The Longing (12 page)

“We’ve got company,” Kyle said. He reached
over and picked up the tray just as his mother walked in. “I’ll
take these in,” he said to Amelia, then turned and left the
room.

“I thought you might need some help, but I
think I’ve accidentally made myself an intrusive
mother-in-law.”

Amelia tried to smile at Nancy Grayson, but
her lips were too stiff to respond. “I was just feeling faint.”

“You look pale,” Nancy said with genuine
concern.

It was because Amelia had suffered an attack
of conscience, but hadn’t been able to fumble her way through a
confession. Kyle lived by his own rigid standard of honor. He
believed he’d married a virgin and he would never forgive Amelia
for lying to him.

Amelia placed her palm on her jittery
stomach. “I’ve been nauseous all day,” she said, knowing it was
from the thought of playing out their farce of a wedding.

“I raced from church more Sunday mornings
than I could count when I was carrying the boys.”

Amelia gasped. “I’m not expecting a child! Is
that what you heard? Are people saying that’s why Kyle is marrying
me?”

Surprise filled Nancy’s expression. “Of
course not. I was just trying in my awkward way to say that I
understand how uncomfortable it is to suffer stomach upset. I’m
sorry I offended you, dear.” She patted Amelia’s hand then turned
toward the parlor and called for Kyle.

A second later he appeared in the open
doorway, his expression filled with concern.

“You’d better have your toast then take your
bride home. She’s not feeling well.”

Amelia watched the color drain from Kyle’s
face and knew her own expression must mirror his. They had an
unfinished conversation hanging between them like a primed powder
keg.

Despite
Nancy’s suggestion that Kyle take Amelia home after the toast, they
stayed until the last guest left and her mother chased them out at
midnight. The trip home was awkward and mostly silent, but to
Amelia’s shock, Kyle parked the carriage near the front door,
lifted her off the leather seat, and carried her into the parlor of
her new home.

“I’ll be back after I take care of the
horses,” he said, standing her on her feet beside the sofa, then he
ducked back outside, leaving her with a low-burning lantern for
company.

Thankful for a moment alone, Amelia turned in
circle to view her new home, but it was too dark to make out more
than shadows. She thought about turning up the lantern, but felt
too exhausted to care about anything other than putting her feet up
and closing her eyes.

Twenty minutes must have passed before Kyle
returned carrying her valise. He stepped inside and glanced through
the dimly lit room before spotting her on the sofa. “Why didn’t you
turn up the lantern?”

“The dark felt nice after all the glare and
noise at the reception.”

Without commenting, he took her valise to the
back of the house and returned a minute later, his limp more
pronounced than earlier in the evening. He shrugged out of his suit
coat and draped it across the back of a chair, then faced her. The
silence was awkward and she glanced away.

“I can show you the house if you like,” he
said.

“I’d rather wait until tomorrow, if you don’t
mind.”

“I don’t. I’d like to sit down for a few
minutes before bed.”

Bed. Oh, God.

Instead of sitting in the parlor chair, he
guided her down the same hallway he’d disappeared into a few
minutes earlier, then they turned into a room lit only by a
smoldering fire. Two wing chairs were angled invitingly toward the
fireplace and Amelia realized they were in his bedroom.
Their
bedroom.

Despite her trepidation, she absorbed the
beauty of the room and wished she would have asked him to show her
the rest of the house. “Where are your lanterns?” she asked,
casting a nervous glance around the shadowed room.

“There’s one on the chest of drawers and
another on the bureau.” Kyle stoked the fire, added a small log,
then stood as the flames began to circle the chunks of crackling
wood. “I like it better without them.”

So did she if he was planning to undress her.
The darker the better. Amelia eyed a thick afghan draped over the
back of a padded chair. The evenings were still cool in late May
and she longed to sit down, to bury herself in the yards of soft
wool and just sleep for the rest of her life. Instead, she curled
her sore toes, fighting the urge to kick off her shoes and sink her
feet into the soft rug beneath the chairs.

Kyle stepped behind her and slipped the wrap
off her shoulders. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, then laid
her wrap over the footboard of his bed as he left the room.

Her neck ached with tension. She sat down and
closed her eyes, trying to release the pain between her shoulder
blades. Maybe if she told him now, before they made love, he
wouldn’t be as upset. Maybe he would forgive her. Maybe he wouldn’t
even care about something that happened so far in the past. But
what if he did? What if he felt he’d been cheated and decided to
annul their marriage? She’d be left with a ruined reputation and no
security for herself or her mother. Worse yet, what if she told
Kyle and he wanted the name of the man she’d given her virginity
to? She could never tell Kyle that she’d given her virginity to his
best friend. Never.

The clinking sound of metal against porcelain
startled her and Amelia opened her eyes to see Kyle placing a tray
on the table between them.

“I hope you like tea,” he said, handing her a
cup.

Surprised by his thoughtfulness, Amelia
wrapped her fingers around the heat of the porcelain teacup and
sipped the hot liquid more for diversion than from a desire to
drink.

Kyle sat in the opposite chair and propped
his elbows on his knees, cradling the cup in his large hands.
“James Hale didn’t cancel the shipbuilding contract he has with
us,” he said, reminding Amelia of why they’d had to wait a week to
marry. Kyle had needed to go to Philadelphia to renegotiate a
contract for deck beams with James Hale that the man had had with
her father. “We have six weeks to get our deliveries straightened
out. If we can’t manage it, they’ll cancel the contract.”

Amelia gaped at Kyle. She’d expected him to
bring up their earlier conversation, or try to ease her fear of
climbing into bed with a stranger, yet here he was on their wedding
night talking business. Most women would have killed him for that.
She could have kissed his feet.

“Can we do it?” she asked, glad to keep their
conversation on business.

“We
have
to,” he said, staring down
into his cup.

Lord, he was handsome when he wasn’t
frowning. The firelight warmed his hair to dark auburn and Amelia
wished with all her heart that their situation were different. If
only this night had been the result of a breathless first meeting
where Kyle kissed her hand and asked permission to court her. She
would have said yes, of course, then they would have fallen in love
and Kyle would have proposed and they would have married and he
would kiss her as if she were the woman of his dreams. Amelia would
slip into his arms, guilt-free and willing. That’s how she’d always
dreamed her wedding night would be.

But life didn’t work like that. It moved too
fast, swept away her dreams before she was ready to let them go,
assaulted her senses and left her reeling. Like now, when she
needed someone to hold on to and all she had was herself and a
mountain of regret.

She raised her eyes and found Kyle watching
her, studying her as if trying to memorize her face. The intensity
of his stare reminded her that they were alone and would be making
love before the night was over.
Soon
, if his look was any
indication of his intentions.

Amelia inched back in her chair, her hands
shaking so badly she was afraid she would spill what was left of
her tea. Her stomach churned with apprehension and her shoulders
tightened. She wasn’t ready yet.

“Are you cold?”

Her arms were solid goose bumps, but she
shook her head, her mind busy seeking a way to divert his attention
and lessen the intensity in his eyes.

“I know you didn’t want this marriage, Kyle,
but I honestly had no other choice.”

“I own as much of the blame as you do.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to admit it.” His
eyebrows lifted and Amelia’s stomach tightened. “That wasn’t meant
to be insulting. I just don’t want us to resent each other. I’m
hoping that...that you’ll accept our marriage.”

“We took our vows together, didn’t we?”

She gulped a breath and forced herself not to
look away. “I meant that I’d like us to find a way to be
comfortable with each other.”

He took the cup from her trembling hands and
drew her out of the chair. “It’s late. Why don’t you get ready for
bed?”

That he didn’t want to talk was painfully
obvious, but Amelia wanted to protest, to stall their consummation
until they connected in some small way, but she couldn’t speak,
couldn’t think of any other reason to delay him.

Although she was standing, she had to lift
her chin to see Kyle’s shadowed face. He was studying her again,
intently, his eyes dark, hungry. “I like your hair down,” he said
quietly.

Amelia
yanked off her dress and undergarments on the way to the washstand.
She needed time to make a plan, to figure out if it was possible to
soothe Kyle’s resentment and win his heart. Maybe if she feigned
sleep Kyle wouldn’t wake her, wouldn’t demand his husbandly rights.
Tomorrow she could decide what to do, how to tell him,
when
to tell him. She would stall for time and when Kyle
finally discovered the truth about her, he would care too deeply to
hate her.

Amelia scrubbed herself with the clean
washcloth he’d left beside the wash-basin, then with fumbling
fingers, she pulled the pins from her hair. She dragged her
nightrail from her valise and struggled into it on the way to the
bed, but had barely turned back the covers when Kyle came into the
room.

“Wait a minute, Amelia.” His request was
spoken softly, but she knew it was the second official order from
her husband. She’d already taken her hair down. Now, ready or not,
she was legally bound to follow the rest of his orders.

Her heart leapt and she folded her hands in
front of her gown, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the flickering
firelight.

His feet were bare. He’d pulled his shirt out
of his trousers and it hung open in front. Droplets of water still
speckled his collarbone. Golden-brown hair fanned across the
muscled mounds of his chest and Amelia knew she was about to find
out if the hair on a man’s chest was soft or coarse. Richard had
never taken his shirt off.

Kyle shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it
over the back of the chair that she’d been sitting in earlier. He
was tall, handsome, and breathlessly overwhelming. The tremble
began in Amelia’s stomach and bled outward until her legs quaked
and her teeth chattered. She clenched her hands together and
pressed her hip against the bed, but it didn’t stop her
shaking.

Suddenly, Kyle was standing in front of her
clothed only in his trousers that were unbuttoned far below the
level Amelia allowed her gaze to drop.

“Come here,” he said, but it was an
invitation this time instead of an order.

Amelia stepped into the circle of his arms
and leaned against his solid body to keep herself upright.

He rubbed his hands down her spine in long,
bold strokes, then across the tense muscles in her back, and up to
the knotted cords in her neck. His fingers traced the curves of her
back until Amelia felt her body melting. He didn’t talk to her,
didn’t try to calm her with words, but she hadn’t expected him to.
She’d expected anger. She’d expected punishment for trapping him
into a marriage he didn’t want. Not gentle hands and feelings that
were driving her out of her mind.

She tipped her head back to look up at him,
to apologize, to beg for one night of abstinence, but he slipped
his fingers into her hair and cradled her head in his large hands.
Their eyes met as he lowered his mouth to kiss her. Soft, warm,
unbelievably wonderful lips moved across hers and Amelia’s lids
fluttered closed. Kyle deepened the kiss until Amelia’s stomach
quivered and she splayed her fingers across the bare skin of his
back to steady herself.

God help her, but she was lost and she was
beginning not to care if she ever found her way back.

Kyle drew her down onto the bed. He stretched
out and Amelia lay beside him with her heart pounding and her
breath coming in short, panicked spurts. Still, he didn’t speak a
word, just looked at her from dark, passion-filled eyes. He brushed
her hair off her face, his gaze roving over her as his fingers
followed the crest of her cheekbone. He trailed his thumb across
her lips. Rough skin and a hint of soap touched her tongue and her
senses whirled.

He found her mouth again and kissed her.
Suddenly, it seemed they’d both caught fire. Heat burned through
her veins as he deepened the kiss, his hands fisted in her hair as
he stroked her mouth with his tongue, pressed his hard-muscled body
against her.

She was melting like wax in the sun as his
teeth and lips caressed her breast through her gown. Then he
slipped his fingers between her thighs. Oh, sweet God. She forgot
everything but the feel of him touching her, of his warm, wonderful
mouth on her breast and his fingers, oh, merciful heaven, his bold
probing fingers . . .

Everything below her waist turned liquid and
she welcomed the insane pleasure spreading through her body.

She touched the glorious crisp hair and hard
muscles of his chest, wanting to explore the textures of his skin,
to learn the hills and valleys of his body.