Sylvia Day: Passion for Him

“Mitchell stayed,” he said to Amelia, as they strolled through the rear garden.

“Oh.”

She stared straight ahead. With a sigh, he drew to a halt, which forced her to do the same.

“Talk to me, Amelia. That has always been the core strength of our friendship.”

With a shaky smile, she canted her body to face his. “I am so sorry to have done this to you,” she said remorsefully. “If I could go back and alter the events of this last week, I would. I would go back years and have married you long ago.”

“Would you?” He tugged her closer, and set his hands lightly on her hips. Behind her, a profusion of climbing roses hugged an archway that led to a pond. Dandelion seeds drifted in the breeze, creating an enchanting backdrop for an enchanting woman.

“Yes. All these years I mourned him and he was thriving.” Something deliciously like a growl escaped her. “He finds it far too easy to leave me behind. I am sick of being left behind. First my father, now Colin.”

Amelia wrenched away and began to pace, her long legs moving with a lithe, determined elegance.

“I have never left you,” he said, pointing out what he knew to be his greatest strength. “I enjoy your company far too much. There are precious few people in this world about whom I feel similarly.”

“I know. Bless you. I love you for that.” She managed a brief smile. “That is what has decided my mind. You will be steadfast and supportive. You do not seek to be someone you are not. You inspire me to be decorous and deport myself in a manner befitting a lady. We rub along well together.”

Ware frowned, considering. “Amelia. I should like to discuss your thoughts on decorum and deportment in greater detail. Forgive me, but I find it rather odd to mention those traits as being most attractive. I would think our friendship and ease of association would lure you most.”

She halted, her pale green skirts settling gently around her feet. “I have come to realize something these past days, Ware. I have reckless tendencies, just as Welton did. I require a certain environment in order to restrain those selfish impulses.”

“And I provide this environment.”

Amelia beamed at him. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

“Hmm…” He rubbed his jaw. “And Mitchell inspires your reckless nature?”

“‘Goads’ would be a more apt word choice, but yes, he does.”

“I see.” Ware smiled wryly. “His role sounds more fun than mine.”

“Ware!” She looked affronted, which made him laugh.

“Sorry, love. I must be honest. In one breath, you point out that I do not seek to be someone I am not-in opposition, I presume, to Mr. Mitchell. Then in the next breath, you say that I inhibit a part of your nature that you are not proud of. Is that not seeking to be someone you are not…in a fashion?”

Her lower lip quivered in that way it had when she was upset. She set her hands on her hips and demanded, “Do you want me to be with him?” she cried. “Is that what you are saying?”

“No.” All traces of amusement left him, and he bared the emotions he kept hidden below the surface. “I do not think he is the man for you. I do not think he deserves you. I do not believe he can provide a life that would content you. But that does not mean I want to live with only half of you.”

Amelia blinked. “You are angry.”

“Not at you,” he said gruffly, reaching for her again. He gripped her by the elbows and pulled her close. “But I may eventually become so and I do not want that. I resent that I can have only the one side of you. If you choose me, Amelia, I can make you happy. The question left is whether you can make me happy, and I wonder if that is possible if I am forever waiting for the return of that precocious girl who asked me to kiss her.”

“Ware…”

She cupped his cheek with her hand, and he nuzzled into it, inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle that clung to her.

“I do not deserve you,” she whispered.

“Is that not what Mitchell said to you?” he asked, altering his hold to embrace her fully. Resting his cheek against her temple, he said, “I will leave you now. I have arrangements to make, and you require time to think.”

“I do not want you to fight him.”

“It is too late to change that end, Amelia. But I demand first blood, nothing more.”

He felt relief relax the tautness of her spine. “Thank you,” she said.

Ware brushed away the lone tear that stained her cheek, and stepped back.

“I am available to you at all times. Do not hesitate to seek me out if you have a need.”

Amelia nodded, and watched Ware turn about and head toward the manse. When he disappeared from her view, she glanced around her, feeling lost and alone. No one knew how she felt, how deeply wounded she was by Colin’s reappearance after all these years.

She stilled, her heartbeat stumbling for a moment over a sudden realization.

There was one person who loved Colin as she had. One person who would be equally devastated by his betrayal.

Knowing Pietro would need comfort as she did, Amelia lifted her skirts and hurried toward the stables.

Francois Depardue assumed a vaguely bored expression as he entered the inn in Bristol. He took the stairs to the guest rooms above and knocked on the appropriate door. A shout of permission for entry was heard from the interior, and he answered it by stepping inside.

“Well?” Cartland asked impatiently, glancing up from the maps he had spread across the small, round table.

It was with great effort that Francois bit back an angry retort. With every day that passed, he disliked the brash, arrogant Englishman more and more. He’d argued with and then begged his superiors to have Cartland held in custody until he could ascertain who was truly guilty of Leroux’s murder, but to no avail.

If he is lying, they said, he will be close at hand for you to eliminate .

They had insisted that Cartland join the search, and the Englishman had immediately assumed that he was in charge. He was an excellent tracker and even better killer, but those skills were tempered by his mistaken belief in his own superiority.

“It appears that Mitchell will be staying with Lord Ware. The manse is heavily guarded for some distance around. I would guess that is due to the presence of Christopher St. John.”

Cartland smiled. “The earl is likely concerned that Mitchell will flee like the coward he is before the challenge can be met.”

“So you say,” Francois said.

The Englishman’s features darkened. “I think the presence of Mademoiselle Rousseau has spoiled your temper.”

Lysette. Francois smiled at the thought of her. Once, she had been harmless, but he and his men had ensured that she would never be harmless, or innocent, again. Aside from his sincere desire to see justice brought to Leroux’s killer, his one pleasure in this miserable assignment was the thought of crossing paths with Lysette again.

His blood heated in anticipation. She would fight him, she always did, and she improved with every encounter. The harder she resisted him, the more he enjoyed it. Now that the Illuminés , on whose behalf she worked, had tasked her with ensuring either Cartland or Mitchell paid for Leroux’s death, he imagined his inevitable domination of her body would be that much sweeter.

Perhaps the Illuminés thought he would welcome their assistance, but he did not like being second-guessed, which was how he viewed their interference.

“Do you have any suggestions for how we should proceed?” Francois asked.

“We could possibly lure the bulk of the guards away, using me as bait. Then we can attack the manse at night and kill him.”