Gypsy Legacy: The Earl, page 25
Shucking the rest of his clothing, he crossed to the end of the bed. Spying Amanda's sleeping form, his hand stilled as he reached for the silken trousers he had recently been sleeping in. Myriad thoughts flew through his head as to why she would be in his bed, the first of which was that she was in pain and had come to find him. It was quickly dismissed once he asked himself why she would bother to come all the way to his room when she could have called someone from her own. More suggestions emerged and were discarded until he began to feel a chill on his backside and remembered he was standing in a cooling room with not a stitch on.
Grabbing up and donning the trousers, he moved around the side of the bed and sat beside her. For a few moments, he looked his fill. The soft glow of the lamp turned her skin golden and he reached out to stroke lightly down her arm. The satiny texture was smooth beneath the pads of his fingers, reminding him of how soft and feminine she felt when he took her in his arms.
She stirred and her eyelashes fluttered sleepily.
"Jonathan?” The wariness in her tone bordered on fear and his heart contracted in pain. Had his outburst made her afraid of him? He rubbed a hand over his eyes, squeezing them closed tightly for a moment, before looking back down at her. She shifted on to her back, wincing slightly, then moved to sit up.
Helping her up, and settling pillows at her back, he watched her push stray strands of gold out of her face, then fold her hands in her lap.
"Why are you here?"
Amanda glanced down at her hands and didn't answer.
He slid two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to his. “Amanda?"
"I-I wanted to talk to you, but you've avoided being alone with me."
His lips quirked. “I have?"
Her lower lip trembled and she stilled it by worrying it with her teeth, then nodded slowly.
He sighed and dropped his hand. She was right, of course. He had avoided being alone with her once she was no longer unconscious and sleeping regularly. When he realized she was healing just fine, hadn't developed a fever, and was conscious most of the day, he'd deliberately never been alone with her. He told himself it was because he didn't want to upset her, but he knew better. He didn't want to talk about the night he'd confronted her about JoJo. The night he'd lost his temper and stormed out of the house like a child having a tantrum. Just thinking about his actions made him ashamed of himself.
"I wanted to tell you,” she began, her voice trailing off as she raised clear blue pools to his.
"Don't..."
She could not have missed the pain in his voice, but she took a deep breath and continued anyway. “I'm sorry I..."
"Amanda..."
"...lied about...” Her voice trailed off and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Jon groaned and pulled her into his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder. Hearing her apologize made him feel like a cad.
"It's not your fault,” he groaned into her hair. Inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle, he blinked back the moisture gathering in his own eyes. “It's not your fault,” he repeated.
"But ... but I ... you ... we ... wouldn't be married if I...” She hiccupped and sniffed. Hot tears scalded a path down his chest. Calling himself every kind of fool he could think of, he held her while she sobbed. He knew tears did not come to her easily. That he had reduced her to them told him just how deeply he'd hurt her.
Unconsciously his arms tightened around her. When he felt her stiffen, then begin to squirm, he remembered her side and released her.
"Does your side hurt?” He held her away from him, his hand going to her side, pressing lightly through the material of her nightgown. “Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
He pressed her back into the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. “You need to rest. We will talk another time."
"No.” There was a hitch in her voice. “I'm not tired, and I-I want to talk now. I need to know."
Jon did not want to have this conversation. He loved her, but it was too new, too fresh. He did not want her delving too deeply into feelings he was only just becoming accustomed to. Talking about JoJo would bring too many insecurities to the surface. Things he still needed to process before he could talk about them.
"I need to know,” she said in a stronger voice, “what you intend to do."
He turned away from imploring blue eyes and turned down the lamp. Rising to his feet, he walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in.
"Right now, I intend to go to sleep."
She shouldn't have come. She should have known she couldn't force him to talk to her. He would do what he wanted regardless of what she wanted, or needed. She turned into the pillow as a sob rose in her throat. How would she ever face him again after tonight?
Closing her eyes against a fresh wave of tears, she wondered if she should go back to her room. Would he prefer to sleep alone now?
Yet it felt oh so good to be lying next to him again, even if they weren't touching. She could feel his heat, the comfort of his presence. Despite her confused feelings, a soothing calm descended upon her. Now if she could only hold back the tears. She sighed. What was wrong with her? She never cried. Well, only rarely. Perhaps it was the babe making her so emotional.
Yet, as a fresh wave of tears surfaced, the feeling that she'd lost everything enveloped her, bringing the raw feelings of loss and loneliness to the surface. It was like losing her mother all over again. As the tears fell, soaking the linen beneath her head, she held herself still. Once he fell asleep, she would return to her own bed.
Gentle hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her as Jon's shadow rose above her.
"God, Amanda!” His voice was ragged. “Please, stop!” She was drawn into a warm embrace, her face pressed against his chest. The dusting of dark hair tickled her nose and she could hear his heart racing.
She slid her arms around his waist and pressed the length of her body against his. As if holding him close could chase away the feelings of despair threatening to overwhelm her.
"I'm sorry,” he said as he threaded his fingers through the hair at her temple. “I can't. I just can't talk about it right now.” He took a deep breath and his voice hitched. “Too much has happened and I want you to make a full recovery first."
His voice soothed her—something in the tone giving her hope. Perhaps he was right. Her body relaxed against his as he sank back onto the pillows, taking her with him. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe he only wanted the best for her. She clung to the thought as she laid her head on his shoulder and allowed her body to melt against him. Emotions drained from her, leaving her weak and exhausted with heavy lids. She succumbed to the moment and closed her eyes.
Jon held her for a long time, listening to her breathing and enjoying the feel of her softness pressed against him. He was an emotional wreck. Never had anyone been able to delve so deeply into his soul before. Frankly, it scared him, but he recognized his need for Amanda. He wanted, no needed, her to bring light into those dark places he'd kept hidden for so long. The door inside his heart was wide open, but only Amanda knew the way in. It was terrifying and satisfying at the same time. Tomorrow, he promised himself before he followed her into slumber. Tomorrow they would clear the air.
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Chapter Eighteen
Amanda moved slowly as she descended to the dining room the next morning. Jon had already been gone when she awoke, but she hadn't felt deserted. Remembering his revelation of the night before, she was heartened by his words, understanding that her recovery was most important for now. It was why she insisted on getting up and venturing downstairs for the first time in nearly two weeks.
Higgins was closing the front door as she descended. When he turned, he held a large vase of red and pink hothouse roses. A smile broke across his normally stern features when he noticed her.
"These just arrived for you, my lady."
A thrill went through her as she opened the card he handed her. The words nearly jumped out at her and she drew in a deep breath to still her racing heart.
I've been told many times that flowers speak when the heart is unable. I'm sorry about last night. Love, Jonathan
She resisted a sudden impulse to hug herself. Instead she turned a brilliant smile on Higgins and instructed him to put the flowers in the morning room.
She and Jon still needed to talk. If he needed her to be fully recovered before he could do so, then she would be fully recovered as soon as possible. That meant today. She was feeling better. Only a small twinge in her side occasionally reminded her of her illness.
Her efforts were appreciated by the staff and Felicia. Jon did not return home until shortly before dinner, but his flowers kept her company. Evincing surprise that she was up and about, he hurried upstairs to change.
"I did not expect you to be up,” he told her when he joined her a short time later.
"I was tired of lazing about in bed when I no longer felt ill."
He chuckled as she handed him a glass of wine.
"Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely."
"You're welcome."
Did you mean it? The words hovered on her tongue. All day long, she'd kept the card close, desperately wanting to believe the hidden message in the words he'd written and the flowers themselves, but unsure.
Insecurity around Jon was new to her. She'd always been able to tell him what she was thinking. Until now. Their relationship had taken a turn the night he disappeared, she acknowledged. The path they'd been on before then was gone forever. Was this new one better?
Higgins announced dinner, saving her from a decision.
Dinner was quiet, with limited conversation about casual friends and acquaintances.
After dinner, they were leaving the dining room for the salon when Higgins approached with a note on a salver.
"A note for you, my lord."
Jon picked up the missive and frowned at the handwriting on the front before he unfolded the sheet.
"Is there someone waiting for an answer?” he asked when he finished scanning the contents.
"Yes, my lord."
Jon turned to Amanda, and she saw the disappointment in his expression before he spoke.
"I'm sorry,” he said with a small smile. “Dr. Reynolds has requested my help with a problem. I hate to leave you..."
"I am fine,” she assured him. Understanding that Dr. Reynolds was a special friend, she knew she could not keep him here tonight when he was needed elsewhere.
Jon turned to Higgins and gave him a set of instructions before turning to escort Amanda into the salon.
Once inside, Jon closed the door and pulled Amanda into his arms.
"I would have preferred to stay with you,” he told her with a quirky smile. “Reynolds isn't nearly as agreeable on the eyes."
She smiled back at him. “I certainly hope not."
His hand slid up her spine, pressing her closer. Bending his head, he whispered her name against her lips, then kissed her.
She could do nothing more than respond. Jon's heat enveloped her, yet his passion was kept firmly in check. His arms held her close, but his hands stayed on her back. Lifting up on her toes, she slid her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. The wonder of being in Jon's arms again, of having him kiss her with tenderness and love, brought a lump to her throat and a melting sensation in her heart.
When he raised his head, she lifted her eyes to his and knew then he'd meant every word he'd written. For now, it would be enough. They still needed to talk, but she was content. His friend needed him, so she would let him go.
A knock on the door drew them apart.
"Don't wait up for me,” he told her. “John doesn't often ask for my help, but when he does it's often something complicated and likely to take some time. If you plan to attend the masquerade tomorrow night, you will need your rest."
Then he was gone, but she was not alone.
Upstairs she breathed deeply of the fragrance permeating her room. As she prepared for bed, then dismissed her maid, she looked at the vase of roses and said a small prayer of thankfulness.
JoJo had finally come home to her.
"I received the most wonderful note today from your grandmother,” Amanda told Jon the next evening. He hadn't returned home until just before dinner and she had informed him that his sisters and their husbands would be joining them. Now that the family had left, they had repaired to the library. “I thought I might venture out to see her tomorrow."
"You have made a remarkable recovery, so I don't see why you shouldn't. Just don't overtax yourself.” He hoped he sounded encouraging.
She curled up on a sofa near the fire as he crossed to the decanters near the window. “Do you think I might become ill again?"
"Not with what you had before, but your system may not have completely recovered. Even something as small as a chill could have adverse effects, and you must continue to think of the babe."
Jon nearly winced at the imperious tone that crept into his voice. It was the same tone he often used with patients when giving them instructions. He wondered if Amanda noticed.
"Yes, Doctor,” she replied cheekily.
He willed himself not to react as he poured himself a brandy and said in a grave voice, “These last two weeks have not been easy and I would never have forgiven myself had I returned too late to save you."
"I do not understand. What did you mean, ‘had you returned to late to save me'? Surely, Dr. Reynolds would have—"
He took a sip of his brandy, allowing the liquor to slide smoothly down his throat before turning to her. “Sherry?"
She shook her head. “No, thank you."
Picking up the figurine off his desk, he crossed the carpet and joined her. In the meager light of the fire, he noted her confusion at his comments. He was doing a poor job of explaining himself, but there was so much he needed to tell her.
"Was I in terrible danger, then?” she asked when he settled next to her, having put the statuette on the side table. “I only remember pain in my side and being feverish. Was there more?"
"No, but the pain in your side was the result of a putrid appendix, which had to be removed."
"That explains the scar,” she murmured unnecessarily.
"It is very likely that my staff would have contacted Dr. Reynolds had I not been here. They know he is the physician I would call. But he does not perform surgery unless he absolutely has to.” He smiled, thinking of his friend's probable reaction. “He would have taken me to task for not being here."
"I see.” She shifted and laid her head against his shoulder.
He chuckled as he finished off his brandy and put the glass down. “No, love, you don't, but it matters not. I have something for you."
Surprised, she turned toward him as he picked up the statuette and held it out to her. For a moment she merely stared at it, then she reached out as if afraid it might be real enough to bite.
"But I ... I left it for you,” she said haltingly. “Felicia said Nona promised it to you."
He nearly groaned. What, he wondered, had she told Felicia?
"Besides,” she raised tender eyes to his, “I don't need it anymore."
A heaviness settled in his chest as he put the statuette back down on the table. Rejected. His world was suddenly out of alignment. She didn't need JoJo anymore. He should have anticipated it, but it still hurt. Would she ever need JoJo again?
She shifted closer and slid her arms around his waist. Her warmth gave him comfort he hadn't realized he needed and he reciprocated the gesture, turning to hold her against him.
"I don't need the figurine anymore,” she repeated softly, “because I have you."
The world realigned and he looked down into pools brimming with love.
There was still much he wanted to explain. Nona and his medical training for starters, but at this moment only one thing needed saying.
"I love you."
A brilliant smile appeared, topped by a mischievous twinkle in sapphire eyes.
"I know."
Taken aback, he merely stared down at her. Then he threw back his head and laughed. Holding her close, he buried his face in her hair.
"I don't know why,” he finally said, “I thought Nona couldn't possibly have understood what she was doing. I should have known better."
"I won't tell you what your sisters would say to such a statement."
He shook his head. “You don't need to. I can figure it out all by myself."
"I do owe you an apology, I suppose.” She reached up and stroked his jaw. “I probably shouldn't have lied to you about the figurine."
He couldn't contain his chuckle. “Nona would have approved.” A question rose in her eyes. “When she told me of Felicia's ring, she told me I was to use any means necessary, force if it was needed, to ensure Felicia married the right person. I think she might have said the same thing regarding deceit if you'd been older than seven."
Her smile made him want to laugh again. Not since he was a boy had he felt so in love with life. So in love with his life—and the wife Nona had chosen for him.
"She promised me a prince, you know."
"Then I'm sorry you had to settle for me."
"Even though she wouldn't tell me, I knew it was you. When I told her JoJo was my prince, all she said was that I would know when I found him.” She sighed deeply. “I can only hope our son will not be as stubborn."
Jon stood and lifted her in his arms. “You must be tired. It has been a long night.” As they left the library, she wound her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder. Her warmth seeped through his coat and shirt and the scent of honeysuckle surrounded him. He breathed deeply, savoring the moment.
"Even more so for you. Were you able to help Dr. Reynolds?"
"Yes."
"How?"
He put her down once inside his room and shut the door behind him.
