Chapter 20 #2
“In fact, now that I think about it, there’s a distinct pattern of you spying on me. You came into my washroom, and you also happened to wander by when I was bathing in the lake. Naked,” he added pointedly. “You seem to have a knack for sensing when I am unclothed.”
“You are being ridiculous.”
“Am I? I hardly dare change into my nightclothes in case you crawl out from under the bed.”
She’d gone crimson now. Stephen had to admit that he was enjoying himself.
“I am not enjoying this conversation,” she snarled, arms folded tighter than ever.
“Nor am I, but as you may have noticed, walking away is not an option for either of us.”
“But why did Letitia do this? What could she possibly achieve by it?”
Stephen sighed, leaning back until his shoulders and the back of his head rested against the cool glass pane. “She imagines that we’ll fall in love.”
Amelia flinched. “Well, that is ridiculous.”
“I concur. But my grandmother believes that real love and marriage—one or the other, it does not need to be both—will solve all of our problems and make me as happy as a pig in the sh… filth,” he corrected lamely.
“I suppose she believes it will make you happier.”
“She does. But that doesn’t change the fact that she has no right to interfere with my life in this way.”
“I am not saying that she does. But she is your grandmother, and—”
“What is it you think I will do once I get out of here?” Stephen interrupted, eyes blazing. “Shout at my elderly grandmother? Berate her, humiliate her in front of our servants? Strike her?”
Amelia flinched. “No, of course not.”
He rose to his feet, careful to keep a good deal of space between them. “You seem to think that I am some kind of monster, Amelia,” he murmured, trying in vain to catch her eye. “A cruel man, a thoughtless man. You put me in the same category as your brother.”
At that, her head snapped up, eyes flashing with anger.
“You go too far,” she hissed. “I would never put you in the same category as him. You do yourself and me a disservice by saying it.”
A muscle twitched in Stephen’s cheek, and he forced himself to look away. Outside, it was raining again—the classic English spring weather. What else had he expected?
“You are afraid that I orchestrated this,” he said, his voice curt.
“I did not say that.”
“No, but you thought it. Let me tell you that it is not true. I had no idea this would happen. I shall be leaving as soon as my grandmother sees fit to free us. It cannot be long, surely.”
“I don’t know. Letitia’s memory is getting weaker,” she mumbled.
Stephen stayed where he was, staring out the window, and did not bother to respond. He traced two raindrops on their journey down the glass, making a wager with himself as to which one would reach the bottom first.
In the end, he did not manage to find out which of the raindrops was the winner. There was a rustle of fabric, and he caught a glimpse of Amelia’s reflection in the window, just by his shoulder.
“I do not think that you are a monster,” she mumbled, her eyes downcast. “Truly, I do not. I have seen how you treat my sisters, how you treat me, and I… I have no complaints to make.”
“Except that you think I am trying to make you my mistress.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He shrugged. “I am not the one trying to seduce you, Amelia. Time and again, you have come to me.”
Her reflection blushed. “That is not true.”
He straightened and turned around slowly. A too-sharp movement might scare her away.
“Are you entirely sure about that?” he whispered, catching her gaze and holding it.
Her eyes were wide, pupils blown with desire. He lifted a hand, cupping her soft chin, and tilted her face up to his. She leaned into him just a little, but enough.
He thought about kissing her, but before he could do so, her tongue darted out, swiping across her lower lip. It left a glossy sheen in its wake.
“When this is over,” she managed, her voice trembling, “and I take my sisters and go home, you will not give a fig what happens to me. You will forget about me as if I were never here. That’s the thing about nobles.
Your lives are so full that you can distract yourself with ease, but for us poorer folks, some things are not easily forgotten. ”
“I’ll forget, will I?” he murmured, entranced by the sheen on her lip. “You are wrong about that, Amelia. You are wrong about me.”
He felt her throat work as she swallowed, and the last of his restraint broke, like a dam collapsing under the weight of too much water.
He leaned in, crashing his lips against hers. She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing a little too tightly. In his mind, he recalled the softness of her wrists when he pinned them against the bedsheets, and a pang of desire rolled through him, so powerful it made him stagger.
She pulled back, her lips red and glistening, and stared up at him, her eyes wide. “Th-The door,” she stammered. “Is it still locked?”
It was an effort to release her and step back toward the door, but Stephen did it. He tried the door, but it would not budge.
“Yes,” he rasped.
She wet her lips, staggering back a step or two toward the window seat. “Then… then come here.”