A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

Running her fingertips down his bare thigh, she asked, “Do you feel as if you owe a debt to her?”

“Partly, but our relationship has never been one-sided. We practiced deportment together and conversation. I had experience with such things; she was so sheltered.”

“You gave her polish.”

“Yes. We both gained.”

“And now she belongs to you,” Jane pronounced, “because you helped to create her.”

“I—” Ware frowned. Was that where this disgruntlement came from? Did he simply feel proprietary? “I am not sure that is it. She was in love once—or so she says—and she still pines for him. I do not resent that. I accept it.”

“Perhaps ‘appreciate’ would be a more apt word?” Her lips lifted in a kind smile. “After all, she cannot burden you with elevated feelings if they are engaged elsewhere.”

He tossed back the rest of his brandy, filling his belly with fire, then thrust the goblet at her in a silent demand for more. “If that were true, why am I so annoyed by her fascination with another man?”

As she accepted the glass, her brows rose. “Annoyed? Or jealous?”

Ware laughed. “A little of both?” He waved one hand carelessly. “Perhaps my masculine sensibilities are piqued because she never felt such interest in me? I cannot say for certain. I only know that I doubt myself again. I am wondering if my decision to give her the space and time to heal was an error in judgment.”

Jane paused halfway to the console. “Who is this other man?”

He explained.

“I see.” She refilled his glass and warmed the liquor, then returned to him. “You know I cared deeply for my late husband.”

Nodding, Ware patted the spot next to him. She crawled up beside him, baring her lithe legs to his view. “But I was tempted to marry another, whom I did not love.”

“You jest,” he scoffed. “Women want nothing so much as they want devotion and pronouncements of undying affection.”

“But we are also pragmatic. If you offer Miss Benbridge all the practical things she covets that this other man cannot provide, she will be more tempted to select you.”

“I pointed out that his foreign title would require her to leave her sister behind.”

“Verbally, you did, yes. Now make it even more difficult by proving it in fact. Take her to see your properties, purchase a home near her sibling . . . things of that nature. Then, consider her love of romance and mystery. Put that into play, as well. You can seduce her easily. You have the skill and she is susceptible. Flowers, gifts, stolen kisses. Your competition is working in the shadows. You have no such limitations.”

“Hmm . . .”

“It could be fun for you both. A chance to learn more about each other than you now know.”

He reached over and linked his fingers with hers. “You are so clever.”

Jane’s mouth curved in her winsome smile. “I am a woman.”

“Yes, I am ever aware of that fact.” Reaching to the side, Ware set his goblet atop the bedside table and pulled her beneath him. He kissed her, then moved lower, nudging the edge of the robe aside to take a nipple in his mouth.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she sighed.

Lifting his head, he grinned. “Thank you for your help.”

“My motives are not entirely altruistic, you know. Perhaps you will become aggravated during your attempts to woo Miss Benbridge. I do so love it when you are less than controlled.”

“Minx.” He gave a mock growl and she shivered.

Which prompted Ware to spend the rest of the hours until morning playing the primitive lover to both their delights.

Amelia peeked around the corner of the house, her lower lip worried between her teeth. She searched for Colin in the stable yard, then heaved a sigh of relief when she found the area empty. Male voices drifted on the wind, laughter and singing spilling out from the stables. From this she knew Colin was hard at work with his uncle, which meant that she could safely leave the manse and head into the woods.

She was becoming quite good at subterfuge, she thought as she moved deftly through the trees, hiding from the occasional guard in her journey toward the fence. A fortnight had passed since that fateful afternoon when she had caught Colin behind the shop with that girl. Amelia had avoided him since, refusing to speak with him when he asked the cook to fetch her.

Perhaps it was foolish to hope that she would never see him again, given how closely their lives were entwined. If so, she was a fool. There was not an hour of the day that passed without her thinking of him, but she managed the pain of her grief as long as he stayed away from her. She saw no reason for them to meet, to talk, to acknowledge each other. She traveled by carriage only when moving to a new home, and even then, she could deal exclusively with Pietro, the coachman.

Espying the waited-for opening, Amelia hopped deftly over the fence and ran to the stream, where she found Ware coatless and wigless, with his shirtsleeves pushed up. The young earl had caught some color to his skin these last weeks, setting aside his life of book work in favor of hard outdoor play. With his dark brown locks tied in a queue and his cornflower-colored eyes smiling, he was quite handsome, his aquiline features boasting centuries of pure blue blood.

He did not set her heart to racing or make her ache in unfamiliar places as Colin did, but Ware was charming and polite and attractive. She supposed that was a sufficient enough combination of qualities to make him the recipient of her first kiss. Miss Pool told her to wait until the right young man came along, but Colin already had, and had turned to another instead.

“Good afternoon, Miss Benbridge, ” the earl greeted with a perfect bow.

“My lord, ” she replied, lifting the sides of her rose-hued gown before curtsying.

“I have a treat for you today. ”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened in anticipation. She loved gifts and surprises because she rarely received them. Her father simply could not be bothered to consider such things as birthdays or other gift-giving occasions.

Ware’s smile was indulgent. “Yes, princess.” He offered his arm to her. “Come with me. ”

Amelia set her fingers lightly atop his forearm, enjoying the opportunity to practice her social graces with someone. The earl was kind and patient, pointing out any errors and correcting her. It gave her a higher polish and a deeper confidence. She no longer felt like a girl pretending to be a lady. Instead she felt like a lady who chose to enjoy her youth.

Together they left their meeting place by the stream and wended their way along the shore until they reached a larger clearing. There Amelia was delighted to find a blanket stretched out on the ground, the corner of which was held down by a basket filled with delicious smelling tarts and various cuts of meat and cheeses.

“How did you manage this?” she breathed, filled with pleasure by his thoughtfulness.

“Dear Amelia,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling. “You know who I am now, and who I will be. I can manage anything.”

She knew the rudiments of the peerage, and saw the power wielded by her father, a viscount. How many more times the magnitude was the power wielded by Ware, whose future held a marquessate?

Her eyes widened at the thought.

“Come now,” he urged. “Have a seat, enjoy a peach tart, and tell me about your day. ”

“My life is dreadfully boring, ” she said, dropping to the ground with a sigh.

“Then tell me a tale. Surely you daydream about something.”

She dreamt about kisses given passionately by a dark-eyed Gypsy lover, but she would never say such a thing aloud. She rose to her knees and dug into the basket to hide her blush. “I lack imagination,” she muttered.

“Very well, then.” Ware situated himself on his back with his hands clasped at his neck and stared up at the sky. He looked as at ease as she had ever seen him. Despite the rather formal attire he wore—including pristine white stockings and polished heels—he was still a far more relaxed person than

the one she met weeks ago. Amelia found that she rather liked the new earl and felt a touch of pleasure that she had wrought what she considered to be a positive change in him.

“It appears I must regale you with a story,” he said.

“Lovely.” She settled back to a seated position and took a bite of her treat.

“Once upon a time . . .”

Amelia watched Ware’s lips move as he spoke, and imagined kissing them. A now-familiar sense of sadness shivered through her, an effect of leaving her beloved romantic notions behind and embracing unfamiliar new ones, but the sensation lessened as she thought of Colin and what he had done. He certainly did not feel any sadness about leaving her behind.

“Would you kiss me?” she blurted out, her fingertips brushing tart crumbs from the corners of her lips.

The earl paused midsentence and turned his head to look at her. His eyes were wide with surprise, but he appeared more intrigued than dismayed. “Beg your pardon. Did I hear you correctly?”

“Have you kissed a girl before?” she asked, curious. He was two years older than she was, only one year younger than Colin. It was quite possible that he had experience.

Colin had an edgy, dark restlessness about him that was seductive even to her naïve senses. Ware, on the other hand, was far more leisurely, his attractiveness stemming from innate command and the comfort of knowing the world was his for the taking. Still, despite her high regard for Colin, she could see how Ware’s lazy charm appealed.

His eyebrows rose. “A gentleman does not speak of such things.”

“How wonderful! Somehow, I knew you would be discreet. ” She smiled.