Chapter 11
Abersoch, Britain
“Welcome home, Admiral.”
“Goodly,” Alexander acknowledged with a nod. He turned as his man reached for his overcoat, then raised a brow.
Goodly smiled, a twinkle in his eye, which belied his dry remark. “As our mistress fondly says, sir…wait for it.”
Alexander hadn’t heard that one yet, but could only imagine Amanda saying so, and not a second later peals of laughter came from the parlor. Alexander grinned. “Ah, Goodly, that’s a sound to come home to.”
“Sir.” Goodly bowed his head in agreement as Alexander started down the hall.
His home had changed so much since Amanda had come to them; and, as he’d been away on a commission that had taken him away longer than intended, he was anxious to see what else had changed in his absence.
When he stepped inside the parlor, he nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of his family.
Amanda was dressed ridiculously. Though he supposed he should be getting used to that; they’d been corresponding by letter and she’d confessed quite charmingly that she’d ruined nearly half of his clothes, partial as they both were to soft breeches.
A woman in breeches; he chuckled every time he thought of it. But that wasn’t what had startled him. No, it was Amanda sitting beside Callesandra on the piano bench with her face pressed to his daughter’s cheek. Her little hands were on top of Amanda’s as she intently watched the keys they pressed.
He regarded them for a good minute, perhaps two, before Amanda noticed him. When she did, she smiled, and when Callesandra looked up at her and asked, “Mama, why did you stop?” Amanda placed her hand on her cheek and said, “Your papa’s home, sweet baby girl.”
If he’d stopped breathing just then, he would have died a happy man. It was the most gratifying homecoming he’d ever experienced, and he’d experienced many in the time they’d been together. Callesandra squealed when she saw him and came running. He scooped her up and hugged her tight.
“Angel, what on earth are you doing in here?” he asked, though he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from her.
“Mama’s teaching me to play the piano, Admiral,” she told him as he walked with her back over to Amanda. He straddled the bench, Callesandra still on his hip, so happy to be home with them.
Amanda reached out to touch his face and he rubbed his cheek into her hand, before settling Callie in his lap and dragging Amanda in close for a kiss. When Callie giggled, he pulled away and gave his daughter a little tickle before turning back to his wife.
“Your hand?” he asked anxiously. She’d injured herself with Stephen’s dagger a few weeks ago, not realizing just how sharp it was. Thankfully Alexander had arrived home just as it happened.
At the time, he’d never considered the possibility that he could hurt her terribly. His focus had been on stitching her hand quickly and properly—first so she would not die, and second so she could continue to play the piano.
As he’d placed the sutures, he’d done his best not to contemplate that a simple but clean wound such as it looked could still be the death of her. God knew he’d heard of men dying over less. She could not die. He would not let her.
He’d never seen to a task more diligently in his life. He’d tried not to show the worry on his face, but in the back of his mind he’d never let go of the fear that her cut would show an infection.
Now, she held it up for his inspection.
“Stephen took out the stitches two weeks ago,” she told him. “Thank you. You did a remarkable job.”
Alexander lifted her chin next, looking carefully at her neck.
The bruises were completely gone now, not a hint of discoloration.
Only one had been particularly stubborn, the last hanger on, as a small yellowish stain marred her skin.
He was sorry they’d found Robert’s dead body shortly after they’d found Rebecca’s.
He wouldn’t have minded killing the man himself.
Callesandra wiggled in his lap, eager for attention. “You know what else Mama’s teaching me?” she asked.
Alexander had heard about that, too, from his wife’s letters, but he gave Amanda a wink and played along. “No, angel, what else is your mama teaching you?”
Callesandra jumped off his lap then ran to the side table that held a music box. She turned the crank several times and when the music started, she showed him various ballet poses and finished with a twirl.
“Your mama seems to be newly possessed of the arts,” he said conversationally but there was a question for Amanda in there as well. They were learning so much about each other, yet here was another piece of her he’d not been aware of.
“I spent three years in classical training before deciding it was the piano and songwriting I couldn’t live without.” Callesandra was still twirling all over the room. The music box played for close to eight minutes when fully wound.
“Where’s Beatrice and Janey?” Alexander asked.
Callesandra bumped into his leg, dizzy from all the circles, and informed him, “We don’t really need their help, Papa.” Then for good measure she parroted what he’d heard Amanda say many times in her presence. “We’re quite capable of taking care of ourselfs.”
He wasn’t sure what was more amusing, his daughter mimicking Amanda or her lisp. Then the gravity of what he’d heard set in.
“You dismissed them?” Alexander asked, fearing she actually had.
“Of course not,” his wife laughed. “They’re wonderful. And believe me, they’re never far. But—”
Callie finished for her, “We are self supchishient.”
Alexander grinned at his daughter’s words, or rather, Amanda’s. He called after the women, wondering if they really were close by. They nearly fell into the room, clearly having been waiting for just this moment, to be needed.
He laughed aloud, grinning at Amanda. His house had truly become a home.
By now everyone adored his wife. He’d heard whispers from the servants about the change in their mistress’s behavior.
They’d called it sorcery—whatever had taken the cruel, thoughtless traits from her.
But they weren’t complaining. Amanda was considerate and warm, and there was no mistaking that.
“I told you,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He couldn’t help himself and kissed her again. “Janey,” he said, turning to Callesandra’s latest nanny. “Why don’t you tend to Callesandra’s bath.”
“Mama already gave me a bath,” Callesandra informed him.
“Did you have your supper yet?” he asked her.
She nodded. “I had supper with Mama.”
“Why don’t you have Janey read you a story, then?” he asked.
“’Cause Mama reads me stories,” she explained, clearly exasperated that he wasn’t catching on.
Amanda laughed and finally took over. “Callie, go with Janey and Beatrice. I’ll come up soon.”
Alexander kissed the top of his daughter’s head and watched Janey and Beatrice fawn over her as they left the room.
Then he turned his full attention back to Amanda.
He slid her closer and rubbed his hands on her thighs, which were clad in another pair of his favorite breeches, which she’d hemmed and taken in.
Then leaned in and told her, “I want my pants back.”
“Down, boy,” she teased as he closed the distance between them.
Alexander couldn’t remember lifting Amanda to his lap, but there she was, and she felt good.
He couldn’t get her close enough. He’d missed her so much.
His arms wrapped around her back, his hands tangled through her hair until he was holding her head just the way he wanted, then he pulled her in tight and kissed the breath from her.
Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Could not get enough.
He canted her head just right and went in deeper.
His wife moaned as the heat and friction between them became combustible. She was so expressive, loving to touch and be touched in return. Her legs wound around his waist and sounds of their wet and carnal kissing intensified his arousal.
Needing much more, Alexander stood. Easily.
Standing wasn’t the problem; the bloody problem was that he’d actually forgotten where they were for a moment.
Amanda’s legs were wrapped tight around his waist, her arms around his neck, and her hands in his hair.
He couldn’t think between the noise of the blood rushing in his head and the low moans Amanda was making as she kissed him.
He had to admit he liked how out of control she was.
Then realized he was too. Thinking to…bloody hell, he couldn’t think!
Every time he took a step, his erection rubbed against her center.
Actually, it wasn’t just from the steps he was taking; his hands on her hips were moving her that way.
Seconds later he’d pinned her to the wall, close to the hall entrance.
He couldn’t make it out of the blasted room!
He held her there, his body pressed so tight to hers that if not for their clothes he’d be inside her already.
Her legs stretched wide around his waist, the soft, thin fabric between them providing little protection, and he could feel the heat as her moisture pooled between them.
He knew he was in just the right position, and at just the right angle as he rocked against her.
So inflamed, knowing he could play her, make her release, right here, right now.
And loving to have that power over her, he kissed her most naughtily now, and gave her a long hard rub as his hand pressed up her body, cupped her breast, and squeezed.
She whispered “Ohmygod” as she started to coil against him. He felt it, as she lay just on the edge and repeated the motions again and again until she mewed into his mouth and broke into a thousand tiny pieces.