The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (3 page)

E
dmund and his cousins had attended many balls and gatherings without invitations in
the past. This one was nothing new, save that there were more guards at Queensberry
House and more nobles attending that might recognize Edmund or one of his cousins
from a prior raid. They would have to enter the house with stealth and then blend
in.

Leaving Grendel and their horses in a nearby stable, they crept across the garden
lawns behind the house, using trees and the veil of darkness to hide their approach.

Edmund saw her as the sun began to spread its gossamer beams over the arcade, her
back to him, locks of rich chestnut spilling to her hips as her head tilted upward
at a statue of God’s warrior, David.

Silently, he signaled to the others to hold back lest she see them. He watched her,
waiting for her to leave the arcade, but she remained still. In the silence of the
earth poised on the brink of waking, he thought he could hear her breath, quickened
by the view that captivated her. Who was she? What was she doing out here alone, clothed
in her nightdress? His gaze followed her when she sat on a bench facing the sculpture.

He waited, counting his breaths while she remained motionless, her head resting against
the column beside her. What was she doing? he wondered, when Malcolm tossed him a
questioning look. He didn’t want to frighten her. One scream and she would alert the
guards to their presence.

After twenty more breaths, he realized the lass must have fallen asleep. Leaving the
cover of a thick apple tree trunk, he motioned for the others to breach the doors
on the eastern wall. While they hastened forward, barely making a sound, Edmund made
his way toward the arcade, crouching low when the heavy doors creaked open. He raised
his palm to Lucan, who’d stopped to wait for him, gesturing for them to go on ahead
of him. Edmund wanted to see her face, hoping it might convince him that she was made
of flesh, and not an angel traipsing around in the dawn, waiting for her god to awaken.
She piqued his curiosity. She enthralled him as it seemed
David
had enthralled her.

Stepping into the arcade, he glanced first at the statue, and then at her. His breath
stalled in his chest. The sun’s gentle amber glow lent its radiance to her startling
beauty. Lush, long lashes smudged cheeks of smooth velvet. Plump, rosy lips parted
on a transient breath, as if she were waiting to be kissed in her dreams. Thick sable
hair tumbled loose about her shoulders. One lock caressed the curve of her jaw, tempting
him to touch her before she vanished with the night. He let his eyes linger over the
delicate symmetry of her features, unable to steal himself away. She was slim of form,
with breasts fashioned perfectly in size to fit into his palms. Her hands were small,
as were her bare feet. The last brought a smile to his lips.

The full sight of her aroused him, sparked a desire he hadn’t felt before.

Like one of God’s divine, serenity emanated from her slumbering features. Who was
she dreaming about? He turned, severing his gaze from her to look at Michelangelo’s
David
, and then toward the various kings and gods lining the wall, all bulbous muscle and
fearsome scowls, evidence of their might. But it was this lissome warrior garbed in
naught but a flimsy sling and a knit brow that had earned this lass’s worshipful appreciation.

He returned his attention to her, unable to keep his eyes off her. Was she a servant
stealing a few moments before her daily duties to feed her dreams? He stepped closer,
bending to her to inhale her scent, to bask for but another moment of his own, mayhap
to nourish something lacking in his dreams as well. Something that until this moment,
he didn’t think he needed. He wondered what color her eyes were beneath the spray
of her heavy lashes, and if they would recognize the power of his purpose, as she
recognized David’s. He was tempted to kiss her brow, her lips, so close now that her
breath warmed his chin. But she would wake and scream, seeing a stranger poised above
her. Pity, for he wanted but one taste of her, to imprint on his mind the memory of
something sweet, something passionate, before going into battle.

“What in blazes is keepin’ ye?” Malcolm’s hushed voice echoed throughout the canopied
arcade. “Edmund?”

Angling his head, Edmund glared at the head poking out of the open door. A strangled
gasp pulled his attention back to the lass before he could move away.

She did not scream as his eyes fell upon her again. She remained motionless, save
for her bosom rising and falling hard beneath his hovering shadow. Her eyes were deep,
rich mahogany—the color of warmth and gloriously huge and sparked with terror.

He brought his finger to his lips, begging her for silence before he moved away and
disappeared into the castle.

Amelia bolted to her feet. Her heart beat a riotous litany in her breast. Clutching
her chest, she counted out nine breaths in an effort to get a hold of herself. On
the tenth, her eyes darted to
David
. “I was dreaming,” she said, more to herself than to it. She had to have been, for
no mortal man could scorch a soul with the heat of his gaze alone. Like sapphires
caught between light and shadow, his eyes had glittered as they moved over her, scalding
her nerve endings, robbing her senses. A dream.

But his scent still lingered all about her. She inhaled, filling her senses with the
fragrance of dew and leather. She pulled in a deeper breath, closing her eyes this
time. Who was he? A guest who had arrived early, mayhap? A very bold guest, carved
from the gold God used to pave heaven’s streets.

Her heavy lids flew open. Guests! Dear God, she had fallen asleep!

Hiking up her skirts, she dashed for the doors, giving no more thought to the man
whose whispered name had awakened her from her dreams of
David
.
Edmund.

She reached her room, taking three steps at a time, and leaped into her bed. No sooner
did she close her eyes than her father entered, toting Amelia’s breakfast on a tray.

“Good morning, love,” John Bell greeted her. “Alice is busy so I thought I would bring
ye yer…” He looked up and stopped, looking at her. “Ye’re deathly pale!” He laid the
tray on a nearby table and went to the bed. “Are ye ill, Mellie?” He covered Amelia’s
face with his fingers. “Ye’re clammy and short of breath. I’ll get one of yer mother’s
physicians.”

“No, Papa!” Amelia clamped his wrist as her father moved to leave. Lord, she hadn’t
expected to see him so early. “I’m not ill. I am…anxious about my future, that is
all.” She concentrated on slowing her heart rate. When her father’s expression turned
sympathetic, Amelia knew she had taken the right path. The last thing she wanted was
a dozen of her mother’s physicians crowding her bed. Lady Selkirk had a different
physician for every ailment, which was a good thing for her, since she suffered with
most of them.

“Are ye certain that’s all it is?” he asked, resting on the edge of the bed and running
the backs of his knuckles across Amelia’s forehead.

“Aye, I barely slept.” It was the truth and she truly was anxious about her future.

“Don’t fret over yer marriage,” her father said, scooping up Amelia’s hand and bringing
it to his lips. “Ye will be happy.”

She thought about her conversation with Sarah. She could never ask her father to go
back on his consent and try to find her a different husband. Even though the betrothal
wasn’t officially announced, everyone knew. Her father would be shamed if they backed
out now. She didn’t love Walter at all. Oh, she knew love was irrelevant but damnation
it would have been nice to have some feelings for the man who would be her husband.
She knew little about the chancellor save that he turned up his haughty nose to Sarah.
“Will I, Papa? Will I be happy?”

“Why do ye ask?” He searched her gaze. “Has the chancellor offended ye in some way?”

She wished Walter had offended her so she could answer truthfully. But accusing her
betrothed of something he didn’t do was not only wrong, but quite dangerous to her
father. “Nae, Papa, he has been kind.”

He relaxed his shoulders and allowed an indulgent smile to spread across his lips.
“What ye’re feeling happens to most new brides…and grooms.” He winked at her. “But
ye’ve no reason to fear.”

“Did it happen to ye, Papa?”

He nodded and smiled, remembering. “It did. I didn’t know yer mother. I didn’t know
if she was comely or had two eyes or one.”

Amelia smiled into his rich, mahogany eyes, loving him more than any man alive. “Did
yer heart belong to one already, Papa?”

He shrugged his shoulders, still broad even in middle age. “My heart belonged to many.
But that’s of no concern. Yer mother turned out to be one of the bonniest women I’d
ever seen. We wed and had ye girls and we remain together to this day.”

But did he love her? Amelia didn’t have the courage to ask him.

“Ye do care fer Walter, do ye not, Mellie?”

She blinked at him. He’d never asked her that question before. Would her answer make
a difference? She didn’t get a chance to find out, since her bedroom door opened and
her nurse plunged into the room. When she saw Amelia’s father, she apologized for
her interruption and backed out.

“Alice,” her father called, stopping her departure. “Come back. I was just leaving.”
He stood up and brushed off his coat. “I will see ye tonight at the celebration, love.”
He bent to kiss the top of Amelia’s head, then turned and smiled at Alice before he
left the room.

“We have a lot to see to today, sweeting.” Alice came in and went straight for the
windows to pull open the curtains. “Finish yer breakfast and let’s get on with the
rest of this miserable day.”

Amelia sighed and snuggled deeper into her pillow. She didn’t want to get on with
it as much as Alice didn’t want to.

“I know, gel,” her nursemaid agreed after hearing Amelia sigh in her bed. “But at
least yer husband will die someday and ye’ll be freed from the subjugation of his
will. This treaty will stay in effect forever, and England will always come out on
top.”

“I know ye’re unhappy about the treaty with England, Alice. But I’m sure everything
will be well with ye.”

“Of course, ’twill, my joy,” her nursemaid agreed, turning to smile at her.

“I thank God each night for ye, Alice,” Amelia told her, loving her like a mother,
“and fer Sarah, too.” She yawned. “Fer had I been raised by my mother, I fear ’twould
have been her that I took after. I would not care about the consequences of my own
actions…or words…and Walter would be enough fer me.”

Alice appeared before her and pulled the coverings off. “I love ye like my own, but
there’s no time to ponder such things.”

“But there must be time,” Amelia pressed. “I don’t want to leave my bed yet. Please
Alice, just a few moments. Sit and chat with me.”

Her nurse scowled at her but gave in easily. “Ye look worn out and exhausted,” Alice
said upon closer inspection. “Were ye awake all night with Sarah again?”

“Well, aye, I was. The time escaped me. Truly.”

“Gel, if yer mother discovers ye…”

“I know.” Amelia buried her face in her pillow, hating that her friendship with Sarah
was forbidden. Amelia knew that if her mother discovered them together, Sarah might
get sent away for it. So Amelia did her best to make certain that her mother didn’t
discover her. Until early this morning, when she fell asleep in the garden. Today,
someone had seen her.

“Alice.” She sat up in the bed. “Have any of the guests arrived early?” Mayhap if
her nursemaid knew him…

“Only Lord Lamont and two of his men.”

Lord Lamont! Of course! The man in the garden was one of Lord Lamont’s men! Chewing
her lip, Amelia picked at a speck of dirt on her nightdress. Dare she speak his name
and rouse Alice’s curiosity as to how she knew it? She had to. She had to know who
he was. “Of Lord Lamont’s men, are any of them called Edmund?”

“I don’t believe so.” Alice threw her a probing look. “Why do ye ask?”

Indeed, why
did
she ask? She couldn’t tell Alice that she’d been careless and fell asleep in the
garden and that when she woke up there was a beautiful man watching her sleep.

“Sarah mentioned him.”

Alice thought about it for a moment. “There’s the baker yer mother hired from Ayr.
He arrived yesterday and has been preparing his cakes all night.”

Was the man in the arcade the new baker? No, Amelia shook her head. Bakers were rotund
little men with flour staining their noses. Weren’t they? They weren’t tall and broad
shouldered, with jaws dusted gold and chiseled by a master sculptor, or golden hair
that curled at their napes and seemed to absorb all the light in the garden. Oh, she
would never forget waking and looking into his eyes, of feeling terrified and enthralled
at the same time, so thrillingly aware of a man’s potent power.

Alice spotted Amelia’s gown hanging over a chair and left the bed to get it. She held
up the gown for inspection. The pale lilac fabric shimmered against a beam of sunlight
spilling in from the window. The gown was lovely, boasting a long, pointed bodice
and satin petticoat, and, in keeping with the fashion as her mother insisted, voluminous
three-quarter-length sleeves, pleated at the dropped shoulder and cuffs.

“Oh, look at these wrinkles! I’ll have to have them smoothed out. Oh, and your sisters
have already arrived with their husbands and insist upon working on yer hair. I bid
them time to wake ye first.”

“That was thoughtful of ye,” Amelia thanked her. “I’m not certain I could bear listening
to how difficult their journey was to get here, or how the weather just doesn’t suit
their delicate constitutions. Lord, and if I have to sit through one more tale of
how disagreeable Eleanor’s unborn babe is in her belly, I will scream.”

“I know, love,” her nursemaid replied, folding the gown carefully over her arm. “That’s
why I didn’t let them come up. Now, let’s go. Chatting’s over. We have too much to
do to get ye ready fer tonight.”