The same could not be said for the man who held her in his grasp. His mouth opened wider with each word he spoke, his face was twisted with rage. The words were still indistinguishable, but the intent was clear.
Gareth broke into a run.
Suddenly he saw the man raise his arm as if to strike Amelia. Blinding rage consumed the viscount. He ignored the pathways and roared through the flowering bushes at a frantic speed, descending on the pair like an avenging angel.
They turned simultaneously to gape at him. It was at that moment that Gareth noticed Amelia’s hand clasped to the man’s forearm.
“Did he strike you?” Gareth demanded to know.
“No.”
“Then I will allow him to live.”
“Such gallantry, my lord,” the man exclaimed in mocking tones. “One would hardly expect a nobleman to defend his whore so vigorously. She must be quite a tasty morsel between the sheets.”
Gareth lunged toward him, fists raised, but Amelia stepped between them. “Stop it, please.” She pressed herself forward, then pitched her voice low, so only he could hear. “I know this is difficult, but if you have any compassion for me at all you will cease this barbaric behavior at once.”
The viscount hesitated for a moment. This rude, arrogant man was dangerously close to having his head bashed against the nearest tree trunk, but the distressed look in Amelia’s eyes helped Gareth master his rage.
The viscount stepped back, but he took Amelia with him. Together they faced her adversary.
“I am Viscount Longley. Who are you?” The question was uttered in a harsh tone.
“I am the Earl of Monford, the dowager countess’s brother-in-law.” His expression was severe. “You have interrupted an important discussion of a family matter that does not concern you. Please leave at once.”
“No.” Gareth set himself back on his heels and folded his arms across his chest.
“Amelia?” The earl appealed to his sister-in-law.
Gareth felt her tremble slightly, but her voice was strong and steady when she spoke. “There is nothing left for us to say, Roger. Mr. Bascomb has recanted his offer of marriage. Even if I wanted to, I am powerless to change his mind.”
The earl laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “You think you have won, Amelia. But we both know that this is just the beginning.” He turned to Gareth. “You are welcome to her, Longley. For now. I am a patient man. I shall be waiting to take her back when you have cast her off.”
Gareth’s fist itched to bury itself in the earl’s smug face, but the gentle pressure of Amelia’s fingers on his wrist kept his clenched hand by his side.
He waited until the earl faded from the distance, then turned to face Amelia. “Who the hell is Mr. Bascomb?”
Her brow rose fractionally, from either his tone or language, but Gareth was too distraught to care.
“Mr. Bascomb is a wealthy merchant Roger had hoped I would marry. Those hopes have now been dashed.”
“How?”
“You just heard me explain it to Roger. Mr. Bascomb withdrew his offer of marriage.”
“Why? Why did he decide not to marry you?” Gareth hated the edge of despair in his voice, but was unable to completely hide the distress he felt. “And why have you never spoken of Mr. Bascomb before?”
“I did not mention Mr. Bascomb because he was unimportant.” Amelia cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I never intended to marry him. That was Roger’s desire, not mine.”
Gareth struggled to maintain an impassive facade. There was more to the story than she was revealing. He realized then how little he really knew of this woman who had suddenly come to mean so much to him.
“Why has Mr. Bascomb changed his mind?”
The smile she was trying to force disappeared. “He now knows where, and with whom, I spent last night.”
“What?” Gareth shouted. “How is that possible?”
“I told him. Actually I told a room filled with people, including our hosts. The duke and duchess were quite shocked, but far too well bred to make a scene. Still, I feel I should probably take my leave this afternoon, so as to make it less uncomfortable for everyone else.”
“Have you lost your senses?” Gareth scowled. In confusion, in anger, in shock. “What could have possibly possessed you to make such a rash, irresponsible declaration?”
“It was the truth. And it was the only scheme I could devise to force Mr. Bascomb to back away. I knew Roger would insist upon the match and I knew I could never sanction it.” The defensive glint in her eye softened. “I am sorry to have brought you into this scandal, but I feel my revealing our night of passion aided you in some small way.
“There was wild speculation that Mr. Fairweather had found you naked in bed with his wife last night and had challenged you to a duel, but you refused. I could not let anyone believe you capable of such a deed. You are many things, my lord, but you are not a coward.”
Bitterness spread through him. “Is that why you surprised me in my bedchamber last night? To create a scandal?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “I am very sorry if I have angered or offended you in anyway. That was never my intention.”
Angered? Offended? Gareth nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of those remarks. She had done far more than that. She had hurt him in ways he had never imagined he could be hurt. She had deceived him. She had pretended to be his friend, pretended an interest in his person, in his life and future. She had looked beyond his reputation and claimed he was meant for better things, for a higher purpose. And then she had used him.
If he was not filled with such pain he would admire her skill. She was as clever and heartless as any rogue. Certainly more clever than he.
“You said you are leaving this afternoon. With your brother-in-law?” Despite telling himself her welfare was none of his concern, the notion of her under that brute’s power rankled.
The color in her face deepened. “I will be traveling to the home of my dear friend Lady Gooding. She has kindly offered me her hospitality. My maid and I plan to stay with her until the repairs on the Dower House are completed.”
He jerked his head down in a curt nod. “I wish you a safe journey, Countess.”
The viscount turned to leave, but her soft voice beckoned him back. “Gareth.”
He halted, twisted his head, and looked back at her over his shoulder. Her brow wrinkled in a deep frown and she appeared to be struggling to find the right words. She closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. “I shall miss you.”
He suspected that there was more she was trying to say. Their gazes locked, but no other words were spoken. This time when he turned away Gareth did not cease walking until he located a decanter of the duke’s finest brandy and drained most of it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Amelia had not expected that it would hurt this much. As the days turned into weeks she thought the deep, wrenching pain she felt would begin to lessen and eventually fade. Yet as hard as she tried, Amelia discovered she could not find a way to easily or quickly remove the viscount from her heart and mind.
Then one day he appeared. She was relaxing in Belinda’s pretty garden, heard a noise, looked up from the embroidery she was stitching, and found him standing before her. Dressed in a blue coat that exactly matched the color of his eyes, tan breeches molding his muscular thighs, black Hessian boots polished to a mirror shine. Looking every inch the devilish rogue she knew him to be. Her heart turned over.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
He cocked his head and smiled boldly. “You gave me your direction that afternoon in the garden before you left the house party. Do you not remember?”
“It must have slipped my mind.” The breath that escaped her was nearly a sigh. Though she was ridiculously glad to see him, she wished he had not come. Seeing his handsome face, his endearing smile, brought back the memories of the reckless passion they had shared and reminded her too sharply of the things that could never be. “Your visit is rather a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope?”
Amelia bit her lip to hide her nervous giggle. “Is there a lady in all of England who does not find it a pleasant experience to be in the company of the Viscount of Longley?”
“Only those with bloodthirsty husbands object,” he decided.
This time she did allow her laugh to escape. “How is Mrs. Fairweather managing these days?”
“I have no idea.” He sat beside her on the garden bench. “Nor do I care.”
His words pleased her. She always felt he deserved better than the crumbs Mrs. Fairweather was willing to throw his way.
“Why have you come here, my lord?”
“Must a gentleman always have an ulterior motive for visiting a beautiful lady?”
“If the gentleman is you, then the answer to that question is yes.”
He laughed low in his throat. The sensual sound caused a shiver of chills to race up Amelia’s spine. She lifted her head and it seemed to her that their eyes remained fixed upon each other for a long time.
“Perhaps I have come today because I wanted to see you,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I have been unable to sleep, unable to concentrate, unable to function as the carefree, fun-loving rogue that I am. Perhaps I find myself too frustrated and restless to attend to even the simplest matters. Perhaps the thought of spending my days and nights, without you has filled me with a gloom and despair that I can no longer tolerate.”
She could not answer him. Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. “You were so angry when you left. And I knew in my heart I could not blame you. I had duped and humiliated you and felt only a twinge of remorse for my actions. I deserved your scorn.”
“No, you did not.” He reached into his breast coat pocket, pulled out a white linen handkerchief, and gently wiped her eyes. “Dearest Amelia, you can be so very naive at times. True you were less than honest with me and that stung my pride. As for our night together, well, my dear, you hardly had to tie me to the bed.”
“Gareth!”
“That would have come later. On our second night together.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “But there was no second night. You ran away, Amelia.”
“I had no other choice,” she whispered.
“I understand that now. Words cannot express how sorry I am that it took me so long to make that realization. Will you forgive me?”
She searched his eyes, trying to judge his sincerity. “It would please me greatly if we could part as friends, Gareth.”
“Friends?” His eyebrow arched. “I had hoped to be far more than your friend, Amelia. I want to be your husband.”
“My God! You cannot be serious?”
The viscount compressed his lips. “ ’Tis fortunate that I am a man possessed of a healthy dose of self-confidence, madame. It has taken me weeks to accept the notion of being a husband, yet when I ask the woman I love to share my life and make a new beginning for us both, I am soundly humiliated.”
Amelia pressed her hand to her heart. “Goodness, this certainly is a day filled with surprises.” She licked her dry lips. “You love me?”
The viscount grimaced, then nodded his head. “I am miserable without you, pining away for just a glimpse of your lovely face. Remembering all that we shared leaves a peculiar tightness in my chest. Lucien declared it sounded suspiciously like a bad case of indigestion, but wisely recanted that statement when I threatened to punch him in the nose.”
Amelia’s heart began to pound so hard it made her light-headed. Surely she had misheard, had misunderstood. “I am having difficulty believing this, my lord.”
“I know precisely what you mean.” The viscount reached out and stroked her cheek. His touch was gentle, loving. “This realization has been quite a shock for me, I can assure you. Yet that does not make it any less truthful. I love you, Amelia.”
She began to tremble. She stared at him with round, unblinking eyes and tried to formulate some sort of response. “I believe the usual answer to such a declaration is I love you too.”
“Thank heavens!”
He gathered her in the circle of his arms and bent down his head.
“Wait,” Amelia cried, pushing against the unyielding muscles of his chest. “Before you kiss me I must tell you that I cannot marry you.”
He paused in the act of lowering his head, then tightened his hold on her. “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” she whispered.
He nodded his head in agreement. “So am I, but I believe that is a good sign. It shows we are being practical and realistic. Marriage is no easy road. It is a lifetime commitment, filled with both joys and sorrows. Only those couples who are truly dedicated to making a success of it are happy.”
She sighed. “There is so much for us to overcome. The scandal that I created, not to mention the difference in our ages will keep the gossiping tongues wagging for years. We are not at all like other couples, Gareth.”
“No. That will be our salvation. We shall be outrageously unfashionable and demand respect and fidelity from each other. The
ton
will not know what to make of our union.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “If we married
you
would be faithful?”
“Yes, because I know you will only agree if I promise that I will.” He bowed his head sheepishly. “Yet it will not be a hardship, for I have discovered that I want no other woman but you, Amelia.”
The sincerity in his voice told her he was being truthful. Riddled with indecision, Amelia gazed at him. “You speak as if I have already agreed.”
“I am hopeful.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Yet I want this to be your choice, made with your free will and your full heart.” He lowered her hand and placed it gently on his knee, shifted his position and withdrew a paper from his coat pocket.
“This is the deed to the Dower House and fifty surrounding acres on the Monford estate.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why would you want to purchase that particular property? And how on earth did you ever get Roger to agree?”
The viscount grinned triumphantly. “I didn’t. I feared I would be unable to keep my tongue or my fists under control around your obnoxious brother-in-law so I sent my friend, Lucien St. Simon, the Earl of Danbury, to negotiate the sale.
“Apparently Roger was so badly in need of funds he did not bother to ask many questions. I think he probably believed he was thwarting any future attempts you might have to gain your freedom from him. But if you look closely at the name on the deed you will see that we have defeated Roger soundly.”
The hand holding the parchment shook slightly. She accepted it, gazed down, gasped, squinted, then pressed the document so close to her face it touched her nose. Yet the name of the new owner remained clear and legible. Amelia Wheatley, Dowager Countess of Monford. “You have bought the house for me? Why?”
“I suspected you might not leap at the chance to marry me, even though I am considered by many in society to be the catch of the Season.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “I understand your need for independence is strong. My one hope remains that if we do not marry at once I can at least be a frequent overnight guest in your home and in your bed.”
“Gareth.” Amelia dipped her chin and blushed.
He ran his fingers gently across her bowed head. “When the weather begins to warm we shall travel. You said once how you long to see the sights of Europe. Let me show them to you. There are still many beautiful places where the Corsican monster has not invaded. I have told you that I prefer we marry, but I won’t insist upon it. I want you to be happy, Amelia.”
She gripped his knee tightly, still feeling shock. He was giving her everything she had always wanted, had ever dreamed about. Her freedom. And his love. What could be more perfect?
“I was able to bring my maid with me when I came to stay with Belinda, but there is an elderly servant, a footman named Hugh, employed by Roger whom I wish moved to the Dower House. Can you arrange that for me?”
“It will be done as quickly as possible. Now give me a real challenge.”
She shook her head, hardly daring to believe in his confidence, his enthusiasm. “Our future is so uncertain, so unsettled. How will we manage it?”
His mouth tightened with amusement. “A woman I respect and admire once told me that if I set my mind to it, I could accomplish any task.”
“She sounds demented.”
“No, she is very wise and very beautiful. She has captured my heart and holds it firmly in the palm of her hand. I am hers to command.”
The emotional upheaval in Amelia’s heart began to settle. “I do want to be with you,” she admitted. “Yet I insist we delay any marriage plans until we have been together for at least several months. Perhaps even a year.”
“Done!” Clasping his hand around her head, Gareth brought Amelia’s mouth to his. He kissed her deeply, his mouth warm and inviting. When it ended, she felt him smile and pull away. “I do however have one condition upon which I will not bend,” he whispered. “If you become pregnant with our child during that time you will marry me immediately. I cannot sanction the idea of my son or daughter growing up without my name, without a real father to love and protect them.”
“I agree.” She blew out her breath quickly before the image of their child had her crying with longing. “After all, how can I refuse the man who once told me he shot his father with a dueling pistol when he was just a lad?”
“How indeed?” The viscount’s broad grin was infectious. “ ’Tis a fine, entertaining tale, my lady. I promise I shall tell it to you in great detail on our wedding night.”
“Gareth! You just said that you would not pressure me to—”
The viscount growled softly, bent his head down swiftly, and captured her lips firmly before Amelia could sputter any additional protests. Yet it was not necessary. She returned the kiss with equal measure, for they were in truth a well-matched pair.