their relationship, was precisely as she'd wanted it, exactly what she'd wished to achieve.
As a first step.
She'd achieved that first step much sooner than she'd expected. Which left her facing the question of what next far earlier than she'd imagined. She could lie back and simply wallow, enjoy her achievement before girding her loins and broaching the next, far more difficult stage. However, she was twenty-three, and her impatience to have the marriage she wanted hadn't abated. She knew what she wanted — that and nothing less. Just the thought of it was enough to make her restless.
There was an underlying sense, not of dissatisfaction, but of something still missing from the equation of their marriage. Yet it wasn't simply a case of introducing the missing element.
It was there, already in existence; she was sure of that, at least with respect to her. She loved Luc, even though she hadn't yet made that plain. It was as yet too risky to make such a declaration; if he didn't love her in return — or wasn't yet willing to admit he did — a declaration from her would only create awkwardness. Worse, being him, he might dig in his heels and doggedly resist the notion completely.
Yet that had to be her next step — she needed to bring love — hers initially, his in response — into the open, lower her veil, persuade him to lower his shield. She needed to draw love up from where it lurked, unacknowledged, beneath the fabric of their interactions, and weave it into their lives, into their relationship so it became a vibrant part of the whole.
So it could contribute its strength and support.
She needed to coax, to convince, to cajole, to make him recognize it, and want it, too.
The question was: how? How did one encourage a man like him to deal with an emotion like love? An emotion he almost certainly would prefer to avoid.
She knew all about the way gentlemen like Luc, like her cousins, tried to slide around love. And Luc was unmanipulable; she'd always known the battle she now faced would be the most difficult.
So what was her best strategy?
Lying amid the rumpled sheets, the scattered pillows, she applied her mind to the question. Sifted through her memories, through all she'd learned of him in the past weeks…
A plan took shape — a plan to educate Luc as to the full potential of their union using the only form of argument to which, on such a subject, he would listen. The only language guaranteed to capture his attention.
A wicked plan. Even a trifle underhanded — she was sure he would think so. Yet when a lady had to deal with a gentleman like him… it was said all was fair in love as well as war.
And the perfect opportunity had just presented itself. To pursue such a plan, they had to be alone, without family or friends in the house. Once Minerva returned with Luc's sisters, the visits from their wider families would start, but she had four days before the others arrived.
Four days in which, already confident in her new role, she could turn her sights on something else.
On her husband.
Luc walked into the dining room and found it empty. The sound of the lunch gong had faded minutes ago; he wondered where Amelia was. Brows quirking, he walked to his chair and sat. Cottsloe had just poured him a glass of wine when footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Amelia's footsteps.
Sitting back, Luc lifted his glass and fixed his gaze on the doorway. Ever since he'd realized he had to draw a line, had to check his desire for her company, and her, and keep both within excusable limits, all had gone well. During the days, she flitted about his house and grounds, rode with him about the estate and played with his pups; each day saw her more and more occupied with the day-to-day business of being his wife.
As for the nights… she welcomed him into her arms with open passion, with a desire so blatantly honest it seared his soul.
Her footsteps had halted, now they came on, and she appeared in the doorway. She paused, looked straight at him, and smiled.
Luc blinked; before he could prevent it, his gaze raced over her — hungrily devouring. The gown she wore was of muslin so fine it would be translucent but for the fact the gown was overhung by a half gown of the same material. Two flirty layers — that was all that concealed a luscious form he now knew very well. A form his imagination could supply without conscious effort.
The peach-colored gown drew attention to her skin, so white, so perfect. She approached, and the upper swells of her breasts, revealed by the scooped neckline, made his fingers tingle, his palms itch.
Shifting his gaze, he forced himself to take a nonchalant sip of his wine as Cottsloe held her chair and she sat.
She smiled at him. 'Did Colonel Masterton find you?'
Luc nodded. The Colonel, one of their neighbors, had come looking for him that morning; Amelia had charmed the Colonel, then pointed him in the direction he himself had gone. 'He wanted to discuss the covert on the north boundary. We'll need to thin it this year.'
They discussed this and that; with an estate of this size, there was always something needing attention, and after the years of enforced parsimony, there was much to be done. While Amelia waxed lyrical about the new furnishings — he'd given her
Tried not to let his mind drift whither it wanted to go.
To her animation in another sphere, in other circumstances. To seeing it again, soon.
Her eyes were bright, her lips full and rosy. Being outside had lent a faint golden tone to the fine skin of her arms.
One errant curl, luscious golden silk, bobbed by her ear, again and again drawing his gaze. She always wore her hair up; the strand must have slipped loose. He glanced at the knot on the top of her head; it appeared well anchored, yet that teasing tendril… he almost reached out and touched it, caressed it. Only just managed to stop himself.
Forced his gaze away — to her lips, then her eyes. Shifting, he leaned back, sipped his wine, and tried to keep the sight of her from sinking into his mind.
By the time the meal was over, he was decidedly warm, definitely uncomfortable, very ready to rise and depart.
He drew out her chair. She stood and smiled her thanks. 'I'm going to play with the puppies — are you heading for the kennels?'
He had been. He met her gaze. Their bodies were mere inches apart; he'd never been so conscious of a woman in his life. 'No.' He looked ahead, gestured for her to precede him. 'I've work to do in my study.'
She led the way from the room, paused in the corridor to throw him a smile. 'I'll leave you to it, then.'
With that, she walked away, her gown floating about her hips, her legs…
Luc blinked, mentally shook his head, then swung on his heel and strode to his study.
Two hours later, he sat behind his desk — cleared, tidy, all business disposed of. The first thing he'd done on entering the room had been to close the curtains across the window overlooking the lawn; ever since, he'd been fighting the urge to open them again. Who knew what he might see? For the past ten minutes, he'd been examining the embossed scrollwork around the edge of the leather inset on the desk top, his mind determinedly blank.
A tap came at the door — not Cottsloe's usual rap. He glanced up — as Amelia walked in.
She was frowning at the large ledger she held open in her hands. She'd been in the sun again; her pale skin was literally sun-kissed, a delicate peach.
Another curl had slithered loose and now bounced alluringly alongside the first, down one side of her face, swishing beneath the curve of her jaw to caress her throat.
She looked up, glanced around, confirming he was alone, then smiled, and shut the door. 'Good — I hoped you'd be finished.'
He managed not to glance at his pristine desk — no help there.
She raised the ledger. 'I've been checking the dogs' names.'
He waited where he was, waited for her to take the chair opposite. Instead, still studying the ledger, she walked around the desk and placed the book across the blotter, and leaned over it.
Close enough for him to sense the warmth of her skin, for the light scent she wore — some combination of orange blossom and jasmine — to wreath through his brain. He took a deep breath, fleetingly closed his eyes;
