by Caroline Lee
He turned to her, holding them, a look of confusion on his dear face. “What does it mean?”
“I think, my heart, Mr. Blake has been looking forward to your arrival,” she whispered, her heart simultaneously breaking at her son’s bewilderment, and swelling to think that her new husband had purchased these gifts for Joshua.
None of them had ever had their own space. Before moving to the Wigg Home, they’d lived in a small apartment, with the children sleeping in the kitchen. At the school, the three of them had shared one room in the dormitory. Here, Matthias had built them a home. He’d not only given each of them their own space, but made sure they’d feel welcomed.
Thundering footsteps announced Maggie’s arrival, and Abigail moved out of the way in time for the little girl to thunder past them and throw open the door to her own room. She stopped suddenly, her eyes going round, before taking a hesitant step inside.
Leaving Joshua staring down at the glove in his hand, Abigail followed her daughter, and heard Matthias come up the stairs. Maggie’s room also overlooked the front yard and the street, but her windows were framed with lacy white curtains. The bed and the little desk were painted white, with more ruffles than Abigail had ever seen.
Maggie, who would be happy slogging through mud to reach an interesting frog, spun around in the middle of the most feminine room Abigail could imagine, then threw herself face-down on the beautiful white coverlet spread out on her bed.
As Matthias stepped into the room, Abigail turned and hugged him. It was unexpected—she couldn’t believe she’d been so forward!—but that didn’t seem to matter as she squeezed him.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest.
Slowly, his arms went around her to cradle her gently. “Thank you for being here,” he rumbled in return, and she felt the vibration of his voice against her cheek.
He’ll honor you and cherish your children.
Is it possible Wiggie was correct? Was it possible Matthias Blake was nothing like Cyrus Hembree had been? He’d built this new house for them, and it was obvious that he’d put special care into preparing her children’s rooms for them. Was it possible he’d cherish Joshua and Maggie the way she did?
He squeezed her gently once, before releasing her and stepping back, and that gesture… Well, Abigail felt as if she’d been burned. The warmth she’d felt earlier had exploded between them, and she wondered if he’d felt it too.
When Matthias touched her, or sometimes when he just looked at her, Abigail felt her heart speed up. But it wasn’t fear, it wasn’t worry about the future. This feeling was…nice. She remembered feeling like this, long ago, before she’d discovered what men were really like.
This was desire, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about feeling it.
After they had the chance to freshen up, Abigail and her children sat down to dinner with her new husband. The meal was simple and eaten cold, but tasted delicious after several days on the train. Matthias kept her and Maggie chuckling throughout, telling them funny stories from his time working in the livery. Who knew horses could do so many silly things? Maggie hung on his every word, but Abigail couldn’t tell if it was because she was interested in the stories of the animals, or if it was her new stepfather who had her so enamored.
Joshua, on the other hand, ate his ham and potato salad in silence, only responding when Matthias asked him a direct question, and even then not looking up from his plate. Abigail sent her new husband an apologetic glance; even if her son had a good reason to be sullen, she’d raised him better than this rudeness.
Matthias, bless him, made excuses. “I imagine everyone is very tired. How about I clean up a bit while you three get ready for bed?”
Abigail nodded thankfully, and showed Maggie how to stack their empty plates on the counter beside the wash basin. She shooed her children upstairs and helped them unpack their sleeping clothes and clean clothes for tomorrow. Joshua got ready for bed while she helped Maggie, then tucked the exhausted little girl into bed with a special kiss.
She crossed the hall to Joshua’s room and sat on his bed beside him, staring at his dear little face in silence. She remembered him as a baby, so serious and intense, and how she’d lost her heart to him right away.
When had he turned into such a little man?
He resolutely kept his eyes closed—so he wouldn’t have to look at her?
Finally she sighed and took his hand. “I like him, you know,” she said in a low voice. “He’s not like your father.”
Joshua squeezed her hand once, then let go. “I hope not,” he said, before he rolled over and gave her his shoulder.
She sighed again and left his lovely room, hoping her son’s mood would improve by tomorrow. Back downstairs, she’d unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse and was rolling up the sleeves when she stepped into the kitchen and saw her new husband putting away the last of the dinner dishes.
He’d washed the dishes? He’d cleaned up from dinner?
He turned to see her expression and smiled in response. “I’m used to living alone. I do know how to do the dishes.”
Nodding mutely, Abigail stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. What should she do now? Without a reason to be in the kitchen, should she go upstairs? Should she go to their bedroom? Did he intend her to spend tonight in the same room with him?
Did he intend to sleep with her? To touch her, to put his hands on her? To claim her?
And why did her heart pound at the thought—not in fear, but anticipation?
“Abigail?” he said softly as he put down the drying rag and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Are you alright?”
She nodded again, unable to raise her gaze past his chin.
“Abigail, do you want to go upstairs with me?”
Oh goodness.
He was asking outright, and she wasn’t sure how to answer him. Wasn’t sure how she wanted to answer him.
Instead, she took a deep breath and, still staring at his chin, said only, “I'm your wife.”
It wasn’t an answer, not really, and the way he exhaled, a little huff which might’ve been laughter, he knew. Still, he stepped forward, right in front of her.
“Yes, but I’m your husband.”
Swallowing, she nodded a third time and closed her eyes, half in dread, half in excitement.
“No, Abigail,” he whispered. He put his finger under her chin and lifted it. “It means I'm obligated. Obligated to you in a way which I'll never be obligated to anyone else. I won't ever hurt you. You have my word. I won't make you do this.”
His touch, his words, made her shiver. His finger under her chin reminded her of Cyrus’s touch, but it was so much warmer, so much more…Matthias. His touch was nothing like her dead husband’s. And his words…
You have my word.
He wasn’t going to force her into his bed. And if she chose to join him there, he wasn’t going to force her to do anything, or hurt her in any way. She remembered the early months of her marriage to Cyrus when she learned that in the marriage bed, it was easier to go limp and let him do what he needed, and try not to cry. It hurt less if she relaxed, she remembered.
But right now? She didn’t want to relax. She wanted Matthias to touch her again.
Earlier, in the church, Reverend Trapper had given Matthias permission to kiss her, and his lips had brushed over hers softly, quickly. Suddenly, standing there in the kitchen with her eyes closed and his finger under her chin, she very much wanted him to kiss her again.
So she swallowed, then managed to repeat in a whisper, “I’m your wife.” But this time, it didn’t sound forced…it sounded as expectant as she was.
“Yes,” he breathed. Then, “May I kiss you?”
Her heart leapt as her eyes flashed open. Cyrus had never asked permission. She nodded mutely.
His eyes locked on hers, and he leaned forward to brush his lips across her own. Then they settled onto hers, and she inhaled softly. They stood like that for a lo
ng moment in the kitchen, staring into one another’s eyes, only their lips touching.
When he straightened and pulled away from her, she felt as if a part of her went with him. Then he reached down and took her hand. He stared at it for a moment, his thumb tracing the lines of her palm in a thoroughly intimate way. Then he met her eyes once more and leaned forward.
This time the kiss lasted a bit longer, but was just as gentle. They were only connected at their palms and their lips, but still, Abigail felt something tugging at her heart.
She held her breath in anticipation, knowing she’d never felt this way before.
When he pulled away once more, she could see the pulse pounding in his neck, and wondered if he was as affected as she was. He tightened his grip on her hand.
“I’d like to touch you some more,” he said softly. “May I?”
By asking permission, he was granting her power, and she was amazed. Nodding mutely, she found herself holding her breath.
His free hand lifted, the tips of his fingers grazing her cheek. She shivered, and the corner of his lips pulled up. He trailed his fingertips over her jawline, down to her neck, and up to her ear. It wasn't a possessive touch, as if he was saying she was his. No, from the intense way he was watching her, it was clear he was doing this to see her reaction.
And what a reaction! She found herself leaning into his touch, wondering how far he would go, how far she wanted him to go. When his fingers reached the back of her neck, she instinctively leaned towards him, giving him better access.
His lips met hers halfway. This kiss made the room spin and sucked the air from her lungs. But that was fine, because with him so close, she was breathing his air, his scent. It was as if…as if he was giving her as much as he was taking, and that was a heady realization.
Suddenly, Abigail knew. Making love to Matthias Blake wouldn't require her to give up who she was, who she’d become. It would be an act of equality. He would give as much as he took; touch, pleasure…love?
As they pulled apart, his hazel eyes stared into hers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
They were standing so close she felt his words on her skin.
“For what?” she breathed.
His fingers trailed down her jawline again, and that's when she realized the top few buttons of her high-neck blouse were undone. She remembered feeling his lips on her skin, and although she didn't remember how it happened, she was glad it had.
“For letting me touch you.”
It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever thanked her for. Abigail felt her eyes fill with tears, and she blinked them away, unwilling to let Cyrus’s memory ruin this anymore.
“Thank you for asking me,” she responded softly.
And almost unbidden, she found her hands rising, reaching for him. Her fingers skimmed his face, his jawline, his cheekbones. Touching, exploring her new husband's face. Feeling the short beard, liking the way it tickled her fingertips in a way she'd never experienced before. His hazel eyes closed on a groan of pleasure, and his head fell back. She used that as an invitation to trail her fingers down the thick column of his throat to the collar of the shirt he’d loosened when they'd come into his house.
When they'd come home.
He groaned again, and his right arm snaked around her to pull her closer. Flush against him now, she felt the very clear evidence of his arousal pressed against her hip. But to her surprise, the realization didn't feel her with dread or revulsion. Instead, she felt her pulse speed up, felt her throat go dry, felt a heat pooling between her legs.
This was desire!
It had been so long since she experienced it, she wanted it to linger. She continued the exploration of her husband and wiggled her hips slightly. His eyes flashed open, his grip on her tightened, and his free hand came up to grab hers, flattening it against his own skin.
“Abigail,” he said hoarsely, “if this continues, we might take it too far.”
“You're my husband now. There's no such thing as too far,” she whispered, and knew it was the truth.
She was his wife, but he was also her husband. He would never hurt her, not in the way that—
No. She wouldn't think of Cyrus now.
His eyes were searching hers. “Are you sure?”
She swallowed, tasting desire instead of fear. Yes, she was sure. She nodded.
Something very much like relief flashed in his hazel eyes, but then he blinked and his eyes widened slightly. “Then there's something I should tell you so you don't become scared later.”
Her brows rose in question, and she felt his heartbeat speed up under her palm.
He swallowed. “I told you I was wounded some months ago?”
It hadn't been what she was expecting to hear, but she cautiously nodded. In his letters, he’d explained how he’d been defending the home of his old employer and had been shot, almost fatally. His survival was thanks to the quick fingers of the town doctor, but he'd had to give up the only job he’d ever known and start over again.
Why was he concerned about her opinion of it?
“The injury is nothing to be ashamed of, not when it was gotten so nobly,” she said slowly. “And your resilience does you credit.”
Despite the slight trepidation she saw in his eyes, his lips curled up at her words. “Thank you. I'm glad you don't think less of me. But I just wanted you to know that I have a pretty horrible scar across my gut.” When he tightened his hold on her, his hardness pressed into her in the most delicious way. “As you can feel, it hasn't affected anything important…I can still be a husband to you. But I didn't want you to be scared by the way I look.”
Her breath caught as she realized what he was saying to her. He wanted her. He wanted to make love to her, that was obvious, but wanted her to feel comfortable with him and his body first. That, combined with the fact he’d asked her permission before he’d touched her, made her heart soar, and a liquid heat pool in an area much lower.
No man had ever treated her with so much respect and kindness, and that made the decision for her.
She took a deep breath and smiled slightly at the desire this man had ignited within her. “I think we should go upstairs so you can show me this ‘pretty horrible scar’.”
With a smile that lit up the room, Matthias showed her how much he agreed. He let go of her hand, bent down, placed his arm behind her knees and scooped her up, proving his wound no longer bothered him. She squealed in an entirely un-matronly way and threw her arms around his neck.
As his heavy footsteps carried her up the stairs, she buried her face in his shoulder and inhaled his delicious scent; leather and horse and man. But rather than frightening her, the scent made her squirm in the most wonderful way, and suddenly, she couldn’t wait to explore the rest of his body.
And that was good and right, because he was her husband. He was a good man.
Chapter Six
The sun peeking through the curtains woke Matthias the morning after his wedding, and he smiled as he stretched. It should’ve come as a surprise to realize there was someone else in the bed with him, but it didn’t. Instead, it felt right. It felt as if he’d always woken up beside Abigail, and always would.
He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow to watch her sleep. Either she was the soundest sleeper ever, or she was just exhausted from her travel and big day yesterday.
And—his smile grew as he remembered—her big night.
Making love to her—to his wife—had been like nothing he’d ever imagined. She’d responded to him in a way he hadn’t expected, not after seeing that fear in her eyes. But it was more than that. It was as if they were connected somehow, someway he’d never been connected to another woman before. It was because she was his. His to honor, his to cherish, his to keep safe. He’d make sure she’d never ever have cause to complain about him—starting in bed. If he could prove to her he would worship her body the way it was meant to be, perhaps she’d eventually believe him w
hen he told her he loved her.
Because, yeah, he’d only known the woman less than a full day, but he could see how easily it’d be to fall in love with her. She was smart, and attentive to her children, and had the capacity for deep caring. It was up to Matthias to prove that he was worthy of that caring.
The smile still on his face, he leaned down to brush his lips across her bare shoulder. She murmured in her sleep and rolled over. She must be tired. He wanted to laugh, but figured it’d be better to let her catch up on her sleep.
Matthias dressed as quietly as he could. Honestly, his intent had been to grab his clothes and step out of the room to put them on in the hallway, but then he remembered his new wife had two children, and he almost laughed out loud at himself for forgetting that little fact. How could he claim he wanted to be a father, then nearly subject his new stepchildren to the view of his naked rear end as he pulled up his long johns?
He was still chuckling ruefully to himself, albeit quietly, when he slipped out of his room carrying his boots, his suspenders hanging down around his thighs. Sitting on the top step, he finished getting dressed and listened for any sounds from Joshua and Maggie’s rooms.
Deciding they must still be asleep as well, Matthias mentally shrugged and went down to the kitchen. He’d make breakfast for everyone, then head over to the livery. Taking half the day off yesterday meant he had work to catch up on. Not that he minded in the least!
But he stopped still when he pushed open the door to the kitchen. There, sitting at the small table, was Joshua. The boy froze with a half-eaten peach halfway to his mouth, and stared at Matthias with wide eyes.
How long had he been awake?
As the man stepped into the room and crossed to the stove, Joshua quickly placed the fruit with the others in the bowl at the center of the table. Matthias had bought them earlier this week because he liked the way they made the room smell, and he thought the children might like them. So why had Joshua put it back?