Книга - Bound By One Scandalous Night

Bound By One Scandalous Night
Diane Gaston


MARRYING A STRANGEROn the eve of battle, Lieutenant Edmund Summerfield rescues mysterious Amelie Glenville from attack by marauding soldiers. Heady from the anticipation and uncertainty in the air, they spend the night together – but their scandalous actions have one inescapable consequence…!The illegitimate son of an aristocrat, Edmund won’t consign his unborn child to the same fate, so he offers Amelie marriage. With their honeymoon spent weathering a storm of scandal, can these two strangers hope to turn their convenient marriage into something real?The Scandalous SummerfieldsDisgrace is their middle name!









The Scandalous Summerfields


Disgrace is their middle name!

Left destitute by their philandering parents, the three Summerfield sisters—Tess, Lorene, and Genna—and their half-brother, Edmund, are the talk of the ton…for all the wrong reasons!

They are at the mercy of the marriage mart to transport their family from the fringes of society to the dizzy heights of respectability.

But with no dowries, and a damaged reputation, only some very special matches can survive the scandalous Summerfields!

Read where it all started with tempestuous Tess’s story

Bound by Duty Already available

Read Edmund’s story

Bound by One Scandalous Night Available now

And look out for the rest of the family’s exploits, coming soon!




Author Note (#ulink_16c155d5-ec69-5088-8817-15483bad843b)


In my author note for Bound by Duty I said that I’d based The Scandalous Summerfields mini-series on my mother and her sisters and brother. Not their life stories, mind you, but as inspiration. Edmund Summerfield, the hero of this book, represents my uncle Ed.

My mother was very close to her sisters, but her brother was older and never quite a part of that close-knit group. We’d see my uncle Ed at least once a year, but it was always for brief periods—an afternoon visit, an evening meal—always shared with lots of family. As a result, I did not know Uncle Ed very well. What I do remember about him, though, is his infectious laugh. When my uncle laughed, everyone laughed with him.

The only similarity between my uncle Ed and my hero Edmund is that both were somewhat separate from their close-knit sisters. In Edmund’s story I wanted to explore what it might be like to be in a family but not really a part of it. Edmund has dealt with this sense of being separate his whole life. Like so many of us, he pretends it doesn’t matter to him, when in reality he yearns to feel he belongs—as we all do.

Sometimes where we truly belong is not entirely clear to us, but I believe everyone has such a place. Will Edmund believe it as well?


Bound by

One Scandalous

Night

Diane Gaston






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


DIANE GASTON always said that if she were not a mental health social worker she’d want to be a romance novelist, writing the historical romances she loved to read. When this dream came true she discovered a whole new world of friends and happy endings. Diane lives in Virginia, near Washington, DC, with her husband and three very ordinary house cats. She loves to hear from readers! Contact her at dianegaston.com (http://dianegaston.com) or on Facebook or Twitter.


To the memory of my uncle, Edward Gelen, with his shock of white hair and infectious laugh.


Contents

Cover (#u208c5a54-568f-5750-8932-9b325cc1b993)

Introduction (#u653b622a-7c35-5d43-ae24-c582811f4ca1)

Author Note (#u71838af5-e620-5c81-9602-e9965e8c594f)

Title Page (#u982fd35f-a2b1-5b10-ac1a-e4b33d258608)

About the Author (#ue17b0002-1860-51ca-93a4-a5ef1294601f)

Dedication (#u085255b5-494f-5891-895d-d978fabe6cfd)

Chapter One (#u4f5749ee-63b2-58da-b5e8-53d59164ae91)

Chapter Two (#ue03d5704-3b23-53d9-9bd0-4b4927e85e26)

Chapter Three (#u48b6d17c-dcc5-54de-b472-0793d898c5e9)

Chapter Four (#udc5c0742-2455-5d94-933f-658b36e9fd24)

Chapter Five (#u7dbfb2a9-790d-560a-ab69-506844cfdf77)

Chapter Six (#uc314ed2e-b843-52c4-bdd9-e79f3e00c8e6)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_790e27e2-0558-522d-b5ad-a85120efd5c7)

Early hours of June 16th, 1815—Brussels, Belgium

Brussels was in chaos.

Bugles blared in the streets, their sounds echoing off the huge buildings of the Grand Place, repeating, over and over the call to arms. All officers and soldiers must report for duty!

For battle.

Wellington had learned that Napoleon and his army crossed into Belgium and were marching towards Brussels. Wellington’s soldiers needed to mobilise quickly to stop him.

Lieutenant Edmund Summerfield of the 28th Regiment of Foot wound his way through townspeople of all shapes and sizes and well-dressed gentlemen and ladies still waiting for carriages to bring them back from the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. Everywhere men were shouting, women wailing, children crying. Soldiers in uniforms of all colours rushed to and fro. British and Hanoverians in red, Belgian and Dutch in dark blue, British light cavalry in light blue, Rifles in dark green, Highlanders in plaid kilts. The array of colours mimicked a carnival, but the mood was tense, a tinderbox that with one spark could turn to riot.

Edmund forced himself to remain calm. He shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other and wished his head were clearer. He’d spent the evening in a tavern, drinking and playing cards with fellow officers too low in rank and importance to be invited to the Duchess’s ball. The bugle’s repeated call, still resounding through the tension-filled air, had sobered him greatly.

He pushed his way to the curb of the rue du Marais. Horses, wagons, carriages, men and women dashing on foot, blocked his way. Through the kaleidoscope of colour he spied a vision in white across the street, an angel amidst the tumult. While he watched, a man in labourer’s clothing grabbed her around the waist. She beat on the man’s arms with her fists and kicked his legs, but this man, rough and wild-eyed, dragged her with him.

Edmund bounded into the busy street, heedless of the traffic, narrowly missing being run down. He made it to the other side and chased after the man abducting the woman. Her shimmering white gown made it easy not to lose sight of her. The man ducked into an alley between two buildings. Edmund reached the space a moment after.

‘Let me go!’ the woman cried. Her blonde hair, a mass of curls, came free of its bindings and fell around her shoulders.

The man pinned her against the wall and took the fabric of her dress in his fist.

‘Vous l’aimerez, chérie,’ the man growled.

‘No!’ cried Edmund. He pushed his bag like a battering ram at the man’s head.

The man staggered and loosened his grip.

Edmund dropped his bag and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the cobbles. ‘Be off with you! Allez! Vite!’

The man scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the dark recesses of the alley.

Edmund turned to the woman. ‘Did he hurt you? Vous a-t-il blessé?’

She looked up and the light from a street lamp illuminated her face.

He knew her!

‘Miss Glenville!’

She was Amelie Glenville. Her brother, Marc Glenville, was married to his half-sister Tess.

Her eyes, wide with shock, looked past him.

‘Miss Glenville?’ He touched her chin and made her look at him. ‘Do you remember me? I am Tess’s brother, Edmund. We met at your parents’ breakfast two days ago.’

Her face crumbled. ‘Edmund!’ She fell into his arms. The beautiful Amelie Glenville fell into his arms. Who would believe this?

When Amelie entered the room that morning, for one heady moment he’d been caught in the spell of her unspoiled beauty. Fair of face. Skin as smooth as cream. Cheeks tinged with pink. Eyes as azure as the sea. Hair, a mass of golden curls, sparkling in the light as if spun from gold. Lips lush and ripe for kissing. Innocent. Alluring.

And smiling at him during their introduction.

The next moment, though, he had been introduced to her fiancé, a most correct young man, a Scots Greys cavalry captain and son of an earl. Reality set in and Edmund had instantly dropped her from his mind. Even if he wanted to court some young woman—which he did not—a viscount’s daughter like Amelie Glenville would never do for a bastard like him.

And here she was embracing him.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked her. ‘Why are you alone?’ She’d obviously been to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. Her white gown must have been lovely before it had been so roughly handled.

She drew away and tried to sort out her clothing. ‘Captain Fowler left me here.’

The fiancé? ‘Left you? Why?’

She huffed. ‘We had words.’

‘He left you because of a quarrel?’ No gentleman, under any circumstance, would desert a lady on a city street in the middle of the night, especially not on a night like this. ‘What about?’

‘It does not matter,’ she snapped.

She sounded more angry than alarmed, at least. That was fortunate. Did she even realise what had almost happened to her?

‘And I have no idea how to walk back to the hotel,’ she continued in a peeved tone. ‘Could you direct me?’

Good heavens! The man had abandoned her without her knowing the way back? ‘I think I had better escort you.’

She rubbed her arms.

He shrugged out of his coat. ‘Here, put this around you.’

‘Might we go back now?’ Her voice wobbled a bit. ‘It is the Hotel de Flandre.’

She’d be better off staying angry. ‘I remember what hotel it was.’

He picked up his bag and offered her his arm, which she readily accepted and held with an anxious grip.

They stepped from the relative quiet of the alley back into the cacophony of the street.

‘Hold on tight,’ he cautioned, and she squeezed his arm as people bumped against them, the soldiers hurrying to battle, the others to somewhere safe.

What on earth had possessed Fowler to abandon her on such a night? This was not an afternoon stroll through Mayfair. It was after one o’clock in the morning, and the soldiers on these streets would soon be facing battle; the townspeople, possible occupation by the French. She’d already discovered what could happen to a beautiful, unescorted woman when emotions were so high.

She was lovely enough to tempt any man. Even him.

But he must not turn his thoughts in that direction.

‘Do you not have to go to your regiment?’ she asked as a company of Belgian cavalry rode by, the horses’ hooves drumming on the stones of the street.

He did need to reach his regiment as soon as possible, but why stress her with that knowledge? ‘I am more in fear of what my sister and your brother would do to me if I left you alone on the street. My sister would draw and quarter me. Your brother would probably do worse.’

‘Why would they ever know, unless you told them?’ she retorted peevishly. ‘I have no intention of speaking a word of this night to anyone.’

So much for trying to use levity to counteract this nightmarish episode.

‘Then blame my conscience,’ he said. ‘I would think very ill of myself if I abandoned you.’

‘Unlike some gentlemen,’ she muttered.

‘There will be plenty of time for me to reach the battle.’ He hoped. ‘I doubt Napoleon will disturb his sleep.’

Fine words, but who knew how close Napoleon was to Brussels? Edmund had heard varying accounts. One thing was certain, though. Men would fight soon. And die.

He concentrated on getting her through the crowd without further mishap. The streets cleared a bit when they reached the Cathedral of Saint Michael and Saint Gudula. It rose majestically into the night sky, its yellow stone glowing against the black sky. Men would be stopping at that Gothic church for a few prayers before battle, Edmund would wager. It could not hurt to pray a little.

Pray not to die.

Edmund shook his head. Don’t think such thoughts, he told himself, but he’d seen too many battles on the Peninsula, seen too many good men die while he survived. Soldiers always talked of having only a finite number of battles in which to remain unscathed before it was their time to die.

Miss Glenville swiped her gloved fingers across her eyes. Was she weeping? If only he could have prevented this ghastly night from happening to her. She was too lovely and unspoiled to have been so roughly treated. To think what that ruffian had in mind to do to her made him tighten his hand into a fist.

He needed to distract both of them from their thoughts. ‘So what did happen with Captain...Captain Whatshisname?’ He only pretended to forget.

‘Fowler.’ She spoke the name as if it were a term of contempt.

‘Captain Fowler.’

‘We quarrelled and he walked away and left me.’ She turned her head away.

The scoundrel. ‘What sort of quarrel would make a man abandon you?’

The doors of the cathedral opened, revealing the glow of candlelight inside. A man in uniform emerged, head bent. Edmund hoped the man’s prayers would be answered.

He turned again to Miss Glenville. ‘Tell me what you and Captain Fowler quarrelled about.’

She swiped at her eyes again. ‘I certainly will not.’

He persisted. ‘Is that what is making you weep?’ He feared it was the other man’s mistreatment of her.

‘I am not weeping!’ she cried. ‘I am angry.’

Anger was better. Good for her.

Better for him, too. He was caring too much, caring about never seeing a beauty such as Amelie Glenville again if he lay dead on the battlefield.

‘It is really none of your business, you know,’ she snapped.

‘No doubt,’ he persisted. Ungentlemanly of him, but it distracted him from morbid thoughts. ‘But you say you will not speak of this, say to your brother or my sister. You should talk about it with someone, since it is plaguing you so. I am unlikely to say anything to anyone.’

After all he might soon be dead.

‘Why would I talk to you?’ she responded in an arrogant tone.

He’d almost forgotten. He’d been talking with her as if she’d consider him her equal. ‘Yes, wise not to tell the likes of me.’

‘The likes of you?’ She sounded puzzled.

Need he explain? ‘Surely the scandalous details of my birth were whispered into your delicate ears.’

‘What has that to do with it?’ she asked, then smiled wryly. ‘But you are correct about the details of your birth being whispered in my ear.’

He gave her a smug look.

‘Your sister told me more about you,’ she went on.

He laughed. ‘What did she tell you? That I was a horrid boy who teased her and played pranks on her?’

‘Did you?’ She glanced at him but quickly glanced away.

This was better. Who would guess that he’d think talking about himself was desirable? It kept them both from more painful thoughts, though. ‘Tess could not have informed you of my wayward activities in the army. My sisters know nothing of that. Their ears are delicate, too, you see.’

She batted her eyes at him. ‘Wayward activities? Are you some sort of rake? I have been warned against rakes.’

‘Oh, be warned, then,’ he joked. ‘I am a shameless rake.’

‘Are you?’ Her voice lowered almost to a whisper.

Had he gone too far in this bantering? Had he reminded her of the ruffian who’d accosted her? ‘You are quite safe with me, Miss Glenville.’

She glanced at him again, and her good humour fled. She turned away. ‘Yes. Safe.’

If only he really were a rake, he thought. He would steal a taste of her lips and take the memory with him into battle.

They walked in silence until they reached the Parc de Bruxelles, its main paths lit by lamps. The parc looked almost as busy as it did in the daytime, but now other couples were not leisurely strolling on the paths. They were either hurrying into the shadows or clinging to each other.

‘Shall we cross through the park?’ he asked. ‘It will be safe enough tonight. Or would you prefer we walk around it?’

‘We may cross the park,’ she responded.

She was still lost in her own thoughts. Edmund wanted her to talk to him again. Seeing so many sweethearts clinging to each other affected him. How many would be torn apart for ever? He supposed they were trying to grab one more moment of feeling alive. Perhaps that was what she and Fowler quarrelled about. Perhaps Fowler asked her for more than she could respectably provide. Soldiers leaving for battle often wanted one last coupling with a woman.

As they walked through the park, he heard faint sounds of lovemaking coming from behind the shrubbery. Surely she had noticed, too. Surely she could hear the sounds.

‘I have a suspicion that your Captain Fowler might have asked for liberties,’ he tried to explain. It did not excuse Fowler’s abandoning her, but maybe it would help explain his behaviour toward her. ‘Men often want a woman before battle.’

She stopped. ‘You think he propositioned me?’

Now he was not so certain. ‘That was my guess, yes.’

* * *

Amelie kept walking. He really could not be more wrong. Fowler had not propositioned her. But he had left her.

‘He put you in danger by leaving you,’ the lieutenant went on. ‘That was unforgivable.’

Could he not talk of something else? Anything else?

Was it possible to grow older in an instant? Because that was how it felt to Amelie. One moment she was young and in love; the next...

‘Unforgivable,’ she repeated. But his leaving was only part of his unforgivable behaviour.

Not that it mattered to Fowler.

They continued across the park, heading to the gate on the other side. As they reached it, another couple entered, a plainly dressed young woman and a tall, red-coated infantryman.

The young woman halted. ‘Miss Glenville?’

Amelie stared at her. ‘Sally?’ She glanced back to Edmund. ‘My maid,’ she explained.

‘Oh, miss!’ the maid cried. ‘Are you back from the ball? There is to be a battle, and your father wants to leave early in the morning for Antwerp. I have packed for you. Must I come to you now? I—I hoped for a little while longer.’ Her words came out in a rush.

Next to Sally a young infantryman stood at attention, eyeing Amelie and Edmund warily. But when he gazed at Sally his countenance turned soft and worshipful. Amelie envied her so acutely the pain was physical.

She glanced from the maid to the infantryman and back. ‘Of course, you must have as long as you like, Sally. In fact, I do not need you at all tonight. I will manage quite well without you.’

The maid grasped Miss Glenville’s hand in both of hers. ‘Oh, thank you, miss! Thank you so much.’

The maid pulled on the infantryman’s arm. The young man bowed quickly to Edmund, and the couple disappeared into the park.

‘He is, I believe, an old friend of Sally’s,’ she said, as if she owed Edmund an explanation. ‘Amazing that they met here in Brussels with all the soldiers here, but, then, your sister and I met my brother in this park the first hour we arrived. And a friend of yours with him, as I recall. And a friend from London, as well.’ Now she was babbling.

‘Such lucky happenstance,’ he remarked.

Not as lucky as she had been that Edmund had happened to be across the street when that horrible creature attacked her. She could still feel the man’s hands gripping her, smell his unwashed skin—

She buried her nose in Edmund’s red coat. Its scent—his scent—banished the memory.

‘You were very kind to your maid,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘How could I refuse her? It was her one chance, perhaps.’

It was a chance she would never have. When Fowler first paid her court, she had woven joyous dreams of living happily ever after in her very own fairy story, but she learned that real life was not a fairy tale. It was more often filled with lies, deception, painful words and grave disappointments.

At least Sally might be able to capture a few moments of joy. Amelie hoped the girl would have many such happy moments.

Amelie would not.

‘I commend your liberal attitude,’ Edmund said.

She was startled. She’d been lost in her own miseries.

He grinned.

She blinked and really looked at him for the first time this night.

He was taller than Fowler. More muscular, easy to see now that he was without his coat. The hair beneath his shako was as dark as night, his thick brows the same hue. His lips were finely formed as if some master sculptor had created them; his chin, strong and shadowed by what was probably a day’s growth of beard that made him appear more like the rake he claimed to be. His smile robbed her of breath.

When she’d met him two days ago, she’d immediately felt taken with him. He’d appeared so handsome in his regimentals, the bright sunlight from the windows making his red coat even more vibrant, his smile even more dazzling. He’d looked then like a fine man, a strong soldier, a brother Tess could be proud of. Even with her head full of Captain Fowler as it had been, she’d thought how nice it would be to know Edmund Summerfield better and how sad it was that his birth made him even less acceptable to society than her own family.

What did birth matter, though? Fowler’s was as respectable as one could be, but he’d behaved abominably, walking away without a second glance, leaving her utterly alone just because—

Edmund’s smile faded. ‘Your Captain Fowler must not have appreciated you.’

Tears stung her eyes. ‘No, he did not. Not at all.’

To her surprise, he put his arms around her. She knew he meant only to be comforting, but, his strong arms wrapped around her, his muscular body flush with hers, other emotions were stirred. It gave her a hint as to what she so desired, what she could never have. She knew that now.

She did not pull away from him. This might be the only time a man’s arms held her.

Edmund released her and they resumed walking.

‘So what was it that caused the words between you and Captain Fowler?’ he persisted. ‘If it was not him propositioning you.’

‘I do not wish to say,’ she responded. ‘Not to you.’

She felt him bristle. ‘I forgot. One must not confide in a bastard.’

‘It is not because you are a bastard,’ she shot back. ‘It is because you are a man.’

He nodded, and an amused look came into his eyes for a moment but vanished as quickly. He lowered his voice. ‘That is precisely why you should talk to me. I am a man. I may be able to explain the actions of another man, perhaps explain the actions of both of the men who hurt you tonight. It may ease your mind.’

She felt the tears threaten again. ‘Nothing will ease my mind.’

They reached the entrance of the hotel just as a throng of Belgians, obviously full of drink, filled the pavement, blocking their way. One of the men seized Amelie’s arm, jabbering in French, and tried to pull her away from Edmund. His uniform coat fell off her shoulders and her heart raced in fright.

It was happening again.

But Edmund grabbed the man’s clothing and shook him. The man lost his grip on Amelie. Edmund lifted him off the ground and thrust him into the crowd, knocking several other men down. They jumped back to their feet and came after Edmund, who took hold of Amelie, picked up his coat and charged into the hotel in one swift movement.

The men did not follow them into the hotel.

‘There,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe in here.’

She was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel safe again. Napoleon could be knocking at the door by morning. Men in the street seemed to feel entitled to do as they pleased, and even men who had once professed love could speak words that wounded more grievously than a sword.

‘Will—will you escort me to my room?’ she asked.

He put an arm around her, but, again, it was meant only in sympathy. ‘Directly to your room, and I will see you safe inside.’


Chapter Two (#ulink_28bf8730-0f92-50ae-9097-9b574169fdde)

Under ordinary circumstances it would be scandalous for Edmund to walk a young, unmarried woman up hotel stairs in the wee hours of the morning, but this night no one would pay them any heed. Even if someone noticed them, it would not change what he must do. He must escort her all the way to her room. She’d had two brushes with danger and that was quite enough. He would see her to safety or be damned.

‘Do you object to me calling you Edmund?’ she asked as they climbed the stairs. ‘It is how Tess refers to you, so I think of you as Edmund.’

To hear her speak his name felt intimate to him. They’d spent mere minutes together, not more than an hour, certainly, but, somehow, it seemed right that she call him by his Christian name.

Besides, all this hour he’d been thinking of her as Amelie.

He smiled again. ‘I do not object, but that means I must call you Amelie, you know.’

‘Would that be so hard to do?’ she countered, somewhat uncertainly, he thought.

He pretended to need to think about it. ‘I suppose I could manage it. We are somewhat related, one could say. By marriage.’

They reached the upper floor where her hotel room was located.

‘Since we are now so familiar, Amelie,’ he emphasised Amelie, ‘there is no reason not to tell me why you and Captain Fowler quarrelled.’

‘Would you stop pressing me on the subject?’ she snapped. ‘I have no intention of telling you. It is very private.’

‘But we are somewhat related.’ He added, ‘Amelie.’

She lifted a finger to her lips, and he fell silent. They were near her parents’ rooms, where he’d breakfasted with her two days before.

She knocked softly. ‘Maman, Papa, I am back.’

Footsteps could be heard from behind the door. She gestured for him to stay out of sight.

Her mother opened the door a crack. ‘Dieu merci! I was worried.’

‘No need to have worried, Maman,’ she said.

Of course, she’d only been abandoned once and nearly abducted twice!

‘We are leaving Brussels,’ her mother said. ‘Your father has arranged for carriages to take us to Antwerp very early. Your maid will wake you at five.’

‘I will be ready.’ The door opened wider, and she leaned in for her mother to kiss her on the cheek. She kissed her back. ‘Try to sleep, Maman.’

She waited a moment after the door closed, then indicated to Edmund to follow her again.

When they reached her hotel-room door, he extended his hand for her to give him the key. He unlocked the door, opened it and stepped aside for her to enter.

She hesitated, though. ‘Will you check the room for me?’ she asked in a nervous voice. ‘I am a little afraid to enter it alone.’

He crossed the doorjamb. A fire was lit in the fireplace, but the room was dark and full of shadows. He found a taper on the mantel and used it to light the lamps. The room brightened a bit.

He carried one of the lamps with him throughout the room, not believing there was anyone hidden and ready to jump out and attack her, but wanting to reassure her of that fact.

‘There is nothing to fear here,’ he told her. He placed the lamp on a table and placed the key into her hand. ‘Lock the door after I leave.’

She took the key and stared at it for a moment before looking back up at him. ‘Must you go to your regiment immediately?’

It would be a two-hour ride, at least. ‘I have time,’ he said.

Her shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘May I offer refreshment?’

‘Do not go to any trouble.’

‘It is no trouble.’ She pulled off her gloves, and he noticed her hands shook. ‘I think Sally hides a bottle of sherry in here. Shall I pour you some?’

He’d prefer brandy. ‘Sherry? Why not?’

She found the bottle and two glasses. ‘Please sit, Edmund.’ She poured his glass and one for herself, a large one, which she gulped down.

He waited for her to sit first. She lowered herself into a chair and poured herself another glass.

She was still distressed from the night’s events, he thought, and Edmund wondered how he’d be able to leave her until she was comfortable again. Why he should feel this responsibility foxed him. She was once merely a pretty face—a beautiful face—to him. Now, perhaps because he’d rescued her, she’d become someone whose welfare mattered to him.

He watched her gulp down the second glass of sherry. ‘You should talk about what happened to you tonight.’ He spoke in a low voice. ‘The sherry won’t be enough.’

She quickly put down the glass. ‘I suspect there is not enough time. You must leave for your regiment.’

His brows rose. ‘A moment ago you were anxious for me to stay; now you want me to leave? Which is it, Amelie?’

Her glance darted to the door before focusing on her lap. ‘I do not want to be alone right now.’

‘Then talk to me,’ he persisted.

She looked up at him and snapped, ‘Why are you so sure talking will help me?’

‘I have three sisters.’

The challenge left her eyes, so that must have been explanation enough.

‘The—the attacks from those horrid men.’ The distaste showed on her face. ‘It was frightening, but what more can I say except that?’

‘Then talk about what is most unsettling you,’ he said.

‘I am certain you do not have enough time for that!’ She huffed.

He raised his brows and spoke with humour. ‘Is it so long of a story?’

Her glance darted back to him. She smiled.

He pinched the stem of his glass.

By Jove, she was temptation itself when she smiled.

* * *

Was it possible that talking could calm her? Amelie doubted it very strongly, but, if he left, she would be alone—and likely alone for the rest of her life. Why not tell him?

Courage was necessary. Her trust in men had been shredded this night, and Edmund Summerfield was certainly a man.

‘You will not tell anyone? No matter what?’ she asked.

He looked directly into her eyes, his expression serious. ‘Upon my honour.’

His words resonated inside her. From her brother she knew men did not say such words lightly. At least, honourable men did not.

Edmund delayed his duty to his regiment to bring her safely off the streets of Brussels. There was honour in that.

She was stalling and he was waiting patiently, no longer pressuring her to speak, no longer using humour to cajole her.

But to speak it aloud meant facing it, did it not? Facing what she had done. Facing the truth she had learned in return. Opening her bleak future to herself.

He sipped his sherry.

She tossed him a defiant look and poured herself a third glass, but this time she did not gulp it down.

She took a breath and took the risk. ‘You know, of course, that Captain Fowler and I had just become betrothed—’

He nodded.

She could not sit still and speak of this. She stood and paced in front of him. ‘My brother procured invitations to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, you know, my first ball given by a duchess. I was in raptures about it. Captain Fowler was my escort. I thought nothing could be better, especially when Wellington himself arrived! Wellington! At the same ball.’

Even though Amelie’s father was a viscount, it did not mean they were invited everywhere. Because of her mother. Not only was her mother French, her mother was also a commoner and, after the Revolution, her family had become active in the Terror, beheading friends and relatives of the British aristocrats.

Consequently Amelie and her parents were barely tolerated by the ton. It was only because of Edmund’s sister, the one who’d married an elderly earl, that she’d been invited anywhere last Season. That was how she met Captain Fowler. She thought he had not minded about her scandalous family. At least he’d told her so.

Edmund broke into her reverie. ‘The ball ended early, I heard.’

She collected herself. ‘Yes. I was much affected when Wellington announced that Napoleon was marching towards Brussels. I—I knew it meant Captain Fowler would ride into battle. I knew it meant I might never see him again. I begged my parents to allow him to walk me back to the hotel instead of riding in their carriage. I wanted to be alone with him.’

She glanced at Edmund, who continued to watch her from his chair with eyes that merely waited for more but showed nothing of what he thought.

She turned away from his gaze. ‘You thought he propositioned me. You thought he might have taken advantage, saying, give me something to remember you by, or something like that.’

‘Men think about last chances when they know they will go into battle,’ he said in a quiet voice.

She swung back to him. ‘Not only men! I thought of last chances, too! I begged the captain to come to this room and make love to me.’

His brows rose.

‘Are you shocked?’ she asked.

‘Surprised. Not shocked.’ He lifted his glass to his lips.

Her voice turned shrill. ‘Does that make me wanton? Does that bring shame on me, on my family? Is it so very bad that I spoke those words to him? That—that I wanted...the lovemaking?’

He placed his glass on the side table and rose, coming to her and holding her by the shoulders. ‘This is what the quarrel was about?’

She nodded.

He guided her back to her chair and sat her down.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. ‘He said that no respectable woman would ever think such a thing. That I was wanton. Shameful. That I was no better than Haymarket ware. That I must have more of my mother’s common French blood in me than he had supposed.’

She burned with anger all over again. True, her mother was the daughter of French merchants who had worked to guillotine aristocrats, but her mother had no part in that. Her mother was the dearest creature in creation. Amelie tried to slap Fowler across the face for speaking of her so.

It had enraged him.

Her throat tightened with the memory. ‘Fowler said he was finished with me and that he was certain some man on the street would pay me for what I was offering.’ He’d said more, as well.

‘Damned prig.’ Edmund said.

She looked up into his face. ‘Is it not I who deserves censure?’

She was not well bred, obviously, she thought to herself. Otherwise she would not have made such a proposition to Fowler. Or maybe she’d merely been a silly romantic, who believed love conquers all. Amor vincit omnia. She’d learned the phrase in Latin.

He reached over and put his hand on her chin and made her look at him. ‘What you felt was the most natural thing in the world.’

She averted her gaze. ‘Other young women like me do not say such things to men.’

Perhaps it was her mother’s blood that made her crave a man’s touch. Even Edmund’s hand heightened her senses.

Edmund shook his head. ‘Do you not suppose other young ladies at the ball said the same to the men leaving them?’

‘The captain said not.’

He leaned back. ‘The captain is a fool.’

She reached for her glass of sherry again and drank the remainder.

He pointed to the glass. ‘What else are you not telling me?’

She was feeling a bit giddy. ‘Nothing.’ Except what was hardest to face. She picked up the bottle. ‘There is just a little more left. You may have it.’ She refilled his glass and tried to summon her courage to continue speaking.

‘Fowler broke the betrothal,’ she finally said.

‘Fortunate for you,’ he countered.

She bristled. ‘Fortunate? Fortunate?’ She jumped to her feet and strode over to the window. ‘It is easy for you to say such a thing, but it shows your complete lack of understanding!’

‘Enlighten me, then,’ he said.

She could not even listen to him. Her voice rose. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’

‘Tell me.’

‘He said he had made a terrible mistake asking me to marry him, that he’d done so only because of my dowry.’ She’d never guessed that fact. ‘He said his parents were against me, but he’d learned that too late. He’d thought himself trapped, he said.’

‘Heed me, Amelie.’ His voice turned low and firm. ‘You are exceedingly lucky not to have married him.’

She knew that now. The thing was, she’d thought Fowler loved her. She’d been convinced of it. She’d seen nothing in him to suggest he was not head over ears in love with her.

‘He threatened me,’ she went on. ‘He said that if I told anyone that he broke the betrothal, he would spread the news about what a wanton hoyden I was.’

Edmund’s countenance darkened. ‘The blackguard!’

His outrage surprised her. And warmed her.

But he still did not comprehend. She’d been fooled. So easily fooled. That was the most distressing part. One moment she’d believed Fowler blissfully in love with her; the next he had abandoned her on the dangerous streets of Brussels.

Amelie leaned her head against the cool pane of the window. ‘What is the use to talk about this? It does not change anything.’

‘What would you change?’ he asked. ‘Surely you do not want him now.’

‘No.’ The sadness crept in to her voice. ‘I do not want him.’

Again he did not understand. The moment she realised she had been utterly misled by Fowler, she also realised she could never trust any man. How could she know if a man truly loved her? She could never marry without knowing.

‘But—you see—’ she tried to explain. ‘It is unlikely now I shall ever marry.’

He rose and walked over to lean against the wall next to the window. ‘You are spouting nonsense.’

She lifted her chin. It was not nonsense. ‘I must face the reality of my situation. I am too scandalous—my family is too scandalous. Who would wish to marry me? Except, perhaps, for my dowry. If I can be fooled so easily, how would I ever know if what a man wanted was me or simply my dowry?’

‘Ah, I see.’ Edmund nodded. ‘Fowler wanted your money.’

‘I do not want a man who only wants my money!’

‘Of course you do not,’ he said soothingly.

She swung away from him. ‘Oh, stop it!’

‘Stop what?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Stop speaking platitudes.’ She huffed. ‘I knew talking to you would do nothing for me!’

He seemed to ignore her outburst. ‘Did you not have several suitors before Fowler?’

‘I did not!’ Only Fowler.

He’d been the perfect suitor, she’d thought. The man she’d dreamed of finding, she’d thought. So respectable. The younger son of an earl. In a fashionable cavalry regiment. She’d fancied herself so in love with him, when his regiment was sent to Brussels, she convinced her parents to follow him here. He’d seemed happy she’d come. Their betrothal made her parents happy. Made her happy.

Edmund took a step closer. ‘Forget Fowler. Do not let what happened with him decide the rest of your life. You will find a man worthy of you.’

‘Worthy of me,’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘I shudder at the thought. What sort of man is worthy of a hoydenish ninnyhammer with a family who is accepted nowhere?’

He touched her chin again and made her look into his eyes. ‘I see only a beautiful woman with pretty manners, who, I suspect, thinks more deeply than anyone gives her credit for.’

He was so close to her now she could see the individual hairs on the stubble of his beard. She felt her face flush, but she was unsure if it was because he was so close or because of his words. ‘Now who is talking nonsense?’

He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Be truthful, Amelie. You know you are beautiful, do you not?’

She used to think so. At least her family said so. Her maid said so. And men on the street sometimes looked at her, but Fowler had also said she was beautiful. Was that another lie? ‘How do I know if being told I was beautiful was simply empty flattery?’

He leaned close again. ‘I have no reason to flatter you, and I say you are beautiful.’

This time it felt as if all her skin had blushed.

She dared to meet his eye. ‘Do you truly think so?’

He came even closer, so close his lips were an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her face and the heat of his body.

‘I truly think so,’ he murmured.


Chapter Three (#ulink_45e3fb87-3326-5334-a05f-56bffa981f80)

Edmund stepped back.

Heavens! What was he about? He’d nearly kissed her, and now she looked bewildered.

‘Forgive me,’ he said.

‘For what?’ she whispered.

‘For coming too close.’

Her brow creased in confusion. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me.’

He could not meet her eye. ‘That would be pretty shabby of me.’

She turned back towards the window. ‘I suppose it is something you would not want to do.’

Should not do, was more the piece.

‘That was one thing Fowler must have been honest about,’ she spoke more to the windowpane than to Edmund. ‘He never kissed me. Except on the cheek like my brother might do.’

Edmund had not felt like kissing her like a brother.

‘He obviously did not want to.’ She released a long sigh. ‘No man has wanted to kiss me.’

‘It is more likely that they wanted to, but refrained,’ he said.

She whirled around. ‘And you? Did you want to, but refrained?’

‘I am really not a rake, Amelie.’ Although he’d nearly behaved like one.

She turned away again. ‘I wish you were.’

He was uncertain he heard her correctly.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Are you shocked at that? I did proposition a man tonight, after all.’

He’d tried to treat her like his little half-sister Genna instead of the alluring creature she was at this moment. He’d promised her she was safe with him.

She laughed drily. ‘I would certainly hate to think that the only men who wished to kiss me were those ruffians in the street who tried to have their way with me.’

‘They would have done more than kiss you, Amelie,’ he said. ‘If you yearn for love, they were not offering it.’

She turned back to him. ‘Do you know what distresses me the most about never marrying?’

‘You must not give up on marriage.’ How could any man fail to see the merit in her?

She whirled around again, halting his speech. ‘It distresses me that I will never know a man’s kisses. I’ll never know the lovemaking that passes between men and women. Husband and wife.’

‘You will,’ he said.

The lamplight reflected in her eyes, filling them with fire. ‘Will you kiss me, Edmund?’

Every muscle and sinew in his body yearned for him to taste her lips. ‘No, Amelie. It would not be wise.’

Her eyes filled with tears, making them look even bigger. ‘I suppose it would be distasteful to kiss me, would it not?’

‘No, Amelie, it would not be distasteful.’ It was a struggle not to crush his mouth against hers.

‘Then you are repelled because I am so wanton in the asking.’ Her voice strained, as if she was trying to stifle a sob. ‘Like Fowler.’

He moved closer to her. ‘I am anything but repelled by you, but I am not the man for you. You must wait—’

‘For whom?’ she cried. ‘Why can you not be the man who first kisses me? You’ve been my friend this night.’

‘A friend, but not your equal,’ he tried to explain. ‘Remember, I am nothing but a bastard and you are the daughter of a viscount.’

‘And what does that signify? You are the son of a baronet and I am the daughter of a French commoner,’ she countered. ‘Why is any of that an impediment to a kiss?’

‘My sister is married to your brother.’ He was grasping at straws.

She gave him a speaking look. ‘You are not kissing your sister and I am not kissing my brother.’

How could he convince her? He must not cross that line with her, and he was very close to doing so. Something had changed as they’d talked. She’d somehow become important to him.

She turned back to the window. ‘Listen to me.’ Her voice filled with pain. ‘I’m standing here begging you to kiss me. How pathetic a creature I am! No wonder Fowler wanted to rid himself of me.’

Her pain pierced through him like the sabres he’d soon be facing.

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to him. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and tilted her head to him. Leaning down so his lips merely hovered over hers, he asked again, ‘Are you very certain you want a kiss?’

‘Yes,’ she rasped.

‘It may not be wise, but I will comply.’ He closed the short distance between them.

A satisfied sound escaped her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and her mouth tasted of sherry.

It was as if a spark had touched off a firestorm. Desire flashed through him, engulfed him. He pressed his body against hers.

Her fingers dug into his hair and she ground herself against him. He was powerfully aroused. Imagine her believing herself unlovable. She was everything a man could desire. She’d affected him as no other woman.

But she was not for him.

She deserved what she’d thought she had in Fowler. A respectable aristocrat who loved her, not a bastard taking advantage of her vulnerability.

The rumblings of heavy wagons and the clap of horses’ hooves reached her window. A reminder. Where he must go. Who he was—a lowly lieutenant from an infantry regiment, without name or fortune. This would change some day, he vowed. He’d earn his fortune, some day, somehow, but he was still a bastard and not for her.

He released her and eased her away.

‘What?’ She looked dazed.

He tried to smile. ‘There now. You have been kissed, but if we do not stop, we may commit a more serious indiscretion.’ Being alone with her in her hotel room, kissing her, was indiscreet enough. ‘Besides, Napoleon beckons. I need to go.’

She nodded. ‘You must go fight a battle. I do understand.’ She backed away from him. ‘Thank you for saving me. Thank you for—for the kiss.’

His grin came naturally. ‘It was my pleasure.’

She smiled in return and their gazes held.

‘Best I take my leave.’ He crossed the room and retrieved his coat. She followed him and helped him put it on.

Standing behind him, she put her arms around him and rested her cheek against his back. ‘I do not want you to leave me.’

He did not want to leave her either, but his resolve was weakening by each moment he stayed.

He turned around, still in her embrace. ‘Will you be all right?’

She looked up at him, her jaw firmly set. ‘I shall have to be.’

The lamplight made her skin glow, and the tumble of curls around her face shone like a halo. He tried to commit her face to memory, a memory to soothe him on the battlefield, a reminder of who and what he fought for. If he survived—if he survived—who knew if he would ever see her again? Could he bear that?

She rose on tiptoe and placed her lips on his, unschooled and tentative.

Desire slammed into him again. He put his fingers into her hair and held her in the kiss, savouring it like a man feasting on his last meal. Her soft curves pressed against him once more. Good God. He was on fire, wanting all of her, craving to ease the need that threatened to consume him. He picked her up, and she curled her legs and arms around him. Without heed of what he was doing, he carried her to the bed, prominent in the room, even though he’d not allowed his gaze to stray in its direction.

‘Yes,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘Yes.’

* * *

Amelie knew what Edmund wanted. She was not so green a girl not to know what could transpire between a man and a woman, why young ladies like herself were carefully chaperoned. What difference did it make now, if she were chaperoned or not? She was not destined for marriage or respectability. Fowler had taught her that.

But ever since she’d met Fowler and fancied herself in love with him, she’d felt that urge to couple with him. She’d savoured every touch of his hand. She’d felt frustration when his lips touched her cheek and not her mouth. She’d realised that she was a woman who wanted the bedding part of marriage. She’d thought she wanted it so much with Fowler that she dared to ask him to make love to her before he went to battle, lest he be killed and she never know his embrace.

Of course, that all died in an instant when he rebuffed her.

The thing was, the urge for lovemaking was even stronger with Edmund. Why not indulge it? She was unlikely to have another chance.

He sat her on the bed and captured her mouth again. She savoured the delight of it. To touch her tongue to his was so incredibly intimate, and it sent sensation shooting through her. It was as if her body had come alive for the first time.

His hand slipped to the sensitive skin of her neck and moved down to cup her breast.

Oh, my! How could a touch in one part of one’s body be felt so acutely in another? His hand on her breast ignited sensation in her most womanly place. It made her want more, much more. It made her want him to touch her skin all over and even to touch that—that most private of places.

She must be wanton. There was no other explanation. What was she to do with these feelings for the rest of her life? The least she could do was indulge them this one time. There could be no unwanted consequences the first time, she’d heard the maids say. When else could she do this without anyone knowing?

Edmund would not tell. And, even if he did, who would believe him? No one knew they were together. No one would ever know.

But Edmund suddenly broke off the kiss. ‘Amelie, we cannot do this. I won’t do this.’

She was bereft. And a little wild. To have those sensations aroused and so abruptly denied was like dousing a raging fire with a bucket of water.

Except this did nothing to extinguish the flames inside her.

She pushed him away and leapt from the bed. ‘Then stop! And be gone! And do not tease me so. Do not pretend you want me and then just stop! You are worse than Fowler! At least he told me right away he did not want me!’ Her emotions were running away with her mouth, and she could not stop herself. ‘Does no man want me? Not even when I offer myself? What is wrong with me? Am I really as detestable as Fowler said? Not even as desirable as Haymarket ware—’

He seized her by the shoulders. ‘I did not say I did not want you!’

She pressed herself against him again, putting her arms around him. ‘Then make love to me, Edmund. This may be my only chance. I want to know love at least once. Show me, please. Please!’

* * *

How was he to resist her?

He kissed her again, a long and tender kiss that showed all the yearning he could no longer disguise. He wanted her with every fibre of his being. He wanted this one last moment of beauty and joy before facing cannon fire, blood and death.

When his lips left hers and tasted of her neck and shoulders, she sighed. ‘Yes. That is glorious. Yes.’

His hand slipped beneath the neckline of her poor battered dress, now ripped and dirty from the violence of the street. He savoured her smooth skin and the feel of her nipple as his palm scraped against it.

She writhed with his touch and twisted around, presenting her back to him. ‘Unbutton my dress. Please, Edmund.’

Somehow his fingers undid at least a dozen tiny buttons. As soon as they were free, she pulled her dress over her head. He took off his boots and coat.

She presented her back to him again. ‘My stays.’

He untied the laces of her corset, loosened them and pulled her corset down so she could step out of it. He stripped off his trousers and drawers and added them to the puddle of clothing on the floor. He lifted her onto the bed and, as he climbed after her, she pulled off her shift.

She was naked and as beautiful as any goddess could possibly be. Her breasts were full, high and firm; their nipples dark rose. Her waist was narrow, but her hips a pleasing balance. Was she perfection? What had he done to deserve such a gift? Perhaps it meant he would meet his end. If so, he was thankful for her.

‘Do—do I please you?’ she asked, her voice small.

He allowed his gaze to luxuriate over her. ‘Very much.’

She smiled and gazed upon him. His chest bore more than a few scars, gifts from the Battle of Albuhera, but she did not seem to notice. Her eyes widened as she gazed farther down, but, then, she would not have seen a man fully aroused before.

Edmund could have taken her quickly and roughly and eased the almost painful desire coursing through him, but his mind still functioned well enough to remember she was a virgin. He had no wish to hurt her. He wanted to show her pleasure. He wanted to show her all the delights of lovemaking, to show her she was meant to have pleasure from it. Most of all he wanted to reassure her that she was worthy of love.

He settled beside her and kissed her again, on the lips, on the tender skin beneath her ear, on the long column of her throat. He caressed her breast and relished the feel of it beneath his fingers. He scraped her nipple with his palm, and she moaned in response. He explored her with his hands and lips, and she writhed beneath his touch.

Her skin was as soft as rose petals beneath his rough hand. He fancied she was like some special flower, pampered into blooming in a hothouse, protected from all harshness. A lonely flower, apparently, and one who wished only for someone to love her. He was not the man for her, though, not a low-ranking, baseborn son of a failed father with no name and no one to recommend him.

He could but try to show her what love could be between a man and a woman. He could show her the delight and the satisfaction.

‘I am going to touch you,’ he warned. ‘So I won’t hurt you.’

He slid his hand down her body.

‘Yes, yes, touch me,’ she whispered, placing her hand on his and guiding it to the moist place between her legs.

He eased his fingers inside her and gently stroked and stretched her. The feel of her aroused him further, but still he held back to make certain she was ready for him.

‘Just do it,’ she cried. ‘I want you to.’

He could not hold back now. He rose over her and entered her, moving as slowly as he could manage, when all his body wished to do was to rush to the climax.

* * *

Amelie marvelled at the sensations he created in her. To feel him joined to her was glorious, but each stroke left her urgent with need. This was beyond her expectations, yet her whole body seemed to be screaming, More! More!

She was glad it was Edmund showing her these delights. He was kind and strong and...skilled. Even she, with no experience at all, could tell he knew exactly how to please her. Fowler had left her and Edmund had not. She felt safe in Edmund’s arms in a way she could never be in Fowler’s.

The pleasure Edmund had already given her had been remarkable, but she knew there was more. She needed more. She needed to rush to some destination, though she did not know what it was. The closer they came to it, the faster they ran. She wanted—needed—to reach this place, but, at the same time, she did not want these sensations to end. It was like riding in a racing carriage, powerless to stop, but giddy with excitement, even so.

He moved faster and she moved with him, seeking more.

Suddenly the sensations exploded inside her, flooding her with waves and waves of pleasure, over and above all she’d experienced so far. He thrust one more time and tensed inside her. Was he spilling his seed? It must be so.

He relaxed on top of her, covering her with his body and his weight. How had she suddenly turned to butter, melting beneath him, with no will to move?

He rolled to her side, breathing hard, an arm flung over his face.

‘I—I did not know it could feel like that,’ she murmured.

He turned to face her. ‘It doesn’t always.’

She furrowed her brow. ‘Did I disappoint you?’

He reached over and toyed with a lock of her hair. ‘No, Amelie. You did not disappoint. Anything but.’

She released a breath. ‘Good, because it did not disappoint me either. It was quite the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced. I shall remember it always.’

His expression softened, then turned sad. ‘A memory,’ he murmured. ‘A fine memory.’

She smiled. ‘Yes. And I thank you, Edmund. You have given me more than I knew to desire.’

He turned his head away, and it felt as though he’d run a far distance from her.

Amelie rose on to her elbow. ‘What is wrong, Edmund?’ Why leave me now? she wanted to add.

He sat up and the lamp illuminated his bare chest crisscrossed with scars. He’d soon be in battle again, she remembered.

‘It was not well done of me,’ he said.

She blinked in surprise. ‘Not well done?’ Nothing could have been better.

He looked down on her. ‘Do not let this stop you from seeking a proper marriage, Amelie. No matter what people say, men cannot tell who is a virgin and who is not. This need not spoil your future.’

She sat up. ‘I told you. There will be no marriage for me. This was my only chance—to—to feel that.’ Only now, how was she to bear that she would never feel such sensations again?

‘You will find a man worthy of you, I am certain,’ he said. ‘Do not let this one night stop you.’

She did not care about the rest of her life, only of this moment with him. She was glad he’d been the one to show her such delight. She could not imagine making love to any other man. How had she ever believed she’d want this with Fowler?

She did not wish to argue with Edmund about it though, not when he was bound for battle. ‘I am glad I shared this with you, Edmund. Truly I am.’

He seemed to wince in pain with her words. He rubbed his face and glanced around the room before meeting her eye again.

‘Do you know how to take care of yourself?’ he asked.

She had no idea what he meant. ‘Of course.’

He relaxed. ‘Good.’

She peered at him. ‘Are you regretting this, Edmund?’ She did not want him to regret it. She wanted it to be a lovely memory for both of them.

He stared into her eyes. ‘I am not regretting it for me.’

She flushed with happiness. ‘Then might we do it again? Just one more time before you must leave?’ And face Napoleon’s army.

One more time could not hurt, could it? It would still be like the first time, would it not? No consequences?

He pulled her down on top of him for a kiss that sent the sensation surging through her again and sent any doubts about consequences scattering in the wind.

* * *

Edmund felt no reluctance in making love to Amelie this second time. His guilt belonged solely to the first event, did it not? At least he told himself so. Told himself to savour this unexpected opportunity to experience again the pleasure of her body, the sweetness of her spirit.

Whoever finally won her love would be fortunate indeed.

But to Hades with that man, tonight she belonged to him and this sweet memory of her would always be his alone. When he left here, he’d go to where his horse was stabled. He’d ride hard to where his regiment was billeted and then, when dawn came, they would march toward Napoleon’s army.

To battle.

Edmund had cheated death many a time before. If this was the time luck would fail him, at least he’d die knowing this lovely creature had wanted him.

Had loved him.

He pressed into memory the feel of her skin under his hands, the luxury of her breasts, the taste of her kiss. He rejoiced in her unschooled but sensuous response under his touch. When he entered her again, she felt familiar, as if they’d belonged together for an eternity.

It was a gratifying illusion when the eternity of death was a distinct possibility.

Each moment of lovemaking drove the thought of death from his mind. To Edmund, Amelie represented life. With each stroke his resolve grew. He would live. He must live.

Life was full of possibilities.

His spirits soared as she moved with him, building their need, anticipating their release. He rode the passion to its culmination and, just as if they’d had an eternity to attune themselves to each other, they reached the heights together.

Edmund burst with joy. This was life! He would live for this!

When he lay in languor with Amelie in his arms, they did not speak. He simply enjoyed the comfort of lying next to her, the warmth of her body warming him. Her breathing turned soft and even. She slept the deep satisfied sleep of a woman well loved.

He slipped out of the bed and dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could. It must be nearing three in the morning. He’d need the rest of the night to ride to his regiment. He folded her clothing and searched the room for paper and pen, finding both on a small writing table in the corner.

Dear Amelie,

I shall remember this night with great fondness and gratitude. I hope you remember it without regret. Do not lose heart. Do not let one night or one man take away your dreams. You possess everything any man could desire. One day you will make some lucky gentleman a wonderful wife.

Best regards always,

E.

He folded the paper and placed it next to her on the bed. Then he moved quietly around the room extinguishing the lamps.

All except one candle. By the light of that candle, he took one last look at her. One last image to burn in his memory.

He picked up his bag, blew out the candle and walked out the door.


Chapter Four (#ulink_69e0cde2-188f-52f6-9bac-619254566e39)

Three months later, September 1815—London

‘Edmund? Edmund Summerfield?’

Edmund, just stepping out of Horse Guards onto the parade, turned.

Marc Glenville quickened his step to catch up to him. ‘I thought that was you.’ He extended his hand to shake. ‘How are you, Edmund? What a surprise to see you in London.’

Edmund was surprised as well. It was September. He thought everyone would be in the country hunting birds, not in London. He’d not written to any of his sisters that he would be in England, because he expected to return to Brussels in a week or two, and he assumed they would not be in town. Who could have thought he would run into his half-sister Tess’s husband?

Amelie’s brother.

He accepted the handshake. ‘I arrived a few days ago.’

He’d come into town to settle his affairs in person. He’d planned to write to his sisters from Brussels after he returned. Better to inform them by letter afterwards than tell them ahead of time what he intended to do.

‘Tess will be delighted you are here,’ Glenville said. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘Back to my hotel.’

‘Are you staying at Stephen’s Hotel?’ Glenville asked.

It was a good guess. Stephen’s Hotel catered to army officers and, even though Edmund was not in uniform, Glenville would assume he would stay there.

He nodded. ‘I am.’

Glenville clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come have a drink with me first. It is but a short walk to Brooks’s.’

Edmund could think of no excuse. ‘A drink would be welcome.’

As they started to cross the parade, Glenville gestured to Edmund’s leg. ‘How is your injury?’

‘Mostly healed.’

A French sabre had sliced into Edmund’s leg at Waterloo. He still limped a bit when he first rose in the morning, and it still pained him at night. He’d helped Marc carry a grievously wounded Fowler back from the battlefield, despite his own injury. Fowler, the supposed fiancé who had abandoned Amelie on the streets of Brussels—although Edmund had said nothing to Glenville about that. Fowler had been wounded in the ill-fated Scots Greys’ cavalry charge. Would Glenville have brought Fowler back to Brussels if he’d known how reprehensibly he’d treated Amelie? Edmund did not regret saving Fowler, though. Even a cad like him did not deserve to die on that battlefield. Too many of them died undiscovered, and none of them deserved that fate.

How strange was fate? Edmund’s life had become entwined with Glenville when he married Edmund’s sister. Had Glenville not met Edmund, he might have walked by Edmund at Waterloo and not asked him to help bring Fowler back to Brussels. Care of Edmund’s leg might have been delayed. The wound might have festered. He might have lost his leg. Or his life. Many of the wounded died for lack of immediate care.

Fate also entwined him with Fowler, a man he’d preferred to have known nothing of. But he would not for all the world have missed his brief time of knowing Amelie. What if he’d never met her? What would have happened to her if he’d not noticed her on the streets of Brussels that night, had not been there to save her from that brute who’d meant to molest her? What if he’d not walked her back to the hotel, not made love to her?

How the memory of that night had sustained him! During the hard fighting at Quatre Bras. All during the rain-drenched night after that battle. During tense moments of inaction at Waterloo.

After his injury.

Knowing that Amelie, with all her warmth, beauty and passion, was still in the world had been and still was a comfort. Spending those precious hours with her had been like touching light. He’d become more resolved than ever to make something of his life, to succeed where his father had failed, to prove to his departed mother that her sacrifices had not been for naught.

How had Amelie fared? What memories did she hold about that night? Regret? Shame? He fervently hoped not.

Of course, he could simply ask Glenville how Amelie was.

‘How is Tess?’ he asked instead.

Glenville’s expression turned soft. ‘Tess is wonderful.’

Edmund nodded in approval. Tess deserved such a man to love her.

‘And your family?’ he went on.

‘My parents are getting along very well.’ Glenville spoke this with some surprise.

‘And your sister?’ He tried to keep his tone even.

‘Amelie?’ Glenville rubbed his forehead. ‘Amelie has had it rougher than the rest of us. Fowler, you know.’

Edmund was surprised. ‘Fowler died, didn’t he?’ That should have been the end of it for her.

When last Edmund saw Fowler, he’d been barely clinging to life—but still alive. Glenville and Tess had taken him back to England to his parents. Edmund had stayed in Brussels to be cared for by Lady Summerfield, his half-sisters’ mother, and her lover, Count von Osten. Even though that lady had run away from Edmund’s father and abandoned her children years before, Edmund had searched for and found her. He’d stayed with her and the count in Brussels both before the battle and after.

‘Fowler lived,’ Glenville said. ‘But there is no thought of marriage between him and Amelie now. His parents said he was in no condition to marry and that it was best to break the engagement. Amelie never speaks of it, but there is no doubt she’s been changed by all this.’

Was the change due to Fowler? Or was Edmund responsible? It had been nearly three months since that night together. He’d hoped she’d rebounded from both.

He and Glenville continued walking past Carlton House, the grand residence of the Prince Regent.

Glenville suddenly halted. ‘I have a better notion than going for a drink! Come to dinner tonight. My parents are at the country estate, but that will give you and Tess more of a visit. We have no plans for the evening. I will go home directly and send word to you at your hotel if by some chance we must withdraw the invitation, but I can think of no reason you should not be very welcome.’

If Glenville’s parents were in the country, Amelie would be with them. There was really no reason not to see Tess now that she knew he was in town. He could tell her in person what he’d planned to write in a letter.

Besides, he missed her. And Genna and Lorene.

Might they be in London, too?

‘Dinner. Name the hour and I will be there.’

‘Come at seven,’ Glenville said. ‘We are at my parents’ on Grosvenor Street. Third house from the corner adjacent to the square.’

Edmund had not spent much time in London and none in the fine houses around Grosvenor Square, but he knew where Grosvenor intersected with Bond Street. ‘I will find it.’

Glenville smiled. ‘Excellent! Tess will be happy to have a nice long visit with you.’

* * *

At a little past seven, Edmund sounded the knocker at the third town house adjacent to Grosvenor Square.

A footman opened the door, and Edmund gave him his name. ‘This way, sir.’

Edmund followed him to the door of the drawing room, where he was announced. As Edmund stepped into the room, Tess was already on her feet, rushing towards him.

‘Edmund!’ She flung herself into his arms for a hug. ‘What a nice surprise.’ She immediately pulled away to look at him. ‘How is your leg? Marc said it was healed. Is it? Does it pain you still?’

He smiled at her, surprised how pleased he was to see her. ‘My leg is healed. Nothing to worry over, I assure you.’ He gazed at her sparkling hazel eyes, her shining chestnut hair. ‘You look even more beautiful than in Brussels, Tess.’

She blushed. ‘I am happy. That is the reason.’

Her husband approached. ‘How good you could come on such short notice. I am delighted we will have the evening together.’

Glenville and Tess stepped aside.

From a chair near the fireplace, another woman stood. ‘Hello, Edmund.’

Amelie! He caught himself before he spoke her name aloud, bowing instead. ‘Miss Glenville. Good to see you again.’

A memory of holding her in his arms, feeling her soft skin against his palms, her lips against his, slammed into him. He’d missed her, although why he should miss a woman he’d only spent a few hours with would make no sense to anyone.

Except to him. Those hours together had had an impact that would never leave him. She was the inspiration for him to dare to make himself a success.

She looked as beautiful as ever, but thinner. Paler.

‘You must call me Amelie.’ Even her voice seemed altered. Softer. Tenser. She made an attempt at a smile.

Tess pulled him towards the sofa, near Amelie. ‘Come. Sit. Marc will pour you a glass of claret. You must tell me why you are in London and why you did not write to us that you were coming.’ She gave him a scolding look.

He glanced at Amelie, who sat again, before turning to Tess. ‘I assumed you would be in the country.’ He assumed they all would be in the country.

‘Marc had some work to finish,’ Tess said. ‘And Amelie came for a visit.’

Marc poured the wine and handed a glass to him and one to Tess. ‘That was why I was at Horse Guards.’

Edmund tore his eyes away from Amelie. ‘Work brought you to Horse Guards?’ What sort of work at Horse Guards did a viscount’s heir perform?

Glenville smiled. ‘Indeed.’ But he did not explain.

It appeared Edmund and Amelie were not the only ones to keep secrets.

‘But why did you come to London, Edmund?’ Tess asked again.

He took a sip of his wine and took one more glance at Amelie before facing Tess. ‘I sold my commission.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You are no longer in the army?’

‘I sold out.’ He gestured to his clothes. ‘That is why I am not in uniform.’ He met Tess’s gaze, but wondered if Amelie even attended to his words. ‘Napoleon is defeated. The war is over. Without the war, there is no future for me in the army. Regiments will disband, I fear. There will be fewer and fewer opportunities to advance.’

And who would promote a bastard when there were plenty of aristocratic sons wanting the higher ranks? When fighting in Spain, he’d been passed over for field promotions. Captaincies had been given to men with fewer skills and less seniority.

‘But what will you do?’ Tess asked.

He could not resist a glance at Amelie, who sat primly, eyes lowered, hands folded in her lap. ‘I plan to return to Brussels.’

‘Brussels? With Mama?’ Tess’s voice rose.

Tess and her sisters had not known their mother was in Brussels, let alone that Edmund had corresponded with her for several years and stayed with her when his regiment was sent to the area. Because of Edmund, Tess and Lady Summerfield had forged a reconciliation, albeit an ambivalent one. Unlike Edmund, Tess had not forgiven her mother for abandoning them.

But this was not the time to discuss Lady Summerfield.

‘There are fortunes to be made on the Continent, now that the war is over,’ he said instead. And Count von Osten had a talent for finding them.

‘You sound like Papa,’ Tess accused.

Their late father had always chased an easy fortune, finding instead only debts and failure. When his half-sister Lorene sent him money to purchase a captaincy, Edmund had been surprised there had been any money left to inherit. While Edmund recuperated in Brussels, he used that money, not to purchase an advancement in the army, but to make the very sort of investment his father might have made. Except, unlike his father, Edmund made good profits from taking the risk. Now that he’d sold his lieutenancy, he had even more money to invest.

‘I’ll do well enough, Tess,’ he assured her. ‘Besides, I only have me to worry over.’ Not a wife, three daughters and a bastard son, like their father.

‘No more talk of money,’ her husband said cheerfully.

‘Then tell me of Lorene and Genna,’ Edmund said, glad to change the subject. ‘Are they in London, too?’

Their sister Lorene had married a very old man, a reclusive earl who lived near their village in Lincolnshire. She’d married him for his money, which seemed unlike her. Edmund had never met the man.

‘Lord Tinmore has retired to the country.’ Glenville’s voice rang with contempt. ‘He has filled Tinmore Hall with guests who are invited for the bird shooting.’

‘Guests?’ Edmund said. ‘I thought he was an old recluse. Was that not what was said of him when we were growing up?’

‘He probably has invited his eligible gentlemen friends in an effort to get Genna married off,’ Tess responded. ‘He is eager to be rid of her, I think.’

‘How old is Genna?’ Edmund asked. ‘Is she not too young?’ His eyes darted to Amelie again. How old was she? he wondered. Had she been too young? He’d not given that a thought that fateful night.

‘She is nineteen now.’ Tess rolled her eyes. ‘Plenty old enough, but she professes to be against marriage. She sometimes vows never to marry, but it is unlikely Tinmore will allow her that choice.’

Edmund was alarmed. ‘Surely he will not force her!’

Tess exchanged a look with her husband, who answered, ‘I fear Tinmore is capable of almost anything.’

‘What of Lorene?’ Edmund asked. Could he take care of both Lorene and Genna if it became necessary? ‘Does he treat her ill?’

Tess shook her head. ‘He is indulgent of Lorene as far as I can surmise. She wants for nothing, but he wants Lorene all to himself, not shared with her sisters.’

Edmund curled his fingers into a fist. ‘You will tell me if he mistreats either of them.’

‘We will not let them be mistreated,’ Glenville said emphatically.

The butler entered the room to announce that dinner was served. Tess took Glenville’s arm. There was nothing for Edmund to do but offer to escort Amelie. Her graceful fingers wrapped around his offered arm.

‘How are you, Amelie?’ he asked in a lowered voice as they trailed behind Tess and Glenville.

She raised her blue eyes to his for a moment but quickly averted them again. ‘I am well enough, I suppose.’

She appeared altered, though, not full of sparkle and happiness like when he first met her in Brussels. She was different than when he’d made love to her, as well. She seemed...worried.

In the dining room she was seated next to him, and he was aware the entire time of her closeness. He found himself wanting to see the expressions on her face to gauge how she was feeling.

There were so many questions he wished to ask her. Was she ill? Was she still affected by Fowler’s behaviour in Brussels? Did she ever think of the night they’d spent together? If so, did she remember it as he did? As a transforming experience? Or did she feel regret, remorse, or worst of all, shame? Should he have left her at the hotel door?

He hardly attended to the conversation at the table, hardly knew what he’d said to anyone. He’d talked about his investments, his plans to travel to wherever a fortune could be made. He and Glenville debated what countries that might be and also what the end of the war might mean to the economies of Britain, France and the rest of the Continent. If only he could remember what they concluded. A part of his mind had fixed on Amelie and would not let go.

* * *

Amelie made a show of eating, although she mostly pushed food around her plate. She’d not had an appetite of late. Would he notice?

She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Out of uniform in a beautifully tailored coat and trousers that showed his muscular legs, he was an impressive sight.

Was he glad to see her? She could not tell. There was no way to talk to him alone, and she dared not reveal that she knew him a great deal better than Marc or Tess could ever imagine. Perhaps his reticence to even look at her was to help keep their secret. She hoped so. She hoped it was not that he disliked encountering her again.

* * *

After dinner he and Marc did not linger over brandy. Instead they all returned to the drawing room for more conversation.

She’d thought she might never see Edmund again, thought he’d return to the army and be sent somewhere far away, but here he was and now she needed to make a decision. To speak to him now, to tell him of her—situation—or to have him find out later, perhaps in a letter from Tess.

It had bothered her greatly that he would find out after the fact and not hear it from her own lips.

He was here now, though. This might be her only chance.

But how to speak to him alone?

She could not think of any excuse to do so. He seemed not to pay her much mind, so would likely miss any hint she could try to send him to let him know she wanted to see him alone, with no one around. Just her and Edmund.

Eventually she excused herself, saying she was going to bed. Instead she put on her cloak and sneaked outside. She’d stand in the chilly September air until he walked out the door.

She waited in the stairs that led from the street to the servants’ entrance, hoping none of them opened the door and caught her there. The wind and damp seemed to find their way to her hiding place, making the minutes ticking by move even more slowly. How easy it would be to simply turn around and re-enter the house and tell herself she’d tried. He might stay for hours, might he not? Could she wait so long? Her feet, still in her dinner slippers, felt like ice, and her ungloved fingers trembled as they sought warmth in the recesses of her cloak. How long had it been? She tried to listen for the chiming of clocks, but all she could hear was the wind, an occasional carriage rumbling by or the chattering of her teeth.

Finally she heard the front door open, and she emerged from her hiding place, stepping into the light cast by the rush lamps.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps. ‘Amelie! What are you doing out here?’

‘I—I wanted to see you alone,’ she managed.

He took hold of her arm and walked her back into the darkness. ‘Tell me truthfully, Amelie. How do you fare? Your brother said you were not doing well. Are you ill?’

‘I’m not ill,’ she said.

‘Do not tell me you are still affected by Fowler.’

She almost laughed. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Then is it what transpired between us?’ He sounded distressed. ‘If so, I am so sincerely sorry—’

‘It is not that,’ she broke in. ‘At least not precisely.’

‘You must not allow that night to change you. You are still beautiful. More beautiful, in fact. There is no reason you cannot marry—’

She cut him off again. ‘There is a reason, Edmund! A very important reason. That is why I contrived to see you alone. There is something I must tell you.’

‘What is it?’ His voice was tense. She could not clearly see his face.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She took a deep breath and said words she’d never until this moment spoken aloud.

‘I am going to have a baby.’


Chapter Five (#ulink_9191e086-816b-5d85-9ac3-1419debd91f3)

The air was knocked out of Edmund’s chest.

A baby.

He knew efforts to prevent a baby were anything but reliable, but he’d ignored that. He’d allowed his passion to overtake him.

‘You might wish to ask if the child is yours,’ she said stiffly. ‘I assure you it is. And I am certain I am carrying a child. I have not had my courses since—since that night. I am sick every morning, fatigued all day, and I feel...altered. No one knows. Of course, they will discover it soon enough.’

‘A baby,’ he whispered.

She lifted her chin. ‘Do not fear. No one knows of our meeting that night, and I will say nothing. You will be safe from blame. I am perfectly aware I was the cause of this.’

‘No.’ He knew who was to blame.

She took a breath. ‘Well. There it is. That is why I wanted to see you alone.’

She turned to leave, but he seized her arm. ‘Do not tell me such a thing and then leave.’

‘There is no more to say,’ she told him. ‘I ask nothing of you.’

‘Nothing of me?’ he repeated. She wanted him to have no part of it?

Her eyes flashed. ‘I’ll not get rid of it, if that is what you are about to say.’

He still gripped her arm. ‘I was not about to say that.’ He was about to ask her why she wanted him to have no part in a child they created together, why she did not see what they must do, even if she disliked it.

‘I do not yet know what I will do,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps my parents will send me to France. I have relatives there. I’ve never met them, but perhaps they will be accommodating.’

He released her and paced in front of her, talking more to himself than to her. ‘You would give the baby away? Or pay someone to care for it?’ She preferred that?

She shrugged. ‘I do not want to do either of those things, but I cannot imagine my parents allowing me to keep the child. Think of the scandal I would bring on them.’

He came closer. ‘There will be scandal, no matter what.’ But he knew the right thing to do.

‘You need not worry about that,’ she said.

He need not worry? He’d been born to scandal. He never worried about what people thought of him.

Except for one person. He cared what Amelie thought of him, and it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him.

He was so close to her now his body flared in response to her, betraying him as it had that night in Brussels. He again remembered how it felt to lie next to her, how it felt to be inside her.

It wounded him that she did not want him to take responsibility for the child, but what did that matter? She must see there could be no other way.

He began pacing again. ‘I can provide for the child.’

‘Money is no issue,’ she said. ‘I have an inheritance, and my father can easily pay.’

‘I am not speaking of money.’ He was speaking of what must be done.

She cleared her throat. ‘I have no more to say. I—I thought it my duty to tell you. I truly ask nothing of you—’

Before he could protest, before he could tell her what he thought they must do, no matter how distasteful to her, she turned and rushed down the servants’ stairs and into the house.

She left him standing on the pavement. Alone.

* * *

Amelie closed the door and ran up the servant’s staircase to her bedchamber, fighting tears.

There. She told him. She’d done her duty to him and assured him she would not use the child against him. No one would ever know it was Edmund’s child; no one but her. At least she could console herself that he would be free to live his life, to build his fortune, to have his adventure, like he’d spoken of at dinner with so much energy and passion. She would do nothing to stop him, nothing to spoil his happiness.

She tore off her cloak and flung herself on her bed.

If only he had not looked so handsome. If only he had yelled at her for being so foolish as to allow a baby to be conceived. If only he had not roused in her those wanton feelings. Goodness! Merely having his hands gripping her arms made her recall how those hands felt against her naked flesh. Even in her predicament, she’d yearned to couple with him again, to feel that intense ecstasy that he created in her.

Well-bred young ladies did not feel such things. Well-bred ladies did not get themselves with child. They married for social advantage for their families and procreated to beget heirs, not because they craved a man’s touch and the thrill he could create. This was her downfall, certainly. If she had not been so wanton, she would not be in this fix, but she was determined she would not ruin his life along with her own.

It was some consolation that she’d assured him of that fact.

* * *

Edmund returned to the Grosvenor Street town house at ten the next morning. As he announced himself to the footman attending the door, Glenville walked down the stairs.

‘Edmund!’ Glenville was, of course, surprised to see him. ‘You are back so soon. To what do we owe this pleasure?’

Edmund had come to call upon Amelie, but to say so now would only cause Glenville to ask questions. He might as well provide the answers first.

‘A moment of your time?’ he asked.

‘Certainly,’ Glenville said, still sounding puzzled. ‘Come to the library. Would you like some refreshment?’

‘No,’ Edmund handed his hat and gloves to the footman. ‘Just a word with you.’

Glenville gestured for Edmund to follow him. The library was behind the drawing room, in the back of the house. If the drawing room was designed to impress and entertain, the library was intended for comfort and solitude. It was lined with books and filled with comfortable chairs.

Glenville lowered himself into one of them. ‘Please have a seat.’

Edmund remained standing and debated how to start.

Might as well charge ahead. ‘I came to ask for something which, no doubt, you will be unprepared to hear.’

Glenville’s brows rose.

‘Actually, it is not something I think you can grant, but I owe you the courtesy of hearing it from me.’

‘And this is?’ Glenville asked.

‘I would like to pay my addresses to your sister.’

Glenville’s eyes widened. ‘Pay addresses?’

‘Court her,’ Edmund went on. ‘Marry her.’

Glenville shook his head in bewilderment. ‘But you do not know her!’

Edmund knew her better than Glenville could guess, but he could not explain. He’d promised to never speak of that night to anyone.

‘It is true we have not been in each other’s company—’ he began.

Glenville cut him off. ‘Not above twice! Once in Brussels and last night.’

Three times, actually. ‘I would still like to speak to her.’

Glenville stood again and walked over to a far corner of the room. He turned. ‘Do not get me wrong, Edmund. I think you are a fine man. I am proud to be connected to you by marriage, but I do not think this will work.’ He paused. ‘Your suit is—is just not...’ His voice faded.

‘Not acceptable because I am a bastard?’ Edmund finished for him.

Glenville lifted his hands. ‘That is of no consequence to me, but I cannot see my father giving his permission.’

‘I will have to speak to him, of course,’ Edmund said. ‘But first I would like to speak to your sister.’

Glenville frowned. ‘Are you thinking she will accept you, because her betrothal to Fowler fell apart? She is still young. My parents will expect other suitors.’

Better than he, a bastard with uncertain prospects, though perhaps not once the pregnancy was discovered. ‘I am well aware that she might deserve a better suitor than me.’

Glenville shook his head. ‘I still cannot wrap my mind around this. What makes you think she will accept you? She spoke hardly two words to you last night.’ He frowned and peered suspiciously at Edmund. ‘Are you experiencing financial difficulties? Because Tess and I would be glad to help you—’

Edmund straightened. ‘I am not after her dowry! Believe me, money does not enter in this at all.’

Glenville sputtered. ‘This is hardly making any sense!’

‘What is your objection to me speaking to her?’ Edmund pressed on. Even a decent gentleman, like Glenville, could not help but wish for a better man than Edmund for his sister’s husband, apparently. Edmund was disappointed, but not surprised. ‘I am perfectly willing to withdraw if she should refuse me.’

Glenville’s expression, however, seemed filled with kindness. ‘I do not object to you speaking to Amelie, Edmund. I do not object to you at all. I am merely taken aback.’

‘That is all I ask,’ Edmund said. ‘To speak to her.’

‘By all means. And I wish you well.’ Glenville walked to the door. ‘Wait here. I will send her to you.’

He left the room, and Edmund pressed his fingers against his temple. No one would think this viscount’s daughter should marry a mere bastard. Even Edmund did not think himself worthy of her. Her marriage to him would cause talk. More talk when a baby was born too soon, but this was the respectable solution, the honourable choice.

A few minutes passed before the door opened again.

Amelie walked in. ‘Edmund?’ She looked surprised and less than happy to see him. ‘What are you doing? My brother said you wanted to speak to me.’

She also looked unwell.

‘Are you ill?’ he asked, taking a step towards her.

She halted him with her hand. ‘Mornings are bad for me. Tell me what you are about, though. My brother looked uncertain. You did not say anything to him about—about—?’

About Brussels? ‘Never,’ he responded. ‘I gave my word.’

‘Well, my guess is that my brother is going to pound me with questions after you leave. Why would you wish to speak to me? Marc and Tess are going to want to know. When the truth comes out about—about me, this might make them think you were involved.’

‘I was involved,’ he said. ‘I am involved. Stop talking and listen to me.’

She clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms over her chest.

‘You ran off last night before I could make plain to you what we must do—’

Her eyes flickered, but she did not move.

‘There is only one solution, Amelie. We must think of what is best for the child, not for you or me.’ He was not coming to the point. He took a breath. ‘We should marry. Marry me, Amelie.’

‘Marry?’ She looked shocked.

He hurried on. ‘The baby will have my name instead of no name. He or she must never know the scandal of being a bastard or of growing up not knowing who his parents really were. The child will be able to grow up respectably.’

‘You cannot truly wish to marry me!’ she cried.

He’d never dreamed it to be possible. ‘You cannot wish to marry me, but our wishes cannot matter in this. We must do this for the baby.’

‘For the baby,’ she repeated, glancing away.

He strode up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I know what it is to grow up a bastard. It is an albatross one must carry all one’s life. It is the fact against which everything else one does is judged. I do not want that for our child. I cannot allow what I have done to so burden a child.’

‘It was my doing, Edmund,’ she said sadly. ‘You should not have to pay the consequences of what I have done.’

‘What we have done,’ he corrected. ‘I accept my part in it.’ Indeed, he knew he bore the lion’s share of the guilt. ‘But the child. He or she should not have to pay the price.’

In so many ways Edmund had been lucky. He’d not been abandoned to the streets of the Rookery. His mother had loved him. His father had acknowledged him and raised him as a gentleman, sent him to school and purchased his commission. But, even so, never, in any situation, had he been allowed to forget he was a bastard.

‘What say you, Amelie?’ he went on. ‘Will you marry me?’

* * *

Amelie glanced away, at war with herself.

The idea of it made her immediately feel safe, when before she’d been consumed with fear. To face this problem with Edmund at her side dispelled the fear.

She winced inwardly. How awful of her to think of her baby as a problem. Edmund was right that they should think of the baby, not as a problem, but as a child who would grow into adulthood. What they decided right now would affect the rest of the child’s life.

But marrying Edmund would affect his life, too. Could she rob him of his future? All his wonderful plans?

She walked over to a chair and lowered herself into it.

She lifted her gaze to him. ‘Yes, Edmund, I will marry you.’

A relieved smile crossed his face, and he sat in the chair adjacent to hers. ‘We are in agreement, then.’

‘What shall we do now?’ she said.

‘We should marry right away,’ he said. ‘I will procure a special licence.’

‘Yes, right away,’ she murmured. ‘People will still talk when the baby comes early.’

‘But not so much. All is forgiven if we are married.’ His tone was subdued.

They were both resigned to a fate neither would have chosen. They sat in silence together while the mantel clock ticked away.

‘Marc and Tess will want to know what we discussed here,’ she said finally.

‘We will talk to them together,’ he said. ‘If you desire it.’

‘Yes. I do agree.’ They might be strangers discussing how to reach a destination.

‘What do they know about that night in Brussels?’ he asked.

‘Why, nothing,’ she responded, more energy reaching her voice. ‘My family still believes I walked back to the hotel with Captain Fowler.’

‘You did not tell them he broke the engagement?’

‘There was no reason to,’ she explained. ‘Especially when he was injured. When his parents wrote that he had to withdraw from the betrothal because of his injuries, it was easy to accept it and say nothing.’

‘You were not sorry?’ Now his voice showed some emotion.

‘Not at all.’ She’d be pleased never to face Fowler again. Ever. ‘Although I was sorry he was so grievously hurt in the battle.’

‘Your brother thought I was daft to ask to court you,’ he said with some humour.

‘You told him you wished to court me? He did not say so.’ No wonder Marc had acted so strangely. She could not help but laugh. ‘He must think we are strangers!’

He smiled and her heart seemed to flip in her chest. When Marc told her Edmund was here, Amelie resolved not to think of how handsome he was, nor how skilfully and kindly he’d made love to her, but both thoughts came rushing back.

She felt the colour rise in her face and suddenly she felt awkward with him. ‘Perhaps we should speak to Marc now.’

‘Certainly.’ He stood and offered his hand.

She put her hand in his, relishing the strength of his grip and the masculine roughness of his skin, as she’d relished touching his body that night in Brussels.

That scandalous night that had changed both their lives.

They walked out of the library and into the hall, where Staines stood in attendance. ‘Mr and Mrs Glenville wish for you to go to them,’ he said.

‘Where are they?’ she asked.

‘The drawing room.’

As they walked to the drawing room door, Amelie glanced at Edmund. ‘Are you certain of this?’

‘Very certain,’ Edmund replied.

She nodded and Edmund opened the door. Marc and Tess immediately looked up and left their seats.

Tess walked up to Edmund and gave him a hug. ‘What are you about, Edmund?’ she asked at the same time.

‘Did Marc tell you why Edmund wished to see me?’ Amelie asked her.

Tess nodded. ‘Marc said... Well, it is nonsensical.’

‘I have accepted him,’ Amelie said. ‘We will marry as soon as possible.’

‘What?’ Marc’s voice grew louder.

‘You do not know each other!’ Tess cried.

Marc gripped Amelie’s arms. ‘Amelie, do not be so hasty—’

Edmund broke in. ‘I realise I am not the husband you would choose for her.’

‘I already told you it is not that,’ Marc insisted. ‘It is that you have no real acquaintance and—and our father is not likely to approve.’

Amelie’s spirits dropped. ‘I had forgotten. Papa must approve who I marry until I come of age.’

‘I had not considered this,’ Edmund said. ‘How old are you?’

‘Edmund, you do not even know how old she is!’ Tess cried. ‘You know nothing of each other!’

‘I am nineteen,’ Amelie answered.

‘Good God,’ murmured Edmund, but as if to himself. ‘Nineteen. Same age as Genna.’

Marc looked from Edmund to Amelie. ‘Why do you not wait? What is the haste about marrying? You need time to know each other. And if you wait until you are twenty-one, it will not matter if Papa approves or not.’

Amelie glanced at Edmund. He raised his brows.

‘We do not have the luxury of time,’ Amelie said.

Edmund looked at her.

She met his eye. ‘I might as well tell them.’

‘Tell us what?’ Tess asked.

‘They will know soon enough,’ Amelie went on.

‘Know what?’ Tess’s voice turned impatient.

Amelie took a fortifying breath. ‘We cannot wait, because—’

‘Are you certain of this?’ Edmund asked her.

She nodded.

‘Certain of what?’ Tess’s voice grew shriller.

Amelie faced both her brother and sister-in-law. ‘I am certain we need to marry quickly, because I am carrying Edmund’s child.’

Her statement was met by a stunned silence.

‘No,’ Marc said in a low voice.

‘Edmund’s child?’ Tess shook her head at Edmund. ‘It cannot be. This is all a hum. You have not been together.’

Edmund spoke quietly. ‘We were together, Tess. Obviously. The night of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball.’

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Amelie left the ball with Captain Fowler.’ She swung towards Amelie. ‘Is this Fowler’s baby?’

‘No!’ Amelie and Edmund cried in unison.

Amelie’s face flushed. ‘Fowler abandoned me that night, Tess. He left me alone on the streets of Brussels. I do not know what I would have done if your brother had not found me and escorted me back to the hotel.’

‘I dare say you would have been better off!’ Glenville’s nostrils flared as he turned towards Edmund. ‘You seduced my sister?’

Amelie stepped in front of Edmund. ‘He did not seduce me. It was my doing. All of it.’

Edmund pulled her back. ‘Do not try to put a better face on it, Amelie. I seduced you.’

‘No! Edmund!’ Tess cried again. ‘You would not do such a thing to an innocent girl. You would not!’

It pained Amelie to see Edmund lowered in Tess’s eyes.

‘I did do it, Tess,’ Edmund said. ‘I am responsible.’

Amelie broke in. ‘No. The fault is mine.’

But no one listened to her.

‘I do not know how he convinced you,’ her brother growled. ‘But he took advantage, of that I am certain.’

No. She had taken advantage!

Edmund looked Marc directly in the eye. ‘I accept my responsibility and my duty. For your sister’s sake, I will do the honourable thing.’

Marc’s eyes flashed. ‘Honourable. There is nothing honourable in what you have done. This will cause our family more scandal.’

‘I cannot change what happened,’ Edmund said. ‘But I can do what is right now.’

Marc swung to Amelie. ‘You still need Papa’s approval, you know. He will never give it.’

‘He will give permission,’ Tess said dispiritedly. ‘What other choice will he have? There will be a baby.’

‘I will speak to your father in person,’ Edmund said. ‘I will explain.’

Marc shook his head. ‘He will not believe you. He’ll toss you out. Your story is too far-fetched.’

‘But it is true!’ Amelie cried.

‘It sounds like a cock-and-bull story,’ Marc said, ‘even if it is true. Papa will never believe Edmund if he travels there alone with that tale.’

‘I do not believe it!’ cried Tess. ‘Not of Edmund.’

Edmund gave Tess a quelling look but glanced back at Marc. ‘Then come with me. He will believe you.’

‘Go with you?’ Marc still looked as if he’d rather accompany a pen of swine.

Why couldn’t her brother be on her side about this?

‘He will believe you.’ Edmund repeated, keeping his gaze steady.

Amelie interrupted. ‘Neither of you have to go. I will write Papa a letter.’

Edmund turned to her and gently touched her arm. ‘No letter, Amelie. I must face your father. It is the only way.’

It was good of Edmund to offer, but Amelie was certain he would be treated very ill.

Marc’s shoulders fell. ‘Edmund is right. This is not news for our parents to read in a letter. Papa is more likely to approve if Edmund tells him like a man.’

It pained Amelie that she’d caused her brother to be so angry at Edmund. Before this Marc had held him in high regard.

Her brother straightened. ‘It is but a six-hour ride. We can be at Northdon House before nightfall if we leave soon.’

‘I should accompany you,’ Amelie said.

‘No!’ Edmund cried.

‘Absolutely not!’ her brother added.

At least they agreed on that idea.

‘Not in your condition,’ Tess added. ‘You must take care, or you will endanger your health.’

Six hours on horseback could not be good for the baby.

Edmund turned back to Glenville. ‘I can ride the way I am dressed, and I do not need a change of clothing, but I need to hire a horse.’

Marc started for the door. ‘I’ll send Staines to the stables to tell them to saddle my horse and to hire one for you.’

Tess followed him. ‘I will tell Cook to pack you some food.’

Amelie and Edmund were alone in the room. Her insides were churning, not only from the morning sickness, but also from the stress of this encounter. The stress of everything.

She turned to Edmund. ‘My brother blames you. My father will blame you, too. It is I who should tell him what really happened.’

He looked down on her. ‘What really happened was I took advantage of you. Let it go at that, Amelie. That night in Brussels I should have seen you safely to the hotel and left you there. That fact cannot be disputed. I must accept their anger just as I must accept that our marrying is what we must do.’

‘But it is my fault,’ she said in a small voice.

He touched her arm and attempted a smile. ‘I have faced men in battle lunging at me with swords and shooting pistols. I’ve had cannon balls miss me by inches. Facing your father will not be so difficult nor so dangerous.’

She was not so certain.

She placed her palm on her abdomen to quiet her roiling stomach. ‘Marrying me changes things for you. I am so dreadfully sorry.’

His gaze seemed to harden. ‘We simply do what we must, Amelie. That is how we manage. One task at a time. The first task is your father’s permission.’


Chapter Six (#ulink_58082c23-44d5-5c95-b10e-0e9f7be8acb9)

It took no more than an hour before Edmund and Glenville were on the road to Hertfordshire, where the Northdon country estate was located. Glenville rode a few paces ahead of Edmund, clearly having no wish to converse with him. Glenville’s displeasure was palpable, and Edmund could not blame him. Edmund would react the same—worse, in fact—if a near stranger had violated any of his sisters.

Edmund let Glenville decide when to stop and rest the horses, when they should quicken the pace and when they should slow. Why quibble about such trifles? They rode past crumbling Roman ruins and pretty villages with houses all in a line next to the road. They passed through busy market towns and quiet villages where the few people in the street took notice and eyed them with curiosity.

Edmund had too much time to think, and that was not a pleasant circumstance. Turn off your thoughts, he told himself. Numb your mind as you used to on long marches in Spain.

* * *

The sun was very low in the sky when they rode through a pretty village that time appeared to have forgotten. The houses and shops looked as if the War of the Roses had been fought the day before. Edmund knew they must be close. The village was called Northdon.

Soon he spied a large Palladian house in the distance, its white stone gleaming in the waning light. Northdon House, no doubt. At its grand wrought-iron gate, Glenville dismounted and opened it.

As they approached the house, Glenville said, ‘Let me do the talking.’

‘No.’ This time Edmund must be in charge. ‘I tell him.’

‘Let me do the talking up to that point, then,’ Glenville said anxiously.

Glenville’s presence was greeted with happy excitement. Both his parents ran to greet him. There were hugs and kisses and exclamations of pleasure showered on him before Lord and Lady Northdon even seemed to notice Edmund, who was greeted with greater reserve but kind civility.

They all retired to a drawing room.

As soon as Lord and Lady Northdon were seated, Edmund faced them. ‘We have come because I have a very important matter to discuss.’

Lady Northdon looked worried, Lord Northdon apprehensive.

Edmund took a breath. ‘I will not mince words. Your daughter and I must marry. She is carrying my child.’

‘Mon Dieu!’ Lady Northdon cried.

Lord Northdon’s face grew red with rage. ‘You did what to my daughter?’ he said after.

‘She carries my child,’ Edmund repeated.

‘You ruddy bastard!’ Northdon charged at him.

Glenville held him back.

Edmund stood his ground. ‘I accept your anger, sir. I understand it. But what is important now is for us to marry quickly and avoid as much scandal as possible. To accomplish that we need your permission.’

‘No!’ Northdon cried, his son still holding his arm. Northdon shrugged him off but faced him. ‘Amelie does not wish this, does she, Marc?’

‘It is what she wants,’ Glenville answered.

‘It cannot be!’ his father cried.

‘Ma pauvre fille,’ whispered Lady Northdon. ‘Is she in good health?’

Edmund answered her. ‘She is sick in the mornings and greatly fatigued.’

‘You know this?’ Glenville looked surprised.

Edmund turned to him. ‘She told me.’ He faced Lord Northdon again. ‘Do we have your permission?’

‘I would rather kill you,’ Northdon snapped.

‘Then your daughter will have an illegitimate child.’ Edmund kept his voice as even as possible. He was used to people hating him because of his birth. This was not much different. ‘I wish to prevent that.’

‘You have to give permission, Papa,’ Glenville said. ‘It will be best for Amelie.’

‘Marriage to this—this bastard cannot be what is best for her.’ Northdon spat out the word bastard.

‘He is the child’s father,’ Glenville pressed. ‘You must allow them to marry.’

‘Give your permission, John!’ Lady Northdon became more agitated. ‘Remember Lucien! I will not lose my daughter the way we lost Lucien.’

Who was Lucien?

Lord Northdon’s shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looked old and feeble, which he was certainly not. ‘Yes, Ines,’ he said in a weak voice. ‘Not like Lucien.’

A pall came over the room, as thick as smoke.

When Lord Northdon finally raised his head, his eyes were filled with pain. ‘Please get him out of my sight before I change my mind and kill him.’

‘Come.’ Lady Northdon took Edmund by the arm. ‘You must be hungry.’

Lady Northdon was still a beautiful woman, although her features, so like Amelie’s, were pinched with stress and unhappiness. The crisp sunny September day had been rendered bleak—by Edmund. If only he could simply remount that horse and ride far away from all of them.

But that would not safeguard his future son or daughter.

Lady Northdon led him to a smaller drawing room, one with many windows and furnished with a table and chairs. The breakfast room, Edmund thought.

‘I will have Cook prepare some food. Someone will bring it in a moment. Please enjoy your repast and wait for me here. I will come back for you.’

It seemed expedient to agree. ‘As you wish it, madame.’

A few minutes later, a servant brought him a tray.

He ate the warm bread and cold meat, downed a cup of tea and waited. Finally Lady Northdon returned carrying a letter.

He stood.

‘It is the permission. Signed and sealed.’ She handed him the folded paper.

‘Merci, madame.’ He took the letter and slipped it into a pocket inside his coat.

She looked up at him. ‘Treat my daughter well, s’il vous plaît.’

He met her eyes. ‘You have my promise.’

She held his gaze for a moment before gesturing for him to follow her back to the hall. He assumed he was taking his leave. At least he was not leaving the house through the tradesmen’s door.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/diane-gaston/bound-by-one-scandalous-night/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.