Something Borrowed

Chapter 25

Amelia

"We're going to be late for breakfast," Josh said, shattering the buzzing bubble of comfort that had closed over them and soothed the sadness and anxiety in her blood. Amelia turned to look at the clock. He was right. They'd have to rush.

"Can't they just eat without us?"

He flashed her a wry smile as he shoved the covers aside. "I told you before, there's not much sense to how my father picks his battles. But mealtime is a hill he's willing to die on. We'd never hear the end of it if we skipped family breakfast to laze about in bed."

His words made her frown.

"You miss meals all the time," she said, gathering the blankets toward her waist as he walked to the washbasin and bent over it, splashing what had to be frigid water on his face.

"To work," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder before bending and splashing more water in his face, shoving wet hands up into his hair and attempting to tame the wild spikes that had formed during the night. Her fingers itched to help him, and she clenched them tighter in the blankets as he continued, thankfully unaware of her wayward thoughts. "Not to sleep."

"That seems a bit of a double standard," she noted absently, heat suffusing her cheeks as he abandoned his hair and tugged his shirt over his head, pulling open a drawer to dig for a new one. The muscles of his back played beneath his skin and she took a strange pride in knowing the way those muscles felt beneath her fingers. Knowing the warmth that radiated from his skin. Knowing the raw power in those arms when they closed around her.

"I suppose it is, but it's his double standard and he owns this property. So, unfortunately, his double standards are tantamount to law."

"Have you ever thought of leaving?" she asked, gritting her teeth as she slipped out of bed and set about dressing herself. She was no longer looking at him, but she could hear the tension in his answer.

"Sure," he answered, his voice unnaturally even. "What man doesn't dream of setting out and making his own way?"

"What woman doesn't dream of doing the same?" she answered, sitting to tug socks over toes that were already going numb. She'd gotten rather spoiled by the fires he built before leaving in the mornings. It was odd for the room to be so cold when she awoke.

"What?"

She looked up to see Josh standing on the far side of the bed, frowning at her. His hair still stood out from his head on the right side and she bit her lip on a smile. Brent never would've been seen in such disarray. She had found it quite charming, the way he stood before the mirror and smoothed Macassar oil into his blond locks, combing them over in the style of the Victorian noblemen he emulated. She shook herself free from the memory and tried to remember what they'd been talking about.

Ah, yes. Youthful fantasies.

"I just... I agree with you. I've dreamt of setting out on my own as well." His shoulders sagged and he tilted his head, studying her. She felt naked beneath his scrutiny and lowered her gaze to her sock, tugging it over her heel and up her calf. "Anyway, I s'pose I'm just saying I understand, that's all. Everyone dreams of making their own way. But here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed thoughtfully. "Where would you be if you could choose?"

In truth, she had always rather wanted to travel, but she dared not say as much. She knew where his mind would go if she brought up the subject of adventures and exploration. She knew which adventurer he'd imagine.

"I suppose I'd just like my own house," she said, settling on a partial truth. "I've never had somewhere all my own. It would be nice to have a place where I can turn my own quirks and pet peeves into laws." She tried on a cautious smile that she felt spreading like warm sunshine across her face when she saw her husband's expression light up. He looked like a bit like Brent had always looked when he drew a good hand at the card table.