“Now, that Spanish lass, oh, lordy, was she a stubborn one. She birthed Dora, then swore there were enough children in this house. Don’t you ever say such a thing. It’s a sure way to bring on a babe. And, it brought one on Carmelita.” Edith nodded her head, “Sure worked like a charm. She got with child five months after Dora were born.”
Amy took a deep breath. Carmelita proved the curse existed. She opened her mouth to tell Edith what she knew to be fact when Edith continued.
“As I said, she was a stubborn one. She weren’t supposed to ride, something she loved. I remember when she would set you on the pony of yers and tell you how to sit, how to hold them straps. Oh, she did love them horses. But, she shouldn’t have gone riding. And not on that black monster of the Baron’s. That horse was a mean devil and he threw her. It was amazing he didn’t kill her outright when he threw her, but, he didn’t. Next she lost the babe and then we lost her.”
Edith sat in her chair, tsking away and shaking her head. “What a waste.”
“She died having a babe,” Amy murmured.
“Poppycock. She died cause she got thrown off that black devil.” Edith took a deep breath and sighed. “Then, there was Patience. She were a child when yer pa married her. She had just turned seventeen when they said the words. And, she got with child right quick. Then, when she did have Ellie, she had a hard time. That was a bad one. She had real trouble birthing that girl. I told yer father no more babes, not if he wanted to keep Patience as a mother fer you girls. After all, he’d lost four wives afore.”
“Edith, what about the curse?” Amy blurted.
“Oh, that silly curse. Some in the village still believe in it. Hogwash though, every word of it.”
“How can you be sure?” Amy was stunned. How could it not have an effect?
“How’d it go? All those at Kirkley manor will die aborning their youngens. That’s just plain silly. Why, I’ve delivered a dozen youngsters, and all their mothers, save one, lived to bear another. Just plain silly. Maude was nothing more than a healer, just like my ma, just like me. She was no more a witch than you. She couldn’t curse a flea. Nope, that curse is not but superstition.
“Course,” she continued, her hand rubbing her cheek, “some of the villagers believe, but, think about it. They go chasing off to have a youngen’ that were started right here on the estate.” She chuckled. “Don’t make much sense to me. Now, don’t tell me, child, you put any store in that thing.”
Edith grinned and Amy felt her cheeks warm. She murmured silent thanks because with the sun setting a short time before, the room had grown darker. Edith couldn’t see her reddened face.
“Now, let me check on our patient. I’ve chattered enough.” She huffed out of her chair and approached the bed. “He’s broke out in a sweat, girl. Yer man is going to be just fine.”
Eighteen
As Amy flounced out of his room, Simon groaned with frustration. Three days ago, he’d regained his senses. He’d come to as tea arrived for Amy and the healer. He listened to the healer tell Amy about her mother and step-mothers, had heard Amy’s comment when the healer offered proof that there was no validity to some estate curse.
It dawned on him later, as he thought about the overheard conversation, that Amy believed in that curse. He understood why she refused to be his wife in truth. She thought she would die bearing a child.
But, he was almost recovered now; he wanted out of this bed, and if he couldn’t get out, then he wanted Amy in bed with him. He’d planned her seduction last night, but although she had flitted over and around him, he never succeeded in getting his arms around her. Nor, could he get close enough to kiss her. She’d already admitted his kisses left her mindless.
He wanted her, wanted her in the worst way, but she was as skittish as a new colt. Now, this morning and this afternoon, he’d again been subjected to her quick touches. She’d leaned over him, pressing herself against him as she changed his dressings, straightened his bed, fluffed his pillows. But always with one of her sisters or his aunt in the room with them.
He’d watched her sweep from the room after Ellie this time, her hips moving back and forth in a beguiling motion that aroused him even further. He laid back against the pillows and slammed his fists into the mattress. Something would have to give soon, or he would explode.
He spent the rest of the afternoon, trying to devise a plan that would get her alone and then close enough so that he could coax her into his embrace, then into his bed. Bloody hell! She was his wife. He wanted her. He ached with it, but he also wanted to explain how he felt.
Over the last two days, when he hadn’t slept, he’d thought about his life and his business. He considered both his parents and Neville. He remembered the hours at sea and the empty feelings he’d get when the ship docked and his men hurried off to family and loved ones. At sea he had been in command, the leader, and his sailors followed his orders. He was the father figure, and they performed like good children.
He’d never realized before that what he lacked, what he wanted to make his life full and purposeful, was a family, people for whom he was responsible, who would look up to him, respect him, as his sailors did on their voyages. Someone to love him.
With the Hargrove women he had found that family. And, he knew without having to explain, that Amy, from the very beginning was that someone special for whom he had been searching. Of course it hadn’t dawned on him until Harold had pointed that gun in her direction.
With that single action, Simon recognized that Amy was his soul mate. Losing her would make his life unbearable. That he loved her. He loved her completely, he would die to prevent any harm coming to her.
He’d lunged for the gun. Harold had to be stopped from killing the reason Simon finally had for living, the one person he could love for all eternity. For making Kirkley manor a prosperous estate for the children he hadn’t known he wanted with the woman he loved.
Now, Amy had to be told. Simon faced the prospect of explaining his feelings to his wife. Did she feel anything at all for him? That one thought plagued him, ate at him during every waking hour. Did Amy want a life with him? After all, theirs had been a forced marriage.
Of course, she had responded to him on the several occasions when he’d kissed her, and she had melted with his caresses the night Aunt Agatha caught them, but that could be lust. She was naïve, and hadn’t experienced desire before. He was certain of that. But, did she have any feelings for him? She was grateful, but he didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted her love.
Before he told her how he felt, he intended to show her the depths of his own feelings. And that meant making love to her.
Watching the sun set behind the trees of the estate, Simon considered the plan he had hatched that afternoon. It had to work. He would make it work.
His evening meal arrived, this time with Caro in tow.
“I need to talk to Amy tonight,” he whispered to Caro, “alone.”
She nodded and he knew from the expression on her face that she would spread the word. He grinned. He’d have his wife in his bed this very night.
After Caro carried out the supper tray, he tossed and turned waiting for the evening visit from his wife, when once more she would check his wound. She arrived alone and he was ready. He groaned for effect.
“Aren’t you feeling well?” her voice carried real concern.
“I’m sore,” Simon stated speaking the truth.
“Sore?” Of course she didn’t understand, but she would soon.
“I’m tried of this bed. I need to get up, move around. I’m getting weak just lying here like I am.”
“Oh!” she said, and her face flushed a decided rose color. “I can’t get you up. You--ah--you’re not wearing ah--ah--any clothing.”
Bloody hell! Simon cringed. She would think of that.
“Why don’t you hand me my robe? I’ll put it on and then you can help me up.”
She studied his suggestion and then came up with one of her own. “I’ll g
et Ben.”
“Amy, it’s much too late to get Ben. I’m certain he’s already retired.” After all, he had watched the sun set through his bedroom window and now the rising moon shone through the open drapes. It was late.
“Oh, he won’t mind.”
Simon sighed.
“But,” he continued, “I’ll mind. Just get the robe and you can help me up.” He had to get her in his arms or rather, he had to be in her arms before he could initiate his scheme.
She debated for another moment, then nodded. “All right.”
He hid his grin and stared at her delectable derrière as she bent to retrieve his folded robe. Soon!
“Here,” she handed him the robe and started to leave the room. He gasped out loud. He couldn’t allow her to leave the room.
“Amy, don’t leave. I can’t put this on without hurting myself.” He pressed the sheet to his waist and handed the robe back to her. He bit his lip to prevent a chuckle from escaping. It was so obvious, at least to him. She wanted to avoid getting close to him.
“You do need to help me on with the robe,” he offered.
With the robe over his shoulders, she turned her head.
“Amy, I’ll need you arm. I’ll hold on to you as I try to stand.”
She sidled up to the bed, closed her eyes then leaned forward offering her hand. He grasp her fingers and waited for a moment.
He’d been injured before, of course, not by a gun shot, but he knew to take this part slow, or the whole night would be ruined. He eased himself from the bed into a standing position and wrapped the robe around himself. So far so good. No dizziness, no faintness in spite of his wound.
Now for a little acting.
“Oh, maybe I better stand here for a moment. And, you better hold me, in case I feel weak.”
Amy glanced up at him and for a second Simon wondered if somehow she had read his mind, become privy to his plans. However, she did as he asked.
He wrapped his arms around her. Her fragrance of fresh spring flowers teased his senses.
He wanted to drag her down to the bed with him and consume every inch of her. However, he couldn’t give in to his desires yet. If he did all would be lost. Instead, he laid his head on her shoulder.
“Bit dizzy,” he murmured. In truth, he was. Desire was making him dizzy.
He placed his lips against the column of her neck. He couldn’t resist. He kissed her, then ever so slowly, he licked the spot he had just kissed. She shuddered.
He lifted his head, raised his hand and stroked her cheek with his fingers. The words came rushing into his mind. He loved her, he wanted to blurt it out. But, not yet, he told himself. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers. First, just a brush, then he lingered. He felt her shiver but he was on fire.
“You--you shouldn’t. Your wound,” she said.
He felt her tense.
“Amy, love, I won’t do a thing to harm my injury. You have to trust me.” He kissed her again, this time with a possessiveness he couldn’t prevent. She was his. She sighed and he wanted to shout with joy.
He look several steps backwards until he felt the edge of the bed and sank to the mattress still clinging to Amy. She followed him down and he held her close, his mouth covering hers, his warmth melding with hers.
“Open, sweetheart,” he pleaded against her lips. She did. He plunged into the soft heat of her mouth. This was heaven. He couldn’t let her lips escape his, as he nipped, caressed, and explored.
He tried to work the buttons of her bodice but his fingers felt like barge poles. He tugged and the buttons separated from the fabric. He gave no thought to the several small pings he heard as the buttons hit the floor.
He pressed his lips against hers again, seeking, no, insisting on admission. Again, she opened for him, and he drowned in the sweet essence of her mouth. He mumbled, “You taste like honey.”
He feasted, there was no other word for it, wetting her lips with his tongue, seeking and finding, inviting and playing until he could no longer breathe. He drew away, and dragged air into starved lungs. Next, he bathed her eye lids with his kisses, caressed her cheeks, nibbled on her ear lobs.
Need, a desperate yearning, rushed through him, hot, wild, insistent. He fought for control.
He tugged at the bodice, dragging it from her shoulders to her waist. Working his fingers from her waist, he stroked her ribs before he touched her breasts.
Moonlight seeped through the window, silvering the white linen of her chemise. He brushed his thumbs over the nipples peaking through the fabric. He wanted to do more than roll the small beads between his fingers. Lowering his head he wet the silk of her chemise, then blew on the dampness. She gasped and arched into him. He groaned. Her pleasure was his.
He took first one silk covered nipple then the other into his hot mouth. She twisted against him, arching her back and grabbing at his hair. He felt a moment of terror. To pull him away? No, she held his head to her.
One need possessed him and he felt consumed with it. He wanted her beneath him. He wanted to be in her, a part of her.
But, for that he needed her naked.
He yanked at her skirt, her petticoats and threw them to the floor. Next, he grasped the ribbons of her chemise and tugged.
In desperation, he shrugged the robe from his shoulders. It disappeared beside the edge of the bed, covering her clothing as he wanted to cover her.
Then, he eased himself over her. Hot flesh to hot flesh! He thought he had died and had been given a quick taste of heaven.
Her arms slid around him, her nails digging in the flesh of his back. He kissed her before he ran the tip of his tongue along the column of her neck. She turned her head to give him better access. He nibbled and tasted as she groaned and twisted against him, heating his blood until he knew he would incinerate. He traced that same path with his lips, across her shoulder, into the valley between her breasts. They, like everything about her, were perfect.
He had to tell her. “You’re perfect,” he muttered.
First he kissed one warm globe, then the other, before he tongued the flesh. As he suckled at her breasts, he ran his hands over her ribs, across her stomach, down her sides.
Letting his mouth follow the path his hands had just traveled, he kissed his way to her thighs. She shook with sensation and Simon groaned. Once more, he fought for control. Hot, relentless, insistent desire pierced him.
He abandoned his kisses and cupped the essence of her, aware of a burning heat building within himself. He had to make her his soon or he was going to die.
His fingers toyed with the curls that covered her secrets. He inserted first one finger, then another into her woman’s place. Her feminine fragrance teased him, forming an intense spiral of want. With his thumb he touched that small nub, the seat of her pleasure.
She gasped and grabbed for him. He nudged her legs further apart and slid up over her body, seeking her tempting mouth once more.
He slipped between her legs, drawing her close. Now! He could wait no longer. He had to take her now. He sought her entrance, then plunged deep.
She tensed and cried out against his lips.
Bloody hell! Reality surfaced. She was a virgin, and he had taken her without a thought to her situation. Guilt poured over him and he soothed her as best he could.
“Amy, the pain will go away, I promise,” he whispered, praying he could remain motionless himself. He felt her begin to relax and he withdrew a bit. She tensed and he stilled. When she relaxed again, he pushed forward, and withdrew. She sighed.
With her sigh, he began the dance of love, surging forward then withdrawing. If he named all the capitals of the world, he just might make it. He would make it because he wanted her pleasure more than he wanted his own.
He felt her begin to quicken and sighed with relief.
When she arched into him, he felt the rapid pulsing of her feminine muscles against him. He was lost.
Surging into her he groaned at the inte
nse pleasure that raked his body. La petite morte, the little death. For the first time in his life he understood what the French had meant when they named this completion.
When he was certain he could breathe again, he rolled, taking her with him, not wanting to end what had been the most amazing experience of his life.
His eyes drifted closed and he promised himself that he would explain his feelings to her in a moment. He needed a second or two to regain his equilibrium. Just a second, one moment more...
He jerked awake, his wife still in his arms. She too had drifted off to sleep. He moved, wondering for a moment if he should wake her. The answer came fast and sure. She had to know how he felt about her. No matter her feelings for him, he had to confess his own.
Simon's Brides Page 25
