In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (19 page)

“Trust
me, love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with pent up emotion.

Her
gaze was filled with uncertainty. “James?”

He
eased into her then took her maidenhead with one swift thrust,
filling her completely.

Oh—!”

James
covered her mouth with his, absorbing her cry of pain. He felt her
anguish rattle to the bottom of his chest, a tangible ache. But
despite the distress he shared with her, the hunger that consumed him
would not be denied. Ecstasy filled every cell in his body as he
steeped himself in her hot silky passage.

He
slipped his hand between their bodies, intent on bringing her back to
him. He found the swollen nub he had so successfully teased earlier,
and began his onslaught anew. To his intense satisfaction, Amanda
responded almost immediately, tensing beneath him.

As
he moved his hips, she quickly found the rhythm, moving with him. His
fingers found the rhythm as well, and he stroked her rapidly, lightly
then with more pressure until she was panting mindlessly.

She
began to shake her head, as if afraid of the pending storm, afraid to
let it rush over her.

“Manda,”
he rasped next to her ear. “Just let it come…”

All
at once she stiffened and a breathless sob escaped her.

This
time when James swallowed her cry, it was to exalt with her. He felt
the intense contractions of her release and was lost.

The
rapture took him in a violent orgasm, feeling as though he might
burst apart. Wave after wave of excruciating pleasure tore through
his system, until an involuntary shudder wrung him dry. And still,
tiny aftershocks rippled deep within him, a network of stimulated
nerves continuing to pulse. Delicious sensation! He shuddered again.

When
he felt capable of movement, James eased up on his elbows. Their
bellies, pressed tightly together, were damp with perspiration, the
musky heat of their lovemaking surrounding them. Amanda’s hair
was a chaotic mass of dark curls spread on the bed linens. Her
features had softened with expended desire, lips swollen from his
kisses. Never had she looked lovelier.

Even
as he still filled her, his heart filled with an emotion so intense,
so profound, a new kind of release shook him—the release of
closely guarded feelings, intimate needs and desires, hung out for
all to see. The protection of indifference was stripped away, leaving
his soul as naked as the two people still joined on this bed.

The
tenderness was like a compelling mist, filtering its way through
James’s bloodstream. It was warm and comforting. He loved his
wife, passionately, possessively. Intent on expressing this to her,
he gathered Amanda into his arms and kissed her for the hundredth
time that night. Now a non-persuasive pressure, it was free of all
but his wish to tell her how much he cared.

Therefore,
he was unprepared when she began to weep, wracking sobs that shook
her whole body.

Had
he been as sensitive as he wanted to be, James would have noticed the
stricken expression in Amanda’s eyes. How quiet she had grown,
how unresponsive. But he had not wanted to see. He wanted to believe
all was finally right with them. That she felt as he did.

“Why?”
he forced the word through his shock.

Amanda
pushed at his chest, trying to move from under him.

“Stop
it! Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Get
off me,” she said, choking on her tears. “You have what
you came for. I’ll not be forfeiting anything more tonight.”

“Forfeiting?
I bloody well want to know what you mean by that.”

She
sent him a look so filled with disdain, James flinched. He rolled
away from her and came to a sitting position, legs hanging off the
bed.

Now
free, Amanda scrabbled away from him, diving beneath the covers and
pulling them to her chin. She continued to watch him through eyes
wide with sorrow.

“Did
I hurt you?”

Her
gaze slipped from his and she shook her head. “Nothing
unbearable.”

“Was
I,” he swallowed, “was I inadequate in some way?”

“Oh,
for Heaven’s sake, James. Why do men assume their virility is
at the root of any difficulty? You were very good…much too
good.”

Well,
she wasn’t a broken woman if the acid in her voice was anything
to go by, but the self-loathing she was obviously feeling confused
James and disturbed him.

“There’s
nothing wrong with feeling passion, Amanda.”

“You
don’t understand.” She pressed her lips together as if
she might start crying once more.

“I
want to,” he said gently.

“This
is perverse of me, I’m sure, but I don’t care what you
want at the moment.” Her mouth was trembling in earnest now. “I
want to go to sleep, and if I’m very fortunate I will dream
nothing. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be more reasonable.”

Which,
he suspected, was her way of saying he shouldn’t hold his
breath.
Damn!

James
had two choices. He could stay, or—as his indignation bade
him—hie himself from the room and allow her to stew alone.
Although he had never considered himself overly intuitive, he somehow
knew leaving would be a mistake, one from which he might not recover.
If he left he would prove her theory—he had what he wanted. Why
linger? She truly must believe him a cad.

He
sighed. Seemed there was no choice after all.

Even
as he flung his legs back on the bed and crawled under the covers,
James felt sorely misjudged. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted
to hold his wife in his arms. He wanted to wake in the middle of the
night and make love to her again, leisurely, dwelling on all the
little erotic details they had missed the first time around.

He
moved next to Amanda and, surprisingly, after one distrustful look
she allowed him to nestle close. The feel of their naked bodies
touching was still amazingly pleasurable, despite the quieting of
very basic emotions.

For
a long time they lay there, both awake, neither speaking.

And
then, “James?”

“Yes,
love?”

“Are
you going to want to do this often?”

“I’m
afraid so.”

“Oh.”

“Does
that upset you?”

“I
haven’t decided yet.”

He
felt a smile well in his chest, and for no reason he could fathom all
at once he was hopeful. It still wasn’t going to be easy.
Coming back from a lie was tricky business, and when all was said and
done he supposed he deserved her mistrust. However, for the moment he
would bask in his sudden optimism and revel in the knowledge that
tonight was only the beginning.

Despite
the resistance he still sensed in his stubborn wife, James gathered
her in his arms and promptly fell asleep.

***

CHAPTER 13

Amanda
did not sleep that night. Instead, she lay in her husband’s
embrace while a battle waged in her breast that, as the hours ticked
away, became physically painful. A throbbing pain in her temple
continued to intensify until her stomach felt queasy.

How
could she desire one thing so much, and yet fear it was bad for her.
Why not give in and admit she loved James? Why not pretend all was
well? Eventually it would be, wouldn’t it? Better than wending
their way through this battlefield of misunderstandings until it was
no longer worth the effort to either one of them.

Thing
was, she knew James did not understand why she had cried after they
made love. And without him understanding that, she could not see her
way clear of her reluctance.

He
had forced her to respond to his lovemaking. He had made her
participate when it was the last thing she had meant to do. Had he
simply taken what he desired, without insisting she feel something,
maybe she wouldn’t be so filled with resentment. But he had
insisted, and it had been horrible and wonderful all at the same
time. Sorting through such diverse feelings was almost too much for
her.

In
all honesty, she wondered if it would have been possible to remain
aloof under such undeniably compelling circumstances. But at least
the choice would have been hers, and for some reason that was
important to her. Clearly, he had been unwilling to wait for her to
come around on her own. Perhaps he had feared she would not.
Regardless, now they would both have to cope with her bruised
emotions.

He
had held her for hours, his warm breath puffing gently across the
back of her neck as he breathed in and out. His arms felt strong and
safe even as he slept, and the ache in her heart was all the more
poignant because of it.

If
only she could believe that he cared for her beyond obligation…beyond
the passion. Not that passion was a bad thing. In fact, after
tonight’s lesson in erotic play she suspected resisting his
overtures would be all the more difficult. But passion without deeper
feeling was temporary and ultimately worthless.

Amanda
glanced over her shoulder at her husband’s sleeping features.
He slept on, peacefully, as he had the night long. But each time she
had tried to ease away from him, his grip on her had tightened, his
body cupping hers more closely until she could not tell where she
ended and he began.

And
so she greeted the break of dawn, sneaky light filtering into the
room through cracks in the drapes. She watched a sunbeam creep across
the bedcovers as dust motes danced in its hazy brightness. Close
enough to touch, Amanda slipped her hand into the beam and wiggled
her fingers, sending the motes flying in all directions. They were
much like her emotions, chaotic and too elusive to grasp.

She
dropped her arm, suddenly exhausted, her eyes so heavy they burned.
The ache in her head had eased somewhat, and she could feel herself
drifting into unconsciousness. She took a deep breath, and it was as
if her whole body relaxed for the first time that night.

When
she awoke she was alone.

***

“You’ve
been crying, Amanda.”

Huey,
bless his heart, was not the subtle sort. Thus, as Amanda entered the
morning room to break her fast, his observation brought her the
combined scrutiny of all those at the dining table. That meant Aunt
Henry and the twins—and Huey, of course.

James
was nowhere to be seen.

Amanda
moved to the sideboard, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “Actually,
I had a horrid headache last evening,” she said to the eggs she
spooned on her plate. That at least was no lie. “I feared my
eyes were a bit puffy this morning. You have confirmed it, Uncle
Huey.”

Silence
greeted her statement, and she suspected she had fooled no one.
However, they were too polite to say so. At that point the
conversation picked up where it had apparently left off, the brothers
relentlessly teasing their sister until all were laughing gaily. But
Amanda was aware of the occasional curious glance in her direction.
She pasted a pleasant smile on her face, puffy eyes trained on her
meal, and pretended not to notice.

“Did
Henry tell you about the invitation?” Ham asked.

Amanda
looked at Ham and then in question at Henrietta.

“No…”

Aunt
Henry sent Uncle Ham a severe glance as if he had spoken out of turn.
She turned to Amanda. “Muriel is serving tea today. We are to
attend.”

“All
of us?”

“Oh
my, no.” Aunt Henry’s mouth twisted wryly. “Only we
ladies are invited.”

“I
see,” she said, although she didn’t see at all.

“Yes,
we’re to have tea and cakes,” Henry continued.

“Rum
cakes, if you ask me,” muttered Uncle Harry.

As
always, when Harry chose to speak it caused a stir. Sniggers and
chuckles gave way to hilarity, and Amanda found herself smiling in
genuine amusement for the first time since yesterday.

“By
Jove, you could be right, Harry,” Uncle Ham said. “Watch
your cup, Amanda. I’d be willing to wager our Muriel is not
above spiking the tea.”

“Spiking?”
Huey interjected into the laughter. “What does that mean?”

Amanda
expected Huey to receive a condescending answer appropriate to his
understanding level, but Ham clapped him on the back, a huge grin
still creasing his features.

“Good
question, old chap. Spiking is putting brandy or the like in a
beverage that is supposed to be served without spirits.”

“Brandy
in tea?” Huey shuddered. “That’s disgusting.”
He turned a sudden worried gaze on Amanda. “Watch your cup.”

His
concern touched her. “I will,” she said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Aunt
Henrietta met Amanda in the drawing room twenty minutes before they
were expected at Muriel’s tea party. Henry had not bothered to
change from her morning garb, which on the surface would indicate a
lack of concern regarding their visit. However, there was a hunted
look to her eyes that exposed her real feelings on the matter.
Muriel, though treated cordially by James’s paternal relatives,
was given a wide berth due to her temperament. No one wanted to
tangle with the dowager countess.

Amanda
had changed her gown, more from nervous doubt than necessity. She was
as uncertain around her mother-in-law as the rest of the family,
fairly convinced the woman had little use for her. What was most
distressing of all, though, was Muriel’s seeming dislike for
her own son. Perhaps indifference was a more accurate term, but that
was hardly any better.

The
two women left the house and began their trek across the yard toward
the dowager’s residence. They were in no hurry, their walk best
characterized as an amble, reluctance dogging their steps. Amanda
broke the pensive silence.

“I’ve
not seen James today.” She hoped she wasn’t revealing how
upset she was by that fact.

Henry
appeared blithely unaware of Amanda’s distress. “I should
think not, my dear, unless you awoke with the dawn.”