Regency Christmas Gifts: Scarlet Ribbons / Christmas Promise / A Little Christmas. Lyn Stone
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away. I spoke to her about it. He’s going to a school there in Maidstone.”
Amalie regretted broaching the subject and decided to turn it since there was no point to the confrontation. “My back is breaking in this confounded chair.” She tried to move it, but the wheels were stuck on the edge of the rug.
He grasped one of his crutches and hooked the handle over her front wheel, tugging her onto the carpet. Then he pulled her chair closer and beckoned for her to lean forward. When she did, he grasped her body and lifted her onto the cushion beside him. “There. Better?”
The strength of his arms amazed her. The sudden closeness of him overwhelmed her senses. He smelled of fresh air, leather and sandalwood soap. Perhaps a hint of evergreen. She breathed deeply and leaned closer, her shoulder and arm resting against his.
When she raised her eyes, he was looking down at her and the tempo of his breathing changed. His lips opened as if he would speak, but he said nothing. Instead he lowered his head and kissed her softly.
She felt his hand at her waist, the other cup her neck as his thumb caressed her chin. The kiss grew deeper, stealing her breath and her reason. Desire flowed through her veins like warm honey, sweet as the taste. Amalie shuddered, lost in the feelings she had only dreamed about.
He released her and peered into her eyes as if looking for something he desperately sought.
“What is it you want?” she gasped without thinking. “Tell me…show me.”
Her question might have been a dash of cold water. He sat back immediately, releasing her and moving away as if she’d suddenly screamed for help.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice curt. “For a moment, I lost my head. I haven’t kissed a woman in a very long time and here you were.”
“Where you put me!” she snapped. “So any woman would have done, I suppose.”
He cleared his throat and avoided looking at her.
“We kissed by the stairs. Have you forgotten that so soon?” She hadn’t, that was for certain. The feel of his lips on hers had disturbed her sleep and a great portion of her waking moments.
He did look at her then. “I didn’t forget it, but it was you who kissed me if you recall. This was my doing.” His voice was soft with a touch of regret. “You’re not entirely safe with me, you know. Everything about me works but one knee. It would be wise of us to have a care or we could find ourselves wed for good and all.”
“What? How else could we be wed? Surely you are not suggesting a silly handfast marriage such as you have in Scotland! That’s absurd! Not even legal here.”
At that, he smiled. “The custom is a bit frowned upon these days, even north of the border. Nay, I’d thought that once you recover the use of your legs, we could arrange an annulment. Unless we…you know.”
“Consummate the marriage?” Amalie asked bluntly.
He blushed. He actually blushed. Fancy that.
Oh, Lord. Amalie realized she was staring at him, shaking her head, giving him the impression she might want to…you know. Well, perhaps she did, but she would never admit as much to him.
It was only curiosity on her part, surely. She had only kissed two men before. Boys, really. She had never even entertained the thought of physical relations with them. But Napier had stirred something inside her that felt rather dangerous and very enticing. Damn him for it!
She tore her gaze from his. “Fine. If that is what you wish, so be it.” How much plainer could he make the fact that he could never want her as a wife? “Would you leave?”
“Of course. I can be on my way directly after the wedding.”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant immediately. Leave the room.” If he did not, she feared she would grab the nearest heavy object, like the marble lamp on the side table, and brain him with it.
Alex snatched up his crutch and hopped over to retrieve the other one. If he had learned anything in his twenty-eight years, it was that a woman in a snit was best left alone. He couldn’t figure what he had done to make her so angry. He was the one suffering for the restraint, not her.
Michael obviously hadn’t discussed the idea of an annulment with her. Once she’d had time to digest it, she would see it was for the best.
He swung the crutches forward a step, loving the feel of being upright whenever and however long he wanted and not having to balance on one foot to do so. If only he could devise a brace of some kind to make his knee stable, he could probably manage a cane. “I’ll find a way,” he muttered under his breath.
Alex had just cleared the doorway of the parlor when he saw her.
“I daresay you will manage,” Mother MacTavish said, her tone bitter. “But for her sake, you should not.”
Alex was so shocked he couldn’t speak.
“Yes, I saw you kiss her. And I just heard you declare you’d find a way,” she declared. “If the girl is fool enough to wed you, she should know what to expect! You have no thought for anyone but yourself and your pleasure! She is a cripple, Alexander. Will you thoughtlessly get her with child?”
He saw the tears in her eyes and knew she spoke mostly out of grief for Olivia. She obviously had not overheard their conversation, only his last utterance and had misinterpreted that. But even so…“This is none of your affair, madame.”
“No? You plan to marry this girl and take David from me to live with you. Of course it’s my affair! I live for that child since you destroyed the only one I had!”
“I loved Olivia, too, you know.”
“Yes, all too well, unfortunately!” she exclaimed. “And yet far too little.” She turned on her heel and marched off down the hallway, leaving him alone to stew in his remorse.
He glanced back into the parlor. Amalie had turned, facing him with a look of compassion. “That was so unfair,” she said. “So undeserved.”
Alex couldn’t answer. In his mind he knew he had done everything within his power to save his wife, but it had not been enough. The fact remained, he had been the cause of Olivia’s travail. Without the stress of childbirth, she would still be alive. He had always loved and wanted Olivia, had adored her first as a friend, then as a husband and lover. Theirs had been a comfortable and expected union, a match both had welcomed and treasured. But his feelings for Amalie were keener, more intense. Somehow deeper despite their brevity.
And here was another young woman, one he desired even more than he had Olivia and deserved even less. Amalie was not ambulatory, her strength depleted by so many months of lassitude. She should not be put at risk of a pregnancy in her condition and he would see she was not.
He needed to think. Obviously, Amalie wanted to wed and expected a real marriage to ensue. Maybe she thought his was the only offer she would ever receive, given her belief that she’d never walk again. If he simply refused to marry her and left things as they were, who would change that belief? She would remain a cripple all her life and that would be his fault.
They must marry. And he must somehow convince her to keep their union platonic.
Amalie puffed out a breath of frustration. What was she to do about Napier and his dratted guilt? Mrs. MacTavish seemed determined to keep it at the forefront of his mind. For some reason, the woman had not yet poisoned his little son’s opinion of the father, though. One would think she would have done so at every opportunity.
Her mother chose that moment to enter the parlor. She carried several swatches of fabric with her and sat down beside Amalie, plopping the samples in her lap. “Which do you think for your gown, my dear? Should it be the pale blue—a color that will surely enhance your eyes—or the yellow to highlight your hair?”
The