Undoing One's Enemy

by Camille Oster

  Chapter 22

  Amelia woke the next day. It felt like summer had arrived. The sun was streaming inside the windows and she opened them to feel the warm wind sweeping through the room. She felt sheer excitement. She would get her summer day in the country after all, then she would return to London, to her real life, away from the man that plagued her dreams. He was even scarier now that he wasn’t yelling at her because she didn’t know what to expect any more.

  She was going to spend the whole day outside, she decided. She was going to walk the property, visit her favorite spots, especially the ones she used to when she was small. She’d abandoned some of those spots when she got older, having more social undertakings to occupy her mind. Today she would revisit her childhood. She might not climb a tree exactly, but she might have a look at it and remember what it was like. It would also serve as a terrific distraction.

  She set out shortly after eating a quick breakfast. The breeze was even nicer on the outside, the grass was green and the birds were chirping. She’d missed the birds while living in London. Their urban cousins were a drab down-beaten lot compared to the country ones.

  Amelia walked for hours. She had taken a light lunch with her and found a favorite spot on a large boulder to eat. The sun was incredibly strong and the midday heat was getting bothersome. She was too far from the house to seek out the cooler in-doors. She wondered if she might have a dip in her favorite bathing spot at the stream that cut through the property on the eastern side. The water would be very cool even if the day was warm.

  She gingerly strode across a meadow until she came to the spot she had spent so much time as a child. It was secluded with thick trees growing around it. She stripped off her dress and waded into the cold water in her chemise. It was really fresh and she wouldn’t be able to stay in for long, but she wasn’t going to let that deter her. Who knew when she was going to get another chance to swim? Swimming in streams was not a part of London life.

  She made it all the way down to her neck and managed to swim across the stream and back. It was actually feeling nicer when she’d been in for a while—the rawness of the water was changing to a cool delight.

  “Well, Miss Hessworth, I see you are making the best of the day,” she heard the voice she least wanted to hear on the bank behind her. She spun around as quickly as the water would let her.

  “You cannot be here!” she said sharply out of surprise and frustration.

  “Cannot? This is my property. You are the one who has stripped off and helped yourself to my stream.” He was angry, she could tell by the tone of his voice. Surely he couldn’t be angry because she decided to go for a dip—that would be insane. Then again, she couldn’t really keep track of his moods lately; they seemed to shift from minute to minute.

  “Could you kindly leave,” she ordered, keeping herself completely in the water. She was wearing her chemise, but it would be very revealing if she stepped out of the water. He ignored her and sat down on the bank of the stream.

  “Please leave,” she said. The idea of him seeing her naked seemed to heat up the water. It made her nipples contract even more painfully than the cold water had. She could almost see herself walking out of the water with his gaze following her every step. She closed her eyes because there was a part of her that wanted to act on the impulse. She could not afford to lose herself now.

  “I was wondering if you had given any consideration to the suggestion of spending some time here this summer?” he said brusquely.

  “No, it is not something I have considered. I’m not sure it’s a good idea keeping our association going. I am grateful to you for all you have done for me, but we might be better off parting ways at this point.”

  He snorted and looked away. She could see his jaw muscles working as he was considering whatever thoughts were occupying him.

  “I am not getting out of here until you leave. And being a gentleman, you owe a girl her privacy.”

  “We have had discussions previously on that subject as I recall, and you have seen fit to alleviate me off such gentlemanly duties.” She almost growled in frustration and she was shooting him her most harsh look. She almost wanted to step out of the water just to punish him. If he was obstinate enough to not do as she wished, he could live with the consequences. She knew in her gut that he reacted to her, she had felt it when she’d kissed him the last time she had been here. She didn’t dare though, more because she didn’t quite trust what she would do with his eyes taking in her every curve. The heat in her would flare into a fire and she’d probably not be happy until this tension was resolved right here in the grass. She breathed out the tension that was building at these thoughts.

  What was wrong with her, even with him snide and horrible, she couldn’t get past this desire for him. She averted her gaze; she really didn’t need to see the muscles of his thighs at this particular moment as he lay inclined on the bank. Or the bare forearms where he had rolled up his shirt sleeves. This desire was a curse. Maybe this is what Celeste was talking about when she said feelings never really went away. Surely she couldn’t have meant this; she must have meant true feelings, not lust. It would be so simple to put her feelings down to nothing more than lust, but she knew there was more to it, maybe because she knew that past his unpleasant exterior, underneath the bristles and jibes, he always did the right thing. He always did his duty, things other people in his position wouldn’t always be relied upon to do. He was a gentleman with the façade of a brute, while most were the other way around.

  “What am I supposed to do with you?” he said quietly. She knew full well he was talking on a more abstract level, but she chose to ignore that direction.

  “Well, you could leave or turn around, ideally before my toes get nibbled off by eels.”

  “You’re the most aggravating person I’ve ever met. You would annoy saints and demons equally. I used to think you were a cossetted society idiot, but you are much more devious—you get your fingers into someone, corrupting their mind and peace.”

  “Corrupt?” she said indignantly. “I don’t corrupt. That is an unfair accusation.”

  He laughed wryly. “Fair? What about this is fair? You’ve won. Everything I have worked at for so long and you still win.”

  “I am not competing with you,” she said firmly.

  “You and your father took everything from us and I’ve gotten it back and you still …”

  “That is your doing.” She was angry now. “You pushed me out of my life then dogged my every step. You run to my rescue, then insult me to trying to make a life for myself. You try to sabotage me, then invite me to visit over summer. You dare call me annoying—you’re insufferable!”

  “And you certainly don’t fight fair,” he said quietly. She was standing on the bank. In her anger she had marched out of the water and she was standing in her white chemise which clinged to every part of her. He closed his eyes and pushed out a ragged breath. “You have me in a very uncomfortable position.”

  “You are the one who wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t stay in the water forever.”

  “I’m not talking about this; although…” he said with an angry flourish of his hand. Amelia didn’t know what to do. She should get dressed, but she just wasn’t moving. She was rooted to the spot. There was something about being exposed that felt important at that precise moment. “What did I do to deserve you?” he said bitterly.

  “You sought me out,” she said steadily. It was true, he had technically started their whole acquaintance. Admittedly, she had seduced him, but he had tried to ruin her and then she had seduced him. Now here they were. “Perhaps I should return to London,” she said and grabbed her dress. She used it to cover her front. She was cold and shivering. The sun was slowly warming her up, but the water on her skin seemed to attract whatever wind there was.

  When she turned to look at him, he had stood up and was standing further away. “One of the horses is lame,” he said. She was about to say that she could take the coach,
but he was already gone.

  Amelia was preparing herself for dinner. She had been informed that supper would be at seven. She wasn’t entirely comfortable about dining downstairs, but she wasn’t comfortable rejecting the offer either. Lord Eldridge was in a funny mood—actually there was something much more substantial going on with him; he was going through a change in some way. She felt like she was watching a chrysalis starting to crack, she just wasn’t sure a butterfly was going to come out.

  Part of her wanted him to change, wanted desperately for him to become a better man. The other part just wanted to leave; although the rain which had started an hour ago made for less than ideal travel conditions. It wasn’t unusual to get rain this time of year; it wasn’t unusual to get storms either. She hoped not.

  He was already present in the dining room, sitting at the head of the table. He was dressed a bit informally as he only had his waistcoat on; it fit around his slim waist snugly. There was a certain drawback to good tailoring, she decided, it advertised the wearer in a way that could be much too distracting for women. It was something she hadn’t really noticed before she met him—his tailor as downright cruel.

  She was placed at the other end, which was not a bad thing. It would make conversation difficult. It was ridiculous to put two diners so far apart, but it was the etiquette.

  “Granson, please move Miss Hessworth’s plate to this side,” he said. Granson moved out of the corner of her eye.

  “Hello Granson, I didn’t know you were here,” she said as he went to move her plate and cutlery.

  “I arrived this morning,” he said in his usual proud stoic manner. She felt bad being the reason he had to travel all this way, particularly as they were returning back to London as soon as the horses were rested and healed.

  “Not complying with convention, I see,” she said as she sat down to her host’s left.

  “I fail to see the sense in some conventions.”

  “Some are intended to keep order.”

  “Shouting over a large table seems to achieve the opposite. Besides, you are one that has suffered more than most due to conventions and the blind compliance to pointless rules.” It was true, her position in society had nothing to do with personal character faults; it was social conventions that had rejected her out of her circle of acquaintances and out of a future path in her own society. She had to concede his point.

  “And you are no longer a follower of such conventions?”

  “I suppose having been in the same position as you with regards to being rejected by society—I lived without them for a long time,” he said. “I am having trouble reconciling with some of their logic now.” Amelia wondered what he meant. She certainly understood the unfairness of it, but she also suspected that all on the outside must feel that way and the fear of being excluded was what drove dogged complicity. Although society was much more forgiving for him to break convention as he was wealthy and male, but there were limits. Wealth was no guarantee as the wealthiest parts of London sprung from trade as opposed to the hallowed halls of the aristocracy.

  “One reconciles for the purpose of reconciling, or one rejects it and accepts the consequences,” she said. It was a strange conversation, she acknowledged. She wondered if this was the heart of the change that seemed to be occurring in him.

  “Would you chose to be reconciled again if it was open to you?” he asked watching her intently. It was a question she had been avoiding thinking about. She had found untold freedom outside of society, but there was risk in her life too. She wasn’t entirely sure what her future was, but she also had influence over it.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “It isn’t unattainable.” A statement what was very different from sentiments he’d held earlier.

  “I’m not sure I could give up the freedom I have gained.”

  “Then again, that freedom saw you attacked in Lord Hariston’s study.”

  “That wasn’t freedom—that was gross disregard and impudence. A person who treats people such is a disgrace no matter what parts of society they are from—but perhaps it is better to know such people truthfully than have them hide behind polite discourse.”

  “Maybe you are right.” Lightning struck in the sky drawing both of their attention. “I think a storm is coming.”

  “Yes.” She watched the dark troubled skies outside the windows—that stunted the conversation for a while he and Amelia focused on the meal in front of her. “Not weather for travelling, I suppose it will be a few days until we can return to London.”

  “Why are you so eager to leave?” he said bluntly, much more bluntly than polite conversation would allow, but they were both professing they were beyond that.

  “Because I don’t belong here,” she said equally as bluntly.

  “I have made it clear that you are welcome to stay.”

  Amelia didn’t answer. She knew he wanted her, she could feel his eyes on her whenever she was near. She also knew how completely tempting it was. She felt a desperate need to again have the intimacy and excitement she’d found in his bed, but she also knew that her resistance would crumble if she relented to that desire. She’d never truly understood that lust had power, but she understood it now because she was in its grips—they both were.

  She watched as he brought a piece of beef up to his mouth, which then closed around the morsel. This was untenable, she thought and she returned her gaze to her food. It did her no good letting her gaze linger on him.

  If she sought out his bed, she felt sure she would never leave—then she’d have to watch as he left, got married, had children while she was still pining for him in a cold bed. She had to leave. She wondered if she shouldn’t brave the bad weather. Surely it was just a bit of early summer weather, it probably wasn’t a storm at all. Maybe her sense of self-preservation wasn’t as lacking as Celeste seemed to think, because she knew her life was at stake.

  “Would you care for a sherry or a port?” he asked. His eyes came up to meet hers and she felt a jump in her stomach. She shook her head. It was time to be strong.

  “I better go upstairs,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “It has been a tiring day.” She got up and she felt his eyes follow her out of the room. It was a bit early to go to bed, but she needed to close herself away—these feelings were just getting stronger, she had to ride this out and let it pass. Being near him was too much of a risk because there was that part in the back of her mind that told her that spending one more night in his bed wouldn’t hurt anyone—it was just one night.

  She closed the door firmly behind her and curled up on the bed. Everything felt sensual—the feel of the cotton sheets on the bed, the silk of her dress. It reminded her of the feel of his skin. She wondered if she would ever forget what that felt like. Celeste had indicated that she wouldn’t forget. Maybe things would be easier if the object of desire wasn’t downstairs sipping port and smoking, all alone—practically waiting.

  She tried to read a book, but she was just reading the same sentence over and over again. Her mind was running through every encounter they’d ever had. Maybe she could get back to the place where just felt nothing but indifferent disdain—or maybe she knew him too well for that. With the change he was going through, maybe she wouldn’t like the man he was to become. Sleep let her mind indulged in all the things that her waking mind refused.

  Chapter 23

  She woke up full of tension; she knew something was wrong and it didn’t take long to realize that the wind hitting her window was not normal. She got up and looked outside—there was no doubt, there was a storm. She could see puddles of water on the lawn. Wind was tearing through the leaves, swaying the branches. She could even see the tree where she had kissed him before they’d had that fight and he’d sent her back to London without saying goodbye.

  Then she saw him; he was walking at the edge of her view. He had a heavy jacket on and no hat. It was too windy for a hat, which left his head exposed to the elements. The water
made his black hair look even longer and wilder. There were others too—the stable boy and people from the farm house over the copse. They were leading horses who looked unhappy about being out of their warm stable. Something must have happened. She wouldn’t be able to see them for long, the rain would obscure them before long.

  She got dressed and went downstairs. The house was completely quiet except for the weather outside.

  “Granson?” she called. It took a few seconds before he answered.

  “Miss Hessworth, are you hungry?”

  “I saw Lord Eldridge leaving.”

  “It seems the bridge has been washed away.” Not the bridge, she thought with despair, that would mean they were cut off from the nearest town, and the road to London until it was fixed. Fate was cruel to her at the moment—she’d be stuck here for days.

  “Are the animals seen to?”

  “His Lordship has seen to them. I will ask Cook to prepare your breakfast. I am just about to head over to help the men.” He disappeared before she could argue, but there was nothing to argue about really, she needed to eat. It just felt odd to sit down and eat when things were going awry outside.

  She surveyed the landscape outside the house for hours after she’d had her breakfast. She felt useless being stuck in here doing nothing—she should be doing something. Then it struck her, the men working on salvaging the bridge had been working for hours—they needed nourishment if they were to continue. She had her task and she went to seek out Cook.

  She found one of Edna’s old travelling cloaks, one with a hood that would resist the water and the wind. Cook tried to persuade her that she should stay inside, but Amelia wouldn’t hear of it.

  There were no horses left, so she would walk. It was some distance, but it wasn’t a difficult walk. The rain was very heavy, but the road held well. There were a few points of flooding where she had to circumnavigate. The mud was getting quite bad, but it was just mud, it wouldn’t kill her. Water seeped into her boots, but that couldn’t be helped. She found them an hour later, feeling very proud that she was bringing provisions to them.