Always (24 page)

Emily wasn’t listening. The sensual tingling she had felt earlier didn’t even compare to the urgent, unidentified yearnings that washed over her now. Biting her lower lip hard, she reached blindly and clasped his upper arms tight, marveling at the thick, solid feel of lean muscle beneath the linen material of his shirt. He’d always been much bigger and stronger than her, of course, but he was of modest build compared to some men. His slender frame was deceiving, she thought when he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

His kiss was hard and hungry, and Emily returned it with equal passion. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed close, wanting nothing more than to somehow fuse with him, to become one in the physical sense as well as the spiritual. And there was nothing gentle or pretty about it. Thrilling and glorious and terrifying, yes, but not gentle, nothing even resembling that.

I love you, Ross
, she thought. She’d always loved him. But she didn’t speak it aloud, even when they drew apart, and she looked up at him.

“Stop?” he whispered. The rhythm of his breathing had quickened, almost matching the crazed staccato of her own heart. In the waxing and waning shadows, his eyes remained fixed on hers, waiting for an answer.

Chapter Seventeen

Stop? Emily thought. There would be no stopping this night. She’d waited too long to turn back now.

Piece by piece, their clothing fell to the floor, and as Ross pressed her, naked and shivering, down onto the soft cot beneath him, there was no doubt left in her mind that he loved her, too. Even if he might not know it yet. How else to explain the way he touched her, everywhere it seemed, with his hands and his mouth, somehow knowing even before she did what it was she wanted? Very soon, she felt as if every inch of skin on her body had been kissed and caressed to the point where she would go crazy for sure.

When he moved over her, fitting the length of his strong, hard body flush against hers, Emily willingly opened to him, knowing that this was what she’d waited for. Then, with one thrust and in one blinding instant, Ross was buried deep inside her, and it hurt. Exquisitely so. But Emily was glad for the pain. No true life’s passage could be well marked without it, and as she held onto him and he began to move within her to find his own release, it drove home all the more eloquently that he was her first—her first and only—and nothing would ever change that.

Afterward, when her heart began to slow and her breathing began to approach a normal cadence, she curled up against him, basking in how wonderful it felt to be held in his arms. She listened to the strong beat of his heart and closed her eyes and tried not to think about him leaving in the morning.

As for Ross, the sex was done and the alcohol was diluting in his system. It was as good an excuse as any to explain why he was only now beginning to realize the full implications of what he’d just done.

This was Emily he held so intimately against him. It was Emily’s warm, naked limbs that intertwined with his own; Emily’s long, soft sighs that fanned across his chest, and Emily’s silken hair that he sifted through his fingers. Emily. His childhood friend and Nathaniel’s daughter...

Nathaniel’s
daughter,
for God’s sake. The man had been more of a father to him than anyone, and Ross had just repaid him by seducing his little girl in the very office where they’d worked together for so many years. He respected Nathaniel Winters and cared too much about Emily as a friend to have treated her no better than a—

No, no, it wasn’t like that. He was horrified at his own mental comparison. It hadn’t been like that at all, but the end result was still the same, and he couldn’t shirk his responsibility for it. Emily would not be returning home a virgin this night, and he was leaving town the next morning.

“It’s late,” he said. “You should get home.” Disentangling himself from her embrace and sweating from more than spent passion, he sat up. The aftereffects of the whiskey were already setting in, and the beginnings of a headache pounded at his temples. He deserved much worse than that.

Emily moved behind him, and her hands came to a gentle rest on his shoulders. He felt the sensual fullness of her breasts as she leaned against him from behind. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want tomorrow to come.”

Then her hands moved, her fingers spreading to caress down along his chest, and he tensed against the unwanted sexual reaction that was bound to follow. He stopped her by reaching up to grasp one of her hands and bringing it to his lips. “There’s nothing we can do to keep the sun from rising. If you don’t get home soon, your family will worry.”

He hoped there was enough truth in that to explain why he pulled away from her so quickly and crossed the short distance to where their clothing lay in a tangled pile on the floor. It didn’t take long for him to sort it out, tossing her underclothes and stockings to her as he donned his own clothes. When she pulled her hair aside and turned her back so he could help lace up her corset, he realized that his hands were shaking. Too bad he hadn’t had the good sense to develop an inhibiting attack of nerves before he’d ruined her.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said, his voice catching so he had to swallow hard and clear his throat.

Unfortunately, by now, his eyes had adjusted much too well to the dim lamp light that filtered in from the adjoining room. When she turned to look up at him, he could clearly perceive the warm, trusting glow in those beautiful blue eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. I feel wonderful.”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Sensing that she was about to touch him again, he moved, bending to retrieve her petticoat and dress. “We’ve got to go.”

As she attached the crinoline underskirt, then slipped into her dress, he put on his suit coat. Preferring not to assist this time as she struggled to hook up her bodice, he instead dropped to his haunches and felt around the floor for her hairpins. He soon located five, having no idea if that was how many she’d dropped or not. What would Nathaniel think if he discovered hairpins on the floor? Horrified at the thought, Ross stood and his gaze was drawn to the rumpled cot where they’d—

No. It was dark in the room, but not dark enough. The stains on the bed sheet could only be—

“Damn,” he mumbled before he could stop himself. He shouldn’t have been so shocked. Virgins were supposed to bleed the first time. It was one way a doubtful groom could assure himself of his bride’s unblemished past. Thanks to Ross, Emily would exhibit no such proof on her wedding night.

“Oh!”

At her soft exclamation, Ross realized that she must have followed his gaze to see what he was staring at.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she said hurriedly. She moved to the cot to tear off the sheets. “There are more linens in the chest. I can take care of these in the morning. I’ll... I’ll get rid of them or something.”

Ross couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to leave the room as she scurried frantically to dispose of all evidence of their indiscretion. Unfortunately, she could do nothing to remedy his aching conscience.

When she emerged into the outer office, she was breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair spilled wildly about her shoulders. In all her dishabille, Ross thought she looked younger and more innocent than ever.

Fighting another ludicrous urge to apologize, he gave her the hairpins, then waited for her to repair her chignon before taking the desk lamp and leading them to the front of the shop. After extinguishing the lamp, they stepped out into the bracing, head-clearing night air.

By then, Emily knew something was terribly wrong. The warm afterglow of contentment was gone only to be replaced by a cold, tightening knot in her stomach. She had never seen Ross so distant. Did he already regret what had happened? Had he been thinking of Johanna only to be rudely disappointed when he’d had to face Emily afterward?

Knowing that they shouldn’t be seen together at this hour, they took a back alley. When they emerged into the open street at the edge of town, Ross broke the brittle silence. “You didn’t mention what you were doing at the shop so late.”

“I don’t think you want to know,” Emily said, trying to sound as if everything were normal. “Actually, you probably saved me from getting into big trouble.”

She hadn’t meant her reply to be double-edged, but when he said nothing, a side glance confirmed that Ross’s jaw had hardened. His gaze remained fixed on the empty street ahead.

“When do you leave tomorrow?” she asked.

“The train pulls out at eight-fifteen.”

“I could come and—”

“No,” he said sharply. Glancing at her, his tone softened. “I mean, I don’t want any long, drawn out good-byes. I’ll be back soon enough.”

By now, they had reached the moonlit road outside of town. Emily could smell dew in the air. The fireflies were gone for the year, but as far as the crickets were concerned, this was still the tail end of summer. Their shrill chirps echoed in the darkened fields that lined the road. A dog barked in the distance. An occasional rustling from the dried cornstalks told Emily that a mouse or other small night creature deemed their approaching footsteps good reason for flight.

These were all small sounds she was so accustomed to, she rarely paid them any attention, but tonight they seemed to mock the awkward silence between her and Ross. They didn’t even speak when they came to the Kissing Bridge, though Ross reached out to clasp her hand as they left the moonlight behind to cross over the trickling creek in the dark.

There had never been such silence before, not in over six years of friendship and conflict.
It was Johanna he wanted, not you.
This stark realization turned around and around in her mind like some cloying music box refrain that refused to die down.

When they finally came to the other side of the bridge, they stopped in front of Emily’s house, and Ross was forced to face her for the first time since they’d left the shop. What she saw in his eyes made her mouth go dry and a lump form in her throat. It was true.

“Emily, I—”

“Don’t say it.”

Wearing a pained look, he paused and shifted his gaze to something over her shoulder. As he gathered his thoughts, his attention seemed drawn to the soft glow of lamplight that came from the sitting room window of the Winters’ home. She knew that her mother would be waiting up, perched on the brocade sofa, sewing a sampler or perhaps knitting.

“We made a mistake,” he said softly.

“No.” The soreness between her thighs bore testament to the truth that he’d made love to her. That was no mistake, and for as long as it took her body to heal, Emily was determined to hold onto that.

“You’re right,” he corrected and started again. “I’m the one who made the mistake, and—”

“No.” Emily shook her head fiercely and looked away from him so that she stared at the blurred, shimmering silhouette of the Kissing Bridge. She was horrified to realize that it was tears that distorted her vision.

“Em,” he said, taking her face in his hands, forcing her to look up him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that.”

Bending his head, he kissed her on the mouth. It was soft and lingering and sweet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then he let her go and turned away. “Always remember that I love you.”

*

1865

It seemed to Ross a long time before Emily finally lifted her head to answer his question. “Yes,” she said softly. “The child was yours.”

Even though he’d braced himself, Ross had difficulty comprehending her words. He’d felt something like this before. An initial impact followed by the flash and burn of ball and buck as it ripped through his body. As his weapon flew from his hands and his head struck the battle ground, there followed a numbness and the slow, dizzy, disbelieving realization that he’d been hit.

Right now, his mouth was so dry, the words felt like clogged sand in his throat. “You were pregnant. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I?”

“How
could
you?
How?
” His hands clenched into fists. “You could have answered my letters! You never answered my damned letters!”

“I answered the first one,” she countered. Her tone was dull and emotionless but somehow accusing just the same. “You remember that letter, don’t you? That was the one where you apologized over and over, the one where you reminded me that what happened between us was a mistake. The one where you said we should forget it, that we should pretend it never happened, that we should try to go on with things as they were before.”

Ross remembered the letter. He remembered how long he had labored over it, trying to get the words right, hoping to ease his wretched conscience but not succeeding. Nothing could rectify the mistake he’d made that night. “You still should have told me. We promised to never lie to each other.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” she said, her chin lifting slightly in defiance.

“Not telling me was the same as lying, Emily. You should have told me the truth.”

“I didn’t know how to do that.”

“You should have found a way.”

“You weren’t ready to hear it.”

“Maybe not, but I had a right to know. I could have gotten leave. I could have come home and married you. Ours wouldn’t have been the first seven-month baby born in this town.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Then, for God’s sake, what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want a reluctant husband.”

“So it was your pride.” Ross kept his voice even, but he was still furious with her, more furious than he’d ever been before.

“My pride?” Something flashed in her eyes, perhaps some of her own anger. “I didn’t want a husband who didn’t love me. Or a husband who would forever regret the day he shackled himself to me in a shotgun marriage. Especially a husband who was in love with another woman. Not then, not now, not ever. If you call that pride, then think what you want.”

“You denied your child a father and a home because of pride.”

A shadow of uncertainty crossed her face. Her gaze seemed to lose focus. She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have denied him a home. His home would have been with me.”