Absolute Surrender (9 page)

She laughed, and he turned back to her, basking in the sound that raised goose bumps across his forearms, traveled his body and rested somewhere deep inside. Her laugh was beautiful, whole and hearty, and he loved it. He felt quite rewarded.

“Problem solved,” he said with a shrug.

He saw her demeanor shift slightly, saw her regather her composure as though it was made of marbles spilled across the lawn. Amelia then lifted his handkerchief to her lips, to cover her mouth discreetly, and he realized the show had begun again in earnest.

Disappointing, that.

“Amelia, if ever there
’
s a reticule that offends, please call on me. I will not hesitate to come to your rescue.” The smile, though covered, was genuine, and he relaxed a bit into the bench.

“
Your Grace,
” she said after a time.

“My lady,” he responded, willing her to continue.

“Why ever would you toss my reticule into a pond?”

“Well, you said you hated it. And you were looking at the reticule as though it might attack. I determined the danger and rectified the situation. It
’
s…what I do.”

“My mother—”

“Was it your mother
’
s reticule?”

“No, Your Grace, the reticule was mine, but my mother will wonder what happened to it. She will be quite disappointed in me.”

“You didn
’
t throw the reticule in the lake. I did. In fact”— and here he turned to check, then took her eyes with his as though a physical possibility—“Lady Mathorpe can attest to that. Can you not, lady?” he said a bit louder, knowing full well the chaperone had heard every word between them. He then winked at Amelia, pulling her into the conspiracy. She giggled. Another reward—this one he felt a bit lower. He wished to do it again and again, until his entire body was awash with her laughter. Someone should take up a study of this. He rather believed her laughter was willing him to misbehave.

They sat peacefully for a time, then the air shifted, as though a heavy blanket was, very slowly, being lowered over them.

“I thought you had grand things you wished to discuss with me,” she said quietly.

“Was saving you from your offending accessory not grand enough?”

She smiled…but the blanket remained. The moment had passed.

Charles nodded and leaned forward. “Amelia, there are many things I wish to discuss with you, a lifetime of things, in truth. Where shall we start?” He absolutely had questions for her, but did not want to break what jovial mood was left in her.

“Should we start with the difficult and work our way to the mundane? That only seems logical,” she said quietly. Hurriedly. Worriedly.

He tensed slightly and knew she was aware of it. “You said you dislike crowds, but here we are…the only crowds the fowl, which have removed to the far edge of the lake, and I still sense a wariness about you.” He paused and watched her smooth his handkerchief across her knee. “Is there more to it than that?” he asked quietly, hoping that Lady Mathorpe had found enough of a distraction off by the edge of the water. He watched Amelia as she considered his words, then saw her flinch.

There is something so very wrong with you!

Her mother
’
s voice in her head prevented her saying what she truly wished to. “That is the simple of it. Beyond that, I believe you would require a certain knowledge of me to understand.” With that, she looked directly at him, something that
had
been carefully trained out of her. “We are not that familiar, you and I.” The hairs on her neck revolted at her frank speech and wilted, a shiver coursing her flesh, her mind reeling, attempting to pull the words back even as it was much too late.

“I understand that there are things that require a certain familiarity, one which we do not
yet
have. But isn
’
t that what this courting is for? An attempt to discover if we would suit?”

She nodded once, then words burst from her, escaping much against her will. “I would think if you knew me better you would not consider me the least bit suitable.” Her hand flew to her mouth then, as if to trap the words, but this, much too late. She bit her lip as punishment.

“Amelia, I—”

“I did not yet give you leave—”

“Yes, I—I beg your pardon. I feel as though I know you. Perhaps I feel that bond between us from childhood yet and wish to hold on to it.” He shook his head. “My lady, I do not know how to make you understand my feelings on this matter. I appreciate...” Charles paused, and she considered how well
his
mouth was being controlled by
his
will. Marveled at it, was terribly jealous of it. “I appreciate that you are different, but I believe it is that difference that has always held my sway. When I was a young boy, nobody ever spoke so frankly to me as you. Your forwardness was quite...refreshing.”

She giggled, then politely covered her mouth. “Refreshing? Is that what you choose to call it? My mother would call that impertinence, an attribute frowned upon by future husbands the world over.”

“Impertinence.” He grunted. “I rather like your sort of impertinence. It kept me in line.”

Amelia couldn
’
t help but smile. She had rather spoken her mind at him as a child, pulled him from his cushy womb of dukedom and forced him out into the viscid wilderness of the world.

“Well, I will endeavor to be as impertinent as possible. Though I
’
m unsure what that will look like as I am ever attempting to be not so impertinent, and the result is truly blatant impertinence and...” He started to laugh. “Oh goodness...”

“Yes, well. I think you lost me on the second impertinent, but we
’
ll just have to see how it goes, won
’
t we?” He reached out and took her hand again, and she realized at that moment—she wasn
’
t shivering or overconcerned with details.

But then he touched her, and her mind homed in on the contact, like a single burst of energy between them. The shock of the heat of his hand through the layers of gloves was nearly too much, and her heart stuttered. She jerked away.

“I beg your pardon,” he whispered.

No no no no no!
she nearly cried, surprised when her mouth didn
’
t actually make the sound, but stayed silent, vigilant, though a sob rendered her sadness with stunning clarity.

“I...Your Grace, I didn
’
t mean to…I didn
’
t mean to offend. I would have liked to hold your hand. I don
’
t understand why that happened.” She closed her eyes, saw Hugh, then looked up to see Charles.

Charles reached for her slowly this time. Much more slowly. Made sure her eyes were on his hand. This time, her hand nearly melted into his, and it verily took his breath. Never had he felt such synergy with another person. It was more than the sum of their two worlds.

He knew, in the way her lip trembled, that she felt that connection as well. A peace seemed to rend her motionless, while the whole of her self appeared to relax. All those muscles, retreating into a whole, like melting butter in the sun.

She looked up to him with glazed eyes.

“Would you please call me Amelia?”

“I would be honored, beyond measure, to call you Amelia.” He heard her aunt huff from the shore, not a far enough distance away, and her control snapped back into place instantaneously, the feel of her hand whipping away nearly leaving him dizzy.

Every defense she had fell into place like the heavy gates at Castleberry Keep, and that pained him.
What now?
he thought. He had to bring her back.

His father had told him that every woman wanted to hear that she was loved. Charles had no idea what that meant—love. He knew he felt for her like he felt for no one in the world, but he assumed that if he’d felt love, for anything or anyone, he would have known it. He did feel something…and he was happy to call it love, if it were to make her happy, but using with her the tactic his father had taught him—it would have felt more than wrong. He did not want to taint this…whatever this was.

Hugh walked into his study, poured two fingers of whiskey from the tantalus on his desk, then paused with the tumbler at his lips, allowing the scent to burn through his nose and reach his lungs. He slammed the glass to the desktop, shaking off the splash of liquor that hit his palm.

He sat heavily in the chair, then turned the chair toward the windows at his back, putting his boots up on the sill and leaning against the worn leather. He’d kissed her. He
’
d promised himself, long ago, that he wouldn’t kiss her unless she was truly his. He’d known, to the depths of his soul, that if he kissed her, he simply would not release her. And he had, most definitely, kissed her.

Damn me.

Truly, it had been so much more than just a kiss, as he’d known it would be. He
’
d poured every promise he had into that simple touch of lips. And what did promises mean now? He probably wouldn’t have thought so harshly of himself, of his own broken promise, if that damned duke hadn’t been so damnably honorable.

Damn me twice.

He closed his eyes and threw his arm over his face, his nose resting solidly in the crook of his elbow. He breathed deep. His jacket smelled of her where they had been melded together. Where they had touched.

Damn me thrice.
The sweet, wholesome scent of her.

It’s lilacs. She smells of lilacs.
He breathed of it slowly for a while.

Castleberry should not be so patient. He should not have offered that bit of respect. So much had been spoken in that bow. As Hugh had meant to convey as much by ascending to his seat and staying himself, looking down upon the man who was so much more than he ever would be.

This was inconceivable. He could not, would not, allow this man an honorable character. That quite made him impossible to hate, and Hugh wanted so desperately to hate Jackson.

Amelia
.

Castleberry was forcing him to rethink everything he knew to be true. That she was taken from Hugh. That she belonged to Hugh. That this duke was the enemy. That she could never be happy with Jackson. That Jacks was not at all what she needed. That the only man in the world for her was Hugh. That she was meant for Hugh, meant to be his, meant to spend her days with him, the rest of her life in the comfortable seat of his barony.

Hugh groaned and swung his legs down, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands steepled between them. Could he—he closed his eyes and forced his mind around the thought—could he allow this duke to care for her? Could he let her go? He felt the pain of it so suddenly, so keenly, that the entirety of him shuddered. To separate her from him, to push her out of this soft place inside where she had so completely invaded the very breath of him. To turn, and to walk away.

Hugh realized then that he
’
d not truly prepared himself to break with her that morning. In fact, he knew now that he
’
d gone to do exactly what it was that he did do. Hugh had been a fool to think otherwise, and now… He turned back to the whiskey and downed it, hoping to dull a bit of that raw, gaping wound that had torn through his very core at the thought of sending her off.

Castleberry
. He
’
d always seen Jackson as a rival, and thus the pranks, the childish games to push him away, to keep Jackson from Amelia. Hugh
’
s actions had been cruel, and he’d known it, even though he
’
d been just a boy. But Amelia
’
s father had told him that she was meant for Castleberry, had asked Hugh to help foster a relationship between the two. Even then, the division from her had affected him in a tangible way, and thus began the assault, keeping Castleberry from coming between them in those early years. Quite opposed to what her father had asked of him.

Hugh didn’t seem to be the honorable man that he
’
d always wished for Amelia when he considered these things.
His
head fell to the desk with a mighty
whomp
, and he groaned yet again. What had he done? He
’
d been selfish, single-minded in his belief. All this time, telling himself he knew what was best for her, that
he
was what was best for her, and with a single bow to his cocky, overbearing, improper self, Castleberry had shattered everything Hugh believed to be true.

How terribly unfair.

Charles stood. Looked at the woman. Might have growled at her. Lady Mathorpe backed away slowly, and Charles turned back to Amelia, pulling her up from the bench and walking her farther down the crystal water
’
s edge. Amelia looked to make sure Lady Mathorpe did not follow closely before she spoke.

“I believe we would suit, if you
’
re willing to take me on. I do understand that I would be a chore. However, your suit would make my father and mother quite happy should you agree.” Amelia offered this statement to him as an apology, though it did sound terribly clinical to her ears.

Charles shook his head slowly. “It would not at all be a chore. Marriage to you would be an honor.” His feet stopped, and she nearly tripped on the sway of her skirts. “Did you just offer for me?” he asked as he steadied her. “You amaze me. I have—” He looked down in concentration, and she focused on the feel of his thumbs circling the backs of her hands.

When did he take my hands?

“I believe I
’
ve cared deeply for you, in some form, since the moment I first saw you.” Charles cleared his throat then as he looked a bit confused, and she felt her jaw relax a bit too much. “I could only hope that you would also be terribly happy, and perhaps even one day you would come to care for me as well.”

As well.
That echoed in her head for a bit of time, along with:
He threw my reticule in the pond
. She tried to breathe through the realization of it all. He had said “as well.” Which meant—to her mind—that he already did. Care for her.

Perhaps he
’
s not aware that he made such a declaration. Perhaps because he does not or perhaps he does and he did. Perhaps…

It was then, after an insurmountable pause, that he caught her gaze again, and she was locked to his. If she had wished with all her might, she would not have been able to turn away.

“There is no chore considered when I think of spending my life with you. There is no place I would rather be. There is no woman I would rather share my every simple day with.” Charles squeezed her hands, and when he blinked, she was able to look down—and breathe. She desperately needed to breathe.

He did mean it. He was aware.

“I…I thought you were merely following the wishes of your father,” she said. “I knew he had words with my father. I knew they
’
d arranged this when you were there that summer.”

“No, Amelia, that was merely the door that gave me access. And won
’
t you please call me Charles?”

Her mouth dropped open, as if to say it. To breathe the very life into him with the sound of his name on her lips, but she paused and scanned the park—

Charles dropped his gaze to her hands. “Perhaps soon you
’
ll be as familiar with me as you are with Endsleigh.” He said the words quietly. Purposefully. His gaze traveled slowly up her figure. The dress really was quite pretty. It reminded him of the broad sweeping meadows near Castleberry Keep, the soft turn of her hips, the pinch of her waist, and the beautiful curve of her—he forced his gaze to her eyes. The dress did, truly, match her eyes. His own eyes betrayed him and fell to her lips.

“There are things we should discuss, prior to our betrothal,” Charles said. A tremble rippled through her, and he knew she worried. He desperately wanted to allay her fears, but he also required a bit of reassurance himself. “Amelia. I would be honored to spend my life with you, but not if it isn
’
t what you truly wish, and at this moment, I don
’
t believe that it is.

“I believe you need to discover what it is you desire. Whether it be me...” He smoothed both hands up her gloved arms and stroked the bared skin at the very edge of the fabric. He felt her tension ebb, her body sway. “
Or Ender.
” With that name, Charles pulled his hands away, clasping them behind his back. Perhaps removing his touch had been a cruel move, but he needed her to realize that if her heart were engaged elsewhere, his could not be availed to her.

She swayed, and Charles wished to steady her, but he forced himself not to. He clenched his hands together and sent up a prayer for the will to keep a certain distance between them. It seemed an age before he knew she was ready to speak.

“I understand,” was all she said.

Charles turned and glanced at their chaperone, standing at a mere twenty paces, yet between them nonetheless. Amelia lifted her hand to her lips, holding his handkerchief, and inhaled deeply as she looked around. He followed her gaze.

“Amelia, I cannot help but feel our marriage bed would be crowded.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked away yet again. “I cannot promise more than I know, and I know this—he and I cannot be together. It is as simple as that.”

“So not simple at all, really.”

“I can only wish...I do not know. I cannot know. Please understand that when I think of him, I consider him a dear friend, whom I will miss terribly.”

“But certainly your friendship has grown over the years.” His eyes traveled her figure again. “You have grown into a woman, and he…a man. Undoubtedly, your friendship has grown as well, perhaps changed as much as you have?” Charles was truly worried now.

“
No, I
…
I don’
t think so, at least not from my perspective, though I know not about Hugh. I have a feeling he isn
’
t of the same mind. In truth, I cannot tell you. He
’
s all I
’
ve ever known of love, beyond that of my father. So judging these feelings…I know what I feel for you is different. This I know for certain. I also know that I would like to experience more of it. To better understand it, because my feelings carry a great deal of confusion with them…” She gazed into his eyes, nearly bored through them to the back of his skull as if to attempt to read his very intent. After a moment, her gaze settled into a confused countenance. “You threw my reticule in the pond.”