Absolute Surrender Read online

  Her father took her hand, and the contact startled her. She hadn’t realized she was already here in the circle, because her mind, as it did, had wandered. She looked down to her father and softened instantly. He seemed so small in his wheelchair, a rug across his knees to prevent a chill to his worn bones.

  His eyebrows pinched ever so slightly. “My dear, might I present the Duke of Castleberry. Of course you know of him.” He turned to Charles, eyebrows raised with a smile.

  And of course she did, of course she knew him. Or, more specifically, knew of him, because she didn’t know this Charles, the one who now towered over her, the one who seemed to look straight through her. But she wanted to. This night had been planned, set up and determined for years now, and all that time she had done nothing but look forward to the reality of it. Now that it was upon her, she was frightened.

  Charles nodded easily, his eyes never shifting from her. “My lady, it’s an honor.”

  Amelia’s heart trembled at the deep baritone of his voice—something she didn’t remember—and she brought her hand to him slowly. Charles took that hand and bowed over it quickly. Her other hand pressed to her belly, attempting to constrain the loose feeling that once again threatened to spill.

  “Your Grace.” She smiled when the title sounded strange on her tongue. He’d grown into, and inherited, his title, but now before him, all she could see was Jacks, the awkward boy who’d followed her around during those young summers. “I’m certain the honor is mine,” she added as joyfully and as full of smiles as she could muster, curtsying slowly, gracefully, carefully. “I was sorry to hear of your mother.” From the corner of her eye, she saw her own mother’s eyes widen and her smile freeze.

  Charles released Amelia’s hand and stepped back. As was proper. Not because of her statement, she was sure. He could not be seen to be standing too closely, that was all. Charles was nothing if not full of graciousness and propriety.

  “Thank you.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

  The strain of music picked up yet again, and her mother bumped her elbow. “Your Grace, I believe my daughter has been saving this next dance for you.” Amelia thought her mother’s smile was bound to cleave her face clean in two, rather saw it happening, and Amelia’s eyes strained as she stared, expectantly, for the first crack.

  Charles turned to her mother quickly, drawing all attention with him, as Earth to the sun, his smile tight. If for no other reason, Amelia decided then, she could love him because he measured the intent of her mother rather quickly.

  “Perhaps some refreshment and a turn around the room, my lady?” Charles turned back to her, bringing her gaze with him. “I find I’m not much for dancing this evening.”

  “By all means, Your Grace, as you please.” She smiled as she hazarded a glance at her mother—who was actively suppressing a frown. Because, of course, a dance with a duke—and not just any duke but the Duke of Castleberry—would solidify her position. Not a soul would dare speak out about her after that—but a turn around the ballroom would have to do...for now.

  Beyond being taken with his future bride—if he could call her that—he was absolutely intrigued. Charles knew beyond reason that if he were to wed her, his life would be more interesting.

  He remembered all too well the girl he first met so many years ago. Full of spit and vinegar and laughter. He could not quite reconcile that with the woman she’d grown into, the one the ladies of the ton whispered of behind their fans. But that was of little concern to him. Ton gossip was old hat, something he’d never bothered with. Charles could see the movements, the odd-placed tics, and could not quite figure why she shivered often, but her actions called to an extreme sense of protection in him.

  Stunning as she was, he knew she believed herself to be unworthy of the attentions paid and, in some sense, she was. The only true attention received from the ton was a great disdain for her awkwardness and a jealousy that, due to her position, they could not, under any circumstance, call attention to it. Instead, they waited, they stared, they laughed privately, and they said to themselves what not a single one of them dared to utter aloud—not even to their closest confidants—but they all knew: She was strange.

  Odd.

  Different.

  Regardless of her delicate nose, her bow-shaped mouth, and her viridescent eyes. Irrelevant that she had the most vibrant smile and impossibly bright and luminescent hair that he wanted spilling across his hands. Inconsequential that he had been in want of her since the first moment he’d drawn breath in her presence more than ten years past—beautiful, exciting, laughing and playful.

  Pointless that he saw these things above all else. Because he knew that she could not yet trust him. Not a stone’s throw, not a toe. She trusted Ender. That much was obvious from the dance they’d already shared tonight. That much was obvious from the summers he’d spent attempting to keep pace with them. That much was obvious from the times Ender had been allowed in her presence—and Charles had not.

  That much was obvious from the paste smile she had carefully set upon her lips now. Charles shifted uncomfortably.

  “Your Grace, are you well?” she asked quietly, so no one would hear. She might make the perfect duchess, at that. She was so very aware of her surroundings and propriety, always watching, always aware, always a paradigm. Charles frowned, and her hand tensed against his arm, and he wondered what all this caution cost her.

  “I have always been well when with you. It’s been so very long since we’ve had a chance to speak, and this is not the time nor place for great discussions, is it? Yet there are so many great discussions I wish to have with you,” Charles said.

  They passed the Duke and Duchess of Roxleigh, and he nodded in deference and received a welcoming smile from Her Grace. They were so different from the general ton, it gave him hope for the possibilities their success presented. Roxleigh answered to no one but the queen.

  Amelia shivered, recapturing his attention instantly, and he schooled his reaction. Ever wary in public he must be with this masterful beauty. Ever concerned that his reaction would call her out.

  Charles’s position being what it was, if he were to respond badly, the ton would follow without heed. He would be the gate to which the flood would flow, and he felt that certain pressure keenly on his shoulders. He didn’t wish to ruin her, regardless the outcome of their suit. He cared for her, whatever that meant. Well, if he was being honest with himself, what it was was an insuppressible want of her…but that he’d wanted for so long, he believed he might have a genuine care for her as well. Charles turned for the balcony. “Perhaps some air.”

  “As you please,” she said.

  Charles guided her, properly keeping well in sight of the ballroom, then stayed himself when she released him and walked toward the balustrade.

  “Endsleigh,” was all he said. Charles couldn’t help himself. He watched as she controlled her reaction, like a sudden freeze, starting with her ears and traveling down. He saw every muscle stop, coming to attention. It was a rather beautiful dance beneath her skin and caused his fingers to itch, the physical manifestation of a wish to touch.

  “Endsleigh,” she replied with a catch in her voice. “My oldest friend.”

  “Dearest?” he asked, wanting to know, truly.

  “Perhaps.” She turned toward the sleeping gardens, resting her gloved hands on the marble barrier. “Out there, at the far side of England, away from society, the only friends we have are those born to us.” She smiled back at him, over her shoulder.

  “I imagine. And beyond that?” he replied, perhaps hopefully, needing to know how close they truly were. He had a deep need to possess her body, certainly, though more than that he wasn’t sure he would be allowed. Regardless, if she were his, he would expect every bit of her to belong to him, without exception. Body and soul.

  “Beyond that, there can be nothing,” she said simply. She lifted one shoulder, a concession, yet not enough to allay his fears.

  �
�He’s always been allowed in your life, while I have not been. Until now,” Charles said.

  “All true, and yet—”

  “And yet?” he asked.

  “And yet…” Amelia’s voice faded as she turned, and he saw in her eyes the request…no, the defiant demand that he quit this line.

  For a man to sigh called thoughts of weakness, for men were never to question their thoughts, their wishes. But sigh he did, and he put his whole heart into it.

  “As you please,” he responded.

  Her perfect smile returned. Charles was taken away at how well she did that, effected that persona. Created that incredible wash of calm while he could feel, even at this distance, that she was falling apart from the inside.

  Now that he looked closely he could see those little shivers, jerks, and ticks that never quite went away, were never quite hidden.

  They both looked out over the gardens. Shoulder to shoulder—she with her hands held perfectly in front of her, he with his clasped tightly behind his back—as the moonlight drifted down upon them like a bright light in the vast darkness.

  Charles was not quite as good at schooling his physical features. But then he never had cause to be. He was not nearly as practiced with controlling something so seemingly uncontrollable as she. His control at this point was simply his nature. All emotion had been learned out of him as unacceptable, and truth be told, he’d never been witness to, or party to, anything like love. Though he thought it must be kin to joy…and that he had witnessed. In her. Charles shook his head and wished...what did he wish? He wished he knew what it was she needed to keep herself together.

  “Amelia, I love…I love—”

  Charles stopped abruptly when her eyes widened. His father had always told him that women wanted to hear they were loved, that he should wield those three words like a weapon.

  “I love…pudding.” What the hell?

  But when she laughed in answer to the statement…he realized he would have done it again for that moment. Pudding, for fuck’s sake. He wished he knew what it would take to bring that joyful girl from the sea back to him in a more permanent fashion.

  Endsleigh.

  Like an unwelcome voice in his head, the name intruded.

  Endsleigh.

  To banish Ender from thought would be his greatest wish, but Ender’s effect on her could not be banished. Charles had watched that dance. He’d seen her standing. Just standing. Attempting to simply stand. Then Ender was there, and she had spiraled up and then back, like a top would. Tightened then released, all that difficulty gone. There was something more between them. Charles had always known that, but what he could not understand was why. When they were younger, Ender had been allowed to be there with her, no matter what. Whenever it seemed she was acting out of sorts, they had removed Charles and let Ender stay.

  This was without a doubt a level of jealousy he’d no wish to control, because he wanted to feel that burn when he thought on Endsleigh. And yet…and yet, to have that same power for her—but he feared that sort of concern came from a level of connection that was beyond his ability. Charles shifted again, looked at the leather toe of his shoe as he tapped it quietly, once, twice, a third time. Once they wed, her friendship with Ender would be officially at an end, and all this maundering would have no consequence. She would be forced to his confidence. What would have consequence was if she were unsuitable.

  Charles knew she had this magic inside her. To find that again…no. He wanted her. She was the only person he’d ever met who had been so open, so free. Everyone else in his life spoke to the Duke of Castleberry, but she always spoke to Jacks, and he wanted her to speak to Charles. She was never put off by his title, didn’t want him for it. Somehow, she saw the boy and the man. That intrigued him.

  “It is odd, is it not? The last time we spoke, you were merely Amelia, and I was merely Jacks,” he said wistfully.

  She smiled then, and it was genuine, and he could not help but return it with the knowledge that that girl, the one from before, was still in there. Charles took her hand and smoothed a circle into her palm with his thumb; her mouth dropped open slightly until he could see the pink of her tongue.

  “Mon Dieu,” he whispered on a breath. Her jaw snapped shut. “Malheureusement,” he said. Charles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his tongue swollen inside. “Pardon me.” He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. “I believe I’ve had quite enough of this function. I shall return you to...to your—” He coughed in an attempt to vanquish the image of that perfect pink tongue from his mind. It didn’t work, so he closed his eyes as he continued. “Your family. Perhaps I could call on the morrow to take you for a ride in my carriage? I hear the Royal Gardens are beautiful at the moment,” he said distractedly. “Something to be seen. Perhaps then we could attempt the first of many great discussions.”

  “As you please,” she whispered.

  If only... he thought. Charles reached for her hand carefully, then, quite without his permission, his hand landed gently on her shoulder and dragged slowly down her bare skin to the top of her glove, catching on the edge, then continuing until he had her hand.

  “And what would you wish, Amelia?” He was rewarded with another perfect view of that pink tongue as her mouth dropped open to answer him, but all he was given was a quick breath. He placed her hand on his arm, and her other hand pushed at her belly, as though she would be ill.

  “Do you need a moment?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No, thank you, I simply need to…” She looked up into his eyes and seemed to press that hand harder into her stomach. Her eyes showed pain, and he was truly at a loss as how to proceed.

  “Amelia, if I have offended—”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Please do call on the morrow. For tonight, I feel I’m overtired. The trip from Pembroke...” She waved her free hand in a circle, as if to say etcetera....

  Charles nodded, but knew an excuse when he heard one. Tonight was merely a beginning, the first opening of the window. He held her hand to his arm and brought her back into the crowd, willing some of his strength to her. He thought she needed it much more than he at the moment.

  All too aware of her physical proximity, he led her through the jostling throng to her waiting mother. He handed her off and turned to the duke. This man he needed to watch. Charles’s own father had told him to be wary of Pembroke but never did elaborate as to why. Charles knew peers used different tactics to attempt to control those around them—it was one of the most important lessons from his father. Control was of great import, lack of such could destroy a dynasty. As such, whatever control Pembroke had, whatever tactics he used to maintain it Charles would need to determine as they moved forward.

  “Pembroke, with your leave I would very much like to call upon Lady Amelia on the morrow.”

  “By all means, Castleberry. By all means. We shall arrange to have a chaperone availed to you,” her father replied.

  Charles turned to Amelia and took her hand once again. He bowed over it stiffly, nodded to her mother, and took his leave.

  It was then she breathed.

  “I do hope you did not ruin this,” her mother mumbled through a stiff grin.

  Amelia’s hands tensed, one on the other.

  “I’m quite sure nothing is ruined, Your Grace. You heard yourself he’s to call tomorrow. As for now, I’m to Pembroke House. I see no further use for me here.”

  “Now, my dear,” her father started, “you should not manage your mother so. You know she only wishes the best for you.”

  “By all means necessary, only the very best,” Amelia said a bit too loudly and with an irrepressible smile.

  She turned and made her way to the front of the house. So very close now, within reach, a stone’s throw, so simple. Her arms snaked around her middle. Safety beyond those two great doors and then home to peace, within and without. Amelia’s heart raced her feet to the threshold.

  Away from here, away from these people, away
from everything she hated—everything she was born to be. Everything. This was everything to everyone. Everyone but her. Her everything had already quit the ball, as she did now.

  If Hugh had thought he could delay leaving the ball and not be hurt, he’d been wrong. He had needed to leave before he saw them together, but when Miss Elliott had been placed in his path, that wasn’t to be. Because as much as he wasn’t interested in the machinations of Lady Rigsby, he was even more disinterested in creating another generation of angry matrons bent on revenge by ensuring their own daughters’ successes, and that particular miss he knew to be delicate to begin with. As a gentleman, there had been no refusing the dance.

  Hugh felt the prickle on the backs of his arms first. Like a numbness was coming, or perhaps an awakening. He should have quit before he’d seen them together. He should have quit sooner than he had. It was not cold in the manor, but he shivered, then his stomach lurched. He groaned, and the swift beat in his head signaled the coming pain, and he winced.

  Hugh turned toward the front of the house to collect his mount. There was nothing to be done. Damn him and damn me, and whilst I’m at it, damn her as well. Damn her for…damn her for being simply the most extravagant, kind, incredible woman to ever walk the face of this earth. Even in his own mind he could not endeavor to make himself hate her.

  Hugh’s gut tightened as he turned away. Never again. Never again could he lay eyes on her without this pain. To suffer the pain was to be alive, to feel, to be real, here and now. The pain would serve as a reminder that she was not his and could never be his. She was unreachable.

  The pain was equal measure to the joy he’d always felt when near her. No, that wasn’t quite correct. The pain was equal measure to the joy he’d always felt for her until the summer they’d both realized their lives would be forever severed. The summer he first came to Pembroke-by-the-Sea. Jackson.