by Stacy Reid
I cannot stay. Her pride was too fierce and unwavering for that!
She hurried over to the armoire and pulled her dresses, and riding habits down. Another hour passed, and Max did not come to her, and she became painfully aware of how low she must be on his rung of importance. And what if she should truly be with child? Dear God, how silly I have been. She had acted with reckless impetuosity with little thought to the consequence of her heart and future. But she was now achingly ripped from her fantasy.
“What are you doing?” a deep voice questioned.
Amalie whirled around. Max framed the doorway, his eyes taking in the room’s disarray in a sweeping glance. She was so intent on closing her hatbox she had not heard the door open. “I am leaving.”
A shadow crossed his face, and he moved into the room.
“Let me hasten to assure you I have no... no expectations beyond this affair. I understand your position and I am quite aware of mine! That does not mean I wish to be treated like a nasty secret,” she said in a choked whisper.
“This is what you think of me?” he asked blandly.
“There is little evidence to say otherwise! Your sister descended on us unexpectedly and you commanded me to stay in the library as if you could not bear for us to meet! I had no expectations of an introduction, but I do not expect to be treated like something shameful by you! I cannot help feel you wanted me to stay in that library until you had dealt with her and she could leave without our paths crossing.”
“I was being protective of her sensibilities and—”
Amalie flinched. “I see,” she said hoarsely, hating that tears burned her throat. “I am a wicked tart whose presence will rattle your sister’s notion of what is sensible and just! Of course, I had to stay in the damnable library! How dare you!”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Amalie do not berate me unjustly. Your presence here at my country home can only mean one thing. That we are embroiled in a wicked affair. I did not want you to face her silly judgement until I determined what she was doing here. I am not ashamed of you! How could you think it!”
“And I supposed it took you another hour to come and tell me this.” She held up a hand when he made to speak. “Please allow me to hazard a guess. She was hysterical and you could not rush from her side!”
The truth glowed in his eyes. “I promise you there is more to it than your presence in my life.”
“I do not believe you meant to be harsh, Max, nor do I believe your actions that of a bounder. But this moment has shown me more than anything else, my place in your life and heart despite...despite my dearest, foolish hopes. It is not your fault I have developed the most intense tendre for you, and I cannot hope for you to return my sentiments.”
“What did you say?” he demanded gruffly.
The eyes which peered up at him glisten with tears. “I... I love you, Max, most ardently, I love you.”
Chapter 11
Silence fell, and Max stared at Amalie wordlessly. The impassioned declaration had pierced his heart deeply, and he held them close. Yet he could not open his mouth to return her love. What would saying such sentiments do? His plans in relation to her was muddled, and he needed to understand them fully before he gave them any hope. But by God, he did love her, “Amalie...”
“You do not have to say anything,” she cried. “I know you will not marry me, and I do not expect an offer! I knew that before I agreed... before I agreed to come here. Thank you for the past couple of weeks. They were wonderful, but I believe it is time I bid you adieu.”
His heart had started a slow pound. “I do not want to lose you. I cannot lose you.” Not yet.
She searched his face intently. “Did you expect us to have an affair forever?”
“No,” he admitted slowly. “I knew it would be a temporary state.”
It was subtle, but he caught her flinch, and the pain which darkened her eyes almost undid him.
“Then do not be silly,” she chided. “We must go on and cherish the wonderful time we had.”
She tried to say this lightly but the pain in her eyes and tone were inescapable.
“Amalie...what if...what if...” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “What if we never have to part?”
Her lips parted, and she took an involuntary step toward him. “I... do you mean a permanent attachment?”
“Yes.”
“Oh Max, I would...” He couldn’t say what stopped her, but her words faltered, and she clasped her hands before her. “Did you speak of marriage just now?”
He had no idea what he spoke of. He had left his sister still in a hysterical state because of Amalie’s presence in his life. It was a deflection from what bothered her heart, for she had run to him after discovering her very proper husband was having an affair. His own sister asked if it would be proper to read his book, for she did not want to lose her husband’s affections. Directing her distress to Amalie now was simply a distraction from her pain.
At his silence, Amalie’s eyes widened before her expression crumpled into a mask of agony. The flash of raw pain was quickly buried to be replaced by civil indifference, but he had seen it, and the power of it shocked him speechless.
“Of course, it is for the best. And I understand...why. Because of my tarnished reputation it would be foolish to even consider making me an offer. I would not expect it, I...I was but silly for a moment.” Then she stepped forward, tipped onto her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I bid you farewell, Max,” she whispered. “I cannot willingly break my heart so I must leave. Thank you for being such a kind friend.”
He could have stopped her. He could have used the knowledge he had of her body and ruthlessly seduced her to stay with him for a few more weeks... maybe a few more years. But he did not, unable to understand the emotions twisting through him. It was only meant to be an affair, he reminded himself. And affairs ended. Yet his supposition felt wrong, his heart trembled with the force of his need, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
They needed some time apart, maybe then everything would be brought into perspective. It was with that damn foolish thought driving him, he allowed her to board his carriage and drove out of his life a few hours later.
The fear and oddly placed sense of loss that slithered through him felt terrible. There had been something too frightfully empty in her eyes when she had bid him goodbye.
Sweet Christ, what if he had just made the worst mistake of his life?
Max sauntered along the path of his estate, his hand clasped behind his back, Lady Rebecca ambling by his side in the most charming ensemble of yellow dresses dotted with flowers at the hem, and a hat perch rakishly atop her blonde curls. The young lady was indeed a diamond of the ton, incredibly beautiful and a rumored dowry of fifty thousand pounds. Her father, the Marquess of Rushworth was very respected and influential in high society. Somehow, the young lady and her mother had set their cap upon Max. Worse, his mother and sisters connived to invite the marchioness and her daughter to his estate for the weekend without his permission.
Informed of the relationship he had with Amalie; this was their attempting to protect the family’s reputation by directing more eligible debutantes into his sights.
“Are you listening, my lord?” a very pique tone demanded. “I have mentioned twice now that I will be playing at mamma’s musicale tomorrow and you should make every effort to attend.”
He glanced down into lady Rebecca’s pouting expression. The very notion of a union between their families delighted his mother and sisters but left him cold. “I am distracted, lady Rebecca,” he said with a rueful smile. “I am not the best person to accompany you on a walk today.” Or watch you sing and play the pianoforte tomorrow.
“Of course, you are,” she cried, reaching out to grasp his lower arm.
He stared at where she held him, and she reluctantly removed her touch, a flush mounting on her rosy cheeks.
“I shall accompany you in silence then,” she said magnanimo
usly.
In the distance he saw his brother, walking his Poughkeepsie on a leash. The entire family had descended upon him, and no doubt it was Louisa’s doing. She and her husband seemed to be doing well, considering the tender looks they kept sharing, and the frightful blush on his sister’s face whenever she met his stare.
She had read his book, and she had employed his instructions on her staid husband. Max had not been sure what to make of that nor did he know how to ease her mortification. He hadn’t told her to read that damn book, but he was glad it was helping to mend the rift between she and her Baron.
“There is no need for such a consideration, lady Rebecca,” Max murmured smoothly, dipping into a brief bow. “I am sure my sisters would take pleasure in your company. They are by the lake. I do have some business with my brother. I shall see you at dinner.”
Civility obligated her to nod her head in agreement, but there was a definite flounce in her steps when she hurried away.
Harry had observed this byplay, and now hurried over, his dog taking the lead. Max lowered to his haunches and greeted the enthusiastic pup by scratching behind its ear.
“You do not seem to enjoy the company of your intended,” Harry said, eyeing Max critically.
He stood and arched a brow. “My intended?”
“I heard Mother speaking with Lizzie earlier. Mother was certain an offer would be made by you at dinner this evening.”
“Good God!” Then Max laughed. “She is determined to try and force me to her will. I love her but our mother is outrageous.”
Harry shrugged. “It is normal for her to be concerned and she does have a discerning eye. She knew Lizzie would have been a perfect match for me, and look at that, we are perfect for each other. I love my wife more than how I would have thought ever possible. So do not dismiss mother’s matchmaking efforts so readily.”
Max walked toward the lake, Harry keeping pace beside him.
“What are your objections to the lady?” Harry demanded. “Only last month you told me you were restless...that you were thinking of taking a wife and then hope for children soon.”
“I would not be faithful to her,” Max murmured with a grimace. “She... every lady deserves to have the full loving attention of her husband.”
Harry scoffed. “You cannot be certain you would be unfaithful—”
“I know it,” Max said a bit forcefully, cutting off his brother, “because lady Rebecca isn’t her.”
Harry grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, and Max turned to face him. Harry’s eyes were dark with concern. “It is normal, perhaps even expected that a man of your stature to have a mistress.”
Everything inside of Max recoiled at the very notion. “Do you have a mistress, Harry?”
His brother sighed. “No, but I love Lizzie. I cannot say the same for you.”
Max cannot say what showed on his face, but his brother froze, a startle question in his eyes.
“Do you love Lady Weatherston?”
The question sent a pounding ache through Max’s heart. Do I love her? He scrubbed a hand over his face. Christ. “I do not know what I feel.” Liar. He damn well knew. For her...for her he felt everything. And he was a damn fool to even think of letting her slip from him again.
It had been three weeks since he last saw Amalie, and every night he went to bed with the smell and taste of her haunting him. It was as he expected. Like their first parting, a dark feeling of loss rolled through him in chilly waves. Being with her for those several days had ruined all other women for him. The remembered pain and shame in her eyes gutted him each time he recalled it to mind.
He had made her feel like that, when she deserved the world. The time apart had only revealed to his heart that he was still hopelessly in love with her, and there was no one else he wanted by his side but her.
“I can see what you are thinking, Max,” Harry said tightly.
“What am I thinking?”
“That you’ll not let her go.”
“I cannot,” he admitted gruffly. “I’ve loved her for years. When I sleep in the nights, she is there beside me. I smell her, hell, I can feel her. And when I turn to draw her into my arms, and she is not there...I cannot express the loss I feel. There is a damn hole in my chest, and I know it cannot be filled with anything but Amalie.”
Harry glanced away, as if he were mortified at the turn in their conversation.
“And does she feel the same way about you?”
I love you, Max, I ardently love you.
God, how he must have shattered her heart and hopes with his silence.
“She loves me,” he said. “And I was a damn fool for hurting her with my silence when she told me. Even if I had been uncertain about everything else, I should have been honest about that. I already learned a painful lesson in the past about keeping my feelings to myself. If I had declared for her then, just maybe all these years we would have been together. She is forever mine, Harry. Always will be.”
Harry nodded, smiling. “You sound like a man caught in the painful throes of love. What are you going to do about it? There is nothing wrong with setting her up as your Cher Amie. You have a duty to discharge to your family and the title, never forget that.”
“And I can see you believe that this duty to my family who had been allowed to choose their own happiness must be more important than Amalie’s honor. Such a notion is repugnant to me.”
Harry winced, but before he could speak, Max held up his hand.
“Say no more. If I cannot take Amalie to be my wife, I’ll not dishonor her by making her my mistress while I give everything that she deserves and more to a wife whom I do not love. Such rubbish! I have business to attend, if you will excuse me.”
Then he walked away from his brother, ignoring the stare he could feel boring into his back. They were all damn fools, judging someone as sweet and wonderful as Amalie because she dared to run away from a rapist.
And had he been any better? Allowing her to walk away from him with pain in her eyes and heart when no other could complete him? He paused and lifted his head to the sky. Wait for me, my Amalie. Wait for me.
When he lowered his head, it was to see his mother marching to him, battle determination evident in every line in her body.
When she drew close, he surprised her by drawing her close and hugging her.
“Max!” she gasped in admonishment, but he realized her cheeks had pinkened and her eyes glittered with pleasure.
“I will not be marrying Lady Rebecca,” he said firmly. “Or any other young lady.”
His mother’s hand fluttered to his chest as she stared at him in ill-concealed alarm.
“You have a duty—”
“Mother, I have a duty to the title and to uncle’s memory and legacy. That includes managing the estates profitably and marrying a lady of quality and honor. That is what I will do.”
A frown of confusion puckered her brow. “I do not understand, Max.”
“That lady of quality and honor is, Amalie, Viscountess Weatherston. I would not be deserving of the earldom or of my honor if I turn away from her because of society’s pettiness. My heart is unfortunately small, and it has all been taken up by her.”
His mother’s eyes teared up. “Society will not forgive you!”
“I do not give a damn!”
“Maximilian!” she wailed. “You must not do this!”
“I expected more from you mother, your prejudices have sorely disappointed me. Father did not give a damn when he married you, Mother, or have you forgotten that he defied his family and expectations to marry you because he loved you? It is astonishing that you would dare expect me to relinquish the woman I love and marry another whom I can barely tolerate.”
She paled alarmingly. “That is different. I might have come from a simple family, but I had my honor!”
“Amalie never lost hers. Never. And it is I who will no longer tolerate those who judge and condemn her because of their own spiteful prejudices
. And that includes anyone in my family.”
At his mother silence, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I bid you good evening, mamma.” Then he walked away.
“And where are you headed to?” she cried. “Lady Rebecca and her mother are your guests!”
“I am traveling to London immediately, I shall leave the care of your guests in your artful hands, mother.”
“Why are you going to London?” she stridently demanded, still in a ripe mood for arguing.
To her. And he hoped she would be there, even though his gut felt heavy with a dark press of doubt. His Amalie had always run whenever she was hurt or scared. The last time, again because of his idiocy he had lost her for over five years.
This time... he couldn’t bear contemplating the idea in the weeks it had taken him to pull his head from his arse she had ran and had disappeared like ashes in the wind.
What a damn fool I’ve been.
Chapter 12
Being away from Max felt unbearable. Thankfully, her menses had arrived, and she had wept with the relief that she was not pregnant. Amalie tried to busy herself with embroidery, long walks in the park, and even accepting the scattered invitations which came her way. Her darling friends tried to cheer her, and she did a credible job in appearing happy. Inside she bled, at nights she cried for the emptiness looming in her heart feeling as if it would never be filled.
She had penned a letter with one single line:
Dear Max,
I am not with child. I trust this news will relieve your heart and mind from any worries.
Yours, A.
And he had replied even more succinctly with:
Dear A,
Thank you for letting me know,
Max.
Thea kept one of her sought after ball, and Amalie had attended with some trepidation beating in her heart. She did not want to encounter Max, especially given that upon returning to town, she had learned there had been speculation about their joint absence from town. Many pointed glares had been aimed her way yesterday when she had strolled in Hyde Park with her other scandalous widow friends. Amalie had lifted her chin high and paid them little heed.