Absolute Surrender (3 page)

“
Your Grace.
” She smiled when the title sounded strange on her tongue. He
’
d grown into, and inherited, his title, but now before him, all she could see was Jacks, the awkward boy who’d followed her around during those young summers. “I
’
m certain the honor is mine,” she added as joyfully and as full of smiles as she could muster, curtsying slowly, gracefully, carefully. “I was sorry to hear of your mother.” From the corner of her eye, she saw her own mother
’
s eyes widen and her smile freeze.

Charles released Amelia
’
s hand and stepped back. As was proper. Not because of her statement, she was sure. He could not be seen to be standing too closely, that was all. Charles was nothing if not full of graciousness and propriety.

“Thank you.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

The strain of music picked up yet again, and her mother bumped her elbow. “Your Grace, I believe my daughter has been saving this next dance for you.” Amelia thought her mother
’
s smile was bound to cleave her face clean in two, rather saw it happening, and Amelia
’
s eyes strained as she stared, expectantly, for the first crack.

Charles turned to her mother quickly, drawing all attention with him, as Earth to the sun, his smile tight. If for no other reason, Amelia decided then, she could love him because he measured the intent of her mother rather quickly.

“Perhaps some refreshment and a turn around the room, my lady?” Charles turned back to her, bringing her gaze with him. “
I find I
’
m not much for dancing this evening.”

“By all means, Your Grace, as you please.” She smiled as she hazarded a glance at her mother—who was actively suppressing a frown. Because, of course, a dance with a duke—and not just
any
duke but the Duke of Castleberry—would solidify her position. Not a soul would dare speak out about her after that—but a turn around the ballroom would have to do...for now.

Beyond being taken with his future bride—if he could call her that—he was absolutely intrigued. Charles knew beyond reason that if he were to wed her, his life would be more interesting.

He remembered all too well the girl he first met so many years ago. Full of spit and vinegar and laughter. He could not quite reconcile that with the woman she
’
d grown into, the one the ladies of the
ton
whispered of behind their fans. But that was of little concern to him.
Ton
gossip was old hat, something he
’
d never bothered with. Charles could see the movements, the odd-placed tics, and could not quite figure why she shivered often, but her actions called to an extreme sense of protection in him.

Stunning as she was, he knew she believed herself to be unworthy of the attentions paid and, in some sense, she was. The only true attention received from the
ton
was a great disdain for her awkwardness and a jealousy that, due to her position, they could not, under any circumstance, call attention to it. Instead, they waited, they stared, they laughed privately, and they said to themselves what not a single one of them dared to utter aloud—not even to their closest confidants—but they all knew: She was strange.

Odd.

Different.

Regardless of her delicate nose, her bow-shaped mouth, and her viridescent eyes. Irrelevant that she had the most vibrant smile and impossibly bright and luminescent hair that he wanted spilling across his hands. Inconsequential that he had been in want of her since the first moment he’d drawn breath in her presence more than ten years past—beautiful, exciting, laughing and playful.

Pointless that he saw these things above all else. Because he knew that she could not yet trust him. Not a stone’s throw, not a toe. She trusted Ender. That much was obvious from the dance they
’
d already shared tonight. That much was obvious from the summers he
’
d spent attempting to keep pace with them. That much was obvious from the times Ender had been allowed in her presence—and Charles had not.

That much was obvious from the paste smile she had carefully set upon her lips now. Charles shifted uncomfortably.

“Your Grace, are you well?” she asked quietly, so no one would hear. She might make the perfect duchess, at that. She was so very aware of her surroundings and propriety, always watching, always aware, always a paradigm. Charles frowned, and her hand tensed against his arm, and he wondered what all this caution cost her.

“I have always been well when with you. It
’
s been so very long since we
’
ve had a chance to speak, and this is not the time nor place for great discussions, is it? Yet there are so many great discussions I wish to have with you,”
Charles said.

They passed the Duke and Duchess of Roxleigh, and he nodded in deference and received a welcoming smile from Her Grace. They were so different from the general
ton,
it gave him hope for the possibilities their success presented. Roxleigh answered to no one but the queen.

Amelia shivered, recapturing his attention instantly, and he schooled his reaction. Ever wary in public he must be with this masterful beauty. Ever concerned that his reaction would call her out.

Charles’s position being what it was, if he were to respond badly, the
ton
would follow without heed. He would be the gate to which the flood would flow, and he felt that certain pressure keenly on his shoulders. He didn
’
t wish to ruin her, regardless the outcome of their suit. He cared for her, whatever that meant. Well, if he was being honest with himself, what it was was an insuppressible want of her…but that he
’
d wanted for so long, he believed he might have a genuine care for her as well. Charles turned for the balcony. “Perhaps some air.”

“As you please,” she said.

Charles guided her, properly keeping well in sight of the ballroom, then stayed himself when she released him and walked toward the balustrade.

“Endsleigh,” was all he said. Charles couldn’t help himself. He watched as she controlled her reaction, like a sudden freeze, starting with her ears and traveling down. He saw every muscle stop, coming to attention. It was a rather beautiful dance beneath her skin and caused his fingers to itch, the physical manifestation of a wish to touch.

“Endsleigh,” she replied with a catch in her voice. “My oldest friend.”

“Dearest?” he asked, wanting to know, truly.

“Perhaps.” She turned toward the sleeping gardens, resting her gloved hands on the marble barrier. “Out there, at the far side of England, away from society, the only friends we have are those born to us.” She smiled back at him, over her shoulder.

“I imagine. And beyond that?” he replied, perhaps hopefully, needing to know how close they truly were. He had a deep need to possess her body, certainly, though more than that he wasn
’
t sure he would be allowed. Regardless, if she were his, he would expect every bit of her to belong to him, without exception. Body and soul.

“Beyond that, there can be nothing,” she said simply. She lifted one shoulder, a concession, yet not enough to allay his fears.

“He
’
s always been allowed in your life, while I have not been. Until now,”
Charles said.

“All true, and yet—”

“And yet?” he asked.

“And yet…” Amelia
’
s voice faded as she turned, and he saw in her eyes the request…no, the defiant demand that he quit this line.

For a man to sigh called thoughts of weakness, for men were never to question their thoughts, their wishes. But sigh he did, and he put his whole heart into it.

“As you please,” he responded.

Her perfect smile returned. Charles was taken away at how well she did that, effected that persona. Created that incredible wash of calm while he could feel, even at this distance, that she was falling apart from the inside.

Now that he looked closely he could see those little shivers, jerks, and ticks that never quite went away, were never quite hidden.

They both looked out over the gardens. Shoulder to shoulder—she with her hands held perfectly in front of her, he with his clasped tightly behind his back—as the moonlight drifted down upon them like a bright light in the vast darkness.

Charles was not quite as good at schooling his physical features. But then he never had cause to be. He was not nearly as practiced with controlling something so seemingly uncontrollable as she. His control at this point was simply his nature. All emotion had been learned out of him as unacceptable, and truth be told, he
’
d never been witness to, or party to, anything like love. Though he thought it must be kin to joy…and that he
had
witnessed. In her. Charles shook his head and wished...what did he wish? He wished he knew what it was she needed to keep herself together.

“Amelia, I love…I love—”

Charles stopped abruptly when her eyes widened. His father had always told him that women wanted to hear they were loved, that he should wield those three words like a weapon.

“I love…pudding.”
What the hell?

But when she laughed in answer to the statement…he realized he would have done it again for that moment.
Pudding, for fuck
’
s sake.
He wished he knew what it would take to bring that joyful girl from the sea back to him in a more permanent fashion.

Endsleigh
.

Like an unwelcome voice in his head, the name intruded.

Endsleigh
.

To banish Ender from thought would be his greatest wish, but Ender
’
s effect on her could not be banished. Charles had watched that dance. He
’
d seen her standing. Just standing. Attempting to simply stand. Then Ender was there, and she had spiraled up and then back, like a top would. Tightened then released, all that difficulty gone. There was something more between them. Charles had always known that, but what he could not understand was why. When they were younger, Ender had been allowed to be there with her, no matter what. Whenever it seemed she was acting out of sorts, they had removed Charles and let Ender stay.

This was without a doubt a level of jealousy he’d no wish to control, because he wanted to feel that burn when he thought on Endsleigh. And yet…
and yet
, to have that same power for her—but he feared that sort of concern came from a level of connection that was beyond his ability. Charles shifted again, looked at the leather toe of his shoe as he tapped it quietly, once, twice, a third time. Once they wed, her friendship with Ender would be officially at an end, and all this maundering would have no consequence. She would be forced to
his
confidence. What would have consequence was if she were unsuitable.

Charles knew she had this magic inside her. To find that again…
no.
He wanted her. She was the only person he
’
d ever met who had been so open, so free. Everyone else in his life spoke to the Duke of Castleberry, but she always spoke to Jacks, and he wanted her to speak to Charles. She was never put off by his title, didn
’
t want him for it. Somehow, she saw the boy and the man. That intrigued him.

“It is odd, is it not? The last time we spoke, you were merely Amelia, and I was merely Jacks,” he said wistfully.

She smiled then, and it was genuine, and he could not help but return it with the knowledge that that girl, the one from before, was still in there. Charles took her hand and smoothed a circle into her palm with his thumb; her mouth dropped open slightly until he could see the pink of her tongue.

“
Mon Dieu
,
” he whispered on a breath. Her jaw snapped shut. “
Malheureusement
,
” he said. Charles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his tongue swollen inside. “Pardon me.” He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. “I believe I
’
ve had quite enough of this function. I shall return you to...to your—” He coughed in an attempt to vanquish the image of that perfect pink tongue from his mind. It didn’t work, so he closed his eyes as he continued. “Your family. Perhaps I could call on the morrow to take you for a ride in my carriage? I hear the Royal Gardens are beautiful at the moment,” he said distractedly. “Something to be seen. Perhaps then we could attempt the first of many great discussions.”