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The men did not follow them into the hotel.
‘There,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe in here.’
She was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel safe again. Napoleon could be knocking at the door by morning. Men in the street seemed to feel entitled to do as they pleased, and even men who had once professed love could speak words that wounded more grievously than a sword.
‘Will—will you escort me to my room?’ she asked.
He put an arm around her, but, again, it was meant only in sympathy. ‘Directly to your room, and I will see you safe inside.’
Chapter Two (#ulink_28bf8730-0f92-50ae-9097-9b574169fdde)
Under ordinary circumstances it would be scandalous for Edmund to walk a young, unmarried woman up hotel stairs in the wee hours of the morning, but this night no one would pay them any heed. Even if someone noticed them, it would not change what he must do. He must escort her all the way to her room. She’d had two brushes with danger and that was quite enough. He would see her to safety or be damned.
‘Do you object to me calling you Edmund?’ she asked as they climbed the stairs. ‘It is how Tess refers to you, so I think of you as Edmund.’
To hear her speak his name felt intimate to him. They’d spent mere minutes together, not more than an hour, certainly, but, somehow, it seemed right that she call him by his Christian name.
Besides, all this hour he’d been thinking of her as Amelie.
He smiled again. ‘I do not object, but that means I must call you Amelie, you know.’
‘Would that be so hard to do?’ she countered, somewhat uncertainly, he thought.
He pretended to need to think about it. ‘I suppose I could manage it. We are somewhat related, one could say. By marriage.’
They reached the upper floor where her hotel room was located.
‘Since we are now so familiar, Amelie,’ he emphasised Amelie, ‘there is no reason not to tell me why you and Captain Fowler quarrelled.’
‘Would you stop pressing me on the subject?’ she snapped. ‘I have no intention of telling you. It is very private.’
‘But we are somewhat related.’ He added, ‘Amelie.’
She lifted a finger to her lips, and he fell silent. They were near her parents’ rooms, where he’d breakfasted with her two days before.
She knocked softly. ‘Maman, Papa, I am back.’
Footsteps could be heard from behind the door. She gestured for him to stay out of sight.
Her mother opened the door a crack. ‘Dieu merci! I was worried.’
‘No need to have worried, Maman,’ she said.
Of course, she’d only been abandoned once and nearly abducted twice!
‘We are leaving Brussels,’ her mother said. ‘Your father has arranged for carriages to take us to Antwerp very early. Your maid will wake you at five.’
‘I will be ready.’ The door opened wider, and she leaned in for her mother to kiss her on the cheek. She kissed her back. ‘Try to sleep, Maman.’
She waited a moment after the door closed, then indicated to Edmund to follow her again.
When they reached her hotel-room door, he extended his hand for her to give him the key. He unlocked the door, opened it and stepped aside for her to enter.
She hesitated, though. ‘Will you check the room for me?’ she asked in a nervous voice. ‘I am a little afraid to enter it alone.’
He crossed the doorjamb. A fire was lit in the fireplace, but the room was dark and full of shadows. He found a taper on the mantel and used it to light the lamps. The room brightened a bit.
He carried one of the lamps with him throughout the room, not believing there was anyone hidden and ready to jump out and attack her, but wanting to reassure her of that fact.
‘There is nothing to fear here,’ he told her. He placed the lamp on a table and placed the key into her hand. ‘Lock the door after I leave.’
She took the key and stared at it for a moment before looking back up at him. ‘Must you go to your regiment immediately?’
It would be a two-hour ride, at least. ‘I have time,’ he said.
Her shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘May I offer refreshment?’
‘Do not go to any trouble.’
‘It is no trouble.’ She pulled off her gloves, and he noticed her hands shook. ‘I think Sally hides a bottle of sherry in here. Shall I pour you some?’
He’d prefer brandy. ‘Sherry? Why not?’
She found the bottle and two glasses. ‘Please sit, Edmund.’ She poured his glass and one for herself, a large one, which she gulped down.
He waited for her to sit first. She lowered herself into a chair and poured herself another glass.
She was still distressed from the night’s events, he thought, and Edmund wondered how he’d be able to leave her until she was comfortable again. Why he should feel this responsibility foxed him. She was once merely a pretty face—a beautiful face—to him. Now, perhaps because he’d rescued her, she’d become someone whose welfare mattered to him.
He watched her gulp down the second glass of sherry. ‘You should talk about what happened to you tonight.’ He spoke in a low voice. ‘The sherry won’t be enough.’
She quickly put down the glass. ‘I suspect there is not enough time. You must leave for your regiment.’
His brows rose. ‘A moment ago you were anxious for me to stay; now you want me to leave? Which is it, Amelie?’
Her glance darted to the door before focusing on her lap. ‘I do not want to be alone right now.’
‘Then talk to me,’ he persisted.
She looked up at him and snapped, ‘Why are you so sure talking will help me?’
‘I have three sisters.’
The challenge left her eyes, so that must have been explanation enough.
‘The—the attacks from those horrid men.’ The distaste showed on her face. ‘It was frightening, but what more can I say except that?’
‘Then talk about what is most unsettling you,’ he said.
‘I am certain you do not have enough time for that!’ She huffed.
He raised his brows and spoke with humour. ‘Is it so long of a story?’
Her glance darted back to him. She smiled.
He pinched the stem of his glass.
By Jove, she was temptation itself when she smiled.
* * *
Was it possible that talking could calm her? Amelie doubted it very strongly, but, if he left, she would be alone—and likely alone for the rest of her life. Why not tell him?
Courage was necessary. Her trust in men had been shredded this night, and Edmund Summerfield was certainly a man.
‘You will not tell anyone? No matter what?’ she asked.
He looked directly into her eyes, his expression serious. ‘Upon my honour.’
His words resonated inside her. From her brother she knew men did not say such words lightly. At least, honourable men did not.
Edmund delayed his duty to his regiment to bring her safely off the streets of Brussels. There was honour in that.
She was stalling and he was waiting patiently, no longer pressuring her to speak, no longer using humour to cajole her.
But to speak it aloud meant facing it, did it not? Facing what she had done. Facing the truth she had learned in return. Opening her bleak future to herself.
He sipped his sherry.
She tossed him a defiant look and poured herself a third glass, but this time she did not gulp it down.
She took a breath and took the risk. ‘You know, of course, that Captain Fowler and I had just become betrothed—’
He nodded.
She could not sit still and speak of this. She stood and paced in front of him. ‘My brother procured invitations to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, you know, my first ball given by a duchess. I was in raptures about it. Captain Fowler was my escort. I thought nothing could be better, especially when Wellington himself arrived! Wellington! At the same ball.’
Even though Amelie’s father was a viscount, it did not mean they were invited everywhere. Because of her mother. Not only was her mother French, her mother was also a commoner and, after the Revolution, her family had become active in the Terror, beheading friends and relatives of the British aristocrats.
Consequently Amelie and her parents were barely tolerated by the ton. It was only because of Edmund’s sister, the one who’d married an elderly earl, that she’d been invited anywhere last Season. That was how she met Captain Fowler. She thought he had not minded about her scandalous family. At least he’d told her so.
Edmund broke into her reverie. ‘The ball ended early, I heard.’
She collected herself. ‘Yes. I was much affected when Wellington announced that Napoleon was marching towards Brussels. I—I knew it meant Captain Fowler would ride into battle. I knew it meant I might never see him again. I begged my parents to allow him to walk me back to the hotel instead of riding in their carriage. I wanted to be alone with him.’
She glanced at Edmund, who continued to watch her from his chair with eyes that merely waited for more but showed nothing of what he thought.
She turned away from his gaze. ‘You thought he propositioned me. You thought he might have taken advantage, saying, give me something to remember you by, or something like that.’
‘Men think about last chances when they know they will go into battle,’ he said in a quiet voice.
She swung back to him. ‘Not only men! I thought of last chances, too! I begged the captain to come to this room and make love to me.’
His brows rose.
‘Are you shocked?’ she asked.
‘Surprised. Not shocked.’ He lifted his glass to his lips.
Her voice turned shrill. ‘Does that make me wanton? Does that bring shame on me, on my family? Is it so very bad that I spoke those words to him? That—that I wanted...the lovemaking?’
He placed his glass on the side table and rose, coming to her and holding her by the shoulders. ‘This is what the quarrel was about?’
She nodded.
He guided her back to her chair and sat her down.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. ‘He said that no respectable woman would ever think such a thing. That I was wanton. Shameful. That I was no better than Haymarket ware. That I must have more of my mother’s common French blood in me than he had supposed.’
She burned with anger all over again. True, her mother was the daughter of French merchants who had worked to guillotine aristocrats, but her mother had no part in that. Her mother was the dearest creature in creation. Amelie tried to slap Fowler across the face for speaking of her so.
It had enraged him.
Her throat tightened with the memory. ‘Fowler said he was finished with me and that he was certain some man on the street would pay me for what I was offering.’ He’d said more, as well.
‘Damned prig.’ Edmund said.
She looked up into his face. ‘Is it not I who deserves censure?’
She was not well bred, obviously, she thought to herself. Otherwise she would not have made such a proposition to Fowler. Or maybe she’d merely been a silly romantic, who believed love conquers all. Amor vincit omnia. She’d learned the phrase in Latin.
He reached over and put his hand on her chin and made her look at him. ‘What you felt was the most natural thing in the world.’
She averted her gaze. ‘Other young women like me do not say such things to men.’
Perhaps it was her mother’s blood that made her crave a man’s touch. Even Edmund’s hand heightened her senses.
Edmund shook his head. ‘Do you not suppose other young ladies at the ball said the same to the men leaving them?’
‘The captain said not.’
He leaned back. ‘The captain is a fool.’
She reached for her glass of sherry again and drank the remainder.
He pointed to the glass. ‘What else are you not telling me?’
She was feeling a bit giddy. ‘Nothing.’ Except what was hardest to face. She picked up the bottle. ‘There is just a little more left. You may have it.’ She refilled his glass and tried to summon her courage to continue speaking.
