The Longing

by Wendy Lindstrom

  Richard’s eyes locked with Amelia’s. As if someone had pulled a plug from her lungs, her breath rushed out so fast she nearly lost her supper.

  “If the rumors are true about Charlotte,” Kyle said, “then it obviously didn’t matter to Matthew.”

  “Then you’re saying it shouldn’t matter whether a bride is pure or not?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Kyle countered, irritation filling his voice. “I just said it may not have bothered Matthew.”

  “Which implies that it would matter to you?”

  “Of course it would!” Kyle said. “Now stop being an idiot. You’re embarrassing the ladies.”

  Richard glanced away, but Amelia knew he’d seen the shame in her eyes. She could have killed him in that instant. Her hands trembled and her fingers itched to rake his handsome face. He’d ruined her reputation and would have thought nothing of doing it again, had she been inclined to accept his offer.

  Amelia stepped from the cluster of friends and family who were there to celebrate a marriage that would never be more than a business arrangement at best—a living hell at worst. “I’ll get some glasses for our toast,” she said. Before anyone could offer to help, she hurried across the room, praying she’d make it to the kitchen before she threw up.

  Kyle leaned in the kitchen doorway watching Amelia at the counter arranging glasses on a serving tray. She wore her hair in a loose twist up the back of her head, and though her gown of midnight black was fancy enough for their wedding while still being appropriate for mourning her father, it looked sleek and provocative to Kyle.

  His gaze swept from her magnificent hair to her midnight hem and he imagined sliding the gown off her shoulders and unpinning her hair. Soon they would be alone and he would slide his fingers into the autumn strands and pull her down beneath him. That was the only positive thing he could say about this whole damned mess.

  She turned toward him then and his heart jolted. She looked panicked and near tears, her gaze darting around the kitchen as if she wanted to escape.

  Kyle levered himself off the doorframe and shook his head to clear the image of Amelia in his bed. “What’s the matter?” he asked, crossing the kitchen.

  She cast a nervous glance toward the kitchen door. “We’ve made a dreadful mistake. I’m not the right woman for you.”

  “Isn’t it a little late to be having this conversation?”

  She met his eyes, her own filled with fear. “What if you find out that you don’t like me? What if we’re miserable together? What if you hate the way I keep house, and I dislike your sense of humor? What if we’re not suited at all?”

  “If you’re trying to tell me that I’m not the man for you, I’ll walk back in there and end this now.”

  “No!” Amelia sagged against the sink. “It’s not you, Kyle. I didn’t mean that at all.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not...I...I’m afraid that you’ll regret this night for the rest of your life. I’m afraid that you’ll never forgive me for...forcing our marriage.”

  Her fear was unnerving him. He drew her into his arms because he didn’t know what else to do, but he sure as hell couldn’t calm her fears when she was expressing his own so eloquently.

  She buried her face in his chest. “How will we spend our whole lives together if we don’t even like each other?”

  A loud knock on the wall jerked his attention to the doorway where he could just see Boyd’s shoulder and his finger pointing toward the parlor. Whatever anger Boyd still harbored toward Kyle for keeping him from buying the tavern, he’d found a way to set it aside for the evening. Kyle still had three weeks to come up with Boyd’s money, but he suspected they both knew it would never happen. Still, instead of being a pain in the ass tonight, Boyd was warning Kyle that someone was on their way into the kitchen.

  “We’ve got company,” Kyle said. He reached over and picked up the tray just as his mother walked in. “I’ll take these in,” he said to Amelia, then turned and left the room.

  “I thought you might need some help, but I think I’ve accidentally made myself an intrusive mother-in-law.”

  Amelia tried to smile at Nancy Grayson, but her lips were too stiff to respond. “I was just feeling faint.”

  “You look pale,” Nancy said with genuine concern.

  It was because Amelia had suffered an attack of conscience, but hadn’t been able to fumble her way through a confession. Kyle lived by his own rigid standard of honor. He believed he’d married a virgin and he would never forgive Amelia for lying to him.

  Amelia placed her palm on her jittery stomach. “I’ve been nauseous all day,” she said, knowing it was from the thought of playing out their farce of a wedding.

  “I raced from church more Sunday mornings than I could count when I was carrying the boys.”

  Amelia gasped. “I’m not expecting a child! Is that what you heard? Are people saying that’s why Kyle is marrying me?”

  Surprise filled Nancy’s expression. “Of course not. I was just trying in my awkward way to say that I understand how uncomfortable it is to suffer stomach upset. I’m sorry I offended you, dear.” She patted Amelia’s hand then turned toward the parlor and called for Kyle.

  A second later he appeared in the open doorway, his expression filled with concern.

  “You’d better have your toast then take your bride home. She’s not feeling well.”

  Amelia watched the color drain from Kyle’s face and knew her own expression must mirror his. They had an unfinished conversation hanging between them like a primed powder keg.

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite Nancy’s suggestion that Kyle take Amelia home after the toast, they stayed until the last guest left and her mother chased them out at midnight. The trip home was awkward and mostly silent, but to Amelia’s shock, Kyle parked the carriage near the front door, lifted her off the leather seat, and carried her into the parlor of her new home.

  “I’ll be back after I take care of the horses,” he said, standing her on her feet beside the sofa, then he ducked back outside, leaving her with a low-burning lantern for company.

  Thankful for a moment alone, Amelia turned in circle to view her new home, but it was too dark to make out more than shadows. She thought about turning up the lantern, but felt too exhausted to care about anything other than putting her feet up and closing her eyes.

  Twenty minutes must have passed before Kyle returned carrying her valise. He stepped inside and glanced through the dimly lit room before spotting her on the sofa. “Why didn’t you turn up the lantern?”

  “The dark felt nice after all the glare and noise at the reception.”

  Without commenting, he took her valise to the back of the house and returned a minute later, his limp more pronounced than earlier in the evening. He shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it across the back of a chair, then faced her. The silence was awkward and she glanced away.

  “I can show you the house if you like,” he said.

  “I’d rather wait until tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t. I’d like to sit down for a few minutes before bed.”

  Bed. Oh, God.

  Instead of sitting in the parlor chair, he guided her down the same hallway he’d disappeared into a few minutes earlier, then they turned into a room lit only by a smoldering fire. Two wing chairs were angled invitingly toward the fireplace and Amelia realized they were in his bedroom. Their bedroom.

  Despite her trepidation, she absorbed the beauty of the room and wished she would have asked him to show her the rest of the house. “Where are your lanterns?” she asked, casting a nervous glance around the shadowed room.

  “There’s one on the chest of drawers and another on the bureau.” Kyle stoked the fire, added a small log, then stood as the flames began to circle the chunks of crackling wood. “I like it better without them.”

  So did she if he was planning to undress her. The darker the better. Amelia eyed a thick afg
han draped over the back of a padded chair. The evenings were still cool in late May and she longed to sit down, to bury herself in the yards of soft wool and just sleep for the rest of her life. Instead, she curled her sore toes, fighting the urge to kick off her shoes and sink her feet into the soft rug beneath the chairs.

  Kyle stepped behind her and slipped the wrap off her shoulders. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, then laid her wrap over the footboard of his bed as he left the room.

  Her neck ached with tension. She sat down and closed her eyes, trying to release the pain between her shoulder blades. Maybe if she told him now, before they made love, he wouldn’t be as upset. Maybe he would forgive her. Maybe he wouldn’t even care about something that happened so far in the past. But what if he did? What if he felt he’d been cheated and decided to annul their marriage? She’d be left with a ruined reputation and no security for herself or her mother. Worse yet, what if she told Kyle and he wanted the name of the man she’d given her virginity to? She could never tell Kyle that she’d given her virginity to his best friend. Never.

  The clinking sound of metal against porcelain startled her and Amelia opened her eyes to see Kyle placing a tray on the table between them.

  “I hope you like tea,” he said, handing her a cup.

  Surprised by his thoughtfulness, Amelia wrapped her fingers around the heat of the porcelain teacup and sipped the hot liquid more for diversion than from a desire to drink.

  Kyle sat in the opposite chair and propped his elbows on his knees, cradling the cup in his large hands. “James Hale didn’t cancel the shipbuilding contract he has with us,” he said, reminding Amelia of why they’d had to wait a week to marry. Kyle had needed to go to Philadelphia to renegotiate a contract for deck beams with James Hale that the man had had with her father. “We have six weeks to get our deliveries straightened out. If we can’t manage it, they’ll cancel the contract.”

  Amelia gaped at Kyle. She’d expected him to bring up their earlier conversation, or try to ease her fear of climbing into bed with a stranger, yet here he was on their wedding night talking business. Most women would have killed him for that. She could have kissed his feet.

  “Can we do it?” she asked, glad to keep their conversation on business.

  “We have to,” he said, staring down into his cup.

  Lord, he was handsome when he wasn’t frowning. The firelight warmed his hair to dark auburn and Amelia wished with all her heart that their situation were different. If only this night had been the result of a breathless first meeting where Kyle kissed her hand and asked permission to court her. She would have said yes, of course, then they would have fallen in love and Kyle would have proposed and they would have married and he would kiss her as if she were the woman of his dreams. Amelia would slip into his arms, guilt-free and willing. That’s how she’d always dreamed her wedding night would be.

  But life didn’t work like that. It moved too fast, swept away her dreams before she was ready to let them go, assaulted her senses and left her reeling. Like now, when she needed someone to hold on to and all she had was herself and a mountain of regret.

  She raised her eyes and found Kyle watching her, studying her as if trying to memorize her face. The intensity of his stare reminded her that they were alone and would be making love before the night was over. Soon, if his look was any indication of his intentions.

  Amelia inched back in her chair, her hands shaking so badly she was afraid she would spill what was left of her tea. Her stomach churned with apprehension and her shoulders tightened. She wasn’t ready yet.

  “Are you cold?”

  Her arms were solid goose bumps, but she shook her head, her mind busy seeking a way to divert his attention and lessen the intensity in his eyes.

  “I know you didn’t want this marriage, Kyle, but I honestly had no other choice.”

  “I own as much of the blame as you do.”

  “I’m glad you’re willing to admit it.” His eyebrows lifted and Amelia’s stomach tightened. “That wasn’t meant to be insulting. I just don’t want us to resent each other. I’m hoping that...that you’ll accept our marriage.”

  “We took our vows together, didn’t we?”

  She gulped a breath and forced herself not to look away. “I meant that I’d like us to find a way to be comfortable with each other.”

  He took the cup from her trembling hands and drew her out of the chair. “It’s late. Why don’t you get ready for bed?”

  That he didn’t want to talk was painfully obvious, but Amelia wanted to protest, to stall their consummation until they connected in some small way, but she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of any other reason to delay him.

  Although she was standing, she had to lift her chin to see Kyle’s shadowed face. He was studying her again, intently, his eyes dark, hungry. “I like your hair down,” he said quietly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amelia yanked off her dress and undergarments on the way to the washstand. She needed time to make a plan, to figure out if it was possible to soothe Kyle’s resentment and win his heart. Maybe if she feigned sleep Kyle wouldn’t wake her, wouldn’t demand his husbandly rights. Tomorrow she could decide what to do, how to tell him, when to tell him. She would stall for time and when Kyle finally discovered the truth about her, he would care too deeply to hate her.

  Amelia scrubbed herself with the clean washcloth he’d left beside the wash-basin, then with fumbling fingers, she pulled the pins from her hair. She dragged her nightrail from her valise and struggled into it on the way to the bed, but had barely turned back the covers when Kyle came into the room.

  “Wait a minute, Amelia.” His request was spoken softly, but she knew it was the second official order from her husband. She’d already taken her hair down. Now, ready or not, she was legally bound to follow the rest of his orders.

  Her heart leapt and she folded her hands in front of her gown, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the flickering firelight.

  His feet were bare. He’d pulled his shirt out of his trousers and it hung open in front. Droplets of water still speckled his collarbone. Golden-brown hair fanned across the muscled mounds of his chest and Amelia knew she was about to find out if the hair on a man’s chest was soft or coarse. Richard had never taken his shirt off.

  Kyle shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over the back of the chair that she’d been sitting in earlier. He was tall, handsome, and breathlessly overwhelming. The tremble began in Amelia’s stomach and bled outward until her legs quaked and her teeth chattered. She clenched her hands together and pressed her hip against the bed, but it didn’t stop her shaking.

  Suddenly, Kyle was standing in front of her clothed only in his trousers that were unbuttoned far below the level Amelia allowed her gaze to drop.

  “Come here,” he said, but it was an invitation this time instead of an order.

  Amelia stepped into the circle of his arms and leaned against his solid body to keep herself upright.

  He rubbed his hands down her spine in long, bold strokes, then across the tense muscles in her back, and up to the knotted cords in her neck. His fingers traced the curves of her back until Amelia felt her body melting. He didn’t talk to her, didn’t try to calm her with words, but she hadn’t expected him to. She’d expected anger. She’d expected punishment for trapping him into a marriage he didn’t want. Not gentle hands and feelings that were driving her out of her mind.

  She tipped her head back to look up at him, to apologize, to beg for one night of abstinence, but he slipped his fingers into her hair and cradled her head in his large hands. Their eyes met as he lowered his mouth to kiss her. Soft, warm, unbelievably wonderful lips moved across hers and Amelia’s lids fluttered closed. Kyle deepened the kiss until Amelia’s stomach quivered and she splayed her fingers across the bare skin of his back to steady herself.

  God help her, but she was lost and she was beginning not to care if she ever found her way back.

  Ky
le drew her down onto the bed. He stretched out and Amelia lay beside him with her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, panicked spurts. Still, he didn’t speak a word, just looked at her from dark, passion-filled eyes. He brushed her hair off her face, his gaze roving over her as his fingers followed the crest of her cheekbone. He trailed his thumb across her lips. Rough skin and a hint of soap touched her tongue and her senses whirled.

  He found her mouth again and kissed her. Suddenly, it seemed they’d both caught fire. Heat burned through her veins as he deepened the kiss, his hands fisted in her hair as he stroked her mouth with his tongue, pressed his hard-muscled body against her.

  She was melting like wax in the sun as his teeth and lips caressed her breast through her gown. Then he slipped his fingers between her thighs. Oh, sweet God. She forgot everything but the feel of him touching her, of his warm, wonderful mouth on her breast and his fingers, oh, merciful heaven, his bold probing fingers . . .

  Everything below her waist turned liquid and she welcomed the insane pleasure spreading through her body.

  She touched the glorious crisp hair and hard muscles of his chest, wanting to explore the textures of his skin, to learn the hills and valleys of his body.

  “Lift your gown,” he breathed near her ear, but he didn’t wait for her to do so. He trembled and shifted off her, then wrestled with something until the bed shook. An instant later he reached down and pushed her gown to her waist. He moved over her and settled himself between her legs, his bare skin brushing hers as he pressed himself into the juncture of her thighs.

  That’s when she realized he’d removed his pants.

  His intense gaze left no doubt in her mind that he was ready to consummate their marriage. Now.

  “Unbutton the front of your gown,” he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes so dark she was suddenly afraid not to obey him even though she knew she wouldn’t. “I don’t want anything between us.”