Chapter 15
They were both ensconced in the parlor that faced the driveway.
Amelia was quiet, too quiet.
Blackthorn walked over to the fireplace and jabbed at the logs with an iron poker, then watched the growing flames. He felt her gaze on him. Oh, yes, he felt it all right.
He looked over his shoulder and saw her sitting, shoulders slumped, on the dark green settee. Suddenly, he found himself rushing to get the fire going for her. “It’ll get warm soon enough,” he said, walking over to her. He pulled off his coat and wrapped her in it.
“Thank you.”
Years of spying had taught him to pay attention to details. What was she not telling him? Or was he reading too much into this? Was this the permanent consequence of spying for nearly a decade? To never truly trust anyone?
“What’s the matter?” she said suspiciously.
“Why do you ask?”
“You look at me as though I were prey to be devoured.”
He chuckled. “A hard habit to break. My occupation didn’t allow me the comfort of allowing my guard down. It’s been years since I’ve been home.”
“From the war?” she said, interest in her eyes.
“Yes and no.” He turned away. He didn’t want to talk about spying or the dehumanizing part of his former profession with this woman, or anyone for that matter. He needed to change the subject quickly. “There is something I need to warn you about.”
“Oh?” she said, frowning and pulling the coat close to her as if to ward off the cold.
The start of this morning had been bad enough with his mother back in London, ordering his servants about frantically as if she were the Queen of England. Then she had congratulated him on the engagement and how much Amelia’s inheritance would mean for them. What she had meant was how much she would enjoy spending the money.
He intended to put her on a budget so that she didn’t squander the entire inheritance. He may not care to be the earl, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hand over a ruin to the next in line either. He was not his father and didn’t plan to burden the next in line with the worries of debt.
“My mother may approach you, to befriend you.” He knew his mother would corner Amelia eventually, but he didn’t want her to be frightened of his conniving mother. Better that he be with her most of the days to come until they would go their separate ways. “I insist you keep your distance from her.”
“If you like, I will do as you wish,” she said. “But do you mind telling me why?”
His mouth thinned. He didn’t want to get into this, but she did deserve to know at least what she was getting herself into. What was he going to say? Giving it some thought, he said, “Let’s just say she has ulterior motives, and more often than not, they involve her own selfish schemes. Do not promise her anything or agree to anything until you discuss it with me first.”
Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I will,” she said.
There was a question in her tone, but he ignored it. If something happened to her, his own plans to leave this damn place may take longer than necessary. Meanwhile, he’d do his best to keep his investment safe for their own good, even from his mother.
He watched her quizzical expression. God, there was this innocence beyond her determined exterior. He wanted to peel away those layers and see what was beneath them. He could not deny the struggle he sensed in her. And at times, when she didn’t know he was looking, he noticed her deep in thought and a sense of loneliness there too. He had a talent for reading people. That was one of the reasons the Home Secretary had recruited him—that and his talent for breaking codes.
He’d suffered brutal weather, lack of sleep, and physical pain while training. But being here at his brother’s estate with so many memories brought back feelings he’d buried for so long. Too many sorrows and deaths in Somersby Hall.
He was glad Amelia would make it her own. It was time this house was filled with new memories, and perhaps Miss Knight would do just that. There was a part of him that wanted to hold her in his arms and ease whatever troubled her. Riding together didn’t help sate his need to be near her, to soothe her troubles. Or to ease his own loneliness, the lust he sometimes felt for her. Either way, he knew he was walking a thin line in this matter.
Shaking his head, he inhaled and pushed those thoughts away. Whatever his troubles were, he didn't have the luxury of indulging in them. Or her. The thunder and rain outside broke his train of thought. “I’m getting hungry,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat, shall we?”
Did he expect her to cook for him? The only thing she knew how to do in a kitchen was slice the bread. “The servants aren’t here.” She watched his expression to see his reaction. .
“I may not know much about the kitchen, but I can find us something to eat. I even taught myself how to make a meal or two.”
“In the army?” she asked, surprised by his admission. He nodded, as if he were proud of himself for saying such a thing. An earl would never admit this to his peers, but then again, she wasn’t really his peer, was she? Not really. Just a lowborn woman who now had the means to gain her independence. She watched him with curiosity as he moved about the kitchen. This man was something of an enigma. He fought with prisoners, bribed wardens, and sneaked into homes without getting noticed. Was there anything he couldn’t do?
She recalled the way his gentle hands had soothed her, the way he’d protected her in prison. She had been bombarded with the sight of the children and woman in the cells, knowing full well Millie could easily be one of them. Her heart had reached out to them, but in the end, she could not help any of the women and children in there.
He took her hand in his, his warm, calloused hand wrapping around hers like a thick blanket, and led her through the servants’ stairs and down to the kitchen below the ground floor. After spending the day together, his touch was becoming natural to her.
She liked this quiet affection, this physical attraction or whatever one called it. She didn’t even know what it was. They were engaged, only as a means to an end. Once they both got what they wanted, they would go their separate ways. That was a certainty.
So why not enjoy him while they were in each other’s company? What harm would it do? It was better than bickering with this man. Besides, it would do them good to convince the world they were well suited.
Once ensconced in the kitchen, she looked around the quiet room. It was large, and in the middle of it there was a large wooden table. She sat down a stool and watched him. There was a tall, large dresser with plates, pots, and pans. He seemed to be searching for something as he checked baskets and cabinets. Then he disappeared down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” she said as he disappeared.
No more than five minutes later, he returned with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread in his hand. Setting it aside on the wooden table, he found a knife, two glasses, and two plates from the dresser and started slicing the bread. Then he grabbed the butter that was on the counter and slathered it on the bread and handed it to her. She was amused, and quite enjoyed watching him go about the kitchen. As it was, she had a difficult time not staring at him like a love-sick girl.
She took the first bite and closed her eyes as the butter melted in her mouth. Creamy and delicious. The bread was thick and soft in the center and smelled fresh, as if it had been made this morning. She watched him pour wine in the glasses for them. She took a drink to wash down the bread.
“Do you really intend to stay with me in my room?” she asked. The day was growing late and the inevitable would come. He couldn’t possibly think to stay in her own room.
He took a bite of the buttered bread and gulped down the wine. “Yes.” Then he poured himself another.
“Honestly, I think you are overreacting,” she said.
“This individual who threatened you knows where you reside and knows your name.” His eyes narrowed. “We cannot risk your safety.”
Until you get your money? Is that it? “Do you really think Millie could be linked to this man?” She knew the answer before she finished asking the question. “She must be so frightened.”
“We can’t assume she is innocent in all this,” he said, drinking his wine.
She recalled that night in the alley. “Remember the girl? The woman in the prison said Millie was with child, and the girl in the alley was in the same condition. Do you think she could have been Millie? What are the chances?”
“Why is it so important for you to find this woman?”
“I made a promise.”
“Promises are often broken.”
“Not by me.”
Just when she thought he would argue with her, he did something quite surprising. He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. His warm lips had a tinge of the taste of wine and butter, soft and delicious. She kissed him back, quite unexpectedly, as if it were the most natural thing to do. And just as easily as he kissed her, he pulled away.
“Why did you do that?”
He pointed to the corner of her lips. “Butter,” he said. “Besides, you seem to enjoy it when I kiss you.”
She wiped it off with her finger. “I do not.” She smiled. “Maybe a little.”
Just then his eyes became sharp and focused. “I need you to tell me the names of people your friend may seek out or know.”
“There are only two people I can think of. Cook and her papa. I have an inkling where Cook may be. Millie’s father rented a room near the pub. I don’t know if he is still there. I know the prisoner said she isn’t with her father, but we should make a visit to him.”
“I agree,” he said. “Then I’ll have a visit with this Cook.”
“I am coming with you.”
“No, you are not.”
“Yes, I—”
Before she finished her sentence, he leaned in and kissed her again.
Her lips were velvety and sweet. Oh, how he could get used to this. She was like a missing puzzle piece that fit the hollows of his empty heart, and his cock was hard with wanting. He wanted to touch her, feel every arc and bend of her soft curves and lick the peaks of her nipples until she moaned wildly in his ear. He wanted to make love to her until she fell limp in his arms with joy.
But he knew all too well that these kinds of emotions were unreliable, unpredictable, and often didn’t end well. No doubt she wished him to stay, but he had no intention of staying in London for anyone, and that meant he’d have to let her go. And he would let her go because it was the only choice he had.
He pulled away. Looking into her dreamy eyes, he chided himself for kissing her.
What the devil are you doing?