“No!” Amelia whipped around.
“Yes. I showed Mother the silhouette I drew of you.” Her face burned bright pink in a flash. “Not all of it. Just the head bit.”
She went limp in his arms. “Thank heaven.”
“What sort of silhouette are we talking about?” Tidsdale sauntered forward, caterpillars dancing across his forehead.
“Do stuff it,” Amelia said.
At the same time Drew drawled, “Do you remember the feel of my fists, man?”
Tidsdale rolled his eyes. “I’ll not give up, you know. I still intend to take every single one of your clients and run your little agency into the ground.”
“Try.” A dark word with a violent edge. Drew wrapped an arm around Amelia’s shoulders and guided her toward the door and out onto the street.
“Wait. I’ve personal items in there.”
“We’ll get you new ones.”
A hack waited on the corner, and he ushered her up into it.
She pushed her way back down to the street, pressed her hand against his chest, and walked him backward.
“Wait a moment, my lord. I’m still mightily angry with you. Do you think you can storm into wherever I’m at and tell me what to do?”
“I know better than that now. This time, I was thinking less telling and more seducing. It seems to work.” He grinned and caught her hand against his chest, kissed her knuckles. “Kissing you may be my favorite activity.”
His lips were so lovely, so very soft and firm and—she shook her head and tore her hand away. “No. The barriers that stood between us before remain. I will not marry you to fill your pockets. I will not marry you to be your forever secretary. I will not?—”
“Marry me so I can fill your pockets. Marry me so you can be forever in my bed, my lap, my home. My heart.” His hands fell limp at his sides, palms open and facing her, gloves entirely missing. No glasses either. He’d not yet replaced the ones he’d smashed. And there, peeking out of his jacket pocket, just visible behind his greatcoat—a pink handkerchief. He risked stepping toward her, taking her hands on that muddy street and pulling her close. “You could run an agency on your own. You could do anything you determine to do. If it’s not with me as your partner, I accept that. As long as we are partners in other ways. Not partners. Husband and wife. Lovers.In love. Amelia, I love you. Work wherever or for whomever you wish. I do not even wish to try and stop you. As long as you are happy. As long as you sleep in my bed every night, take my name, welcome my kisses, and?—”
She threw herself at him and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly he’d never escape. Even if he wanted to. And miracle of miracles, he did not want to.
He kissed her right back, squeezing her ribs with his strong embrace, and sprinkled kisses across her cheek, her jaw, along every available inch of skin.
“Oi, you two. Do it in the cab or I’m going to get actual passengers.” The hackney driver glared at them.
Laughing, they piled inside. He sat her on his lap and nuzzled her neck, and she kissed his temple.
“Did Tidsdale harm you?”
“If one can be physically bruised from constant annoyance, then yes. Otherwise, no. I am glad to be rid of him. No matter what he thinks, his agency will not last a month. He’s more concerned with fashion than education.” She drew a line down his broken nose. “You need not worry on that account.”
“Worry? About him? Ha.” His smile fell and he leaned his forehead against hers. “Only when I thought he had you. I mean it, Amelia. I love you. It’s so big a feeling, it is everywhere I turn. In everything I do. I cannot put gloves on to avoid it or hide behind spectacles. I cannot wish it away with logic. It is real and solid in my chest.” He laid her hand over his heart. “Can you feel it?” She nodded. “I’m sorry. I was a fool.”
“Glad you see that.”
“I know how you despise loneliness. I should not have left you, should not have run away to Briarcliff. But I needed the painting to save you. I needed to do whatever I could to prove to you I did not want you for your money.”
“So you took the silhouette to show your mother?”
He shook his head. “I had no intention of using it. She’d promised to give the painting to me if I asked. I intended to ask only, but… I read my father’s letter. And it was there in my pocket.”
“Your pocket? But it’s too large.”
He reached a hand into the folds of his greatcoat and pulled out folded paper. “No. I miniaturized it, as you explained.”
She unfolded it, and heat flushed through her body. Yes, there she was, back arched, breasts outlined, head thrown back. She looked as if she were in the throes of passion.
