sound like an utter scandal. “That is to say, I was watching you remove your cravat. I had no notion it was so complicated.”
He gave her a wry look. “Indeed?” he asked, his waistcoat hanging open, his shirtsleeves bright white in the dimness of the little cottage. “Have you never seen a gentleman remove his cravat before, Amelia?”
She blinked. “Of course I haven’t. It’s hardly the sort of thing one witnesses in the course of polite society.”
Prowling toward the bed, where she had tucked up her legs beneath the blanket, he surveyed her with a lazy look that seemed to see right through the blanket that preserved her modesty. “I suppose it isn’t,” he said thoughtfully. “Is there any other aspect of male dressing or undressing you’d like to see?”
He took a seat beside her on the narrow bed, and Amelia felt both crowded and enthralled at once. Lifting her chin, she tried to remember his question, and when she did, she pursed her lips. “I should like to see a good many things, my lord, but I fear it would not be seemly.”
He laughed, and she had to dig her fingers into her palms to prevent herself from laughing with him.
“My dear Miss Snowe,” he said with a smile, “we have moved far beyond seemly. Which you know full well.”
It was true enough, though Amelia had rather hoped to prevent him from noticing. For she greatly feared that they were on their way toward the thing that she both desperately wanted and feared above all things.
Still, she refused to give in. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I am perfectly modest here in my blanket. And though it is perhaps irregular for me to see you in your shirtsleeves without a cravat, it is hardly something that compromises my reputation.”
“No,” he agreed. “But my reputation has already been compromised by our very presence here. And then there was our little interlude in the Smithsons’ greenhouse. I fear, Miss Snowe, that you have right and properly compromised me and there will be nothing for it but for you to make an honest man of me.”
As he continued speaking, Amelia’s jaw slackened more and more, until she was sitting there, huddled beneath her quilt with her jaw agape.
“You are compromised?” she finally demanded. “I have compromised your reputation? Really? You are going with that line of reasoning?”
Quentin smiled like the cat who’d been in the cream. “I certainly am. Why, I arrived at the Smithson home with my reputation as a gentleman firmly intact and any young lady in the realm might have had me for the taking. Now, I am unfit for anyone but you. To put it simply, Amelia,” he said with a grin, as he began to pull away the blanket from where it was tucked up under her neck, “you’ve ruined me for other women.”
Pulling the blanket away from her to reveal her chemise and corset beneath, Quentin continued. “You see, Amelia, I’m afraid that I’m in love with you. I have been for any number of years. At the very least since you left me with my heart splattered all over the countryside all those years ago. And now that I’ve fallen under your spell again, I refuse to let you get rid of me again. What have you to say to that, my dear? Will you put me out of my misery and do the right thing by me?”
As he spoke each word he continued to unwrap the blanket from around her, and to replace the blanket with himself. Until, finally, he had her in his lap with his arms wrapped firmly about her.
“I suppose I have no choice,” she said, snuggling her face into his neck. “I couldn’t live with myself if I were the cause of ruining a man like you again. It was hard enough the first time.”
“Was it?” he asked, pulling back to look into her face. And Amelia had the sense that he really didn’t know what to believe.
“Quentin, refusing your proposal was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I knew I was hurting you but I had little choice but to do what my mother said. I
He gave her a wry look. “Indeed?” he asked, his waistcoat hanging open, his shirtsleeves bright white in the dimness of the little cottage. “Have you never seen a gentleman remove his cravat before, Amelia?”
She blinked. “Of course I haven’t. It’s hardly the sort of thing one witnesses in the course of polite society.”
Prowling toward the bed, where she had tucked up her legs beneath the blanket, he surveyed her with a lazy look that seemed to see right through the blanket that preserved her modesty. “I suppose it isn’t,” he said thoughtfully. “Is there any other aspect of male dressing or undressing you’d like to see?”
He took a seat beside her on the narrow bed, and Amelia felt both crowded and enthralled at once. Lifting her chin, she tried to remember his question, and when she did, she pursed her lips. “I should like to see a good many things, my lord, but I fear it would not be seemly.”
He laughed, and she had to dig her fingers into her palms to prevent herself from laughing with him.
“My dear Miss Snowe,” he said with a smile, “we have moved far beyond seemly. Which you know full well.”
It was true enough, though Amelia had rather hoped to prevent him from noticing. For she greatly feared that they were on their way toward the thing that she both desperately wanted and feared above all things.
Still, she refused to give in. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I am perfectly modest here in my blanket. And though it is perhaps irregular for me to see you in your shirtsleeves without a cravat, it is hardly something that compromises my reputation.”
“No,” he agreed. “But my reputation has already been compromised by our very presence here. And then there was our little interlude in the Smithsons’ greenhouse. I fear, Miss Snowe, that you have right and properly compromised me and there will be nothing for it but for you to make an honest man of me.”
As he continued speaking, Amelia’s jaw slackened more and more, until she was sitting there, huddled beneath her quilt with her jaw agape.
“You are compromised?” she finally demanded. “I have compromised your reputation? Really? You are going with that line of reasoning?”
Quentin smiled like the cat who’d been in the cream. “I certainly am. Why, I arrived at the Smithson home with my reputation as a gentleman firmly intact and any young lady in the realm might have had me for the taking. Now, I am unfit for anyone but you. To put it simply, Amelia,” he said with a grin, as he began to pull away the blanket from where it was tucked up under her neck, “you’ve ruined me for other women.”
Pulling the blanket away from her to reveal her chemise and corset beneath, Quentin continued. “You see, Amelia, I’m afraid that I’m in love with you. I have been for any number of years. At the very least since you left me with my heart splattered all over the countryside all those years ago. And now that I’ve fallen under your spell again, I refuse to let you get rid of me again. What have you to say to that, my dear? Will you put me out of my misery and do the right thing by me?”
As he spoke each word he continued to unwrap the blanket from around her, and to replace the blanket with himself. Until, finally, he had her in his lap with his arms wrapped firmly about her.
“I suppose I have no choice,” she said, snuggling her face into his neck. “I couldn’t live with myself if I were the cause of ruining a man like you again. It was hard enough the first time.”
“Was it?” he asked, pulling back to look into her face. And Amelia had the sense that he really didn’t know what to believe.
“Quentin, refusing your proposal was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I knew I was hurting you but I had little choice but to do what my mother said. I
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