Not as a kept woman, she wouldn't. But as a wife? Maybe.
Charlie calmed even more, his fingers fisting and unfisting the collar of her dress. He'd be asleep soon, and she'd get a chance to actually sit with Charles and share a meal, like they'd never had the chance to do before.
“Where would I wear nicer things, Charles? These clothes are more than fitting for a mama in a little house who goes to town every once in a while.” She smoothed a palm down Charlie's back. “I mean to take my two older dresses and use them as work dresses for when I plant a garden this spring so I can keep the newer ones for special times like when I go to town or …” Her gaze met his. “When you're here.”
Charles slid a palm to her waist, stealing her breath, his hooded look sending her pulse into a skitter.
“Looks like Charlie's asleep,” came his low response, the intention in his voice almost mesmerizing.
She'd felt so lonely.
So unloved.
And here he came, sweeping into her little world as if he belonged right there with them, warming the whole house with his laugh and his talk, giving her little touches on the arm or hand, physical connection to another person she'd missed as she spent hours and days alone with just her and the baby.
“I'll take him to his cradle and be back to sup with you.”
His smile crooked in such a way that her breath shallowed. She'd barely turned the corner back into the kitchen, when Charles swept her into his arms. Without a word, his mouth covered hers, the sensation sending her into a tactile rush of memories … His lips, his caress, the sweet words he promised her over and over again.
And she knew.
She'd give him whatever he wanted if she didn't have to feel the loneliness of his absence or think about the emptiness of being a “kept woman.”
No. She was his. A fiancée, of sorts, because he'd promised he'd marry her.
One day.
And even though she knew he'd be gone in the morning, she'd take right now. A night where her world could look almost perfect.
And she could embrace their little family for one night.
That had to be enough for now because it was all she had.
A chill seeped around the heavy quilt as Kizzie forced her eyes open to the view of her dimly lit bedroom. Quiet permeated the air with the same expansiveness as the unusual chill. She released a long breath and rolled on her side, tugging the quilt closer to her chin. The pillow opposite her lay untouched, a reminder of Charles’ absence. Only two days before, she'd awakened to the warmth of his arms around her, her cheek against his shoulder. The memory arched a deeper cold, which seeped through to her bones.
He'd left the house emptier than it had been before.
Less cheerful.
How was it possible? She'd managed the silence and emptiness well enough the first week, but now … After experiencing one evening as the family she'd dreamed them to be, everything seemed changed.
Loneliness proved an achingly painful bedfellow.
But here she lay. Again. On her own with little Charlie, with her thoughts and the coos of her baby to span the hours.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her pulse skittering at the memory of his touch. His kiss. The strength of his body wrapped around hers, buffering any cold, any sense of accusation from the outside world.
Charles had been so tender, so affectionate with her. Whispering all the wonderful endearments she'd longed to hear from him.
Words of love. Of desire.
Everything she should want.
And yet, the ache pouring through her chest, in his absence, boasted no comfort from the night they'd shared. Why? Shouldn't she be happy for any of his attention? For his provision?
What sorrow touched some deep place inside with a feeling she couldn't quite name? Questions, longing, pressed through the silence as it had the afternoon before, nagging at the corners of her mind as she went about her chores.
How long was this to be her life? This pretending of a family?
