Chapter 25
“I’ve been making inquiries.”
The words came out abrupt and graceless, torn from Tobias before he could stop them. He watched Amelia’s hands still mid-cut, the secateurs suspended above a particularly spent bloom. Her shoulders stiffened visibly.
This morning. That conversation had been this morning, and already it felt like a lifetime ago.
Now Tobias stood in the pouring rain, water streaming down his face, his coat long since soaked through.
Lightning split the sky over Redmond Park’s eastern fields, throwing the landscape into stark relief before plunging it back into darkness.
Thunder followed close behind, so close he felt it vibrate through his chest.
He should go inside. Should have gone inside an hour ago when the first drops began to fall. Should never have saddled Apollo and ridden out into the gathering storm like some dramatic fool from a Gothic novel.
But the alternative had been sitting in his study, pretending to review estate ledgers whilst his mind replayed that scene in the garden over and over again. The way her voice had gone flat when she’d said, “Then it seems my future is well in hand.”
Rain lashed against his face with renewed fury. In the darkness, Apollo shifted restlessly, likely questioning the sanity of his rider. Tobias couldn’t blame him. He was questioning it himself.
Lord Ashbourne remains interested. And there’s also talk that Lord Denby has asked about you. Both would make respectable matches.
The words had tasted like ash even as he’d spoken them. Respectable. Safe. Everything Amelia deserved and everything Tobias could never be.
Ashbourne with his impeccable manners and a widower’s understanding. Denby, with his solid estate and reputation for kindness. Either one would give her security, position, and the life of comfort she’d been denied in her marriage to Edward.
Either one would take her away.
Would claim the right to touch her, to make her laugh, to see her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Would become Henry’s father in truth rather than in the boy’s innocent confusion.
Would share her bed.
The thought drove him forward, deeper into the storm. Water squelched in his boots. His hair hung in sodden tangles. Lightning flickered again, and for a heartbeat, he saw his reflection in a puddle: wild-eyed, half-drowned, looking every inch the rakehell London society had always called him.
You’re being absurd, Edward’s voice whispered in his mind, sharp with the old familiar disappointment. She was never meant for you. You knew that from the beginning.
He had known it. Had known it that night at dinner years ago when he’d defended her against Edward’s cruelty and felt something shift dangerously in his chest. Had known it when he’d returned to Redmond Park to find her widowed, grieving, holding a child who looked nothing like the cold brother who’d sired him.
Had known it every moment since, every time she smiled at something he’d said, every time her composure cracked to reveal the passionate woman beneath, every time she looked at him as though he might be something more than the family disappointment.
And still he’d let himself fall. Let himself imagine that perhaps, impossibly, she might fall too.
Thunder cracked directly overhead, so loud Apollo whinnied in protest. Tobias gentled him with automatic movements, his hands steady even as his heart raced.
“Easy, boy. It’s only a storm.”
Only a storm. As though the heavens weren’t tearing themselves apart. As though his entire carefully maintained world wasn’t dissolving in the rain.
He’d told her about the suitors this morning. Had watched her face go carefully blank, had heard the hurt beneath her polite responses, and he’d pushed forward anyway. Because that was the right thing to do. The honourable thing.
Find her a husband. Someone worthy. Someone who wouldn’t taint her with scandal or remind society daily that she’d married brothers in succession.
Someone who wasn’t him.
“We should return,” he muttered to Apollo, though neither of them moved. The horse’s ears flicked back, listening. Understanding, perhaps, that his rider was not yet ready to face warmth and shelter and the inevitable confrontation awaiting him.
Because Amelia would be there. Would look at him with those blue eyes that saw too much, and he would have to pretend.
Pretend his chest didn’t ache at the thought of Lord Ashbourne’s perfectly proper courtship.
Pretend he didn’t want to forbid every gentleman caller from darkening their door.
Pretend he felt nothing beyond familial concern.
Pretend he wasn’t desperately, hopelessly in love with her.
The admission, even silent, even to himself in the midst of a raging storm, nearly drove him to his knees.
Love.
He was in love with Amelia Grant.
Loved her quiet strength and hidden fire. Loved the way she spoke to Henry with infinite patience, the way she’d stood up to him in the nursery and told him he might hold the title but not their lives. Loved her gentle hands that coaxed beauty from gardens and comfort from grieving children.
Loved her enough that watching her marry someone else might actually kill him.
“Heaven help me,” he whispered into the storm. “What have I done?”
Lightning answered, brilliant and blinding. In its flash, he saw Redmond Park ahead---windows glowing warm against the darkness, promising shelter he no longer felt he deserved.
Apollo moved forward without prompting, drawn towards familiar stables and dry hay.
Tobias let him go, too exhausted to fight the pull.
His clothes clung to him like a second skin, heavy and cold.
His teeth should be chattering. Yet, he felt nothing but the hollow ache that had taken up residence in his chest.
The village had been a waste. Three hours riding through increasingly foul weather to review accounts with Mr. Pemberton that could have waited until next week.
But he’d needed distance. Needed to not be in that house with her scent of lavender haunting every corridor, her voice drifting from the nursery, her presence a constant torment.
Distance hadn’t helped.
Nothing helped.
He could ride to Scotland, and she would still be there, in his thoughts, in his heart, in every part of him that mattered.
They reached the stables at last. A boy emerged from the shadows, eyes widening at the sight of his lordship, soaked to the bone and looking half-mad.
“M-my lord! We didn’t expect… shall I fetch…”
“Just see to Apollo,” Tobias interrupted, dismounting with movements that felt leaden. “Rub him down properly. He’s had a rough go of it.”
The boy bobbed an acknowledgement, already reaching for the reins. Tobias turned towards the house, every step requiring conscious effort. Water dripped from his coat in steady streams. His boots squelched obscenely loud in the relative quiet of the stable yard.
He should go to his chambers. Ring for his valet, change into dry clothing, perhaps pour himself a brandy and pretend this day had never happened.
Instead, his feet carried him through a side entrance, tracking water across polished floors. The house lay quiet around him---servants abed, candles guttered, only a few lamps left burning in corridors for late arrivals.
Late, mad arrivals who couldn’t stop themselves from walking towards the one place they should avoid.
The library door stood ajar, firelight spilling into the hallway.
Tobias stopped. Every rational thought screamed at him to turn back. To retreat to safety before he did something catastrophically stupid.
But then he saw her.
Amelia sat curled in the wingback chair nearest the fire, a book abandoned in her lap.
She wore only her nightdress and wrapper, her golden-brown hair loose about her shoulders in a way that made his throat close.
Firelight painted her in shades of copper and gold.
She was achingly beautiful, and utterly forbidden.
She hadn’t noticed him yet, too absorbed in whatever thoughts kept her from sleep. Her expression held a sadness that lanced through him. Had he put that there? With his talk of suitors and respectable matches?
He should leave. Should…
“You’re drenched.”
Her voice startled him from his spiral. She’d looked up, those clear blue eyes finding him in the doorway with unerring accuracy.
“I... yes.” Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant response. He stood frozen, one hand still gripping the doorframe, water dripping onto the Turkish carpet with soft, damning sounds. “I didn’t expect to find anyone awake.”
A lie. He’d hoped, with desperate futility, that she might be here. That some part of him had known where to find her even as his rational mind insisted he stay away.
“You’ll catch your death if you stand there,” she said softly.
The words should have been dismissal. Should have sent him running for dry clothes and distance. Instead, they sounded like an invitation.
He stepped across the threshold before thought could intervene. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the quiet room.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, the truth escaping despite his better judgment. “I have… a lot on my mind.”
Thunder rolled overhead, rattling the windows. The fire hissed as rain found its way down the chimney. Amelia’s gaze tracked his progress across the room. She was silent for a while, her eyes following his movements.
“Ah,” she murmured at last, setting down her book with deliberate care. “Wedding plans for me, perhaps?”
She tried with futility to keep her voice light, but he could hear the bitterness in it. She was hurt, and it was his fault. He stopped several paces distant, water pooling beneath his boots, acutely conscious of how thoroughly he’d compromised every rule of propriety by entering this room.
Alone. Past midnight.
Edward would have been appalled.
“That’s unfair,” he said, though the protest emerged weaker than intended.