by Isabel Morin
How was it that he’d never bathed his lovely wife? He’d been remiss, but he would make up for it, that was certain. She would never wash her own hair again if he had any say in the matter. He hadn’t even begun to love her properly, or to live the kind of life they could have.
When the water had cooled he helped her into her nightgown and applied salve to her cuts. Together they sat before the fire, and when her hair was dry he brushed it for her, yet another pleasure he’d never known. Feeling brave, he even went so far as to braid it, though his efforts were clumsy.
Rose laughed softly at him.
“This was my first time. I’ll improve.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said, her voice husky, eyes heavy with fatigue.
“You can hardly keep your eyes open. Let’s get you to bed,” he said, helping her to her feet.
“Only if you come with me.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, gratitude flooding him at being able to hold her all night.
***
Rose lay back against the pillows and watched with pleasure as Luke began to undress.
It was as if she’d woken to a new life. Her burden had been lifted, one she’d carried for so long that she’d forgotten what it felt to be without it.
“It will be wonderful to get back to Boston,” she said, watching him. “I can be myself without worrying that I’m going to lose you. I won’t let all the silly things bother me like they used to. I was so worried about how I compared to Catherine, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t have to feel for me what you did for her. I understand that now.”
Luke stopped in the act of unbuttoning his shirt.
“Rose…” he began, and then stopped, shaking his head as if unsure how to go on. “Are you saying you think I loved Catherine more than you?”
Rose nodded mutely and watched in surprise as Luke pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, dragging his fingers through his hair.
“I’m such a fool, and I don’t deserve you,” he said. “If I’d known you thought that…I should have told you about my marriage to her long ago, I see that now.” He stopped and looked down at his hands, then up at her, his expression pained. “Our marriage was not a happy one. When she died I blamed myself – for taking her from England, for not being what she wanted. Even for the baby that killed her. Looking back I see we were simply ill-suited to one another.”
Rose stared at him, unable to believe her ears. “All this time I thought I wasn’t measuring up,” she said, dazed by his revelation. “Only, I did overhear you tell your father you wanted to leave Boston.”
“And you thought it was like the first time I left?”
Rose nodded her head, embarrassed to be airing her most private worries.
“Wanting to leave Boston has nothing to do with Catherine. I just feel too penned in there. I’m not cut out for city living, or being cooped up inside all day.” He paused a moment. “I hoped being someplace more hospitable, and closer to your aunt, would be better for you as well. But I should have shared my thoughts instead of waiting to surprise you.”
“Surprise me with what?”
“I found a beautiful piece of land in Great Barrington. I thought we might live there, in a house I’ll build for you. We can keep the house in Boston, as well, and stay there as often as we like.”
Rose couldn’t help it. Tears of relief and joy overwhelmed her and slid down her cheeks.
Luke tilted her chin up until she was looking into his eyes.
“I love you, Rose, more than I’ve loved anyone or anything. I was afraid to admit it, and for that I’m sorry.”
“I’ve loved you for so long,” she said, trembling in his arms as emotion overwhelmed her.
Tenderly he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears. Pulling back the covers, he climbed into bed beside her, the warmth of his body flowing into hers. Holding her close he whispered to her all the things they would do together, all the places he’d take her, the ways he would indulge her every desire.
Rose lay in his arms, basking in the feel of him. He was really and truly hers. Only minutes ago she had thought she was as happy as she could be. Now she saw there was no limit to it.
About the Author
Isabel Morin started reading romance novels when she was fourteen years old and hasn't stopped since. Now she writes them, too. She lives in New England with her husband, the inspiration for many of her heroes, and a frisky Bengal cat. If you like steamy contemporary romance, read Isabel’s novella Tempt Me.
You can email Isabel at: [email protected]. She'd love to hear from you.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen