Page 66 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

“I’m going too.” Amanda released her mother’s hand and stepped into the fray on feet that were not quite steady.

“Forgive my bluntness, Lady Kingston.” Langley still would not meet her eye. “But you most certainly are not.”

“You would rather waste time trying to stop me? They’re my sons. And this—all of this—is my fault.”

“How can you—?” He bit off the next words, though Amanda suspected she knew what they would have been.

How can you be so obstinate?

And if Langley wasn’t thinking it, then Mama certainly was. “Amanda,” she scolded. “I won’t hear of you putting yourself in danger—neither to life nor reputation.”

“Well, Mama,” Amanda snapped, “at least my gowns will be safe.”

Mama closed the distance Amanda had put between them, one hand extended, worry notching her brow. “You’re…you’re not well, dear. I think it would be best if you lie down for a bit. Some cool spot. If you would help us, Mrs. Hurst…”

At just that moment, a servant stepped into the hall. “Your horse is ready, sir.”

Rather than move toward the door, Langley’s dark gaze darted among Amanda, her mother, and the Hursts. Why was he hesitating?

“Have the horses put to Lady Kingston’s carriage, quick as you can,” he told the servant, who nodded and was gone in an instant. “You,” he said, turning toward Mr. Hurst, “take the horse and deliver this message instead, to General Scott at the Horse Guards—and only to him. Explain that while Lady Kingston was out for a walk, Lord Dulsworthy collected her sons and we do not know where he’s taken them. Tell him—tell him the Magpie sent you.” He nodded to the card. “Show him that, if you perceive he has any doubts.” Charles nodded and was off.

Amanda shook herself free of her mother’s clinging hands. “And you?” she demanded of Langley. “What do you mean to do?”

He looked her up and down, still never meeting her eye, and shook his head. “It seems I’ll be in the carriage. With you.”

An eternity later, as they stood beneath the portico, Rebecca and Mama murmuring together, Langley pacing off to one side, Amanda heard the crunch of gravel that announced the arrival of her carriage.

She could hardly wait for the groomsman to put down the step before she clambered inside. Langley sprang in afterward, thumping the side of his fist against the ceiling to urge the driver into motion. With fingers she could hardly make work, Amanda managed to lower the window and called out a parting reassurance to her mother and her dear friend. “Don’t worry. The boys and I will be fine. Mr. Stanhope will see to it.” Then she collapsed against the squab, watching her mother wave them down the road with an already tear-stained handkerchief.

“You oughtn’t to make promises on my behalf.” Langley was sitting across from her in the rear-facing seat, staring out the opposite window as the greens of early summer sped past. “Particularly not ones I’m not certain I can keep, my lady.”

She could not help but note the distant, formal address, even though they were alone. Even though, an hour before, they had…

“I mean to see that you keep this one, Major Stanhope,” she said. “At least with respect to my sons.”

He made no reply. Given his rigid posture, it seemed entirely possible the words had bounced off without penetrating.

With nervous fingers, she pleated the fabric of her skirt, then swallowed and jutted her chin forward, feigning bravery. “I would give my life for my children. That is no platitude, sir.” She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes and swallowed again to stave off the sob rising in her throat. How long could she keep her terror at bay through sheer force of will? “I have no fear for myself.”

Still without turning toward her, he whispered, “I do.”

Two simple words. Easy to imbue them with a great deal of meaning—perhaps a great deal more than she ought. Nevertheless, they broke the floodgates. Tears streamed steadily, silently down her face.

And then, she wasn’t quite sure how, he was beside her, enfolding her in his arms as the carriage rattled on. He tossed her bonnet on the seat where he’d been and drew her head down to his chest. She let herself take comfort in the steady drumbeat of his heart.

“This is my fault,” he said. “I knew better. Or ought to have done. I let myself be distracted once during a mission, and it cost a man his life. Even knowing the weight of that guilt, I…I let myself be distracted once again. I still—”

“Don’t,” she sobbed, raising a fingertip to his lips to put a stop to further self-recrimination.

Those lips. Thin, with a sharp bow. Rarely soft or smiling, yet surprisingly sensual. How well she had come to know them. How well they had come to know her. Heat flared in her cheeks at the memory of the pleasure that mouth had given her.…

Oh, God. How could she even think of such things at a time like this? He spoke of being distracted, but she had provided the distraction. If anyone was to blame for what had happened to the boys, it was she.

Langley seemed to read her thoughts. He caught her hand in his, stroked the center of her palm with the pad of his thumb, then kissed her fingertip and drew it away from his mouth. “Whatever happens,” he insisted, “you mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Then who?” she choked out past a fresh wave of tears.

“Put the blame squarely where it belongs,” he said, squeezing her fingers.