by Diane Gaston
Somehow his fingers undid at least a dozen tiny buttons. As soon as they were free, she pulled her dress over her head. He took off his boots and coat.
She presented her back to him again. ‘My stays.’
He untied the laces of her corset, loosened them and pulled her corset down so she could step out of it. He stripped off his trousers and drawers and added them to the puddle of clothing on the floor. He lifted her onto the bed and, as he climbed after her, she pulled off her shift.
She was naked and as beautiful as any goddess could possibly be. Her breasts were full, high and firm; their nipples dark rose. Her waist was narrow, but her hips a pleasing balance. Was she perfection? What had he done to deserve such a gift? Perhaps it meant he would meet his end. If so, he was thankful for her.
‘Do—do I please you?’ she asked, her voice small.
He allowed his gaze to luxuriate over her. ‘Very much.’
She smiled and gazed upon him. His chest bore more than a few scars, gifts from the Battle of Albuhera, but she did not seem to notice. Her eyes widened as she gazed farther down, but, then, she would not have seen a man fully aroused before.
Edmund could have taken her quickly and roughly and eased the almost painful desire coursing through him, but his mind still functioned well enough to remember she was a virgin. He had no wish to hurt her. He wanted to show her pleasure. He wanted to show her all the delights of lovemaking, to show her she was meant to have pleasure from it. Most of all he wanted to reassure her that she was worthy of love.
He settled beside her and kissed her again, on the lips, on the tender skin beneath her ear, on the long column of her throat. He caressed her breast and relished the feel of it beneath his fingers. He scraped her nipple with his palm, and she moaned in response. He explored her with his hands and lips, and she writhed beneath his touch.
Her skin was as soft as rose petals beneath his rough hand. He fancied she was like some special flower, pampered into blooming in a hothouse, protected from all harshness. A lonely flower, apparently, and one who wished only for someone to love her. He was not the man for her, though, not a low-ranking, baseborn son of a failed father with no name and no one to recommend him.
He could but try to show her what love could be between a man and a woman. He could show her the delight and the satisfaction.
‘I am going to touch you,’ he warned. ‘So I won’t hurt you.’
He slid his hand down her body.
‘Yes, yes, touch me,’ she whispered, placing her hand on his and guiding it to the moist place between her legs.
He eased his fingers inside her and gently stroked and stretched her. The feel of her aroused him further, but still he held back to make certain she was ready for him.
‘Just do it,’ she cried. ‘I want you to.’
He could not hold back now. He rose over her and entered her, moving as slowly as he could manage, when all his body wished to do was to rush to the climax.
* * *
Amelie marvelled at the sensations he created in her. To feel him joined to her was glorious, but each stroke left her urgent with need. This was beyond her expectations, yet her whole body seemed to be screaming, More! More!
She was glad it was Edmund showing her these delights. He was kind and strong and...skilled. Even she, with no experience at all, could tell he knew exactly how to please her. Fowler had left her and Edmund had not. She felt safe in Edmund’s arms in a way she could never be in Fowler’s.
The pleasure Edmund had already given her had been remarkable, but she knew there was more. She needed more. She needed to rush to some destination, though she did not know what it was. The closer they came to it, the faster they ran. She wanted—needed—to reach this place, but, at the same time, she did not want these sensations to end. It was like riding in a racing carriage, powerless to stop, but giddy with excitement, even so.
He moved faster and she moved with him, seeking more.
Suddenly the sensations exploded inside her, flooding her with waves and waves of pleasure, over and above all she’d experienced so far. He thrust one more time and tensed inside her. Was he spilling his seed? It must be so.
He relaxed on top of her, covering her with his body and his weight. How had she suddenly turned to butter, melting beneath him, with no will to move?
He rolled to her side, breathing hard, an arm flung over his face.
‘I—I did not know it could feel like that,’ she murmured.
He turned to face her. ‘It doesn’t always.’
She furrowed her brow. ‘Did I disappoint you?’
He reached over and toyed with a lock of her hair. ‘No, Amelie. You did not disappoint. Anything but.’
She released a breath. ‘Good, because it did not disappoint me either. It was quite the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced. I shall remember it always.’
His expression softened, then turned sad. ‘A memory,’ he murmured. ‘A fine memory.’
She smiled. ‘Yes. And I thank you, Edmund. You have given me more than I knew to desire.’
He turned his head away, and it felt as though he’d run a far distance from her.
Amelie rose on to her elbow. ‘What is wrong, Edmund?’ Why leave me now? she wanted to add.
He sat up and the lamp illuminated his bare chest crisscrossed with scars. He’d soon be in battle again, she remembered.
‘It was not well done of me,’ he said.
She blinked in surprise. ‘Not well done?’ Nothing could have been better.
He looked down on her. ‘Do not let this stop you from seeking a proper marriage, Amelie. No matter what people say, men cannot tell who is a virgin and who is not. This need not spoil your future.’
She sat up. ‘I told you. There will be no marriage for me. This was my only chance—to—to feel that.’ Only now, how was she to bear that she would never feel such sensations again?
‘You will find a man worthy of you, I am certain,’ he said. ‘Do not let this one night stop you.’
She did not care about the rest of her life, only of this moment with him. She was glad he’d been the one to show her such delight. She could not imagine making love to any other man. How had she ever believed she’d want this with Fowler?
She did not wish to argue with Edmund about it though, not when he was bound for battle. ‘I am glad I shared this with you, Edmund. Truly I am.’
He seemed to wince in pain with her words. He rubbed his face and glanced around the room before meeting her eye again.
‘Do you know how to take care of yourself?’ he asked.
She had no idea what he meant. ‘Of course.’
He relaxed. ‘Good.’
She peered at him. ‘Are you regretting this, Edmund?’ She did not want him to regret it. She wanted it to be a lovely memory for both of them.
He stared into her eyes. ‘I am not regretting it for me.’
She flushed with happiness. ‘Then might we do it again? Just one more time before you must leave?’ And face Napoleon’s army.
One more time could not hurt, could it? It would still be like the first time, would it not? No consequences?
He pulled her down on top of him for a kiss that sent the sensation surging through her again and sent any doubts about consequences scattering in the wind.
* * *
Edmund felt no reluctance in making love to Amelie this second time. His guilt belonged solely to the first event, did it not? At least he told himself so. Told himself to savour this unexpected opportunity to experience again the pleasure of her body, the sweetness of her spirit.
Whoever finally won her love would be fortunate indeed.
But to Hades with that man, tonight she belonged to him and this sweet memory of her would always be his alone. When h
e left here, he’d go to where his horse was stabled. He’d ride hard to where his regiment was billeted and then, when dawn came, they would march toward Napoleon’s army.
To battle.
Edmund had cheated death many a time before. If this was the time luck would fail him, at least he’d die knowing this lovely creature had wanted him.
Had loved him.
He pressed into memory the feel of her skin under his hands, the luxury of her breasts, the taste of her kiss. He rejoiced in her unschooled but sensuous response under his touch. When he entered her again, she felt familiar, as if they’d belonged together for an eternity.
It was a gratifying illusion when the eternity of death was a distinct possibility.
Each moment of lovemaking drove the thought of death from his mind. To Edmund, Amelie represented life. With each stroke his resolve grew. He would live. He must live.
Life was full of possibilities.
His spirits soared as she moved with him, building their need, anticipating their release. He rode the passion to its culmination and, just as if they’d had an eternity to attune themselves to each other, they reached the heights together.
Edmund burst with joy. This was life! He would live for this!
When he lay in languor with Amelie in his arms, they did not speak. He simply enjoyed the comfort of lying next to her, the warmth of her body warming him. Her breathing turned soft and even. She slept the deep satisfied sleep of a woman well loved.
He slipped out of the bed and dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could. It must be nearing three in the morning. He’d need the rest of the night to ride to his regiment. He folded her clothing and searched the room for paper and pen, finding both on a small writing table in the corner.
Dear Amelie,
I shall remember this night with great fondness and gratitude. I hope you remember it without regret. Do not lose heart. Do not let one night or one man take away your dreams. You possess everything any man could desire. One day you will make some lucky gentleman a wonderful wife.
Best regards always,
E.
He folded the paper and placed it next to her on the bed. Then he moved quietly around the room extinguishing the lamps.
All except one candle. By the light of that candle, he took one last look at her. One last image to burn in his memory.
He picked up his bag, blew out the candle and walked out the door.
Chapter Four
Three months later, September 1815—London
‘Edmund? Edmund Summerfield?’
Edmund, just stepping out of Horse Guards onto the parade, turned.
Marc Glenville quickened his step to catch up to him. ‘I thought that was you.’ He extended his hand to shake. ‘How are you, Edmund? What a surprise to see you in London.’
Edmund was surprised as well. It was September. He thought everyone would be in the country hunting birds, not in London. He’d not written to any of his sisters that he would be in England, because he expected to return to Brussels in a week or two, and he assumed they would not be in town. Who could have thought he would run into his half-sister Tess’s husband?
Amelie’s brother.
He accepted the handshake. ‘I arrived a few days ago.’
He’d come into town to settle his affairs in person. He’d planned to write to his sisters from Brussels after he returned. Better to inform them by letter afterwards than tell them ahead of time what he intended to do.
‘Tess will be delighted you are here,’ Glenville said. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘Back to my hotel.’
‘Are you staying at Stephen’s Hotel?’ Glenville asked.
It was a good guess. Stephen’s Hotel catered to army officers and, even though Edmund was not in uniform, Glenville would assume he would stay there.
He nodded. ‘I am.’
Glenville clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come have a drink with me first. It is but a short walk to Brooks’s.’
Edmund could think of no excuse. ‘A drink would be welcome.’
As they started to cross the parade, Glenville gestured to Edmund’s leg. ‘How is your injury?’
‘Mostly healed.’
A French sabre had sliced into Edmund’s leg at Waterloo. He still limped a bit when he first rose in the morning, and it still pained him at night. He’d helped Marc carry a grievously wounded Fowler back from the battlefield, despite his own injury. Fowler, the supposed fiancé who had abandoned Amelie on the streets of Brussels—although Edmund had said nothing to Glenville about that. Fowler had been wounded in the ill-fated Scots Greys’ cavalry charge. Would Glenville have brought Fowler back to Brussels if he’d known how reprehensibly he’d treated Amelie? Edmund did not regret saving Fowler, though. Even a cad like him did not deserve to die on that battlefield. Too many of them died undiscovered, and none of them deserved that fate.
How strange was fate? Edmund’s life had become entwined with Glenville when he married Edmund’s sister. Had Glenville not met Edmund, he might have walked by Edmund at Waterloo and not asked him to help bring Fowler back to Brussels. Care of Edmund’s leg might have been delayed. The wound might have festered. He might have lost his leg. Or his life. Many of the wounded died for lack of immediate care.
Fate also entwined him with Fowler, a man he’d preferred to have known nothing of. But he would not for all the world have missed his brief time of knowing Amelie. What if he’d never met her? What would have happened to her if he’d not noticed her on the streets of Brussels that night, had not been there to save her from that brute who’d meant to molest her? What if he’d not walked her back to the hotel, not made love to her?
How the memory of that night had sustained him! During the hard fighting at Quatre Bras. All during the rain-drenched night after that battle. During tense moments of inaction at Waterloo.
After his injury.
Knowing that Amelie, with all her warmth, beauty and passion, was still in the world had been and still was a comfort. Spending those precious hours with her had been like touching light. He’d become more resolved than ever to make something of his life, to succeed where his father had failed, to prove to his departed mother that her sacrifices had not been for naught.
How had Amelie fared? What memories did she hold about that night? Regret? Shame? He fervently hoped not.
Of course, he could simply ask Glenville how Amelie was.
‘How is Tess?’ he asked instead.
Glenville’s expression turned soft. ‘Tess is wonderful.’
Edmund nodded in approval. Tess deserved such a man to love her.
‘And your family?’ he went on.
‘My parents are getting along very well.’ Glenville spoke this with some surprise.
‘And your sister?’ He tried to keep his tone even.
‘Amelie?’ Glenville rubbed his forehead. ‘Amelie has had it rougher than the rest of us. Fowler, you know.’
Edmund was surprised. ‘Fowler died, didn’t he?’ That should have been the end of it for her.
When last Edmund saw Fowler, he’d been barely clinging to life—but still alive. Glenville and Tess had taken him back to England to his parents. Edmund had stayed in Brussels to be cared for by Lady Summerfield, his half-sisters’ mother, and her lover, Count von Osten. Even though that lady had run away from Edmund’s father and abandoned her children years before, Edmund had searched for and found her. He’d stayed with her and the count in Brussels both before the battle and after.
‘Fowler lived,’ Glenville said. ‘But there is no thought of marriage between him and Amelie now. His parents said he was in no condition to marry and that it was best to break the engagement. Amelie never speaks of it, but there is no doubt she’s been changed by all this.’
Was the change due to Fowler? Or was Edmund responsible? It had been nearly three months since that night together. He’d hoped she’d rebounded from both.
He and Glenville continued walking past Carlton House, the grand residence of the Prince Regent.
Glenville suddenly halted. ‘I have a better notion than going for a drink! Come to dinner tonight. My parents are at the country estate, but that will give you and Tess more of a visit. We have no plans for the evening. I will go home directly and send word to you at your hotel if by some chance we must withdraw the invitation, but I can think of no reason you should not be very welcome.’
If Glenville’s parents were in the country, Amelie would be with them. There was really no reason not to see Tess now that she knew he was in town. He could tell her in person what he’d planned to write in a letter.
Besides, he missed her. And Genna and Lorene.
Might they be in London, too?
‘Dinner. Name the hour and I will be there.’
‘Come at seven,’ Glenville said. ‘We are at my parents’ on Grosvenor Street. Third house from the corner adjacent to the square.’
Edmund had not spent much time in London and none in the fine houses around Grosvenor Square, but he knew where Grosvenor intersected with Bond Street. ‘I will find it.’
Glenville smiled. ‘Excellent! Tess will be happy to have a nice long visit with you.’
* * *
At a little past seven, Edmund sounded the knocker at the third town house adjacent to Grosvenor Square.
A footman opened the door, and Edmund gave him his name. ‘This way, sir.’
Edmund followed him to the door of the drawing room, where he was announced. As Edmund stepped into the room, Tess was already on her feet, rushing towards him.
‘Edmund!’ She flung herself into his arms for a hug. ‘What a nice surprise.’ She immediately pulled away to look at him. ‘How is your leg? Marc said it was healed. Is it? Does it pain you still?’
He smiled at her, surprised how pleased he was to see her. ‘My leg is healed. Nothing to worry over, I assure you.’ He gazed at her sparkling hazel eyes, her shining chestnut hair. ‘You look even more beautiful than in Brussels, Tess.’
