Black Widow: A Spellbound Regency Novel

by Lucy Leroux

  She should have been chilled by the cool night air, but all she felt was heat. He caressed her with rough hands, but she could not have borne gentleness from him. Not then.

  Somehow, Amelia had developed a second heartbeat. To her shame, it was between her legs. The flesh there had grown moist. As Gideon’s fingers moved over her, tracing patterns in the moisture he found there, she could feel herself pulsing under his touch.

  There was a rustle of fabric as Gideon unfastened his trousers. In the next moment, he had fitted himself between her legs with a husky groan.

  “Gideon, what are you doing?” Why wasn’t he moving down her body?

  Amelia thought they were going to make love, but he was pressing his heated member against her where his mouth should have been.

  At first, the delicious weight of him felt good, but something was wrong. The blunt pressure of his staff was starting to hurt. “Gideon, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but I think you are going about this the wrong way,” she said in a thin voice.

  He stopped, holding himself in check with a supreme effort of will. “Have you changed your mind?”

  A shudder racked his body. She couldn’t begin to guess what those words had cost him. “No. It’s just…”

  “Then this is all right—Martin will forgive us. I can feel your need. You’re so hot and wet for me. I’m going to take care of you—I’ll make you forget the viscount,” he vowed.

  “Forget him?” Surely he still didn’t believe she would ever let Crispin touch her so intimately?

  Gideon didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed his hips against her, thrusting deep inside her body in a single stroke.

  All the heated pleasure incited by his touch vanished abruptly. The sharp pain overwhelmed her senses and made her body arch violently.

  “Amelia?” Gideon sounded bewildered. His dark burning gaze was boring a hole into her. It was as if he could see directly into her soul. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  The pain made her eyes tear. She pushed at his shoulders. “Get off me!”

  He swore heavily, trying to soothe her ineffectually by stroking her shoulders. But she was having none of it.

  “I said get off me.”

  For a second, he didn’t respond. He seemed utterly bewildered by her response. Another shove and he finally moved. The strangled gasp she gave as his body lifted from hers seemed to hit him like a blow. He flinched, his shoulders drawing down.

  Ever so slowly, he stood. His clothes were in disarray, but he made no move to right them. Gideon just stared at her, his face waxen. From some unseen pocket, he produced a handkerchief. Surreptitiously wiping himself clean, he looked down at the blood staining the pristine white cloth.

  This was too much. She loved him so much, but all he felt for her was contempt.

  “You did it on purpose, to punish me,” Amelia flung at him, the pain and confusion evident in her voice.

  She got to her feet, shakily covering her legs with the skirt of her gown. “I thought you wanted to make love.”

  Gideon stared at her as if she was some apparition from beyond the grave.

  “Amelia,” he whispered. “We were making love.”

  He looked back down at the blood staining the handkerchief, and his eyes widened.

  “I don’t understand. You were married to Martin for years. How could you possibly still be a virgin?”

  Amelia could feel the blood draining from her face. She swayed on her feet.

  Gideon’s arms reached out, but she steadied herself and ran toward the door.

  “Amelia!”

  “Never come back here. I never want to see you again.” She flew up the stairs, locking herself in her chambers.

  Chapter 12

  What have I done? Gideon fastened his trousers, his mind reeling.

  He stared down at the bloody handkerchief before shoving it into his pocket. Though he didn’t fully understand what happened, he had managed to hurt Amelia very badly tonight.

  And last night as well. He sucked in a deep breath as the suffocating twin weights of grief and confusion crashed down on him.

  Amelia had been married to his cousin when they were both eighteen. Martin had died years later. All his letters had been full of affection and praise for his clever and kind bride. Theirs had been an affectionate and loving marriage.

  His cousin would have told him if she had denied him his marital rights. Wouldn’t he? Had Amelia somehow convinced Martin that theirs should be a chaste union?

  No, that made no sense. Like all young ladies of the middle and upper classes, Amelia would have been raised with the expectation that it was her duty to give her husband an heir. The idea would have been drummed into her while she was still in the schoolroom—especially in Sir Clarence’s house.

  Whatever the truth was, his cousin must have accepted the state of his marriage. To all appearances, he had been content. But clearly, there were many things Martin hadn’t confided in him. Only one thing was certain.

  Amelia had never been Worthing’s lover.

  Suddenly, he could breathe again. Gideon needed to speak to Amelia right now.

  Someone cleared their throat. Adolfo, the butler, was in the doorway. A burly footman was standing next to him.

  “My deepest apologies, my lord, but we must ask you to leave.” Adolfo’s voice was high and thin, betraying the anxiety he felt at having to eject an earl out of the townhouse.

  A muscle in Gideon’s cheek twitched. “Is that so?”

  “I regret to say yes,” Adolfo squeaked. He gestured to the hallway.

  Gideon stalked toward them. The butler hurriedly got out of his way, but when Gideon pivoted on his heel and headed for the stairs, the oversized footman scrambled to block his path.

  Though the servant was the same height, he was thinner and less muscular than Gideon. Confident he could deal with the man without hurting him too badly, he leaned close.

  “Your mistress has nothing to fear from me…but if you don’t get out of my way, I will break both your arms.”

  He smiled, and the footman paled. The poor man looked back at the butler, but Adolfo winced and shrugged. Gideon swept past him without a second glance.

  It wasn’t until he was at the top of the stairs that he realized he had no idea which room was Amelia’s. He was about to start knocking on the nearest one when Carlotta emerged from the last door on the left—the room whose windows would face the garden courtyard.

  The tall Italian woman quailed as he approached. Reining his temper, he stepped in front of Amelia’s door. He raised his fist to pound on it, but then he remembered Westcliff’s and only allowed himself one short knock.

  “Amelia,” he began, stopping short when he saw the maid was watching and listening to him.

  He gestured impatiently and the servant ran down the hall, disappearing. He turned back to the door. “Amelia, I realize what happened downstairs was not what you were expecting. It…it wasn’t what I was expecting either. But I didn’t mean to hurt you. If I had known you were innocent, things would have been different. I—you and I need to have a long talk.”

  He broke off, unable to believe that he was explaining this to a closed door.

  There was no answer from the other side. “Very well. I will let you gather your thoughts first. I know it’s not likely one of your married friends can call at this hour, but there must be at least one married woman on your staff. If you won’t talk to me, at least talk to one of them.”

  Still nothing. The idea that she was behind that door, crying because of him, was killing him by inches.

  She believed he hurt her on purpose. Her ignorance of the married state had been total and complete. The magnitude of his crime was starting to dawn on him.

  “This conversation is not over. I’ll return in the morning. And Amelia—don’t think about turning me away.”

  He sighed and headed for the stairs. His difficult conversations were not over for the night. Amelia did have on
e confidant. And Gideon was going to get his answers from him.

  Chapter 13

  It was easy to rouse Viscount Worthing from his club. Gideon’s note had been short and to the point.

  Amelia is hurt.

  He didn’t sign it. Instead, he stood in the shadows next to the anonymous hack he’d chosen to take him to St. James. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Gideon caught sight of Worthing emerging from the club a few minutes later. The viscount rushed down the steps with the note in his hand. He looked around wildly, a genuine expression of panic on his face. Stifling a flare of guilt, Gideon reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his coat when he rushed past the carriage.

  “What the—”

  He shoved the man inside the hack. Worthing landed on the seat with a grunt. Following silently, Gideon climbed inside and sat down across from him.

  The carriage lamp was dim, but there was enough light to see Worthing scowling at him. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “We are long overdue for at talk, you and I,” he replied.

  “What about?”

  Gideon nodded at the key on his waistcoat. “That pin for starters.”

  “So this note was just a damned ruse?” Worthing closed his eyes and shook his head as he crumpled the paper in his hand. “I should have known.”

  He ignored that. “Amelia claims she did not give it to you. Is that true?”

  Worthing was silent.

  “I’m waiting.”

  The viscount straightened his waistcoat, sitting up straighter on the bench. “It was a gift from your cousin. I wear it as a keepsake of our friendship.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did he give it to you?” Gideon said from between gritted teeth. “I know how much Martin valued that pin. I’m supposed to believe he just gave it to you?”

  Worthing paused a beat too long. “Actually, it was a forfeit. I claimed it after Martin lost a wager—a drunken dare when we were both in our cups on a wild night in Modena. I offered to give it back the next day, but he said a bet was a bet and insisted I keep it.”

  Gideon narrowed his eyes, studying the minute details of expression Phineus had taught him to search for when he first joined the war office. Worthing was good, but he was not completely successful at masking his anxiety.

  The viscount was lying. But why would he bother over something so inconsequential?

  Gideon let the silence stretch to the breaking point. Across from him, Worthing swallowed hard and reached up to cover the pin. At first, he thought the viscount meant to hide it from him. But Worthing didn’t cover it. He stroked it with his finger, the same way one would rub a rabbit’s foot for luck…or comfort.

  The gnawing feeling in the pit of Gideon’s stomach grew. Quite suddenly, the truth was there, blazing like a torch in his mind.

  “Oh, bloody hell. Amelia called me a fool. She was right. You were never her lover. You were his.”

  Worthing tried to control his panic, but his eyes betrayed him. His expression was one of stark fear. “Don’t be ridiculous. I should call you out for such a slur.”

  An overwhelming wave of sadness swamped him. Oh, Martin. Why didn’t you tell me?

  Gideon answered his own question aloud. “He never told me because he thought I wouldn’t understand.”

  Tears glinted in Crispin Worthing’s eyes. He opened and closed his mouth. “Would you have?” he whispered after a long silence.

  Gideon’s throat was tight. “I—I like to think so. I am surprised, of course, but if he had told me, well…I trust I would have found better words than I have now,” he finished lamely.

  Worthing acknowledged that with a tiny nod.

  Gideon splayed his hands open. “And his marriage? He and Amelia appeared to care for each other.”

  The viscount nodded emphatically. “They did! They loved each other…but it was more in the manner of close siblings.”

  Worthing put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Can you imagine what it was like growing up in that house? A boy with Martin’s temperament and an intelligent and sensitive girl like Amelia under the thumb of Sir Clarence? And let me tell you—Lady Montgomery was not much better.”

  “I know. I remember my aunt well,” Gideon said, letting himself sink into the cushions of the bench.

  Worthing looked chagrined. “Of course. I forgot you spent some time under Clarence’s roof as well.”

  “Only to visit. I didn’t have to live there.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain what that sort of depressive atmosphere can do to a child’s spirits. I have often marveled that neither Martin nor Amelia was crushed by the experience. But thanks to each other, they came through it by forging the deepest of bonds. When Sir Clarence announced they were to marry, it was a relief to both because it afforded them the opportunity to escape and set up their own household. They planned to live in London.”

  Gideon frowned. “But they didn’t settle in England. They went abroad right after the wedding.”

  Worthing looked down. “Something happened.”

  “What was it?”

  The viscount picked at his breeches. “Just after the ceremony, Sir Clarence made it clear that if Martin did not produce an heir within a year, then he would take care of the business himself. Indeed, Martin confessed to me that he believed that was his father’s plan all along.”

  He looked up to gauge Gideon’s reaction before continuing. “You see, not only was Sir Clarence aware of his son’s inclinations, but there were other indications over the years that Sir Clarence had…unnatural feelings for his ward.”

  Gideon felt paralyzed. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Icy fingers gripped the back of his neck, but they were soon burned away by powerful rage.

  “I’ll kill him.”

  For the first time, Worthing smiled at him. “I considered it myself. However, in the end, I deferred to Martin’s wishes on the matter. His priority was Amelia, and she was convinced Sir Clarence’s behavior stemmed from greed and his inability to seize her fortune. She either didn’t understand or ignored the possibility that some of his obsession might stem from lust. Hardly her fault. Consider the way they were raised. Lady Montgomery thought the word ‘stomach’ was indelicate. She taught them both to be ashamed of their bodies. There were many things Martin didn’t understand about the physical side of affection until we met.”

  Gideon pressed a hand on his stomach, an instinctive gesture to try to hold himself together. Whatever Sir Clarence had done, his villainy hadn’t been complete. Amelia hadn’t been violated while under his roof.

  She had still been a virgin until tonight. He didn’t let himself think about anything else.

  “That was in Italy,” he prompted. Worthing was finally talking, and he needed to take advantage.

  The viscount nodded, his eyes distant and sad. “I fell in love with Martin that very first night in Rome. And he returned my affection. Amelia was a bit harder to win over. She was suspicious of anyone who threatened her relationship with him. Martin was all she had.”

  “But you won her over eventually.”

  He shrugged. “I made him happy. Amelia is too generous a soul to have ever begrudged him that. She…she told me I would always be a part of her family.” A tear slipped down his cheek.

  Gideon let Worthing recover before asking the impertinent question he most wanted the answer to. “So…they did plan on having children?’

  “It would not have been a unique arrangement,” Worthing pointed out. “There are many like it in the ton. Martin knew he needed an heir. But given the nature of things between them, they were content to put the thing off. As long as they were abroad, Sir Clarence’s threat was inconsequential.”

  “But they returned before they did their duty,” Gideon mused. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “You’re the reason they came back to England.”

  His
companion’s hands dropped limply in his lap. “I ran out of time. My uncle had passed on to his reward, and I inherited the title. Suddenly, I had several estates to run, but Martin and I did not want to part. I asked him to come with me to Kent. He convinced Amelia to settle nearby.”

  “In a house you owned, according to my inquiries.”

  Worthing looked surprised, but his expression melted away to one of resignation. “Yes. Before I departed for the continent, I purchased the manor house neighboring my future estate. It was just meant to be an investment, but after meeting Martin and Amelia, I decided it would the ideal home for them. Little did I know…”

  Worthing broke off, blinking back tears. “That damn staircase.”

  Gideon collapsed, sinking back into the cushions. “So, it really was an accident.”

  “Of course. What else could it have been?”

  “And after Martin was gone, you proposed to Amelia to protect her from my uncle.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Worthing nodded again. “It’s what he would have wanted. Amelia puts on a brave front, but I know that even after all this time, she’s still afraid of Sir Clarence.”

  With good reason. Sir Clarence’s desire to wed Amelia to the impotent Cannonburry was starting to make sense. Old Cannonburry was so desperate for an heir, he might actually agree to someone else siring the babe.

  Gideon passed a hand over his face, shoving the rage and indignation he felt away with effort. “I wish Martin had trusted me enough to tell me about his fears for Amelia. I have wasted so much time.”

  If he’d known the truth, he would have come to her immediately. She wouldn’t have had any reason to fear his uncle.

  We could be married by now.

  A little jolt hit him at that thought. Before he could analyze it, Worthing started speaking again.

  “He might have planned to do so, but his time was cut short,” he said with a trace of awkwardness. “Then again…”

  “What?”

  “Well…I believe your cousin wrote you a letter and left it with Amelia’s solicitor. It will only be sent to you if a certain set of conditions are met.”