She opened the door without knocking, almost expecting him to be there waiting for her. She could hear a banging noise coming from the kitchen and followed it. “Hello? Boone?”
The banging stopped and he emerged from the back of the house looking so disheveled, so utterly, breathtakingly handsome, that Amelia actually felt her knees weaken.
“Hello.” She lifted the basket. “I’ve brought food.”
He stared at her, his eyes shifting briefly to the basket, before coming back to her face. He was still in the same clothes from the ball, but they bore little resemblance to the elegant suit he’d been wearing. He wore only the shirt, with collar removed and cuffs rolled up, and slightly untucked from his trousers. A smudge of dirt marred the now-wrinkled shirt. He looked completely exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow.
“May we talk?” Amelia asked softly, even as her heart pounded painfully.
He let out a long breath and nodded, silently walking over to a sofa and taking the protective cloth from it, folding it neatly before sitting, making Amelia smile. She placed the basket on a table, then sat at the opposite side of the sofa, as if they were a newly courting couple observing proper etiquette.
Amelia took a deep breath, feeling that all-too-familiar sensation of a burning throat that indicated tears were far too close. She swallowed and steeled herself for what she had to say. She would not cry, no matter what he said. No matter what he forced her to say. She lifted her chin and clutched her hands together almost painfully.
“Do you know when I fell in love with you?” she asked, as if she were asking him what he’d like for lunch.
He looked at her sharply, disbelievingly, then looked away as if he were angry. But Amelia would not stop now. She would come and say what she had to say. Then, if he didn’t love her, she would leave. “It was after Julia died and you hung all those little bits of glass. I remember thinking that there was not another man on earth who would have done that. That’s when it happened.”
Amelia stared at Boone’s stony profile, watching as the muscles in his jaw worked, over and over, as his hands clenched, as his breathing became oddly harsh. Finally, he looked at her, his eyes so tortured, Amelia nearly let out a sound of dismay.
“What?” he growled. “What did you say?”
“You were not listening?” Amelia asked, baffled and slightly miffed, having just laid her heart at his feet.
“Say it again,” he said, and that’s when Amelia saw that his eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Say it again,” he whispered, his voice shaking with raw emotion.
“I love you. With all my heart.”
The tension suddenly left his body and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against them. “Again,” he said.
Amelia let out a watery laugh, tears now falling freely down her face. “I love you. I love you,” she said, moving next to him and pulling him close. “I love you, Boone Kitteridge. I love you. I love you.”
He laughed, his face transformed. “Again,” he said, laughing and kissing her.
“Not until I hear it from you,” Amelia said, between kisses.
“I fell in love with you the day you walked into my store wearing that fancy yellow dress and looking like moonbeams were shooting from your hair.”
“Oh, Boone.”
He kissed her then, a rare, beautiful kiss, filled with anguish and relief and all the love he’d been holding back for months. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her chin, as if to make up for every time he’d wanted to kiss her but had held himself back. Amelia felt that wonderful, familiar warmth growing, making her body languid and alive.
“Shall we try out our new bed?” she asked with an impish smile.
He gave her one last drugging kiss, his tongue moving against hers, as she let out a whimper of need.
“Come on,” he said, standing and holding out his hand. And then he ran for the stairs, all signs of exhaustion gone, tugging her along behind him as he took the steps two at a time, Amelia giggling breathlessly as she tried to keep up.
He dove for the bed, taking her with him, landing on his back and pulling her down on top of him. “Say it again,” he said, smiling and looking so boyish Amelia laughed aloud.
“Are you going to be a pest about this, Boone? I do hope I don’t regret telling you.”
“Say it,” he growled.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a clue what you can mean.”
He pulled her down for a long kiss that stole her breath, moving his hands to her backside and pulling her hard against his arousal. “Amelia,” he said with a warning tone.
“I love you,” she said, kissing him between each word. “I love that you are the kindest man I’ve ever met. I love that you never, ever think of yourself first. I love that your hair curls when it rains. I love that your eyes look blue when you wear blue, and gray when you wear everything else. I love that you folded that sheet before sitting down on the couch. I even love that you scowl whenever I’m being extraordinarily nice to you. Like now.” She moved her hand and stroked the length of him. “Why are you scowling?”
He smiled. “I’m just not used to it.”
“I shall endeavor to be so nice to you that you will get used to it,” she said pertly. She sat up on him and began to undo her buttons, loving the way his eyes followed her progress, the way his hands lay restlessly at her waist, the way every once in a while he moved his hips upward as if he couldn’t take one more second of not having her.
She turned her back just enough so he could unlace her stays while she unhooked her chemise, letting out a sigh of pleasure when he kissed her neck and moved his hands to her breasts, eliciting such intense pleasure, she cried out. “I do like that,” she breathed, moving against him, feeling a strange power when his erection grew even harder.
He turned her to face him, and he took one nipple into his mouth, suckling, sending such intense exquisite sensations between her legs she thought she might reach release at that moment. Amelia, her dress still gathered at her waist, moved against Boone in an almost involuntary way, as if driven by a carnal need she could not control. She wanted release. Wanted it. Now.
“Touch me,” she said. “Oh, God, Boone, please.”
In one movement, she was on her back and Boone was struggling to take off the rest of her clothes, cursing at her shoes, pulling off her drawers and underthings until she was naked before him. For some reason, she felt even more wanton lying there naked while he was still fully clothed.
“Touch me,” she repeated, unnecessarily. For he was lost in her, drinking her in, touching her at the apex of her thighs, moving against the slick heat of her. “Oh, touch me, touch me,” she said, over and over, even as he did, even as he put a finger inside her, moved a thumb against her. Kissed her.
Amelia, panting, lost in a haze of arousal, looked down to see Boone kiss her there, between her legs. Felt his tongue, oh, goodness, his tongue. There. “Yes,” she said, moving her hips uncontrollably, feeling herself losing her grip on reality, feeling her body shake with intense pleasure. She convulsed around his finger, against his mouth, letting out a scream, and was still pulsing with her release when he put himself inside her. Amelia nearly giggled when she realized that one of Boone’s pant legs was still on. He shucked it off even as he mouthed one nipple, as if impatient beyond reason to have her.
He moved against her, then stopped. Suddenly. “Say it,” he said, grinning down at her.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He moved again, his face straining to hold back his release. “Again,” he groaned.
“I love you,” she whispered, and continued to whisper in time to his thrusts, until he threw back his head in ecstasy, until he lay beside her completely spent.
“God, I’m tired,” he said against her neck. “But I’m even more hungry. Come on.” He threw his shirt at her and she pulled it on, loving that it smelled like him, of outdoors and Boone. He pulled on his pa
nts and held out his hand to her, bringing her back down the stairs that only a few moments ago, they’d run up.
They ate cold chicken, standing barefoot in their kitchen, while Amelia heated up a crock of rich vegetable soup Cook had included. Afterward, they dressed and walked the beach, returning to make love again, this time more slowly, appreciating each other’s bodies until they were both extremely knowledgeable about what made the other happy.
As the sun went down, they lay together in their bed, so completely exhausted they could hardly move. Boone lightly stroked Amelia’s hair, and every once in a while gathered the strength to move his head and kiss her smooth shoulder. “I should get up,” he said.
“No. Stay a bit longer.” Amelia pulled him against her, resting her head on his shoulder, one arm draped across his torso. “Just a bit. You’re so warm,” she said sleepily.
“Mmm.” It was all he could muster. She was so soft, so warm, and he was so very, very happy, that he drifted off to sleep before he could think about getting up, before he could feel that panic in his gut that he might hurt her.
Boone awoke to the strange sensation of a woman softly sighing next to him, to the sun just coming up and making the water on the Irish Sea glow a soft rose, to birds chirping in the oak tree outside their window. As he watched Amelia, her eyes drifted sleepily open, so brilliantly blue, his breath caught in his chest.
“Good morning,” she said, and snuggled closer.
“Mornin’,” he said, sounding gruff compared to her quiet greeting.
She moved her head just enough so she could give him a kiss, soft, soft lips against his, and he felt as if his heart was going to explode, it was so full. He was sleeping with his wife, the women he loved, who apparently loved him. It was a miracle, that’s what it was. And he’d slept through the night without a single dream that he could remember.
Boone realized, lying there, that he’d never felt quite so rested in his life. He wanted to run ten miles, swim in that cold, cold sea until his lungs burst. He wanted to make love to his wife until she screamed in pleasure. He wanted to yell from every rooftop in England that he was in love.
That he was loved.
Instead, he kissed his wife on her downy cheek, closed his eyes, and drifted back to sleep.
Chapter 21
Amelia snuggled into her overstuffed chair in her favorite room of her brother’s Hanover Square town house, a copy of the Illustrated London News on her lap, happily reading Anthony Hope’s short story in the Christmas supplement that came with the News each year. She adored the Christmas season, and had decided that she was not going to let something as silly as Boone’s stubbornness about attending the Rotherham Christmas Ball ruin it.
“Isn’t it time you got dressed for the play?” Maggie called from the door. She was wearing a lovely dress of rich blue satin, with dark blue velvet trim accenting the deep neckline. It was embroidered with an intricate vine of delicate leaves made from gold and pearl beading that trailed from her trim waist to the gown’s hem.
Amelia glanced at the clock and jumped up. “Goodness, I had no idea it was so late,” she said. “Where is Boone?”
“Getting a last fitting at Edward’s tailor, poor man. They should be home any minute and ready to go. I’m so looking forward to seeing A Christmas Carol on stage. I never have, you know.”
“I haven’t either, except if you count a production I did with the children two years ago,” Amelia said. “I was all three ghosts and Aunt Matilda’s oldest was Scrooge. I’m afraid it was highly unrecognizable, but we had a grand time.”
Amelia picked up her skirts and ran to the door. “I’ll never be ready in time. Look at my hair,” she said, running down the hall to her rooms. Fortunately when she arrived, her maid was already there with her dress laid out, looking completely relaxed.
“Do your best,” Amelia said, turning her back so that the maid could begin unhooking her dress. Within minutes, she was in her gown and sitting as her maid efficiently put up her hair into a simple but elegant style.
“All done now,” the woman said, securing one last strand of seed pearls into her hair.
“My goodness, Mary, how you did this in such a short time, I’ll never know,” Amelia said, gazing at her reflection. She was a vision; even Amelia knew it. Her gown was an emerald green silk with a gently rounded neckline trimmed in tiny beads that matched a row of pearls along the hem. A rich, embroidered swirling pattern on the skirt gave the creation a festive look that matched the evening’s event. She’d gotten used to a far more ordinary girl looking back at herself, one who wore dresses that buttoned up the front, and did her hair in a hastily pinned bun. She’d never complain about not having servants, but could fully appreciate their worth. She adored her simple life, but it was wonderful, once in a while, to enter the tonier world of her brother.
“Honestly, Amelia, no matter how good I think I look, you always have to look better,” Maggie said from the doorway with a mock frown.
“And no doubt Her Grace will outshine us both,” Amelia said, referring to the Duchess of Bellingham, Maggie’s best friend.
“Of course,” Maggie said without rancor. “I do have to tell you that I’m a bit worried. The men haven’t returned home yet, and we should be leaving soon if we are to make the curtain.”
Amelia stood and looked out the window at the gaslit street below. “A carriage just arrived. It must be them.” A moment later, two men disembarked. “They’re here. Shall we meet them and stun them with our beauty?”
“I think we shall,” Maggie said, holding out her arm. The two women marched down the hall toward the entrance arm-in-arm, only to have Boone blast by them.
“Boone. Hello,” Amelia said, watching as he climbed up the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t until he reached the landing that she saw the blood. “Boone. What happened?”
She started to follow him up the stairs but her brother stopped her. “There was an accident.” At Amelia’s expression, he quickly added, “He’s not injured. He saved a man who was, though. It was remarkable.” Edward shook his head and almost seemed in a mild state of shock. Maggie grabbed his arm. “Edward, what happened?”
He looked at each woman, a strange smile on his face. “You both know Lord Wallace.” The women nodded. “He was struck by a carriage, then another ran over his arm. We didn’t see it happen, but Boone heard him screaming and jumped down from our carriage. It hadn’t even stopped yet. He ran to the scene, pushed everyone aside, and proceeded to stem the bleeding.” He swallowed, suddenly looking slightly ill. “The blood was…copious. It was a miracle, really, that we came upon him in time. His own physician is caring for him now but he credited Boone with saving his life.”
Amelia turned and ran up the stairs to find her husband stripping out of his brand new blood-soaked frock coat. “You’re all right?”
“Of course,” he said, looking down at his ruined shirt. “But I’m afraid I’ve nothing suitable to wear to the theater tonight.”
Edward’s valet entered the room and let out a small sound of despair at the sight of his clothing, then immediately left the room. “Squeamish?” Boone called out, and Amelia shushed him.
“Not everyone can bathe in someone’s blood without fainting,” Amelia said, laughing. She sobered, gazing at her adored husband. “Edward told us what happened. Apparently I’m married to a hero.”
Boone shook his head. “I did what I was trained to do, that’s all. Edward said you know the man? Lord Wallace?”
“Yes, he’s quite an important political figure. He’s a viscount. Do you think he’ll live?”
“Most probably. His physician seemed competent enough. But his injury was bad and there’s always a chance of infection.” He pulled off his stained shirt. “You look beautiful. Maybe no one will notice I’m not dressed.”
“Surely you’re going to wear more than that,” Amelia said, giving his body a long and longing look.
“Sir. I have a solution,” Cunningha
m said, entering the room. In his hands he held a fine, newly pressed suit. “You and Lord Hollings are of a similar build, and I have obtained his permission to use this. I’m afraid I cannot replace your frock coat,” he said, looking over at the fur-collared coat mournfully, “but the weather is unusually warm tonight so perhaps you do not need it.”
“Oh, Cunningham, you have saved the night.” Amelia gave her husband a quick kiss on his cheek and departed the room.
Word of heroic deeds spread just as quickly as misdeeds in the ton, and it wasn’t long before everyone knew that Lord Hollings’s personal physician and brother-in-law had heroically saved the life of Lord Wallace. By the time they got to the Lyceum, the first act had begun, but everyone forgave their late arrival. Their appearance in the private box drew what seemed to be undue attention, raised opera glasses, and whispered murmurs. Suddenly, just as old man Scrooge was listing the failings of the poor, a man in a box across from them stood and began clapping. Loudly. And staring directly at Boone.
Another man joined, and then another, until it seemed the entire place was standing and applauding, and the poor actors were left on stage to wonder what on earth was happening.
“Stand and acknowledge them, Dr. Kitteridge,” Edward said.
Face red, Boone stood and gave a slight self-conscious bow, an action that brought forth a rousing cheer. Even those who no doubt didn’t have a clue what was happening, raised their voices. And when Boone sat, it all died down, and the play continued as if nothing had happened.
Boone was equally moved and horrified by the acknowledgement. He leaned over to Amelia and said, “Good thing Cunningham found me a nice suit to wear.”
Amelia stifled a giggle, and grasped Boone’s hand. She didn’t let go until intermission.
Jane Goodger Page 26