Love, Come to Me(73)

Because she cared about him, to the point that she was frightened to admit just how much, even to herself.

After putting on long onyx earrings that dangled halfway down to her shoulders and swung jauntily against her neck, Lucy gave a short sigh. “I’m ready to leave now.”

“Cinda.” Heath’s eyes were dark and serious as he looked at her. He walked over to her slowly, and her pulse quickened as she heard the hesitance in his tone. “Before we go, there’s something I want to take care of. I thought about it a few weeks ago, and . . . it’s something I should have done right after we were married.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” she said with a wavering smile.

“I guess I’m trying to apologize for overlooking . . .” Heath’s voice faded away as their eyes met.

“What?” she whispered.

Stillness. Seconds linked together in the silence, one following another rapidly.

His thumb moved over the blunt softness of her jawline; the backs of his knuckles skimmed over her throat. What was he trying to tell her with that gentle caress? He reached down and took her hand, which was light and unresisting in his. His eyes were still locked with hers as he kissed her palm, and his smooth-shaven skin caused her fingers to tingle.

Don’t be tender with me . . . , she wanted to cry out. I have no defense against your tenderness.

Something cool and smooth slipped over her finger, catching gently at the knuckle, sliding completely to the base. Lucy looked at her hand, still clasped in his, and saw the flash of a large, brilliant diamond, pear-shaped and glittering with a thousand sparkles. An engagement ring. A symbol of what they had never pretended to feel for each other.

“You . . . ,” she tried to say, and her voice was nothing but a breath of sound. “You didn’t need to—”

“I should have given it to you long ago—”

“But I didn’t even think about—”

“I know. It was a short engagement, and there was no time—”

“Heath . . . I don’t know what to—”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. Yes, of course—”

“If you’d prefer something different, we could—”

“No. It’s beautiful. It’s . . .” Her eyes glittered more brightly than the diamond. She didn’t ask why he had thought of it, or why he had given it to her now, in case the reason he gave her was not the one she wanted it to be. “Th-thank you.” A tear fell down her cheek, and he stopped it halfway down with his lips.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmured.

“What did you think I was going to do?” she demanded, choking on a laugh and fumbling in his coat pocket for a handkerchief. But before she could dry her eyes, their mouths were clinging together in a kiss of bewildering desperation. Her tearful confusion vanished in an instant, disintegrated by the insistent fire of his kiss. Desire, rich and burning, spread upwards from the depths of her body. Heath bent his head more deeply over hers and pulled her against the hard strength of his chest. Something warm and tender blossomed inside her, unfurling layer after layer, leaving her open and painfully vulnerable.

When he lifted his mouth from hers and drew his head back an inch or two, she saw that a tawny lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and she reached up to smooth it back with trembling fingers. “Heath,” she whispered, made dizzy by the blueness of his eyes.

She couldn’t finish. Staring at him mutely, she read the question in his eyes. Ahh, for once he didn’t understand her silence. She was thankful for that.

“We’d better get going,” he said quietly, and she nodded slowly.

The evening was not at all the boring affair that Damon had predicted it would be. Among the guests were the most prominent businessmen, merchants, bankers, and politicians in the city. The supper conversation was constrained by the presence of the women; the real discussions of politics and current events would take place later among the men. Still, the company was fascinating. Lucy talked alternately to the woman on her left and the gentleman on her right. Heath was seated further down the table, while Damon and a blond woman with a singular air of sophistication carried on a conversation almost directly across from her. Yes, Damon appeared to be his usual reserved self. Determined to rouse him out of his habitual aloofness, Lucy made a few sly remarks to him until he responded with the kind of friendly bickering that she had been hoping for. When the dancing began later, Damon claimed the second waltz with her, informing Heath that he was demanding reparation for Lucy’s teasing during dinner.

“What an accomplished dancer you are,” Lucy said during the waltz, grinning impishly at him. No one could quite match Heath for smoothness, but Damon’s steps were almost as flawless. “Is it a common Redmond forte?”

Damon’s polite facade dissolved into a smile as he succumbed to the charm of her merry hazel eyes. Lucy wished he would smile more often; whenever he did, it transformed him from a merely attractive man into a breathtakingly handsome one. “We’ve all learned from the same instructor. The last three generations of Redmonds have been forced as children to take lessons from Signor Papanti, an Italian count who established a dance academy on Tremont Street—”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“I’m not surprised. He has quite a reputation.”