The Heart's Haven

by Jill Barnett

  Hallie stood, lifting her full skirts so she could stand in front of the mirror. She knew she was still tall, pale Hallie, but the mirror reflected a different Hallie, as if she had a twin who was lovely, softer, prettier. The mirror was magic, the kind that were in fairy tales. Her reflection was that of a woman.

  Just what Kit needed. Maddie’s words sounded so familiar. Then Hallie remembered. Her own mother’s words had been much the same. Men needed women to teach them to love. Hallie wondered if she could make Kit love her. She glanced back at the reflection. Of course, she hadn’t really thought of herself as a woman until now. Before, she’d just fought against being labeled a “girl.” Common sense told her that if she didn’t believe it herself, how could she convince anyone else?

  But she and Kit were getting married in less than an hour, whatever the circumstances. Her future would be as his wife. The thought made her breath catch in her throat. Wife?

  Just then Maddie entered with the silk leaves and pinned them into Hallie’s hair. They were the perfect touch. Maddie went off to see to the children, and Hallie went downstairs to wait for the ceremony. As she descended the stairs, the weight of the heavily embroidered silk trailed behind her, making her feel regal, lovely, and confident, a princess attending her first ball.

  When she reached the foyer, Hallie started toward the parlor, but then remembered that Agnes would be there. She wasn’t that confident. Facing Agnes and all her talk of love and weddings and forever. Down the hall was Kit’s study—the safest place to wait—and it would be quiet so she could calm herself, and maybe even plot her next siege on Kit’s unsuspecting heart.

  Her hand was on the doorknob, when she heard voices from inside the study and paused, listening. It was Kit; she’d recognize that bellow anywhere. He said her name. Curious, she leaned closer to the door. After all, husbands and wives shouldn’t have any secrets between them.

  “Jo’s dead, Lee!” Kit snapped.

  “Oh Christ, Kit. I didn’t mean to open old wounds,” Lee responded. “I’m sorry . . .”

  Joe? Who was Joe? Hallie leaned a little closer.

  “Forget it. It’s me,” Kit said. “Just the mention of her name can still gut me.”

  Her?

  Kit went on. “You know, it’s as if that lovely, passionate wife of mine can reach her deceitful hand all the way from the grave and twist her Brutus’s knife a little deeper into my back.”

  Hallie sagged against the cold door. A wife. He had a wife!

  “Sometimes,” Kit said, “I still blame myself for the change in Jo. If I hadn’t left her for so long, maybe . . .” The anger left Kit’s voice, and in its place was what sounded like the quiet, wistful tone of a confused and wounded man.

  “I thought the bond between us was strong enough to survive one voyage apart. I loved her, Lee, but she stopped loving me. Tell me, how can you leave a warm, loving wife and come home a year later to a cold stranger? She killed something in me, and so help me God, it still hurts. I spent two months trying to find some spark of love in her. Two months of swallowing my pride and almost begging her to stay home and give us a chance. She wouldn’t even try.”

  “There must have been some reason,” Lee speculated.

  “Oh, she had a reason.” His bitter tone returned. “A reason named Jonathan Hicks. I remember the last time I tried to talk to her. I suggested we take a trip, anywhere she wanted to go. When we were first married she had wanted us to see Paris together. She had been so insistent; she said you had to go to France with someone you loved, because when you were there, you fell in love all over again. That morning I tried to rekindle that excitement, fool that I was. God, when I think of how I almost begged her to go . . .”

  A thud sounded from inside, and Hallie could picture Kit slamming his fist on the desk while he spoke the hurtful, purging words that killed her dreams.

  “Do you know what she did? She laughed at me! I’ll never forget that laugh; it was unnatural. Even now it makes me feel empty. Then she made up some lame excuse about visiting her cousin in Boston. She said she didn’t care where I went as long as it was far away from her.”

  “Kit, you don’t have to tell me this,” Lee said.

  “I haven’t told anyone except my family, and for five bloody years I’ve let it burn in my gut. Jo left for Boston, and I took the ship out for a few months. When I came home, part of me still hoped that maybe by some miracle the old Jo would be waiting. But she wasn’t. She was dead, killed in a carriage accident in Boston along with her lover, Jonathan Hicks.”

  The room was silent, like the tears that streamed down Hallie’s blotched cheeks.

  “Don’t ever fall in love, Lee. Love is a disease. It sucks the life from your veins and the warmth from your soul. Then it wraps your mind in chains from which you’ll never be free.”

  A glass clinked. “Here,” Lee said, “you need a drink.”

  “God no! That’s what got me into this mess. Marriage, shit! Just what I need. It was bad enough when I was married to someone I loved. But with Hallie . . . I don’t feel anything.”

  “That’s not what you said last night,” Lee reminded him. “You said you couldn’t keep your hands off her.”

  “I was drunk.” He paused and Hallie felt a huge pain in her chest. “I don’t love her, Lee.”

  “She’s a lovely girl. You said so yourself.”

  The clock chimed four and Hallie pushed herself away from the support of the door. She didn’t want anyone to see her hurting. She turned and ran to the kitchen door. Just as she pushed it open, she heard Kit’s final words.

  “It’s four o’clock. Come on, Lee, let’s go on to this farce of a wedding.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The clock chimed on the half hour.

  “What the hell is keeping her? It’s four-thirty.” Kit crammed his hands into his trouser pockets and paced the foyer.

  “She’s a bride. She’s probably nervous.” Lee turned at the sound of the hallway door closing and a soft whistle of appreciation escaped his lips.

  Kit turned and froze. Hallie stood in hallway, and the glow from a wall sconce shimmered behind her, making her appear haloed. The image was so lovely that his annoyance at this whole charade disappeared. She looked at him and raised her chin. Was that a challenge, he thought? She stepped toward him and her silk gown rustled.

  Maddie passed Kit on her way to the parlor. “You can escort Hallie in, Kit. Pastor Treadwell’s been waiting long enough.”

  For all her beauty and well-shouldered pride, when Hallie stepped into the light, she was pale, overly so. He saw in her a winsome, lost quality that made him remember he wasn’t the only one hurt by this marriage. This knowledge was not comforting; in fact, he was filled with self-anger, anger at himself, anger at these circumstances, angry that ever trusted a woman.

  Hallie glanced from Lee to Kit and her expression changed. “Yes, by all means, let’s get on with,” she paused. “What did you call it? Oh, that’s right. This farce of a wedding.” She gave him a look of ice.

  Kit heard Lee groan under his breath before he left them alone in the hall. Realizing she must have overheard his earlier words made Kit even angrier at himself for saying what he had, for getting into this mess, and for feeling guilty.

  “Fine,” he said, grabbing her hand and almost pulling her through the doorway. Once inside, he trapped her fingers in the crook of his elbow. She tightened them until she was pinching his forearm. He flexed his arm muscle until she slackened her grip. Then he covered her hand with his own. It wasn’t a loving gesture, but one of self-preservation. Her disgruntled face glowed with the need to pull something else, like digging her nails into him.

  He led her to the gathering near the fireplace, only slowing his long stride when they faced the pastor. The children, Agnes, and Lee stood by Maddie, whose disap
proving look forced Kit to avert his eyes. He knew he wasn’t making this any easier, but he had never been able to hide his emotions for very long. He scowled at the pastor. “We’re ready.”

  The ceremony began, and it was just as hard as Kit thought it would be, listening to the marriage vows for the second time. In his youth he’d thought these vows meant something. His mind flashed with the memory of his first wedding and how he’d been filled with love and pride. His marriage had stripped him of both. And here he was, once again entering the bonds of matrimony, but this time he was older, wiser, and stronger, because his heart wasn’t ruling his head.

  When Pastor Treadwell asked if he would love, honor, and cherish Hallie, her unladylike snort brought him back to the present. The minister was frowning at them, and Lee, who stood on Kit’s right, prodded Kit with his elbow. Kit realized it was time for his response. “I will.”

  The pastor turned to Hallie and repeated the vows.

  “Whatever you say,” Hallie said with a curt wave of her free hand.

  Kit tightened his grip on her hand, but she refused to speak again. “She means yes,” he snapped.

  The minister asked for the ring. There hadn’t been time to buy a ring, and in all his blustering around, Kit hadn’t thought about it. He worked his grandfather’s signet ring off his finger and shoved it on Hallie’s. It swam on her finger, and in his rush, he’d put it on the wrong hand. She stared at it with such hurt on her face that he had to look away.

  The room was thick with tension, making everyone, including the pastor, acutely aware of the antagonism between the bride and groom. He abruptly ended the ceremony. Hallie pulled her right hand from Kit’s, and the ring slipped off her finger and fell to the floor. She watched it roll with what Kit could only describe as a numb, blank look, and when the ring hit a table leg and spun to a stop, Hallie stared pointedly at it and then at Kit before she turned, with her head held high, and walked out of the room.

  Hallie slammed the bedroom door as hard as she could. All the way up the stairs she fumed, tears coming co fast she was afraid she would shame herself and let Kit see them. She didn’t deserve this. She hadn’t trapped Kit into marriage; he had been the one who had drunkenly crawled into bed with her.

  Sure, she felt guilty, because every time he was close to her, her foolish heart beat faster and she had all but thrown herself at him. Well, after today she would never do that again! She kicked her shoes off her feet and sat down on the bed to think.

  The door burst open and Kit stormed in. He held his ring in his outstretched hand. “You forgot this.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  He stepped toward her. “Well, you’ve got it, and me.” He shoved the ring into her hand and tightened his own around it.

  “Lucky me.”

  “It’s nice to see that you’re not going to change my opinion of the married woman.”

  “Perhaps that’s because my husband is so kind and loving. After all, I have won your undying love, haven’t I?” She tried to jerk her hand free, but he wouldn’t let go. Instead he pulled her against his chest.

  “Is love what you want, Hallie?”

  Hallie knew her face mirrored his anger. “Let go and get out.”

  “When my ‘wife’ wants to be loved? Never.” His hand left her back and spanned the back of her head, forcing her mouth to his.

  Hallie kept her lips tightly closed, and she pushed at his chest. He kissed her harder. She drew back her foot to kick him, but her shoeless feet could do no damage. She tried to knee him, but he must have sensed her intention, because his hand gripped her lower thigh, right on her healing burn. She gasped, and his tongue penetrated her mouth while his other hand moved from her head to hold her jaw so she couldn’t bite him. The moment his tongue touched hers she lost her sense and found herself weakening. She loved the feel of his kiss. So much so, she couldn’t stop her own response. Her tongue joined his, and he grew gentle. His hands roamed her body, stroking the tension from wherever he touched her. Soon his lips left hers to drift softly across her cheek. He brushed aside her braided loops of hair so his lips could play with the outside of her ear.

  “I want you,” he whispered. “God help me, but I want you.”

  His tongue laved her ear and gave her chills.

  You’re doing it again. You’re falling and falling. Oh, but she couldn’t stop, not when it felt so good.

  His palm inched in slow circles over her cloth-covered breast. Her nipples tightened, and with each motion of his hand, they scratched against the fabric of her corset. She pressed into his hand, and he kneaded her breast. His other arm tightened across her back and his hand worked the buttons of her dress free. She felt her corset loosen, and suddenly her breasts were free. His hand closed over her, and he bent her back over his arm, giving his mouth access to her other breast. He suckled her and she moaned, because with each pull of his mouth, she throbbed deep in the crevice between her thighs.

  He lowered her to the bed and removed the support of his arm. The coolness of the coverlet now lay against her back. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, standing there coatless, tieless. His hands tore open his white linen shirt, sending the onyx studs scattering to the floor. The shirt split to reveal dark body hair swirling thickly across his exposed chest. Her curious gaze followed the path of hair from just below the hollow of his neck to where it disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.

  Then he was lying atop her, his hips pressing in hard against her skirts. His open mouth met hers and again his tongue plunged, keeping rhythm with his moving hips. His chest hair rubbed against the breasts he’d licked to the peak of sensation. Her mind, overpowered by the sensory response of her body, was vaguely aware of her heavy skirt moving down and off.

  Kit rolled with her until he laid between her and the bed. His hand tore at the ties of her petticoats. He shoved them down her legs and kicked the yards of fabric free. The petticoats rustled loudly in a room filled only with the sound of heated breathing. His tongue moved from her mouth to her ear and plunged inside. At the same time, his hand moved between their bodies, scooting down to the open seam in her drawers. He touched her.

  “No,” she gasped in shock, closing her legs tightly on his fingers.

  His tongue, damp and warm, left her ear, but his lips pressed against it, whispering into the damp interior. “Yes.”

  His knuckle, held tight by her tense thighs, pressed against her woman’s bud, making her cry out, half in protest, half in pleasure. Her legs relaxed, and deep within her she melted. His hand left her throbbing center, and he lifted her so her melting moistness rested on the cloth-covered bulge of his pants. Again he rotated his hips, slowly, pressing upward to push his hardness against her most sensitive point. He rocked with her, and the friction of the movement made her moan.

  Kit drew the laces from the last eyelet of her corset, and the garment separated. He pulled it from between their bodies and flung it on the floor. He rolled over with her again, shedding his shirt and mumbling against her ear. “Give me your body, Hallie. I want you . . . want you . . .”

  His mouth traveled up and down the cord of her neck while he undid the buttons on his pants. Everywhere their torsos touched there was hot skin against hot skin. His mouth assaulted her taut nipples, first one, then the other. His hand drifted over her ribs, stroking in soft, caressing circles, and then moved downward, into her drawers, where his fingers tangled through her woman’s mound and circled the center of her pleasure. Her thighs parted more and he lifted them until her knees bent. The inner seam of her drawers gaped open and he rose up, pushing down his pants and poising the tip of his hard, male length at the entrance to her body. Still his finger circled, driving her higher while he inched inside. He paused, both his entry and his finger, and she moved against them both, not wanting to lose that elusive thing her body strived toward.


  His lips met hers, soft and drifting, and they teased across her own. His finger started again and he filled her a little more, stretching into her until he touched her barrier. His tongue filled her mouth and his finger rubbed faster. She was dying and she didn’t care, because his finger gave the last stroke she sought. She cried her pleasure against his tongue, and he thrust through her, the painful tearing of her maidenhead eased by the drumming of her release.

  He stopped, embedded tightly within her. Then, after her pulsing ebbed, his hips rotated, each upward movement pulling him to the edge of her just as the downturn of his circle pushed him back inside. Again she felt the drive, only it was faster, deeper, but before she reached the peak, Kit groaned and plunged painfully deep, making Hallie cry out.

  He rested heavily against her, his ragged breathing slowed. “Lie still, sweet. Lie still . . .”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  He used his elbows to lift his chest from hers. “Is that better?”

  “No. It hurts . . . inside.” She was going to cry.

  He pulled out. “Okay?”

  The sobs burst, and she cried so hard she couldn’t get her breath.

  “Hallie, don’t cry, please.”

  He tried to hold her, but she turned away, crying and shamed.

  “Hallie, listen to me. It can hurt a woman . . . at first. I tried to make the loving easier . . .”

  Love?

  I don’t love her, Lee . . . His words echoed in her mind, and she cried harder. What had she done?

  His hand stroked her shoulder.

  “No! Don’t touch me!” she wailed, grabbing at her drawers. Her body, half naked and exposed, curled into a protective fetal ball. His weight left the bed and she heard the rustle of clothing.

  “Hallie?”

  “Go away.”

  “Goddammit, talk to me!” Kit grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up to her knees, forcing her to face him.