“Did you?”
Shaking his head, he smiled. “Why don’t I step out and let you take a nap before the ceremony? Unless you want to be a yawning bride.”
“That’s not a bad idea. But my dress—I’ll wrinkle it.”
“Not if you’re careful. Go ahead. I’ll just be downstairs. When it’s time to leave, I’ll wake you.”
As he stepped out and closed the door behind him, Hanna surveyed the bed. The coverlet looked divinely soft, and she really was tired.
Arranging her skirt to lie flat beneath her, she eased herself down and closed her eyes. The bed was even softer than it had looked, like resting on a cloud.
As Hanna sank into sleep, the last thought to fade from her mind was that maybe all this was a dream. Maybe she would wake up at home, next to her sisters, with no gown, no wedding, no Blake Dollarhide, and maybe even no baby.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BLAKE HAD BEEN TEMPTED BY A GLASS OF LIQUID COURAGE IN THE hotel bar but had settled for coffee. After finishing his cup, he spent some idle time watching passers-by through the lobby window. It would take time for Hanna to adjust to his presence. For now, he would give her the time and privacy to get some rest.
He was about to check the hour on his pocket watch when a tall, familiar figure passed the window outside on the boardwalk. It was Ralph Tomlinson, moving fast, probably on some errand for Amelia.
Drawn by idle curiosity and boredom, Blake stepped outside after Ralph passed. From the hotel’s recessed doorway, he saw Amelia’s foreman turn into the building that housed the bank and the land office. Blake knew that Amelia had moved her accounts, or most of them, to the Blue Moon bank in which Mason was a partner with Doyle Petit. So Ralph’s business was more likely with the land office. Did that mean Amelia was buying up more land? The intriguing question would have to be saved for another time. Right now, Blake had other things on his mind.
After checking his watch, he steeled his resolve and climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was time to wake Hanna for the wedding.
He was doing the right thing, Blake told himself. Hanna’s baby—Mason’s baby—needed a proper name and family. With Mason out of the picture and Amelia having closed her door, this was the only way to see it done. So why did he feel so nervous about the coming marriage?
Never mind the questions. It was too late to back out now.
When his light tap on the door went unanswered, he used his key, opened the door, and entered the room.
Hanna lay on the quilted satin coverlet, her skirt carefully placed beneath and around her. Her eyes were closed, the lashes thick and golden against her cheeks. Her beauty took his breath away. She looked like the sleeping princess in the fairy-tale book his mother had read to him as a boy. Only her hands—reddened and callused, the nails worn to the quick from a lifetime of hard work—spoke of where she’d come from and who she’d been. Somehow the sight of those hands gave him reassurance. Hanna was a good girl, an honest girl, who’d been led astray by an unprincipled man.
In less than an hour, she would be his wife.
Her petal-soft lips were parted. As he stood next to the bed, the urge to bend and kiss her awake was almost overpowering. But no, after the promise he’d made, taking liberties was out of the question.
“Hanna, it’s time to wake up,” he said softly.
He waited a moment. When she didn’t respond, he bent closer and ran a light finger down her cheek. She stirred as if dreaming. Her eyelids fluttered. Then her eyes opened with a startled look.
“It’s time to go,” he said, offering a hand to pull her up. She took it, still looking dazed. “I must’ve been tired,” she said. “I was dreaming that I was home.”
Looking into her wide eyes, Blake realized how scared she must be. “Don’t worry, Hanna. Everything will be fine,” he said, doing his best to reassure her. “Before long, your new place will be home to you.”
* * *
They were married late that afternoon, in the cozy parlor of the elderly justice’s home. His wife, still in her apron, with a dab of flour on her plump cheek, stood by as a witness.
The words of the traditional ceremony weighed on Hanna with unexpected gravity.
. . . To have and to hold . . . to love and to cherish . . .
Blake uttered the vows in an emotionless voice, as if executing a business contract. Hanna spoke them in a shaky whisper, knowing they were a lie. Blake didn’t love her. She didn’t love him. They were making sacred promises that they didn’t intend to keep.
. . . For better or for worse . . . in sickness and in health . . .
Hanna willed herself to repeat the words like a student reciting in class. She managed to keep her composure through the I do’s and the moment the weight of a ring slid onto her finger. Then the justice intoned the words: “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
For an awkward moment she gazed up at him, her knees going limp beneath her. Blake’s expression was unreadable as he caught her waist with one hand and bent toward her. “Maybe we should have practiced this ahead of time,” he muttered.
His lips were firm and cool. The kiss was gentle, but the contact ignited a curl of heat low in her body. Her pulse slammed as his mouth lingered on hers for an instant. When he released her, he left behind a strange hungering for more.
He stepped back, a polite smile on his face, as if their kiss hadn’t affected him in the least. After a pause, he spoke. “Well, Mrs. Dollarhide, shall we be on our way?”
It took Hanna the space of a breath to realize he was speaking to her. Mrs. Dollarhide. That was her name now. Her baby had a legal name and a legal father. She had a handsome, generous husband and a home finer than anything beyond her wildest dreams.
In light of all that, only a fool would ask for love in the bargain.
* * *
Dinner that evening was a feast of prime beefsteak and delicacies that Hanna had never heard of, let alone tasted—although the bread wasn’t as light and crusty as her mother’s. Dark red wine was ceremoniously poured into stemmed glasses that looked as if they might shatter at a touch. The wine tasted like sour grape juice. She put the glass down after a few sips.
When Blake had seated her, Hanna had let him lift her quilted cape off her shoulders and hang it on the back of the chair. Underneath, the bodice was cut low and wide, to display her shoulders and skim the tops of her breasts.
Now she noticed that a few men in the room had swiveled their heads to look at her. Their admiring gazes made her uneasy—like the dreams she’d had of being naked in public. She felt her cheeks flushing. “Maybe—” she began, meaning to ask for her cape to cover her shoulders.
“There’s no need to hide yourself, Hanna,” Blake said. “You look beautiful. Right now every man in the room is envious of me.”
If only they knew, she thought. But she knew better than to speak of the arrangement they’d made.
As the waiter brought more food, she surveyed the complicated table setting. “All those forks and spoons,” she murmured. “What would happen if I were to use the wrong one?”
“Nothing.” Blake gave her a smile. “But at home, my mother is a stickler for table manners. There, if you don’t know what to do, just follow me or Kristin. We’ll set you right.”