She nodded, keeping her eyes closed a moment longer. Opening them, she risked a glance at him, enjoying the opportunity to soak in his strong profile. His eyes remained on the road, thank God. Seventy miles an hour. “What my brother wouldn’t have given to travel at such a rate.”
Amara’s eyes prickled unexpectedly with tears. The last time she’d seen Deveric, his face had been full of life, beaming with pride as his son, Frederick, rode a horse around the paddock. It was hard to accept that he—that her whole family—was long dead. “I miss him.”
A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek. She wiped it away, hoping he hadn’t seen. She’d never liked crying. It was a sign of weakness, and she was done being weak.
“Your brother?”
She nodded.
“Hey ...” His voice was soft as he shifted one hand from the steering wheel onto her leg, rubbing her thigh with his thumb. “You’ve got the Coopers. And I’m not about to leave you on the side of the road.” At the last words, the corners of his mouth pulled down. He turned his head back to the highway, his hand leaving her thigh and grasping the wheel firmly.
Had he regretted saying that? Did he think she’d read more into it than he’d intended? She didn’t. There were no strings between them, no stronger connection than a mutual seeking of physical pleasure. If that were true, you wouldn’t be in this truck right now, going to visit his sister. She bit her lip. Why was she here?
Because he’d asked her to come. Why?
She’d said yes. Why?
She didn’t want to examine that too closely. She wanted to relax and enjoy being in Matthew’s company. As much as she could while they were hurtling through space, at least. With him, she didn’t feel judged. He accepted her as she was, with her strong physical passions, her refusal to form an attachment. Of course, he’d refused attachment, as well. That was fine. It made it easier.
“What’s your favorite color?”
The question jolted her out of her thoughts. “Purple, I suppose. I’ve always loved lavender. Lilacs and violets, too. When the lavender was in bloom at Clarehaven, I’d spend hours in the garden, strolling among the blossoms and soaking up the scent.”
“What’s Clarehaven?”
“My family’s estate. My brother Deveric was a duke.” Heavens above, why had she revealed that? She’d got so comfortable in his presence, she’d let her guard down.
Matthew’s head jerked up. “Seriously? A duke? As in, the aristocracy?” When she nodded, he added, “I thought that had mostly died out.”
“To a degree, I suppose.” But not in her time, not in 1813. It was hard to imagine England without its strongly divided class system. Amara had been part and parcel of it, accepting her position above others without batting an eye. It’d taken Eliza to get her to question that.
“Is that why your family lived like you came from an earlier century–trying to recapture your former glory?” His tone was teasing.
“That’s one explanation.” Hers was not.
He tapped his fingers on the wheel. “So, are you super-wealthy, then?”
Amara fidgeted in her seat. Money was not something one discussed in her society. It was considered uncouth. Did people share such information openly here?
“Sorry, that just came out. It’s none of my business.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I am a woman of independent means.” And proud of it. Though she’d done nothing to earn it. Then again, most of the peerage hadn’t, either. They’d inherited it, just as she had.
“I picked well, then,” he said, shooting her a wicked grin.
Amara tensed. Would his avowal of no lasting connection change now that he knew of her wealth? She forced herself to breathe out, relaxing her shoulders. No. He was driven to succeed on his own. Matthew Goodson was not the type to live off someone else’s largesse, as many of her acquaintance had been. He was no fortune hunter. She knew it in her bones.
When she made no response, he frowned. “I was kidding, you know.”
“Yes. I know.” She poked him in the side, as he’d done once to her, and as she’d seen Cat do to Ben to lighten the mood. “What is your favorite color?”
“Red. Bright, fiery red. I love the passion in the color, the ferocity, the drive.”
“Ah. I understand the choice of truck color now.”
“Absolutely. How about ... favorite food?”
“Swedes.”
“Swedes? People from Sweden? You’re a cannibal?”
She giggled. “No, sorry. Cat calls them ruta-bagas.”
He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What? Nobody likes rutabagas.”
“I do. Our cook, Rowena, fried them with onions. It was heavenly.”
“Cook. You had a cook?” He was quiet for a second before that teasing grin returned. “No wonder you don’t know your way around a kitchen.”
She gasped in faux outrage. “I don’t need to, now that I have you.” The minute the words were out, she wanted to recall them. She smoothed the hair off her forehead. “That’s not what I—”
“No worries,” he interrupted, his words a little too quick, a little too smooth.
“Now your favorite.”
“Cheese fries.”
“Like the potatoes you ate at the restaurant?”
“Yup.”
“Ah.” She nodded, all seriousness. “A wise choice.”
“Favorite animal?”
“Dogs. And I know yours is cats.”
“It could be a wombat. You shouldn’t assume.”
“A wombat? What on earth is a wombat?”
He laughed, a rich belly laugh. “Exactly.”
They passed the remainder of the trip sharing more details about themselves. He told of running a marathon in his twenties; she couldn’t fathom ever wanting to run nearly that far. She told him of sneaking off to the garden to read and eat the cherry tarts Rowena secretly gave her. “My mother didn’t want me to eat them, for fear I’d go to fat.”
“What? There’s no fat on you, woman.” He flicked on the turn signal, the ticking noise beating along in time to the song on the radio. “We’re here. Exit 87.”
They drove by multiple shopping centers with those ugly gray parking lots, but soon the centers gave way to more scenic greenery, much to Amara’s relief. Matthew turned onto a road lined with picturesque houses. At the top of the hill, the houses melded with stately buildings of a light yellow stone.
“Mary Baldwin College,” Matthew said. “A women’s college.”
“Women’s college?”
“The student body is comprised of women only. What I wouldn’t have given to have access to that in my youth.”
She rolled her eyes. Men didn’t change. Wait. There were colleges just for women? “Is the education inferior to that offered men?”
“Not at all. In fact, some argue it’s better, with the small class sizes and, well, no distractions from hunks like me.” He winked.
Matthew Goodson was flirting with her. And she liked it. She liked it a lot.
After another five minutes, they pulled in behind a large house. Though it was nothing like Clarehaven, it was grander than many a place she’d seen in town. “Taylor lives here?”
“Yeah, she’s got one of the apartments on the top floor.”
The house had been divided into apartments? That shouldn’t surprise her. The Treasure Trove had met the same fate.
Matthew climbed out of the truck, taking a moment to stretch his back before coming around to her side and helping her down. He guided her through a door and up a set of creaky stairs. The steps must have alerted Taylor to their presence because before they’d even reached the top, she threw open the door.
“Thank God, Matt. Thanks for coming.” She looked more angry than upset, her glower broken only by the pinched smile she flashed her brother. “Hi, Amara.”
“Hello, Taylor. It is a pleasure to see you again. I am so sorry to hear of your misfortune.”
Taylor
threw her arms up in the air. “I know, right? You think you live in a safe little town, and then someone goes and steals your laptop.”
“Where was it?”
Taylor kicked at the floor. “On my front seat. And, yes, I stupidly left the car door unlocked. It’s my fault, I know. But I needed to run in and get my Starbucks. I thought I’d only be a minute.”
“You and your coffee habit. You shouldn’t waste five bucks on a cup of black water every day.”
Matthew’s sister stuck her tongue out at him. “We all have our indulgences. You go for the best in computer equipment. I go for lattes.”
“Touché.”
“Did you bring me one?”
Matthew’s brows narrowed in puzzlement before he smacked his hand against his thigh. “Duh, yes. At first, I thought you meant a latte. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He tipped his head at Amara before ducking out the door.
“He’s loaning me a laptop,” Taylor said, by way of explanation. “Hey, it’s good to see you again. Come, sit down.” She crossed the room and dropped onto a rather ugly, overstuffed couch, beckoning Amara to join her. “So, how are you liking Charlottesville?”
Amara swallowed. “It’s a lovely city. I particularly like the University grounds.” Because they’re the closest thing to home I’ve found.
“Me, too. Definitely beautiful. So, before he gets back, what’s up between you and my brother?”
There’d been no pause in the words, no forewarning of the topic, and Amara flinched. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. It’s obvious in the way you guys look at each other. Plus, it’s not like he brings women here every day.”
She and Matthew looked at each other in a certain way? Amara plucked at the edge of her shirt, her head down, her thoughts discombobulated. “He only brought me because I was already at his house.”
Taylor’s eyebrow arched up, a knowing grin on her face. “Do tell.”
Amara wanted to sink into the cushion. “He was ... helping me with something,” she mumbled, knowing even as she said the words how absurd they sounded.
Before Taylor could comment, Matthew bounded through the door, breathing heavily, a black rectangle under his arm.
“My, my, brother, you didn’t have to run.” Her eyes danced back and forth between him and Amara. “Unless you had something you couldn’t bear to be parted from, of course.”
Matthew’s face flushed a dull red—as opposed to Amara’s cheeks, which burned so hotly she was sure they were the color of his truck.
“Yes, your oh-so-appreciative personality, sister dear.”
Laughing, she stood to take the laptop from him, setting it down on a side table. “In all seriousness, thank you, Matty. I need one for school and with finances the way they are right now, well ... ”
“I’m telling you: ditch the lattes.”
She punched him lightly in the shoulder. “So, any chance you guys wanna stay to catch the Shakespeare play? It’s Pay-What-You-Will night. Though we’d have to take your truck, Matty. Buffy’s gas gauge is on empty.”
“Shakespeare?” Matthew and Taylor both turned at Amara’s exclamation.
“They perform Shakespeare here?” He hadn’t always been her favorite of the playwrights, but at least he was familiar.
“Yes, it’s awesome. The Blackfriars Theater is an exact reproduction of the one in London!”
The one in London? The Globe had burned down two centuries before Amara’s time.
“What d’ya think, Amara?” Matthew said. “Would you like to stay, or do you need to get back?”
“I’d be delighted.” The theater was one of the few parts of the London Season she’d enjoyed, despite the pointed looks she occasionally had to endure. In London, however, one attended the theater in spectacular gowns. Not sweaters and leggings. “Are we properly attired?”
Taylor waved a hand. “Oh, sure. Lots of people dress casually. Let me just get my coat. We can grab some dinner at Shenandoah Pizza.”
Amara’s mouth watered. She definitely appreciated pizza.
As they headed out to the truck, Matthew asked, “What’s playing, anyway?”
“Measure for Measure.”
Amara nearly tripped over her own feet. She’d never cared for that Shakespeare play. She didn’t need to see a dark comedy about hidden identities and sexual morality.
She’d lived that hell every day.
But as she slid over in the front seat to make room for Taylor, her thigh settled against Matthews’s, and the ever-present spark between them flamed anew.
Forget Shakespeare. Being with Matthew Goodson? Heaven, indeed.
Chapter 26
Matt had been to Blackfriars a handful of times. While he always enjoyed the stellar performances, it was something else to witness it through Amara’s eyes. She stared, enraptured, at the stage the entire time.
“They’re quite good,” she whispered to him at one point, “though it is strange to hear Shakespeare’s words spoken with American accents.”
He’d chuckled silently. She had a point.
At intermission, as they stood and stretched, Taylor excused herself to the restroom. Matt used the justification of letting his sister pass to lean into Amara, inhaling the exquisite scent of her hair. He stayed there, closer than necessary, long after Taylor had left. His skin prickled at Amara’s nearness, and he wanted nothing more than to drop a kiss on her lips right there in the middle of the theater. What would she do?
His hand grazed hers by accident, and it was as if a bolt of lightning hit him, how strong the current between them sizzled. He groaned. She looked at him, but at that moment the actors appeared on the upper balcony, playing instruments and singing in raucous melody.
“Oh, how grand!” Amara clapped along, her face fixed on the actors above her.
Matt, however, remained focused on her. He’d spent the whole day with her. Far more time than he should have. He had work to do. And they weren’t anything. Occasional friends with benefits, nothing else. He wanted those benefits right now. She looked so damned adorable, standing there, her cheeks aglow with excitement as she listened to the silly songs.
Taylor returned, and the two women discussed Shakespeare. Matt hadn’t a clue what they said; he was lost in his own, confusing thoughts about this woman. For though he’d spent too much time with her, he wanted more. He wanted to take her home and indulge in sexual sport in every room of his apartment. And if she wanted to stay for breakfast or for further driving lessons or anything else, he was fine with that.
And that terrified him.
The rest of the play passed in a blur. Matt barely attended the dialogue, longing instead to pull Amara close and rain kisses on her delicate ear. His eagle-eyed sister would have a field day with that, however. Little escaped her, especially when it came to relationships. Not that he and Amara were in a relationship. But they were something. Weren’t they?
Would she be willing to be something more if he expressed interest? She’d seemed as relieved as he to fix their status as “most definitely not committed in any way,” but had she been truthful? Or could she have changed her mind in the last week, as he was starting to admit he had?
“What’d you think?” Taylor asked after the cast had taken their final curtain call.
“It was brilliant. I wish my sister Grace was here. She loves anything literary.”
“You had a sister?”
Taylor’s question was innocuous, but Amara’s face crumpled at the words. She sucked in her cheeks, clasping an arm across her stomach.
“Oh, gosh, Amara, I apologize. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.” Taylor’s blue eyes, so similar to Matthew’s, widened in dismay, and she launched herself at Amara, wrapping her arms around her in an awkward hug.
“It is all right. It happened long ago,” Amara mumbled, obviously ill at ease. Matt wanted to rip her from his sister and enfold her in his own arms to erase the sadness etched across her features.
&nb
sp; Taylor nodded as she released her grip. “My sympathies to you.”
By the ride home, the women were back to chatting easily, Taylor doing most of the talking as she analyzed current fashion trends, makeup, and hairstyles. “We’ll have to go shopping again,” she said as Matt pulled into her apartment’s lot.
“I’d like that.” Genuineness laced Amara’s voice.
His sister liked her. That was a good thing, right?
Taylor cracked open the truck door and hopped out before Matt could cut the engine. “No worries, I’ll see myself up, Matty. Thanks again for the laptop.”
“No problem.”
She leaned back into the cab of the truck for a second, a wide grin on her face. “And Matty?”
“Yeah?”
“Captain Obvious.”
With that, she slammed the door, practically skipping her way up the sidewalk before launching herself through the entryway.
“Captain What?” Amara’s voice interrupted his churning, spinning thoughts. What had Taylor meant? What was he missing?
“Nothing. Just a silly joke.” As he shifted into reverse, his phone beeped, the tone indicating a text from Taylor. He pulled it out from the dash, peeking at the words.
Don’t let this one go. She’s your fish.
Turning the phone over, he slid it back into its holder, thanking God it was dark in the cab so Amara couldn’t see the heat creeping up his neck.
Whenever Taylor had gone through a breakup, which was often, he’d always reminded her there were other fish in the sea. One time she’d gotten so pissed at him, she’d screamed, “I don’t want just any old fish. I want my fish. The one that’s perfect for me.”
Could his sister be right?
Amara Mattersley was an intriguing mix: both bright and naïve, adventuresome yet inexperienced. Contrasts that made no sense, that had him asking who she was and what she was about. She was fantastic in bed, willing to experiment, and an eager pupil, their latest antics rendering her nearly teacher and him student. Yet there were basic things she didn’t know, didn’t understand. Like how to drive. How to use most kitchen appliances. Technology. It was as if she were from another century.
The Magic of Love Series Page 77
