A bitter sigh escaped her. “No. This is my punishment. To atone for my manifold sins.”
“What?” His incredulous tone echoed in the small chamber. “You can’t be serious.”
Amara turned her head back toward the window, water tracing its way down her cheeks in patterns similar to those on the panes. “Yes, I am. I came forward to escape my past. The past in which I was intimate with a man, then publicly shamed. Yet what did I do once here? I became intimate with a man. Quickly. And while public shaming is not as prevalent as in my era, I am once again bearing the brunt of my own foolish choices.”
“Amara.” Matthew’s voice cracked as his hand sought hers under the blanket. She did not resist his grip, but nor did she return it. “No. You’re not making sense. I don’t know what happened in ... in your previous life. And I don’t care; it doesn’t matter to me. What does matter is who you are now, and that woman is someone I’ve grown to care for very much.”
“No.”
Matthew’s next words were a growl. “What do you mean, no?”
“No.” She turned her face back to him. “I don’t believe you care for me. That was never part of the arrangement. I think you are confusing your sense of duty and grief about this baby with caring for me.”
Matthew stood up, his body rigid with anger. His face was a mask of fury, its own thunderstorm. “How dare you tell me how I feel? You may speak for yourself, Amara, though I think grief is twisting what you feel. But you may not speak for me.” His chest heaved as he breathed great, ragged gasps of air. “You think I came just for the baby. But I did not. I did not, Amara Mattersley. Did it play into things? Of course. How could it not? But I came, leaving my own country, my job, my students, everything, for something I only figured out the second I saw you again, standing among those stones, though I tried to deny it.” He leaned down, boring into her eyes with his.
“I came here because I love you, damn it!”
Chapter 41
Amara gasped at his outburst, but Matt didn’t care. How dare this woman, this infuriating, exasperating, challenging, frustrating, delectable woman, announce to him his feelings for her weren’t real?
A part of him knew it was a defense mechanism, a barrier against pain, much like the barriers he’d erected when his family had fallen apart. Half of him wanted to shake some sense into her, for her to see they had so much more than a mere physical connection.
The other half wanted to punch the wall, as much over frustration with himself as with her. If only he’d realized his heart was engaged far earlier, perhaps they wouldn’t be here now, looking at each other as enemies, as ... strangers.
This woman had shared his bed, his days, his nights. This woman had his heart, yet she acted now as if he were an acquaintance at best, perhaps even an annoyance. She’s not in her right mind, Goodson. She can’t be, not so soon. And neither are you. But the truth did little to ease the sting.
He retreated from the bed, pacing back and forth, his hands on his hips. “If only I’d seen it sooner. It took you leaving for me to see, for me to know. And now you’re telling me what we had is nothing?”
“Oh, Matthew.” Her tone was lost, sad.
“I admit, I didn’t want you to be pregnant. I didn’t want a baby. But the idea of a part of you and a part of me, infinitely blended together? It pierced my heart, Amara. In a good way. And what I know, what I’m sure of, is in spite of this crazy time-travel thing, in spite of it all, I want you.”
Amara’s shoulders convulsed, but she said nothing, closing her eyes against him again, her whole face a mask of heartache.
He wanted to go to her, to touch her, but if he did, would she bat him away, reject him? He couldn’t risk it. Having declared his love for a woman for the first time in his life—for he’d certainly never spoken those words to Wendy—he was feeling mighty vulnerable already, especially since Amara had in no way, shape, or form reciprocated.
He continued pacing, waiting for her to speak. Long stretches of time passed. Finally, he stood still, willing her to open her eyes, to say something. When she did, however, he wished she hadn’t.
For all she said was, “Go home, Matthew.”
The ride to the airport passed in a haze. Matt sat, rigid, his eyes on the scenery rushing by, but he didn’t take anything in. His mind was on the woman he’d left behind, the woman at Clarehaven. Amara.
He’d run into Sophie, of course. Bag in one hand, his other hand on the door handle, he’d whipped open the front door just as steps hurried toward him.
“Matthew, wait!”
He hadn’t wanted to stop, had wanted to let his fury power him forward, but he couldn’t be rude to his hostess. She’d been so kind, welcoming him, a complete stranger, into her home, encouraging him with Amara. So he’d paused, his shoulders slumping.
“You’re going?”
“Yes. Amara has asked me to leave. Demanded, rather.”
“Oh, Matthew.”
He could hear the sorrow in her voice, a sorrow that matched his own.
“You should stay.”
The empathy on her face was nearly his undoing. He swallowed. “She doesn’t want me.”
A scoffing noise emanated from her throat, and his eyes widened. “She does. She just ... With everything happening, physically as well as emotionally ...”
“Yes. Which is why I’m giving her space.”
Sophie sighed. “I wish you’d stay. You’re more than welcome.”
Matt gave her a sad smile. “Thank you, Sophie. You’ve been more than generous. But this is something Amara must work out for herself. I’ve told her where I stand. She needs to decide where she does.” His eyes moved to the floor. “Take care of her, Sophie.”
With that, he’d strode through the door into the pouring rain.
Now, as he sat in the back of the cab, his mind pitched forth a thousand misgivings. Maybe he should turn around, should go back. Sophie was right; Amara had been through more than he could ever imagine in the last few days—his sudden appearance, her confessions about her origins, the loss of their baby ...
His heart spasmed, grief ricocheting throughout his chest. Their baby. The sheer sense of loss decimated him. The image of Amara, lying small and pale against that large bed, was an image he’d never forget. A curse escaped his lips. What was he doing in this cab, leaving behind the woman he loved?
He was doing what she’d asked. What she’d demanded. He was leaving. He wasn’t going to force something that wasn’t wanted.
The cab eased through the tangled approach to Heathrow, pulling up to the departures entrance. Matt sat, even as the driver opened the door for him.
“Sir?” The voice broke through his haze, and Matt quickly extricated himself from the cab, apologizing to the driver and handing him a few extra pounds.
With a purposeful stride, he stalked to the ticket counter, his mind refusing to let his doubts turn him around. He needed to go home, as much for the work awaiting him as because Amara told him to. He’d left in the middle of the week, in the middle of the semester. He’d dropped everything, driven by the urge to reach Amara, to make it right.
Instead, he’d done everything wrong.
After a short wait, he had his boarding pass in hand, and he headed to his gate. Once there, he sat down and pulled out his laptop, opening up the paper he’d been writing, determined to immerse himself in what was comfortable and familiar, in what had never rejected him or let him down: work.
Before he knew it, they were boarding. As the plane took off and the buildings gave way to fields below, his throat constricted. He searched the ground, wondering if they were flying anywhere near Clarehaven. Near Amara. Near his heart.
Sophie was right. He should have stayed. Should have let the emotion settle and approached things more rationally. Should have fought for Amara.
But hadn’t he done that in coming in the first place? In dropping everything and rushing off to a foreign country? In finding her and baring hi
s heart and soul?
And she’d rejected him.
It was up to her now. Amara had to decide what she wanted and whether Matt figured into her plans at all.
He closed his eyes and leaned back into the tiny, uncomfortable seat, ignoring the appreciative glances of the pudgy brunette next to him. He needed to clear his head. And to get himself back where he belonged: home, in Charlottesville, secure in his apartment with Lovey, working on algorithms and papers and with all that was orderly and controllable.
Amara slung an arm across her eyes to block the sun in a way her mother would never have approved. Who had opened the curtains? Moving her arm slightly, she opened one eye, blinking against the brightness.
She was alone. Thank heavens. A fire crackled in the hearth across from her bed, telling her someone had been in. Why had they set the fire? It wasn’t as if it were necessary; central heat was one of the numerous updates Clarehaven had received.
With the only light coming from the window and the fire, and with the furnishings nearly unchanged since her era, Amara could almost imagine she was in her own time. Her heart clenched as she fantasized of throwing open the door to find Grace or Emmeline or even Becca waiting outside, ready for the day’s adventures. Not that their options would have been anything but mundane. They would have strolled the grounds or gardens, or spent hours writing letters, or played the pianoforte, or perhaps read one of Grace’s novels. Still, to see Deveric. Eliza. Even her mother. For a moment, the longing was so intense, Amara thought she’d burst. She tossed in the bed, not wanting to rise to face the day.
And she didn’t have to. She could do what she wished when she wished.
What did she wish?
Matthew’s face swam before her, and his words of the day before, his declaration of love, echoed in her ears. He’d told her he loved her. But did he? Could he? How? They hadn’t known each other long—though many a couple from her era had betrothed themselves on slighter acquaintance. And what they had shared, what was it, really? An intense physical connection. A few fun days. But love? No. He didn’t love her. He felt guilty. Responsible. That was all.
But he’d come for her. He’d left his work, his world, and flown to England. To find her. It was more than Drake Evers had done. It was the opposite. Drake had run away; Matthew had run to her.
Yes, but Drake never got you pregnant. A stroke of luck, of course, and she doubted he’d have done anything if he had. Matthew, at least, had tried to do the right thing. Hadn’t he?
She groaned, rolling over in the bed. What a mess. She’d come forward to this century seeking independence.
Freedom. And what had she accomplished instead? She’d ended up pregnant.
Shame settled deep on her shoulders. She’d done the one thing she’d been raised never to do: give herself to a man and end up in trouble. And she’d done it twice. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. The blood still flowed, but otherwise, she felt no different. She was no longer with child, however. Guilt, deeper than the shame, ate at her innards, covering her like a shroud.
She hadn’t wanted the baby, had wished it away. And now it was gone. Her fingers traced the expanse of her stomach. How had this happened? How had her life become a worse tangle of shame, of scandal, than it had been in her own time? Was she cursed, doomed to make mistake after mistake, never achieving the happiness, the satisfaction Deveric and Eliza had found? Or her sister Cecilia? Cat and Ben exuded that same joy, the joy of being with someone who truly loved them.
Loved them. Matthew had insisted he loved her. Right before she sent him away. How could she believe him? It was such a jumbled tangle: their intimate encounters, this unwished-for child. And Cat’s manuscript. Surely the only thing Matthew Goodson felt for her, besides a sense of obligation, stemmed from the magic that had brought them together in the first place.
Fresh tears streamed down her face as a soft knock came at the door.
“Amara? It’s me.”
Amara sniffed, wiping at her eyes. She wanted to pretend she was sleeping and hadn’t heard Sophie’s voice, but she couldn’t do that, not to the woman who’d willingly opened Clarehaven to her. Not to the woman who was her last, if distant, living relation.
“Come in.” Hopefully, the light was low enough Sophie wouldn’t see the evidence of Amara’s misery.
The door cracked open, and Sophie poked her head through, surveying the room before stepping inside and shutting the door. Crossing to the bed, she dropped into the chair next to it. “Oh, darling.”
That’s all it took. Tears sprang unbidden to Amara’s eyes again, cascading down her face to soil her pillow.
Sophie reached out, her hand clasping Amara’s. “I’m so sorry about the baby.”
Of course. Sophie assumed these tears, this grief was about the baby. Which it was, in part. But her heart had cracked open and wept tears now of its own for the other losses in her life. For all the hurt and pain she’d ever endured. For her own dreadful decisions that had led her to Drake Evers. To 2016. To Matthew.
She sucked in gulps of air, the sobs racking her shoulders.
“Move over.”
Amara froze in stunned surprise but then did as told, shifting over as Sophie climbed onto the mattress and lay down on her side, face-to-face with Amara. It reminded Amara so much of the conversations she’d had with her sisters in the same manner that fresh pain stabbed her. What a horrible mess she’d made.
Sophie stroked the hair away from Amara’s face, tucking strands behind her ear. “You’re going to be all right. You are strong, Amara. And this is not the end of your story.”
Amara’s brow knitted even as some of the tension leaked out of her shoulders at the soothing words. What did Sophie mean, her story? Had she meant that literally or figuratively? “How ... what do you mean?”
“I mean though it may not seem possible, there is life beyond this deepest grief. The sun will come up, the days will pass, and at some point, not today, but in a week, or a month, or heavens, even a year, you will realize you are ready for whatever is to come next. For there is always something next.”
Amara studied her, this woman at once so familiar and yet still largely a stranger. She spoke with conviction behind her words. What had brought such wisdom? What had Sophie suffered?
As if Sophie had read her mind, she spoke. “Someday I’ll tell you, but this is not about me. This is about you. And Matthew.”
“He left.”
“Yes, he did. But he told me that’s because you demanded he do so.”
“He could have stayed.”
Sophie snorted. “That man is in love with you. Do you think he was going to deny any request you made, especially when he saw you in such pain? Pain he thinks he caused?”
“Pain he caused?”
“Of course! He claims this is his fault, both you getting pregnant, and you ... you miscarrying. That you did so because of your conversation at the stones.”
“What?” Amara sat straight up. How could he think losing the baby was his fault?
Sophie eyed her. “It makes about as much sense as you thinking it’s your fault, doesn’t it?”
“But it is—” Amara broke off. “You don’t understand. You don’t know me. It is my fault. The result of the foolish decisions I made and keep making. I didn’t want this child, and so ...”
“It doesn’t work like that. If it did, unwanted pregnancies wouldn’t be an issue. You didn’t do anything. This happens at a higher rate than most people know. Because we learn so early now if a woman is pregnant, pregnancies that might never have been suspected in your era are known about from practically the day they happen.”
Amara’s eyes rounded. “You speak as if ... ”
“As if I’ve had a miscarriage myself?” Sophie’s eyes closed, anguish shadowing her face for the briefest of moments. “Yes.” Her words were crisp, businesslike as she rushed ahead. “But that is far in the past, and I know it was not meant to be. Not like you and Matthew.”
> “Matthew and me. We are only meant to be together because Cat wrote her story that way.”
Sophie frowned. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
A bitter chuckle escaped Amara’s throat. “What exactly do we have in common, Sophie? He is a professor, a highly educated man, focused on his career and his computers and his future. Our life experiences are vastly different. And besides, he said himself he wanted no relationship, no entanglements.”
Sophie opened her mouth as if to speak, but Amara continued, her voice rising. “I am a duke’s daughter, a duke’s sister, relatively well-educated for my time but not for this one, a woman embroiled in scandal then as well as now, with little to offer. And no desire for a relationship. I wanted independence, a future of my own determining. That is why I came forward to this time. Not for a man. For myself.”
“You speak as if independence and love are incompatible. But what of Deveric and Eliza?”
“What of them?”
“From her letters and descriptions passed down through the generations, Eliza strikes me as the independent sort.”
“The woman traveled through time specifically to marry my brother. How is that possibly independent?”
“Well, did she change who she was for him? Did she give up her own mind, her own activities, her own life?”
Amara frowned. “Of course she did. She left behind everyone and everything she knew.”
“True. But because she wanted to. And from the stories I’ve heard, she wasn’t particularly submissive once she found him.”
Amara giggled in spite of herself. That much was true. Eliza had wanted Deveric, but she hadn’t been willing to settle, had always been who she was, much to Amara’s mother’s consternation and the other sisters’ delight.
And she’d been willing to leave when things weren’t working out.
The giggle left. “But she wanted a man. I don’t.”
Sophie reached out, tracing her fingers softly down Amara’s cheek. “You keep insisting that. If that’s how you truly feel, all right.” Suddenly, she rolled off the bed and stood up. “I should let you rest.” Moving toward the door, she paused after opening it. “But, Amara? Don’t let your past determine your future.”
The Magic of Love Series Page 88
