The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

The Devil’s Bargain Deborah Raleigh

London — June 1814

Contrary to many of the fine homes currently being built in Mayfair, the townhouse near St James’ was a plain three-storeyed structure made of red bricks, with a columned portico that was hidden from the road by a walled garden.

At a glance, it could be easily dismissed as an old-fashioned, increasingly shabby structure, but upon closer inspection there was an undoubted charm in the weathered stones and an air of solid respectability.

And once inside … well, those fortunate enough to receive an invitation to Countess Spaulding’s home were astonished by the recent renovations that had transformed the dark, cramped rooms into airy spaces with marble columns, ivory walls and coved ceilings that were vibrantly painted with Roman gods.

On this night, the crimson drawing room was filled with elegant guests who were busily arguing the merits and faults of the Treaty of Paris. There were those who thought that the House of Bourbon should be returned to rule France, while others feared another revolution that would tear apart the Continent.

Amelia, the Countess Spaulding, allowed a faint smile to curve her lips as the arguments became heated and a young Prussian waved his hands in violent protest. As a hostess, she invited only those guests who were capable of stirring her intellectual interest: artists, philosophers, inventors and a smattering of politicians.

She had no patience for most of society and their frivolous gatherings, which were no more than an opportunity for the vain idiots to preen and primp for one another — no doubt because those idiots had made her life a misery during her years as an unwelcome wallflower. Even now she shuddered at the memory of being tolerated solely because her father was related to the Duke of Devonshire and her mother’s father had made a fortune in the West Indies.

She thrust aside the tormenting memories as she hovered near the door of the drawing room and sipped her champagne. No one could mistake her for a wallflower tonight.

Now a married woman, Amelia was no longer a victim of her mother’s unfortunate lack of style. Her dark-red hair was smoothed into an elegant knot at her nape, rather than teased into frizzy curls around her face, emphasizing her bright green eyes and the tender curve of her mouth rather than her rounded cheeks and too short neck. She had also shed the white, frilly muslin gowns that had made her appear overly pale and as round as a dumpling.

Instead she was attired in a silk gown of rich green that was cut to celebrate her lush curves, and perfectly matched the magnificent emeralds that dangled from her ears.

More importantly, having endured the humiliation of being caught in Lady Granville’s conservatory half-naked, in the arms of the Earl of Spaulding, not to mention their hasty marriage by special licence despite her discovery that he was nothing more than a brazen fortune-hunter, she had developed a hard-earned maturity. She was a sword forged in fire, she wryly acknowledged, and nothing was allowed to penetrate her aloof composure.

She was now a confident woman in command of her life, not the timid child she had left behind a year ago.

Draining the last of the expensive champagne, Amelia watched as a slender gentleman in a purple satin coat and white knee breeches minced across the Persian carpet to stand at her side.

Mr Sylvester Petersen could claim ten years more than Amelia’s four and twenty, with handsome features and blond curls that had taken hours to tousle to his satisfaction. It was not his male charms, or his decidedly dreary poems, however, that allowed him a place among Amelia’s select circle of friends. No, it was his biting wit and his ability to imitate the fashionable elite that made him an amusing companion.

“A charming evening as always, Lady Spaulding,” her companion drawled, a glint of sly humour in his blue eyes. “How ever did you manage to lure Czar Alexander to your elegant gathering?”

Amelia shrugged. “I was introduced to Alexander Pavlovich when I attended his sister, the Duchess of Oldenburg, at the Pulteney Hotel. He was kind enough to suggest that I include him during my next salon.”

Sylvester waved a delicate lace fan, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

“The Prince Regent will be furious, of course,” he drawled. “It is said the Russians have flatly refused to attend several of the shockingly expensive entertainments he has planned to celebrate his grand victory over the Frenchies.”

“Considering that our rotund Prince’s only contribution to the war was marching his regiment up and down the streets of Brighton, it is hardly surprising that the Czar is unimpressed.”

Sylvester leaned forwards, a hint of a leer on his face as his gaze lowered to her full bosom.

“And, of course, Alexander Pavlovich does not desire to bed the Prince.”

Amelia stiffened in distaste. Over the past month she had noticed an unwelcome familiarity from Sylvester. Indeed, there had been several gentlemen who had made unwanted advances, perhaps assuming her husband’s continued absence from London meant she was in need of male companionship. She would have to put a swift end to such nonsense.

“Behave yourself, Sylvester.”

“My dear, I could hardly miss Alexander Pavlovich’s languishing glances and awkward attempts to lure you from the crowd,” Sylvester drawled. “He desires to make you his mistress.”

“I have no interest in the Czar.”

“Do not be so hasty, my dear. Czar Alexander is handsome enough, and taking him as your lover would only heighten your position among London society.” The lace fan fluttered. “You would be infamous.”

“Sylvester,” Amelia said softly.

“Yes?”

“If you ever again suggest that I barter my body to acquire the approval of society you may consider yourself an unwelcome guest in my home.”

“Forgive me, my lady.” The blue gaze slowly returned to her face. “You are quite correct to reprimand me. It is all too common among ladies of the ton to take lovers. Your mysterious refusal to discuss your current paramour only makes you more intriguing.”

Sensing the man was in need of a more crushing set-down, Amelia was abruptly distracted by the sound of raised voices echoing from the foyer below.

“What the devil?”

“It sounds as if an uninvited intruder is attempting to force his way past your rather terrifying butler. How very ill-bred,” Sylvester twittered, his brows lifting as Amelia turned to leave the drawing room. “My dear, where are you going?”

“To put an end to this foolishness.”

“But, he might be dangerous. God knows the streets are no longer safe for decent folk.”

“Do not be absurd.” Amelia waved a hand towards the milling guests who had yet to notice the disturbance. “See to the guests. I do not wish them to be bothered.”

“But of course, my dear.”

Slipping into the hallway, Amelia hurried down the corridor to the marble staircase, startled to see her uniformed butler standing on the formal landing, his arms lifted as if he were holding back an intruder.

Not that she could see anything beyond his hulking form. She had specifically chosen several large male servants to ensure her safety. Her butler in particular had once been a famed boxer who was capable of felling the most determined opponent.

“Is there a problem, Boris?”

“This here gentleman claims to be your husband,” the man growled, then he abruptly bent double, as if he had taken a brutal blow to the stomach.

Amelia stumbled, her back slamming into the wall of the corridor as the tall, raven-haired gentleman shoved aside her cursing butler and prowled forwards.

Her heart beat painfully against her chest as she studied the man who she had once been convinced she loved with all her soul.

He was not conventionally handsome. His features were strong rather than refined, and his skin bronzed from the hours he spent on his estate. He had a broad, intelligent forehead and a noble nose. His mouth was carved with a sensuous fullness and his eyes a stunning gold that could shimmer with humour or smoulder with passion. And, as always, his raven hair was in need of a cut, making her fingers ache to run through the satin length.

A shiver raced through her body, stealing away her arrogant belief that she was immune to the man who had crushed her youthful dreams.

“Good evening, Amelia.”

Her mouth went dry as her gaze lowered to his large, muscular body attired in a fawn jacket and buff breeches, his cravat tied in a simple knot. The Earl of Spaulding had no need of lace and fripperies to attract female attention. He possessed an innate male arrogance that was annoyingly captivating.

“Justin,” she breathed.

His lips curled in a humourless smile, his hooded gaze sliding down her stiff form with an unnerving intensity.

“I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that my wife is capable of recognizing me, even if my staff does not,” he drawled.

There was a movement behind him and Amelia hastily lifted her hand to halt her butler from attacking. “That will be all, Boris,” she commanded.

The servant scowled, obviously smarting from being bested by a nob. “Are you certain?”

Justin paused to glance over his shoulder. “Lady Spaulding gave you an order.”

“I will handle this,” she snapped, bristling at his interference. She had become accustomed to being the lady of the manor, and she had no intention of handing over her authority to anyone. Especially not her treacherous husband. “Please return to your duties, Boris.”

Boris shot the wryly amused nobleman a venomous glare before offering her a deep bow. “Yes, my lady.”

Waiting until the servant had made his way back to the foyer, Amelia returned her attention to her unwanted companion, her stomach clenching with a bittersweet awareness as he moved to stand close enough for her to feel the heat from his large body and catch the tempting scent of sandalwood.

Her hands clenched at her side. Damn him. She hated him, so how could he still stir her most primitive desires?

“What are you doing here?” she rasped.

“The last I knew this was the Spaulding townhouse, a home that has belonged to my family for the past century, is it not?”

Her chin tilted at his mocking tone. “If you would have possessed the courtesy to inform me of your intention to travel to London I would have taken rooms in a hotel and ensured that you would have your privacy.”

Without warning Justin shifted to place his hands flat on the wall on either side of her shoulders, effectively trapping her. “You mean that you would have cowardly fled as you did on our wedding day?” he demanded, his head slowly lowering. “That is precisely why I did not inform you of my impending arrival.”

She flinched, the memory of that day seared into her mind.

The brief, impersonal marriage ceremony before the Bishop. The long, silent carriage ride to the small inn where they were meant to spend their wedding night before travelling on to Rosemount, Justin’s estate in Hampshire. And then her impulsive flight back to London when she noticed the mail coach waiting in the stable yard.

She could still feel the sick dread in the pit of her stomach as she had arrived at this townhouse and the hours she had paced through the shabby, dark rooms, expecting Justin to arrive at any moment.

But he hadn’t arrived.

Not that evening. Or the following evening. Or the one after that.

Eventually she had accepted that her husband was content to have her in London while he settled at his beloved Rosemount. And why not? He had only taken her as his wife to salvage his heavily mortgaged estates. He was no doubt deeply relieved not to be burdened with his awkward, inconvenient wife.

But no more relieved than she had been, she sternly assured herself. Why would she desire him to chase after her, pretending that she was anything more than a means to replenish his family coffers?

Burying her pain and disillusionment deep inside her, Amelia had concentrated on building a new life for herself. First, she had overseen the renovations to the townhouse, ignoring any guilt at the vast changes she was making without regards to whether or not Justin would approve. The feckless Spauldings had allowed the place to fall into ruin. It was her money that had restored it to a habitable home. Why should she not choose what pleased her?

Next, she had set about renovating herself. Without the oppressive yoke of her mother’s overbearing presence, Amelia had slowly emerged from her cocoon. She bought a new wardrobe and hired a French maid who was an artist with her hair. She slowly and carefully began opening her home to a select collection of friends, deliberately ignoring those in society who had treated her with such disdain over the years.

She had been ironically aware that her hasty marriage to an earl, combined with her presence in London while her newly wed husband remained in Hampshire, had made her the source of avid interest among the ton. And the very fact that she refused to accept the piles of invitations that arrived with the post each morning only increased the fevered desire by London hostesses to secure her as a guest.

Absurd dolts.

Briefly lost in her thoughts, Amelia was jolted back to the present as she felt the brush of Justin’s warm lips over her mouth.

Shocking pleasure exploded through her body, reminding her of those dazzling days before she had discovered the truth of this man. Amelia had never comprehended passion until she had first felt the brush of Justin’s slender fingers and the heat of his hard body as he had swept her across the dance floor. From that moment he had only to be near for her body to shiver with aching need.

She had blamed that shivering awareness for why she had been so easily deceived. If she hadn’t been so blinded by his sweet seduction, she might have been wise enough to realize his seeming affection was no more than a cruel ploy.

Ridiculously, she had assumed discovering the truth of her husband’s treachery would destroy her vulnerability to his raw masculinity. Now she realized she had been a naïve fool.

She hastily turned her head to the side, shuddering as his lips skimmed over her cheek and down the curve of her throat.

“Halt that,” she husked, infuriated by the pleasure searing through her.

“Halt what?” He pulled back to study her flushed features. “Greeting you as any husband would after being parted from his wife for the past year?”

“We may possess a marriage licence, but that does not make me your wife,” she snapped.

“No, I have yet to claim you as my true bride, but that is about to change.” The golden eyes smouldered with a wicked amusement. “Tonight.”

Her heart came to a precise halt. “Justin—”

“Do you know what today is?” he asked, overriding her protest.

“No.”

“Yes you do, my love.” His hand shifted to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “It is the anniversary of our wedding.”

She had known, of course. The thought had plagued her the entire day. Not that she was about to admit as much to her aggravating husband.

Thankfully the sound of approaching footsteps had Justin stepping away from her, his handsome face tightening with anger as Sylvester appeared on the landing.

“Is everything well, my dear?” Sylvester asked, his avid gaze taking careful note of Amelia’s obvious discomfort.

“Leave us,” Justin barked.

“Really, sir. There is no need to behave as a savage—”

Sylvester’s words were cut short as Justin moved with astonishing speed to grasp the smaller man’s elaborate cravat. “I said, leave us.”

Sylvester paled at the threat, intelligent enough to realize that Justin could crush him without effort. “Yes. Of course.” He held up his hands and backed away. “So sorry to have intruded.”

Once again alone with her husband, Amelia slammed her hands on to her hips and glared at him with a rising fury. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” she hissed. “You cannot force your way into my home and embarrass me before my friends.”

A feral smile curved his lips as he abruptly turned and, without warning, swept her off her feet. “Never underestimate what I can or cannot do, my love,” he growled, heading for the stairs.

“No.” She slammed her fist against his chest. “Put me down at once. Damn you, Justin.”

Climbing the marble steps to the upper floor, Justin glanced down at her with a lift of his dark brows. “Such language from the lips of a lady.”

Amelia trembled, telling herself it was pure outrage that made her pulse race and her breath so oddly elusive. “But I am not a lady, at least not as far as you are concerned, am I?” she gritted.

“I presume that has some deep, philosophical meaning?”

“So far as you are concerned I am no more than a means to an end. You were in desperate need of wealth and I was a convenient means of acquiring a ready fortune.”

“Convenient?” His humourless laugh echoed through the silence as he made his way unerringly down the hall to the master bedchamber. “Not even you can be that naïve, Amelia. You have haunted and tortured me for the past year.”

“Liar.” She blinked back her ridiculous tears. She had sworn a year ago that this man would never hurt her again. “You have ignored me since you were given the rights to my dowry. I do not doubt you forgot you even possessed a wife.”

A dangerous emotion darkened the golden eyes. “I was not the one to turn my back on our marriage.”

Amelia nervously licked her dry lips, barely aware of Justin reaching down to shove open the door to her private rooms.

“You made no effort to halt me from leaving,” she accused.

His mouth tightened, as if she had struck a nerve. “I was stupid enough to hope that with time and distance your wounds would heal and we could begin again.”

“You thought I would forget you seduced and tricked me into marriage?”

“Do not pretend you were without your own selfish motives.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I was not alone in desiring what our marriage offered,” he drawled. “You were frantic to be independent of your mother.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She should have known he would have been perceptive enough to realize it would take more than the humiliation of being caught in a compromising position to force her into marriage once she discovered he was no more than a fortune-hunter.

In truth, she had been determined to call an end to the hasty wedding once her supposed friends had arrived at her home to reveal that the gossips were busy whispering that Lord Spaulding had been quite cunning in acquiring the funds he so desperately needed. She would rather have withdrawn from society in shame than wed a man she hated.

But, at the last moment, the thought of being forever trapped with her mother had halted her impetuous need to be rid of Justin. Mrs Uhlmeyer was not an evil woman. But as the daughter of a wealthy merchant who had managed to capture a husband who could move along the fringes of the ton, she had been obsessively consumed with her desire to see Amelia married to an aristocrat. She would have made her daughter’s life a misery if she were to decline a proposal from the Earl of Spaulding.

“Fine,” she gritted. “We both have what we needed from our unholy union. So why are you here?”

“Because I do not yet have everything I want from this marriage.”

She frowned, a strange chill inching down her spine. “You have my money, I have nothing else to offer.”

“You could not be more mistaken.”

His smug expression made her wish she had the small pistol she carried in her reticule. Her frustration would be considerably eased by lodging a bullet in his arse.

“What do you want from me?”

“It is quite simple, Amelia,” he murmured. “I want a son.”

Taking advantage of Amelia’s momentary shock, Justin carried her over the threshold and headed directly towards the canopied bed in the centre of the vast room.

Laying her on the mattress, he briefly savoured the sight of his wife’s lustrous skin, which possessed the sheen of the finest pearl in the candlelight. Bloody hell, she was a tempting minx with her fiery curls tumbled about her delicate face and her green eyes filled with fury. Even when his wife had been a shy wallflower attired in the hideous gowns her mother had insisted upon, Justin had been acutely aware of her hidden beauty. It had caused more than one sleepless night. Now …

Now her beauty had ripened, becoming even more breathtaking with the air of confidence she had acquired since he last caught sight of her.

He swallowed a groan as desire slammed into him with the force of a kicking mule.

Damn it. When he had made the decision to travel to London it had been with the full intention of taking his place as Amelia’s husband. In her life. And in her bed.

But he had not intended to fall on her like a ravaging beast the moment he entered the house.

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, he forced himself to turn his attention to the connecting rooms that had once belonged to his parents. He was prepared for the lavender satin wall panels and delicate rosewood furnishings that had replaced the dark, decidedly ugly furniture preferred by his ancestors. He had, after all, been aware of every alteration made to the townhouse. A rueful smile found his lips. He might have been willing to give Amelia the time and distance needed to heal her wounds, but he hadn’t been prepared to leave her unprotected. Which was precisely why he had ensured that several members of her staff happened to be his own loyal servants.

“Lovely,” he murmured in genuine appreciation. “I knew that I could leave the renovations of this house in your capable hands. You have always possessed exquisite taste when not being ridden roughshod by your mother. I am anxious for you to turn your talents to Rosemount.” He turned back to watch Amelia scramble to sit upright, her eyes dark with an awareness she was clearly determined to deny. “Unlike my relatives I find little to be admired in shabby medieval furnishings and dour portraits of long-dead Spauldings. I wish you to make the manor house a home.” He paused, giving her a smile of anticipation. “Our home.”

“I did not refurbish the townhouse to please you.”

“And yet I am pleased.” His smile widened as his gaze lowered to the enticing curve of her breasts. “Very pleased.”

Her chin tilted, but Justin did not miss her tiny shiver. “I want you to leave.”

He reached to thread his fingers through her satin curls, which shimmered like flames against the pure ivory of her skin, his arousal pressing painfully against his breeches.

“Not until I have what I have come for,” he said, huskily.

“Are you batty?”

His lips twisted. “There are many gentlemen who would consider me mad to have waited so long to take what is rightfully mine.”

“Rightfully yours? I am not your property.”

“No, you are my wife.” Barely aware he was moving, Justin settled next to her on the mattress, his fingers fisting in her hair as he was besieged by a surge of sheer male possession. He had waited for months to claim this woman as his own. He would wait no longer. “And soon to be the mother of my children.”

He heard her breath catch. “So, that’s the devil’s bargain, is it? Never.”

“Come, Amelia. You knew that we could not continue to live estranged.”

“Why not? There are any number of couples who choose to live separate lives.”

Justin bit back his instinctive words. He had known when he travelled to London that Amelia still harboured her bitter resentment. And that she was not yet prepared to accept what he had to say. He would have to tread with care.

“Only after they have produced the necessary heirs,” he said. “Surely you do not believe I would have gone to such effort to salvage my estates without the hope that we will one day pass them to our children?”

“And because it is what you want my own desires are meaningless?”

“On the contrary. Your …” He bent forwards to graze a soft kiss over her mouth. “Desires are of utmost importance. That much I can assure you.”

For a dazzling moment her lips softened in ready pleasure and Justin swallowed a low groan. Christ. If she only knew how many nights he had lain awake, plagued by his craving to have her in his arms, or lying beneath him as he sheathed himself deep in her body. He vividly recalled the honeyed sweetness of her lips and her gratifying moans of encouragement as he had discovered how best to please her. Then his memories were shattered as her hands lifted to his chest, pushing him away with a small cry.

“How dare you?”

Justin struggled to leash his desire, pulling back to regard her with a brooding frown.

“I have not forgotten how readily you responded to my kisses, to my touch,” he said, his voice thick. “You desired me. You still desire me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His fingers tightened in her hair, his body clenched with frustrated hunger. “My God, I have missed you, Amelia. Do you know on how many occasions I started towards London only to return to Rosemount? Or how often I stood at the window and imagined you rushing up the drive and into my arms?”

An indefinable emotion flared through her green eyes. “No doubt there were plenty of women to comfort you?”

“Jealous, my love?”

“Certainly not,” she muttered. “You are welcome to take as many lovers as you wish.”

His eyes narrowed in warning. “I fear I cannot return the generous offer. If I were to discover another man in your bed I would kill him.”

“You have no right.”

“You are my wife.” He made no effort to hide the stark possession in his tone. “I have no intention of sharing what belongs to me.”

She gave a wild shake of her head. “I must have been out of my wits to ever have believed that I—”

They both stiffened as she abruptly cut off her words, their gazes clashing with the violent emotions that had never been resolved between them.

“What?” he demanded softly. “That you loved me?”

With a muttered curse, she yanked away from his grasp and slid off the bed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and nervously paced the floor. “Do not say that.”

“There is no shame in offering me your heart,” he said, resisting the urge to hoist her back on to the bed. “I have sworn to protect it with my life.”

She glared at him with smouldering resentment. “You have brought me nothing but shame from the moment you decided I was a gullible enough fool to believe a man such as you could ever truly care for me.”

“A man such as me?”

She waved an impatient hand. “Handsome. Elegant. Toasted by all of society. While I was a pathetic wallflower with nothing to recommend me but my grandfather’s wealth.”

His brows snapped together, his temper flaring. Amelia could brand him as any sort of scoundrel, but he would not listen to her demean herself.

“That is not true. I was fascinated by you from the moment we were introduced,” he gritted. “I had never met a female who I could truly converse with on important subjects rather than having to spend the evening exchanging shallow flirtations.”

“And if I had not possessed a large dowry?”

He flinched at the blunt question. “What would you have me say, Amelia?”

“What you should have said from the first.” She moved with jerky steps to the window that overlooked the small rose garden below, her profile tense with the anguish that Justin knew could be laid at his feet. “That you never gave a damn about me and without my dowry you would never have taken me as your wife.”

He clenched his hands, hating the knowledge he might very well have destroyed any hope of happiness with his wife.

But what else could he have done?

After several generations of reckless, devil-may-care Spauldings, the once impressive family fortune had been drained dry and the estates had slipped into ruin. By the time Justin had shouldered his inheritance, the lands had been deeply in debt and his tenants mired in shocking poverty. He could not allow them to continue to suffer.

Or at least that was what he had told himself.

It was not until he had been forced to watch the joy fade from Amelia’s eyes to be replaced with a bitter resignation that he realized that some sacrifices were too great. And that he should have carved out his own heart before wounding this beautiful, excessively fragile woman.

“I have always cared for you,” he said.

She absently straightened a Sèvres plate on the carved mantel, the tremble of her hand revealing she was not nearly so composed as she would have him believe.

“No, if you had then you would have been honest with me about your need for an heiress.”

“Even a gentleman in my position has his pride.” His smile was self-derisive. “I intended to reveal the ruin of my family fortunes in time.”

“But only after you compromised me and ensured I would have no choice but to wed you or be publicly shunned.”

Justin rose to his feet, his expression hardening. He had been blindly stupid for too long. Perhaps not astonishing. Mere hours after his hasty wedding, his wife had abandoned him in a painfully public fashion, and his steward had sent him a frantic note revealing that the roof of the long gallery at Rosemount had collapsed, injuring several servants and threatening to destroy what remained of his ancient home.

He had done his best to concentrate on what he could mend rather than brooding on those troubles that seemed beyond his skill.

Over the past weeks, however, he had devoted a significant amount of time to recalling the exact details of that fateful night and coming to a startling conclusion.

“I did not force you to accompany me to Lady Granville’s conservatory that evening,” he pointed out in soft tones. “Nor did I force you to respond to my kisses.”

Her cheeks flared with colour. “So it was my own fault that I was deceived and manipulated?”

Crossing the Persian carpet, Justin grasped her hands. “We are neither to blame for what occurred in that conservatory.”

“You expect me to believe that it was random fate that offered you the perfect opportunity to coerce me into marriage?”

“Not fate.” He squarely met her accusing gaze. “Your mother.”

“You …” Jerking her hands out of Justin’s grip, Amelia glared into his handsome face. “Bastard.”

His lips twisted. “You can hurl any number of insults at me, but I most certainly am not a bastard.”

With a toss of her head, she headed towards the door, more out of fear of being alone with Justin than his wild accusations. She could not think clearly when he was near. Not when her heart was pounding and her stomach fluttering with an unwelcome awareness.

How could she still ache for the damnable man when he had so ruthlessly destroyed her?

“I will not stay here and listen to you insult my mother.”

She had nearly reached the door when Justin’s fingers closed around her upper arm and he turned her about to meet his burning gaze.

“We can have this conversation in the midst of your friends, if that is what you prefer,” he drawled, “but make no mistake we will be finishing this discussion.”

“I am no longer the innocent fool you wed, My Lord,” she said coldly. “You cannot lay your sins at the feet of another and assume I will blithely forgive you.”

“I accept my numerous sins, but I will not be accused of seducing you in that conservatory and ensuring we would be discovered.”

Amelia bit her bottom lip, the agonizing memory of that night seared into her mind.

The dazzling pleasure of strolling about the crowded ballroom on Justin’s arm, knowing she was the envy of every female in London. Preening beneath his bold glances of frustrated desire, and shivering when he had bent his head to whisper in her ear. And then he had urged her from the ballroom, leading her through the maze of hallways until at last they were alone in the perfumed shadows of the conservatory.

She shivered, still able to feel the branding heat of his kisses and the intimate exploration of his hands. She had been so eager for him that she had not even considered the dangers of allowing him to peel away her God-awful dress. Her only thought was the shocking pleasure of his lips closing around the tip of her breast as he had suckled her with obvious skill.

It was not until the door to the conservatory had been thrust open and the sound of shocked voices had shattered the illusion of privacy that she had realized just how stupid she had been.

“Are you telling me that my mother urged you to lure me from the ballroom and remove my gown?” she gritted.

“No.” His hooded gaze swept over her pale face. “But, I have never disguised the fact that I desired you from the moment I first held you in my arms and we waltzed across the floor of Almack’s. By the evening of Lady Granville’s ball I was nearly mad with my need to assuage my hunger for you.” As if to prove his point, Justin wrapped his arms around her and hauled her roughly against his aroused body. “And in all honesty, if we had not been interrupted, I am not entirely certain I could have halted my urge to take your innocence regardless of the discomforts of our surroundings, or the obvious danger of discovery.”

Her mouth went dry at the potent feel of his erection pressed against her hip, his warm scent teasing at her senses. A melting heat flowed like lava through her veins, pooling in her lower stomach.

“Then how can you possibly blame my mother?” she rasped.

As if sensing her grudging reaction to his touch, Justin skimmed his hands down her back, his eyes darkening to molten gold. “If nothing else, your mother has always been a clever woman capable of taking advantage of any situation.”

She could not argue the truth of his words. Her mother possessed a calculating mind and a ruthless lack of sentimentality when it came to using her daughter to achieve her own social ambitions.

“My mother wanted me wed, not get involved in a scandal that might very well have ruined me,” she protested.

“Correction, my love, she wanted you to capture a title. The greater the title the better.”

“Why you …”

He easily caught the hand she lifted to slap his face, pulling it to his mouth so he could press his lips to her palm.

“Steady, Amelia,” he murmured.

“Are you implying that my mother assumed that the only means for me to acquire a husband was by trapping him with public humiliation?” she hissed.

“Calm down and listen to me.”

“Have you not insulted me enough for one evening?”

“I am well aware you had received any number of proposals before we were introduced.”

She curled her lip in disdain. “Worthless fortune-hunters.”

He ignored her insult. “And that you refused them all.”

“I had a ridiculous hope that I might actually discover a gentleman who could care for more than my dowry. Stupid, of course.”

He grimaced, as if her jab had struck a nerve, but his expression remained grimly determined. “It is my belief that your mother learned that my estates were heavily mortgaged and suspected that once you learned the truth of my need for …”

“My money?” she sweetly supplied, startled by a small pang of regret as his cheekbones darkened with a humiliated flush.

“For a loan,” he corrected in a raw tone. “Your mother no doubt feared that you would turn away my impending offer of marriage as well.”

“As I most certainly would have.”

“Consider, Amelia.” He peered deep into her eyes, as if willing her to believe his words. “Your mother was quite anxious for you to acquire a title and it was unlikely that there would be a nobleman greater than an earl to court you. Would she have meekly allowed such an opportunity to slip away without making an effort to push you into marriage?”

Amelia frowned, suddenly recalling that it had been her mother who had first entered the conservatory and promptly screamed to ensure that everyone at the ball was aware of Amelia’s humiliation. She also recalled that her mother had not been nearly so shocked as she should have been when Amelia revealed Justin was a common fortune-hunter. Indeed, her mother had pressed even harder for a swift wedding.

At the time, Amelia had assumed that her mother was motivated by her horror at having an unwed daughter who was tarnished goods. Now, she realized that it might very well have been an obsessive desire to have her daughter wed to an earl.

“This is all conjecture,” she muttered. “You have no proof.”

“No, I have no proof,” he readily agreed, “but I have spent many long nights recalling our brief courtship and the events leading up to our fateful tryst in the conservatory.”

“Even if what you claim is true, it changes nothing.”

“You are mistaken, Amelia, it changes everything.” With a smooth movement, he swept her in his arms and headed back to the bed. “You can no longer accuse me of deliberately causing our scandal. It was never my intent to force you into marriage.”

Amelia felt a dangerous crack in the ice she had built around her heart. What if he spoke the truth? What if he had never led her into the conservatory to compromise her? What if he had been as overwhelmed as she by the heady passion that even now swirled through her body? What if …

She shook her head. Damn him.

“Did you ever intend to tell me the truth?” she demanded as he lowered her on to the mattress and stretched out beside her, his fingers tangling in her hair.

“What truth?” he asked, a savage hunger tightening his features. “That you fascinated me from the moment we met? That I treasure our time spent together? That I desired you beyond all reason and that the thought of you carrying my child filled me with a need I could barely control?”

His child? Amelia quivered at the compelling thought of Justin’s baby growing inside her.

“The truth that you wed me for my dowry,” she forced herself to say, as much to remind herself of this man’s treachery as to continue the argument.

His head lowered, his eyes blazing with sensual intent. “I wed you for many reasons, some of which I am still attempting to comprehend.”

“Justin …”

Her protest was ignored as he crushed her lips in a kiss that demanded her response.

For a heartbeat Amelia stood poised on a precipice. She understood the significance of this moment. She could turn Justin away and continue with their cold, distant relationship. Or she could give in to her desires and risk opening herself to yet another betrayal.

Perhaps sensing her fear, Justin lifted his head to reveal an expression of undisguised vulnerability. “Amelia, please,” he pleaded, his hand trembling as he brushed his fingers over her cheek. “I have hungered for you for so long.”

His hunger could not be any greater than hers, Amelia acknowledged. But trust was a fragile thing.

“Have you …” She bit her lip in embarrassment.

“What? Ask me, my love,” he urged. “I swear I will tell you nothing but the truth.”

“Have there been other women?” she demanded bluntly.

“No, Amelia.” A dark, possessive expression settled on his beautiful face. “You are my wife. I want no other.”

The remaining ice that encased her heart shattered at the soft words and, with a small moan, she lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. She did not know what tomorrow might bring, but for this night she could not deny the desire that had plagued her for so long.

“Yes,” she sighed.

As if the soft word was what he had been waiting for, Justin wrapped his arms about her and buried his head in the curve of her neck.

“Amelia, if you do not want me to make love to you then you must tell me now,” he muttered. “Very soon I will be unable to halt.”

Her arms tightened about his neck. “I want you, Justin.”

The words had barely tumbled from her lips before he was pressing restless kisses over her face, his fingers tugging at the buttons that lined the back of her dress.

“Thank God,” he rasped, then with a muttered curse he roughly tore the fabric.

“Justin?”

“You have no notion of how desperately I desire you,” he growled, pulling off the ripped gown and managing to tug down her corset and thin shift with exhilarating haste. Pulling back, he swept a smouldering gaze over her body that was now naked except for her silk stockings and slippers. “God, you are so beautiful.”

Amelia blushed, but oddly she felt beautiful beneath the burning intensity of his gaze. Justin had always been capable of making her far more assured in his company than she had ever been before. It was the reason she had been so drawn to him from the moment they had met.

Well … one of the reasons, she ruefully acknowledged, staring at the dark, beautiful face that had made her heart halt the moment she caught sight of him.

Shuddering with an excitement she could no longer deny, she moaned as his hands impatiently traced her curves, his mouth trailing a path of fiery kisses down the line of her throat. She forgot about the guests who no doubt were questioning her strange disappearance and her servants who must be shocked by the sudden appearance of Lord Spaulding.

In this moment nothing mattered but the feel of Justin as he gently cupped her breast and nuzzled her tightly furled nipple with shocking intimacy.

“Dear Lord,” she muttered, stirring restlessly beneath his caresses.

She needed something. Something only Justin could offer.

As if sensing her impatience, he abruptly pushed himself upright, jerking off his attire with unsteady hands. Amelia watched in awed silence as he revealed his hard, muscular body. She had never seen a naked man before and she was astonished to discover the pleasure she found in the width of his chest lightly sprinkled with raven hair, the slender line of his waist and the powerful thrust of his legs.

Then her breath tangled in her throat as she caught sight of the proud thrust of his arousal. She had assumed she would be frightened in this moment, but oddly she felt nothing but anticipation as he slowly moved to cover her with his warm body, her hands tentatively stroking down the curve of his back.

“I am not certain what to do,” she murmured.

“Just touch me, my love.” His breath brushed her cheek as he nuzzled a path of kisses to the hollow beneath her ear. “God almighty, the feel of your hands …”

Emboldened by his fierce reaction, Amelia skimmed her hands lower, groaning at the sensation of his rippling muscles that clenched beneath her fingers. He muttered a curse as she cupped his hips.

“It has been too long,” he rasped, abruptly grasping her hands and pinning them above her head.

Her lips parted to protest at having her tentative exploration brought to an end, but, before she could speak, Justin was covering her mouth in a kiss of searing need. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, realizing the restraint she had always felt in his touch was gone.

There was no uncertainty as he caressed her body with experienced ease, or as his lips brushed down her collarbone and latched on to the aching tip of her breast. Or as his leg thrust between her thighs to rub at her sensitive cleft.

Amelia gasped as she struggled to breathe, assaulted by a flood of astonishing sensations.

“What are you doing to me?” she breathed.

A low chuckle was wrenched from his throat, his lips nuzzling the curve of her breast.

“What I have been longing to do from the moment we first met.”

“Surely not the first moment,” she said, only partially teasing.

He pulled back to regard her with a burning gaze. “Regardless of what you may believe, Amelia, I have never lied about my feelings for you. Never.”

Her heart faltered at the harsh sincerity in his voice. “Make love to me, Justin,” she whispered, her fingers softly stroking the bronzed beauty of his countenance. “Make me your wife.”

He remained silent a long moment, his gaze searching her face for any hint of uncertainty before a slow smile curved his lips. “As you wish, Lady Spaulding.” He outlined her lips with the tip of his tongue. “My only desire is to please you.”

Without giving her time for second thoughts, Justin kissed her with an aching sweetness. She arched beneath him, pulling her hands free of his grip to shove her fingers in the satin strands of his raven hair. He moaned, moving his lips over her cheek, nipping gently at the line of her jaw and then down the curve of her neck. He lingered at the base of her throat to kiss the frantic pulse that beat there, his tongue teasing the spot before he was trailing ever lower.

Amelia forgot how to breathe. During the past year she had convinced herself that her memories of Justin’s kisses must be a part of her fevered imagination. After all, she had encountered any number of handsome gentlemen over the past year and none of them had stirred so much as a flutter.

Now she realized that his touch was even more exciting, even more achingly sensuous than she remembered. Dear heavens, she wanted to drown in the pleasure of his touch.

Scattering kisses over the curve of her breasts he gave each aching nipple a lick of his tongue before nibbling a path down to her stomach. Amelia arched her back, shocked by the urgent need that pulsed deep inside her.

“You taste of honey,” Justin murmured as he licked her belly button and then down the tense muscles of her thigh. “So sweet.”

“Good God.” Her hands clutched at his hair. “Justin …”

“Yes, my love?” he demanded, tugging her legs wider so he could slip between them.

“What are you doing?”

His chuckle brushed her skin as he lazily explored the length of her leg and the arch of her foot. “I have waited a year to claim my bride. I intend to savour you from head to toe.”

She choked back a moan as he tormented her toes before slowly making his way back up her leg. How could she survive such a delectable assault?

She was suddenly aware of a damp heat between her legs that seemed directly connected to Justin’s exquisite caresses and she squirmed in pleasure as he trailed his lips up the inside of her thigh.

Not even her dreams had prepared her for such astonishing sensations.

“Justin, please,” she pleaded, raising herself on to her elbows as he tugged her legs even further apart.

“Oh, I intend to please you,” he said, holding her gaze as he slid one slender finger through her damp heat. “I intend to hear you scream in pleasure.”

“What are you …” she began, only to have her words stolen as he shifted upwards and she felt his tongue part her tender flesh. “Oh Lord.”

Her elbows collapsed and she tumbled back on to the bed, her eyes squeezing shut at the intense pleasure.

His tongue was relentless as it teased and stroked her need to the very edge of bliss. There was something …

Something that beckoned just out of reach.

“Please … please …”

“Yes, my love.” With a lingering kiss upon her thigh, he slowly moved over her, his eyes smouldering with a hunger that echoed within her. “Forgive me.”

She frowned. “For what?”

In response, he settled more firmly between her spread legs and tilted his hips forwards. Amelia gasped as she felt him sliding into her body, stretching her with his steady thrust.

“Oh,” she breathed, her hands grasping the cover beneath her.

“You must relax, Amelia.” Justin kissed the tip of her nose. “Trust me.”

For a tense moment, their gazes clashed, Amelia’s heart missing a painful beat. Trust. Such a simple word. And yet such a very complicated emotion.

Then, lifting her hands, she framed his face and pulled him down to meet her soft kiss.

She was not yet prepared to make promises, but her heart was no longer filled with bitterness.

“Make me your wife,” she whispered against his lips.

“My wife,” he repeated, the words filled with a husky reverence that brought tears to her eyes. “My beautiful wife.”

He kissed her with a stark passion, his hands moving to cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples.

Slowly, Amelia began to relax, a soft moan tumbling from her lips. Justin’s thrusts fanned the flames of her desire from the embers.

Barely aware of it, she discovered her hips lifting in harmony with his rhythm as the pleasure coiled in the pit of her stomach.

Murmuring encouragement, she ran her hands restlessly up and down the curve of his back. Yes. Oh, yes. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips as he plunged deeper and deeper. This was what her body had ached for since that night in the conservatory.

“Christ … Amelia … I cannot …”

She dug her fingers into his hips, urging him to a quicker pace. “Please do not halt,” she pleaded.

His hands slipped beneath her hips, angling upwards, as he pushed ever deeper within. Amelia arched her back as her muscles clenched with a breathless anticipation. Then, her keening cry echoed through the room as she shattered in shocking delight.

“Justin,” she whispered, holding him tight as he shouted her name and poured into her welcoming body.

Struggling to catch his breath, Justin rolled to the side, pulling his wife into his arms and pressing his lips to the top of her tousled hair.

His wife.

A surge of male satisfaction settled in his heart as he recalled the manner with which she had responded to his touch, and her startled cry as she had reached fulfilment.

Now she was well and truly his wife.

As she was meant to be.

Not that he was foolish enough to believe their troubles were at an end. After all, he had never questioned Amelia’s desire for him. She had been far too innocent to hide her ready awareness when he was near. And while making love to her had been an earth-shattering experience, it did not mean that she was prepared to accept him into her life.

As if to prove his point, Amelia abruptly stirred in his arms, pressing her hands against his chest as she attempted to wriggle from his grasp.

“Dear God …” she muttered.

His arms tightened around her, a scowl marring his brow as he met her panicked gaze. Bloody hell, did she regret having given her innocence to him?

No. What they had just shared was … extraordinary. Magical. He would not allow her to dismiss their lovemaking.

Or him.

“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.

“I have guests awaiting me.”

“They can keep themselves entertained. We have not finished our conversation.”

She turned her head away, her tone petulant. “I thought you came to London to get me with child, not to converse.”

“Amelia, you know why I am here.” He cupped her face in his hand and gently forced her to meet his searching gaze. “I want us to live as man and wife. Together for now and all eternity.”

“Eternity?” She licked her lips, her expression heartbreakingly fragile. “So very long?”

“Do you want me to beg, my love?” he asked softly.

Her beautiful eyes softened in a desolate yearning that pierced Justin with an unbearable pain. Then, with another burst of panic, she battled her way out of his arms and off the bed.

“Please, can we discuss this tomorrow?” she asked in a ragged voice, her hands trembling as she tugged on the linen shift he had so recently removed from her exquisite body. “I must return downstairs and …”

“No, Amelia.” Indifferent to his lack of clothing, Justin surged off the mattress and grasped her shoulders in a tight grip. “I allowed you to flee from me once before. I cannot bear to watch you walk away again.”

“Justin …”

“I know that I hurt you and perhaps I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, interrupting her protest, his heart clenching at the beauty of her fiery curls tumbled about her pale face and her eyes shimmering like the finest emeralds. Christ, he had missed her. “But if you will give me the opportunity, I swear I will prove to you that I am worthy of your heart.”

She suddenly stilled, regarding him with an undisguised wariness. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“You have my dowry and we are both aware you have only to kiss me to have a place in my bed.” Her tone was flat, the very lack of emotion revealing just how important his answer was to her. “Why must you have my heart as well?”

His lips twisted. “I should think that obvious.”

“Humour me.”

Justin steeled his courage. This was the moment.

It had taken him months to accept the truth. Oh, he had known from the moment that he had been introduced to Amelia that she was special. She did not brazenly toss herself at his feet nor had she bored him with mindless chatter and shrill giggles. In fact, he had been enchanted by her clever comprehension of the bills being debated before the House of Lords and the inherent dangers of Spain’s political instability.

And, of course, he had not been fooled for a moment by her hideous gowns and frizzed hair. His discerning eye had easily recognized the lush beauty that set his body on fire.

Still, it was not until he was alone at Rosemount that he accepted that his feelings for Amelia ran far deeper than he had ever realized.

After all, he had what he wanted. With Amelia’s vast dowry his estates were swiftly being restored and even Rosemount had been rescued from ruin, although he had done no more than ensure the foundation was sound and a new roof and windows were installed. He was being toasted as a saviour by his tenants and, while he expected to feel guilt and perhaps even a measure of remorse, he was not prepared for the raw, aching need to have his wife at his side.

His estates were suddenly a burden that had cost him the only thing that truly mattered in his life.

Amelia.

“It is only fair that I have your heart when you have stolen mine,” he whispered.

The emerald eyes flared with an unexpected fury at his soft words. “No.”

Justin frowned. This was not precisely what he had expected when he had dreamed of telling his wife that he loved her. “Amelia?”

“If you wish to discuss our future together I am willing to listen without false promises,” she muttered, her voice thick with suppressed tears. “As you said, it is only to be expected you would wish an heir.”

“I do not give a damn about an heir,” he growled.

“But you said …”

“I knew that you would have me thrown out if I told you I was here because I loved you and I could not bear to spend another day without you,” he admitted without apology. He had many things to regret, but not his determination to earn his wife’s heart. “I had to have some excuse to be in London.”

She trembled, regarding him with wounded eyes. “You love me.”

“I believe that is what I just said,” he attempted to tease.

“No.” She shook her head. “It is impossible.”

“Surely I am allowed to know my own feelings?”

“If you loved me …”

“Sssh.” He bent his head to press a soft, aching kiss to her lips before pulling back with an expression of apology. “I am painfully aware I should have told you the truth of my financial troubles the moment we were introduced, Amelia, and if I could return in time I would do whatever necessary to avoid hurting you.”

“Allow me to finish, Justin,” she commanded.

His lips twitched with rueful amusement. The awkward wallflower was well and truly gone. And in her place was a woman who was in her full glory. His heart swelled with pride.

“If you loved me you would never have left me alone for the past year.”

His brows lifted at her rather unfair accusation. “There are those who would argue that you were the one to leave me, my sweet.”

She turned her head to reveal the tense line of her profile. “Because I was hurt. And …”

“And?”

“Scared.”

Justin flinched, feeling as if she had just shoved a dagger in his gut. In truth, he wished she had. That would certainly have been less painful.

“Scared of me?”

“Of having my heart broken again.”

“Never.” He buried his face in her satin curls, breathing deep of her sweet scent. “I swear, Amelia.”

A silence filled the room, and Justin battled back his agonizing need to plead for her to accept him as her husband. On this occasion she would not be pressured or coerced or seduced into her decision. Instead he simply held her, savouring just how perfect she felt pressed against him.

“Why did you stay away?” she at last demanded.

“As I said, I hoped that time would heal your wounds, but primarily because I feared that I had truly destroyed any feelings you might have possessed for me,” he admitted with stark honesty. “How could I force myself into your company if you hated me?”

She pulled back to meet his burning gaze. “So why did you come here tonight?”

He hesitated, knowing that he had to speak the truth, yet wise enough to realize Amelia was bound to be angered by his confession.

“In part because you remained a virgin.”

Her eyes widened with a horrified shock. “How did you …” She bit off her words as a blush rose to her cheeks. “Of course. My servants were spying upon me.”

Justin grimaced. “Do not blame them.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she said, her tone revealing precisely whom she did hold to blame. “Why were you so interested in my virginity, or need I bother asking?”

He gently framed her face in his hands, his thumb brushing the edge of her full lips. Against his will, his body began to stir with an urgent passion that was by no means sated. Hell, he doubted there would ever come a day when he was not consumed with desire for his wife.

He brushed his lips over her furrowed brow. “I knew that if you no longer cared for me you would have found someone else to love.”

She trembled, her eyes darkening with an unconscious invitation. “You said that was part of the reason,” she reminded him, her voice thickening.

His lips skimmed down the length of her nose, then nuzzled the edge of her mouth. “Yes.”

She trembled, her body instinctively arching to press against him. “And the other part?”

He lifted his head to regard her with a sombre sincerity. “Quite simply, I could not stay away,” he breathed. “My life, my home, my heart … they are all empty without you. I love you.”

Tilting back her head, she studied him with a piercing intensity. As if hoping to see into his very soul.

And perhaps she was, he ruefully acknowledged. He had destroyed her trust once before. She would not easily offer it again.

Justin clenched his teeth, suddenly realizing what a man on trial must feel like just moments before his sentence is pronounced. Was he to be offered mercy or sent to the gallows?

Amelia’s lips parted, but before she could speak there was a tap on the door.

“Lady Spaulding?” a maid’s timid voice whispered through the door. “Your guests are concerned. Is everything all right?”

Justin frowned, but before he could order the servant to leave them in peace, Amelia had placed her hand over his mouth, her emerald eyes glowing with a happiness that nearly sent him to his knees in relief.

“Thank you, Mary, you may inform my guests that for the first time in my life, everything is absolutely perfect.”