Graham groaned. “I didn’t say I was looking for a wife, Alston.”
“You’ll be going gray soon,” Alston teased. “Better to get it over with while everything is in working order.” Alston winked at him.
Graham caught sight of Amelia shrinking into her chair with pink cheeks. Not very long ago, she might not have known what her brother was alluding to, but now she did. She knew intimately how Graham’s body worked. He ground his teeth as unwanted visions infiltrated his mind.
“How about we talk about something more pleasant?” Graham suggested. “You wanted to play games.”
“Let’s have some cake first,” Alston said. “Maybe a bit of whisky?”
“Absolutely not.” Graham and Amelia said it in unison.
Alston looked between them. “Spooky. I’m used to Amelia and me speaking as one, but you two? Maybe youhavebeen spending too much time together. I don’t want you influencing each other.”
Amelia hid behind her teacup and Graham cleared his throat.
“Games?” Graham prompted.
“Right. I want to play games right here and celebrate our last night together. I’m already succumbing to boredom, and both of you must entertain me.”
“Wonderful,” Amelia muttered.
Alston frowned. “I thought you’d like this idea.”
“I do, but...” Her gaze flicked to Graham.
“Tired of his company? You can stomach him for one more night for me.”
Amelia nodded, throwing Graham a quick glance. “For you.”
Alston picked up a deck of cards from his bedside table and began to shuffle.
Chapter Thirty-Five
They played gamesuntil well after midnight. Sam hadn’t wanted the night to end, but he was rather peaked, and Amelia forced his hand by claiming she was overtired and headachy. She left first, escaping to her room before Graham could see her in the hall.
She had wanted to talk some more or throw her arms around him and kiss him like mad, but the idea also made her palms sweat and her heart flutter with something close to a thrill but also fear.
What he’d said had shaken her to her roots. It was more than just pretty words—they were real. Each syllable had struck her like an arrow through her heart, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
“You mean more to me than I have words to articulate. I’m not a poetic man, and for that I’m sorry. I cannot adequately describe what you make me feel. Other than... everything. You make me feel everything.”
Amelia paced her room, unpinning her hair and dropping pins on the floor in aggravation. She tortured him, he’d said. That’s exactly what he was doing to her right now. What was she supposed to think? Do?
Fran was already in bed. She had a cold, and Mrs. Keen had made her a strong toddy. So Amelia was left alone to contemplate the day, everything Graham had said, everything Graham had done. To reminisce about the way he’d pinned her to the wall. She clawed her fingers into her hair in frustration, then yanked off her dress. She left everything on the floor in disarray, knowing that tomorrow Fran would look at the mess and shake her head.
She hated to admit he was right, but perhaps heshouldleave. And if that was what he wanted, then she wasn’t going to beg him to stay. She replayed his words in her mind over and over, even the nothings he’d uttered as he’d sat across from her, losing hand after hand of cards. He’d hardly looked at her, and tomorrow he would leave, and then what? Would he still be her escort? Would he answer a note if it came from her? Would he look at her like he’d done this morning ever again? She couldn’t go on without seeing that look again and feeling his hands on her body.
Would he marry? Could she stand to see him marry someone and look at his wife like that? Amelia threw herself on her bed. All these questions had no answers. If she were a braver woman, she would go to him, demand to know whether he meant to marry or if it was nonsense spoken for her brother’s sake. Was he truly tortured by his feelings for her? He didn’t look it. If he were, if he’d meant all those things he’d said, then how could he simply move on to another woman?
Her body revolted at the thought—stomach hollowing, throat burning. She could not see him with another woman. Not now, not ever. But she could not keep him for herself, either. Could she?
No. They were too much at odds. Even if his touches and kisses were magic, their words were still poison too often. Even now with their mutual understanding over Sam, too much oftheir time had been spent arguing and not just talking about the things they liked: music, theater, books, sweets...
“You make me feel everything.”
She let out a soft sob. Everything. He made her feel everything, too. She ran the gamut of emotions when in his presence. Even feelings she didn’t want to admit. When his arms came around her, her body sank with relief. When his jaw brushed her temple, she had to fight the urge to smile. If she was close enough to catch a whiff of his scent, his soap, or whatever he used that made him smell like Graham, she calmed, her mind and spirit quieting.
Why was she so loath to admit these things?
