He'd come around the bed to stand close to her. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, a worried expression on his face. She didn't know how it was possible, but even now there was something seductive about him. She felt something stir within her, a response, a reaction. It was clear that neither worry nor fatigue had the power to cancel out the effect of his physical presence. Even now she could feel energy beginning to return to her body, feel the tightening of muscles, the surge of warmth in her belly, the awakening of thoughts she'd tried hard to banish from her mind.
"I'll be fine," she insisted. "I just need a few minutes to recover."
The nervous energy came flooding back, tightening her nerves, awaking her senses, threatening to put her on edge once more.
"Give me a few minutes to put on some clothes," she said.
"You're going back to bed," Holt said. "Even if you can't sleep, you can rest."
She wasn't going to argue with him--he never listened to her--but she wasn't going back to bed. She heaved herself out of the chair, took one step, and her legs went out from under her.
Holt caught her in his arms, pressing her body tightly against his.
"Now will you go back to bed like I asked?" he said.
"No."
She wanted to explain, but that was the only word she could manage. Being in Holt's arms completely destroyed her ability to think about anything else. Even after he'd kissed her that time in the parlor, she'd considered her reaction shock more than attraction. Now there was no question in her mind. She was powerfully attracted to Holt, and the attraction was very physical.
"I could carry you back to your room."
"I'd come back immediately."
"Not if you can't walk."
"It was just a momentary weakness. You can let me go. I'm fine now."
"You're not fine, and you know it."
"You still don't have to worry about me."
"I can't help it."
"Why?" People had managed to keep from worrying about her all her life. She didn't know why he should be different.
"You've been struggling alone for years, doing far more than any one person ought to do, especially a young girl."
"I'm not a young girl anymore."
Everything about her body, his closeness, made her acutely aware of her maturation, of the fact that her needs were entirely different from those of a young girl.
"But you were when you started taking care of your father."
"That was a long time ago."
"For far too many years you didn't think of yourself, what you wanted, what you needed."
She trembled, wondering if he knew what she needed, what she wanted at this moment. She was afraid to articulate her needs, even to let them form into coherent thoughts. She knew that once she did, she'd never be able to deny them again.
"I know what it's like to feel there's nobody you can talk to," Holt said, "nobody who can understand that you have dreams of your own, that you feel like you're sacrificing your life and nobody appreciates it. I know how it feels to wonder if there'll be anything left for you when it's all over, and I know what it's like to come face to face with the certainty that there will be nothing left for you--nothing at all."
She didn't know where the sobs came from, but once they started she couldn't stop them. Holt had pried the cap off her fears, and the pressure that had built up over the years boiled over. But even as she started to push away from Holt, she felt an even greater need to be close to him, to cling to him, to lean on his strength. The fact that he did know what she'd been through made her feel she was sharing with him rather than depending on him. When she felt Holt's arms tighten around her, she abandoned all resistance.
She didn't know how long she cried. It seemed like hours, yet Holt never moved his arms, never eased his hold on her, never let her feel she wasn't welcome to stay as long as she wanted. But even a well that has taken years to fill will eventually run dry, and finally her tears stopped.
"I'm okay. You can let me go," she said, keeping her gaze on the floor. "I won't fall down."
"Do you mind my holding you?"
The question surprised her so much, she almost told him she liked it very much. She stopped her treacherous tongue just in time. She looked up at him. "There's no need."
"Do you only do the things you need to do? What about the things you want to do?"
"What about you?" she asked, turning the question back on him. "Did you always get to do the things you wanted to do?"
"No, but I'm about to take care of one thing right now."
Then he kissed her.
Chapter Nineteen
The shock of feeling Holt's lips on her own rendered Felicity nearly incapable of thought as well as action. Any strength that remained to her simply drained away. She wanted to respond, but she couldn't. She felt paralyzed. Holt broke the kiss.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."
"Why did you kiss me?" she managed to ask.
"I've been wanting to kiss you again ever since that day in the parlor."
"Why?"
"Because I like kissing you," Holt said.
"But you don't like me."
"What makes you think that?"
"We're always arguing."
"That doesn't mean I don't like you or want to kiss you."
"Why?" She sounded like a child, repeating the same word over and over again, but she wanted to know. She needed to know.
"Do you have to have answers for everything?"
"For this I do."
His hold on her had eased when he broke the kiss, but now it tightened again. Somehow her arms had found their way around his neck.
"You're a very attractive woman," Holt said. "I've thought so from the first time I saw you."
"Do you kiss all the attractive women you meet?" It was a stupid question, but she was feeling a bit stupid right then.
"No."
"They why did you kiss me?"
He chuckled softly. "For a woman with her arms around my neck, you sure are full of questions."
"I've never had my arms around a man's neck before. No man has ever kissed me like you did. Why did you want to?" She looked into his eyes, hoping to find answers there to her questions.
"Partly from impulse. Partly because you looked so vulnerable I couldn't resist."
She didn't know if she liked his answer. She was willing to give Holt the benefit of the doubt, but she wasn't going to accept being kissed because he thought she was needy. She wanted to be kissed for herself.
"I thought men only kissed their wives, or women they planned to marry. Honorable men, that is," she added, thinking of Beau Stregghorn.
"In Vermont, many men don't even do that," Holt said. "I find the Southern practice of kissing friends, especially when they're as pretty as you, more appealing."
"So you don't have to love a woman to kiss her."
"No."
"Not even on the mouth?"
"Not even then."
"So I could kiss you and not create a scandal?"
"Do you want to kiss me?"
She wanted to say yes, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. "I don't have any experience. I wouldn't know how to do it."
"You don't need much experience. Children learn to do it."
She didn't want childish kisses. She didn't want a purely friendly kiss any more than she wanted to be slobbered over by a philanderer like Beau Stregghorn. She wanted a kiss that would swallow her up and convince her that her dream of being loved wasn't hopeless, that a man could love her with all the deathless passion her mother and father had shared. She wanted a kiss that convinced her she could be loved even though she wasn't as beautiful as Vivian. She wanted a kiss that convinced her that her long wait had not been in vain, that her mother had spoken truly when she said Felicity was born to love. She wanted a kiss that would wipe away all the pain and rejection, the fear that no one would ever love her, the sleepless and tear-filled nigh
ts when the longing hurt so much it was like a physical pain. She wanted a kiss that would wipe out the memory of all those empty years. She wanted a kiss that would transform her whole existence.
And she wanted it from Holt.
"Will you teach me?" That was about as forward as she could be.
"You have to help," Holt said. "It won't work if I do everything."
"What should I do?"
"Go with your instincts."
Without giving her mind time to think, she pulled his head down toward her, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him squarely on the mouth.
Holt seemed to know exactly what she wanted. His lips gently covered her mouth. She was shocked at her own eagerness to respond to the touch of his lips. Parting her lips, she raised herself to meet him in the kiss. The touch of his lips was a delicious sensation that sent spirals of ecstasy through her. She returned Holt's kiss with reckless abandon. Apparently, kissing was best without any attempt at control.
Holt's response was instantaneous.
His gentle kiss turned hungry, demanding, insistent. His mouth covered hers hungrily, devouring its softness. The strong hardness of his lips sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl. She found herself rising on her tiptoes, trying to increase the pressure of the kiss. Her universe narrowed until it contained no one but the two of them. She felt shock when Holt broke away.
Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes. "Not bad for a beginner," he said after his breath slowed.
She didn't want to talk. His kiss had left her mouth burning with an aching need for another kiss. She drew his face to hers in a renewed embrace.
Reclaiming her lips, he crushed her to him. She felt her knees weaken as his mouth devoured hers with a hunger ten times greater than she thought humanly possible. His lips were hard and searching. She had never experienced anything so intense, so earthshaking, so totally involving. It was as though her whole being resided in the lips that touched Holt's mouth. All her physical energy, all her emotional strength was directed to the same end--diving without restraint into a kiss that felt as though it united them as one.
When his tongue forced its way into her mouth, the shock was enormous, but the effect was profound. She realized she was in love with this man and wanted nothing more than to remain in his arms forever. Gasping in horror at her realization, Felicity abruptly broke their kiss.
"What's wrong?" Holt asked without releasing her from his embrace.
Felicity couldn't tell him. It was all she could do not to struggle wildly to break his embrace. "I've never done anything like this," she said. "It's a shock."
"You didn't seem shocked. You wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you."
"That's what shocked me," she confessed. "I never thought of myself as a loose woman."
Her remark surprised a crack of laughter out of Holt. "You'd have to do a lot more to be considered a loose woman."
"This is plenty for me. Not to mention that I've been standing here shamelessly allowing you to kiss me--"
"And kissing me back," Holt added.
"--while my father lies asleep in bed not six feet away."
"I don't think he would be too upset."
"I should hope he would be upset to see his daughter acting like an abandoned hussy."
"Let me tell you what a real abandoned hussy would have done."
"I don't want to know," Felicity said, trying to break from his embrace. "I feel embarrassed enough already."
"Why? You haven't done anything unusual."
"I don't know what kind of women you've met, but no woman I know would stand around kissing a near stranger when she should be watching her sick father."
"I'm not a stranger, and we did nothing to be embarrassed about, even if your father were awake and watching."
The thought made Felicity shiver. "Have you ever stood around kissing Vivian like that?"
The laughter and warmth left Holt's face. He released her.
"No."
"If you don't think it's right to behave like this with the woman you intend to marry, then it certainly isn't right to behave like this with me."
She didn't understand his reaction. He didn't exactly turn cold, but he was distant, closed. The feeling of connection that had existed between them just moments before had completely vanished.
"Are you sure you can't go back to sleep?" he asked.
"Even more so now."
"Then I'll take advantage of your offer."
She wanted to ask him what was wrong, what she had said that had caused such a drastic change in him. His expression was so odd, she was almost afraid, but she couldn't stop the words. She had to know. "What did I say wrong?"
"Nothing."
"I must have. You've turned cold."
He hesitated. "You asked me if I'd ever kissed Vivian as I'd kissed you. I just realized I've never kissed her at all."
Holt knew he'd dumbfounded Felicity when he said he'd never kissed Vivian, but that was nothing compared to his own reaction. How could he believe he was in love with a woman he'd never kissed? More stunning still, he couldn't recall ever wanting to kiss Vivian the way he'd just kissed Felicity. She wasn't the only one who wouldn't get any sleep tonight. He had to have some answers, and he had to have them right now.
His relationship with Vivian had begun eleven years ago when his uncle introduced her to him as his ward. He was nineteen, she was eleven. She was beautiful and charming even then. Whenever his uncle came into Charlottesville from Price's Nob, she would hold Holt's hand, hug him, and give him a big kiss on the cheek when it was time to leave. He'd fallen under her spell immediately.
She loved to tease him about what they'd do when she was old enough to marry him. No matter how many handsome young men she met, she insisted she liked Holt best of all. He supposed that was when the idea of marrying her started to take shape in his mind.
The Christmas Vivian was fifteen, while his aunt carried Vivian off to look for material for a new Christmas dress, Holt's uncle said he wanted to have a serious talk about Vivian's future. He had explained how he and his wife loved Vivian as their own child. He said it was his fondest hope that Holt would marry Vivian. He promised to leave Price's Nob to Holt so he could be sure Vivian would be provided for.
It had seemed the most natural thing in the world for Holt to promise to marry Vivian. He'd never been attracted to any other woman, but at fifteen Vivian was too young to be married. A year later, Holt's mother had fallen very ill and he had gone back to Vermont. He knew the moment he saw his uncle after his return that something was wrong.
His uncle handed him the note that said Vivian had married Abe Calvert and had gone to live with his family in Texas. She swore she'd never love anybody as much as she loved him, but begged him not to follow her. She said she liked Able a lot and was certain they could be happy together.
His uncle followed her to Texas and came back to report that Vivian seemed happy with her new life. The letter Vivian sent to Holt expressed her undying love and promised once again she would never forget him.
Holt had been certain that all his hopes for a happy life were blighted forever.
When the talk of war started, he ignored it. If the Southern states wanted to secede, he didn't see why they shouldn't. But when the casualty lists for the first battle came out, sprinkled with the names of several of his college classmates, he knew he couldn't remain on the sidelines. He volunteered for the Confederacy to help save the lives of his friends. By the time the focus of the war changed, he was already with the Night Riders and couldn't consider deserting them.
He saw the notice of Abe Calvert's death on the casualty lists for the battle of Chancellorsville. Holt's uncle died a year later, leaving Holt to inherit a ruined Price's Nob. When the war ended, he came to Texas to look for Vivian. Never once did he question that he loved her and wanted to marry her.
Why hadn't he wanted to kiss her all those years ago? Had he considered himself too old, Vivian too y
oung? Their relationship had been more like that of brother and sister, yet he'd always been sure he wanted to marry her and take care of her. He was stunned to discover he hadn't thought of kissing her that night when she appeared at Gloria Webster's party. He definitely wanted to kiss Felicity again. Why? The answer was important.
When had his feelings changed from those of a green and inexperienced young man dazzled by a beautiful child to those of a grown man who wanted to make a beautiful woman his wife, the mother of his children, the architect of his home, the companion of his old age.
Even though he knew Vivian had a son, he couldn't think of her as a mother. He pictured her at parties, beautifully dressed, vibrant, with men crowded around her. He couldn't visualize her sitting up at night with her father while he suffered through alcohol withdrawal. He was no more successful imagining her as a companion of his old age. Vivian would hate old age and struggle against it.
He could imagine Felicity as a wife, mother, and creator of a home that was a refuge for her family. He could see her caring for every aspect of her family's life, because he'd already seen her do that for her father, encouraging him in his dreams and comforting him in his sorrows. He could easily imagine her enjoying a quiet evening at home, a companionable walk, going to bed early.
So how could he love a woman who wasn't anything like what he wanted in a wife?
Because he'd fallen in love with a dream. Because he'd let himself feel responsible for her, because once the idea of marriage had been placed in his head, nothing had come along to dislodge it. But now he had met Felicity, and she had awakened emotions and feelings he'd never experienced with Vivian. He didn't know how far his feelings for Felicity had progressed, but he knew they were the kind of emotions that could grow into love.
He wouldn't turn his back on Vivian, but how could he handle two women in his life? He'd already proved he couldn't handle one.
"You ought to go for a walk," Felicity said to her father. "It's better than being cooped up inside all afternoon."
"If I left this house alone, I'd head straight for a bar," her father said.
"I'll go with you."
"Thanks, but I'm staying put. I don't want anybody to see me shaking like I've got one foot in the grave. My tongue quivers so badly, I'm practically unintelligible. I'm sweating, and my mind is so fuzzy, I probably wouldn't recognize half the people I know."
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