by Jenesi Ash
So many nights he stood outside her door, praying none of the other servants would venture out of their rooms and see him standing in the hall of the servants’ wing. So many nights he wanted to grab her out of her bed and carry her down the stairs to his room where they would roll around in his bed, indulging in whatever wicked pleasure they fancied. After, they would talk and laugh and he would feed her every delight that was denied her by her station in life. And he would paint her, lounging in his bed while she picked through a box of French chocolates, wearing nothing more than an expensive piece of jewelery he had handpicked for her.
He wanted to spoil her. Wanted to lavish attention and gifts upon her. Wanted her to see him for the man he was—not the Earl of Wallace or the artist. Not, he glowered, her fucking employer.
The longer he watched her at the tea table, the blacker his mood grew. She carried on, blithely ignoring him. He had the mad urge to ask her if she had enjoyed her morning off, just to see if she would blush or betray any hint of emotion. Had she enjoyed his mouth on her? Did she regret her hasty departure? Did she wish she had stayed for the fucking? Because God above, he wanted that—still. His mind was awash with images of her yielding her body to him, begging him for pleasure.
With an oath, he placed the saucer down hard on the table. Tea sloshed onto the polished surface. He ignored it and instead pressed his eyes shut, willing his anger and the image of him taking Emmy up against a wall to subside.
He needed to talk to her, to feel her against him. But employers did not talk to their staff. Employers were not even supposed to notice that their servants were living and breathing, with thoughts and desires—dreams—of their own.
But Christ, every nerve in his body was painfully aware of Amelia Cartwright. Emmy…
“You may leave us now,” his sister announced. With a negligent wave of her bejeweled hand, she waved Amelia out of the salon as if she were an irritating bug that kept flying into her tea. Adrian felt his lips harden. His expression, he knew, was mulish. He did not want Amelia talked to in such a fashion. Yet, to say anything, to reprimand his sister in front of a servant would draw undue attention to Amelia and to the true extent of his feelings. So he kept quiet and watched Amelia bow and leave the room.
“You cannot be serious, brother,” Sophie hissed when the door closed behind Amelia.
“What are you going on about now, Sophie?”
“That servant!”
“She has a name,” he growled.
“The fact you know that is evidence enough of the danger you’re in. Adrian,” Sophie murmured, her voice growing low and secretive, “I’ve been watching you, you know—all winter long, as a matter of fact. It is quite apparent you want her.”
“I will not hear a word about this from you,” he thundered, jumping up from his chair and knocking it over. “Not when you of all people know that money and position does not bring happiness. You lived through that hell we called childhood. You saw firsthand how empty a marriage based solely on profit is.”
“Adrian—”
“Don’t!” he demanded. “Don’t tell me how wrong this is. Don’t say a damned word when you don’t know the first thing about love.”
She gasped as if he’d struck her. When he looked back over his shoulder, his sister’s beautiful face was white and stricken. Her lips trembled and she raised her hand to her mouth to hide the fact from him. “You must put an end to this…this liaison, Adrian. You must learn to live with the fact that she can never be yours.”
“Do you think I haven’t thought about it? I can’t sleep at nights for thinking. I know what I ought to do, Sophie, but I…I can’t stop,” he said, his voice choking. “I can’t look away. I can’t stop thinking, wishing…hoping. There is nothing else—” He stopped and turned to face her. “I have nothing else, Sophie, if I cannot hope.”
His sister’s eyes grew sad and perhaps a bit wet as she looked at him. “Your reputation can weather this storm, Adrian. If it were to come out that you were intimate with your maid, it would be considered nothing but an amusing little peccadillo in your past. But think of hers…think of…”
“Amelia. Her name is Amelia—Emmy.”
“Amelia is not of our kind. She is bound by what she is. You cannot change that, however much you wish to. If you cannot stop for yourself, then do it for Amelia. Do it because you love her enough to let her go, to save her from the cruel tongues that will talk about her—not only behind her back, but to her face. Save her from embarrassment and the inferiority she will feel when she goes out in society with you. She will never be accepted, nor welcomed. When you are together, she will always been seen as inferior—beneath you and everyone else. Think of the pain that will cause her. Think of how that will shame her, then think of what that will do to your relationship. She may even grow to despise you and your love, Adrian.”
He knew Sophie was right, and he hated her for it, but he hated himself more for wishing that next Tuesday did not feel so impossibly far away.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE RAIN WAS POURING DOWN IN A BLINDING sheet. Heedless of the bone-raking chill of the wind and driving rain, Adrian gripped the iron bars of the fence and stared at the empty spot where he’d once held Emmy.
Stark reality slapped him in the face. She was not here. She was not coming to Highgate today, or any other day. He had driven her away from him.
Pushing away from the fence, he took a step back, blinking away the rainwater that landed on his lashes. Ignoring the forked flash of lightning and the roll of thunder, he took another step back, then another, unable to bring himself to look away from the stone angel Emmy admired so much.
Damn her for not returning. And damn him for being such a pathetic fool. Christ, it was utterly pitiable, this slavish need he had for her. How could this woman have become so vital to his happiness? Women had never factored into his happiness before, so why now, with this one?
Goddamn her, she had made him hope. Made him feel alive. And now he felt like he had a fucking hole in his chest where his heart had once been.
Reaching his waiting carriage, he flung open the door only to have his coachman lean down from his perch. “Home, Your Lordship?”
“Yes,” he growled. Slamming the door shut, Adrian stretched out his legs and watched the rivulets of rainwater trickle down the glossed leather of his boots. Christ, he was in a black mood. A rage he had not felt in years was gripping him.
With one last glare at the statues of Highgate, he snorted at his foolishness and looked away, trying to run from his memories. His gaze suddenly landed on the two brown packages that sat across from him. Gifts for Emmy.
By the time the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his town house, as he reached for the packages and threw open the door, his mood was nearly murderous. He was not yet in control of his emotions. When his butler opened the door for him, he all but snapped at the old retainer as the man tried to speak with him.
“What are you mumbling about?”
“My lord,” Jermyn said. “I must speak with you.”
“Can it not wait?” Adrian snapped as he lifted the packages from the hall table and headed for his study.
“I am afraid that this is a matter that requires immediate attention, my lord. The Season, as you well know, begins in a fortnight.”
“I don’t give a fucking toss about the Season.”
“But it is so very difficult to find suitable staff once everyone comes back to town. Even now the agencies are busy filling requests for maids and footmen.”
Adrian stopped dead in his tracks. A god-awful feeling of dread bore heavily down on him. “What is it you’re trying to tell me, Jermyn, that we now find ourselves in a position to hire more staff?”
His butler’s flaccid face grew pale. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I thought you were already aware.”
“Aware of what?”
“That the maid, Amelia, has resigned her post. I…Forgive me, my lord, she said she would speak to yo
u directly.”
“Send her to me,” he snarled, “and do not dally, Jermyn.”
“At once, my lord.”
Adrian slammed the door of his study shut. Goddamn her. She was not leaving his house. He was not going to allow her to leave him. He didn’t care what it took to keep her, she was going to stay. And he was going to bring their little affair out into the light. It was well past time that she discovered he’d known it was her all along. There was going to be no more hiding behind her veil.
“You sent for me, my lord.”
Adrian swallowed the last of his brandy and turned to see Amelia step into the study. She was not dressed in her uniform, but the gray gown she always wore to Highgate. Her hair was pulled tightly into a bun and the spectacles she wore were sliding down the bridge of her nose.
“My lord?” she asked, her voice sounding nervous.
“Where have you been this morning?” he snapped, refilling his snifter with more brandy, despite the fact it was too early to be drinking.
“I have Tuesday mornings off, my lord. I don’t begin my duties for another hour.”
“And where do you go on your mornings off?” he snarled, prowling about the room.
“I…I…” she swallowed, unable to speak. “I usually walk.”
“Where?”
“Different places, I suppose.”
“And do you meet a lover in secret, then?”
“No, my lord.”
Liar, he wanted to hiss, but he refrained, trying to curb the temper that was threatening to erupt.
“What of the odd dalliance, then? Do you engage in them?” She bristled, but stood steadfast in her denial, fueling his already irrational anger. “Did I offend you with my accusation? Are you above raising your skirts for strangers, then?”
“My lord, really—”
“As your employer I have a measure of responsibility toward you. I’m only curious, you see. What exactly do you do with your Tuesday mornings?”
“I walk, my lord, and…look at things.”
“Things?” he sneered. “What things, Miss Cartwright? Do you mean men? Do you look at men and wonder what it would be like to lure them with your body? Do you offer them a sample of your abundant charms? Tell me, have you fucked any of these men on your mornings off?”
She blushed and looked away. “My lord, my duties here have always been performed with—”
“Speaking of duties,” he snapped, cutting her off, “I understand that you have resigned your post here, Miss Cartwright.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were folded very primly and properly before her. “Yes, my lord.”
“Are you not happy here? Is the position not to your liking? Have you been mistreated?”
“No, my lord,” she said quickly. “I have never been hap—that is to say, this has been a very satisfactory experience.”
“Satisfactory?” he croaked. “If it has been so bloody satisfactory then why do you wish to leave?”
She was breathing heavily, but seemed to be in control. And that angered him all the more. She knew who she had shared that morning with at Highgate. She knew it was him. Damn her, how could she so easily dismiss that? How could it be so easy to walk away from something that had meant so much to him?
“Is it me? Have I done something to make you wish to leave?” She shook her head, and he growled. “You know nothing of me if you think I will let you just walk away.”
“It is not as though maids are not a dime a dozen, my lord.”
“I don’t want another maid.” He came to stand before her and she stiffened, trying to step away from him, but he reached for her and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Brushing the cuff of her sleeve back toward her wrist with his thumb, he saw the cluster of freckles that lay hidden beneath the starched muslin.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her face, his stomach churning uncomfortably. Damn her, she knew who he was. He had not concealed his features with a veil. He had not hidden anything from her. And yet here she stood before him, acting as though they had never met, never talked, never touched.
Rage made his breathing hard and he fought it, barely able to see anything other than that day at Highgate, when he had desired her so bloody much. When he had talked of himself and allowed her the briefest glimpse into his soul. Was she amused by him whenever she thought of that day at the cemetery? Was she mocking him now, secretly laughing at him, remembering how much of a damned fool he had been?
With lightning speed, he shackled her wrist and captured it ruthlessly in his hand. Before she could think of getting away, he reached for her, bringing her back against the door, pinning her against the wood with his chest and thighs. His hand skimmed over her hip while he turned the key in the lock with a soft but determined click.
She whimpered. In fear. In longing. He didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care. Tightening his fingers on her waist, he brought her ever so slightly closer to him. He saw her eyes go round, felt the rush of hot air as she released a pent-up breath. He was aware that her fingers held a death grip on her skirts.
“I know everything about you, Amelia,” he whispered darkly. “Everything.”
Her gaze flashed to his. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “It is better left unsaid.”
Ignoring her plea, he slowly ran his fingertip down the column of her neck, noticing how flushed and warm her skin was. “I know that Tuesday mornings you have some free time to spend however you wish, and that you enjoy long walks in secluded spots.”
The color left her face, but she amazingly held her gaze steady on him. “I think you must be mistaken, my lord.”
“Highgate Cemetery? A foggy morning, standing in the drizzling rain?” he murmured, watching as his finger caressed the pounding pulse in her throat. “You pleasured me and I came in your hands, remember?”
She started to deny it, but he pressed his fingers into her wrist. “I know, Amelia. Now I just want to know why you won’t admit it.”
Why didn’t she want him? She was abandoning him after the most beautiful, intimate encounter he had ever experienced, and Christ, how he despised the feelings of abandonment. How he loathed to admit that weakness in his makeup.
His palm slid from her waist to her breast until he cupped her in his hand. He pressed forward so that his chest flattened against her and the side of his face nestled against her neck. His gaze flickered up from her throat to her face. Her head was tilted to the side, her eyes closed behind the lenses of her spectacles, her lips, pouting and pink, were parted slightly. He parted them more as he rubbed his finger along her lower lip. “I know what you need,” he whispered. “I can give it you, Amelia. Just let me.”
“No, please don’t.” She shook her head, whispering the word no again, as she pressed herself against the unyielding wood behind her. Any space that was between them he closed when he pressed his chest tightly to hers.
“I knew what you needed that day in the cemetery. I know the depth of passion you keep hidden beneath this prim veneer. I know that beneath your protests, you secretly yearn.”
“Please, stop—just stop!”
“I waited for you this morning. I stood in the rain and waited for you to come to me. Why?” he growled. “Why didn’t you come, Emmy?”
She gasped at the sound of her secret name. When she looked away from him, refusing to answer his questions, he reached into his jacket and removed the slip of black lace he carried with him. The same lace he removed in order to press his lips against her bounding pulse that day at Highgate. “Tell me why you still insist on hiding behind the veil when I already know it was you. I’ve always known, Amelia, from the minute my carriage stopped in the lane and I saw you standing in that sunbeam, I’ve known it was you.”
“I am a servant,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “I couldn’t let you find out.”
“How much will it take for you to stay?”
She tilted her head and studied him with her shrewd, intelligent eyes.
Eyes that burned a hole right through him from behind the lenses of her spectacles. “Is this some sort of game to you, my lord?”
“Was it only just a game to you, Emmy?”
“I don’t play games, my lord. I have never laughed at you, despite what you may think. I never intentionally set out to mislead you.”
“How much?”
“I am not for sale, my lord,” she shrilled, her eyes blazing with indignation. “Now, then, goodbye.”
It was not merely a goodbye, excusing herself for an hour, or the evening. It felt like a goodbye that was forever. He could not stand to hear it.
“What is your price?” he rasped. “Tell me. I will pay it. With gold, with my body. Whatever it is you want.”
“I may be just a servant, my lord, but I am not a whore. I won’t sell my body.”
“But what of Emmy? Would she sell her body? Would she fuck me now, up against this door? Because I would have her that way. Right now.”
“Is Emmy who you want?” He detected a sadness in her voice, before she steeled her shoulders and lifted her chin in defiance. “Of course, she is. Emmy is a woman of mystery, someone you can pretend is suitable to someone of your station. Or perhaps you pretended that I was beautiful, or maybe you just liked the power of getting off with someone who is beneath you.”
“For Christ sake’s, Amelia—”
“Is that what you meant when you said I empowered you? It made you feel strong to tumble the plain housemaid, to discover her most carefully hidden secrets? Did you laugh at me then, while I was serving you your tea? Did you find it amusing to think upon how easily I fell into your arms while you were watching me make your fucking bed?” His breath hissed through his lips and he dropped her wrist as if he had been burned. “Did it ever occur to you, my lord, that while you were getting off playing your grand game of master and servant, you were toying with the only happiness I have ever known in my pathetic existence?”
