by Sylvia Day
“Confidence is a potent lure,” she agreed.
“Because she had no expectations of me, I was able to be myself with her. It was the first time in my life that I spoke without considering the confines of my station. I practiced wooing with her and said things aloud that I had never allowed myself to even consider.” He looked down the foot of the bed and into the fire in the grate. “I suppose I grew into my own by knowing her.”
Running her fingertips down his bare thigh, she asked, “Do you feel as if you owe a debt to her?”
“Partly, but our relationship has never been one-sided. We practiced deportment together and conversation. I had experience with such things; she was so sheltered.”
“You gave her polish.”
“Yes. We both gained.”
“And now she belongs to you,” Jane pronounced, “because you helped to create her.”
“I-” Ware frowned. Was that where this disgruntlement came from? Did he simply feel proprietary? “I am not sure that is it. She was in love once-or so she says-and she still pines for him. I do not resent that. I accept it.”
“Perhaps ‘appreciate’ would be a more apt word?” Her lips lifted in a kind smile. “After all, she cannot burden you with elevated feelings if they are engaged elsewhere.”
He tossed back the rest of his brandy, filling his belly with fire, then thrust the goblet at her in a silent demand for more. “If that were true, why am I so annoyed by her fascination with another man?”
As she accepted the glass, her brows rose. “Annoyed? Or jealous?”
Ware laughed. “A little of both?” He waved one hand carelessly. “Perhaps my masculine sensibilities are piqued because she never felt such interest in me? I cannot say for certain. I only know that I doubt myself again. I am wondering if my decision to give her the space and time to heal was an error in judgment.”
Jane paused halfway to the console. “Who is this other man?”
He explained.
“I see.” She refilled his glass and warmed the liquor, then returned to him. “You know I cared deeply for my late husband.”
Nodding, Ware patted the spot next to him. She crawled up beside him, baring her lithe legs to his view. “But I was tempted to marry another, whom I did not love.”
“You jest,” he scoffed. “Women want nothing so much as they want devotion and pronouncements of undying affection.”
“But we are also pragmatic. If you offer Miss Benbridge all the practical things she covets that this other man cannot provide, she will be more tempted to select you.”
“I pointed out that his foreign title would require her to leave her sister behind.”
“Verbally, you did, yes. Now make it even more difficult by proving it in fact. Take her to see your properties, purchase a home near her sibling…things of that nature. Then, consider her love of romance and mystery. Put that into play, as well. You can seduce her easily. You have the skill and she is susceptible. Flowers, gifts, stolen kisses. Your competition is working in the shadows. You have no such limitations.”
“Hmm…”
“It could be fun for you both. A chance to learn more about each other than you now know.”
He reached over and linked his fingers with hers. “You are so clever.”
Jane’s mouth curved in her winsome smile. “I am a woman.”
“Yes, I am ever aware of that fact.” Reaching to the side, Ware set his goblet atop the bedside table and pulled her beneath him. He kissed her, then moved lower, nudging the edge of the robe aside to take a nipple in his mouth.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she sighed.
Lifting his head, he grinned. “Thank you for your help.”
“My motives are not entirely altruistic, you know. Perhaps you will become aggravated during your attempts to woo Miss Benbridge. I do so love it when you are less than controlled.”
“Minx.” He gave a mock growl and she shivered.
Which prompted Ware to spend the rest of the hours until morning playing the primitive lover to both their delights.
Amelia peeked around the corner of the house, her lower lip worried between her teeth. She searched for Colin in the stable yard, then heaved a sigh of relief when she found the area empty. Male voices drifted on the wind, laughter and singing spilling out from the stables. From this she knew Colin was hard at work with his uncle, which meant that she could safely leave the manse and head into the woods.
She was becoming quite good at subterfuge, she thought as she moved deftly through the trees, hiding from the occasional guard in her journey toward the fence. A fortnight had passed since that fateful afternoon when she had caught Colin behind the shop with that girl. Amelia had avoided him since, refusing to speak with him when he asked the cook to fetch her.
Perhaps it was foolish to hope that she would never see him again, given how closely their lives were entwined. If so, she was a fool. There was not an hour of the day that passed without her thinking of him, but she managed the pain of her grief as long as he stayed away from her. She saw no reason for them to meet, to talk, to acknowledge each other. She traveled by carriage only when moving to a new home, and even then, she could deal exclusively with Pietro, the coachman.
Espying the waited-for opening, Amelia hopped deftly over the fence and ran to the stream, where she found Ware coatless and wigless, with his shirtsleeves pushed up. The young earl had caught some color to his skin these last weeks, setting aside his life of book work in favor of hard outdoor play. With his dark brown locks tied in a queue and his cornflower-colored eyes smiling, he was quite handsome, his aquiline features boasting centuries of pure blue blood.
He did not set her heart to racing or make her ache in unfamiliar places as Colin did, but Ware was charming and polite and attractive. She supposed that was a sufficient enough combination of qualities to make him the recipient of her first kiss. Miss Pool told her to wait until the right young man came along, but Colin already had, and had turned to another instead.
“Good afternoon, Miss Benbridge,” the earl greeted with a perfect bow.
“My lord,” she replied, lifting the sides of her rose-hued gown before curtsying.
“I have a treat for you today.”
“Oh?” Her eyes widened in anticipation. She loved gifts and surprises because she rarely received them. Her father simply could not be bothered to consider such things as birthdays or other gift-giving occasions.
Ware’s smile was indulgent. “Yes, princess.” He offered his arm to her. “Come with me.”
Amelia set her fingers lightly atop his forearm, enjoying the opportunity to practice her social graces with someone. The earl was kind and patient, pointing out any errors and correcting her. It gave her a higher polish and a deeper confidence. She no longer felt like a girl pretending to be a lady. Instead she felt like a lady who chose to enjoy her youth.
Together they left their meeting place by the stream and wended their way along the shore until they reached a larger clearing. There Amelia was delighted to find a blanket stretched out on the ground, the corner of which was held down by a basket filled with delicious smelling tarts and various cuts of meat and cheeses.
“How did you manage this?” she breathed, filled with pleasure by his thoughtfulness.
“Dear Amelia,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling. “You know who I am now, and who I will be. I can manage anything.”
She knew the rudiments of the peerage, and saw the power wielded by her father, a viscount. How many more times the magnitude was the power wielded by Ware, whose future held a marquessate?
Her eyes widened at the thought.
“Come now,” he urged. “Have a seat, enjoy a peach tart, and tell me about your day.”
“My life is dreadfully boring,” she said, dropping to the ground with a sigh.
“Then tell me a tale. Surely you daydream about something.”
She dreamt about kisses given passionately by a dark-eyed Gypsy lover, but she would never
say such a thing aloud. She rose to her knees and dug into the basket to hide her blush. “I lack imagination,” she muttered.
“Very well, then.” Ware situated himself on his back with his hands clasped at his neck and stared up at the sky. He looked as at ease as she had ever seen him. Despite the rather formal attire he wore-including pristine white stockings and polished heels-he was still a far more relaxed person than the one she met weeks ago. Amelia found that she rather liked the new earl and felt a touch of pleasure that she had wrought what she considered to be a positive change in him.
“It appears I must regale you with a story,” he said.
“Lovely.” She settled back to a seated position and took a bite of her treat.
“Once upon a time…”
Amelia watched Ware’s lips move as he spoke, and imagined kissing them. A now-familiar sense of sadness shivered through her, an effect of leaving her beloved romantic notions behind and embracing unfamiliar new ones, but the sensation lessened as she thought of Colin and what he had done. He certainly did not feel any sadness about leaving her behind.
“Would you kiss me?” she blurted out, her fingertips brushing tart crumbs from the corners of her lips.
The earl paused midsentence and turned his head to look at her. His eyes were wide with surprise, but he appeared more intrigued than dismayed. “Beg your pardon. Did I hear you correctly?”
“Have you kissed a girl before?” she asked, curious. He was two years older than she was, only one year younger than Colin. It was quite possible that he had experience.
Colin had an edgy, dark restlessness about him that was seductive even to her naïve senses. Ware, on the other hand, was far more leisurely, his attractiveness stemming from innate command and the comfort of knowing the world was his for the taking. Still, despite her high regard for Colin, she could see how Ware’s lazy charm appealed.
His eyebrows rose. “A gentleman does not speak of such things.”
“How wonderful! Somehow, I knew you would be discreet.” She smiled.
“Repeat the request again,” he murmured, watching her carefully.
“Would you kiss me?”
“Is this a hypothetical question, or a call to action?”
Suddenly shy and unsure, Amelia looked away.
“Amelia,” he said softly, bringing her gaze back to his. There was deep kindness there on his handsome patrician features, and she was grateful for it. He rolled to his side and then pushed up to a seated position.
“Not hypothetical,” she whispered.
“Why do you wish to be kissed?”
She shrugged. “Because.”
“I see.” His lips pursed a moment. “Would Benny suffice? Or a footman?”
“No!”
His mouth curved in a slow smile that made something flutter in her belly. It was not an outright flip, as was caused by Colin’s dimples, but it was certainly a herald of her new awareness of her friend.
“I will not kiss you today,” he said. “I want you to think upon it further. If you feel the same when next we meet, I will kiss you then.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose. “If you have no taste for me, simply say so.”
“Ah, my hotheaded princess,” he soothed, his hand catching hers, his thumb stroking the back. “You jump to conclusions just as you jump into trouble-with both feet. I will catch you, fair Amelia. I look forward to catching you.”
“Oh,” she breathed, blinking at the suggestive undertone to his words.
“Oh,” he agreed.
Amelia was awakened by the knock that came to her bedchamber door. She lay curled in a ball, her eyes closed, her sleep-foggy mind praying that she could drift back into sleep and rejoin her vivid dreams. Dreams that reminded her of the rare connection she had with Ware and how precious that bond was to her.
But the knocking came again, more insistent. Harsh reality intruded, and she mourned the loss of her nocturnal reminiscences.
“Amelia?”
Maria. The one person in the household that she could not ignore.
Calling out in a sleep-husky voice, Amelia struggled to a seated position and watched as the portal swung open and her sister stepped into view.
“Hello, poppet,” Maria said, gliding toward her with an elegance she had long envied. “Sorry to wake you. It is late morning, however, so I did wait. Sadly, the length of my patience is probably not as long as you would like.”
“I do so love that gown on you,” Amelia replied, admiring the cream-colored muslin and its appeal next to Maria’s olive skin.
“Thank you.” Maria took a seat on the slipper chair near the window. “Did you have a good evening?”
Visions of Ware, dashing in evening attire, filled Amelia’s mind. Last night had been one in an endless string of nights spent at balls and routs. Except last evening had been marginally different. She was different. Ware was different. The awareness between them had changed, and she knew instinctively that it would never be the same.
He was pressing forward, maneuvering expertly, forcing her to see their situation in cold, hard facts. After an entire childhood filled with falsehoods and evasions, she was normally grateful for his candor. In this instance, however, it served only to increase her feelings of guilt and confusion.
“It was a lovely evening,” she replied.
“Hmm…” The sound was clearly skeptical. “You have been melancholy of late.”
“And you are here to talk about it.”
“Lord Ware almost kissed you on the terrace yesterday afternoon, and yet last night you did not appear any more eager to see him than usual. How could I not ask you about it?”
Closing her eyes, Amelia’s head dropped back onto the pillow.
“If you would share your burdens with me,” Maria coaxed, “perhaps I could help. I should like to.”
Opening her eyes, Amelia looked up at the satin lining of her canopy and remembered an earlier time. Her room was decorated in various shades of blue, from pale to dark, just as her childhood bedchamber had been. She’d made the choice consciously, an external declaration of her decision to pick up where her relationship with her sister had been cruelly severed. Her father had stolen years from them, but in this room she felt as if she reclaimed them.
“There is nothing to help me with, Maria. There is nothing to mend or alter.”
“What of your masked admirer?”
“I will not be seeing him again.”
There was a pregnant pause, then, “The last you spoke of him was not with such finality in your tone. You saw him a second time, did you not? He sought you out.”
Amelia turned her head to meet her sister’s gaze. “I lured him to me, and he was angry at me for doing so. He intends to leave Town now, to keep his distance and to prevent me from reaching out to him again.”
“He shows a care for your reputation by this action, but you are upset by it.” Confusion filled Maria’s dark eyes. “Why?”
Tossing up her hands, Amelia said, “Because I do not want him to go! I want to know him, and it pains me greatly that I will not be given that chance. I am distressing Ware and you, yet I cannot seem to set aside my fascination nor can I ignore how weary I am of being left behind. I had enough of such treatment with my father.”
“Amelia…” Maria held out a hand to her. “What is it about this man that has captured you so? Is he comely? No…don’t become angry. I simply wish to understand.”
Amelia sighed. Lack of sleep and inability to eat were taking their toll. She could not fight the feeling that Montoya was slipping away, that every moment when she did nothing took him farther from her. It frustrated her and made her snappish.
“He wore the mask again,” she said finally. “I’ve no notion of what he looks like beneath it, but I do not care. I am moved by the way he talks to me, the way he touches me, the way he kisses me. There is reverence in his handling of me, Maria. Longing. Desire. I do not believe such depth of affection can be feigned. Not the w
ay he expresses it.”
Frowning, Maria looked away, lost in thought. Dark ringlets swung around her bared shoulders and betrayed how unsettled she felt. “How can he feel such things for you after only a few moments’ acquaintance?”
“He says I remind him of a lover lost to him, but in truth I sense he wants me for myself in addition to that.” Amelia’s fingertips plucked at the edge of her bed linens. “He originally approached me because of her, but when he came again it was for me.”
“How can you be certain?”
“I am certain of nothing, and now I suppose I never will be.” She looked toward the open door to her boudoir, afraid her features would reveal too much.
“Because he is departing.” Maria’s voice softened. “Did he say why or where he intends to travel?”
“He says he is in danger of some sort. Deadly danger.”
“From St. John? Or someone else?”
Amelia’s hands fisted into the counterpane. “He has nothing to do with your husband. He said as much and I believe him.”
“Shh,” Maria soothed, standing again. “I know you are distraught, but do not vent your frustration on me. I want to help you.”
“How?” Amelia challenged. “Will you help me find him?”
“Yes.”
Frozen with disbelief, Amelia stared at her sibling. “Truly?”
“Of course.” Maria’s shoulders went back, a sure sign of her determination. “St. John’s men look for him, but we have an advantage. You are the only person to manage close proximity to this man.”
Amelia was speechless for a moment. She had not expected anyone to champion her desire to pursue Montoya, and she could not have selected a better person to help her than Maria, who was afraid of nothing and well versed in finding things that did not wish to be found. “Ware searches for him, too.”
“Poor Count Montoya,” Maria said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her and collecting her hands. “I pity him. He espies a pretty woman and because of it, becomes hunted from all sides. St. John will seek him in a criminal’s fashion. Ware will seek him in a peer’s fashion. So you and I must seek Montoya in a woman’s fashion.”
