His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  “Right,” he said, meeting Amelia's grey eyes. A long ago memory of her chasing after him and threatening to kiss him suddenly came into his mind. She'd gotten him once or twice, too, if he remembered right. And always in front of someone, too. Of course that made it worse as he had an image to protect; and he'd always been sure to make a show of wiping off his mouth, or cheek, or forehead, or wherever it was her lips had landed. He shook his head to rid himself of the juvenile thought and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her lips.

  At least that's how he'd intended the kiss to be. But even for how fast and devoid of any tender emotion he'd intended to make it, he found himself craving more. Which would not do. While he desired her with his entire being, now wasn't the time to let her know.

  “Do the two of you have any plans for the evening?” Templemore asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Just to go to bed,” Elijah said without thought. His eyes flared wide and his face burned when he realized what he'd said, and how the unintended meaning his friend—and the bishop—likely took from his words. “That is— I mean—” He cleared his throat. “We've been traveling most of the day, I should think we'd like to have baths then go to bed.”

  Templemore's green eyes danced with laughter. “You're welcome to stay here tonight, if you'd like,” Lady Templemore offered.

  Elijah looked over to Amelia. She had dark circles under her eyes from their travels. It'd be at least another hour ride to the nearest inn, and that was if there was any vacancy. For as awkward as it might be for her to spend their wedding night in his friend's home, the bed would be far more superior and so would their fare. “Thank you. We'd love to stay.”

  Templemore nodded, then rang for Bennett, his butler. When he arrived, Templemore whispered some commands to him and only a short time later, Bennett was leading them up the stairs.

  “You'll sleep much better this way,” he whispered to her as they followed Bennett to the guest rooms.

  She nodded but didn't say anything else.

  Bennett moved the large brass eight-candle candelabra he carried to his left hand and opened the door to a large room with an oversized bed.

  Elijah swallowed.

  “This will be your room, Mrs. Banks,” Bennett intoned. “And now if you'll come with me, Mr. Banks, I'll show you to yours.”

  For the best, he supposed. It might be their wedding night, but they'd been traveling all day and were in the residence of one of his friends, for pity's sake. No lady would wish to be deflowered under such circumstances.

  He stepped into the room the butler indicated as his and looked around. It was arranged much like his wife's with a large poster bed made out of mahogany that matched the wardrobe and vanity perfectly. The coverlet was the same shade of crimson as hers had been; and just as the basin and pitcher in her room were royal blue with six white lines creating a decorative border at the top, his were identical. Everything in this room was much like the other, only it lacked one thing: Amelia.

  He sighed and fell onto the bed, exhausted. She'd acted just as tired as he. She'd probably appreciate—and perhaps expect—a slight reprieve for the evening. Besides he wasn't exactly in a hurry to share intimacies with her as clearly his feelings for her weren't returned. They'd need to, of course, if she was to— He closed his eyes to extinguish the thought. Tomorrow. He'd initiate intimacies with her tomorrow night and then all would be well.

  ***

  Amelia willed the knot in her stomach to go away and stared blankly at the tapestry above her bed. It was too dark in the room to actually make out the designs embroidered into the fabric, but still there was enough of an outline to study to rid her mind of thoughts of her husband.

  Oh, who was she trying to fool? She could no more forget his presence in the room next to hers as much as she could deny that she was the one who put that scar above his left eyebrow when he snuck up behind her, startling her so much she threw a rock at him.

  Would he visit her tonight? She'd peeked in the hall to confirm that Bennett had put him in the room next to hers...with the adjoining door. So where was her groom? Mary, Lady Templemore's lady's maid had helped her undress and left her to wait more than an hour ago.

  She'd spent that time thinking of what she'd say to him once he entered, and still couldn't decide. Should she try to put him off tonight or tell him all of her shame and live with whatever consequence came from it?

  She flipped over and shoved a pillow under her stomach, but it did nothing to alleviate the nausea that swirled in her gut. All day Elijah had been nothing but kind to her; and how was she going to repay him? With a cuckoo. Now, that would endear her to him for life, to be sure.

  Chapter Five

  Death would be a welcome part of life just now. Yes, death.

  Similar to that awful morning two weeks ago, she had a horrible headache and was nauseous, presumably due to the bundle of nerves she'd been last night; unfortunately, she couldn’t blame this particular feeling on a fruity drink.

  She had to tell him. He deserved to know.

  Wearily, she rolled out of bed and rubbed her tired eyes.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Banks,” a familiar voice said from the adjoining door.

  “Elijah?”

  “Or am I Henry?” he teased.

  She offered him a weak smile. “That never worked with me.”

  “I know,” he said, frowning. He walked further inside and kicked the door closed behind him. In his hands, he carried a tray filled with several pastries and fruits. “Templemore had these sent up, and I thought I'd see if you'd like to have breakfast with me?”

  Her face burned. “Can't we just leave?”

  Elijah set the tray down on the vanity. “Is something not to your liking?”

  “It's not that. It's just—” She tucked a tendril of her dark hair behind her ear and swallowed her unease. “They think we're up here becoming better acquainted as husband and wife.”

  “And we're not?” Elijah asked, gesturing to the tray of food.

  “You know what I meant.”

  “Indeed.” He lifted the tray again and walked toward her bed. “But I feel compelled to ask when you started caring what other people think about you?”

  Since I woke up to find I'd been unknowingly stripped of my virtue, might be carrying a child and foolishly agreed to marry Lord Friar. She forced a shrug. “I don't want to seem impolite or inhospitable.”

  A sharp bark of laughter filled the air. “You're a new bride the morning after her wedding, nobody expects you to be holding court in the breakfast room.” He snorted. “Clearly, Templemore didn't even think you'd be awake yet.”

  Amelia's cheeks burned. “You are your father's son, aren't you?” she mused, remembering all the times his father had made some sort of dry remark that hedged on the side of being considered scandalous.

  With a hint of a smile, he did a mock bow. “Guilty, I'm afraid.”

  “Do you miss him?” she asked, taking a strawberry tart from the tray.

  Elijah set the tray down on the bed next to her and then made himself comfortable on the other side. “Sometimes; but not the same as Alex and Weenie,” he added, snatching a biscuit.

  “Because you have a twin and they don't?”

  “No. I think Alex was closer to Father because he was the oldest and they shared more common interests, what with their love for all things science and Alex being his heir and all. Then Weenie was the youngest, and his only daughter.” He shrugged. “I would never say that I didn't feel any attachment at all for him or him for me. I certainly did, but I just wasn't as close to him as the other two. Neither was Henry.”

  “Because you had each other,” she murmured again between bites.

  “I suppose so. I never really thought about it that way, but now that I've said it, I suppose you're right.”

  “I usually am,” Amelia retorted, smiling. Something about the way Elijah looked at her in return made her smile falter. There was a c
ertain intensity in his eyes she hadn't expected to see just then. She cleared her throat and shifted. “Where do you plan for us to go now?”

  Elijah lifted a single brow.

  “Certainly you didn't expect us to live out the rest of our lives here with your friend Lord Templemore, did you?”

  “Well, no,” Elijah conceded, twisting his lips into an overdone frown and nodding once. “But if you'd like to, I'm sure arrangements could be made...”

  Amelia shook her head and grinned. “No. And I wouldn't think you'd like that, either.”

  “No, I wouldn't like to live out the rest of our lives here, but—” his voice dropped to little more than a soft whisper— “I see no reason to leave immediately.”

  Amelia's breath caught and she nearly lost hold of her tart. “Y-you don't?”

  ***

  Elijah wanted to laugh at her naivety. “No, I don't,” he whispered, leaning toward her.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  This time Elijah did laugh—inwardly, anyway. He'd never be so ill-mannered as to humiliate her by actually laughing at her innocence. “Just relax,” he murmured, leaning in toward her again.

  Her nervous giggle was the equivalent of her throwing her hands up to stop him. He frowned at her. “Is something humorous?”

  “N-no,” she said. There wasn't laughter lacing her voice any longer, but neither was her tone as soft as usual.

  He ignored the uncertainty stamped on her face and pressed forward, closing the gap between them. His lips found hers and she pulled away. Not to be deterred, he brought his hand up to cup her face and held her still while he leaned in for another kiss.

  Unfortunately, this one was far less satisfactory than the one yesterday. He pushed the thought from his mind and kissed her again, but missed her lips and kissed her cheek when she moved her head to evade him.

  “I don't think this is a good time,” she said with a slight hitch in her voice.

  “No, it's the perfect time.” He tucked a tendril of her fallen hair behind her ear, then swallowed his unease and brought his lips to hers again.

  Hard and unyielding, kissing Amelia was what he imagined kissing a stone would be like. He fought the urge to frown and continued to kiss his marble statue.

  “Amelia,” he said, pulling back. “Kiss me back.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I can't.”

  “Yes, you can. First you need to relax your lips, then you need to mirror my actions,” he said, leaning toward her for what he hoped would be the final time.

  “I-I don't think so.” She pulled away from him and put her fingers to his lips to stop him from kissing her again.

  Elijah's hand slowly encircled her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. “Is something wrong?” he murmured half-heartedly.

  “No, not wrong.” She bit her lower lip and let her eyes wander the room. “This just really isn't the time.”

  Elijah wanted to groan. For a young lady who'd once made it a habit to chase him around the lawn, trying to kiss him, she sure didn't seem too interested in kissing him when the time was finally appropriate. He raked a hand through his hair. Considering the circumstances, it was probably for the best. Likely she was still tired, and for as much as he might be ready to initiate lovemaking, his friend's house was probably not the best place.

  From beneath his lashes, Elijah noticed Amelia was fingering the top of her chemise, presumably trying to keep it pressed firmly to her skin, depriving him of any glimpse of skin he might have been afforded otherwise. He touched the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers. “Stop fussing. You're decent—enough.”

  Her blush made him grin. “Perhaps I should don my gown from yesterday.” She cast her eyes to the crumpled blue and white mess just to the left of where her dainty, stockinged foot dangled from the side of the bed.

  He twisted his lips. “You enjoy your breakfast, and leave your wardrobe to me.”

  A burble of laughter passed her lips and she cast him a quizzical look. “I wait with bated breath to see what you deem appropriate.”

  He frowned. “What is that to mean?”

  “If a lady's wardrobe was left to her husband to decide, she'd spend her days wearing—” She abruptly broke off, then cleared her throat.

  Elijah casually reached forward and took another tart from the tray, hoping she'd continue where she'd left off. He couldn't say why, but he was truly interested in what she might suggest. Of course he had an idea of what she was about to say, but wanted to hear it from her—and more curious than that, why had she stopped? She should know him well enough by now to know nothing she could say, and he truly meant nothing, could possibly scandalize him or make him think less of her.

  When it had become clear she had no intention of resuming her former thought, he said, “Don't worry, one of Templemore's maids can help you dress before we leave.”

  “And exactly where will we be going?”

  He hesitated but a moment. “Watson Estate.”

  “But isn't your brother and his wife hosting a house party there?”

  “Yes; but we won't have to attend, if you don't wish to.” He picked up a blackberry tart and brought it to his lips. “I don't have a country home, so it's either there or London.”

  Amelia idly twirled her hair around her fingers and looked decidedly unconvinced.

  “Don't worry,” Elijah said, brushing off the excess sugar from his fingers. “It'll just be my family. A more scandalous lot I have yet to meet.”

  She cast him a dubious look. “You must be talking about your cousins, because I've never heard your name, or that of any of your brothers attached to a single scandal.”

  “Indeed,” Elijah said slowly. “But you forget. I do have a sister.”

  “No, I haven't forgotten her; nor how to properly pronounce her name.” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

  Elijah chuckled as for a mere moment it seemed the new constraints of their relationship evaporated and they were both transported back in time to when they could share private jests with a few simple words and secret expressions.

  Chapter Six

  From beneath her lowered lashes, Amelia watched as Elijah sighed and leaned his back against the red velvet squabs of the carriage Lord Templemore had insisted on loaning him for their trip to Watson Estate.

  Amelia wondered what he was thinking, but didn’t dare ask and continued to pretend she was sleeping. It appeared at first as if he were in deep contemplation, but now he was squeezing his eyes shut so tightly lines that looked like he'd just been scratched by the claw of a crow fanned out from the corners of his eyelids.

  She had no idea what would make him act in such a way. It wasn't he who had a damning secret. Nor was it he who'd been married the day before only out of pity. Amelia immediately tried to swallow the large, uncomfortable lump that had suddenly taken up residence in her throat.

  Yesterday, she'd foolishly convinced herself everything would turn out all right. Elijah was her friend. But that was just it. Elijah was her friend. He had no other interest in her and his horrible charade earlier this morning proved it. The stiff, impersonal way he'd tried to kiss her turned Amelia into a walking contradiction of herself. She'd always dreamed of kissing Elijah, and fancied herself in love with him for as long as she could comprehend, but she'd had no desire to kiss him back. And it wasn't because of the secret she possessed or because they were at his friend's, but quite simply, his actions were cold and devoid of any emotion, done solely out of obligation—a fact that hurt worse than a simple, honest rejection.

  A raw, strangled sound broke the silence in the carriage.

  “Elijah, are you feeling all right?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  Elijah snapped his eyes open. “Yes. Are you?”

  Amelia ignored his question. She'd already given herself away that she was not sleeping; she might as well make the best of it. “Are you sure you're all right? Your hands are clenched into fists and your face was
just contorted the same way it did the time Henry hit you with the end of his pall mall mallet.”

  He winced and like it always did when this topic was mentioned, his right hand drifted down to idly rub his shin. “That is undoubtedly one of the most painful memories of my boyhood.”

  “Yes, I know.” She changed positions and tucked her stocking-clad feet up under her. Lady Templemore had graciously offered her one of her traveling gowns and though reluctant, Amelia had accepted. She'd have been a fool not to. “You actually cried.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes—” she pinned him with her gaze— “you did.”

  He scoffed. “I most certainly did not.”

  Amelia arched her brow. “Hmmm, I seem to recall things a little differently. First there was the shriek—”

  “I know for certain that I did not shriek,” he cut in, scowling. “I might have yelped, but I did not shriek.”

  She grinned at him. “All right, and how do you explain the moisture that surrounded your eyes following your yelp?”

  “Perhaps a bug flew into my eye and I was trying to flush it out.”

  “Into both eyes at that precise moment?” She shook her head. “No, you were crying. Just admit it.”

  “All right,” he said, throwing his hands into the air. “I admit I had tears in my eyes. Who wouldn't after having a two pound chunk of wood collide with the front of their leg in such a manner?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know. You were the one who denied you cried about it.”

  “That's because it's unmanly,” he informed her, crossing his arms.

  “It's unmanly to cry?” she asked for clarification that he had in fact just said the stupidest thing she'd ever heard.

  “Of course it is.” He twisted his lips. “Unless you're a molly,” he grumbled almost inaudibly.

  “And what, pray tell, is a molly?” She nearly laughed at the look of shock that had come over his face at her question. “You ought to know by now that my hearing is good enough to hear when you mumble under your breath.”

  Elijah flicked his wrist. “Don't worry about what a molly is. In the unlikely chance you ever make the acquaintance of one, he probably wouldn't cry in front of you.”