Jane Goodger (19 page)

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes uncertain, and he wished it was different between them. He wished he could stay and hold her all night. But, of course, he couldn’t.

“Good night, then.”

He turned to go, the joy seeping away.

“Boone.”

She sounded rather exasperated, so he turned to her.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed. I’m beat.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “I thought, perhaps, we could sleep in the same bed.”

Boone swallowed, a slight bit of panic twisting his gut. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said slowly, as if saying the words that way would stop them from hurting her. “I don’t sleep well and I’d just keep you awake.”

She smiled briefly. “Certainly. I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to stay here, it’s that…”

She held up her hand, her eyes flashing. “It’s fine, Boone. I understand. In fact, most couples do not share a bed at all. Ever. My own parents had separate rooms and it worked out wonderfully. They did have three children, after all.”

Boone stared at the floor. Why the hell was she doing this? Why was she making him love her even more? Part of him wanted to beg her to come with him to his bed, to lie next to him, to wrap her arms around him and keep the demons away. But he feared even she could not. Not only were his nightmares violent, he would sometimes wake up standing, punching the air, stalking around his room in confusion. He’d punched Carson more than once in his sleep when his brother came into his room to make sure he wasn’t endangering himself. Carson could take a punch; he was a big man. But Amelia. One punch could kill her.

It would be humiliating, not to mention terribly frightening for her and potentially dangerous.

“I’ve never slept with another person in my bed before,” he said. “I have nightmares.”

Amelia had known the physical part of her marriage would be tolerable, but she hadn’t expected the complete rapture of their union. She hadn’t expected the pleasure to be so completely intense that she’d scream out in joy. And now she didn’t want it to be over. He moved toward her door as if she was chasing him, and doubt began to filter into her haze of contentment.

“Boone.”

He stopped, his entire body tense. “What?”

“We don’t have to sleep just yet. Can’t we just…talk for a bit?”

When he turned, she lifted the covers and it seemed to her he reluctantly moved toward the bed and awkwardly joined her. The bed was small, but they moved together, facing one another. Amelia placed a hand on his cheek, liking the beard-rough feel of it, the pure masculinity of the lines of his face. “There, that’s not so bad, is it?”

His lips lifted and she smiled at him.

“I need to ask you a question and you must promise to answer honestly.” He nodded, his gray eyes intent on hers. “Were you joking with me before, when you told me you’d never kissed a woman?”

“No,” he said, sounding a bit stiff.

“Well. You’re quite good for someone with no practice.”

“You inspire me,” he said, finally, and Amelia smiled. It was the perfect thing to say, really.

She closed her eyes and moved her hand on his chest and heard him breathe in sharply. Then she moved one finger slowly across his lips and felt him smile. Leaning on one elbow, she placed a gentle kiss where her finger had just been. Then on his shoulder, then his flat nipple. She moved her hand across his belly, finding herself completely fascinated by the hard ridges of his stomach, the strength they signified. And then she felt his erection against the back of her hand and it was her turn to smile. With the very tip of her index finger, she touched the velvety tip of him.

“Amelia,” he breathed.

“I find you fascinating,” she admitted, moving her hand and touching the area beneath his arousal, the sac that seemed to tighten with her caress. “You’re very different from me, you know.”

“I had noticed,” he managed. He lay still, not touching her, and Amelia wondered if he were simply waiting to see what she would do next. Honestly, she wasn’t certain. Then she got a bit of her own inspiration. Where she’d touched him, she placed her lips, giving him a gentle kiss.

“Is that proper?”

“Not at all,” he gasped, jerking his hips and pressing her down gently.

“I suppose I’m not all that proper,” she said, kissing him again and reveling in the fact that the smallest thing could bring him such obvious pleasure.

He let out a strangled sound, and he pulled her up for a searing kiss. And another. And another. Until they were joined together again, until they were both sated and smiling in the darkness.

“Now,” she said, once they’d both come back to earth and were breathing normally. “You may go to bed.”

He gave her another kiss, and left, leaving behind a heated spot that quickly cooled, even though the air was still warm.

Amelia awoke to find a note on her pillow. She smiled at his whimsy, until reading the brief note:

Her first thought, of course, was for the poor injured men. Her second was that the note was completely devoid of any tenderness. Amelia smiled at her silliness. He’d probably left in a hurry, and the fact he’d left her a note at all was very considerate. What a ninny she was.

She stretched, aware of muscles aching that had never ached before, and smiled again. Married life was wonderful, she decided. Just the thought of what had happened the previous night made her want more. If she wasn’t already married, she certainly would have been considered a shameless hussy.

By the time she reached the kitchen, Maggie and Edward were already sitting at the small table nibbling on eggs and bacon.

“It smells wonderful. Who was the cook?”

“I was,” Maggie said happily. “I found it necessary to learn after all our servants left, and have retained a good amount of knowledge, it seems. I can do up some more eggs for you if you want.”

“I’ll just have a peach,” Amelia said. “They’re wonderful. Boone says Texas is famous for peaches.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “And how is Boone? Still sleeping?”

Amelia blushed for no apparent reason. “Apparently there was a fire last night at a local ranch and some men were injured. I have no idea when he left or when he’ll return.”

“I do hope he returns by tomorrow. Your brother and I will be taking the train.”

Amelia let out a sound of disappointment. “But surely you can stay a bit more. You cannot leave so soon. I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again.” She stood up and hugged Edward, who looked helplessly at his wife.

“We weren’t supposed to be here at all,” Edward pointed out. “It is only through your actions that we find ourselves in Texas for our wedding trip.”

Amelia pouted. “But you are here now and must stay.”

“We must leave,” Edward said. “Or I shall grieve.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at her older brother. It was just like him to take advantage of her sentimental side by beginning the rhyming game they’d played as children.

“If you do not stay…I will…”

“Be okay,” Maggie put in, laughing when Amelia cried foul. “Amelia, you know we have to leave. We’ve been gone from Meremont longer than either of us wanted already.”

“I know.” Ever buoyant, Amelia smiled. “At least you were here for the wedding. I daresay it was more than I expected when I left Meremont.”

“There you go,” Edward said heartily, glad that his little sister was finally using common sense.

As it turned out, Boone was not there when Maggie and Edward climbed aboard the train that would take them on the first leg of their journey home. He’d stumbled home after midnight, exhausted from tending those who’d been badly burned in a stable fire that took the lives of ten fine horses. He still smelled of the stench of smoke, even though he’d hastily bathed before checking in on Amelia. He mumbled an apology, then went up to bed, and was snoring almost immediately, leaving Amelia staring at the ceiling as she listened to the distant rumbles. When she awoke the next morning, the day of her brother’s departure, Boone was already gone. This time, there was no note.

She tearfully bid her brother and Maggie good-bye, then returned to the store, only to find two customers waiting for her to reopen. She wouldn’t even be able to have herself a good cry. By the time she pulled the shade shut to indicate the store was closed, she was feeling lonely and depressed and again thinking she’d made a terrible muck of things.

It was almost as if that passion-filled night with Boone had never happened. She stood in the middle of the kitchen staring at the cold stove and had such a fierce longing for Meremont she let out a small anguished sound. How shocked her friends back home would be if they could see her now, wearing a simple muslin dress, her hair pulled hastily back in a simple bun, her hands beginning to look more like a servant’s than those of a lady.

She’d told them about how exciting her life with Carson would be, full of adventure and change, full of balls and moonlit rides around their sprawling ranch. Would they laugh? Feel sorry for her? As she thought back to how she’d gone on and on about Carson and their future life together in Texas, she cringed. No doubt her friends pictured her living in some sort of mansion surrounded by servants.

And here she stood, alone, staring at a cold stove. In England, she’d never felt useless. Her brother had relied on her to oversee the running of every aspect of a large and busy household filled with servants. Now she was finding all her skills were worthless.

“What am I doing here?” she asked the empty room. Amelia heard a soft thumping in the corner and saw Three Legs greeting her in his lazy way.

“Hello, Three Legs.” The thumping increased in tempo, and the dog let out a small whine. Amelia walked to the dog and hunkered down to scratch behind his ears. “You get lonely, too, don’t you?” The dog let out a satisfied groan, then lay back down, happy to have received even that small amount of attention.

Amelia grabbed another peach, one of the last of the season, and took a bite. It was soft and sweet, and almost made being alone more bearable.

That night when Boone came home, he fell asleep at the kitchen table, a bowl of stew from the hotel cooling in front of him. That’s where Amelia found him when she came downstairs to use the water closet. His soft snores alerted her to his presence, and she smiled when she saw how he’d fallen asleep, with two arms dangling down by his sides and his head resting on the table, mashing one side of his handsome face. He began muttering something unintelligible in his sleep, his brows gathering together. A bad dream, perhaps.

Amelia quietly sat down at the table and gave him a gentle nudge. He exploded awake so forcefully, it took Amelia completely by surprise when he swung wildly and blindly, connecting with jarring impact to her shoulder, and causing her to nearly stumble from her seat.

Amelia cried out, for the pain was sharp and intense, and the blow completely unexpected. Slowly, Boone became aware of where he was, but his befuddled mind was still trying to put together what had just happened.

“You hit me,” Amelia said, immediately recognizing that she was not her husband’s intended target. At least she hoped not.

Boone, breathing heavily, looked at Amelia, horrified and utterly confused by her statement. “What?”

“You hit me. In your sleep,” she said, trying to sound calm, even though her heart was racing painfully in her chest. “You were having a bad dream.”

“I hit you?” Boone asked, clearly agonized at the thought. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t hitting you, I was hitting…” He closed his eyes. “I was hitting my father.”

“I’m certain he deserved it,” Amelia said quietly.

Boone gazed at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she was being so completely understanding. “Did I hit you hard?”

“Actually, yes,” she admitted, and he winced. “But we should thank goodness your aim is so dismal. You could have hit my face and that would have been rather difficult to explain.”

Boone buried his face in his hands for a moment, then pulled her to him. “I’d never hurt you knowingly. Never. I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Boone,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “Please don’t make more of this than there is. You were asleep.”

Despite her words, he continued to look rather miserable.

“I think you ought to kiss it better,” Amelia said, sounding serious. “You may have only hit my shoulder, but I fear the pain is shooting everywhere.” Amelia tried to look like a coquette might, but she simply couldn’t maintain her composure and began to giggle.

Boone smiled and rested his chin on one hand, as if enjoying a play. “Tell me where it hurts,” he said, his voice low.

“Here,” she said, and pointed to her elbow. Boone dutifully kissed her. “And here. This
is
where the blow hit.” He kissed her shoulder with utmost care. “And here,” she said, pointing to her left cheek.

He leaned over and kissed her, then moved his cheek against hers. “And here.” She placed a finger on her bottom lip.

He kissed only her bottom lip, but lingered as if unwilling to pull away. “I think your lips are especially hurt,” he muttered, then deepened the kiss with a low sound, purely male. He moved to her neck, and she arched back, her eyes closed, her breathing becoming rather labored for a woman who was sitting down.

She pulled away and began unlacing her nightdress while a slow smile formed on Boone’s face, even as his gray eyes darkened with desire. She loved to see him smile, so she unbuttoned a few more and pointed to where her breasts were just visible beneath her cotton garment. He rewarded her with a rather wicked smile before he lowered his head and placed a series of small kisses over every inch of her exposed flesh.

“Feeling better?” he asked. “Because as a doctor, it’s my opinion that such a blow could have done more damage.”

Amelia bit her bottom lip and pulled her nightdress down, exposing her shoulders and all but the nipples of her breasts. She liked the way he stared at her, as if she were the most beautiful creature on earth. Her lips were parted, her breathing almost irregular. “Please,” she said, forgetting about their game, forgetting everything but the feeling in her breasts and the wetness between her legs.

Boone pulled her nightdress lower, tugging it over her nipples, and then pulled one taut tip into his mouth, feeling powerfully male when she let out a cry of pure female joy.

“I can always tell what you like,” he said, pleased with his discovery.

“I don’t make much secret of it,” she said, sounding breathless.

“You like this,” he said, moving his index finger around one nipple. She fascinated him. Her body, every curve, every feminine bit of her was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Yes.”

“And this,” he said, suckling her.

Her only response was a whimper of pleasure.

“I think we should go to the bedroom,” he said, wanting to get her completely naked and on a bed so he could continue his slow exploration of his beautiful wife.

She stood, leaving her upper body exposed to his view, and held her nightdress around her waist. In the lamplight she looked like something a master would paint, her creamy white skin, her softly rounded shoulders, her full round breasts. Boone had never in his life felt more grateful than he did at that moment to have found such a wife. The words he’d long felt were pushing against his throat.

God, he loved her.

But he swallowed, and smiled, and held out his hand to lead her to her room, where he would show with his body what he could never tell her in words.