like disappointment flickered in Caleb’s eyes but she couldn’t be sure in the semidarkness of the room. He simply moved to let her pass, then fell in step behind her. She heard him enter the guest bedroom a few seconds after she’d shut the door to the master bedroom and slumped against it.
More tears burned at the back of her eyes, mute evidence of her frustration and anger. What was wrong with her? Was she so cowardly that she couldn’t even take the necessary steps toward saving her marriage? Was she going to settle for this half-life, with her husband thinking she couldn’t bear his touch?
So angry with herself that she wanted to scream, she forced herself to remember each moment of the two months she’d spent alone in this house. Every single day she’d come into this bedroom, crawled into this bed and hungered for Caleb. She’d slept on his side of the mattress, worn his old shirts, spent entire nights dreaming of his loving.
Was she willing to go back to that existence? Because she knew without a doubt that her husband wasn’t going to return to her bed unless she convinced him she needed him desperately. She’d hurt him too much.
It was the thought of Caleb in such pain that straightened her defeated posture. Taking a deep breath, she tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door.
Caleb’s own door was open and she knew why. Even in his anger, he wanted to be able to hear her if she needed him. It was a good sign, she told herself as she walked in. He was lying on his side facing away, but she knew he heard her come in even though he didn’t move. For the first time in their married life, Caleb had turned his back to her.
Fighting the hot rush of fear, she crossed the endless carpet and sat on the other side of the bed. As soon as she touched the mattress she knew she was making a mistake. There was only one way she could reach Caleb—she had to stop protecting herself. She moved to lie beside him, her head nestled in the hollow of his back, one hand on his waist.
“What are you doing here, Vicki?”
She’d never heard him sound that harsh, that unwelcoming. It shot her confidence to pieces but she was here and if she could come this far, she could keep going. “You walked away without letting me explain.”
“What’s there to explain?”
So much, she thought desperately, that she couldn’t find the words for. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know you thought I didn’t want you. I swear, I didn’t know.” She’d thought she was doing something wrong and had tried to control her own reactions so as not to offend him, not realizing she was taking the worst possible action.
Caleb didn’t reach out to gather her into his arms as he had so many nights in the past. She ached to be held. But it wasn’t easy for a woman who’d spent a lifetime hiding her emotions to lay them out in the open.
“Now you do.”
And the next step was hers.
The thing was, Vicki didn’t know how to take that next step, didn’t know how to fix this broken bridge between them. She’d never confided in him, never once taken the chance of putting her pride, her heart, her deep insecurities on the line.
“You have to help me,” she whispered. If she was going to lose her husband, it wouldn’t be because she’d been too afraid to chance her heart. “I can’t do this without you.”
At last, he turned. But he didn’t hold her, instead propping himself up on his elbow. “We’ve had enough lies between us. Just tell me the truth. Why?”
Why did you marry me if you can’t stand my touch?
The words he’d spoken in anger earlier whispered around the room, a silent third party to this painful conversation.
“I love your touch,” she repeated her own words. But this time when he began to move away, she grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t. Don’t, Caleb.”
It was the break in Vicki’s voice that halted Caleb. He knew she was fighting tears. No matter how much it hurt him to lie beside her knowing she felt nothing for him when he burned for her, he’d do it if it would stop her from crying. He had no defense against her tears, not when he knew exactly what they cost her.
In the early days of their marriage, she’d once confessed that she didn’t cry because as a child, her tears had been the only thing over which she’d had any control. No matter what she’d said or done, her grandmother had never been able to make Vicki break down.
“I’m here,” he said. “Don’t cry, honey.”
“I’m not crying.” Her voice was raw. “I just need to say this. I’ve been trying for so long.”
“What?” Giving in to his own need, he drew her into his arms. She came without hesitation, spooning her back to his front. The familiarity of the gesture was bittersweet. Vicki didn’t mind his embrace. All those late nights when he’d finally slipped into bed, she’d sleepily scooted nearer so he could tuck her close.
“The way I am in bed…it’s not your fault.”
What was he supposed to make of that?
She took a deep, halting breath. “Grandmother…”
The abrupt change of topic threw him. “What about her?”
Caleb didn’t particularly like Ada Wentworth, even though the old woman had introduced him to Vicki and given her smiling blessing to their union. He’d known that Ada had chosen to overlook his lack of breeding only because of his increasing wealth and connections, but it hadn’t mattered. Despite the ten-year gap in their ages, he’d fallen headlong for Vicki.
She put her hand over the arm he had around her waist. “She said—She said that the reason my father left my mother was because my mother was a s-slut. A w-whore who’d spread her legs for any man who asked.”
Caleb bit off a sharp curse. “How old were you?” He knew she’d been sent to live with Ada at four years of age, soon after her parents, Danica and Gregory Wentworth, had divorced.
“I can’t remember the first time, but I grew up with her voice in my head telling me ‘like mother, like daughter.’ I guess I must have been very young when she started. There was never a time when I didn’t know what Grandmother thought of Mother and what she’d think of me if I ever strayed out of line.”
He was rocked by the viciousness of the wounds Vicki had hidden inside herself.
“And she said,” Vicki continued before he could speak, “that unless I was the perfect model of a wife, you’d leave me, too. She told me that men don’t want their wives to be w-whores. If I wanted to keep you, I had better make sure I always acted like a lady, not a slut.”
She was killing him. “Vicki—”
“When I was ten, my father married Claire. She’s so perfect, sometimes I don’t think she’s real. It’s as if she has ice running in her veins. I’ve never seen her show any powerful emotion. Grandmother used to tell me, ‘Look at Claire and now look at Danica. Men sleep with sluts, but they marry women of breeding.’ I believed her.”
Caleb wanted to strangle Ada. “I married you,” he said, trying to cut through her pain. “I never asked you to
