“Do you want to come back to my place?” Please, oh please, come. Share my bed. Be with me.
Amara was quiet for a moment longer than was comfortable. At length, she said, “It’s been a wonderful day, Matthew. But I am quite tired. Perhaps returning to Cat’s would be best.”
He nodded, the pangs of disappointment too strong to ignore. “No problem.” The words were casual, but casual was far from how he truly felt. He wanted to take her to bed, to kiss her, caress her, bring her to the ultimate high ... and then sleep with her in the true sense of the word. But they’d agreed—no strings, no expectations.
The blocks passed in silence, the streetlights heartbeats of illumination. Before long, he pulled into the Treasure Trove’s parking lot. “Looks like someone’s still up, at least,” he said, nodding at the light in the upper front window as he put the truck into park.
Amara set her hand on his knee. Instantly, his groin quickened, and it took everything he had not to move her hand farther inward, to beg her to come with him, just for the night.
“Thank you, Matthew,” she said. “This was a blissful day. I enjoyed the time with your sister.” She swallowed. “The theater, the ... stars.”
He tipped his head. “Agreed. Thank you.”
Neither moved.
Finally, Amara gave a half-sigh and opened her door. Matt reached over and grabbed her left hand with his right, his other hand turning her face back to him. He stared into her eyes for a moment, those dark pools he could hardly see save for the bit of light from the headlights he’d left on. He bent in, slowly enough she could pull away, but she didn’t, and he touched his lips to hers, a strange sense of joy, of rightness, zinging through him at the sweet connection. They remained like that, their mouths barely touching, until her right hand came off the door handle and into his hair, holding him to her as she opened her mouth, the moan in her throat echoed in his.
He returned the kiss in kind, so damned grateful to have her in his arms. His lips tickled the inside corner of her mouth, then pressed tiny kisses across her cheek and down her jawline to her neck. Soft noises erupted from her, and he moved his hand to the edge of her shirt, his fingers reaching under to stroke her bare skin, its heat sending delicious tremors through his own.
Suddenly, she leaned back, breathing heavily. “I ... ” She didn’t finish the sentence. “I must go.”
He sat up. “Of course.” Whipping open his door, he jumped down and jogged to her side of the truck, holding his hand out for her to use to descend, and she took it, that same instant sense of connection, of belonging, winging through him. Once on the ground, she withdrew her hand, and disappointment, mixed with something stronger, coursed through him.
It was okay. It was probably only momentary, this ludicrous rush of emotion, of desire that went beyond the physical, probably just a reaction to the not-so-subtle hints from his sister.
“Thank you,” she repeated, hesitating for a moment.
He nodded, saying nothing.
She walked to the apartment stairs, ascending them and opening the door without once looking back. As she closed the door behind her, it was as if she’d slammed it in his face—or someplace lower, a region perilously close to his heart.
Amara leaned against the door, her eyes welling with unexpected tears.
“Hey,” Cat called as she strolled into the room. “You were gone a long—” She broke off, crossing over to Amara. “Oh, honey, you okay?”
Tears spilled over Amara’s cheeks, and she wiped them off hastily, sniffling.
“Come on,” Cat said. “Sit with me on the couch.”
Amara trailed after her, the tears flowing, embarrassed by her own emotionality. What was wrong with her?
Cat scowled, her eyebrows dipping low over her eyes. “What on earth happened? Did Matt do something?” Almost to herself, she muttered, “I’ve only known him to be a stand-up guy, otherwise I never would have—but how well do I really know—”
Amara shook her head, and Cat ceased talking. “No, he didn’t do anything bad.” She sniffed again. “He did too many good things.” A wail escaped her. “I—I think I have feelings for him.” She tried to suck in a breath as another sob overtook her.
An awkward chortle escaped Cat. “I don’t see the problem. That seems pretty terrific to me. And not altogether surprising, considering I wrote you guys into a story. Not that that guarantees anything. Ben’s always reminding me I provide opportunity, not destiny.” She broke off. “Sorry, sometimes even now I struggle to understand these powers gifted to me.”
Amara nodded, her nose running. She must look a sight.
“I’ll get you a Kleenex.” Cat hopped up and grabbed a box of tissues off the side table, handing them to Amara.
She took one, using it to wipe her nose. Paper tissues were such a bewildering idea. She snorted. Not that this was the time for such errant thoughts. “But I don’t wish to have feelings for him. I want ... I need to be independent!”
Cat was silent for a second. “And you think if you get involved with Matthew, you’ll lose your independence?”
Amara nodded emphatically, misery leeching out of her every pore. “I do not wish to be dependent on a man in any sense. I saw what that did to women in my era. What it did to my mother.”
Her mother had become a harridan in her older years. There was no mincing words about it. Granted, Eliza’s arrival had turned that around. Well, not her arrival. That hadn’t gone over so well. But the end result—the obvious love Deveric felt for the peculiar American—had finally softened Matilda’s heart.
For most of her years, though, Matilda Mattersley had lived a miserable existence, a misery predicated on her husband’s betrayals. Deveric thought Amara unaware of their father’s numerous mistresses, but she’d long known her parents’ relationship had been fraught with as much tension and anger as passion. Her mother had wilted away until nothing but a core of icy bitterness remained, a bitterness no one had ever thought would thaw.
Between that and Amara’s own experiences with Drake Evers, dependence on a man held no appeal. It led to heartbreak. Her mother’s and her own situation weren’t the only she’d witnessed, either. Too many women of her acquaintance had suffered humiliations big and small: broken engagements, public slights. Unwanted pregnancies.
Thank heavens her indiscretion with Drake had not produced a child, for all the other evils it’d wrought upon her. Her dear friend Frances hadn’t been so lucky, had found herself with child out of wedlock. She’d quickly married a man twice her age to cover up the potential scandal, a man who soon proved less than a loving new husband. Had he known of Frances’s condition before the marriage? If he hadn’t and had learned the truth, perhaps that explained his cruel behavior. Though it did not excuse it. Frances had ceased talking of her marriage or husband and had in fact largely bowed out of polite society. Amara hadn’t seen her for the better part of a year.
No, Amara wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t rant and rail, as her mother had. Wouldn’t submit and endure, as Frances had. Wouldn’t give her heart and trust so easily, as she had all those years ago. She’d learned her lesson.
Except ... except Matthew Goodson called to her like no man ever had. Was it that they’d shared their bodies with each other? Perhaps, in spite of her best intentions, maintaining emotional distance when so physically connected was not possible. Though men of her acquaintance seemed capable of doing so, given their many short-term liaisons. Was it true women could not keep their hearts separate, while men could?
Cat handed her more tissues. “I don’t think a healthy relationship and independence are mutually exclusive. In fact, I believe the opposite; you need independence in a relationship for it to be truly solid.”
Amara blew her nose in a quite unladylike fashion.
“But I also think,” Cat went on, “independence is overrated in modern society.” She slanted her eyes at Amara. “I don’t know about nineteenth-century England, but here in twenty-first century America, independence is almost a moral virtue, codified in our very national identity. I personally don’t think that’s so great. I, myself, learned that the hard way. I spent years after my fiancé left vowing to never get involved again. I thought I’d be better, safer, if I remained on my own.”
Amara nodded. Cat’s last words mirrored her own beliefs.
“Yet I soon discovered, with the help of that manuscript, I wasn’t really living. I’d been existing. And I’d been missing out on the marvelous possibilities of human relationships. Especially a love connection.” Cat pursed her lips. “Not that I’m saying everyone has to have a romantic relationship to be happy or whole, of course. I’m saying ... I learned for me, it’s okay to try again, to trust again. And, ironically, I’m totally dependent on Ben, and happy for that to be the case.”
Amara’s sobs had quieted as Cat spoke and were now down to half-hiccups.
“He’s completely dependent on me, too. It’s a two-way street, and that’s why it works.”
Amara’s eyes widened. “How is he dependent on you?”
Cat smiled, her face lighting up with emotion. “We need each other to feel whole. We’re fine apart, but we feel better together. That’s the kind of dependence I like, but it took me a long time to be comfortable with that. Because you’re right—dependence brings vulnerability. But what I hadn’t recognized was that my supposed independence was a different kind of vulnerability; the kind that results from building up walls and preventing anyone from getting through.”
Amara frowned. How did building walls produce vulnerability?
Cat waved her hand in the air. “Listen to me, going on and on. I’m sorry, Amara. Sometimes that happens when I get introspective. This is about you. So—what is it about dependence that scares you?”
How typically American, to get right to the point. The bluntness was disconcerting, but one of the things Amara had grown to love most about Eliza. So much better than the facades of her era.
“Women in my time have, or I suppose I should say had few choices. Marriage was the only one for someone of my station unless one wished to be relegated a spinster, dependent on male family members’ largesse. There were women of means, of course, financially independent women. Widows, usually. They, perhaps, did not feel the constraints as much.
“As the daughter of a duke, I had more leeway than many. Yet from birth, I was groomed to make the best match I could, taught that marriage and motherhood were my life’s purpose. A life of scholarship was not an option for a woman of my social standing. We received instruction only in what we needed to know to be considered accomplished and in how to run a household.”
“That’s no small thing,” Cat interjected.
Amara’s smile was weak. “No, it isn’t. Yet we have no control over our finances. All of that lies under men’s command.”
Cat heaved a huge sigh. “Ugh. Why did I send Eliza there?”
Amara laughed, a true laugh. “I do not know, though the love she and my brother share is undeniable. If there were ever an example of a marriage on equal footing, it would be theirs. But he is the duke, not she. He owns the land, runs the estates, and controls the purse strings. Sure, he’s given Eliza carte blanche, but most other women are not so lucky.” She sighed as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I am sorry, Cat. I did not wish to burden you with this.”
“Nonsense,” the older woman said. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m here to help any way I can. And Matthew Goodson’s a good man. He’s hardworking, dedicated, and kind. Ben speaks very highly of him, and that’s the reason I brought you to him. And you ... Eliza said you needed someone loyal and true, who’d let you be you, who’d never betray your trust. I believe in my heart Matt’s such a man. Though it’s ultimately up to you both. I write the stories and create the possibilities, but I’m not God.”
Amara slumped against the sofa. “Does it make it better or worse that this is both predestined and yet still ... ”
“Free will?”
“Yes.”
“I used to think it’d be wonderful to have things, and people, be exactly what and who I wanted them to be—to be in control of them.” A wry grin twisted Cat’s face. “I’ve learned otherwise.” She stood up, holding her hand out to Amara. “You look exhausted. I’d suggest sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”
Amara took the proffered hand and rose, startled when Cat pulled her into a hug, though she couldn’t say she disliked it. Cat was right. Perhaps a night’s rest would give her better perspective, would make her see she was blowing this out of proportion.
Perhaps tomorrow she and Matthew could resume their mutually pleasurable friendship, and any ideas of something more would have disappeared, much as night melts into day.
And perhaps on the morrow, pigs would also fly.