The Nude Wore Blaсk

Chapter Ten

"Alone at last!" Archer's bride glanced contently around their hotel suite. "Archer!" Her voice acquired an injured edge. "Are you yawning?"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry. I guess all the excitement knocked me out. It isn't every day a man gets married."

"Nor a girl. So don't you dare pull that tired bit on me. If you'd been resting up these past few days instead of carousing around doing who knows what with who knows who, you wouldn't be yawning. So wake up. After all, this is our wedding night."

"So it is," Archer agreed. "Still, I figured that in your condition, you wouldn't want to-"

"Well, you figured wrong! Condition or no condition, I expect you to fulfill your obligations as a bridegroom, Archer. And I wish you'd stop making me feel like you looked on it as a chore. There was a time when you enjoyed making love to me."

"Everything's comparative," Archer murmured to himself.

"What? What did you say?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Archer sighed.

"I don't like the way you're acting, Archer. You make me feel guilty. You make me feel like the only reason you married me was because we had an accident."

"Well, let's be honest." Archer flared up. "It did have more than a little something to do with it."

"Ohhhhhhhhhh!" She burst into tears. "I'm so miserable. And on my wedding night, too."

"All right. All right." Archer sat down next to her on the bed and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sorry. Truly I am." Some innate sense of fairness made him try to make amends. It wasn't her fault that the one girl he truly loved had appeared on their wedding day-and right after the ceremony, to boot. "Take it easy, now," he soothed her. "Stop crying. I can't stand to see a woman cry. It reminds me of my mother. That's it. Now take my handkerchief. Dry your eyes. That's right. Now why don't you go into the bathroom and wash your face and get into your nightie while I change in here?"

She did as he suggested. When she reappeared some ten minutes later, Archer was already in his pajamas. He was lying on top of the bed, propped up on the pillows. His eyes widened as he saw her in her bridal nightgown.

It was quite a nightie. Semi-transparent and pasted onto a figure that was a bit too thin but sensual nevertheless. It stretched over her bosom and hips, but hugged her small, flat waist and accentuated it. Her eyes smoldered as she saw the way Archer was looking at her.

"Interested in what you see?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Fascinated."

"Really, darling? I am flattered. After all, you have seen it before. I guess this nightgown must be worth what I paid for it."

"It's not the nightgown that intrigues me."

"Really? Why, thank you, darling."

"No," Archer continued. "It's not the nightgown. It's your figure. You certainly do have a slender figure. Amazingly slim!"

"Aren't you sweet."

"Amazingly slim for a woman who-if I'm counting right-should be in quite an advanced stage of pregnancy by now." He stared at her questioningly.

"Oh."

There was a long moment of silence. Then-

"Archer, there is something I've been meaning to tell you."

"I'll bet there is!" he acknowledged with growing suspicion.

"Yes, darling. It's about my being pregnant. I know how disappointed this will make you feel, but after all, our marriage is just starting out and we've got our whole lives ahead of us to have babies."

"You mean-?"

"Yes." She hung her head and sighed. "I'm afraid it was a false alarm, darling. I'm not really pregnant."

"And when," Archer asked through clenched teeth, "did you find this out?"

"About two weeks ago," she admitted in a very small voice.

"I suppose I should be grateful that you finally got around to mentioning it-after the wedding."

"Well, after all, darling, what good would it have done to tell you about it before. I was only trying to spare you. I knew how disappointed you'd be."

"Nowhere near as disappointed as I am now," Archer understated.

"I mean I knew you wouldn't have wanted to call the wedding off, or anything like that. After all, with the invitations out and gifts already coming in and the catering arrangements made-well, it just would have been impossible. Wouldn't it?"

"Impossible," Archer agreed dully. He continued to stare at her, but his eyes were blank.

Still, his stare made her uncomfortable. "It's awfully warm in here, isn't it?" she remarked, hoping to change the subject.

Archer didn't answer. He just kept staring in that same dull, defeated way.

"I think I'll open a window." It was an opportunity to turn her back on him and get away from the stare.

But his eyes continued to bore holes in her back as she threw open the window and stared out of it.

"My, we certainly are high up," she said. "I've never been on the seventeenth floor of a building before. The traffic looks like ants crawling."

Archer didn't answer.

"Now, look, Archer!" She turned around. "It's done. I'm sorry, but there it is. We're married now. There's no use your sulking about it and making yourself miserable and me miserable, too. Just accept it."

"It was," he pronounced judgment, "a dirty trick."

"Maybe it was." She walked over to the bed, sat down next to him, and took his hand in hers. "But it's done. Now, you're not going to hold a grudge, are you, Archer?

"The hell I'm not!" He flung himself out of the bed, crossed over to the window, and stood there with his back to her.

"Well, if that's the way you feel, then all right!" she said angrily. "Be a dog in the manger! I'm going to bed."

Archer continued to stare out of the window for a moment. His temper began to cool. She was right, after all. They were married. They'd have to live together. There was no point in brooding. He turned around. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head thrown back, her fingers formed into a sort of forceps which seemed bent on plucking her eye out. "I'm taking out my contact lenses," she told him.

"I didn't know you wore contact lenses."

"You weren't supposed to know. I'm sensitive about it. But now that we're married, you might as well know I'm blind as a bat without them." Her fingers moved away from her eye. "Ah! There it is." She put something invisible into a small box she'd placed on the night table. "Both out now. Where are you?"

"By the window," Archer told her.

"Oh. Aren't you coming to bed?" she asked plaintively.

"I'm still getting over your little wedding surprise."

"Don't be like that, Archer." She stood up. "Look at me. Don't I attract you? Wouldn't you like to make love to me?" She held out her arms. "Come to me, my dar-ling."

"No." Archer was still surly.

"Then I'll come to you." Arms stretched out, she started for him. "Where are you, darling? Without my contact lenses, everything's a blur."

"Right here," he said grudgingly. "Still by the window.

"Well, don't move, my darling. I'm coming to you."

"I have to move. I have to go to the bathroom." Archer moved away from the window, along the wall toward the bathroom door.

Before he realized what was happening, she'd rushed past him with outstretched arms. One second she was striding toward the window. The next the sill had caught her just at the knees and she'd toppled out.

"Look out!" Archer called.

Too late. Much too late. Her scream answered him from about six stories below. It was followed by a dull, squishy thud from the pavement a full seventeen stories below.

"Ohmigosh!" Archer stood dazed. It had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly. "Ohmigosh!" It was a long time before he recovered enough to move. It was a much, much longer time before he got over the trauma of his bride's plunge to death.

All in all, it was about two months. Even then, he felt guilty when his mind turned to Llona. But not so guilty any more that he wasn't determined to find her. The trouble was he had no idea of how to go about doing it. He knew only her first name. And he remembered the first name of her dead husband. But that was all.

He thought a lot about finding her, but that didn't help. He found he had absolutely no interest in other girls. This time it was going to be Llona or no one. And as time dragged on with no hint of her whereabouts, it began to look like no one.

Then one day, quite by chance, his eye was caught by a small ad in the back pages of a newspaper. It was an advertisement for the Confidential Detective Agency. Archer felt a glimmering of hope. It was worth the investment, no matter what it cost. The next day, quite early, he was sitting across the desk from Sammy Spayed and describing the girl he wanted found.

Sammy seemed to be listening with interest and sympathy. But in reality, his mind was racing ahead and making plans. Five minutes after Archer had entered, Sammy had realized that the girl he was looking for was none other than his erstwhile client Mrs. George Rutherford. Sammy could have solved his case on the spot. But-!

But there would be small profit in that. And at the moment, Sammy had cause to be very interested in profit. One pregnant wife, one expectant girlfriend, eight kids with mouths to feed and two more mouths on the way, and both wife and mistress pressuring him to get out of the detective business-yes, Sammy had need to prove himself, and to prove himself by being able to display cash in hand. So he accepted Archer's case and a juicy retainer along with it.

Progress was slow, but there was progress. That's what Sammy told Archer with each weekly report for the next six weeks. Expenses ran high, but that was to be expected. And there was no point in Archer's chafing at the bit; these things took time. Sammy played it like an experienced angler, lettig out line, pulling it in, making sure there was enough play to keep the fish hooked. And when it became obvious that it had gone as far as it could go, he reeled Archer in, told him he'd found his lady friend, and promised to send him a final bill after Archer had determined for himself that Sammy really had solved the case.

Archer determined it within the hour. He rang Llona's doorbell, and when she answered it, they fell into each other's arms. They stayed that way a long moment before Llona finally spoke.

"Your wife-?" she murmured regretfully.

"She's dead."

"Yes, but-"

"Really dead. Buried. Like your husband. A terrible accident. On our wedding night. Dreadful tragedy." He squeezed her breast in a plea for sympathy.

"I'm so sorry." She kissed him, a long, deep kiss of commiseration.

A moment later they were tearing each other's clothes off. Quite a while after that, they resumed their conversation. "It's so good to have found you again," Archer sighed.

"Oh, yes!"

"I'm never going to let you go. I might never see you again if I did. After all, how often do either of us get married?"

"Just once more, I hope," she murmured.

"Then you will marry me?"

"WiU I ever!"…

Once again the wedding reception took place in the home of Llona's parents. After the church ceremony, she and Archer went directly upstairs to change into their traveling clothes. They paused to embrace in the upstairs hallway. "See you later, darling," Archer said when the kiss was over. He went into one of the rooms where his clothes had been laid out. Llona entered her own room and closed the door behind her.

She crossed over to the bathroom and locked that door.

Quickly then, she stripped off her clothes. Humming to herself, she lay down on the bed naked to snatch a few moments' relaxation. After a while she got up, stretched, and started slowly toward the door of her walk-iri wardrobe closet. Her full breasts and slightly heavy hips swayed sensually as she walked. Her face was young and shiny and alive with expectancy. Her hand reached out and grasped the doorknob. She opened the door to the closet.

There was a bottle in the lap of the handsome young man seated on the floor of the closet. He looked up at her with eyes that seemed filled with lust. Her knees grew weak, and hot flushes of desire suffused her body under his appreciative stare.

"I can explain," he stammered.

"Don't bother," Llona told him firmly. Determinedly she fought off the feelings his unexpected presence had elicited. "Don't bother explaining anything." She closed the door quickly and locked it from the outside. Then she went across the room for a towel, came back, and hung it over the keyhole.

Catching her own eye in the mirror as she started to dress, Llona gave a nod of satisfaction. Virtue was triumphant. She was proud of herself. Archer was waiting. And the young man in the closet? Well, he could just stay in the closet. She was damned if she was going to go through all that again!

Llona nodded to herself again as she inserted her plump breasts in the cups of her brassiere. Archer was waiting. Her heart was singing. And the song went like this-

"There once was a passionate lass

Who never missed a pass,

Until she was wed,

And using her head,

Turned down a piece of…"