A Code of the Heart (The Code Breakers Series Book 3) (8 page)

“I don’t agree,” said Brinsley. “I think there are things we can work on.” Amelia, who had been focused on Edward, looked up at him and beamed. Her radiant face jolted his heart into a frantic race. He cleared his throat, trying to look away.

“I think you need to slow down your pitch. Let’s work on accuracy today and not speed. Miss Amelia, can you take your position again?”

She nodded and resumed her spot. The sunlight reflected the shades of red—glimpses of molten fire in her hair. He tracked every one of her movements as if mesmerized.

She turned back and spoke over her shoulder. “Edward, remember to release your breath as you release the ball. It really helps.”

“What excellent advice.” His voice must have sounded incredulous.

She laughed as she bent to retrieve the bat. “You needn’t act so shocked.”

He smiled at her, caught in her magic. He felt like a young boy himself. He hadn’t felt this young and alive since before the whole disaster with his brother.

Edward stood tense, fingering the ball in his hand.

“Let me watch you slowly go through your entire bowl.”

Edward nodded. “I’ll try.”

Edward lunged too far forward for his size, probably mimicking the throw of a larger man.

“Let’s have you take a smaller step before you throw the ball. Can you try it?”

“Alright.” Edward took a smaller step, but his timing was still off, with is attempt to throw the ball hard and fast, his release was too late. The ball bounced on the ground and rolled.

“Give me another one, Edward. Keeping trying,” Amelia chimed.

Edward was a fine athlete with a great focus and in no time would progress rapidly, but still a young boy. He was too self-conscious for this kind of close scrutiny.

“Keep bowling to Miss Amelia. I’ll play the wicket keeper.”

Amelia, sensing Edward’s nervousness, spoke to him in a chipper voice. “Come on, Edward, let’s show Lord Brinsley how we plan to beat those lazybones who aren’t out here yet.”

Edward smiled, his first since he had started his demonstration.

Brinsley moved behind Amelia and took position as wicket keeper.

Amelia whispered, “Thank you for taking the time to practice with him.” She looked into his eyes with appreciation. Her admiring look coiled his guts in painful pleasure.

He couldn’t stop looking at her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. He hadn’t been close to goodness in a very long time. A warmness enveloped his heart, making him feel young and hopeful. “I’m more impressed that a lady with so many responsibilities for the wedding is taking time to play with a young boy.”

“With four brothers, I understand boys. And Henrietta isn’t feeling well enough to give Edward the attention he needs.”

“Are you ready to play?” Edward asked impatiently.

Brinsley squatted into his wicket keeper position behind Amelia.

“Yes, of course.” Amelia got into her batting stance, her sweet derriere pointed right at his face.

He tried to focus on Edward, but he couldn’t stop looking at the view. “My God.” He swore under his breath and moaned.

Amelia turned toward him. “Pardon me?”

Amelia never saw the ball coming at her. Edward had finally coordinated his bowl, making his pitch more accurate and much faster. Of all the times for him to finally get it right. The heavy ball hit Amelia squarely on the side of her head. She gasped and fell sprawling to the ground.

Brinsley dropped to his knees beside her. Blood trickled from the wound on the side of her head. How could he have allowed injury to come to this lovable woman? Agony crushed the air from his lungs.

Edward ran toward them. “Amelia. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Gus, who had been under a tree chewing on a stick, jumped up and ran to Amelia. He lay next to her, licking her hand.

“Edward, go into the house and tell Lady Gwyneth that Amelia is hurt.” Panic laced Brinsley’s voice.

“But, but…I didn’t mean to hurt her. She never gets hit. She is so fast.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I distracted her.”

Relief washed across Edward’s face. “You were talking to her in the middle of the bowl?”

Brinsley nodded. He gently pushed her hair away to assess the damage. The cut wasn’t deep, but head wounds always bleed profusely. Her pale skin made the crimson blood look more ominous. He took out his handkerchief and pressed it to the laceration.

“Edward, go. Alert Lady Gwyneth. We’ll need a doctor.” His voice echoed in his ears.

He lifted Amelia into his arms, holding her soft body tight against his chest. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t been distracting her, she would’ve seen the ball coming.

His emotions were a lethal mix of regret and tenderness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he carried her to the house.

He stared down at her white face. Her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks. Her loosened hair, the color of fire, hung over his arms.

The motion of his brisk pace jarred Amelia. She stirred in his arms then opened her eyes and stared at him.

“Amelia?”

She touched her cold hand to his face. “Why did you fight?”

Her touch was gentle and tentative, but the slight caress went deep into his body and into his empty soul. “What?”

She had been knocked out, her head was bleeding, and she wanted to know about his fight. “Amelia, do you remember that you got hit in the head with the cricket ball?”

“Edward must be getting better. I didn’t see it coming.”

Remorse and guilt weighed heavily upon him. “I distracted you.”

She searched his face. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself. Do you have a headache?”

“A little bit. Not the worst cricket injury I’ve had.”

He climbed the steps from the garden to the terrace as Lady Gwyneth rushed out of the French doors. “Amelia. Are you hurt?”

Amelia turned her head. “I’m fine, Gwyneth.”

Lady Gwyneth took Amelia’s hand into her own. “Thank God, you’re awake. Edward said you were unconscious.”

“She was knocked out for a moment, and she’s got a nasty cut on her head. Did you send for the doctor?”

“You’re so pale,” Lady Gwyneth said.

“I’m always pale.” Amelia chuckled. “A red-head’s blight.”

“How can you joke at a time like this?” Lady Gwyneth asked. “Your hands are like ice.”

“I’ll be fine once someone attends to my cut. And I’m sure I can walk.” She looked up at Brinsley. “You can put me down now.”

“You’re not walking up all those stairs.” Lady Gwyneth pulled her hand back and said in an imperious voice, “Follow me.” She led them down the hallway to the stairwell. “We’ll take her to my bedroom.”

The butler rushed up to them. “Miss Amelia, I’m glad to see you awake. Mrs. Brompton is assembling supplies to take care of your wound.”

“Thank you, Brompton. I’m sorry to be a problem for you and the Mrs.”

“You’re never a problem, Miss Amelia.” The butler bowed.

“Brompton, where is Edward?” Lady Gwyneth asked.

“Lady Rathbourne is with him. He is quite shaken by the accident.”

Amelia reached out and put her hand on Gwyneth’s arm. “I need to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I wasn’t looking.”

“You weren’t looking? That doesn’t sound like you.” Lady Gwyneth raised her eyebrows and looked directly at Brinsley.

“It was entirely my fault. I spoke to Miss Amelia during the bowl,” he said.

Lady Gwyneth’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “Mmm…”

He felt burning on the top of his ears. He hadn’t blushed since he was a child.

Lady Gwyneth patted Amelia’s arm. “You can tell Edward after we’ve cleaned your wound. Right now, you’d scare the poor child. You’re a mess.”

Amelia and Lady Gwyneth giggled.

Brinsley couldn’t share their mirth. He hated feeling helpless and guilty.

“Thank you, Brompton,” Lady Gwyneth said. “Right this way, Lord Brinsley.”

Chapter Eight

As Amelia leaned back against the pillow, her head ached and the bandage felt too tight. Surprisingly she was in a cheerful mood, remembering Lord Brinsley’s gentle touch and the warmth and security she felt while pressed against his chest.

There was a light tap on the door, followed by Gwyneth entering. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m absolutely fine and a bit embarrassed. I’m not seriously injured. There is really no need for such a fuss.”

“Why would you be embarrassed that you got hit by a ball?” Gwyneth sat on the edge of the bed.

“Because good players don’t get caught unaware. They move out of the way of the ball. This injury will convince the men that women do not belong on the field.”

“Can women play as well as men?” Gwyneth asked. “You’re the first woman I know who plays. I mean really plays.”

“Probably not, because of the difference in size and strength of women versus men. But don’t tell the gentleman that I admitted to such heresy.” Amelia giggled.

“You’re in a very good mood for taking a hit to the head.” Gwyneth’s chocolate eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I’m fine. Everyone is making such a big deal about a simple knock.”

“Not everyone. In fact, just one person…Brinsley.” Gwyneth’s grin grew broader.

Amelia felt the familiar heat moving from her stomach to her chest to her face at the mention of his name.

“You poor dear.” Gwyneth smiled sympathetically. “You can never hide your feelings when your face turns the color of a tomato.”

“Is this your bedside manner? It’s surprising that Ash survived your care-giving.”

Gwyneth sniggered. “I’m sorry, but you do turn the most amazing shades of red.”

“Yes, as my obnoxious brothers have pointed out to me my entire life.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting those hellions at the ball next week. Are they all red-heads?”

“I’m the only true red-head, but Drew and Jack have red highlights. Parker and Colin are more blond than red.”

“But back to your problem—a very virile and very handsome problem.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

She hadn’t fooled Gwyneth for a second, judging by the determined gleam in her eyes.

“You’re going to pretend you didn’t notice the possessive way Brinsley carried you? The man was in agony every time you winced. If it weren’t painful to watch, it would’ve been comical seeing a man his size looking like a repentant young boy caught in some trouble.”

The memory of his tender touch, his heat, and the scent of musk and maleness were doing strange things to her body.

Gwyneth smiled again. “Exactly what I thought.”

“Do not say another word. I still haven’t forgiven you for meddling and having Ash speak to Lord Brinsley on my behalf.”

“I never asked Ash to speak to him.” Gwyneth held her hand to her chest. “I swear.”

“All right, I believe you. But you mustn’t do anything else. No secret plans. No meddling!”

“Speaking of secret plans. Are you well enough to go to Madame de Puis’ tomorrow?”

Amelia didn’t miss that Gwyneth hadn’t agreed to refrain from interfering or meddling. “Of course, I’m fine. I wouldn’t miss returning the dolls for anything.”

“I’m so glad to have an adventure. Ash and Brinsley are working on something that neither Cord nor Ash will reveal to me. They have both told me it’s safer for me not to know.” Gwyneth looked down and ran her finger over the pattern in the heavy damask bedcover. “I thought, after the Christmas party, Ash would be more amenable to sharing his missions.”

“With the impending invasion of England, everyone is more fearful and guarded. I can understand why the men are acting the way they are.”

Gwyneth’s head jerked up. “You can?”

“I understand their instinct to want to protect us. But I wish they saw us as capable of helping. My cricket playing is a perfect example. The men can’t believe that I’m proficient in catching and throwing a ball, and now they will believe they are right.”

“Well, we’re going to show them when we identify the smugglers and figure out their plans,” Gwyneth gushed. “Maybe, with this case, Ash will finally believe I can be a helpmate.”

“He’s so in love with you. I don’t think he’s going to want you involved with smugglers.”

“Don’t say that, Amelia. I’ll start feeling guilty about our little adventure. And speaking of guilty, Brinsley is waiting to apologize.”

Amelia’s heart thrummed against her chest. “He doesn’t need to apologize.”

“Please, Amelia, put the man out of his misery. He looks as if he’s ready for the gallows. He’s pacing in the library and pleaded with me to see you when you felt up to it.”

“Fine, but I look a mess.”

“You do.” Gwyneth laughed heartily as she made her way to the door. She turned back and spoke over her shoulder. “The man is so in love with you, he won’t notice that your head is wrapped in a bandage and your face is blotchy and turning your favorite color—purple.”

Chapter Nine

Amelia didn’t share Gwyneth’s amusement. She wanted to believe that Lord Brinsley cared about her, but who could rely on the opinion of a blissful bride? She wished she wasn’t lying in bed like an invalid with her tangled hair and a bandage wrapped around her head, but Gwyneth was adamant she had to remain recumbent. Doctor’s orders.

Gwyneth opened the door with the sound of the footman’s tap and waved in the visitor.

“Brinsley. Please come and see for yourself that the patient is doing fine.”

Gwyneth waited at the door, as Lord Brinsley entered. His brown, curly hair was tousled; his shirt and cravat were stained with blood. His eyes were dark and sunken with anxiety.

Amelia had been unaware of the tenderness she felt for him until now; she wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but she didn’t dare.

“Thank you, Lady Gwyneth.” Brinsley’s voice and manner were much subdued.

Gwyneth curtsied to the gentleman and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Amelia clenched her hands on the damask coverlet. She’d be scolding Gwyneth for this newest attempt at matchmaking. Gwyneth’s maid was in the dressing room a few yards away, but Gwyneth had left her alone with Lord Brinsley.

He edged closer to the bed, scrutinizing her face, noting details of the bandage and the facial swelling.