Her lips pursed. “Lady Kemble told me that when you broke your leg, you walked on it too soon and put the healing back a month.”
“I was twelve years old!”
She crossed her arms.
He was doomed.
Amelia was all starch and prickle, a grey-frocked nurse on a mission, and when he’d endeavoured to kiss her, she’d told him not to overexert himself.
Bugger that.
“Hellfire, my head,” he whimpered, abruptly flinging himself onto his back and groaning. “I need…”
“Oh, Hugh, what?” She jumped to her feet and leaned over him, touched a hand to his cheek. “All this pettifogging between us isn’t good for you. In fact–”
It ended in a shriek as with his uninjured arm around her hips, he yanked her down to the bed, executed a proficient Pankration move, twined their legs together and rolled so he was above her.
“A kiss,” he growled.
And without ado, he met her protesting luscious lips with his own.
“No!”
No?
He drew back. “Why not?”
Gads, she was divine, lying there with a halo of blond hair, lips rosy, breath panting and–
“The doctor said no strenuous activity for at least a month.”
A month!
“Damnable quack,” he muttered, and leaned down to kiss her exquisite–
A palm slammed over his mouth.
“A month, Hugh. No strenuous activity. No absconding down the corridor – and don’t think I didn’t know. I’m a spy for heaven’s sake – and no kisses.” The palm crept to his cheek and all of a sudden, he felt an utter blaggard as her eyes shone with moisture. “We almost lost you, Hugh,” she said softly. “You maybe improving and that’s wonderful, but it’s taking all of us some time to recover too.”
With a kiss on her nose, he drew back – humbled, chastened and… “Amelia Lambert, I love you.”
Those amber eyes softened. Her lips curved. “And I love you, also.” She brushed a hand down his still-bandaged arm. “I should have told you sooner but I… I was not…brave.”
He kissed her again, a butterfly touch. “And I should never have waited to declare my love. I should have told you that night after the theatre, over and over till you proclaimed yourself tired of hearing it. And in fact, I will say it each and every day of our married life.”
Her eyes caressed his face yet her smile had waned a touch. “Hugh…”
“Amelia…”
“I… I want to m-marry you, so very much, but…are you…still sure all will be well? What about your family? A duke. The truth remains, and can never be ignored, that I-I’m illegit–”
He put an end to her words with his lips, cupped her cheeks, had to make her understand.
“I love you, Amelia Lambert, for everything that you are. My family will adore you. My friends will cherish you. And to hell with anyone else.” He brought his forehead to hers. “I will fight any aristocrat who dares to cut you. Any nobleman who dares to hurt you. Anyone who dares to look down on you. And not just because we stand as one and they would be daring to insult me also, but because they would be daring to insult the bravest woman I know. A woman who has served her country, her fortitude and ability beyond refute.”
Hugh felt the salt of tears upon his hands but her smile had returned, so shifting back against the headboard, he brought her to his chest and settled her into his embrace.
He kissed her hair and closed his eyes.
