Love, Come to Me

by Lisa Kleypas

  When the lacquered brass clock on the mantel struck twelve, Heath finally set his pen down and organized the materials on top of his desk. Passing the doorway of the parlor, he caught a glimpse of Lucy’s wine-colored dress. On impulse, he ducked his head in to check on her. A smile touched his mouth as he saw that she had fallen asleep, curled up on the small sofa. Her magazine had fallen to the floor, while her hands were lax in her lap. She looked young and very vulnerable in sleep. He walked over to her, his smile disappearing as he stared at her.

  It had been a long time since he had held her. Suddenly Heath wanted her so badly he could taste it, wanted to crush her in his arms. He knew she hadn’t understood why he had felt the need to put the distance between them for the last several weeks. Because of his own damnable pride, he hadn’t wanted to be dependent on her, and the fact that she had dominated his every waking moment during his illness had been hard to swallow. In order to keep from using her as a target for his frustration, he had drawn away from her. Perhaps that had hurt her, but it had been kinder than subjecting her to his abuse.

  His blue eyes were shadowed with regret as he stood over her. His fingers rifled absently through the stray locks of hair that had fallen from her chignon. It testified to her strength, that during the last weeks she had been able to see to his needs as well as her own. And he liked her newfound assertiveness, though many men would call him insane for encouraging it. However, there were times when he had doubts about the responsibilities he had forced her to accept. Had he been right to take away the cotton wool she had been wrapped in all her life? Was she truly happier with things as they were instead of as they might have been?

  “Lucy, girl . . . I haven’t made things easy for you, have I?”

  Slumbering deeply, she did not hear him. Heath smiled ruefully, bending down and sliding his arms under her shoulders and the backs of her knees. Her body was relaxed and incredibly warm. She made a grumbling sound of awakening and blinked a few times.

  “S’all right . . . I’m taking you upstairs.” Only half-comprehending what he had said, she laid her head on his shoulder and went back to sleep, tucking her face against his neck with a tired sigh. Heath carried her upstairs and into the bedroom, enduring her mumbling complaints with gentle indulgence as he stood her on her feet and unfastened her dress. Lucy hung her head and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, yawning. Her childish gesture wrung Heath’s heart, quelling the biting immediacy of his desire.

  They had the rest of their lives. He could wait one more night for her. After unfastening her corset and tossing the unholy contraption to the floor, he lifted her meagerly clad body into his arms and settled her on the bed, smiling as she burrowed under the covers and went still.

  And his eyes did not move from her as he undressed, for the sight of her in his bed was so natural and fitting that he called himself a fool for not having brought her back here sooner. Naked, he slipped into bed beside her and pulled her close, one hand riding low on her abdomen and the other buried beneath the pillow on which her head lay. The warmth of their bodies mingled beneath the covers, causing him to sigh in supreme comfort; a man should get married for this if nothing else. Sleeping with the same woman every night, becoming familiar with her scent, her body, the pattern of her breathing, was addictive. He, who had never been inclined to form habits before, was developing quite a number of them, and all of them were centered around Lucy.

  He had become used to her meeting him at the front door when he came home from the newspaper, and on the occasions when she wasn’t there, he was both annoyed and disconcerted, as if some important task had been neglected. He liked the routines she had established around the house, the apple pie they had for dessert every Sunday, the candles that were always lit for dinner, the patient way she listened when he unburdened himself about the paper and the news. He liked to tease her about being a “manners-mender.” Her concern for etiquette was a sterling New England trait that she would never lose. Someday they would raise children here, and he would enjoy watching as she corrected their language and taught them how to sit straight in their chairs. And he in turn would go behind her back to give his daughters extra money for hair ribbons and fripperies, and teach his boys how to cuss like a Southerner.

  Holding her closer, he buried his face in the fragrant softness of her hair. Sweet Lucy, prim, practical, and passionate, still so unaware of how tempting she was, and how much he needed her. His hand moved possessively over her body, and he found reassurance in the familiar feel of her.

  Lucy rolled over and stretched, wriggling in the thrall of contentment that had begun the moment she had discovered where she was. She had only vague memories of the night before, of falling asleep downstairs, and Heath carrying her up here. If only he hadn’t left this morning before she had woken up! But she was here, back in the right bed, with the recollection of her husband’s tenderness fresh in her memory. She had no doubt that tonight their physical relationship would begin again. Flushing, she turned on her stomach and smiled into the pillow, imagining the things they would do to make up for the long period of abstinence. She wanted to do everything, everything with him. The only question was what they would begin with. Shameless thoughts. She lay there for several minutes more, breathing in the masculine scent of his pillow, wishing that tonight were already here.

  The first half of her day went by at a leisurely pace. She had an odd feeling, however, that something out of the ordinary was going to happen, and the sense of anticipation—almost like dread—would not leave her, even though it had no rational basis. Why was it that everything seemed a little bit different today? Lucy’s uneasiness was justified a little after noon, when Bess came rushing into the parlor to tell her that Heath had just set foot on the front steps. She set down her needlework and flew to the door, knowing that Heath would not be home at this hour unless some kind of emergency had arisen.

  “Cin, I just got a telegram at the office,” he said without preamble. “I don’t have much time to explain things . . . I have to leave in a few minutes.”

  “Leave? Leave for where?”

  “Virginia.” He cast a harried glance around the hallway and took her arm, urging her upstairs. “Let’s go to the bedroom—you can help me pack while we talk.”

  “Why? What’s happened?” Lucy asked breathlessly, fighting to keep up with his long strides as they went up the steps.

  “Things are in a god-awful mess down there. My half brother Clay . . . well, yesterday he finally . . . he’s gone.”

  “Oh, Heath . . . I’m sorry. When is the funeral going to be held?”

  “It’s already been held this morning.”

  “So quickly? That’s hardly enough time to make the proper arrangements.”

  “I imagine they didn’t arrange much of a ceremony,” Heath said darkly, letting go of her arm as they went into the bedroom. “Dammit, where do we keep the brown traveling bag?”

  Lucy hurried to the door and called to Bess. “Bess, would you find the brown leather bag with Mr. Rayne’s initials on it? It’s under the stairs with the trunks.” She turned to Heath. “No, don’t fold your shirts that way—they’ll be all wrinkled. Let me. And please stop swearing. Goodness, how many shirts are you taking? You aren’t planning on staying there for very long, are you?”

  “I don’t know how long,” Heath replied, sounding grim as he sorted through his neckties. “The telegram was from my half sister Amy. It seems that Victoria, my stepmother, has decided to dump everything in her lap and leave for England immediately.”

  “The day after her son dies? Leaving without her daughter? That hardly sounds rational.”

  “Exactly. There you have Victoria, in a nutshell. She’s never been rational. And she never has given a d—She never has cared anything about anyone, even her own daughter. The only one she ever cared about was Clay, and now that he’s gone, there’s nothing to keep her here. Her family’s in England, and they’ll probably take her in.” His mouth twisted wryly.
“No need to worry about Victoria. She’ll always land on her feet. In the meanwhile, Amy’s alone, with a broken-down plantation to sell and a hundred decisions that need to be made.”

  “Alone? What about Raine?”

  Heath froze, and there was complete silence in the room. He stared at her, his gaze penetrating and sharp, as if he were trying to see past the guileless hazel of her eyes. Bess bustled into the room, lugging the brown suit bag with both hands.

  “Put it down on the bed, please,” Lucy said very softly, meeting Heath’s gaze without flinching, knowing that he was trying to figure out how much she might be aware of.

  “What do you know about Raine?” Heath asked bluntly, when Bess had left the room. Apparently he didn’t have the time for subtlety.

  “You mentioned her in your sleep a time or two.” How can you? How can you try to keep what was between the two of you a secret from me? she wanted to scream at him, suddenly furious. Why aren’t you being honest with me? She could hardly believe that was her voice she heard, so calm and mildly curious. “I gather she is your sister-in-law? Or is that some deep, dark secret you don’t want to disclose?”

  “She is my sister-in-law,” Heath replied curtly, redirecting his attention to the neckties.

  “What about my question? Isn’t she with Amy now?”

  “Probably. Here, would you fold these trousers? Yes, Raine’s with Amy, but most likely she’ll go to live with whatever kin she has left in the country. So it’s just Amy that we have to worry about.”

  “I didn’t intend to worry about anyone but Amy,” Lucy said coolly, aware as she looked down at the trousers and folded them neatly that Heath was giving her another long, searching look. “What do you intend to do? Sell the plantation and then . . . ?”

  “She’s young, Cin. And she’s never had anything resembling a mother. Victoria was a worthless parent. I guess I could ask some of the Prices in Raleigh to take Amy in. But my father was the outcast of the family, and times being what they are, his daughter won’t exactly be welcomed with open arms. Maybe I should find some school to put her in—”

  “Down there?” Lucy asked, reluctantly experiencing a twinge of sympathy for Amy. Heath didn’t know it, but she had read every one of Amy’s letters, had come to know the girl through that careful, childish handwriting, and she felt pity for her. It would be frightening to be alone at such a young age. “But who will she spend the holidays with? Is there anyone for her in the South, or is she completely alone?”

  “What’s the alternative?” Heath asked, his face expressionless, and Lucy sighed, folding another pair of trousers, her forehead indented with vexation.

  “You ask that as if you didn’t know what the alternative is. You know perfectly well that it would be more practical to find a boarding school for her up here. Somewhere accessible, so that you could keep an eye on her. She’s your sister—I won’t offer any objection if you want to let her visit us during school vacations.”

  It would be extra trouble and worry, and Lucy knew that she would have preferred not to have someone else around to intrude on her time with Heath. But how could she refuse to allow Amy a tiny corner of his life? Did Lucy have any right to stand in the way between the two of them? Of course not. And if she didn’t give in to this gracefully, he might come to resent her unwillingness to be flexible as far as his half sister was concerned.

  “Why don’t you bring her up here?” she said quietly, and she knew by the sudden glow in his eyes that that was what he had wanted.

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy shrugged, looking away from him, glad that he had enough sensitivity to be matter-of-fact about her concession. At the moment she couldn’t bear gratitude from him. Not when she was so frustrated and upset.

  “I won’t be gone more than a week, Cinda.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going with you.” Knowing that he would refuse her offer, she said the words more out of a wish to be difficult than a real desire to accompany him. But the words would have choked her if she had not let them out. Oh, why couldn’t she be kind, gracious, and understanding? Why was she allowing herself to be angry with him instead of offering him comfort?

  “It’s bad enough with one of us going. You’ve got to stay here and keep everything running smoothly.”

  “What about the newspaper?”

  “I hate to leave it.” He groaned in frustration. “Damn, I hate this. But I’ll have to rely on Damon to take care of it again.”

  “You’ll need to take a nightshirt,” she said in a monotone, looking through the contents of the leather bag. “I know you don’t like to wear anything when you’re sleeping, but since you’re traveling—”

  “I don’t know if I have any nightshirts.”

  “You do,” she said flatly. “One. Somewhere. I saw it once as I was looking for some handkerchiefs.” Pausing, she added delicately, “I’m often surprised by the things I find around the house.”

  Silence. Lucy rearranged the contents of the leather bag with meticulous care, knowing that she was the target of a suspicious stare. Then she looked up and raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch, in an expression of inquiry. The cat-and-mouse game was a novelty; they had never resorted to it before. Heath looked as though he were about ready to end her inexpert taunting with a few hard questions, but instead he reached into the chest of drawers and tossed a few pairs of socks to the bed.

  “If you need anything while I’m gone,” he said, “the Markhams are right down the street, and David owes me a favor or two. Go to them if you have any problems.”

  “Why not the Redmonds?”

  “Damon’s going to be busy enough with the paper.”

  “But before when you were ill, he told me that if I ever needed—”

  “Don’t,” he interrupted sharply. “Don’t argue. Don’t bother Damon. And don’t cross me on this.”

  Lucy was infuriated by his high-handed manner. Anger sustained her through the process of packing, the last-minute instructions he gave, through everything that had to be done up to the point of saying goodbye. And then, as the carriage waited outside and they both stood inside the front door, and the servants coughed uncomfortably and left the hallway, Lucy felt all of her anger disappear in an instant. She kept her eyes on the lapels of Heath’s coat, miserably aware of the silence between them. She knew that she must break it, that he must not be allowed to leave with no words spoken between them.

  “It’s been a long time since you were in Virginia,” she said stiffly.

  “Three years.”

  “How do I know you won’t want to stay there?” She spoke dryly, but there was a thread of real worry in her tone.

  “Because they don’t know how to make New England apple pie.”

  She smiled halfheartedly. “That’s not a good reason.”

  “The real reason,” he said huskily. “Because I made a choice when I married you, and I made sure it was what I wanted.”

  “So did I.”

  They both thought back on last night, and on what tonight might have brought, had they been able to spend it together.

  “The timing on all of this could have been better,” Heath remarked grimly.

  “You never left me before.” She was unable to look at him. “Not for this long.”

  “I wouldn’t now, if I had a choice.”

  “Come back soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His hands curved around her shoulders, and he bent his head to kiss her. It had been intended as a light, affectionate kiss, but as her lips trembled beneath his, there was a low, soft sound from deep in his throat, and hungrily he enfolded her in his arms. Startled by the sudden blaze of heat between them, she made a move to pull away, but he held her more tightly, his mouth forcing hers open. Insidious pleasure trickled through her, sweet and irresistible. Her hands fluttered over the hard surface of his back before resting on his shoulders, and her breasts pressed against his chest as she strained closer. His lips moved roughly on hers, a warm velv
et friction that seemed to last forever. She swallowed convulsively and took a quick, abbreviated breath, and her lungs seemed to be filled not with air, but fire. Her whole body was light and hot, weightless in his arms, shaking with the need to be closer to him. Even when he let her go, it seemed that their bodies were joined with an invisible current; she could feel its pull as he stepped back from her.

  Heath muttered something in baffled frustration and left swiftly, closing the door with unnatural quietness. Shivering, Lucy went to the window and stared after him as the carriage headed down the street.

  He was gone for nearly two weeks. During that time, she didn’t see Damon, though she received a brief card expressing sympathy and the hope that she would let him know if she needed anything. Lucy didn’t know why Heath had been so adamant about wanting her to refrain from speaking with Damon. Could it be that he was jealous? Surely he knew that there was nothing between her and Damon except friendship, but he had been so abrupt with her on the matter that she couldn’t help wondering.

  Industriously Lucy made preparations for Heath’s return with Amy, seeing to it that the house was cleaned thoroughly and extra rooms prepared so that the girl would have a choice of where she wanted to sleep. However, no matter how much work there was to be done, Lucy still found herself daydreaming wistfully and giving in to occasional depression. Loneliness was a constant ache in her chest. Each day and night went by at a faltering pace, giving her ample time to reflect on the past month and all the things she might have done differently. It gave her the opportunity to come to certain conclusions about herself and her marriage. From now on, she would be more honest with Heath. She would tell him she loved him. There was no reason to wait for him to say the words, since he could probably go on for the next fifty years without needing to confess his love out loud.

  He had to love her. They had shared too many firsts together. They had been too intimate with each other, both physically and emotionally, for him not to love her. Why, the morning he had left her, he had admitted that he didn’t want to leave her! That and all the other signs pointed to the fact that his feelings must be as deep as hers. Lucy wanted to have the freedom to tell him how she felt about him, and when he returned from Virginia, she was going to change things.