nearby. "It is my duty to warn you."

"Warn me?" Her eyes widened, her long lashes fanning out and making her impossibly beautiful.

"My father is loud and overbearing. And he may be somewhat pushy when it comes to marriage."

"I don't understand."

"He's physically affectionate with my mother. Very much so. And he expects everyone else to be the same way."

Enya continued to stare at him, unblinking. Finally she seemed to process what he'd left unsaid, and although she didn't seem to embarrass easily, she focused her attention on her hands folded in her lap. "We'll tell him the truth, that we're waiting."

Sullivan cast another glance around. "If he discovers that we haven't consummated, he'll call into question the authenticity of my marriage."

"And then what will he do?" This time pink bloomed in her cheeks.

"He'll likely carry through with his initial threat to force me off the fleet and into the home office." He wouldn't let the Commodore push him into consummating his marriage before Enya was ready and willing. Nothing would shake his resolve on that score. "Have no fear, I won't pressure you. I am standing by my word regarding the issue."

She folded then unfolded her hands before clasping them tightly together again. She'd discussed the matter freely when they'd first been married, but now, after getting to know him, was she put off by the prospect of sleeping with him? Even if they were slowly becoming friends, that didn't mean she was attracted to him. He still hadn't shown her his scars, and once she saw them, she'd never find him appealing, would probably be repulsed.

Regardless, he had to figure out how to handle his father. "The best way to appease my father—and not draw his attention—is to make sure that I am showing you some physical affection."

"Oh." The word came out quietly.

Frustration pummeled through him. "I'm sorry, Enya. Please forgive me for even suggesting it. It's selfish of me. I'll find a way to explain our situation to my father—"

"No." Her hand shot out and covered his.

His father had forced him into marriage with the ultimatum. Now that Sullivan had done as his father had required, he couldn't let the Commodore command how he interacted with Enya. "I've already given him too much control over my life. I won't do it again—"

"Sullivan, stop."

He let his runaway thoughts halt and dropped his gaze to her hand upon his.

"We both made a bargain when we entered this marriage. I needed a home and a father for my baby. And you needed a way to appease your father."

"Yes, but our agreement came before we knew each other, before I understood just how difficult your previous marriage was."

"Along with all the hurt and regret that I bear?" Her voice carried a note of bitterness.

He gently slid his fingers around hers, hoping to reassure her. "I'm glad I can help you."

Every day he was thankful that he was her husband and not another man who might not be sensitive or patient or considerate of her needs. And he prayed he'd never do anything to hurt her.

She wiggled her hand against his, letting her fingers wrap around his more securely. Then she met his gaze levelly. "If you're glad that you get to do your part of the bargain, then let me do mine. Let me do this for you."

He hesitated. He'd already had setbacks with her and didn't want her to get upset with him again. He most certainly didn't want her to have any regrets.

"I'm sure it won't be too terrible," she said.

Too terrible? To show him physical affection? Sullivan bit back a sigh.

"I'll be performing just a wee bit. I've always had a knack for theatrics."

Performing? Theatrics? That was an even worse insult. He wanted to shoot straight up from his seat, hop out of the carriage, and stalk away. He did have a measure of pride, after all.

"I'll help you placate your father, and then we'll return to normal once we're on our way back to St. Louis."

But the truth was, he didn't want normal with her. He'd never intended that they remain only friends. In fact, the longer he was with her, the more he wanted a marriage where he had her whole heart, soul, and body.

He tugged free of her hold and stared at the quiet neighborhood and the other stately homes. His muscles were rigid, and his jaw flexed with the need to tell her he didn't want her physical affection if it wasn't genuine. That's why he'd been waiting to consummate and why he was being so careful not to touch her. Because he didn't want her to pretend or perform or simply go through the motions.

"Sullivan?" came a booming voice from the front portico, a voice that had always been loud enough to project over the roar of the steamboat engines, the slapping of the paddle wheel, and the rushing of the river.

"Your father?" Enya's eyes lit up. With mischief? Anticipation?

At least she wasn't dreading what was to come.

"What should we do first?" She sat back against the seat and studied him, her features livening with an animation that made her all the more alluring.

Even if she seemed to be rising to the occasion and willing to help make his father happy, they didn't need to go overboard with the playacting. "We don't need to do anything at the moment—"

"Aye, we do, and I know exactly what." She glanced out the door as if gauging where his father was. Then she clasped her hands around each of his biceps. "Ready?"

"For what?"

"Hug me."

A hug was innocent enough, wasn't it? He hesitated, even as the pressure on his arms went straight through his coat and shirt and seared his flesh.

Her gaze darted beyond him, widened, then she sat forward and threw herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his torso and burying herself against him.

At the feel of her body and the way her arms tightened against his ribs and her hands splayed at the center of his back, he couldn't think and couldn't move.

Even though he'd felt her body against his on the couple occasions that he'd carried her, it had been nothing like this. Her curves and her warmth and her vitality pressed into him, causing every inch of him to flare to life.

She lifted her head and shifted up so that her mouth was near his ear. "He's almost here. Hurry and put your arms around me."

Sullivan tried to comprehend her words through the loud humming in his blood.

"Sullivan. Now." Her urgent whisper against his ear was warm and only scattered his thoughts even more, like an early morning mist over the Mississippi.

Somehow, though, he managed to lift his arms and slide them around her, drawing her against him more firmly. The moment his arms encircled her slender length and luscious curves, his heart tumbled end over end, sucked into a rushing current, one he didn't want to escape, even if he drowned there.

With her face still close to his and her mouth near his ear, he could hear her soft intakes and exhalations.

He angled his head closer to her, and his nose bumped her cheek, then her ear. Her skin was softer than the finest silk.

He dragged in a deep breath, trying to stay rational. But as her floral perfume filled his nostrils, he lost all ability to reason. He lived only in that moment, with only her, with only the two of them existing outside of time and space.

"Sullivan?" His father's loud voice nearby dragged at him, but Sullivan couldn't make himself release her or back away. Instead, he was ready to move into this space with her permanently and never leave.

He tilted in just a little farther, and this time his nose grazed her neck. The graceful, slender length he'd tried not to notice over the past few weeks. He'd resisted. He'd forced himself to stay far away by sheer willpower. But now ... he couldn't live without just one more touch.

He brushed his nose along that stretch, this time purposefully, slowly, letting himself blaze a trail from her jaw down to her collarbone. It was a trail he wanted to travel again and again.

But before he could inch his way back up to her jaw, his father's boisterous laughter resounded behind him and filled the carriage. "Well, well, well. Never thought I'd see the day. But zounds. You've fallen hard, boy!"

Enya was the first to pull away, releasing a gasp and pressing her hands to her mouth as if she was surprised they'd been caught in an indecent situation.

Sullivan, on the other hand, couldn't find the strength he needed to let go of her. In fact, his hands flexed against her back—in that elegant curve just above her waistline—and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to move them.

"Whoo-ee! Looks like you can't keep your hands or mouth off your wife!" The Commodore's voice echoed loudly enough that not only did it jerk Sullivan out of his haze, but he guessed the entire Garden District of New Orleans had heard the proclamation.

With heat crawling up his neck and starting to strangle him, Sullivan slipped his hands out from around Enya. He'd known one way or another his father would embarrass him. He always did. Sullivan could only pray that since the Commodore had observed the hug and desire, he'd accept the marriage as authentic and wouldn't make any more issues about physical affection.

"That's my boy!" the Commodore continued. "Enjoying the bliss of marriage just the way I taught you!"

"Blast!" Sullivan mumbled, scooting away from Enya. "We need to get out, or he'll keep carrying on."

Enya had her hand cupped over her mouth still, but he could see the smile she was trying to hide. Did she find their predicament preposterous? Or was she amused by the Commodore?

Either way, thankfully she'd not been overwhelmed or undone by their embrace the way he feared. Instead, he'd been the one overwhelmed and undone. He was still in half a haze, unable to think clearly and aching to hold her again.

With stiff movements, he managed to descend the carriage's step and land on the ground beside his father. The Commodore was the same towering height as Sullivan, with similar broad shoulders and stocky girth. But his hair was much lighter, and his face filled with a full beard and mustache.

And a grin. His father was wearing a grin that was as wide as the Gulf of Mexico. "When I got your letter, I had my doubts. But you really did it."

"Good afternoon, Commodore." Sullivan reached out to shake his father's hand.

His father clasped his hand and then pulled him in for an embrace as usual. The back thumping had ceased after the war when the burn scars had still been painful to the touch. But now, instead of the thunderous back slapping, his father took a step back and socked him hard in the arm.

Sullivan didn't flinch. "I'd like to introduce you to my wife." He shifted, expecting to find Enya in the carriage door, waiting to descend. But she'd scooted back out of sight.

He leaned in and extended his hand toward her.

She rested casually against the plush seat and was smiling, mirth dancing in her eyes. Although he wanted to be offended by her cavalier attitude toward the hug, he couldn't muster any irritation. Not at the sight of her smile. She smiled so rarely that the beauty of it now stopped his heart and lungs.

She laid her hand in his and allowed him to help her to her feet. As she bent forward into the door, the Commodore's grin fell away, and his mouth dropped open.

This time, Sullivan could hardly contain his smile. He'd been anticipating this exact moment, when his father got his first glimpse of Enya and saw how stunning she was.

From the way Enya paused, lifted her lashes, and curved her lips just slightly, he could tell she was most definitely putting on a show for his father, and she seemed to enjoy doing so.

Sullivan assisted her to the ground, then smoothed a hand over her skirt and straightened her shawl, both movements drawing attention to her womanly figure. Of course, his mind went back to a few moments ago when he'd held that womanly figure against his body. His dreams from now until eternity would be filled with the sensations of that lush form pressed to his.

Enya glanced first from Sullivan to his father, then back. She quirked one of her delicate brows as though to prompt him.

But as he let his sights wander over her features, his gaze dropped again to her neck, to the pulse throbbing near her collarbone. What would it be like to skim over it, not with his nose, but with his lips?

She squeezed his hand that was still holding hers from assisting her down. And she tilted her head toward the Commodore.

"Oh yes." How had one hug turned him into such an ungainly idiot around her? "Father, may I present Mrs. Enya O'Brien, my wife." He hadn't said her full name before, and he loved the sound of it together, especially with the words my wife .

Enya offered a hand to his father.

With his mouth still gaping and his eyes bugging, he glanced down at her hand and then back at her face before clumsily grasping her hand, lifting it to his mouth, and kissing her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." Enya spoke in a breathy voice, one that turned up the temperature of the spring afternoon so that sweat popped out at the back of Sullivan's neck.

His father released Enya, then smiled tenderly. "The pleasure is mine."

Enya slipped her hand into the crook of Sullivan's arm, as had become their habit. But instead of their usual simple hold, she wrapped her arm through deeper, so her shoulder pressed against his arm, and met his gaze, a conspiratorial look in her eyes.

His father released a happy-sounding chuckle. "It's no wonder Sullivan is nearly out of his mind over you."

Sullivan bit back a sigh at his father's insufferable comment.

"Sullivan is a good husband, Mr. O'Brien."

"I'm called Commodore, my dear." His father's smile was creeping back.

"Your son is one of the kindest and most considerate men I've ever met." Enya was laying on the charm and was clearly enjoying herself.

Sullivan wasn't sure if she meant what she said. At the moment, it didn't really matter. She was happy and vivacious and showing a side of herself that he'd seen so little since meeting her.

All he wanted was for her to be truly happy again. If this pretending with the Commodore was what it took to bring her fully out of her despair, then so be it.