Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A melia could not sleep, lying awake in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She did not need to close her eyes to dream of her first kiss, the memory repeating in her mind, making her smile and sigh in turns.

I wonder if he is thinking of it, or if he has put it from his mind.

A restless sensation prickled through her limbs, causing her to toss and turn as if trying to find a comfortable position. But, of course, that was impossible when the discomfort was in her mind instead of her body. Nor would she have called it discomfort; it was more like a muscle that needed stretching, or the tenseness of anxiety before a grand event.

“This is hopeless,” she murmured, sitting up.

She did not feel the least bit tired, though she had enjoyed two glasses of wine with dinner in an attempt to quieten her mind. Lionel had not attended, to her secret disappointment, but she took reassurance from the fact that she knew where he was now.

Always nearby… Her romantic heart ached at the sentiment he had uttered, though she wished he would read some of her most beloved novels to garner an idea or two of what she hoped would come from their marriage.

I am raising my hopes again. I must not do that.

She groaned and held her head in her hands, frustrated by the situation. She was married to the most handsome, protective, generous man, who possessed a great fortune and a family who had—eventually—welcomed her and befriended her, yet she did not know where she stood. And she wanted more, despite the provisos he had set out at the start.

“Am I being greedy?” she muttered, throwing back the coverlets.

She winced as her bare feet touched the icy floorboards, and slid them quickly into her slippers. Yawning, she fetched the winter housecoat that Lionel had procured for her—another sweet gesture that only added to her frustration, and the conundrum of him—and headed out in search of something that would make her sleepy.

The manor was steeped in darkness and silence as she made her way downstairs, the ticking of the clock the only sound that dared to intrude on that eerie quiet. At the Lisbret Estate, she would have been terrified, but here, she felt no fear at all.

As she approached the sanctuary of the library, however, she slowed her pace. A sliver of light spilled out from beneath the door, while the faint sound of a fire crackling made it through the thick wood.

Someone was in there already.

It could only be one of three people—any of whom I would be glad to see, Amelia reasoned, taking a breath and easing the door open gently.

Her gaze fell to the fireplace, half expecting to see Lionel lying there on the floor, tangled in his blankets.

“What have I told you about wandering abroad at night?” his voice rumbled, snapping her attention to the reading chair by the window.

Lionel sat there with one leg up on a footstool, a book splayed open on his lap, his spectacles catching the reflection of the fireplace so that, for a moment, it looked like he had flames in his eyes.

“I could not sleep,” Amelia replied in haste. “I planned to read something until exhaustion overcame me.”

He raised his book up. “Same here.”

She waited for him to dismiss her, telling her to fetch a book and go, but he did not. Instead, he observed her, pushing the bridge of his spectacles though they were already in the correct position. She had forgotten how much she adored those spectacles, softening the harder edges of him.

“There is tea if you want it,” he said, just as the silence between them had thickened to awkward proportions.

Amelia nodded shyly. “Yes, please.” She hesitated, hoping to break the tension. “I thought, perhaps, that you would not think it was an appropriate time for tea.”

“Nonsense.” A faint smile lifted one corner of his lips. “It is always an appropriate time for tea.”

“Except when my brother is here?”

“Except when your brother is here,” he repeated, leaning forward to pour her a cup of tea from the tray that sat upon the side table nearest to him.

She edged further into the room, wondering if it was normal to feel so awkward after a first kiss. If they had spent more of the day with one another, perhaps there would have been no discomfort, but as she had not seen him since, her shyness was in full swing.

Wandering past the first row of bookcases in the vast room, which smelled so gloriously of paper and ink and stories, she selected a book she had been meaning to read—a novel with her own name upon it: Amelia by Henry Fielding.

Holding it to her chest, she went to sit in the reading chair opposite Lionel.

“An interesting choice,” Lionel said, watching her closely as she sat down.

“It is always interesting to read a book that uses one’s name,” she replied, hating how stilted her voice sounded.

He shrugged and reached forward to push the teacup and saucer toward her. As he did, his arm seemed to jerk, turning the movement into a shove. Tea sloshed and Amelia saw the cup threatening to topple, prompting her to lunge to rescue it. She caught it just in time, spilling a little more tea as she righted the cup again.

“I would rather drink it than wear it,” she teased boldly, as heat rushed up from her chest, prickling up her throat. Maybe, one day, she would be able to jest without embarrassment following after, but that was not the day.

Lionel chuckled. “Apologies, Amelia. I fear my arm had fallen asleep, forgetting about the rest of me—a selfish limb indeed, and one that evidently did not like to be rudely awoken.”

She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed softly, for it appeared that Lionel had as peculiar sense of humor as his grandmother and sister.

“Do not do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” she asked, surprised.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do not cover your mouth when you laugh or smile. It is not something that should be hidden.”

And here we are again, turning in confused loops… How could he say such romantic things and not realize that he was raising her hopes? Baron Hervey certainly would not have said such words to her.

She lowered her hand, offering up a shy smile. “It is a habit of mine. I do not know when it began.”

“But I can guess who caused it,” Lionel muttered, his tone harsh for a moment as his eyes flared behind his spectacles. “I do try not to hate people, as a rule, but—forgive me—I cannot abide your brother. I cannot understand any man who does not treat his sister with care and affection.”

Her heart fluttered, prompting her to take a sip from her cup of tea to try and gather herself.

“Rebecca is very lucky,” she said, her throat slightly less dry. “What is more, I believe she knows how lucky she is.”

Lionel mustered a tired smile. “Sometimes, I fear that I spoil her.”

“I do not think that is true, but if it was, there is advantage in it,” Amelia replied, feeling more at ease with each passing minute.

“Oh?”

“Well, you can be certain that she will not settle for a husband who will not treat her well,” Amelia explained. “She has you as an example of what a gentleman should be, and what she deserves in terms of being looked after. Anything less will not be satisfactory to her.”

Lionel’s eyebrows rose a half inch. “I had not thought of that.” He groaned, scrunching his forehead. “Goodness, I do not want to think of that, but she is debuting next year. I do not know that I shall ever be ready to see her leave to another man’s residence, where I cannot know if she is safe and well.”

It warmed Amelia’s heart to hear him speak of Rebecca like that. Lionel cared for his family above all else, and perhaps that was why he continued to come to her defense—she was part of his family now too.

But… it cannot be just that. The kiss returned to her mind and as she gazed at Lionel, watching him sip from his cup of tea, she noticed his gaze flit from her eyes to her lips. She swallowed thickly, hardly daring to hope that such a wondrous moment might happen again. It made her heart race just considering the prospect.