Finally, they came to a crossed path that seemed to go nowhere and, when Amy was certain no one was looking, she stepped through the thin part of a hedgerow where the path appeared to vanish into a thickly wooded area. Gibson was afraid that they would be plunged into a miniature forest, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that instead they had emerged into an older part of the park, one that had been obviously left behind to fall into disrepair.
"This is one of the oldest parts of the park," Amy said as she led him toward an old bench. "It was abandoned years ago when it fell out of fashion because it is too steep for most women to navigate." She gestured to where the bank sloped sharply down to the water. "I found it when I was a child, playing here with Marcus." She tried not to sound wistful, but she was unable to help herself. She missed her bother desperately and wanted him home, no matter his condition.
Amy had to admit that she was also grateful for the seclusion of the older area, as, from the moment they had entered the park, she had felt as if someone was watching her. It was chilling. Not that she would say as much to Gibson. She could keep secrets, too.
"You will have those times again," Gibson assured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps not as you did as children, but there are other adventures awaiting you. When he returns." He did not mention that it was possible that Marcus would never return. Today was not the time for that particular discussion.
Straightening her shoulders, Amy pulled away from Gibson, knowing that if they touched any longer, she would lose herself in him far too easily. "Perhaps. But for the moment, we must instead focus on my visit from Miss Worth this morning. You said you saw her last night."
With a sigh, Gibson sank down onto the old bench, careful to keep to the rotting part, leaving the slightly sturdier portion for Amy. She was particularly lovely today in a pale, butter-yellow dress of sprigged muslin, all ribbons and bows with a matching bonnet, and he did not want to soil her gown. Despite its simplicity, he suspected it was probably a Madame LaVallier creation and therefore, indecently expensive.
"I did." How did he explain this to her? Then again, this was Amy. She would probably not be scandalized by the tale. "You know that I am under retainer to Prinny, correct?" Amy inclined her head, indicating that she knew and understood his point. "Therefore, when he summons me, usually by way of a messenger, I am compelled to go wherever he wishes. I have no choice in the matter. That was the case last night."
"And?" She raised her eyebrow, waiting. Her anger had cooled, but she would not forget about the Runner he had hired. That issue still lay between them, if nothing else.
"And Lord Drake was, to put it rather bluntly, drunk. Not merely in his cups or slightly foxed, but falling down, disgustingly intoxicated. I do not think Prinny would have even intervened at all, but Faraday was there as well, and he and his father are favorites at Carlton House. If Drake was treated by another physician, and since the two whelps are thick as thieves, word might spread that the Danvers heir was someplace he should not have been. And everyone at the hell knew it."
Amy snorted in disgust, imagining how difficult the entire situation must have been for Gibson. "And of course, we do not want the names of respectable society dragged through the mud now, do we?" At the moment, she knew she should still be furious with Gibson, but found her anger waning by the moment. Instead, it was being redirected towards society as a whole - including those who would keep her and Gibson apart. He - and she by default - should not have to suffer so much for the sins of his father. Not when the likes of Drake and Faraday could do as they pleased without consequence.
Gibson laced his fingers through Amy's, stroking her palm with his thumb. He should not touch her. He should stay away from her, but he could not help himself. "As I was treating Drake, he was ranting to all who would listen about how he intended to trap you into marriage. He said you had a secret, and that he would discover what it was. He claimed that he would bring you to your knees and humble you. He was boasting to all, making a spectacle of himself. When he finally realized that I was the man treating him, well, the situation became worse. And ugly."
"How ugly?" Amy both wanted to know and yet didn't at the same time. She also wanted to comfort Gibson, yet that, too, would go against the very decision she had made that morning.
For his part, Gibson didn't want to admit the details - that Drake had spit on him and called him ugly, vile names, ones unfit for ladies ears. Drake had also sworn that Gibson would never be accepted back into polite society. It was then that Gibson had prevailed upon Faraday to remove Miss Worth from the scene before it became any worse. Apparently it had not been soon enough. Letitia had, evidently, overheard the worst, probably including the insults flung at Gibson, reminding him that he could never win Amy's hand, no matter how much he might wish it.
"It was vile," he finally said rather stiffly. "And no, I will not repeat it."
She seemed to ponder that for a moment. If she was going to ask her own question now was the time, she supposed. "And regarding the Runner you hired? For I am quite certain that Letitia was not merely concocting a story," Amy finally asked. After all, it was the source of her anger that morning, an anger that, here in the quiet peace of the park, seemed to have disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"The directive from your father practically forcing you to remain out in society, your mother's constant insistence that you marry this season," Gibson ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "Those are not normal directives, Amy, and, in your heart, you must know that."
Unable to meet his eyes, she looked away, ashamed of herself for doubting him. She knew better. Rather, her heart did anyway. She was merely overset by everything and not thinking clearly. "I do."
"And though I have never pressed you, I am fairly certain that, given all we have shared, you would have told me the reason for those directives already. Assuming, of course, that you either knew or were inclined to do so. You told me in the beginning that you did not know the reason, and I believed you. I still do." Gibson took her hand and gripped it tightly. Something had changed yet again between them since the previous evening. He could feel it in his gut. Though where it left them, he did not know.
For once, however, he hoped that the change might be progress towards ending this constant push and pull of attraction that they had been engaged in for nearly a year now. "Yet, I have been charged with escorting you, some might say even protecting you, until your father or Marcus returns. I made a vow that until either event occurred, I would keep you safe. Yet I cannot do that if I do not have all of the information, and so much seems to depend on that little scrap of paper. So I hired a Runner to see if he could find out the truth since there was no other information forthcoming."
Amy shrugged, unable to provide Gibson with the answers he both needed and wanted. "I have told you all that I know. I swear." Perhaps now was the proper time to mention her old tutor, but to what end? The man was dead and no longer relevant to anything. It would only upset Gibson further.
"Then why?" he asked, his own exasperation showing. "Why the directives? Why the conditions?"
"I do not know!" Amy hissed in frustration, her anger resurfacing a bit. "Truly, I do not. It makes no sense, as I am not presently being courted, Drake's unwelcome suit not withstanding. In fact, I had planned never to marry. Not until last summer! Then, after that day, I knew for certain that I could never marry, not for love anyway. For there is only one man I will ever care for, and I believe that you know that."
Her words hit Gibson like a punch to the stomach. "Oh, Amy. You cannot mean that. You are a young and vibrant woman. You must plan to marry eventually."
Shaking her head, she rose from the bench and walked slowly to the edge of the water, the sunlight, which was dimmed by London's smoke-clouded skies, softly dappling the water and making her appear almost like a watercolor in reflection. "In that one afternoon, Gibbs, I found greater joy than I have ever truly known. No man has ever set me afire the way
you did. No man ever saw me for who I truly am the way you do. And that is what I want from a marriage. I want the fire and passion. Not the quiet needlework and matronly position that I am told I should want. I want the one thing The Paragon is not supposed to crave. I want love. And you know that I cannot hope to experience that rarest of emotions with anyone other than you."
"Amy." His heart in his throat, Gibson did not know what to say. "I'm sorry. I did not mean for this to happen."
Tears pricked her eyes and she turned away. She hated being such a watering pot. "I trust you with everything, Gibbs. I trust you with my very body. That was why I was so hurt by Letitia's news this morning. For all that we have shared, you did not think enough of me to tell me."
"I did not want to worry you, sweeting." It was the only explanation he could offer, even though it sounded pitiful to his own ears. "My gut tells me that if these odd directives have been in place for so long, they are there for a reason and probably not a very good one. There is some kind of threat lurking about, Amy, whether you know what it is or not. And until I know what it is, I cannot protect you the way I swore I would. That is why I hired the Runner. No other reason. I promise."
"But I don't know anything more than what I have told you." Well, she did, in a way, but she was certain that was not relevant. After all this time, it could not be. Her father had promised her thus.
Tired. She was so very tired. So emotional, as well, which was unlike her. She was never a watering pot. She needed to be strong. She needed to inform Gibson that they should stick to friendship, that it was best for both of them.
He should let her go, find another woman to care for, and, in time, love.
Then, the first of the tears rolled down her cheeks, and Amy swiped at them angrily. Amy did not want Gibson to see her cry. She needed to prove that she was strong and resourceful. Except that at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to burrow herself in his embrace, her earlier anger completely gone and her good intentions about staying away from him - for both of their sakes - fading quickly. Here in the old, secluded section of the park, what could it hurt? Just this one last time? No one would know.
"Shush, my love," Gibson whispered, gathering her into his arms. "All will be well. I promise you."
"But what if you are right?" she sniffed into his jacket, hating how weak and confused she sounded. "What if there is a danger to me out there that I know nothing about? You are right when you say those directives make no sense. I just had not thought of them in that way." So much for her belief that she was now an adult. There was still much to learn, it seemed. Drat it all.
Gibson pulled Amy closer, knowing he shouldn't, but unable to resist. "And I did see them thus because that is my nature. It is a hard lesson to learn, but one I learned well. Odd documents hide secrets. It was those very kinds of documents that cost my father, and my family, everything."
They stood like that for a long time, each holding the other, offering strength and comfort. In Gibson's embrace, Amy understood two things very clearly. One, Letitia had, in fact, meant well, even though complete trust of her was still not forthcoming on Amy's part. Two was that, no matter what, Gibson truly did have her best interests at heart. He did care for her - probably more than he should. If nothing else, she should trust in that. And in him.
Looking up at him, she saw all that she wanted in a lover and a husband. All that could never and would never be hers. After today, she would stick to her earlier resolve to be more circumspect. He was going through quite a lot of trouble for her, and she would not allow herself to be the reason he lost everything. She had not been wrong on that measure. Perhaps she was a bit more selfless than she had thought after all. Perhaps she was learning.
But right now? Here, where no one could see or hear them? This one last time, she would skirt the boundaries of propriety and behave as scandalously as she dared.
Slipping her hands beneath his waistcoat, she nuzzled lightly at his shirt. "Gibbs, I want you. Now. Please. Give me another taste. And this time, I want it all."
Chapter Ten
Wrong. This was wrong. So very, very wrong. He should not even be contemplating doing this. The moral compass which had ruled Gibson's life since his family had lost everything pointed him in one direction. The correct direction, the proper one. And it pointed, very clearly, away from Lady Amy.
He knew that with absolute certainty in both his heart and his mind. In the park clearing, he realized that Amy was coming to understand it as well. There was no future for them, only ruin. Much as he longed to reclaim his place in society, he never would. He would never be a viscount. He would remain a lowly physician. Unless that changed - and it would not - there could never be anything between them. She saw it now as clearly as he did.
And she was asking for one last time with him before they parted forever.
He should refuse her.
The other part of Gibson, however, the part that was human and tired of being punished, inadvertently anyway, for a crime he did not commit, hungered to take something he desperately wanted. Just this once. One last time. And above all else, he wanted Amy. He had from the very moment he met her, all lush and golden and lovely. She was his dream, his fantasy. And she was offering herself to him without hesitation.
Still, he was not so far gone that he would simply give in to his more craven nature. She deserved better. But damn it, for once, he would follow her lead and do as he pleased. The waltz the previous night was only the prelude to his final fall away from any pretension he might have had to being a gentleman.
"We should not," he whispered, still attempting to be a proper gentleman, even though he was fairly certain that was no longer possible. "It is not right. You are a lady and I am..."
"A gentleman," Amy finished for him, pulling back so that she could rest her hands on his hard, muscled chest. "At heart, that is what you are, Gibbs, and you know it. As do I." She looked at the blue-tinted sky beyond the circle of lush, green hedgerows where the bustle of London carried on without noticing they were missing. "As do they. Society. The ton. Whatever you wish to call them. And while perhaps one day the rules will change, for today, they remain the same. But I, for one, am tired of those rules. And for just this one time, I wish to ignore them completely."
He closed his eyes and tried to push her away, though all he somehow succeeded in doing was nestling her closer to him. "That still does not make it right."
"No," she countered softly, her blue eyes darkening with desire, "but it is also not right to remain apart when, for a time at least, we can be who we truly are once again."
"And who are we, love?" Gibson made one more attempt to put her off, even though his resolve was weakening quickly. "A disgraced former peer and The Paragon. If there are any two more unsuitable people in all of London, I have yet to meet them."
Amy had not expected this level of resistance. He was weakening to her, but in her heart, she knew he would do what was honorable in the end. Just this once, she wanted him to be scandalous. "I am not what you think, Gibson." She could not tell him the truth. In time, perhaps, but they had not reached that point in their relationship yet. "I thought you understood that." Then she placed her hands on his chest once more, smoothing her palm over the hard plane of his stomach, feeling the wall of well-sculpted muscle beneath. "For me, there is no one but you. There will never be another. I know it in my heart, as do you."
Gibson did not want to hear those words. She was granting him permission to take what he wanted, even though he did not deserve it. Amy was tempting, too tempting really, and, in the end, he was a man. A man of honor, but a man nonetheless, one with physical and sexual needs that had long been denied. He could not be strong forever.
For once, he, too, would give in to what he wanted. For once, they were in complete and total agreement.
Amy instinctively knew the moment Gibson let himself go and gave himself silent permission to take her. His body relaxed against hers and he settled her more fir
mly against him. "I cannot resist you, my love," he whispered into her golden tresses, and then, his lips were on hers, teasing, tasting and finally demanding that she surrender to him.
There was no way she could do otherwise.
Amy pressed herself firmly against Gibson, allowing him to feel the soft mounds of her breasts and the way her nipples tightened into hard, tight peaks at the merest contact with his body. She wiggled her hips suggestively and when he spread his legs a bit, she inserted herself between his thighs to rub against him, behaving rather like a wanton.
That they were both fully clothed did not matter, at least not to her. She longed to be unclothed, though she knew he would not take things that far here in the public park, not like he had the previous year when they were secluded away from prying eyes. Still, she would be grateful for whatever he gave her. It would likely be the last bit of pleasure she would ever receive from him. After this, they would abide by their original agreement, even though neither of them had spoken of it. It was simply understood.
Around Gibson, the sounds of the other revelers in the park faded away until there was only Amy. No other but her. Her soft, sweetly scented body pressing against his. So warm and willing. Offering him what he knew was most likely his last chance to be alone with her. He might be moral, but he was also no fool. He took what she was offering, unable to deny himself - or her - any longer.
He kissed her with more passion than he had known he possessed, his heart swelling as she opened for him, darting her tongue out to tease his lips before pulling back as if uncertain in her actions.
There was nothing uncertain about his response, however and when he crushed her to him, she moaned and wiggled a bit more, as if his passion had given her leave to finally unleash her own.
He kissed her face, the delicate column of her throat, even the sensitive skin of her eyelids. Nothing was too unimportant for him to lavish attention upon. When he felt her knees begin to buckle, he released her long enough to strip off his coat and then eased her slowly to the ground, trying his best not to muddy her dress, even though the hem was already splattered after their fast walk.
Far Beyond Scandalous Page 17
