He paused and nodded, mirroring her own reactions. “Amelia. I find that in our brief acquaintance you have expressed your displeasure with me twice. I wouldn't care to make it thrice.”
She blushed. He must think her without restraint. “I must confess I used to be consider quite even tempered, yet I have lost my composure twice with you. It baffles me, Robert.”
“Might I ask a favor of you then?” When he stopped, she raised her head in question. “That you allow me chance to understand my errors and make amends for them.”
“It is I who must make amends for my hasty speech for yesterday and at the first dinner party,” she insisted.
“In truth, you wounded me.” The words stopped her.
“Your Grace?” He turned to her with an arch expression. She corrected her error without reminder. “Robert.”
“Yesterday I was trying to inform you that the quiet of Mossford appeals greatly to me. No invitation to a hunting party or all manners of promised revelry could please me as much as it did.” Now he smiled wryly, amused now that the matter was behind them.
She gasped then, drawing his attention to her contrite features. There was nothing that compared to the soft moue of her semi-pouted lips, a pale pink that stole his attention. He realised she had been talking when he was lost in his reverie. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace,” she continued, looking appropriately chastened.
“Robert. You will find it easier with frequent use.”
Now she smiled sadly. “Robert.” He nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“I must beg your forgiveness, Robert. I was overwrought. My father may have manipulated us both. He did not inform me of your impending arrival until your outrider was at our gates announcing your carriage from the distance of a mile away. I was ill prepared.” The excuses would do for a bystander. and even her father, but they sounded weak in her ears just as she knew they truly were.
“I thought your attire quite fetching.” She had braced herself for an insult and was shocked when none was forthcoming.
“I think you are teasing me, Robert. The stink of the stables was about me,” she countered.
“I didn’t notice,” he concluded with uncommon chivalry.
“Now I know you are teasing me,” she finished in the tones of one who was being treated badly.
“Will you not have a seat? The stone is cold but the sun is surely warm and not to be missed. It is too weak to ruin your complexion and the gardens are beautiful,” he offered magnanimously.
“These are my gardens, Robert,” she answered.
“I assure you, the irony is not lost on me.” He was amused.
“I cannot sit idly in the gardens.” His smile grew larger.
“Forgive me for indulging. Shall we occupy ourselves with something as we converse? Might I suggest embroidery?” The crooked smile was now very obviously teasing one out of her.
“Robert!” He laughed at her comical indignation, enjoying her teasing and laughter. The easy camaraderie was much like they once had, but even better. She was pleased to find it again, too pleased. It was fast becoming an addiction.
“Forgive me, Amelia.” He was amused by her manners.
“You jest with me, Robert.” Her tone was huffy, but she was smiling.
“I find I cannot help myself. Your smile is a worthy sight.” The words warmed her and changed the mood drastically.
“Robert?” He was suddenly serious. The change of mood had her looking at him closely. His amusement was gone and his stare was suddenly intense. His eyes, she discovered, were a lovely grey and they looked at her directly. They unsettled her somewhat and she ducked her head. She chastised herself. She was not a child fresh from the schoolroom faced with her first flirtation. And they were merely talking, no reason to find her avidly interested in his boots. Gleaming, expensive leather though they were.
“Don't hide from me. I want to see your smiles. You have given me so few of them.” Fingers wedged under her chin lifted her face up until she was looking directly into his eyes. She wasn’t smiling now.
“I shall endeavour to do better,” she ventured boldly, and he nodded solemnly.
“I sincerely hope so,” he replied with a suddenly intense gaze that drew her in. He moved his hands away and she almost fainted at the sudden relief from his stare. “Tarry with me a while.” He gestured to the stone seat. “I am sure certain duties will snatch you away soon.” He tried to inject a light note into the suddenly tense moment.
“Sitting in the gardens is not...” She had already complained once. “Shall we go for a ride then, Your Grace?”
“If we can escape the sad endings of yesterday.” He was entirely serious.
“I believe that there is nothing left to color the air.” She felt her face burn.
“Then I shall be most pleased to see your lands from your own eyes.”
“I should like to show you my favourites haunts,” she offered as a truce.
“Lead the way.” She led the way, much like yesterday, but when they arrived at the stables she told the groom to saddle her favorite horse. Heather was a playful chestnut just a hand span shorter than the stallion. Amelia mounted astride. A side saddle was not going to make for easy riding and the distance was a good part away. When she settled into the saddle and arranged her skirts she found him mounted and waiting for her to lead the way.
They passed the time riding slowly while they made easy conversation. After a good while they arrived at the brook. Surrounded by a copse of trees that hid it, one could only stumble on it by accident. It gurgled softly. The water was clear to its depths, with smooth pebbles in its bed. Amelia alighted and Robert followed quickly.
“You should let me have the honor of helping you from your horse,” he chided softly.
She paused at that, looking from him to the horse and replaying the past moment. “I am unused to such courtesies.”
“No man has held your reins for you?” He was surprised and pleased. It was a trivial matter, but they were sharing intimacies she had never shared with any other.
“I have never ridden with another man, save when I was but a child and Sebastian carried me on his horse.” She stood reminiscing with a small smile at the corners of her lips.
“A delightful experience I am sure.” It was more a statement of fact than it was a question.
“It was magnificent. It was on a black stallion, the sire if the one you are now riding. I would smile all day. Once, when we reached this brook, he made a pantomime. I was a damsel in distress and a dragon was coming to eat me.” Her smile was brighter now, her joy palpable.
“He cast himself in the role of dragon slayer then?” He joined in her childish glee.
She smiled and frowned a moment later. “I refused to be a weak damsel. I got myself a branch and fought off the dragon. Afterwards we duelled.”
“You, my lady, have had the pleasure of a most unconventional childhood.” He replied without censure and not a little jealousy. He had spent his childhood in rooms with crotchety tutors who deplored his habit of looking out the windows when he could be applying himself to his lessons.
“You resolved to call me by my Christian name, remember?” She wrinkled her nose at him. He flicked the tip of her nose as he laughed out loud in his effusive manner when he found something worth a laugh.
“I stand corrected.” He admitted with a sheepish smile.
“I haven’t been here for 3 years, almost 4.”
“Since your brother died?”
“And my mother.”
He did not know what to say. None of the well worded platitudes offered in his own moment of grief seemed right. “I am sorry.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” she answered him simply. “I fear I am a coward to avoid this place.”
“There is nothing of the coward to avoid places that feel too much.” He countered firmly.
“You're too kind, Robert.” She still thought herself uncaring and cowardly for not fa
cing her grief. Yet she had dared to criticise him for failing a sibling. She was a hypocrite.
“It is merely the truth. I believe it takes a fortitude of the soul to survive grief. A gel, I am told, needs her mother.” He said so ruefully, sure he was treading in dangerous ground.
“And a man his father, yet yours is deceased. I am sorry for prattling on. I am not the only one with a dead parent. You are an orphan, are you not?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” The words were soft, but they held a heavy message.
What was she supposed to say? Having known grief, she knew words were not enough. “My condolences.”
He nodded tightly and continued, “I must confess, I find I only grieved for my mother.”
“How did she die?” She ventured boldly. Clearly there was more to the matter than the initial implications.
“A carriage accident.”
“Is that where you...”
“Got my scars. Yes.” He was silent a moment. “I grew to favor my mother. I think that was hard for my father. We had a warm house once. After that my father sent me off to school and crawled into a bottle.”
Lady Amelia’s eyes grew large and misty for the young boy he had been, grieving for his mother, forced to sever connections with his sister and abandoned by his father.
“He gave me over to tutors and masters of the manly arts. I was in Eton when I heard he died. I came home to attend to my duties as the new Duke of Windon and laid him to rest. As soon as he was placed in the ground I returned to Eton. I wore black for the expected time as did my sister. But I confess I think she wore it out of filial devotion, and I? I cannot think why except that it was expected. My real father had died years before. He told me to never fall in love. It hurts too much. It certainly destroyed him.” He said it in a light manner that she now recognised to be an armor of sorts. There was a world of confusion, puzzlement and pain beneath it all. “Six months to the day after the funeral I took off the mourning bands and resumed my life.”
He turned to her, wondering why she was silent, Amelia was looking at him with the most heartbroken expression and tears streaming down her face.
He stared at her as she bit down on her lips to keep from making a sound. Her reaction stunned him. Nobody had ever cried for him. He found it oddly appealing and saddening. She should not cry for any reason. “Now, hush, not another tear.” He pulled a starched handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks.
The sobs burst out despite her best efforts. “I cannot bear it Robert, I cannot.”
“I confess, I am waiting for your anger to wash over me, demanding how I can be content with mere duty,” he prompted.
“I am wrong, so wrong to judge you. Oh Robert, I cannot bear it. You without a mother, separated from your sister and a father that abandoned you. Oh...ooh.” He stopped dabbing at her face. It proved ineffectual at staunching the flow of tears anyways and his handkerchief was quite soaked.
He leaned closer and gathered her to his chest. She was lean but of considerable height. Her head reaching his shoulders and the coils of the coiffure she currently sported tickled his chin as he held her shuddering body in his embrace.
“Here I am, well loved and discontent. You have surely chastised me with your tale. I am ashamed and fully contrite.” She spoke into his chest, muffled but audible through her sniffling.
Robert bent over her head to hear what she had mumbled against his chest. “It was not my intentions to make you cry. Neither are they to have the effects of a sermon. I only wanted to tell you.”
“And I understand,” she protested. “I still feel a fool,” she muttered against his chest with a touch of asperity.
He threw his head back and laughed. He wondered how he could feel the urge when he had been in the holds of grief mere moments ago.
Amelia remained content to lay her head on his chest. The rumbling from his chest was even more delightful than the sound that escaped into the air. She leaned in closer and rubbed her face in his waistcoat.
“You are making a jest of me,” she complained. He had stopped laughing aloud but was still overcome by silent fits of amusement.
“I assure you, I am simply overcome,” he protested before giving in to another fit of laughter.
“Indeed, you are.” He chuckled lightly and his arms tightened around her. He lowered his head to reply and caught her citrus scent. Lemon balm and sunshine. It was strange and unconventional, but then this beauty never was ordinary. Suddenly their position struck him as incriminating. He doubted she would be willing to wed him when she only meant to comfort him.
Comfort him she did. Her face burrowing in his chest was a welcome pressure he could feel through his coat and shirt. And he was on a path to relinquish the pleasure, but not just yet. Society be damned, there was not a soul around to see them.
He bent his head again and imbibed in that citrus scent. So like her—direct, sharp and yet addicting.
Amelia was aware of her position. Her tears had come quickly and had long dried up but she remained on his chest holding on to that phantom warmth. Initially, she had meant to comfort him and take comfort. After a moment in the embrace her heart had lurched, sending a pulse of heat to all her body. The aching heat in her belly started to boil slowly, like a thick pot stirred over the fire. She had never experienced the sensation but she was not so green not to identify desire. This was nothing like a stolen kiss by a bold boy of the local gentry or the shallow but trifling heavy-lidded flirtation in a ballroom.
Her body grew heavier and warmer until she feared he would feel it and know even through the many layers of fabric. She started to move, raising her head from his chest. He missed it immediately. It had become sweetly familiar in that short moment.
“I beg your forgiveness. I was too bold.” She apologised immediately as she moved away to what could be called a respectable distance.
He excused her. “You were overwrought and in need of comfort.”
“Thank you. Robert. You understand.” She was grateful he did not think she was forward or, heaven forbid, wanton.
“Your servant always.” He bowed solicitously.
“Still I feel I must touch on a matter. Something you said filled me with a profound sadness,” she stated in a clear tone that had him looking at her.
“Strike it from your mind.” He had enjoyed the embrace too much to take her apology right now.
“I find I cannot,” she insisted.
“I cannot in good faith allow you to take such a burden because I could not keep mum.” He was not pleased at the direction of their conversation.
“I am most pleased that you brought me into your confidence.”
“And I am most displeased that I have made you cry,” he said, by way of apology.
“We women are emotional creatures.” He nodded curtly but she was not done talking. “I must address this matter.”
“I cannot stop you.” It was her turn to nod curtly.
She gathered her inner resolve. There was also the possibility of drawing his ire. “Your father was wrong. Family is important. Love is strength, not weakness. I hope you experience love.”
Dashed deuce, if his mind was not going in forbidden directions. The words shocked him until he understood her innocent intent fully. She herself was unaware of the easy misconstruction of her words.
“But I have.” He could not resist the quip. She had given him such ready ammunition. The blush creeping over her cheeks was beautiful and her shock was even more entertaining. It took all his restraint to keep the threatening laughter to spill.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean...” she blushed. “I did not intend to imply...” Gads! What had possessed her to say such words?
“Come now, Amelia. We are past such formalities and such petty misunderstandings. I perceive rightly what you mean to say, even if your wording was right bawdy.” He really could not stop the quip from spilling. The devil on his shoulder nudged him, and he followed, eyes gleaming mi
schievously.
“Robert!”
“Let us acknowledge the truth between us,” he insisted.
“You're unkind to tease me so.” Her face burned in embarrassment.
“I only followed your lead.” His mischief was visible in his lethal crooked grin.
“Let this topic be at an end.” She tried to sound stern but it came out flustered.
“Your servant.” He murmured in amusement. “Set your heart at ease, Amelia. I have known love. I informed you that I sent a letter to my sister and she returned correspondence to me. She invited me to her husband’s estate and when I arrived proceeded to hug me wildly. She proclaimed she had said many a prayer for me. No ingénue when I was a child, she had seen the actions of my father.”
“She could scarcely stop him. She was just a child then too.”
“Let there be no strife between us” he begged.
“Forgive me Robert, continue,” she replied in a lighter tone.
“But when he died I was too far gone, and in the years that followed I did not return home until the eve of her wedding. Thoughtless of me, but that was, to me, simply the way of things,” he continued softly.
“Oh, Robert!” Her eyes were misty again.
“No tears, Amelia. Let me finish.”
“But, of course”
“But when she received my missive she had given up hope. When I visited at her estates I found she had flagrantly vanquished Society by making a home warm and alive with the joys of children. Even her household servants were like family and in that little moment of my stay I was like one of them. Her husband consulted me freely on all matters and so did she. Her children approached me without fear of my station or scars, and even roped me into several games of hide and seek. I carried them on my shoulders and I felt a peace within me.” He confessed this as if it had been one strange adventure.
“I am doubly glad. Your sister has flourished in spite of Society.” She pointed out.
“Would you spite Society with me? Marry me, Amelia.” The surprise widened her eyes and her hand flew up to hold in her gasp.
“Robert...?” It escaped anyway, with a hoarse edge because she had been crying and still had tears in her eyes. The throaty low flow of air tormented him with an image of the two of them entwined, seat slicked and her gasp filling the air.
Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 49
