by Jane Goodger
For several long moments, they clung together, feeling their tremors, the wonderful warmth of their bodies. Finally, she lifted her head from his shoulder and kissed him.
“You look happy,” she said. His face was flushed and damp from the steamy bath, making him look even younger than his twenty-eight years.
“I am. How could I not be?”
“Thank you,” she said, kissing him lightly.
“The pleasure was mine.”
“And mine,” she said rather saucily. Then she let out a shiver.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said, rising up, completely comfortable to be naked in front of her. She stood, too, feeling almost as if he was daring her to, and he laughed.
“You delight me,” he said, and pulled her to him, kissing her loudly.
After they were dried and safely in bed, she lay curled up in his arms, loving his warmth and strength. She leaned up on one elbow, and brushed a kiss on his smiling lips. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” she said, laughing at his mock look of horror.
“I didn’t go to New York to see my father. I went to New York to kill that man.”
“You what?”
“I bought a pistol in Liverpool and planned to shoot him when I got to New York. Then the storm hit and we nearly died. I know I’ve made light of it, but it truly was the most terrifying experience of my life. And after it was over and we made it safely ashore, I realized that life was too precious to allow myself to be miserable about something that hardly seemed important anymore. I knew if I told you the truth and you rejected me, then it would be a flaw in you, not me. And you, sir, are perfect.”
“Maggie-mine, I am completely imperfect. And I’m afraid I have my own confession.”
He seemed entirely too serious, and Maggie was instantly worried. “What? You are actually married and have a mad wife somewhere in Scotland.”
“You read too many books. No, nothing as dramatic as that.” He smiled at her, then stared at the ceiling, his beautiful blue eyes filled with a sadness that tugged at Maggie’s heart. “It’s just that when I learned of your ship sinking, there was a time when I didn’t know whether there were any survivors or not. I did not take it…well.”
He turned to her, his head resting on his hand, his eyes sweeping her face. “I’m afraid I love you a bit more than is prudent. I did try not to. So you must promise me you’ll never do anything foolish, and if I insist you see a doctor for the sniffles, you will see a doctor. And if you carry our child, you are to do nothing more strenuous than, say, read a book.”
Maggie couldn’t help herself, she giggled. “I can see you are going to be a very difficult husband. A tyrant, even.”
“Yes. I am sorry, but I cannot help myself.”
Maggie leaned over and kissed his lips, little pecks until he was chuckling. “I suppose I could live with such a tyrant. But you must promise me one thing,” she said solemnly.
“Anything.”
“You must promise we’ll always be this happy.”
“I promise.”
“And you’ll love me forever?”
“Forever.”
“And you’ll never get angry with me?”
“I promise to love you forever.”
They both laughed, for that is what they did best together.
Epilogue
Amelia looked at her calendar, a surging desperation making her feel quite ill. It was the first of June and still Carson had not sent for her. She’d begun to doubt their plans. Had he said specifically that he would send for her, or was she supposed to go to him whether or not she received word? The fact that she must rely on the not always reliable post was maddening.
Suppose he sent for her and she never got the missive? Suppose he was already waiting for her in Texas and she was here in England ridiculously waiting for a letter that would never come? And then he’d come to the conclusion she didn’t love him any more, which couldn’t be further from the truth. She loved him more now than when he’d said good-bye and one of her greatest regrets was being so ridiculously adamant about keeping her virginity for her wedding day. Now it seemed so petty and shortsighted and wrong to have denied him that.
So she waited for him, and he was likely waiting for her, and they would never see each other again simply because some inept person lost her letter. It was beyond bearing.
Oh, why hadn’t the letter arrived?
Even though Edward wasn’t being mean about it, he did ask quite often whether anything interesting had arrived in the post. As if she wouldn’t have gone straight to him if the letter had arrived. Edward, stubborn, besotted man, refused to let her make any travel arrangements until the letter arrived. Just to thwart him, she’d been packed for weeks and would be ready to depart within hours of receiving news from Carson.
“What if the letter got lost?” she’d said two weeks ago, when her gut was twisting after yet another post came with nothing but silly invitations to silly season events.
“I’m sure that is a possibility,” Edward said, rather indulgently, like an adult telling her the same about Santa Claus.
“If the letter was lost, Carson would be waiting in Small Fork for me right now thinking I have spurned him.”
“Or perhaps there is no letter,” Edward said, saying aloud what Amelia was certain he believed all along.
“How can you say that? He is my intended. He loves me. He asked me to marry him. Would you ask a girl to marry you that you did not want?”
“Of course not,” he said, “but I am not Carson.”
“No. You are not. Carson is a much better man than you. I’m quite certain he would never cast aspersions at your character the way you are casting them at his.”
Edward had given her a withering look, but otherwise did not respond.
Oh, how she hated not knowing. She knew in her heart that Carson had sent a letter and was awaiting word of her arrival.
Amelia sat at her desk, the morning sun streaming through her window, making her uncomfortably warm. It was unusually warm for this early in the summer. She’d heard Texas was warm, but she didn’t know how warm. She hoped it wasn’t as hot as London in July, for that was nearly unbearable. It was probably lovely there, and green, with flowers blooming and streams bubbling over with cool water. She smiled wistfully, tapping her pen against her mouth.
She had no idea how long it took to travel from London to Texas. No more than three weeks, certainly, with train travel so advanced in America. Maggie told her one could take a train nearly everywhere. If only the letter would arrive. It had to, it just had to.
She just knew they would be even more happy than Edward and Maggie, if that were possible. Seeing them get married only made Amelia want it more for herself. She was dreadfully lonely and feeling very much out of sorts with Maggie as the new mistress of the Hanover Square home. Not that Amelia had ever acted the mistress, but servants did often come to her with questions about the household. Now they went to Maggie. It was a small thing, really, and not that bothersome, but it did make Amelia realize that she wanted her own home to manage.
In two weeks, her brother and his new bride would be taking an extensive honeymoon to the Continent and she would travel back to Meremont quite alone but for the servants. Lady Matilda and the children would not be back at Meremont until August and it would be terribly lonely there.
Edward was finishing up final details of his travel arrangements for his honeymoon. Maggie pressed up against him as they discussed where they would stay and which countries they would visit. They were leaving in one week and still did not know precisely where they were going. Every time he mentioned a country as a possibility, she would say, “Oh, yes, let’s go there.” At present they had a list of ten countries to visit and would be gone four years.
“We have to whittle this down a bit, Maggie-mine, else by the time we return, we’ll be old and doddering.”
“All right, then, Italy, France, and…Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?”
“Don’t they have glorious mountains there? I want to see that.”
He smiled indulgently. “Italy, France, and Switzerland it is.”
She kissed him soundly. “Perhaps one day we can go to more exotic places.”
“Next year. We’ll go to a new place each summer. Until we have too many babies to carry with us.”
Maggie looked at him in mock horror, but Edward knew she was getting used to the idea of having children running about. “I suppose I will like them if they are mine. Mother says that’s what happened to her.”
“You will be a wonderful mother,” he said, looking up at her. He put his hand behind her head and drew her down for a long, drugging kiss. They broke apart when they heard an ear-shattering squeal from the hall.
Seconds later, Amelia burst into the room waving a piece of paper in her hand. Edward knew, from the large black wax seal, who it was from. “It’s come! It’s come! He’s sent for me.”
“How wonderful,” Maggie said, and Edward looked at her sharply, because damned if she didn’t sound sincere. He thanked God every day that the post came and didn’t have a letter from Carson. Even though he knew his little sister’s heart was breaking, he felt in his bones that a letter would never come. Now he’d been proved wrong.
Amelia hugged the letter to her chest. “I told you he’d write,” she said fiercely to Edward. “You didn’t believe it.”
“I did have my doubts. I still don’t know if you should go.”
“What?” Amelia said, nearly hysterically. “I’m going. I’m leaving tomorrow, in fact. Or as soon as I can book passage. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” She looked almost about to cry at the prospect that she couldn’t leave immediately.
“You don’t have to leave as quickly as all that. It will take a while to pack your things. Especially if you are leaving forever….” Edward let his voice drift off. Forever. He might never see his little sister again, he realized. Texas seemed so very far away; the other side of the earth practically.
“I’m not leaving forever. Texas isn’t China, for goodness’ sake,” Amelia said, so excited to have her letter she couldn’t begin to feel sad about leaving everything behind. She was simply insanely in love, and unfortunately, Edward could sympathize. But Texas. And Carson Kitteridge.
“Could you have your secretary book me passage as soon as possible? It took forever for the letter to arrive and I fear Carson is already expecting me. Oh, I should write to him immediately and tell him of my departure.”
She flew from the room, still clutching the letter to her breast, happy beyond measure.
Two days later, she was gone.
The house seemed empty without his little sister grumbling and complaining and shrieking her excitement about something.
“I shall miss her,” Edward said, pausing as he handed a maid his favorite pair of cuff links to be packed. “She was all I had of family for a long time.”
Maggie came up behind her husband and hugged him, and he placed a strong hand on hers. Thank God he had Maggie, for he would have been quite a bit more despondent this day without her.
“She is well out to sea now and probably so excited she’ll probably want to jump off the ship before it safely docks,” Maggie said, laughing. “I do hope she’s done the right thing.”
Edward let out a breath. “I couldn’t forbid her to go. I wanted to.” He turned so that he was embracing Maggie. “Did I do the right thing? Damn, I just don’t trust the man. But he did ask to marry her.”
“I think if you had forbidden her to go to him, she would have found a way on that ship despite you. And instead of having a maid and extra funds with her, she’d be quite alone and nearly destitute. It’s better this way. You did the right thing, Edward. She’s a grown woman.” When he gave her a disbelieving look, she continued. “She’ll be twenty years old in a few months. She’s only two years younger than I.”
“But you seem ancient compared to her,” he lamented.
Maggie gave him a swat. “I’m ancient, am I?”
Edward chuckled and kissed his beautiful wife. “I love every ancient inch of you.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir.”
They turned to see a maid standing nervously in the doorway, holding what looked like the letter Carson had written to his sister.
Edward took the folded paper, looked at the bold black seal, one that Amelia had noted, all misty-eyed, proclaiming even that black wax blob something wonderful. The address was written in a rather feminine hand, something Edward hadn’t noted with the first letter, which Amelia carried about with her for days and forced him to read. Twice.
He looked at the maid, who worried her hands in the apron covering her dress.
“There ain’t no writing, sir. It’s blank.”
Did you miss Elizabeth’s and Randall’s story?
Then pick up and enjoy
MARRY CHRISTMAS.
A Christmas wedding to the Duke of Bellingham. Any other socialite in Newport, Rhode Island, would be overjoyed at the prospect, but Elizabeth Cummings finds her mother’s announcement as appealing as a prison sentence. Elizabeth has not the slightest desire to meet Randall Blackmore, let alone be bartered for an English title. Her heart belongs to another, and the duke’s prestige, arrogance, and rugged charm will make no difference to her plans of elopement.
Against his expectations and desires, Randall Blackmore has inherited a dukedom and a vast estate that only marriage to an heiress can save. Selling his title to the highest bidder is a wretched obligation, but to Randall’s surprise his intended bride is pretty, courageous, delightfully impertinent—and completely uninterested in becoming a Duchess. Yet suddenly, no other woman will do, and a marriage in name only will never be enough for a husband determined to win his wife in body, heart, and soul…
“Miss Cummings. Is that you?”
She jerked her head up and took an extraordinarily short time to compose herself before walking toward him. From the tree.
“Would you care to stroll with me?” Rand asked.
“Actually, I’m getting a bit chilled and was going back inside,” she said, and continued walking by him toward the house. He grabbed her arm firmly, ignoring her small cry of outrage, and steered her away from the house. Some girls might have screamed, but Elizabeth it seemed had been well-schooled on the art of not creating a scene.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to join me.” He looked down at her and she stared straight ahead. She was such a stalwart little thing, he nearly smiled.
“We had a beech tree like that in our garden growing up. Much larger, though. It was a wonderful place to hide. I imagine they were imported from Europe.”
“I believe so,” she said, her voice sounding strange.
“A perfect place for a tryst.”
She stiffened next to him. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t you,” he said blandly.
“I want to go back inside now.”
“That is too bad.”
Her arm felt slim beneath his hand and he thought he felt the slightest trembling. Good. He wanted her afraid at this moment, he wanted her to feel as much discomfort as he had when he realized she was beneath that damned tree with Henry Ellsworth.
Finally, they reached the end of the lawn and stopped. She crossed her arms in front of her as if she were the affronted one.
“I do not want you seeing him again,” he said, before he even realized what he was going to say.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Ah, she was getting her fire back. He smiled at her, which only made her frown more fiercely.
“Henry Ellsworth. The man you think you love.”
She gasped and his smile widened.
“You are rude,” she said, “How dare you imply—” She stopped and let out a breath, and he watched as myriad emotions crossed her features. Then, lifting her chin, the effect of which was ruined by the slight quivering there, she said, “Yes, w
e love each other. And you are keeping us apart.”
“You cannot love him. You cannot love anyone you have not been with for more than ten minutes at a time. I am always amazed how quickly foolish girls fall in love.”
“I am not foolish and I am not a girl. You cannot know what is in my heart, or his.”
He stepped to her, their bodies only inches apart. They were so close, he could feel her panicked breath, coming out in short puffs, hitting his throat. “Have you been kissed?”
His question seemed to startle her. “I don’t know how you mean.”
“Tonight. Have you been kissed?” he ground out.
“Henry would never take such liberties. He is a gentleman,” she said, lifting her head imperiously.
The relief he felt was staggering, and extremely disconcerting. “I’m very glad to hear it,” he said. “Because I daresay I wouldn’t want my mouth touching yours if you had.”
With one quick motion, he pulled her to him, giving her perhaps two seconds to scream her protest before pressing his lips against hers. She kept her mouth shut tight, her body stiff against his as he moved his mouth gently against hers even as he held her relentlessly in his arms. “It doesn’t matter whether you enjoy this or not,” he said against her lips, feeling angry and perverse and jealous beyond measure. “Your friend beneath the tree is likely watching and cannot know you hate me. He did not steal a kiss and now he must watch you willingly kiss me.” She gasped and he chuckled lightly.
“I do hate you,” she said. “I will never willingly touch you. I will never willingly kiss you. You make my skin crawl.”
Rand lifted a hand to her face, holding her so loosely she could easily have wrenched free. He moved a thumb along her full bottom lip and felt her tremble beneath him. “You’re trembling,” he said softly, mesmerized by the way her mouth felt beneath his thumb.
“I’m cold. And frightened.”
He smiled, his eyes looking into hers. “Yes, you are,” he said. “But not for the reasons you think.” He stepped back, releasing her and thought for just a moment she might actually rear back and slap him, but she restrained herself. Frankly, he thought he deserved a good slap.
