Читать книгу Bound By One Scandalous Night - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 9

Chapter Two

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.