“But what did she tell her family? Did they—do you—all know?”
“No. Only the daughters, and of those, just one. We didn’t want the secret to get out, you understand.”
“No. I don’t. I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure not. Let’s retire to the kitchen and have a cup of tea, and I’ll explain whatever you wish to know.”
He nodded, trailing after her like a zombie, not comprehending anything around him. It was too much.
“Amara told her family via a letter she’d eloped to India with a Navy captain, though naturally, she didn’t. She came here. Or rather, she came to you,” Sophie said, as they entered a cozy room from which the smell of fresh bread emanated. His mouth watered in response. He hadn’t eaten all day.
“And no one challenged it?”
“I suspect Deveric and Eliza covered for her, but it’s not as if they had instant, ever-available contact like we do now, you know.” She sliced the loaf of bread on the counter and brought it over to a table, gesturing to him to sit down. “I’ll fetch the marmalade.” She set a few small jars on the table. “I hope this is sufficient.”
“It’s fine.” He grabbed a slice and bit into it, relishing the taste. For several moments, the sound of him chewing was the only sound in the room. “Tell me more,” he finally said, taking a sip of the tea she’d poured for him while he ate.
“This American, Catherine, has a manuscript that allows her to create love stories, even across the ages.”
“Cat’s a ... real-life cupid? But with words instead of arrows?”
Sophie nodded. “That’s how I understand it. She writes stories that bring people together—though Granny Eliza was always quick to note the two people involved had a choice. The attraction would be there, but only they could decide if it’d blossom into a life-long love.”
Matt swallowed, his throat suddenly dry in spite of the tea. “So Cat wrote a story in which Amara comes forward to this time, to be with me?”
“Must be.”
He sat, his stomach knotted as if in a big ball of yarn. None of this made any sense. And yet ... “Why me?”
Sophie gave him a gentle smile. “That’s not for me to know, but my guess is this Cat thought you and Amara a good match.”
“But Amara wants nothing to do with a relationship! She’s said so numerous times. And, frankly, neither do I.” As the words left his mouth, his heart jerked, protesting his lie. He hadn’t wanted a relationship; that much was true. But he did now. His thoughts drifted to the woman lying in the bed upstairs. “I should check on her. I should be with her.”
Sophie’s eyes softened. “We have just met,” she said. “Both you and I, and I and Amara. But I feel as if I know you. I sense you are a good man, Matthew Goodson.”
Matt said nothing, his lips pressing together. If only he felt that way himself.
Chapter 39
Amara blinked, the sound of voices calling her out of her fog.
“Thank you for coming back, Doctor Lowenstein. I appreciate it.”
“The blood loss has slowed considerably, and her vitals are good.”
Someone exhaled. “Was there any way to prevent this?” The voice was deep, familiar. Worried.
She blinked again, focusing her eyes on the figures to the side of the bed. Matthew. Matthew was here.
“Doubtful. I don’t know her full medical history, but unfortunately, pregnancy losses in the first trimester are fairly common, especially in the first eight weeks.”
Pregnancy ... loss? Her hand drifted to her stomach as she struggled toward full consciousness. Suddenly, the image of red against beige flooded her mind, and her eyes jerked open. Blood. There’d been so much blood. A noise escaped her.
“Amara!” Matthew rushed to her side, grabbing her hand in his large warm one, his eyes troubled but full of concern. “How are you?”
She swallowed, her eyes misting. “We ... I lost the baby, didn’t I?”
His jaw ticced, his lips flattening. “Yes.”
One tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. “Then why are you still here?”
“Why am I—?” he thundered, jumping up. He looked at the older man. “If you’ll excuse us.”
“Certainly.” The doctor hurried out the door, closing it gently behind him.
Matthew turned back to Amara, his eyes blazing with fury and pain. “You think I only came here because of the baby? And now that it—he—she—is gone, you think I’d just leave?”
She flinched at the raw emotion in his voice, even as a small part of her heart stitched itself back together at his words. Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I’m so sorry ... for all of it.”
His face slipped, the anger instantly replaced by sorrow, and he sat down by her side, clasping her hand with one of his, using his other to smooth her brow. “Oh, Amara,” he said. “I am so sorry, too. For what you’ve gone through. I know you didn’t want to have children, but—”
“No,” she choked out in a half-sob. “I didn’t. So why do I feel so devastated?”
He squeezed her hand. “Probably for the same reasons I do. We didn’t want this, yet I’d wrapped my mind around it. And now ... ”
“And now ... ” She turned away from him, her eyes focusing on the sunny yellow wall across the room. He was silent, though his thumb still rubbed hers.
“I beg your forgiveness,” she said, though she didn’t look at him, “for running away. I thought coming here would give you your freedom, would give me my freedom. But some things are too big to run away from. I needed to take responsibility for my actions. I got myself into this. I can’t ... I couldn’t ... I shouldn’t run away from that.”
“Amara,” he said, tipping her face towards his. “We both got ourselves into this. This is not, nor should it have ever been, something for you to shoulder alone. I am so very sorry for the way I reacted when you first told me. I should not have cast doubt on you. I should have—”
She raised her arm, touching a finger to his lips. “Shh. I understand.”
“No. You don’t.” His jaw tightened again. “My oldest brother, Eric, had a girlfriend who claimed he got her pregnant. They married, had the baby. My brother grew close with the little girl. Then the woman dropped the bombshell that not only was he not the father, but that she was leaving him for the man who was.”
Amara’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t imagine such a thing. How horrendous. Had anyone among her peers done likewise it would have been far worse a scandal than any she’d ever caused. Before she could say anything, he went on.
“And I’ve never wanted children, because I saw what a burden we were, especially to my mother after my dad left.” He paused for a moment, pain creasing his forehead. “I vowed I would get a good job, earn lots of money. I watched my mother face down the sheer terror of not being able to provide for us, time and again. I never want to feel that.”
His sudden, wicked smile startled Amara, whose own mouth had turned down at the ache in his voice. “And, in truth, I never liked kids. Too noisy, demanding, irritating.”
He rubbed his hand over hers, the smile fading. “But I was ready, anyway, Amara. I would have been here for our child.”
For our child. Not for her; for the child. The child who would never be. Now that there was no child, he was free.
They were free.
Amara was silent, her thoughts racing. Matthew insisted he was here for more than merely the baby, but it wasn’t as if they had claims on each other. They’d made that clear from the start. What was also clear was that she brought complications wherever she went. 1813, 2016 ... the result was the same. Scandalous behavior and negative consequences. With men.
She should have stuck to her original plan, the plan to come forward, yes, but to live an independent life, free of involvement with anyone of the opposite sex. Involvement brought trouble. Pain. Problems. This proved it all over again.
His thumb repeatedly traced over her palm. A
faint hum buzzed between them, a palpable attraction, connection, even in the face of loss. Because of loss, her mind whispered. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. He’d wanted to leave her at the stones; she was sure of it.
And their attraction was artificial, not real. Not that she wouldn’t have noticed a man like Matthew in her own time. He was certainly handsome, especially with those wicked blue eyes. But the constant ache for him was nothing more than the result of Cat’s manuscript, of the story she’d written, the spell she’d woven. Cat created attraction; she’d said so herself.
And that’s what this was. Attraction. Sexual desire. She didn’t love Matthew Goodson. Yes, she admired his form, had certainly enjoyed herself in his bed. And though she appreciated many of his character traits, it by no means meant she had made the mistake of falling in love with him.
Falling in love meant risk. The possibility of heartbreak. And the loss of independence she so desperately craved.
No, she was most definitely not in love with Matthew Goodson. And if her heart ached, it was merely on account of all that had happened this day.
She closed her eyes, and Matthew’s thumb stilled on her hand. “Amara?” His voice was soft but urgent, full of concern.
“I wish to be alone,” she said, turning her head away, refusing to meet his gaze. She didn’t want to argue. She wanted to ignore. To forget. To sleep.
He hesitated. “I understand. But I’ll be here if you need me. We will talk more later.”
The words sounded as much a threat as a promise.
Matt paused outside the door, leaning against the wall. His breath came in ragged spurts, the anguish at the loss of the baby—their baby—smacking into his ribs. And to see Amara there, so fragile-looking, so sad, her eyes rimmed with purple circles, her cheeks sunken. He wanted nothing but to go back in, hold her close, and promise everything would be all right. Even if it wouldn’t be.
The depth of his feeling shocked him. It went against every fiber of his body to walk out of that room and leave her behind, and yet he needed to honor her wishes. It just felt ... wrong. He should be in there. Doing something.
Taylor’s voice echoed in his mind. “Just like a man,” she would have said. “Always wanting to fix things. Some things you just can’t fix, Matty.”
He wasn’t sure what to do now.
He strode to the staircase, his thoughts on Amara as he made his way down to the long hall with all the portraits, unsure of where else to go. What he wouldn’t give to undo what had happened. Damn that forgotten condom. It’d messed everything up. He’d messed everything up.
They’d been having a great time, the two of them, in a carefree, casual kind of relationship. And yet, at some point, it’d become more. He’d looked forward to seeing her. And when he did, his day felt complete. When he didn’t, something was missing. There’d been times in his office he’d caught himself staring off into space, the focus and drive that had been his cornerstone for so many years suddenly absent. He’d attributed it to the newness, the excitement of it all. But now, as he passed rows and rows of portraits, he wondered if it hadn’t grown into something deeper when he wasn’t paying attention.
A portrait to his left caught his eye, and he stopped, nearly stumbling over his own feet. It was the one he’d seen on the Internet, the one showing her as a young child. And there was no doubt it was Amara. He’d accepted that much.
The time travel explanation made sense of many things he hadn’t understood before: the clothing, the unfamiliarity with common experiences, the newness of cars and driving. His gut told him it was true. Not that he was one to normally go by emotion over logic and fact, but Sophie’s story, Amara’s own confessions, her behavior upon first arrival, the paintings here. It was proof enough, wasn’t it?
Not that he wasn’t going to corner Cat and Ben the first chance he got. They had some explaining to do.
He stood, his eyes on the child in the portrait, imagining for a moment it wasn’t Amara, but the daughter they might have had. His stomach clenched and his throat went dry, anger and grief battling for dominance in his head.
Why had this happened? And what did it mean for his—for their—future?
Footsteps echoed from the other end of the hallway. Looking up, he spied Sophie approaching, her brow wrinkled in concern. “Is everything all right? At least as all right as it can be?”
“Yes.” His tone was brisk, businesslike, lest he betray the well of emotions flooding him. “Amara is fine. The doctor says she’ll make a full recovery. She wanted to sleep, so I left. At her request.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to assert the last, but he did.
Sophie’s face relaxed. “Good. I shall not disturb her, then. It’s growing late; I’m guessing you might like to retire yourself? I had your bag moved into a guest room. I hope that wasn’t too presumptive.”
She’d let him stay? Rather than question her—he didn’t want her to change her mind—he nodded. He was exhausted.
“Come, I believe Angie has some chicken waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Sophie. For everything today. For your kindness to a stranger.”
Sophie smiled. “What’s the expression? A stranger is merely a friend one hasn’t met yet. Besides, I like having people here. It gets lonely in this old mausoleum by myself.” A hint of something shadowed her face, but she shook it away. “Now, then. To the kitchen.”
“To the kitchen.”
Together, they walked off.
But Matt left his heart in the room above him.
Chapter 40
Amara woke to the sound of raindrops against the window, a muddled, gray light permeating the room. It matched her mood. For a blissful second, her cares and sorrows didn’t exist, until full consciousness brought the events of the previous day flooding back.
Her hand inched across her abdomen, which no longer hurt, thank goodness, though the doctor had told her to expect the bleeding to last for a good week or so. He’d returned after Matthew had left and explained all in great detail to her, assuring her she would still be able to have children if she so chose. Her cheeks had burned at his frank talk, and she’d been glad when he’d taken his leave, promising to check on her should the need arise. She turned her head to the window, watching water trail across the glass. Funny how her eyes felt so dry this morning, the rest of her so hollow. Numb.
Noises echoed in the hallway. Matthew. Matthew was still here. The thought pinched her brows together. She did not want to interact with him. She’d prefer to stay in this cocoon of nothingness, this shelter from the storms raging outside—and within.
Why hadn’t he left? There was no reason for him to remain now that there was no baby. Would he try to stay? Would he want to? Would he confuse grief for affection? Try to convince her—and himself—there was more between them than there was?
For there was nothing between them. A few weeks of sinful indulgence, for which she was now paying the price. Her family would be appalled; her mother most certainly would have disowned her, the sister of a duke openly cavorting in bed with a man.
Her hand moved from her stomach to her heart, as if she could hold in the painful thumping, each beat reminding her of the ticking of a clock. Time had run out on her. She’d tried to escape her past but merely ended up repeating it. She’d been intimate with a man with no promises, no future. Though, a stubborn part of her mind insisted, it’s what she and Matthew both said they’d wanted. She’d not been played the fool this time, as with Drake. No, she’d gone into this with open eyes and a protected heart.
So why did she feel so broken? Because of the baby. Guilt gnawed at her insides. The baby had paid the price for her sins. The doctor, Sophie, even Matthew had tried to convince her this was a common occurrence, that a number of women lost pregnancies for no apparent reason, but Amara knew the reason. It was her punishment for the mistakes she’d made, the sins she’d committed.
She should have been the demure, respectable, respectful daughter she was
expected to be. Instead, she’d broken the rules, sought independence she didn’t deserve, had tried to achieve a life beyond her. She’d even defied the natural order of things by time traveling to chase after that dream.
Shame bore down on her, pinning her to the bed. The rhythm of the rain did nothing to soothe her, reminding her instead of her mother’s tears when Amara had been caught in flagrante delicto in that garden, of her own tears when she’d realized the level to which Drake had betrayed her.
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her morose train of thought. She nearly ignored it, but the courtesy bred of years had her call out, “Come in.”
Matthew poked his head around the door, his expression uncertain, before he walked in, his tall, lithe frame garbed in a becoming green sweater and a pair of jeans. A hesitant smile graced his face as he approached the bed. “How are you?”
She did not return his smile. In fact, she turned her gaze back to the window, so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. Looking at him brought a pain she didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to consider. “I am fine.”
Matthew sat on the edge of the bed, his unexpected action drawing her eyes to his. Reaching forward, he made to smooth the hair off her head, but she jerked away. Hurt shadowed his eyes for a fraction of a second, but he pasted on a smile. “I wanted to check on you. I hope you were able to sleep.”
“Some.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” She closed her eyes.
Silence reigned for a few moments.
“Amara.”
She paused. “Yes?”
“I ... we ... this is not your fault.”
“I know.” The words came out automatically, though she didn’t believe them.
“No, truly. This is not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”
At that, her eyes popped open. “Your fault?”
He nodded, misery creeping over his face. “If I hadn’t forgotten a condom ...”
The Magic of Love Series Page 87
