by Lucy Leroux
Amelia hadn’t wanted to come to the Westcliff’s. She had been determined to quit England altogether that night, to flee to Italy and travel to her former governess’ home. Isobel would take her in.
This had been Amelia’s plan for some time, although she hadn’t admitted that to herself. But she’d had her maid pack her trunks in preparation to depart since the morning she woke up on the floor of her private parlor.
That troubling episode had merely been the first. In the time since, Amelia had begun to see things out of the corner of her eye. She would get to her feet to chase the flicker of movement around a corner or into another room only to find there was nothing there. And sometimes, late at night, she would hear whispers in rooms that were empty save for herself.
Yes, she should have left England. However, at the last minute, she had been too shaken to think clearly. All she had told Crispin was that she wanted to leave town. He had tried to convince her to travel back to his estate in Kent, but Amelia would not set foot anywhere near the place.
Crispin’s estate was only a stone’s throw from the house where Martin had died. That was where this nightmare had started. She was determined it wouldn’t end there as well.
When Amelia had rejected traveling to his home, Crispin had remembered his invitation to this country party. He had taken charge, bringing her here. And in her weakness, she had let him.
Would the beast follow them all the way here? Was she putting these innocent people in danger? What if the creature decided to harm Crispin?
I should have gone to Italy. The shadows and darkness plaguing her couldn’t survive under the hot Italian sun, could they? She honestly didn’t know. What if she made it all the way to Isobel and Matteo’s home only to find she was still being pursued? She could not bear it if Isobel and her family were harmed because of her.
Every move she made felt like the wrong one.
“Amelia?”
She started, her eyes flying to the doorway. Crispin frowned at her response.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. Is the fishing outing over?”
Crispin came and sat next to her on the couch. “No, I found myself falling asleep and decided to come back early for a few fortifying cups of tea. Did you sleep well last night?”
“Better than I have in ages,” she confessed.
Crispin’s light blue eyes flicked to her face before he turned to the tea tray to pour himself a cup. He drank deep before turning to her. “Amelia, I know what’s going on.”
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
“Of course. You told me about the confrontation with Sir Clarence yourself and his desire to wed you off to that pile of dust Cannonburry. It’s obvious he’s made more threats, and you’ve been afraid to confide in me.”
Her mouth dropped open. She was unsure what to say, but Crispin didn’t require an answer. He held up a hand.
“I’m no fool, Am,” he said, using Martin’s pet name for her. “You can save your denials. I’ve put it all together—that confrontation in the maze, your sudden need to be out in public. Even your sudden preference for other men’s company. I know you haven’t been avoiding me completely, but you’ve certainly cut down on the amount of time you have spent with me—before this sojourn to the country that is. You’re afraid to be with me, but you’re more afraid to be alone. Obviously, Sir Clarence has made some manner of threat against me, something you’ve taken to heart. Well, I’m not afraid of him, and I won’t let the bastard get away with intimidating you!”
She sat gaping at him while he took her hand. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I have the solution. We will announce our engagement. In a few months’ time, we can be married and Sir Clarence will have no choice but to leave you alone.”
Amelia tried unsuccessfully to retrieve her hand. “Crispin, you are my dearest friend—indeed you are my only friend—but you know that is quite impossible.”
His chin lifted. “I know marriage to me is not what you would wish, but you weren’t meant to spend your life alone. Martin wouldn’t have wanted that. You deserve more, a family. Children. You can’t tell me you’ve never desired a child of your own. I know of your plans with Martin.”
Her mouth tightened. Forcibly, she withdrew her hand from his.
Crispin winced. “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to say I understand what you’ve lost because I’ve lost it, too.”
Amelia picked at her skirts and sighed. “I know. But a marriage between the two of us will not restore those dead dreams.”
He nodded but did not give up. “It won’t be the same. Everything will be different. But that doesn’t mean you won’t find a measure of happiness with me. Our relationship is not unlike yours and Martin’s.”
He broke off and patted her knee. “We did not grow up together, but I know you better than you think.”
Crispin leaned closer. “You see, Martin confided certain things to me. Things about you.”
She was tempted to roll her eyes. “I’m aware of my husband’s proclivity to be indiscreet.”
“But you loved him anyway.” Crispin’s smile was as devilishly charming as Martin’s could be.
“Of course I did. So what exactly did he tell you?”
He looked around before answering. There was no one else in the room, but he lowered his voice anyway. “About Gideon and the way you felt about him.”
Heat crept up her cheeks. “Good God, Crispin. I was little more than a girl back then. I’m a grown woman now. Those sorts of childish feelings fade.”
He looked skeptical. “Do they? In my experience, the strong emotions of youth tend to stay with you into adulthood. It might be different if the man in question had a receded hairline and a paunch, but the Earl of Flint cuts a dashing figure. The ton adores him. All the men want to be his friend and the women want to marry him. Just last night, I heard a grey-haired dowager waxing poetic on the breadth of his shoulders and the way he fills out his breeches.”
She huffed an unwilling laugh, but Crispin’s face was sober. “He’ll marry soon enough and when he does, it will be to one of the young innocents making their debut. It’s what men in his position do. The future Countess of Flint will be some chit fresh out of the schoolroom with an unstained reputation and significant property as her dowry.”
Amelia blinked, waiting for the sudden lump in her throat to subside before she answered. “I know all that.”
He continued relentlessly as if he had not heard her. “Martin said he was your girlhood hero. And now he’s a man, an attractive and commanding one at that. You can’t tell me you haven’t wished for something more. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And…there have been more unpleasant rumors since he danced with you.”
Amelia could feel her patience wearing thin. Would she never be free from spiteful tongues? “What sort of rumors?”
Crispin had the grace to blush. “People are starting to whisper. They say you are his mistress. I caught the first hints of that last night.”
“What rubbish,” she snapped, her blood heating. “As if the earl would engage in such a liaison with his own cousin’s widow. Society has nothing better to do than invent vicious stories for their own amusement. If they spent half the energy trying to do something productive like helping the poor not a single person would go hungry in town. But they only do and say things for their own selfish ends. I can’t believe you would listen to such drivel.”
Crispin gave her a chiding glance “Am, it’s time to stop being naive. We must stay informed about what people are saying about you. And you need to be realistic about your prospects with the earl.”
“For the last time, I have no designs on Lord Flint. He is a family connection, nothing more.”
Crispin did not look convinced. “I don’t mean to depress your spirits. I only wish to help. Regardless of your decision on whether to take me up on my offer, we will find a way to deal with Sir Clarence. And perhaps in time, you might meet a man willing to overlook the rumors, someone you can love. Althou
gh, I would like to add that being married to me would not be an impediment to such a future. It’s one of the small blessings of our society. A girl can’t dance too many times with the same gentlemen before she is a bride, but once she is married and gives her husband an heir, she is free to do as she wishes.”
“A widow has a certain amount of freedom as well,” she pointed out. “And I’m not prepared to give it up because of…an uncomfortable situation.”
Like going mad or being hounded by a demon.
Crispin reached for her hand again, squeezing it before rising from the settee. “At least think about what I’ve said.”
“I will,” she promised, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
“I’m going to find our hosts. They should be stationed outside the entrance to the maze. Once all the women are through it, the staff will serve refreshments on the south lawn. I hope you will join us.”
“I will—later. I think I shall go for a walk first,” she said as she rose. “I have a lot to think about.”
“That sounds like a fine idea,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him out of the room.
A maid fetched her bonnet, and she and Crispin parted in the garden. She skirted around the massive hedge maze, heading toward the nearby path to the fruit orchard.
Amelia wandered, lost in thought, heedless of the time, until the small noise of a twig snapping jolted her out of her reverie.
She spun in a circle, startled to see she’d wandered much farther than she’d intended. She had meant to stay in sight of the house, but now all she could see were trees and unkempt shrubbery. Pinpricks of apprehension assailed her before she took a deep breath and forced herself to get her bearings. The house couldn’t be that far away. She would start back now and meet everyone on the south lawn a little late.
It wasn’t until she heard leaves being crushed behind her that Amelia realized how foolish she had been. Not bothering to turn she ran, blood pounding in her ears.
She’d not gotten more than a few steps when large hands seized her, pulling her into an unbreakable embrace.
Chapter 8
Gideon caught Amelia easily, stopping her with a firm grip on her upper arms. Then he remembered the bruises he’d seen on her. Forcing himself to relax his hold, he held her a little away from him. But he didn’t let go of her. He didn’t want to.
“Gideon!” Amelia stared at him in openmouthed surprise. “I mean, my lord, what are you doing here?”
He tried to come up with a civil answer, but his temper was hanging by a thread. He’d been up all night trying to find out where Amelia had gone with no luck. Even Clarke’s impressive social contacts and network of household spies had run dry. It wasn’t until they had found a footman in Viscount Worthing’s household willing to take a bribe that they’d learned he and Amelia had departed for Lord Westcliff’s estate a few hours outside of London.
Gideon had arrived just in time to hear Worthing propose to Amelia. His sudden thundering heartbeat had been louder than the words that followed—although he had heard Sir Clarence’s name mentioned. He had no idea what her reply had been, and he hadn’t stayed to confront them because Lady Westcliff had come down the hallway just then.
He’d hoped coming outside would calm his overheated blood. Instead, it had afforded him the opportunity he had long sought—to have Amelia alone. But he couldn’t proceed with his plan to charm the truth out of her. All his eloquence and restraint had been burned away.
“Are you going to do it?” he asked, unable to keep the bite from his voice.
“Am I going to do what?” she asked, looking up at him with a dazed expression.
“Are you going to marry Worthing?” he ground out from behind clenched teeth.
Amelia’s lovely lips parted, but she didn’t say anything in reply.
“Damn it to hell,” he swore, crushing her to him.
Her scent of clean soap and jasmine had been driving him crazy since that first ball. It enveloped him, teasing his senses until it seemed as if his skin was marked with traces of it. Every hair on his body stood on end. He was too hot, but he had a solution now. His mouth descended on hers with a hunger so ravenous it blinded him.
He moved his hands to cradle her face, deepening the kiss. Gideon poured every ounce of his pent-up energy and heat into her. He licked her soft lips, probing and parting them with his tongue until they opened enough for him to slip inside.
Her taste was indescribable. It was sweet and intoxicating, more potent than any wine.
The little sound Amelia made as she melted against him vibrated deep within him. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d seen her. He knew that now. Part of him hated himself for it, but it was easy to ignore when he was holding her in his arms.
His arousal was almost painful. It was pressed against her, but he couldn’t feel her heat through the volume of her skirts and petticoats.
Just a little bit more. He reached down, ready to pull the layers of fabric up so he could reach for the wet heat he knew was waiting for him. Having her was all that mattered.
Gideon was trying to justify taking her down to the ground when the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth only a few yards away interrupted them.
He swore, snapping his head up and pushing Amelia behind him.
“What is it?” she whispered, her hand reaching around his waist to press against the front of his greatcoat.
“Some sort of animal,” he said in a murmur, keeping his voice soft in case he startled it.
Given the noise it made, the creature was very large, possibly a boar. Keeping his eyes trained on the source of the noise, he bent to pick up a fallen branch. Walking with soundless steps, he moved toward it, ready to swing his makeshift weapon in case the animal charged. He rounded the trunk of the thick oak only to hear rapidly retreating footsteps and the sound of more shrubbery being crushed and broken.
As the sound retreated, he turned back to Amelia, walking back to her quickly and taking her by the arm. Her face was no longer flushed with passion. She was pale and her eyes were wide.
“We need to head back to the house in case it comes back.”
“What do you think it was?” she asked, quickening her steps to match his brisk pace.
“Most likely a boar. They’re common enough in these parts and can be quite dangerous.” He scowled at her suddenly. “You shouldn’t have been walking so far from the house on your own.”
“I was just…thinking.”
“About marrying Worthing?”
“No, of course not,” she said, quickening her step to keep up with him. “Crispin is my friend, nothing more.”
“Do all your friends propose marriage on a regular basis?” he asked, still annoyed.
“No. I mean, yes. Crispin does, but only from a sense of obligation. He wants to protect me.”
He snorted derisively. “I’m sure that’s all he wants,” he said, before a flash of guilt passed through him. He was the one who’d been about to ravage Amelia here in the woods where anyone could have come upon them, not just an animal.
Swallowing his frustration, he slowed down so she wouldn’t be obliged to run beside him. “I need to apologize for what just happened. I’m not myself…”
It was the lamest excuse he’d ever given a woman, but he couldn’t think of better one. And it was his fault. Amelia did something to him. Every time she was near, his mind turned to soup, laying waste to his carefully detailed plans and questions.
I’m becoming a bloody milksop, he thought as the house appeared ahead.
“You never told me what you were doing here,” she said tremulously, peeking at him with a sideways glance that did nothing to cool the ardor still burning under the surface of his skin.
“I have recently begun to do business with Westcliff. I came to discuss some issues I have with a recent joint venture,” he said, using the excuse he had foisted on his surprised host when he’d shown up unexpectedly on his doorstep this
morning.
Westcliff had been caught off guard when he arrived, but when Gideon launched into a detailed list of questions and concerns regarding their most recent enterprise, the questions in the other man’s eyes faded. He assumed, as Gideon wanted him to, that the new Earl of Flint was poorly versed in business affairs and had come to be reassured by a more knowledgeable investor. Meanwhile, Gideon pretended surprise at finding himself at a country party.
“Lady Westcliff invited me to join in the festivities,” he added, searching her face for a reaction to their kiss, but Amelia’s face was carefully blank.
“Is Sir Clarence the threat Worthing is trying to protect you from?’
“Did you hear that?” Amelia sounded alarmed by the prospect he had eavesdropped on her conversation.
“I just caught his name,” he assured her. “Lady Westcliff came down the hallway haranguing a maid. I decided not to interrupt you or embarrass our kind hostess by letting her know I witnessed her reprimanding a member of her staff…so is it true? Has Sir Clarence been harassing you in some way?”
She looked down, her face was troubled.
“Amelia, it’s time to tell me what is going on.”
She paused, but his patience was rewarded. “He wants me to remarry.”
“Sir Clarence?” he clarified.
“Yes, that is why Crispin proposed just now. He promised Martin he would take care of me, and he believes that is the most effective way to do it.”
“Who does Sir Clarence want you to marry?”
“Lord Cannonburry.”
“Elmer Cannonburry?” he asked in disbelief. “The man is older than Methuselah. And he suffers from chronically poor health. Cannonburry may not live another year, two at the most. Why in the world would Clarence want you to marry a man with one foot in the grave?”
Not to mention the rumors of impotence.
“That’s a slight exaggeration,” she chided. “And I’m not certain why. My guess is Sir Clarence believes he’s found some legal maneuver to transfer some of my inheritance to himself.”
“Your dowry?”
