Jilted by a Rogue

by Cheryl Holt

  They weren’t all that similar—except he had Holden’s very green eyes. What were the chances that Corpetto would have those same glorious eyes?

  He was wearing a military uniform, with medals pinned on his chest and a brilliant red sash over his shoulder. His outfit added an exotic flare to the occasion, so he appeared foreign and much more intriguing than he probably was.

  Brinley had already wandered off, so Amelia and James were alone. He guided her over to the buffet table, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter as they went.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It seems as if I have.”

  “You’re scowling, and you can’t glower. People will think you’re not having any fun.”

  “I’m not having fun yet.”

  “You can’t say that. I have it on good authority that I’m quite dashing this evening. Since I am your escort, I insist you be delighted every second.”

  Normally, she’d have been humored by his teasing, but she couldn’t tease him back. She pointed to the Conte.

  “Have you met Conte Corpetto before?”

  “Never had the pleasure until now,” he said. “I’m curious how he and Brinley became such chums. Where would she have crossed paths with him?”

  “She claimed she was shopping, but could you find out some information about him?”

  “You mean through the army?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe, but what kind of information were you hoping to receive?”

  “Well, for instance, how long has he been here? Why is he so far from home? When is he leaving?”

  He studied her, and he was an astute observer of the world. In that, he and Laura had a lot in common.

  “Corpetto has you so rattled,” he said. “Why? Tell me.”

  She didn’t have many secrets from him, and she’d already shared her biggest one. Still though, it was embarrassing to repeat the story.

  Another waiter strolled by, and she downed the champagne in her hand, then she seized a new glass and downed it too. Vaguely, she realized that—while in London—she’d sworn she’d never drink champagne again, but the current situation called for it.

  “Remember the night we talked?” she said.

  He flashed a hot, searing smile that had her blushing from head to toe.

  “There have been several nights where we talked and did other…things. Which one of those should I recollect?”

  “Before I left England, I had planned to elope. Almost on a dare, the fellow persuaded me to proceed.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember it well. It provided all the evidence I needed to verify that you have wicked tendencies.”

  “Mutual friends egged us on, and I was in a sorry emotional state, so I agreed when I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I’d be so upset if you were married right now.”

  “After I came to my senses, it occurred to me that I’d dodged a bullet.”

  She grabbed yet another glass of champagne. The bubbly liquid was soothing her. She could feel it working its magic, but he raised a brow, a tad unnerved by her excessive imbibing.

  “I would warn you to be careful,” he said, “but I’m a cad who’s wondering how wild you might get if you drank too much.”

  “I’ll slow down once I’ve calmed down.”

  He took the glass away from her and put it on a nearby table. Then he leaned in and murmured, “What’s bothering you? The longer you hold it in, the more worried I become.”

  “The man who jilted me was named Holden Cartwright.”

  “And…?”

  “He looked just like Conte Corpetto. I’m sure he’s the same person, but it couldn’t be, could it?”

  He glared at Corpetto. “You think he’s your dubious swain?”

  “Yes. No.” She wailed miserably. “Oh, I don’t know what to think!”

  They spun toward Corpetto and scrutinized him.

  “I assume your Mr. Cartwright was British,” he ultimately said.

  “Yes.”

  He gestured to Corpetto. “This oaf seems very Italian to me, then again, people see what they expect to see. He’s wearing a foreign uniform and speaking a foreign language. Who would question his identity?”

  “Am I being hysterical?”

  “No. You’re genuinely distraught, and I wish I could explain what’s happening. Was he an actor, your Mr. Cartwright?”

  “I couldn’t guess. After he failed to follow through with our wedding, I decided I possessed no details about him that were true.”

  Amelia yanked her gaze away from Corpetto and focused it on James. “It’s not likely that he’d show up here, is it? I mean, Gibraltar is over a thousand miles and an ocean away from London.”

  James nodded. “What are the odds that he’d travel here, just as you did too?”

  “It sounds bizarre, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, and what are the odds that Brinley would befriend him, that she’d drag us to a party where you’d bump into him?”

  “The prospect is absurd.” Yet she couldn’t keep from glancing over at Brinley, from staring at her pearls.

  Amelia wasn’t positive Holden had stolen them. It might have been a different guest or not a guest at all. They might have been missing for ages, and she simply hadn’t noticed. It was too far-fetched to believe he’d have given Brinley Hastings her mother’s jewelry.

  But she couldn’t help asking James, “Do you know where Brinley got her pearls?”

  “As with everything that involves my sister, I have no idea. Why?”

  “Mr. Cartwright might have filched my mother’s pearls. Have I told you about that?”

  “I think so.”

  “You don’t imagine…”

  “No. It’s preposterous.”

  James evaluated the Conte again and said, “He didn’t recognize you.”

  “When?”

  “When you were introduced, you gasped, but he didn’t. He didn’t blink. I was watching him. If he’d once been so intimately acquainted with you that he’d planned your elopement, wouldn’t he have reacted when you came face to face?”

  “Probably, but what if I am right and you are wrong? What if it is him, and he’s pursuing a scheme in Gibraltar? He’s a very dishonest character, with devious motives and even more devious habits. What should I do?”

  James scoffed. “You shouldn’t do anything. If he’s a criminal, you could land yourself in all sorts of trouble.”

  “What if he’s deceiving your sister as he deceived me—with the same type of fraudulent intentions?”

  “She’s very savvy and too smart to let a scoundrel trick her.”

  “What if I remain silent, but he proves himself a cheat or a swindler?”

  “Then you can say, I told you so.”

  Amelia chuckled. “I would enjoy having the chance to tell you that.”

  He frowned at her. “Don’t you dare fret about this.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t you dare confront him.” She didn’t reply, and he said more sharply, “Amelia! I’m serious. Stay away from him.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should.”

  “Let’s not think about him again for the rest of the evening. Let’s just admit he’s an Italian nobleman, and we’ll pamper ourselves by wallowing in his largesse.”

  She doubted she could. She was entirely too bewildered, but she doubted too that she’d ever attend another event with James where they would share such a lovely experience. She needed to dote on him, to flirt and chat and revel, to continue filling her store of memories that included only him.

  Conte Corpetto—or whoever he was—would have to wait until she’d had more time to reflect.

  James turned her away from Corpetto, handed her a plate, then steered her down the buffet table so they could dine before they danced the night away.

  C
HAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Come inside with me.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “We can’t have the night end yet.”

  Amelia stood in front of James’s house, staring up at it. The residence was dark and empty. If she went in with him, who would know?

  She was perched on a moral ledge, and she might have had an angel and a devil sitting on her shoulders. The angel was urging her to remember herself and head for home. The devil was saying, Why not?

  All the guests at the ball had agreed that Gibraltar had never witnessed such a party. They’d eaten and had drunk champagne and had danced until they were exhausted.

  Brinley had been eager to revel until dawn, but Amelia was tipsy and James fatigued. They’d wanted to leave, but hadn’t wanted to spoil her fun. She’d had many acquaintances at the gathering, several of whom had offered to escort her safely home, so Amelia and James had sneaked away and walked down the hill. It wasn’t that far, and it was such a beautiful evening.

  The entire way, he’d dragged her into shadowy spots to kiss her senseless, and she’d participated with a reckless relish.

  “Come inside,” he repeated more desperately.

  He clasped her hand and led her to the door, giving her no time to dither over whether she should accompany him or not. He was correct that she wasn’t ready for the night to end. What if she trudged home, then learned in the morning that he was shipping out to India immediately? She’d never be with him like this in the future, and she suspected she’d regret it forever.

  Even though the house was empty, they tiptoed in like naughty children, giggling as they hurried up the stairs to his room. If she hadn’t had quite so many glasses of champagne, she might have told him they had to stay in the parlor, but alcohol left her careless and rash.

  They fell onto the bed, then he was kissing her and kissing her. In a frantic whirl of fabric, he yanked off his coat, and she kicked off her slippers. He tugged off his boots, and she rolled down her stockings. They tossed items on the floor and over their shoulders, and she couldn’t recall ever being so happy.

  All the while, he was caressing her, his busy hands never halting on their path over her heated torso. He stripped himself to just his trousers, stripped her to chemise and drawers. She made halfhearted protests that they should slow down, that they shouldn’t go any farther, but whenever she voiced a paltry concern, he started in again, and she simply couldn’t resist the bliss he was bestowing.

  “What are we doing?” she breathlessly asked.

  “We’re behaving precisely as we shouldn’t.”

  “Maybe we should stop.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “We’re not stopping. We can’t stop.”

  “We’re rushing toward a cliff, and I’m not sure we should jump over it.”

  “Yes, we should. Take a chance, Amelia! Let’s see where we are when we arrive at the bottom.”

  She didn’t suppose it would be anywhere she truly yearned to be, but she couldn’t tell him no and mean it. The word had escaped from her vocabulary.

  She’d never previously understood how a young lady succumbed to passion. She’d often heard stories about a girl getting herself into trouble, and she’d clucked her tongue and assumed—if faced with a similar situation—she’d never be so foolish.

  She’d convinced herself the girl had to be possessed of low character or had a weak moral compass. She hadn’t grasped that amour was like a runaway carriage. She was riding on it, and there was no controlling the horses. She could only hold on and hope she wasn’t too badly injured when she crashed.

  In the morning, would she be aghast over her impetuous act? The humiliating fact was that she doubted it.

  Gradually, he removed her chemise and drawers, and as he stretched out, as their bodies connected, bare skin to bare skin, she was surprised they didn’t ignite.

  Though it was strange to admit it, it seemed perfectly natural to be naked with him. There was the oddest perception of destiny in the air, as if she belonged to him, as if it was right that he would observe her this way. She felt like a goddess, like a fallen angel who’d flown down from Heaven to tempt him beyond imagining.

  He dipped to her breasts and played outrageously, massaging the soft mounds, sucking on the nipples. He’d lit such a fire inside her. How could it ever be quelled?

  His crafty fingers slid into her woman’s sheath, and he stroked them in and out, in and out, as he continued to torment her breasts. He used his devious thumb to flick at a sensitive spot she’d never noted before. Suddenly, she exploded with ecstasy, and she was racing into space, soaring up and up until she reached a sort of peak, then tumbled down.

  As she landed, he caught her in his arms, and he was grinning, preening, delighted with himself and what he’d wrought.

  “What was that?” she asked when she could speak again.

  “That was carnal pleasure—and a very fine example of it too.”

  “Am I…I…still a virgin?”

  “For the moment, but I don’t intend that you will be for much longer.”

  “I didn’t know that could happen to me.”

  “Well, you know now.”

  “Can it occur more than once?”

  “It can occur over and over, every time we’re together like this.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Her mind was awhirl as she contemplated the coming weeks and months. Would she become obsessed with him? Could she become a slave to lust? Was it possible?

  The notion was terrifying and thrilling.

  He was fussing with his trousers, unbuttoning them, tugging them down around his flanks. She might have inquired as to what he was planning, but she wasn’t confused about where they were headed. Why pretend?

  “Has anyone told you how this goes?” he asked.

  “I have a general idea.”

  “It might hurt.” She frowned, and he hurried to say, “But just for a minute.”

  “Will I like it in the end?”

  He smiled a cocky smile. “Will you like it? I guarantee you always will.”

  He was hovered over her, his blue eyes glittering from the moonlight shining in the window. He looked magical, as if he wasn’t real, as if she’d conjured him out of her dreams.

  “I’m happy you’ll be the one,” she murmured.

  “Not as happy as I am.”

  “I won’t ever regret it!” she vehemently insisted.

  “You better not.”

  He started in yet again, kissing her, toying with her breasts, touching her between her legs. Her ardor was rising, and this time, she recognized it for what it was. Her body was eager to chase that spark, to be swept away again.

  Down below, he was widening her thighs, his torso dropping down, his hips working, moving him closer to where he was anxious to be.

  Finally, she suffered a spurt of virginal alarm, and when she tensed, he whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not.”

  “It will be over very soon.”

  “I don’t want it to be over fast. I want it to last forever.”

  “That’s my girl…”

  He was trembling with restraint and beyond the point of conversation, and as she soared to the heavens again, he gripped her thighs and thrust very hard. Just that easily, he was inside her.

  She wasn’t clear on how it had happened, and she scowled, assessing her new condition. Previously, she’d wondered if she was still a virgin, but there was no longer any question. She was a woman now. She was his now.

  No matter what ultimately occurred between them, no matter where their diverse paths led them, she would always and eternally be glad she’d picked him for this.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m perfect.”

  “You’re mine.”

  “And you are mine.”

  “Aren’t I lucky?”

  It was the sweetest thing anyo
ne had ever said to her, and she wished they could pause to discuss what was transpiring, but it was obvious he was at the limit of what he could endure.

  He began again, pushing in all the way, then pulling out all the way. At first, it was awkward, but as he continued, it seemed more and more normal.

  His motions increased in speed and intensity, and finally, he went in very far and held himself just there, his entire body quaking with the effort, then he groaned and collapsed onto her.

  They were quiet, his pulse slowing, as she stroked her hands up and down his back. Eventually, he drew away and slid onto his side. She rolled too so they were nose to nose. He grinned a heart-stopping grin, and she grinned too. She felt as if they’d shared a precious secret or as if he’d opened a door only adults could step through.

  “Are we mad?” he inquired.

  “Yes, absolutely deranged.”

  “Don’t you dare scold me or tell me you’re sorry.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she said. “I’ll never be sorry.”

  * * * *

  James gazed at Amelia, and he reached out and twirled a lock of hair around his finger, using it as leverage to lure her in, to bestow a very dear, very chaste kiss.

  He was stunned over what they’d perpetrated, and he was supposed to ask her to wed now. The proposal was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down, reminding himself that he was a scoundrel. She understood that he was, and she’d raced to ruin anyway. If he didn’t act appropriately, who would be surprised?

  Yet as he studied her, a poignant wave of affection washed over him, and he was anxious to keep her forever. He let a vision flare, of them happily wed, of them traveling to India together, building a life there, but as quickly as the vision appeared, he shoved it away.

  He wasn’t the marrying kind. He had no idea how to be a husband, how to take care of a wife. Wives brought children into the picture, and he especially didn’t know how to be a father, and he wouldn’t pretend he knew how. Then again, he couldn’t sire any children.

  In all his years of philandering, he never had, and if any female ought to be a mother, it was Amelia Boyle. He couldn’t give her the gift she deserved to have, so what benefit would he be as a husband?