Amalia stroked a stray curl as a thought sprouted. She could steal moments with David and appear outwardly respectable too, couldn’t she? In Philadelphia? A nun to the world, but the Wife of Bath behind closed doors? He’d oblige to that sort of relationship, wouldn’t he? With neat, defined boundaries?
Until he stopped out of guilt. Or until she resented that he couldn’t give more. And they hurt each other. Again.
Another pang.
Amalia sucked in a deep breath. No, she wouldn’t think of it today. Her job today was to be happy and attend the bris. She’d win her funds tomorrow and after that...
“Anyway, why don’t we go over what will happen at least for the next few days, while we’re in Centerville, and until whomever it is, is apprehended so I can take that bath.”
The four men nodded in agreement, with Thad taking the lead to explain the plan.
* * *
David paced the guestroom, the same one he’d stayed in so long ago, twiddling his fingers. The unease, the unfinishedness still plagued at him. He was missing something. Or at least, something was not quite right. Though darned if he could figure it out, even after going through all the information they’d received from Chicago.
Well, they’d identified one person who disliked Amalia. And their motive. Her motive. Amalia’s chief critic was a rival columnist. And the team sent along a description of the woman, which he disseminated to everyone in the house so they could be on high alert. She lived over six hundred miles away and was being watched, so probably not the person actually tracking them, but better safe than sorry.
Hopefully, the questioning of the man in Pittsburgh, as well as the news from Bedford that another would-be-assailant was captured, yielded the real source of the threats. And they could apprehend whomever was behind this. And Amalia would be safe at last.
And the job would be finished. And there would be no reason for him to stay in Centerville. Or more, he’d be needed in Philadelphia and have to leave. Without Amalia. Unless he could convince her to come with him. Despite her father’s request.
David strolled to the mirror and stared at his reflection. His beard had grown back. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Should he shave it? He pulled out a razor.
“Don’t you dare,” a female voice exclaimed.
Amalia stood in the entry. Some security he was, he hadn’t even noticed that she opened the door. He should get more sleep, especially as this might be a dream since she only wore some sort of nightdress. His body’s reaction was instant. As were the erotic images that slammed through his mind, some of which might not be physically possible, but damned if they could just try.
Unfortunately, now was not the time nor place for any of it.
“Your parents are going to murder you, or more likely me, if they find you in here.” He backed towards the window and clasped his hands behind his back to stifle any urge to touch himself, or her, or both of them. He cursed to himself before gazing at the floor for a moment so he could find the frame of mind to say something remotely intelligent. “I thought you have a private bath.”
“I do, but I was stealing some soap from Ro’s old one. I wanted lavender, not gardenia for tonight.” She swished into the room, closed the door and sank onto the bed, her eyes steady and serious. “But please, David, don’t shave it. I like it.”
“You do?” He cocked his head.
Amalia nodded. “Very much. That length especially.” She tucked her knees to her chin. “You’re handsome no matter what, but I like the beard, I’ve decided. Especially, as I can imagine it rubbing my skin as you move down my body again.”
His mouth went dry. She couldn’t mean now, could she? With her parents milling about? Like they were teenagers once more? His body strained as lust spiked in his veins. The risk, the tantalizing naughtiness of it...
He clenched his hands tighter. “So you’d be interested in that today?”
“With you? Yes.” She bit her lip. “Would you be? Now?”
Yes. A million yeses. Over and over again, preferably while she screamed his name. Except...if they did anything now, they’d most assuredly be caught and he’d be thrown from the Truitt house before he could complete the assignment, secure the promotion, and start the next phase of his plan. One where he wrote his own story, way more interesting than anything in the Torah. And found a way for her to be there too.
“Please?” Amalia drew up on her knees. Like a moth to flame he was at the bedside. She leaned towards him and nipped his lower lip, while rubbing herself against his body. Oy, he was in trouble. The best sort. He grabbed both her wrists and pushed her back a little.
“David,” she whined.
“Amalia,” he mimicked and smiled at her. “I haven’t said ‘yes.’”
She snatched her arms back and folded them across her chest, sinking back on the bed with a harrumph. “But you will.”
“Perhaps. If you behave yourself.” He gave her a tap on the nose and she squawked a surprised half laugh, before cocking her head at him.
“And what if I don’t behave myself.” She rose on her knees again and undid the top of her gown. “What if I’m very, very, very naughty?”
She was such delicious trouble, trouble he could never, ever resist. He shook his head and tutted a little. “Amalia, you’re going to destroy my nerves if you keep doing that.”
Humming a little, she pressed her hands to her hips. “You like when I do that.”
“I like it too much.” He tapped her nose again. “You’re distracting me though. I’m supposed to be getting ready, as are you, and I still have work to do this evening.”
All reasonable, true points. Though by the look on her face...well, at least someone was as tortured as him. Maybe. Hopefully. God, if only.
She sighed. “Later then?”
“Have I ever said no to you? Especially when you beg?” Despite himself he approached again and stroked her hair. She near purred and he was drowning in lust. His wits, he needed his wits if he was ever going to figure out what came next. Even still, he was losing the battle bit by bit.
Though he received a bit of reprieve as Amalia rose and turned towards the door. “I’m holding you to it,” she called.
“I don’t doubt it.” And he didn’t. She’d get what she wanted. And eventually, he’d find a way to give it to her, while still protecting her, from outside threats and from himself.
She turned to go just as a jolt of mischief that only she could bring reverberated through his body.
“And, Amalia,” he called.
“Yes?” She paused at the door, her back to him.
“Be as naughty as you want tonight. Just remember there might be consequences.” He smirked to himself. Let’s see what she did with that.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She winked at him before disappearing into the hall and closing the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amalia clutched a chair as her maid tightened her corset. It should pinch more. A lot more. Especially if she wanted her new gown with the pearl-trimmed ruffles around the scooped neck to lie as it should.
“Harder,” she called. “It feels loose.”
“That’s because you’ve lost weight. All that running around the wilderness,” the maid grumbled as she obliged. “You might need to have this taken in.”
“Only to be let out tomorrow after this party.” Amalia chuckled to herself a little. “I heard that my mother has quite the extensive menu, including some of my favorites.” She licked her lips a little as visions of peaches, and bread pudding, and smoked fishes and olives danced in her head. Not as good as her plans for afterwards, but still exciting.
Her hands tingled as she permitted herself to be buffed and powdered and dressed like the fashion dolls her mother brought her back from Europe as a child. Should she broach the topic of extending their relatio
nship that night?
Any visions of a life with David were still fuzzy, the details unclear, but the way she was able to breathe when she was with him, and the way all the other voices in her head went silent when they were together, and the way when she made him laugh, it was like she finally won something. Amalia steadied herself as the maid tied her bustle.
All she needed was a plan. Though first she had to speak with her parents and address the issues with her charity. She needed their full support, even if it meant admitting failure. If she explained it right, they’d listen, hear her, and relent.
Amalia gritted her teeth as she dug around in her jewelry box. She held a pair of pearl drop earrings against her cheek. The maid frowned and shook her head.
“I agree.” Amalia tucked them back in their place. “Too near the collar and too similar a color, but not an exact match. How about the diamond ones in the shape of bows?”
“Those will work very well,” her mother’s voice called from the doorway. “I suggest the bracelet I bought you for your last birthday, the cuff with the emerald-eyed snake heads and no necklace. The collar of this is busy enough.” Like a queen, the lady of the house, the one and the only Ursula Nunes Truitt, glided into the room, black flounces sweeping across the rug. Her mother reached out and stroked the deep rose gown hanging on the wardrobe with an ebony-gloved hand. “Lovely, such a flattering shade. I presume you’ll be doing something with your lips.”
“Plum stain.” Amalia nodded.
Her mother winked. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Amalia’s stomach relaxed a little. Fashion and cosmetics were the only subjects she conversed with her mother about. With all other topics, it was always as if her mother was so untouchable—at a level she’d never hope to reach. After all, the woman communed with queens, spoke a dozen languages, could solve the most complex equations, and memorize any fact. But with clothing and enhancements, she could at least hold her own.
“Darker hues are so pleasant with your skin tone,” her mother continued. “I’m jealous.”
“You look beautiful in everything.” Amalia clipped on the earrings. “Even in the black. Though why are you wearing it here?”
“I had an early meeting.” Her mother moved towards the mirror and fluffed her own flawless hair, pursing her lips before biting them to bring out the color. “I have an eggplant one to change into for tonight, which should be a good compromise. The crowd will be mixed and I want to make sure no one forgets.”
As if any of them could forget Simon. But her mother had made using his death for political purposes like protecting and enforcing the new constitutional amendments into a full-time occupation.
A reminder that Jews are American too. That plenty of us bled blue. Even if your father and I didn’t do enough until it was too late. That we went to England in 1850 instead of staying here to confront Webster, instead of throwing our weight around, letting them call us “meddlesome.”
Her mother fluffed her skirt. “It may not be our tradition, but it’s effective.” She stroked her pendant. “And I like to make sure everyone remembers he existed, even if he isn’t here.”
Amalia spun around and faced her mother. There was a strain in her eyes and they shone a bit too brightly. She moved and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I miss him.” Her voice cracked, saying the words out loud. “I miss him very much.”
Her mother nodded and moved to sit on the bed. “I know. He adored you since the day you were born. When I was nursing you, he’d sit next to me and stroke the back of your hair.”
The maid slid Amalia’s dress over her head. She froze and stared at her mother.
“Neither your father nor I had any siblings which led to two rather lonely childhoods. That’s part of the reason we had four of you, so you’d all always have each other.” Her mother’s chest heaved a little and a tear trickled down her cheek.
Amalia could only stare. Her mother never cried. Not even at funerals and, in the last few years, the woman had lost her mother-in-law, her beloved uncle with whom she consulted almost daily, her father, and her son.
Hand shaking, her mother dotted her eyes with a handkerchief, careful not to smudge any of her liner or powder. “Not always the best plan. With one child, as a parent, you can be very focused. A blessing or a curse, depending on who you ask. I tend to lean towards the former. One can say a great many things about your grandfather, but he was a wonderful father.”
After tying her apron and adjusting her collar, the maid stepped back. Amalia though, couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think.
“Sometimes I wonder whether things would’ve been better, easier, if I’d done things differently. I’ve made a great many mistakes—had my triumphs, but failed as well.” Her mother tapped a hand to her mouth. “I haven’t given you enough.”
“You’ve given me plenty, all the lessons and jewels and gowns—”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Her mother rose and brushed a lock of hair out of Amalia’s face. “This should be pinned, with a jeweled comb.” She gave the maid a pointed look before returning her gaze.
“Out of all my children, sometimes I feel as if I know you the least. You’re like your father, very skilled at ferreting out what people want to hear, and giving them that, with no regards to your own needs.” Her mother re-creased one of the pleats at the front of her gown. “Except you inherited my hubris and impulsiveness. A dangerous combination, to be sure.”
Amalia opened her mouth and closed it. Whatever did her mother mean? Or more what was she about to criticize?
“I missed a great deal during the war, and I don’t doubt that the rest of the family did a good job, but I worry. You lost your person and the world changed, or more all of our eyes were opened and we saw all that we’d ignored, all the responsibilities we shirked. I sometimes watched you and wondered, if, over these past few years you just went through the motions, emulating Ro and Thad as best you could, but...” Her mother bit her lip. “You aren’t your siblings, I may not know you enough but I know that. I just want you to remember that it’s all right not to be them. Or me. Especially not me.”
“I could never be you.” Amalia brushed back from her mother and took a seat at her dressing table, her heart pounding against the steel boning. “After all, I look like Thad, which is why I need some extra assistance.” She doused her neck with toilet water. It was so damned hot.
“That’s not what I meant.” The bed creaked as her mother rose again. “I just wanted to let you know, I’d do anything for you. I want to make sure your life is safe and easy and happy. I want you to be happy, Amalia. More than anything. And I don’t think you’re happy.”
Something inside Amalia twisted and stirred at the plaintive note in her mother’s voice. Happy. “I just need to be organized and careful and do everything properly so I can make a difference, so I can do some good.”
A harsh snorting sound came from her mother. The woman pressed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.” Her pale curls bobbed. “It’s just that—it’s wonderful to want to do good in the world, but no one, not even me, can do everything properly all the time. And besides, if you only live for other—”
A knock on the door. Amalia whirled around to see another maid peering into the room, shifting from foot to foot.
“Ma’am, you’re needed downstairs. There’s a bit of a problem with one of the tables and some decisions need to be made.”
“In one minute.” Her mother moved towards the door. “We aren’t finished here. We need to discuss your future more as well as the young man who came here with you.”
Amalia’s heart leapt into her throat. What had her mother figured out? Or more, what was she going to say about David? What fault would she find in him? Not the conversation she wanted to have—especially before she’d gained access to the trust. She worked to keep her face neutral.
“We’ll talk about it later. But right now, you have other matters which to attend. I still have to do my eyes anyway.” Amalia crossed her ankles so hard the heel of her boot probably made an impression in the leather of its mate.
Her mother hesitated, her dark-skirted presence lingering in the doorway. Amalia’s lip trembled. What would her mother say if she told her the truth, the whole truth—that she was in love with a man who wouldn’t give her what she wanted?
That she wasn’t just a failure, she was selfish and spoiled and was preparing to tread the same path over and over?
Everything inside her longed to run at the woman and sob and beg her to just tell her what to do, how to fix it, how to make it right. But she couldn’t and didn’t and when she finally turned around, her mother was gone.
* * *
Only the Truitts would turn a bris into a ball. David eyed the musicians as they practiced in a corner of the ballroom. Amalia’s mother had already called the assembled crowd of at least one hundred and fifty to one side. A lot of people with a lot of access to the house. Not ideal for Amalia’s safety, even if she was with family and friends. He’d need to be on his toes the entire evening. He craned his neck.
Mrs. Truitt stood next to her husband, son, and daughter-in-law. The newest Truitt fussed near his mother’s breast. Thad’s wife hushed him, while keeping her lips in a tight smile, her eyes ringed and her dark hair a little mussed. Thad’s eyes were equally circled and he yawned as he lifted his toddler daughter into his arms.
“I want to thank you all for coming,” Mrs. Truitt started. “I know some of you have seen this done twice—for this little one’s older cousins—but for those of you who haven’t, a bris is an important Jewish tradition. It’s done eight days after the birth of a male and seals the covenant with god.”
The crowd murmured. A man wearing a blue and white tallis—prayer shawl—stepped forward. The mohel—the man who would lead and conduct the ritual, who’d remove the baby’s foreskin. David’s stomach contracted and he flinched in sympathy. Not that he had any memory of his own.
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