It hadn’t lasted long.
Returning to find her daughter pink from the sun and covered in sand one evening, Amelia’s mother sacked Miss Merry on the spot.
It had effectively ended the holiday.
Still, Amelia dismissed the sad part of that memory. And, staring down at the rocks and sand and crashing waves, she silently thanked the woman for those precious days, images tucked away but not forgotten as she’d grown from a girl into a lady.
Awoman.
Vivid images from her dream swooped down and wrapped around her. The scenarios her mind had conjured up, scenarios involving Mr. Beckworth, were hardly fit for a young lady. No, they’d teased the longings of a woman.
The dream had felt as true as the ground beneath her feet. He hadn’t kissed her in real life, and yet her mouth tingled with the memory of it. Absently, gently, she touched her fingertips to her mouth to assure herself. It had only been a dream.
Crossing her arms over her middle, she turned to examine what seemed like an infinite coast. Another illusion.
Still, there was something…
He was wrong.
She had not imagined him to be like other gentlemen who’d courted her.
She knew her own thoughts—better than ever before. Seeing her life from the outside allowed her to see her family, theton, and everything about it in a different light.
She’d realized some new truths, truths that contradicted her parents’ ways of thinking, and those were turning everything upside down.
People weren’t all good, or all bad. And being a member of the upper classes did not, in and of itself, make a person honorable—or better.
Furthermore, people born into the lower classes could, in fact, live honorable lives—in their own way. Her cousin Clementine, who had been born and raised on a farm and never exposed to society, had been honorable—in her own way. Until she hadn’t.
Amelia stilled. She’d never heard Clementine’s version of the story. Was Amelia missing something there as well? Because no one was all bad. Just as no one was all good.
Which brought her thoughts right back to Mr. Beckworth.
He was a smuggler, and for reasons he persisted in keeping to himself, he’d carried her away from her father against her will. One would think a man on this side of the law would be ruthless and dangerous.
One would imagine he’d be greedy and mean.
And true, he likely possessed a few seeds of those characteristics; he was a man, after all. But…
He’d also been kinder to her, more considerate, than even her own parents.
And he gave herchoices.
“What the devil are you doing out here?” The sudden sharp voice startled her, though it really shouldn’t have. She’d been absorbed in her own thoughts, not paying attention to her surroundings, but Mr. Beckworth had made no attempt at stealth. His footsteps pounded against the ground as he came up behind her.
It was almost as though she’d summoned him with her mind. Or perhaps that dream…
She glanced over her shoulder, determined not to apologize or provide any excuses. “I’m not running away—” Her voice gave out, because her heart had suddenly lodged itself somewhere in her throat.
And later, she wouldn’t remember whether or not she’d gasped.
“Don’t move!” he yelled, and he held out one hand as he approached. Shirtless. Barefoot. His dark-as-night eyes were as intense as she’d ever seen them.
A fob watch dangled from the top of his breeches, which weren’t fastened at the top, and his hair, which looked almost blue-black in the morning light, stood up, crumpled and untamed. Had he jumped right out of bed to make his mad dash to this very spot?
He ought to look obscene. But he didn’t. He looked… perfect. Better, even, than one of those Greek sculptures displayed in the British Museum.
Ignoring his threatening scowl, Amelia licked her lips, her gaze pulled to his bare skin.
