Salvation
Page 25
“Do you hold me to blame for what happened to Lettie?” Her voice trembled.
Fearful that if he turned around the voice would prove to be nothing more than an illusion, Rian remained standing with his back to the bed. He searched his memory, recalling how they had sat holding hands quietly in the chapel, listening to Reverend Hastings deliver Lettie’s eulogy. They had remained there long after everyone else had left. “Lettie was troubled,” he’d told her, “and, I think, had been for a very long time. Finally, she is at peace.”
He had thought that would be the end of it, but apparently this had been weighing on Catherine’s mind. Had the news about Old Ned acted as a catalyst, reopening a hidden wound in her? He did not know, but all that mattered was that she was here, in his room, and had come of her own volition. He was not about to send her away.
“Do you blame me?” she asked him again, her voice firmer and a little less fragile sounding.
Rian placed his hands on the dresser, palms down, and bowed his head. “No, I do not hold you to blame for Lettie’s suicide.” There, it was said. He held his breath, and waited for her to say something…anything.
“Then do you blame me for allowing Phillip to do what he did to me before, and what he tried to do again?”
A wave of nausea washed through him at her words. How could she possibly think he would hold her accountable for the sick perversions of that man’s twisted nature? Was this what had been festering in the back of her mind since they had returned to Oakhaven? Was this why she had wanted to sleep alone and not share the warmth and comfort of his bed? And it wasn’t just her body that he missed, but her companionship.
Rian took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. “I blame only two people for your abduction, and all the subsequent consequences. Isabel Howard and Phillip Davenport.” His voice trembled too, but it was with barely suppressed anger. How dare they make Catherine think she was responsible in any way for the events that had almost destroyed her? It took some effort, but he managed to leash his anger, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and gentle. “Catherine, I hold you blameless for everything that has happened, except making me fall in love with you.” The lump in his throat was making it difficult to speak, and he forced himself to swallow it down. “For that I hold you completely, entirely, and utterly accountable.”
Rian kept his head bowed, his hands curled into fists on top of the dresser. He sensed her behind him, coming closer but still he did not turn around. Out of the corner of his eye he picked up the movement of her hand as she covered his fist.
“Do you still love me?”
She withdrew her hand from atop his, letting it fall to her side. He uncurled his fists, relaxed his hands and placed them, palms down, on the smooth wood surface.
“I will love you until the day I draw my last breath,” Rian told her.
“And do you still want me?” Doubt made her step away from him.
“Do I still—” he whirled and every thought in his head turned to dust, shattered by the image that stood before him.
She wore the same nightgown she had worn on their wedding night; the filmy material clung to every sensuous swell and curve of her body. Her hair was curled softly about her face, reaching just below her chin, and it framed her like a halo of white light as she waited for him to declare himself. He could sense her pride, her defiance and also her sense of shame.
“If you cannot bear to touch me, hold me in your arms, or to be a husband to me, Rian, you must tell me!” Tears fell, glistening on her cheeks, revealing what she had been keeping to herself all these long, lonely nights.
“What happened—” She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “The things Phillip did to me…if you find that you cannot lie with me again because of it, I will understand…but you must tell me, Rian, I have to know.” She turned her head, unable to look at him. “I cannot live like this. It hurts too much.”
He came at her all in a rush, sweeping her up into his arms and throwing them both back on the bed. The breath whooshed out of her, and she gasped. Like a man possessed, Rian kissed her face, her cheeks, her eyes, forehead and nose. He rained quick lightning bolts of barely controlled passion down the column of her throat, her neck, and the naked skin of her shoulders where her nightgown had slipped loose. And then he stopped, his own body shuddering as he caught his breath and looked into her eyes, watching as they turned a deep shade of indigo, a color he loved so well.
“I love you,” he told her simply and eloquently, “and I want you in every possible way a man can want a woman.” And before she could answer, he covered her mouth with his, tasting the sweetness of her breath and losing himself in the wonder of her.
Quickly he pulled on the ribbons that closed the sheer gown and then shed his own clothes with as much haste. Covering her body with his, he let her feel the hard length of him as it pushed against her and almost wept with gratitude as she opened herself to receive him. Raising his head, his face only inches from hers, Rian felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into her eyes. Eyes a man could drown in, eyes he wanted to drown in, and without a second thought he gave himself to her.
“I thought I had lost you,” Catherine whispered, her voice husky with need and wanting.
He felt the warmth of her mouth as her lips sought his, felt the roll of her hips beneath him, and then he felt her desire eclipse his own as she brought him with her to the point of no return, sending both of them over the edge. And in that moment of breathtaking ecstasy, Rian knew his life was complete.
THE END
Meet the Author
Carla Susan Smith owes her love of literature to her mother, who, after catching her preteen daughter reading by flashlight beneath the bedcovers, calmly replaced the romance book she had “borrowed” with one that was much more age appropriate! Born and raised in England, she now calls South Carolina home, where she lives with her wonderfully supportive husband, awesome son, and a canine critique group (if tails aren’t wagging then the story isn’t working!). When not writing, she can usually be found in the kitchen trying out any recipe that calls for rhubarb, working on her latest tapestry project, or playing catch up with her reading list. Visit her at www.carlasmithauthor.com.