foremost. It does not sit well with me to hear that you feel things for this stranger that you do not feel for me.”
As her hand twisted and gripped his tightly, a becoming blush spread across her cheeks. “I do not like myself very much at this moment. You are dear to me, Ware. You always have been, and I have not acted as you deserve. I pray you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
He stared pensively over the rear “garden.” The word barely applied to the outdoor space that surrounded the St. John manse. Only low-lying flowerbeds alleviated the stark severity of the spacious lawn.
“I forgive you,” he said. “And I admire your honesty. I doubt I would have the fortitude to reveal so much were I in your stead. However, I cannot have a fiancee who is engaging in such behavior, especially in public venues.”
She nodded, looking like a chastened schoolgirl. While the scolding was required, he took no pleasure in it.
“You will have to decide, once and for all, whether you wish to wed me or not, Amelia. If you choose to proceed with our arrangement, you must act in good faith and deport yourself properly.” Ware pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders back to alleviate the tension there. “Damnation, I do not like feeling as if you are being coerced to marry me!”
Amelia stood as well, her floral muslin skirts falling to a graceful drape. “You are angry.” She held up a delicate hand to stem his reply. “No. I understand. You have the right to be. Had you acted similarly, I would have been equally furious with you.”
Blowing out her breath, she walked to the marble terrace railing and leaned her weight upon her hands. He joined her, the lawn to his back, she to his side.
She was lovely this afternoon, as she was every afternoon. Her dark hair was arranged in artless, powdered curls that swayed around her shoulders. Her skin was pale as cream, her eyes as green as jade, her lips red like dark wine. He had once jested that she was the only woman he thought of in poetic prose, and she’d laughed with him, delighted at what she called his “fancifulness.” He was only fanciful with her.
“If we wed,” she murmured, “do you intend to be faithful to me?”
“That depends on you.” He considered her carefully. “If you lie there and pray for a swift finale, I probably will not be. I enjoy sex, Amelia. I crave it. I would not give up the pleasure of sexual congress for anything, even a wife.”
“Oh.” She looked away with a sigh.
A stray breeze blew by, rolling a tight curl along the tender, bared skin where her neck met her shoulder. She shivered, not with cold, but from the sensation. Ware noted that reaction, as he noted everything about her. Cataloguing the finer details for future use. Amelia was a tactile, sensual creature. Something he appreciated and had been gentle not to exploit, biding his time for the day when she would be his and he could teach her how to embrace that side of herself. With him alone.
Now, he had much to consider.
“I believe we could enjoy each other,” he offered, teasing her fingers on the ledge with his own. “I think sex between us could be much more than a chore, but only if you open yourself to me completely in that way. No shyness, no reserve. If our marital bed is welcoming, I will not go elsewhere. I am not a man given to the pursuit of conquests. I simply want to fuck and have a splendid time doing it. If I can do that with one woman, more the better in my estimation. Less work.”
The coarse word shocked her, he could tell, but it was the right word for how he liked his bedsport, and it was best she know that now. There would be no brief groping and grunting in the darkness. There would be illumination, flushed and sweaty skin, and many hours.
“Is that what passion in the bedroom is?” she asked, with what appeared to be genuine curiosity. “Animal urges given free rein? Is there nothing more involved in the process?”
It took him a moment to comprehend the question. “Are you referring to the glances your sister shares with St. John? Or how the Westfields look at one another?”
“Yes. They are…indecent, yet romantic.”
“You are not the only one to see such affection and covet it.” The inquisitiveness in her gaze made him smile.
“Do you?”
Ware shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip into the railing. “On occasion. But I do not pine for it or suffer from its lack. I think, however, that you do.”
As honest as ever, she nodded.
“I begin to see that my straightforward approach to wooing you was not the best,” he mused aloud. “I assumed that the miserable end to your first love affair would make you inclined to appreciate a more…
She pushed away and began to pace, which was her wont when agitated. At times like this, she reminded him of a caged cat prowling in its boredom. “I do not know what I want, that is the problem.” The look she gave him pinned him in his place.
“I am content. There is nothing more that I need.”
“Are you truly content?” she challenged. “Or do you simply accept that friendship is all that one can hope for in your position?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Who would you wed, if not for me?”
“I’ve no notion, nor do I care to think about it until absolutely necessary. Are you suggesting I consider alternatives to you?”
Coming to a halt, Amelia released a sound that reminded him endearingly of a kitten’s growl. “I want to be mad for
“Perhaps you suffer from bad taste?” He laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him. Then he lowered his voice and stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “If it’s the mask that arouses you, I can wear one to bed. Such games can be fun.”
When her eyes went big as saucers, he winked.
Her hands went to her hips as she bristled; then her head tilted to the side. “Perhaps it is the mystery that intrigues me so? Is that what you are suggesting, my lord?”
“It is a possibility.” Ware’s smile faded. “I intend to make inquiries about your admirer. Let us see if we can unmask him.”
“Why?”
“Because he is not for you, Amelia. A foreign count? You have always longed for a family. You would not move away from your sister now that you are reunited, so what future do you have with this man? And let us not discount the fact that he may seek to wound me through you.”
She began pacing again, and he watched, admiring the inherent grace in her movements and the way her skirts swirled enchantingly around her long legs. “Everyone appears to believe that Montoya has no interest in me as an individual, only in the people connected to me. I admit I find it rather insulting to learn that those who claim to love me find it impossible to imagine a man desiring me for myself.”
“I can more than imagine it, Amelia. I feel it. Do not take my courtesy as a lack of desire for you. You would be wrong.”
Heaving out her breath, she said, “St. John is also attempting to find him.”
He expected as much. “If the man is hiding in the rookeries, St. John might succeed. But you said the count was finely dressed and cultured. He sounds as if he is a denizen of my social circles, rather than the pirate’s. My search may prove more fruitful.”
Amelia paused again. “What will you do if you find him?” There was more than a small measure of suspicion in her voice.
“Are you asking me if I will hurt him?” The question was not frivolous, as he was a swordsman of some renown. “I might.”
Her beautiful features crumbled. “I should not have said anything to you.”
Straightening, Ware moved toward her. “I am pleased you spoke the truth. Our relationship would have been irreparably damaged if you had presented a lie to hide your guilt.” As he reached her, he breathed deeply, inhaling the innocent scent of honeysuckle. He had long suspected that her body resembled the flower she favored, fragrant
