Absolute Surrender (4 page)

“As you please,” she whispered.

If only
... he thought. Charles reached for her hand carefully, then, quite without his permission, his hand landed gently on her shoulder and dragged slowly down her bare skin to the top of her glove, catching on the edge, then continuing until he had her hand.

“And what would
you
wish, Amelia?” He was rewarded with another perfect view of that pink tongue as her mouth dropped open to answer him, but all he was given was a quick breath. He placed her hand on his arm, and her other hand pushed at her belly, as though she would be ill.

“Do you need a moment?”

Amelia shook her head. “No, thank you, I simply need to…” She looked up into his eyes and seemed to press that hand harder into her stomach. Her eyes showed pain, and he was truly at a loss as how to proceed.

“Amelia, if I have offended—”

She shook her head adamantly. “Please do call on the morrow. For tonight, I feel I
’
m overtired. The trip from Pembroke...” She waved her free hand in a circle, as if to say
etcetera....

Charles nodded, but knew an excuse when he heard one. Tonight was merely a beginning, the first opening of the window. He held her hand to his arm and brought her back into the crowd, willing some of his strength to her. He thought she needed it much more than he at the moment.

All too aware of her physical proximity, he led her through the jostling throng to her waiting mother. He handed her off and turned to the duke. This man he needed to watch. Charles’s own father had told him to be wary of Pembroke but never did elaborate as to why. Charles knew peers used different tactics to attempt to control those around them—it was one of the most important lessons from his father. Control was of great import, lack of such could destroy a dynasty. As such, whatever control Pembroke had, whatever tactics he used to maintain it Charles would need to determine as they moved forward.

“Pembroke, with your leave I would very much like to call upon Lady Amelia on the morrow.”

“By all means, Castleberry. By all means. We shall arrange to have a chaperone availed to you,” her father
replied
.

Charles turned to Amelia and took her hand once again. He bowed over it stiffly, nodded to her mother, and took his leave.

It was then she breathed.

“I do hope you did not ruin this,” her mother mumbled through a stiff grin.

Amelia
’
s hands tensed, one on the other.

“I
’
m quite sure nothing is ruined, Your Grace. You heard yourself he
’
s to call tomorrow. As for now, I
’
m to Pembroke House. I see no further
use
for me here.”

“Now, my dear,” her father started, “you should not manage your mother so. You know she only wishes the best for you.”

“By all means necessary, only the very best,” Amelia said a bit too loudly and with an irrepressible smile.

She turned and made her way to the front of the house. So very close now, within reach, a stone’s throw, so simple. Her arms snaked around her middle. Safety beyond those two great doors and then home to peace, within and without. Amelia
’
s heart raced her feet to the threshold.

Away from here, away from these people, away from everything she hated—everything she was born to be. Everything. This was everything to everyone. Everyone but her. Her everything had already quit the ball, as she did now.

If Hugh had thought he could delay leaving the ball and not be hurt, he
’
d been wrong. He had needed to leave before he saw them together, but when Miss Elliott had been placed in his path, that wasn
’
t to be. Because as much as he wasn
’
t interested in the machinations of Lady Rigsby, he was even more disinterested in creating another generation of angry matrons bent on revenge by ensuring their own daughters
’
successes, and that particular miss he knew to be delicate to begin with.
As a gentleman, t
here had been no refusing the dance.

Hugh felt the prickle on the backs of his arms first. Like a numbness was coming, or perhaps an awakening. He should have quit before he
’
d seen them together. He should have quit sooner than he had. It was not cold in the manor, but he shivered, then his stomach lurched. He groaned, and the swift beat in his head signaled the coming pain, and he winced.

Hugh turned toward the front of the house to collect his mount. There was nothing to be done.
Damn him and damn me, and whilst I
’m at it, damn her as well. Damn her for…damn her for being simply the most extravagant, kind, incredible woman to ever walk the face of this earth.
Even in his own mind he could not endeavor to make himself hate her.

Hugh
’
s gut tightened as he turned away. Never again. Never again could he lay eyes on her without this pain. To suffer the pain was to be alive, to feel, to be real, here and now. The pain would serve as a reminder that she was not his and could never be his. She was unreachable.

The pain was equal measure to the joy he
’
d always felt when near her. No, that wasn
’
t quite correct. The pain was equal measure to the joy he
’
d always felt for her until the summer they’d both realized their lives would be forever severed. The summer
he
first came to Pembroke-by-the-Sea.
Jackson
.

Hugh felt the sob like a vise in his chest before he heard the sound, and his hand clenched. He tried to steady himself as it tore through him, made its way from his gut through his chest then burst like an explosion in his head. It was all he could do to stifle the scream.

He lurched toward his horse, which shifted uncomfortably with wide, nervous eyes, and he schooled his demeanor. Tried desperately to control his unhinged passion so as not to lose his mount when he took it from the boy. He breathed slowly, closing his eyes and thinking of their childhood together. The last time he was truly happy. The time before the guillotine was placed securely above their heads. He thought of her smile, then he vaulted to his mount and turned away from the ball, and this time, he didn’t stop. This entire situation was something that was beyond him.

He rode like the beat of his heart depended on the sound of the hooves to continue its own rhythm. He bolted down the lane with no regard for those around him.

Amelia was his closest friend. Truth be told, she was his only friend. They just managed with each other so well. Her father had always allowed Hugh
’
s presence because he’d lived nearby, and what would the harm have been? For whatever reason, she’d always trusted Hugh. Perhaps because he
’
d always been a steady influence in her life? He wasn
’
t sure, but he knew he was able to help her. Whenever she had an episode, whenever she
’
d come close to falling apart, whenever she lost control, he was there to help. And her mother had relied upon him after a time, because
she
couldn
’
t do anything to help her.

Of course, if her mother had truly cared about Amelia, and not simply about her worth as a ducal asset, she may have been able to help her as well. Hugh knew that was part of the problem, that her mother saw only that her behavior was going to inhibit her ability to make a suitable match, to secure their future beyond Amelia’s father. It angered him that she was merely seen as a means to an end. Amelia
’
s mother should have been the one to care about her, the one to know her, the one to help her. But she wasn
’
t—he was. And what now? He wasn
’
t sure anyone else could take the place of him in her mind. He wasn’t sure he
wanted
anyone else to take his place.

Sure, Jackson seemed like a decent man. What Hugh knew of him. But Jackson was far removed from Amelia, and because she was promised to him, Amelia
’
s mother had ensured that Jackson had never seen her behavior when they were younger. Jackson would then have had a reason to cry off. Whenever they
’
d visited during school breaks, her mother had made sure that Hugh had been there as a buffer. To help control her. But the animosity between Hugh and Jackson had only grown, because Jacks had seen that Hugh was allowed to spend time with her, while Jackson was sent away under the guise of propriety…or because she was not yet “out” in society…or a host of other excuses used to prevent Jackson seeing one of her episodes.

Hugh knew, however, that Jackson was no simpleton. The man would be looking for answers now. Hugh knew that Jacks had the patience of a saint. He
’
d learned this when they were much younger, and Jacks had never called Hugh out for the tricks he
’
d played on him. Hugh should have been called out for them. He had wanted to be called out. But Jackson was bred to lead, trained up to control, and nothing Hugh could do had ever broken that.

Hugh arrived at Endsleigh Hall within the hour, pushing past his stable man in favor of rubbing down the horse himself. He needed the methodical sweep across the horse’s flesh to calm his ragged nerves. He wasn
’
t entirely sure why the day had ended in such a shock to him. When Jacks had arrived at the ball, Hugh should have known it was the end of his bid for her hand. Truly, he should have accepted that fact long before then. If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit to knowing long ago that he was chasing an impossible dream.

Stubborn? Perhaps. Stubborn…yes, all right, stubborn.
But it
wa
s Amelia, and she was perfect. So incredibly perfect. It was terribly unfortunate, that.

Hugh shook his head and stripped the saddle, throwing it across the stand heavy enough to startle his overwrought horse.

He paused, his hands still on the stiff, polished leather.
Calm,
he thought.
Calm yourself or call for the man to handle the steed.

He turned back to Termagant and rose his hands in apology as he pulled the brush from the wall. The horse stepped back, his eyes bright and wary, but Hugh spoke gently, reassuring him. As Hugh calmed, Termagant followed suit.

Hugh brushed his withers, unbraided his mane, and worked his way down the rich coppery legs, then moved on to his back. He smoothed and soothed and calmed himself with every stroke of the beast.

Hugh
’
s sore muscles pulled and swayed as Termagant shifted into his movements, finally reassured. He pulled a fresh bale from the gateway and spread a thick mat of hay around the stable. He then vaulted to the bare back of the steed to brush and rebraid his mane. Braiding was a talent he had picked up from the daughter of one of the kitchen maids in his father
’
s house. He
’
d used it on Amelia’s long tresses and taught her to braid her horses
’
manes as well. They
’
d had competitions, figuring out more and more intricate weaves, adding ribbons, wildflowers, and bells to the patterns.

Hugh smiled at the quiet peace of sitting atop a great hunter in the small stable, braiding his thick mane.
Such an odd thing for a baron,
he thought suddenly. An odd thing for any peer, any man, really, not of a stable. Yet he knew he
’
d never felt part of the peerage as it was, living so far from London and not trained up like Jackson was. Hugh hadn
’
t been raised with such strict beliefs in the hand of God in who he was. His father simply hadn
’
t had enough interest in it, or him.

Hugh left off the end of the braid and slid from the horse. He watched Termagant’s eyes blink slowly, and the drowsiness washed over him as well, his head clearer, the pulsing pain subsiding.

Hugh shook his head and walked out of the stable toward the stable master’s quarters at the end.

“I
’
m off, Duncan. Termagant is stabled. There
’
s no need to bother with him. I handled him.”

Duncan shifted on the small crate he used as a stool and nodded stoutly.

“Lucky ye didna get squashed in there the way ye had that steed worked up, sir,” Duncan said gruffly.

Hugh nodded and looked away. Perhaps he was of a mind to get brained. He swept the back of his fist across his sweaty brow as he shifted.

“Yes. To be sure, I was…terribly irresponsible.”

Duncan grunted then looked back to his card game, and Hugh turned and strode to the town home, sufficiently chastised by a man he’d grown up worshiping for his mastery of animals. The only man in his life to ever show him much interest.

He marched through the main hall and went straight to his study. The place was large and empty, lonely, abandoned. He supposed it was time to find a wife to fill the nursery. He would speak to Amelia in the morning. Tell her good-bye—as was best—and move on with his own life.

Charles entered his carriage and directed the coachman to his town house before he settled against the squabs. He closed his eyes and thought back on his childhood. He remembered chasing after the other two children, drawn to her as a moth to flame, wishing for the burn.

It was the summers he looked forward to the most through the long wait of winter. His mother often dragged him along to the house parties when she visited her lifelong friend, the Duchess of Pembroke-by-the-Sea. The closest estate was that of the Baron Endsleigh, and his son, Hugh Garrison, was often found at Pembroke-by-the-Sea as well, playing with the girl.

It was
that girl
with whom he
’
d fallen irretrievably in love the moment he
’
d set eyes on her. For a young boy, perhaps love was a strong word. And he knew now that what he had for her was a far cry from love, if that could even exist in him. What he
’
d felt for her was a deep yearning, an undeniable want of her that he had no wish to quell, and what pulled at him now was the thread of that feeling that lingered still, the want of her. He wanted her so badly he
’
d asked his father to arrange for it, and his father had. The one thing Charles had ever asked from his sire and received.

Amelia was sweet like sunshine and sugar on a lemon, so many flavors at once you wished to smile and pucker and lick your lips all at the same time. What struck Charles most was her laughter, so vivid, so pure and full of truth. Her laughter stopped his breath every time it rang through the countryside, and he waited, as a prisoner in a dank, dusty gaol, for that bit of joy to return—even for just a few stolen moments. It was something he
’
d never felt for himself. Something he wished to somehow capture by being in her presence.