Page 17 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)
Amie felt a hand on her head. Ian? She blinked, her swollen eyelids pulling partially apart with some effort. Ian! Her breath caught, and her eyes flew open the rest of the way. It was Ian’s hand on her head, and his other hand was curled under his own head. He had fallen asleep hunched over her bed, while she had curled up beside him.
He had stayed here all night. Guilt swirled in her empty stomach. Why hadn’t the storm come after he had left for London? Mama was the single living soul who knew about her deepest fears. She knew how storms awakened the horrible memories inside Amie, haunting her with every crack and flash of light. It was mortifying to suffer into her adulthood—to never grow out of her nightmares ... to always be plagued by her darkest day.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Wasn’t she already beneath Ian in every way? Need he witness her every humiliation?
Not certain what to do, she remained impossibly still, afraid to wake him. Looking elsewhere was futile, her attention riveted on his sleeping form. His breath came in a heavy, slow rhythm. Minutes ticked by, and somehow, some of the nervous tension left her.
This man ... This serious man who wouldn’t let anyone tell him what to do had been kind enough to care for her last night. He had shown glimpses of this soft side before but had hid it well recently. The slumbering Ian was different. His features were smooth and his mouth relaxed. Something tugged deep within her chest. The emotion resembled the warmth and affection she’d felt for him when she’d kissed him.
It would be foolish to overthink his thoughtfulness. He clearly felt a responsibility toward her, but she would not hope for him to care for her as a man did for a woman.
He had saved her from Robert and from Mama’s lies and from a future doomed to hardship. She could never ask for more.
Despite this firmness of mind, her hand lifted of its own accord. Just one touch. One last feel of him before he left for London. And then she could be strong. Her fingers found the silk tendrils of his hair, and ever so gently, she stroked a lock off his forehead.
What would it be like to be loved by such a man? To feel safe in every storm? To wake up to him beside her every morning? In one breath, she praised God for her blessings, and in the next, she wondered if this were a form of punishment. She finally had the security she’d longed for, but never had she felt lonelier.
She fingered Ian’s hair once more, the action comforting her. She wasn’t alone right now, and that, in and of itself, was a tender mercy. If only she could memorize the feel of his hair beneath her hand and his presence beside her. Then perhaps the coming months and years wouldn’t plague her.
Ian stirred, and Amie pulled back. He lifted his head, moving his arm from above her head, and blinked at her. His reaction mirrored hers, and his eyes widened to twice their normal size. “Amie.”
She swallowed. “Good morning.”
“Were you able to sleep?” His hand went to his hair, but his attempts to smooth it down mussed it further. She should be more embarrassed about her own state, but her one comfort was that she had to appear far better than she had last night.
She nodded against her pillow. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“Of course. I want you to feel safe here.” All at once, he straightened, and his easy composure disappeared. “You are forbidden to tell anyone that I, er, sang.”
For all her lessons on manners, she could not hold back her laugh. “I’m sorry. You sing very well.”
“You don’t have to pretend. I am perfectly comfortable leaving that talent for others to possess.”
“No, I like your voice. Honest.” Her mind had latched on to his deep timbre, letting it flow through her until it had soothed her every fear.
His brow rose. “Then, you must be the first.” He pushed himself from the side of the bed to a standing position and cried out as he stumbled forward, his hands landing right in front of her on the mattress. “My legs are cramped.” He winced and stood again, stretching his back slowly as he did.
She sat up, holding the blanket to her chest. “What can I do?”
He held out his hand. “Nothing. I need a minute is all.” He straightened and hobbled toward the door.
“Ian.”
He turned at her voice. “Yes?”
“Safe travels.”
He hesitated, staring at her with a solemn expression she could not read well. Was it reluctance? Or did she only wish it were?
Finally, he gave her a nod before slipping out her door.
She didn’t sigh with regret or call after him with any hope. This was how it was meant to be. He was meant to leave, and she was meant to stay behind.