Then they would both have walls.
After dinner, she kissed her mother on the cheek, and claiming a headache, retired to her room. She readied herself for bed and had just finished brushing her hair when the door leading to Nicholas’s chamber opened. Amelia almost dropped her brush when she saw him standing there. He wore his trousers, but his feet were bare and so was his chest. His hair was brushed back from his forehead in a golden wave, and his sky-blue eyes looked almost stormy.
“Y-you startled me,” she said.
“That wasn’t my intention.”
She knew that look in his eyes. He wanted her, and as much as she might want to resist him, she wasn’t certain she could. Already her body felt the pull of his, and she wanted to go to him, even though she knew that making love with him would only hurt her later. She would give him all of herself, and he would give her only a little, hiding from her and making sure he only showed her what he wanted her to see.
“I have a headache,” she said, trying to erect some defense before her legs betrayed her and raced to him without her permission.
“I won’t trouble you then,” he said and turned to leave, but not before she saw the flash of hurt and rejection in his eyes. Immediately, she regretted the words. They were hurting each other now, and she didn’t know how to reverse course. He would close the door and that would be the first brick of her wall.
NICHOLAS REACHED FOR the door latch, but he paused when he took hold of it. Yes, she’d rejected him. He’d rather thought she would. And he didn’t really blame her. How could he expect her to be vulnerable and open with him, to be naked not only physically but with her desires, if he could not do the same?
She’d said she wanted him. She wanted emotion and vulnerability. He hadn’t known what she meant. Until now.
He knew what he had to do. His hands were shaking, and perspiration beaded on his lower back. He was terrified, and that’s how he knew he was doing the right thing. He reached for his trousers.
“There’s just one thing I want to show you first,” he said and loosed the fall of his trousers.
Her eyes widened, and Nicholas decided that if he was to do this, he would do it right. He closed his door and moved into the light shed from the lamp on her dressing table. “I promised to show you my legs and the wounds I received from the war,” he said. “I want to do that now.”
“Nicholas, you don’t have to.”
“I want to. I should have shown you before. I should have trusted you.”
His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly grasp the wool waistband of the trousers to tug it over his hips. Though he wanted to watch her face as the material slid down, he focused on a point above her head as the trousers slid down his thighs and he knew the first of his scars became visible.
He darted a quick glance at her expression, but she wasn’t looking at his legs. She was looking at his face. “You don’t want to see?” he asked.
“Only if you want me to,” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “Your hands are shaking. You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m terrified,” he admitted. “But that’s how I know this is right because the only thing I’m more frightened of is losing you.” And he released his hold on the trousers and let them fall to the floor. The material pooled about his ankles, and he stepped carefully out of it. He was naked now, completely exposed. And yet Amelia didn’t look away from his eyes.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I want you to see.”
“One thing first.” And to his astonishment, she stood, loosed her robe, and slid it off her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” he asked when she reached for the ribbon at the bodice of her nightgown.
“I don’t want you to be the only one standing naked in this room.” And she slipped the nightgown down her body, revealing her lovely curves and soft skin.
Unlike him, she had no flaws, no imperfections. He could have looked at her all day, and he didn’t stop his gaze from sliding over her. When he’d finished his perusal, she said, “Are you ready for me to look at you?”
Nicholas squared his shoulders. “Yes.”
Her gaze lowered slowly from his eyes to his lips and down to his chest. Her bold gaze would have aroused him if he hadn’t been so nervous about what would happen when she saw his legs. He clenched his hands as her eyes dropped to his waist and then to his stiffening cock, which was reacting to her nakedness despite his anxiety.
Her lips curved into a smile at his body’s reaction, and she glanced back up to his face, her expression reassuring. Then her gaze dropped again, and he knew she was seeing the scars on his leg. His right leg was perfect until below the knee, but his left leg was misshapen beginning above the knee all the way to the ankle. The skin was pale, the leg smaller than it should have been, and angry red slashes marked it where bones had protruded or the surgeon had cut in an attempt to reset what he could. The knee itself looked like a grotesque blob and his calf bowed strangely inward. His right leg was not as bad. It too bore the red scars of the surgeon’s blade and the calf was smaller than it should have been, but the knee was recognizable and the calf was straight.
Amelia’s gaze rose back to Nicholas’s face, and her expression held not pity or disgust but understanding. Nicholas felt his shoulders lower slightly as some of the tension fled.
“I can’t imagine the pain you must have felt,” she said. “The fact that you walk as well as you do is a miracle.”
“I don’t walk well,” he said without thinking.
“You walk extraordinarily well,” she countered, moving toward him. “Any other man would be an invalid.”
“The doctors said that was the most likely scenario.”
She took his hands. “But they didn’t know you are a warrior. You fought your way back on your feet, and most days I imagine that fight costs you.”
She seemed to see inside him with her piercing gaze. Had she known how he’d felt all along or had seeing his legs revealed it to her? And why hadn’t he trusted her sooner? Why had he been so afraid?
“The pain is manageable.”
“I hate that you have pain,” she said. “But I love your strength and your determination. You’re beautiful, Nicholas.”
He frowned at her. Women were beautiful, or paintings or vistas, not crippled men. He told her this, and she arched a brow. “May I show you?”
“How?”
“Come lie on the bed.” She tugged his hand, but he hesitated. It was awkward for him to climb into bed, and he didn’t want her to see him struggle. He glanced at her face, though, and all he saw was desire and love. He hadn’t trusted her before. It was time to trust her now.
She hopped on the bed and moved over to make room for him. He sat then swung his legs over and worked to adjust them and then sit back against the pillows she arranged for him. “Comfortable?” she asked, kneeling beside him. He reached out and ran a hand down her bare arm, forgetting about his legs now.
“Come here,” he said.
She seemed to have been waiting for his invitation. Throwing one leg over his, she braced herself on her knees as she straddled him then leaned down to kiss him. Nicholas’s desire went from simmering to boiling. His hands went to her waist and slid over the curve of her hips and up to the peaks of her breasts. She moaned with pleasure then lowered her mouth to kiss his neck, his collarbone, his chest.