Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

Chapter 5

No!” Amelia exclaimed, jumping back a step.

And if she hadn’t been so discombobulated by his sudden swerve into amorous territory, she would have greatly enjoyed his discombobulation when he stumbled forward, his lips finding nothing but air.

“Really?” he drawled, once he’d regained his footing.

“You don’t even want to kiss me,” she said, backing up another step. He was starting to look dangerous.

“Indeed,” he murmured, eyes glittering. “Just as I don’t like you.”

Her heart dropped about a foot. “You don’t?” she echoed.

“According to you,” he reminded her.

She felt her skin burn with embarrassment-the sort only possible when one’s own words were being tossed in one’s face. “I don’t want you to kiss me,” she stammered.

“Don’t you?” he asked, and she wasn’t sure how he managed it, but they weren’t quite so far apart any longer.

“No,” she said, fighting to maintain her equilibrium. “I don’t, because…because…” She thought about this-thought frantically about it, because there was no way her thoughts could be anything approaching calm and rational in such a position.

And then it was clear.

“No,” she said again. “I don’t. Because you don’t.”

He froze, but just for a moment. “You think I don’t wish to kiss you?”

“I know you don’t,” she replied, in what had to be the bravest moment of her life. Because in that moment he was everything ducal.

Fierce. Proud. Possibly furious. And, with the wind ruffling his dark hair until it was just ever so slightly mussed, so handsome it almost hurt to look at him.

And the truth was, she very much did wish to kiss him. Just not if he didn’t want to kiss her.

“I believe you think too much,” he finally said.

She could think of no possible reply. But she did add to the space between them.

Which he eliminated immediately. “I very much wish to kiss you,” he said, moving forward. “In fact, it might very well be the only thing I wish to do with you right now.”

“You don’t,” she said quickly, inching away. “You only think you do.”

He laughed then, which would have been insulting if she weren’t so focused on keeping her footing-and her pride.

“It’s because you think you can control me that way,” she said, glancing down to make sure she wasn’t about to step into a mole hole as she scooted back another foot. “You think if you seduce me, I shall turn into a spineless, mushy blob of a woman, unable to do anything but sigh your name.”

He looked as if he wanted to laugh again, although this time she thought-maybe-it would be with her, not at her.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, smiling.

“It’s what I think you think.”

The left corner of his mouth quirked up. He looked charming. Boyish. Completely unlike himself-or at least unlike the man she ever got to see.

“I think you’re right,” he said.

Amelia was so flummoxed she actually felt her jaw drop. “You do?”

“I do. You’re far more intelligent than you let on,” he said.

Was that a compliment?

“But,” he added, “that doesn’t change the fundamental essence of the moment.”

Which was…?

He shrugged. “I’m still going to kiss you.”

Her heart began to pound, and her feet-traitorous little appendages that they were-grew roots.

“The thing is,” he said softly, reaching out and taking her hand, “that while you are correct-I do rather enjoy turning you into a-what was that charming phrase of yours?-a spineless blob of a woman, whose only purpose in life is to agree with my every word, I find myself rather perplexed by a certain rather self-evident truth.”

Her lips parted.

“I want to kiss you.”

He tugged at her hand, pulled her toward him.

“Very much.”

She wanted to ask him why. No, she didn’t, because she was quite certain the answer would be something that would only melt whatever portion of her resolve still remained. But she wanted to…Oh, good Lord, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. Something. Anything. Anything that might remind them both that she was still in possession of a brain.

“Call it luck,” he said softly. “Or serendipity. But for whatever reason, I wish to kiss you…it’s very enjoyable.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded. However much she wanted to, she could not bring herself to lie.

His eyes seemed to darken, from azure to dusk. “I’m so glad we are in accord,” he murmured. He touched her chin, tipping her face up toward his. His mouth found hers, softly at first, teasing her lips open, waiting for her sigh before he swooped in, capturing her breath, her will, her very ability to form thoughts, except that…

This was different.

Truly, that was the only rational, fully-formed idea she could manage. She was lost in a sea of breathless sensation, driven by a need she barely understood, but all the while, she could feel this one thing inside-

This was different.

Whatever his purposes, whatever his intent, his kiss was not the same as the time before.

And she could not resist him.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Not when he’d found himself strong-armed into accompanying her on a stroll, not when they’d walked down the hill, out of sight of the house, and not even, really, when he’d mocked her with: Shall I kiss you again?

But then she’d made her mushy-blobby speech, and he couldn’t do anything but agree with her, and she looked so unexpectedly fetching, fighting her hair, which had completely escaped its coiffure, all the while staring him down-or, if not precisely doing that, at least standing her ground and defending her opinions in a way no one did with him. Except maybe Grace, and even then, only when no one else was present.

It was in that moment that he noticed her skin, pale and luminescent, with the most delightful sprinkle of freckles; and her eyes, not quite green, but not brown, either, lit with a fierce, if suppressed, intelligence.

And her lips. He very much noticed her lips. Full, and soft, and trembling so slightly that one would only notice if one stared.

Which he did. He couldn’t look away.

How was it he had never noticed her before? She’d always been there, a part of his life almost as long as he could remember.

And then-damn the reasons why, he wanted to kiss her. Not to control her, not to subdue her (although he wouldn’t mind either of those as an added boon), but just to kiss her.

To know her.

To feel her in his arms, and absorb whatever it was inside of her that made her…her.

And maybe, just maybe, to learn who that was.

But five minutes later, if he’d learned anything, he couldn’t tell, because once he started to kiss her-really kiss her, in every way a man dreamed about kissing a woman-his brain had ceased to function in any recognizable manner.

He couldn’t imagine why he suddenly wanted her with an intensity that made his head spin. Maybe it was because she was his, and he knew it, and maybe all men had a primitive, possessive streak. Or maybe it was because he liked it when he rendered her speechless, even if the endeavor left him in a similarly stunned state.

Whatever the case, the moment his lips parted hers, and his tongue slipped inside to taste her, the world around them had spun and faded and dropped away, and all that was left was her.

His hands found her shoulders, then her back, and then her bottom. He squeezed and pressed, groaning as he felt her mold against him. It was insane. They were in a field. In the full sun. And he wanted to take her right there. Right then. Lift her skirts and tumble her until they’d worn the grass right off the ground.

And then he wanted to do it again.

He kissed her with all the mad energy that was coursing through his blood, and his hands moved instinctively to her clothing, searching for buttons, clasps, anything that would open her to him, allow him to feel her skin, her heat. It was when he’d finally got two of them open at her back that he regained at least a portion of his sensibility. He wasn’t sure exactly what had brought reason back to the fore-it might have been her moan, husky and accommodating and completely inappropriate from an innocent virgin. But it was probably his reaction to the sound-which was swift and hot and involved rather detailed images of her, unclothed and doing things she probably didn’t even know were possible.

He pushed her away, at once reluctant and determined. He sucked in his breath, then shuddered an exhalation, not that it seemed to do anything to calm the rapid tattoo of his heart. The words I’m sorry hung on his tongue, and honestly, he meant to say them, because that was what a gentleman did, but when he looked up and saw her, lips parted and wet, eyes wide and dazed and somehow greener than before, his mouth formed words with absolutely no direction from his brain, and he said, “That was…surprising.”

She blinked.

“Pleasantly so,” he added, somewhat relieved that he sounded more composed than he actually felt.

“I’ve never been kissed,” she said.

He smiled, somewhat amused. “I kissed you last night.”

“Not like that,” she whispered, almost as if she were saying it to herself.

His body, which had begun to calm, started to fire up again.

“Well,” she said, still looking rather stunned herself, “I suppose you have to marry me now.”

At any other moment, from any other woman…hell, after any other kiss, he would have descended into instant irritation. But something about Amelia’s tone, and everything about her face, which still carried a rather fetchingly dubious expression, brought about the exact opposite reaction, and he laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded. But didn’t demand, really, because she was still too befuddled to manage anything shrill.

“I have no idea,” he said quite honestly. “Here, turn around, I’ll do you up.”

Her hand flew to the back of her neck, and from her gasp he wondered if she’d even realized he had undone two of her buttons. She tried to refasten them herself, and he rather enjoyed watching the attempt, but after about ten seconds of frantic fumbling, he took pity on her and gently brushed her fingers aside.

“Allow me,” he murmured.

As if she had any other choice.

His hands worked slowly, even though every rational corner of his brain knew that a quick frock closure was in order. But he was mesmerized by that small patch of skin, peachy smooth and his alone. Faint blond tendrils slid down her nape, and when his breath touched her, her skin seemed to shiver.

He leaned down. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.

And she moaned again.

“We had better return,” he said roughly, stepping back. Then he realized he’d never done the last button of her frock. He swore under his breath, because it couldn’t possibly be a good idea to touch her again, but he couldn’t very well send her back to the house like that, so back to the buttons he went, moving with considerably more diligence this time.

“There you are,” he muttered.

She turned, eyeing him warily. It made him feel like a despoiler of innocents.

And oddly, he didn’t mind. He held out his arm. “Shall I escort you back?”

She nodded, and he had the strangest, most intense need in that moment-

To know what she was thinking.

Funny, that. He’d never cared to know what anyone had thought before.

But he didn’t ask. Because he didn’t do such things. And really, what was the need? They’d marry eventually, so it didn’t matter what either of them thought, did it?

Amelia hadn’t thought it was possible for a blush of embarrassment to stain one’s cheeks for a full hour, but clearly it was, because when the dowager intercepted her in the hall, at least sixty minutes after she had rejoined Grace and Elizabeth in the drawing room, the dowager took one look at her face and her own face went nearly purple with fury.

Now she was stuck, standing like a tree in the hall, forced to remain motionless as the dowager snapped away at her, her voice rising to an astonishing crescendo on, “Damn damn freckles!”

Amelia flinched. The dowager had berated her for her freckles before (not that they even numbered in the double digits), but this was the first time her anger had turned profane.

“I don’t have any new freckles,” she ground out, wondering how Wyndham had managed to escape this scene. He’d slipped away the moment he returned her, pink-cheeked, to the drawing room, a sitting duck for the dowager, who had always held the sun in about as much affection as did a vampire bat.

Which did hold a certain ironic justice, as she held the dowager in about as much affection as she did a vampire bat.

The dowager drew back at her comment. “What did you just say?”

As Amelia had never talked back to her before, she could not be surprised at her reaction. But she seemed to be turning over a new leaf these days, one of assertiveness and cheek, so she swallowed and said, “I don’t have any new freckles. I looked in the washroom mirror and counted.”

It was a lie, and a very satisfying one at that.

The dowager’s mouth pinched like a fish. She glared at Amelia for a good ten seconds, which was nine seconds longer than was required to make Amelia squirm, and then barked, “Miss Eversleigh!”

Grace practically leapt through the drawing room doorway and into the hall.

The dowager seemed not to notice her arrival and continued with her tirade. “Does no one care about our name? Our blood? Good God above, am I the only person in this damnable world who understands the importance of…the meaning of…”

Amelia stared at the dowager in horror. For a moment it looked as if she might cry. Which could not be possible. The woman was biologically incapable of tears. She was sure of it.

Grace stepped forward, stunning them all when she placed her arm around the dowager’s shoulders. “Ma’am,” she said soothingly, “it has been a difficult day.”

“It has not been difficult,” the dowager snapped, shaking her off. “It has been anything but difficult.”

“Ma’am,” Grace said again, and again Amelia marveled at the gentle calmness of her voice.

“Leave me alone!” the dowager roared. “I have a dynasty to worry about! You are nothing! Nothing!”

Grace lurched back. Amelia saw her throat work, and she could not tell if she was near tears or absolute fury.

“Grace?” she said carefully, and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking, just that she thought she should say something.

Grace responded with a quick little shake of her head that clearly meant don’t ask, leaving Amelia to wonder just what, exactly, had happened the night before. Because no one was acting normally. Not Grace, not the dowager, and certainly not Wyndham.

Apart from his disappearance from the scene. That, at least, was precisely as expected.

“We will accompany Lady Amelia and her sister back to Burges Park,” the dowager ordered. “Miss Eversleigh, have our carriage readied at once. We will ride with our guests and then return in our own conveyance.”

Grace’s lips parted with surprise, but she was accustomed to the dowager and her furious whims, and so she nodded and hurried toward the front of the castle.

“Elizabeth!” Amelia said desperately, spotting her sister in the doorway. The traitorous wretch had already turned on the ball of her foot and was attempting to slink away, leaving her to deal with the dowager by herself.

Amelia reached out and grabbed her elbow, reeling her in with a teeth-grinding, “Sister, dear.”

“My tea,” Elizabeth said feebly, motioning toward the drawing room.

“Is cold,” Amelia said firmly.

Elizabeth attempted a weak smile in the dowager’s direction, but the expression did not make it much beyond grimace.

“Sarah,” the dowager said.

Elizabeth didn’t bother to correct her.

“Or Jane,” the dowager snapped. “Which is it?”

“Elizabeth,” Elizabeth said.

The dowager’s eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe her, and her nostrils flared most unattractively as she said, “I see you accompanied your sister again.”

“She accompanied me,” Elizabeth said, in what Amelia was quite certain was the most controversial sentence she’d ever uttered in the dowager’s presence.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Er, I was returning the books my mother borrowed,” Elizabeth stammered.

“Bah! Your mother doesn’t read, and we all know it. It’s a silly and transparent excuse to send her”-at this she motioned to Amelia-“into our midst.”

Amelia’s lips parted with surprise, because she’d always thought that the dowager wanted her in her midst. Not that the dowager liked her, just that she wanted her to hurry up and marry her grandson so she might start growing little Wyndhams in her belly.

“It’s an acceptable excuse,” the dowager grumbled, “but it hardly seems to be working. Where is my grandson?”

“I do not know, your grace,” Amelia answered. Which was the absolute truth. He’d not given her any indication of his plans when he abandoned her earlier. He’d apparently kissed her so senseless he hadn’t thought any explanations were necessary.

“Stupid chit,” the dowager muttered. “I don’t have time for this. Does no one understand their duty? I’ve heirs dying off right and left, and you”-at this she shoved Amelia in the shoulder-“can’t even lift your skirts to-”

“Your grace!” Amelia exclaimed.

The dowager’s mouth clamped shut, and for a moment Amelia thought she might have realized she’d gone too far. All she did, however, was narrow her eyes to vicious little slits and stalk off.

“Amelia?” Elizabeth said, moving to her side.

Amelia blinked. Several times. Quickly. “I want to go home.”

Elizabeth nodded comfortingly.

Together the sisters walked toward the front door. Grace was giving instructions to a footman, so they walked outside and waited for her in the drive. The afternoon had grown a bit chilly, but Amelia would not have cared if the heavens had opened up and drenched them both. She just wanted to be out of that wretched house. “I’m not coming next time,” she said to Elizabeth, hugging her arms to her chest. If Wyndham wished to finally court her, he could come to see her.

“I’m not coming, either,” Elizabeth said, glancing dubiously back at the house. Grace emerged at that moment, so she waited for her to step into the drive, then linked her arm in hers and asked, “Was it my imagination or was the dowager worse than usual?”

“Much worse,” Amelia agreed.

Grace sighed, and her face moved a little, as if she were thinking the better of the first set of words that had come to mind. Finally, she just said, “It’s…complicated.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say in response to that, so Amelia watched curiously as Grace pretended to adjust the straps of her bonnet, and then-

Grace froze.

They all froze. And then Amelia and Elizabeth followed Grace’s stare. There was a man at the end of the drive, much too far away to see his face, or really anything other than the dark hue of his hair and the fact that he sat atop a horse as if he’d been born to the saddle.

The moment hung suspended in time, silent and still, and then, seemingly for no reason at all, he rode away.

Amelia’s lips came together to ask Grace who he was, but before she could speak, the dowager stepped outside and barked, “Into the carriage!” And as Amelia did not wish to enter into any sort of dialogue with her, she decided to follow orders and keep her mouth shut.

A few moments later they were all settled into the Crowland carriage, Grace and Elizabeth facing back, Amelia stuck facing front next to the dowager. She kept her face forward, focusing on a little spot behind Grace’s ear. If she could just hold this pose for the next half an hour, she might escape without having to lay eyes on the dowager.

“Who was that man?” Elizabeth asked.

No response.

Amelia shifted her gaze to Grace’s face. This was most interesting. She was pretending that she had not heard Elizabeth’s query. It was easy to see through the ruse if one was facing her; the right corner of her mouth had tightened with concern.

“Grace?” Elizabeth said again. “Who was it?”

“No one,” Grace said quickly. “Are we ready to depart?”

“Do you know him, then?” Elizabeth asked, and Amelia wanted to muzzle her. Of course Grace knew him. It had been clear as day.

“I do not,” Grace said sharply.

“What are you talking about?” the dowager asked, all irritation.

“There was a man at the end of the drive,” Elizabeth explained. Amelia wanted desperately to kick her, but there was just no way; she was seated across from the dowager and completely unreachable.

“Who was it?” the dowager demanded.

“I do not know,” Grace answered. “I could not see his face.”

Which wasn’t a lie. Not the second part, at least. He’d stood much too far away for any of them to have seen his face. But Amelia would have bet her dowry that Grace had known exactly who he was.

“Who was it?” the dowager thundered, her voice rising over the sound of the wheels, beginning their rumble down the drive.

“I don’t know,” Grace repeated, but they could all hear the cracks that were forming in her voice.

The dowager turned to Amelia, her eyes as biting as her voice. “Did you see him?”

Amelia’s eyes caught Grace’s. Something passed between them.

Amelia swallowed. “I saw no one, ma’am.”

The dowager dismissed her with a snort, turning the full weight of her fury on Grace. “Was it he?”

Amelia sucked in her breath. Who were they talking about?

Grace shook her head. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I couldn’t say.”

“Stop the carriage,” the dowager yelled, lurching forward and shoving Grace aside so she could bang on the wall separating the cabin and the driver. “Stop, I tell you!”

The carriage came to a sudden halt, and Amelia, who had been sitting face-front beside the dowager, tumbled forward, landing at Grace’s feet. She tried to get up, but the dowager had reached across the carriage and clamped her hand around Grace’s chin.

“I will give you one more chance, Miss Eversleigh,” she hissed. “Was it he?”

Amelia stopped breathing.

Grace did not move, and then, very slightly, she nodded.

And the dowager went mad.

Amelia had just regained her seat when she had to duck to avoid being decapitated by her walking stick. “Turn the carriage around!” the dowager was yelling. They slowed, then turned sharply when the dowager screeched, “Go! Go!”

In less than a minute they were back at the front of Belgrave Castle, and Amelia was staring in horror as the dowager shoved Grace out of the carriage. She and Elizabeth both rose to stare out the doorway as the dowager hopped down after her.

“Was Grace limping?” Elizabeth asked.

“I-” She’d been about to say, I don’t know, but the dowager had cut her off, slamming the carriage door shut without a word.

“What just happened?” Elizabeth asked as the carriage lurched forward toward home.

“I have no idea,” Amelia whispered. She turned and watched the castle receding into the distance. “None at all.”