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Chapter Thirteen

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Amelia slipped her arms into her striped wrapper and cinched the tie snugly. She couldn’t sleep, so she made her way to the kitchen to sneak a bun. Not that eating had ever succeeded in assuaging a single one of her emotions.

Which currently were guilt and shock. Stephen’s unspoken revelation had stunned her. He loved her. She’d seen it in his eyes. When had that happened? Had she been blind to it from the day he proposed, or was this new?

The guilt came from not loving him back. He was so worthy of her love. How could her heart be so stingy as to deny it to him? But deny him it did. Even employing her sister’s tactic in kissing him hadn’t changed her body’s indifference.

She took a bite out of the bun and hoisted her lamp as she climbed the back staircase. If she couldn’t return Stephen’s love, or his passion, she needed to think about the wisdom of marrying him. No good choices were open to her. It wouldn’t be fair to marry him if she didn’t love him. Yet, crying off would ruin him—emotionally, socially, politically. His newly minted aristocratic family hadn’t the wherewithal to endure a scandal.

Halfway up the second flight of steps, an eerie creak splintered the nighttime silence. Scraping and scuffing ensued, and she whirled to find James clambering through the landing window. He straightened, his blue eyes wide with surprise.

“Where have you been? Why are you returning through the window?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I went for a walk. To think things over. I knew the staff had probably retired for the night, so I decided not to disturb anyone and used the window.”

She’d heard better lies from the children. Amelia descended a few steps and raised the lamp. “You look much disheveled for merely walking. Did you lose your cravat along the way?”

Indeed, his coat was rumpled, and a streak of dirt marred his sleeve, but more than anything she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his bare throat, which the missing cravat should cover. If it wasn’t for that dirt and the clump of grass in his hair, she might think he’d been having a rendezvous with a woman.

“James?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and then down.

His behavior was most odd. Skulking about in the night. Whereabouts and activities on the Continent unknown. A former position at the Foreign Office. Fluency in multiple languages. Seemingly playing roles after a long absence. All this coalesced in her brain in less than thirty seconds, her writer’s imagination connecting the clues.

“You were a spy.” She narrowed her eyes. “But surely you aren’t spying in England?”

His posture shifted, his expression loosened. He was someone else now. “Fanciful Amelia,” he drawled.

She was done with games, took two more steps down. “Will you lie to me again?”

He straightened his spine and set his features, James once more. After a moment’s hesitation he shook his head ever so slightly. “No, I won’t, but I cannot speak to you of my work.”

“I don’t care.” She didn’t. Relief and happiness mingled and bubbled up inside her. James wasn’t a shiftless ne’er-do-well. He had continued his work for the government, albeit in a different form. “I could not quite reconcile the idea of your idling away your time while a war raged on the same continent.”

That brought out a smile. “I had gathered as much from your interrogations.”

It was just like him to go off and discreetly continue working for the country. He preferred standing away from the crowd but that did not change his desire to do right, as he had done when he’d quietly stepped forward and whisked her away toward Scotland. She found it a rather admirable trait—though she did not appreciate the lying that seemed to accompany his occupation.

Despite his teasing, she felt she owed him an apology. “I apo—”

“No, don’t.” The glimmer vanished from his eyes, leaving them darker, more intense. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

***

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AMELIA. James couldn’t look away from her. She stood on the landing of the back staircase, a lamp in one hand, a bun in the other. Her wrapper might once have been tied tightly around her waist, but her exertions up and down the stairs must have loosened it for her lawn nightgown peeked through. Pulled into a loose queue, gloriously sleek coffee-colored hair framed her surprised face. God, he’d been so stupid to walk away from her. If only he could have a second chance...

“You are a man of many secrets. The quiet ones always are.”

Ha, there were secrets even he himself didn’t know. Such as, why did he want Amelia so much? How was he supposed to stand mere inches away from her in a darkened corner of the house in the middle of the night and not want to push her against the wall and kiss her until she moaned?

“Secrets aren’t meant to be shared,” he said, hoping she would take his meaning and scurry off to bed.

Bed. Best not dwell on that overlong.

Her eyes sparkled now, and she was almost dancing about in her slippers. The wrapper loosened even more. “I will say nothing. But... Is there any way I can help?”

Oh, God. He did not need Amelia involved. He needed distance from her, not shared secrets. She had pulled her lower lip in, probably attempting to contain her eagerness. This was the Amelia of the past, the animated, carefree girl he’d begun to fall for in those few days they’d spent together. He couldn’t crush her spirit any more than he could stop loving and desiring her, despite her hulking fiancé.

“If I find myself in need of your assistance, I won’t hesitate to ask. Although, I daresay my superiors would not approve.”

She stepped closer and clutched his arm. “Truly? You would let me help you?”

Where had the bun gone? She was too near—and too alive. Why didn’t he have it in him to spurn her request with an unkind reply that would cause her to leave in a huff? “At the moment I don’t see what you could possibly do, but I will not forget your offer.”

She was staring at his neck again, or perhaps it simply pained her own neck to look any higher. “James...”

They had been speaking in relatively low voices all along, but now she whispered. His muscles clenched at the breathy sound of his name on her lips. He voluntarily tightened them further, trying not to move, desperate to remain honorable and not ravish her.

Then she rose on her tiptoes and those plump, pink lips ascended toward him. Before he could back away, she’d claimed his mouth.

One arm snaked around his shoulder pulling him closer and yet pressing them both against the wall behind her. The lamp she carried clanked against the paneling. Neither of them paid it any heed. James urged her lips apart with his tongue; Amelia slid her cool fingers up the length of his neck and drew him closer still.

Having gained what he’d desired most—a soft but aggressive Amelia in his arms—James reined in his passion by a degree or two and took the time to explore the woman before him. She tasted of cinnamon and no longer kissed like a novice. Her fingers slid through the hair at the back of his head, her tongue fenced with his, and her glorious body arched into him.

While she was still enthralled with the kissing, he slipped a hand inside her wrapper and swept his two fingers beneath the heavy curve of her breast. At last, she rewarded him with a moan. He rubbed his thumb upward, across her nipple. More seductive moans, more arching.

All her fervent ardor aroused him to unbelievable heights.

She must have felt it, for Amelia wrenched herself away and simply stared at him for a moment, her cheeks flushed, her breathing ragged.

“I’m to be married.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She hoisted up her nightdress and raced up the steps without another word.

“God, do I know,” James repeated. He leaned an arm against the wall and rested his head there.

After a minute he had recovered himself enough to think more clearly.

Enough was enough. He must put a stop to this.

***

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THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER many hours of contemplation and little sleep, James rapped on the door of his brother’s study. Taviston responded promptly, and James entered. Unlike Romford’s study from the night before, this one was organized and tidy, much like Taviston himself.

His brother was already hard at work with two ledgers open before him and a pen in his left hand. His smile was ready and welcoming nonetheless. “Good morning.”

James merely nodded, for he didn’t much feel like smiling. Perhaps after he initiated his plan.

He sat down in front of the desk and leaned forward. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“By all means.”

There was nothing Taviston liked better than to order someone’s life.

“Would you be so good as to ask your man of business to find rooms for me to rent?”

Taviston stared. His easy manner faded, and his blue eyes turned as dark as a midnight sky. “You have been returned for a sennight. After a three-year absence.” A pause. “Mother will be disappointed.”

James looked upon his brother’s unyielding countenance with resignation and sighed, finally acknowledging the impossibility of leaving. He’d wanted to escape so desperately he had convinced himself no one would care. They would all be disappointed if he left: Taviston, Victoria, Peyton, his mother. All but Amelia and Tessa.

“Never mind,” he muttered and then rose.

Taviston came around the desk as James strode toward the door. “Far be it from me to dictate where you live. You are a bachelor, free to do as you please.”

No, he wasn’t free. Not at the moment. Not after he had seemingly deserted his family for so many years. He owed them his presence. He had once before allowed his incorrigible passion for Amelia to drive a continent’s distance between him and his family. He had no right to do so again.

“Certainly,” he said, forcing a smile. “I simply did not want to inconvenience you or the staff, what with all the wedding preparations.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Taviston scoffed. “It is as if we are having a house party.”

James scoffed in return. “You’ve never liked house parties.”

“I do when the only guests are my family.” Taviston reached a hand to James’s shoulder and steered him back toward the desk. “We’ve missed you. Despite all the new additions, the family has been incomplete without you.”

Taking up his seat once again, James said, “I have missed your company as well. However, in time I will want a place of my own.”

“Of course.” Taviston nodded and waved a hand through the air. “Eventually Peyton and Tessa will return to Hertfordshire, Amelia will move to Kensworth House, and you will make a new life for yourself—apparently as a Whig MP.”

Bloody hell. He couldn’t seem to go more than half a day without hurting someone. He was so accustomed to focusing on his missions. No wonder the government preferred solitary spies. He had forgotten to talk to Taviston about his plan for joining the opposing party, and his brother had obviously heard of it from someone else. “I apologize. I meant to speak with you...”

Taviston sank into his chair and eyed him sternly. “I can help you stand for Parliament.”

James sucked in a breath and spewed out more lies, or perhaps half-lies. “I don’t know if it’s because of the time I spent on the Continent or because of how different things are here in England now, but I find myself more in agreement with the Whigs than I do with the Tories.” He shook his head. “I do not mean to turn my back on the principles of father’s and your party, but I want to find my own way on this, Taviston.”

“Danforths aren’t Whigs.”

“We aren’t dastardly spies either, but here I am.”

“Your foray into spying shocked me.” His brother tapped his pen on the ledger. “No, actually it surprised me; your success at it shocked me. I thought the intelligence service would have you continue with translations, or perhaps break codes.”

James ignored the cutting remark seeded into that statement and took the opportunity to speak honestly for once. “They tried to, but I insisted on being given another chance in the field. I had a lot to prove. To you, to myself.” To Amelia.

“And so you did. I’m proud of you, James. You probably always had it in you, but you were so damn quiet and studious.... You are different on the inside than what everyone sees. But you are still a Danforth. The election in Sedley is approaching. You’ll make an excellent Tory candidate.”

James stood and flattened his palms on the desk. Using the experience he’d gained over the last few years, he kept his tone even. “If and when I want your assistance, I will ask for it. As for now, I intend to explore the Whig side of things with Kensworth and Stretton.”

Taviston cleared his throat. “Very well. We all have to learn from our mistakes. At least Kensworth has sound ideas, accompanied by the keenness to put them into practice.”

Were they speaking of the same Lord Kensworth? The one who was going to introduce James to the illicit Hampden Club? Who had made errors in judgment?

But James was able to say none of this as the door flew open and Peyton strode inside as if he had every right to be a part of anything his brothers were doing. So, nothing new there.

Peyton crossed his arms and looked at Taviston. “What have I missed?”

Taviston flipped his pen in the air. “He has some foolish notion he wants to be a Whig.”

“Why did I never think of that?” Peyton turned to James and pretended to doff a cap he wasn’t wearing. “What an excellent way to drive the dear duke mad. Has he stripped a layer off you already? Does he plan to lock you in your room for daring to consort with the enemy?”

“Thank you so much for your sterling contribution to this conversation,” Taviston said dryly.

Lord, he’d missed his brothers, despite Taviston’s overbearing manner. James smirked at Peyton. “He’s allowing me to speak with Kensworth about the Whigs.”

“He did always indulge you since you were the infant of the family. I would surely have been locked away if I even said the word Whig.”

“Are you two quite finished?” Taviston asked with an exasperated huff.

“No,” Peyton declared before James could say anything. “It’s my turn to offer brotherly advice.”

“What?” James asked stupidly, quite unsure he wanted to hear this.

“You must do something about Amelia—you idiot.”

Peyton may or may not have added the epithet. James was distracted by mounting irritation, but regardless he could hear the words implied in his brother’s tone.

“She’s none of my concern,” he said.

“You cannot let her marry Kensworth.” Peyton strode forward and leaned over the corner of the desk. “I know damn well you love her. If you tell her, she will break it off with him. Kensworth will recover, but if you let love be stolen out of your hands—”

James jumped up and stalked to the far end of the room. “It’s too late. I wish to God you had never come after us, Taviston, but I made the greater mistake in not offering for Amelia again after we returned to London. She now intends to marry Kensworth. You both said he is a fine man, and I’m inclined to agree with you. It would be dishonorable of me to interfere.” Even if the finality of his words was like a fist wrapping around his heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. “I’d rather have Kensworth as a friend than an enemy.”

“Once she is married, all hope is lost,” Peyton said. “I do not care how much you love her, after that wedding ceremony I will not tolerate indiscreet behavior on your part. Now is your opportunity. Don’t miss it.”

James stared at his brother. “I’m a Danforth, and I would not behave so dishonorably. Also, I’m disappointed in your efforts on behalf of your ward. She is engaged to a healthy, wealthy, titled man with a beautiful and profitable estate. I myself have nothing to offer.” Even if I offered it, she would refuse.

He turned and strode out of the study, leaving two fiercely muttering brothers behind. Despite the failure of his plan, he found one positive in all the negative. Remaining at Taviston House with Amelia would be hell. But, as much as he hated to admit it, living in the same house as Kensworth’s fiancée would make it that much more convenient to shadow the man.

Besides, he would get a respite from Amelia when he traveled to Hertfordshire the next day with Kensworth.