The McKenzie Brothers: Windemere Part 21

She was halfway up the staircase when Mrs. Holland called, "Mrs. McCallister?"

"Yes?" She paused, turning to look down upon the housekeeper.

"May I have a word?"

"Of course." The dull ache still pulsed through her head, but she tried to ignore it as she came back down to the first step. "What is it?"

"I'd like to speak to you about Mr. McCallister. He has forbidden Jonah to come anywhere near his office, and he wasn't shy about voicing his displeasure."

"Mrs. Holland, this is something you will need to discuss with my husband. I'm afraid I am not privy to the whys and wherefores of what's made him so displeased. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going up to lie down for a while."

Mrs. Holland looked as if she was going to argue but must have thought better of it, for she drew in a deep breath, then nodded. "I see. Of course, Mrs. McCallister. Shall I send Eve up to wake you for supper?"

"Yes." Emma knew she was being rude but was too tired to care. She left Mrs. Holland at the foot of the staircase and made her way above.

She lit the candle beside the bed and sank onto it. Unlike her bed at Stonebridge, this one did not have the heavy velvet draperies, but bore gauzy sheers that matched those covering the windows, the ones snapping sharply in the winds.

Thunder rumbled as she stepped out onto the terrace. Coral flowers dotted the marble, torn from their stalks by the winds. She breathed deep, the spicy-sweet scent of the crushed blooms filling her nose. It mingled with the fresh scent of rain as showers swept in off the water. They were cool on her skin, and she closed her eyes and lifted her face into it.

Lightning split the sky and she questioned the wisdom of being outside, so she retreated to the safety of her room, where she watched nature's wrath and couldn't help but compare it to the storms that must have raged within Julian.

Julian came into their room long after the clock chimed ten. Emma hadn't come down for supper, requesting a tray be brought to her instead. When he finally reached the point where he didn't care if Windemere's accounts were ever straightened out, he threw down his pen and came upstairs.

He gazed down at his sleeping wife as he unwound his neckcloth. He knew what she wanted him to say, and he wished he had the strength to do just that. He wished he had the strength to be as forthright as she was, that he had the faith she had.

Her dark hair streamed over the pillow. He caught one curl, let it slide through his fingers. She stirred in her sleep, but her eyelids never rose. He loosened the neck of his shirt and then stood, taking care not to jostle the mattress. He bent to brush her lips with a gentle kiss then went about readying himself for sleep.

As he slid into bed beside her, she stirred again, this time cuddling up to him. He didn't resist the urge to slip an arm about her and draw her closer still. And for the first time since they arrived on St. Kitts, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

WHEN SHE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, she was shocked to find Julian sound asleep beside her, one arm thrown up over his head, his other hand resting on his chest. She rubbed her eyes to make certain she wasn't dreaming. No. He really was there.

She rose carefully, so as not to disturb him, but it didn't work. The mattress shifted, and he stretched both arms over his head. As she drew on her dressing gown, he said, "I wish you wouldn't."

She paused at the thick sleepiness woven through his words. "Is that so?"

"It's so rare I see a woman in her night rail. And you in yours makes for a stunning sight."

"Why do I doubt that?"

A sleepy smile brightened his face. "Why would I lie about it?"

She didn't answer but bundled herself into the dressing gown and moved to the windows. The storm had blown out during the night, leaving a glorious morning in its wake.

The mattress shifted again, and then Julian was behind her, his arms sliding about her waist to pull her back against his chest. "Emma, I know what you want me to say. And I wish I could."

"I don't want you to say anything. I just wish..." She pressed her lips together as she surveyed the damage left by the storm. Two smashed flower pots. More crushed hibiscus. Shredded palm fronds everywhere.

"You just wish what?"

She turned in his arms. "I wish I could find some way to convince you that you can trust me. That you can trust yourself. And that sometimes, just sometimes, things do work out just fine."

"Emma, it isn't as simple as that. And I know you aren't nave enough to believe that it is."

"No, I don't. But that doesn't mean I can't wish it." She looked up into his slate blue eyes and took a deep breath. "Especially since I'm going to have a baby."

She braced herself for his reaction. Waited for him to explode with fury or to simply storm off and lock himself in his office for the next month.

He went pale, and his jaw went slack. Then he swallowed visibly. "A baby."

She nodded. "Yes."

His eyes closed and now his jaw tensed. "Are you certain?"

"I think so."

He didn't say anything, but his hands clenched and unclenched several times, and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He brushed by her, out onto the terrace, where he braced both hands against the rail and stood there.

She didn't expect him to be happy. She expected anger. Fury even, although she wouldn't expect him to direct it at her. She fully expected him to direct it at himself, and guessing by the tension stiffening his back and shoulders, he was doing just that.

Instead of going out and confronting him, she dressed as best she could without Eve's help and went down below. When Julian was ready to talk, he would come to her. This time, she wasn't going to him. He had to make a choice. He could embrace the future or dwell in the past.

She was in the breakfast room, nibbling on a slice of toast and marmalade when Eve hurried in. "Mrs. McCallister, why didn't you ring for me?"

"It wasn't necessary," Emma explained, setting down her toast. "As you can see, I did fine on my own."

"Emma, I-" Julian rounded the corner of the doorway, caught sight of Eve, and his words died on his lips. "Excuse us, Eve."

The maid bobbed her head. "Of course, Mr. McCallister," she said and hurried from the room, leaving Emma and Julian staring at one another.

He was dressed, albeit sloppily, with his shirt neither closed at the throat nor tucked into his wrinkled trousers. "I turned and you were gone."

"I thought you'd come to me when you were ready to talk about this."

Brushing the crumbs from her hands, she rose, striding past him to leave the breakfast room and into the garden. At least there, they'd be afforded a bit more privacy.

A low stone wall ringed the garden's perimeter. Part of the garden's design was to stifle the smell of sugar as it was boiled, or sometimes burned, but it didn't entirely mask it. Although she'd become accustomed to the smells of a sugar plantation, the acrid aromas still snuck through from time to time. Relief came in the form of exotic orchids, bright hibiscus, and wildflowers she couldn't identify but whose blooms were spicy-sweet and heavenly.

"Emma."

No footfalls sounded behind her, and she peered over her shoulder to see him in the doorway between the garden and the house.

He didn't close the gap between them. She turned back to stare through the ferns just beyond the stone wall, where she could just make out the drying house. The harvest was still in its earliest stages, with the field hands cutting the ripe cane stalk by stalk with the curved knives they called bills. She didn't know much about refining sugar, only that it was dangerous work. It wasn't uncommon to lose several men a season, especially when it came to grinding the cane. Workers had to take great care when they fed the cane into the rollers or else they would also be pulled through and crushed.

"Emma? How did you think I'd react?"

She plucked a vibrant orange hibiscus from its stem. "I thought you'd react just as you did. I hoped you wouldn't, I but didn't expect miracles. I understand why, but I wish you could see the joy in this."

Now his boot heels scuffed against the weathered marble. She stiffened, but he never touched her. Instead, he faced her, perching carefully on the edge of the railing. "I never lied to you, Em. I told you we shouldn't have children. And you agreed."

"And I didn't try to talk you out of it, nor did I manipulate you into this," she shot back, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

"I know. I'm not angry with you, but I'm furious with myself."

"I know. And I wish you wouldn't be." She pulled off one of the crepe-like petals and let it flutter to the ground. When she looked over at him, her heart gave a painful lurch as a sense of loss filled her. But that was silly. In order to feel loss, she had to have had him at some point. And despite all they shared, she wasn't at all sure she'd ever had even the smallest part of him.

"I don't know what you want me to say." He reached up to rub the back of his neck. "You know why I feel how I do."

She shook her head. "I do. And perhaps it's wrong of me, but I wish I could change it. I wish you could be happy about this."

"I'm trying." He sank onto the stone wall beside her. "And I have to admit, I don't know what the right thing to say is." He twisted and reached out a hand to brush a wayward tendril of hair from her face. "The last thing I expected you to say was you were pregnant. It's ridiculous that I should be surprised. Even without my moment of weakness-for lack of a better word-I should have expected this. I'm still surprised."

"You aren't the only one who was surprised, Julian." she whispered. His fingers lingered over her cheek, and her heart picked up its pace as he leaned toward her.

He covered her lips with his in a gentle kiss. She sank into him, grasping his shirtfront with both hands as the last of her irritation drained away. His arm slid about her waist, pulling her closer, and that was it, she had no choice but slip her arms around him.

He broke the kiss to brush his lips along her cheek and then over her ear. Without thinking, she snuggled against him. Part of her expected him to pull away, but he didn't. Instead, he wrapped both arms about her. "It scares me, Em."

"I know." She looked up. His eyes were closed, his mouth was tight, but when she squeezed, his expression softened.

He opened his eyes when she pulled away. "I wish I could be like you, always looking for the silver lining."

She took his hand and gently tugged. "I wish you could, too, Julian. It would make things so much easier for me. This is just like that day at the wishing well. I cannot entertain the notion that things won't work out the way I hope they will." She tugged again and smiled when he fell into step behind her.

She waited for him to tense at the mention of what happened at the wishing well, the way he did whenever she brought it up. But this time, he didn't, so she added, "I meant it, Julian. I am looking so forward to this baby's proving you wrong. And he-or she-will do just that. And hopefully, I will be the one to bake the crow you will be eating when you come around." She pulled on his hand. "Come."

He grinned, rubbing his thumb along the flat of her hand. "Where are we going, Mrs. McCallister?"

"You'll see." She tugged harder, directing him along the shadowy, cool hallway toward the stairs. Each time his thumb swept along her hand, it sent a rush of tingles up her arm to spread through her, and she loved the feeling, hoped it would never go away.

"Why, Mrs. McCallister" -Julian's voice held a playful note to it- "are you going where I think you're going?"

She paused, her foot on the first step. "I might be."

"Is that so? But it's only morning."

A sense of daring darted through her and without thinking, she squeezed his hand. "I'd rather not be overheard by the servants, if you don't mind."

She tried to inject a scolding tone into her voice, but one look at his wolfish grin, and she couldn't. Perhaps some of her optimism was rubbing off on him, because he didn't seem angry any longer. But that could also be because she was leading him in the direction of their bedchamber.

His right eyebrow rose to make his grin seem more wolfish. His fingers tightened about hers. "If I'd known you'd become such a vixen, I'd have been a lot more agreeable to marriage."

She halted on the landing between the first and second floors, her pleasant mood draining away. "What was that?"

"Ah, that didn't quite come out the way I meant it." Julian's cheeks flushed.

"I realize that the only reason you asked for my hand was because you wanted it to be your decision and not my father's. But you needn't be so crude about it."

"What do you want me to say, Em? We both know why we're married. To avoid the scandal and gossips."

She stared at him and slipped her hand from his. "Nothing. I don't want you to say anything." She moved back to lean against the wide banister. "It's just that-" A feeling of crimson foolishness washed over her, and she clamped her lips together.

"It's just that what?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Em-"

She ducked as he reached for her and hurried the rest of the way up the stairs. "Leave me be."

At the top of the staircase, he grabbed her. "Em, wait."

"What?"

"It's just what?" He relinquished his hold on her to lean against the wall. "I've never known you to not say what you think, so tell me what it is you're thinking."

"It doesn't matter what I'm thinking." A heavy exhaustion sank into her as she leaned against the wall beside him. Resting her head against the pale pink silk moire wallpaper, she looked over to find him doing the same, only looking at her. He looked as tired as she felt.

"Sure it matters."

"Why? It never has before. I talk and talk, and no one seems to listen. They smile and nod and laugh about how outspoken I am. But I'd wager if you asked Drew or Garrett, or either of my parents, they wouldn't have any inkling as to what it was I said."

He held her gaze for a long moment. "I listen."

She managed a smile. "This isn't how I ever imagined all this happening," she said, letting her weariness thread its way through her words. Why trouble to hide how tired she was? There was no point now. She was tired. "I never thought my husband's arm would have to be twisted to make him ask for my hand."

The wall creaked as he pushed away from it to stand before her. His eyes were more gray than blue and his jaw was tight as he said, "Let's get one thing straight, Emma. No one twisted my arm. If I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't have, and I wouldn't be here right now."

"You're here because of my father. Not because of me and certainly not because of this baby."

She regretted her words even before darkness flashed through his eyes.

"You don't know me as well as you like to think you do," he replied, his voice low and tight. "Because I was going to ask for your hand. Your mother's catching us only made it go a little faster, and I'm not about to bemoan those fates. Not one d.a.m.n bit. I'm here, with you, because with you is the only place I've wanted to be since we sat on that d.a.m.n uncomfortable wishing well!"

His words. .h.i.t her like a fist. "It...it is?"

"Christ, yes!" He dragged a hand through his hair then let it slap against his thigh. "Emma, it's always been you. Since you were twelve and too young and off-limits. And it has scared the h.e.l.l out of me ever since that day."

He drew in a deep breath, and his shoulders sagged as he exhaled heavily. "And you know why it scares me."