Amelia had long since learned to hunch her shoulders and lean forward just a little, so as not to tower over the few gentlemen who entered Emmeline’s shop. Men often got nasty when a woman was taller than them. Or cleverer than them, or simply not very interested in them.
Stephen was different, she was sure of that. She was not taller than him. What a relief it was to stand fully upright, not afraid of receiving a scowl or a thinly-veiled insult in response.
“I propose that I leave tomorrow morning,” Amelia said quietly. “I shall leave you and Letitia to unravel the weddingarrangements. It won’t be easy, but it’s better than the two of us entering a marriage that does not suit either of us. You’ll be free to pursue a lady, a woman you truly care for. Without the specter of my brother hanging over your head, you can be free. Isn’t that a wonderful thing?”
“Amelia—”
“I release you from your obligations, Stephen,” she interrupted, her words a little too soft in the quiet room. “And you shall release me from mine. We’ll both be happier this way.”
“Is that what you want?”
She gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, be serious. What I want doesn’t matter in the slightest. I only think of what’s right, whatworks. I’m a practical woman, Stephen.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath and took a step toward her. Amelia flinched, forcing herself to hold her ground. He reached out, taking one of her cold hands in his. As always, heat radiated from his skin, immediately warming her clammy fingers.
“Practical woman, my backside,” he breathed. “You are thesilliestwoman I have ever met, Amelia.”
CHAPTER 28
Amelia blinked, annoyed. “You’re calling me silly? I’m not silly, I?—”
She was cut off, as Stephen dived forward, winding his arms around her waist and pulling her in a tight embrace. His mouth found hers, his lips cool and tasting of mist.
If mist had a taste, that is.
Amelia gave a yelp of surprise, which he swallowed. There was no time to adjust to the kiss or to the fact that he was pressed against her, hard and warm enough to make her body respond. Twinges ran down her spine, heat pooling in her gut.
He pulled back, not far enough to put too much space between them, but certainly enough to let her breathe.
“You believe this was duty? Fear of scandal? Desire for revenge?” he breathed, eyes dark and wide. “You’re a fool if you believethat, Amelia. Since the moment I met you, you’ve driven me mad. I can think of nothing but you. You haunt my dreams, you hide behind my eyelids every time I blink. I cannot get you out of my head, Amelia, and what’s more, I don’twantto. You think I want an excuse to get out of this marriage? No, that’s not true, and you’d be a fool to believe that I don’t care for you.”
There was a beat of silence. If it could be called silence, that is.
Amelia’s heart thrummed within her ribcage, fighting to get out. Her breath echoed in her ears, rushing along to the rhythm of her blood.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
That wasn’t entirely true. Shedidunderstand, since he’d been fairly clear, but the reality of it, the implication, was all too much.
He lifted a hand, gently brushing his knuckle along the underside of her jaw. “If you choose not to marry me tomorrow,” he whispered, “then that is your choice to make. I won’t stop you. I won’t chase you this time. As for me, I’ll be in the chapel at the hour we agreed upon. I will be there. And if you’ll let me, Amelia, I’ll always be there for you, from here on out.”
Again, silence. An owl hooted outside.
Amelia stared up at him, her eyes wide.
Is this a dream? Am I going to wake up and find that I’m lying in my bed? Or perhaps it’ll be worse, and I’ll find that I’m still locked in Harry’s drawing room, with only the knife and a cup of cold tea left behind for me?
As if to reassure herself, she lifted a trembling hand to Stephen’s face, letting her fingertips trail across his cheek. His skin was rough and warm. Stubble bristled against her fingers.
He held her gaze, firm and unblinking, but she heard his breath stutter in his throat. Tilting his head, he pressed his cheek into her palm. She felt the weight of his head, heavy against her hand.
She let her fingers trail lower, down the column of his throat, across those impressively broad shoulders, over the expanse of his chest, to where she could feel his heart beat strongly against her palm. He stood still, allowing her to explore.
“Well?” he whispered, breaking the silence. “What will it be, Amelia? Will you return with me, or go back to your sewing at that modiste’s?”
She bit her lip, not sure if she wished to laugh or cry, or perhaps both.
“I don’t believe I can,” she breathed. “I suppose that is the trouble with giving away one’s heart. You cannot simply get it back by asking.”
