A Perfect Lady, page 26
part #3 of The Mackenzie Brothers Series
Outside the parlor’s closed doors, Amanda’s countenance changed once more. The color returned to her cheeks, and to Rebecca’s surprise and concern, her eyes suddenly gleamed beneath a veil of tears. “Miss Hastings,” her words emerged as a disbelieving whisper, “what are you about?”
“This, Mrs. McKenzie.” Amanda all but flung open the parlor doors.
It took a moment for Rebecca’s mind to process that she didn’t recognize the rope-thin giant of a boy standing at the hearth. Not that it mattered. Her mind couldn’t process the fact that her husband stood beside him.
James.
Here.
Not dead.
But here.
The next few minutes would hopefully return to her, and in slower procession, because what happened was such a blur. As she stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the man she thought she would never again see, he rushed toward her. His embrace engulfed her, lifted her from her feet, nearly crushed her with its power and James’s voice — that beautiful, deep voice she’d missed so terribly, reverberated through her although he spoke a single word. “Sweetheart.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her vision gone as tears flooded her eyes. “How is this possible?” she said, letting those tears spill free. One by one, they splashed onto her cheeks, rolled down her face, and she squeezed even tighter, not entirely convinced she wasn’t dreaming. The scene wasn’t at all different from those dreams that haunted her sleep night after night. But no, this was far too vivid, far too real to be a dream, wasn’t it?
She pulled away, the need to see him again, to prove to herself it wasn’t a dream far too powerful to ignore. Her hands on their own moved over his face, along his cheeks, his chin, mussed his hair, and tried to familiarize themselves with one another, with each line, each pane.
But maybe she was dreaming. No. It had to be real. In her dreams, James bore no jagged scar above his eyebrow. Nor was his lower jaw rough and scratchy with whiskers. “What — ? How — ? James, where have you been?”
As the words came out, the anger behind them startled her. Anger? No, anger wasn’t the right word for it. Fury. That was the heat burning its way through her veins. She jerked back out of his arms, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from slapping him. “Where the devil have you been?”
The rage she’d kept pent up now set her trembling. She wanted to hit him, to slap his face, to throttle him blue just as much as she wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to feel him in her arms again. Her hands shook, curling into fists as she jammed them up beneath her arms.
Still, a smile lifted his lips, and his hands curved against her cheeks to hold her head firmly in place. He bent toward her, his lips seizing hers in a fierce kiss she couldn’t help but return. As his thumbs swept over her cheeks, she surrendered to the ache, to the need to feel him.
There was nothing gentle about his kiss. Hungry. Needy. That of a man starved of a woman’s touch. Sparks tingled through her entire body. No matter how angry she was — and she was still furious — his effect on her was more powerful than ever.
Freeing her hands, she wrapped them about his thick wrists. He was solid. Warm. Real.
His lips moved against hers, parting to tease her with the tip of his tongue. She hadn’t realized how she’d missed his kisses until now, until his tongue caressed hers with a slow, delicious stroke. His breath quickened against her, a low groan rumbling through him as he pulled away to whisper, “I’m home, sweetheart.”
“You’re home.” Her voice cracked. Her eyes stung. And the fury returned, scalding hot and boiling over.
She broke his hold on her, shoved him with enough force he stumbled. “You’re home? You’ve been gone two months! Then you simply turn up and announce you’re home? How dare you? How could you do this to me?”
“Let me explain and it will — ” His eyes widened as his gaze roamed her from top to bottom. “The babe…?”
“He’s asleep above,” she retorted, hands on her hips. “And God help you if you wake him.”
“He? When?”
“Yes, James. He. Whilst you were out having your adventure, I was here, giving birth to — ” It was then she noticed the skinny boy by the window. She rounded on him, hands on her hips. “And just who the devil are you?”
“Connie McElroy, madam,” he replied promptly. Then he turned to James. “You said she’d be overjoyed to see you, Captain McKenzie. You didn’t say she’d attack you this way.”
“Attack him?” She glared at Connie. “Attack him?”
A dull flush crept into James’s cheeks. “I really hadn’t expected… this.” He glanced from her to Connie, then back. “A son, Rebecca? And he’s all right?”
“He’s fine now, James. A bit early in his arrival, but thriving now. Of course, you would know this, if you’d been here.”
“Mrs. McKenzie, there is — ”
“I am not speaking to you, Mr. McElroy,” she snapped, folding her arms over her chest to glare at him. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“Mrs. McKenzie, should I bring in refreshment?” Amanda asked hesitantly.
Her voice made Rebecca jump. She’d forgotten Amanda was still in the doorway. “No. Neither of them is staying.”
All three gaped at her but she didn’t care. Was she simply supposed to laugh off James’s abandonment of her? Perhaps he thought she would, but he was terribly mistaken. James cleared his throat. “Becca, let me explain.”
“Let you explain?” she barked, marching up to poke him square in the middle of his chest. “You simply up and vanished, James. Left me here to fend for myself. Left me here to go through childbirth alone!”
“Rebecca, I — ”
“You left me!” Her temper exploded then and she planted both hands in the middle of his chest to shove him back again. “I thought you were dead, you bastard!” Another shove. “How could you do that to me?”
She shoved again, only by now he was up against the wall, so she vented her frustration by hitting him as hard as she could. He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to stop her, as she pounded on his chest, her words spilling over each other as her voice rose in pitch. “How could you?”
The question never changed, but with each pass, her voice broke a little more until her sobs drowned them out. He caught her as she fell into him, her entire body quaking under the force of her cries. Her anger spent, she clung to him, breathing in and savoring his scent — sea air, musk, and man.
His arms tightened about her, cradled her against him as he murmured, “I didn’t leave you, love. Not intentionally, anyway.”
“You weren’t here.”
“I know. God damn it, I know.” He pressed a kiss into the top her head, her hair muffling his voice as he added, “And you need know, it was not by my choice.”
She lifted her head at that. “What?”
“I promise you, Rebecca, I did not choose to leave, and I did my damndest to get back here.” His thumb slid over her cheek, over the damp trail left by her tears, his eyes tender as he added, “And I wish to God I could go back and be here when you needed me.”
“So where were you?”
“That doesn’t matter at the moment.” He brushed her lips with his, then murmured, “Tell me about our son, sweetheart. Where is he?”
“In the nursery.”
“Can I see him?”
His voice held a tentative hope, as if he was afraid she’d deny him the opportunity to meet his child. With that hopefulness, the last of her anger vanished, if only for the moment. Perhaps he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for his absence. There certainly had to be some sort of reason for why he’d brought that boy to their home. Maybe — just maybe — she should give James the benefit of the doubt.
With that in mind, she pulled from his arms. “Of course.”
Taking him by the hand, she led him up the stairs and down to the nursery. At the threshold, he tightened his fingers about hers, but remained silent as she brought him over to the cradle. As he gazed down at his son for the first time, his dark golden-brown eyes grew red and shiny. Where he shed no tears at his father’s funeral, the sight of the sleeping infant sent moisture leaking from both eyes. He showed no embarrassment over this display of sentiment, didn’t try to swipe at his eyes, or turn away from her. Instead, he turned to her, and his voice broke as he murmured, “His name. What did you name him?”
“He is Garrett James.” Her own voice cracked, to her surprise. “Named for his grandmother and his father — neither of whom I expected would ever meet him.”
“He’s beautiful, sweetheart.” He tried to smile, but it never quite materialized. “I am sorry, Rebecca,” he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. His hand tightened on hers. “God knows how sorry I am. I should have been here, with both of you.”
“So tell me why you weren’t.”
Garrett cooed in his sleep, wriggling around until he was comfortable. Now James swiped at his eyes with the back of his free hand. “When I went into town, the afternoon of the Commodore’s funeral, I was set upon on my way to the livery.”
“Set upon?”
“Remember when we were detained by the Caravan?”
She nodded. “And that nasty little man, Captain Weaver?” He nodded and she added, “Of course.”
“Apparently he took my lack of willingness to be impressed personally. When I came to, I was in the hold of his ship. It’s only through God’s good graces I’m here, Becca. And that’s where Mr. McElroy comes in.”
“Who is he?”
He drew her into his arms, and she tucked her head against his chest as he explained. His heartbeat sounded gently in her ear, the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. When he finished, she looked up at him. “So I suppose I ought to apologize for my churlishness toward Mr. McElroy?”
“I think he understands, sweetheart. If I were in your shoes, I think I’d have hit me a lot harder.”
“I thought you were dead,” she murmured. “And it was such a terrible feeling. I don’t ever want to feel it again.”
“I’ll try not to let it happen again.” A grin lifted his lips as he caught her face in his hands. His thumbs swept outward, over her cheeks, and he leaned in to brush a kiss over her forehead. “I have something for you. Don’t move.”
He didn’t wait for her response, but left her standing at the cradle, staring after him. What could he have for her? Not that it mattered. His being there, alive and well, was by far the greatest gift she could ever receive, aside from Garrett, of course.
She didn’t have to wait long, however, for it seemed as if only seconds passed before James returned. He cleared his throat, holding a small rosewood box in one hand. “I meant to give this to you before my father’s funeral, but I couldn’t get Miss Baker to leave either of us alone long enough, and I didn’t want an audience. And then I vanished on you, so…” A sheepish note crept into his voice and he held out the box.
She stared down at the box. The finish was worn, the corners nicked to bare wood, and the McKenzie family crest emblazoned on the lid was faded into near-obscurity. The lid was warm and surprisingly light as she lifted it to peer inside. The black velvet lining the box was as worn as the box’s exterior, but the ring it cradled gleamed as if brand new. It was unusual and lovely, two hands holding a heart, above which was a detailed crown. She looked up at him, puzzled. “James?”
His expression was one of utmost seriousness. “It’s been in my family for generations and fortunately, when my mother took her leave, she did the proper thing and left it behind. I swiped it before my father could do something rash with it.”
As he spoke, he lifted the ring from its velvet bed, and set the box on the small table near the cradle. With a plaintive whimper, Garrett wriggled again, and Rebecca held her breath, waiting for him to cry.
But no cry came, and her heart sped up when James caught her hand. The delicate gold band already on her wedding finger glinted in the candle light. Unexpected, and unexplained, tears stung her eyes as James slid the ring onto the same finger to nestle it against her wedding ring. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “All I could think about was finding my way back here, to you, Rebecca. I’ve never missed anyone as much as I missed you. I’ve never ached for anyone the way I ached for you.”
His fingers closed over hers, and he bent toward her, catching her lips in a soft, deep kiss she felt clear through the center of her being. When he drew back, his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “I love you.”
Her heart rose, soared higher than it ever had before as he kissed her again. She wrapped her arms right about his waist, her hands pressed flat against his solid back to pull him into her. Everything about him was solid, real, and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world, his body against hers.
Her cheeks actually hurt from smiling as she pulled away from him, and the happiness pouring into her was as bright as the sun on a summer afternoon. “I love you, too, James. I’ve said it so much in my mind over these last eight weeks, and wished so much I’d said it sooner. That I’d had the courage to say it long before you left. But now that you’re here…”
“Get used to hearing it, Becca,” he replied, giving her a playful squeeze. “For I don’t think I’ll tire of saying it any time soon.”
“Nor will I,” she confessed, tucking her head back beneath his chin, “and I do so like how it sounds.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rebecca leaned against the doorjamb of James’s office. How many nights did she do just this, and gaze wistfully at the empty chair behind the small, oak desk? This time, seeing him there jolted her, but in a very nice way.
He sat bent over a sheaf of papers, his head in his hand, and muttered, “Damn it all to hell… what was Tims doing in my absence?”
Such a wonderful scene, even if he was unhappy. Even more wonderful was how she could cross over to him and embrace him from behind. She pressed her cheek into the warm silk of his wavy hair. “I take it Mr. Tims is not so good at being in charge?”
“Not exactly. He was very good about bringing in business. It’s his organizational skills that need a bit of work. Eight weeks of invoices and bills, and not one logged in. I can make neither heads nor tails of any of this.” He shoved the stack of papers away, nearly sending them swirling off the desk’s surface. Then, he caught her by the wrist to tug her around, down onto his lap. “And at the moment, I don’t even care.”
She smiled, letting her legs dangle over the arm of his chair. “I’ll take it then, you don’t mind my interrupting you?”
“Not one bit, sweetheart. What brings you into this madness?”
“Mr. McElroy is asleep already. What did you do to him at the harbor?”
James flashed her a devilish grin. “He’s learning there’s more to captaining a ship than merely standing at the wheel. I had him removing the contents of the Rosa’s hold. It will be a few days before he’ll be able to walk upright again.”
“He’s young. He’ll be fine come morning,” she told him, shaking her head. “I didn’t know you were such a taskmaster.”
“It needed to be done. The tides, unfortunately, wait for no man.”
“The tides?” The pit of her belly suddenly sank. “Why are you concerned with the tides? Are you planning on leaving?”
Her mouth went dry as he nodded. “Yes. By the end of the week.”
“But, James, you said you had no intentions of leaving again.”
He tightened his arms about her waist. “I’m not. We are.”
A sigh of relief tickled her lips, but she managed to hold it back. “And where, exactly, are ‘we’ going?”
“I thought a visit to St. Kitts might be in order,” he replied, his fingers pressing gently into her with a soft, kneading motion. “Your father should meet his grandson, don’t you think? Besides, there are a few choice things I’d like to say to the old man.”
She offered up a long, level look. “What sort of choice things?”
“Don’t look so worried.” A wicked glint came to his eyes as he brought one hand up to the neckline of her gown. Tracing just inside it with a teasing fingertip, he added, “I need to thank him, for one thing. If he hadn’t forced this marriage on me, I’d most likely be hopping from one bed to another.”
“James! What a terrible thing to say.”
His fingertip nudged the neckline of her bodice down a tad. “I tease, sweetheart. At least, about the hopping from bed to bed. Not about the thanking him.”
As he spoke, he inched his hand into the top of her bodice. His fingertips grazed over the rise of her left breast to spread a shower of tingles racing through her. Heavens, she’d forgotten the headiness of his touch, how a simple caress could spread such fire through her.
She gazed up into his dark eyes as he tugged her bodice a bit harder this time, giving himself enough room to slip his entire hand inside to curve about her breast. He gave a gentle squeeze, and she sucked in a sharp breath, biting down on her bottom lip.
“And I will thank him, for giving me his lusty, beautiful, brazen daughter as my wife.” His voice thickened as he gently freed her breast from the confines of her chemise and gown and grazed her nipple with just the pad of his thumb. It tightened, sending a scorching ripple through her, and she didn’t resist as he shifted her on his lap, maneuvering her so her legs draped over his thighs. He rose up to meet her, the bulge of his erection pressing up into her.
“I have missed you, sweetheart,” he said, drawing her down to offer her breast to his mouth. Wet heat speared her, the tip of his tongue swirling about the hard, aching point. Every muscle in her body quivered with desire, hummed with need, and when he eased his free hand beneath her skirts, her back bowed as he slid a finger inside her.
God, how she’d missed his touch, missed the desire he brought screaming to life as he worked her gently. He teased her, sliding that finger deep, then easing it free, only to plunge it back. He brought her to the pinnacle, but held her back, teasing and torturing her until her head spun and her body begged for release.
