by Anne Barton
Amelia pulled him down for a kiss, arching her body like a bow and tempting him with her hips. He swept a hand up the inside of her leg, lingering at the sensitive spot behind her knee before caressing the soft skin at the tops of her thighs. She let her head fall back and moaned.
Dear God, she was amazing. But he couldn’t look at her lush breasts, flushed with desire, or her long, lithe legs that would be perfect for wrapping around him. Because if he did, he would spill his seed right into his breeches.
He splayed a hand across her belly and over the chemise that was bunched around her hips and rubbed the silk between her legs, watching her face and listening to her sighs so that he could please her more. When her knees fell apart, he swept the chemise aside, touched the slick, swollen folds of her sex, and slipped a finger inside her. God, she was tight. And hot. And writhing beneath him.
He withdrew his finger and she whimpered.
He shifted his body lower, and his blood pounded in his ears as he bent his head and tasted her. She tensed but didn’t push him away, and as he flicked his tongue over and around her sex, he felt her muscles slowly relax. But as need began to spiral inside her once more, she pleaded with him.
“Stephen, I…”
He loved the taste of her, loved the way she gave herself over to him.
She tensed and moaned as release finally came. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she whimpered softly as tremors radiated through her body. When at last she was limp and sated, he lay beside her and pulled her into his arms.
“I never knew,” she said simply.
For several moments they lay there, legs tangled, till their breathing slowed. He thought she might have fallen asleep, until she caressed his chest, lightly raking her fingernails over his nipples.
“Amelia.” He said her name like a warning.
“Second rule. I’m a princess. Ringing any bells?”
He chuckled. “I live to serve.”
She sat up, a riot of curls surrounding her head like a halo. “I want to see you. Touch you.” Boldly, she stroked the front of his buckskins, starting at his stones and slowly working her way up his cock. No doubt about it, she was going to kill him.
Before he knew what she was doing, she’d unbuttoned the fall at the front. His cock practically jumped into her hands.
He watched as she cupped his stones, testing the weight of them. Groaned when she slid her hands up his length and down again. Clenched every muscle in his body when she skimmed her thumb over the small slit at the tip.
“Show me how to pleasure you,” she said.
Dear God. She knelt over him, gloriously naked but for the chemise hiked up around her hips. He took her hand in his and closed her fingers around the base. He showed her how to set up a rhythm and soon her hand was slick with droplets of his seed. She pumped slowly at first, as though she were afraid she’d break him. But when he moaned, she gave him a sultry smile and increased the pace and the pressure. Her breasts bounced slightly above him, and when he squeezed one, she sighed and bit her lower lip. Sweat popped out on his forehead and when his cock pulsed beneath her fingers, he knew it was almost over.
He pulled her down for a ravaging kiss, savoring the taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands, the scent of her surrounding him. His release came like thunder, pounding through him and shaking him to the core.
She cuddled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and swirling her fingertips through his chest hair. “That was very eye-opening,” she said with a yawn. “I shall never forget this night, Stephen.”
He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Nor will I.”
He kissed her forehead and let intimacy wrap its tendrils around them, binding them together, if only for a few hours. “Rest now,” he said, pulling the edge of the quilt over her body.
A few minutes later, her breathing turned slow and even. He knew he should carry her to her bed and return to his room, but he continued to hold her as long as he dared. He did not sleep.
One night with Amelia had him questioning all the things he thought he knew. If marriage was something to be avoided, why was the thought of marrying her so damned appealing? Yes, she was bright, passionate, and independent. But there was more to it than that. She made him feel like he could be more than the man he was. Made him want to be. For her.
So, as he held her, he thought about every conversation they’d shared, every touch, every kiss. And about what it might take to make her his. Forever.
But when the fire turned to embers, he knew their time together had run out. He gently tucked her into her bed and returned to the floor before the fireplace to quickly straighten up and remove any evidence that he’d been there. He retrieved his shirt, folded the quilt and—
Found a leather-bound book on the floor where they’d lain. He turned the book—perhaps it was a journal—over in his hand. It might have fallen off the mantel, or been tucked under the quilt before he’d spread it on the floor. The right thing to do would have been to place it on the little table beside the chair.
But something about the book—maybe its well-worn cover or the wrinkled edges of its pages—hinted that it was important to Amelia. And he couldn’t resist a peek.
He flipped open the book and held it near the glow of a low-burning lamp.
The pages were filled with neat, even handwriting and the occasional cross-out. There were entries for various dates—a diary.
He should have absolutely put down the book… but he didn’t.
Some of the entries read like gossip rags—funny, satirical snippets of her own life. In others, she expounded on the advantages of remaining single. He smiled as he read one typical passage: “An unmarried woman may say ‘damnation’ when the need arises without worrying about offending the sensibilities of a priggish husband.”
But then he flipped to the last entry—with yesterday’s date. “A single woman can take her pleasure with a man without running the risk of losing his companionship. Since there is no expectation of marriage on either side, neither party is disappointed when the interlude is concluded, and the man and woman may remain on friendly terms.”
The peace he’d felt as she slept in his arms was replaced with a cold uneasiness. Was that all they’d done tonight—take their pleasure? Because it had meant something rather more to him. She meant something more to him.
He looked over at her curled on her side, her cheeks flushed with sleep, and realized she had every reason to be jaded, every reason to doubt.
And it was up to him to change her mind.
He was sorely tempted to rip the page from her journal and throw it into the embers. He’d enjoy seeing it shrivel, burn, turn to ash. But instead, he closed the book and tucked it under the folded quilt on the stool.
Let her write a treatise on the advantages of the single state, if she wished.
He would make it his mission to enlighten her about the pleasures of marriage.
But first things first.
He leaned over the bed and kissed her on the cheek, breathing in the scent of her so it would be imprinted in his mind. Then he left her room and skulked down the hallway to his, where he riffled through the desk until he found paper and ink.
He had a letter to pen—to the Sherbourne sisters.
Chapter 10
Call Lord B. what you will—a rake, a rogue, a reprobate;
he knows how to treat a lady.
—from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple
Amelia blinked at Stephen. She couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly. “You did what?”
“I sent a note to Lady Olivia and Lady Rose.”
“Why would you do that? You’ve never even been introduced.”
“They don’t know the note’s from me.” He sat across the breakfast table from her, spreading jam on toast. If one ignored his lack of a jacket and cravat, he might pass for a proper gentleman. The bandage on his head was gone and his face, though still bruised, would no longe
r frighten children on the street. Each time Amelia saw him, he seemed to move with more ease.
He certainly had last night.
She hadn’t expected to see him quite so soon after their… tryst, but when he’d strolled into the dining room sporting a wicked grin her heart had begun to beat double-time. Her body was still tender from where he’d touched her… and kissed her, proof that the night hadn’t been a dream after all.
She almost forgot she was vexed with him—and that he was being purposefully obtuse. “So, am I to understand that you sent Olivia and Rose a note that you did not sign?”
He took a large bite of egg and swiped his napkin across his mouth. “I signed it… with your name.”
“I beg your pardon?” She gripped the handle of her china cup so tightly that her tea trembled.
He took a deep breath. “I’ll explain. Could we talk somewhere else?” He waved a hand at the wide table that separated them. “I feel like I’m miles away from you.”
Amelia thought perhaps that was for the best. “I’m furious, you know.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Her cup clattered on the saucer as she set it down, and every muscle in her body tensed. She’d trusted Stephen, and he’d betrayed her.
Which only made her feel more foolish about spending the night in his arms.
As they left the drawing room, he placed a palm on the small of her back—or tried to. She moved faster to avoid the contact. And when they reached the drawing room, she passed up the settee in favor of a chair so that he wouldn’t be able to sit beside her.
He settled himself on the settee and she shot him an expectant, glacial look.
“I can see that you’re upset with me, Amelia, and I don’t blame you. Unfortunately, you’re going to be even more upset with me when I tell you what I did.”
“I can hardly wait.”
He swallowed, leaned his elbows on his knees, and gave her an earnest half-smile. “I wrote to Lady Olivia and Lady Rose that you would go to the Norrington ball with them. Tonight.”
The beginning of a scream rose up in her throat and she fought it down. “You. Had. No. Right.”
“I know. But after last night I realized something. You are an amazing woman, and you deserve to see more of the world. Conversely, the world needs to see more of you.”
Did he think to placate her with flattery? That bit about the world needing to see more of her may have helped his cause slightly, but she was still sputtering with rage. “It is not for you to tell me what I deserve or what I need,” she spat. “How dare you commit forgery with my name?”
“It was a calculated risk. I knew you’d be angry—”
“Oh. Brilliant deduction.”
“—but I took a gamble. I’m betting on us. It’s the last bet I intend to make, by the way.”
“What the devil are you talking about? What does gambling have to do with this?”
“You think you’re happy, living here in isolation, with no one but your mother and the staff for company. But this isn’t the life you’re meant to live.”
“Says who?” She was incredulous.
“You were hurt, and now you’re hiding.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Stephen. But even if you were right, I hardly think attending one ball would make a difference.”
“Maybe not. But it is the perfect opportunity to rejoin society. Your mother is out of town, so you needn’t worry about her spoiling things for you. You’ve been invited to go with Lady Olivia, Lady Rose, and their brother—the Duke of Huntford. This is a chance to replace your bad memories with new, good ones.”
“I shall not go. I’ll write to Olivia and Rose right now and tell them that I’ve changed my mind—that I’m feeling ill.”
He shrugged. “It might seem odd to them, this sudden affliction. And they may wonder why your handwriting changed in the course of a few hours…”
Damn him. She raised her chin. “I could tell them the truth.”
“That you and I have been living in the same town house for four days—unchaperoned?” He slid to the end of the settee closest to her chair, reached out, and took her hand. “Will you also tell them that we’ve grown rather fond of each other?” He pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, curling her toes.
She snatched her hand away. “Of course not.” That is, she had grown fond of Stephen. In spite of her determination not to and her resolve never to give a man the power to humiliate her—or break her heart again. He challenged her and made her laugh and made her feel things she never thought she’d feel.
But she could keep those feelings private. She could pretend that he was simply a nice diversion to enjoy while her mother was away. The truth was, she’d be devastated when he tired of their relationship—if it could even be called that. And if she read accounts of him keeping company with a beautiful widow years from now, she’d probably still cry into her pillow.
At least no one else would know how miserable she was or what a fool she’d been.
“I don’t like being manipulated,” she said. “What, exactly, did you write in the note?”
“That you’d reconsidered and would be delighted to attend the ball with them. Also, that you’d decided to avail yourself of their kind offer to help you select a gown.”
She glared at him. “I see.”
For a minute, she sat there, steaming. But she could think of no graceful way to get out of going to the ball.
“I suppose you’ve left me no choice.” She shuddered at the very idea of mingling with the same people who’d laughed at her and whispered ugly things behind her back.
Then again, there was every possibility that they wouldn’t even recognize her or remember her—a thought that only depressed her further.
She stood and walked to the window. Her back to him, she said, “I still don’t understand why you did it. If I choose to keep to myself, to lock myself in my room for the rest of my days, what concern is it of yours?” Unless—
She turned to face him, a glimmer of hope flaring in her chest. “Are you going to the ball tonight?”
“No.”
Silly of her to think he might. She turned back toward the window.
He walked up behind her, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and whispered into her ear. “I wish I could be there to see you, to dance with you, but I can’t. You know how I accused you of hiding? Well, I’m no better. I’ve been running from my problems too.”
“You mean your debts.”
“That’s a big part of it.”
“What are you going to do?”
He spun her around so that they were facing one another and held her hands in his. “Stop gambling, for one. I was thinking maybe I’d settle down. Start a family. With you.”
Amelia’s fingers went numb. She desperately wanted to believe the words he was saying. But Samuel had said something similar and that hadn’t turned out well. Besides, Stephen hadn’t exactly proposed. He probably felt obliged to make some half-hearted offer after last night, but he didn’t want to marry her—he wanted to make his getaway with the least amount of drama possible.
Well, she would make it easy for him.
“It’s kind of you to say that, but—”
“I’m not being kind.”
“—the truth is, I enjoy being single. I like having my freedom.”
He arched a brow. “I know. You want to be able to say ‘damnation.’ I wouldn’t dream of stopping you. There are advantages to the married state too, you know.”
She blinked slowly, her ire rising once more. “Did you… read my diary?”
“I did.” He had the decency to look guilty. “It was on the floor and I was curious, so I read it. I confess, I took your manifesto against marriage as a personal challenge.”
“You shouldn’t have. They were my private thoughts and not intended to be part of some game. Forget you ever saw it.”
“I’ll try. But will you satisfy my curi
osity on one point?”
She shot him a pointed look. “You’ve read my diary. I can’t imagine there’s anything left to reveal.”
“Why are you so fascinated by the gossip papers? Aren’t the people featured generally the same ones who snubbed you after… er…”
“The Jilting?” She fisted her hands, then slowly uncurled her fingers, breathing out as she did so. “It’s entertainment—nothing more. The little snippets I write are for my own amusement.” Shrugging, she added, “My life—prior to your arrival—wasn’t very exciting or noteworthy. My diary entries made it seem more so.” The explanation sounded rather pitiful, even to her own ears.
“I want to make you happy. I wish you’d let me try. Will you?” He looked at her earnestly, as though her answer mattered to him very much. And even though he’d crossed boundaries in writing to her friends and in reading her diary and her answer should clearly be no, she didn’t have the heart to deny him outright.
“I’ll need some time to consider it.”
“Fair enough. I’m leaving today—going home. I should have left before now, but selfishly, I’m glad I didn’t. Thank you for letting me stay when the sensible thing to do would have been to slam the door in my ugly, godforsaken face.”
She’d known this day was coming, she just hadn’t expected it to be the night after she’d bared herself to him, body and soul. And she hadn’t realized until this moment how empty her life was going to seem without him in it. Maybe it was a good thing she would be with Rose and Olivia tonight—to keep her from sulking in her room, drinking too much sherry and eating too many scones.
“This isn’t really good-bye,” he said with a grin. “You’re going to see a lot more of me.”
“I hope I won’t be expected to change your bandages or spoon-feed you soup next time.”
He chuckled. “God, I’m going to miss you. Will you make me one small promise?”
She warmed at his words but shrugged noncommittally.
“Try to have fun this evening. And don’t fall in love with any of your admirers.”
“That’s two promises.” She kissed him softly on his cheek, savoring the taste of his skin. “I shall keep one, but I shan’t say which.”