And, intertwined as if they belonged together, he took her back to the house.
A deal, an exchange. A week and a half of passion for a lifetime of service. Her terms. His were different. She’d given him a new way to woo her. When he was finally ready to propose marriage, she’d have spent a week in his bed. He’d have to ensure the pleasure she experienced there meant she’d never want to leave it.
Fifteen
Entering the castle tore them apart. Amelia flew to Mrs. Scott to request baths above stairs while Drew retreated to his bedchamber. And though she spoke in a calm tone with her housekeeper and took herself on steady legs to her own chamber to change her gown and tame her hair, she was anything but calm, the opposite of steady.
He’d agreed.
Why in the world had she suggested it? Likely a heady combination of terror and relief.And, because shemustbe honest with herself, a little bit because he’d been standing there soaked to the bone, his clothing molded to every muscle and contour of his body. She’d been swamped in his scent, his greatcoat adding to her layers of wool and warding off the stormy chill of the air. She’d been unable to stop the same image repeating over and over in her mind: him rising from the sea, a swooning woman cradled to his chest.
For a little bit, she’d wonderedWhy couldn’t it have been me?Why couldn’t I have been the one to go all the way out into the ocean and almost drown?Then it would behercuddled into his arms and not Miss Angleton. Terrible thought. What if Miss Angleton had died? Even worse thought, that.
Terror. Relief. Lust. Apparently, they made a usually sensible woman do foolish things. Like proposition her employer.
Foolish? Or brilliant? He had, after all, agreed. What did that mean? What would happen now? Would he really come to her bed? Or had he not taken her meaning? She had not been terribly explicit in her request. Heavens, what was she to do now?
She groaned and summoned a maid to help her out of her gown, then sank into an old chair sitting before her window. It looked in the direction of the sea. A storm was rolling in.
When the maid came, Amelia disrobed and dismissed her once more. She’d summon her again before dinner to dress. Until then, she remained only in her shift, cinching a wrapper around her waist. Not a practical garment at all, something she’d bought quite on impulse in Manchester once. Blue silk. The color of Andrew’s eyes.
Sinking back into her chair, she rested her forehead against the window’s cool glass. The sisters-in-law had told her to be bold. And she’d certainly been that. And if she could muster the courage to continue, she’d be much bolder later.
The sound of her door opening brought her up straight, brought her eyes open wide as she turned.
“Andrew. What…”
Dressed only in his trousers and shirt sleeves, his hair slicked back from his forehead, he snapped the door closed and prowled toward her. He did not wear his glasses, and his ice-blue eyes burned bright, no candlelight or fireside reflection to hide them.
No words. Nothing but intent in his eyes and in his steps. And in his hands as he cupped her cheeks and pulled her against his body into a kiss. As his mouth opened over hers, she felt one thing outside of the steel of his arms, the warmth of his breath, the branding of his hands…
She felt wanted.
She melted against him, clutching the fine lawn of his shirt. And then it was over. He lifted, rubbed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, and released her.
And she collapsed to her hands and knees. Liquid, kiss-weakened legs, she must remember from this point forward, did not for steady standing make.
“Hell, Amelia,” he hissed, lunging for her. He lifted her with ease, set her on her feet, and held her upper arms tight. “Can I let go?”
No. Never. “Yes.” She batted his hands away, feeling heat climb up her chest and neck. “Your fault entirely. What are you about?”
He smirked, a new expression for him. And one that threatened to liquefy her knees once more. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Yes. Everything she’d ever wanted. But she’d not thought to find him so… eager, not thought to find such fire in his blood.
He moved closer, crossing his arms over his chest so that the lawn pulled tight across lean muscle. “Isn’t it, Amelia?” He tipped her chin up. “Answer me.”
“Yes.”
The smirk deepened, his blue eyes darkened from sunny skies to stormy ones, and he pressed his body against her, pressed her against the wall. “Good. Then know this. I don’t do things by halves. Until we leave, you are mine, and I will touch you, kiss you, have you, whenever I wish. Yes?”
She swallowed. He did understand the terms of their deal, then. “Yes.”
He dropped to his knees before her, his hands bracketing her waist, holding tight, his chin tipped up to look at her. “And until we leave, I am yours. And you will touch me, kiss me, have me, whenever you wish.”
She traced the outline of his face, flirting with the damp silk of his hair at his temple. She closed her eyes and found the dark, and said, “Yes.”
A kiss branded her belly, strong hands held her tight. What had happened to the man she’d known for five years? The one who never removed his gloves if he could help it, who only expressed displeasure, annoyance, and then only with a pursing of his lips or an arch of his brow? Never extravagant, never overwhelming.
