away, but no, there she was, staring at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. He could see her breath in the damp night, each puff whispering through the air.
It was torture. His body was screaming for her. His mind…
His heart.
He did not love her. He
He forced himself to breathe. It was not easy, especially when his eyes slid from her face…lower…along her neck…
The small tie at the bodice of her nightgown was partially undone.
He swallowed. He’d seen far more of her, on numerous occasions. Evening dresses were almost always lower cut. And yet he could not take his eyes off the little strings, the single loop that had flopped down onto the swell of her breast.
If he pulled it…
If he reached out and took it between his fingers, would her gown fall open? Would the fabric slide away?
“Go inside,” he said raggedly. “Please.”
“Thom-”
“I can’t leave you alone out here, and I can’t-I can’t-” He drew a long breath. It did nothing to calm his blood.
But she did not move.
“Go inside, Amelia. If not for yourself, then do it for me.”
He saw her mouth his name. She did not understand.
He tried to breathe; it was difficult. He hurt with desire. “It is taking everything I have not to take you right now.”
Her eyes widened, flaring with warmth. It was tempting, so tempting, but-
“Don’t let me become the brute who ruined you, one night before…before…”
She licked her lips. It was a nervous gesture, but his blood burned.
“Amelia,
And she must have heard the desperation in his voice, because she went, leaving him alone on the lawn, rock hard and cursing himself for a fool.
A noble fool, perhaps. An honest one. But still, a fool.
Several hours later Thomas was still wandering the halls of Cloverhill. He’d waited for nearly an hour after Amelia left to go back inside. He told himself that he liked the cold night air; it felt good in his lungs, prickling at his skin. He told himself he didn’t mind that his feet were freezing, surely turning into prunes in the damp grass.
It was all ballocks, of course. He knew that if he didn’t give Amelia ample time (and then some) to get back to her room-the one she thankfully shared with Grace-he would go after her. And if he touched her again, if he even so much as sensed her presence before morning, he would not be able to stop himself this time.
A man had only so much strength.
He’d gone back up to his own room, where he’d warmed his freezing feet by the fire, and then, far too restless to remain in place, he donned his shoes and moved quietly downstairs, in search of something-anything-that might distract him until morning.
The house was still quiet, of course. Not even the sound of servants, up to perform their morning chores. But then he thought he heard something. A soft thump, or maybe the scrape of a chair against floor. And when he looked more closely down the hall, he saw a bit of light, flickering onto the floor through an open doorway.
Curious, he moved down the hall and peered inside. Jack sat alone, his face gaunt and exhausted. He looked, Thomas thought, like he himself felt.
“Can’t sleep?” Thomas asked.
Jack looked up. His face remained oddly devoid of expression. “No.”
“Nor I,” Thomas said, walking in.
Jack held up a bottle of brandy. It was more than three-quarters full, attesting to a need for solace, not for oblivion. “It’s good. I think my uncle was saving it,” he said. He looked down at the bottle and blinked. “Not for this, I imagine.”
There was a set of snifters near the window, so Thomas walked over and took one. It seemed somehow entirely unstrange that he should be here now, drinking brandy with the man who would, within hours, steal everything but his soul.
He sat across from Jack and set the snifter down on the small, low table that sat between the two wingback chairs. Jack reached forward and poured him a generous dose.
Thomas took it and drank. It was good. Warm and mellow, and as close to what he needed as any spirit could strive for. He took another sip and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he stared out the window, which he noted with a thankful prayer did not face the lawn where he had been kissing Amelia. “It will be dawn soon,” he said.
Jack turned in the same direction, watching the window. “Has anyone awakened?” he asked.
“Not that I’ve heard.”
They sat in silence for several moments. Thomas nursed his brandy slowly. He’d drunk far too much lately. He supposed he’d had as good an excuse as any-better than most, really. But he did not like the man he was becoming. Grace…He would never have kissed her had it not been for drink.
Already he would lose his name, his rank, his every last possession. He did not need to surrender his dignity and good judgment as well.
He sat back, comfortable in the silence as he watched Jack. He was coming to realize that his newfound cousin was more of a man than he’d initially judged him to be. Jack would take his responsibilities seriously. He would make mistakes, but then so had he. Maybe the dukedom would not thrive and grow under Jack’s stewardship, but nor would it be run into the ground.
It was enough. It had to be enough.
Thomas watched as Jack picked up the bottle of brandy and started to pour himself another glass. But just as the first drops were splashing down, he stopped, abruptly righting the bottle. He looked up, his eyes finding Thomas’s with unexpected clarity. “Do you ever feel as if you are on display?”
Thomas wanted to laugh. Instead, he did not move a muscle. “All the time.”
“How do you bear it?”
He thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know anything else.”
Jack closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. It almost looked, Thomas thought, as if he were trying to obliterate a memory.
“It’s going to be hideous today,” Jack said.
Thomas nodded slowly. It was an apt description.
“It’s going to be a bloody circus.”
“Indeed.”
They sat there, doing nothing, and then they both looked up at precisely the same moment. Their eyes met, and then Thomas glanced to the side, over at the window.
Outside.
“Shall we?” Jack asked.
“Before anyone-”
“Right now.”
Thomas set down his half-drunk glass of brandy and stood. He looked over at Jack, and for the first time he felt their kinship. “Lead the way.”
And it was strange, but as they mounted their horses and rode off, Thomas finally recognized the lightness in his chest.
It was freedom.
He did not particularly want to give up Wyndham. It was…
Him. Wyndham. It was him. That’s who he was.
But this was wonderful. Sneaking off, tearing through the dawn as it rose over the roads…
