It was more than her gown between them and Amelia knew without a doubt Kyle wouldn’t be able to accept it. He’d made it clear during their wedding reception that a woman’s virtue mattered to a man—to him.
Despite his hard-edged manner and rigid standards, there was gentleness in Kyle, and Amelia wanted a chance to know that private side of her husband. It felt too good to be held in his arms, to be touched and kissed and have glimpses of his tenderness, to risk losing it all because his opinion of her might change. She wanted more from him and from their marriage. If not love, then at least respect.
Kyle balanced his weight on his elbows as he waited for her to disrobe, but Amelia didn’t move.
“Just pull your arms out of the sleeves,” he said, as the weight of his hips began pressing her thighs apart.
She stiffened her legs to hold him back. “I don’t want to,” she whispered, afraid to look at him, afraid to see his reaction.
He hooked her chin with his thumb and forced her to meet his eyes. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t ask that tonight. Just relax your legs for me.”
In her heart, Amelia wanted to please her husband, but to submit to him would destroy their future. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he said quietly, then shifted his hips to better accommodate himself.
Oh God.
She braced her hands against his chest. “This is too soon.”
“Do you need me to touch you again?” he asked, his arms trembling from holding himself back, the hardness of him brushing her private place. She could feel the tension in Kyle’s body like a drawn bow, waiting to be released.
She shook her head. “I just want to stop,” she whispered.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, his breath soft against her ear.
His promise chilled her. Those were the exact words Richard had used before he’d annihilated her hopes. Kyle was her husband. He had a right to her body. But at the moment he simply seemed to her like just another man who was going to take what he wanted. She couldn’t stop him. Kyle would force the consummation and he would hate her.
Amelia arched her back and shoved at his chest. She refused to spend the rest of her life trying to live up to his high standards without having a chance to win his love. No matter what mistakes she’d made in the past, she deserved a chance at happiness.
“What are you doing?” Kyle grabbed her arms to keep her from toppling them off the bed.
Tangled in the sheet with her legs straddling his hips and his hands gripping her arms, Amelia felt an endless wave of panic cut off her breath. She couldn’t let him find out. Not yet.
He pinned her beneath him, staring down at her in shock, panting from the struggle as he sprawled across her trembling body. “What is the matter with you?”
His hips were still between her legs and there was nothing to stop him from pushing inside her. Her throat closed and tears of shame rolled down her cheeks. They hadn’t even had a chance to talk yet, to become friends, to fall in love.
She didn’t even know what he liked for breakfast.
She shoved his hand off her waist, knowing it wouldn’t matter how many times she pushed him away. Kyle was even stronger than Richard. She turned her head and buried her face in the crook of her arm.
“God, Amelia, I’m sorry.” Kyle brushed her hair off her face. “I’m sorry.”
He lifted off her and Amelia jerked her knees up, pressing her thighs together, but Kyle didn’t pry them apart like Richard had done their last time together.
Kyle moved to her side. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
He hadn’t. It was her fear of his hatred that had made her panic. “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his eyes, her own blurred by tears. “I truly am, Kyle, but I...just can’t do this yet. I know you can force things if you want to.”
He jerked back as if she’d slapped his face. “I will never force you.”
“I couldn’t stop you.” She turned her face away, despising the tremble in her voice. At seventeen she’d been too young to understand that an impassioned man could turn violent when a girl changed her mind about making love. But she knew without a doubt that Kyle’s inflamed body was demanding release and that it was cruel for her to deny him.
He cupped her jaw and forced her to look at him. “Who hurt you?” he asked quietly. “Was it the same man who taught you how to kiss?”
A horrified gasp burst from her and she stared at him, praying he hadn’t guessed her secret.
“A woman doesn’t kiss like this unless she’s done it before.”
Amelia didn’t respond, couldn’t begin to tell him what Richard had taught her that summer, what mix of pleasure and shame he’d introduced to her life.
“I have never played with a woman's affections or taken anything they didn’t willingly offer. I can’t say it any plainer than that, Amelia. I expect us to be intimate, but when I take you to bed, I don’t want to see your eyes filled with fear.”
Her throat ached. This was supposed to have been the best night of her life. This was supposed to be a celebration of love and passion, not guilt and dread.
In her shame, she couldn’t respond. Kyle heaved a sigh and flopped to his back, draping an arm over his eyes. The clock on the nightstand ticked in the silence and mingled with his ragged breathing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
With a hard sigh, he turned away, giving her a shadowed view of his back and wide shoulders. “I’ll wait a night.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sunlight streamed in through the huge bedroom window and Amelia squinted as she braced up on an elbow. She rubbed her eyes, feeling disoriented and anxious. The room was wide and long and filled with light. Thick oak beams glowed warmly overhead. The bedcovers were dark and masculine beneath her curious fingers but wonderfully soft against her skin.
Her gaze settled on the fireplace, cold now, but familiar enough that Amelia remembered where she was. She had sat in one of the burgundy brocade chairs the night before, drinking tea with her husband, then she’d slept in his bed all night without consummating their marriage.
Shame burned through her and Amelia glanced over her shoulder expecting to see Kyle stretched out beside her, but he wasn’t there, the coolness of the sheets indicating he’d been gone for a while.
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand and nearly stopped breathing. God only knew how long Kyle had been waiting for his breakfast. She threw back the covers, leapt from bed, and yanked on her lightweight wrapper.
She rushed into the hall, but stopped outside the bedroom door, uncertain which direction to head. There was a door across from her and another to her right at the end of the hall. To her left and several feet down, the hallway appeared to open into a large room that Amelia assumed to be the main part of the house. She hurried in that direction and found herself in the parlor that Kyle had carried her into last night. Diagonally across from her was another open door and Amelia rushed forward, praying it was the kitchen.
The room was occupied by a small bed and dresser instead of a stove and sink. Frustrated, she swept her tangled hair behind her shoulders, and turned back, her eyes frantically scanning the parlor.
Kyle leaned in a doorway across the room watching her.
Amelia gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “I had no idea it was so late. I was just looking for the kitchen.”
“It’s in here.” He gestured with his chin toward the room behind him.
He was dressed for church, wearing a navy blue jacket and trousers with a white dress shirt and navy bow tie. Remembering how he’d looked last night with his skin bare and his hair mussed, his eyes stormy as his hands and mouth moved over her body made Amelia’s insides melt. She’d lain awake for hours aching to finish what they’d started, knowing she couldn’t. Seeing him now, so handsome as he stood in a swatch of sunshine angling through the parlor window, reinforced her desire to share a loving
union with him.
“You should have woken me,” she said, tugging the belt on her wrapper tighter as she started toward him. “I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.”
“It’s already on the table.”
Her head snapped up and her footsteps faltered.
“Habit,” he said with a shrug. “I’m used to doing for myself.”
“I’m sorry, Kyle.” Amelia hung her head. Not only had Kyle been cheated out of his rightful wedding night, but he’d had to make his own breakfast. “I’d hoped to do a better job than this.”
She heard the fabric in his clothing whisper as he moved forward, saw his black Sunday shoes stop in front of her. He tipped her chin up until she looked at him. “I don’t care about breakfast.”
“You shouldn’t have had to do this.”
“You’ll probably wish I hadn’t when you taste my eggs. Come on. They’ll be worse if they get cold.”
Two plates filled with eggs and toast sat on a sturdy oak table in the middle of a gorgeous room. To her surprise the kitchen was accented by wallpaper in deep greens and rich burgundy swirls of color that brightened rather than darkened the room. A six-plate Acme stove was centered along the wall to her left, and straight ahead was a small icebox and a large sink surrounded by several feet of counter. Overhead a string of beautiful oak cabinets lined the wall. A small oak door, which she assumed to be the pantry, and a large window filled with sunshine, consumed the wall to her right. Awed by the beauty of the room, she stared at Kyle. “This is lovely.”
“My brothers helped me build the house. Boyd made the cupboards and did most of the wood trim. I didn’t have the patience for it.”
He pulled out her chair, then joined her at the table where they ate in awkward silence. Amelia inherently understood that Kyle wasn’t one for small talk, but it rattled her that she knew nothing personal about her husband except that he had the ability to both frighten and excite her. She sensed a private, tender side that he guarded, but she also knew Kyle was every bit the tough businessman people believed him to be. How on earth was she going to find a way to appeal to both men?
The eggs were perfectly cooked, but Amelia’s nervous stomach would only accept half of the meal he’d put on her plate. Kyle had finished ahead of her, but he waited until she’d wiped her mouth with the napkin and laid it beside her plate.
She glanced at him. “It was kind of you to do this.”
He tipped his head in a slight nod of acknowledgment, but his gaze lingered, his eyes framed with an abundance of black lashes that she hadn’t noticed last night in the shadows. His chest lifted and his lips parted, but whatever he’d thought to say stayed in his mouth.
Conscious of her messed hair, Amelia finger-combed it back and hooked it behind her ears. She stared down at her plate, embarrassed by her looks and by the awkwardness between them she didn’t know how to lessen. “I should get ready for church.”
As if eager to escape the tension, Kyle slid his chair away from the table. “I’ll harness the horses. Will twenty minutes be enough time for you?”
“Yes. It’ll only take a few minutes to clean up and get dressed.” Amelia shoved her chair back and reached for the plates in one motion. She scooped up their silverware and stacked the plates together, but before she could straighten up, Kyle reached out and stilled her arm with a firm but careful grip. She clutched the plates and glanced up at him.
“I can wait for you, Amelia.”
Her stomach flipped and her face heated. Was he purposely repeating the words he’d spoken last night to reassure her that she could trust him? Or was it his way of reminding her that he’d only promised to wait one night?
o0o
Surrounded by friends and family, Kyle sat in church beside his wife and new mother-in-law, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. He’d always thought marriage would banish that empty feeling, but somehow it only seemed to emphasize it.
He didn’t blame Amelia for needing time to settle in to their marriage and grow comfortable with him any more than he blamed Catherine for refusing to meet his eyes when he’d greeted her on the way into church. Even now, he could see Catherine out of the corner of his eye, sitting beside Richard with her face turned slightly away as if fighting the temptation to glance in Kyle’s direction.
He knew it was respect and consideration that motivated her, not anger or resentment. Catherine still loved a man named Simon who’d died in the war. She’d confessed to Kyle after their first intimate engagement when he’d been so shocked by Catherine’s unexpected virginity that he had proposed out of obligation. Kyle also learned that Alfred Cameron had married Catherine, a woman twenty years his junior, in hopes of ending his sudden impotency, but Catherine’s beauty and voluptuous body hadn’t corrected his problem. The only thing they’d shared in their marriage had been friendship.
Though Catherine had been touched by Kyle’s proposal, she’d never wanted more than friendship from him.
Still, Kyle felt guilty for not having had the opportunity to tell Catherine he was marrying Amelia. Now he wished for a moment alone with her so he could thank her, so he could try, in his stumbling manner, to tell her what she’d meant to him, but all Kyle could do was catch her eye and silently ask her to understand, to forgive his lack of tactfulness in ending their relationship.
He knew Catherine would want him to be happy in his marriage, just as he would wish the same for her. Unfortunately, Kyle was learning that happiness was elusive and sporadic. There had been moments in his life when his laughter had come easy, when he’d felt a reckless burst of joy that fueled his passion for living, but mostly, life had been demanding and temperamental, sometimes even stingy.
Kyle’s gaze slid to Amelia. Would she, too, prove to be demanding and temperamental? Or stingy? Would she ever evoke a natural burst of joy and laughter in him? Would she give him the passion he knew was bottled up inside her?
More importantly, what would he give her? Protection and security, for certain. Regardless of the circumstances of their forced marriage, Amelia deserved, and would have, his respect and fidelity, but emotionally Kyle had nothing left for anyone. Since the ordeal with Radford and Evelyn, Kyle had been dead inside. Their betrayal had shattered his trust. He’d spent the past several months easing the ache in his chest, and now that he was finally breaking free of that weight, he wasn’t willing to open himself again. Not even for his wife. They would share a house and a bed. That would have to be enough.
As if Amelia sensed his scrutiny, her lashes lifted and she looked up at him. Her eyes held unspoken feelings Kyle couldn’t read, a depth of sadness he knew he’d caused, a nervous shyness that warred with her curiosity to know him. He sensed her hidden desire to be touched, her fear of embracing passion, the unanswered questions she wouldn’t ask.
What did she think of him? Was she really afraid of him or only apprehensive because of the newness of their relationship?
“Is something wrong?” Amelia whispered, a delicate crease of concern forming between her eyebrows.
Should he tell her the truth? That she scared the hell out of him? That he ached to make love with her? That he didn’t want to wait until tonight? No. He couldn’t tell her any of that. To confess that he burned for her would frighten rather than flatter her. For now, he would grit his teeth and wrestle with his urges in silence.
Chapter Fourteen
Instead of going home after church, Kyle slowed the carriage in front of Evelyn and Radford’s house. “Do you mind if we stop in for a few minutes?”
“Of course not,” Amelia said, her expression shifting from anxious to elated. “I would love to visit a while.”
She would love to delay spending the afternoon alone with him was more likely, but Kyle didn’t comment. If they wouldn’t be spending the time in bed, the long hours held little appeal for him, too.
He stopped the carriage in the driveway and saw Boyd near the barn dismounting from his horse. At the same time, Radford e
xited the livery with his daughter, Rebecca, riding on his shoulders. Though the eldest and tallest of the four, Radford could have been Boyd’s twin. They both had dark coloring and gold eyes, but unlike Boyd, Radford was a quiet, happily married man who didn’t break his neck watching girls all day.
Boyd opened his arms to Rebecca. “Come here, princess.”
Kyle climbed from the carriage, his attention on the exuberant five-year-old who’d stolen his heart the day Radford brought her home. She’d been abandoned by her mother at infancy and was withdrawn and needy then. Now, with the healing love of her stepmother Evelyn, Rebecca was as wild and reckless as her uncle Boyd who was twirling her in a circle.
“If she loses her breakfast, you’re cleaning it up,” Radford said, straightening his collar that Rebecca’s skinny legs had crushed.
Rebecca clung to Boyd, weaving in his arms like a drunkard. He nuzzled her neck, making her squeal with laughter.
“Uncle Kyle, help!” She giggled, her arms flailing toward him. “Uncle Kyle!”
Kyle helped Amelia out of the carriage, then turned and swept Rebecca out of Boyd’s arms, glad for the excuse to pull her into a hug.
Rebecca hooked her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “You saved me!” She gave him a sloppy smack on his chin. “Put me on your horse.”
“No.” Radford caught her beneath the arms, but she clung to Kyle as if she were a bug with six legs hanging on for life. Radford plucked her away and planted her bare feet on the ground. “Tell your mother we have company.”
She scrunched her nose and tipped her head way back to look up the tall length of her father. “Will she let us eat cookies now?”
Radford’s eyes crinkled and he nodded. “Yeah, sprite.”
“I’ll go get ‘em!” She skipped across the driveway, then suddenly her head reared back and her face burst into a glowing ball of joy. “Miss Drake!” she yelled, and Kyle felt his stomach jump to his chest. It wasn’t Miss Drake anymore. It was Grayson. Mrs. Grayson. Good God, he really had a wife.
The Longing Page 10