Lady Amelia's Mess and a Half (8 page)

A full moon illuminated the empty space, creating a magical world in the gardens beyond the veranda. She moved to the railing and leaned against the smooth marble. A welcome breeze washed over her heated skin, and she lifted her face with closed eyes.

“Freya, most glorious of the goddesses.”

Jake.
A smile pulled at her lips. She peered over her shoulder, her breath catching at the sight of the ethereal deity sharing the veranda with her. “Adonis, we meet at last. Rumors circulated that you were merely a myth, but I see everyone was mistaken.”

Jake’s chuckle warmed her blood, as did the glimpse of his strong calves peeking out from beneath the pristine robe.

“Should you be out here alone?” he asked.

She patted the sword at her side as she turned fully to face him. “I am armed for battle. Do you have need of a protector?”

“An armed escort as I walk the gardens might be wise.” He stepped forward with a slight frown. “Amelia, could we go somewhere to talk?”

Jake’s thoughts fled as soon as Amelia linked her arm with his. Not that he had prepared a speech when he followed her to the veranda. He hadn’t even formed a solid plan when the sight of her in the full moonlight had stolen his breath. Inviting her to walk in the garden had been impulsive.

They meandered along the path. The whispers of a set of lovers rendezvousing in the shadowed garden carried on the breeze.

Jake glanced down at Amelia on his arm; her silky tresses glowed almost white in the moonlight. Her hair fell to the middle of her back, tempting him to test its softness with his fingers.

He led her to a bench and urged her to sit before sinking down beside her. A warm breeze brushed his cheeks and the scent of lilac and rich soil permeated the air.

She tipped her heart-shaped face toward him, her almond eyes glimmering. He had recognized her the moment he saw her in the ballroom, and would have even if he hadn’t known her costume. Jake had memorized every gorgeous feature: her pert nose turned up at the tip, eyes the color of the Mediterranean, and her luxurious pink mouth. He loved how her bottom lip was fuller and the way the top formed two perfect arches like the beginning of a heart.

“You said you wished to speak with me, Mr. Hillary?”

He snapped to attention. “May we dispense with formality, Amelia?”

Her lips puckered, and he could picture the tiny crease that formed between her brows when she was puzzled.

Opening and closing his mouth, he was unsure where to begin. Should he open with an apology or move directly to the point? The blasted trouble was he always had time to prepare prior to appearing before the court. He was meticulous in his study of the issues at hand and organized arguments thusly. Not so in spontaneous declarations of love.

After a while, she sighed. “Is that the whole of it? You wish to dispense with formality between us?”

“Yes.
No!
” he blurted, causing her to jump.
Damnation.
He rubbed his temples. This was going poorly. What a bloody travesty that a tiny woman could reduce him to a bumbling fool.

She hugged her arms close to her chest. “No, you do
not
want to dispense with formality?”

Jake shook his head to free it of cobwebs. “I would like you to refer to me by my given name, but that isn’t the reason I asked to speak with you. I want…”

She looked expectantly at him.

“I want you…”

Amelia licked her lips, wrecking his entire line of thinking. The desire to taste her was highly distracting. He longed to lay her in the bed of clover behind them and taste her all over, but that would never do.

“You want me?” Her voice sounded breathless.

“Yes,” he said, enchanted with the rounding of her eyes. “I want you… t-to forgive me.” Quite right, he should start with an apology. He jumped from the bench, warming to his topic and gearing up to present his case. “Yes, that’s exactly what I am trying to articulate. I wish for your forgiveness.”

“Oh!” Amelia blinked. “Forgiveness for what, exactly? Just so we are clear.”

Did he really have to say it? He had been a deplorable cur last autumn and practically accused her of being a trollop. Very well, part of clearing the air required one to confess to wrongdoing. He took a deep breath. It was an uncomfortable conversation, his behaving like a jealous fool that day. “I never should have stormed into your home making ridiculous accusations. I had no right to—to lend commentary on your marriage or association with Forest.”

Amelia winced.

He was fouling up his apology, hindering his chances of addressing the second half of the conversation. He did want her.

“Amelia, what I mean is—”

She leapt up from the bench, too. “Please, stop,” she hissed, her gaze shooting wildly around the garden. “I don’t want to discuss
him
.”

Quite
right.
What if someone overheard?

“I made a mistake, but you wrongly judged me.” She tried to rush past Jake and his world tipped out of control.

He grasped her arm. “Amelia, no. I didn’t mean anything I said that day. You are a wonderful lady. I never should have said… You are correct, let’s not discuss him, or that day. I want to discuss us.”

She stared at him, her lips parted. “Us?”

“I know there is no us. Look, I am sorry for barging in and accusing you of being disloyal to Audley. It was stupid and improper and uncalled for.”

She wiggled her elbow from his grasp. “I understand. You were coming to my husband’s defense.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “But, Jake, I swear I never was unfaithful to him.”

“I don’t give a damn about Audley.”

Amelia’s gaze snapped up to his, her mouth falling open in shock.

“I should have thrashed him from the start and been done with it.”

“Oh!” She did it again. Her mouth formed a perfect pink circle and his body jerked to life.

“Amelia, I behaved like a lunatic that day. The truth is I wanted you to be with me. I wanted you in
my
bed.”

Amelia stalked toward him, and he braced himself to receive her palm across his face. She stopped a mere inch from his chest. No blow followed. Good Lord, she had the sweetest scent, like that flower. The one that bloomed in the spring. What was it called? It came in pink or blue and resembled a spear.

“What is that flower—?”

“Be quiet and kiss me.” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her soft lips.

To
hell
with
flowers.

Jake wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her essence. Her luscious mouth moved beneath his as he kissed her back. When she brushed her velvety tongue across his lips, he moaned, opening his mouth and allowing her access before giving back what she offered.

Her costume breastplate pressed against his chest, the thin metal sheet preventing her ivory skin from touching him. He became acutely aware of the throbbing in his groin and that his hand rested so close to her beautiful, round bottom. He reached downward, eager to feel her beneath his fingers. She shivered in his arms, and knowing how inappropriate further exploration would be, he pressed his palm against her waist to hold it in place. Amelia deserved romance, not groping in a garden.

Without breaking their kiss, she removed an arm from around his neck and captured his eager hand and moved it lower to cover her bottom.

“Mia!” His fingers curled into the lush flesh. His shaft pounded with more vigor and grew harder than Carrara marble. She rose up on her toes as he dragged her against his hardened length. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her once and for all.

A small cry passed from her lips.

Blast
and
damn!
His enthusiasm was frightening her, but it had been so long.

Jake grasped her waist and gently pushed her away from him, breaking their kiss.

“No.” She reached for him, her hips twisting to free herself from his grasp.

“We have to slow down, sweetheart.”

She blinked at him, her breathing heavy and matching his own. Her eyes grew round, and she stumbled back a step. “I-I’m sorry. I did not—oh, dear heavens.”

He captured her around the waist as she tried to rush past, pulling her against him and setting his senses on fire again. He dropped his head close to her temple, his churning breath stirring the loose tendrils curling around her cheek.

“Please, don’t be sorry,” he implored. “I am only sorry for starting something I cannot finish here.”

No matter how fiercely he wanted Amelia, he wouldn’t treat her like a trollop. Bedding her in the gardens at a masked ball was too debauched by half.

His fingers trailed up her back before sliding into her silky hair.

“May I call on you tomorrow, Mia? Perhaps we could ride in the park again?”

She eased from his embrace, fluffing her shimmering skirt before reaching out to smooth his robe. “That would be lovely.”

***

Jasper Hainsworth, Earl of Norwick, struggled from the carriage. He tugged at his jerkin to keep from exposing his goods to the other guests also arriving at the masked ball. The skirt was deuced short, and his knees were showing. The hose stopping partway up his calves were ridiculous.

“Stop fidgeting,” his sister scolded, her fingers digging into his upper arm. “Henry VIII was dignified.”

With a frown, he pried her grip from his person. “You mustn’t wrinkle the monarch’s attire,” he mumbled. “I shall have you thrown in the Tower.”

Fiona ignored his comment and linked arms to pull him toward the entrance. “Don’t become belligerent, Tub.”

He wanted to shout at her to stop calling him that ridiculous nickname. He had lost at least two stones since she’d christened him Tubby.

He narrowed his eyes at Fiona. Was that the reason she had insisted he portray Henry VIII? “You realize I’m dressed as the younger, more handsome King Henry, do you not?”

“Of course you are,” she responded in a condescending tone.

She thought him still rotund. Bristling, he lengthened his stride so she would practically have to run unless she wished him to drag her across the foyer.

Why had he agreed to attend this abysmal affair? He never attended balls and loathed escorting his sister any place, not that she required an escort. Fiona had a perfectly capable baron at home, who apparently had more sense than Jasper.

Lord Banner pretended his wife didn’t exist most days, which meant Fiona spent more time at Jasper’s Hertford Street town house than he desired. He should ban her from visiting for all the trouble she gave him, but how did one turn away the woman who had changed his nappies?

Fi was his half sister, actually. Her mother had died before producing an heir for their father, and then Jasper’s mother died in childbirth. He sighed and slowed his step, a rush of affection for the woman he considered his mother softening his stance.

Nevertheless, he was head of the Hainsworth family, a peer of the realm, a man of influence and prestige. He demanded respect.

“I don’t intend to stay long,” he said. “I’ll leave you to summon a hack if you aren’t ready to depart on my command.”

One glance at his sister’s pinched mouth took the wind from his sails. Perhaps commanding was a bit harsh. He would request she defer to his wishes, at least when in public.

As they entered the crowded ballroom, he smiled with sudden inspiration. Brilliant. They would never find each other again if separated in this crush.

Fiona’s black eyes swept over him. “You will not leave early, Tub. It’s high time you selected a wife. There is the matter of issue, as I’m certain you are aware.”

He winced. “Lower your voice, Fiona.” He didn’t need everyone to know his affairs. Besides, he was still a young man of eight and twenty. He had plenty of time to marry and produce offspring. A wife wasn’t on his agenda, but perhaps his sister had stumbled upon a solution to a pressing dilemma.

Since Maggie, his former mistress, had taken up with another gentleman, he had been frequenting the bawdy houses, but he missed the companionship a mistress provided. He desired an association with lasting benefits.

A widow would solve all of his problems. She wouldn’t be an innocent or fancy herself in love. She likely wouldn’t even entertain thoughts of marriage. And if that prig, Jake Hillary, could win the incomparable Lady Audley’s attentions, surely Jasper was capable of attracting a widow half as beautiful.

“You’re brilliant, Fi,” he said.

“And you are hopeless.” His sister yanked off her glove, licked her thumb, and reached for him.

Jasper slapped her hand away when her wet digit scrubbed his chin. “Egads! Have you gone batty, woman?”

“Chocolate,” she stated with a smug gleam to her masked eyes. “I require refreshment now.”

She didn’t wait to see if he agreed to accompany her. With a frustrated shrug, he followed in her wake. He glanced at the obscured faces as he and Fiona weaved toward the refreshment room.

Blast!
How was he to know the widows from the married ladies when he couldn’t identify them? At least the innocents were easy to spot as they gathered in groups with their chaperones lurking in the background.

Lady Chickering boasted an extravagant spread. The white linen table was loaded with tempting sweets: strawberry tartlets, ratafia cakes, sugar cookies, marzipan. Jasper groaned and looked away before he drooled. Controlling his sweet tooth was difficult, but he wouldn’t overindulge for fear of regaining what he’d lost, becoming an even larger target for his sister’s insults.

“I’ll meet you in the ballroom,” he said.

Fiona loaded her plate with two of everything. He envied her ability to gorge herself like a man while retaining her scrawny figure.