He placed a hand under her chin and tilted her face to his. “September. I’ll die if I have to wait any longer than that to fully claim you.”
She settled back against him, contentment settling over her. Yes, he did care for her, perhaps even loved her. Even if he never said the words, she knew the truth.
Chapter 33
It was still darkwhen John woke. If there was one habit that had stayed with him from his many years in the army, it was his ability to survive on only a few hours of sleep. He wasn’t sure he’d ever experience a full night of uninterrupted sleep again. At least the nightmares had lessened in intensity as the months passed.
He glanced over at Amelia. At some point she’d shifted in her sleep and now lay with her back to him. She’d raised the sheet to cover her upper body, but his penchant for tossing back his sheets had bared her back. His eyes traveled down the long line of her spine, which disappeared beneath the bedclothes that still covered her hips. He wanted to wake her, bury his hands in the wild curls that spread out over her pillow, and take her again.
But he couldn’t risk getting caught in her bedchamber. He’d already risked having her fall with child. He’d taken precautions, but from what he’d been told, it wasn’t a guaranteed method of preventing pregnancy. He shouldn’t have come here tonight, but he couldn’t stand the idea of not having one last night with her before he was forced to keep his distance.
He dressed quickly, frowning as he thought about the two months that needed to pass before they could wed to stanch the gossip. But he’d lived through worse. Soon enough, they would be married and would never again be separated.
Perhaps he should leave the estate and take up rooms at the nearest inn.
He glanced once more at Amelia, trying to paint a picture of her in his mind to carry him through the next two months. When he finally dragged his eyes away, his gaze fell on the stack of papers on her bedside table. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and the moonlight streaming through the windows meant he could peek at what she’d written.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he rose from the bed, scooped up the pages, and walked over to the window.
And still he hesitated. He wasn’t sure why since she hoped to have the book published. Everyone would then be able to read it, including him. And she had told him he would be able to read it.
He glanced down at the top sheet and began to read. Confusion swept through him when he realized this wasn’t the beginning of the book. Instead, it was a list of things he’d said to her over the period of their acquaintance. He flipped through the first few pages and found notes on what he’d worn at times and how he’d looked at her. His heart froze when he reached the last phrase of the list—John and I make love for the first time.
Perhaps this was a journal of sorts, a way for her to keep track of everything that happened between them. He didn’t want to turn to the next page, but at that point he couldn’t stop. He had to make sure these were simple recollections on her part and not something much, much worse.
He turned the page and began to read when he sawChapter Onewritten at the top. And stopped when he realized it was a fictionalized retelling of what had happened that night at the tavern. Oh, the heroine was different, and Amelia hinted at a character backstory that was vastly different from her own. One of a woman reduced to poverty and who had no alternative but to accept work that was far below her station. But when a man stepped in to save her from the unwelcome advances of one of the patrons, she’d captured him in some detail.
A gasp from behind told him that Amelia had woken. Careful, lest he give in to the impulse to do something childish, he shuffled the pages so they were in order again, using the time to rein in his anger. He returned to her bed and deposited the manuscript on the bedside table.
She didn’t speak as he began to dress. When he’d donned his trousers and shirt, he turned to face her again.
One hand held the bedsheet to her chest while the other was curled against her mouth. Most of her color had drained from her face.
“I see now why you didn’t want me to read this.”
She made a sound of distress and scrambled from the bed. He waited, hating how much he still wanted her as he watched her slip on her nightdress and scramble around the side of the bed to face him.
“It isn’t what it appears—”
“Really? Because what it looks like is you wrote about me in your novel.”
She winced. “At first, yes, but when I started writing that book, I didn’t know who you were. You were just a handsome stranger who’d acted gallantly, and I couldn’t shake the certainty that you would make the perfect hero. Or at least my impression of the character based on those few moments of interaction we’d had.”
He hadn’t realized his jaw was clenched so tightly until he barked out a short laugh. “Really? And what about the notes you took, capturing my very words after I arrived at Brock Manor? Now I know why you were constantly taking out that notebook and jotting notes whenever we were together.”
“I planned to change all that. I got carried away. You were the perfect hero and…” She spread her hands in defeat. “It was foolish, but I will be taking all that out.”
“Is that the reason you wanted to make love to me that day? So you could gather moreresearchfor your novel?” The way she flinched at his words told him his guess had been correct. “Tell me, Amelia, are you taking those things out because it’s the right thing to do? Or because I caught you at your game?”
She was trembling, and he hated that he had to curb the desire to take her into his arms and soothe her hurt. He was the injured party here, not her.
“That was a list of things I need to go change when I edit the book. I was swept up in everything that was happening between us and failed to place proper distance between my feelings and what I was trying to capture for the story. But Iwillbe making those changes.”
When she started to step forward, he held up a hand to stop her. “We need some time apart so cooler heads can prevail. I have to leave before anyone finds me in your bedchamber.”
He was no longer that young man who’d run away without his family’s knowledge and joined the army. He wanted—no, heneeded—to sort out this mess with Amelia. But not right now. He couldn’t speak about this while he wasn’t in control of his emotions. He needed to wait until the initial shock had worn off.
She locked her gaze onto his for several long moments, during which he couldn’t move. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down at the floor. “I can break the engagement—”