Absolute Surrender Read online

  Charles saw her mother speaking with Lady Mathorpe in the entry and cringed when they both turned toward him.

  “Is aught amiss?” her mother asked. Her slight French accent skimmed his awareness, momentarily softening him, reminding him of his own mother.

  Was aught amiss? Charles wasn’t sure. Amelia had bolted at the sight of him. Was her mother looking for a confession, or was she concerned for her daughter’s behavior in the carriage above all?

  “Ma’am, I’m to call on Amelia tomorrow.”

  She gave him a smile. Albeit warily.

  “Is she well?” he asked. “She seemed to be in a bit of a rush.”

  Her mother stiffened, as if frozen from the ground up. He could see the freeze travel up her skirts and her spine until her head tilted back, and she looked up her nose at him. “Whatever do you mean?” She very nearly screeched it.

  “I only mean that she was upset in the carriage, and I attempted to speak with her in the parlor, but may have…” He rubbed his chin. “I only meant to let her know that I was not offended by…what happened.”

  Her mother cut a glance to Lady Mathorpe, who shook her head derisively. “What did happen?” Amelia’s mother asked, now quite concerned.

  Charles looked to Lady Mathorpe and her haughty demeanor, then back to Amelia’s mother.

  “We spoke,” was all he said. She studied him.

  The shriek that rent the hall was so piercing, so fully realized, that everyone within earshot was rendered momentarily incapacitated. He imagined most of London, in fact, to be sure. As one, they looked up toward the origin of the sound, somewhere high above them. Charles, Lady Pembroke, and Lady Mathorpe. Possibly a butler and a housemaid or two. Certainly, the house cats and mice.

  Then everyone moved at once, scattering. Lady Mathorpe turned to the parlor, shaking her head. The servants disappeared behind doorways, and the cats and mice faded into the shadows. Her mother bolted for the stair, and he followed.

  They went up, then up some more, then through a series of turns. He was sure she was leading him into a trap. He would never find his way out again. At any moment, the lights would dim, Lady Pembroke would disappear in a gale of laughter, and he would be lost forever in the series of winding hallways.

  Where do they keep her, for God’s sake?

  Finally, a door swung open, and her mother ran into a room. This room was well lit, unlike the many hallways they’d traversed. He peered in and saw the smallest of figures in a heap on the floor. There was a lady’s maid next to her, comforting, whispering, and then her mother’s hellish voice broke the sad symphony. His body jerked in attempt to get to her, but her mother was there first.

  “Amelia, Amelia! Get up and get dressed. It isn’t the thing to be half-made at this time of day.” The shriek made him cringe. Any softness he’d previously felt vanished with those words. If he’d grown up with that voice, he might have been insane by now as well.

  Insane… No, he couldn’t think that of her…or should he? No.

  Charles needed to speak with her parents, with Ender again, with doctors, physicians, people who…people who would take his tale and spread it to the world—effectively ruining her in the eyes of society. And now Charles understood why there were so many stairs, and halls, and turns. He understood the delicacy of the situation. He understood how easily she could land in Bedlam. One wrong word. One misplaced comment, and she would be taken away and never heard from again. Bedlam was nothing but a hold for lost souls. For those who couldn’t be found, didn’t want to be found. Or for those who someone else didn’t want coming back.

  Charles watched again. Amelia, his beautiful Amelia, was now sitting in a chair by the fire, curled in a ball, and her maid was trying to persuade her mother to let her be. The mother was adamantly opposed.

  Was this his doing?

  The blood drained from his head, and Charles steadied himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

  “You act as if I don’t know my own daughter!” Another shriek, another cringe, and the maid shrank.

  If you could sway while sitting, that was what Amelia did. She swayed, toward her maid and away from her mother.

  He straightened his spine and his clothes and tried to convince himself—in this straightening—that he was strong enough to take on this woman. “Lady Pembroke. A word?” Charles’s voice was shakier than he wished it to be, and he cleared his throat. “Now.” Better. Much more commanding.

  Silence. Stillness. The woman rose quietly, then turned as a well-oiled machine, without so much as a ruffle from her skirts. “Your Grace, I had no idea you—” She pasted on a smile. Charming, that.

  “If we might speak. With Pembroke as well. I believe I have some questions.”

  “Of course, Your Grace, I…well, I should see to my—” Her hand fell gently open toward Amelia.

  “Now would be best. I’m quite certain she’ll be fine, yes? There isn’t anything terribly wrong with her…is there?” Charles asked innocently—and there he had her.

  Lady Pembroke could not admit to any sort of true malady, not to him, and he knew this. He smiled, charmingly.

  Her smile faltered as she nodded and moved from the room. As she swept past him, the maid rushed to Amelia and pulled her into a tight embrace, and Amelia seemed to melt. She seemed to not realize the scene about her, either—just the touch of this maid.

  Charles watched as one tiny hand found its way out of the blankets surrounding her and held on to the maid’s arm. He felt that touch on his own arm, and his want returned. To be that person for her. This.

  This was his most basic desire.

  He pulled the door shut quietly, but not before he caught the maid’s eye, and the words from her mouth. “Thank you,” she said, sotto voce.

  Charles followed Lady Pembroke back through the many halls and corners and down the stairs to the duke’s study. His mind raced, attempting to wrap itself around the events that had led him here. What could he have done differently? What should he have done differently? Kept his distance? But so much had been learned today…so much displayed. Dependent on a favorable outcome, he wouldn’t change a thing.

  They entered the duke’s study, where they all stood and stared at each other. Well, Pembroke remained in his wheeled chair, but Charles and Lady Pembroke stood, though Pembroke did share in the staring bit.

  Pembroke finally cleared his throat and looked to his wife. “My dear, is aught amiss?” he asked carefully.

  This household, Charles was finding, was quite careful. In all things.

  Be cautious when working with Pembroke, his father had said.

  Lady Pembroke looked at Charles and merely continued to stare.

  So Charles looked to Pembroke and decided to lay all the facts of the matter out. “Your daughter seems to have an issue.” Charles then joined the careful dance with them. “What have you done for her in the past? Has she seen any professionals? Any at all?”

  Something crossed Pembroke’s features so briefly that Charles would ordinarily have brushed it aside, but under the circumstances, he took note.

  Pembroke sputtered, “Well, I…my wife handles all delicate matters of the household. If she were in need of a physician or some such…” His voice trailed off, and they were back to looking at Lady Pembroke. And she them. In turn.

  Quite the contest, in truth.

  Charles tried again. “We have an agreement, you and I,” he said simply to her father, as if the agreement would have been forgotten in the mere minutes since they’d entered into it.

  The duke nodded. “We do.” His eyes darkened, and Charles realized this man might not have been as ill as he presented. Perhaps that was how he kept his success, by keeping his adversaries on edge, by playing the illness. Perhaps that was why Charles’s father had warned him.

  Charles realized he needed to tread lightly to play this game. He looked back to the lady as he spoke to Pembroke. “Our agreement remains in full force. I will return and expect to be admitt
ed to see Lady Amelia. Without prejudice.” He felt the duke’s consternation, could see his head swivel from his wife and back to him, and knew he wasn’t to give any more away.

  He kept his unblinking eyes on the lady. Until she nodded.

  “You must understand in all things, it is my duty to find a suitable wife.”

  Lady Pembroke’s eyes widened incrementally, and he realized then how difficult this all would be. It was his duty. His queen expected a suitable match. Followed by the begetting of heirs. He had to put aside the powerful emotions he’d experienced with Amelia today. He had a duty.

  He was a duke. The thought was a sharp blade.

  He had a duty.

  To his queen.

  His heart fell a bit within his chest at that moment. But he knew one thing without a doubt: He would do right by Amelia, regardless of whether he could take her to wife. And he knew another thing quite certainly: Ender held the key.

  “Your Grace,” he said by way of farewell, then bowed to the woman and moved to the door. Which may or may not be barred to his entrance the next day. That fact was dependent on so many things. Amelia could refuse him…and would she? He certainly deserved it. But he knew she had been with him in the parlor, regardless that he should never have treated her in such a fashion. She’d been with him. It had been one of the first moments of his life that he had known, known, that she returned his regard in more ways than a simple marriage contract.

  The door to the town house closed behind him, and he breathed for what seemed the first time in years. He was overwhelmed by the entire day. He wondered how Amelia was. Then his mind wandered back to Ender. Again, with this man. Their discussion last night had been disconcerting and quite unsettling.

  Charles wasn’t sure what to think and wanted to speak with him again, but he knew that wasn’t his best idea. The last time they’d spoken, Ender had rushed into Amelia’s arms and stolen her first kiss from him. Or had he? Had that kiss always belonged to Ender? Was this Charles’s penance? He had been raised to believe that if he wanted something, he simply made it his.

  He hadn’t truly considered Endsleigh in all of this—beyond him being an old acquaintance. Quite obviously, Ender was much more than that to Amelia and, at this point in time, he believed Ender held the key to helping her, whether Charles pursued his suit or not.

  Perhaps he should help them to be together. Ender held a barony. He could provide for her, perhaps not in the fashion to which she’d become accustomed, but in truth Charles didn’t believe she cared all that much for that. As well, a baroness, while important, was not a duchess. There would be much less required of her. Perhaps the duchy was too much to expect of her. Then again, she had been able to traverse the ballroom last night without incident.

  He shook off his thoughts and entered his carriage. He did need to speak with Ender again. Because he was beginning to understand that at the moment all that mattered was Amelia.

  “Louisa?” Her voice was smaller than a mouse’s, but at least she’d found it. She had no idea what time it was, though judging from the long shadows it was nearing supper.

  “My lady.” Louisa came to the side of the bed. “Well, ’tis good to see you at rights again.” Her smile was warm and genuine, and Amelia returned it as she moved to sit up.

  Louisa helped her, stacking pillows behind her back and fluffing them incessantly until Amelia waved her off. There were too many pillows now. Too many. She pulled one out and tossed it to the floor, giving her tongue to the offending bag of fluff.

  “Have I missed supper? Tell me I’ve missed supper.”

  “Oh yes, quite,” Louisa said with a nod and a grin. “But not to worry. I requested a tray sent up. I’m rather surprised your mother hasn’t—”

  “Oh, my mother.” Her head fell to her hands. Then she looked at Louisa. “Castleberry?” The duke the duke the duke. What had she done?

  “He’s gone, but not for long. I believe he hasn’t been entirely frightened off. Not to worry.”

  “Oh, Louisa, I truly thought I’d destroyed any hope of—”

  “Tsch tsch tsch, now, don’t be so cruel to yourself. You know if he were frightened off, as you say, he wasn’t so worthy of you to begin with. And there’s always Lord Endsleigh.”

  “Yes, he and I can retire as spinsters together, taking my mother and living in his modest estate on his moderate income. He would just adore that. No doubt, he’d take up knitting. Or needlepoint.”

  “He would, because he loves you. And you know he’d create beautiful pillows that all the ladies would be jealous of.”

  “But he deserves so much more than me.” More. He deserves an easy wife, who’ll not work him so…and Charles, doesn’t he deserve the same? Her head spun.

  “Now here we go again. Must we always go round-and-round like this? Must we? If Ender were to spend the balance of his days with you, not only would he be the luckiest man alive, but to have you in his life would be more than he deserves. And you as well. The two of you are well suited. Except for that one, small issue.”

  “That issue being that he’s not good enough for me in my father’s eyes? A baron only? For shame. I should only be so lucky.”

  “Your dear father has only your interests at heart. He wants the very best life for you. He doesn’t know—”

  “That I’m impaired? Oh, but he does, Louisa. He does. Don’t let him make a fool of you as well. I think this to be his greatest farce—to marry his unacceptable daughter to one of the most powerful of the peers. As for Castleberry, he certainly understands that I’m not well at this point.” Certainly. Of a certainty. She could only hope that Charles would return. Even if she waited for her father to die then married the man he’d disallowed so many years ago, there would be no true happiness. She knew this. She pulled another pillow and tossed it across the room. Better. Not fully comfortable, but better. Betterbetterbetter.

  It was only ever better, never perfect, just like her future, for her mother would be with her, reminding her how she could have done so much better if only she’d behaved herself. If only she’d persuaded the duke to marry. If only she’d controlled herself long enough to complete the license and consummate the marriage.

  Consummate.

  Dear Lord, if she believed Hugh’s stories of the farm animals, Charles had been ready to consummate the marriage in the parlor this morning. Perhaps she should have allowed him, taken the ruination, married him by default. But then he would always resent her for it.

  She slumped in the bed. It simply wasn’t in her to be so dishonest. Her fingers picked at the loose threads on her quilt. She needed to speak with Charles again. She had to make sure he understood. Though, in truth, after today he most likely understood the worst of it. He most likely had questions he needed answered. As did she.

  For example, why were her nipples sore? Why were her drawers wet? She sneaked a look at Louisa, who was bustling about the room straightening, no doubt cleaning up the mess left from her fit. She could ask Louisa about these things, couldn’t she? She’d seen Amelia at her most dreadful and stayed with her. Amelia was truly lucky in that regard. So many people had abandoned her to her oddish behaviors. Her mother would have abandoned her, surely, but had had no choice. So now what her mother held was merely a great disdain.

  Amelia looked through her lashes to see Louisa leave the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She sank into the bed and crept her hand toward her chest. She grazed one finger over one sore nipple, and it straightened to attention as though looking for something. Expectant.

  Charles.

  She truly believed he could ease this new ache she had, but she was frightened. So very frightened. She’d never had this sort of physical response to anyone, not ever. She loved Hugh, though, so why was this different? When she thought of Hugh, she felt warm, safe, as though she could control nearly everything. She desperately needed that, the safety of that.

  Charles made her feel wildly unrestrained. Fully beyond control.
Dangerously unbound. The feeling was both exhilarating and terrifying. She moved her hand to her mouth, skimmed lightly over her lips, closed her eyes to remember his kiss.

  Charles had been so deep inside her mind, and all he’d possessed was her mouth. The feel of his wet tongue sliding across her swollen lips gave her chills, and she shivered. Her nipples rose again to tight peaks, and she pressed a finger to one, tried to persuade it to retreat—to no avail.

  Amelia closed her eyes and thought on the darkness in Charles’s eyes. The way they’d bored into her, bypassed her flesh and muscle, sank straight into her blood and traversed the whole of her from the inside. She let her hands follow the feel of him in her blood. Across her chest, up her neck, down her shoulders, across her belly, then lower…and lower… The heat spread wickedly, the pulse beat between her thighs like a second heart, calling to him, singing his name.

  She stopped, hovered there, feeling the warmth emanating from her very core. Tears coursed her cheeks, hot and fast. She simply didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about either of these men. They were so entirely different, and while her brain called out to the safety of Hugh, her body seemed to scream the name of the other. Her body screamed for Charles in the gooseflesh that rose across her skin, the sheen of perspiration that broke out, the heartbeat she could feel everywhere, like a primal call to war.

  Charles.

  She twisted and curled into herself, let the tears soak into her pillow quietly.

  Hugh. Hugh could set her to rights with just his presence, her heart beat steadied. What was she to do? How was she to live? The Cliff House was the only property she would own once her father was gone if she didn’t marry. A mere pittance on which to survive. Certainly not enough to keep her mother in the comfort to which she was accustomed.

  Amelia could have been happy at the Cliff House, forever, on her own. Alone. She could be happy as a spinster, left to the breaking waves on the cliff. The sound the most calming she’d ever known. She could make a life for herself there. But not her mother, and Amelia had to see to her mother.