by Diane Gaston
It had enraged him.
Her throat tightened with the memory. ‘Fowler said he was finished with me and that he was certain some man on the street would pay me for what I was offering.’ He’d said more, as well.
‘Damned prig.’ Edmund said.
She looked up into his face. ‘Is it not I who deserves censure?’
She was not well bred, obviously, she thought to herself. Otherwise she would not have made such a proposition to Fowler. Or maybe she’d merely been a silly romantic, who believed love conquers all. Amor vincit omnia. She’d learned the phrase in Latin.
He reached over and put his hand on her chin and made her look at him. ‘What you felt was the most natural thing in the world.’
She averted her gaze. ‘Other young women like me do not say such things to men.’
Perhaps it was her mother’s blood that made her crave a man’s touch. Even Edmund’s hand heightened her senses.
Edmund shook his head. ‘Do you not suppose other young ladies at the ball said the same to the men leaving them?’
‘The captain said not.’
He leaned back. ‘The captain is a fool.’
She reached for her glass of sherry again and drank the remainder.
He pointed to the glass. ‘What else are you not telling me?’
She was feeling a bit giddy. ‘Nothing.’ Except what was hardest to face. She picked up the bottle. ‘There is just a little more left. You may have it.’ She refilled his glass and tried to summon her courage to continue speaking.
‘Fowler broke the betrothal,’ she finally said.
‘Fortunate for you,’ he countered.
She bristled. ‘Fortunate? Fortunate?’ She jumped to her feet and strode over to the window. ‘It is easy for you to say such a thing, but it shows your complete lack of understanding!’
‘Enlighten me, then,’ he said.
She could not even listen to him. Her voice rose. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He said he had made a terrible mistake asking me to marry him, that he’d done so only because of my dowry.’ She’d never guessed that fact. ‘He said his parents were against me, but he’d learned that too late. He’d thought himself trapped, he said.’
‘Heed me, Amelie.’ His voice turned low and firm. ‘You are exceedingly lucky not to have married him.’
She knew that now. The thing was, she’d thought Fowler loved her. She’d been convinced of it. She’d seen nothing in him to suggest he was not head over ears in love with her.
‘He threatened me,’ she went on. ‘He said that if I told anyone that he broke the betrothal, he would spread the news about what a wanton hoyden I was.’
Edmund’s countenance darkened. ‘The blackguard!’
His outrage surprised her. And warmed her.
But he still did not comprehend. She’d been fooled. So easily fooled. That was the most distressing part. One moment she’d believed Fowler blissfully in love with her; the next he had abandoned her on the dangerous streets of Brussels.
Amelie leaned her head against the cool pane of the window. ‘What is the use to talk about this? It does not change anything.’
‘What would you change?’ he asked. ‘Surely you do not want him now.’
‘No.’ The sadness crept in to her voice. ‘I do not want him.’
Again he did not understand. The moment she realised she had been utterly misled by Fowler, she also realised she could never trust any man. How could she know if a man truly loved her? She could never marry without knowing.
‘But—you see—’ she tried to explain. ‘It is unlikely now I shall ever marry.’
He rose and walked over to lean against the wall next to the window. ‘You are spouting nonsense.’
She lifted her chin. It was not nonsense. ‘I must face the reality of my situation. I am too scandalous—my family is too scandalous. Who would wish to marry me? Except, perhaps, for my dowry. If I can be fooled so easily, how would I ever know if what a man wanted was me or simply my dowry?’
‘Ah, I see.’ Edmund nodded. ‘Fowler wanted your money.’
‘I do not want a man who only wants my money!’
‘Of course you do not,’ he said soothingly.
She swung away from him. ‘Oh, stop it!’
‘Stop what?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Stop speaking platitudes.’ She huffed. ‘I knew talking to you would do nothing for me!’
He seemed to ignore her outburst. ‘Did you not have several suitors before Fowler?’
‘I did not!’ Only Fowler.
He’d been the perfect suitor, she’d thought. The man she’d dreamed of finding, she’d thought. So respectable. The younger son of an earl. In a fashionable cavalry regiment. She’d fancied herself so in love with him, when his regiment was sent to Brussels, she convinced her parents to follow him here. He’d seemed happy she’d come. Their betrothal made her parents happy. Made her happy.
Edmund took a step closer. ‘Forget Fowler. Do not let what happened with him decide the rest of your life. You will find a man worthy of you.’
‘Worthy of me,’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘I shudder at the thought. What sort of man is worthy of a hoydenish ninnyhammer with a family who is accepted nowhere?’
He touched her chin again and made her look into his eyes. ‘I see only a beautiful woman with pretty manners, who, I suspect, thinks more deeply than anyone gives her credit for.’
He was so close to her now she could see the individual hairs on the stubble of his beard. She felt her face flush, but she was unsure if it was because he was so close or because of his words. ‘Now who is talking nonsense?’
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Be truthful, Amelie. You know you are beautiful, do you not?’
She used to think so. At least her family said so. Her maid said so. And men on the street sometimes looked at her, but Fowler had also said she was beautiful. Was that another lie? ‘How do I know if being told I was beautiful was simply empty flattery?’
He leaned close again. ‘I have no reason to flatter you, and I say you are beautiful.’
This time it felt as if all her skin had blushed.
She dared to meet his eye. ‘Do you truly think so?’
He came even closer, so close his lips were an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her face and the heat of his body.
‘I truly think so,’ he murmured.
Chapter Three
Edmund stepped back.
Heavens! What was he about? He’d nearly kissed her, and now she looked bewildered.
‘Forgive me,’ he said.
‘For what?’ she whispered.
‘For coming too close.’
Her brow creased in confusion. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me.’
He could not meet her eye. ‘That would be pretty shabby of me.’
She turned back towards the window. ‘I suppose it is something you would not want to do.’
Should not do, was more the piece.
‘That was one thing Fowler must have been honest about,’ she spoke more to the windowpane than to Edmund. ‘He never kissed me. Except on the cheek like my brother might do.’
Edmund had not felt like kissing her like a brother.
‘He obviously did not want to.’ She released a long sigh. ‘No man has wanted to kiss me.’
‘It is more likely that they wanted to, but refrained,’ he said.
She whirled around. ‘And you? Did you want to, but refrained?’
‘I am really not a rake, Amelie.’ Although he’d nearly behaved like one.
She turned away again. ‘I wish you were.’
He was uncertain he heard her correctly.
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Are you shocked at that? I did proposition a man tonight, after all.’
He’d tried to treat her like his little half-sister Genna instead of the alluring creature she was at this moment. He’d promised her she was safe with him.
She laughed drily. ‘I would certainly hate to think that the only men who wished to kiss me were those ruffians in the street who tried to have their way with me.’
‘They would have done more than kiss you, Amelie,’ he said. ‘If you yearn for love, they were not offering it.’
She turned back to him. ‘Do you know what distresses me the most about never marrying?’
‘You must not give up on marriage.’ How could any man fail to see the merit in her?
She whirled around again, halting his speech. ‘It distresses me that I will never know a man’s kisses. I’ll never know the lovemaking that passes between men and women. Husband and wife.’
‘You will,’ he said.
The lamplight reflected in her eyes, filling them with fire. ‘Will you kiss me, Edmund?’
Every muscle and sinew in his body yearned for him to taste her lips. ‘No, Amelie. It would not be wise.’
Her eyes filled with tears, making them look even bigger. ‘I suppose it would be distasteful to kiss me, would it not?’
‘No, Amelie, it would not be distasteful.’ It was a struggle not to crush his mouth against hers.
‘Then you are repelled because I am so wanton in the asking.’ Her voice strained, as if she was trying to stifle a sob. ‘Like Fowler.’
He moved closer to her. ‘I am anything but repelled by you, but I am not the man for you. You must wait—’
‘For whom?’ she cried. ‘Why can you not be the man who first kisses me? You’ve been my friend this night.’
‘A friend, but not your equal,’ he tried to explain. ‘Remember, I am nothing but a bastard and you are the daughter of a viscount.’
‘And what does that signify? You are the son of a baronet and I am the daughter of a French commoner,’ she countered. ‘Why is any of that an impediment to a kiss?’
‘My sister is married to your brother.’ He was grasping at straws.
She gave him a speaking look. ‘You are not kissing your sister and I am not kissing my brother.’
How could he convince her? He must not cross that line with her, and he was very close to doing so. Something had changed as they’d talked. She’d somehow become important to him.
She turned back to the window. ‘Listen to me.’ Her voice filled with pain. ‘I’m standing here begging you to kiss me. How pathetic a creature I am! No wonder Fowler wanted to rid himself of me.’
Her pain pierced through him like the sabres he’d soon be facing.
He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to him. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and tilted her head to him. Leaning down so his lips merely hovered over hers, he asked again, ‘Are you very certain you want a kiss?’
‘Yes,’ she rasped.
‘It may not be wise, but I will comply.’ He closed the short distance between them.
A satisfied sound escaped her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and her mouth tasted of sherry.
It was as if a spark had touched off a firestorm. Desire flashed through him, engulfed him. He pressed his body against hers.
Her fingers dug into his hair and she ground herself against him. He was powerfully aroused. Imagine her believing herself unlovable. She was everything a man could desire. She’d affected him as no other woman.
But she was not for him.
She deserved what she’d thought she had in Fowler. A respectable aristocrat who loved her, not a bastard taking advantage of her vulnerability.
The rumblings of heavy wagons and the clap of horses’ hooves reached her window. A reminder. Where he must go. Who he was—a lowly lieutenant from an infantry regiment, without name or fortune. This would change some day, he vowed. He’d earn his fortune, some day, somehow, but he was still a bastard and not for her.
He released her and eased her away.
‘What?’ She looked dazed.
He tried to smile. ‘There now. You have been kissed, but if we do not stop, we may commit a more serious indiscretion.’ Being alone with her in her hotel room, kissing her, was indiscreet enough. ‘Besides, Napoleon beckons. I need to go.’
She nodded. ‘You must go fight a battle. I do understand.’ She backed away from him. ‘Thank you for saving me. Thank you for—for the kiss.’
His grin came naturally. ‘It was my pleasure.’
She smiled in return and their gazes held.
‘Best I take my leave.’ He crossed the room and retrieved his coat. She followed him and helped him put it on.
Standing behind him, she put her arms around him and rested her cheek against his back. ‘I do not want you to leave me.’
He did not want to leave her either, but his resolve was weakening by each moment he stayed.
He turned around, still in her embrace. ‘Will you be all right?’
She looked up at him, her jaw firmly set. ‘I shall have to be.’
The lamplight made her skin glow, and the tumble of curls around her face shone like a halo. He tried to commit her face to memory, a memory to soothe him on the battlefield, a reminder of who and what he fought for. If he survived—if he survived—who knew if he would ever see her again? Could he bear that?
She rose on tiptoe and placed her lips on his, unschooled and tentative.
Desire slammed into him again. He put his fingers into her hair and held her in the kiss, savouring it like a man feasting on his last meal. Her soft curves pressed against him once more. Good God. He was on fire, wanting all of her, craving to ease the need that threatened to consume him. He picked her up, and she curled her legs and arms around him. Without heed of what he was doing, he carried her to the bed, prominent in the room, even though he’d not allowed his gaze to stray in its direction.
‘Yes,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘Yes.’
* * *
Amelie knew what Edmund wanted. She was not so green a girl not to know what could transpire between a man and a woman, why young ladies like herself were carefully chaperoned. What difference did it make now, if she were chaperoned or not? She was not destined for marriage or respectability. Fowler had taught her that.
But ever since she’d met Fowler and fancied herself in love with him, she’d felt that urge to couple with him. She’d savoured every touch of his hand. She’d felt frustration when his lips touched her cheek and not her mouth. She’d realised that she was a woman who wanted the bedding part of marriage. She’d thought she wanted it so much with Fowler that she dared to ask him to make love to her before he went to battle, lest he be killed and she never know his embrace.
Of course, that all died in an instant when he rebuffed her.
The thing was, the urge for lovemaking was even stronger with Edmund. Why not indulge it? She was unlikely to have another chance.
He sat her on the bed and captured her mouth again. She savoured the delight of it. To touch her tongue to his was so incredibly intimate, and it sent sensation shooting through her. It was as if her body had come alive for the first time.
His hand slipped to the sensitive skin of her neck and moved down to cup her breast.
Oh, my! How could a touch in one part of one’s body be felt so acutely in another? His hand on her breast ignited sensation in her most womanly place. It made her want more, much more. It made her want him to touch her skin all over and even to touch that—that most private of places.
She must be wanton. There w
as no other explanation. What was she to do with these feelings for the rest of her life? The least she could do was indulge them this one time. There could be no unwanted consequences the first time, she’d heard the maids say. When else could she do this without anyone knowing?
Edmund would not tell. And, even if he did, who would believe him? No one knew they were together. No one would ever know.
But Edmund suddenly broke off the kiss. ‘Amelie, we cannot do this. I won’t do this.’
She was bereft. And a little wild. To have those sensations aroused and so abruptly denied was like dousing a raging fire with a bucket of water.
Except this did nothing to extinguish the flames inside her.
She pushed him away and leapt from the bed. ‘Then stop! And be gone! And do not tease me so. Do not pretend you want me and then just stop! You are worse than Fowler! At least he told me right away he did not want me!’ Her emotions were running away with her mouth, and she could not stop herself. ‘Does no man want me? Not even when I offer myself? What is wrong with me? Am I really as detestable as Fowler said? Not even as desirable as Haymarket ware—’
He seized her by the shoulders. ‘I did not say I did not want you!’
She pressed herself against him again, putting her arms around him. ‘Then make love to me, Edmund. This may be my only chance. I want to know love at least once. Show me, please. Please!’
* * *
How was he to resist her?
He kissed her again, a long and tender kiss that showed all the yearning he could no longer disguise. He wanted her with every fibre of his being. He wanted this one last moment of beauty and joy before facing cannon fire, blood and death.
When his lips left hers and tasted of her neck and shoulders, she sighed. ‘Yes. That is glorious. Yes.’
His hand slipped beneath the neckline of her poor battered dress, now ripped and dirty from the violence of the street. He savoured her smooth skin and the feel of her nipple as his palm scraped against it.
She writhed with his touch and twisted around, presenting her back to him. ‘Unbutton my dress. Please, Edmund.’