Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7

by Ramona Flightner

  “How are you?” he asked. He stiffened and then curled an arm around her as she snuggled into his embrace. He pulled her close, keeping his arms around her loose so as not to provoke any pain. As he held her, the tension left his body as she relaxed into him.

  “Why are you here?” she asked against his chest.

  “When I learned you’d been arrested and sent to jail, I immediately traveled here,” he said as one of his hands rose to play with her long hair.

  “Why? I ran away.” She pushed her head harder against his chest. “I don’t …”

  He eased her away from him, sadness in his gaze at her grimace with the movement. “You don’t …” he coaxed. He closed his eyes for a moment in frustration. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t expect you to talk when your throat hurts.”

  She raised trembling hands to his face and eventually covered his mouth. “No. Stop talking.” A tremulous smile flitted across her lips. She grunted as she pushed herself away so that she could see him better. She gripped his arm, and her legs moved to keep contact with him. “I ran away, and I promised I never would.”

  “No, you didn’t, Parthena,” he rasped.

  “Maybe not out loud to you. But I made that promise to myself.” She stroked a hand over his cheek before dropping her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

  “We don’t need to speak now. It’s enough for me that you are in my arms.” He eased her forward again. “Let me hold you.”

  “Forgive me,” she whispered in a groggy voice. “Forgive me for giving into my fears.” She said no more as she fell asleep in his arms.

  Parthena sat curled on a chaise longue in the sitting room of the suite she shared with Morgan. She thought about the previous two days and nights, where he had rarely been far from her. He’d read to her, told her stories about his youth and held her as she slept. Each morning she awoke more rested, with her head on his shoulder. She placed a hand against her stomach, fighting panic and another foreign sensation she refused to name.

  “Come in,” she called out at the knock on the parlor door. “Zee! Rowena!” she exclaimed. She remained seated when her friends entered and waved at her to remain on the chaise. Her astute gaze roamed over Zylphia, and she frowned. “It’s been one week, yet you look terrible.”

  Rowena’s inquisitive gaze roved between her two friends, her gaze sharpening to see the difference in recovery between Zylphia and Parthena. Whereas Parthena appeared close to prime health again, Zylphia seemed to be near collapse. “What more happened to you, Zee, to prevent you from recovering like Parthena?”

  “I’m fine,” Zylphia said in a low voice. She shared a look with Parthena. “I’m still not able to speak at my full volume.”

  “I imagine Teddy is appreciative of that,” Parthena teased. Her smile froze when Zylphia stiffened.

  “My husband has returned to Boston.” She met her friends’ shocked gazes. “He left the day before yesterday.”

  Rowena gasped at the news.

  Parthena gripped Zylphia’s hand. “Why? He had to have been as worried as Morgan. They helped fund the lawyer who freed us.”

  Zylphia shook her head, her gaze focused on the windows. “We fought, like we always do. I barely gave him a chance to speak before inciting his anger.” She laid her head back against her chair.

  Parthena watched her friend closely. “Why didn’t you seek his comfort? I can’t imagine not wanting my husband’s comfort.” She blushed at Zylphia’s startled gaze and Rowena’s intrigued glance.

  Zylphia closed her eyes. Tears leaked out, and she swiped at her cheeks. “I don’t even know what he would have done if I hadn’t angered him. If I hadn’t agreed with the women from Cameron House.”

  “Teddy was beside himself,” Rowena said, “from the moment he arrived in DC. He worked tirelessly to find a way to ensure your freedom.” Rowena shook her head incredulously at Zylphia. “Do you know how tormented he was upon hearing about your treatment at the workhouse? About your force-feedings? I’ve never seen a man so miserable. Why would you continue to argue with him? It makes no sense.”

  “How could you side with them when they kept you separated from your husband?” Parthena asked, not allowing Zylphia to answer Rowena. “Morgan advised me they kept Teddy away for an entire day.”

  Zylphia shrugged. “I’m sure they had their reasons. They were caring for me and only wanted what was best for me.”

  “Zylphia, you’re not speaking sense,” Rowena said. “That’s Teddy’s role. No matter how much you’ve argued, he loves you. He wanted to care for you. He wanted to hold you as you recovered. You denied him that.” Rowena shook her head in confusion at her friend. “I know I’m not married, but I’ve always envisioned that was part of the reason for marrying—to depend on the other in times of grief or trial. I thought you would have realized what was truly important during your time at O.”

  Rowena and Parthena watched as Zylphia seemed to shrink into herself. Rather than fight back and justify her actions, she curled into herself.

  “If you’d bothered to listen to him,” Rowena said, “to seek out his aid rather than to incite his anger, you would have realized he had every intention of bowing to your wishes.” Rowena’s cheeks reddened from her irritation.

  Rowena’s proclamation roused Zylphia. “That’s patently false, and you know it.”

  Rowena met Zylphia’s glare and shook her head. “No. He regretted the constant arguing, the distance between the two of you and had decided that he loved you more than his British citizenship.”

  Zylphia paled as she stared dumbly at Rowena. “When?” she croaked out. “When did he decide that?”

  Rowena shook her head. “I can’t tell you exactly when he made that decision, but he told me of it after he heard of your mistreatment in the workhouse and jail. He tormented himself with the belief that he could have prevented your abuse there had he only acted sooner.”

  Zylphia sighed. “He should know me better to realize nothing would have kept me away from that picket line. Being considered a citizen again would only have fueled my desire.” She shared a chagrined look with her friends. “I never thought he’d change his mind.”

  Parthena took a sip of cold water, sighing as it soothed her throat. “You missed your anniversary with him. You picked a fight with him nearly the moment you woke up after your hunger strike. I don’t understand why you act as you do, Zee.” When Zylphia shrugged, Parthena sighed. “I know you plan on remaining here in Washington. On testifying next month in front of the House, and I applaud you for your commitment, Zee.”

  Zylphia frowned as she watched her friend. “Will you remain to support me?”

  Parthena shook her head. “No. I must return home. It’s been nearly three months since I left, and I want time with Morgan. I want to prepare for Christmas and to be at home.” She leaned forward and gripped Zylphia’s hand. “I wish you luck, Zee. But, more than that, I hope you reconcile with Teddy and that you’re happy again.”

  Rowena nodded her agreement as Zylphia took a sip of tea, her gaze distant.

  Chapter 19

  Parthena entered the home she shared with Morgan on Commonwealth Avenue, her gaze wide and steps slow as she entered the opulent front hall. She glanced at the grandeur of the large staircase at the end of the hall, its black walnut wood shining under the chandelier’s light. Her gaze roved over the gray marble floor covered in a plush red velvet carpet, the elaborately carved hallstand and the elegant chairs placed near the door. She paused, handing her coat to the butler.

  “Are you all right?” Morgan asked when he saw her wide-eyed stare. “Nothing has changed since you departed.”

  She shook her head. “Everything has changed,” she whispered. She followed him as he grasped her hand and walked into her front parlor. He closed the door behind them and then pulled her into his arms as she swayed on her feet.

  “Are you overtired? Do you need to rest after the long train journey?” he whispered into her ear as he
held her.

  “I am tired. I should rest.” Rather than ease away from him, she snuggled closer into his embrace.

  He ran a hand up and down her back. “Why has everything changed? The house has not been altered.”

  “I’m different,” Parthena whispered. “I see everything in a new way.” She scrubbed her cheek against the fine wool of his jacket. “After prison, this is a palace.”

  “It’s not a palace. It’s our home.” He kissed the side of her neck. “I hate what you suffered, Hennie. I don’t want you to suffer like that again.”

  “I never thanked you for traveling to DC to fight for me.” She kept her gaze downcast when he pushed her back and stroked a hand over her warm cheeks, surely reddened by her embarrassment.

  “You’re my wife, Hennie. When you are threatened, I will do anything I can to ensure you are safe.” He kissed her forehead. “I can see you are exhausted. Why don’t you rest? If you are awake later, I’ll have them bring up a tray to you.”

  She kissed his cheek, murmured, “Thank you,” and left.

  Later that evening, after a nap and a small meal, Parthena stood at her bedroom window and thought about her marriage with Morgan. She remembered those first few weeks when they had shared a bed. The pleasure his touch had wrought, even if undesired because he was not Lucas. She sat on the window seat and brushed out her hair, lost in her memories.

  Of him watching her with intensity in Newport after he had encouraged her to play the piano. Of his impassioned admission he had wanted her for years. Of his rescue of her sister Genevieve. Of Rowena’s story of his arrival in Washington. She rested her head against the window’s cool glass and fought tears. Her shoulders stooped at the realization she had hurt him, wittingly and unwittingly, throughout the two and a half years of their marriage. She shuddered as she feared it was a daily harm.

  “Oh, Morgan, why do you still want me?” she whispered. She rubbed at her head. “Why have I denied the truth all this time?” She quivered at the thought of opening herself to him. She closed her eyes as she fought an intrinsic fear.

  Parthena rose, tossing the silver-backed hairbrush onto the soft window seat cushion and marched into her adjoining closet. She pushed through stacks of clothes until she found what she desired. Her hands shook as she took it off the hanger and returned to her room before she lost her nerve.

  Morgan paced inside his bedroom, hoping that he’d eventually be fatigued enough to fall into a fitful slumber. He nearly snarled at the soft knock on his door. “What?” When there was no response, he marched to the door and wrenched it open. “Parthena?” he whispered, his gaze studying her from head to foot. His fingers gripping the door turned white, and he fought his instinctual inclination to slam the door shut. Or drag her inside. “What are you doing here?”

  She brushed past him, her emerald silk dressing gown brushing against his arm as she moved. “I needed to speak with you. And, no, I couldn’t wait until morning.” She raised an eyebrow as though anticipating his next question.

  “Hennie, this isn’t a good idea.” He shut the door behind her. His hungry gaze roved over her clingy wrap, and his hands clenched. “You need rest, and you are still not fully recovered from your time in the workhouse.”

  Her triumphant smile eloquently contradicted him. “I think it’s a very good idea. And about time.” She approached him, swaying her hips with each step. Her smile broadened as he suppressed a shudder. “And I’m fully recovered.”

  “I want you to leave now,” he said in a deep, almost angry voice.

  She froze as she studied his face to understand all he did not say. “No. I’m not leaving. I’m finally here.” Her smile faded when he failed to reach for her or share in her smile.

  “Fine. You won’t leave.” He pushed past her to move into the room. He sat on a hard chair and glowered at her. “What’s come over you? Why have you decided to invade my room?”

  She flushed and moved to the matching chair by him. After she sat, blushing as the gown slipped open and flashed a long expanse of leg, she covered herself and cleared her throat. “Morgan, I’m tired of our marriage—”

  “Well, this is a damned funny way of showing it,” he snapped.

  “No! I’m tired of how our marriage has been,” she said. “I want more from our marriage.”

  He froze in his movement to rise and settled into his chair again. “Why? Why now?”

  She broke away from his penetrating gaze. “You won’t like what I have to say. At least not all of it.”

  He sighed. “Of course I won’t. You’re Parthena. We never agree on anything.”

  Her shoulders arched back, and she glared at him. “That’s not true! We agreed when you helped Viv.” She sputtered as she sought to remember another time when they had agreed. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she glared at him.

  “I know you misunderstood me when I was upset about Viv having a baby. I think you believe I wished to have Lucas’s baby.” She met Morgan’s gaze and saw the flash of pain in his gaze that he tried, and failed, to conceal. “That’s not why I was upset,” she whispered. “I suddenly realized I was a coward, and I was desperately sad.”

  She raised a hand over his mouth and shook her head. “No, don’t say anything. I’m not desperately sad because I’m with you, Morgan. I’m sad because I’ve done this to myself. I’ve done this to us. I’ve spurned you, your touch. Your …” She broke off.

  She jolted when Morgan traced her cheek, smudging away tears she had not realized were falling. “My love,” he whispered around her fingers.

  Her gaze met his, fearful yet hopeful. She leaned into his touch.

  “I need you to forgive me,” he whispered. “I say hurtful, hateful things when I am afraid. Like that evening before you ran away to Washington in September. I was terrified you didn’t really want me but desired Lucas. I know of nothing more to do to earn your esteem, Hennie.”

  Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks at his broken admission. “You don’t dare to dream for yourself, do you?” She stuttered out a breath. “I want to know your touch again, Morgan. To feel the pleasure you can give me. I hope to give you pleasure in return.” She flushed at his appreciative stare at her robe.

  “Why come dressed like this to my room?”

  “Zee told me, when we first married, that I should shock you and seduce you. That maybe that would bring us marital harmony. I remembered her words tonight.” She kissed his palm as he cupped her cheek.

  “Do you truly want this?” He studied her with a fierce intensity, his muscles bunched tight as though barely keeping control of his movements.

  “Yes. I want more than a considerate marriage with you, Morgan.” At his smirk she grinned. “Or whatever you’d call it. I want to be honest with you and for you to feel you can be honest with me. I want to trust you.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I want more than playing heartbroken piano songs that I hope induce some sort of passion in you. I want—”

  She gasped as he gripped her by the nape of her neck and kissed her passionately, pulling her off her chair onto his lap. She giggled as she almost fell to the floor, but then she realized her flimsy gown made it easy for her to straddle his legs, and she moved into that position. She arched into him as he groaned.

  “Tell me you want this. That you want my touch. After over two years without you, I fear I won’t have any patience once I finally touch you.” He paused as he held his lips over her bared collarbone.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair. “For God’s sake, Morgan, I want you. I want this. You’re my husband. Make me feel like your wife.”

  “Gladly,” he growled as he rose, carrying her to his bed.

  Morgan traced a hand over Parthena’s bared shoulder, sighing with relief when she moved into his touch rather than away. He slung his arm around her belly, anchoring her to him. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Like a well-loved wife,” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “Well, you are that,”
he whispered as he kissed the back of her head. “Hennie, will you be honest with me?”

  “I’ll try.” She arched into him and pulled his hand to her mouth for a kiss before releasing it.

  “Why were you so upset that your sister was to have a child?” The instinctive tensing of his muscles relaxed when she didn’t pull away from him physically or emotionally.

  “I was jealous,” she said in a low voice.

  He leaned up on an elbow and eased her to her back so he could see her expression. “Explain that for me so that I don’t become jealous.” He attempted a teasing note in his voice, but knew he’d partly failed when she raised a hand to trace the worry lines around his eyes.

  “I’d always dreamed of having children. Of being a mother. I was jealous my younger sister would be a mother before me.” She stared into his eyes. “I realized tonight that no one but myself was holding me back from my dreams.”

  Rather than alleviating his tension, he stiffened and frowned. “Are you saying you only wanted my company tonight because you hoped to become pregnant?”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Of course not! I thought it was rather evident I wanted you for …” Her voice cracked as she fought embarrassment. When he watched her steadily, she took a deep breath and fought her discomfort. “I wanted to feel pleasure. Pleasure from your touch. No one else’s. If I became pregnant due to our enjoyment of each other, then I would consider us fortunate.”

  He watched her with a fierce intensity. “Did you really write those morose songs to induce me to comfort you?”

  She flushed before giggling. “Yes. I had hoped it would provoke some sort of response in you. All you did was clap and comment that I had a rare talent for melancholy.” She rolled her eyes as he laughed at her disgruntled glare.

  “You know I’m not artistic,” he said as he kissed her shoulder. “Why you’d believe I’d discern your true motive is beyond me.”

  Parthena sighed and arched into his touch. “You’re more artistic than you believe.” She opened her eyes when his soft caresses stopped and met his startled gaze. “You are capable of appreciating what artists create, which is a wondrous gift. You never complain when I spend hours at the piano.”