Chapter 11 #3
The seriousness and authority in his voice added to her excitement, and needing no further prodding, she kissed him back and whispered, “I need you, Alexander.” But her husband wasn’t finished with her.
He stretched her arms above her head, then used his mouth and fingers to bring her this close to the edge again.
“Tell me,” he demanded again.
“I need you, Alexander,” she whispered, and told him again in detail just what she meant.
When she was done, he pushed inside her with a hiss and waited for her to stretch her legs around him, allowing him to sink all the way home.
Amanda pressed her heels into Alexander’s back, keeping him still while she adjusted to him.
When she eased her leg muscles, he waited for her nod before he started moving.
He was being so gentle that she was getting a little frustrated, and she cupped his face and told him so.
And what she expected him to do about it.
She got a “bloody hell” in return and then he gave her just what she’d asked for.
Alexander lay on his back, his arm casually folded behind his head as Amanda, tucked into his side, slept soundly.
They’d had a hot bath by the fire after their last bout of lovemaking, then changed and gone to Callesandra’s room.
She was waiting for them; he could see her excitement when they walked in together.
Given his absence over the past few weeks, he realized she’d so rarely seen her parents both happy, let alone both happy together and at the same time.
Callie’s long auburn hair framed her beautiful face, and her white bedgown looked like it had been shortened to above the knee. She jumped on the bed, barely able to contain herself. Alexander had never seen her this way, and knew it was from the attention Amanda had been giving her.
She gave him a hug when he got close enough and led him to just the spot she wanted him, sitting against the headboard that had been piled with pillows.
She came and sat cross-legged, facing him, and arranged her hairbrush and some ribbons on the bed.
Then she grinned at him; she was anticipating what came next and couldn’t wait for him to see it, he realized.
She was showing off for him, showing off her new mama.
Amanda sat behind her, picked up the brush, and gently started pulling it through her hair.
He winked at his daughter, a clear conspiratorial I know how you feel, and started reading.
He was halfway through the story when Amanda had finished this new routine and Callesandra’s hair was pulled back and tied with a slew of ribbons.
Then Amanda curled into his side and pulled his daughter between them.
Three stories later, they left her tucked in bed with Janey knitting before the fire nearby.
He’d started back toward his chamber but stopped when Amanda tugged on his hand.
She waited for his full attention. Looking at her, he knew just what she was thinking.
Didn’t she know he thought about their present circumstances more than anything else?
He was anxious to sail for America and making their final arrangements.
Until his family was safely overseas, he’d not rest easy.
She’d just taken a deep breath and started to speak his name when Stephen interrupted them. This late into the evening, Alexander knew it had to be important. He kissed Amanda’s forehead, promising to have this conversation later.
It was a habit that started shortly after Amanda became a resident in his home. Talking. Deeply. To one another. Who knew that was what could actually happen when two people respected and loved one another.
Their bond had continued to grow stronger, especially after they married.
One of many nights he would never forget.
By then they’d spent countless hours and nights trying to figure out what had actually occurred, as in, how did Amanda come to be here in the eighteenth century when—as he could hear her say in his mind, shut the front door—she was born in the twenty-first; a year that seemed impossible to Alexander, and most certainly was impossible to picture.
He hadn’t believed her at first, had actually thought that perhaps she was the sorcerer the servants whispered about, but after a while it started to actually make sense.
Her strange way of talking. Her funny accent.
The things she said existed in the future—there were too many of them and too detailed for her to be making it up.
Then, of course, there were the breeches, which she said women wore all the time where she was from.
That special night, eight weeks ago, he’d found her lying next to Callesandra as she slept. Not unusual as his business was often carried out at irregular hours. “Come with me, Amanda,” Alexander had whispered to her.
“Where are you taking me?” she’d asked, after settling the covers around Callie.
“Downstairs,” he’d told her, taking her hand and leading her away. “There’s a matter that requires immediate attention.” At that, she’d stopped dead in her tracks. “Don’t be scared, Amanda.” He’d shaken his head and looked imploringly at her.
“Will you do something for me?” Amanda had asked.
“Of course. What do you wish me to do?”
“Close your eyes,” she’d whispered. “Just for a second…please.”
Alexander had done as he was told and waited.
He’d felt Amanda step closer, wrap her arms around his waist, and lean against him.
Had his eyes not already been closed, he would have done so anyway.
She’d just wanted to be held, and he’d wanted—still wanted—nothing more than to hold her back.
He’d wrapped his arms around her and gathered her close, pressing his back to the wall, which had made her physically relax into him.
“I’m still scared, Alexander,” she’d said after a long moment.
“Look at me, Amanda.”
She’d slowly pushed away and tilted her face to look up at him. He’d pulled her back to him. “I didn’t say to let go,” he’d laughed. “I said to look at me.”
His hands had splayed across her back, moving slowly to her neck, then through her hair. He’d only meant to kiss her quickly, reassurance to ease her fears. So many rugs seemed at the ready to be pulled from under them. This business of Amanda’s being here, for one—was it permanent?
Add to that his ever-precarious situation between his false allegiance to the Royal Navy and genuine loyalty to the Continental Congress, who he was in fact in talks with about the creation of the Continental Navy.
But as he’d pulled away, the loss of her was tangible.
One kiss never seemed to be enough for him with Amanda.
His hands had still held her head, but his thumbs had begun tracing her face, brushing her features as he bent toward her again.
Then he’d felt Amanda’s hands move up his chest and tangle in his hair.
She’d pulled him closer. So. Bloody. Sweet.
He’d turned, pressing her to the wall as he took the kiss deeper. He could kiss her forever.
“Amanda,” he’d finally whispered in between tugs.
“Mmm?”
“We have to go now.”
“Okay, Alexander,” she’d said on a sigh.
But they’d gone nowhere. In fact, they’d stood in the hallway so long Stephen had finally come and cleared his throat at the bottom of the stairs. Alexander had sworn under his breath; Amanda had laughed.
“Amanda?” he’d asked, putting a hand out to Stephen.
“Yes, Alexander?”
“Where do you want to belong?”
“Here, Alexander. I only want to be here—with you and Callesandra.”
“And I want you to be here, Amanda. With me and Callesandra.”
He’d kissed her one more time, looking into her eyes as he’d held her face between his hands.
“Come with me, Amanda.” She’d nodded and followed Alexander to his study, where he’d been surprised to find himself nervous.
He hadn’t exactly consulted with her before calling the priest, but despite the brief time in which they had known one another, he’d never felt more connected to anyone before in his life.
He’d wager all his gold that she felt the same way. But still.
“What’s going on?” Amanda had asked as he led her into the chamber where his men and the priest were standing. He’d squeezed her hand gently for luck before chancing a look at her.
“Amanda, this is Father Paul,” he’d explained, figuring it best to get straight to the point. “He’ll be performing the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?” Amanda had asked, confusion clouding her face, and for a moment Alexander had feared he’d made a mistake, misread everything.
“Our ceremony,” Alexander had replied, hoping she wouldn’t balk.
Lucky for him, she hadn’t objected.
They were married. Their vows repeated in minutes, and Alexander placing a silver band upon her finger eagerly.
When she’d asked where it came from, he’d told her it had been made that morning, along with his own, which he’d handed to her to place on his own finger.
Then everyone else had left the room and they’d stood alone together.
“For a long time, Amanda, I’ve believed in very little, and have known happiness only with my daughter. But you’re here for a reason, and I’ll not let you go.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Alexander. Not anymore. Not ever.”
Now, Stephen put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him from the memory. They spent the next two hours going over their plans. Their evacuation plans.
Amanda retired to the parlor. She knew Alexander would join her when his business was addressed.
A new commission, perhaps? Orders from America?
As though it wasn’t enough that she had to be worried about being ripped away from him and Callie and sent back to her century at any moment—not that she knew that was going to happen, but she honestly didn’t know that it wasn’t going to happen, either.