Evan growled. He literally growled. Like an enraged animal.
The stupid man continued, “Clearly, you tupped her last night—oh yes, I know Berwicke’s blithering is true—I see how she stares at you with moons in her eyes. A woman only looks like that after a thorough seduction and a good, vigorous bedding. And now you’re attempting to insinuate yourself into her family’s good graces. I see what you’re doing. You’re after the same thing I am. Her fortune.”
“I don’t need her fortune, you bastard,” Evan ground out.
“Well, I do,” Fletcher said lightly. “Therefore, I think it’s clear. It’s only fair that I should have her. You’d gain nothing but an ugly cow with a title, after all. Whereas I would gain an ugly cow with a title and the blunt I require to continue to live in the fashion to which I am accustomed.”
Before Amelia could stutter in a breath, they disappeared. Evan had rammed his body into the other man’s and they had both crashed onto the pavilion’s floor.
Amelia held herself rigid. She could only see George, who stood looking down at the other two men, his jaw sagging in surprise. Evan and Fletcher were below her line of vision, but every bit of her cried out to go to Evan, to make sure he was all right, to punch Fletcher where it would pain him the most if he was hurting the man she loved.
And when George gave a gruff yell of, “Damn you, Cameron!” and leapt into the fray, Amelia knew it was now two against one, and the odds in favor of Evan had just diminished significantly.
She rushed out from behind the bush, lifted her skirts, and skidded around the path that led to the pavilion.
She ground to a halt as soon as she had a good view of them.
Evan had quickly gained the upper hand. He had them both pinned down—how, she could not fathom—and was shaking them with brutal ferocity. George and Fletcher could do nothing but stare up at him in surprise. None of them saw her.
“Never speak of her like that. Not to me, not to anyone. Do you understand?” When they just gaped at Evan like landed fish, he shook George until his teeth rattled. “Say it!”
“Say what?”
“Say you won’t disparage her. Say the thought won’t enter your mind. You’ll treat her like the lady she is, like the honorable, kind, and beautiful woman she is.”
“Good God.” George’s voice was even more slurred than it had been from his drunkenness. “I promise, man. Of course I won’t, not if it’s that important to you.”
“And you!” Evan roared, rounding on Fletcher. “You will leave this house and never set foot on the earl’s lands again. You will never look at Lady Amelia again, much less speak to her. Is that clear?”
“You have no right to dictate where I may go or to whom I may speak,” Fletcher said in a sanctimonious voice.
“Is that so?” Evan said coldly, and Amelia saw his free hand fisting at his side, then draw back, preparing to land a brutal blow to Fletcher’s face.
Fletcher must have seen it, too, for his body gave a violent twist, and he managed to slide out from beneath Evan’s pinning knee. Evan lunged for him, but George, freed by Evan’s movement, snatched at his collar and attempted to haul him back and away from Fletcher.
George’s efforts were in vain. Evan’s fist slammed into Fletcher’s jaw, connecting with a sickening crack.
Amelia cried out and lunged forward. “Stop! Please, stop!”
Three angry male faces swiveled toward her. Each man jolted, one by one, as they recognized her. Then everyone froze.
Amelia squared her shoulders and met Fletcher’s gaze. His left eye was narrowing, the flesh surrounding it swelling rapidly. “Mr. Henry,” she said softly, “it would probably be best if you left Cheltham House tonight. You are no longer welcome here.”
Holding her head high, she swiveled and walked back to the house.
* * *
“Thank you, Fanny. You may go.”
“All right, then, milady.” With one final comforting pat on Amelia’s shoulder, the maid wished her a Merry Christmas and sweet dreams, then took her leave.
Amelia slumped in her chair, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked tired…but beyond that…was she as unappealing as Fletcher Henry had made her sound? She’d never thought of herself as ugly. Except for her eyes, her features were small—her parents always chuckled at her “button nose”—her face a roundish but not unpleasant shape. Her eyes were large and blue and long-lashed. Her thick, blond hair was her best feature. It had been pinned up earlier, of course, but now it flowed over her shoulders in long waves. She’d never thought it was too dark…but as she grew older only streaks of the lighter blond remained, and the rest had darkened into light brownish tones.
It was her plumpness that had always bothered her the most, and which had caused her the most grief. Before her marriage, she’d always weighed a stone over what she considered the ideal weight for someone of her size—which was average for a woman. When Edmund had died, she’d lost half a stone, but the other half was stubborn and seemed to have every intention of staying a part of her body forever.
Edmund had never seemed to mind. He’d called her lovely, even beautiful, and he was always kind and attentive to her, but she’d never felt that he truly looked at her.
On the other hand…Evan had looked at her, and he’d liked what he’d seen. Evan had made her forget about that half stone. He had made her truly feel beautiful for the first time in her life.
She cared what Evan thought. She didn’t care a whit about Fletcher or George. Why, then, had their words cut into her heart? Why had they dredged up all those old feelings of insecurity, loneliness, and unworthiness?
She shouldn’t let them.
She picked up her brush and ran it through her curls. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes and she blinked hard to keep them at bay.
Think of Evan. How he defended you tonight…
And he had defended her. This time, he hadn’t agreed with his friends. He’d stood up for her, showed respect for her, and demanded they do so as well.
A soft knock sounded at her door. Amelia straightened, jerking the brush through a small tangle in her hair.
She swallowed, then lay the brush down on her dressing table. With her heart pounding, she rose, pulling the edges of her dressing gown tight around her, and approached her door. She hesitated with her hand on the door handle.
“Who is it?” she asked, suddenly afraid that George or Fletcher might be lurking outside.
“It’s me,” came Evan’s gruff voice from the corridor.
Melting with relief, she threw the door open. Evan came forward as she did, and he yanked her into the protective circle of his arms, pressing his lips to her cheek, her jaw, her lips, his kisses almost frantic.
They tumbled backward into her bedchamber, and Evan kicked the door shut behind them. Then he pulled back, his dark, concerned gaze searching her face.
“Evan,” she breathed, “you’re bleeding.”
He reached up and touched the trickle of blood at the side of his mouth. “Ah. Fletch did land one good punch, I suppose.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured. She hurried to her dressing table and returned to him with a handkerchief in her hand. Tenderly, she wiped the thin line of blood away.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured.
She frowned. “Sorry? About bleeding?”
“No…I mean yes, that’s part of it. And I’m damn sorry he—they—” He made a low sound of disgust. “Goddammit, George is bad enough, but he’s a drunken lout and he’s unhappy, so at least his actions are explainable. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with Fletcher. I can only say he’s a bastard. He always has been. And,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing, “he’s a blind bastard, at that. He’s so wrong about you. You’re beautiful. You’re sensual and appealing in every way. You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever known, inside and out.”
Amelia stared at him. His brown eyes were stark, honest, and when she gazed into them, she could see the truth
of his words, how they came from a place of honesty deep inside him.
He truly believed all that about her, and if he believed it, then what did it matter what anyone else thought?
“I don’t care about them. Not anymore. All I…” She took a breath, then forged onward. “All I care about is you.”
He hauled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. Amelia pressed her cheek into his chest, feeling the powerful hardness of it. She clenched her hand around the handkerchief and wrapped her arms around his big body, reveling in the sensation of how small she was compared to him, and how feminine.
“I love you, Amelia.”
The last of her hurt and insecurity fizzled away like drops of water in a frying pan. She tightened her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Stay with me tonight?”
“Yes,” he said.
He kissed her. Slowly, thoroughly. Until her knees turned to jelly and she was panting with the need unfurling in her core.
He slipped his fingers beneath her robe and slid it over her shoulders. It whispered down over her nightgown and fell into a heap on the floor along with the handkerchief she allowed to flutter from her fingers.
His coat and waistcoat dropped to the floor in similar fashion. He bent and pressed his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder as she worked his shirt free from his trousers. Then she slid her hands beneath the linen, trailing them up over his torso, reveling in the feel of him, so hard beneath her hands as his lips continued to taste her, rising up her neck to her jaw.
And then he scooped her up in his arms and walked to her bed. He held her as if she were as light as a feather, and she locked her arms around his neck and met his eyes, smiling.
Her bed was the bed of her childhood, large for a child’s bed but quite feminine, with an abundance of pink and lace. He laid her down gently and then lay beside her, a dark flash of virile masculinity in this overtly feminine space. She shuddered.
He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. No, she was hot. Hot and aching and needy. Bursting with heat and desire and anticipation.
He gazed at her for a moment, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Then his fingers molded to her cheek, and she pressed into the warmth of his cupped hand, her lids sinking as the comfort seeped into her bones.
“You’re still mine,” he said, his voice brimming with contentment, his expression like the cat’s who’d just consumed the whole bowl of cream. “Mine for Christmas.”
His for Christmas. “Yes,” she agreed on a sigh of utter fulfillment.
“And beyond Christmas. I want you to be mine forever.” His voice was solemn as he added, “Marry me.”
Her eyes snapped open and she pulled back, staring at him.
“Are…are you sure?”
He nodded. “I am. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Even when I tried to push the desire back into the recesses of my soul.”
She released a shaky breath. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, too. But…”
“But what?” he asked softly.
“But…it’s only been two days, Evan. There is so much about me—about my life—that you don’t know. And I feel the same about you. I don’t even know where you live!”
He shook his head. “Those are just details. We’ll work it out. It’s true I don’t know the particulars of your day-to-day life, but what I do know is this: When I’m with you, I am whole. I’ve spent the past seven years feeling incomplete, searching for that elusive thing that will make me a whole man again. Now, I’ve found it.” His fingers tightened over her cheek. “And I’ve no intention of letting it go.”
She stared at him, awed by how closely his declaration came to how she felt about him. “I feel complete with you, too. Alive. Like a part of me that has been tucked away and hibernating has come back to life.”
“Then marry me, Amelia.”
“Yes, Evan.” Her smile grew wide. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Eight
Evan released a long, shaky breath, and the tension drained from his body. And then he kissed her, hard. Claiming what was his, what would be his forever.
He divested her of her nightgown. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, so hungry was he for her flesh. He kissed her everywhere his mouth could reach, reveling in her sweet taste, in the softness of her skin, in the music of her sighs and whimpers.
She didn’t lie there passively, either. She seemed just as hungry for him as he was for her. Her hands roamed every inch of him, learning his body, learning what made him suck in his breath and what made him groan with pleasure.
He trailed his lips up the inside of her calf, making her laugh softly as he traveled up her inner thigh and then gasp when he pressed his mouth to her sex. He inhaled her deeply, sucking, her taste more pronounced here, more feminine. He pressed a finger inside her, making her hips buck off the bed and a soft cry emerge from her throat.
All this, every bit of this beautiful, lovely, kindhearted, and wonderful woman was his. His mind couldn’t stop repeating it. With each new place he touched and tasted, the word reverberated through him: Mine.
She was so hot. So slick and ready for his cock. But not yet.
First, he pleasured her with his fingers and tongue, working her, drinking her in, until she went stiff and then exploded in undulating waves under him. He coaxed her through the orgasm until she was boneless, gasping with the residue of pleasure.
He pressed his lips one last time to her mound, then kissed his way up her body, until he tasted her lips. She draped her arms lazily over his body, and her lips were soft and warm, completely malleable beneath his own.
He pulled back. “Amelia?”
“Hm?”
“I want to come inside you.”
She hesitated, her eyes opening and focusing on him.
She didn’t answer him for a long moment, and then she moved her hands up to frame his face and her lips curled into a smile.
“Yes, Evan. Please. I want to feel you come inside me.”
And she pulled him to her, kissing him deep and hard, assuring him she was certain of her decision.
Powerful emotion surged up in him as the realization struck him that this woman—the woman he loved—would be the mother of his children. That he and Amelia would make a family together. A future. A life.
“You’re mine,” he whispered roughly. And he pushed into her, both of them gasping from the overwhelming sensation.
Completeness. Wholeness. Such happiness, and such pleasure. It was almost too much to bear. So Evan sank into the physical sensation of making love to the woman who would be his wife. Who would stand at his side for the rest of his life.
He surged inside her again and again as his lips caressed hers, then moved to her cheek and jaw. She fit him like a tight, hot sheath. A perfect match to his body. And to his soul.
The pleasure suffused him, through his bloodstream and his bones, until he felt it on his skin. She clutched him, making little mewling sounds of pleasure.
When he came, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly and burying his face in her silky hair as he released inside her, mindless with the pleasure of experiencing this very deepest level of intimacy with the woman he loved. And a part of him registered the fact that she was coming too, just as overcome as he was.
When his cock finally stopped contracting inside her, he had—just barely—the presence of mind to roll to the side so he wouldn’t smother her. He gathered her to him and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I always have.”
She squeezed her arms around him. “I love you, too, Evan. So much.”
With the sweet truth of her words singing in his head, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
“Merry Christmas, my love.”
Amelia sighed, letting the smile curl on her lips, but she didn’t open her eyes. She stretched in the
circle of his arms, pressing her lips to his chest.
“Merry Christmas,” she murmured, snuggling closer to his big body.
The growing light of morning had seeped in through the curtains while they’d made love again. Now it was full daylight, but Evan had made no move to return to his own room. Nor did she want him to. Everyone already knew what had happened at the inn, so there really was no point in pretending anymore, was there?
They lay there for several minutes, absorbing warmth and comfort from each other. Finally, Evan sighed. “I should go get dressed.”
“It must be after nine,” Amelia said. “I’m sure my sisters are going mad with impatience. This is their favorite day of the year, after all, and they know I brought presents.”
He chuckled.
“Will you go downstairs with me?” she asked. She wanted to face her family and their guests with him at her side.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s dress, and I’ll meet you here afterward.”
They were silent for a moment, then he said, “I’ll speak with your father today.”
“Let’s both speak to him.”
He stiffened. “Is that necessary? Do you think he’ll refuse?”
“No.” Smiling, she pulled back to look in his face, knowing her happiness shone in her eyes. “But if he sees how happy I am at your side, he’ll be less tempted to.”
He studied her for a long moment and finally nodded. “Then we’ll both speak to him.”
She sighed happily. “It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas. My family is here and so is yours. We’ll all be together.”
“Yes. Although,” he said, touching her nose with his fingertip, “soon it won’t be ‘my family and yours’—it’ll simply be our family.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Evan knocked on her door as Fanny was putting the finishing touches on Amelia’s hair. Amelia hurried to open the door.
Evan’s gaze raked her body. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
She smiled. He looked handsome, too, in black trimmed with red velvet.
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