A shiver skidded down her spine.
“Mama? Are you ill?”
Amelia turned to her son, her cheeks tingling. “I am fine, Alex, really. I just had a difficult time falling to sleep.” She refused to glance back in Julian’s direction, not at all wishing to see the knowing look in his eyes. Or the slow, devilish smile surely spreading across his lips.
Alex nodded and dove back into his buttered eggs. “This place is so big. It’ll take some time to get used to.” He swallowed and turned to Julian. “Sir, may I ask you something?”
“Certainly.” Julian folded his paper and set it aside, the remnants of his wide smile still playing about the corners of his mouth. “You may ask me anything.”
“Those men in the blue coats that served us dinner last night…”
“They’re footmen.”
Alex wrinkled his nose. “Footmen?”
“That’s right.”
“Ah,” Alex’s expression cleared, “because they’re on their feet a lot.”
Amelia’s lips twitched as she ate a small bite of her kippers.
“You could say that,” Julian said with a chuckle, then sipped his coffee.
“Why did they serve us last night and not this morning?” Alex glanced at the side board heaped with eggs, kippers, ham, tarts, and other delectable goodies. “And why are we eating in a different room?”
“We serve ourselves here in the morning and the footmen serve us dinner in the dining room in the evening.” Julian shrugged. “That’s just the way it has always been.”
After the meal, Julian rose and walked toward her. Amelia swallowed, trying hard to keep her heart from beating so fast. He halted behind her, and she could feel the warmth of his body against her back. Like a caress. Sensual and soothing at once. She shivered. Holding her breath, she watched his hand slide down the side of her chair and gently pull it from the table. Then he was at her side to assist her up.
She just sat there and stared at his waiting palm. He had such elegant hands with long, tapered fingers. The thin, white scar across the fleshy muscle below his thumb and all the callouses showed him not to be an aristocratic sloth. No, indeed. This hand revealed a man of hard work, and Amelia thought back to the ship and how he commanded it. Yet, that didn’t fit her memory of Julian.
He moved closer. Amelia knew touching him would be a huge mistake. Yet, as if in a trance, she watched her arm raise, her hand slide into his. The heat of his skin shocked her. The bolt ran down her wrist, past her elbow, then exploded somewhere in the middle of her body. He helped her to her feet but didn’t let go.
Did the knocking sound come from her knees or her heart?
The muskiness of Julian’s unique male scent enveloped her, drugging her. She couldn’t move or speak. He wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her even closer. Her skin tingled with sensitivity. She felt every square inch that was tightly pressed against him. Breathing became difficult of a sudden.
“Amelia,” he whispered.
Of their own accord, her eyes raised to his. Julian’s gaze held her spellbound. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t move. With raw hunger, he stared at her for several seconds, then lowered his head and grazed her lips with a whisper-soft kiss.
Then he let her go.
Amelia blinked several times. Disoriented, she glanced around the empty morning room. Her lips tingled and she raised her fingers up to them.
Where on earth would she ever get the strength to resist that man?
Numbly, she left the room, trying to focus her scattered thoughts. It quite shamed her how much more she wanted than that chaste kiss. How she wanted one of those hot, deep, wet, shameless kisses. How she wanted even more… With a sad shake to her head, Amelia ambled down a long hall. After several turns, however, she found herself entering the kitchen. Curses. She thought she had gone in the right direction.
Amelia opened her mouth to say something to the three women setting at the long wooden table who had yet to notice her, but halted when one of them spoke.
“It’s badly infected and the leg will no doubt have to be removed to save her.”
“Poor Mr. Jennings,” another said, shaking her head. “Loves his wife, he does.”
Curious, Amelia stepped farther into the kitchen. The three servants glanced up, then scurried to their feet, eyes wide and pink-faced.
“My lady,” one said and they all curtsied.
“What is this about Jennings’ wife?”
The plump cook, Mrs. Busby, came forward. “Mrs. Jennings cut her leg last week. It’s festered, making her terribly ill.” The woman’s large brown eyes turned sad. “Looks like it will have to come off, your ladyship.”
Amelia frowned. Amputations were the very last resort. “Has a physician looked at the wound?”
Mrs. Busby shook her head. “Dr. Downing died last winter. There isn’t another for,” she looked up at the ceiling, mentally counting, “twenty miles, at least.”
“Where is Mrs. Jennings?”
“In her room on the third floor, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Amelia started to turn away then halted. “Would you mind showing me?” That would save a lot of time, she decided.
Amelia entered the room a few minutes later and had Mrs. Busby light more candles. She moved to the bed, saw Mrs. Jennings’ pasty countenance, the sweat accumulating around her brow, and touched the woman’s scorching skin at her wrist for a pulse. Very weak. Not good. She had better work fast.
With a deep breath, she threw back the covers, making Mrs. Busby gasp. The bottom of the poor woman’s leg, three times the size it should be, radiated a horrific stench of putrefied flesh. Amelia closed her eyes, momentarily steeling herself before lifting the gown a few inches to reveal the injury.
A jagged five inch cut on the outside of the calf had crusted over and turned a nasty green-gray color. She found what she’d hoped not to find. Several red streaks had climbed up the limb from the wound. Those streaks carried poison that would be the woman’s demise unless Amelia did something. Now.
Thankfully, Mrs. Jennings had slipped into unconsciousness. It would certainly make the procedure easier for them both.
After barking out orders for hot water and clean rags, Amelia reached for her black bag that one of the maids had retrieved from her room. She removed the necessary supplies.
The door opened. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Amelia swiveled around and found Julian striding toward her. “I am helping this poor woman.”
His scowl deepened. “A physician should be doing this, not you.”
“There isn’t one around,” she said, turning to the bottles she had lined up on the nearby table.
“I’ll send for one.”
She grabbed the larger brown bottle and pulled the cork. “There isn’t time.”
“Amelia.” He stomped to her side. “You are a marchioness now and—”
“I am a healer first.” She tipped her head back, wanting him to see her seriousness. “And this woman is about to die, Julian. I cannot allow that to happen. Not when I can save her.”
He studied her for several seconds, then glanced to Mrs. Jennings’s leg. His eyes widened when they fell on the infected wound. “Good God.”
She poured a generous amount of the solution over the area. “Perhaps you should leave.”
He remained silent for several seconds, then she heard him shuffle closer. “No,” his voice was tight, “I think I’ll stay.”
“All right, but it won’t be a pleasant thing to watch.”
Amelia worked for over an hour. First, she administered a special mixture, coaxing enough of the brew down the woman’s throat to help bring down the fever. Then she cleansed the leg. Sending up a quick prayer, she removed her surgical knife and opened the wound to drain the poison. The rotten skin had to be removed, followed by another thorough cleansing before she could stitch the healthier skin together and apply a healing salve.
By the time
Amelia bandaged the injury, Mrs. Jennings’s fever had nearly gone. The red blotches covering the woman’s cheeks had even nearly vanished. Good signs.
With a sigh, Amelia rose from her chair to stretch her legs. And came face-to-face with Julian. She almost shrieked, having forgotten him in the room. “Oh, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He glanced down. “Mrs. Jennings looks much better.”
“Yes. I believe she’ll make it.”
There was a sound at the door, then it swung open. Jennings entered, trying not to look worried.
Julian placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “She’ll be just fine, old man, you’ll see.”
Amelia handed the butler two bottles. “The small brown one is for pain,” she said. “The larger one is to keep her fever down.” Then she handed him a scrap of paper. “I’ve written instructions on how to administer them here.”
Jennings nodded. “Thank you, my lady.” Gratitude shimmered in his eyes.
“You are welcome.” She retrieved her bag. “I’ll come and check on her in a couple of hours. But do send for me if her fever returns before then.”
Midway down the stairs, Amelia realized her exhaustion. She stumbled, and would have fallen the rest of the way down if Julian hadn’t caught her.
“You need some rest, Pixie,” he said in her ear, holding her around her waist.
She placed a hand on the wall. He had called her ‘Pixie,’ the same name he used to call her those years ago. While being charming and attentive—every woman’s perfect fantasy. Her pulse raced.
“Come, I’ll help you to bed.”
Amelia closed her eyes a moment. Lord, give her strength. Give her strength to resist this sinister rogue. Give her strength to not hand him her heart again. She’d not survive another broken heart. She very nearly didn’t survive the first one.
Julian assisted her down the steps and to her room. At the door, she turned, finally finding her voice. “Thank you, I can manage now.”
His smile was slow and wicked. “I think you still require my assistance.” He maneuvered his way into the room and shut the door behind him.
A tremor went through her. Of delight or dread, she couldn’t tell. She backed away, glancing everywhere, trying to think straight. But her thoughts churned with the feel of Julian’s lips on hers…his hands peeling away her clothes…his naked body covering hers… “You should leave now, my lord.” All right, so she couldn’t help how shrill and frantic she sounded. She’d had very little sleep the night before, after all.
A gleam entered his eyes. “Surely you’re not frightened, Amelia?”
Terrified. “No.”
“Then why do you look so scared?”
The wall behind her halted any further retreat.
“What are you so afraid of?” He approached, towering over her, and removed the bag she had clutched to her chest, depositing it on the floor. Then he placed his hands on the wall at either side of her head. “You’re not afraid of my kisses, are you?” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper and he stood so close, his nose nearly touched hers.
She plastered herself against the wall unable to move an eyelash, not just afraid of his kisses. Terrified of them. Terrified of how they made her feel. Terrified that with each contact of his lips, he’d won another piece of her heart.
“Know what I’d like to do to you right now?”
She swallowed.
“I’d like to drop my mouth down over yours, part your lips with my tongue, and taste you. At the same time, my hands would shed the clothes from your body.”
A shiver when through her.
“My fingers would graze your nipples, making them rigid for me.”
Her breasts began to tingle.
“Then I would lower my lips, gliding them down your throat and would capture a sweet nipple in my mouth.” His smoldering gaze stayed locked on hers. “My right hand would glide down your stomach…” she almost groaned “…to the secret place between your legs.”
Her center throbbed.
“I’d slip a finger in first,” he whispered, “to feel how wet you were for me.”
She was wet, all right.
“Then I’d lift you up and set you down on my hard—”
“Stop it, Julian.” Shaking with need, she closed her eyes. The pictures he’d planted in her head wouldn’t go away, though. Her entire body flamed like a torch.
“I can help you, Amelia.”
She opened her eyes.
“All you have to do is say the words.”
Every fiber of her body screamed out for her to say yes. But she couldn’t do it. The price would be too high to pay. If she made love to Julian, her whole heart would belong to him once again. Which would mean another heartbreak when he got bored with her. And that would likely happen the moment he got his way. Once he conquered her, he’d lose interest and be off to conquer someone else.
“Say them, Amelia. Say the words.”
“I can’t.”
He stared at her for several long seconds, then his eyes lit with determination. For the first time, he touched her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She tried not to respond, but found it useless. Where he led, she followed mindlessly. His lips parted and his tongue probed, gliding against hers. More, her body screamed. She pressed herself against him, only slightly aware of her actions, and kissed him back.
He pulled away from her. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. Eyes full of hunger. Instead of pulling her back into his arms, as she hoped, as she feared, he turned around and left the room.
Amelia stared at the closed door. Her lips swollen, her body a tight bow string ready to snap at any second. She crossed her arms and sank down on to the floor. Defeat lay heavy in her bosom, for she knew it wouldn’t be long before she gave in.
A tear sneaked down her cheek. She just hoped she’d survive when he left.
CHAPTER 14
He was in bloody, God damned agony.
Since leaving Amelia’s chambers yesterday, Julian remained in a constant state of arousal. He had the deuce of a time, finding it more than inconvenient, to walk about half-hard.
He took a sip of his wine and scowled at Amelia’s bedroom door. She lay in there, probably sound asleep. Her body curled up on the bed, wearing naught but a thin…
Swearing out loud, Julian set the wineglass down with a thump and rose from his chair. Turning to her door, he jerked it open and marched through.
The room was dark and quiet. A balmy breeze slinked through the open window. Then the moon moved from a cloud and bathed the room in a silvery-blue glow. Julian could see Amelia lying on the bed, one small, shapely foot peeking out of the blanket.
He cursed inwardly, perturbed that just the sight of her foot could drive him mad with lust, and moved to her side.
A sound must have penetrated her sleep. She flinched and came awake.
“Relax, it’s just me,” he said so she wouldn’t raise the roof with a scream.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She glanced past him then back quickly. “It’s not Alex, is it?”
“No. Alex is fine.”
Her shoulders relaxed. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in dark waves, framing her pale face. She was so damn beautiful.
Something must have revealed his aroused state because Amelia gasped, then rolled onto her feet, keeping the bed between them. “You can leave now, Julian,” she said, her eyes wide with panic.
He moved his head from side to side, his eyes fixed on her. Then he began in her direction, his mind racing with all the things he would do to her once he caught her.
She let out a yelp, then jumped onto the bed, trying to avoid getting caught. But he’d been expecting her to do just that. Before rounding the foot of the bed, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of her night rail and yanked her into his arms.
“Let me go.” She squirmed against his chest.
Paying no heed to her request, Julian breathed in her
vanilla-scented hair, his lust mounting as she grated her body against his in a futile attempt at escape. He looked down at her. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry, wife.”
“Your pretty words won’t—”
He silenced her with a kiss.
It didn’t take long to coax a response out of her. Seduction had always been easy for him. He simply found what a woman liked and gave it to her. Reading body language had been a hobby for him since his first romp at fourteen, knowing different things pleased different women. Some things could even drive a woman wild, where she’d do anything he asked. He also found that pleasing the woman intensified his own pleasure.
When Amelia no longer tried to break his embrace, when her body relaxed against him and her lips parted to his seeking tongue, Julian delved in. He filled her mouth, tasting her rising desire, and moved his solid length slowly against her. She pressed closer, her arms rising to twine around his neck, and grazed her tongue against his.
The contact brought a powerful bolt of need. He wanted to release his manhood and press it into her at that very moment. But he didn’t. Startled with the small slip of control, Julian concentrated on taking Amelia over the edge of mind-numbing bliss, where she’d beg him to take her. Damn it, he had to hear her speak the words. His sense of honor demanded it. He continued the assault until she trembled in his arms, then he maneuvered them on the bed, shedding his night robe along the way.
She would beg him, he vowed. Soon.
When he’d unfastened most of her nightgown’s small white buttons, he lifted it over her head, catching a glimpse of her shapely body in the moonlight. His lips settled back over hers. He wouldn’t give her one second to back out. Kissing her deeply, he moved his hand between her legs. Her moan altered to a choked gasp when his finger grazed her heated, wet pedals. Instead of retreating, he pressed just a little deeper, but only a little, and felt her resistance melting away.
When Amelia was almost sobbed in want, Julian positioned his quivering shaft at her entrance and halted. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from pressing forward. “Do you want me to continue?” he whispered, nuzzling her neck, and rubbed himself against her slick folds.
Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) Page 12