Chapter Seven #2
“You rode most of the night, trying to find me.” Her smile softened. “I’d say that’s a grand gesture. And I’m so grateful for it.”
He froze, recognizing the danger of an attraction he’d never wanted. A soft curl lay against her throat, and her green eyes held him captive. He wanted to kiss her, to take away the horrors of this night. And that was wrong on so many levels.
“You’re certain you’re all right?” he asked again.
“Now, I am.” She drew her hands together in her lap and said, “I was hoping you would come for me. I didn’t know if I would have to rescue myself.”
He didn’t ask how she would have done so but was relieved to hear that she didn’t seem to have been harmed during the journey.
“Could we…stop at an inn?” she pleaded. “I’m so tired, I can hardly stand it.”
No. He couldn’t risk an inn, not now. “Your family will be terribly worried. Once we arrive home, you can sleep for days if you wish.”
“What will happen when I get back?” she whispered. “I know what they’ll say about me. It won’t matter that I was taken against my will. They’ll believe I was ruined.”
“None of us will let your reputation be harmed,” was all he could tell her.
“They’ll think that I led him on, that I went with him to elope.” She bit her lower lip, and he saw the worry there. “And perhaps it was my fault, a little. A few months ago, before I knew the man he was, I would have eloped with the viscount.”
“But you came to your senses.” He motioned toward the cushioned seat of the coach. “Why don’t you lie down and sleep? It will be hours yet before we reach London.”
He didn’t want her conjuring ideas about what would happen next. Everyone would expect him to wed her, since he’d been the one to rescue her. Even Margaret believed it was the best solution. But he resisted the arrangement, sensing that Amelia would expect far more than he could give.
“I want to thank you,” she said to him. “You didn’t have to come for me.”
It had never crossed his mind to refuse. He liked Amelia too well to leave her at the hands of the idiot viscount. “You’re welcome.”
“And I’m sorry I called you a handkerchief, a while ago. It was rude of me, and I probably shouldn’t have told you about it.”
He wondered why she was trying to be so courteous, all of a sudden. But then she stretched out on the seat, tucking her hands beneath her face. When she closed her eyes, although the worry still lurked, she was undeniably beautiful.
If she were his wife, she would look like that, lying beside him. Her hair would tangle against her face, those lips turning soft.
“You’re staring at me,” she whispered, opening one eye. “Why is that?”
“Go to sleep.”
Instead, she propped up her elbow, resting her cheek against one hand. “I think I provoke you, without even meaning to. You seem to be angry right now.”
He wasn’t angry. It was desire taking command of his senses, pushing back the walls of grief and making him crave her. In this small space, he could smell the floral scent of this woman, and he wanted to close the distance, letting her rest her head against his lap.
He locked down those visions. Amelia deserved so much more than a man like him. She should have a husband who would adore her and children of her own.
“I’m not angry,” he said. “But I’ve been thinking about how to solve this problem. You shouldn’t be ruined because of one man’s impulsive mistake.”
“I will not marry him,” she insisted. “No matter what anyone else says I should do.”
“No. But if you remain unmarried, the gossip will worsen.”
Amelia sat up and regarded him, her face serious. It seemed that she’d suddenly understood what he was implying. “You could marry me,” she ventured. “No one would say a word against me or my family if the man who rescued me became my husband.”
Before he could say anything, she sighed. “But then, I don’t suppose I would make a very good mother to your daughter. I tend to break the rules more than I follow them.”
“Unfortunately, so does Christine.” The change in topic gave him the means to avoid a direct answer. “She has a governess, but Miss Grant cannot teach her how to properly behave in London society.”
“I do know the rules,” Amelia admitted. “Margaret drilled them into me, often enough.” She let out a heavy sigh, her green eyes staring at him. “I don’t know what we should do, either.”
He suspected that was an untruth. The answer was there, but she didn’t want to force him into a marriage he didn’t want.
“If you were to marry me,” he began, “we would be friends, nothing more. And I know that isn’t what you want.”
She thought about it a moment. “You mean that I would have your name and your protection…but we would not truly be as man and wife.”
It was the honorable way to manage this, offering her a celibate marriage. But the idea of being married to Amelia without touching her was another torment. “Not at first,” he said. Not unless you want to.
She met his gaze, but he could read the uncertainty there. “I thought you needed an heir.”
He did. And he wasn’t opposed to Amelia giving him a child, so long as she didn’t fall in love with him. “If you are uncomfortable with the idea, we can wait.”
She cast her gaze downward a moment, as if the topic embarrassed her. “I would think I could manage that duty, if nothing else. It might be a trifle awkward, but if we are friends, I suppose I could endure it.”
It took an effort to keep his mouth from dropping open. “Endure it?” She made him sound like he had no idea how to make love to a woman.
“You needn’t fear that I’d want or expect you to fall in love with me,” Amelia continued.
“Your first wife can remain upon that ivory pedestal. But I would think that you could at least give me a wedding night and teach me what I should know about my marital duties. Surely that’s not too much to ask. ”
The idea of teaching her how to be his lover was incredibly arousing. His body stiffened at the thought, and right now, he wanted to press her down against the bench. He wanted to touch her skin, to capture that mouth and pleasure her until she shuddered.
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Amelia.” She had no concept of the intimacy of lovemaking.
“That’s true enough. I have no experience with sharing a man’s bed. But it can’t be that difficult. Isn’t it a matter of fitting one part into another and that’s that?”
He nearly choked at her prediction. “Who told you such a thing?”
“No one. But I did figure it out on my own, when I saw some dogs together,” she confessed. “My sisters won’t tell me anything, but I suppose it must be the same. Mother promised that on my wedding night she’d explain it.”
“It’s very different,” he said. Within the coach, the atmosphere grew charged, almost as if a rush of heated air filled the interior.
Perhaps they could enjoy that aspect of marriage, so long as they remained only friends.
If it was a means of physical release and creating an heir, was there anything wrong with that?
Amelia sat up, watching him intently. “Will you tell me what lovemaking is like? Every time I ask, my sisters start laughing at me.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She did the same, and her face was hardly more than a hand’s width away. For a while, he let her anticipation build before he gave her a resounding, “No. I won’t tell you about it.”
I’d rather show you.
She let out a sigh. “I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I? I know it’s not proper at all, but you have been married before. I thought you could give me a little more detail, especially if we did marry.”
“Ask your sisters again.” He wasn’t about to go down that path.
“I don’t want to ask them,” she whispered. Her hands moved forward to rest upon his knees, and the fragile touch sent a roaring blaze through him. “I want you to tell me.”
He didn’t want to tell her anything. He wanted to show her, by seizing her impudent mouth and kissing away all the questions. He wanted to silence her, teaching her that some conversations were better without words. He took her hands from his knees, holding them for a moment.
“Are you afraid to marry me?” she asked, reaching out to touch his cheek. Then she leaned in, resting her face against his. “Or am I imagining it?”
She wasn’t, but he wouldn’t say so.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a man who can be a true husband to you?” he asked. “One who will do everything you tell him to?”
“You mean to say that you wouldn’t do everything I asked?” she teased. Her mouth was a breath away from his, and the temptation was so strong, he felt his body rising to her siren’s call.
Don’t, his brain warned. Nothing good could come of it.
“I’m not obedient,” he countered. “I would never let you have mastery over me.”
Her lips parted, and the invitation in her eyes was undeniable. “Don’t kiss me, then.”
It was a direct challenge, demanding that he disobey her.
He touched her face, staring at her while all the reasons for avoiding her turned into meaningless air.
He gave in to the impulse and leaned in to claim her mouth.
She tasted like summer raspberries, sweet with a hint of tartness.
And God help him, she was kissing him back.
Amelia was hesitant, trying not to be too bold. And her shyness only aroused him more, making him want to show her all the things she didn’t know. She yielded to him, but he caught the glimpse of her curiosity. She wanted to know what a real kiss was, and this, he could teach her.
“Are you going to strike my jaw?” he murmured against her mouth.
“Only if you stop kissing me,” she answered, drawing his mouth back to hers.
This time, he let himself go. All the years of denial, all the hunger for a woman’s touch, came flooding through him.
He wasn’t gentle, and he demanded her response.
He could feel her trembling, and when he slid his tongue inside her mouth, her hands dug into his shoulders.
But she wasn’t fighting him. She was pulling him closer.