What have I done?
she thought again.
She had shared her body with somebody to whom she was not married, with somebody whom she probably didn’t even like, and who would never have slept with her if it had not been for some sort of love potion. For, of course, there must have been a potion in that punch. Looking back, she now saw how completely it had changed her behavior. Dear heaven, how careless and forward she had been with Fox! The liberties she had granted him! And last night she had even taken the ultimate step: she had shared her innocence.
Something occurred to her, and she hastily scrambled out of bed and threw back the blankets. Anxiously she inspected the covers.
No blood!
Her shoulders sagged with relief.
Thank God, there was no blood. For how would she have explained this to the maid? Something they had never thought of last night, of course. And what was more…
Suddenly feeling faint, Amy sank down on the side of the bed and put a trembling hand on her stomach.
They hadn’t thought about pregnancy, either.
Fear gripped Amy. Her eyes stung, and she felt as if she were about to be sick.
She was ruined.
She had slept with a man to whom she was not married, and their engagement was based on a mere illusion. All the affection she felt for him conjured up by the love potion.
Yet even this knowledge, even the memories of his odious behavior at the ball and at the beginning of Lady Worthington’s musicale, did not diminish her false regard for him.
What a mess! What an utter, horrid mess!
And of course, she could never tell him. He wouldn’t believe her anyway, not in a thousand years. Not Mr. Sebastian Stapleton, who had lectured her on the importance of rational thought and the dangers of flights of fancy. No, he wouldn’t believe her.
A shiver ran through her body.
Her
naked
body.
Oh, sweet heavens…
Again, Amy clasped her hands in front of her eyes and fought against her tears. Whatever shall I do now? She had never felt more alone nor more afraid.
She had to take several deep breaths before she managed to regain her composure. With a sigh she wiped the wetness from her cheeks—drowning herself in her tears would not help her now.
She sniffed, then went over to the washstand. She splashed some of yesterday’s water into her face, dried herself with the towel, and straightened to look in the mirror. Except for a small bruise at the side of one breast, hair that was tousled more than usual, and lips that were slightly puffy, her body remained unchanged.
Almost disbelieving, Amy looked herself up and down. But no, her arms and shoulders were still rounded, her breasts still full, her hips still generous, and her skin still rosy and smooth. No scarlet mark of guilt anywhere.
Not even on the bed linen.
A nervous giggle escaped her. At least she had been blessed with a hymen that broke without much fuss. Thank heavens for small mercies!
She smoothed her hair and donned her crumpled nightdress before she rang for her maid.
By the time Amy reached the breakfast parlor, her mood was subdued once more. The luminous colors of the room seemed jarring today, the exotic birds on the walls garish. She shook her head.
The earl, the countess, and Admiral Pickering were already present and talked animatedly about the cultivation of apples. The admiral, Lady Rawdon explained to Amy as she joined them at the table, had chosen to buy a house with an apple tree in its back garden.
“A Kerry Pippin,” the admiral said.
Lord Rawdon chuckled. “And now he falls out of his apple tree on a regular basis.”
“Easy enough for you to say, Rawdon.” The admiral pointed his knife at the earl. “After all, you let your
gardeners
fall out of your trees.”
Lord Rawdon barked a laugh. “Too true. You see, Miss Bourne”—he turned to Amy—“my head gardener is currently trying to cultivate a new breed, the Rawdon Gold, he would call it. So far, though, he hasn’t had any luck with his endeavors.”
The door opened, and Fox entered the room. An apple puff fell from Amy’s nerveless fingers. With her heart thundering in her ears, she watched him swagger toward her. His mouth curved into a smile.
“Good morning.”
As if from a distance, Amy heard the others wishing him a good morn. Her own voice, however, seemed paralyzed. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. And then he stood before her, and the warm scent of bergamot sneaked out to envelop her.
Amy swallowed hard.
At that, his smile widened. “Good morning, Miss Bourne,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. He leaned forward and bussed her cheek.
Amy’s eyes fell closed. For a precious moment the heat and scent of him surrounded her like a warm blanket. But the sound of a hand slapping on cloth broke the spell.
“Sebastian Stapleton, will you please stop this canoodling in my breakfast parlor?” The countess might sound amused, but the steel in her voice was unmistakable.
Amy’s eyes snapped open. Her cheeks flamed.
Unperturbed, Fox winked at her, then strolled whistling to the sideboard to choose his breakfast.
Lady Rawdon leaned close to Amy. “Don’t let my brother-in-law embarrass you, my dear,” she said quietly. “He is a veritable rascal, that one.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “It’s never too early to take him in hand.”
Amy managed a wan smile. Oh, among other things, she had indeed taken him in hand last night—though in a much more literal sense than the countess could ever imagine. Her shoulders slumped.
And how much delight she had felt when he had groaned and his body had shuddered under her ministrations! At that moment she had felt like the most powerful woman in all of Britain.
Even without her magic.
She sighed.
This morning, by contrast, she felt like the least powerful woman in all of Europe.
Lady Rawdon threw her a worried glance. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Bourne?”
“Oh yes, yes,” she murmured.
“You look indeed somewhat under the weather,” the admiral remarked. “You should take care not to catch a chill in the humid climate of Norfolk!”
The entrance of Isabella Bentham distracted Amy, and so she only murmured something noncommittally and watched her walk to the sideboard. Amy frowned. It had been Mr. Bentham who had given them the fateful punch. Surely he must have known about its contents. He had put the potion in their glasses himself, most likely!
Amy turned her attention to her half-eaten apple puff. Her frown deepened. Why had Fox felt it necessary to invite Isabella, too, to Rawdon Park? Had this really been his idea, or perhaps Mr. Bentham’s? Her stomach turned as she realized that it could well have been Isabella who had brought that evil charm, which Pip had found on the stairs, to Rawdon Park.
Yet the question remained: Why?
Lost in thought, she barely registered the rest of the breakfast conversation. Only when Lady Rawdon touched her arm and whispered, “Sebastian has asked you a question, dear. Take pity on the poor man,” did she look up sharply.
Fox was observing her closely. A sharp worry line had appeared between his eyebrows.
“Are you feeling all right?” His tone was gentle.
It was the second time someone had asked her the question today. All at once, Amy felt the desperate urge to scream and rant.
No! Nothing is all right! NOTHING!
But of course, she didn’t. They would only have thought her raving mad.
“I am… fine.”
The lines of worry on his face smoothened. His eyes brightened. “Then, would you like to start on our walk around the gardens?” A boyish, endearing smile lifted his lips-and-broke Amy’s heart.
She blinked against the sudden sting of tears. “I think…” Her voice failed her.
“Amy?”
Oh, how she hated to see the worry return to his face!
She took a deep breath and, under the cover of the tablecloth, dug her nails into her palms in the hope that the physical pain would divert her from the pain in her heart. “I am sorry. Not today.” She managed a small smile. “I feel a little … tired this morning.”
Tenderness lit his face up like a lantern. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I see.”
Desperately, Amy tried to swallow the lump in her throat. This was awful.
“Perhaps you would like to rest in the drawing room?” Fox suggested eagerly. He turned his head toward the sideboard. “Ramtop, has the fire in the South Drawing Room already been lit?”
“Of course, Mr. Stapleton,” the butler replied.
“Good, good.” Fox focused his attention on Amy again. “Would you like to read? Shall one of the footmen go and fetch your book?” Not waiting for her reply, he turned to the sideboard once more. “Ramtop, please have somebody bring—what was the title again?—
The Horrible Histories of the Rhine
?”
Amy nodded faintly.
“Please have somebody bring those
Horrible Histories
from Miss Bourne’s room to the drawing room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And perhaps a pot of fresh tea?” Lady Rawdon added. She turned to pat Amy’s hand. “Let Sebastian make you comfortable in the drawing room, my dear. Afterwards he can take a stroll with the earl and the admiral. Perhaps they could even go and shoot some bird or other for our dinner table. Miss Bentham, would you also like to—”
Isabella’s lip curled. “I have got some letters to write,” she said.
“Oh. Oh well, if that is the case…” The countess gave Amy’s hand a last pat. “I shall join you in the drawing room presently. Now off you go. You
are
looking a trifle wan this morning. Sebastian?”
But of course, he wouldn’t have needed the prompt. He was already up and around the table to help her stand and then offer her his arm to escort her to the drawing room. Never had the way to the back wing of the house seemed longer to Amy! To walk beside him, almost close enough for their shoulders to brush, and to know… to
know
…
It was torture.
Just inside the drawing room, Fox finally let her go. Amy bit her lip, then made herself ask lightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for ages—was it your idea to invite Isabella to Rawdon Park?”
“Miss Bentham?” The question clearly puzzled him. “No, Mr. Bentham suggested it to make you feel not so alone among strangers.” He searched her face. “Are you sure you are all right?”
“Oh yes, yes. I’m merely a little bit tired.” Again, Amy forced her lips to curve into a smile. And again that tender expression that made her want to cry suffused his face.
“I see.” He trailed his forefinger down her cheek. “I wasn’t…” He hesitated, frowned. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
Too rough? Last evening she had been sure he would carry her to heaven—and he had done it. It was not his fault that she had been cast into hell only a few hours later. “Oh no. Not at all,” she whispered. As she looked up at him, his face swam out of focus. “I am so sorry.”
“Oh sweetheart, sweetheart.” He touched her chin, then his hand curved to cup her jaw. “Don’t take this so hard. It is only a walk in the garden, isn’t it?”
Amy averted her face.
“Isn’t it?” This time, his voice was more insistent. He tried to peer into her face.
Miserably, she nodded. For how could she have told him? How could she have told him of the magic? The potion? The evil charm? He would never have believed her!
His thumb rubbed over her chin. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, just before his mouth brushed over her lips in a sweet, tender kiss. “Take a little rest, and don’t worry about the walk.” A last caress down her cheek, and then he was gone.
Amy sank down onto one of the sofas. Desperately trying to control the urge to cry, she closed her eyes and clasped her hand over her mouth. If only … if only she had never attempted the spell that had turned Three Elms cobalt blue!
She drew in a shuddering breath and quickly let her hand fall to her side, when a footman entered and brought her book. Shortly afterwards the butler himself followed, with a tray and biscuits. “Will this be all, Miss Bourne?” he asked.
She nodded a thank-you, and he left the room. She was alone.
Amy didn’t know how long she sat and stared into empty space, while she turned the whole situation over in her mind and desperately tried to find a solution. This was how the dowager countess found her some time later.
“My dear child.” Lady Rawdon walked across the room and sat down next to her on the sofa. “I have heard you are feeling unwell this morning?” She glanced at the empty and obviously unused teacup and the plate with biscuits. “Perhaps you need something more restoring. Shall I order a cup of hot chocolate for you? Cocoa is supposed to work wonders for the constitution.” Lady Rawdon made to rise, but Amy quickly put her hand on the woman’s arm.
“This won’t be necessary, I assure you. I have been thinking…” She bit her lip.
Lady Rawdon’s kind brown eyes rested warmly on her. “Yes?”
“I understand that Miss Bentham accompanied me to Rawdon Park so I wouldn’t feel lonely. But how could I ever feel lonely here when you all have been so kind to me?”
“Oh, my dear.” The dowager countess took Amy’s hands and squeezed them. “You must know that we all love you exceedingly well.”
Oh yes, she knew. She had felt it. And it only made this whole situation so much worse. For she had to harden her heart against this affection as well. She could not afford to grow any closer to the Stapletons: in the end, they were nothing but strangers who must never learn about her secrets, her magic. Even though it tore her heart apart, she had to concede there was no future for her and Fox. They were too different. Why, they had
detested
each other! And surely he would come to loathe her again once the effects of the potion wore off. Or once she could obtain an antidote. Uncle Bourne would certainly know one. And so, before long, she would return to Three Elms, and in time would become the spinster aunt of her cousins’ children. No, she could not afford to grow any closer to the Stapleton family.
“I have thought,” Amy continued, forcing her voice to remain strong: this was not the time for tears. “It would be so unkind to keep Miss Bentham from her family during the Christmas season. And now that it has started to snow…”