* * *
Settled in the parlor with a fresh cup of tea, Amelia relished the comfort of her childhood home and took her father’s hand in an affectionate stroke. She loved her father dearly and her heart warmed to be together again. He seemed thrilled in equal measure for her visit, his health somewhat improved. He’d hardly coughed since she’d arrived, and while his complexion remained pale, the twinkle had returned to his eyes. In London, his pallor verged on ashen, but now he appeared healthier than she remembered and the observation nudged a bubble of hope high in her chest. Perhaps he’d relinquish a bit of control concerning the rush to the altar. “You’re feeling better, Father.” Green eyes met blue and he returned her attention, his joy at having her visit evident.
“Yes. Today I feel quite well. Horrid business, having you travel with Nilworth. I must speak to your brother concerning his inferior choice in horseflesh. It’s a good thing Scarsdale proved valiant and oversaw your passage.” He coughed into his handkerchief, but the conversation did not waver. “I never thought I’d see the man again. Sequestered at his country estate. This visit will do him good, as much as your pleasant company.”
Her father gave her hand a loving squeeze, his strength another sign of encouragement for her impending plea.
“Now tell me, Amelia. Has your brother found you a husband? Are you here to share optimistic news?”
The abrupt change of subject took her by surprise. Thank heavens Lunden had excused himself after greeting her parents. Before he took his leave she’d searched his face for some clue, but an expression of incomprehensibility masked his true emotions. She’d executed her best attempt at eavesdropping during his conversation with the housekeeper, but failed to ascertain which guest room he’d been assigned. She’d need to discover that later and speak to him concerning Nilworth’s intrusive attitude. What if the man contacted Matthew for permission to court her? Wasn’t Collins enough of a burden to bear?
The throaty rattle of her father’s cough jarred her from these concerns. “No news of yet.” She tried for a tone of sincerity, though vivid images of throttling Matthew’s neck flickered through her mind. How could her brother suggest Collins as an ideal suitor? “Perhaps Matthew would appreciate my help. Would it not make sense for me to have a hand in the process?”
“But you’ve had several Seasons to do so.” Her mother’s admonishing voice rang across the parlor as she approached. “And you’ve done nothing but drag your feet. With your father’s health condition, we need to see you married and settled. A simple request for a daughter who believes she can always do as she pleases.”
“Simple request?” Amelia released her father’s hand and rose to face her mother. “We’re discussing the rest of my life, not my choice of new slippers. My entire future is wrapped up in one decision. I’ve tried to find someone who catches my interest. I’ve attended balls, danced waltzes, and conversed with handsome gentlemen, but while pleasant, no one has made me feel special. Their attention didn’t cause my heart to pound or fill my head with dizzy daydreams. And I don’t wish to settle for someone who doesn’t touch my heart.” She paused, an answer she couldn’t voice alive within her. “If Matthew chooses incorrectly, what will my future be? Naught but unhappiness. Would you have that, Father?” In a swirl of skirts Amelia resettled and clasped her father’s hands in a tight embrace. “Grant me the opportunity to find my own husband. I promise to have it done this Season. I know I’ve wasted time and I regret not pursuing the matter with earnest.” She inhaled deeply to disperse lingering doubt and evoke fortitude. Charlotte’s unhappy marriage, fear and ambivalence, all combined to work against her plea. “I worry about Matthew’s judgment. What does he know about gentleman suitors? He hasn’t escorted a lady anywhere since his leg healed. Hasn’t set foot in a ballroom since—”
“Amelia. That’s quite enough. After what your brother endured, we see no reason to press. He’ll produce an heir in due time.”
The prickly tone of her mother’s reprimand stalled her tongue.
“Your brother isn’t the issue here and it will do little good to charm your father. If your happiness wasn’t important to us, we would never have granted you Season after Season to find a suitor. We mean to see you married, the sooner the better. Matthew wants the best for you.”
“I doubt that.” She leaned in, her nose nearly touching her father’s as she whispered, “You should see the man he favors. Lord Collins could hardly manage our wedding waltz. He is dreadful, Father.”
“You exaggerate, dear.” He chuckled low, his expression amused. “You’ve always possessed a penchant for the extreme. Your brother wouldn’t turn a wrong and I need to see you settled in case my health declines.”
He squeezed her hand again; whether in gravity of his last statement or to soften the blow of his impending words, she did not know.
“You need to take a husband. I must know you’ll be provided for beyond my security. Surely you desire a family of your own.”
“Yes, of course I do.” She released her tight hold on his hands and reclined against the velvet settee. “I also desire a say in the matter.” She shot a glance to her mother where she stood near the window arranging flowers in a vase. “Had I known you’d both react with haste I’d have approached the past Seasons with more deliberate purpose. I never anticipated the current state of things, and it’s not as though gentlemen are vying for my attention.” She finished on a deprecating note. She wasn’t sure her father noticed.
“That’s ridiculous. Only a man with impervious constitution could resist your charms.” He used a soothing tone, and wrapped his fingers around her arm in an insistent clasp to pull her closer. “Let’s see where life takes us before we make any more decisions. Love can be capricious.”
Her father eyed her mother over her head and the two shared a smile meant to communicate more than simple affection. Still, the daunting shadow of impending doom hung heavy in the air and Amelia couldn’t shake the feeling the illusion of control was meant to placate her more than solve her problem.
Chapter Sixteen
Abovestairs, Lunden paced a hard line at the foot of the bed. The guest room was huge, but he made no more than five strides before he pivoted, intent on reducing his temper and releasing the tension that knotted his stomach as tightly as his cravat. Nilworth. Anger smothered him in a deluge of stark desolation. He wrapped his fingers in the knot of his neckcloth and pulled it free. Before his return, he’d held little faith in keeping his appearance secret for very long. Optimism did not come to him easily, but meeting Nilworth on the road to Lakeview was an unfortunate encounter he’d never anticipated.
Society would know of his return before sunset. Worse, every snippet of gossip would be exhumed; theories composed of assumption and speculation would be resurrected. He thrust the linen cravat onto the counterpane, wishing to discard the burden of his past in the same fashion.
Painful memories bombarded his mind with an intensity no less devastating than the last time he dared allow them to the surface. Douglas was never much of an out-and-outer, his friendships and societal ties discreet. Upon his death, suspicion led to unfounded accusation with nothing but stony silence from Lunden. Dealing with the tragic result of his foolish endeavor at such a young age left him ill equipped to face the barrage of questions foisted in his direction. He could never reveal the truth, yet locked firmly in boyhood he lacked the skills, charm, and credibility to supply sufficient lies to reason away his brother’s untimely death and feed the ton’s insatiable appetite for the latest on dit.
Soon after, the duchy was labeled tarnished, the family name marred. Club memberships that had existed for decades were rescinded, invitations ceased, reserved luxuries terminated. Even his father’s most revered comrades evaporated, severing all ties once it became clear Lunden refused to speak on the matter of his brother’s death. In one snap decision, foolish as it may have been, he’d destroyed the world he’d lived in.
He would never subje
ct Amelia to the same harsh treatment. She deserved more. She deserved abundance.
So much for his judicious investigation into Douglas’s final act of business.
He shed his waistcoat and paused to remove Amelia’s list from his breast pocket, skimming his eyes over her feminine script. One commitment remained. One more tether to a city that showed him no mercy.
A light knock sounded on his bedchamber door and he moved without thinking, swinging the panel wide. Amelia stood in the hallway as if conjured by his thoughts, her hair as unruly as her temperament, her beauty as insistent. She’d changed gowns from her traveling habit, this new gown soft pink perfection. Her skin shone with a warm flush to create a paradox of innocence and temptress. His breath caught.
“Lunden. I need to speak with you.” Her eyes searched his face as if beseeching his agreement. “Please.”
Her final word caused his immediate objection to evaporate. He stepped aside and allowed her entry, his ardor engraving an invitation while his better sense rebelled. He withdrew to the other side of the room if for no other reason than to steady his conflicted emotions.
The lamp waned low, its flickering light in competition with the fading flames in the hearth. A foreboding shroud of shadows, black as his past, danced on the wall overhead and he raised his hand as if to chase them away. Then he moved with purpose to the fireplace and added more wood, the heat on his skin a welcome reminder of how easily one might get burned.
“I need you.”
Her silken whisper reached for him, and a thread of irrepressible wickedness prompted him to act on the temptation.
Damn it all, he wanted her.
Silence lay heavy in the room. She licked her lips. He refused to notice.
“Will you help me?”
He cut her a dry look and forced his attention to the conversation. “I already have.”
Their kiss from the closet drenched his memory in lush remembrance. It was wrong—he knew that well—but it was also the one source of peace he’d experienced since leaving his country estate. What was it about Amelia? One look into her crystalline eyes and all heartache evaporated, his misery calmed.
She stood within arm’s reach, and the desire to pull her into his embrace caused his hands to tremble. He clenched his fists to deny the yearning. She was not his. Not for him. She deserved a life of happiness no matter her brother’s intent or her parents’ wish. He could offer her nothing but despair and disappointment. He shook his head as if to banish the troublesome reality.
“Yes, you have, and I thank you for your help.” She wrung her hands while she spoke.
Where was the headstrong hellion? He enjoyed that side of her more than he’d ever admit.
“I came here to convince my father his intent is ill-planned. I can find my own spouse . . . with haste if necessary.”
Her words faded near the end and sympathy welled for the woman before him. Forced into an uncompromising situation because of society’s dictates. They were not so different, both trapped, their freedom stolen for circumstances beyond their control.
“And what is your intent? To latch on to some codswallop, manipulated with ease to do your bidding or you’ll exercise your plan of escape.” He motioned toward her list, left on the counterpane aside his abandoned neckcloth.
“Something like that.”
Lord, she sounded pleased with herself. But that path didn’t lead to the happiness she deserved.
“You’re a coward.” He flung the words across the room, annoyed she would sacrifice her spirit and condemn herself to a half life, unwilling to face the challenge of offering love to another. A whisper of conscience labeled him a hypocrite.
“That’s untrue.”
Her hands clasped tightly against her skirts, she gave away her lie with every move. Lunden watched the facade of confidence, her objection chased by trepidation, not a hoyden but a delicate, frightened woman.
She followed the path of his stare and dropped her hands, unsure in her movements until she crossed her arms under her breasts and took a deep breath, the action calling attention to her delicious bodice where the silky soft fabric pulled taut with the motion.
His heart raced and his eyes returned to the bed. To lay her down, taste her skin . . . to find peace in the beauty of her soul.
“My list.” She strode forward and snatched it from the coverlet. “We must complete the third request. Tomorrow morning. We can meet at dawn. I doubt anyone here keeps country hours.”
“Yes, one should never forget your demands.” He let out a breath with frustrated delight. In her convoluted female perception, these skills represented freedom.
“We have an agreement. I trust your honor.” The words were said with fragile sincerity although their meaning skewered his heart.
He took the stride needed to bring them together and emotion flickered bright in her eyes. What did she see on his face? Could she tell he ached to hold her, to lose himself in her comfort?
“That could prove unwise.” He meant to tease, but the words sounded heartfelt despite the effort. He caught the scent of jasmine and inhaled deeply.
“I’ll take my chances.” Her smile flashed wide.
A palpable silence stretched as sensual tension thickened the air. Did she recall their kiss in the dark confines of the closet? Had it affected her with the same intensity?
“I should return to my rooms.”
The words were breathless, forced past her lips, as faded as her smile.
Her rooms. He wanted to put her to bed and tuck her in with kisses . . . after they’d laid bare their passion on the sheets. A thread of integrity clawed its way to the surface. He should urge her to leave. He needed her out. The memory of her standing near his bed, a vivacious temptress, her hair a wanton tangle of mystery and seduction, would prove torture enough. He could not endure her spirit haunting his rooms once night fell.
It took every ounce of effort for him to obey better sense. “Yes.” He stepped back, creating a hopeless void between them. “You need to leave.”
She hesitated for a breath, the click of the door latch the only sound as a familiar shadow of loneliness stole over him.
* * *
The next morning proved fair as Amelia rose at the cusp of dawn, anxious to meet Lunden for her final lesson. Having a maid who spoke little English proved a glory. No explanations or inane niceties were necessary as she donned a simple day gown and instructed Mary to plait her hair. A few curls rebelled as always, but Amelia didn’t fuss. She moved to the window as Mary gathered her nightclothes and left the room. Sunlight permeated the sky in rays of golden yellow. Beyond the fruit trees, mist danced on the surface of the lake. The water would be cold, but her desire to learn how to swim could conquer the challenge. Then her list would be completed.
A sliver of sadness accompanied the latter realization. Where would Lunden go once he’d finished his business in the city? Would he resume his life of solitude at Beckford Hall or find the strength to embark on a new adventure? Would she ever see him again? Her heart thumped a heavy beat. Every fiber of her being had been tested last night in his bedchamber. How she yearned to fall into his embrace, to touch her lips to the tanned vee of skin exposed by his lack of cravat, to feel the warmth of hard muscle through his fine lawn shirt. Pity, he viewed her as no more than a nuisance, an obligation to be fulfilled.
After their kiss in the closet, she’d foolishly believed he’d experienced the same enigmatic pull, their lives connected by some unexplainable thread. But no, he’d never mentioned their embrace, and his words last night were spoken in a dismissive manner, his body language tense and uncomfortable, as if he could not wait for her to leave his bedchamber. Disappointment pressed up her throat. She could easily lose her heart to his golden-brown gaze, the husky deep tenor of his voice. Her pulse hitched another notch, no matter her intelligence marked the proposition an exercise in futility.
She turned from the window and made her way through the house with s
ilent steps. Nary a servant was awake, their services not needed until later, and she slipped out the terrace doors undetected, careful on the slick, dew-covered slates that led through the rose garden and beyond, to the lake at the rear of the estate property.
She arrived first and leaned against the trunk of a sturdy willow to remove her slippers and stockings, tossing them with abandon into the grass next to the towel she’d carried. Visions of her childhood flooded back in vivid color, reckless adventures of wading and hiking. How she enjoyed those days, when responsibility meant nothing more than returning for lunch with her dress kept clean.
The lake glistened in invitation. Barely a ripple stirred the surface, bathed in new sunlight, as peaceful as a young girl’s dream. Cattails lined the water’s edge and tall reeds created a barrier toward the left side. An ambitious dragonfly lighted atop the highest stem with tentative poise before it flitted away in freedom, lost in a cluster of low branches, their leaves teasing the still surface. Amelia stepped down the sandy bank and into the cool water, her bare toes welcoming the squish of earth beneath her feet.
Carefree days seemed far in the past. She fought against her mounting trepidation. Deep water frightened her. But not as much as an unhappy marriage. To ask Lunden to teach her to swim was unthinkable. She’d be ruined were anyone to discover her proposition. Yet, she stood strong, unwilling to enter marriage helpless and dependent. Knowledge brought power and security more than any dowry provided. Knowledge ensured her a future, no matter how her family manipulated fate.
Across the lake, something broke the water. Circles of wake rippled over her feet, lapping up her shins in a cold shivered response. She scanned the surface, her heart thrumming as she spied Lunden at the center, his hair slicked back, his eyes focused on her alone. He looked magnificent. Droplets rolled from his bare shoulders, kissed by the soft rays of the dawning sun, his body glorious, as if newly made, naked and vulnerable, gifted from nature. Her heart skipped a beat. What had she expected? He couldn’t swim fully clothed. But what did he wear otherwise? Her stomach tumbled over in a cacophony of emotion.
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