by Sherry Lewis
Zacharias let his gaze drift over her again. “I can see that, Madame.”
“Agatha.”
“Agatha.” He jerked to his feet and paced a step or two away. “You are behaving differently, there is no doubt about that. But I have no interest in putting an end to our estrangement.”
“Why not?”
“As I’ve told you repeatedly, too much has passed between us—”
“But I don’t know what happened.” She stood to face him, rested one hand on his chest, and looked deep into his eyes. “Please, Zacharias. Tell me.”
Another flash of yearning shot through him and he wanted desperately to believe her. He almost wanted to clear away her confusion. But memories stilled his tongue. “I am many things, my dear, but a fool is not one of them. And I’d be a fool to expose myself and my sons to you again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be on my way.”
She clutched his arm as if her life depended on it. “Okay. Tell me about you and Patricia Starling instead.”
He turned to face her again and drew his arm away slowly. “That is one subject I won’t discuss with you. Not now. Not ever again.”
“You’ll have to,” she warned, “because I’m not going to give up. Meg tells me you turned to Patricia because I wasn’t exactly a loving wife—”
“Loving?” He cut her off with a curl of his lip. “No, Agatha, loving has never been a word I’d use to describe you.”
Her cheeks reddened, making her unbelievably beautiful. She lowered her gaze and slanted her eyes back up at him in a manner that seemed almost provocative. “Again, I apologize. But, Zacharias, I know you still feel something for me. That kiss the other day—”
“Was a mistake,” he finished gruffly, more to convince himself than her.
She shook her head and smiled slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you telling me you enjoyed it?”
“Are you telling me you didn’t?”
Good Lord, the woman was flirting with him. Flirting. Agatha! If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was dreaming. And worse, he liked it. There’d been a time when he’d have given anything to have her look at him as she did now. When he’d have sold his soul to have her touch him.
“Perhaps you’d like another,” he said, inching closer, hoping she’d say yes but expecting her to scurry away.
“Perhaps I would.” Her gaze didn’t even falter. Instead, he saw a gleam of anticipation in the dark eyes. Her lips parted slightly. Her breath grew shallow. He could see her pulse in the hollow of her throat.
Urgent wiped away the last of his reservations. Without giving himself a chance to think again, he pulled her into his embrace and lowered his lips to hers.
EIGHT
Agatha melted against him eagerly and opened her mouth to him, inviting, teasing, pulling him even deeper beneath her spell. He tried like the devil to keep his wits about him, but her total acquiescence and the impatience of her response wiped everything but need from his mind.
Tightening his embrace, he deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth with his tongue, pouring all his frustrations into the contact, seeking what he never thought he’d find, finding what, until now, he’d only dreamed of.
He moved his hands to her hips tentatively and when she didn’t pull away, he crushed her against him. She moaned with pleasure and let one hand stray across his shoulder while the other found its way into his hair. Fire coiled in his belly, desire pulsed through his veins, longing pushed all rational thought from his mind.
When he could no longer breathe, he reluctantly ended the kiss but instead of pulling his mouth away, he trailed it along the curve of her neck. She arched closer and moaned again, and the sound nearly drove him wild.
God in heaven, he wanted her. He wanted to pull her into the hedges and make love to her right then and there. He ached to hear her cry out with pleasure, yearned to give in to her request and forget all that had passed between them.
But remembering cooled his ardor and brought back his sanity. He released her as suddenly as he’d embraced her. “Forgive me, Agatha. Your charms made me forget myself.”
“Good.”
“No.” He barked the word with a harshness that surprised him and made Agatha’s eyes widen in surprise. “It shan’t happen again. It can’t happen again.”
Her eyes clouded, but the clouds were gentle. “Why can’t it happen again? We are still married, aren’t we? There isn’t anything illegal about kissing your wife in the garden, is there?”
“Certainly not. But it’s been a long time since I thought of you in that way.”
“In what way? As your wife?”
Stunned by the flirtatious curve of her lip, the almost sultry gleam in her eye, he could only give a curt nod.
“Well, then. . . ” She touched her hand to his chest again and he thought his heart might well burst from it. “Maybe you should start.”
Had he not had such control, his mouth would have fallen open. As it was, he could only stare at her. He couldn’t deny that something had brought about a miraculous change in her. It made no sense at all, but neither was his reaction to her rational. She seemed so different—almost as if some other woman had taken her place.
He’d satisfied his urges with Patricia over the years, but none of her kisses had been as satisfying as Agatha’s in the past few days. None of them had made his blood rush quite so fast or his pulse thunder through him with such fury. He took a deep, steadying breath, argued with himself for half a heartbeat then captured her hand with his.
Whether it made sense or not, this was the Agatha he’d always dreamed of. This was the woman he’d fallen in love with, and he didn’t have the strength to fight his attraction for her. It had always been there, just waiting for her to respond to him as a woman—as a wife should.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said softly, giving in to the temptation to lift her hand to his lips. “But God help you if you’re toying with me, Agatha.”
Her eyes darkened even further, her lips parted ever-so-slightly, but he resisted the urge to kiss them again. She turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his. “Believe me, Zacharias, I’m not playing a game. Can we put our marriage back together and give our sons the family they need?”
God help him, he thought, for weakening. Once again, he’d been swayed by a woman’s charms. Once again, he’d nearly let reason run away because of the soft touch of a hand. He’d thought himself well over that particular weakness. He’d learned to watch for women who used their feminine charms to get what they wanted. The problem was, he’d never expected Agatha to employ them.
“As tempting as your offer is,” he whispered, “I cannot do it.”
Without giving her a chance to respond or himself an opportunity to change his mind, he hurried away and put as much distance between them as he could. But as God was his witness, he thought as he strode away, he’d have to keep a better guard over himself in the future.
With sinking heart, Shelby watched Zacharias storm away. She hadn’t expected to try to seduce him. She wasn’t supposed to seduce him. He was a married man, for heaven’s sake, and he only thought he was married to her. She was supposed to be doing this for Agatha, but she’d completely forgotten whose body she inhabited until he’d pulled away.
She took a ragged breath and tried to still the hammering of her heart. What had come over her? Why had she let him affect her that way? She’d had relationships in the past, though never anything remotely serious. But she’d never met a man whose slightest touch took away her ability to think or whose kiss left her little more than a bundle of nerve endings the way Zacharias’s did.
She stood there, trembling, until Zacharias disappeared from view. Then, slowly, she turned toward home.
The word checked her step and she sighed softly. Not home. Summervale. Agatha’s home. Even though the lines between Shelby Miller and Agatha Logan were blurring a little more every day, she had to remember who she was and
why she was here. There were too many lives at stake to forget herself for even a moment.
Thoroughly exhausted, Zacharias descended the grand staircase. He’d dressed for dinner, but he sincerely hoped his mother had planned a quiet meal for a change. He didn’t have the energy to entertain guests, nor did he have the stamina for another argument. He wanted only to enjoy his evening meal in peace, spend a few minutes with the twins before bed, and then escape to his study with a bottle of port and a fine cigar.
Philip had kept him busy from the moment he arrived at the lumber yard until the time he left, and his body ached from the unaccustomed exertion. But even hard work hadn’t wiped the encounter with Agatha from his mind or removed the eagerness of her kiss from his senses. Every time he blinked, the woman’s face floated in front of him, smiling, beckoning, pulling him deeper into a morass from which he might never escape.
He needed some time to himself. Time to think. Time to put everything in perspective. And tonight he’d have it. No matter what his mother might do or say, he wouldn’t allow her to drag him into another argument about the saw mill, about Patricia, and especially not about Agatha.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the sitting room, nodding at Badgett, who stood at the ready outside the door. But when he heard voices coming from inside, he held up a hand in a signal to wait. “Do we have dinner guests?”
“Yes, sir, you do.”
Zacharias held back a groan of dismay and leaned closer to listen. Patricia’s voice rose and fell. His mother’s wove through it like a discordant note. He turned a weary glance at Badgett. “Mrs. Starling?”
“Yes, sir. And Dr. Messing as well.”
“Dr. Messing?” Zacharias did groan this time. He couldn’t help it. His mother might hold the old windbag in high regard, but Zacharias had always considered him self-important, smug, and boring as hell. An evening in his company would ruin even the best of days.
Letting out a deep, resigned breath, he nodded for Badgett to open the door, then put on his best smile and plunged inside. He turned to the doctor first and forced a heartiness he didn’t feel. “Messing. Good to see you.” He shook the older man’s gnarled hand, then bowed toward Patricia. She wore a deep rose-colored silk gown that revealed enough of her shoulders and bosom to tempt a saint.
But for the first time in recent memory, the sight left Zacharias unaffected.
“Say hello to our darling Patricia,” Victoria said, sailing across the room toward him. “Doesn’t she look lovely?”
Zacharias gave the expected response—the only possible response under the circumstances. “Of course. Lovely as usual.” He bowed over her hand but refrained from passing his lips across her fingertips. “I’m sorry I’m late joining you. I’ve recently gone into partnership with Philip Clayton at his saw mill and business prevented me from arriving home until just now.” He poured a sherry and handed it to Messing. “You know Clayton, don’t you doctor?”
Messing accepted the glass and nodded. “Of course. Isaiah’s son.”
Victoria’s smile faded immediately. “Zacharias thinks he wants to get involved with industry.”
“Zacharias is certain he wants to get involved in industry,” he corrected with a tight smile. “And he has.” He lifted his own glass and took good, stiff drink. The liquor traced a pattern of warmth down his throat and settled in his stomach.
Victoria waved away his response as if it was of no consequence. “Perhaps I’m too indulgent, but I shan’t let myself worry about what is surely only a passing interest.” Her lips curved into a frigid smile. “There are, as I was just explaining to Dr. Messing, more important things to concern ourselves with.”
Her patronizing tone set Zacharias’s teeth on edge. “Oh? And what might they be?”
“You know very well what concerns me.” Victoria smoothed her skirt with one hand and sent Messing a look full of meaning. “I am most disturbed by this recent business with Agatha.”
Zacharias carefully lowered his glass to the table. “Am I to understand you’ve been discussing Agatha with Dr. Messing?”
“Of course I have. Her recent behavior concerns me deeply and, since the doctor has attended her in the past, I thought it expedient to consult him.”
“I see.” Forcing himself to maintain control, Zacharias turned toward Messing. “I’m sorry my mother has taken up your valuable time, Doctor. There’s really nothing to worry about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t agree.” Messing settled a hand on his ample stomach and leaned back in his chair. “Victoria tells me that Agatha claims to have suffered a loss of memory.”
“Yes. And I’m convinced she’s telling the truth.”
“After one or two brief conversations with her?” Victoria laughed sharply. “Have you suddenly become an expert on the workings of the human mind?”
“Of course not.” Zacharias paced toward the windows and looked out at the city below and the moonlight on the river. “But I do know Agatha.”
“Indeed.” He could see his mother’s reflection in the glass and the glance she shared with Patricia.
His palms grew frigid and his pulse slowed. “Yes, Mother. Indeed. Regardless of what you may think of her, she is my wife.”
“I’m aware of that,” Victoria said, rising slowly. “Painfully aware. And that’s precisely why I asked Patricia and Dr. Messing to join us this evening.” The rustle of her skirts as she moved toward him sounded ominous. “Perhaps you aren’t interested in protecting this family from that woman, but I am. I have not devoted my entire life to building the Logan reputation only to have some mad woman dash it to the ground while I stand idly by.”
Zacharias clenched his fists and met her gaze. “Ah, but you see, Mother, that’s where you and I disagree. I don’t believe she’s mad.”
Messing shifted in his seat and leaned into the conversation. “Tell me, my boy, has she given you any indication how this memory loss came about?”
“I don’t believe she knows.”
Patricia and Victoria shared another long glance.
Messing twitched his moustache and tugged his coat across his stomach. “It is my considered opinion that a complete loss of memory would be impossible without a severe head injury to bring it about.”
“Then perhaps she had an injury.”
“Really, Zacharias.” Victoria’s voice prickled with irritation. “She didn’t appear injured to me.”
“No,” he admitted slowly, “she didn’t. But that means nothing. Even you must admit she is not the same woman.”
“Which only proves my point.” Victoria bobbed her head and her earrings caught the glow of the candles, shooting sparks of light onto the wall. “You seem determined not to listen to me, but I had hoped you would pay attention to Dr. Messing.”
“Please, Zacharias.” Patricia’s distress sounded clearly in her voice. “Listen to them.”
He turned his back on all of them, angry, frustrated, even strangely, unbelievably protective of Agatha.
“My best advice,” the doctor said, “is to avoid her when at all possible. If you must speak with her, watch for signs of disorientation and odd behavior. With sufficient proof, you can commit her to an asylum.”
Zacharias looked at each of them in turn. “Out of the question.”
“My dear boy,” the doctor said patiently. “That is precisely the question. If Agatha is behaving strangely, she could be a danger—not only to you and your sons, but to herself, as well.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case.”
“Ah!” Messing smiled triumphantly. “But can you be certain?”
The question brought him up short. He wanted to say yes, but hadn’t he asked a similar question earlier? And hadn’t Agatha expressed her own doubts? Not about her sanity, to be sure, but the effect was the same.
“Can you be certain?” Messing asked again.
Zacharias shook his head reluctantly. “No.”
A triumphant smile cr
ossed Messing’s lips. A victorious gleam lit his mother’s eyes. A relieved sigh escaped Patricia’s lips. And Zacharias felt like a traitor.
“Then you must keep an eye on her,” Messing insisted. “And under no circumstances should you allow her near your children.”
Zacharias hadn’t thought of letting Agatha see the boys yet, but hearing Messing’s warning made him realize that he’d been hoping that day would come. Clenching his teeth in frustration, he glared at his reflection in the glass.
It was time to admit the truth. He’d created this mess, no one else. He’d hurt Agatha, taken advantage of Patricia, angered his mother, and put his sons’ futures in jeopardy. Only he could set things right. The trouble was, he couldn’t set anything right without hurting someone further in the process.
Meg stood in the doorway to catch a breeze while she waited for the dish water to heat on the stove. At this time of afternoon, the fire made the kitchen almost unbearable, and while she’d forced herself to suffer it in the past, the last ten days had brought about such a change in Agatha, she no longer feared reprisal if she took a moment or two’s respite from her workload.
Nor did the load seem quite so heavy these days.
A shout of laughter brought her head around and Colin’s voice reached her a second later. “Be careful, Madame. Watch yerself on them stones. They can be slick.”
Agatha laughed again. “Just promise that if I fall, you’ll help me back up again.”
Meg shook her head in wonder when Colin’s laughter filled the silence. Much as they’d both tried to maintain their distance, Agatha’s cheerful attitude and her laughter had touched them both.
Who’d have ever imagined Agatha mucking about in the gardens with Colin? Who’d have ever imagined her carrying dishes into the kitchen after she finished a meal, or asking if she could eat in the kitchen with them instead of alone in the dining room?
Meg turned back to check the water on the stove. A head of steam drifted lazily to the ceiling. If she worked quickly, she could snip the beans Colin had picked for dinner on the back porch while the kitchen cooled down again.