Amelia woke in a state of peace and pleasure that turned into momentary confusion. Someone had just called her name, a hand insistent on her arm.

She blinked once, then again before she looked up to see Lord Windon, Robert.

Just like that, the events of the night before flooded through her and she smiled, lifting her hands up.

Her enthusiastic lover of the night before was gone, a cool mannered man replaced him. This man thrust her clothes into her outstretched hands. “Your clothes are dry. The rain has stopped for awhile now,” he told her with a touch of asperity.

“It must be dreadfully cold outside.” What perfectly boring conversation to be having after such a night as they had both shared.

“It is, but the wood lasted through the night and we are quite warm. In any case we should be getting ready to return to your hall,” he advised quietly.

He made perfect sense. His logic was undeniable, but she would have loved a kiss, a kind word. Some sign that the night before was not an obvious regret. Maybe she had been unsatisfactory. She bit her lips at that. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Robert.” He answered her shortly. “I am sure the horses will want to be returned to their stables.” He could not believe himself, grasping at excuses to cover his guilt. Horses?

“Of course, Robert.” She was appropriately chastened. She had failed to take the needs of the horses to heart, and maybe the man wanted his meal after a night in a place not suitable to his needs at all.

She stood up from the bed. Her covering of his coat rolled off and the colder air pebbled her nipples. She looked up, but his attention was stoically focused elsewhere. She dragged on the chemise herself and found her stays. She tried to tie the laces in the back. Her fingers fumbled for awhile before his hands stopped them and tied the laces expertly.

She should be grateful for his help but she could not help but think that he must have a lot of experience undressing and redressing women. The moment passed in silence. She stood stiff and immobile as possible with him fastening the garments she donned with an economy of motions.

She sat on the bed and tied her garters. Her dry shoe sat near her feet. His hand flashed by her. For a moment she thought he wanted to touch her and she stilled, but he only plucked his coat off the bed before turning smartly and walking out of the room.

She kept her shoulders high and her manners aloof until he left the room, but as soon as his back faded from sight she wilted. She propped her head on her open hands. She was consumed with regrets and not a little amount of shame.

In the light of the moment he had been willing, happy and, she dared to think, driven with something more than mere lust, but in the light of day it was another matter. It didn’t matter. There was no reason to follow their night of intimacies with his cold manner and the silence that cut her.

The neighing of the horses brought her away from her dark reverie. She would bear his censure but as soon as they returned she would avoid him unless it was strictly necessary.

The second shoe was pulled on. She stood up from the bed. One hand brushed against the fabric of her ridding gown but it was wrinkled beyond care. Not that it mattered, speculations would be rife. If they were caught, their options were being forced into marriage or she would be completely ruined. 

His initial proposal was the only tether that stopped her mind from succumbing to the rush of guilt, but that consolation was no salve. From his manners now, how could she never bear to be married to him? Marriage would be hell. Truly she had wanted to marry for love. Something that a more practical mind would shun, something that was the reason her London Seasons had failed. It was the best protection if she was to live in the shadow of her husband without rights. Now she would be married with her rights intact and no love.

The long ride was accomplished with heavy tension. Even the animals were aware of it. They shied and were a bit difficult, but that could be because of the night in the rain. Amelia rode with her spine and her chin raised in challenge. Robert rode at her side in a similar pose. The horse responded to the expert handling by eating the ground in eager bursts, but that could easily be attributed to the lure of the stables and warm hay.

When the stone walls of the hall were suddenly looming over the horizon she breathed a sigh of relief and doubled her speed. At the stables, she caught the grooms in a group, obviously going to search for her. Mary was among them, fretting heavily and afraid. She was assailed, no doubt, with images of her lady in a ravine somewhere.

When Lady Amelia appeared a cry of relief came up and she alighted smartly.

“My lady, we were all afraid,” Simmons called out above the din of concerned voices.

“As you can see Simmons, I am in good health.” She turned to her maid who was waiting to be addressed. “Mary?”

“We were so worried. The storm blew in so quickly and lasted through the night.” The lady’s maid clenched her hands to her side in obvious effort.

“We were quite safe. We found shelter with one of the tenant families,” she finished curtly and as airily as possible to dispel the concern and the fear. It had the desired effect of taking their minds off the matter and to other more present situations.

“Oh, I am all a dither when I should be attending you.” That was a sure testament that she was worried out of her mind. Mary was never slacking in her duty.

“Well?” The arch word spurred them into action. The undergroom collected the reins of the horse from her and the rest backed away systematically. Amelia hated having to use a haughty tone with her household, but more than anything they had to refrain from their thread of conversation. She couldn’t risk Lord Windon appearing and facing their speculative eyes. She had grown up with most of them and nothing could persuade them to leave her alone if she pandered to their concerned enquiries even for a single minute.

“Let me go see to your bath.” Mary answered with a nod and she hurried off with that suggestion ringing in her wake.

“Lord Rochester?” The question was understood by Simmons.

“Your father, his lordship. has no hint that you did not return earlier. He was quite tired and spent the day indoors and retired early,” Simmons supplied with a look of reproach, but Amelia ignored it. Only the head groom could take such liberties with her.

“I am pleased. Make sure this does not reach his ears,” she ordered as she turned away from him. She was unwilling to witness the cool reproof in his eyes. The orders were strange to say the least, but Simmons was too well trained to show his disapproval with more than a discrete look.

“Rub down the horses. Give them plenty of fresh hay and warm mash,” she threw over her head. “And Simmons?”

“Yes, milady?” His disapproval was a solid cloud on his brow now.

“He must not hear a word of this, Simmons. The household will hold its tongue or suffer my wrath.” In an uncharacteristic move, she swept into the house regally. Even if she wore wrinkled clothes and her person was a trifle rancid, no one could mistake Amelia St Clair for anything other than gentry. She wore her station well.