Absolute Surrender (45 page)

He concentrated on the feel of her hand, which had returned to tangle in his hair. He closed his eyes. This felt like…falling. Charles felt unconstrained, at the world
’
s end, unable to stay his advance regardless of the terror he felt at the fall. Like walking straight for the cliffs outside without a pause, just as she had described to him, except he knew she was waiting at the bottom to catch him. Amelia always felt as though her fall was never-ending.

Charles suddenly wanted the fall…that rift opened back up, and that
’
s when he knew.

He stood abruptly and walked to the table. He pulled the basket of food toward him and unpacked it. Some ham, a block of cheese, some fruits, and a large loaf of crusty bread. There had also been a cast iron pot next to the basket with a lid on it. Charles shuffled around as he considered all the facts, everything that had happened.

He removed the lid to find some sort of stew, so he pulled one of the arms from the fire, hung the cast iron pot on it like Hugh had done and swung it back over to start the simmer. Then Charles added a bit of wood and stoked the fire back up.

He filled the kettle from the other arm with fresh water and pushed it back over the fireplace next to the stew and broke off a couple pieces of cheese, poured a glass of water and took them to her. Amelia still stared into the fire. Charles sat next to her, placing the water and cheese in her fingers.

Charles knew from his travels that there were practices in Asia meant to open your mind, to make you more accepting of the world. At the time he’d learned of them, he’d thought them hogwash, as he was perfectly able to still his mind wherever he was. There was no need for him to concentrate in order to be silent and accepting of his surroundings or situation.

She, apparently, could not. Charles thought perhaps she could learn to do this. That practicing some sort of concentration would help her to quiet her busy head. Of course, he wasn
’
t entirely sure he wanted it quiet. Charles loved the way her expression flitted from idea to idea, even though she could rarely tell him what it was that was flitting around in there. As for the occasional words that escaped without her permission? They were like small gifts, though he knew she hated them. Perhaps this concentration would help her to explain these things as well?

He breathed deeply as the scent of the stew assaulted him, clenching his hungry belly as he groaned.

“Lamb, I reckon,” Charles said quietly as he stood and went to stir the pot. “Oh…yes.” He took a small taste from the spoon then stirred some more as his stomach lurched and rolled, fighting its way toward the succulent brew.

The sudden feel of her hands on his sides startled him at first. Then Charles leaned back toward her warmth, and leaving the pot to simmer with the spoon handle sticking out, he turned and wrapped her up in him.

“Amelia, I do believe…I
’
m quite desperately in love with you.”

Amelia stared at his neck, that small divot that held the very taste of him. His chin, rough with whiskers. His mouth…her heart kicked like a mule. She shouldn
’
t look at his lips, so she moved to his stormy eyes. It felt like he looked straight into the depths of her soul. Charles was not looking at the girl on the outside…she could feel him within her. Moving around there, looking at her memories, examining the very fiber of her being, refusing to leave.

“I—”

Charles did not allow her to finish but closed the distance between their mouths and kissed her with all the sincerity and passion of a man in love. He was...in love with her, and Hugh wasn
’
t here. She needed to push Hugh from her thoughts because this…this was a massive revelation for this man, and she truly needed to be here for him. Now. There were no two ways about it—his realization changed everything. Her mind shifted like tumbled locks.

She moved her hands to his arms as Charles held her face, his hands tangled in her hair. She felt the tears on her cheeks, but dared not move to wipe them away. They gathered there above his hands, little pools of saltwater in the crooks of his thumbs that she could see the room reflected in. She started to fade and knew she had to change tack before she lost it. Because Hugh was gone, and Charles was here, and he had just conceded a great thing.

She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, his thumbs stroking the paths of her tears, cleansing her cheeks and letting them be on their way.

“Amelia?”

“I love…”

“Pudding?” he asked with a smile when she didn
’
t complete the thought.

She tried to smile but knew it hadn
’
t happened. “There is something I must say. Perhaps we should sit down.”

Charles nodded and released her, then turned for the stew. “First, you must eat. I know you
’
re famished, as am I. Please, let me serve you.” Perhaps he understood that they needed to slow the pace of this conversation.

Amelia walked to the little table in the center of the room and sat. Charles placed a steaming bowl of Cook
’
s lamb stew in front of her. She
’
d always hated the idea of the stew, had had terrible nightmares about it as a child. She was forever attempting to rescue the poor little things from the hatchet.

Her father had scolded her when she’d named the animals that were to be used for food, but she couldn
’
t help it. She believed they deserved to be remembered in some small way for their sacrifice.

“Amelia.” She looked up to find him across the table. “I must say, if you learn to quiet your mind, I will be greatly disappointed if you do it so often that I
’
m not allowed to see your thoughts painted across your face.”

She smiled.

“What were you thinking?”

“Of the lambs.”

“I thought that was what this was. Was it a favorite?”

“Of mine? No. Well, yes. And no. The stew, of course, is wonderful, but I always felt for the lambs, you see.”

Charles nodded.

“Do you? See, I mean?” She believed he might—or at least that he was beginning to. He was starting to understand the circles her mind traveled in, and she marveled at that for a moment.

“
I do.
” He paused. “I was once whipped for setting free a pig that was to be roasted for a dinner with Her Royal Highness.”

Amelia gaped. She knew she did. She felt the weight of her jaw as it hung there in shock. “You did not!” She snapped it shut.

“Oh, but I did. In fact, when I was presented at court to receive my title, she mentioned it. Her Majesty has a brilliant memory. She said she
’
d eagerly awaited the day I would come before her, only so that she could tell me—”

“What? What did she tell you?”

“She told me that she hated pork and was glad to see it run the land outside the Keep,” Charles said with a smile.

Amelia
’
s jaw dropped again. Then they laughed together. “
I don’
t believe you.”

“Oh, my dear, whether you believe me or not, I
’
ve no doubt it will be mentioned when we go to court.”

She frowned.

“Amelia, I
’
m aware you don
’
t appreciate the
ton.
In fact, I have little patience for society as it is. However, you do understand that I must present my bride at court for the queen.”

“Oh yes, I do. I was only…well. I thought that you were supposed to do that before the marriage?”

“There are ways around that. Her Majesty is aware of our pending nuptials, of course. I spoke with her before I quit London. As is absolutely required of me.”

Amelia nodded. “Of course. Far be it from me to assume you
’
d not done something so bold as to speak with the queen before even securing my hand,” she said distractedly. “Charles, I need to say something.”

“Eat first, please.”

Charles moved a laden spoon to his mouth and blew across it to cool the stew before leaning across the small table and touching it to her lip. She acquiesced readily as the aroma rose to her, and she was overcome by the heady scent of Cook
’
s famous dish.

The spicy sweet tang of the sauce and the light buttery flavor of the lamb filled her senses, and she melted into her chair, taking up her spoon and, rather unseemly, shoving stew into her mouth. When she was finished, she looked up to see him transfixed on her mouth. “I…pardon. I suppose that was rather indecent of me.”

“Not at all. In fact, if you
’
d been delicate, I would have thought I
’
d not properly exhausted you, which might have damaged my male pride,” Charles teased.

Male. Charles was male, and she female, and, by God, hadn
’
t they proved to the heavens they knew just what to do about that? She blushed. Charles cocked his head...just a touch.

“Please eat, you must be just as famished as I am,” she said.

He took a bite, and after a long moment she said, “Now if I may say what it is I wish to say?”

He pushed the stew around in his bowl. “
Ender.
”

“Yes, I—” She narrowed her eyes. He hadn
’
t called him that since they
’
d been here at the Cliff House. “I want to say something about…Hugh. Before, when you said you loved me, I only just realized—”

“What I said was, ‘I do believe I
’
m quite desperately in love with you,’” he corrected.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Just so you have it correct,” he said over a large bite of lamb.

She smiled. “Yes. You said you
’
re quite desperately in love with me.” She felt breathless.

Not now not now not now…

She concentrated on where she was, kept her eyes on him.

He nodded once and smiled, and she felt she could go on.

“I love Hugh.”

Charles put the spoon down and leaned back in his chair, studying her.

“You
’
re mine,” he said quietly.

She twitched, and he winced.

“Charles, please…”

He waited…he thought for a decent amount of time. “Please what, Amelia?” It seemed every muscle he
’
d had tightened on his bones, attempting to break them.

“Please. Let me finish.”

Charles winced again at her tone. He rested his elbow on the table, then his head upon his fist to prevent the shaking he felt from rage, or sorrow, or pain—he wasn
’t quite sure just yet
. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and he fought to prevent it overtaking him.

“I love Hugh,” she repeated slowly. “But it
’
s not what I feel for you. I
’
ve known all my life, really, that I love him. I
’
ve felt it in my bones, as though always a piece of me. I cannot now decide that I do not, because I do. I always have.” She stood and walked around the table in front of Charles. “But what I feel for you is so very much...
more
.”

Charles kept his chin on his fist.

“I
’
ve handled this bit terribly,” she said. “I see that, and here
’
s the rub. Generally speaking, I figure things out in my head long before they come out of my mouth. I have learned to do this. It prevents terrible pickles the likes of which can be so very destructive. You understand?”

Charles nodded again stiffly but did not yet move.
I love Hugh
continued to whisper just at the edge of his thoughts.

“The issue I see,” she went on, “is that you have me speaking my mind. Screaming it at times, in fact. I...I simply do not have control of all my well-learned faculties at present, and for that I beg your pardon.”

I love Hugh.

Charles narrowed his eyes and turned to face her as she sank onto her knees, and her hands came up to his thighs. Bother, that, regardless of the state of his mind, his libido was most definitely on full steam ahead. Her hands started to move lightly across the flesh of his thighs, and his mind tilted. Charles tried to concentrate. Charles knew she
’
d no idea what she was doing to him with her hands.