by Stacy Reid
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 tethered 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 said, 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.”
She paused for a bit, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Max shifted closer to her.
“He did not come to my chamber that night, or for several weeks after. I admit I was very relieved for I was not ready for intimacy with him. Oddly we became friends.”
Max frowned, and she smiled.
“I know you think him a dastardly villain, but he was also a kind man, Max. And my husband did show me a lot of thoughtfulness during our first months of marriage.” She swallowed and continued, “The short of it was that he confessed…he confessed that he was no longer able to take any woman to his bed, and his desire had long been satisfied by watching others coupling, and he would like to watch me with another man.”
A delicate blush covered her neck and cheeks at that admission.
“You see, it had been like that with his previous viscountess. She took many lovers and he watched! I resisted his suggestions most ardently. I was hurt, confused, and very frightened. I was a girl of nineteen at this time, trying to make sense of being married to a powerful lord and understanding my place in society and my duty to my lord.”
Amalie shifted on the chase before she stood and walked to the window, watching the dark sky and the rainfall. Max rose and went to her, standing behind her and watching the sleeting rain as it slapped the cobbled pavement.
“What did he do when you resisted?” he asked darkly.
With a sigh, she leaned back against him, and it felt natural to rest his chin atop her head. Her elusive fragrance of lavender filled his lungs.
“He did not beat me if that is what you are thinking,” she murmured.
Relief rushed through him, and he closed his eyes. Thank God. It would have killed him had she suffered such abuse.
“But his censure was potent. I was made to feel guilty, a failure for not doing my duty to my lord. He was my husband, and it was my duty to please him in everything. Even if that duty was to satiate his voyeuristic needs. For months I felt hounded by the constant pressure to take another man to my bed so he could watch. Then…then when he started to voice his displeasure more and more, and I realized that our marriage was a permanent union, I relented on the condition that I chose my lover.”
A jolt went through Max. “And you chose me,” he said a bit harshly, hating himself at this moment.
“I chose you,” she murmured. “But I was too ashamed to inform you of my reasons for enticing you to my bed. And I was wrong, Max, it was horribly wrong of me to plan to take you as my lover knowing my husband would secretly watch us.”
He squeezed his hands around her waist. “You were brave and strong. Lord Weatherston was a very powerful man. I am grateful he did not try more persuasive methods to bend you to his will.” And Max was indeed thankful. The man could have had her beaten, even committed to bedlam for failing to do her duty or even arranged for others to force her against her will for his selfish pleasure. And suddenly, understanding pierced Max’s soul, and an icy chill darted through his heart.
“The viscount did eventually try to force you,” he said, aware of the furious pounding of his heart. “That is why you were running bare foot in the street.”
She shivered in the protective cage of his arms. “After you left that evening, he was angry with me, with everyone. I…I asked him to take a mistress, have her see to his need. Everyone in the ton seemed to be the lover of someone else. I thought he had agreed, but the next day…the next day I woke to see Lord Spencer in my chamber,” she said in a horrified tone.
By God! Max could only imagine how petrified she had been.
“Lord Spencer was fully aware of the situation and also that I was unwilling. I ordered him from my room and instead he simply looked at my husband, who sat on the chaise longue, legs crossed, with a glass of brandy in his hand. My husband nodded to him, Max…a simple nod, and Lord Spencer started to remove his clothes.”
Those Goddamn bastards.
“I ran…and he chased me down the stairs, his taunting laugh at my heels. I suspected the servants would do nothing to help my plight, and I also knew Lord Spencer would eventually catch me, no matter which room I would go to hide. When I ran toward that front door…I saw it, Max—my scandal and my ruin. I faltered. And Lord Spencer was there in the hallway, and I could see on his face that he expected me to come back to him. He lifted his fingers and crooked them at me, his expression one of debauched anticipation. He even licked his lips,” she said with a shudder of remembered disgust.
She turned in the cage of his arms and lifted her face to him. “I could not bear the thought of being raped, so I did it. I threw the door open and ran into scandal and infamy.”
Ah, God. He dropped his forehead to hers, pierced by guilt and anger. Max could only imagine her fear and the strength of will it had taken to open that door and flee, even knowing she risked society’s condemnation. “You were so brave, Amalie.”
“I do not regret running,” she said, unexpected humor dancing in her eyes. “The viscount collapsed that very evening, from a heart that had been weakened over time. Perhaps it was the scandal which roared through the ton, or the furious promise I made to tattle to a scandal sheet should he ever try to force me again. But he took to his bed and the doctors could not save him. I ran from the scandal and condemnation of society as you know, but sheer boredom and loneliness encouraged me to return to town a few years later. But I’ve been made aware that society does not forget or forgive. I am barely accepted as it stands, and I will always be remembered as the hussy who drove her husband to his death with her wanton behavior.”
She touched his forehead briefly. “I can see that look of fire in your eyes. There is nothing you can do about my acceptance, and in truth, I am not certain I wish those stuffy old biddies to acknowledge me. I have been very fortunate in my friendship with a few widows with notable connections, and I have been invited to many balls and soirees.”
He stared down at her sweetly upturned face, recalling how alone she’d been at Lady Rushworth’s ball. Max had watched Amalie for so long, and no one had approached her to dance, and many had stared and whispered behind their fans. And she had endured it all by ignoring them. It did not even occur to ask her why then bother to be out in society with such continual judgment. That bold gutsy girl he recalled would not have hidden away for long. She would not give in to their constant censure and hide at home afraid to venture out or bury away herself in the countryside. How very brave you are my sweet Amalie.
He pressed a kiss to her brow and her lashes fluttered close for long moments.
“Max?” she asked opening her eyes an impish smile curving her lips. “I am very curious about something.”
“What?” he demanded gruffly.
“Why must we take it slow?”
And before he could respond, she tipped on her toes slightly and pressed her lips to his. It was such a fleeting caress but he’d never felt anything so sublime.
It felt as if flames of need engulfed his entire body. He cupped her cheeks in his hand, and slanted his mouth over hers, taking her soft kiss to one of deep intimacy. He stroked his tongue along the seam of her closed mouth, and with an inarticulate murmur, she parted her lips.
Max’s groan vibrated between them. She tasted hot and sweet. Their tongues slid against
each other, and he realized with some bemusement that her kisses felt shy…uncertain…and untutored. It was unbearable torture to not tumble with her to the bed and satiate the tide of fierce desire rising between them.
Max had never expected that lust could feel this exquisite. She twisted in his arms, restless and eager. Her fingers as they tugged as his cravat were impatient. His hands as he unknotted her chignon were trembling. Their teeth clicked together, and she giggled against his lips.
“I have never felt this…breathless before,” she said, kissing along his throat.
Another thought jolted him. “Have you never had a lover, Amalie?”
“No,” she said. “You’ll be my first, and I am thrilled it will be so.”
Sweet Christ. He pulled away from her and peered down into her flushed features. Anxiety pounded through him and all the knowledge he had boasted to George about having in his head scattered like ashes on the wind.
She moved forward and slipped her hand around his neck. “But fret not, Max, I’ve read your book.” A fiery blush lit in her cheeks. “I’ll promise not to swoon or be shocked by your appetites. I know you will aim to please me…and please me very well,” she murmured huskily.
Suddenly he felt the weight of his inexperience, and the urge to tell her all of it hovered on his tongue. But then in her eyes, he spied such anticipation and wonder, he could not bring himself to say it.
Bloody hell.
He felt like a damn fool. Then he almost shouted with laughter. The damn book again. This would be a very unconventional affair indeed. Two virgins exploring pleasure and debauched delights with each other. Max wondered if he confessed to her if she would look still how she gazed at him now—with raw, provocative hunger. Or would she think him not up to the task?
Hell, maybe she won’t know if you are lacking, something dark and frustrated in him whispered.
“Come away with me,” he murmured.
Her eyes were wide and luminous as they stared at him, her lush, rosy lips were wet and glistening from his ravishing kisses. “Where?”
