Because my ex-fiancée called them a raggedy, ill-bred lot.Shame crept over him to realize that Jane's words had somehow stuck in his memory. Shrugging, he searched for the right words.
"We aren't what one would call a conventional family. My siblings are spirited and bright—probably too much so for their own good. And my father isn't well. 'Twas the apoplexy that changed him. Before that he was the most intelligent man I knew."
"The physicians told you the changes were due to apoplexy?"
Ambrose frowned. "Do you doubt it?"
"I'm no medical expert. But Samuel seemed quite lucid over dinner."
"He had you to flirt with," Ambrose said wryly. "That'll get any man's attention right quick."
"Precisely. He reacted as any other man would in that situation. Ergo, he seems perfectly rational to me."
Ambrose considered that observation. "His confusion... it comes and goes."
"Perhaps it comes on more when he is lonely and lessens when he has a distraction." Marianne paused. "I've seen grief masquerade as confusion. Your father's symptoms began after your stepmother's death, did they not?"
Ambrose blinked. "Aye."
"He loved her very much, I think. Such a loss could befuddle a sensitive man."
Why had this not occurred to him before? If Samuel's muddled state was due to grieving, then perhaps one day he would heal, return to his old self… Feeling an odd pressure behind his eyes, Ambrose blinked and reached for Marianne's hand. He linked his fingers through hers.
"Thank you," he said, his tone husky. "It is good to talk—to hear another's advice."
"You are helping me," she replied softly. "Can I not return the favor?"
Guilt lanced him. Thelastthing he wished was for her to feel indebted to him. "I will help you no matter what. I'm making progress with the investigation. There is no obligation—"
Her lips silenced him. Stole his thoughts, his breath. He fell back with her against the satin sheets and, rolling atop, he kissed her neck, the supple dip above her collarbones. She tugged at his shirt, and he yanked the rough linen over his head. Fumbling with the tie of her robe, he pushed aside the gossamer panels. His heart stuttered; no matter how many times he saw those flawless curves, they would always stun him. Because she was beautiful—too damned beautiful for the likes of him. And because...
Because he was falling in love with her.
The truth drummed in his chest, the rhythm one of panic. Beyond the fact that their relationship was built upon a lie, he could not ask the woman he loved to sacrifice a life of privilege for him. A temporary affair was all—more—than he had right to.
He tried to shut out the cold surge of desolation. To focus instead on the sweet heat of the enchantress in his arms. To take what the moment offered... save it up for the long years ahead.
"What is it?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Heat crept up his neck.
Her celadon eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking about, Ambrose? And before you saynothing, let me remind you that I am not a fool."
"Of course you aren't." He twirled one pale curl around his finger, buying himself time. Devil and damn, why couldn't he just take his pleasures like other men? For him, why did lust have to mingle with longings far more complicated? He was not ready to have this conversation. Unbridled lovemaking seemed a safer alternative.
"I was thinking..."Let it go, man.The strand unraveled from his finger, and he heard himself say, "About the future."
"The future." A pause. "Between... you and me?"
The incredulity of her tone provoked him. Was the notion so very absurd to her? Though he understood—and would never ask her to forgo her status and life of luxury for him—her astonishment nonetheless stung. He rolled off of her, rising to sit at the edge of the bed.
"Forget it." He reached for his shirt. "I should go."
"What? Why? Look at me, Ambrose."
He was a man unused to making a fool of himself. To wanting what was beyond his means. Humiliation washed over him.
Meeting her vivid gaze, he said stiffly, "I can't risk my family seeing me in here. They are not accustomed to the workings of high society. We Kents lack such sophistication."
