Bound by One Scandalous Night Read online

  Although he worried about how it would be for her if her family and his continued their resentment and anger at him. How could they not? He remained cognisant of what she would be required to give up for him. They would be even more on the fringes of society than her family had been. In fact, they would be completely outside of it. Their child would have his name but would never belong in the world her family planned for her.

  The carriage drew up to the hotel’s entrance, and soon they were settled into their room. Sally unpacked Amelie’s bag and left for her own room.

  Edmund arranged for refreshment so they had something to converse about. Was the wine to her liking? Did she enjoy the cheese and blackberry tarts?

  She dutifully nibbled at the food and agreed that the wine was perfect and the cheese and tarts the best she’d ever tasted.

  Edmund was exploding inside. They could not go on like this. There had been more ease between them in Brussels when they did not know each other at all.

  He faced her from across a small table in the sitting room adjacent to the bedchamber. ‘We should speak plainly to each other, Amelie.’

  She looked up at him uncertainly. ‘Speak plainly? About...?’

  ‘About how we are to go about,’ he said. ‘About how we are going to manage.’

  She met his gaze. ‘I do not know how to answer you.’

  His frustration grew. ‘Well, for one thing, where will we live until we find rooms to let?’

  She glanced away. ‘Am I foolish for admitting that I have not thought of this? I could only think of marrying as quickly as we could.’

  ‘Let us talk about this now,’ he persisted.

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose we could stay with my parents. I am certain they will return to Northdon House soon, and then there will be more room.’

  In his mind’s eye he saw the caged lion in the King’s menagerie at the Tower, pacing back and forth behind bars, its eyes flashing. That’s how it would feel if he were forced to stay in the same house with her father even for a few days.

  His feelings must have shown on his face, because she glanced away. ‘I realise it would be difficult for you to stay with my parents, though.’

  He set his jaw. ‘It would not be for long.’

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. ‘What alternative is there?’

  Her touch aroused him. What was he to do with that sensation? What was he to do about the physical side of marriage? Would she wish to make love? After all, making love had created this undesired situation for her. At the moment she was grateful to him, but how long would it be before she resented him as much as her parents did?

  He pulled his hand away. ‘This hotel?’ Why even speak it?

  She stared at her hand before wrapping her arms across her chest. ‘If you wish it,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Just say what you want!’

  She flinched and looked wounded.

  ‘I spoke too sharply. Forgive me.’ He instantly softened his tone. ‘I want you to be honest with me. Do you wish to stay in your parents’ town house or do you wish to stay in the hotel?’

  * * *

  Amelie met his gaze. ‘You would prefer the hotel, would you not? My parents treat you so shabbily.’

  ‘I am quite used to shabby treatment, Amelie,’ he said. ‘I asked what you want.’

  She averted her face. ‘I want to please you, Edmund. I realise you are merely being kind. We may stay in the hotel.’

  ‘I am not merely being kind,’ he responded. ‘Your needs are more important than mine.’

  ‘Why? Was not marrying me the ultimate kindness, Edmund? Even though I have trapped you—’

  He shook his head. ‘Do not keep saying you trapped me.’

  She was feeling obstinate. ‘It is true, though.’

  ‘I made a choice,’ he said. ‘You chose marriage, as well.’

  But it was a choice he could not have wanted. He’d made it because of the baby, and she’d accepted for the same reason—that and it prevented more scandal befalling her family. Why could he not simply acknowledge the truth—that she was responsible?

  She stood and paced in front of him. ‘I wish we were visiting the Tower or a museum. It was easier to talk, then.’

  He looked uncertain. ‘We could visit the Tower if you wish.’

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I do not want to visit the Tower.’

  ‘What do you want, Amelie?’ he persisted. ‘I am waiting for you to tell me.’

  She took a breath.

  Could she dare tell him?

  She mustered her courage. ‘I—I want a marriage like Marc and Tess’s. And my parents’. I know I cannot have that, because you do not love me. How could you? But maybe if we came to know each other better, we—maybe we would like each other.’

  His mouth slowly stretched into a smile. ‘I already like you, Amelie.’

  Her face flushed and she stopped pacing. ‘But you do not know me, not after a few outings and—and—’ And one scandalous night.

  His eyes shone with humour. ‘Are you saying you have some dark secret? If so, this might be the time to tell me.’

  She liked that he was teasing her. It reminded her of Brussels when he had cajoled her into confiding in him.

  Brussels.

  Did he not remember? Brussels had revealed her dark secret, the one he alone knew. Did he know she possessed it still?

  Ever since their hands touched, thoughts of that night, of lovemaking, were rushing through her brain. If he knew how easily wanton thoughts possessed her, would he rise from his chair and stride out the door? Would he abandon her as she’d been abandoned on the streets of Brussels?

  She stopped herself.

  It had not been Edmund who’d abandoned her. Edmund rescued her. He stayed by her side. He made love to her.

  She sat again and finished her glass of wine.

  He poured her another. ‘So is there a dark secret?’

  If he wanted honesty, she would dare to give it to him. ‘I want a marriage where we—we share the same bed.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘That is the secret?’

  Her heart beat faster. ‘Does it offend you?’

  His features softened. ‘Offend me?’ He took her hand in his. ‘I would very much enjoy sharing your bed, Amelie. I remember Brussels with great delight.’

  Her skin tingled. ‘You—you do not think me wicked to say that I want it?’

  His hand tightened around hers. ‘Not wicked. What we did in Brussels was not wicked. It was wrong. Wrong because we did not consider the consequences.’

  She lowered her lashes. ‘I considered the consequences, but I thought a woman could not get with child the first time.’

  He scowled. ‘Who told you that?’

  Her face grew hot. ‘I overheard the maids talking.’

  His brows lifted. ‘They were wrong.’

  She laughed. ‘I have since surmised that.’ Her mood quickly sobered. ‘I should have known better.’

  He glanced away. ‘I knew better. I knew the risks and I ignored them.’

  She tightened her fingers around his hand. ‘Hush, Edmund. No one else will listen to me, but you and I must agree that I was responsible. I was the one who wanted the lovemaking.’

  He stroked her hand again. ‘I wanted it, too.’

  The sensations inside her grew, like a wild vine winding into every part of her.

  ‘I want it now.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ His brow furrowed. ‘If it is safe for you and the baby.’

  ‘It is safe.’ She spoke with surety, but she really had no idea if it was safe. She merely knew she wanted it to be.

  He released her hand and poured mo
re wine for each of them. She drank hers quickly, handing her glass to him for more. He poured again, but already her head began to swim and a languor came over her limbs. At least the nausea had stopped. It had eased after she’d spoken her wedding vows.

  The hands of the clock on the mantel were nearing six o’clock. A long time before bedtime. ‘When must we eat dinner?’

  ‘Eight o’clock. It will be brought up to us.’

  Two hours.

  ‘Can one make love in the afternoon?’ She blinked. ‘Or is that too wanton?’

  He grinned. ‘It is our wedding day, Amelie. Let us be as wanton as we like. Shall I call your maid for you?’

  She recoiled in horror. ‘No! No. I can manage without her.’ Otherwise Sally would guess precisely what she would be doing. Perhaps Edmund would not censure her profligate nature, but her maid might.

  ‘Very well.’ He rose from his chair and came to her side. ‘We have managed before, have we not?’ He extended his hand.

  She took his hand and let him help her stand. The edges of her vision blurred, softening the reds, blues and greens in the room into a pleasant sort of rainbow. He led her to the bedchamber, and her legs gave the illusion of floating. Once inside the room he closed the door, and the space immediately became more intimate. She turned her back to him and waited while he unlaced her dress. She pulled off her sleeves, and the garment slipped to the floor. He unlaced her corset, and she stepped out of both pieces of clothing and turned to Edmund dressed only in her shift.

  He gazed at her as he kicked off his shoes, removed his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. She reached up and started pulling pins from her hair, combing it with her fingers until it fell upon her shoulders.

  His gaze had feasted on her nakedness in Brussels, and she flushed with anticipation at seeing the admiration in his eyes again. She removed her stockings and her shift and stood before him. His gaze swept over her before capturing her own. He, dressed now only in his shirt and trousers, stepped closer to her, put his hand behind her head and drew her into a kiss.

  His mouth was warm and sent flames darting through her. A moan came from the back of her throat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him as their lips parted and his moist tongue, tasting of wine, touched hers.

  She longed to feel his skin against hers. Still kissing him, she reached down and unbuttoned the fall of his trousers. A sharp shard of need pierced her. She felt his arousal and her need intensified.

  She’d yearned for a repeat of the delights of his lovemaking in Brussels, but what she was feeling now, merely at the beginning, was unexpectedly intense. She needed him inside her so the intensity could be appeased.

  She reached under his shirt and moved her hands over his firm chest. Her fingers felt the scars she’d glimpsed before. He pulled off his shirt and backed away from her to remove his trousers and stockings. She forced herself to wait for him to make the next move, although her need screamed for him to hurry. His naked body, illuminated by the waning sun shining through the window curtains, seemed beautiful to her, even though scarred. On his leg one long jagged scar remained pink.

  His Waterloo injury. She’d forgotten he’d been injured. He seemed so vital. So strong. She knelt and traced her finger down the long jagged scar. She glanced up at him, wanting to say something—to tell him she was sorry he’d had to suffer it, to say how glad she was he’d not lost his leg—but that seemed a selfish thought.

  He seized her hand and pulled her up. ‘It is an ugly scar, but the wound is healed.’

  Surely it would not be so pink if it had completely healed. Did it still pain him?

  ‘My scars repulse you.’ Pain flickered through his eyes.

  ‘No!’ She threw her arms around him. ‘No. Do not think it.’ She wanted to recapture that moment of closeness between them. ‘I merely wondered how it happened.’

  ‘I will tell you.’ He reached for her. ‘But not now.’

  His touch ignited her need. ‘After?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He lifted her in his arms as if she were a mere feather and carried her to the bed. The bedcovers had already been folded back for sleeping.

  Or for making love.

  She lay on her back and eagerly awaited him rising over her. His legs straddled hers, and he leaned down to kiss her once more. She put her arms around him and arched her back to him as his hand caressed her breasts and made need shoot through her like a sabre thrust. She could not wait. She opened her legs and tried to press him to her. He groaned and gently pushed himself inside her.

  Her need would have been happier if he’d thrust himself inside her, but she tried to hold back her sense of urgency and follow his lead. He stroked slowly, carefully, but she was beyond care. She wanted him to rush her to her climax, to the release she knew she would feel.

  But he set a slow, easy pace, and she writhed in passion beneath him, until, more suddenly than she expected, her release came in wave after wave of pleasure, pleasure so acute it was almost painful.

  His thrusts accelerated and soon he, too, reached his climax, spilling his seed inside her, the seed that had created a child that night in Brussels.

  He relaxed next to her and held her close, as he had in Brussels. The familiarity of it was a comfort. Would it always feel so comfortable? Would they be able to make a marriage out of this?

  She hoped so.

  ‘That was lovely, Edmund,’ she murmured as she snuggled next to him. ‘Might we do that again?’

  * * *

  Edmund gladly complied with her request to make love a second time. They could build on this pleasure they gave each other, this physical connection that now bound them with the baby inside her. He might never deserve her, but perhaps he could make her happy. He would certainly try.

  He entered her intent on again giving her delight, of showing her that all would be well. They would make a good life together.

  Need, not rational thought, drove him. Her desire pushed him harder. This coupling was not gentle, not worshipful, but rough and wild and dictated by a carnality neither one of them seemed able to control.

  She cried out in her release, and a moment later he groaned with the spilling of his seed. They shuddered together, suspended in time and in the moment. No thought, no censure, no self-blame. Only pleasure in each other.

  Afterwards they did not speak. He held her against him and felt truly calm for the first time since seeing her in London. He sensed her ease as well. He simply relished the comfort of her next to him and let time float by. There was hope for them, for the family they were creating.

  The clock struck eight.

  Blast. ‘They will be delivering dinner soon.’ He rose on one elbow. ‘I must dress. You stay here if you like.’

  She sat. ‘I will get up.’

  He donned his shirt and trousers in time for the knock on the door. He closed the bedchamber door and walked out to their sitting room. Opening the door, he instructed the two servants to place the trays on the table.

  ‘Wait a moment.’ He went to the writing table and jotted a quick note to Amelie’s maid that they would not need her until morning. He folded it and handed it to one of the men. ‘Would you deliver this to the maid’s room two doors down?’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The servant bowed.

  Edmund tipped them both and closed the door behind them.

  Amelie stood in the bedchamber doorway, covered by a silk wrapper. ‘I am famished.’

  They shared a leisurely dinner, talking together. He told her about growing up with Tess and his sisters, how they escaped from their governess’s lessons and explored the far reaches of their father’s property, about swimming in the cool pool formed by the stream that ran through the property, climbing trees in the woods, racing each other to the folly.

  She shared a lonel
ier childhood but said the only person lonelier had been her mother, with whom she had spent many hours, listening to her tales of her childhood in France or learning needlework from her mother’s instruction.

  He did not talk of the bad times. Of losing his mother when he was nine. Of watching her die giving birth and of being quickly whisked away from the only house he’d known to the mansion of a father who, until that time, had barely noticed him. His growing up at Summerfield House had been privileged, but no one, not even the servants, governesses or tutors ever let him forget he was the illegitimate son.

  He did tell Amelie about Lady Summerfield, who, even though she had been his father’s wife and ought to have despised him, had been the one person besides his sisters who’d treated him as if he mattered. Years after she abandoned the family, he began a correspondence with her and lived with her before the Waterloo battle and recuperated there afterwards.

  When he and Amelie returned to bed, they made love again, this time more leisurely, like two people who had all the time in the world to be together.

  She fell asleep almost immediately afterwards. He gazed at her lying next to him, looking much like he imagined she must have looked as a little girl. The wonder of it, he would be sharing her bed for the rest of their lives.

  With that thought, he drifted contentedly off to sleep.

  * * *

  A pain, horrible and intense, woke Amelie. She cried out.

  Edmund woke. ‘What is it?’

  She sat up. ‘Something is wrong. In here.’ She pressed her belly. Another pain hit, and she cried out again and hugged her knees.

  He bounded out of bed and began dressing. ‘I’ll get help. Send for a doctor.’

  ‘No. No doctor,’ she pleaded. ‘I want to go home. Take me home, Edmund. I want my mother!’ Another pain in her belly, worse than any she’d ever had during her courses, shook her. ‘M-my mother will know what to do.’

  He continued to pull on his clothes. ‘Are you certain? A carriage ride might not be good—’

  She cut him off. ‘I do not care. I want to go home.’

  ‘Yes. Right away.’ He headed for the door, still putting on his coat. ‘I’ll send Sally to you.’