A Passion for Him
Page 25

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.”
“What do you want me to do?” the Frenchman asked, looking grim as always.
“I cannot go into town. There is some concern that Miss Benbridge will follow, and while I find that highly unlikely, the request is valid, so I must stay for now.”
“I understand.”
“St. John is sending a man to rally those who work for him in Bristol. Go and direct the search. Tell them what to look for, what to expect. If you find anything of import, send for me.”
Jacques nodded and set off immediately. The Frenchman took the main staircase; Colin took the servants’. It emptied by the kitchen, and he ignored the startled glances sent his way as he exited out the delivery door and headed toward the stables.
Every step he took grew heavier, his heart weighed upon by the upcoming confrontation that would cut him nigh as deeply as the one with Amelia had.
He entered silently and inhaled deeply, finding the smells of hay and horses both familiar and soothing. The many beasts inside snorted and shifted restlessly as his scent filled the air and disturbed their equanimity. Glancing about, he looked for the groomsmen’s quarters. His stride faltered when he found the doorway. A man leaned against the jamb, watching him with wounded, angry eyes.
The years had been kind to Pietro. Aside from a slight pouch at the belly, the rest of his body was still fit and strong. Strands of silver accented his temples and beard, but his skin was smooth and free of wrinkles.
“Uncle,” Colin greeted, his throat tight with sorrow and affection.
“My only nephew is dead,” Pietro said coldly.
Colin flinched at the repudiation. “I have missed you.”
“You lie! You let me think you were dead!”
“I was offered the chance at a different life.” Colin held out his hands in a silent plea for understanding. “I had one chance to accept and no time to second-guess.”
“And what of me?” Pietro demanded, straightening. “What of my grief? Was that nothing to you?”
“You think I was not grieving?” Colin bit out, stung by the condemnation of yet another person he loved. “I might as well have been dead.”
“Then why did you do it?” Pietro came forward. “I have tried to see what would make you do such a thing, but I don’t understand.”
“I had nothing to offer anyone before. No way to create a life of comfort for those I loved.”
“Comfort from what? The only discomfort in my life has been my mourning for you!”
“What of freedom from work?” Colin challenged. “What of a life of travel and discovery? I can offer you those things now, when I could not before.”
Pain wracked Pietro’s handsome features. “I am a simple man, Colin. A roof over my head . . . food . . . family. Those are all I need to be happy.”
“I wish my needs were as simple.” Colin moved to the nearest stall and set his crossed arms along the top of it. “I need Amelia to be happy, and this was the only way I could conceive of to have her.”
“Colin . . .” He heard his uncle sigh. “You love her still.”
“I have no notion how not to love her. It is ingrained in me, as much a part of me as my hair and skin color.”
Pietro joined him at the stall door. “I should have raised you in the camp. Then you wouldn’t want things that are beyond your reach.”
Colin smiled and looked aside at him. “Amelia and I would have met at some point, at some time.”
“That is your Romany blood talking.”
“Yes, it is.”
There was a long silence, as each attempted to find the right thing to say. “How long have you been in England?” Pietro asked finally.
“A few weeks.”
“A few weeks and you didn’t come to me?” Pietro shook his head. “I don’t feel that I know you at all. The boy I raised had more care for the feelings of others.”
Aching from the pain he had inflicted, Colin reached out and set his hand atop Pietro’s shoulder. “If my love is in err, it is not due to lack of it for you but to a surfeit for her. I would have done anything, gone anywhere, to become worthy of Amelia.”
“You seem to have accomplished what you set out to do,” Pietro said quietly. “Your clothes and carriage are fine indeed.”
“It seems a waste now. She is as angry as you are. I do not know if she will forgive me, and if she does not, all is lost.”
“Not all. You’ll always have me.”
Tears came to Colin’s eyes, and he brushed them away with jerking movements. His uncle looked at him a moment, then heaved out his breath and embraced him.
“There is still some of the Colin of old in you,” he said gruffly.
“I am sorry for the pain I caused,” Colin whispered, his throat too tight to speak any louder. “I saw only the end, not the interim. I wanted everything, and now I have nothing.”
Pietro shook his head and stepped back. “Don’t give up yet. You’ve worked too hard.”
“Can you forgive me?” If he could manage to win back the love of one, perhaps there was a possibility that he could win back the other.
“Maybe.” A grin split the depths of his uncle’s beard. “I have six horses to groom.”
Colin’s mouth curved wryly. “I am at your service.”
“Come on.” Pietro put his arm around Colin’s shoulders and urged him toward the groomsmen’s quarters. “You’ll need to change your clothes.”
“I can buy more if these are ruined.”
“Hmm . . .” His uncle looked at him consideringly. “How wealthy are you?”
“Obscenely.”
Pietro whistled. “Tell me how you did it.”
“Of course.” Colin smiled. “We have time.”
It was late afternoon. The sun was dipping to the west and supper was being prepared. Ware’s guests would eat earlier tonight than they would in Town, then spend the evening in the parlor, attempting to ignore the tension simmering between all parties. It would no doubt be unpleasant, but Ware understood the emotional undercurrents that were affecting everyone but him. He cared for Amelia and thought her the most suitable bride for his needs. That was his only tie to all of the rest.
“Mitchell stayed,” he said to Amelia, as they strolled through the rear garden.
“Oh.”
She stared straight ahead. With a sigh, he drew to a halt, which forced her to do the same.
“Talk to me, Amelia. That has always been the core strength of our friendship.”
With a shaky smile, she canted her body to face his. “I am so sorry to have done this to you,” she said remorsefully. “If I could go back and alter the events of this last week, I would. I would go back years and have married you long ago.”
“Would you?” He tugged her closer, and set his hands lightly on her hips. Behind her, a profusion of climbing roses hugged an archway that led to a pond. Dandelion seeds drifted in the breeze, creating an enchanting backdrop for an enchanting woman.
“Yes. All these years I mourned him and he was thriving.” Something deliciously like a growl escaped her. “He finds it far too easy to leave me behind. I am sick of being left behind. First my father, now Colin.”