Promise Me (20 page)

Sam hung his head, avoiding her gaze for a few moments.

“I think you're wrong about that, under the right circumstances, I believe you'd be a wonderful wife. But, if it makes you feel any better, darlin', I discovered long ago what a rotten, miserable husband I am. Just ask my first wife.”

His words echoed in the silence.
First wife?
What in the world was he talking about? He'd never mentioned being married before. And where was this mysterious woman right now?

“I...um...” She sat with her mouth gaping in confusion.

Sam stood to cross the small room and lean upon the window casing. Finally, he turned to Amanda, who sat patiently waiting, her interest piqued by this new revelation.

“My first wife, Elsbeth”—he put his hand on the back of his head and grimaced, as if the memory pained him. “She died, right after the war ended. There are some people who blame me for her death. Her sister has called me a murderer.”

Amanda stood up so quickly the chair fell over. Her petticoats swished in defiance as she crossed the room to take one of Sam's hands in hers.

“I've thought you were despicable, unprincipled, and vile, but there's one thing I know about you, Samuel Calhoun. You couldn't murder an innocent person. Most especially not your wife.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he re- opened them, relief clearly reflected in his gaze. “Thank you, Amanda. You'll never know how much I appreciate your faith in me.”

He gave her a sad lop-sided grin. “Although my character still does seem to be in question, what with the despicable and vile part.”

Amanda dropped his hand and backed a few inches away from him.

“There's a difference between doing something for monetary gain and doing something truly evil. While it appears you are capable of being selfish and calculating, I don't think you're a cold-blooded killer.” She raised an eyebrow. “Of course, perhaps I'm not a very good judge of character.” She turned and sighed deeply. “You wouldn't be the first person I've misjudged. I seem to have a habit of marrying the wrong men.”

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “I'm going to try to prove to you that you can trust me. I appreciate your honesty, even though it does raise some serious questions regarding my good character.” He squeezed her gently. “Such as it is.”

He lowered his hands to wrap them around her waist and she had that same urge to resist the embrace. She wanted to fight her hunger for Sam, but every moment near him made her want him more. She wondered if she was destined to suffer the torture of desire for this man for the rest of her life. She was tired, and so weary of battling against her own emotions. Her breathing grew ragged and her pulse throbbed.

She closed her eyes and leaned back into the comfort of his body. It felt good to be this close to him again, to inhale the combination of good Virginia tobacco, Irish whiskey, and bay rum that marked him in her mind. She didn't want the moment to end.

His lips brushed close to her ear. “I could make love to you here, right now, and never regret a moment of the pleasure.”

She shivered. She wouldn't regret it, either. Why was she acting such a fool and resisting this man? Her body knew what it wanted. Why couldn't she simply shut down her mind and enjoy the sensual interlude he was offering? Could she trust him and believe the words that tumbled so easily from his lips? So what if she succumbed to his charm? Wasn't it possible that the only moments of real happiness for either of them might be found in each other's arms? And wasn't she a fool to squander them?

He released her and stepped back, putting distance between them and making her heart plummet.

“I want you to know the truth about me, Amanda.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Up until now, I haven't cared what anyone thought of me, so I've been silent.” His eyes pleaded with her for understanding. “But it's important to me that you know the truth.”

She understood suddenly that he was giving her a precious gift. His honesty, even at this late date, was what he offered.

Tears pricked her eyes, and her heart slowed to a measured beat. The heat of passion cooled, and she struggled to silence her objections and prepare herself to listen to Sam's confession.

Amanda picked up the chair and sat down, carefully adjusting her skirts. She made a point of primly folding her hands in her lap.

“I've never really given you a chance to explain yourself to me, Sam.” She studied his expression and hoped her trust was apparent.

“I'm going to believe what you're telling me is the truth. I will put my faith in you, so please, Sam, don't lie. Even if what you have to tell me is horrible, or sad, or seems too awful to share. I'm sick to death of all the lies, and beg you for only one thing. Honesty between us.” She glanced away from him. “I'm beginning to see that my life has been a sham. I want to believe in something again, Sam. Please, let it be you.”

Sam sat down on the bed again and rubbed his chin. “I promise you, Amanda. I'll try my best to be honest with you.” He gave a deep sigh. “But you have to understand, sometimes telling the truth is the worst thing a person can do.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Elsbeth Waring was one of the most beautiful debutantes in Massachusetts. Her family was rich, powerful, and well-connected.”

Sam wiped a small bead of perspiration from his brow. This was going to be more difficult than he'd imagined. Going back, reliving all the memories he'd tried to put behind him. Re-discovering all the pain he'd worked so hard to forget.

“There wasn't a single reason she should pay attention to the son of a mercha
nt, but one night at a soirée, she flirted with me. She tossed those golden curls and made coy remarks behind her fan. I was young, impressionable, and very quickly became entranced.”

Sam closed his eyes, and Elsbeth's face appeared before him. Those flashing blue eyes, the gentle, cultured cadence of her speech, and the way she could make a man feel he was the only one in the room. She was a practiced flirt, and he'd fallen into her trap so quickly it shamed him now.

“My family pushed me to court her. My mother wanted acceptance from the wealthy families, entry into that society. My father dreamed of making business connections and expanding his enterprises.”

Sam pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward into his face and opened his eyes to find Amanda patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I was simply lusting after the first beautiful female who had paid any attention to me.” His lip curled in sarcasm. “I imagined that somehow I was special and unique. Later on I discovered I was just a naïve and foolish young man.”

Amanda's eyes darkened, and he breathed a bit easier. He wanted her to understand, because despite the anguish this was causing him, it was important that she know the truth about him.

“So I courted her, and Elsbeth allowed me certain liberties. Things I knew weren't proper, but I thought she loved me so much she was willing to cross the line. I learned later I wasn't the first to seduce her, but I was an innocent boy, caught up in the fervor of passion.” He grinned. “I'm sure you understand.”

She blushed a deep raspberry shade that crept down her cheeks to color her full breasts. The delightful sight brought heat to his groin and nearly washed what he wanted to say from his mind.

He drew his hand through his hair, trying to capture the right words. “So when her father caught us together in a rather delicate situation, I married her.”

Amanda's face broke into a grin. “So I'm not your first shotgun bride, Sam? You seem to make a habit of being coerced into matrimony.”

Sam stroked his chin and considered her words. “I'll have to think about that, Mrs. Calhoun.

“Anyway, it seemed a reasonable arrangement, and I was satisfied to have a wife I desired. My family was grateful for entry into the circle of the wealthy Bostonians. As for Elsbeth, well, she was the least satisfied with the circumstances of our marriage. But I didn't discover that until much later.” Sam paused to take a deep breath. A dull ache squeezed his chest.

“We had nearly a year of happiness, or what passes for it when you're not really paying attention. I was distracted by all the talk of war, and often away from home due to training in the militia. My businesses also took up much of my time. And the need to still carouse with my friends. I was never exactly an attentive husband.” He sighed, recalling Elsbeth's screaming temper tantrums and hysterical demands.

“Quite honestly, Elsbeth bored me. She started to refuse me entry into her bedroom, and my physical interest was all that had sustained any relationship between us. She locked her door, and I didn't really care.” He shrugged his shoulders. “By the time I left for the war, we harbored nothing but contempt for each other.” He stood to stretch his cramping legs. “I was relieved to escape from her and from that hell of a life we'd created.”

He paced across the room, pausing to glance down at Amanda.

“I didn't have a very happy marriage either, Sam, but I tried to make the best of things.” She glanced away from him. “But I don't think I ever tried hard enough to build any real happiness with Arthur. I wish. . . ”

Sam should have known. Of course, Amanda would understand the circumstances of his marriage. She had already confessed she'd never loved her husband, but simply tolerated the situation with him. Why had he been so afraid to tell her the truth? Amanda understood the farce of a loveless marriage better than anyone he'd ever known. A wave of compassion swept through him for what this brave, sweet woman had endured.

“I abandoned her, convincing myself that going off to war was noble and brave.” A lump rose to his throat as the rush of memories engulfed him. “But the blood, the carnage, the suffering and death.” He gazed off into space, working to keep the horror from his voice. “There wasn't anything noble or heroic about that.”

“I promised myself when I was a prisoner on Belle Island that if I survived, I'd make it up to Elsbeth. I made a vow to do whatever it took to make her happy. I swore to God we'd build a good life together if the almighty would give me another chance.” His hands were clenched into tight fists.

Amanda stood, crossed the room, and took his hands into her own. He gazed down at her, and the tenderness he felt overwhelmed him. When had this face become so precious to him? A warm, soft light churned through him, chasing away dark shadows that had haunted him for years.

“You've suffered terribly, Sam. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Perhaps if you'd told me this before, we—it would be different between us.” Crystal tears sparkled in the depths of her emerald eyes.

Maybe it wasn't too late for them, Sam thought, wondering if he should tell her how much he cared for her. He could assure her they could work out their problems and be together. But he'd failed Elsbeth in so many ways. How could he bear the pain if he did the same thing to Amanda?

Besides, he'd taken a vow to the President that he'd protect his assignment and duties as a member of the Secret Service. He couldn't tell Amanda everything.

He touched her cheek gently with one finger. “I managed to survive that hellish prison camp and make my way back to Boston.”

His arms circled Amanda's waist. He was grateful she didn't pull away. He needed the comfort of her leaning into him, the soft floral fragrance of her hair. The steadiness and warmth of her body gave him the strength to continue.

“When I finally made it to my parents' home, I was so sick and emaciated; I nearly dropped dead on their doorstep. I was feverish, and it took me weeks to finally regain consciousness. I asked for Elsbeth as soon as I was coherent, but my family kept making excuses for her absence. She was delicate and frail, couldn't visit me yet. Finally, I discovered the truth.”

Amanda lifted her chin to gaze at him. He wondered if she understood how hard this was for him. He hadn't spoken of Elsbeth in years.

He swallowed and avoided meeting her eyes. “I was finally well enough to go home. I was desperate to see Elsbeth again, but I found her in our bedroom, hiding from me.”

He touched Amanda's hair, stroking the silky softness. Her presence calmed him despite the ache in his heart.

She backed away from him, confusion playing across her face. “Did you appear so different? Were you so changed from the prison camp that she didn't recognize you?”

“She didn't want me to see her, to know what she'd been doing while I was in that Confederate prison.” His voice choked with despair. “She was obviously pregnant, terrified about what I'd do to her when I found out.”

“Oh, Sam.” She traced her forefinger down his cheek, one tear sliding silently down her face.

Sam pulled her into his arms. “God forgive me, but I just wanted to walk away. That damned war had cost me everything. I just wanted to leave, to forget about my family and my responsibilities and start over again someplace else. I wanted to be greedy and selfish.”

Amanda leaned her head on his shoulder. “But that's not the kind of man you are, is it, Sam?”