Love, Come to Me(98)

She smiled halfheartedly. “That’s not a good reason.”

“The real reason,” he said huskily. “Because I made a choice when I married you, and I made sure it was what I wanted.”

“So did I.”

They both thought back on last night, and on what tonight might have brought, had they been able to spend it together.

“The timing on all of this could have been better,” Heath remarked grimly.

“You never left me before.” She was unable to look at him. “Not for this long.”

“I wouldn’t now, if I had a choice.”

“Come back soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His hands curved around her shoulders, and he bent his head to kiss her. It had been intended as a light, affectionate kiss, but as her lips trembled beneath his, there was a low, soft sound from deep in his throat, and hungrily he enfolded her in his arms. Startled by the sudden blaze of heat between them, she made a move to pull away, but he held her more tightly, his mouth forcing hers open. Insidious pleasure trickled through her, sweet and irresistible. Her hands fluttered over the hard surface of his back before resting on his shoulders, and her br**sts pressed against his chest as she strained closer. His lips moved roughly on hers, a warm velvet friction that seemed to last forever. She swallowed convulsively and took a quick, abbreviated breath, and her lungs seemed to be filled not with air, but fire. Her whole body was light and hot, weightless in his arms, shaking with the need to be closer to him. Even when he let her go, it seemed that their bodies were joined with an invisible current; she could feel its pull as he stepped back from her.

Heath muttered something in baffled frustration and left swiftly, closing the door with unnatural quietness. Shivering, Lucy went to the window and stared after him as the carriage headed down the street.

He was gone for nearly two weeks. During that time, she didn’t see Damon, though she received a brief card expressing sympathy and the hope that she would let him know if she needed anything. Lucy didn’t know why Heath had been so adamant about wanting her to refrain from speaking with Damon. Could it be that he was jealous? Surely he knew that there was nothing between her and Damon except friendship, but he had been so abrupt with her on the matter that she couldn’t help wondering.

Industriously Lucy made preparations for Heath’s return with Amy, seeing to it that the house was cleaned thoroughly and extra rooms prepared so that the girl would have a choice of where she wanted to sleep. However, no matter how much work there was to be done, Lucy still found herself daydreaming wistfully and giving in to occasional depression. Loneliness was a constant ache in her chest. Each day and night went by at a faltering pace, giving her ample time to reflect on the past month and all the things she might have done differently. It gave her the opportunity to come to certain conclusions about herself and her marriage. From now on, she would be more honest with Heath. She would tell him she loved him. There was no reason to wait for him to say the words, since he could probably go on for the next fifty years without needing to confess his love out loud.

He had to love her. They had shared too many firsts together. They had been too intimate with each other, both physically and emotionally, for him not to love her. Why, the morning he had left her, he had admitted that he didn’t want to leave her! That and all the other signs pointed to the fact that his feelings must be as deep as hers. Lucy wanted to have the freedom to tell him how she felt about him, and when he returned from Virginia, she was going to change things.

Heath sent word that they would arrive in Boston around noon on Saturday, and Lucy spent the entire morning preparing herself. She was so nervous and excited that her hands were shaking, and Bess had to help her dress and arrange her hair. Her velveteen dress was a beautiful new shade of deep pink called Aurora, made with fancy scalloped sleeves and a tight-fitting basque. Her dark hair was neatly confined in shining braids that were twisted and pinned at the nape of her neck, and she smoothed back the wisps at her forehead and temples with cologne. Lucy pinched her cheeks until they were the same deep pink as her dress, and she walked back and forth to the mirror several times as she waited, too agitated to do any reading or needlework. Finally one of the maids, a girl who was barely out of her teens, knocked on the bedroom door, jumping back as Lucy flung it open.

“Are they here?”

“The carriage has just arrived, Mrs. Rayne.”

“Then let’s go downstairs. Remember to take Miss Price’s coat first, then Mr. Rayne’s.”

Lucy could feel her heart thundering as she descended, and Sowers waited until she reached the last step before he opened the door. For the first few seconds, all she registered was a small flurry of skirts and capes, and then her attention was completely focused on Heath as he walked through the doorway.

“Cinda.” He stopped as he looked at her, his mouth curving with a slow half-smile.

The time spent in the South seemed to have wrought miracles. Once again he was the dashing rascal she had remembered from the early months in Concord, with vitality in his step and laughter in his eyes. The sun had darkened his skin to copper and infused his hair with a sheen of light gold. Ah, she had forgotten how handsome he was. What was it about the South that had such a magical effect on him? The people? The sun, the climate?

“Welcome home,” she managed to say.

“How have you been?” His accent was much heavier than before, making his voice smooth and drawling. She loved the sound of it. I missed you, his gaze seemed to tell her, and the silent message caused her pulse to rise in an uneven surge.