A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

Sadly, no preparation on her part could mitigate the effect he had on her as he vaulted down from his carriage and approached with an elegant stride that was entirely sensual. Damn the man. He had always moved with an animal grace that made her tingle all over. Now that she knew how well that latent sexuality translated to bedplay, the response was worse.

She looked away in an effort to hide the irresistible attraction she felt.

“My lord,” Colin said, his smooth voice roughened by obvious dislike. “If someone could kindly provide direction to the nearest inn, I will be on my way. Mr. Quinn will return later to make the necessary arrangements.”

“I would like you to stay here,” Ware said, startling everyone.

Amelia looked at him with mouth agape.

“That is impossible,” Colin protested.

“Why?” Ware challenged with both brows raised.

Colin’s jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

“What is it?” St. John asked, a note in his voice alerting Amelia. Apparently he saw something in the exchange that she did not. “Allow me to help you.”

“That will not be necessary,” Colin said stiffly. “Keep Miss Benbridge safe. That is all the assistance I require.”

“If you are in danger,” Maria said, “I would prefer to keep you close. Perhaps we should stay at the inn as well.”

“Please,” Ware said in his customary drawl, as composed as ever. “Everyone will be safer here than in a public venue with frequent traffic.”

“St. John,” Colin said. “If I could have a moment of your time.”

St. John nodded and excused himself. The two men moved a short distance away and spoke in tones too low to overhear. They became more animated, the conversation more heated.

“What is going on?” Amelia asked Maria.

“I wish I knew,” Maria replied.

“Allow Mrs. Barney to show you to your rooms,” Ware said, gesturing to the housekeeper who waited on the lower step with a soft smile.

“I want to know what is happening,” Amelia said.

“I know you do,” Ware murmured, setting his hand at her lower back and leading her toward the manse. “And I promise to tell you everything as soon as I know it.”

“Truly?” She looked up at him from beneath the brim of her hat.

“Of course. When have I ever lied to you?”

She understood the message. I am not Mitchell, it said. I have always been true to you. Grateful for him, Amelia offered a thankful, shaky smile. Maria joined her, and together they followed Mrs. Barney into the house.

Colin watched Lord Ware lead Amelia toward the manse and fought the urge to wrench her away. It was unbearable to see her with another man. It ate at him as acid would, burning and stinging and leaving a gaping hole behind.

“I think you should stay,” St. John said, drawing Colin’s attention away from Amelia’s departing back.

“You do not understand,” Colin argued. “We have been followed ever since we left Reading. If I keep my distance from Miss Benbridge, I will draw the danger away from her.”

St. John looked grim. “Unless she has a mind to follow you again,” he pointed out. “Then she will be far more vulnerable than if she were to remain here.”

“Bloody hell. I did not think of that.” Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, Colin rubbed at the tense muscle that pained him. “In her present mood, I do not think she will go to the trouble.”

“But you cannot be certain, and neither can I. Therefore, I think it best to err on the side of caution.”

“Can you not deter her in some way?” Colin asked. “Cartland cannot be allowed anywhere near her. If he suspects how much she means to me, he will exploit her.”

“Have you been able to deter her? Do not expect miracles from me.” St. John smiled. “My wife is considered the Deadliest Woman in England, and she taught her sibling everything she knows. Amelia can cross swords with the best of men, and she can throw a knife better than anyone, even me. If she decides to follow you, she will find a way.”

Colin blinked, then gave a resigned exhalation. “Oddly enough, I am not as surprised by that revelation as I should be.”

“I would have liked to have met their mother. She must have been extraordinary.”

“I do not have the time to socialize,” Colin growled. “I must be either the hunter or the prey, and the latter role does not suit me.”

St. John nodded. “I understand.”

“I wish Mademoiselle Rousseau would believe Jacques’s witness of the events of that night, but she refuses. I cannot collect why. Why dismiss him so completely? How can she trust Cartland’s word over anyone else’s?”

“I do not know what it is she seeks, but I will lend you whatever support you need. There is little that requires your attention tonight. Allow my men to begin the search in town. You can pick it up tomorrow. I think one night of domesticity will soothe Amelia enough to keep her from haring after you.”

The thought of spending an intimate evening in the company of Amelia and Lord Ware was a torment unparalleled.

“Will you stay?” the earl asked, joining them. “Rooms are being prepared for you and your acquaintances as we speak.”

“Thank you.” It was all Colin could manage. “I will tell the others.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

St. John watched him go, noting the stiffness of his posture and the anger evident in his stride. “He loves her.”

“I see that.”

Turning his head, St. John found the earl watching Mitchell with a narrowed glance. “I know why I think he should remain. I cannot collect why you do.”

“Our differences will be more obvious in direct contrast.” Ware met his gaze. “I am the best choice for her. If I doubted that for a moment, I would step aside. I want her happiness above all else. I do not think he is capable of giving it to her.”

“He is a formidable opponent in the challenge ahead. Mitchell has lived by his wits and his sword for several years.”

“I am not without skill of my own,” the earl said easily, “regardless of the civilized manner in which I acquired it.”

St. John nodded and followed Ware’s urging to move into the house. Tim was overseeing the removal of both trunks and servants from the trailing coach. Mitchell was scowling at Quinn, who was assisting a grinning Mademoiselle Rousseau down from their carriage.

For his part, St. John wondered if other men went through such difficulties when attempting to marry off a younger sibling. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs and moved directly to the suite assigned to him where he knew he would find his wife. Together, they would strategize the events of the coming few days.

The thought made him smile.

Bathed, dressed, yet inwardly shaky, Amelia slipped out of her bedchamber and hurried down the long gallery. Maria had told her to nap in preparation for afternoon tea, but Amelia could not sleep. What she felt was the urge to roam, to stretch her legs, to breathe fresh air and clear her head. As a child, she had learned that a brisk walk was capable of alleviating many ills, and she felt in strong need of that now.

> “Amelia.”

She paused at the sound of her name. Turning, she found Lord Ware exiting a room a few doors behind her. She curtsied. “My lord.”

He shot a pointed glance at her walking boots. “May I join you?”

She briefly considered voicing a kind objection, then thought better of it. As much as she wished to be alone with her thoughts, Ware deserved an explanation and the opportunity to chastise her, if he so wished. “I would be honored.”

He smiled his charming, dashing smile and came toward her. He was dressed as a country gentleman, and the more leisurely appearance suited him well. It reminded her of their meeting in Lincolnshire, and the smile she returned to him was genuine.

“How lovely you are,” he murmured, “when your smiles reach your eyes.”

“It is because you look so handsome,” she returned.

Ware lifted Amelia’s hand to his lips and his gaze beyond her shoulder, where he saw Mitchell at the end of the hall, watching them both with daggers in his eyes. Tucking Amelia’s hand around his arm, he led her away toward the stairs, which would take them to the lower floor and the rear garden.

He felt his rival’s stare burning a hole in his back for the entire way.

Colin watched Lord Ware’s proprietary handling of Amelia with something so akin to blood rage, it frightened him.

He could not bear it.

“You must find something to occupy yourself with, mon ami,” Jacques said, startling Colin with his sudden, silent appearance. “You will act regrettably if you think endlessly of her.”

“I have always thought endlessly of her,” he bit out. “I know of no other way to live.”

“She requires time. I admire your fortitude in giving it to her.”

Colin’s fists clenched. “It is not fortitude. I simply do not wish to kill a man in front of her.”

“Alors . . . you must leave. Distract yourself with a task.”

Inhaling sharply, Colin nodded. He had been set upon that end when he chanced upon Amelia with Ware. He forced himself to look away from where the couple had stood mere moments ago. “That was my intent. I was seeking you out.”