“And you think it worth acquiring?” she asked primly.
“I’m feeling relaxed, the point as I said.”
Again, he was subjected to an assessing look. Not breaking eye contact, she took another swig. Shortly thereafter they ordered seconds, and the mood was definitely lightened by the time their supper arrived.
They talked congenially over boiled beef and potatoes, and James began to hope. What he was hoping, at least for tonight, he wasn’t certain, but he knew pushing her too quickly would renew her distrust just as he was trying to ease it. He tamped his impatience by remembering that his relationship with Amanda was worth waiting for.
Waiting. He groaned inwardly.
“I’m sorry about the room,” he said.
Amanda looked down at her plate, her lashes fanning across her cheeks. “I was unfair.”
“I can stay elsewhere if it will make you feel better.”
“Where else is there?”
“The stables?”
Her gaze came back to his. “You said you didn’t want to sleep there.”
“I don’t but for you…”
She looked at her plate again, toying with her food, pushing the beef to one side and the potatoes to the other. She popped a bite of meat in her mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing.
“How will it look,” Amanda asked quietly, “if Earl Lonsdale sleeps in the stables while his new bride sleeps in the inn?”
“Do you care what people think?”
“Perhaps a little, but I was more looking at it from your perspective.”
James felt a rush of gratitude for her understanding. Though he didn’t particularly worry about gossip, it would not do his pride any good if it became known that he was barred from his wife’s bed. The blokes in this room expected him to escort a tipsy Lady Lonsdale upstairs in a short while. The nudging and winking that accompanied his and Amanda’s exit could be predicted. He hardly needed an audience to witness his good fortune, but he like any man had an ego.
Dessert was a warm rice and current pudding, rich and spicy with nutmeg, the perfect end to a meal that had gone unexpectedly well.
“I’ll need my corset after all this food,” Amanda said.
“You’ll never need it. Don’t know how a woman can enjoy a meal if her stomach can’t expand. It must be miserable to eat.”
Smiling slightly, she caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth. He was mesmerized by the innocent gesture. Maybe he should sleep outside…
“Females aren’t supposed to enjoy their food, James.”
He cleared his throat. “That hardly seems fair.”
Her smile widened. “You are very broadminded. Don’t you like a tiny waist?”
“I like a natural waist. I suppose living in the tropics exposed me to a way of life that is more casual, less concerned with convention.”
“You flout convention?”
“Flouting is immature. I simply choose what makes sense to me and ignore the rest.”
There was a sudden awkward silence, as if all at once they had run out of inconsequential things to say. James realized they had been delaying going upstairs. They had finished eating, his wife sitting with her hands clasped demurely in her lap. Amanda, for all her earlier bluster looked lost and very young.
“Would you like to return to the room?” he asked kindly. “I’ll give you enough time to prepare for bed.”
She nodded, her features easing with relief. “I won’t be long,” she said, rising.
The attention from the male patrons that had attended her entrance into the dining room attended her exit as well. Two or three men looked his way, giving him congratulatory nods and saluting him with their drinks. To Amanda’s credit, she seemed blithely unaware.
James waved over the serving girl and asked that his driver be sent to him. He pointed to his mug, deciding on one more ale while he waited.
Benton arrived within minutes. “You sent for me, m’lord?”
“Yes.” James indicated the seat that his wife had recently vacated. “What do you think our chances are of traveling tomorrow?”
The driver removed his cap and sat down. “The rain has stopped, but I don’t think it’s going to last. The rumbling has started again, a sure sign that we’re about to get another flood.”
“Have you heard anything about the condition of the roads?”
“Not much, m’lord. But stands to reason, with the kind of rain we’ve had, we won’t be leaving tomorrow.”
“Damn.” James blew out a puff of air between parted lips. “How long?”
“I’d plan on another night.”
James ordered one more ale, this one for Benton. He downed the remainder of his own and stood up. “Get some rest, man. If the situation changes, please let me know right away. I want to leave as soon as possible.”
He strode from the dining room, taking the stairs two at a time. Only at his door did he hesitate. He knocked softly and, when there was no answer, turned the iron handle.
Amanda had not wasted the brief time since she had come upstairs. She lay in the bed, covers to her neck, back to the door. However, something intangible betrays a person pretending to sleep. Unless he completely misjudged the situation, his wife was wide awake.
He walked quietly into the room and removed his clothing except for his trousers and shirt. He paused then, uncertain what to do next. Except for a few insults, he and Amanda had not discussed the details of their cohabitation, and at this point he didn’t want to offend her.
The only chair in the room was a wooden rocker, hardly comfortable enough to induce sleep. The floor was an option but not much of one. He could return downstairs and have more to drink. Enough alcohol and he wouldn’t feel the discomfort wherever he fell. But that roomful of lowly fellows in the tavern would wonder why he had come back. Ridiculous thing to worry about, but they’d all had such high expectations for him and he hated to disappoint them.
“There’s room enough for two,” came a feathery voice from the side of the bed opposite him.
He knew she was awake! “Are you certain?”
Amanda rolled over to look at him, dark eyes sparkling by the light of one meager oil lamp. “You said I would warm your bed, James. Forgive me, but I assumed.”
“Ah…throwing my words back at me.”
But he was too pleased by the offer of comfort to take offense. James plopped on the bed on top of the blankets and placed his hands behind his head. Exhaustion crawled along his back, and he groaned aloud.
He closed his eyes, drifting almost immediately, and that lavender scent that had so tickled his senses earlier wafted over him again. Oddest thing, but it had an immediate effect on his groin. Of course, after that falling asleep was hopeless.
Amanda had returned to her original position, a tight knot of legs and arms, positioned as far from him as possible without falling off the bed. She lay immobile, seeming not to breathe, her very stillness exposing her inability to sleep.
James rolled onto his side, staring at the back of her head. Her long dark hair glinted invitingly, satiny strands in the muted light, and he felt an irresistible urge to stroke it. He knew when he drew his hand back it would smell of lavender.
This is a hellish situation, he thought miserably. He was married to a woman who made him ache with need, and there was no reason moral or otherwise that should keep them from consummating their vows. What was keeping them apart was a misunderstanding, one that should be easy enough to undo.
He needed to declare himself, to tell her how he felt, though he only now was comprehending just what that meant. However, something told him this was not the time to unburden himself. Amanda would never believe him, not with her distrust of him so new and painful. She would suspect ulterior motives on his part, either to smooth an uncomfortable situation or—more sinister—to lie his way into her bed.
Irony of ironies—he smiled to himself—he was in her bed now, little good it was doing him.
“Amanda?”
A long pause, and then, “Yes?”
“You can’t sleep?”
“I’m not used to this bed or…being away from home.”
She sounded wistful, and James realized how naive she was, how protected. Amanda was a sophisticated woman, true, but tonight she was away from home and a doting father for the first time, entering an unknown world. He remembered feeling much like that many years ago on a ship headed for the West Indies. Naturally, as a young man of twenty-two, he wasn’t about to admit he was scared.
“Am I disturbing you?”
She moved onto her back to look at him. “I sleep alone so, yes, you are a distraction.”
“I can leave.”
“We’ve settled this. I’ll persevere.”
There was a smile in her voice, self-mockery, and on a whim James reach over and touched her hair. Immediately, her gaze went remote.
“Please, James, don’t test our bargain tonight,” she said.
He pulled his hand back, stung. “I think we should try to get some rest,” he muttered. This time he turned away from her.
The minutes ticked by and the rain began again, a heavy, oppressive downpour now devoid of wind or thunder. The morbid weather made their room seem as isolated from the world as the two people in the bed were isolated from each other. Depressed, James closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.
“You never answered my question today,” Amanda said.
He must have begun to doze, for he had to think a moment about what she had said. “What question was that?”
“What would you do in my place if I had deceived you about the real reason I had married you?”
“Amanda—”
“It’s important, James.”
Her voice was drowsy now as though sleep were creeping up on her, and that as much as anything emphasized the intimacy of their situation. He wished she would let him hold her, to reassure her if nothing more—maybe to reassure himself.
“I would feel as you feel, deceived, angry…” he swallowed, “hurt.”
“What would you do?”
“I haven’t a clue.” And that was the absolute truth.
The silence that followed continued for so long, James decided she must have fallen asleep. Just as he closed his eyes again, she spoke.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
James came up on his elbow and glanced over his shoulder at her. Amanda still lay on her back, eyes closed, hands laced primly over her breasts. The oil lamp’s flickering light caught the glimmer of one lone teardrop as it slid down the side of her face and into her hair.
James was undone. Then and only then did he finally understand how much his lie had cost her. He had thought to mend the rift between them quickly, encouraged by her effort to reign in her anger. She had been pleasant tonight, cordial. What she truly felt went much deeper, which made that effort all the more admirable.
He laid his head back down, humbled. Regardless of their bargain, he must employ patience, a difficult task for a man who was not patient. But Amanda had proven herself a woman without spite, merely trying to accept a painful lesson she did not deserve. Pushing her would be unfair.
What worried him was that they would not make any progress if he did not insist, that taking time would merely turn them into polite strangers who never bonded. Perhaps their bargain gave him some latitude. Perhaps he could take their relationship step by step, enticing her into each new phase, until they came together as a husband and wife should. And perhaps, just perhaps, along the way he could convince her of how he really felt. Somewhat mollified by his reasoning, he finally slept.
Toward dawn James climbed beneath the covers, as the room had grown chilly. He checked on Amanda. She was asleep, her breath coming in soft, even puffs. Reassured, he closed his eyes again.
***
Amanda awoke, coming to consciousness slowly. Something was wrong. Her room was not her room, the bed not her bed. And she was constrained as if wrapped in—!
The air caught in her throat. James was pressed against her back, mouth next to her ear, one leg thrown over her hip. Sometime during the night he must have crawled under the blankets for warmth. It was as cozy and seductive—and unsettling—a moment as any she had ever experienced.
For several minutes she lay very still, enjoying the closeness, the feel of a very masculine body next to her own. His breath tickled her neck, and one of his hands gently held her upper arm. It was heavenly and arousing and—oh, what woman admitted to that?
Amanda decided she ought to move, but how to do so without waking him? Her quandary became a moot point because all at once she knew he was awake. She sensed it in the sudden tension of his hand, the thumping of his heart through his chest wall—the swelling of his organ against her backside.
For the life of her she could not move, and knowing the closeness had affected him as well sent a thrill of pleasure through her own loins. Lord, how was she to keep him at bay when it was the last thing she wanted?
She felt his thumb stroke her arm, a gentle caress as if that was the only intimacy he was allowed. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding against her back then eased away from her to sit on the side of the bed. James remained there for some time, she suspected gaining his wits, before he rose and changed his clothes. Amanda heard the door open and close.
She waited until she was certain he was not coming back then threw off the covers. She didn’t know how long he would be gone, and she wanted to dress before he returned. Amanda wished she could bathe but decided against it, as her maid was not here to help her. Leaving Betty to follow later had seemed sensible at the time of their departure since it was only a two-day journey by carriage to Lonsdale. The rain had highlighted the flaw in that plan.
As she was slipping on her shoes in preparation for going downstairs, someone knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
A thump and a rattling of dishes accompanied a young maid’s entrance. The petite girl, all freckles and flaming hair, stood on the threshold, holding a tray.
“Lord Lonsdale sent you breakfast, m’lady.”
“He did? H-has he eaten?”
“Eating now. Served him meself.”
“Oh. Thank you. Set it down,” she glanced around the room, and the only thing she spotted with a flat surface was the night table, “there.”
Alone with the tray, Amanda tried to appreciate what she hoped were the good intentions of her husband. Otherwise, she must assume that he had wanted to dine alone or at least without her. That was a hurtful thought and with some effort she put it aside.
Hot tea beckoned, thus she sat on the side of the bed and poured herself a steaming cup. The tea was comforting in a familiar way, how she started every day, and that small ritual helped restore her equilibrium.
She stared out the room’s one grimy window into a brilliant morning that had cast off the storms of yesterday. She wondered if they would be leaving today. She hoped so and then she did not. Staying here was oppressive, but what lay ahead—Lonsdale—did not leave her feeling optimistic.
The food was not as appealing as the tea. Amanda removed the cover on her plate, eggs and glazed ham. In all fairness to the cook, the meal appeared well prepared, but her nervous stomach would not be enticed. She munched a piece of dry toast simply because she thought she should.
As she was refreshing her cup for the second time, James returned to the room.
“It appears we’ll be able to travel later today,” he said, glancing at the uneaten tray of food.
“The roads are not a problem?”
“Benton reports that there is a lot of mud, but much of the water has run off, and the sun is doing its part to dry things out. Probably would be better if we waited until tomorrow, but I’d rather not. Can you be ready soon?”
“I’m ready now,” she said, subdued. “We didn’t unpack.”
Amanda was aware of him watching her, but she could not meet his gaze.
He joined her on the bed. “Is everything all right, Amanda? You haven’t eaten.”
“Tired, I think. I didn’t sleep well.”
James chuckled. “Had a rather restless night myself.” His closeness was affecting her even now, his long, lean fingers resting on her wrist, his concern lulling her into forgetting why she must not trust him.
“Amanda?”
The question in his voice forced her to meet his gaze. Amanda endured his scrutiny, looking back uneasily. All at once she was certain James meant to kiss her, as an avid, hungry expression altered his features, his hand on her wrist squeezing almost imperceptibly.
The moment hung between them, her heart thudding with expectation. She flicked her tongue over her lips as if anticipating a much desired bite of something rich and sweet. She could actually feel the glands in her throat working and she swallowed, a dark excitement rising in her belly.
A tightening around his eyes told her that he had thought better of it. Amanda could feel him withdrawing even as a wry smile eased his mouth, and the sudden dousing by reality shocked her. Disappointment made her eyes burn with humiliation. She glanced away to hide her hurt.
Abruptly, she stood and walked to the window. Though she looked out, she saw nothing, her inner eye replaying the last few moments relentlessly. No avoiding this pain and, for the life of her, she could not decide whether he was toying with her or using caution. Either way, she wished he would stop advancing and retreating on her like a tiger on the prowl.
“I’ll be here when you are ready,” she said.
James came to his feet slowly, and Amanda sensed that he felt awkward now.
“You wish to remain in the room?” he asked.
“I think so.” She did not turn around.
“Yes, well…”
“James, just go, please.”
As the door closed behind him, Amanda was aware of one overriding emotion. Regret. They had lost another opportunity, and each time they did so, the tiny hurts, the budding distrust left them closer to failure.
As she stared across the yard of the inn, she wondered how a relationship that had held such promise only days before had come to this, uncertainty and heartbreak. Though she blamed James for their predicament, she no longer had the desire to tell him so. He wasn’t happy, either.
In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) Page 7