Page 44 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)
The carriage slowed its progress, nearly to a standstill. At least two hours passed with little progress in the relentless wind and rain, with Amie gripping the bench with white knuckles. She was alone and desperate. This was worse than losing Papa. Despite the ache in her chest, she knew he was in a better place. She’d held to that hope—clung to it.
But where was the hope for her marriage? The longing she could not suppress would be her undoing. Her emotions were already on the precipice of strangling her, the tumult of the storm pushing her over the edge. Lightning struck, and she crumpled to the floor of the carriage. Curling into a ball, she covered her ears and hummed to herself through her tears, praying the sound of the rocks beneath the wheels would drown out the sky and the moaning of her soul. Nothing, though, could shut out the sudden onslaught of memories, born from her anxiety. These were not of Ian but of a dark day from many years ago, flooding over her with vengeance.
She waited for the carriage to overturn like it had that night.
Waited to hear her father’s moans.
Waited for the end to come.
A shout echoed in the distance. Must she relive every part of that horrible night? She squeezed her head tighter and hummed all the louder. The carriage rocked, and a jolt of light pierced past her tightly closed lids. She screamed.
A noise sounded beside her, and damp hands covered her shoulders.
“Amie!”
It was a dream. A nightmare. But those hands on her shoulders felt so real. “Papa,” she whimpered.
“Amie, look at me.” Someone pulled her hands down from her ears. “Amie, I’m here now. You’re all right.”
She slowly pulled her tightly squeezed eyelids apart, blinking into the darkness. That silhouette was so familiar. That voice. Lightning lit the carriage, and she saw him clearly.
“Ian!” The name tore from her throat, and she fell against him, weeping. There was no end. No one had died. Papa was already gone, and Ian would keep her safe.
“Shh, It’s all right. You don’t have to endure it alone any longer. I’m here.” He reached over and shut the door, slapping the wall to get them moving again.
“Papa died in a storm like this,” she whimpered. “I was with him when the carriage tipped over. There were flashes of light, and the ground rumbled, and it was so bitterly cold.” She was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself.
He shed his wet jacket and tossed it onto the far bench. “I’m so sorry, Amie. I’m so sorry I chased you away.” He tucked her close to his chest and smoothed her hair.
“I’m four and twenty, and I cannot manage my memories.”
He pulled her into the seat beside him. “Some scars we cannot choose,” he said. “But we will never stop trying to rise above our circumstances. My father told me that. This time, though, you won’t have to work at it alone.”
His eyes were too dark for her to discern their color or to see the sincerity of his expression, but she knew it by his voice. He’d come because of the storm, but it did not mean anything for their future. He said he would never change. She started to push him away. “But you shouldn’t be here. You have the vote tomorrow.”
“Hush, do not worry about the vote. Just breathe.”
She pushed against him again. “You cannot keep holding me like this. You have to be there.”
“Amie, darling ...” He pulled back and set both his hands on either side of her face. “I can’t change the world if I can’t even change myself. You were right to speak to my father. It made all the difference. There were never any mistresses, and I was wrong—wrong about everything. My fears were illogical, but I couldn’t see it.” Guilt and sorrow lined his shadowed eyes and clung to his features.
“Coming from someone who is afraid of storms, I can understand perfectly.” Her heart filled with an insensible amount of hope, drowning out the nightmare she had been reliving moments before. Had he really changed?
He stroked her hair again. “I regretted what I said in the library the minute I left you. It’s time I start trusting myself because I do want a full marriage. I want it all—with you. The vote matters, but you are more important to me than all of England.”
“I am?” His declaration left her dazed and in absolute wonder.
He pushed a lock of her matted hair behind her ear. “You shouldn’t have to ask, because I should have already told you. I have done a poor job of making you feel secure in our relationship. All I’ve done is fight my feelings for you, causing us both an inordinate amount of suffering. I don’t want to do that anymore. I can’t do that anymore. Amie, I love you.”
A flash of lightning filled the carriage, and she impulsively gripped his riding jacket and leaned into him.
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Can I take that as an invitation?”
“For what?”
“For this.” His arms circled more fully around her, and his head lowered until their mouths met. Their other kisses had been new and exciting, an introduction to each other, but this was everything she’d imagined a kiss between a married couple to be like, and better still.
Instead of the pressing darkness, she saw color. Instead of bitter coldness, she felt warmth. Instead of suffocating memories, she made a new one—the best one yet. He was pledging himself to her, and she finally had a home in him.
He pulled back just enough to lean his forehead against hers. “I love you, Amie.”
She laughed softly. “You already said that.”
“I plan to tell you over and over again. I have to make up for lost time.” He dropped another kiss on her lips, smothering another laugh. “Is it all right if I come home with you?”
Home? She shook her head. “No! You must turn around. You could still make it before morning.” She could endure the storm. The torture would be acute, but knowing he loved her would sustain her on the journey.
He stroked her jaw with his thumb. “I sent all my notes to the committee. They were working on this far before me and can handle the vote on their own. My father is graciously reaching out to his connections too. I’ve made my decision. I’m not leaving you again. Not if I can help it.”
“Ever?” He would walk away from his most passionate project for her?
His eyes crinkled with vulnerability. “If you’ll let me stay.”
She stared at him. “It’s your house, Ian.”
“It’s yours, Amie. I’ll only come if you wish it. I promised you, remember?”
For the first time all day, she felt herself smile. “Hang your promise. Of course I wish it.”
His thumb reached the corner of her mouth and slid toward the center. “And do you wish for me to kiss you again?”
“Must I beg?”
He chuckled. “Not at all, but I might.” His finger stroked her jaw and neck, and she leaned back into the wall of the carriage. Again their kiss drowned out the noise of the night until all she heard was the beating of her heart and the feel of his pulse under her hand.