Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3)

by Royal, Lauren

  How clever his new wife was.

  He blew out the candle and crawled into bed, cuddling against her sleep-heavy form. Slipping an arm about her waist, he pulled her closer, inhaling the faint lavender scent of her freshly bathed skin. Flickering light from the fireplace danced over her face and brought out golden glints in her dark-red hair. Brushing soft curls from her face, he leaned up to kiss her cheek.

  She shifted, emitting a tiny moan that brought a smile to his lips.

  He kissed her ear.

  She stretched beside him like a contented cat, with a low-pitched purr to match.

  What time was it? Three in the morning? Four? No matter, he wouldn't waste these last hours with her by sleeping. He rolled her over and kissed her full on the lips.

  "Mmm," she breathed into his mouth. Her arms entwined around his neck, and her lips opened beneath his. He swept his tongue inside. Lord, she tasted so sweet.

  He nibbled her lower lip, feeling her truly awaken. Her breathing changed, and her mouth answered his, making his pulse speed, the blood rush faster through his veins. He'd never had a woman affect him so, not even...

  Nay, he wouldn't think about her. After all these years, whatever had brought her to mind? She was long out of his life, and Kendra was here instead.

  Sweet Kendra, writhing beneath him now. She was the only woman he wanted. He moved to caress her breast through the pristine white night rail she wore—then stopped cold.

  He was man enough to be patient, and he'd been patient so far. He'd ruin everything by moving too soon.

  Her eyes fluttered open, a question in their fathomless depths. She reached a hesitant finger to touch his bottom lip, the sensation as light as a whisper.

  And he nearly exploded.

  But he wouldn't go back on his word. Though the thought of weeks apart made him physically ache, he wouldn't risk what little trust he'd built between them. He had a lifetime ahead to touch her, to make love to her—when she was ready. And he had no doubt she'd be ready eventually, maybe even soon...

  But bloody hell, it was so hard to wait.

  For long minutes, he just kissed her. His own hands remained still while hers wandered his back, skimmed his sides, frantically tried to wedge themselves between their bodies. His nerves rippled in response, but still he only kissed her. Forever, it seemed, until he felt her straining toward him and a mewling sound of want escaped her lips.

  "Trick?" she asked breathlessly, the name warm against his mouth.

  "Hmm?"

  "Can you not...touch me?"

  He pulled back and gazed into glassy light-green eyes. "Nay, I cannot," he said, though he had to force the words past his lips. "Should I touch you, I may not be able to help doing more. And I promised I wouldn't seduce you in bed." He teased her lips with his. "But you like the kissing, aye?"

  Her hands tightened in the hair at his nape. "Oh, heavens, yes. I like it. I just want—"

  "Hmm?" His tongue traced her trembling mouth. Let her ask for it. "What do you want, leannan?"

  "I...I don't know," she whispered, burying her face against his neck.

  "You know," he said softly. "We both know. Say it, Kendra."

  Instead of saying it, she took a ragged breath and released it with a shudder.

  "It won't hurt, lass. It was just that first time, I promise. It won't ever hurt again."

  Kendra felt the words, the promise, vibrate in his throat. She ached for him—truly she did. But what good were promises from a man she couldn't trust? And even if he were right—even if it wouldn't hurt—how could she share her body with a man who refused to share his life?

  She was touching him now, but she wasn't really. Her hands were upon his body, but she had yet to reach him where it counted. A barrier stood between them, and she couldn't bring herself to risk the crossing.

  He had built it. He would have to be the one to bring it down.

  "What do you want?" he asked again.

  "I want—" She turned her head away, staring up at the underside of Trick's red silk canopy. Not hers. No matter how many times he insisted that what was his was hers as well, she didn't feel that way in her heart. Not while he kept the most important thing of all from her.

  Himself.

  "I want to go to sleep," she whispered.

  He trailed his fingers lightly across her cheek. "One more kiss?"

  "I think...no," she said on a sigh. Another kiss would only make her more sad, and the lump in her throat was hard to bear already. She rolled away from him, turning her back. "Good night," she whispered.

  The words seemed to hover in the heavy air of the still room.

  After a moment he snuggled against her, and she could feel the hardness that said without words just how much he wanted her. "Do you think you might miss me, lassie?"

  A groan rose from a place where she ached deep inside, and he went to sleep with a smile on his face.

  She knew, because after his breathing evened out in the pattern of slumber, she turned and gazed upon him, filling herself with the sight of him to hold her through the weeks ahead.

  It took her longer than ever to drift off that night, and when she awakened, he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "Mrs. Kendra?"

  "Yes, Thomas?" Kneeling in the grass by little Susanna, Kendra squinted up at the impish towhead.

  "We're athletes in the Olympic games, am I right?"

  "That's the idea."

  "Well, then..." A gleam came into his sparkling blue eyes as his hands went to the fabric draped over his shoulder. "Shouldn't we be naked?"

  "Leave that on, you rapscallion!" She was hard put not to laugh at his pout. "I never said we were strictly authentic."

  "Aw, all right." With a mischievous grin, he ran off.

  "Stand still, Susanna." Kendra tucked the girl's "toga" more tightly, smiling to herself. Luckily her lessons hadn't covered fashion, so her students were ignorant of the fact that the Greeks had worn solid colors, not brightly flowered calico. "There you go."

  "My thanks, Mrs. Kendra."

  "You're very welcome." She patted Susanna's blond curls and stood, knowing as she sent her off that the girl would be back in a few minutes to be tucked in again.

  She'd learned that togas weren't the ideal clothing for young children.

  That was her only miscalculation, though—the rest of the party had gone brilliantly. The children's retelling of their favorite myths had been riotous. Now they were participating in Olympic "games," and the victory wreaths she had woven from laurel leaves might as well have been solid gold crowns considering how much they were cherished. Fortunately, she'd brought enough for everyone, and she was not above fixing the contests to see that each child came out a winner.

  The party was a wild success, and they hadn't even feasted yet. Nor had she distributed the favors. Her baskets of goodies were still hiding beneath a blanket in the caleche, and she couldn't wait to see the children's faces when they received them.

  Wrapped in stately blue stripes, young Andrew tugged on her toga. "Who are you, Mrs. Kendra?"

  "Why, Hera, of course." She looked down into adoring dark eyes—his crush had not abated over the weeks. "Do you remember who she was?"

  "Zeus's wife," he said proudly. "And the protector of marriage."

  "Very good," she returned, although, for her, the job description seemed an ill fit at best.

  Rather than protecting her marriage, she'd sent her husband off alone. She should have argued until he agreed to let her go with him. Surely if she'd put up a fight, he would have relented—her brothers almost always did. But she'd never really tried.

  Andrew shifted on his feet, looking shy. "I memorized one of the poems about her."

  "Did you?"

  He nodded and began to quote.

  "Golden-throned Hera, among immortals the queen,

  Chief among them in beauty, the glorious lady

  All the blessed in high Olympus revere,

  Honor
even as Zeus, the lord of the thunder."

  He finished with an awkward bow that should have brought a smile to Kendra's lips. But in contrast to the Hera of the poem, she was feeling anything but glorious at the moment.

  "Mrs. Kendra? Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine, Andrew." Amazed at the young man's perception, she forced a smile. "Mrs. Jackson is organizing a chariot race," she said brightly, glancing over to where the buxom woman was lining up four wheelbarrows. "I imagine a tall, strong boy like you, with little Susanna in his chariot, could come out a winner. Run along now—I'm fine."

  But despite how well the party was going, she wasn't fine at all.

  Trick should have been here. He was supposed to have been Zeus.

  He'd made this happen, repeatedly risking his life to feed and shelter these boys and girls. Her gaze followed Andrew as he joined the other laughing children. None of them, herself included, would be here today without Trick.

  Hera had always been zealously covetous of Zeus, and God help her, she missed her man.

  When Kendra arrived home, she stopped only long enough to switch her toga for a riding habit and grab a key from Trick's desk drawer. Then she ran to the stables, mounted Pandora, and fairly flew over the Downs to the cottage.

  Once inside, she could almost smell him. Since this morning when she'd awakened in his home, something—his vibrancy—had been missing. Instead of feeling free, she'd felt bereft.

  But here in the cottage, she could feel his presence. Unlike Amberley House, this clearly wasn't designed by his father. Trick's personal style was stamped on the walls, the floors, every piece of furniture.

  It was astonishing the loss she felt, given she'd known him only a few weeks. Just when she was beginning to form a fragile bond with him, he'd left. She strode straight to unlock the drawer and dig to the bottom.

  The poetry was gone.

  She riffled through all the papers to make sure. Gone, all of it. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her heart sinking along with her. Not only was her one link to him missing, he was clearly intent on keeping her at arm's length.

  Rushed to begin a long journey to a foreign land, he'd nonetheless taken the time to stop and remove the pages. Remove any possibility that by reading his words, she might discover who he was, deep inside.

  She couldn't allow him to isolate himself like that. Not if they were to live a lifetime together.

  She should have gone with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  "He left," Kendra told Caithren the next afternoon. "He had no choice."

  "Of course he didn't." Cait stopped beneath one of Amberley's many arbors and played with the ends of her dark-blond hair. "But why didn't you go along?"

  "He didn't want me." Kendra squinted at her sister-in-law in the shadows. "Isn't this the loveliest garden?" Her gesture encompassed more than the vine-covered walkway. "The head gardener told me it was designed by Salaman de Caux himself."

  "Salaman who?"

  "De Caux. The celebrated Frenchman. Have you not heard of him?"

  "Nay. My garden at Leslie was filled with herbs and vegetables." Cait's lips turned up in a self-deprecating smile. "Nary a posy in sight."

  Amberley House's gardens were the most extensive Kendra had ever seen. Geometric configurations of flower beds, knots, and borders surrounded a lake where fishes darted beneath the clear water. Avenues lined with painted and gilded stone lions flanked a massive bowling green. Walls of fruit trees divided the charming wilderness garden from those more formal, like the privy garden they were heading toward.

  As they strolled from the arbor into the sunshine, her gaze trailed to the massive mansion that loomed over it all. "I'm afraid Trick's father depleted his entire fortune building this place."

  "Has Trick said so?"

  "Not in so many words," she said, hesitating to say more. Confiding Trick's financial instability might lead to speculation about his continuing highway robbery.

  "Then I wouldn't assume so," Cait said. "The estate is very impressive, but then, Trick is a duke. And you're very good at changing the subject."

  Kendra flashed her a wry smile. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice." She reached overhead to pluck off a fragrant flower, worrying its soft petals between her fingers. "Part of me still cannot believe I'm married. Do you know, even as we rode away that day, I was sure Colin would come riding after us to say it was all an elaborate joke. I'd convinced myself the parson was in on it—that somehow the ceremony wasn't valid."

  "But it was."

  "I was furious. I still am. I don't feel like talking to my brothers—any of them." Her voice dropped. "Then I found myself alone with Trick, and still I didn't quite believe it."

  "How did it go? The first night, I mean."

  "Not well." She looked away, studying the way the light filtered through the leafy canopy of a yew. "Did it hurt you very much that first time?"

  "I suppose it did, but only that first time, of course. And I was in no state to take notice of it overmuch."

  "Well, is Jason very...big?"

  Caithren's eyes widened. "Crivvens, what a question! I've nothing to compare him to, aye? I can only say that to look at him, he seems too big, but he always seems to fit just fine." Her half-embarrassed laugh rang through the garden; then she focused on Kendra, shading her hazel eyes with a hand. "It went better for you the second time, I expect. Surely it didn't hurt."

  Kendra bit her lip. "There hasn't been a second time."

  "What?" If possible, Cait's eyes widened even more. "You've been married almost three weeks!"

  "I won't let him. He...we don't fit. Not everyone does, I expect. In fact, I wonder now why it is that men insist on wedding virgins. You'd think they'd want to try the woman out first and make sure it will work."

  "It will work, Kendra." Cait bit her own lip, but clearly not in consternation—rather to keep from laughing. "By all the saints, did your brothers not tell you anything? Jason will hear from me about this."

  "Please, no." Kendra felt her face heat. "He'd make fun of me all my days. What is it he failed to tell me?"

  "It hurts most women at first. But only the once, aye? Only that first time, when your maidenhead—"

  "I may have heard that word." Kendra frowned. "But I never knew what it meant."

  "It's a membrane, inside every woman. Every virgin, that is. You could say it guards your entrance. I read once that it's properly called a hymen."

  "Hymen is the Greek god of the wedding feast."

  "Really? How fitting." Caithren cleared her throat. "Now, the first time you make love it is torn, and you bleed—"

  "I did," Kendra whispered.

  "But you won't next time. And it won't hurt, either, because the maidenhead will be gone. And he'll fit, I promise."

  Trick had been telling the truth, then. A wave of relief washed over Kendra, tempered by a stab of regret. She should have believed him.

  And now she really wished she'd gone with him.

  In obvious wonder, Cait shook her head. "Almost three weeks."

  And another month, Kendra thought, until he'd be back. Remembering his kisses, the way he'd made her feel last night—the way she'd nearly given in—she could barely stifle a groan.

  Cait knelt to inspect some bell-shaped flowers. "He must be the most patient man on earth," she murmured. "Even I could see how much he wanted you. However did you manage to keep him away?"

  Kendra gave an evasive shrug. "We were strangers. We still are."

  "You will come to know each other. Just give him another chance." She frowned down at the plant. "You have dwale growing here!"

  "Dwale?"

  "Black nightshade. Belladonna. Look." She waited until Kendra knelt beside her, then skimmed a fingertip over a dingy purplish flower with a berry in its base. "Do you see these dark green leaves? They're lethal. It's said that Macbeth poisoned a whole army of Danes by calling a false truce and then offering them liquor mixed with an infusion of d
wale."

  "Then why is it here in the garden?"

  "Used properly, the root makes a good liniment. It's the leaves and berries that are poison." When Kendra reached out, Cait held back her hand. "Don't touch. It's possible to fall ill without even eating it."

  "What sort of ill?"

  "Shock, fever, slowed breathing, dilated eyes, stomach pain—"

  "Enough." She shuddered. In the year since Caithren had arrived, she'd taught Kendra many uses for herbs and plants. But Kendra wouldn't take a chance on misusing this one. "I shall tell the gardener to remove it."

  "Make sure he wears gloves." Cait stood and brushed her hands on her rose-colored skirts. "Now tell me about you and Trick. Besides the problem in the bedchamber."

  Kendra met her sister-in-law's gaze. "He's just...well, I don't understand him, Cait. We didn't wed under the best of circumstances. For either of us."

  "Nay, you didn't. But Jase is convinced you'll be happy. Or so he claims."

  "Does he?" Even though she'd come to accept her life here at Amberley, the anger rushed back. "What possible excuse could he have for deceiving me the way he did? Not even telling me Trick was a duke, for God's sake!"

  "I asked him the same thing myself after the whole story came out. He claims you would never have married Trick if you'd known he was a duke."

  She gritted her teeth. "I hate it when he's right."

  "He also said catching you two in a compromising position was a godsend, because Trick would never have consented to court you even if Jason had suggested it. He claimed not to want a wife."

  "Not in the near future," Kendra admitted darkly.

  "Jason told me his hand was forced, because he knew you two suited perfectly."

  "Well, there's where he was wrong." Trick might be a good kisser and tolerant of her non-traditional interests, but a man who refused to share his true self would never suit her perfectly. Regardless of whether they might fit in bed.

  For a long moment, Caithren was silent. "You must give Trick another chance in your bed," she finally said. "And I hope you'll forgive Jase. He loves you. He's been watching you. He'd never forgive himself if it turned out you were unhappy."