The Ardent Lady Amelia (21 page)

“I think the pain has clouded your brain, Verwood.” She made a negligent gesture with her empty hand. “Are the towels hot enough? Shall I get you more?”

“They’re fine. Go on with your story.”

He made it sound as though she was entertaining him with a fairy tale. Irritated, Amelia wiggled back into the chair, which was so deep her feet just barely reached the floor. She scowled at him, which had no noticeable effect. Finally she said, “I didn’t go to my room. I put on a cloak and left my shoes in the closet and went out into the courtyard. Only the parapet on the wall divides it from the ornamental garden.”

He frowned. “Did they see you?”

“No, certainly not.”

“But what if they had?”

Amelia became very haughty. “There is surely no reason why I shouldn’t take a stroll at night in my own courtyard.”

“Without your shoes?”

“They wouldn’t have noticed I didn’t have shoes on.” Amelia was feeling slightly impatient. “Do you want to hear what I discovered or not?”

“I’m all ears,” he assured her.

“It’s treacherous out there in the dark. I was extraordinarily brave. They were talking down by the pavilion and it was necessary for me to go in it to hear them, you know. I couldn’t catch everything they said. And then Peter came along.”

“So you actually heard nothing at all,” he suggested, impatient in his turn.

“I most certainly did. And I’ve written it all down.” She bent forward to hand him the sheet of paper. “That is
exactly
what they said.”

Verwood scanned the short entries quickly. “This is it? This is what brought you to my room in the dead of night?”

Amelia flushed. “Well, it’s highly suspicious, isn’t it? Perhaps you don’t know that Mr. Upham is a smuggler and could very easily arrange for transport for M. Chartier to France.”

The viscount once again read the hurriedly penned lines. And shrugged. “My dear Amelia, they could as easily be speaking of some shipment of brandy or clothing that Upham could get for him. If Chartier wanted to get to France, he wouldn’t be likely to take a chance on a stranger.”

“Yes, he would,” she said stubbornly. “He’s really not at all bright, Verwood.”

The viscount grinned at her. “I’ve noticed. Which is one of the best arguments I can think of against his being a spy.”

She thought about that for a minute, but shook her head. “It could just be a trick of his. And English people think anyone who speaks some other language is missing a little something upstairs. Look, you told me the revenue officer in Bournemouth was suspicious. If Chartier needs to get to France, he really has to take a chance somewhere else right now, doesn’t he?”

“Possibly.”

They sat in silence for some time, staring at each other. It seemed to Amelia that for the first time he really noticed her jonquil gown then, and the way it faithfully clung to her figure. His gaze kept straying from her eyes down to her bosom, to immediately swing back up. Eventually he cleared his throat and said, “You really shouldn’t have come here, my dear. Your brother might misunderstand.”

“Oh, Peter knows me very well. He wouldn’t misconstrue the situation.”

He offered her a rueful smile. “I’m sure you overestimate his tolerance, Amelia. Even the most carefree of brothers wouldn’t be best pleased to find his sister in a gentleman’s room so late at night.”

“Oh. Well. I shall go, then. But you’ll think of how we can find out more about M. Chartier’s activities, won’t you? It would be a great pity to let my information go to waste.

“Indeed.” She had left her chair and was passing by him when he caught her hand, gently pulling her toward him by drawing it up to his lips for a light kiss. His eyes, softened in the mellow light of the room, held hers as he said, “Please don’t do anything foolish, Amelia. Desperate men are dangerous. Trust me, confide in me. Promise me you won’t act on your own anymore. Being brave isn’t all that important, you know. I’d hate to see any harm come to you.”

Amelia smiled a little tremulously. “I wasn’t really brave at all,” she admitted. “The pavilion is bad enough in the daytime; at night it’s positively threatening.”

Verwood chuckled and drew her down onto his lap. His arms went around her in a tight hug, pulling her close against his chest. “Goose. Being brave is doing things that frighten you. If they didn’t frighten you, it wouldn’t be brave to do them, would it?”

“I suppose not,” she whispered. She straightened abruptly, saying, “I’ll hurt your knee.”

“My knee feels just fine.”

He tilted her head up and bent to kiss her. Amelia loved the warmth of his lips on hers, the urgent pressure that made her feel expectant and eager. She thought probably she could indulge in this kind of heady glory for four-and-twenty hours on end. So she was surprised, at first, when she felt his tongue tracing her lips, teasing at the corners, sucking little puffs of her lip into his mouth. It was a delicious sensation, one that made her feel giddy with pleasure.

Tentatively she extended her own tongue to taste his lips, and somehow his tongue slid right into her mouth. She thought, for a moment, that this was a mistake, that he hadn’t meant to do it, that it had just slipped right in along the line of her own tongue. Her error was clear to her soon enough, as he explored the mysteries of her mouth, touching her teeth and the hardness of her palate, the softness of the insides of her cheeks. She felt literally dizzy from the stroking of his tongue, and then its playful darting about. But most of all she knew he meant it when he began a rhythmic inserting and withdrawing that made everything inside her strain with unfamiliar desire.

Her breathing became rapid but erratic; she found her hands clutching fervently in his thick black hair. Unconsciously she pressed her breasts more tightly to him, rubbing against the hardness of his chest. Her whole body felt tight to the bursting point. Dazed though her mind was, she knew this couldn’t be quite the right thing to be doing. It felt far too good. She pulled back just as a knock came at the door.

“Alexander? Can I come in?”

Amelia didn't stop to think. A reflex action took her straight off Verwood’s lap, and with only a second’s pause she dived under his bed.

“Don’t…” he started to say. There was a brief pause before he raised his voice and called, “Come in, Peter.”

“How’s your knee?” Peter asked. Amelia could see only his feet, but they headed straight for the chair she’d so recently left. So recently that it would still be warm?

“Not bad,” Verwood replied. “The towels have cooled off but I don’t think I’ll need any more.” A soggy mass fell to the floor with a wet smack. “In fact, I’m ready to call it a night. Don’t bother to send your valet, old man. I can manage.”

“Here, I’ll help you. Do you want a nightshirt?”

Verwood hesitated. “I don’t think I’ll bother. If you could just give me your arm…”

Apparently Peter did so, because Verwood hopped on one foot over to the bed, which sank down dangerously close to Amelia when he lay down on it. “Is there anything at all I can get you?” Peter asked, now standing by the door.

“Not a thing. I can get the candle from here.”

“Then I’ll wish you a good night’s rest. Hope your knee will feel better in the morning.”

“I’m sure it will.”

Peter paused when he already had the door partially open. “About Amelia…” he said.

“What about Amelia?” She could hear the tight note to his voice.

Peter interpreted it according to his own thoughts. “You mustn’t think I invited you down here to court her, Alexander. I know Trudy’s determined to believe that’s why you’re here, but I simply wanted your moral support.” He was silent for a moment. “Are you interested in Veronique?”

“No.” The single word came out flat and firm.

Amelia could hear the smile in her brother’s voice. “Good. Well, good night, Alexander. If you need any help during the night, just give a tug to the bell rope. Someone’s always on duty.”

“Thanks.”

The door closed softly and there was silence in the room.

After a while Verwood asked, “Aren’t you coming out?”

“No. I think I’ll just stay here all night.”

“Poor dear. You’re that embarrassed are you?”

“I’m
not
embarrassed,” she muttered, wriggling out from under the bed. Her beautiful jonquil gown had gotten slightly rumpled in the process, and smudged with dirt. Instead of meeting his eyes, she stood up and cautiously dusted at herself. “I had already told you Trudy doesn’t always know what she’s talking about.”

“Quite right, you had.”

“I’ll just be going now,” she said.

“Yes, I think that would be wise.”

She turned briefly to face him. “You
will
think about this information I’ve given you on Chartier, won’t you?”

“Definitely. Let’s find out a little more before we discuss it with Peter. All right?”

“All right.”

His eyes were unreadable in the dim light, but his voice was soft when he said, “Good night, Amelia.”

“Good night... Alexander.” Just before she turned away, she saw him smile.

* * * *

The smile lingered after she had left the room, but only for a few minutes. Verwood leaned back against the headboard, his arms folded under his head, and stared at the ceiling. He was inclined to agree with Trudy that Amelia had a fondness for him, if only to account for her ardent behavior when he took her in his arms.

It was too painful to think that she had conducted herself that way with any number of other men, in her attempts to wrest information from them. The very thought made a muscle in his jaw twitch and his hands clench at his sides. What sort of thing did Chartier consider a “liberty,” anyhow?”

Surely his intimate kiss had been a surprise to her, something new. But how could he really tell? It was no more proper for her to be kissing him, with nothing established between the two of them, than it was for her to be kissing anyone else. Yet she showed not the least reluctance. And he was sure he had convinced her that there was no need to press him further, to doubt him. It was possible that her earlier experiences had simply given her a taste for some degree of physical intimacy. Verwood groaned at the thought. How much physical intimacy?

His wild imaginings earlier about the Reverend Symons and the footman Robert were ridiculous, of course. Amelia had too much dignity and sophistication for that sort of intrigue. And where had she gotten all that sophistication, at one-and-twenty? Obviously from her encounters with the men she was intent on coaxing into revealing secrets to her. When he had pressed her the previous day in the pavilion, she had protested complete innocence. But her trick of luring men out onto balconies at balls was an established habit; he would have sworn to it. So, how much could happen on a balcony? She could have made other assignations with them. Like ones in that stand of trees in Hyde Park, where her groom waited patiently out of sight with her horse.

And what about the way she’d dived under his bed?

Perhaps that scene had been enacted before, in reverse, for her reaction to have been so quick. Verwood sighed. Perhaps it hadn’t. With Amelia, one simply couldn’t tell. She certainly wasn’t going to answer his questions on the subject. The only way to find out was to see just how far she would let him progress with her. Which, since it was a matter of some importance to him, might or might not justify his own conduct with
her.
In any case, it seemed likely their association would not stand still, nor was it likely to regress. He could, of course, see that that happened but he doubted he would.

Amelia had taken a firm hold on his mind, or his heart, probably both. There was really no going back, but there was a lot to discover before some resolution was reached. He assumed he was a tolerant enough man to accept a certain amount of impropriety in her past. After all, she had indulged in her activities out of patriotism. What was more difficult to assimilate was that she might have thoroughly enjoyed them. He, poor fellow, wanted her only to enjoy physical intimacy with
him!

His candle was guttering and he reached over to snuff it. There was a dull throbbing in his knee, which he assumed would be gone by morning. He certainly hoped so. For a few minutes, in the darkness, he flexed the joint, then massaged it, willing himself to change his line of thought from Amelia to Chartier. But he had little success, and fell asleep with a small rueful smile on his lips.

Chapter 16

Amelia had more difficulty getting to sleep. It was not every day that she experienced the sort of sensations she’d just encountered with Verwood. For one thing, no man had ever kissed her that way, though now she thought of it, Fernhurst had attempted to bring his tongue into play. She’d been so disgusted by the wet-fish touch of it, so sure he had nothing interesting to tell her, that she’d pulled back with a scowl and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Even for her country she wasn’t willing to undergo
that
sort of torture!

It hadn’t been at all the same with Verwood. Somehow it had been the most exciting, the most intimate sensation she could imagine. Well, almost the most intimate. Amelia was not naive, in the purely mental sense. She knew what went on between men and women, though it would never have occurred to her that Verwood might consider her experienced in such matters. Raised in the country, curious about such things she had managed to learn what she needed.

Peter had had mistresses, of course. Amelia supposed that Verwood must have, too. A lowering thought. She disliked the idea of his kissing other women the way he had kissed her. But it made her wonder what sort of women he was attracted to. He had told her that day that pale women didn’t appeal to him. And he had, in the pavilion, though not in a particularly pleasant manner, called her violet eyes beautiful. It was just possible that he found her more attractive than he had as yet admitted.

Plenty of men had admitted to an attraction to her. Really, it became quite boring to be forever flattered with such unctuous nonsense. One got to be immune to it. Not that she would have minded a few compliments from Verwood. His actions apparently were a great deal more in evidence than his words. What it came down to was that he was either attracted to her or he was toying with her.