Absolute Surrender Read online

  A childhood infatuation could mask many things about a person, irreconcilable behaviors being the least of his worries when met with the face of an angel with the laugh of a siren. But there wasn’t anything to the rumors that bothered Charles, in truth. He could see what they whispered about and found no merit in any of it, because if she were his wife, the rumors would simply cease to exist.

  The single thing he was concerned with at this point—and, truth be told, at all points—was Ender. He needed to deal with the issue immediately, and if there was one thing he’d learned in taking over the business of the duchy, it was to go to the source when there was discord. He hit the roof of the carriage to call his driver.

  Amelia descended the carriage in front of Pembroke House and twitched her skirts straight, thinking how she hated Hugh. She dislodged a stubborn wrinkle at the hem as she walked briskly into the house, nodding politely at the servants as she passed.

  Hate is a rather strong word, she thought. Perhaps she only disliked him a great deal. Or perhaps it’s quite the opposite. Must he always appear so? Like a rescuer just when he’s needed, as though I cannot handle myself. Which I cannot. But that’s neither here nor there, now is it?

  She followed the long hallways and turns and finally entered her rooms.

  It’s quite unfair of him to continue with this savior knight façade. We’re not children anymore, for goodness’ sakes. Really. I’m to marry another. As he’s aware. A tear fell as she collapsed into her old worn chair by the fire, pulling her feet up and holding herself as tightly as possible. She’d insisted the chair come with her from Pembroke-by-the-Sea, much to her mother’s disdain.

  Hugh was her oldest friend. Dearest. There, Jacks had it. Dear, he was dear, quite dear, she thought, and Charles was none too happy about that fact, it seemed.

  She and Hugh had shared so much, but when Hugh had left to pursue his education, her life had spiraled beyond tether. Social situations had become difficult, small, independent trials of her patience and sanity. Her parents had slowly closed their beautiful, powerful seat of the dukedom in favor of a quiet, secluded life. One where their prized daughter, their only child, would not be discovered for what they believed she was: a freak.

  Amelia remembered her first true episode, when Hugh had told her he was leaving…

  She shook off the thought as she yanked the pins from her hair, letting them pull the tendrils at her scalp, feeling the pinch and the burn, wishing anything could take this other pain from her.

  Hugh. Ender. Endsleigh. Hubert Percival Alexander Garrison, the Right Honorable Baron Endsleigh. Hugh. Dearest Hugh. She shook her head. He must be Endsleigh to her. Only Endsleigh. Nothing more. Never more. Never, never again more.

  She looked down to find her hands mussing the silk of her ball gown terribly, and they unclenched, the fingers stiffening in their straightness. The tendons stretched then eased through her knuckles as she relaxed and feebly attempted to brush the wrinkles from the skirt.

  Damn me. Damn me…what? Where was she? Had she actually lost count? Certainly Hugh had made it to at least thrice during the ball alone. Amelia’s smile eased her tension as she tangled her fingers together and pulled her feet up under her skirts. She and Hugh still played the game they’d made up when they were children. The rule was simple: if they reached four, Hugh had to go home. Neither of them had wished for that, so they’d worked together to prevent his departure from happening. That had been a goal to be avoided, and for whatever reason, it worked.

  What was she to do about this man? And he was a man, no longer the boy of her youth. The entire situation was all too far beyond her control. He was ingrained in her life, too much an integral part of her happiness. Yet as much as she would be happy to spend her life with a man who could calm her in a heartbeat, she was promised to, taken by, and terribly in want of another. One she had known as a child then watched from a distance only as allowed. One who’d been turned out every time she’d begun to act out. One she’d begun to be reacquainted with tonight, truly acquainted, really, for the first time in so very many years. One who made her very skin ache to be touched. One she hoped had no idea she was on the verge of becoming an outcast.

  Amelia’s cheeks burned from all the forced smiles and politesse, and she pressed them in to ease the muscles, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and chuckled. Her mouth was pursed like that of a fish.

  Truly, she was frightened at the prospect of being near him again. She’d thought perhaps her infatuation was merely that, and with seeing him again those feelings would be gone, but they hadn’t been. His very presence called to her.

  Jacks. Charles Henry Tristan Jackson, Duke of Castleberry, Marquess of Braverton, Viscount Melbrey, certainly many other lesser titles she wasn’t aware of—she would have to look in Debrett’s for that information—but his friends still called him Jacks, she was sure.

  If he had friends. Did he have friends? Surely there would be friends.

  Amelia poked at her cheeks, in and out. She had been the first to call him Jacks, when they were young and allowed such frivolities. She hoped he would allow her to call him Jacks again. Perhaps even Charles. Charles: such a simple name for a man who was not nearly so simple.

  Now why would her lips puckered like a fish call his nickname to mind? She dropped her hands and fidgeted with a loose thread on her skirt. Presenting His Grace, Charles Jackson, Duke of Castleberry and his wife, Amelia Jackson, Duchess of Castleberry, she thought with a smile, then shook her head. They would not use our Christian names—

  “Your mother is the very devil’s undergarments!” grumbled her girl as she burst into the room.

  Amelia’s attention jerked up, and with it the thread she was fidgeting with pulled loose, making a hole in her dress. She attempted to smooth the fabric, and when that didn’t work, she folded the skirt over the hole to hide it.

  “Louisa, dearest, my mother is as she is, as you should be aware by now.”

  “Promise me you’ll not leave me to her when you are well and married. Please, take me with you.”

  Amelia giggled and stood as the irreverent girl pulled and twisted and shed her of her clothes. “I would never do such a thing as leave you here, you know that,” Amelia said as she suffered Louisa’s ministrations like a fish caught in the tide.

  Louisa had been with Amelia for what seemed forever, and Louisa knew Amelia nearly as well as Hugh did. Louisa was able to help Amelia, but her presence wasn’t as calming as Hugh’s always had been—but Louisa could manage her, and that was usually enough.

  “Viper, she is. You’d think the world was at an end simply because you left the ball.”

  “Ah, well. Is my mother home or did she send a footman to check on me?”

  “Send a footman?” Louisa squealed. “Send a footman! Why, the very—and leave the ball with only three liveried men to accompany the coach? You cannot be serious, Amelia. The very idea, I mean, really.”

  Amelia collapsed back in her chair with a smile. “Goodness me, the coachman and outriders must be dizzy from circling London this night. Mother must have been waiting for their return.”

  “Hush now,” Louisa said. “She’ll hear you, and then where will we be? In the stocks in the grand courtyard, that’s where.” Louisa lifted the skirt to the light, prodding at the hole Amelia had just made, and Amelia winced.

  “Louisa, the stocks were removed to the attics decades ago,” Amelia said, trying to distract her from the damage.

  Louisa tossed the dress aside. “Oh, my lady, don’t think for a minute that she’ll not pull them out simply for this transgression. Truly, you sound like a schoolgirl in this fit of giggles. She’ll think you’ve become much too far gone and have you off to Bedlam by morning.”

  Amelia calmed then, rather suddenly, and she felt the sting at the backs of her eyes as Louisa’s shocked face turned to her. “Oh there, milady, I’ve gone too far. I always do. Come, come, never fear. If she had off with you, I’d be at yo
ur side to take the brunt of it.”

  Amelia tried to smile, and it cut her tension as she heard Louisa sigh. “All right now, up with you. Here’s a great soft bed calling to you,” Louisa said.

  “Louisa, don’t leave me,” Amelia said quietly as she leaned in to hug her maid. Her maid. What on earth would her mother think of this? For shame, beyond all things, to embrace a servant girl.

  “Don’t start now, milady. You know no good will come of this. Just simply take me with you.”

  Amelia smiled and nodded, then crawled into the bed as Louisa fussed. She remembered the first time she’d heard her maid speak ill of her mother. Shock. It was most shocking! Servants were to be seen and unheard, but this particular servant—she shook her head—this servant was not meant to be in the position she was in. Of that, Amelia was certain. Wherever she’d come from, she’d been a blessing, but born into the service of a blue blood she was not.

  Louisa flung the heavy counterpane up over Amelia and proceeded to shove the edges around her, tight and secure. Amelia finally relaxed, like a violin string let loose after a long concert.

  “I will,” Amelia said quietly, already so relaxed she was nearly asleep.

  Louisa prodded the fire and dimmed the gas lamp left in the far corner of her room to chase the shadows.

  “I know,” Louisa replied. She put out the remaining gaslights as she left, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

  Amelia drifted off on a thought, and that thought was not about the maid or her dearest friend. She smiled, her jaw slackened, and sleep took her.

  “My lord.”

  Hugh waved his butler into his study and took the card from the tray.

  Damn me thrice. He grunted and waved his hand as though to say, Send him in.

  “Yes, my lord. Do you require your jacket?”

  “Not at all. If a duke is to call in the dead of night, he will find me as I am, decency be damned.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Hugh stood and poured a finger of whiskey, then another and another. Damn it all. He stopped counting and filled the tumbler. The whiskey burned his throat as he poured it down, nearly doubling over afterward. He wiped his chin with his shirtsleeve and leaned on his desk.

  “For the love of all that’s holy, Endsleigh, do you mean to stand at the end of the night?” Jackson asked as he entered.

  “Stand? No, I’ll not be standing for this,” Hugh said quietly then sat and leaned back in his heavy leather desk chair. He pointed at the decanter on his desk, but Jackson shook his head. “What have you, then? My mood is none for the House, I’ll have you know.”

  “I imagine not, but this has naught to do with the House. I need a moment.”

  Jackson’s voice was gruff, and Hugh looked at the man in front of his desk and raised his eyebrows a measure. Tall, broad—like him—and not afraid to work. Not afraid of his own strength. “Pugilist?”

  Jackson shook his head. “You?”

  “If the need arises,” Hugh said, narrowing his eyes a bit.

  Good God, he’d need to school himself if he was to survive this chat. “Sit.”

  That wasn’t any better, but he wasn’t interested in niceties. Though he and this man had only a passing acquaintance as of late, they knew very well who the other was, and there was nothing for it. All that they had between them was the woman they both loved. Amelia. “Get on then.”

  “I…as you know, I’m to be...well, I plan to request her hand, and everyone’s aware that—”

  “Yes, you are. I’m aware. Everyone’s aware. We are understood. Will that be all, then?” Hugh bit out.

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed on him, and he shifted in his seat.

  Damn me, Hugh thought. Keep your wits, man. It wasn’t like him to behave in such a repugnant manner, but he wanted none of this. As a gentleman, this duke should have known to simply steer clear of him as Hugh would his wife—when she became so. It was unspoken, unnecessary, uncalled for—this.

  This—what are we about here? Jackson needn’t come to threaten, needn’t come at all. I understand. I’m a baron, she the daughter of a duke, our lifetime together irrelevant. Stolen. Doesn’t Jackson know that’s been drilled into me from the start?

  “No. Not by measure,” Jackson said, interrupting his train of thought. “Amelia…What is it about her that you’re so familiar with?”

  Hugh felt his jaw slacken, and he traced a leather-pressed curl at the edge of his desktop with a fingertip as he snapped his mouth shut. Fancy that, a series of delicate curls pressed into the leather of his desk. Handed down generations, only to be first useful tonight.

  “I’m not entirely sure I understand you. Perhaps you could elaborate,” Hugh said.

  “Enough. We both know, as does the majority of the ton, that there’s something about her, and of all people…she trusts only you.” Jackson paused. Twisted his hands. Looked up and caught Hugh’s eyes. “I want that.”

  As if what he was already taking wasn’t enough. As if Jackson merely decided, and it was so. Hugh closed his eyes and listened to the whiskey whispering in his head. He should have stopped at the one finger.

  “You want…so you take everything. Then what of me?” Hugh asked quietly.

  “You...I…I know not, but I am asking for your help. For her sake. Can you see past yourself to see that this is for her?”

  Hugh’s eyes snapped to his. This duke was infiltrating his home, his study, now his heart. Hugh’s gut clenched, then his stomach twisted. Who knew the leather would be cut so easily with a fingernail?

  The duke continued.

  “I see I should not have come, but I only wanted to make arrangements before…well. I plan to speak with Pembroke on the morrow, and I want her to know she’ll be safe.”

  “There is nothing I could do to ensure her safety outside the realm of my possibility. Which at present is an impossibility. She trusts me. There’s nothing…I can do…for you,” Hugh bit out.

  “That understanding of her is something you have to give.”

  “Not. To you,” Hugh said. He could tell Jackson was attempting to remain calm against the tension radiating across his desk.

  Jacks leaned forward. “Perhaps I do need a bit of whiskey.”

  “By all means,” Hugh replied with a wave at the tantalus. Jackson presumed too much. Hugh was not going to serve this man. This was his study, he was...what was he? Good God, even two fingers would have sufficed. Hugh pushed the decanter toward the duke, who took it and reached for a clean glass.

  “I wish to know how to gain her trust,” Jacks said. “What is it about her that sets her apart? I know there’s something, and I know that you know what that something is. I believe if I know as well, she will see that she can trust me.”

  “And by default would no longer trust in me. I cannot help you. You must understand. She’s my...she is my friend.”

  “She appears to be more than that,” Jackson said with a strong tone of warning.

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “She will be my wife. That makes it my concern. Expressly,” Jackson said stiffly.

  “She has always been mine.” Hugh roared that last bit, coming out of his chair as he prodded his desk, perhaps a little too strongly. His head swam.

  Jackson dropped the glass back into the tantalus. “You intend to come between us.” It was not a question.

  “My intentions are none of your concern,” Hugh replied as he straightened what he could, then dropped back to his seat.

  “Again, everything about her is of my concern, as we are to be wed,” Jacks replied.

  “Then perhaps...you should rethink that.” Hugh saw the words leave his mouth as though a gauntlet had launched itself from the cavern of his mouth, and yet he was not of a mind to stop them. Hugh held the other man’s gaze. Jackson’s eyes were so many shades Hugh felt as though he could see through them to the man’s very soul, and what he saw there was disconcerting for the fact that everything about him was
honest and true.

  Hugh’s head pounded.

  Jackson shook his head. “This is not how this conversation should have gone.”

  “Oh? And how should the conversation have gone? ‘I want to know your deepest secrets.’ ‘By all means! Take them!’ Would that have been more to your liking?”

  “No. Well, perhaps it would have, but that’s not what I expected. However, I did believe you to be a reasonable man,” Jackson said.

  “Where Amelia is concerned, there is no reason. Tell me, Your Grace, you do not seem to have considered her in your actions tonight. Is she aware you’re here requesting this of me? Have you even considered that her secrets are not mine to give?”

  Hugh saw Jackson stiffen on the realization. “I understand. I had hoped…well, I had hoped. I should go. Perhaps we can discuss matters again, when you’re better able to reason.”

  “Again with the reason. Take this to heart, Castleberry, there will be nothing from me without the wishes of my lady. I’ll not be one to bandy her secrets about as if they are nothing. There’s more between us than that.”

  “I am to be her husband. There should be nothing between you and everything between us,” Jackson said.

  “There is not yet an ‘us.’” Hugh met Jackson’s eyes across the desk and held them.

  Jacks watched him for a moment, seemed to consider his thoughts, then turned to leave. “This is not finished.”

  Hugh chose to hold his retort. Apparently, the whiskey had not yet gotten the best of him.

  Amelia faced the mirror, waiting for the twitch. Scanning every bit of her face, looking for the signs and practicing her response. Charles would be calling on her within the hour. All she need do was survive one trip in his carriage, then he would meet with her father. Charles would obtain a license within a sennight, and she would be married. There would be very little contact between them once today was finished. Very little reason for him to see through her and cry off.