His mouth curved into a smile. “That’s not what it’s like.”
She didn’t know what to believe. “Why would he think I’d want to kiss him?”
The earl’s hand remained upon her shoulder, and he murmured, “He wanted to kissyou. Any man would.”
Her heart stumbled a beat at the low resonance of his voice. She wished that Castledon would hold her closer, taking away this terrible memory. She wantedhismouth upon hers, not Lisford’s.
“Any man?” she whispered.
His blue eyes caught her meaning. For a fraction of a moment, she held her breath, wondering if he would. He cupped her cheek,and the touch of his hand made her close her eyes. She was so glad he’d been there to stop the viscount from harming her.
But then his hand drew away, and he said, “I’ll escort you back before they come looking for us.”
Her anticipation deflated as his hand moved down to her spine, guiding her into the open. Any man but him, he’d meant.
Amelia couldn’t help but feel a surge of disappointment. She couldn’t believe that at one time, she’d thought the Earl of Castledon had the personality of a handkerchief. No, he wasn’t a man to dance and engage in lively conversation. But that was because he’d suffered a great loss.
He’d shrouded his life, and behind the shield was a man who wasn’t afraid to defend a woman. His solitude was a different kind of strength, and she somehow wished that she could unlock his loneliness and find the man who had loved a woman with all his heart.
She stopped walking when they reached the terrace. “Thank you,” she told him softly, “for saving me.”
“I imagine Lisford will have a sore jaw tomorrow. Remind me not to make you angry.” He kept his tone light and walked alongside her on the pathway.
“Wait a moment,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to go back just yet.”
He was about to argue with her, but she touched his arm. “I’d rather not see anyone for another moment or two.”
He acceded but stepped back a pace, as if he didn’t want to stand too close to her. The night air was warm, and the light fragrance of rose and lavender mingled from the gardens. She studied the darkening sky. Although it was late, there was a faint hue of orange in the skies as the sun continued its descent.
He looked as if he didn’t know what to say to her, but Amelia ordered, “Don’t speak at all. Just be for a moment.” She closed her eyes, savoring the sensations of sunset against her skin, the blendedfragrance of the garden…and the man at her side. In her imagination, she pictured him cupping her face between his hands and kissing her gently.
It wouldn’t happen, of course. He believed she was too young for him, and moreover, he wanted a straitlaced young woman to be a mother to his daughter.
But sometimes it was nice to dream.
Charles Newport, Viscount Lisford, gathered his composure, inwardly cursing himself for what he’d done. He’d thought he could transform Miss Andrews’s opinion of him by kissing her. Instead, she’d struck him, as if he had tried to accost her.
That hadn’t been his intention at all. He’d never kissed a woman who hadn’t wanted to be kissed. Women usually came tohim. They hung upon his words, smiling and hoping he would grant them his attentions.
He was utterly bewildered by what had just happened. Now she would undoubtedly believe that he was a debaucher of women. It wasn’t that at all. But he’d sensed her impatience with him after he’d lost the fight at Vauxhall Gardens.
He’d needed that money. And how was he to know that his opponent would be a bloody Scot the size of an ox?
Worst of all was seeing Miss Amelia there. She’d been aghast at the sight of him being beaten bloody, and he’d known then that any attraction she’d felt toward him was disappearing. A sense of desperation strung tighter inside him, for he liked Amelia Andrews. She was beautiful, charming, and he enjoyed her honesty. She was so different from her sister, and a thorn of regret pricked at his conscience for what he’d done to Margaret.
This wasn’t the sort of man he wanted to be. He’d mistakenly believed that Amelia would forgive him if he kissed her. How was he to know that she would spurn him so quickly?
He owed her an apology, but likely she wouldn’t speak to him again. With a heavy sigh, he watched her from the shadows of the terrace. She stood among her sisters, but she didn’t appear to be having a good time.
His stupidity had cost him greatly this night, and he had to find a means of atoning for his errors. If he won Amelia’s heart, there would be a good dowry. All he had to do was convince her that he loved her. With the right words, she would believe him.
Her sister’s husband was the Duke of Worthingstone, and her father was a baron. Between the two of them, he had no doubt that Amelia Andrews was an heiress who would solve every last one of his financial woes.
An inner voice warned that her family would not be amicable to his courtship, after he’d abandoned Margaret Andrews. But then, that couldn’t be helped. Miss Andrews would not forgive him after he’d humiliated her, nor would her parents.
There was another way, however. If he could convince Amelia that he was the man of her dreams, she was adventurous enough to consider eloping. He fixated upon the possibility, realizing that this was an excellent idea. Amelia had a romantic heart, and if he gave her everything she desired, he would succeed in marrying her and the dowry would follow.
It would work. He was certain of it. She would come to forgive him, in time.
