Amelia embraced her again, and her mother patted her back and stroked her hair as she had when Amelia was a child. It was comforting and exactly what she needed in that moment. “You said you love me more than anyone else,” her mother said. “But I wonder if there isn’t someone beginning to take up a portion of your heart.”
Amelia groaned. “I don’t want to speak about Lord Nicholas.” She pulled back.
“That’s fine. You are a grown woman, and I don’t want to pry. Should we go over the seating charts again?”
Not the seating charts. “I am starting to care for him,” Amelia said. Her mother set down the sheet with the drawing of the table on it.
“That’s only natural, of course.”
Amelia could appreciate that she didn’t point out that Amelia had said only a moment before that she didn’t wish to discuss the matter.
“I’m definitely”—she looked down at her dress, twisting the chocolate brown fabric between her fingers—“in love with him.”
Her mother gasped. “Oh, but this is good news. Amelia—”
Amelia held up a hand. “He still doesn’t feel the same.”
Her mother frowned and tilted her head to one side. “Why do you say so? Has he been unkind?”
She shook her head. “Nothing like that, no.” In fact, he was always solicitous of her, always complimenting her, telling her he wanted her. Those words were lovely, but not the three she longed to hear. “But he hasn’t said he loves me.”
“And you have told him?”
“I’ve not said it directly, but I’ve intimated as much.”
“Why haven’t you said it? If you do love him, why not tell him?”
Amelia shrugged. “Fear, I suppose? What if he doesn’t say it back?”
“Oh, chances are, he won’t say it back.”
“Mama!”
“Not because he doesn’t feel the same about you, but because he may not realize it yet. Or he may not be ready to risk his heart by saying it.”
“But I should risk my heart?”
“If you love him, yes. Give him your heart. Trust him with it, and in time, he may give you his as well.”
“In time.” Amelia made a face.
“Patience, my dear.”
“I hate being patient,” Amelia said.
“You always did. Now”—she lifted the drawing of the table again—“one last look at the seating chart.”
Amelia sighed and took the paper.
IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT by the time she retired to her bed chamber and allowed a sleepy O’Malley to undress her. As she was used to country hours, she was exhausted and equally excited and nervous about the following day. Nicholas’s friends and fellow Survivors would all be arriving. Some had probably been traveling for several days already. She’d finally meet the men she’d heard about—and she’d have to entertain them and their wives for the next week. What if it rained every day and they were stuck inside? What if Nicholas disappeared as he always did when there were too many people about? What if Mr. Beaumont was discovered and the magistrate knocked on their doors?
“Good night, my lady,” O’Malley said, stifling a yawn.
Amelia realized she was dressed in her nightrail and robe and her hair was plaited. She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even spoken to her poor lady’s maid.
“Good night. Thank you.”
O’Malley closed the door behind her, and Amelia blew out the candle at her dressing table, leaving only the lamp beside her bed. She rose, starting for the bed, then glanced at the door separating her chamber from Nicholas’s. Should she go to him? She didn’t know if he had retired. She’d seen him briefly at dinner and he’d mentioned that he needed to have a word with the vicar after dinner, which meant he had escaped the endless conversation about the house party that had dominated everything else between Florentia, Amelia, and Mrs. Blackstock the past few days.
Had he gone to bed already? Usually, she waited for him to come to her. But what had her mother said about risk? She started for the door then paused. She really was tired. Perhaps she should tell him how she felt tomorrow. Yes. She would just bid him good night. She went to the door and tapped on it.
“Come in.” His reply was immediate, almost as though he’d been waiting for her to knock.
She lifted the latch and peered inside. Nicholas sat in a chair near the fire, dressed in a robe over his trousers, book in hand.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I wanted to tell you good night.”
“Come here,” he said. She entered, leaving her door open, and crossing to him. There weren’t any other chairs beside him, so she stood awkwardly. “I should apologize,” he said.
“Why?”
“I ran away. I don’t usually shy from a battle, but I couldn’t bear to hear one more word about the house party tonight.”
“And now you feel guilty.”
“A bit.” He reached out and took her hand. “To ease my conscience, I thought I would ask if you need me to do anything tomorrow before the deluge of guests begin to arrive. Florentia mentioned going over the meals with Cook one last time. I could do that.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling at the face he made.
“Even if I agreed to that, your sister would insist on doing it herself. I think she rather enjoys this sort of thing.”
“She does,” he said in a tone of incredulity. “You must be tired.”
She nodded, looking into his eyes. She forgot all about her exhaustion when she was near him, when she looked at him.
“Come here,” he said again, and this time he tugged her into his lap. She went and was surprised when he didn’t shift her to straddle him. Instead, he put his arms around her. Amelia closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
“Are you nervous?” she asked. “To see all of your friends again after so long?”
“No. War makes men brothers. No matter how long has passed, whenever we see each other, there will always be a bond.” He paused for a moment. “Now, their wives... Some of them make me a bit nervous.”
She smiled. “All of them make me nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “You have an easy way with people. It’s hard not to like you. I probably won’t be able to find a moment alone with you once the guests arrive. You’ll be far too popular.”
“I’ll always have time for you, my lord,” she teased. Her heart was pounding, and she knew if she didn’t say it now, she would give in to cowardice and not say it at all. She looked up at him. “Nicholas?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
He didn’t stiffen. He didn’t have any reaction for a very long moment. Amelia wondered if she had made a huge mistake. Now she’d made things awkward between them. She started to pull away, to get to her feet, but Nicholas pulled her closer. Then he lowered his mouth to kiss her forehead. She looked up at him again, and his mouth met hers in a slow kiss that made heat rush into every part of her, from the top of her head to the tip of her smallest toe. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and the kiss deepened. She loved kissing him, loved how everything but his mouth and the feel of his body against hers melted away in these moments. The kiss might have gone on for seconds or hours. She had no idea.