Regency Christmas Gifts

by Carla Kelly

  He smiled at the memory. “You threatened to thrash us both and should have done. I’d quite forgot.”

  He noticed tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t cry. I expect you’ve wept enough for both of us, especially for Olivia. You know I loved her with my whole heart, surely? I did all in my power to save her.”

  She nodded. “I know. I think I’ve always known that, but I needed someone to blame and there was only you.”

  “It’s all right. I understood.”

  She fussed with his covers again. “And now you love this girl, Amalie.” Her sigh was long and loud. “I don’t begrudge you, Alex. You should be happy. Olivia would want it and Amalie will be a good and loving mother to our boy. It’s only that I’ll miss David so dreadfully when you take him from me. I fear I shan’t be able to bear it.”

  Alex patted the hand she rested on his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll see that you and David will be together often.”

  She obviously wasn’t convinced as she turned to leave. “Mother Hilda?”

  She looked back at him, her eyes red and her mouth pressed tight.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, wanting to say more when he realized he was being perfectly honest, not just attempting to lighten her sadness. “And I thank you for being a parent to David in my absence. I wish I could repay you.”

  “It was my pleasure. My only joy.” She shrugged and left him alone to think how he could save her more grief. Anything but giving up his son to her again, he decided. He could not do that.

  But unless he went through with the marriage to Amalie, sacrificed his pride and lived off her wealth, how could he provide any kind of home for David? If he did go ahead with the wedding, how grandly would that reward Amalie for her selfless rescue of his son? The questions followed him into a restless sleep.

  Amalie could not be still. From the time she regained her wits and body warmth, she had been on her feet. The entire family followed her about as if she’d fall on her face at every turn. She was tired, her muscles aching and trembling like mad, but it felt so wonderful!

  “Why don’t you come away and leave him alone?” Michael asked in a loud whisper. “He’s bare as newborn and you can see his naked back! It’s not proper, Amie.”

  “Prude! It’s only a back.” But what a back it was, skin smooth, stretched tightly over great muscles she wanted to knead, to feel and stroke. Ah, she was in lust with the man. And in love with him, too.

  Love had not turned out to be what she’d once thought it, a blending of desire and admiration. It was that, too, of course, but also a driving need to put someone else before yourself, to trust completely, to protect, to console, to inspire, to adore. Gad, she was in over her head here as surely as she had been out there in the lake. Would Alex ever come to feel this way about her?

  At Michael’s urging, Amalie closed the door to Napier’s room after checking him for the twentieth time that day. Hours had passed and he still slept, but it looked to be the sleep of the damned the way he had tossed the covers. If only she could hold him in her arms right now and calm him. Imagining his shocked expression made her smile wryly.

  She could hardly wait for him to wake, for him to see how she could walk almost normally. What would he say about that? She wondered if he would praise her and like her now. Or would he feel the same envy that she had felt, seeing him upright on crutches?

  Michael took her arm and led her firmly back into the library where her parents were sitting. They looked on anxiously while her brother practically forced her onto the settee. Perhaps they feared she would not be able to get up again, that her walking today was a fluke that would reverse itself if she didn’t keep at it. Truth told, she had worried about that possibility herself.

  “So what will you do about the captain?” Michael asked, trying hard to sound merely conversational.

  She could see how important her answer was to him, however. Michael was never one to mask his feelings well. Neither was she. “Do you mean whether I intend to break off the engagement now that I’ve regained the ability to walk? Do you really think me that shallow, Michael? I shall marry the man, of course.”

  “He’ll want you to end it,” Michael warned. “He said as much to me, that when you recovered, he’d seek an annulment.”

  “Perhaps you should cry off,” her mother suggested. Her father was nodding in agreement.

  “Not if he should be bedridden the rest of his life!” Amalie declared. “If he refuses to marry me, I shall bring suit against him for breach of promise, see if I don’t!”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “One would think you were in love with the man!”

  Amalie smiled evenly. “One would think so, wouldn’t one?”

  His mouth dropped open. “Are you?”

  “No doubt,” Amalie said, meeting his and her parents’ identical looks of surprise. “All that remains is to convince him of it.” And she knew how.

  Chapter Eight

  Alex woke with a start, uncertain whether he had dreamed David’s near drowning, Amalie’s run for the lake, Hilda’s sudden devotion. All of it seemed too real to have been a dream, but it seemed so unlikely to have happened, he had to wonder.

  Slowly, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and saw his boots by the chair. The leather was dark, water soaked. No dream, then.

  David and Amalie might need him. He hopped to the small cupboard, gathered clothing and dressed as quickly as he could. There was nothing for it but to venture forth in his stocking feet since his boots were wet and he had no other footwear.

  He heard voices in the dining room and headed there. The whole family was seated and in the midst of a meal. Since they only ate there in the evenings, he reckoned he had slept most of the day.

  “Ah, here’s our good captain!” Harlowe announced, seeing him first.

  “Good evening,” Alex replied, heading for the empty chair next to Amalie. He passed David on the way and stopped to brush a hand over the lad’s head. “Are you feeling well, son?”

  “Aye, Da,” David said through a mouthful of food. “But I lost my skate. Will you fish it out for me?”

  “We’ll get you another,” Alex promised. “You’re certain you feel all right?” He pressed a hand to David’s forehead to check for fever. David smiled up at him, looking the rosy-cheeked picture of health for one who had been so near death only hours ago. Alex gently tweaked an ear. “I think you’ll do.”

  Amalie greeted him as he awkwardly took his seat, laying his crutches on the floor. “And how are you?” she asked, taking up her fork again as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “I feel like a slugabed, sleeping half the day. Have you rested?”

  “No, she has not!” Michael exclaimed. “We couldn’t hold her down once she found she could walk. She has driven us mad, skirting around the day long. Tell her she should not overtax herself, would you?”

  Alex placed his napkin in his lap and regarded Amalie with a serious look. “You should not overtax yourself.”

  She laughed, that merry sound he feared he’d not be able to live without. “Thank you, Dr. Napier.”

  Alex made no reply. Her words, though uttered in jest, settled in his head like a blessing. It was the first time he had been addressed as doctor in six years. And somehow, it felt quite right. He met Hilda’s steady and approving gaze across the table. She had forgiven him. And surprisingly, he found he had almost forgiven himself.

  He sat back a bit as a footman served his plate and he suddenly felt ravenous. Alex had figured out what he would do and turmoil was a thing of the past. He would set up to practice in Maidstone, living near Hilda and her sister so that she could be with David every day and Alex would have him in the evening. A perfect solution.

  Except that he would be too near Amalie for comfort. She would marry eventually, of course, and he would have to hear of it, perhaps see her and her new husband now and again as they came into town to shop. Somehow, he would have to live wit
h that.

  “Hurry and eat, Da, so we can have the pudding!” David demanded.

  Alex tried to dismiss the thought of losing Amalie, but it would not leave him alone. He drank more of the wine than he ought, trying to dull the edges of the emotions that warred within him. Elation that David had survived, that Amalie could walk, that Hilda had forgiven him, that his decision had been made. And the soul-deep sadness that he felt at the thought of relinquishing this family and the spirited young woman he had come to care for so deeply.

  He realized that he also was mourning the loss of hope he had tried so hard to keep alive. He would always be looked upon as a crippled man and could never run or ride or do so many of the things he had prided himself on before.

  But self-pity solved nothing. He must set a good example for his son and put a good face on his acceptance. What must be, must be, and that was that. Life was not what one made it, as he had once thought, but what you made of it.

  When everyone began to retire for the night, he did not seek a moment alone with Amalie to speak of breaking their betrothal. She was too enthralled with the newness of her astounding recovery and he did not want to spoil that with what she might view as a rejection.

  He would never be able to sleep. Aside from his chaotic emotions, he had slept most of the day. A good book should help. He asked Michael to choose one for him, then went to his room.

  The Serious Reflections of Robinson Crusoe, a rather dull sequel to one of Alex’s favorite novels, and perhaps the wine he’d consumed at supper, had his eyelids drooping before the first chapter ended. Sleep proved the great escape from all things, he supposed. He laid the moralistic tome aside and gave in.

  Amalie felt empowered, energized and able to do anything but rest on her laurels. She had not missed that expression of regret on Napier’s strong countenance all evening. He must be planning how he would set aside their agreement without causing a rift with her brother. No chance of that, she decided.

  Her old confidence had returned, doubled by determination. She must take matters into her own hands. He did not feel as strongly as she, but she loved enough for the both of them. She would see he never regretted their match.

  Several hours passed before the house grew quiet and everyone was asleep. Then she opened her bride’s chest and donned a night rail of sheerest batiste trimmed with webs of fine Brussels lace. Beneath it she wore nothing. She brushed her hair until it shone, her best feature a waterfall of pale gold that flowed over her shoulders and down her back.

  Carefully, she daubed spots of lavender water over her wrists, behind her ears and, in an added naughty afterthought, at the backs of her knees. Her reflection in the vanity mirror gave her a much needed boost of courage and returned her saucy grin.

  Amalie pulled on a robe and quietly stole out of her room and padded barefoot down the stairs to seduce her future husband. There would be no backing out of this match if she could help it. She moved slowly, mindful of how her leg muscles complained, resisting the day’s overuse. Determination drove her on.

  She checked whether light emanated from beneath his door. It did not. Good. He must be asleep for this to work, she thought.

  Her heart beat as rapidly as that of a trapped bird and her hand trembled as she opened his door, slipped inside and shut it behind her. Would he protest? Toss her out on her ear? Laugh at her inexperience?

  The bed on which he slept was small, too narrow for her to climb in and lie beside him. For several moments, she simply stood and watched him sleep. Moonlight from the window blanketed him with a glow of exaggerated light and shadow, an old master’s painting depicting the beauty of the male species. She could only see his upper half, hard muscles relaxed in slumber and pale smooth skin that beckoned her touch. His lips were slightly parted, his lashes lying like dark little fans, a lock of straight hair obscuring his wide forehead.

  As much as she hated to disturb his rest, she yearned to do so. Coupling would be new to her, a curious thing she wasn’t quite sure would be to her liking. But there was a heated need deep inside her that urged her to make it happen. What if he was unable? Oh, dear, she hadn’t considered that before now!

  Ridiculous thought. It was only his knee affected, she reminded herself. Hadn’t he warned her that was the only thing about him that didn’t work?

  She inhaled deeply, drawing in the heady scent of leather, her own lavender and the faint underlying touch of his particular essence. Smoothly as a wraith, she glided to the bed and gently lowered herself on top of him. Her lips found his, softly tracing them with the tip of her tongue.

  He groaned and sought more, his mouth opening to the kiss, his body moving sinuously beneath hers. He tasted of wine and passion, fueling her thirst for more.

  Her hands were flat against the mattress, bracing her upper body above his. She relaxed, bringing her breasts flat against the expanse of his chest. Goodness, that felt nice! She brushed her palms lightly over his face, down the strong column of his neck and over his wide shoulders. His muscles tensed under her touch.

  “Amalie?” he whispered, sounding rather choked. His palms slid up the sides of her hips and grasped her firmly. She could feel the ridge of his manhood, hard against her.

  She writhed slowly, allowing her legs to encompass his. “Love me,” she whispered near his ear.

  His sigh shuddered out as his fingers gathered the soft, thin cotton of her night rail to her waist, then higher. She raised her arms and he swept it off. She watched it drift to a moonlit heap on the floor. One of his hands slid between them, palm flat against her abdomen, lifting her slightly as the other dragged the blanket from between them, the only impediment to their lying skin to skin. Instead of removing his hand, he slid it lower, touching her intimately.

  Amalie closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. All thoughts of plying her wiles on him dissipated in a fog of heat. He needed no encouragement, she needed no expertise. This was magic with a life of its own.

  The caresses were all too brief and she almost cried out her protest when he withdrew his hand and reached for her knee. The other was already lifting. She felt him draw her higher and the part of him she wanted most nudged her intimately. Then she pushed down. A moment’s pain gained infinite pleasure.

  Then, deeply inside her, he finally spoke. “No dream.”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied, all but crying out the words. “Yes, it is.”

  He moved, as if to withdraw, but she held fast with her legs, her arms, her body, clinging as if her life depended upon it. He returned, a gentle thrust, then one not so gentle, moving in and almost out.

  Sounds emerged from her throat that might have been pleas, protests or intentions that had no words. Nothing mattered but the feelings he gave and took. She knew he was caught up as surely as she. The intensity of his movements heightened, as did hers, until she felt unable to bear it. Suddenly he rose under her with a deep, almost impaling thrust and a burst of heat flooded inside her. Her body shuddered violently with a pleasure so encompassing, she could not stop shaking. Again and again she undulated, clenching, pressing, grasping. And then it was over. Subtle echoes rippled through her, her breath catching at each occurrence.

  “Why?” he whispered, his fingers trailing lightly along her spine all the way to the base of it, triggering yet another spasm of ecstasy.

  She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. She could only feel.

  He nuzzled her neck and laid a soft kiss there. “Will you ever believe me now when I say I love you, not because you came to me in the night, or because you saved my son’s life? Can you trust that I felt so before this day and night ever happened?”

  Amalie groaned softly. “At the moment, I’d believe the earth flat as a baker’s paddle if you said so.”

  His laughter shook her gently as she lay inanimate as a blanket over him. “What a treasure you are.” His big hand squeezed one nether cheek. “But you’ll appear a tarnished treasure to your family if anyone finds you here. Whilst I’
m not complaining you came, this was not your wisest move.”

  “I know, but I love you dreadfully, however you might feel about me. I love your son. I even love your cantankerous mother-in-law. How wise is that?”

  He kissed her soundly and held her close as could be. When his lips left hers, he scored a path of kisses to her ear and nipped the lobe gently. “Save me from wise women, then. I can never let you go now, Amalie.”

  “I should hope not. Why should you?” She planted her elbows on either side of him and played with the lock of hair that fanned over his brow. “Because of your leg?”

  He nodded. “I admit now that I’ll never run or ride or do many of the things I used to, things that made me a whole man.”

  “Whole, indeed!” She smiled down at his earnest frown and kissed the tip of his nose. “Run? I cannot imagine any instance in which you would run from anything, Napier! And ride? Well, why shouldn’t you?”

  “One commands a horse with the knees, Amalie.”

  “Not so. I’ve ridden sidesaddle all my life, and while I am not suggesting you use my trappings and try that trick, you should do quite well if I teach you other ways to guide a mount.”

  His dark eyebrows met. “Well, of course there are other ways, but I hadn’t thought—”

  “Then think! And as for those other things—whatever those might be—I’m certain we’ll devise enough that you can do to keep you busy and out of the whisky bottle.”

  It was his turn to smile then and he did so as he lifted her and sat up. “Get your gown and go back to your bed. Michael will shoot me for certain if he suspects we’ve anticipated our vows.”

  She obediently swept up her night rail and slid it back on. “At least there will be vows. No more cock-brained notions of crying off or annulling me.” She sat down on the edge of his bed and placed a hand over his heart. “You love me. You cannot let me go.”

  “And you wouldn’t allow it even if I could.”