by Reid, Stacy
“Who said I liked you enough to bed you? I said that lover could be you, not that it will be you!”
He rolled his eyes and pressed a hand over his heart. “Ah, my sweet Amalie, you quibble, and so delightfully too. I’ve learned the signs of a woman who wants to open the flaps of my trousers and stroke my coc—”
She leaned forward precariously and slapped a hand over his mouth, and she narrowed her gaze to see the deviltry dancing in his eyes. But beyond that lightness, there was also something deeper.
“Stop testing me, you scoundrel!” she whispered. “Ask whatever it is you wish to know, Max.”
He took her hands from his lips and pressed a tender kiss on her inner wrist. “I was crass and that you do not deserve, my Amalie. Forgive me.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said with a smile.
Max emptied his glass and rested it on the small table to his left. “That will do for now.”
He stood and walked over to the canvas she’d been working on. “I see you’ve been painting a lot. An interest I never knew you had.”
She went over to stand by him and playfully nudged his shoulders. “There is still so much you do not know about me. I’m not that girl you knew anymore.”
“Still the same,” he said with a smile holding up to fingers and pinching them closed. “With just a little bit more.”
She glanced up at him. “You have changed as well.”
“I think it is called aging, my dear.”
“Yes, I do suppose you are a very old gentleman now at seven and twenty.” She reached up, grabbed a strand of his hair, and plucked it.
“Bloody hell, woman!” he rubbed at the spot and shot her an accusing glare. “I thought that vicious streak would have been refined by now, Viscountess.”
Amalie grinned and looked at that rich, dark strand closely. “No sign of gray, I admit my mistake, old friend.”
“Methinks someone is now annoyed that we did not go straight to the bedchamber, hmmm? Is this an act of frustration?”
“Why, I never!” she spluttered, laughing. Yet his lips teased, but his eyes showed no lust.
He laughed and looped a hand over her shoulder. Amalie canted her head and rested it against his shoulder or more like his upper arm. She swore he had grown a few inches since she’d last seen him. They stayed like that, staring at her painting.
“It is beautiful,” he finally said gruffly. “You’ve captured the receding sun and the hovering darkness just right.” Then he pointed to a spot. “But, I doubt this starling was outside just now.”
“When I painted, I was recalling the times we were in Aldbury, in Hertfordshire, when we fished and watched the sun set, and a flock of starlings rose in the sky and flew over our heads.”
“I think you would have more recalled the thrashing your father gave you when you reached home with a muddied dress, a fishing pole, and several trout for the cook.”
“Hmm, I recall his outrage that instead of practicing my curtsies in the drawing-room with my governess, I was outside in the mud with you…a lad who was considered so singularly improper for myself to befriend. If Papa had any notion you would have been Lord Kentwood one day, he would have insisted we were bound in marriage and thrown me into your arms.”
He chuckled, but the sound lacked any real humor. “And how are your father and mother?”
“Tolerably well,” she said, not mentioning that since the scandal, they had minimal communication. Her parents spent their time in the countryside, away from town life and the reminder of their wicked daughter on the tongues of their friends. They had never quite forgiven her for running. “I am terribly sorry for the loss your family endured. I know how much you loved and admired your uncle.”
“He reminded me very much of Father,” he said. “Except without the good-natured joviality. Uncle was an austere man, though he was loving. He normally stared at his countess like she walked on air.”
“And, how is she?”
“Still stricken with grief. My aunt, the dowager countess, remains in Hertfordshire at my country seat with her girls. They are very young, the oldest being only fifteen. My uncle provided for them well, but I’ve allowed the countess and my cousins to remain at the home they grew up in.”
“That is very generous of you,” said Amalie, remembering that kindness was one of his qualities she had fallen in love with. Many men who claimed their inheritances had no patience in their hearts for the widows and children left behind, especially if the relationship had been distant. But Amalie knew even if he had not grown close with his cousins, Max would have been just as thoughtful.
“I have no use for it. I’ve no wife of my own as yet or any children. What use would it be for me to tell them to leave? The countess already told me when I’m married, she will, of course, vacate the premises. And I still think that is pushing it. Chancery Park has over one hundred rooms, for God’s sake. There is enough room for everyone should she wish to stay.”
Amalie wanted to hug him but only smiled. Then she said, “So you are thinking of marrying soon.”
A small hesitation. “It has been on my mind. I’ve met a few ladies everyone keeps telling me are perfect.”
How disgruntled he sounded.
And her heart ached, for she was certain they were all without any taint of a scandal to their reputations. Or one as awful and lingering as hers.
“And what are your requirements in a wife?”
“Ah, my sisters and mother have impressed upon me that my lady countess must be from a good family with important connections.”
“And scandal free I gather,” she tried to say this lightly but feared she failed when he stilled.
“And scandal free,” he murmured, shadows dancing in his eyes. “Do you wish to remarry, Amalie?”
This time she managed to affect a confident and carefree chuckle. “What, give up the freedom I now enjoy for another trap where my husband will even dictate the kind of friends I might keep?”
His lips curved. “Yes.”
“Perhaps if the right sort of man asked.”
“And what sort is that?”
“The one who wouldn’t care that most in polite society shuns me, and whisper about me endlessly, and that every week a scandal sheet finds a reason to mention me in their papers. A man who would not care about society’s opinion and would love me despite my dastardly reputation.”
“If he loves you, I daresay he would not give a damn.”
“Ah, then I shall take that to mean you no longer have me in your heart since you need a wife and is not offering.”
He faltered into stillness and she wanted to die of mortification.
“Oh, do forgive my ungovernable tongue! Please, disregard my words! I feel like such a nonsensical creature.”
He shifted to face her, and she lifted her gaze to his. Amalie’s eyes burned with the effort to hold back her tears. Oh, why had she said it? Clearly a man of his standing would not offer for a lady with her background and notoriety in society. She knew it very well, and most certainly he did too, so why did she take it so far as to ask if he still loved her? Humiliation crawled through her entire body and set her heart to pounding with a terrible ache.
He tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears, and said, “You must tell me when you started to paint. You are very good.”
Relief lit in her veins that he would not continue the conversation along that mortifying path. The praise also warmed her, and eager for the distraction she explained, “After…after, the scandal of me running barefoot into the streets roared through the ton, I escaped to a little cottage by the seaside the viscount had bought for me in Brighton.”
His shoulders had gone tense again. “In Brighton?”
“Yes,” she said. “I met the viscount at seventeen and was wed to the man by the time I was eighteen. I…everything was a bit overwhelming and I wanted somewhere to hide when things became too much.”
“You were never one to hide,” he said gru
ffly. “You were…bold and fearless even when I first met you at sixteen.”
She punched his arm lightly. “And that, I daresay, was before I experienced life in Society. But do not mistake me, it was glorious: the balls, theater and operas, the routs and fashionable crowds. But there were times I just needed that peace and simple existence. It was what I asked for as a marriage gift when he proposed.”
“And it was to there you ran when the scandal broke.”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “One day, I strolled along the shoreline, the pebbled sand beneath my bare feet, feeling the fine mist of the ocean spray on my face and had the wild urge to paint it! I had always hated my watercolor lessons, but I got supplies and simply started to paint. It has grown into a passion ever since.”
His stare dropped to her mouth, his desire to kiss her a tangible thing. Or was it in her imagination? For his lashes lowered, and when he glanced at her again, she saw no want, only curious indifference. “I searched for you.”
Her heart jolted. “I…what?”
“The minute I saw the papers, I visited your townhouse. You were not there. Nor the next day or the next. Then I went to the viscount’s seat in Cornwall, thinking you might be dealing with the funeral, and all those people so blasted eager to speculate, but the viscount had been buried in his family crypt, and you left the same day I was told. I thought you might be with your parents in Hertfordshire, but you were not.”
She reached out to touch him, her fingertips scarcely brushing his, and then she turned sharply away. “I thought after you walked out that night…your eyes were so angry at me, I never thought you would have come looking for me.”
He said nothing. Quite deliberately he used his hand to nudge hers, before slipping her hands into his. They stood there, staring outside the window, their fingers entwined in a clasp. Amalie glanced down at their hands joined palm to palm. He squeezed slightly and she smiled. “Rain has started,” she said with a soft sigh.
“I’ll take my leave.”
Stay, she wanted to say but only nodded. “Did you order your coachman to the mews?”
“No. I rode my horse.”
“The rain is sleeting; I’ll send for the carriage—”
He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckle before releasing her.
“I’ll be fine, Amalie,” Max said with a slightly crooked but oddly charming smile. He touched her cheeks briefly. “I’ll see you again.”
His touch was warm, reassuring, and felt so right. Unexpectedly she felt scared. He did not look at her like a man who wanted a woman. Like a man who might still have some tender affections for her. There was caring, certainly, but this felt as if that is all it would be. Under his steady stare, she fought the urge to shift and fidget.
Perhaps he realizes he does not want me as his lover.
Her heart started to pound at the notion, for Amalie realized truly that she desired him still. So very much. He made no attempt to kiss her, and she smiled when he kissed her gently on the cheek and made his way from the parlor.
Once the door closed behind her, Amalie wilted, leaning against the arm of the sofa.
What just happened?
Chapter 5
‘Your eyes were so angry at me, I never thought you would have come looking for me…’ Max stood frozen at the front of Amalie’s townhouse, the rain a chilly slap against his face. Those soft words cut something deep inside of him, and instead of retrieving his horse from the mews, he ambled down the few steps onto the cobbled sidewalk. He would stroll home and send back a footman to retrieve his horse later. Her townhouse in Berkeley Square was close enough to his abode where a stroll in the rain should be tolerable.
He hoped the walk would clear his heart of the relentless ache beating inside of it. It jarred Max powerfully that he could feel so much for her still, with the years and distance between them. He made to continue, and it was as if invisible hands teetered him to the spot. The memory of the desolation in her eyes just now still robbed him of breath. Without thinking, Max whirled around and hurried back to the front door. After only one firm knock, the butler opened the door, and he crossed over the threshold.
He shrugged from his coat, removed his hat, and gave it to the man.
“No need to announce me,” he said, walking away before the butler could respond.
There was an odd sense of urgency pushing Max, and he hurried down the hallway to the small parlor he’d just left. The door was ajar, and a cursory glance showed Amalie was not there. He continued down the hallway and glanced up the winding stairs. A flash of pink and delicately turned ankles caught his eyes as she reached the landing. It seemed as if she had run up from her private retreat.
Without thinking he bounded up the stairs past a few startled servants and after her. Max did not call out but noted the room she entered toward the end of the hallway. Plush carpets cushioned his feet as he did a light trot to that door and rapped on it with his knuckles. Her response was muffled, but he went ahead and opened the door and stepped inside.
“Max?” her eyes wide with astonishment she quickly rose from the sofa. “Dear heavens! Why have you come back?”
There was a redness about her eyes as if she had cried just now. His heart jerked erratically, he went over to her but was careful to not touch her. He would do something foolish if he did. Like drag her into his arms, lift her, and dump her into the center of the large peach canopied bed.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” he said gruffly, as multiple emotions crowded his thought. “When I saw that your husband was behind that hidden panel watching us…I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed, found out what was happening, Amalie. More than anything you were my friend, young and inexperienced. You were someone I cherished in my heart. I should have stayed! I am so damned, sorry.”
She stared at him in ill-concealed shock. “Max…”
Tears glistened in her eyes and one of her hands fluttered to rest against her throat. “I do not resent you for leaving,” she whispered.
Yet he still heard the echoes of pain in her voice.
He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her regard to his. “You were sweet and innocent, still. A part of me knew it, for I tasted it in your kiss. When I touched you…brought you to pleasure, I saw the stunned arousal in your gaze. When I stepped back from you, I saw the shame and devastation, but I was so damn stupid and blinded by my own feelings of stupor and betrayal I did not think of you, of what could have possibly pushed you to invite me to your chambers knowing your husband would be there. My lack of care for a girl I always…” Loved. His throat closed on the word. “For a girl I always cared for was unforgivable. Maybe if I had stayed…the very next day there would not have been some libertine chasing you down the street for all in England to speculate on.”
There was an aching, breathless pause where they stared at each other. His throat burning, he opened his arms wide and she flung herself into them, her face buried against his chest and she hugged him fiercely. With a groan, he wrapped his limbs around her and held her closely to him.
“I am sorry, Amalie,” he said gruffly. “I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to weather the scandal and the scrutiny of society alone. I understand why you did not think you could come to me.” He tightened his hands about her.
I let you down and I’ll be damned should I ever do so again. Yet even as he made the silent vow, discomfort curled through him for he was not certain he could give her what she needed the most—acceptance within society and a family of her own. He recalled her vow to have at least three children and that they could be as rambunctious as they wanted, and she would not offer any scolding at all. Max had sensed her loneliness then of being an only child and with her parent’s expectations sitting atop her shoulders. How it must have pained her heart to have that hope for her future ripped away from her. Christ.
Her hands squeezed around his waist, and then she stepped back.
“Let’s sit,” she sa
id, walking over to the white and silver embroidered chaise longue by the fire. She sat, once again, curling her feet onto the chaise. Max went to the other end and shifted, so they stared at each other.
“I want to explain,” she said softly.
A tight feeling twisted at his chest. Everything was forgotten as his hands rose to cup her cheeks. She had made herself vulnerable for him once, and he had hurt her with his lack of understanding and his swift judgment.
“You are not required to give me an explanation, nor do I need one. I’ve always known your character, and I should have known that it was not your scheme, yet you suffered for it. I’m sorry.”
“Why did you come back just now…if not to hear my side of the horrid scandal?”
“You know why. I want the air clear between us, so there is no misunderstanding.”
Her lips parted, and she stared at him for a long time. “Are we to be lovers then, Max?” she murmured, a softness in her eyes he had never before seen.
“God, yes,” he breathed roughly, unable to imagine not having her. “I want you.” For years, my lovely Amalie, I’ve wanted you for years.
Her breathing fractured, and a pretty flush of pink bloomed across her cheeks.
“But we’ll go slow.” And he felt all sorts of pain for even suggesting it. But something was holding him back from simply going over to her and say, ‘Let's go to bed now.’ And Max vaguely wondered if he was anxious about pleasing her.
“I believe you when you said an explanation is not necessary,” she said with a wide, beautiful smile. “I…I would still like for you to know.”
He nodded and gave her his undivided attention.
She inhaled deeply before releasing a soft breath. “At my very first ball after being presented at Almack’s, the man who would come to be my husband singled me out. We danced, and the very next day he started courting me. The next I knew my parents had agreed to a marriage between us, and we were wed. On our wedding night I was in an agony of doubt, for I did not love the viscount. I was so young and silly, but I truly believed in my heart I could learn to love him. I even expressed my feelings to his great amusement.”
