White Lace and Promises

by Debbie Macomber

  He hadn’t been pleased by what he’d overheard in her telephone conversation with Denny. He had wanted to ask Maggie about it over dinner, but hesitated. He felt that it was too soon to pry into her relationship with her brother. As he recalled, Denny was a decent guy, four or five years older than Maggie. From the sounds of it, though, Denny was sponging off his sister—which was unusual, since Glenn had heard that Denny was wealthy in his own right. It was none of his affair, Glenn decided, and it was best that he keep his nose out of it.

  Proudly, Maggie walked around the studio, which was used more than any other room in the house. Most of the canvases were fresh and white, waiting for the bold strokes of color that would bring them to life. Several of the others contained her early experiments in cubism and expressionism. She watched Glenn as he strolled about the room, studying several of her pictures. Pride shone in his eyes, and Maggie basked in his approval. She wanted to hug him and thank him for simply appreciating what she did.

  He paused to study a large ten-foot canvas propped at an angle against the floor. Large slashes of blue paint were smeared across the center and had been left to dry, creating their own geometric pattern. Maggie was especially pleased with this piece. It was the painting she had been working on the afternoon she was late meeting Glenn at the airport.

  “What’s this?” Glenn asked, his voice tight. He cocked his head sideways, his brow pleated in concentration.

  “Glenn,” she chided, “that’s my painting.”

  He was utterly stupefied that Maggie would waste her obvious talent on an abstract mess. The canvas looked as though paint had been carelessly splattered across the top. Glenn could see no rhyme or pattern to the design. “Your painting,” he mused aloud. “It’s quite a deviation from your other work, isn’t it?”

  Maggie shrugged off his lack of appreciation and enthusiasm. “This isn’t a portrait,” she explained, somewhat defensively. This particular painting was a departure from the norm, a bold experiment with a new balance of unexpected harmony of different hues of blues with tension between shapes and shades. Glenn had admitted he knew nothing about art, she thought. He wouldn’t understand what she was trying to say with this piece, and she didn’t try to explain.

  Squatting, Glenn examined the large canvas, his fingertips testing the texture. “What is this material? It’s not like a regular canvas, is it?”

  “No, it’s unprimed cotton duck—the same fabric that’s used for making sails.” This type of porous material allowed her to toss the paint across the canvas; then, point by point, she poured, dripped, and even used squeegees to spread the great veils of tone. She spent long, tedious hours contemplating each aspect of the work, striving for the effortless, spontaneous appeal she admired so much in Helen Frankenthaler’s work.

  “You’re not into the abstract stuff, are you?” she asked with a faint smile. She tried to make it sound as if it didn’t matter. The pride she’d seen in Glenn’s eyes when he saw her beachscape and her other work had thrilled her. Now she could see him trying to disguise his puzzlement. “Don’t feel bad—abstracts aren’t for everyone.”

  A frown marred his smooth brow as he straightened and brushed the grit from his hands. “I’d like to see some more of the work like the painting downstairs.”

  “There are a couple of those over here.” She pulled a painting out from behind a stack of her later efforts in cubism.

  Glenn held out the painting, and his frown disappeared. “Now, this is good. The other looks like an accident.”

  An accident! Maggie nearly choked on her laughter. She’d like to see him try it. “I believe the time has come for me to propose another rule for this marriage.”

  Glenn’s look was wary. “What?”

  “From now on, everything I paint is beautiful and wonderful and the work of an unrecognized genius. Understand?”

  “Certainly,” he murmured. “Anything you say.” He paused to examine the huge canvas a second time. “I don’t know what you’re saying with this, but this is obviously the work of an unrecognized and unappreciated genius.”

  Maggie smiled at him boldly. “You did that well.”

  Chapter Five

  Glenn muttered under his breath as he followed Maggie out of her studio. Her dainty back was stiff as she walked down the stairs. She might have made light of his comments, but he wasn’t fooled. Once again he had hurt her. Twice in one day. The problem was that he was trying too hard. They both were. “I apologize, Maggie. I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re right. I don’t know a thing about art.”

  “I’m not offended,” she lied. “I keep forgetting how opinionated you are.” With deliberate calm she moved into the living room and sat at the baby grand piano, running her fingers over the ivory keys. She wanted to be angry with him but couldn’t be, realizing that any irritation was a symptom of her own insecurity. She had exposed a deeply personal part of herself. It had been a measure of her trust, and Glenn hadn’t known or understood. She couldn’t blame him for that.

  “I don’t remember that you played the piano.” He stood beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  His touch was oddly soothing. “I started taking lessons a couple years ago.”

  “You’re good.”

  Maggie stopped playing; her fingers froze above the keys. Slowly, she placed her hands in her lap. “Glenn, listen, the new rule to our marriage applies only to my painting. You can be honest with my piano playing. I’m rotten. I have as much innate rhythm as lint.”

  Glenn recognized that in his effort to make up for one faux pas he had only dug himself in deeper. He didn’t know anything about music. “I thought you played the clarinet.”

  “I wasn’t much better at that, if you recall.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Obviously,” she muttered under her breath, rising to her feet. She rubbed her hands together in a nervous gesture. “It’s been a long day.”

  Glenn’s spirits sank. It had been quite a day and nothing like he’d expected. Yet he couldn’t blame Maggie—he had brought everything on himself. His hand reached for hers. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Involuntarily, Maggie tensed. Everything had been perfect for the wedding night, but now she felt unsure and equally uneasy. Glenn was her husband, and she couldn’t give him the guest bedroom. But things were different from what they had been. Her eyes were opened this time, and white lace and promises weren’t filling her mind with fanciful illusions.

  “Is something wrong?” Glenn’s question was more of a challenge.

  “No,” she murmured, abruptly shaking her head. “Nothing’s wrong.” But then, not everything was right, either. She led the way down the long hallway to the master bedroom, feeling shaky.

  The room was huge, dominated by a brick fireplace, with two pale-blue chairs angled in front of it. The windows were adorned with shirred draperies of a delicate floral design that had been especially created to give a peaceful, easy-living appeal. The polished mahogany four-poster bed had a down comforter tossed over the top that was made from the same lavender floral material as the drapes. This room was Maggie’s favorite. She could sit in it for hours and feel content.

  If Glenn was impressed with the simple elegance or felt the warmth of her bedroom, he said nothing. Maggie would have been surprised if he had.

  His suitcase rested on the thick carpet, and Glenn sighed, turning toward her. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.” Frustrated anger filled Glenn at his own stupidity. Everything he had done that day had been wrong. From the moment he had opened his eyes to the time he’d mentioned going to bed. He couldn’t have been more insensitive had he tried. He didn’t want to argue with Maggie, and yet, it seemed, he had gone out of his way to do exactly that. There would be a lot of adjustments to make with their marriage, and he had gotten off on the wrong foot almost from the moment they’d started. Maggie was uncomfortable; Glenn could sense that. He could also feel her hesitancy. But he was her husband, and by heaven he’d sleep
with her this and every night for the remainder of their lives.

  The mention of the coming day served to remind Maggie that Glenn was planning on returning to Charleston alone. That rankled. Sometime during the evening, she had thought to casually bring up the return trip. But with what had happened in her studio and afterward, the timing hadn’t been right. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she met his gaze.

  “Oh. What are we doing tomorrow?” She couldn’t think of anything they needed to do that couldn’t be handled later.

  “First we’ll see a lawyer, then—”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice unnaturally throaty. Alarm filled her. Glenn had changed his mind. He didn’t want to stay married. And little wonder. She kept making up these rules, and—

  “I want to make sure none of your inheritance money is ever put in my name.” With all the other problems they were facing, Glenn needed to assure Maggie that he hadn’t married her for her wealth. If anything, he regretted the fact she had it. Her great-aunt Margaret’s money had been a curse as far as he was concerned. And judging by the insecure, frightened woman Maggie had become, she might even have realized that herself.

  “I … I know you wouldn’t cheat me.” The odd huskiness of her voice was made more pronounced by a slight quiver. Of all the men she had known in her life, she trusted Glenn implicitly. He was a man of honor. He might have married her when he was in love with another woman, but he would never deliberately do anything to swindle her.

  Their gazes melted into each other’s. Maggie trusted him, Glenn realized. The heavy weight that had pressed against him from the moment she had turned her hurt, angry eyes on him that morning lessened. Surely there’d been a better way to handle that business with her paintings, he thought. She had talent, incredible talent, and it was a shame that she was wasting it by hiding it away.

  “After the lawyer, we’ll go to a jeweler,” he added.

  “A jeweler?”

  “I’d like you to wear a wedding ring, Maggie.”

  The pulse in her neck throbbed as she beat down a rush of pure pleasure. “Okay, and you, too.”

  “Of course,” he agreed easily. His gaze did a sweeping inspection of the room, as if he’d noticed it for the first time. It reminded him of Maggie. Her presence was stamped in every piece of furniture, every corner. Suddenly, a tiredness stole into his bones. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

  Maggie nodded, and some of her earlier apprehension faded. She wasn’t completely comfortable sleeping with him after what had happened. Not when there was a chance he would take her in his arms, hold her close, kiss her, even make love to her, with another woman’s name on his lips. “You go ahead—I’ve got a few odds and ends to take care of first.”

  Sitting at the oak desk in her office, Maggie lifted her long hair from her face and closed her eyes as weariness flooded her bones. She was tired—Glenn was tired. She was confused—Glenn was confused. They both wanted this marriage—they were both responsible for making it work. All right, there wasn’t any reason to overreact. They’d share a bed, and if he said the other woman’s name in his sleep again, Maggie refused to be held responsible for her actions.

  By the time Glenn returned from his shower, Maggie had gone back to the bedroom and changed into a sexless flannel pajama set that would have discouraged the most amorous male. She had slipped beneath the covers, and was sitting up reading, her back supported by thick feather pillows. Behind her book, she followed Glenn’s movements when he reentered the bedroom.

  He paused and allowed a tiny smile of satisfaction to touch his lips. He had half expected Maggie to linger in her office until he was asleep and was greatly pleased that she hadn’t. Although she looked like a virgin intent on maintaining her chastity in that flannel outfit, he knew that this night wasn’t the time to press for his husbandly rights. Things had gone badly. Tomorrow would be better, he promised himself.

  Lifting back the thick quilt, Glenn slid his large frame into the king-size bed and turned off the light that rested on the mahogany nightstand on his side of the bed.

  “Good night.” His voice was husky and low, with only a trace of amusement. He thought she would probably sit up reading until she fell asleep with the light on.

  “Good night,” she answered softly, pretending to read. A few minutes later, Maggie battled to keep her lashes from drooping. Valiantly, she struggled as her mind conjured up ways of resisting Glenn. The problem was that she didn’t want to resist him. He would probably wait until she was relaxed and close to falling asleep, she theorized. When she was at her weakest point, he would reach for her and kiss her. Glenn was a wonderful kisser, and she went warm at the memory of what had happened their first night together. He had held her as if he were dying of thirst and she was a cool shimmering pool in an oasis.

  Gathering her resolve, Maggie clenched her teeth. By heaven, the way her thoughts were going, she’d lean over and kiss him any minute. Her hand rested on her abdomen and Maggie felt bare skin. Her pajamas might be sexless, but they also conveniently buttoned up the front, so he had easy access to her if he wanted. Again, she recalled how good their lovemaking had been and how she had thrilled to his hands and mouth on her. Her eyes drooped shut, and with a start she forced them open. Lying completely still, she listened, and after several long moments she discovered that Glenn had turned away from her and was sound asleep.

  An unexpected rush of disappointment filled her. He hadn’t even tried to make love to her. Without a thought, he had turned onto his side and gone to sleep! Bunching up her pillow, Maggie rolled onto her stomach, feeling such frustration that she could have cried. He didn’t want her, and as unreasonable as it sounded, Maggie felt discouraged and depressed. Her last thought as she turned out her light was that if Glenn reached for her in the night she would give him what he wanted … what she wanted.

  Sometime in the middle of the night Maggie woke. She was sleeping on her side, but had moved to the middle of the bed. Her eyes fluttered open, and she wondered what had caused her to wake when she felt so warm and comfortable. Glenn’s even breathing sounded close to her ear, and she realized that he was asleep, cuddling his body to hers. Contented and secure, she closed her eyes, and a moment later a male hand slid over her ribs, just below her breasts. When he pulled her close, fitting his body to hers, Maggie’s lashes fluttered open. Not for the first time, she was amazed at how perfectly their bodies fit together. Releasing a contented breath, Maggie shut her eyes and wandered back to sleep.

  Glenn woke in the first light of dawn with a serenity that had escaped him for months. That morning he didn’t mistake the warm body he was holding close. Maggie was responsible for his tranquillity of spirit, Glenn realized. He needed Maggie. During the night, her pajama top had ridden up and the urge to move his hand and trace the soft, womanly curves was almost overpowering. Maggie was all the woman he would ever want. She was everything he had ever hoped to find in a wife—a passionate, irresistible mistress with an intriguing mind and delectable body, who surrendered herself willingly. Her passion had surprised and pleased him. She hadn’t been shy, or embarrassed, abandoning herself to him with an eagerness that thrilled him every time he thought about it. She was more woman than he’d dared hope for, and he ached to take her again.

  In her sleep, Maggie shifted, and her breasts sprang free of the confining top. For an eternity he lay completely still. In his mind he pictured turning her onto her back and kissing her until her lips opened eagerly to his. With inhuman patience he would look into those dark, beautiful eyes and wait until she told him how much she wanted him.

  Groaning, he released her and rolled onto his back, taking deep breaths to control his frantic frustration. He had no idea how long it would be before he would have the opportunity to make love to his wife again. Two weeks, at least, maybe longer. Almost as overwhelming as the urge to make love to her was the one to cherish and protect her. She needed reassurance, and he knew
she needed time. Throwing back the blankets, he marched into the bathroom and turned on the cold water.

  Maggie woke at the sound of the shower running. Stirring, she turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling as the last dregs of sleep drained from her mind. She had been having the most pleasant erotic dream. One that caused her to blush from the roots of her dark hair to the ends of her toenails. Indecent dreams, maybe, but excruciatingly sensual. Perhaps it was best that Glenn was gone when she woke, she thought. If he had been beside her, she didn’t know what she would have done. She could well have embarrassed them both by reaching for him and asking him to make love to her before he returned to Charleston … alone.

  Taking advantage of the privacy, she dressed and hurriedly made the bed. By the time she had straightened the comforter across the mattress, Glenn reappeared.

  “Good morning,” he said as he paused just inside the bedroom, standing both alert and still as he studied her. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes,” she responded hastily, feeling like a specimen about to be analyzed, but a highly prized specimen, one that was cherished and valued. “What about you?” she asked.

  The hesitation was barely noticeable, but Maggie noticed. “Like a rock.”

  “Good. Are you hungry?” Her eyes refused to meet his, afraid of what hers would tell him.

  “Starved.”

  “Breakfast should be ready by the time you’ve finished dressing,” she said as she left the room. Glenn had showered last night, she remembered; she couldn’t recall him being overly fastidious. Shrugging, she moved down the long hall to the kitchen.

  The bacon was sizzling in the skillet when Glenn reappeared, dressed in dark slacks and a thick pullover sweater. Maggie was reminded once again that he was devastatingly handsome and experienced, and with a burst of pride, she remembered that he was married to her. At least legally, he was hers. However, another woman owned the most vital part of him—his heart. In time, Maggie trusted, she would claim that as well.