She took herself
in hand. Stop that this instant. He is interloping here. Summoning annoyance from deep within, she screwed it to the sticking point.
As if he felt her stare, Cornelius glanced her way, his blue-gray eyes no less stormy or intense than they’d ever been. He broke from the others and moved her way. “Lady Amelia. It’s been an age.” When he stood before her, his presence large and commanding and wholly consuming, a grin pulled at one side of his sensual lips. “You are as beautiful now as you were the last time I saw you. Perhaps even more so.”
Drat, drat, drat. Why did he have to be charming? “Thank you.” Those two words sailed out on a breathless breeze. The heat inside her intensified, whether from his familiarity or from the anger she clung to, she couldn’t say. “I wasn’t aware the viscount was your son and held a subsidiary title.”
His shrug was a negligent affair that lifted one shoulder. “As I assumed, but he’s here nonetheless, and I think having him mingle will prepare him for London’s Season. Perhaps it will help curb his penchant for landing in scrapes.” When the marquess offered a small, strained smile, she noticed glints of silver within his chestnut hair. That alone gave away his age, as did the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and framing his mouth. He had history behind him; so did she.
No longer were they young and carefree. There was some comfort in that.
“Ah, I see.” Aware Mr. Jessup hovered at the doorway with unconcealed interest, Amelia waved him over. “Have a footmen bring their luggage upstairs to the room the viscount will share with his father... since I didn’t know the marquess was coming and hadn’t made other arrangements.”
A tinge of embarrassment crossed Cornelius’ face. At least he had that grace.
“Of course, my lady.” He exited the room.
She then glanced at her cousin. “Charles, a large party of your guests are in the drawing room waiting for tea. Perhaps you should greet them and do the pretty.” She narrowed her eyes. “Rebecca, please escort the viscount there as well. I would like to speak with the marquess privately.” Before this house party was over, her cousin would take up the reins of responsibility, for she would accept nothing less.
“Join us soon, Auntie,” Rebecca invited. She simpered when the young man offered his arm. They both left the room, already lost in conversation.
When a groan came from Charles, she lifted an eyebrow. “I rather thought to go riding...”
In her growing agitation, Amelia stamped her foot like a child. It was outside of enough that Cornelius had come to crash the party; she would not let her cousin cow her. “It’s time you started acting like the earl, and that means entertaining upon occasion and creating connections. My brother would have had this estate well in hand by now, so no dawdling. I’m not of a mind to argue with you.”
“Don’t fly into the boughs, Cousin.” Charles and Cornelius exchanged a speaking glance, then her cousin departed the room with a mock salute.
As soon as they were alone, she rounded on the marquess. Of all the conflicting emotions roiling through her, she settled on anger. It was familiar and accessible, for it always simmered below the surface, and this man was its cause—at least in her jaded eyes. It was safer than letting him back into her life... and heart. “I did not invite you to this party,” she said, her voice low.
His gaze narrowed as his expression shuttered. Gone was the teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Yet I received a letter with your signature on your stationery.” He produced the missive from an interior pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. “Is this frosty reception what I can expect through Twelfth Night then?” A hint of annoyance rang in his deep baritone.
“Perhaps.” Amelia ignored how delicious that rumble made her feel. Oh, the sound of that voice had the power to make her do many scandalous things...
She swept her gaze over the paper. The damned letter did indeed bear her signature. Had her subconscious wished to see him again? That notion was inconceivable. Having him here, beneath this roof and at Christmastide to boot, was a folly of the highest order for one reason only: she wasn’t certain she could control her body’s reaction to him. It had always been that way. With a shake of her head, she gave the invitation back to him. “It does seem in order. However, I’d like you to leave.”
For her sanity. Hadn’t he shown that his fidelity to his career was stronger than anything they’d shared? This time, her heart was hidden behind a fortress of stone and she refused to have anything shatter that protection, least of all the man who’d left her devastated and in dire straits so many years ago.
“I respect that opinion.” Cornelius tucked the invitation away. “May I ask why? We used to be good friends. Intimate acquaintances. Now, you suddenly can’t stand me? That deserves an explanation, for though we share history, too many years have passed between us. We are not those people any longer.”
Merciful heavens. Of course, he’d come at her with logic. Heat jumped into her cheeks and her breath hitched. She couldn’t go down that road again, for she knew where it would end, and she was far too old to suffer the pangs of romantic angst. “We are nothing any longer. You made certain of that when you left me that night with only an apology in the dark.” That was what had aggravated her more...far beyond his informing her of Peter’s death. And his defection had led to her hasty wedding to Grant, a military man with no title and little to his name, the event that had rocked the ton that year.
But she’d been quite desperate...
All because she’d stupidly given her heart to the man standing before her, and he’d taken that love and ground it beneath his bootheel, leaving her picking up the scandalous pieces. Cornelius must never know the real reason she’d had to marry quickly, for that would make her more vulnerable and would connect her forever to him.
Never again.
To her mortification, a trace of tears stung her eyes. Pain lanced through her chest. Obviously, she hadn’t consigned him to the past well enough if she had a reaction.
Above all, she didn’t want his pity or his after-the-fact obligation.
No doubt he saw every emotion as it crossed her face, for his intense gaze never left hers. He regarded her with questions in his eyes and a jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek. “You are still upset about that?”
“Of course, I am!” She dared to poke a forefinger into his hard chest while keeping her voice low. “It was a defining moment, and you failed to come up to the mark.”
It had also been the first time a man had disappointed her, and that devastation had laid her bare.
He blew out a breath. “There were reasons at the time I couldn’t share.”
“Things more important than me,” she said in a barely-there voice. Old anger surged forward. His abrupt parting had broken her heart, but she’d hidden it beneath anger. It was the glue that had kept her together for far longer than she’d ought to have been.
“You knew what I was, that my devotion was to Crown and country first.” His low-pitched voice matched hers in intensity. “I had no choice.”
“Neither did I.” And that was all he’d know of that. Already, she flew too close to the flame. When he reached for her hand, she snatched it away and tucked it behind her back. Blinking, she straightened her spine. “It’s too little, too late, Cornelius.” Then she pointed to the door and stepped back so there was no doubting her intentions. “Please leave.”
Quickly, before she broke apart from sorrow and pure unadulterated need, for despite the chasm widening between them, she’d always felt safe in his arms.
Ironic, that, but there it was.
I won’t make such a mistake again.
Chapter Four
Cornelius knew she’d be angry, but he had no idea her reaction would feel so fresh or that it would rip the scabs off wounds he’d thought had long ago healed. It was probably best to ride out this wave, for he realized one thing: he didn’t want to leave. The chance to reconnect with her was t
oo great.
As was the fact that being once more in her presence had brought heat and desire back as if he’d only left her side yesterday. Beyond his appreciation for her lush body, he wanted a return of her companionship. That long-ago house party had been the last time he’d truly felt content.
“I understand you’re upset...” His words trailed away as his thoughts burst through. What had her on the ropes? Was it the fact he’d been the one to bring her the news of her brother’s death or that he’d abruptly ended their affair?
“It’s only a rush of memories coming to the forefront suddenly,” she hissed back, but she lowered her pointing finger.
“Perhaps, but I’m not certain.” For the bulk of his career later in life, it was his business to learn how to read people. That was an advantage of being a spy and had saved his arse more than a time or two. Tears had sprung to her eyes, which indicated deeper feelings were at play than remembering a particularly pleasant time from the past. The fact that their broken affair bothered her was an interesting development.
Both of those incidents were a long time ago. He and she had lived lifetimes since then, so why the excess of emotion?
“Have you nothing more to say for yourself?” Faint rosy color stained her cheeks as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, which only pushed those charms closer to the rounded neckline of her ruby dress. Ire blazed in her mossy green eyes. Gold flecks floated in these irises when she was amorous, and apparently when she was under high emotion. And, God help him, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. “After everything that happened?”
Did she refer to his wayward thoughts or the way he’d escaped that night? As if either mattered. At least she didn’t know he’d given Peter the coin for his commission. That secret he’d take with him to his grave.
When she raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting on an answer, he heaved a sigh. There was nothing for it except to be honest, and after years of being a spy where everything was a lie, he welcomed the freedom of it. “I wanted to see you again, Mia.”
One of her eyelids flickered at his use of her nickname. “You’ve seen me. Go collect your outer garments from Mr. Jessup.”
Ah, so then she’d stubbornly cling to those emotions. Well, he was just as bullish. “Beyond that, I wished to know how you fared in the years that separated us. To see if we could once more be friends. Life is difficult enough without that. Don’t you think?”
“This is true enough. However—”
Quickly, Cornelius rushed forward before she could finish her thought. “I had heard you’d married again, but it was only recently that I discovered your husband had died.”
“Yes, at Waterloo. I’m told he died with valor. Was even awarded a medal posthumously.”
“I didn’t know him personally, but I had heard of his courage. You chose well, and I’m glad to know you were taken care of during your marriage.” Though, at the time, her sudden wedding almost two months after their affair had shocked him to his core. It had almost been like their liaison had never happened and hadn’t meant anything to her.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Cornelius nodded. At least she hadn’t struck him, and the blazing color in her pale cheeks had faded. “I meant to pay my condolences in person, but my wife was dying that year when I returned home. I felt I needed to remain by her side more than doing social calls.”
It was the truth, but he could have visited her, for she hadn’t lived far from his Mayfair residence. Yet the damned guilt he carried reared up. His marriage had been a wreck due to his work for the Crown, and he’d spent his time in his wife’s sick room in an effort to atone for his mistakes.
But she’d died anyway. Another instance of too little too late, as Amelia had said.
Confusion shadowed her face. Damn, but she resembled the young lady he’d known back then, only now she had experience and grief behind her. It had matured her as it had him. Yet she was attractive with a woman’s curves where before she’d been slender. Her pixie face had nary a wrinkle and her wheat blonde hair gleamed with health.
Why the devil had no man snapped her up?
Amelia pressed her lips together and then released them, and his gaze temporarily dropped to her mouth. “I hadn’t heard your wife died. I was grieving my husband, came here as a refuge of sorts with my niece.” When she worried that plush bottom lip, he stifled a groan of pure want. It had been entirely too long since he’d tasted her. “Rebecca was sixteen at the time and rather headstrong.”
“I’ll wager she still is, if she takes anything after you,” he said, merely to scatter his wayward thoughts.
“Yes, well, you’re not far from the mark.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Plus, Charles is a negligent lord. I thought my presence here would prompt him to find his responsibility.” A shrug lifted her delicate shoulders. The lightweight ruby wool of her dress moved slightly, and the lace at her bodice drew his attention to how full her breasts were.
“He’ll come around.” Cornelius snapped his focus back to her face. He adjusted his hold on his cane, and the lines of the carved ivory head digging into his palm put him in the correct frame of mind. “My wife suffered from a wasting disease. After a bit, I believe she gave up the will to live, for she’d dealt with it a long time.” His chest grew tight with loss. “Not even my son, whom she raised as her own, could keep her in this world.” A wave of fresh guilt slammed into him. If only he’d been on English soil more often. If only he’d spent more time with her.
If only...
Apparently, three years wasn’t enough time to relieve his remorse. Now he understood why Amelia grappled with her own sentiments.
Suddenly, he felt every day of his age. Arguments and heated words weren’t worth it any longer, even if such violent emotions previously were the spark that fired the passionate inferno between them. “If you truly wish for me to leave, I will. There is no need for animosity between us.” Damnation. I’ve turned into a doddering lord who wants his fire, dressing gown, and a book. Far cry from a once-celebrated spy.
“I agree, but here we are.”
He paused, unsure if he should keep speaking, but he couldn’t quit her company so soon. That connection between them hadn’t fully been severed years ago. “I honestly thought we were friends, or at least not enemies from something not of my making.” And he could use a friend to talk with who wasn’t her cousin. For all he liked Charles, the man’s rakish lifestyle was exhausting to keep up with. “Yes, I had the bad fortune of telling you of Peter’s death. And yes, my confidential missions for the Crown demanded my full allegiance; I made no secret of that fact. I am sorry for that horrible day when I gave you the news, but I’ll be damned if I apologize for what that week brought between you and I.”
Another round of color stained her cheeks. “I... I don’t want you to apologize for that. It was a defining time for both of us.” Amelia glanced at the open door and then back at him. Her eyes had always been expressive, and now was no exception. Confusion and longing warred in those depths. Could it be that she experienced residual feelings for him as well? “There is too much between us for a friendship to bloom.”
Perhaps she had, indeed, forgotten what they’d once meant to each other.
“Fair enough.” Cornelius nodded even as cold disappointment slid through his gut. “It was nice to see you again.” He moved around her toward the doorway. Nostalgia assailed him, and he couldn’t hold back his next words. “When I look at you, it’s as if time has stopped.” Then he glanced over his shoulder at her, and his chest squeezed. “May Christmastide give you everything you’re searching for.”
“Wait.” The softly uttered word sounded like a joyous church bell to his ears. When he turned, her whole body appeared folded as if in defeat, but only for a moment. Then she straightened her spine, and though she wore a smile, shadows haunted her eyes. “Please stay. No one should be alone at Christmas, especially when your birthday is approaching.”
One of his eyebrows rose. The relief coursing through him was surprising. “You remember?” A thrill twisted down his spine.
“Of course, I do. When all is said and done, you are quite unforgettable.” She waved him into the room. “Come. Sit with me for a bit.”
He couldn’t believe this boon. “But your guests?”
“Charles can earn his keep. After all, I did invite eligible ladies who might turn his head.”
Cornelius chuckled, and if felt damned good to finally have something to laugh about. “Very well.” As she perched upon the edge of a delicate Louis XIV chair, he crossed the room and dropped heavily onto a low sofa of the same design. He winced when his knee twinged. “I can sequester myself into the library or study for the length of my stay if you’d rather not see me. Though, to be honest, I’ll tell you I wish to read, but I’ll probably fall asleep in front of the fire like an old man.”
“Pish posh.” Amelia waved a delicate hand. “You’re hardly an old man, Cornelius.” She shook her head. “We share a piece of our pasts, not the nightmares.”
“True. I have enough nightmares for the both of us.”
“You’d be surprised what I struggle with.” The words were so soft he barely heard them. When she met his eyes, secrets clouded her mossy depths. “You’ll share your son’s room. It’s large enough, with two narrow beds.”
“Thank you.” Perhaps if he went slowly, she would tell him those secrets, or even the nightmares, for he would try and vanquish them. If he were lucky, she’d reveal why she’d wed her military man so soon after their own affair ended. At the time, the news had cut him to the quick. Then he’d had another mission to run, and the work distracted him.
But he’d never forgotten the blatant statement her marriage had made, as if she spurned any interest he might have had in her or any attempt to rekindle what they’d shared.
Her gaze dropped to his left knee. “When did you injure yourself?”
Cornelius nearly lost the power of speech when she slid her attention higher up his leg and rested it momentarily at the vee of his thighs before she met his gaze once more. Subtle need burned deep in the depths of her eyes. Never say she felt something for him. He cleared his throat, hardly daring to hope. “Uh, Paris, 1814. Near the end of the war.” Nothing in her expression gave away her feelings. Perhaps she wasn’t even aware or her unspoken desire. “It was an altercation with a couple of French Boney supporters in a tavern.” He shrugged. “I was there clandestinely. They were overly obnoxious toward English troops. I reprimanded them but wasn’t fast enough to evade them all. One of the ruffians caught me in the knee with a club. Broke the kneecap.”
Wrapped in Red (Colors of Scandal, #4) Page 4