Page 16 of The Ruin of Miss Amelia Burrowes

Chapter 7

“And that is the game, I believe, ladies and gentleman.”

Amelia could not help smiling as Lord Ainsley laid down his last card, the jack of hearts, thus taking the final trick and winning ten of the thirteen tricks in the hand for them. Their partnership had been most agreeable—and profitable, as the wagering on each trick had been fierce, especially between Lord Ainsley and his sister. With this last trick, she and his lordship had gained at least two pounds. Nothing to put any one of them in the workhouse, but still an exciting and pleasurable way to pass the evening.

And the evening had been most pleasant. After the scene in Hyde Park this afternoon, she’d had grave doubts about attending Mrs. Doyle’s party. All she’d wanted to do was hide herself at home and dread the gossip sure to begin again. She’d thought herself so inured to the mean and disrespectful things people said about her that she no longer felt the sting of their unkind words. But this afternoon she’d discovered that it was not true. Both Lady Chalgrove and Mr. Burke’s cutting remarks had hurt abominably, but because Lord Ainsley had been there to hear them, rather than from their estimation of her. That she valued his lordship’s opinion of her so much had also greatly alarmed her. He’d hurt her deeply once before. Dare she now allow herself to embrace those feelings again?

For that reason, along with others, she’d been in two minds about attending tonight. Her mother, however, had insisted, and Amelia was now glad she’d come. As soon as they arrived, she’d been met by Miss Locke and led to a table where Lady Letitia and Lady Celinda Graham, whom she’d not met before, had been seated. After that introduction, the four of them had played a spirited game of Vingt-Et-Un with much betting and laughter. Afterward, Lord Ainsley had come to escort her to his table and the game of whist they’d just finished.

No one had been unkind. Mrs. Doyle and her charge, a Miss Amanda Sharpe, had welcomed her and her parents along with Lord Ainsley. She’d heard no whisperings around the room, no one nodding at her or suspicious looks. Either no one knew who she was, which she doubted, or Lord Ainsley’s presence and obvious protection had quashed the gossips for the evening. If only this friendly atmosphere could become her life’s norm, she’d have nothing left to wish for. Except, perhaps, one thing.

From lowered eyelids, she surreptitiously watched Lord Ainsley gather the cards, chatting with his friend and sister, his quick laughter ringing out often. He’d said he wanted to marry her, yet she could scarce believe the words. Her heartbeat quickened each time she thought of them. Were they true? Did he actually wish to marry her? All his actions seemed to indicate that he did. After so many years of longing for a normal life, and enduring all the hurt, would she indeed reach her happy ending?

“Miss Burrowes, would you like a breath of fresh air?” With a bright smile, Lord Ainsley focused his attention directly on her. “I believe we’ve generated too much heat with our brilliant play. We must allow Haversham and my sister to recover their senses before they attempt a rematch.”

Fresh air meant a stroll on the veranda, out in the darkness where they might do more than simply cool their cheeks. The thought sent a thrill all through her. “I’d love some fresh air, my lord.”

After placing the cards back in their cunning little box, Lord Ainsley offered her his arm and they sauntered through Mrs. Doyle’s packed rooms to the back of the house and out onto the veranda, dimly lit by the quarter moon.

The tiny terrace faced a very narrow garden, awash with sweet-smelling, night-blooming jasmine and bound on both sides by tall fences. A small flight of stairs led to a pathway that headed out into the yard. Lord Ainsley steered them down the stairs and into the garden, stopping once they were secluded underneath the garden’s centerpiece, a large weeping willow.

The huge tree, whose branches fell in thin, gently swaying arcs, created a curtain around them, effectively shielding them from anyone looking into the garden. A magic circle where anything might happen. He loosed her arm but kept her hand, turning so he faced her. “I apologize that there is no cherry tree. This is the best I could manage.”

A frenzied trembling overtook Amelia, from her fingers captured in his strong grasp to her stomach, where a thousand butterflies beat their frantic wings. The darkness revealed little about his face, save the intensity of his stare, trained on her mouth. Was he truly going to—

He pulled her to him, until she pressed against the rock-hard body she’d remembered in her dreams. Cradling her head in his hands, he lifted it and guided her lips to his. The touch of their velvety softness broke loose something deep inside Amelia. Something she’d thought had died long ago on a pillow sodden with tears. Now it raised its head and flooded her heart with the love and passion born that night in May so many years ago, fiercer now for having lain dormant.

She seized his head in both hands, pulling him to her, refusing to let go.

He sought entry to her lips with a subtle nudge of his tongue, and she opened immediately, reveling in the joy of having him in her once more. Their tongues tangled then she slid past his and into his mouth, greedy for him, and wanting more, just as she had before. She’d never believed she’d feel this for him again, not after the disappointment and shame he’d put her through. But what person could refuse a glass of water if they were dying of thirst? Much as she would’ve liked to deny it, no man had ever made her feel such passion, or desire, or love. Not Jonathan, and certainly not Mr. Burke. If Ainsley did not marry her this time, she would as soon die as live.

Slowly and carefully, he withdrew from her. Unwilling to give him up after such a short time, she nevertheless fought the urge to cling to him. If he was a man of his word, they would have the rest of their lives to dally thus. At last, she raised her gaze to him, fear and longing warring in her heart.

He cleared his throat and took both her hands. “Miss Burrowes, I know we have not been reacquainted long, and I fear I may be someone to whom you will not wish to give your trust so soon. However, I have at last fulfilled my promise and asked your father leave to court you.” Gazing down at their joined hands, he traced the backs of her knuckles with his thumbs. “I regret I was not allowed to make this declaration ten years ago, but I will make it now with the same ardent desire that you will consent to become my wife.”

Although her trembling had stopped, her bones seemed suddenly unwilling to support her. He had proposed. He still wanted to marry her, even after all this time and in spite of all the vicious lies spread about her. She swayed a little toward him, and he clutched her arms.

“Here, sit on this bench. No one will see.”

A small wrought iron bench sat on the grass outside the circle of willow branches. Still, miraculously, the magic continued, for he was there, holding her hands, looking down at her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.

“Please do not cry, my dear.” He passed her a linen handkerchief that smelled of sandalwood and his own subtle scent.

When she’d wiped her eyes, he knelt and grasped her hands again. “Miss Burrowes, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

Gathering her courage, Amelia squeezed his hands. “I am truly honored that you have asked me this, my lord, but I fear there is a question I must put to you first.”

“Demand of me what you will, my dear.” His smile encouraged her. “I will have no secrets from you.”

Heart in her throat, she forced herself to ask, “Are you proposing to me from a duty you believe you owe me, or do you truly wish to wed me, ruined reputation and all?”

He paused then cocked his head, a strange gleam in his eyes. “Will you refuse me if I say it is from duty alone?”

Now it was her turn to hesitate. She’d been almost certain of his regard for her, especially after the persuasion of his kiss. A wave of despair washed over her, and she worried her bottom lip. How foolish to hope he still cared for her that way, but could she marry him knowing he did not return her affection? Amelia knew the answer before she could even frame the question.

“No, my lord, I will not refuse you. You know I must marry and why, and that my feelings have never been considered in the matter. And although I might wish for a different answer from you, mine will remain the same.” She swallowed hard. “For if you wish to marry me for duty’s sake, then I cannot fault your honor and would not refuse an honorable man.” Perhaps, in time, duty might grow into the affection of old.

“But you did not wait for my answer to your question, Miss Burrowes, before giving your consent.”