by Lisa Kleypas
“Why?” she demanded, jerking her hands out of his in a spurt of anger. “Why do you always have to shake things up and turn everything upside down? What’s the matter with leaving things alone like other people do?”
“Because ‘things’ don’t leave people alone. A man either takes charge of life or lets it run over him, and I don’t aim to be run over.”
“I’m happy with the way things are! I don’t want anything to change!”
Heath was sensitive to the panic in her voice. “Cinda, you’re not happy—and don’t try to tell me you are. I know you. I know you better than anyone else does.”
“That’s not true—”
“How could you be happy? You were meant for more than living your whole life here. Your father and the rest of the town have tried to make you into something you could never be, and they’ve convinced you that it’s what you want. But you’ve kept trying to resist in hundreds of small ways . . . crossing that damned river where you weren’t supposed to, picking arguments with Daniel. Do you think I didn’t know that your relationship with me was an act of defiance against all of them and what they were trying to do to you?”
“You don’t know me at all.” Lucy stood up and backed away from him.
“I know that you shouldn’t be tucked away in some little house with only your embroidery and your club meetings to worry about, dreaming about things you’ll never do or see. No one’s ever asked anything of you before, except that you stay in your place. But I want more from you than that.”
“What you want is to take me away from my home and the people who care for me.”
“Good Lord, woman, I’m not talking about moving to the North Pole! Boston isn’t so far away from here!”
“It’s a world away from here! It’s a city, a big one, full of strangers, and I don’t know anyone there—”
“The fact is, you don’t have a choice. We’re moving to Boston in two days.”
“Two days!” she repeated in shock.
“The papers transferring ownership were signed today. The new edition of the Examiner goes to press on Monday. I’m looking at a house on Beacon Hill tomorrow, and if it’s suitable, we’ll move in right away. If not, we’ll stay in a hotel until we can find the right place to live—”
“You can move to Boston,” she said, glaring at him mutinously, her voice steady with determination. “You can live there and visit me on weekends . . . or don’t visit me at all. But whatever you decide, I’ll be staying here.”
He looked at her as if measuring the strength of her resolve, and his eyes flashed dangerously. “Like hell you will.”
“I told you once that you couldn’t ever make me leave here.”
“Just why are you so hell-bent on staying here? Are you really that afraid? Or do you intend to shadow Sally and Daniel and make their lives miserable?”
“This has nothing to do with Daniel. I won’t go to Boston . . . I’ll leave you if you try to make me go with you.” In speaking hastily, Lucy made a serious error in judgment. As she confronted him and challenged him outright, she saw his jaw harden and his face become taut. In one sentence, she had managed to provoke him far beyond the point of reasoning with him.
“You’re going if I have to tie you up and carry you there in the back of a wagon.”
“I’ll turn right around and come back. You can’t make me stay with you! You can’t make me live with you.”
He crossed the space between them and seized her wrist, holding her hand up in front of her own face so that she could see the thick gold band on her finger. “Do you see that? I can damn well make you do a hell of a lot of things you don’t feel like doing. That ring is proof of a contract we made with each other, and you can’t back out of it.”
“A contract that can be broken,” she said, flushing scarlet with anger.
“Oh, no, it can’t.” His hand tightened around her wrist until it hurt. “You promised your loyalty to me. You’re going with me.”
“I’m staying right here in Concord,” she snapped, and the bruising grip lessened until she was able to twist away from him. They stared at each other, both breathing heavily.
“You’re my wife. You made a vow to stand by me, and you’re going to honor it.”
“I didn’t vow to give everything up on some whim of yours!” Lucy glanced at the stack of newspapers nearby, all of the old memories and pieces of history that he had saved, and she hated everything they represented. “All for a newspaper. My life is being ruined just so people can read four cents’ worth of news while they drink their tea and coffee—”
“What life? Do you call it living, to be buried here, hiding from the rest of the world?”
In a rage, Lucy picked up the stack of newspapers and flung them into the fireplace. Her chest was heaving with dry sobs as she watched the edges of the old and tattered pages glow bright orange. Suddenly it all burst into a dull roar of flames, and her face was illuminated by the blaze as she looked at Heath. He was not staring at the fire but at her. His eyes narrowed, and the thin, pale line of the scar at his temple stood out against the darkness of his skin.
“You should have done that long ago,” she cried, at once furious and afraid. “You’re so eager to tell me about my faults—well, what about yours? You said once that you didn’t believe in carrying lifelong burdens, but you’ve carried your past around with you for eight years, reading it over and over, pretending you don’t care about the war when you really do. Everyone else I know has let it go, but you’re still mourning and letting it eat at you. You’re still trying to fight it! Whoever heard of a Southerner trying to run a Boston newspaper? It’s insane . . . and you’re doing it to support a lost cause. I don’t want to live with a man like that. I don’t want to live with you, so go to the city and carry out your plans. I’m staying here.” She picked up her skirts and flew up the stairs, intending to barricade herself in the bedroom. But he was there almost before she was, and his arm bit around her waist as he hauled her back against him and spoke harshly in her ear.
“During the next two days you’re going to go through this house and pack up whatever you want to take to Boston. I’ve already asked your father to help you while I’m gone. If you don’t pack anything, you can wear the clothes on your back for the next six months. And if you don’t show up where you’re supposed to be when I tell you, I’ll come and get you myself. Believe me when I tell you that you’d prefer to do it under your own steam.”
“I won’t,” she said hoarsely. He was holding her so tightly that it hurt, and he was so angry that she was afraid he would hurt her. His arms could crush her; they would if he tightened them just a little more, and fear leapt inside her, blazing higher and hotter than the burning newspapers downstairs.
His voice bit softly in her ear. “Not only are you going to live with me, Lucy—you’re going to act so happy about it that the world will think there’s no one else you’d rather be married to . . . even though we both know differently. And you’re going to wait in bed for me every night with open arms and a smile on your face—”
“You’re a fool if you think that.”
“I don’t think it. I expect it. I don’t care if it comes naturally or if you have to force it, but you’re going to play the part of Mrs. Rayne for me as well as for everyone else.”
“You’ll have to kill me first!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You don’t have the presence to carry it off.”
“I hate you. I wish I’d never let you touch me.” She tried to think of the worst things she could say to him, something that would hurt. “Last night was the last time. I hate just being near you.”
Heath froze. “That’s going too far, Lucy.”
“It’s the truth!”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not. But let’s see what is the truth.”
She began to struggle against him as he dragged her to the bed, but his arms were like steel.
“My father will come after yo
u if you lay a hand on me—”
“You’ll never tell your father about what I’m going to do to you,” he said, dropping her facedown on the mattress. He took hold of her upper arms in a grip that hurt. She tried to scramble away, but he straddled her easily, his muscular thighs clamping against either side of her hips to keep her from moving. As she felt him unfastening the back of her dress, she squirmed violently in fear and outrage.
“You have no right—”
“I have every right.” He yanked at her corset laces until they came free from their hooks. The edges of the heavily boned garment parted, and Lucy gasped as she heard a tearing sound. He was ripping her underclothes off her as if they were tissue. Her protests were muffled as she fought to prevent the relentless exposure of her body, but nothing she did could stop him. “You’re my wife, and from now on, you’re not going to show the slightest desire to leave my side.”
“Stop it!” She went rigid as she felt his warm hands settle on the rigid line of her spine, following it down until he was cupping her smooth buttocks. As his fingers curved over her and his palms circled across her tender flesh, she bit her lip, trying to quell the response that curled through her body. He continued to fondle her until she groaned involuntarily, shutting her eyes and pressing her damp forehead against the sheets.
“No matter how you feel about me,” he said, slipping his hand between her legs, “you haven’t begun to realize what you’ll do for the sake of this. That’s the truth, Lucy. Isn’t it?” She swallowed hard and tried to answer him, but the only sound that escaped her throat was a deep moan. He pushed past the remnant of her clothes. His fingers massaged the softness of her femininity, searching the sensitive flesh with incredible skill. Leaning over her, he stroked her more intimately, his fingers gliding inside her while his mouth fastened onto the nape of her neck. The crescent of his teeth pressed against her skin as he bit down gently, and she lay there helplessly, unable to move as he aroused her without mercy.
Quivering, she felt his hand and his mouth leave her as he sat up and shed his coat and his shirt. When the garments dropped to the floor, he turned her over. The sight of his hard golden body, clad only in a pair of trousers, was branded across her mind in one searing moment. She struck out quickly, slapping his face, and he caught her hands before she could hit him again. Pinning her arms above her head with one hand, he pulled her skirts up and unfastened his trousers. The crushed padding of her bustle was wedged underneath her buttocks, raising her hips a few inches off the mattress. Lucy thrashed wildly, but as Heath stared down at her with taunting blue eyes, she realized the futility of fighting him. Clenching her teeth, she forced her body to go limp under his.
“I wouldn’t have thought . . . you would force a woman . . . who doesn’t want you,” she said with pure loathing.
“You want me.” Before she could answer, he drove into her with a powerful thrust, and she arched up to him with a thin cry. A wave of pleasure broke over her, spreading over every inch of her body, and she was paralyzed with astonishment as she felt him press deeper inside her. He moved within her just once and then pulled out, leaving her shaking with desire. Bending over her, he nuzzled past the sagging neckline of her dress to find the aching peak of her breast, and he pulled at it gently with his mouth. When Lucy finally breathed his name in protest and unwilling excitement, he turned his attentions to her other breast, circling her nipple with his tongue until her slender wrists were limp in his grasp.
“You’re my wife,” he said, widening the spread of her legs by pressing his knees against the inside of her thighs. “And from now on you’re going to give me all that a wife is supposed to give her husband, without argument. Aren’t you, Lucy?”
He had won—damn him. She wanted him, and she would promise anything, just as long as he didn’t stop. “I’m your wife,” she whispered obediently, and she nearly choked with relief as he pushed back into her. But just as she felt a surge of pleasure rise through her body in a swelling current, she felt him withdraw from her again.
“You’re going with me,” he insisted, and she kept silent, her body arching up to his.
“Please,” she groaned.
“You’re going with me.”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”
“And there are going to be no more lies.”
“No.”
“Then tell me the truth about last night.” Slowly he circled his hips, and she felt the warm, heavy pressure of his loins against hers. “Tell me.”
“I wanted you,” she whispered.
“Like you do now.”
“Yes.”
He let go of her wrists and sat up, looking at her expressionlessly. Bewildered, Lucy met his eyes and realized that he intended to leave her now, in retaliation for all that she had said and done during their argument. He was rejecting her in the most intimate moment imaginable.
“Heath . . . no—”
“Now that that’s all settled, you’d better try to get some sleep,” he said coolly. “The next few days are going to be busy.”
He stood up, and she understood that he really was going to leave her. She stared at him—her eyes dark and bright, her cheeks burning with feverish heat—while some barrier within her broke. “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me. Please.” But as she saw that he was looking down at her with indifference, she closed her eyes in humiliation and curled up on her side, pressing her face into the pillow.
All at once Heath bowed his head as he fought for self-control. He tried to remember that he had to teach her a lesson, but somewhere it had all gone wrong. Swearing under his breath, he stripped off his trousers swiftly. Lucy felt his weight added to hers on the mattress, and then he was turning her onto her back, tugging off what remained of her clothes, running his hands down her shivering body.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sliding his arms around her and hugging her remorsefully. “I’m sorry.” He reached down to part her thighs, but they were already sliding open for him, and her loins were tilting hungrily up to his. He pressed into her slowly. She couldn’t hold back a sob as he filled her with a low, smooth surge, giving her all the pleasure he knew how to give.
“Don’t stop,” she begged, and his heart seemed to break at the desperate plea.
“I won’t,” he whispered tenderly, sliding his hands underneath her bottom. “I couldn’t.” He pulled her up hard against his loins, quickening his rhythm, concentrating solely on her satisfaction. His eyes shone into hers until her lashes fluttered down to hide her soul from his gaze.
Carefully, patiently, he reached past her inexperience to bring her to a new threshold. All he could give her now was a hint, a promise of all they would someday be able to share. He would make her understand all that he could not tell her out loud. She was made for him, she belonged to no other. He was a wanderer who had found her. He belonged nowhere but in her arms, a part of her flesh, claiming her, giving himself in return.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tangled her fingers in the golden fire of his hair, meeting his every movement. Gentle and fierce, tender and brutal, he took her in a storm of desperation. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she was consumed by a slow explosion of sensation. Sweet words were uttered into her soft, bare skin, and then words faded into the strong rasp of his breath. His hands tightened on her hips, lifting her higher as he felt the contractions of her body around his. As the rapture spun itself out, she moaned and held onto him weakly, and the sound was all that it took to send him over the edge. He buried himself in the clasping softness of her and sighed deeply; his hands clenched convulsively in the warm chestnut flow of her hair.
They were still for a long time afterwards. Quietly Lucy lay underneath him, trapped by his arms and the pleasant heaviness of his leg across hers. Though her eyes were closed, she could tell that he was staring at her, and she was mortified by how easily he had gained her surrender. Oh, why was it destined to be this way with him? W
hy did he seem to understand her so well? He would hold her to the promises she had made, and they both knew that she would not refute them.
Heath soothed the deepening indentation between her eyebrows with his thumb, and then his lips pressed against the tiny spot until the frown was smoothed out. As his hand slid down to her breast, she made a small gesture of protest, attempting to turn away from him. “I’m tired,” she said sullenly, “or does playing the part of Mrs. Rayne include having to pretend that I’m not?”
He was exasperated by her stubbornness, and he stifled her words with his mouth until her lips parted and her arms crept around his neck. Then he lifted his head and sighed. “I know it won’t be easy for you to leave here. But you’re going to have to trust me and swallow your pride long enough to give this a chance.”
“You haven’t given me any alternatives. You just like to hand out your decisions as if—”
“There isn’t an alternative. Everything’s been set in motion. I couldn’t back out even if I wanted to.”
Lucy was silent. The choice, she thought. I can stand by him . . . or leave him for good.
No choice. There wasn’t anything she could do except back down. She could not leave him, and in her heart she knew she didn’t want to. Not after what they had shared, not after what they had been through. Still, that didn’t make his bullying any easier to tolerate! As Heath interpreted her silence as continuing obstinacy, his mouth hardened in determination and he pulled her closer, intending to subdue any remaining resistance. “Heath!” she protested, making an effort to evade him, “I told you I’m tired, and—”
“Remember,” he said against the corner of her mouth, “what I said before . . . Mrs. Rayne.”
Lucy did remember, and her temper was sparked by his arrogant reminder of the role she was to assume from now on. Then an idea came to her that caused a pleased smile to spread across her face. She would turn everything around to her own advantage. If she had to move to Boston and make the best of things, then she would do it without one more word of protest. Heath expected her to concede to him grudgingly. Well, she would do more than that—she would bewilder him by playing her role to perfection. He wanted her to be sweet, docile and obedient. Well, she would be so sugary and forbearing and saintly that he wouldn’t know his right hand from his left, and eventually she would have him wrapped around her finger. Then she would find some way to make him swallow his pride. The thought was a balm to her bruised ego, and she held onto it with no little satisfaction until the touch of his hands and his lips drove away all thought.