Chapter Fourteen

Amelie and I make our way down the halls towards the dining room where we meet William and Arthur each day. Just as we come upon the grand staircase the not-so-subtle tones of an argument fill the space.

"Arthur, we just got here. How can you demand we leave?" The voice of Arthur's mother cries from the doorway.

I turn towards the commotion to see bags being loaded on to a coach. Arthur rubs his head. "For the last time Mother, we are not making you leave. You are being moved to the cottage closer to the village. It is still part of the estate."

Roger sits in a chair by the door, looking quite ill and wincing at the volume of the conversation taking place nearby. Obviously, the aftereffects of the drink are still working their way through his system.

William stands off to the side, supervising the loading of bags onto the coach and looks rather gleeful about the exchange taking place. I cannot help but share his elation, the idea of spending every day until the wedding with them lurking nearby had been an intimidating one.

She pauses and takes a breath. "Which cottage?"

"The largest," Arthur says quickly. "The one with the granite fireplace and closest to town. I have already organised staff to attend you and allocated extra footmen to assist with preparations for the dinners you like to have with your friends while you are here."

Arthur's mother takes in a deep breath, but the fire of argument seems to leave her. "It would be nice to have my friends over for dinner and the cottage is a cozy environment," she concedes.

I lean over to Amelie and whisper, "I have forgotten her name."

She grins at me and my heart pounds in my chest. How can she spark such seeds of desire within me after a full afternoon of sating them? I quickly glance back at the group down the stairs, knowing if I keep looking at her, I will drag her right back into our rooms, and we will miss dinner.

"Arthur's mother is Gwendolyn," she whispers, leaning in close enough that her lips graze my ear with her words and a shiver runs through my body.

"Amelie," I warn in a low voice. "We still have a whole dinner to get through. Do not make it any harder than it already was to leave the privacy of our rooms."

She smiles and says in a sultry voice, "Oh Elizabeth, privacy is not a requirement for me."

I blink at her, and it takes me far too long to realise what she is suggesting. I am both mortified and profoundly excited by the suggestion. I swallow down the confusing combination of feelings as a voice calls out.

"Good evening, ladies," Arthur's voice drifts up the staircase.

I turn to them and Gwendolyn's face pales. "Oh my!" she exclaims as she races up the stairs to take my hand as her eyes roam over the cut to my neck. Her eyes widen as she spots bruising starting to come up on my chest and face from the altercation the night before. "Arthur!" she exclaims. "Why did you not tell us Elizabeth sustained such extensive injuries?"

Roger ambles to his feet and squints up at us. "Lucky for you it seems to have been a botch job. Are you sure you still wish to marry her? She is clearly damaged goods."

Arthur turns on Roger and looks down at the squat man with such a ferocious gaze that a wall could crumble under its intensity. "Sir, you will get into your carriage this minute, or I will put you there myself."

Roger looks outraged, but Arthur's imposing form makes him think better about arguing. Instead, he mutters a slew of indecipherable words that are very likely just as insulting as his earlier statement.

Gwendlyn turns to me, and her eyes are sad. "Arthur is a decent man, a breed of which there are few. I was not as lucky in my marriage arrangements as you are. I cannot apologise enough for my husband's behaviour."

I squeeze her hands. "I hold no ill will towards you," I say gently. "Will you take tea with me tomorrow morning?"

Her face lights up so profoundly it is impossible not to smile back. "I will. Thank you, Elizabeth," she replies in a wobbly voice.

Arthur ascends the stairs and takes his mother's arm, escorting her to the carriage just outside the huge double doors. The smile he gives me lets me know I have pleased him greatly with my behaviour towards his mother.

Amelie and I move down the corridor towards the dining room. Just before we reach the doors I am pushed into a niche behind a statue and Amelie's hands and lips are all over me. I let out a soft groan, my body still aching pleasantly from earlier. I wind my hands into her hair and kiss her back with everything I can muster. It is likely to be hours before I can have my hands on her in this manner again and I intend to not waste a second of this.

The door to the dining room flings open and a servant scurries past in a hurry, completely oblivious to our behaviour in the shadows. We freeze and as the woman disappears from view, we hurriedly straighten our dresses and step back into the candle lit hallway.

Arthur and William round the corner with smiles. Arthur beams at me and takes my hands in his. "You are exquisite in your kindness to my mother."

"She is not to blame for Roger's words or how he behaves while affected by the drink," I say firmly.

His smile is brilliant. "Not many think as you do, and I am blessed to have you as my betrothed."

I force a smile on my face and try to ignore the guilt in my stomach. I do not regret for a moment what I have uncovered and share with Amelie. But I do regret the hurt it would bring Arthur to find out about my indiscreet and unfaithful behaviour. I am growing fond of Arthur, and I do think I will come to love him. But I know in my heart it will only be a shadow of what my feelings are for Amelie.

Together the four of us enter the dining room and settle at the table. The conversation flows naturally as the meal progresses. Across the table Arthur watches me intently while he sips from a glass of mead. An unusual behaviour for him, but the bottle had been gifted at the party the day before and we had it opened for tonight's dinner. I take a sip and the warm honey tones could easily befuddle someone into believing the drink is free of alcohol. I put the glass down, glad we had only been gifted three bottles. It would be far too easy to consume too much of this lovely drink.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asks, gesturing to my injuries.

I swallow as I realise, he must have noticed me squirming in my seat. Which has far more to do with Amelie's hand tracing circles on my thigh than it does from my injuries.

"They are bothersome," I reply glad that it is not a lie. "I am sure they would have been much worse had William and Amelie not been there."

William smiles broadly, on his third cup of mead for the evening and he is delightfully happy. As much as I dislike men drinking, it is actually a treat to see William so happy and relaxed. I chew my lip as the thought occurs to me that his happiness might be more to do with the removal of most people from the estate. I doubt he would have indulged this much if so many people had not been sent away. Arthur looks at him fondly and I can tell he too is delighted to see William relaxed.

"You are happy William," Amelie says with a grin. "A smile makes you infinitely more handsome."

"It is for the best he doesn't always smile," Arthur says with a mock seriousness. "Otherwise, I would have to employ more staff to fend off the maidens that fall for him."

"You would have your pick of wives," I say with a smile.

William roars into laughter and Arthur follows him, both so merry, tears stream from their eyes. I smile at them fondly, their mirth contagious.

"Smile or not," William says. "I doubt any woman would be satisfied with me as a husband."

They fall into laughter once more at what must be an inside joke, but I smile, pleased to see them both in what must be more akin to how they behave together without company.

Amelie nods. "You do have that resting sour face."

William forces his face into a natural expression for which he is failing dismally. "It took many years of practice for that face to occur as naturally as it does." He snickers and the face falls apart as he claps merrily at Amelie. "A woman who can poke fun at a man and take one out. You must be as easily desirable as my resting sour face."

Amelie smiles at the easy banter and Arthur chimes, "It would seem you two are the perfect match, as apparently equally undesirable as you are."

My belly immediately fills with tension at the idea, and I have to fight back the possessive way I want to take her in my arms. The idea that I might have to share her with a husband is not one I tolerate well. Amelie is mine.

Amelie seems to pick up on my tension and the placement of her hand moves closer to the junction of my thighs and my breathing quickens.

"Can you imagine the hordes of people we could put off together as a couple?" she quips fuelling my jealousy.

William's eyes twinkle. "I really dislike most people," he says earnestly. "The idea of our marriage is growing on me."

As her hand presses firmly between my legs I jump at the spike of pleasure that surges through me. I quickly cover my jolt with a cough, and I hurriedly rise to my feet.

"Sorry gentlemen," I say formally. "I find I am tired, and I feel it best to retire for the evening."

Amelie grins mischievously as she rises to her feet.

"See you at breakfast?" Arthur enquires.

"I wouldn't miss it," I say with a smile and practically usher Amelie from the dining hall.

I drag her back to her room and the moment the door closes I press her up against it. Desperate to feel her beneath me. The kiss is messy as I demand everything I can from her, I grip at her dress and tug it firmly.

"You are mine," I say with a growl. "Take this off and get on the bed."

Amelie's eyes twinkle. "Something tells me I am going to like being yours."

Hearing it from her mouth sends a wave of arousal to my already soaking thighs. "Bed," I say firmly. "Now."