A swift stab of agony lodged in her chest, taking her by surprise. It stole her breath, and she dropped her hand from his person. Was this the time to tell the truth, to reveal the terrible secret she’d kept to herself for so long? Suddenly, the need to talk about that time in her life grew too great to ignore. “I had the dream of that once, but I... lost the pregnancy in its fourth month.” Her heartbeat raced as she met his gaze and saw the shock and compassion in those stormy depths. “Complications following that event prevented any further hope of children.” Unable to bear it if he’d guessed her secret, Amelia pulled ahead of him on the path which would take her around the pond.
“Mia.” Cornelius caught her hand and tugged, forcing her to a halt. “I apologize if I’ve upset you.” She let him turn her about so that she faced him. “I had no idea of your health concerns.”
Tell him everything, the little voice inside her urged. I can’t, she answered back. In this I’ve wronged him, and he’ll never forgive me. Besides, what difference would it make now? Then she glanced up and her gaze crashed into his. The concern and banked heat there nearly broke her resolve. How much did she want to dive into those cool depths and let herself drown?
Yet, if she did that, there’d be no turning back. She concentrated on the pressure of his gloved fingers on hers even as that very touch threatened to break her apart.
“When did this occur? Charles didn’t tell me.”
Of course, he didn’t know. No one did, except perhaps Mr. Jessup. “Shortly after I married Grant. Early in our marriage.”
Let him speculate on the timing. With the glassy surface of the blue-green pond behind him and the tree line at her back, the setting lent itself well to romance. But she didn’t want that from him. Not now. That moment had passed, for she’d meant what she said: she wouldn’t marry again. She couldn’t. Yet standing there with him and having one of her wounds ripped partially opened, she needed the reminder that she mattered, that the struggle and trials had meant something, that he cared.
That there might be hope... “Cornelius, I...”
“I know.” He slid his hand up her arm, never breaking eye contact. “I regret many things in my life but coming here all those years ago with news of your brother isn’t one of them... because of you, of what we shared. I’ve never forgotten.” Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head, their lips almost touching. Questions filled his eyes, and when she gave an imperceptible nod, he claimed her lips in a barely-there kiss. Then he pulled slightly back, watching her.
Amelia trembled. That tiny contact had been too brief, oh, but it had made her feel alive as she hadn’t in such a long time. She laid her free hand on his chest, and this time it was she who kissed him back, though just as hesitantly. In him was the peace and calmness she so desperately sought, and for one fleeting second, she thought she might let him carry her burden for a while.
Heat, need, longing, and grief all swirled inside her to catch fire and rush through her blood in an irresistible tide. She moaned the same time Cornelius made a sound low in his throat, and then she was in his arms, her body smashed against his, her mouth meeting his in a passionate embrace that she both craved and feared. In this one moment, the years apart didn’t matter, the secret she kept held no sway, for she was back in his arms.
Before she could fully enjoy it, a weird, whizzing noise, accompanied by a sudden flutter of air, broke them apart. Seconds later, a slight thud of an arrow hitting the soft ground at her feet alerted her to potential danger.
“Who...? Is someone hunting on these private lands?” Confusion gripped her mind that had been turned to mush by his kisses.
“Damn it.” Cornelius shoved her into the direction of the evergreen trees. “Hide. I’ll be right back.” As a protest lodged in her throat, he’d loped up the hill the best he could with his limp.
Amelia’s head still spun from the embrace, but fear had gooseflesh popping over her arms. Was he in danger? Were they? The sharp scent of pine brought her a modicum of comfort and reminded her of him. As she struggled with her footing in the dusting of snow on the winter-dead grass, a string of curses drifted to her location. Her heartbeat accelerated. Had he been shot? She crept through the maze of evergreens with a slower gait than she would have liked. Snow crunched beneath the soles of her half-boots. When Amelia saw a few droplets of blood, stark against the white, panic rose. Her heart knocked frantically behind her ribcage.
“Cornelius?” The hiss of that one word sounded overly loud in the forest’s silence.
“Hush.” His whisper was at her ear as he approached from the rear. He must have doubled back without her realizing it. Truly, he was good at what he did.
She turned. “Are you hurt?” Blood trickled down the side of his face to stain his greatcoat and tan muffler.
“Grazed by a second arrow.” He briefly touched his cheek and his gloved fingers came away marred by the dark liquid. “I gave chase, but with my knee, I couldn’t catch him. He was darkly cloaked and vanished into the woods well east of here.” His eyes flashed. “Someone means me harm. This was no random hunter.”
Annoyance mixed with worry and the heat that sizzled in her veins. She couldn’t balance any of the emotions. “That note you received at breakfast. Was it from the Home Office?”
“Yes. Warning me of this very thing.” Bitterness clung to the statement.
“You brought danger to my doorstep, knowing how I feel about your work?” Her cheeks heated as familiar anger surged through her. “You haven’t changed.”
“It wasn’t my doing,” he snapped. “We need to move to safety though.”
Yes, it was a logical assessment, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him. “Can you not leave war behind, Cornelius?” If her heart beat any faster, it would attack her. “It’s already taken everything,” she managed to gasp out from a tight throat. I can’t have it take you too.
“If I have my way, it won’t have me,” he said in a fair parrot of her thoughts. He stared at her, his gaze as cold as sea glass. “Do you trust all of your guests?”
“Of course. You think one of them is guilty?”
“Perhaps.”
She snorted at the absurdity. “Life isn’t a spy game.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Amelia huffed. Above everything, annoyance for their broken moment ruled. This is exactly why I can’t enter a relationship with him. He will always love the march, the intrigue, more. “I knew cultivating anything, even forgiveness, between us was a mistake.” She didn’t care if he couldn’t hear her whisper. When she turned to leave for the house, he caught her hand.
“You can voice your ire at me all you want but stay vigilant and remain safe.” His gaze bore into hers with all the power of the military man he was. “If anything feels wrong, if you suspect someone, tell me immediately.” His expression hardened as concern set it. “I’ll keep you safe and won’t let harm come to you. That’s a promise.”
Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. “You couldn’t promise me that the last time. I have no proof you can do the same now.” Then she pulled her hand from his and ran away from his as the tears fell to her cheeks.
It wasn’t yet ten o’clock in the morning and it had already been a trying day.
Chapter Eight
Cornelius leaned back in the leather chair in Charles’ study. The butter-soft leather molded itself to his body, and he propped his booted feet upon the blotter.
Lord, but coming to this house party had been a singularly bad idea, especially after the intrigue of the morning.
He poured out another measure of brandy as the long case clock in the drawing room chimed half past the two o’clock hour. It was nearing his spirit tolerance, but he didn’t care. The household had long been abed. Amelia hadn’t anything except cards planned for the evening’s entertainment, so guests turned in early. The gathering of greenery had wisely been postponed until tomorrow due to the wariness the unnamed archer had brought.
A
t least she’d listened to him in that regard. Once he’d found his way back to the house, she had instructed Mr. Jessup to block Cornelius from finding her, but the butler had promised to convey the message about keeping everyone indoors.
Why the deuce does being with Amelia in any capacity bring out the worst in me?
There was, of course, no answer other than she got under his skin like no woman ever had. After setting the brandy bottle onto the desktop, Cornelius took a deep sip from his glass as he thought over the events of the day. Mingling with the other guests as they’d organized a scavenger hunt throughout the manor or split into smaller groups for talking or reading had made him feel even more alone than before, especially since Amelia wasn’t among them. In fact, she’d not made an appearance all day. Even Charles’ attendance was sporadic. Rumor had it that the earl kept close to his cousin. And Edward certainly didn’t wish Cornelius to hang about with his friends. Not to mention, Cornelius had actively attempted to avoid the clutches of the very attentive Lady Eaton from the other night.
Through it all, the only thing his mind dwelled upon was Amelia and how good she’d felt once more in his arms. It had been over fifteen hours since the kisses they’d shared, and he swore he could feel the heat of her against him and taste the faint honey on her lips she’d had with her tea.
Damn that untimely attempt on his life that had interrupted them!
With his free hand, he drew a fingertip along the thin scratch of dried blood on his left cheek. Had the marksman not missed with the first arrow...
No, he refused to think about that. In one gulp, Cornelius finished the liquid in his glass. If he didn’t stop, he’d be well into his cups by morning. And that meant he couldn’t swallow a half-dose of laudanum for the ever-present pain in his knee.
Yet, only then would the bloody thoughts, the guilt, the wondering, cease. What the devil had Amelia meant by her parting words this morning? When had he failed to protect her all those years ago? There hadn’t been time to do much of anything during those three glorious days and nights...
His chest tightened with regret and need. “I shouldn’t have kissed her,” he whispered to himself in the gloom.
But he had, and what was more, she’d kissed him back. Those feelings he’d assumed he’d buried in the depths of time had flared once more to life. He wanted Amelia—had never stopped. He refused to ask himself in what capacity, for right now, right in this one moment, he wanted to feel her body against his.
To remember.
To forget.
To remind himself that once he told her about her brother’s commission, she’d banish him from his tenuous perch in her life, and this time for good.
Damn my eyes.
Again, he poured out a measure of the tawny liquor. Every time he and Amelia were together, the past and secrets rushed between them to block whatever they might make of the present. Emotions took over from there, and no matter what happened, it all ended in her running from him. Tears were optional, and she’d certainly given in to them this morning.
And he didn’t know how to stop it.
But why? What the hell was she carrying around in the depths of her soul that caused her such grief and torment, and why wouldn’t she talk about it with him?
The clicking of the door handle echoed like a shot in the night’s silence. Cornelius glanced at the door, his senses alert, his muscles tensed for action. Was this the assassin then? Though his senses had been dulled from the brandy he’d imbibed in, he doubted it would hinder his ability to grab the knife that was always in his boot.
God, what he wouldn’t do for a moment’s peace from the lingering ugliness of war.
He remained in the chair, unmoving. There was no other light in the room except for the low fire in the hearth. Shadows danced and played over the walls and ceiling. As the seconds ticked down, he kept his gaze trained across the room and concentrated on making his breathing silent and even. If he were destined to die tonight, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Perhaps during the struggle he’d discover who the hell wanted him dead.
Slowly, the door swung open on its well-oiled hinges. It then closed softly. The hairs on Cornelius’ nape quivered as the latch clicked. The lock tumbled, that echo jarring in the quiet. Whoever had entered the room didn’t wish to be disturbed.
“Who’s there?” he asked in a low voice and then downed the third measure of brandy, this time for courage. “If you wish me harm, I must tell you I’ll fight.” He set the glass on the desk with a dull thud as he reached toward his right boot with slow, controlled movements.
“It’s Amelia.” The melodious tones of her voice came out of the shadows the same time that she did. Clad in a white night rail and wrapper of thin silk, it was almost virginal in design, and a startling contrast to her customary shades of red. She appeared innocent, lost, as she drifted toward the fireplace, gliding over the Oriental carpeting like a ghost. The flickering light rendered her gown and wrapper nearly transparent and put her curves clearly on display.
Was the movement deliberate to tempt him, or an accident?
Desire shivered down his spine. His shaft tightened with such alacrity it was almost painful. Damn it all, but he wanted her. Needed to bury himself in her heat, to see if the desire crackling between them during that kiss of the morning had been a fluke or if he’d imagined it.
“What are you doing here, Mia?” Emotion graveled his voice, but he shoved it aside. Cornelius swung his feet off the desk and planted them on the floor. A dull ache throbbed through his knee, which he also ignored. No medicine for him tonight.
That seemed to be how he dealt with everything unpleasant in his life, and now he suspected it would all come back to haunt him shortly.
“I couldn’t sleep. My mind is chaotic.” She stared into the flames. “I also wished to talk to you, and when scratching at your bedchamber door didn’t provide relief, I deduced you’d either be here or the library.”
“Why?” He refused to give quarter even if her stopping at his bedroom door took him by surprise with the scandal involved. “You’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t wish to talk—or do anything else—with me.” A snort escaped him at the irony: him wanting her and her rejecting him at every turn. “Either that or I terrify you since you keep running away.” He’d had enough alcohol to make him reckless, so he didn’t mind his words as closely as he should.
“It’s complicated to explain, even to myself.” She moved to a chair near the desk where he’d flung his evening jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. His collar and cuffs littered the floor like spilled cream. “You and I have a volatile relationship in the best of times. That frightens me for a few reasons.”
“Why?” Cornelius wished she’d edge away from the damned fire, for every second that went by ramped his need, and he’d remain a gentleman, even if it killed him. She was skittish enough. “Seems to me you don’t know your own mind anymore. One second you loathe me. The next you act as if you’re intoxicated by me.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure you out, and the endeavor exhausts me.” His candor surprised him, for he hadn’t meant to open himself to ridicule.
“That’s exactly it. I don’t know myself, not around you.” Truth rang in those words. Amelia picked up his cravat and brought the fabric to her nose.
What the devil did that mean? He had no idea if he referred to her statement or the fact that she wished to smell his scent. Either way, desire tightened and curled inside his gut. This woman was an enchantress; always had been where he was concerned. And she was playing severe havoc with his peace of mind. “Why are you here?” he asked again, barely hanging onto the shreds of his control. “What do you want from me now?”
Bloody hell. If she answered him, what would he do?
“To explain my recent behavior.” She pressed her lips together, which called his attention to her mouth. Longing stabbed through him to taste her. “I can’t let myself be torn apart by my jumbled emotions any longer.�
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“I’m listening.” Cornelius folded his arms at his chest. Perhaps they’d finally have everything out in the open. It was the only way to move forward. Though the knowledge brought a modicum of relief, the unrelenting need for her didn’t fade.
“I hated you when you told me about Peter’s death because you were the only one I could focus on. My world had crumbled around me. That anger shielded me from hurting for a bit.”
A stab of guilt went through his chest. Peter’s death was his fault, but he couldn’t admit that to her. The words wouldn’t form on his tongue. Instead, he said, “That’s understandable. I’ve seen that anger enough in the field when death comes to call.”
“I am not one of your soldiers,” Amelia hissed, tossing the cravat aside. She advanced on his position as he came around the desk. “You don’t understand how much Peter’s death affected me; changed my whole life.” Her voice shook from the force of the emotions propelling those words.
“No?” His internal filters were dulled from drink. Anger sizzled through his veins and collided with frustration the house party had brought. They both crashed into the building desire he held for her and became a wave he was powerless against. “I don’t understand?” He kept his voice low. No need to rouse the household. “You weren’t the only one who lost someone in Spain that week, Mia. My brother died there, and my life shattered completely. I’ve never been the same since I inherited the damned title.”
“So, I’m not as important as you in grief? Because you are a titled lord, you should be allowed more lenience?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you implied it, but you’ve always been a prick, haven’t you?” Her eyes flashed in the dim light.
“What the hell does that mean?” Cornelius glared at her. Such behavior was unbecoming, and he’d never indulged in it, yet the damned spirits took away his control. “I was nothing except solicitous toward you the last time we were together. This time, I’ve given you space instead of pressing any advantage I might have. Again, I ask, what more do you want of me?”
Wrapped in Red (Colors of Scandal, #4) Page 8