“Am I being greedy?” she muttered, throwing back the coverlets.
She winced as her bare feet touched the icy floorboards, and slid them quickly into her slippers. Yawning, she fetched the winter housecoat that Lionel had procured for her—another sweet gesture that only added to her frustration, and the conundrum of him—and headed out in search of something that would make her sleepy.
The manor was steeped in darkness and silence as she made her way downstairs, the ticking of the clock the only sound that dared to intrude on that eerie quiet. At the Lisbret Estate, she would have been terrified, but here, she felt no fear at all.
As she approached the sanctuary of the library, however, she slowed her pace. A sliver of light spilled out from beneath the door, while the faint sound of a fire crackling made it through the thick wood.
Someone was in there already.
It could only be one of three people—any of whom I would be glad to see,Amelia reasoned, taking a breath and easing the door open gently.
Her gaze fell to the fireplace, half expecting to see Lionel lying there on the floor, tangled in his blankets.
“What have I told you about wandering abroad at night?” his voice rumbled, snapping her attention to the reading chair by the window.
Lionel sat there with one leg up on a footstool, a book splayed open on his lap, his spectacles catching the reflection of the fireplace so that, for a moment, it looked like he had flames in his eyes.
“I could not sleep,” Amelia replied in haste. “I planned to read something until exhaustion overcame me.”
He raised his book up. “Same here.”
She waited for him to dismiss her, telling her to fetch a book and go, but he did not. Instead, he observed her, pushingthe bridge of his spectacles though they were already in the correct position. She had forgotten how much she adored those spectacles, softening the harder edges of him.
“There is tea if you want it,” he said, just as the silence between them had thickened to awkward proportions.
Amelia nodded shyly. “Yes, please.” She hesitated, hoping to break the tension. “I thought, perhaps, that you would not think it was an appropriate time for tea.”
“Nonsense.” A faint smile lifted one corner of his lips. “It is always an appropriate time for tea.”
“Except when my brother is here?”
“Except when your brother is here,” he repeated, leaning forward to pour her a cup of tea from the tray that sat upon the side table nearest to him.
She edged further into the room, wondering if it was normal to feel so awkward after a first kiss. If they had spent more of the day with one another, perhaps there would have been no discomfort, but as she had not seen him since, her shyness was in full swing.
Wandering past the first row of bookcases in the vast room, which smelled so gloriously of paper and ink and stories, she selected a book she had been meaning to read—a novel with her own name upon it:Ameliaby Henry Fielding.
Holding it to her chest, she went to sit in the reading chair opposite Lionel.
“An interesting choice,” Lionel said, watching her closely as she sat down.
“It is always interesting to read a book that uses one’s name,” she replied, hating how stilted her voice sounded.
He shrugged and reached forward to push the teacup and saucer toward her. As he did, his arm seemed to jerk, turning the movement into a shove. Tea sloshed and Amelia saw the cup threatening to topple, prompting her to lunge to rescue it. She caught it just in time, spilling a little more tea as she righted the cup again.
“I would rather drink it than wear it,” she teased boldly, as heat rushed up from her chest, prickling up her throat. Maybe, one day, she would be able to jest without embarrassment following after, but that was not the day.
Lionel chuckled. “Apologies, Amelia. I fear my arm had fallen asleep, forgetting about the rest of me—a selfish limb indeed, and one that evidently did not like to be rudely awoken.”
She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed softly, for it appeared that Lionel had as peculiar sense of humor as his grandmother and sister.
“Do not do that,” he said quietly.
“Do what?” she asked, surprised.
He narrowed his eyes. “Do not cover your mouth when you laugh or smile. It is not something that should be hidden.”
And here we are again, turning in confused loops…How could he say such romantic things andnotrealize that he was raising her hopes? Baron Hervey certainly would not have said such words to her.
