daughters. He was,
after all, one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England with a fortune
that would make many a duke hang their heads in shame. He also had a lazy smile and a quick wit
that could charm even the birds right out of the trees.
Still until that night, Amelia had
never realized how his thick, brown hair fell in lovely waves around his head
or how his eyes were more green than brown, a shade that was most peculiar and
most becoming at the same time, like a lush and sunlit summer forest. She had also never realized how small her
hand felt in his much larger one, or how his muscles bunched delightfully as he
moved, the power of his body harnessed. Leashed. Controlled. Waiting.
Then, she had looked into this eyes
and realized all of that and more. She
had, in an instant, fallen in love with a man she had known for most of her
life. More fool her.
With the passage of time, Amelia
realized that there was probably a part of her that had loved David all
along. After all, one did not instantly
fall in love. Well, the practical side
of her didn't believe so. It was absurd
to even consider the notion. The more
romantic side of her, the one she carefully kept hidden from everyone,
including her mother, however? That
part of her did believe in love at first sight. Which was not precisely what had happened
with David but close enough.
That night was the first time she
had truly seen him as he was - a virile, desirable man. Wanton that she was, she wanted to see what
lay beneath his clothes and she wondered what it would feel like if he would
kiss her, or, good Heavens above, make love to her. Then again, as she had never even been kissed, she suspected that
if David Rutledge stood stark naked before her, she would have no earthly idea
what to do with him.
But she did still love him. And she did still want him. Very much so.
And that was precisely why she was
creeping away from the various parlors and the grand ballroom where the
frivolous games were underway. It
wasn't so much that she despised the games, though she did to a very large
degree. Rather, it was because she was
jealous. Jealous of the way Lady Lydia
glanced coyly at David, fluttering her eyes at him and, in general behaving
like a nitwit. But a nitwit who had
David's attention nonetheless.
Amelia was jealous of the other
woman's easy way with men, the way she flirted and cajoled, ever so gently and
properly mind you, to exact precisely what she wanted from them. All men. Any man. Most especially
David. And it made Amelia sick inside
with each caress Lady Lydia managed to impart on David's arm. Gloves or no gloves, she was certain he felt
the contact, and, as he was a man, probably enjoyed it immensely.
That was why Amelia was sneaking
out, a copy of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night tucked securely under her
arm, a volume borrowed from the earl's sizeable library where she had been
given free reign to indulge herself for the duration of the house party.
Books were preferable to parlor
games in Amelia's opinion. Not to
mention that she did not want to see another woman making a fool of herself
over the man she loved, nor did she want to see that same man encouraging those
intentions.
"Ah, there you are." The cold voice cut through Amelia like a
knife and she straightened, knowing there was no way to avoid detection
now. "Heading to bed so
early?"
Turning, Amelia kept her expression
bland, not wanting to give Lady Lydia anything to use against her in the future. Which she most certainly would. Of that, Amelia had no doubt. "I have a megrim, as I am certain you
have heard. I wish to be able to see
clearly tomorrow for the grand ball, so I thought I might retire
early."
It was no secret that Amelia
suffered quite a bit from megrims, particularly those brought on by
overpowering smells, and the parlor game Lady Lydia had devised used
after all, one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England with a fortune
that would make many a duke hang their heads in shame. He also had a lazy smile and a quick wit
that could charm even the birds right out of the trees.
Still until that night, Amelia had
never realized how his thick, brown hair fell in lovely waves around his head
or how his eyes were more green than brown, a shade that was most peculiar and
most becoming at the same time, like a lush and sunlit summer forest. She had also never realized how small her
hand felt in his much larger one, or how his muscles bunched delightfully as he
moved, the power of his body harnessed. Leashed. Controlled. Waiting.
Then, she had looked into this eyes
and realized all of that and more. She
had, in an instant, fallen in love with a man she had known for most of her
life. More fool her.
With the passage of time, Amelia
realized that there was probably a part of her that had loved David all
along. After all, one did not instantly
fall in love. Well, the practical side
of her didn't believe so. It was absurd
to even consider the notion. The more
romantic side of her, the one she carefully kept hidden from everyone,
including her mother, however? That
part of her did believe in love at first sight. Which was not precisely what had happened
with David but close enough.
That night was the first time she
had truly seen him as he was - a virile, desirable man. Wanton that she was, she wanted to see what
lay beneath his clothes and she wondered what it would feel like if he would
kiss her, or, good Heavens above, make love to her. Then again, as she had never even been kissed, she suspected that
if David Rutledge stood stark naked before her, she would have no earthly idea
what to do with him.
But she did still love him. And she did still want him. Very much so.
And that was precisely why she was
creeping away from the various parlors and the grand ballroom where the
frivolous games were underway. It
wasn't so much that she despised the games, though she did to a very large
degree. Rather, it was because she was
jealous. Jealous of the way Lady Lydia
glanced coyly at David, fluttering her eyes at him and, in general behaving
like a nitwit. But a nitwit who had
David's attention nonetheless.
Amelia was jealous of the other
woman's easy way with men, the way she flirted and cajoled, ever so gently and
properly mind you, to exact precisely what she wanted from them. All men. Any man. Most especially
David. And it made Amelia sick inside
with each caress Lady Lydia managed to impart on David's arm. Gloves or no gloves, she was certain he felt
the contact, and, as he was a man, probably enjoyed it immensely.
That was why Amelia was sneaking
out, a copy of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night tucked securely under her
arm, a volume borrowed from the earl's sizeable library where she had been
given free reign to indulge herself for the duration of the house party.
Books were preferable to parlor
games in Amelia's opinion. Not to
mention that she did not want to see another woman making a fool of herself
over the man she loved, nor did she want to see that same man encouraging those
intentions.
"Ah, there you are." The cold voice cut through Amelia like a
knife and she straightened, knowing there was no way to avoid detection
now. "Heading to bed so
early?"
Turning, Amelia kept her expression
bland, not wanting to give Lady Lydia anything to use against her in the future. Which she most certainly would. Of that, Amelia had no doubt. "I have a megrim, as I am certain you
have heard. I wish to be able to see
clearly tomorrow for the grand ball, so I thought I might retire
early."
It was no secret that Amelia
suffered quite a bit from megrims, particularly those brought on by
overpowering smells, and the parlor game Lady Lydia had devised used
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