Passion for Him

Chapter 14

It never ceased to amaze Amelia how a man as vibrant and impossible to ignore as Christopher St. John could fade into oblivion when he chose to. As it was, she hardly noticed that he shared the same squab with Maria as they traveled to Bristol. He held his tongue as she poured out her heart, and she was grateful to him for his silence. Few would believe that the notorious criminal could tolerate hours upon hours of a weeping woman’s lamentations over love, but he did and he did it well.

“You told him you would not see him again?” Maria asked gently.

“Until Ware challenged him, that had been my intent,” Amelia said from behind the handkerchief she held to her nose. She had refused to talk about anything yesterday on the ride to Swindon. Only today did she feel capable of discussing Colin without crying too copiously to speak. “We will be happier apart.”

“You do not look happier.”

“I will be, over the duration of my life, as will Colin.” She sighed. “No one can be happy pretending day after day to be someone they are not.”

“Perhaps he is not pretending,” Maria suggested softly.

“Regardless, the new Colin harbors the same doubts as the old. Despite all that he has accomplished, he still believed Ware was the better choice until just days ago. He continues to make decisions regarding my welfare without consulting me. I had enough of such treatment in my childhood.”

“You are allowing your past to cloud your present.”

“You champion his actions?” Amelia asked with wide eyes. “How can you? I can find nothing good in what he has done. He is wealthy, yes-that is obvious in the quality of everything he owns-but accepting that end as being worthy of my grief and heartache puts a price on my love, and I cannot abide that.”

“I do not champion his actions,” Maria murmured, “but I do believe he loves you and that he thought he was acting in your best interests. I also believe that you love him. Surely, there is something good in that?”

Amelia ran a hand over her skirts and gazed out the window. Behind them, Colin rode in his carriage with Jacques, Mr. Quinn, and Mademoiselle Rousseau. Ware led their procession in his coach. She was trapped between the two, both figuratively and literally.

“I have come to the realization that passion is not as the poets would have us believe,” she said.

There was a suspicious choking sound from the opposite squab, but when she shot a narrowed glance at St. John, his face was studiously impassive.

“I am quite serious,” she argued. “Prior to these last weeks, my life was orderly and comfortable. My equanimity was intact. Ware was content, as were both of you. Colin, too, had an existence that was progressing in its own fashion. Now all of our lives are in disarray. You’ve no notion of how it pains me to realize that my resemblance to Lord Welton is more than skin deep.”

“Amelia. That is absolute nonsense.” Maria’s voice was stern.

“Is it? Have I not done exactly as he would do? Cared only for my own pleasure?” She shook her head. “I would rather be a woman who lives for duty than one who lives for her own indulgences. At least I would have honor then.”

Concern filled Maria’s dark eyes. “You are overwrought. It has been a long journey and the inn in Swindon had little to recommend it, but we are almost to Bristol, and then you must rest for a day or two.”

“Before or after the duel?” Amelia asked testily.

“Poppet-”

There was a distant shout heard outside, and then the carriage turned. Leaning forward, she looked out the window and watched a long, manicured lane empty into a circular drive graced by a sizeable center fountain. The lavish manse beyond that was breathtaking with its graceful columns and massive portico flanked by abundant, cheery flowerbeds.

The line of carriages rolled to a halt before the steps, and the front door opened, allowing a veritable swarm of gray-and black-liveried servants to flow out. St. John exited first. He then assisted Maria and Amelia down to the graveled drive.

“Welcome,” Ware said, as he joined them. His mouth curved in a rakish half smile as he lifted Amelia’s gloved hand to his lips. He looked dashing in his garb of pale blue breeches and coat the exact color of his eyes, and the strained smile she returned had true appreciation for his charm behind it.

“Your home is lovely, my lord,” Maria murmured.

“Thank you. I hope you will find it even lovelier once you are inside.”

In unison, they turned to look toward Colin’s coach. Amelia steeled herself inwardly for his appearance, expecting that he would look at her as he had done all of yesterday-with entreaty in his dark eyes.

Sadly, no preparation on her part could mitigate the effect he had on her as he vaulted down from his carriage and approached with an elegant stride that was entirely sensual. Damn the man. He had always moved with an animal grace that made her tingle all over. Now that she knew how well that latent sexuality translated to bedplay, the response was worse.

She looked away in an effort to hide the irresistible attraction she felt.

“My lord,” Colin said, his smooth voice roughened by obvious dislike. “If someone could kindly provide direction to the nearest inn, I will be on my way. Mr. Quinn will return later to make the necessary arrangements.”

“I would like you to stay here,” Ware said, startling everyone.

Amelia looked at him with mouth agape.

“That is impossible,” Colin protested.

“Why?” Ware challenged with both brows raised.

Colin’s jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

“What is it?” St. John asked, a note in his voice alerting Amelia. Apparently he saw something in the exchange that she did not. “Allow me to help you.”

“That will not be necessary,” Colin said stiffly. “Keep Miss Benbridge safe. That is all the assistance I require.”

“If you are in danger,” Maria said, “I would prefer to keep you close. Perhaps we should stay at the inn as well.”

“Please,” Ware said in his customary drawl, as composed as ever. “Everyone will be safer here than in a public venue with frequent traffic.”

“St. John,” Colin said. “If I could have a moment of your time.”

St. John nodded and excused himself. The two men moved a short distance away and spoke in tones too low to overhear. They became more animated, the conversation more heated.

“What is going on?” Amelia asked Maria.

“I wish I knew,” Maria replied.

“Allow Mrs. Barney to show you to your rooms,” Ware said, gesturing to the housekeeper who waited on the lower step with a soft smile.

“I want to know what is happening,” Amelia said.

“I know you do,” Ware murmured, setting his hand at her lower back and leading her toward the manse. “And I promise to tell you everything as soon as I know it.”

“Truly?” She looked up at him from beneath the brim of her hat.

“Of course. When have I ever lied to you?”

She understood the message. I am not Mitchell, it said. I have always been true to you. Grateful for him, Amelia offered a thankful, shaky smile. Maria joined her, and together they followed Mrs. Barney into the house.

Colin watched Lord Ware lead Amelia toward the manse and fought the urge to wrench her away. It was unbearable to see her with another man. It ate at him as acid would, burning and stinging and leaving a gaping hole behind.

“I think you should stay,” St. John said, drawing Colin’s attention away from Amelia’s departing back.

“You do not understand,” Colin argued. “We have been followed ever since we left Reading. If I keep my distance from Miss Benbridge, I will draw the danger away from her.”

St. John looked grim. “Unless she has a mind to follow you again,” he pointed out. “Then she will be far more vulnerable than if she were to remain here.”

“Bloody hell. I did not think of that.” Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, Colin rubbed at the tense muscle that pained him. “In her present mood, I do not think she will go to the trouble.”

“But you cannot be certain, and neither can I. Therefore, I think it best to err on the side of caution.”

“Can you not deter her in some way?” Colin asked. “Cartland cannot be allowed anywhere near her. If he suspects how much she means to me, he will exploit her.”

“Have you been able to deter her? Do not expect miracles from me.” St. John smiled. “My wife is considered the Deadliest Woman in England, and she taught her sibling everything she knows. Amelia can cross swords with the best of men, and she can throw a knife better than anyone, even me. If she decides to follow you, she will find a way.”

Colin blinked, then gave a resigned exhalation. “Oddly enough, I am not as surprised by that revelation as I should be.”

“I would have liked to have met their mother. She must have been extraordinary.”

“I do not have the time to socialize,” Colin growled. “I must be either the hunter or the prey, and the latter role does not suit me.”

St. John nodded. “I understand.”

“I wish Mademoiselle Rousseau would believe Jacques’s witness of the events of that night, but she refuses. I cannot collect why. Why dismiss him so completely? How can she trust Cartland’s word over anyone else’s?”

“I do not know what it is she seeks, but I will lend you whatever support you need. There is little that requires your attention tonight. Allow my men to begin the search in town. You can pick it up tomorrow. I think one night of domesticity will soothe Amelia enough to keep her from haring after you.”

The thought of spending an intimate evening in the company of Amelia and Lord Ware was a torment unparalleled.

“Will you stay?” the earl asked, joining them. “Rooms are being prepared for you and your acquaintances as we speak.”

“Thank you.” It was all Colin could manage. “I will tell the others.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

St. John watched him go, noting the stiffness of his posture and the anger evident in his stride. “He loves her.”

“I see that.”

Turning his head, St. John found the earl watching Mitchell with a narrowed glance. “I know why I think he should remain. I cannot collect why you do.”

“Our differences will be more obvious in direct contrast.” Ware met his gaze. “I am the best choice for her. If I doubted that for a moment, I would step aside. I want her happiness above all else. I do not think he is capable of giving it to her.”

“He is a formidable opponent in the challenge ahead. Mitchell has lived by his wits and his sword for several years.”

“I am not without skill of my own,” the earl said easily, “regardless of the civilized manner in which I acquired it.”

St. John nodded and followed Ware’s urging to move into the house. Tim was overseeing the removal of both trunks and servants from the trailing coach. Mitchell was scowling at Quinn, who was assisting a grinning Mademoiselle Rousseau down from their carriage.

For his part, St. John wondered if other men went through such difficulties when attempting to marry off a younger sibling. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs and moved directly to the suite assigned to him where he knew he would find his wife. Together, they would strategize the events of the coming few days.

The thought made him smile.

Bathed, dressed, yet inwardly shaky, Amelia slipped out of her bedchamber and hurried down the long gallery. Maria had told her to nap in preparation for afternoon tea, but Amelia could not sleep. What she felt was the urge to roam, to stretch her legs, to breathe fresh air and clear her head. As a child, she had learned that a brisk walk was capable of alleviating many ills, and she felt in strong need of that now.

“Amelia.”

She paused at the sound of her name. Turning, she found Lord Ware exiting a room a few doors behind her. She curtsied. “My lord.”

He shot a pointed glance at her walking boots. “May I join you?”

She briefly considered voicing a kind objection, then thought better of it. As much as she wished to be alone with her thoughts, Ware deserved an explanation and the opportunity to chastise her, if he so wished. “I would be honored.”

He smiled his charming, dashing smile and came toward her. He was dressed as a country gentleman, and the more leisurely appearance suited him well. It reminded her of their meeting in Lincolnshire, and the smile she returned to him was genuine.

“How lovely you are,” he murmured, “when your smiles reach your eyes.”

“It is because you look so handsome,” she returned.

Ware lifted Amelia’s hand to his lips and his gaze beyond her shoulder, where he saw Mitchell at the end of the hall, watching them both with daggers in his eyes. Tucking Amelia’s hand around his arm, he led her away toward the stairs, which would take them to the lower floor and the rear garden.

He felt his rival’s stare burning a hole in his back for the entire way.

Colin watched Lord Ware’s proprietary handling of Amelia with something so akin to blood rage, it frightened him.

He could not bear it.

“You must find something to occupy yourself with, mon ami,” Jacques said, startling Colin with his sudden, silent appearance. “You will act regrettably if you think endlessly of her.”

“I have always thought endlessly of her,” he bit out. “I know of no other way to live.”

“She requires time. I admire your fortitude in giving it to her.”

Colin’s fists clenched. “It is not fortitude. I simply do not wish to kill a man in front of her.”

“Alors…you must leave. Distract yourself with a task.”

Inhaling sharply, Colin nodded. He had been set upon that end when he chanced upon Amelia with Ware. He forced himself to look away from where the couple had stood mere moments ago. “That was my intent. I was seeking you out.”

“What do you want me to do?” the Frenchman asked, looking grim as always.

“I cannot go into town. There is some concern that Miss Benbridge will follow, and while I find that highly unlikely, the request is valid, so I must stay for now.”

“I understand.”

“St. John is sending a man to rally those who work for him in Bristol. Go and direct the search. Tell them what to look for, what to expect. If you find anything of import, send for me.”

Jacques nodded and set off immediately. The Frenchman took the main staircase; Colin took the servants’. It emptied by the kitchen, and he ignored the startled glances sent his way as he exited out the delivery door and headed toward the stables.

Every step he took grew heavier, his heart weighed upon by the upcoming confrontation that would cut him nigh as deeply as the one with Amelia had.

He entered silently and inhaled deeply, finding the smells of hay and horses both familiar and soothing. The many beasts inside snorted and shifted restlessly as his scent filled the air and disturbed their equanimity. Glancing about, he looked for the groomsmen’s quarters. His stride faltered when he found the doorway. A man leaned against the jamb, watching him with wounded, angry eyes.

The years had been kind to Pietro. Aside from a slight pouch at the belly, the rest of his body was still fit and strong. Strands of silver accented his temples and beard, but his skin was smooth and free of wrinkles.

“Uncle,” Colin greeted, his throat tight with sorrow and affection.

“My only nephew is dead,” Pietro said coldly.

Colin flinched at the repudiation. “I have missed you.”

“You lie! You let me think you were dead!”

“I was offered the chance at a different life.” Colin held out his hands in a silent plea for understanding. “I had one chance to accept and no time to second-guess.”

“And what of me?” Pietro demanded, straightening. “What of my grief? Was that nothing to you?”

“You think I was not grieving?” Colin bit out, stung by the condemnation of yet another person he loved. “I might as well have been dead.”

“Then why did you do it?” Pietro came forward. “I have tried to see what would make you do such a thing, but I don’t understand.”

“I had nothing to offer anyone before. No way to create a life of comfort for those I loved.”

“Comfort from what? The only discomfort in my life has been my mourning for you!”

“What of freedom from work?” Colin challenged. “What of a life of travel and discovery? I can offer you those things now, when I could not before.”

Pain wracked Pietro’s handsome features. “I am a simple man, Colin. A roof over my head…food…family. Those are all I need to be happy.”

“I wish my needs were as simple.” Colin moved to the nearest stall and set his crossed arms along the top of it. “I need Amelia to be happy, and this was the only way I could conceive of to have her.”

“Colin…” He heard his uncle sigh. “You love her still.”

“I have no notion how not to love her. It is ingrained in me, as much a part of me as my hair and skin color.”

Pietro joined him at the stall door. “I should have raised you in the camp. Then you wouldn’t want things that are beyond your reach.”

Colin smiled and looked aside at him. “Amelia and I would have met at some point, at some time.”

“That is your Romany blood talking.”

“Yes, it is.”

There was a long silence, as each attempted to find the right thing to say. “How long have you been in England?” Pietro asked finally.

“A few weeks.”

“A few weeks and you didn’t come to me?” Pietro shook his head. “I don’t feel that I know you at all. The boy I raised had more care for the feelings of others.”

Aching from the pain he had inflicted, Colin reached out and set his hand atop Pietro’s shoulder. “If my love is in err, it is not due to lack of it for you but to a surfeit for her. I would have done anything, gone anywhere, to become worthy of Amelia.”

“You seem to have accomplished what you set out to do,” Pietro said quietly. “Your clothes and carriage are fine indeed.”

“It seems a waste now. She is as angry as you are. I do not know if she will forgive me, and if she does not, all is lost.”

“Not all. You’ll always have me.”

Tears came to Colin’s eyes, and he brushed them away with jerking movements. His uncle looked at him a moment, then heaved out his breath and embraced him.

“There is still some of the Colin of old in you,” he said gruffly.

“I am sorry for the pain I caused,” Colin whispered, his throat too tight to speak any louder. “I saw only the end, not the interim. I wanted everything, and now I have nothing.”

Pietro shook his head and stepped back. “Don’t give up yet. You’ve worked too hard.”

“Can you forgive me?” If he could manage to win back the love of one, perhaps there was a possibility that he could win back the other.

“Maybe.” A grin split the depths of his uncle’s beard. “I have six horses to groom.”

Colin’s mouth curved wryly. “I am at your service.”

“Come on.” Pietro put his arm around Colin’s shoulders and urged him toward the groomsmen’s quarters. “You’ll need to change your clothes.”

“I can buy more if these are ruined.”

“Hmm…” His uncle looked at him consideringly. “How wealthy are you?”

“Obscenely.”

Pietro whistled. “Tell me how you did it.”

“Of course.” Colin smiled. “We have time.”

It was late afternoon. The sun was dipping to the west and supper was being prepared. Ware’s guests would eat earlier tonight than they would in Town, then spend the evening in the parlor, attempting to ignore the tension simmering between all parties. It would no doubt be unpleasant, but Ware understood the emotional undercurrents that were affecting everyone but him. He cared for Amelia and thought her the most suitable bride for his needs. That was his only tie to all of the rest.

“Mitchell stayed,” he said to Amelia, as they strolled through the rear garden.

“Oh.”

She stared straight ahead. With a sigh, he drew to a halt, which forced her to do the same.

“Talk to me, Amelia. That has always been the core strength of our friendship.”

With a shaky smile, she canted her body to face his. “I am so sorry to have done this to you,” she said remorsefully. “If I could go back and alter the events of this last week, I would. I would go back years and have married you long ago.”

“Would you?” He tugged her closer, and set his hands lightly on her hips. Behind her, a profusion of climbing roses hugged an archway that led to a pond. Dandelion seeds drifted in the breeze, creating an enchanting backdrop for an enchanting woman.

“Yes. All these years I mourned him and he was thriving.” Something deliciously like a growl escaped her. “He finds it far too easy to leave me behind. I am sick of being left behind. First my father, now Colin.”

Amelia wrenched away and began to pace, her long legs moving with a lithe, determined elegance.

“I have never left you,” he said, pointing out what he knew to be his greatest strength. “I enjoy your company far too much. There are precious few people in this world about whom I feel similarly.”

“I know. Bless you. I love you for that.” She managed a brief smile. “That is what has decided my mind. You will be steadfast and supportive. You do not seek to be someone you are not. You inspire me to be decorous and deport myself in a manner befitting a lady. We rub along well together.”

Ware frowned, considering. “Amelia. I should like to discuss your thoughts on decorum and deportment in greater detail. Forgive me, but I find it rather odd to mention those traits as being most attractive. I would think our friendship and ease of association would lure you most.”

She halted, her pale green skirts settling gently around her feet. “I have come to realize something these past days, Ware. I have reckless tendencies, just as Welton did. I require a certain environment in order to restrain those selfish impulses.”

“And I provide this environment.”

Amelia beamed at him. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

“Hmm…” He rubbed his jaw. “And Mitchell inspires your reckless nature?”

“‘Goads’ would be a more apt word choice, but yes, he does.”

“I see.” Ware smiled wryly. “His role sounds more fun than mine.”

“Ware!” She looked affronted, which made him laugh.

“Sorry, love. I must be honest. In one breath, you point out that I do not seek to be someone I am not-in opposition, I presume, to Mr. Mitchell. Then in the next breath, you say that I inhibit a part of your nature that you are not proud of. Is that not seeking to be someone you are not…in a fashion?”

Her lower lip quivered in that way it had when she was upset. She set her hands on her hips and demanded, “Do you want me to be with him?” she cried. “Is that what you are saying?”

“No.” All traces of amusement left him, and he bared the emotions he kept hidden below the surface. “I do not think he is the man for you. I do not think he deserves you. I do not believe he can provide a life that would content you. But that does not mean I want to live with only half of you.”

Amelia blinked. “You are angry.”

“Not at you,” he said gruffly, reaching for her again. He gripped her by the elbows and pulled her close. “But I may eventually become so and I do not want that. I resent that I can have only the one side of you. If you choose me, Amelia, I can make you happy. The question left is whether you can make me happy, and I wonder if that is possible if I am forever waiting for the return of that precocious girl who asked me to kiss her.”

“Ware…”

She cupped his cheek with her hand, and he nuzzled into it, inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle that clung to her.

“I do not deserve you,” she whispered.

“Is that not what Mitchell said to you?” he asked, altering his hold to embrace her fully. Resting his cheek against her temple, he said, “I will leave you now. I have arrangements to make, and you require time to think.”

“I do not want you to fight him.”

“It is too late to change that end, Amelia. But I demand first blood, nothing more.”

He felt relief relax the tautness of her spine. “Thank you,” she said.

Ware brushed away the lone tear that stained her cheek, and stepped back.

“I am available to you at all times. Do not hesitate to seek me out if you have a need.”

Amelia nodded, and watched Ware turn about and head toward the manse. When he disappeared from her view, she glanced around her, feeling lost and alone. No one knew how she felt, how deeply wounded she was by Colin’s reappearance after all these years.

She stilled, her heartbeat stumbling for a moment over a sudden realization.

There was one person who loved Colin as she had. One person who would be equally devastated by his betrayal.

Knowing Pietro would need comfort as she did, Amelia lifted her skirts and hurried toward the stables.