Sam winced. "A mistake. I thought I was keeping a family together. I thought I'd be a good wife." A good mother.
His eyes, dark in the firelight, met hers and for a long unblink*ing moment he just looked at her, as if he could see into her. "We all make mistakes," he said at last.
Something in his voice nearly moved her to tears. He sounded almost sympathetic and that was unbearable. She bunched her hands in her lap, fighting emotions she didn't know how to man*age. Her life, like Gabby's, hadn't been easy, and in her life there had been few people looking out for her. Just Charles, and then Charles was gone as suddenly as he'd come into her life.
"Whatever happens," she said hoarsely, thinking she shouldn't have come back to the Rookery, shouldn't have re*turned here at all. "Do not pity us. We don't need your pity."
"I don't think I mentioned pity."
Her teeth scraped together. She dropped her voice lower. "Maybe not. But I can see what you're thinking."
He dropped his voice even lower and leaning forward, he caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his. "Then I need to buy you some glasses, Samantha, because apparently you can't see a damn thing. You can't see what's in front of you— good or bad—and that's a problem. Not just for you, but Gabriela."
His hand burned where it touched her chin, her skin flaming hot, hotter. His touch was firm, sure, a finger at her chin, his thumb beneath, close to her throat She shuddered a little. Everything was wrong. Nothing was right anymore. Her entire world had upended and she felt as if she were standing on top of her head. "I didn't think you cared about Gabriela,"
Abruptly he released her, sat back. "It's late," he said shortly, "nearly two in the morning. We'll talk more in the morning."
She nodded, confused by his rapid mood change but too wor*ried about antagonizing him to ask for an explanation. "There are two bedrooms, but they'll both be cold."
"Are the beds made up?" he asked, standing.
"Yes. There are extra quilts in chests at the foot of each bed."
"Which room is yours?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm just going to sleep in here near Gabby,"
He started to leave and then stopped in the shadowed hall. "Maybe you weren't the wife you hoped you'd be, but surely Johann wasn't the husband you'd hoped for, either."
Sam's eyes burned. She'd never admit it to Cristiano, but she hadn't really expected much from Johann. She'd worked for him before they'd married. She knew who he was, and what he was, and maybe that's why she accepted his proposal. It was a paper marriage, was meant to be a loveless marriage. She knew she'd never love anyone the way she'd love Charles...and quite frankly, didn't think she deserved love after losing Charles.
"Isn't there a saying," she said softly as the fire fizzed and popped, "be careful what you wish for?" Sam looked up, met Cristiano's hooded gaze. "It's true. I learned that one the hard way, too." She grimaced, wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. "Anyway, it is late. Good night. Sleep well."
Cristiano was right, morning did come early, but the fire never died out and Sam found out later, when she woke, it was because Cristiano had gotten up repeatedly during the night to add more logs to keep the cottage warm.
Gabby, for her part, was delighted to discover they had com*pany. "You!" she said, bounding out of her bed on the couch as she spotted Cristiano entering the house, carrying a stack of firewood. "You came to see us in England!"
"I did."
Gabby grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her shoulder as he stacked the split logs next to the hearth. "You played cards with Papa."
Sam turned sharply towards Gabby. "How do you know that?"
"He did, didn't he?" she asked innocently. "And he took Papa's money, too”
"Gabriela!"
06-12-07, 02:48 PM
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