Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Milo hadn’t been able to concentrate on a single damned thing Phillipa said at breakfast, or that anyone else did for the rest of the morning.
Every time he thought of Amelia, trapped by Dunstan, his blood boiled savagely. Amelia was his.
He was jealous, possessive, two things he’d vowed never to be again with a wife. It was the only explanation for slamming Dunstan into a wall and threatening further violence on him if he so much as glanced at Amelia that way again.
And when he considered the past few days, he knew it was not a new sensation.
When Amelia entered a room, he sensed her before he saw her. Her light step, her gentle voice, the faint scent of rose water she favored always set him at ease. And each time she glanced his way, he lost the thread of whatever he was supposed to be talking about.
That level of preoccupation went against everything their marriage was meant to be.
It was infuriating for a man of his age and experience to be fumbling for words around others like some besotted fool.
He had spent years taming his emotions, meeting the world and women with rigid detachment.
Now, though, one soft sigh or word or smile from Amelia and his equilibrium was utterly shattered.
Especially so when she was speaking with a male guest.
He stalked through the manor, pretending to be going about tasks that did not require his attention.
Anything to stop himself from seeking Amelia out again.
To keep himself from thinking about the way she had felt against him in the greenhouse—or the far more dangerous desire in her eyes when he’d caught her hopeful gaze at breakfast.
He could not forget the way she had looked at him directly after their aborted tryst, either, stunned and wary and…full of yearning.
Milo knew that feeling well.
He rubbed the back of his neck, unsettled and appalled at himself.
He was getting far too involved with his wife when he’d meant to feel nothing but respect for her.
And that respect had grown the more he learned about her difficulties in the past. He’d vowed not to be another, and yet, given how he felt right now, he doubted it was a promise he could easily keep anymore.
He paused, embarrassed.
He was still at the mercy of his emotions…and they urged him to find her immediately.
And so he did.
Amelia was in the schoolroom, helping the children with their letters and their maid watching on.
It made him so happy to see them all together.
Adam sat happily beside Amelia, copying lines of letters with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth and there was a look on Amelia’s face that suggested she was trying not to laugh.
Lucy, however, glowered at her slate as if it had insulted her personally.
“Your hand will cramp if you grip the chalk so tightly,” Amelia warned lightly.
Lucy tightened her grip even further and scowled.
Milo sighed and stepped inside the room. It was killing him not to interfere too much but Amelia had warned that it would take time. “Good morning again, children.”
Lucy whipped around. Her expression brightened instantly. “Papa! Can we please go riding, now that you are back?”
“I haven’t gone.”
“Then I can come with you?” She squealed and ran to him, flinging her arms around his waist, and he rested a hand on her head out of habit.
Affection stirred—but so did worry. Lucy clung to him, and to the past, too tightly.
Needed him too desperately, too. Her possessiveness grew more troubling by the day.
He glanced at his wife, hoping for guidance from her.
But she wasn’t watching. “They were practicing their letters, but of course she can go riding with her papa,” Amelia said, rising from her chair and dusting off her fingers as she turned away.
Lucy shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass.
Adam sighed. “I don’t want to go unless Mama takes me.”
Milo’s heart leapt at the word Mama from his son’s lips, and he saw Amelia turn back, heart in her eyes as she stared at Adam.
Lucy gasped. “She is not—”
“Enough,” Milo’s barked, his tone sharp enough that both children flinched. He directed his gaze on his daughter alone. “You will show respect for Amelia, or so help me, I will send you back to Devon alone.”
Lucy’s lower lip trembled, and she pulled away from him. “She is taking you away from us,” she whispered. “Lady Ashcroft was right!”
Milo clenched his jaw, pain twisting through him at the extent of Phillipa’s meddling. He would deal with that woman today, one way or another. “No one is taking anything from either of you, Lucinda. Amelia is your stepmother, and she cares for you.”
“She is not Mama!” Lucy insisted with a stamp of her foot.
“She is not trying to replace your mother,” he said firmly. “But she is part of our family.”
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “You love her more than me.”
The words struck clean through him, as they had the first time he’d heard her say that.
Amelia inhaled sharply—but she did not speak. Bless her for that. She understood instinctively that one wrong word could crush the girl completely.
He knelt in front of his daughter for the second time that day. “I have loved you from the moment you were born, Lucy. I always will. But a man’s love for his child is not the same as his feelings for his wife.”
Lucy’s chin wobbled. “You said you didn’t want a wife. I heard you tell Grandpa, Aunt Fanny, Aunt Rebecca. Everyone.”
He winced. “I’ve said many things against marriage. Most are not true anymore.”
Lucy ran from the room with a wail before he could say another word.
Silence descended like a heavy curtain.
The maid he’d forgotten about stepped forward. “I’ll go after her, my lord.”
“Yes, please do,” he murmured.
Amelia hugged herself. “You cannot make her want me around.”
“I want you, and that is all that matters,” he told her, and was rewarded with a blush that made his heart skip a beat. He glanced at his son quickly. “Adam, could you help the maid, and bring your sister back?”
“Yes, Papa,” he cried, sprinting out the door.
He faced Amelia. “I’m sorry if what Lucy said hurt your feelings. I should have prepared her for another woman in her life. I should have been more guarded around her, and now…”
She shrugged. “Her mother meant so much to her. I understand.”
“Well, I won’t have it,” he muttered angrily. “I am the head of our household, and she ought to obey you without question.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” she replied softly. “I don’t want her to like me because she’s expected to. I want her to want to.”
His chest tightened. “The heart does have a mind of its own.”
He reached for her without thinking, brushing his thumb along her smooth cheek. Amelia closed her eyes at the touch, leaning ever so slightly into his palm.
Desire would be his undoing, yet he was powerless to resist wanting her.
He stepped closer. “You understand me, and the children, so easily. We don’t deserve your patience but I am grateful for it.”
Her lips parted. “I—”
He kissed her.
It was not the ravenous hunger of the bedroom or the garden.
It was slower, deeper, as though he meant to learn every nuance of her mouth all over again.
She softened against him instantly, hands sliding up his chest, curling across his shoulders as though she had been waiting for this moment all along.
He deepened the kiss, savoring her warmth. Her breath caught, and he felt her tremble.
He lifted her easily, setting her on the table’s edge. Her skirts pooled around her thighs, and he stepped between them, kissing her again—hungry now, greedy, unable to restrain himself.
She arched into him, her gasp swallowed by his kiss. His hands spanned her waist, sliding upward to her ribs, higher still, until he reached the soft weight of her breasts. She moaned softly when his thumbs brushed the peaks through her bodice.
He loved her need, her eagerness, her trust. It terrified him how much it mattered.
He wanted to lay her back on that table and take her until she forgot her own name.
He wanted to lose himself entirely in her body.
But footsteps sounded in the corridor again, and they jumped away from each other, him chastened by his lack of control, her blushing.
Adam reappeared. “We can’t find her.”
“Did you check the servant’s stairwell? Sometimes she likes to look and listen to the servants.”
“I’ll go look again,” Adam said with a groan, and rushed off.
Amelia’s face was flushed now, lips swollen, hair mussed, looking very much as if he had already made love to her.
He dragged a hand down his face, appalled at his loss of control yet again.
“We cannot continue like this,” he whispered.
She stiffened instantly. “I’m sorry.”
“I do not blame you.” He cursed softly. “I lose all sense when I touch you. I forget where we are. I almost made love to you in the schoolroom, of all places. Dear God, our children could have seen far too much of us both.”
Her voice was very small. “I know.”
He closed his eyes. “It terrifies me how unguarded we are,” he murmured. “I swore I would never feel this way again. Not after—”
He stopped himself.
Amelia drew close and whispered, “It was never my intention to cause you pain.”
“I know,” he admitted. “It’s a different kind from what my first wife inflicted, yet I don’t want it to stop.”
Her breath hitched. “But it must.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
They stood together in the quiet schoolroom, desire still trembling between them, but something colder crept into the space after her words, too—fear that this unexpected passion would disappear one day.
He did not want that. He was enjoying being married too much, but that was only because of Amelia. He let out a shaky breath, knowing he was on a precipice. He did not want to do anything that changed how they were together, and yet change came to everyone.
“I need time,” he whispered.