Page 19 of Wicked with Him

Crawford rubbed his jaw. “They do say reformed rakes make the best husbands. In the end, after a period of reflection and penance.” A huge smile burst over his face, making him even more handsome. “Will you make him suffer and grovel? Bring you flowers and wait on you hand and foot?”

“I hadn’t considered the possibility of groveling obviously, since he doesn’t exist,” she mused. “But I suppose some would be expected for me to ever speak to him again. He broke my heart with his scandalous betrayal.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” They had finally reached the gateway to her neighbors’ home, and she paused to study Crawford one last time. Her heart skipped a beat. He’d found her, she’d answered his questions, and now that his curiosity was satisfied, they could say goodbye and he could be on his way.

She curtsied and took her basket from him. “Thank you, sir, for your company and concern. As you see, I am quite content. I trust that you will have a good journey home to London again and a happy life. Please don’t give my regards to my family.”

Crawford squinted at her a long moment but then reached for her hand. Amity’s heart started to pound as she unthinkingly extended hers to be claimed. When he pressed a long kiss to the back, she relived some of the sensations of their scandalous night together. His tenderness had affected her then. It still did now apparently.

He glanced up, grinning, and she knew he’d sensed her unspoken response to him. “Until we meet again, sweetheart.”

Amity walked away from him on trembling legs, ignoring the urge to look back over her shoulder for one last glimpse of her tender lover. It had been astonishing to see him again, but of course that part of her life was over. Now that she’d satisfied his curiosity about how she’d fared, he would forget her and return to pining for her horrid sister-in-law.

That certainty, above all she’d been through, was the one thing that always made her sad when she thought of him.

Chapter 7

Roman shook his head as Amity Sweet swept away from him without a backward glance. Who did she think she was fooling with this act of hers of being a common country wife?

Amity Sweet was extraordinary in every way possible. Gracious, charming, and more attractive than was good for him. There was no way to mistake her for anything but a member of the aristocracy. From the slightly haughty tilt of her head to the way she glided everywhere as if her feet didn’t quite touch the ground she walked upon.

And the damn woman affected him more than she should, too. He already ached to kiss those sweet lips and taste her soft skin again.

She might just be aching for him, too. He’d heard the catch in her breath as their hands touched. Glimpsed desire brightening her eyes when he’d lifted his head after he’d kissed the back of her hand, too.

It had taken him so many weeks to pry her location out of her unknowing relatives without giving away his keen interest in her welfare and whereabouts. He’d not bothered to enquire about Amity to her older brother though. Clearly George had no idea of her location, or he’d have fetched her back in the blink of an eye to bind her to another man in unholy wedlock. And he knew that to approach a man he despised to ask after his sister might have caused suspicion to fall his way about the wonderful night, mere minutes, they’d spent together.

But if anyone could have hidden Amity’s location so well, it had to be done at the behest of her cousin Lord Fairbridge. He couldn’t be applied to directly for information, of course, but his brothers were not so suspicious of casual enquiries made of their relations, given they’d discussed others in the past ad nauseum while deep in their cups.

Eventually, by asking enough of the right questions discreetly, he’d pieced together the extent of Fairbridge’s private holdings within any short distance of London and had slipped away from Town to visit each area in turn.

He had just about given up the hunt when he’d happened upon Amity standing at the bookseller’s stall.

His heart had done an uncharacteristic flip at the sight of her animated expression as she’d bartered with the merchant for the slim volume, oblivious to his scrutiny.

She looked happy. Happier than he’d ever seen her, in fact.

He should have spun on his heel then and there and departed, considering his mission complete. He’d found her, and she was clearly well. But he’d experienced a compelling yearning to talk to her again, though his stomach had churned with the uncertainty of his welcome.

And when she’d looked up and smiled, he’d become utterly and completely charmed. It was not every day a woman ruined welcomed the return of their secret lover with such a forgiving smile.

Now that he’d found Amity safe and content, he ought to leave her to her peace and go back to London to make merry again with his friends and continue to wreak havoc on her brother’s life.

Except…he didn’t want to go just yet.

He had not expected to find her on the first day here, so had already taken rooms at the village inn. His men and horses were not in the village with him though. He’d left them behind at a farm to mend a cracked wheel, where he’d paid for their stay with a generous handful of coin. They were all weary from his seemingly pointless travels anyway, so he’d promised them a few days of idleness after the repair was done while he’d rode ahead alone to scout the area.

He’d spoken with the innkeeper of this charmingly rustic village about his keen interest in purchasing an estate here, but hadn’t given his name yet. The man had assured him there were properties to be considered and would act as his go-between with local landowners if he was in earnest about any.

To leave without meeting with at least one might arouse suspicion. He had the perfect excuse to linger, so why not pretend to be an investor up from London and spend more time with Amity, if it were on the cards? They had not parted as enemies, after all. They were not friends, either, but something that he couldn’t quite put a name to yet.

Roman wandered the market, watching the townsfolk come and go. It was an interesting place, a tidy cobbled square with a well and clearly prosperous population. But it was a place unbefitting a gentle beauty like Amity to settle down in.

Queen of London society Amity ought to be, in his opinion. Something more than a supposedly betrayed wife of a man no one had ever met. It was a clever ruse, and one few here would likely directly question her about to prove her tale true or false. But any husband of Amity’s would be a fool to betray her with a woman of lesser standing.

Society loosely applied the term incomparable to young wide-eyed girls fresh to the slaughter of the marriage mart. Amity might be older but was the embodiment of the term still. Bold but graceful, accomplished but modest. If not for meeting Melody first, Roman thought he might have paid attention to Amity in London.