A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (17 page)

He wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear. “It’s all right for you to kiss me too.” She hesitated, still unsure. He leaned back, searching her eyes. “
Please
, Amelia.”

The intensity of his request and his use of her name proved her undoing. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she placed her hands on the back of his neck, holding tight as he’d instructed. Rising up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his softly at first then more forcefully as she gave in to her passion. He followed her lead, mimicking her movements, drawing ever closer and deeper until she thought she’d faint from lack of breath.

At last they pulled apart, but Ethan kept an arm around her, and with his other hand drew her close to his heart.

The rapid beat made her smile.
She
had done that. No doubt her heart beat as frantically. He’d done that to her.

What a wondrous thing.
She lifted her face to his, silently asking for more. The pain she’d seen in his eyes earlier had diminished, replaced by what she deemed a tentative hope. He bent to kiss her again. Amelia clung to him.

The moon was high by the time they finally started home. The air was colder, but every few steps along the beach found them in each other’s arms again. Amelia felt perfectly warm. When they reached the lane that led from shore to the street above, Ethan knelt before her, replacing her stockings and shoes, his touch on her ankles a new pleasure in and of itself.

He drove the carriage with one hand, his other arm wrapped securely, possessively, around her. They left the carriage to be attended to then made their way to the house and upstairs, never once letting go of each other. At the doorway to her room, Ethan kissed her yet again then looked past her through the open door to the bed beyond.

Amelia wasn’t certain what to do. She didn’t want him to leave. But neither was she completely ready for him to stay.

As if he sensed her uncertainty, Ethan bent his head to hers, placing a tender kiss on the top of her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For
much better
amusement.” His gaze held hers for a moment, the intensity of his look reassuring her that the evening had been about much more than seeking amusement. They were putting their pasts behind them and embracing a future together. And they would proceed at her pace.

“Goodnight, Amelia.” Ethan brushed his fingers along her cheek once more. “I think—” The heat in his gaze softened, turning to merriment. “—that you would have made a terrible nun.” With a grin, he turned and left her, going down the hall to his own room.

Amelia watched until he’d gone inside and closed the door. She retreated to her room, where she flopped across the bed, ignoring the nightgown laid out for her.

With hands flung wide, she looked up at the ceiling and uttered the happiest prayer of her life.

Chapter Eight

Amelia woke to someone snuggling next to her— though not the person she’d been dreaming of.

“Are you ready?” Lizbeth asked, crawling over Amelia and peeling back one of her eyelids.

“To tickle you?” Amelia teased, staring one-eyed into Lizbeth’s excited face nearly touching hers.

Lizbeth giggled. “No. To pick berries. You promised.”

“Did I?” Amelia marveled at the child’s memory. An outing to pick berries had been mentioned only once, over a week ago. At the time, it had sounded like great fun, but this morning, Amelia’s thoughts remained on a moonlit beach. She and Ethan had walked its shores again last night. Nothing she did today could prove better amusement than that.

Light flooded the room. Amelia rolled to her side, where her maid had drawn the curtains and was setting a breakfast tray on the night table. 

I could grow accustomed to this.
Amelia sighed, snuggling deeper into the covers, though Lizbeth did her best to pull them back. How lovely to wake in a big, comfortable bed with a fire already burning in the grate and a soft rug to walk on.

How delightful to have Lizbeth seeking my company
.
How amazing that her father does the same.

“Has Lord Moorleigh breakfasted yet?” Amelia sat up, deciding to forgo the tray in favor of a family meal in the dining room.

“Hours ago, ma’am. He left early this morning.”

“He’s gone?” Amelia tried to keep the alarm from her voice as she assisted Lizbeth in throwing back the quilt.

The maid nodded. “Hocksley may be able to tell you more.”

Amelia turned away from the maid and held her arms out to Lizbeth. “We shall have to pick berries on our own.” Amelia’s voice sounded over bright as she worked to conceal panic similar to what she’d felt when Ethan had left her at the church.

It was what she’d felt at twelve years when her father hadn’t returned for her and she’d hidden a day and a half by herself before she was found and told that he was dead.

She’d experienced it again just months later when Mother fell ill and died suddenly and again when Stuart had brought her to the abbey and drove off, leaving alone her at the gates before the nuns had even come to open them.

Amelia set Lizbeth on the ground and hurried to dress.

Ethan did not abandon me. He’ll return soon.

She repeated the sentiment throughout the whole morning they spent outside. The sun shifted overhead and stretched into the afternoon, and still she didn’t allow herself to doubt.

But when evening came— and a storm with it— and she was still alone, her fears began to win.

Chapter Nine

Amelia looked up from the book she’d been reading, in what she’d come to think of as her chair near the fire. Stuart entered the library, and, without greeting her, went straight to the sideboard and poured himself a generous glass of brandy.

She stood quickly. “What has happened? Where’s Ethan?”

“Dreadful weather outside.” Stuart shook his head, and drops of water flung outward.

“Stuart.” Amelia crossed the room and stood before him, certain he had terrible news. He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were unfocused. “You’re drunk.” She reached for his glass, but he jerked it away.

“What is it about Ethan Moorleigh that women find so attractive? Is it because he owns everything for miles around?”

Amelia frowned. “You wanted me to marry Ethan.”

“Didn’t mean I wanted you to throw yourself at him,” Stuart said, his words slurred. “I’ve seen the two of you at night coming home from your trysts on the beach.”

She fought the urge to slap him. “We’re
married.
I enjoy walking along the shore, and Ethan is kind enough to take me.”

Unnerved by the anger in Stuart’s eyes, she stepped back. “What’s wrong with you? Ethan’s your best friend. You ought to be worried— as I am— that he isn’t home by now.”

“I am home.” Ethan appeared in the open doorway, Hocksley trailing behind, attempting to remove Ethan’s overcoat and hat. Before he could, Ethan crossed the room, swept Amelia into his arms, and kissed her thoroughly.

She emerged from his embrace feeling slightly damp, ridiculously happy, and as if she were the one intoxicated.

“I missed you,” he said. “You and Lizbeth were all I could think of today. I couldn’t wait to get home.”

“What kept you?” Stuart had set his glass aside and looked more like himself.

“Haven’t you heard?” Ethan stepped back to allow Hocksley access to his coat. “One of my tenants lost an entire flock of sheep last night. Slaughtered. Every last one of them.”

“How terrible,” Amelia said. “The poor sheep.”

“Poor shepherd.” Ethan handed the butler his hat. “Thank you, Hocksley. That will be all.” He turned to Amelia. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving. You were asleep, and you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Next time, see that you do,” she scolded, though inside she was swooning; he’d come to her room to see her. “What happened?” She stayed close to Ethan, placing distance between herself and Stuart, whose unaccountable mood seemed to have changed again. He leaned against the fireplace, feigning interest in a crystal figure on the mantel.

“Just another attack on Ethan and his property,” Stuart said, as if such a thing were of little consequence. “It’s become somewhat of a— tradition.”

Ethan sighed. “I’d hoped— now that I’ve married again— that this would stop.”

“What would?” Amelia asked, some of her worry returning.

“‘Monstrous acts against the monster.’ Or something of that sort, we think,” Ethan said. “It started before I married Abigail and then again just before I wed Mary.” He looked at Amelia apologetically. Since that first night at the shore, they had not spoken of Mary. “And again before we wed,” Amelia guessed.

Ethan nodded. “Believing me a wife killer, people protested me marrying again.”

“Though Ethan always comes out the hero,” Stuart said. “I imagine come spring, your tenant will find himself gifted a new flock of sheep.”

Amelia couldn’t understand his sarcasm and found it unbecoming his status as Ethan’s long-time friend.

“As is my responsibility,” Ethan said. If he sensed anything amiss with Stuart, he didn’t show it.

Did her brother often behave like this? Had she simply not been around him enough to notice?

“Any other problems?” Stuart asked casually.

“Just one,” Ethan said. “An accident with the carriage.”

“What?” Amelia took his hand.

“Nothing serious.” He drew her closer, circling his arm about her waist. “How was Lizbeth today?”

“Delightful,” Amelia said. “We picked berries.”

“I’m sorry to have missed it.” Ethan’s face grew thoughtful. “When I think of the time I’ve lost— what a gift she is...” His eyes met Amelia’s.

“You are fortunate,” Amelia said. “You’ve many years left to share with your daughter.”

Behind them, Stuart began a slow, steady clap. “Such a speech, dear sister. Have you told Ethan yet how it was you came to agree to marry him?” His gaze shifted to Ethan. “She was not willing at first, you know.”

Amelia frowned at him, but she felt no shame when she spoke to Ethan. “It was the promise of Lizbeth that lured me,” she admitted. “I wanted to care for her then, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. But I didn’t realize—”

“That she would adore you the way she does.” Stuart pushed off the fireplace and walked to the door. “Hocksley!” he called loudly. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve the parcel inside my coat? Take care with it. It’s a gift for the newlyweds, and it is fragile.”

Stuart pulled his head back into the room and turned to them with a smile. Amelia watched her brother warily. Something was definitely amiss, but she couldn’t quite determine what it was.

Ethan seemed to sense it as well. “What brings you here tonight?” When Stuart peered out the door again, Ethan exchanged a curious look with Amelia.

“Overdue congratulations,” Stuart answered. “On your wedding day, I wasn’t certain if you two were going to suit at all. Happily, my fears were unfounded.” He took a cloth bag from Hocksley. “Here we are. I acquired this some time ago and have been saving it for the right occasion.” He withdrew a bottle from the bag and presented it to Ethan. “The finest from across the channel.”

Ethan took the bottle, removed the cork, and sniffed. “Well-aged Merlot.” He clapped Stuart on the shoulder. “A fine gift, though not so fine as the one you brought few weeks ago.” Ethan winked at Amelia.

Hocksley stepped closer. “Would you like me to pour out?”

“No need,” Stuart said, dismissing the butler as if he were his own. “Amelia can do it. She’s used to serving.”

“Be civil,” Ethan warned, his hand dropping from Stuart’s shoulder. “Amelia is my wife now,
Lady
Moorleigh.”

“It’s all right.” Amelia took the bottle from Ethan. “He isn’t well,” she mouthed before turning toward the sideboard.

She took out three new glasses then lifted the bottle to her nose and inhaled. Instead of the rich, sweet scent she’d expected, her nostrils flared and burned. This was a much stronger wine than she was used to making on the small press at the abbey. Much too strong, for Stuart, at least, who had drunk too much already.

Too strong for me, as well.
She’d no desire to fall asleep early tonight but rather looked forward to a long evening with Ethan. Amelia glanced at the men, but neither was looking her way.

Quickly she switched out the bottle for another red wine, hiding Stuart’s in a lower cabinet. They could have it another night— one that may not matter as much as she felt this one had the potential to.

Later tonight, when she and Ethan lingered outside her door, she would not release his hand. She wouldn’t watch him walk to his room. Nor did she intend to enter hers alone.

If only Stuart would leave.

Amelia set the glasses on a tray and carried them to the chairs near the fire where Ethan and Stuart had taken seats opposite each other. She offered a glass first to Ethan then to her brother.

He held up a hand. “None for me. As you pointed out earlier, I’m already too far into my cups.”

“First sensible thing I’ve heard you say tonight,” Amelia said, returning the tray to the sideboard. She lingered there, wondering how she might get Stuart to leave or retire to one of the guest rooms, at least, now that he’d admitted he wasn’t fit for travel.

She sipped from her glass and caught Ethan staring at her with such intensity that a burst of heat flared inside her. Their eyes met, and she knew he wanted the same thing as she— to be alone together.

 Stuart droned on while Ethan’s gaze shifted from her face downward, appraising her openly. Only days ago, she would have felt mortified to have him look at her so, and an embarrassed blush would have stained her cheeks. But now… Amelia knew that any color to her face had to do with an entirely different set of emotions.

Desire. Passion. Love.

Better amusement, too.
She smiled coyly and returned Ethan’s appraising look, allowing her eyes to roam over him possessively.

His smoldering look faltered, and he choked on the drink he’d just taken, coughing, until some came from his mouth.