Starlight & Promises (48 page)

Through the tears blurring her vision, Samantha looked out over the approaching arms of the bay and seagulls drifting above in graceful flight. “I have given him naught but time,” she said in a soft voice. “How much does he need? I find myself running out of time. When all is said and done, love may not be enough to repair the breach between us.”

T
hough she loved the farm outside Boston and kept busy with tending house and working in the gardens, as the babe grew larger and more active, time weighed heavily on Samantha. Meanwhile, Christian continued to keep his distance, spending his days at the university or on business in Boston. He treated her like a houseguest, providing her with luxurious separate accommodations, anticipating her every need, and calling her madam. They tiptoed around each other like polite strangers, cordial yet isolated, going their own ways in a deafening silence. The rift was slowly strangling Samantha. If she could not find a way to span the gulf between them before the babe’s birth, she feared they would never resolve their differences.

As more time passed, she began to understand and accept her heart’s message. In spite of what she had said to Delia, the love she bore Christian grew only deeper and more urgent. She wanted him—in her life, in her bed, in her future—though she was mystified about how to achieve that result. She inspected her swollen body in the mirror, and her lips canted into a lopsided smile. She was as puffed up as a bullfrog. How could Christian ever want her again? Now was obviously not the time to try seduction as a solution to their problems.

The burden of the babe now awkward and fatiguing, Samantha grunted when she tried to fasten her bodice over her grossly expanded breasts. All her gowns fit tightly and uncomfortably, as though she were trying to squeeze a tomato through the eye of a needle.

“Let me do that,” Gilly said, entering the room with Samantha’s shoes and hat. She moved behind Samantha, pulled the bodice edges together, and fastened them with effort.

“I shall never again fit into my clothing,” Samantha lamented. “I require an entirely new wardrobe.”

“Nay, m’lady, I can still let out these gowns a bit more. An’ after ye give birth, ye’ll be back to yer slim self in no time.”

“You have more faith than I. I have no doubt I shall forever be a mouse in an elephant’s body.”

Gilly knelt and slipped stockings up Samantha’s legs, followed by lacy garters that tied at the thigh. She eased on the half boots, with which she struggled a bit, Samantha’s feet having swollen with fluid. Stepping back, the maid tugged Samantha to her feet. Samantha winced at the tight leather shoes. Slowly, she made her way to the window and gazed out. Christian came into view for a moment as he entered the barn. She released a melancholy sigh.

“What should I do, Gilly? He acts as though I’m a boarder and not a very welcome one.”

Gilly’s lips tightened, and she shook out her skirts. “He does love ye. He’s just full o’ male pride. As soon as he sees his babe, he’ll come round an’ feel guilty fer distrustin’ ye. Just ye wait an’ see.”

Tears slipped from the corners of Samantha’s eyes. “By then he will have allowed his chance to slip away. If he cannot trust my word, our love, what hope is there for us?”

“Now, now,” Gilly soothed.

Samantha interrupted the maid before she could mouth more platitudes. “See if the carriage is ready. I have no desire to keep Dr. Finney waiting.”

Gilly bobbed her head, her own anger and frustration at Christian’s cruel behavior toward his wife simmering on her features, and left.

After agonizing for months over the impasse between her and Christian, Samantha saw only one clear course. Her husband may have loved her once. ‘Twas now obvious he no longer felt that way.

She returned to her dressing table and withdrew money from a drawer, funds she had hoarded for passage to England should she ever need them. Now it seemed she did. Stuffing the American dollars into her reticule, she told herself she had come to her senses at last. She had lost patience with Christian and had no inclination to endure his conduct any longer. What was the point? After seeing her doctor and visiting with Aunt Delia, she would purchase the tickets. She and her babe would leave. Christian assumed she had no choice but to remain with him. He was mistaken. She would do what was best for her and her child. Languishing in Massachusetts, unloved and unwanted, was best for no one.

Moisture coursed down her cheek. She brushed it away. A one-sided love was a poor reason to cling to Christian. If he no longer wanted her, no longer loved her, had indeed he ever truly loved her, she could not suffer his apathy. Her conscience tugged a bit at the thought of taking his son or daughter from him. But then, he had declined even to acknowledge it. So what would he be losing? Slipping away quietly would be best. In truth, Christian would likely rejoice at her departure.

Gilly stomped down the stairs and threw open the front door. She remained on the porch with her hands on her hips and hailed Cullen. “‘Tis about time,” she huffed when Cullen pulled the pair of chestnuts up in front of the steps. “The missus is ready ta leave.”

Christian emerged from the stables and propped a shoulder against the wood frame, arms crossed over his chest. Gilly blew out a breath and turned to call Samantha. Her mistress stood behind her, gaze fastened on her husband, who stared back. Though his hat shadowed his face, his posture spoke volumes. Gilly took Samantha’s arm, guided her down the steps, and helped her climb into the carriage.

Christian returned to the dimness of the barn and inhaled the dusty scents of hay and oats. His chest ached, as always seemed to be the case when he caught a glimpse of Samantha. She looked so ethereal in her pregnancy. He struggled to draw breath and longed to hold her against him, to absorb a little of the glow emanating from her. So why didn’t he?

He entered the stall with Triton, picked up a brush, and curried the horse in short, savage strokes. His anger had long since abated. Now bewilderment swirled inside him like a whirlwind. Overwhelming love for Samantha squeezed his heart as though it were caught in a bear trap. But with his hasty jumping to conclusions, his unwarranted suspicion, he had badly muddled the state of affairs.

Triton shifted and crowded him against the stall boards. Christian pushed against the horse’s flank.

A thousand times he had cursed himself. Never having experienced jealousy, he had fallen hard to the emotion, allowed it to rip him apart. He had also permitted his mother’s betrayal to dictate his life and destroy his marriage. Was this, then, to be the rest of his life? Was he resigned to going through it alone? Was permanent estrangement from Samantha to be his fate?

Setting aside the brush, he measured out grain, pouring it into a wooden bucket and placing it in the manger.

A thousand times he had burned with the urge to fall on his knees before Samantha and beg her forgiveness. Her words aboard ship the night of their last argument rang true. Samantha was not his mother; she bore no resemblance to Lady Jane. And he was not his father. For all his father’s humanitarian qualities, he had been a weak man. Lady Jane didn’t destroy his father; the man granted Lady Jane license to destroy him. So why did
he
allow the image of Samantha standing beside Steven at the altar to intrude, like a demon sitting on his shoulder, and goad him? Christian now recognized the demon’s true face—pride—and racked his brain over how he could repair their relationship.

This was madness. Samantha’s baby was his, not Steven’s. He knew it, had accepted it long ago. He suspected he had known it all along. He had feared that if he gave himself permission to love, he would lose his mind and soul, as his father had. In truth, all he had lost was his heart.

Dumping an armful of hay into the rope sling above the manger, he scooped up the water bucket, carrying it to the pump to fill it, and returned it to the stall.

Now he had dug himself in so deeply he no longer knew how to claw his way out. He was terrified he had killed the love Samantha once had for him. He twisted his lips into a poor facsimile of a smile. Undoubtedly he had, and he could place no blame on her for withdrawing her affections.

He had to confront her, apologize, admit he was wrong, and let her know he loved her. What if she spurned him, as she had every right to do? Tore his heart from his chest and shredded his declaration of love? What would he do then? He’d never considered himself a coward; nonetheless, his hesitation to face her rejection had kept him from taking that first step. His tangled thoughts seemed to tell him that if he refused to deal with the situation, it didn’t exist or, at any rate, could not get any worse.

“Fuck!”

The horse turned his head and stamped a foot.

“Sorry, old boy.” He patted the animal’s hide and set the bucket on the stall floor. “I suppose I’m not fit company.” Triton snorted.

Christian left the stable and walked over to the barn housing his basketball court. Kicking off his boots, he closed and locked the door, picked up a ball, and savagely dribbled his way across the floor. He always concentrated better with a basketball in his hands, as though the world became clearer when reduced to no more than a ball, a basket, and a polished wooden floor. He charged across the court, dribbled, and shot, struggling to devise a solution to the impasse he had created.

When he had first met Samantha, wide-eyed and innocent, scratching up his court with her boots, his gut cautioned him to send her away before she hooked his heart with those golden eyes. Considering himself impervious to her charms, he scoffed at the warning and fell in love, ass over teakettle, with a bloody English
lady
. Visions of a frozen angel saving Cullen’s life, an enchanting pixie snatching stars from a desert night sky, and a sultry siren writhing on his bed in a cloud of silken butterscotch hair compressed his chest so tightly he could scarcely breathe.

An hour later, blowing and dripping with sweat, his defenses collapsed about his feet. He had allowed the acrimony to fester for too long. Pride be damned; his fears had ruled him long enough. He would tell Samantha he believed her, tell her he loved her more than life itself. If she tossed his love back into his face, he would let her go, if that was what she desired. Slamming the basketball against the wall, he made a dash for the house and pulled off his damp clothes. After washing and dressing, he saddled Triton and spurted off in pursuit of Samantha’s carriage.

Cullen dozed on the driver’s seat while he waited for Samantha in front of Dr. Finney’s office on a Boston side street. She had visited the doctor weekly for the past month, and Jasper generally drove her into town. Today, with Jasper feeling poorly, Cullen took over the duty, which he enjoyed. Spending more time with Samantha, he had developed sympathy for her situation and estrangement from Christian. In regard to Steven Landry and the baby, well, the more he came to know Samantha, the more difficulty he had accepting she would betray Christian in that way. Gradually he had come around to her side.

When Samantha appeared in the doorway, Cullen jumped down to help her negotiate the steps. With her huge belly, she found walking a chore. It being his first experience with a breeding woman, he handled her as carefully as a china vase. She waddled toward the carriage door, looking like a goose fattened for Christmas dinner, and he fought back a smile.

“All’s well?” He clasped her elbow and hoisted her into the carriage.

She caught her breath and smiled. “Indeed, Cullen. We should welcome an addition to the family soon. And about time. I feel as clumsy as a tortoise with three legs.” She dropped onto the padded seat with a heavily expelled breath.

Chuckling, he climbed onto the driver’s seat, took up the reins, and released the brake. He clucked to the horses and snapped the lines on their backs. The pair took off in a sedate trot as though they understood the precious burden entrusted to them.

A half-mile drive lay between the house where Delia resided and the doctor’s office. The road wended through residential streets and a warehouse district along the docks. As Cullen drove through the narrow passageways between the towering buildings, he kept up his guard. Itinerant sailors and other unsavory characters hung out around the alehouses squatting amongst the respectable businesses like pickpockets in a crowd of gentry. With the radiant sun imparting a sparkling quality to the air, Cullen relaxed his vigilance.