30. The Worst Interruption

THE WORST INTERRUPTION

" O h," Amelia finally managed, keeping her arms around his neck even though she'd lost the ability to hold her legs around him a second longer.

She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd ventured into this hallowed cellar. It would forever be hallowed now. Considering she'd just experienced what could only be defined as a divine awakening.

"Oh?" He wiggled a little and drew back just enough to meet her eyes.

"Again… unexpected." Amelia bit her lip.

"Was it?" He tilted his head sideways and she couldn't resist smoothing a wayward lock of inky hair away from his face.

"And… good." His brows shot up in disbelief. "Very good," she added.

"I didn't plan this," he said. "I think you've broken me."

Amelia smiled up at him, knowing he had more to say, giving him all the time he needed.

"More than that," he said. His voice came out gravelly-sounding. "You've stolen?—"

But he was cut off.

"Mr. Beckworth! Are you down here? You have visitors!" Mr. Stubbs' voice, echoing off the stone walls and floor, was followed by the clack of approaching footsteps, slow, but steady.

Amelia froze. What did a person do in a situation like this? Again, a very important lesson that ought to be included in all propriety lessons. And she wasn't only mortified, but disappointed.

Because Mr. Beckworth had been on the cusp of telling her something. She ached to know what it was.

Meanwhile, his scarred but very capable hands had already lifted her bodice to cover her properly, and then he was fastening the front of his trousers.

He paused long enough to press his mouth against hers.

"Take your time," he said. "Most likely, someone is lost. Or perhaps looking for work. There aren't many who know that I live here."

Dazed, Amelia nodded.

But he was a busy man. And this was home to a smuggling operation, after all.

He smoothed her skirt back down and then seemed to force himself to walk backwards, away from her, toward the stairs.

Was he grinning?

Unexpected indeed.

Staring at the spot where he'd disappeared, Amelia finally gave a little shake of her head.

He'd left again. Not because he wanted to, not this time, but to prevent Mr. Stubbs from walking in on them and seeing… more than any of them would like.

A shocked giggle escaped and she covered her mouth. Ten seconds earlier and the butler certainly would have gotten an eyeful. He would have seen her with Mr. Beckworth standing between her legs.

Even in her wildest dreams, she never could have imagined enjoying the feelings he'd introduced her to.

Twice.

Amelia exhaled a shaking breath and plucked at her thoroughly ruined gown. The bodice had a little tear, and the skirt was wrinkled and damp.

The feeling of wetness between her legs felt like a magical secret.

Brushing at her skirt, she fixed her eyes on the tops of her feet. But she wasn't seeing her ankles, she was reliving the sight of Mr. Beckworth on his knees.

"You're amazing ," he'd said. And then he'd called her " Love" .

But then he'd left.

Because he had to.

Surely, he'd return momentarily.

He'd put his mouth on her. He'd been inside of her.

He'd done… intimate things .

An almost violent shiver rolled through her. Not regret. Not fear. Knowing Mr. Beckworth was near, Amelia was never afraid. At times, she could feel a little embarrassed, true, but… she trusted him to an extent that she'd never trusted anyone.

Otherwise, she never could have allowed…

She hadn't only allowed it, she'd welcomed it, and then…

She'd loved it!

All of it!

She loved being close to him. She loved seeing the teasing look in his eyes. And although they seemed to argue as much as anything, she loved talking with him. Because he listened to what she had to say.

He gave her choices and all of it made her feel alive. It made her feel… real.

And when he smiled, she basked in it. It meant she was special for simply being herself.

But where was he now?

Plenty of time had passed since he'd disappeared up the stairs—more than enough for him to deal with his visitor. Amelia slid to the edge of the table and hopped down to the floor.

Her knees were weak, and she had to use her gown to wipe between her legs, but although her hands were a little shaky, she was otherwise…

Feeling rather wonderful, really.

He would have returned if he could. And although a little voice at the back of her mind offered the idea that he'd already forgotten all about her, she refused to entertain it.

He had called her "Love"!

What would he have said if Mr. Stubbs hadn't interrupted him?

A cool breeze swept in from the tunnel, and she hugged her arms, feeling gooseflesh beneath her fingertips.

She'd discovered something here—a sense of who she could be. Standing in the center of a smuggler's den, it felt fresh and exciting, but also a little fragile.

Even that feeling was precious.

Like a seedling in spring, she'd opened herself up to a whole new world.

Most notably, to Mr. Beckworth. To his world.

Given time, perhaps she'd make friends of Fanny, Bessie. She could eventually take trips into the nearby village—once Mr. Beckworth knew she was safe from whatever he was protecting her from, of course.

She'd found a freedom here that was nonexistent for her anywhere else.

A fluttery sensation tickled her from inside. Whereas before meeting him, she'd been resigned to her future, she actually looked forward to it now.

When she impulsively twirled around, a collection of vibrant colors caught her eye—silks? Pausing, she found herself wondering what else he might have hidden down here.

Amelia looked around, her curiosity rising. She could stand to wait a few more minutes before going upstairs on the off chance that Mr. Beckworth was returning. Why not?

She crossed the room to examine the fabrics and was not disappointed.

A few scraps of damaged silk and threads littered the table, but at one end, someone had stacked several bolts. Noticing fine designs woven into the material, she recognized them as Sarsnet Silk.

She didn't touch them, but peered at the textures closely. These were smuggled goods, smuggled by… the King .

Amelia smiled. She was beginning to understand why he'd been crowned thusly. In this world, in this… underworld, he took care of his kingdom.

And staring at the fabrics, she imagined making a life here. Although she was better at embroidering, she knew how to sew. In fact, she'd sewn a few dresses for herself.

Nothing Miss Henrietta would ever have allowed her to wear in public, but…

Amelia's smile stretched even wider. Miss Henrietta isn't here . The woman might have an apoplexy if she saw what Amelia was wearing today—although her clothing wasn't exactly the worst of her appearance at the moment. Half her hair had escaped her braid. As far as other places on her person…

Quite frankly, Amelia was an absolute mess.

Ruined.

Glancing down at her ankles again, now smudged with grey streaks of dust, Amelia decided that, at the very least, she should go upstairs to take a bath.

She took each step slowly. There was no reason to rush.

But a tantalizing thought made her breath hitch. Tonight, perhaps, Mr. Beckworth might come to her .

But what if he didn't? Amelia dismissed the prickle of doubt. He had called her his " love ".

Opening the door, half-expecting to see Mr. Beckworth shuffling around at the opposite end of the foyer, conversing with some stranger at the entrance, she was met, instead, with a hushed silence.

Perhaps, she reasoned, he hadn't expected her to wait for him to return. Perhaps he'd imagined she'd gone right back to her chamber. The notion made sense. He would have known, more than anyone , that she was more than a little undone.

The entrance to one room in particular called out like a beacon—his study. Would he be waiting for her there? Without stopping to think, she marched over to the door, turned the knob, and stepped across the threshold.

Later, she'd wonder why she hadn't considered that he might not be alone. Later, she'd regret that she hadn't just returned to her chamber.

Unfortunately, she hadn't the benefit of hindsight on her side.

But oh. Oh. This was impossible.

The blood in her veins turned to ice.

Mr. Beckworth was, indeed, inside. But he was not alone. In fact, the picture was rather cozy. Her eyes shot to… familiar red hair and violet eyes. Clementine!

Amelia's estranged cousin rested her hand on the arm of the impeccably dressed man beside her—her husband, Lord Winterhope. Amelia's mother and Miss Henrietta were perched on the settee across from the couple. Upon seeing Amelia, the two older women simultaneously leapt to their feet.

"My lady! What's happened to you?" Miss Henrietta was the first to speak.

Or screech, rather.

"What have you done to her?" Lady Foxbourne demanded, shooting an accusing glare to the lone man seated in a high-backed chair.

Mr. Beckworth.

He scrubbed his hand through his hair, making it even more wild than usual, and his jaw tightened. In a moment that was all too brief, his liquidy dark eyes met hers. His expression, one that she couldn't quite read, was almost haunted. It sent a foreboding shiver down her spine.

Before he could answer, however, a familiar piece of white and black fluff came flying through the air, landing in Amelia's arms and digging in her claws.

"Margie?" she cried, her chin trembling. The cat's warm body, resting in Amelia's arms after all this time, brought joy, but also… confusion.

And then?—

Amelia burst into tears. Not the silent kind, but uncontrollable sobbing that rolled through her entire body. Standing in the open doorway, she must have looked rather tragic.

She felt more emotions than any one person ought to ever experience. Happy to see Clementine and Margie. Horrified to see her mother and Miss Henrietta. And terrified to imagine she was going to lose Mr. Beckworth.

Before her knees could give out, a handkerchief was pressed into her palm. It was Amelia's cousin who offered support, gathering her into her arms.

Clementine , the only real friend Amelia had ever had.

"Oh, Amelia! Don't cry. Everything's going to be all right."

Even with her eyes closed, Amelia recognized Clem's familiar voice. If anything, it made her cry even harder.

"I've missed you so much, Amelia."

Margie, who was not the sort of pet to endure any affection whatsoever, oddly enough, burrowed her head into Amelia's neck.

The calico fur was as much a balm as Clementine's soothing words, even if the cat's claws were digging into Amelia's shoulder.

"I've missed you too," Amelia managed. To Clementine, but also to Margie. But why were they here? And why now?

Only distantly aware of the others still in the room, shuffling awkwardly at the sight of her unseemly display, Amelia gulped on a hiccup.

"What on earth are you wearing?"

The sound of her mother's voice, heavy with disapproval and disgust, shocked Amelia out of her tears. As though it had been summoned from the dead, a snake of shame and humiliation reared its head and slowly wrapped itself around her.

She wasn't acting properly at all. And her clothes , her hair—! Amelia's world—the world she'd been born to—had been turned upside down since meeting Mr. Beckworth. On the heels of her mother's rebuke, it suddenly righted itself.

Wronged itself?

Amelia stiffened and opened her eyes. Looking over Clementine's shoulder, she stared right at Fanny, who had magically appeared and was hovering in the foyer.

When their eyes met, Amelia must have wordlessly conveyed her need. Because the maid was suddenly in the doorway, grasping Amelia's arm. "I've your bath prepared, my lady." Her voice was so soft, so gentle. "Why don't you come with me?"

Amelia had never felt such a massive wave of gratitude, but also relief. She was nowhere near ready to attempt to explain herself, especially not like this. Even as a child, as an infant, her parents had likely never seen her so disheveled, any sign of mess or improper behavior managed by nannies or her governesses.

Why, oh why hadn't she gone up to her chambers to change before barging in here?

For a moment, the room fell silent. Clementine loosened her arms and, meeting Amelia's eyes, nodded.

But first…

Amelia glanced back into the room, but when her gaze landed on Mr. Beckworth, she only saw the top of his head.

Feet flat on the floor, he was leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs with his head hanging just above them.

Look at me.

But he remained staring at something fascinating on his boots.

Look at me .

Nothing.

And suddenly, those niggling doubts became impossible to ignore.

Amelia turned back to Fanny and blinked. "Yes," she said. "I would appreciate that very much, thank you." A bath was precisely what she needed, but she stood frozen in place until Clementine took hold of Amelia's other elbow. Between Clem and Fanny, the two young women provided Amelia with all the support she needed to climb upstairs to her chamber.

What now?

Unfortunately, the answer was clear.

Because he had always told her.

This was only temporary.