Absolute Surrender Read online

  This man she’d wanted to love from the age of ten. She remembered his visits to Pembroke, long before her condition seemed to spiral out of control. Long before her joy was wrapped up in whether or not Hugh was there.

  It was something she could not admit to her future husband, though she believed he knew. He’d been there during the summers, of course he knew. She and Hugh had been the only two children on that remote shoreline. They had grown up with only each other.

  Hugh would inherit his land, but Amelia would not. She needed a match to preserve her safety and that of her mother—should they outlive her father, which was a distinct possibility.

  There was only her.

  It was a tragedy, really, the end of a line, the heir a distant cousin. But she was still the daughter of this powerful duke for as long as he lived—and therein lay the catch. She must secure their future, before the future was upon them.

  It was pure luck that the boy who had visited with her family had been the future Duke of Castleberry. Then again, the possibility that it had been less chance and more orchestration was also entirely within reason. Particularly considering that his mother had been terribly difficult to be close to after his father died.

  She could feel the twitch coming before she saw it, the tiny pulse of the muscles in her cheek. She would avoid talk of his father, his mother—as propriety would dictate—but she had to remind herself. Her mouth tended to precede her brain when she felt things passionately. She must remind her brain to stay itself.

  If she’d known back then that she would now prefer to not like him, she might have let Hugh put the toads in his shoes. She was terribly rambunctious, and when Hugh was there—which was always—there was no reckoning.

  But there had been something about that boy, and she’d wanted to know more. She had not allowed the toads, and Hugh had not liked that, not a whit. Then Hugh had left, and she’d been heartbroken. That was when she had first noticed the tremors. Apparently, the people around her had known of them all along, but she’d been distracted.

  When she entered a room of people, she would tremble. Her knees would go weak, and her heart would race. She felt as though her insides were attempting to turn themselves out. She became inconsolable. Said things she shouldn’t. Without Hugh as a buffer, someone to take the blame, she was noticed entirely too much.

  Her mother only ever told her to gather her wits. Well, not so. There were the jabs to the ribs, a convenient elbow, the twist of the thin skin on the back of her hand.

  She looked in the mirror. “Gather your wits, Amelia Marie!” She twitched. There, at the very corner of her eye, the smallest of movements, but she saw it. She thought of her mother again, all the dinner parties, the invitations, the balls she had planned for this season, and finally her father’s decision to find her a husband before her coming out. They believed it to be the only way. Keep her hidden. Keep her a precious mystery. It had been blessed happenstance that the then Duke of Castleberry was amenable to presenting a future to his son.

  The parlor door opened, and she turned.

  “The Right Honorable Lord Endsleigh,” Smythe said.

  She’d been expecting the duke, so when Hugh was announced instead, an instant relief passed through her system, a great betrayal by her body. Her mind determined to counter the effects, and she was once again tense, the relief from his presence only momentary. She frowned but managed to control the shock in her eyes as Hugh skirted the butler and walked toward her. Her heart seemed to slow, though the sound of her pulse seemed to increase. Strange, that.

  Amelia’s face was void of emotion, then the suppressed smile fought for purchase and gained on her as she met him halfway. “Hugh.”

  “My lady,” he said as he took both of her hands and kissed the backs of each in turn.

  “Hugh, I—”

  “No. Please.” He pulled her to the settee, and they fell, knees together, her hands still bound to his. It was more of a knot, really, his fingers twined with the one hand, the other wrapped up around her wrist. Her pulse beat against his fingertips. “Last night. I want to apologize. Quite profusely, really,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll not allow it.” She sighed heavily, and then: “I wish to return to Pembroke. So very desperately. The need to return exceeds every other wish I have. The sooner I’m betrothed, the sooner I’m to quit London.”

  His head bowed, and she saw the errant lock of hair that he’d never been able to tame. That lock made her smile, and she untangled her fingers from his and reached up to it with a giggle. This errant curl was the cause of so many chases through the wood near their homes. She, always teasing him.

  He looked up to her without raising his head as she twirled the curl round her finger. Then she caught his eyes. Her smile faded, and her hand dropped.

  “How will I ever…how will I ever live without you? I cannot bear it. You’ve been…you are—”

  He took her hand again as her tears fell. “Do not muss your beautiful face. You know Jacks will be here soon,” Hugh said quietly, skimming a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

  She shook her head. “I want him here. I want him to ask, do I not? I want to be with him…yet I do not. Ever since we met, I’ve wondered if I merely believed him to be my salvation, or something more. Now, after last night I believe...I believe he might be more.”

  Why did her heart beat harder at that realization? Hugh breathed, and it was as though the air had stolen from the room as she waited for the words to follow. Willed her heart to slow.

  “I understand,” was all he said. He released her and shifted away. “I need to say something. Please do not interrupt, because there will be no way for me to finish this, should you do so.” Hugh glanced back as his eyes narrowed, and she nodded slightly. Any words she had stayed at the edge of her tongue.

  “Jacks came to me last night.” His eyes crinkled as he gave her another unspoken warning then stood and turned away. “He wishes to know what it is about you that makes you so different from the rest.”

  “He knows.” Amelia’s heart skipped as she spoke on an inhale.

  “How could he not? Amelia, he’s no imbecile. If you wish it…if you wish for me to…I would teach him.”

  She stood, and he turned to her.

  “You cannot. You…no, I could not bear it for you. It’s not something to be learned, at any rate. It’s simply me—and you with me.”

  Hugh raised his eyes as hers widened. She felt her pulse again and saw him tense, then he took her outstretched hand, seemed to engulf her hand with his larger one and pressed as he held her eyes, and her breathing slowed.

  “Amelia mine. There are things he can do. I’ve taught others before him, and I shall give all my secrets away if you wish it. Because I know you love—”

  “I love you,” she cut in. Others? Louisa, she thought. But her thoughts were immediately interrupted by Hugh speaking.

  “Do you? If that were but true, I would be the happiest man alive. But you may love him as well, and you simply cannot have me.” Her heartbeat paced again, and he pulled her closer. “Amelia, my dear sweet Amelia, look at me. You will always have a piece of me. I’ll remain with you forever in some form. One cannot spend a veritable lifetime with another person and not carry them within for all eternity.”

  Her hands wrapped around his lapels as she buried her face in his shirt.

  Surely he will be in need of a new neckcloth.

  It was true. There was no time in her memory in which he did not exist. As though they were born to each other.

  This man, this man, this man. This strength, this heat, this heart that beats against my skin. This hardness, this body, this soul, these eyes.

  Amelia’s insides tensed in preparation for the spiral, and as though he knew, his arms went around her, held her together, then slowly released. She looked up and—when had his hands moved?—he wrapped them around her cheeks, his fingertips sinking into the hair at her nape. He looked into her eyes,
paused for an insurmountable amount of time as she watched. He seemed to be considering her, waiting, looking for something. She drew a slow breath, then her eyes dropped to his mouth when his lips opened slightly, and she felt him on her.

  His lips, so heavy, so soft, so gentle…gentle, oh, could anything ever be so gentle as this? She sighed, and he took advantage, and her mouth betrayed her, allowing him the intrusion. It was the most sincere of first kisses. This kiss was truth and it was pain.

  Her hands reached up to his wrists, holding them, holding her.

  She knew this—this kiss, her first, their last, their one kiss—was her forever. How could she ever recover from this man? He was her rock. Her hands smoothed up his arms then attempted to cover his face.

  “Amelia.”

  When had the kissing stopped?

  She opened her eyes to see the bright, terrified gaze of her friend, closer than he had any right to be.

  “You’ve ruined me,” she breathed. “There is no choice now.”

  His gentle chuckle bid a smile from her unwilling mouth. So very unwilling. She swayed toward him, but he held her steady.

  “Should I speak with your father? Throw open the door to the parlor and call upon your mother to witness your ruination?”

  She shook her head. “It could not possibly be this simple. No, it would not be. Would it?” Her eyes fluttered, then snapped to his. “Oh, was that aloud? I did not mean to say—”

  “Of course you didn’t, and therein lies the difficulty. You’re still bound to him.”

  Amelia’s head fell, and every muscle in her body pulled her down as though weighted to sink to the depths of the ocean, his strength the only thing holding her up.

  “Amelia, I’ll not give up this easy. I’ll have you as my wife, but not with a doubt in your mind.”

  “I thought you came here to…to...”

  “I did, and then I saw you, and I could not, and now I find it’s not as simple as even that. I do not believe him to be the better man for you. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. After last night, I believed what you believe. That perhaps this was not meant to be. But here, in your arms, with that kiss, I find I’m unable to simply give you up.”

  “Yet you must. He’s coming. We are to go to the park. He’s to speak with Father. You know what that means.”

  He looked at her then in a way that she could feel his eyes within and without and knew to the toes of her boots he meant what he said next.

  “I’m bound by no man’s wishes. And neither are you—yet.” Hugh turned and walked out.

  Wait was on the edge of her tongue. Do not go tried its level best to free itself from her mind. “Please,” was all that came out, on a breath, and that—much too late.

  She raised her hand to her lips, whether to feel the softness, pliant and warmed by his kiss, or to attempt to expunge the memory, she was unsure.

  Hugh strode from the house without a backward glance. He’d no idea what he was to do next. He stopped beside Termagant and leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath. He felt as though his soul had been torn from his chest and what was left was but the empty, angry, shell of a man. If it had been up to him, he’d quit London this very moment and return to his estate. But he would not, could not simply give her up.

  Damn me.

  Hugh heard the rattle of harnesses and looked down the street to see the carriage with the ducal crest of Castleberry emblazoned on the side, and a roar boiled in his gut. He straightened, took his mount from the waiting groom, and jumped to his seat. He would be damned to be standing on the same footing with Jacks when he arrived.

  The carriage slowed, and the outriders jumped down, securing the horses and opening the carriage door.

  Hugh waited, though he knew he shouldn’t.

  Charles sat in the coach, his mind twisting around the possibilities of why Ender was here. Ender had made it clear to him last evening that he’d no intention of helping. Charles knew that Ender was a part of Amelia’s life, and he was prepared to be tolerant until their marriage was final, but he didn’t feel quite so prepared today.

  Charles tapped his cane on the floorboards as he glanced out the door. He could see Endsleigh sitting his horse in an arrogant fashion. Ender should have dismounted if his intention was to greet him.

  They both knew it.

  Charles tapped his cane again and looked to the house to see Amelia in the window of the parlor. He could see her hand pressed to the glass as she watched Ender. She lifted a delicate white cloth to her eyes, and he knew she cried.

  He looked back to Ender, the tension rippling through the man, his mount restless under it.

  Charles moved to the door and stepped out and saw the curtain in the window swing in his periphery as Amelia stepped away. He took a deep breath and turned toward Ender. Charles looked up, then bent at the waist in the most respectful bow he could pull from his ducal training. Perhaps this bit of regard would prove his worth. When he straightened, he found Ender’s angry gaze boring into him. Ender gave a stiff nod and kicked his mount, who reared and took to the street in a dead run.

  Had Ender done it? Had he broken with her? Was she to be his? Charles looked back to Pembroke House. Why did he not feel as though this were a victory?

  He shook the thoughts off and walked slowly to the door as Smythe opened it wide. Charles stepped in line behind him as he was led to the parlor.

  “His Grace.” The butler’s voice cracked. “The Duke of Castleberry.” Was the entire household affected badly by this turn?

  Amelia turned toward him, and it was as though the sun had risen for him in this room.

  Charles moved to her as another woman entered the room behind him, pulling him up short. The chaperone, of course.

  “Your Grace, how wonderful to see you again. This is my aunt, Lady Mathorpe.”

  “My lady,” he said as he took Amelia’s hand, only to feel the tremble within. He paused, considered, and then said, “If you’re not well enough for an outing today, I would—”

  “No, Your Grace, nothing would please me more.” But her voice had caught on the word please.

  Her smile was the brilliance of a thousand daffodils opening at once to him. When did I become so maudlin? Charles thought. He shook his head.

  If he managed to get her out to the park, they might have a moment to speak on these things that were so very important. He smiled to reassure her as he saw the edges of her lips waver.

  “My lady, shall we?” He proffered his arm, and she took it so gently, it was almost a whisper of a touch. He had to look to see that her hand was actually touching his sleeve, she was so cautious. He turned for the door, nodding to her chaperone. “Lady Mathorpe, an honor.”

  Lady Mathorpe nodded but seemed a bit annoyed. Charles knew Amelia was aware of her aunt’s annoyance by the grip of her fingers, no longer delicate.

  He placed his other hand over hers, stroking her fingers gently through the dual layers of gloves, and felt them ease a bit. His smile widened, and he led her to the carriage.

  Lady Mathorpe took the seat next to Amelia, leaving him to ride facing the rear. He shuffled past their hems, careful not to step on the delicate fabrics that seemed to fill the carriage floor, then shifted his knees as he sat so as not to bump either lady. Once carefully seated, he smiled at both in turn and nodded to his outrider, who shut the door soundly, and they were off.

  Amelia turned her head toward the carriage window. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then relaxed her features and opened her eyes slowly. She marveled at how the duke filled the carriage, and it was not a mere conveyance, by any means. The carriage was impressive, and this man’s presence was formidable. And he was watching her.

  Charles did not appear frightened or nervous—she hated nervous—and he definitely did not watch her with any pity, but he was cautious and perhaps concerned. That was acceptable after this morning. She would be silly to think he was not aware something
had transpired in her parlor.

  The fact is, if it had been anyone else, if it had been her mother—God save her—she would have already faced the inquisition for simply being a bit out of sorts.

  But Charles—he simply watched.

  He had held her hands, not the duke, him. Hugh had held her hands and taken her mouth and effectively declared war on her future, and Charles merely waited for her to be ready to inform him. She turned her face to hide the shock of pain, revisited so suddenly.

  Amelia concentrated on the sounds of the horses, the pounding hooves, the turn of the wheels on the cobbles, the creak of the outrider on the rear step. She heard more hooves at the rear, not from the team at the front. Those hooves, just to her right just beyond the carriage, those hooves…belonged to him. Him. She knew Hugh followed.

  She felt a gentle sweep at her hand and saw his hand there, the duke’s, with a handkerchief, and she reached up to find a tear on her cheek. Charles’s offer was so very personal, so very thoughtful, not condemning, not judging, but concerned. And given with caution.

  She should take it.

  She could feel her aunt’s gaze on the handkerchief. The heavy weight of tension doubled.

  Take the handkerchief. Take it. Take the cloth from his hand, she thought.

  Her hand twitched as she willed herself to move, and she nodded when she did. “Thank you, I seem to have something…” She waved her hand and let herself trail off for the benefit of Lady Mathorpe. As well as for the duke. She hid behind the cloth momentarily, breathing. Feeling his warmth invade her, his personal scent—leather and polish, masculine and strong. She breathed deeper, attempting to catch more of him in her senses. There was something else below those scents, but she could not manage past her aunt’s cloying odor. It seemed to cling and hang from everything inside the carriage. Like the Spanish moss draped across the trees in paintings she’d seen of the American South.