Mine Till Midnight

by Lisa Kleypas

  Her brother’s mouth quirked as if he were too exhausted to smile. “I know,” he said gently. “I know what you want, and what you don’t want. I know you wish I could be better than this. But I’m not.”

  He blurred before her. Amelia felt tears sliding from her eyes, the wetness turning icy by the time they reached her chin. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Leo bent both his knees and braced an arm across them, his fingers remaining curled around the gun handle. “I’m not your brother, Amelia. Not anymore. I changed when Laura died.”

  “I still want you.”

  “No one gets what they want,” Leo muttered. “Not now.”

  Cam watched her brother intently. A long silence unfolded in pained degrees, while a burning cold breeze fanned over the three of them. “I could try to persuade you to set the gun aside, and go home with us,” he said eventually. “To hold off one more day. But even if I stopped you this time … one can’t keep a man alive when he doesn’t want to be.”

  “True,” Leo said.

  Amelia opened her mouth with a shuddering protest, but Cam stopped her, his fingers pressing gently over her lips. Cam continued to stare at Leo, not with concern but a sort of detached contemplation, as if he were focusing on some mathematical equation. “No one can be haunted,” he said quietly, “without having willed it. You know that, don’t you?”

  The room grew even colder, if that were possible, the windows rattling, the lamplight flickering. Alarmed by the taut vibrations in the air, the unseen presence circling them, Amelia huddled against Cam’s back.

  “Of course I do,” Leo said. “I should have died when she did. I never wanted to be left behind. You don’t know what it’s like. The thought of finally ending this is a bloody relief.”

  “But that’s not what she wants.”

  Hostility flared in the light eyes. “How the hell would you know?”

  “If your situations were reversed, would you choose this for her?” Cam gestured to the gun in his hand. “I wouldn’t ask that sacrifice of someone I love.”

  “You have no bloody idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I do,” Cam said. “I understand. And I’m telling you to stop being selfish. You grieve too much, my phral. You’ve forced her to come back to comfort you. You have to let her go. Not for your sake, but hers.”

  “I can’t.” But emotion had begun to spread across Leo’s face like cracks in an eggshell. Blue light danced through the room, while a frigid wind lifted a few locks of Leo’s hair like invisible fingers.

  “Let her be at peace,” Cam said, more quietly now. “If you take your own life, you’ll end up condemning her, as well as yourself, to an eternity of wandering. It’s not fair to her.”

  Leo gave a wordless shake of his bent head, cradling his folded knees in a posture that reminded Amelia of the boy he’d once been. And she understood his grief with a thoroughness that had been impossible for her before.

  What if Cam were taken from her without warning? She could never again know the feel of his hair in her hands or the caress of his lips against hers. No consummation of all she had begun to feel, the promises, smiles, tears, hopes, all ripped from her grasp. Forever. How much she would miss. How much could never be replaced by anyone else.

  Aching with compassion, she watched as Cam moved to her brother. Leo hid his face and jerked a hand up, fingers spread, palm facing out in a broken, helpless gesture. “I can’t let her go,” he choked.

  The lamp blew out, and a pane of glass shattered, while a freezing blast of air struck them. Energy crackled through the room, tiny snaps of light appearing around them.

  “You can do it for her,” Cam said, putting his arms around her brother in the way he might have comforted a lost child. “You can.”

  Leo began to cry harder, each breath a burst of angry despair. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Laura, don’t leave me.”

  But as he wept, the atmosphere seemed to settle, glacier-cold and calm, and the blue light, like the afterglow of a distant dying star, began to fade. There was a quiet drone of wings—a few bees venturing from the hive, then flying back to settle for the night.

  Cam was murmuring something now, holding Leo in a firm protective grasp. He spoke in Romany, the words drifting into the thinning air. A promise, a compact, offered to a fading, formless spirit.

  Until all that was left were three people sitting among shattered glass in the darkness, a discarded weapon on the floor.

  “She’s gone,” Cam said softly. “She’s free.”

  Leo nodded, his face hidden. He was damaged but still alive. Broken, but not beyond the hope of repair.

  And reconciled to life, at last.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After they had taken Leo back to Stony Cross Manor and put him to bed, Amelia stood outside his room with Cam. Her emotions were brimming so high and strong, it took all her strength to contain them. “I’m going to tell Poppy that he’s all right,” she whispered.

  Cam nodded, silent and somewhat distracted. Their fingers tangled briefly.

  They parted company, and Amelia went to find her sister.

  Poppy was in bed, lying on her side, her eyes fully open. “You found Leo,” she murmured as Amelia came to her.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Is he…?”

  “He’s fine. I think…” Amelia sat on the edge of the mattress and smiled down at her. “I think he’ll be better from now on.”

  “Like the old Leo?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Poppy yawned. “Amelia … will you be grumpy if I ask something?”

  “I’m too tired to be grumpy. Ask away.”

  “Are you going to marry Mr. Rohan?”

  The question filled Amelia with dizzying delight. “Should I?”

  “Oh, yes. You’ve been compromised, you know. Besides, he’s a good influence on you. You’re not nearly so much of a porcupine when he’s around.”

  “Delightful child,” Amelia observed to the room in general, and grinned at her sister. “I’ll tell you in the morning, dear. Go to sleep.”

  She walked through the somber stillness of the hallway, feeling as nervous as a bride as she went to find Cam. It was time to be open, honest, trusting, as she had never been before, not even in their most intimate moments. Her heartbeat resounded everywhere, even in the tips of her fingers and toes. She went to Cam’s room, where lamplight seeped through the fissure of the partially opened door.

  Cam was sitting on the bed, still clothed. His head was lowered, hands braced on his knees in the posture of a man who was deep in thought. He glanced up as she came into the room and closed the door.

  “What’s the matter, love?”

  “I…” Amelia approached him hesitantly. “I’m afraid you won’t let me have what I want.”

  His slow smile robbed her of breath. “I have yet to refuse you anything. I’m not likely to start now.”

  Amelia stopped before him, her skirts crowded between his parted knees. The clean, salty, evergreen scent of him drifted to her nostrils. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, trying for a businesslike tone. “A very sensible one. You see—” She paused to clear her throat. “I’ve been thinking about your problem.”

  “What problem?” Cam played lightly with the folds of her skirts, watching her face alertly.

  “Your good-luck curse. I know how to get rid of it. You should marry into a family with very, very bad luck. A family with expensive problems. And then you won’t have to be embarrassed about having so much money, because it will flow out nearly as fast as it comes in.”

  “Very sensible.” Cam took her shaking hand in his, pressed it between his warm palms. And touched his foot to her rapidly tapping one. “Hummingbird,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be nervous with me.”

  Gathering her courage, Amelia blurted out, “I want your ring. I want never to take it off again. I want to be your romni forever”—she paused with a quick, abashed smile
—“whatever that is.”

  “My bride. My wife.”

  Amelia froze in a moment of throat-clenching delight as she felt him slide the gold ring onto her finger, easing it to the base. “When we were with Leo, tonight,” she said scratchily, “I knew exactly how he felt about losing Laura. He told me once that I couldn’t understand unless I had loved someone that way. He was right. And tonight, as I watched you with him … I knew what I would think at the very last moment of my life.”

  His thumb smoothed over the tender surface of her knuckle. “Yes, love?”

  “I would think,” she continued, “‘Oh, if I could have just one more day with Cam. I would fit a lifetime into those few hours.’”

  “Not necessary,” he assured her gently. “Statistically speaking, we’ll have at least ten, fifteen thousand days to spend together.”

  “I don’t want to be apart from you for even one of them.”

  Cam cupped her small, serious face in his hands, his thumbs skimming the trace of tears beneath her eyes. His gaze caressed her. “Are we to live in sin, love, or will you finally agree to marry me?”

  “Yes. Yes. I’ll marry you. Although … I still can’t promise to obey you.”

  Cam laughed quietly. “We’ll manage around that. If you’ll at least promise to love me.”

  Amelia gripped his wrists, his pulse steady and strong beneath her fingertips. “Oh, I do love you, you’re—”

  “I love you, too.”

  “—my fate. You’re everything I—” She would have said more, if he had not pulled her head to his, kissing her with hard, thrilling pressure.

  They undressed with haste, tugging at each other’s clothes with a clumsiness wrought of desire and fervor. When at last their skin was laid bare, Cam’s urgency eased. His hands glided over her with deliberate slowness, every caress bringing tremors of pleasure to the surface. His features were austerely beautiful as he rolled her to her back. His mouth lowered to her breasts, his hands cupping the rounded flesh, tongue and teeth gently navigating the tips.

  Amelia moaned his name, surrendering helplessly as he rose to kneel between her legs. His hand closed over her hips, lifting and bracing them on his spread thighs. Cam watched her, his eyes flashing demon-fire as he stroked her, toying with the soft cleft, the sensitive flesh within.

  She reached for him, needing his weight on her, unable to pull him down. All she could do was whimper and arch as he filled her with his fingers, his thumb making wicked swirls, his thighs solid beneath her straining hips. Her breath hissed between her teeth, while her hands tightened around handfuls of the bed linens.

  His fingers slid away from her, leaving her shuddering as her body closed in vain around the emptiness. But then he was pushing into her, filling her completely. She lifted high to take him, and gasped as he eased over her with deliberate slowness.

  Her hand crept blindly from his shoulder to his face, where she felt the shape of his smile. “Don’t tease,” she muttered, trembling with need. “I can’t bear it.”

  “Sweetheart…” His silky whisper caressed her cheek. “I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

  “Wh-why?” She caught her breath as he withdrew, giving her only the tip of his shaft.

  “Because there’s nothing I love more than teasing you.” And he took an eternity to push inside her again, his hands caressing her, every movement so incremental and delicious and merciless that by the time he entered her completely, she had already climaxed. Twice.

  “Stay inside me,” she begged hoarsely, as he began a steady rhythm, the heat building again. “Stay, stay—” The words flattened into a long moan.

  Cam bent over her, driving ruthlessly hard, his breath coming in hot strikes against her face and throat. He stared into her dazed eyes, taking fierce satisfaction in the sight of her pleasure. His hands slipped beneath her skull, cradling her head as he kissed her. He buried a vehement groan into the sweet depths of her mouth, and let his release spin out inside her.

  Cuddling her afterward, Cam traced lazy patterns on her back and shoulders. Amelia rested on him, enjoying the steady lift and fall of his breathing.

  “After the wedding,” he murmured, “I may take you away with me for a little while.”

  “Where?” she asked readily, turning to press her lips against his chest.

  “To look for my tribe.”

  “You’ve already found your tribe.” She hitched a leg over his hips. “It’s called the Hathaways.”

  A chuckle vibrated in his chest. “My Romany tribe, then. It’s been too many years. I’d like to find out if my grandmother is still alive.” He paused. “And I want to ask some questions.”

  “About what?”

  Drawing her hand to his forearm, Cam pressed it to his tattoo. “This.”

  Thinking of Merripen’s identical tattoo, and the strange, impossible coincidence of it, Amelia frowned in curiosity. “What kind of connection might there be between you and Merripen?”

  “I have no idea.” Cam smiled ruefully. “God help me, I’m half afraid to find out.”

  “Whatever it is,” she said, “we’ll trust in fate.”

  Cam’s smile widened. “So you believe in fate now?”

  “And luck,” Amelia said, her hand tightening on his arm. “Because of you.”

  “That reminds me…” He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her, dark lashes sweeping over glowing amber. “I have something to show you. Don’t move—I’ll bring it here.”

  “Can’t it wait?” she protested.

  “No. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t fall asleep.”

  He left the bed and drew on his clothes, while Amelia took possessive pleasure in the sight of him.

  To keep from falling asleep while he was gone, she went to the washstand and used a cold cloth to freshen herself. Hurrying back to the bed, she sat and tucked the covers beneath her arms.

  Cam returned, noiseless as a cat, carrying an object that was approximately the shape and size of a slipper box. Amelia regarded it quizzically as he set it beside her. The heavy box was made of wood and heavily tarnished and pitted silver, the whole of it giving off an acid-sweet reek. As Amelia ran her fingers experimentally over the surface, she discovered the surface was slightly tacky.

  “Fortunately it was wrapped in oilcloth,” Cam said. “Otherwise it would have been soaked in fermented honey.”

  Amelia blinked in astonishment. “Don’t say this is the treasure that Christopher Frost was looking for?”

  “I found it when I was getting the crushed bees for Merripen’s poultice. I brought it back for you.” He looked vaguely apologetic. “I meant to tell you about it earlier, but it slipped my mind.”

  Amelia stifled a laugh. The average man would hardly forget something like a cache box possibly containing treasure … but to Cam, it probably had little more significance than a box of hazelnuts. “Only you,” she said, “could go looking for bee venom and find hidden treasure.” Lifting the box, she shook it gently, feeling the movement of weighty objects within. “Blast, it’s locked.” She reached in the wild disarray of her coiffure. Finding a hairpin, she handed it to him.

  “Why do you assume I can pick a lock?” he asked, a sly flicker in his eyes.

  “I have complete faith in your criminal abilities,” she said. “Open it, please.”

  Obligingly he bent the pin and inserted it into the ancient lock.

  “Why didn’t you tell Mr. Frost that you’d already found the treasure?” Amelia asked as he worked to find the catch. “Then you might have been spared being swarmed by all those bees.”

  “I wanted to save this for your family. Frost had no right to it.” Before another minute had passed, the lock had clicked and the box was open.

  Amelia’s heart pounded with excitement as she lifted the lid. She found a sheaf of letters, perhaps a half-dozen, tied with a thin braided lock of hair. Gingerly she picked up the bundle, pulled the top letter out, and unfolded the ancient yellowed
parchment.

  It was indeed a love letter from a king, signed, simply, “James.” Scandalous, ardent, and sweetly written, it seemed far too intimate for her to read. It had never been meant for her eyes. Feeling like an interloper, she closed the brittle folds and set it aside.

  Cam, meanwhile, had begun to pull objects from the box and lay them in her lap; a loose ruby at least an inch in diameter, pairs of diamond bracelets, ropes of massive black pearls, a brooch made of an oval-shaped sapphire easily the size of a sovereign, with a teardrop diamond hanging beneath, and an assortment of jeweled rings.

  “I don’t believe it,” Amelia said, jostling the glittering heap. “This must be enough to rebuild Ramsay House twice over.”

  “Not quite,” Cam said, casting an experienced glance over the lot, “but close.”

  She frowned as she sorted through the trove of priceless jewels. “Cam…?” she asked after a long moment.

  “Hmmn?” He seemed to have lost interest in the treasure, absorbed in playing with a loose lock of her hair.

  “Would you mind if we kept this from Leo until he’s … well, a bit more rational? Otherwise I’m afraid he’ll go out and do something irresponsible.”

  “I’d say that’s a valid concern.” He picked up the jewelry in careless handfuls, dumping it into the box and closing it. “Yes, we’ll wait until he’s ready.”

  “Do you think,” Amelia asked hesitantly, “that Leo will change from the way he is now? Will he get better?”

  Hearing the worry in her tone, Cam reached out and nestled her against him. “As the Rom say, ‘No wagon keeps the same wheels forever.’”

  The covers slipped between them. Amelia shivered as the cool air wafted over her naked back and shoulders. “Come back to bed,” she whispered. “I need you to warm me.”

  Cam stripped away his shirt, and laughed quietly as he felt her hands plucking at the buttons of his trousers. “What happened to my prudish gadji?”

  “I’m afraid”—she reached into his open falls and stroked his aroused flesh—“that continued association with you has made me shameless.”