Sylvia Day - Passion for Him

“But that will not tell me who is guilty, will it?”

Pushing to his feet, Cartland snapped, “I am obviously innocent, or they would not have sent me to find Mitchell!”

“Why, then, is Mademoiselle Rousseau here?” Francois smiled. “You think she is merely present to observe and support my efforts? Surely you are not so stupid. It was well planned to send you with me and Quinn with her. Nothing has been left to chance. You think your spy”-he gestured to the stocky man in the corner with a jerk of his chin-“gives you an advantage, but you are wrong.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Cartland’s face flushed.

Francois debated a moment, then shrugged. “Mitchell is dueling over a woman. Perhaps she is the key to his confession.”

The Englishman paled. “You think to take St. John’s sister-in-law? Are you insane?”

“Surely he cannot be as fearsome as is rumored,” Francois scoffed.

“You’ve no notion,” Cartland muttered. Then his features took on a mien of wily determination. “Then again…perhaps you are right.” He smiled smugly. “I will think of a way. Give me time.”

Francois shrugged, but inwardly he was making his own plans. “Fine. I will go eat downstairs. Either of you care to join me?”

“No. We both have work to do.”

“As you wish.”

Cartland watched Depardue leave with a narrowed glance.

“He is becoming more trouble than he is worth,” he muttered. “Since killing him myself is out of the question, we must find another way to hasten the man to his reward.”

“Send him to capture the girl, then,” Jacques replied easily. “Since it was his idea, he should not object.”

Grinning, Cartland considered the beauty of the plan. If Mitchell or St. John took care of Depardue for him, it would only strengthen his own protestations of innocence.

“Can you arrange for him to gain entry?”

“Mais oui.”

“Excellent. See to it.”

Amelia found Pietro leading a bridled horse from the nearby corral to the stable yard. For a long moment, she was struck dumb by the resemblance he bore to Colin. With her memories of her childhood love arrested in the past, she had not noticed before. Now that she had seen him as a man, the similarities were unavoidable and agonizing. Tears welled, and though she tried to blink them back, they were plentiful and blurred her vision. She wiped them angrily away.

“Miss Benbridge.” Pietro looked at her with commiseration in his dark eyes. “It hurts. I know.”

She nodded. “How are you faring?”

“I’m angry,” he admitted, “but grateful to have him back. If you still love the boy he was, perhaps you feel the same?”

“I am glad he is alive,” she managed. “Is there anything you need?”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “It is sweet of you to think of me during this time. I can see why he adores you as he does.”

Her face heated at the gentle praise.

“He has loved you a long time, Miss Benbridge.” Pietro’s deep, slightly accented voice soothed her, though his words did not. “From the beginning, I tried to discourage him, but he wouldn’t listen. I think it says a great deal that you both care so deeply for each other after all these years apart.”

“That does not change the fact that he feels inferior to me”-she released a shaky breath-“or that I do not like the person I become trying to convince him of his worth.”

He watched her for a long moment, then nodded. “Will you help me?”

“Of course.” Amelia stepped closer. “What do you need?”

“Can you lead this horse into the stable for me? I have a few more to round up before the sun sets.”

She accepted the proffered reins. The smile he gave her was strange, but presently everything in her life felt odd.

“Thank you,” he murmured, then walked away.

Amelia turned and moved through the open stable door. The moment she stepped inside, she realized Pietro’s intent. She paused, her breath caught in a mixture of surprise and volatile lust.

Colin worked with his back to her, but his identity was never in question. His torso was bare, his legs clad in worn coarse breeches, his calves hugged lovingly by polished Hessians. Powerful muscles bunched and flexed beneath sweat-sheened skin as he stroked a brush rapidly over a horse’s flanks.

The sudden assailment of memories from their youth almost brought her to her knees. The sight of scratches left by her nails in the golden flesh added a carnal claim to his beautiful body that she longed to enforce.

As she watched, he stilled. Her exhale was a pant, and his head swiveled to face her in a lightning quick movement.

“Amelia.”

He straightened and pivoted, baring the chest she had worshipped with both mouth and hands.

Dear God, he was divine. So handsome and virile, he made her heart ache.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Utterly.”

Colin flinched and stepped toward her.

“Please do not come closer,” she said.

His jaw tightened and he halted. “Stay. Talk to me.”

“What is there to say? I heard your reasons. I understand why you acted as you did.”

“Is there hope for us? Any at all?”

She shook her head.

Agony transformed his features. “Look at me,” he said in a broken voice. “Look at where we are. This is where I would be if I had not left-tending St. John’s horses while you lived your life in a manse I am not allowed to enter. How could we have been together? Tell me that.”

Amelia covered her mouth to stifle a sob.

“What if I gave it all away?” His words were laced with a desperation that broke her heart into even smaller pieces. “What if I resumed my place as a servant in your household? Would you have me then?”

“Damn you,” she cried, her shoulders straightening in self-defense. “Why must you change yourself to suit me? Why can you not simply be who you are?”

“This is who I am!” He spread his arms wide. “This is the man I have become, but he is still not what you want.”

“Who cares what I want?” She stalked toward him. “What about what you want?”

“I want you!”

“Then why are you so quick to leave my side?” she snapped. “If you want me, fight for me. Do it for you, not for me.”

Amelia thrust the reins at him.

He caught her hand and held it. “I love you.”

“Not enough,” she whispered, yanking free. Then she turned and ran from the stable in a flurry of skirts and lace.

Colin stared after her for long moments, attempting to reason what more he could do, what more he could say to win her love back. He had done everything, lost everything…

A dark shape filled the doorway, and he pushed his roiling emotions aside. “St. John.”

The pirate stared at him with knowing eyes. “There was a lone rider spotted on a hill nearby. He is being followed back to town.”

Colin nodded. “Thank you.”

“Supper will be served shortly.”

“I do not think I can bear it.” The thought of the façade he would have to wear while Ware publicly laid claim to Amelia was too much.

“I will make your excuses, then.”

“I owe you a great deal.”

St. John hesitated a moment, then stepped farther inside. “Did you ever have the misfortune to meet Lord Welton?”

“Once. Briefly.”

“What do you recall about him? Any impressions that lingered?”

Frowning, Colin thought back to the long-ago day. “I remember thinking he had no warmth in his eyes.”

“Nothing like Miss Benbridge.”

“Bloody hell. Nothing like her at all.”

“Yet she seems to think they are similar creatures,” St. John murmured. “Or at least that she is capable of becoming more similar. Any action she takes that is prompted by her desires rather than her reason is a suspected weakness.”