Gray shook his head. ‘I do not think so. My brother Perry left provision in his will for your marriage dowry—’
‘My marriage dowry!’ Amelia repeated incredulously.
‘Of course.’ Gray gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘When your mother married my brother you became the stepdaughter of a lord, so—’
‘Do not touch me!’ She moved sharply away as Gray would have reached out and lightly grasped her arm, and raised her chin proudly as she looked down the length of her nose at him. ‘You have made your feelings very clear on the subject, and, as you are my guardian, if it is your wish that I go to London in the spring so that I might search for a husband, then of course I must go.’
‘You were the one who suggested that you might find yourself a husband!’ Gray glared his frustration with this conversation.
‘You were the one who mentioned a marriage dowry!’
‘I was merely—’
‘Putting forward a way in which you might be completely rid of all responsibility for me?’ Amelia finished scathingly.
Gray gave an exasperated snort. ‘I made no mention of being rid of you—’
‘You have made it perfectly clear that is your intention.’ She swept her gown to one side.
‘Damn it, Amelia—’
‘If you will excuse me, My Lord?’ She eyed him coldly. ‘I believe I would prefer to spend the time before dinner upstairs in my bedchamber.’
As far away from him as she could possibly be whilst still remaining in the same house, Gray acknowledged impatiently. ‘I have not finished talking to you yet, Amelia—’
‘But I have finished talking with you!’ she assured him, giving him one last scathing glance before walking from the room with her head held disdainfully high.
Leaving Gray no choice but to stare after her in complete frustration. Alice Wycliffe had assured him earlier that any young lady of nineteen years would be thrilled at the prospect of going to London and being introduced into Society. That she would be ecstatic at the suggestion of a new wardrobe. Of attending balls and parties and meeting all the handsome rakes with whom she might dance and behave the flirt.
Obviously when Alice had made this observation she’d had no personal knowledge of the stubborn and self-willed Amelia Ashford!
Chapter Seven
‘You look as if you wish that your aim had been truer than it was yesterday evening!’
Amelia looked down the length of the dining table at Gideon Grayson, very aware of Watkins, the butler, standing silently near the door. ‘Nothing so violent, I assure you, My Lord.’
‘No?’ He quirked a dark and disbelieving brow, looking very handsome in his black evening clothes.
It was true that when Amelia had reached her bedchamber earlier she had been so angry she had not known whether to throw something or simply to sit down and cry. In the end she had done neither of those things, but had instead paced her bedchamber as she tried to understand why it was she was feeling those contradictory emotions.
A Season in London, being introduced into Society and attending balls and parties in beautiful new gowns was surely every young woman’s dream? It had certainly been one of Amelia’s fantasies when she was growing up in Devonshire and had heard of the balls and pleasures to be had in London. But it was something as the daughter of a mere soldier and the disinherited daughter of a squire Amelia had known would only ever be that to her. A fantasy.
Amelia knew she should have been thrilled at Lord Grayson’s suggestion of taking her to London in the spring—aquiver with joy at the thought of buying new gowns in which to attend all those balls and parties, meeting and flirting with the ridiculously handsome men of the ton.
Instead Amelia felt angry. Disappointed. Hurt.
It was that latter emotion that troubled Amelia the most. And as to the reason why she felt so hurt at Gideon Grayson’s obvious effort to do what he believed was best for her … ?
One look at his arrogantly handsome face before dinner, at how elegant he looked in his dark evening clothes, and Amelia had realised exactly why it was she felt the way she did. A London Season held no interest for her because she was already more than halfway in love with a ridiculously handsome man of the ton—with Gideon Grayson himself!
‘No,’ she assured him huskily now. ‘I may be a soldier’s daughter, My Lord, but I do not believe I have any real tendency towards violence.’
Gray eyed her sceptically. ‘Indeed? Then perhaps you made me the exception!’
A delicate blush heightened her cheeks, but her gaze remained very direct as she answered him. ‘Undoubtedly.’
Gray could not help but chuckle at the complete lack of apology in her tone. In truth, he was relieved that Amelia was at least talking to him once again; the first two courses of their dinner had been eaten in complete and awkward silence. ‘No matter what you may choose to believe, Amelia, you obviously have the makings of a bloodthirsty little baggage!’ He raised his wine glass in a toast to her before taking an appreciative sip.
An excellent wine, served to him by an attentive butler. And Watkins and two footmen had also served the delicious meal prepared for them this evening by Mrs Burdock. In fact, Gray noted with satisfaction, the household had been returned to at least a manageable state in just one day.
Now if only he could persuade Amelia into being as amenable … !
She looked very beautiful, in a gown of cream silk that left her throat and the swell of her breasts bare above an overlay of cream lace, making her skin appear the colour of ivory, her eyes bluer, and her mouth a perfect red bow. Her hair was dressed more elaborately this evening, too. A cascade of blonde curls was swept back from her face to fall enticingly against her nape and about the delicate shells of her ears and her temples.
Indeed, looking at her now from between narrowed lids, Gray could not help but appreciate how utterly and deliciously desirable Amelia appeared as she faced him down the length of the dining table …
‘I have not enquired concerning your—injury this evening, My Lord.’ Amelia had noticed, however, that his left arm appeared to be a little stiffer than the right. ‘It is healing well, I hope?’
His mouth firmed. ‘No doubt it will.’
Her brows rose at what she was certain was an evasive reply. ‘But you do not know … ?’
He scowled darkly. ‘I said it would, Amelia!’
‘Has the dressing been changed since yesterday evening?’ she persisted.
‘I assure you that I am perfectly well, Amelia.’ He gaze was a frosty warning against pursuing the subject.
A warning Amelia chose to ignore. ‘You do not appear so to me, My Lord. You are pale, and your left arm seems to be a little … uncomfortable.’
He gave a dismissive shake of his head. ‘If my arm aches a little this evening then it is probably because I overtaxed it by riding for so long today.’
‘Perhaps I should see for myself—’
Those grey eyes glittered. ‘Amelia—’
‘Did you allow your valet to at least redress it today?’
‘Damn it, Amelia—’
‘Would you leave us, please, Watkins?’ Amelia turned to smile graciously at the butler. Having only secured his return a few hours ago, she did not think Gideon would appreciate having the butler leave again because he had taken offence at her tone! Besides, it was Gideon she was cross with, not Watkins. ‘I will ring when you are needed again,’ she assured the older man warmly, waiting as he had vacated the room and closed the door softly behind him before she placed her napkin upon the table and stood up.
‘Amelia—’
‘My Lord?’ She deliberately held Gideon Grayson’s gaze with her own as she walked slowly down the length of the room.
A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw as he watched her approach through narrowed lids. ‘I swear, Amelia, if you do not stop “My Lording” me in that superior tone—’
‘Shall I return to calling you Gideon, then?’ she mur
mured throatily as she halted beside him.
Gideon would not do, either!
Gray wished that Amelia were not standing quite so close beside his chair. So close, in fact, that he was once again assailed with that perfume that was uniquely Amelia: elusively floral and utterly feminine! So close that he could see the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat. So close that the ivory swell of her breasts was on a level only inches away from his narrowed gaze.
So close that just her proximity caused his body to stir!
‘You will need to once again remove your jacket, waistcoat and shirt, Gideon,’ she prompted.
Dear Lord … !
How much was a man expected to stand? Gray wondered achingly. To resist? And he must surely resist where Amelia of all women was concerned … !
‘I have absolutely no intention—What do you think you are doing?’ He turned to look at Amelia as she moved to the back of his chair and placed her hands upon the collar of his jacket.
She raised challenging brows. ‘Helping you, of course.’
‘Damn it, Amelia—’
‘You should not swear so often, Gideon.’ She tutted reprovingly.
‘Your stubbornness is enough to make even a saint swear, Amelia,’ he assured her through gritted teeth, and he resisted her efforts to tug the tightly tailored jacket back over his shoulders despite the added discomfort it gave to his aching arm.
She gave him an exasperated look. ‘And those scars upon your chest and back attest to your never having been that!’
Gray stilled at this reminder that Amelia had seen his scars the evening before. Honourable scars, if she did but know it, from injuries he had received during his years of working secretly for the crown. Years when Gray had necessarily allowed all who knew him—including his brother Perry and his family—to believe he was something of a rake and a wastrel who preferred not to involve himself in the messy business of war. No wonder, then, that Amelia had twice now referred to those scars as having been gained dishonourably rather than honourably …
‘Your waistcoat and shirt now, if you please,’ Amelia murmured with satisfaction, having taken advantage of Gideon Grayson’s brief distraction of thought to pull the jacket ably down his arms before removing it altogether.
‘I have no intention of taking off any more of my clothing in your presence—Amelia, cease this instant!’ He raised his voice as she moved to stand in front of him and deftly began to unfasten his waistcoat.
Amelia ceased. Not because Gideon had instructed her to, but because of a sudden awareness of the tension that emanated from him; his jaw was set grimly, eyes blazing darkly, and his hands were clenched into fists until the knuckles showed white as they rested on his muscled thighs.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am only trying to help, Gideon … ‘
He breathed deeply as he continued to glare at her, that nerve pulsing rapidly now in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘What you are doing, Amelia, is playing with fire,’ he warned her harshly.
Amelia could barely breathe as she looked searchingly into that arrogantly handsome face. At the way the unhealthy pallor of Gideon’s skin gave his eyes a dark and dangerous appeal as they blazed up at her. At the grim set of his jaw and those sculptured and sensuous lips.
She began to tremble, to shake at how desperately she wanted to feel those lips against—devouring!—her own …
‘Do not, Amelia!’ Gray groaned as she stepped between his parted thighs and even the light brush of her gown became an unbearable torment against his ultra-sensitive erection.
‘Do not what, Gideon … ?’ She placed her gloved hands on his shoulders beneath the silk of his waistcoat.
A touch that instantly burned, seared through the thin material of Gray’s shirt. Making him long for there to be no barrier at all between Amelia’s hands and the bareness of his chest.
She easily held his gaze with hers as she stepped closer still, the warmth of her legs a delicious torment now as they pressed softly against the inside of Gray’s thighs, causing him to become harder still.
Gray had been in one state of arousal or another since first setting eyes on this beautiful and desirable woman. Physical. Emotional. Temporal. Amelia—with her courage, her honesty, her undeniable beauty—challenged him on each and every one of those levels.
He closed his eyes briefly before looking up again. ‘If you do not step away now, Amelia, I cannot be responsible for what happens next!’
Instead of doing as he asked, Amelia smiled. Slowly. Invitingly. The softness of her lips parting slightly as she moved so that the fullness of her lips were now mere inches away from Gray’s own.
‘Do not say I did not warn you … !’ Gray gave a brief, self-disgusted shake of his head even as his hands moved to fasten tightly about the slenderness of Amelia’s waist to pull her in tightly against him, so making her completely aware of the fullness of his erection.
Her eyes widened slightly as that arousal pressed revealingly against her, before her tongue once again moved moistly across those red and parted lips. ‘I promise to say nothing at all, Gideon, if you will only kiss me … !’ she invited breathlessly.
It was too much—Amelia herself was too much!—and with a low groan Gray moved the short distance that separated them and claimed her mouth with his own.
Amelia gave a deep and satisfied sigh in her throat, and her fingers clasped tightly onto Gray’s shoulders even as her lips parted beneath his. It was an invitation Gray readily accepted as he deepened the kiss.
She tasted of warmth and honey. Unlike anything Gray had ever tasted before. A taste as unique as Amelia was herself, and just as addictive … !
Gray drank of her hungrily, deeply, as he crushed her breasts against him, running his tongue lightly across her lips in warning before venturing inside the heat of her mouth. Her tongue met his shyly, gently duelling, before ceding to his dominance. Gray’s tongue surged inside, taking, claiming, in deep and rhythmic thrusts that matched the deep and aching throb of his thighs pressed so intimately against her.
As Gray had known would happen, he wanted more. Wanted to feel the silkiness of Amelia’s skin beneath his hands, to see and touch the ivory softness of her breasts.
Even as he continued to kiss her his hands were busy with the tiny buttons at the back of her gown. One. Two. Three. Until her gown was unbuttoned halfway down her back. A shift in position, an easing away, and Amelia’s gown fell gently down to her waist.
Gray dragged his mouth from hers, placing kisses upon her neck, her throat, before raising his head to look at the fullness of Amelia’s breasts revealed beneath the thin material of her chemise. His hands moved up instinctively to cup beneath those orbs. Her breasts seemed fuller tonight, heavier, and the nipples were already hard beneath her chemise.
A light tug of that material revealed those breasts in their full glory, allowing Gray to gaze upon her nipples, his breathing becoming ragged as he looked on their fullness and likened them to the colour and ripeness of raspberries.
And Gray was fond—very fond—of raspberries …
Amelia knew she should be shocked, possibly outraged, at the things Gideon was doing to her. But instead she had been thrilled to her core when he had kissed her. Had trembled with anticipation when her dress fell down about her waist. And now she could only gasp in pleasure as his lips closed about the bareness of her breast as he drew the aching tip deep inside the heat of his mouth.
Her hands moved instinctively to cup the back of his head, to hold him to her. She entangled her fingers in the darkness of his hair as he feasted upon her, first suckling, then gently biting, before rasping his tongue across her sensitive flesh and suckled her again, whilst all the time his hand caressed the rosy tip of her other breast.
Pleasure such as Amelia had never known, never guessed at, coursed through her body. Her arms tensed, her back arched, and a fire seemed to burn in the pit of her belly. An aching heat, a need she did not complete
ly understand but knew well enough that only Gideon could assuage.
‘Gideon—I need … !’ she groaned.
Gray was reluctant to relinquish the honey taste of her breast, lingering to bite gently before slowly raising his head to look at her. ‘What do you need?’ he encouraged hoarsely.
Amelia’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes a wild, deep blue. ‘I do not know!’ She shook her head. ‘I ache, Gideon. Here.’ She took one of his hands in hers and moved it lower, cupping the heat between her legs.
Her gown was so thin and silky that Gray could feel her curls as he cupped her there, pressing his palm gently against her in a slow, rhythmic caress.
‘Gideon … ?’
‘Feel, Amelia,’ he encouraged throatily, and his hand left her briefly to move beneath the hem of her gown and travel the silky length of her legs, seeking and finding her most sensitive spot before caressing it rhythmically.
Gray drew her nipple back into the heat of his mouth as he heard her gasps of pleasure, the rhythm of his hand matching the movement of his mouth on her breast.
‘Open your legs for me!’ Gray encouraged hungrily, groaning low in his throat as she did so, opening herself to him as he continued to caress her.
Amelia cried out as pleasure such as she had never imagined ripped through her body in wave after surging wave. She felt the long slow thrust of Gideon’s finger inside her. Clinging weakly to his shoulders, she moved instinctively with him until she was so sensitised to the pleasure she could no longer bear it.
Amelia allowed her damp forehead to drop down weakly onto one of Gideon’s muscled shoulders as he moved his hand away from her. Only the sound of their erratic breathing now filled the otherwise silence. Low, throaty gasps on Amelia’s part, as tiny ripples of pleasure continued to consume her. Loud and hoarse on Gideon’s as he—
As he what? Amelia wondered sinkingly. She had allowed Gideon to touch her with an intimacy that made her blush to think about it. And what had Amelia given him in return?
She could feel the hard warmth of his thighs still pressed against her, knew that Gideon had not reached that same earth-shattering release as she. Her inexperience in such matters, her lack of knowledge, gave Amelia no indication as to how she might achieve that. What did a woman do? How did she progress in pleasuring a man? Perhaps if she were to touch him as he had touched her—
A Christmas Betrothal Page 6