Windemere’ (The McKenzie Brothers)

by Kimberly Nee

  She waited for him to tense at the mention of what happened at the wishing well, the way he did whenever she brought it up. But this time, he didn’t, so she added, “I meant it, Julian. I am looking so forward to this baby’s proving you wrong. And he—or she—will do just that. And hopefully, I will be the one to bake the crow you will be eating when you come around.” She pulled on his hand. “Come.”

  He grinned, rubbing his thumb along the flat of her hand. “Where are we going, Mrs. McCallister?”

  “You’ll see.” She tugged harder, directing him along the shadowy, cool hallway toward the stairs. Each time his thumb swept along her hand, it sent a rush of tingles up her arm to spread through her, and she loved the feeling, hoped it would never go away.

  “Why, Mrs. McCallister” —Julian’s voice held a playful note to it— “are you going where I think you’re going?”

  She paused, her foot on the first step. “I might be.”

  “Is that so? But it’s only morning.”

  A sense of daring darted through her and without thinking, she squeezed his hand. “I’d rather not be overheard by the servants, if you don’t mind.”

  She tried to inject a scolding tone into her voice, but one look at his wolfish grin, and she couldn’t. Perhaps some of her optimism was rubbing off on him, because he didn’t seem angry any longer. But that could also be because she was leading him in the direction of their bedchamber.

  His right eyebrow rose to make his grin seem more wolfish. His fingers tightened about hers. “If I’d known you’d become such a vixen, I’d have been a lot more agreeable to marriage.”

  She halted on the landing between the first and second floors, her pleasant mood draining away. “What was that?”

  “Ah, that didn’t quite come out the way I meant it.” Julian’s cheeks flushed.

  “I realize that the only reason you asked for my hand was because you wanted it to be your decision and not my father’s. But you needn’t be so crude about it.”

  “What do you want me to say, Em? We both know why we’re married. To avoid the scandal and gossips.”

  She stared at him and slipped her hand from his. “Nothing. I don’t want you to say anything.” She moved back to lean against the wide banister. “It’s just that—” A feeling of crimson foolishness washed over her, and she clamped her lips together.

  “It’s just that what?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Em—”

  She ducked as he reached for her and hurried the rest of the way up the stairs. “Leave me be.”

  At the top of the staircase, he grabbed her. “Em, wait.”

  “What?”

  “It’s just what?” He relinquished his hold on her to lean against the wall. “I’ve never known you to not say what you think, so tell me what it is you’re thinking.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking.” A heavy exhaustion sank into her as she leaned against the wall beside him. Resting her head against the pale pink silk moiré wallpaper, she looked over to find him doing the same, only looking at her. He looked as tired as she felt.

  “Sure it matters.”

  “Why? It never has before. I talk and talk, and no one seems to listen. They smile and nod and laugh about how outspoken I am. But I’d wager if you asked Drew or Garrett, or either of my parents, they wouldn’t have any inkling as to what it was I said.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. “I listen.”

  She managed a smile. “This isn’t how I ever imagined all this happening,” she said, letting her weariness thread its way through her words. Why trouble to hide how tired she was? There was no point now. She was tired. “I never thought my husband’s arm would have to be twisted to make him ask for my hand.”

  The wall creaked as he pushed away from it to stand before her. His eyes were more gray than blue and his jaw was tight as he said, “Let’s get one thing straight, Emma. No one twisted my arm. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t have, and I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “You’re here because of my father. Not because of me and certainly not because of this baby.”

  She regretted her words even before darkness flashed through his eyes.

  “You don’t know me as well as you like to think you do,” he replied, his voice low and tight. “Because I was going to ask for your hand. Your mother’s catching us only made it go a little faster, and I’m not about to bemoan those fates. Not one damn bit. I’m here, with you, because with you is the only place I’ve wanted to be since we sat on that damn uncomfortable wishing well!”

  His words hit her like a fist. “It…it is?”

  “Christ, yes!” He dragged a hand through his hair then let it slap against his thigh. “Emma, it’s always been you. Since you were twelve and too young and off-limits. And it has scared the hell out of me ever since that day.”

  He drew in a deep breath, and his shoulders sagged as he exhaled heavily. “And you know why it scares me.”

  “Yes! Because you’re afraid you’re going to go mad and take me with you when you do.” She threw her hands up as her frustration bubbled over. “And no one can possibly love you because of it. Please, spare me, Julian. It’s the same rubbish you said after we’d already—” Heat flared through her and she couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence.

  To her chagrin, Julian chuckled. “After we’d already what, Em?”

  Hating herself for the sudden shyness that simply felt unnatural, she shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Emma, finish the sentence.”

  “Oh, this is silly.” She waved her hands to vent some of her discomfort. It didn’t work. “I’m going to our room. I’ve had enough of this for one day. I’m tired and I wish to lie down.”

  But evidently he wasn’t about to let her go so easily, and she stiffened as his lips brushed roughly against her cheek, “Em—” his voice dropped into a low, teasing tone “—finish the sentence.”

  “Stop it, Julian.”

  “After we’d already what?” He leaned in and she bit down hard on her bottom lip as he nuzzled her. Oh…what was he doing? Anyone could happen upon them and then—

  And then what? Would it matter now? Why should it? She could close her eyes and savor each delicious sensation as it rippled through her. She could enjoy the silken swipe of his dark hair over her cheek, the caress of his lips on her neck. He brushed a particularly sensitive spot, and she had to bite back her lusty sigh. How delightful, indeed.

  He nipped at her earlobe, and without thinking, she twisted both fists in his shirtfront. His breath came sinfully hot on her neck and he whispered, “After we made love, you mean?”

  It sounded downright scandalous in his throaty voice, and it fired her blood, made her cling to him like some sort of wanton harlot.

  He kissed his way down her neck, into the curve of her shoulder, and her knees threatened to betray her. How could she forget how powerful lust and desire could be, how amazing his lips could feel, how he could make her want to just melt into him?

  He braced his hands on the wall, one on either side of her, and pulled back to gaze at her through smoldering blue-gray eyes. His whispered, “Emma,” was enough to make her eyes close and her lips purse.

  He didn’t disappoint. His kiss came soft and gentle, his lips teasing as they brushed hers.

  At that first contact, she tugged on his shirt, pulling him into her. She shivered as the tip of his tongue probed, and she parted her lips.

  His body, ardent and hard, pressed into hers, pressed her into the wall, and she reveled in the solid mass of him. She slid her arms about his waist, splaying her hands against his back to urge him closer still.

  She sighed into his mouth as his tongue slid like heated silk along hers. Her heart raced as fire filled her. When he pressed harder into her, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection, she curled her fingers into the fine lawn of his shirt. Blood pounded through her ears, desire mingling to s
end it swirling through her. Now she didn’t care if anyone came upon them. Her own mother and father could come strolling down the hall, and she wouldn’t care. All that mattered was the feel of his body against hers, of his evident need and desire for her, and the fiery glow of his kiss.

  His arm snaked about her waist, pulled her away from the wall, and she shifted to wrap her arms about his neck. He lifted her easily, as if she weighed nothing, which was rather amazing, as it seemed to her she was already beginning to grow out of her dresses.

  But perhaps she wasn’t gaining anything as quickly as she thought, for he only sounded a little breathless as he whispered, “Shall we return to our room, Mrs. McCallister? I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait much longer to spirit you to bed.”

  The wise thing would be to insist that he did, as it was terribly risky, what with everyone wandering about. And it was the middle of the day. But she didn’t care about being wise. Again, what would it matter? They were married and behind closed doors.

  “Oh, we absolutely should,” she broke the kiss long enough to murmur, “And you’d best hurry. I think I hear someone approaching.”

  “Let them. What’s the worst that could happen?” he whispered breathlessly back, carrying her down toward their room.

  The worst, indeed. Despite the fluttering of a thousand butterflies’ wings in her belly, she let out an airy laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so giddy. “We could have to get married.”

  “We already are.” He nuzzled her then playfully nipped at her neck.

  “Good point.” She pulled away to stare down at him.

  “Of course it is. Now, hush.” He squeezed her around the waist as he paused before their closed door. His foot booted against the wood, and the door swung open easily. “Ah,” he groaned appreciatively as he kicked the door closed. “Tell me that damn door locks.”

  “It does.” She waited for the door to click shut then scrabbled to turn the key. As soon as it caught, she turned back to Julian and surrendered to his kiss once more.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  AS SHE FELL BACK into the mound of pillows, Emma’s dark hair spilled across the white bed linens like ebony silk. All Julian wanted was to feel it caress his bare skin. He tried to keep his full weight off of her, but her arms tightened about his neck to pull him closer. As much as he wanted to give in and feel her firm against him, he didn’t want to cause harm to their child.

  Their child.

  He sank into the mattress beside her and let his hand curve against her belly. There was only the slightest bit of roundness to her, although her breasts were fuller than he remembered. Fuller, but just as perfect.

  “What is it?” she asked, her fingers skimming over his nape in such a way that he had to fight to keep his eyes open. “Is something the matter?”

  “No. Nothing is the matter.” The words came thick and slow to his lips. He thought of nothing but this moment since they arrived on St. Kitts. And now, he felt awkward, as if he was losing his virginity all over again.

  And in a way he was. She carried his child. This was all virgin territory for him.

  Her hand covered his and she said, “Then why did you stop?”

  He smiled down at her. “I’m still a bit in awe over this revelation that you are going to have a baby. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “It doesn’t to me, either.” A delicate flush swept toward her hairline, and a somewhat shy smile lifted her lips. In that moment, she was more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed before now. No one could be as stupid or as willfully blind as he’d been.

  Just like he’d never realized how much he loved her until now.

  He loved her. Wanted to protect her, from everything evil in the world.

  From everything evil inside him.

  Her hand grazed along his temple, gentle as she brushed his hair back. This time, he let his eyes close and simply reveled in being there, with her, where he belonged. This was exactly how he felt that steamy July afternoon, almost a decade before, when she followed him out to the wishing well. He loved her then, only he couldn’t say anything. She was too young. She was Drew’s sister. Garrett would have taken him apart if he dared hint at feeling anything more than fraternal toward her.

  Well, he wasn’t eighteen, and she was no longer a child. And yet, the words—although fully formed on his tongue—remained where they were. He couldn’t bring himself to say them aloud, even as they clanged around inside his skull like a million bell clappers.

  Her eyes were the same beautiful deep blue as the waters surrounding St. Kitts, and she gazed up at him. “I missed you. You were right here, just down in your office, and yet, it felt as if we were miles apart.”

  Those words took him by surprise. It’d been a long time since anyone cared enough to miss him. Not since his mother died. He’d forgotten what it felt like, to have someone miss him. He dipped down to brush her lips with a light kiss. “I missed you, too.”

  “Oh, you didn’t either,” she replied, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “You chose to sleep on that uncomfortable sofa in my grandfather’s office.”

  “I was a fool. Apparently I’m quite good at being one.”

  “At times, I suppose.”

  He nodded. “Definitely at times.” He traced the tip of his forefinger over the rise of her belly. When would the child begin to move? The notion of being able to see such a thing, to feel it, amazed him to no end. “How would you feel about living in Bridgeport?”

  “Bridgeport, Connecticut?”

  “Do you know of another one?”

  “I suppose I deserved that,” she replied with a sheepish smile. A beautiful blush colored her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but dip in and kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Yes, the Bridgeport in Connecticut.” He laughed. “I’ve spent some time there on short runs, and it’s a lovely town. With a nice harbor. And I’ve also found an available shipyard not too far from the harbor. The owner was asking a fair price and I was interested, so I bought it.”

  “You bought another shipyard?”

  “I did. Only it’s not another. It’s going to be Chelten’s new home, most likely.”

  “You want to live in Connecticut?”

  He heard the reticence in her voice. It was as if he’d suggested they live on the moon, the way she stared at him with wide eyes. She didn’t know what it was like, to not feel at home even when she was home. Didn’t understand what it meant, what it felt like, to dread every foot, every nautical mile, that brought him closer to Raritan Bay. Or how he’d feel sick to his stomach as his coach rumbled up to Cheltenham. And it was just as nauseating when he managed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of Cheltenham to go into town. Even the house on Witherspoon didn’t feel like home.

  “Em, I’m tired of dreading returning to Brunswick. I’m tired of feeling as if everyone stares at me as I pass by and then whispers about me once I’m beyond earshot.” It was the first time he’d voiced how he felt, and it was even more liberating that he’d imagined it would be. “I don’t want to live that way any longer. I’m tired of living that way, of the rumors and gossip—”

  “But Bridgeport?”

  The mattress rustled as he sat up. “If Carter returns with signed contracts, it would make the most sense. Percival has many contacts in Boston, and I’ve built up some in New York. Bridgeport is partway between the two.”

  “But it’s so far away from my family.”

  “It’s less than a week one-way. It isn’t that far.”

  She frowned, picking at a loose thread on the sheet. “I don’t know.” She looked up at him, all traces of her happiness gone. “I just don’t know.”

  He sighed. For a few minutes, it felt as if everything was going to fall into place. But now, he swallowed an oath as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Running a hand through his hair, he said, “It offers us a fresh start. For both of us. We
start married life free of overwhelming and overshadowing parents and brothers. Just the three of us. That’s all we need.”

  “I know, but I’ve just never imagined myself living so far away from my family.”

  “Em, I’ve spent the last ten years with people whispering about me, and I’ll wager that won’t stop now. It’ll be worse, since they’ll be whispering about you as well. Never mind what they’d say about a baby.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “How do you think this child will be received there, Emma? Do you think doors will open, and everyone will embrace him with open arms?” He poked his forefinger into the quilt for emphasis. “Because I don’t. And while I hate how it makes me feel, I would detest it with every bit of my being, every bit of my soul, to see the same thing happen to my child.”

  Now she sat up, holding her hands out, palms up in a gesture of frustration. “Then tell everyone the truth. Tell me the truth. I know Garrett knows more than I do.”

  “Tell them the truth? What? That it’s entirely possible I’m every bit as mad as they say? I fail to see how that will help improve anything.”

  He got to his feet and moved to the windows. Sitting still became impossible, at least until he reached the window, where he peered down at the dark jade canopy of palm trees. The wide fronds fluttered in the light breeze, and that same breeze carried the sickly sweet perfume of boiling sugar cane. The scent wasn’t one he found appealing, far preferring Emma’s scent of coconut and soap. Hell, the fishy tang of the ocean was an improvement over boiling sugar.

  “What do you mean, that you’re every bit as mad as they say?” She stared at him as if she’d just walked in on him doing something terrible. Her eyes were wide and her brows had to be as high as they could go. Any higher, and they’d disappear beneath her hairline.

  Every last bit of desire was gone by now, and the sad part of it was that he didn’t exactly care at the moment. Everything kept going wrong, no matter how much he tried to right it. She was his wife, and yet she knew nothing about him.