Absolute Surrender (13 page)

He was a duke. The thought was a sharp blade.

He had a duty.

To his queen.

His heart fell a bit within his chest at that moment. But he knew one thing without a doubt: He would do right by Amelia, regardless of whether he could take her to wife. And he knew another thing quite certainly: Ender held the key.

“
Your Grace,
” he said by way of farewell, then bowed to the woman and moved to the door. Which may or may not be barred to his entrance the next day. That fact was dependent on so many things. Amelia could refuse him…and would she? He certainly deserved it. But he knew she had been with him in the parlor, regardless that he should never have treated her in such a fashion. She
’
d been with him. It had been one of the first moments of his life that he had known,
known
, that she returned his regard in more ways than a simple marriage contract.

The door to the town house closed behind him, and he breathed for what seemed the first time in years. He was overwhelmed by the entire day. He wondered how Amelia was. Then his mind wandered back to Ender. Again, with this man. Their discussion last night had been disconcerting and quite unsettling.

Charles wasn
’
t sure what to think and wanted to speak with him again, but he knew that wasn
’
t his best idea. The last time they
’
d spoken, Ender had rushed into Amelia
’
s arms and stolen her first kiss from him. Or had he? Had that kiss always belonged to Ender? Was this
Charles’s
penance? He had been raised to believe that if he wanted something, he simply made it his.

He hadn
’
t truly considered Endsleigh in all of this—beyond him being an old acquaintance. Quite obviously, Ender was much more than that to Amelia and, at this point in time, he believed Ender held the key to helping her, whether Charles pursued his suit or not.

Perhaps he should help them to be together. Ender held a barony. He could provide for her, perhaps not in the fashion to which she
’
d become accustomed, but in truth Charles didn
’
t believe she cared all that much for that. As well, a baroness, while important, was not a duchess. There would be much less required of her. Perhaps the duchy was too much to expect of her. Then again, she had been able to traverse the ballroom last night without incident.

He shook off his thoughts and entered his carriage. He did need to speak with Ender again. Because he was beginning to understand that at the moment all that mattered was Amelia.

“Louisa?” Her voice was smaller than a mouse’s, but at least she
’
d found it. She had no idea what time it was, though judging from the long shadows it was nearing supper.

“My lady.” Louisa came to the side of the bed. “
Well,
’
tis good to see you at rights again.” Her smile was warm and genuine, and Amelia returned it as she moved to sit up.

Louisa helped her, stacking pillows behind her back and fluffing them incessantly until Amelia waved her off. There were too many pillows now. Too many. She pulled one out and tossed it to the floor, giving her tongue to the offending bag of fluff.

“Have I missed supper? Tell me I
’
ve missed supper.”

“Oh yes, quite,” Louisa said with a nod and a grin. “But not to worry. I requested a tray sent up. I’m rather surprised your mother hasn
’
t—”

“Oh, my mother.” Her head fell to her hands. Then she looked at Louisa. “
Castleberry?
”
The duke the duke the duke.
What had she done?

“He
’
s gone, but not for long. I believe he hasn
’
t been entirely frightened off. Not to worry.”

“Oh, Louisa, I truly thought I
’
d destroyed any hope of—”

“
Tsch tsch tsch, now, don
’
t be so cruel to yourself. You know if he were frightened off, as you say, he wasn
’
t so worthy of you to begin with. And there
’
s always Lord Endsleigh.”

“Yes, he and I can retire as spinsters together, taking my mother and living in his modest estate on his moderate income. He would just
adore
that. No doubt, he’d take up knitting. Or needlepoint.”

“He would, because he loves you. And you know he
’
d create beautiful pillows that all the ladies would be jealous of.”

“But he deserves so much more than me.”
More
.
He deserves an easy wife, who
’
ll not work him so
…and Charles,
d
oesn’t he deserve the same?
Her head spun.

“Now here we go again. Must we always go round-and-round like this? Must we? If
Ender
were to spend the balance of his days with you, not only would he be the luckiest man alive, but to have you in his life would be more than he deserves. And you as well. The two of you are well suited. Except for that one, small issue.”

“That issue being that he
’
s not good enough for me in my father
’
s eyes? A baron only? For shame. I should only be so lucky.”

“Your dear father has only your interests at heart. He wants the very best life for you. He doesn
’
t know—”

“That I
’
m impaired? Oh, but he does, Louisa. He does. Don
’
t let him make a fool of you as well. I think this to be his greatest farce—to marry his unacceptable daughter to one of the most powerful of the peers. As for
Castleberry
, he certainly understands that I
’
m not well at this point.” Certainly.
Of a certainty.
She could only hope that Charles would return. Even if she waited for her father to die then married the man he’d disallowed so many years ago, there would be no true happiness. She knew this. She pulled another pillow and tossed it across the room. Better. Not fully comfortable, but better.
Betterbetterbetter.

It was only ever better, never perfect, just like her future, for her mother would be with her, reminding her how she could have done so much
better
if only she
’
d behaved herself. If only she
’
d persuaded the duke to marry. If only she
’
d controlled herself long enough to complete the license and consummate the marriage.

Consummate
.

Dear Lord, if she believed Hugh
’
s stories of the farm animals, Charles had been ready to consummate the marriage in the parlor this morning. Perhaps she should have allowed him, taken the ruination, married him by default. But then he would always resent her for it.

She slumped in the bed. It simply wasn
’
t in her to be so dishonest. Her fingers picked at the loose threads on her quilt. She needed to speak with Charles again. She had to make sure he understood. Though, in truth, after today he most likely understood the worst of it. He most likely had questions he needed answered. As did she.

For example, why were her nipples sore? Why were her drawers wet? She sneaked a look at Louisa, who was bustling about the room straightening, no doubt cleaning up the mess left from her fit. She could ask Louisa about these things, couldn
’
t she? She
’
d seen Amelia at her most dreadful and stayed with her. Amelia was truly lucky in that regard. So many people had abandoned her to her oddish behaviors. Her mother would have abandoned her, surely, but had had no choice. So now what her mother held was merely a great disdain.

Amelia looked through her lashes to see Louisa leave the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She sank into the bed and crept her hand toward her chest. She grazed one finger over one sore nipple, and it straightened to attention as though looking for something. Expectant.

Charles
.

She truly believed he could ease this new ache she had, but she was frightened. So very frightened. She
’
d never had this sort of physical response to anyone, not ever. She loved Hugh, though, so why was this different? When she thought of Hugh, she felt warm, safe, as though she could control nearly everything. She desperately needed that, the safety of that.

Charles made her feel wildly unrestrained. Fully beyond control. Dangerously unbound. The feeling was both exhilarating and terrifying. She moved her hand to her mouth, skimmed lightly over her lips, closed her eyes to remember his kiss.

Charles had been so deep inside her mind, and all he
’
d possessed was her mouth. The feel of his wet tongue sliding across her swollen lips gave her chills, and she shivered. Her nipples rose again to tight peaks, and she pressed a finger to one, tried to persuade it to retreat—to no avail.

Amelia closed her eyes and thought on the darkness in Charles’s eyes. The way they
’
d bored into her, bypassed her flesh and muscle, sank straight into her blood and traversed the whole of her from the inside. She let her hands follow the feel of him in her blood. Across her chest, up her neck, down her shoulders, across her belly, then lower…and lower… The heat spread wickedly, the pulse beat between her thighs like a second heart, calling to him, singing his name.

She stopped, hovered there, feeling the warmth emanating from her very core. Tears coursed her cheeks, hot and fast. She simply didn
’
t understand any of this. She didn
’
t know how she was supposed to feel about either of these men. They were so entirely different, and while her brain called out to the safety of Hugh, her body seemed to scream the name of the other. Her body screamed for Charles in the gooseflesh that rose across her skin, the sheen of perspiration that broke out, the heartbeat she could feel everywhere, like a primal call to war.

Charles
.

She twisted and curled into herself, let the tears soak into her pillow quietly.

Hugh
. Hugh could set her to rights with just his presence, her heart beat steadied. What was she to do? How was she to live? The Cliff House was the only property she would own once her father was gone if she didn
’
t marry. A mere pittance on which to survive. Certainly not enough to keep her mother in the comfort to which she was accustomed.

Amelia could have been happy at the Cliff House, forever, on her own.
Alone
. She could be happy as a spinster, left to the breaking waves on the cliff. The sound the most calming she
’
d ever known. She could make a life for herself there. But not her mother, and Amelia had to see to her mother.

There was a gentle sweep at her temple, and she opened her eyes to find Louisa there, rubbing circles into her back, sweeping her hair from her face. She sat up and held the girl. Took her into a tight embrace and held on as though this embrace was all that held her to the earth.

“Hush now, sweet girl. I
’
ve got you. You
’
re safe. No need to fret.”

“Louisa, I…
I don’
t understand what
’
s happening. I feel so terribly frightened about what
’
s to come of me.”

Louisa nodded against her, Amelia felt her squeeze tighter, then release her and take her hands. She was too afraid to open her eyes just yet.

“Listen to me, my lady, you are one of the most incredible souls I
’
ve ever met. And there
’
s a place for you. We just have to figure out where that is. Whether with Lord Endsleigh or the Castleberry. You
’
ve a place. Perhaps it
’
s with neither. I
’
m here. I
’
ll help you. Whatever you need of me, I
’
m here. We
’
ll see to this together. I promise you.”

Amelia nodded and looked at her then. “When you say things like this, I can
’
t help but believe you. I
’
d be lost without you.”

“But you
’
re not lost.”

Wasn’t she?
She twisted her hands in the sheets. “Louisa, I need to get out of the house tonight.”

“Oh, miss, I
’
m not sure
this
is an idea worth our attentions.”

Amelia pushed her away and stood. “Quit being polite. Of course it
’
s a bloody stupid idea. But bloody stupid be damned, I need to see him.”

“Which him?” Louisa asked quietly.

Amelia stopped suddenly, then smiled.

Charles had quit Pembroke House as quickly as possible. He went straight to the Iron Duke taproom, desperately in need of a pint and some time to think through everything that had happened. Now he was off to see Ender, hoping, possibly beyond hope, that he was there. When it was announced that he was in, Charles took it as a good sign—after all, he could easily have been placed on Ender’s disallowed list. Charles was led to the library, but Ender wasn
’
t waiting for him. The door closed stoutly behind him, somewhat like a final bell.

He moved about the library, reading the few titles on the mostly barren shelves, wondering if the man read them or simply kept them from some previous owner. The library was a chaotic assemblage of volumes, novels, and periodicals. He pulled a well-worn copy from a particularly full shelf:
PUNCH,
it read in large lettering across the top of the cover. A periodical known for humor, both literary and visual. He nodded and riffled through the issue before hearing the footsteps approach. He replaced the periodical carefully on the shelf, moving to a chair in front of a large desk.