Awakening Amelia (12 page)
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
He bent his head and licked her moving finger, nudging it out of the way so that he could get his mouth on her instead. She obligingly arched her back, her hand coming into his hair to hold him close while he drew on her.
“I missed you,” she whispered. “I thought I’d never feel like this again.”
He kissed her throat and then her mouth, exploring the lushness of her full lower lip and the taste of her. It was his turn to groan when she wrapped her hand around his cock and took control of him.
“I need to be inside you,” he said hoarsely. “Please let me in.”
She slid her foot up the back of his leg, pushing him down over her and positioning him at the warm, wet center of her sex. Her heel dug into his arse cheek as he pushed himself deep and held still, feeling every twitch and shiver of her tight clasp and his own reaction to it.
“God.” He started to move, thrusting in and out of her, deeper and deeper as she angled her hips toward him, her hands holding him close, urging him on with little staccato kicks of her heels. He rolled over, surprising a squeak out of her, and looked up at her.
“Ride me.”
He gathered her close, her breast a tantalizing inch away from his mouth… and then growled as she rocked into him, climaxing around his cock. He wrapped his arms around her and pumped upward, his feet flat on the bed as he strove to master her from his prone position. Her breast was in his mouth, her body squeezing his like a vise and he had to come, had to…
He tried to lift her off him, but it was harder to untangle their limbs than he had anticipated, and he was fairly certain he was still inside her when he first let go. She did pull away, and he caught her and rolled them both onto their sides, breathing hard.
She kissed his neck. “We didn’t quite manage to close the bed curtains.”
“But I did lock the door, so we won’t be disturbed.” He closed his eyes as his heart settled back into a less frenzied rhythm. “By the way, we can be married tomorrow at the St. Botolph chapel on the Strand at nine.”
“What?”
She came up on one elbow and looked down at him, her auburn hair brushing against his cheek. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but he sensed he had no choice.
“I acquired a special license.”
She bit his lip. “Are you sure about this? I haven’t told you about my family yet, and I know nothing about yours. Perhaps we should—”
He gently placed his finger on her lips. “No we shouldn’t. This is an adventure remember? I don’t intend to have much to do with my family, and I am sure that yours are perfectly respectable people.”
“As to that—”
“Mrs. Smith, I asked you once if you had family and you said that you did not. If you couldn’t turn to them in your current state of need, then I assume you are still at odds with them. It doesn’t matter.” He held her troubled gaze. “After tomorrow, we will belong to each other and that’s quite enough for me.”
She swallowed hard. “Marcus, you have a terrible habit of saying things that make me want to cry.”
He stroked her cheek, catching a single tear on his thumb. “Don’t cry.”
“I’ll try not to, but I still feel that you should know—”
He kissed her until she kissed him back and settled against his chest. “We both have our reasons for wanting to be married. Shall we just leave it at that?”
She made a troubled noise against his throat. He smoothed his hand through her tangled hair and then kissed her until she lost herself in him and he in her, and then nothing mattered but the peace they found together in their bed.
Amelia kept glancing down at the plain gold band Marcus had placed on her finger only hours ago in the small chapel on the Strand. They were currently on a passenger coach headed out across Hatfield Heath toward the Hertfordshire and Essex border. She wasn’t sure if they would be journeying further after the change of horses, or if they would reach their final destination.
Marcus wore his new clothing from Mr. Stultz, which made her feel like an old quiz even in her best gown. Her silk dress was a relic from her past that was at least ten years out of fashion. She yawned and leaned closer to Marcus’s shoulder as the coach swayed to the left.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She smiled up at him, sensing tension in his frame and the inward expression that meant he’d woken up caught somewhere in the past.
“We’ll probably have to walk to the house from the coaching inn.” He sighed. “I’ve just about run out of money.”
“Oh well. I have a guinea in my reticule. We can always use that.”
He glanced down at her, his smile warm. “You are one of the most resourceful women I have ever met. I can imagine you conjuring up miracles around a camp fire with one skinny chicken and two stolen onions.”
“You must have tasted my chicken soup then, sir. I did learn to cook with very little.”
In truth, she’d had to learn how to cook. Her life before marriage hadn’t included such useful skills. She’d been trained to manage a house full of servants rather than how to do anything practical.
“How far is your home from the actual town?”
“About two miles.”
“Which is perfectly walkable as long as the weather stays mild.”
He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close. “Then I suggest you sleep for a while and gather your strength.”
She tactfully didn’t mention that he was the one who needed to regain his strength and lapsed into a doze, all too aware of the other passengers snoring and farting and the clucking of the hen in a rush basket under her seat.
“Bishops Stortford!”
The coachman’s shout had them both jerking awake and attempting to step over and around their fellow passengers who were continuing on up to Newmarket. Amelia’s two bags were retrieved from the coach and Marcus offered a coin, which she doubted he could afford, to the stable boy who got them down.
It was still daylight, and she had an excellent view from where the coach had stopped by the Cock Inn at the top of the hill down into the town with its old castle ruins and river running around the mound.
Marcus put on his hat, picked up her bags and hesitated. “Are you quite sure you want to walk? We could hire a gig.”
Amelia tied the ribbons of her bonnet more firmly in place and held his gaze. “I am quite happy to proceed as planned. Shall we go before the light disappears?”
He led them across the street and out toward a narrower lane bordered by high green hedgerows. There was very little traffic, so they didn’t have to resort to walking in the muddy ditch that ran alongside the raised path.
“I’ve just remembered. There’s a short cut.” Marcus stopped at a stile and lifted the bags over it, returning to offer Amelia a hand as she clambered over the top. “It should cut the journey by half and bring us up to the back of the house.”
A light drizzle started to fall as the daylight faded. Amelia kept her gaze on the uneven path, barely noticing when the fields gave way to a more manicured landscape of picturesquely grouped trees and a lake. He helped her climb over the broken section of a high stone wall hidden in a copse of trees.
“It’s just down here.”
The tension was back in Marcus’s voice as they started down the slope toward the welcoming lights of what appeared to be a relatively large house.
“Are you quite sure—?”
He grabbed her hand and drew her close as they approached a stone archway with a cobbled surface within. Somewhere, a dog started to bark, soon followed by others. Amelia tried not to slip as her damp and muddy skirts tangled around her legs impeding her progress.
“Marcus…”
He kept moving almost dragging her along with him. A door on the opposite side of the courtyard opened and a man appeared, shrugging into what looked like a black butler’s coat.
“Who’s out here?”
Marcus reached the man and pushed past him. ”Excuse me.”
“You can’t just come barging in here and—”
“I believe I can. Are the family at dinner?”
“Yes, but—”
Marcus picked up the pace and Amelia went with him through a blur of surprised faces in the kitchens and then up a set of stairs into the house proper and onward toward the smell of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Behind them, she could still hear the butler protesting as he followed them, but Marcus wasn’t stopping for anyone.
The murmur of conversation reached her and she jerked hard on his arm. “Marcus. Please. Stop for a moment. Don’t you think we should—?”
“No.” He bent and kissed her hard. “Wish me luck.”
They walked into the dining room and everyone fell quiet as if they’d fallen into a dream state.
“Good evening,” Marcus said.
There was a stifled scream and the elderly woman at the foot of the table shot to her feet. “Good Lord!
Marcus
? How can this be? We were told you were dead!”
“Now, look here, whoever you are, you can’t just wander in to my damned house and….”
“
Your
damned house? Strange, I thought it was mine.” Marcus replied.
Amelia tensed as a younger man who bore a passing resemblance to her new husband came storming toward them. “What is this? Some kind of horrible joke? How dare you burst in here and upset my grandmother like this?”
Marcus held his ground. “She’s my grandmother, too, Charlie. Aren’t you going to welcome me back?” His gaze swept the room. “It seems you have all become
very
at home in my absence.”
“
Marcus
?” Charlie stared hard at the uninvited guest. “Do you have proof?”
“What would you like to know?” Marcus flicked a casual finger over Charlie’s nose. “I know that I broke your nose with my cricket bat when I took a rather optimistic swing at a ball. I know that the scar over your eyebrow was caused when you teased my new puppy and he sank his teeth into your skull. Where is Grayfish by the way? Is he dead like my father?”
The butler came in with four footmen and bowed to Charlie, “My lord, do you wish me to—”
“My
lord
is it, Charlie? You have officially assumed the title?”
“Of course I haven’t,” Charlie snapped.
“But you have already investigated what needs to be done to assume it? Don’t lie. I’ve already spoken to our family solicitor.” Marcus paused as his brother stepped back. “I have official proof of who I am if any of you still doubt me.”
Charlie’s face crumpled. “Please… don’t be like this, we are all in shock, we… thought you were dead, we
grieved
.” He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Please give us a moment to regroup.”
He turned toward Amelia and then to Marcus. “I do beg your pardon, ma’am. May I ask your name?”
Marcus answered for her. “This is my wife, Amelia. Her first husband was a military man, too.”
Charlie swallowed hard and then bowed. “You are most welcome here, my lady, but—” He gaze flicked to a young woman who sat as if turned to stone at the dining table.
“Thank you.” Amelia dug her nails into Marcus’s flesh. “My husband has not been well. Perhaps it would be possible for us to retire to refresh ourselves before we sit down together and—”
“Of course!” Charlie turned with obvious relief to the butler who had remained by the door. “Jenkins, can you take my brother and his wife up to the blue bedchamber?” He glanced at the clock. “Perhaps you could join us in my, I mean, in the library in an hour?”
“That would be most agreeable.” Amelia curtsied. “Marcus?”
As soon as the door of the bedchamber closed behind them, Amelia put as much distance between herself and Marcus as she could manage.
“If you wished to set the cat amongst the pigeons you certainly succeeded.”
He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “They deserved it. Sitting here getting plump on my food in my house while I…” He sat down suddenly and covered his face in his hands. “God, I don’t know what came over me. They all looked so shocked, as if the thought that I might have survived was so implausible that they couldn’t believe their own eyes.”
He slowly looked up at her. “They gave up on me, Amelia. They stopped
hoping
. I find that unforgiveable.”
She knelt at his feet. “You don’t know that. You took one look at them and you just assumed they didn’t care. You were
horrible
.”
He set his jaw in a way that was becoming all-too familiar. “My brother and my grandmother instructed the family solicitors to search for legal ways to declare me dead so that the title could pass to my brother.”
“
What
title?”
“Havering. The earldom of Havering.”
“Oh dear God, so now I’m a countess,” Amelia murmured. “I’ve finally done exactly what my father wanted and married into the peerage.” She scowled at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that important piece of information?”
“Because my
father
was Havering. I’ve always been Viscount Stortford, which is a title I’ve never bothered to use.” He frowned. “What exactly does this have to do with what we are discussing?”
“It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with your current behavior.” Amelia took a deep breath. “We can speak about it later. Now what do you intend to do about your brother?”
Marcus exhaled. “I suppose I should at least attempt to give him a fair hearing.”
“That would be an excellent start.”
“What if I discover that I am right and that they don’t want me back?”
“They’ll just have to get used to it, won’t they?” Amelia met his worried gaze. “You
are
the Earl of Havering. If you want to kick them all out of your house no one will stop you.”
“But what if I don’t want to stay?” He sat forward, his hands clasped together between his knees. “What if I’ve changed too much to settle down?”
She shrugged. “Then we’ll leave.”
He blinked at her. “You would accept my decision?”
“I might argue with you about it, but I would never force anyone to stay and do their duty if they hated it.”
He drew a deep shuddering breath. “I am aware that after that performance in the dining room, I don’t deserve such consideration. They will have a perfect right to declare me insane.”