Miles Before I Sleep (27 page)

Her eyes closed and she tried to nod, unable to form words. A soft gasping moan escaped her lips. She felt the cool air on her bare legs and his warm hands on her hips, but her concentration was focused solely on the link between their two bodies—the way their bodies became one. The strange convulsing pleasure began to build. Her breathing quickened. Heat radiated from her. She was vaguely aware of the strange noises she made, but she did not care. The sounds and the throbbing felt linked and as one grew, so did the other. When at last the sensation reached its zenith and slowly ebbed, her eyes fluttered open to the sight of the most handsome man she had ever seen. She watched as he rode out his own climax. The momentary pained expression and primal noise frightened her briefly, and she thought she might have hurt him until his eyes opened, fell upon her face and he smiled widely at her.

Miles held out his arms to her in silent invitation and she stretched her body over his.

“Next time,” she murmured sleepily.

“Next time?” he asked, thinking she still needed him to prove he could stop at any time.

“I promise, next time I’ll try to make it last longer.”

35

It took only a second for Miles’s brain to clear enough from sleep to remember he had married Andrea and she was ensconced in his arms with only the thin cotton of her nightgown between them. He felt himself smile as he nestled into his pillow not yet ready to wake up. The cabin was black as pitch, but something had dragged him out of his deep sleep prematurely.

As he lay there, he tried to figure it out, so he could go back to sleep. The engine chugged its constant rhythm and he could feel the movement of the ship in a sea that was no more choppy than usual, so he could not fathom what forced him awake. Was it the unfamiliarity of sleeping with another person? Had she rolled over in her sleep?

Then he felt it. Andrea shuddered. It was the movement one makes when trying to stop crying. Had he imagined it? He waited. She made no sound, but a few seconds later, she shuddered again.

“Andi, what’s wrong?” he said gently, tightening his arm around her waist.

“Miles!” she said with a start. A few moments passed before she spoke again. Her voice bore an unmistakable forced cheeriness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I-I was doing some breathing exercises to help me go back to sleep.”

Miles sighed as his forehead lowered to rest against the back of her skull. “Andi, please, don’t lie to me. I’m your husband now. I know you were crying. Please, talk to me. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to burden you.”

Miles pulled away slightly, then applied enough pressure on her shoulder to roll her onto her back. When his arms were around her again, he pressed his lips to her temple.

“Andi, you are one of the strongest women I know. If you’re crying, I know it’s far from
nothing
.”

She rolled further toward him until she could bury her face in his shoulder. He felt her body hiccup. He tightened his arms around her and held her until her silent tears stopped.

“Please, tell me. Even if you don’t think I want to hear it—even if it’s critical of me.”

Her head tilted back and she placed her hand on the side of his cheek. The first pale rays of dawn slightly illuminated the room making the outline of his face visible.

“She lied to me,” Andrea said. “My mother lied to me. You have no idea how much of my life I spent afraid of making love. I was terrified. How could she do that to me?”

“I don’t know, Andi. But you were very brave.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she said, pushing at his shoulder.

“No, Andi, never. I know how scared you were, but you faced it boldly. That is certainly the definition of bravery. The fact that your fear was unwarranted does not negate that.”

“I just feel so betrayed. And not just by her, but by Papa also.”

She buried her face in his chest again. “He should have told me,” she said between sobs. “He didn’t tell me because he knew he was betrothing his company and not me to your cousin. I was only a means to finding a worthy successor.”

“No,” Miles said, tilting her head back and looking into her eyes. “No, that is not correct. You need to know the truth. You need to know everything. I-I was hoping you would fall in love with me before you heard this, but I can’t let you believe that for another day.”

Miles insisted they get up and get dressed. He was afraid she might try to flee when she heard the truth and he did not want her to run out in her nightgown.

Although she still felt shy to have him see her unclothed, she allowed him to help her dress then she sat on the edge of the bed and watched him hide his magnificent body from her view under layers of clothing.

When they were dressed, he led her into the sitting room. “Andrea, I don’t know how to begin. As much as I hope what I have to say will be welcome news to you, I think in all likelihood it’s going to upset you,” he said, standing up and pacing the rug. “God, I don’t know where to start.”

Andrea sat at the edge of the Duncan Fife sofa, her hands primly folded in her lap. “Drawing it out like this is making it worse for me. I already know I am not going to like what you have to say. Please, tell me.”

Miles wiped his moist hands on his trousers. “Five years ago, on the night we met, Richard and I spent nearly two hours locked away with your father discussing this steamship and ways to expand our business. My enthusiasm for the H & O was only dwarfed by your father’s enthusiasm for his company. Your father saw this in me. By the end of our discussion, he was calling me
son
, and saying I reminded him of himself.”

He looked deeply into her eyes as he continued. “Richard is not Rory’s father; he’s mine—my stepfather to be more accurate.”

Andrea gasped as she finally had the last puzzle piece in her hand. “It is you. You are Shamus.”

“I am. It’s a family nickname given to me by Richard’s family. To this day, Richard rarely calls me anything but Shamus because he wants me to understand I am his son in his heart although I’ll never be more than a stepson on paper.”

With every word he spoke, Andrea’s carriage drew up and became more rigid. Her face lost its expression.

“My father and your stepfather arranged for you and me to wed. Not Rory,” she said.

“Yes, Andi. I’m sorry, I know I should have told you before we were married, but you were so vehement that you did not want to marry the man your father chose, I was afraid you would reject me on principle.”

“But you kept pushing me towards other men.” Her statement had the inflection of a question.

No confusion showed on her face, no emotion showed at all for Miles to gauge what she felt.

“I want you to be happy. I wanted you to feel as if you picked me—not that you were being forced to marry me.”

Andrea’s accent became overly refined when she spoke, but she did not raise her voice a fraction. “How considerate of you to manipulate me into doing what you wanted, instead of coercing me. Well played.”

“Andrea…” he said, his voice pleading for her forgiveness and understanding. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. I may have gone about it all wrong, but my motives are pure. I have no reason to marry you for your wealth. Your father’s business is not the prize I want. I would be perfectly happy to sign legal documents saying I will never touch the profits from the James Common Shipping Company. Those monies can be set aside for our children. Or you can control it all. I don’t care.” He hesitated before he continued. “Well, that’s not what I meant, I do care. I mean, I would not want to see your father’s hard work squandered away or neglected.”

Miles clamped his mouth shut, realizing he was saying all the wrong things. He waited to see what Andrea would say, but she stared at her hands folded in her lap. Silent.

“I love you, Andi.”

Andrea stood up, walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

~*~

When Phillip arrived an hour later with a tray filled with lavish food, Andrea came out of the bedroom to receive the young server.

“Good morning, Mrs. Huntington,” Phillip greeted warmly. “I trust you slept well.”

It was uncertain who turned redder, the waiter or Andrea. The common greeting seemed to take on new meaning when speaking with a young bride.

“Yes, quite well, thank you,” she managed, answering the same as she had to a question posed to her many times before.

Miles was quick to note her rigid posture and pleasant smile. How easily she covered up her emotions for appearances’ sake.

“The chefs came into the kitchen early this morning to prepare a special breakfast for our newest family member. Everyone is pleased that you have married Mr. Huntington.”

“Thank you, Phillip. Perhaps later today I shall go to the kitchens and thank everyone personally.”

“Tomorrow would probably be better, ma’am. The captain has ordered a feast to celebrate your nuptials. I fear you would be underfoot and seeing the worst of everyone today.”

Her smile at the exuberant young man widened. She leaned toward Phillip as if imparting a secret to him. “Thank you so much for warning me. Be sure to tell them how much we praised the food when you return the tray later. Perhaps you can feed any uneaten food to the fish so no one has their feelings hurt.”

He smiled fondly at her and Miles suddenly understood much more about Andrea. The way she treated Phillip and the way she would greet the kitchen staff would win them over. He had no doubt that she had been trained to do so—because that was what a perfect wife would do.

“I had to sneak your porridge onto the tray so no one would be offended. I know it’s your favorite.”

“How thoughtful of you, but I hate to think you would risk raising the ire of the chefs on my behalf. On such an auspicious day as today, I may have to abandon my usual fare to celebrate.”

Phillip removed the dome and left the stateroom, leaving Miles and Andrea alone to their awkward silent meal.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Andrea sat down at the small table and cut off a bite of a decadent looking pastry. She chewed slowly then swallowed the bite. A moment later, she did the same thing with a current scone with lemon glaze, then a pastry that resembled a woman’s breast. One by one, she worked her way through the courses she had never eaten before. One bite of each.

She uncovered a small metal pot and discovered something yellow and crumbly inside. The façade on her face slipped away as she peered into the unknown substance. A matching shell-bowled spoon sat adjacent to the metal pot and Andrea dipped the spoon in to examine the strange substance further.

“Egg yolks,” Miles provided. “From hard-boiled eggs.”

“Is that some kind of American delicacy?”

“Let me show you.” Miles picked up a metal gravy boat and poured the lumpy white contents over a plate of toast points. He then picked up the egg yolks and sprinkled them on top. “The chef calls it Eggs à la Goldenrod. It is essentially creamed eggs. If you liberally salt and pepper it, it’s quite tasty.”

Andrea picked up the salt and pepper and gave her plate a light dusting. With her fork, she touched one of the cube shaped lumps. “These are the egg whites from the boiled eggs?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Using her usual refined table etiquette, she cut off a corner of the toast, and making sure she had a little of each component, took a bite. She set her knife and fork down while she chewed then picked up the salt and pepper, furiously shaking on more before tasting it again.

“Better. Do Americans call egg yolks goldenrod or is that just for this dish?”

“Just for this dish. Goldenrod is a wildflower that at certain times of the year, leaves yellow dust all over your clothes if you walk too close.”

Andrea nodded and rose from the table. “Would it be possible for me to have a bath?” she asked.

“I’ll see to it immediately.”

“Thank you,” she said and disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Miles stared at the closed door and then at the scant breakfast she ate. As his eyes drifted back to the heavy oak door separating them, he wondered how to deal with her silence. She was so hard to figure out because she covered up her feelings so well. Was she angry or hurt? It didn’t appear that she had been crying, but breakfast had arrived more than an hour after he told her—more than enough time to cry and for the evidence of tears to vanish from her face.

Apparently, to let others see the tension between them was not good form. She had come out of the bedroom with a nonchalant air when Phillip arrived. No wonder her parents never knew she had found Richard’s letters. Other than her unwillingness to carry on more than a rudimentary conversation with him, she gave no outward sign of her mood.

Miles ate a few more bites before succumbing to his own lack of appetite.

Their day progressed pretty much as it had started. She said and did all the things expected of her in front of others, but as soon as they were alone, she retreated to the bedroom. She never raised her voice or slammed the door. No unkind words had passed her lips. Even during the wedding feast the captain had ordered, Andrea smiled and said all the proper things, but barely glanced at him. She allowed him to hold her hand on top of the table without the slightest protest.

To his way of thinking, the silence coming from the bedroom was more deafening than yelling. At least if she vented her ire at him, he would know what she was thinking and it would give him something to work with.

Promptly at 9:00 PM, Andrea opened the door a few inches, but when Miles peeked in, he could see she had gutted the lamp and gone to bed.

He took the lamp from the sitting room and entered the bedroom.

“I’ll just change now, so I won’t wake you up later,” he said when she lifted her head to watched him.

She plumped her pillow and returned to her previous position.

“When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be ready to listen,” he said.

Her eyes popped open, but she did not speak. She just stared at the shadows on the wall directly in front of her.

When Miles had stripped down to his unmentionables, he stepped over to the bed and squatted down in front of her.