Amelia (28 page)

"That's that, then," he said gruffly. "I'll relieve you of my presence."

He turned on his heel and stalked off down toward the barn. The cigar he'd discarded earlier lay in the dirt, its orange tip barely glowing in the darkness.

Amelia went back inside. She shouldn't have said that. She'd hurt him. She'd only wanted to keep him from discovering how she felt about him, to prevent him from having a weapon to use against her. Now she'd destroyed any small feeling there might have eventually been.

She went into her room and locked the door. Then she sat down and cried until she thought her heart would break. She heard a horse riding away into the night and wondered if she'd sent King back into the arms of Darcy Valverde. That would have been stupid, especially considering the circumstance in which they found themselves. They had to marry for the sake of her reputation, and his. But it could have been ever so much more pleasant if she'd just managed to be less abrasive to him.

It was knowing how he felt about her that drove her, she knew. She loved him. But he had no feelings to give her. How could she marry him when there was no love on his side to make the relationship work?

She brushed her long hair and put on her gown and robe, laying down and pulling the soft cover over her. He was going to hate her even more now, and she had no one to blame except herself.

If only she'd put her arms around him and kissed him back, who knew what might have come of it? But she'd missed her chance. The thought of his fiancée hurt her, because it was obvious from his face that afternoon that he'd loved Alice deeply. He might not be able to love anyone else ever again, but it was also obvious that he wanted Darcy even if he didn't love her.

Darcy wanted him for his wealth and position. Amelia wanted him only because she loved him. She closed her eyes and finally slept.

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I
t had been a long time since King had gotten drunk. He kept remembering Amelia's harsh words, though, and his conscience was already giving him hell. He went into El Paso and drank himself half insensible at the bar. Then, quietly, without even throwing a punch at anyone, he climbed on his horse and teetered back to Latigo in the wee hours.

He got angrier and more sober as the wind cut into his face and the sun began to rise. Amelia had no right to make him hate himself, he thought. No she hadn't, and he was damned well going to tell her so. Who did she think she was? He was marrying her to save her reputation, after all, not because he wanted her.

When he reached Latigo, he staggered off the horse and let it run free as he bumped and banged his way into the house and down the hall to Amelia's room. Her door was locked, but he carried a skeleton key, and it fit all the doors. He unlocked her room, after the third try, and let himself in.

He almost started a fire lighting the kerosene lamp, but he finally managed it. Light spilled out into the large, high-ceilinged bedroom, outlining Amelia's slender body under the cover, her long blond hair fanned out on the white pillow, her rosy cheeks vivid under closed eyes. Long, dark eyelashes rested against her soft skin, and her pretty pink mouth was slightly parted as she breathed.

"Amy," he called. "Amy, wake up!"

He shook her gently. Her eyes opened slowly, and then starkly, to find King standing by the bed, weaving a little.

"King?" she faltered.

He put the lamp down on the bedside table clumsily and sat down heavily on the bed beside her. She moved just in time to prevent him from sitting on her!

"Now, listen here, Amy," he began slowly, "I did not murder your father. I never meant for that to happen."

"Why, King, you've been drinking!" she exclaimed, because he smelled blatantly of whiskey.

"I only had a little, Amy," he persisted. He frowned. "Where was I? Oh, yes, about your father, I wanted to tell you that I never said you'd gone to bed with me. I said you probably would have if I asked you, only to make him stop pushing you at Alan. But I never thought he was going to hurt you." His face contorted. "The belt… had blood on it. You had blood all over your back…" He closed his eyes, shivering. "I see it every time I close my eyes. All my fault."

And she'd thought it hadn't bothered him, that her accusations were just bouncing off him. She was shocked to see how deeply he did feel things. "Oh, King," she moaned.

He sat up, dragging in air. He ran his hands through his hair and lifted his face, as if trying to clear his head. "I don't know why I did it. It was just that I had to keep Alan from marrying you."

"You look very tired," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Sleep." He sighed heavily. "I don't sleep, Amy. I just lie in the bed and remember how you looked, lying on the floor."

He fascinated her. She saw through all the camouflage to the man underneath and was touched to find that he wasn't steel right through. "I'm all right now," she stressed softly.

His head turned. He looked at her through bloodshot eyes. "You don't want to get married."

She toyed with the cover, grimacing.

"Listen," he said wearily, "it comes down to this. I've dishonored you and, in turn, my family. Neither of us have much choice, I'm afraid. Even if you decide to go to Florida and stay with your cousin, Amy, you might get a baby from what happened. How would you live with that? Wouldn't your cousin be outraged?"

"Yes," she confessed, lowering her eyes. "I guess she would."

He sat staring at his dusty boots for a long time before he spoke again. "I like kids," he said suddenly. "It tickled me what Alan said that time, about seeing you out in the backyard playing cowboys and Indians with your little brothers. I didn't believe it, of course."

She smiled, reminiscing. "They were sweet boys. I was mostly responsible for them from the time they were born." The smile faded. "It was very hard losing them."

He looked at her quietly. "You haven't had it easy, have you?" he asked softly. "All that responsibility and then your father in a terminal condition with violence at every turn. I figured that was why Alan appealed to you, because he was gentle."

She nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right."

"What you haven't discovered," he added, "is that Alan's temper is just like mine. Except it's worse, because he loses it so seldom. I get mad, and I'm over it. Alan gets mad and stays mad, sometimes for days."

"Yes, I noticed he hasn't spoken to you since I came out here."

"Neither he nor Quinn," he replied. He sighed heavily and gave her a rueful smile. "They all hate me. You have plenty of company."

"I don't hate you," she said.

"Shouldn't you?" he replied.

Her slender shoulders rose and fell. "Perhaps I should, but I don't. I suppose all of us have done impulsive things that we've regretted after a time. My father would have died anyway, King. He would have suffered much more, perhaps. I regret many things, myself."

"Well, that's the worst of it for me," he said, catching her eyes. "You see, I don't regret what happened earlier that day."

She went scarlet, but she couldn't quite manage to look away from those glittery silver eyes.

"I still want you," he said deliberately. "Even more, because now I know what it's like." He searched her eyes and nodded. "You're shocked. You shouldn't be. I'm as much a slave to my passions as any other man."

"Passion is… degrading," she choked.

"Unaccompanied by any finer feelings, it certainly is," he said. "But you and I aren't indifferent to each other, mentally or physically. I daresay we'll find things that we have in common, now that I'm getting to know the real you, the one who's been in hiding for four years."

"You might not like what you find."

He laughed softly. "I like spirit," he said. "You're welcome to throw anything you like at me. But," he added, his voice deep and thrilling, "next time, there will be consequences."

Her pulse raced at the look in his eyes. She didn't understand what was happening. It frightened her.

He put a big, lean hand over hers where it rested on her stomach over the covers.

"Most married people get off to a rocky start," he said. "We didn't have the beginning I'd have liked. But we'll put it all right in time."

"You don't want to marry me," she said sadly.

He brought her hand, palm up, to his lips and kissed it gently. "I don't want to marry anyone," he said honestly. "But I'm thirty. It's time I thought of settling down."

"I keep forgetting that you're older than Quinn, because you were at college together."

"I was the oldest in my graduating class. I got a late start, but I began to realize that education can make a difference in a man's fortunes." He smoothed her hand against his rough, lean cheek. "The future is going to require educated men. We have plenty of opportunity to grow out here, but it has to be planned growth, the right kind of growth. We've got to plan on more than cattle and crops to take us into the twentieth century."

"A prediction?"

"Of sorts." He kissed her palm again and laid her hand back down. "I'm drunk, Amy," he said on a roughly expelled breath.

"Yes, I think you are, a little," she replied smiling. "Do go to bed and get some rest."

His pale eyes searched over her face on the pillow, lingering on her soft pink mouth. "Darcy can't bear to have me touch her," he said. "This afternoon, when I held you, you pushed me away as if I disgusted you."

She stiffened under the covers. "I… do not like the way you make me feel when you touch me," she said evasively.

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Would you care to explain what you mean?"

"Not really," she replied, embarrassed.

But even in his intoxicated state, her meaning got through to him. He stared at her and began to smile. "Well."

"Don't let it go to your head," she said haughtily. "I'm certain that any man with your experience could produce the same effect."

"That's something you won't have time to find out," he assured her. "You'll be married before you know it. And there won't be even the hint of another man in your life."

"That sounds vaguely like a threat."

"You may take it as exactly that." His eyes were slow and bold on her figure, outlined by the heavy covers. "You are mine. I don't intend sharing you, ever."

"I am not property!"

He pursed his lips. "Indeed?"

Her eyes flashed. "And I don't intend to spend our married life being told every move to make by you!"

He leaned over her, resting his weight on the lean hands at either side of her head. "In some ways, you will," he threatened softly. "You know very little about how to please a man yet."

She gasped with outraged modesty, and he took the soft sound into his mouth in a kiss that was warm and slow and drugging. She lay helpless beneath the delicate teasing of his lips as they touched and lifted, probed and withdrew. It was like fencing, she thought dizzily as the feeling grew to frightening depth. Her hand went up to his chest, protesting weakly, only to spur memories of how he felt without the shirt covering it.

"We might have been made for each other, in this way," he breathed into her parted mouth. "Each time I kiss you, the feelings we share ignite me."

"You should not…"

"Try to sound more convincing, Amy," he teased, and very quickly the teasing stopped as he brought his mouth down with increasing insistence and hunger.

She reached up to hold him, drawing him down to her, while his mouth made a mockery of her earlier protest.

Neither of them heard the door open or a throat being cleared very loudly. Enid gave up and slammed the door. Hard.

They jumped, jerking apart. King looked shaken, and Amelia's face blushed like a rose. She tugged the covers up to her chin and sat up in bed, her eyes like saucers.

"How very guilty you both look," Enid murmured wickedly. "I suppose there is a very reasonable explanation?"

"Of a certainty," King drawled. "May I have five minutes to think up one?"

"Take ten," his mother said generously. "It will take me that long to get the biscuits finished."

He groaned as he got up, putting a hand to his temple.

"You reek of whiskey," Enid complained, wrinkling her nose. "I wonder that Amelia could endure you at such close range."

Amelia flushed, because she hadn't even noticed the taste of whiskey in his mouth, she'd been so hungry for him.

"I had a drink or two," King said.

"You had a bottle or two," his mother retorted. "Shame on you!"

"She drove me to it," he said, nodding toward Amelia. "She keeps refusing to marry me."

"Perhaps a reluctant proposal was not enough to win her," Enid replied.

He stared at Amelia and smiled slowly. "Then I must exert myself and mount a convincing campaign for her hand."

"A wise idea," his mother agreed.

"He is a reluctant bridegroom," Amelia protested. "It's hardly fair to land him with a wife he doesn't want!"

"Forgive me, Amelia, but from what I just saw it's very difficult to believe that."

"I agree," King nodded, enjoying Amelia's discomfort.

"You can be quiet," Amelia told King. "You did nothing but bad-mouth me from the day I arrived, and now you want to marry me?"

"But that was before you threw the carafe at me," he pointed out. His lips drew up in a slow, wicked smile. "I much prefer a ruffled wren to a tame house sparrow."

"Do go," Enid said, pushing her son toward the door. "All this is highly unconventional. You should not be in Amelia's bedroom with her in her nightclothes and no chaperone."

"How could I possibly kiss her with a chaperone in residence?" he asked reasonably.

Enid closed the door on him. She glanced at Amelia, who looked more alive and radiant than Enid had ever seen her.

"I did not realize that he had a conscience," Amelia had to confess.

"Of course he does. But he is adept at hiding his deepest feelings. That has been true since his engagement to Alice."

Amelia got out of bed. "He must have loved her very much," she said miserably.