“Go on upstairs and get some proper rest. Should I send a note over in the morning to Lady Penrod about Amanda?”
“No. I believe we have burned that bridge this night. Evidently, Amanda’s maid ran off with one of your footmen, probably back to the old woman to report. In fact, we may have no place to go after tonight, Fitz. Is it still all right if we stay here on a temporary basis?”
“Do you even need to ask?” He shook his head. “She saved Elizabeth’s life tonight, Fitz, as well as my son’s. I’m sure of it. You both can live here as long as you desire.”
As Fitzwilliam was stretching his arms and long legs, he barked his laughter. “Thank you, Cousin, but I’m certain you’ll wake to regret that offer. The fact is, though, that the marriage cannot be hidden anymore. We’re well in the soup now, and in a way, I am glad of it.”
“I don’t know how we can ever thank you, and especially Amanda. When I think what might have happened here last night…” Darcy’s voice began to break when suddenly he laughed. “He is so big, Richard! You have to see his skinny feet. I can’t believe he came from my little Lizzy. He’ll tower over you and me one day.”
“He is here and healthy, and that’s all the counts, brat. Thank God this ordeal is over.” When Fitzwilliam turned to wake Amanda, he found her sleeping soundly. She had fallen facedown and was snoring on the spot where he had been sitting. He shook her shoulder to wake her. “The entire household was vying for the happy task of blowing your brains out if this had gone on any longer.”
Chapter 8
Wearing a borrowed nightgown from Elizabeth that was both too short and too tight, Amanda fussed about Harry’s bed for a final “tuck in and hug tight,” although the recipient of all her motherly attentions was already dead to the world.
The little boy had not awakened when Fitzwilliam carried him up the stairs—so exhausted that he did not wake when he was laid down on his little bed or when his mother undressed him and slipped a nightshirt on him. Amanda watched her son as he slept, an angel still new and innocent and sweet. If only they had been able to slip away tonight . If only she could be free, even for a moment, of the terror of losing him, a terror so overwhelming that she was sorry her husband had even awakened her.
She was both emotionally and physically exhausted from the day’s events, her mind a jumbled mush with nightmarish visions of her boy being ripped from her arms, her boy screaming for her, her boy suffering because of her weakness of loving another.
The reality was that any hope for escape was probably finished. She had long suspected that servants had been watching her, waiting for her to cross the mistress. Someone would be rewarded handsomely this night. They would not wait until the mistress returned from her holiday party, she would be told immediately. The authorities would come in the morning to take away her son, and she would be forced to beg permission to return with him to Penwood House.
Once more her existence would be solitary, alone for years in that wretched house. In fact, the loneliness would be even worse now. Richard had opened a door for her to a life unimagined, a life with a passionate, caring partner. It was a life she could not openly live, if at all, for years to come, and then only if Richard was willing to wait for her.
Who was she trying to fool? After this night, they would be lucky to meet at all, let alone like thieves, sneaking around to steal forbidden moments. How long could he wait for her? Why would he wait for her? She ached only for what every other woman seemed to have and she could not: a home and a family. With growing melancholy, she steeled herself to the obvious. There could only be this night as a family, as a normal couple together.
Fitzwilliam looked distracted and tired after having spoken at length with Darcy. He was wearing Darcy’s borrowed night robe, brandy stains and all. He reached his hand out to Amanda. “Come on to bed now, love.” After kissing Harry’s cheek, she nodded kindly to the nursemaid who would keep watch over her son during the night, and then they walked silently into Richard’s usual room.
He closed the door and went immediately to the desk to take up a large stack of letters waiting for him, turning up the lamp light to read them. There was correspondence from the War Department, from Wellington, from his father. All demanded his immediate attention, all were questioning his whereabouts for the past month, all had their own anxieties, their own requests of him.
“Are you coming to bed soon, Richard?” Amanda sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, seeing the concern in his eyes, or the humor, or the aggravation, depending upon whose letter he was reading. Her heart calmed suddenly when she realized there was one good thing to come of all this tragedy. At least he would be safe. At least now he would not be made to sacrifice so much.
“In a moment, dear.” He pulled his chair out and sat, taking up his pen to give his response to the more urgent of the letters.
Amanda retrieved his clothes still lying where he had dropped them. She folded them and placed them neatly onto the chair. She waited and watched for her husband to come to bed, refusing to sleep this last night.
There were only a few hours until dawn when he finally pulled the covers back. Although a fire blazed, the room felt damp and cold. Amanda’s gentle fingers touched his mouth.
“I thought you were asleep already, Amanda. You were so tired. Why don’t you try to rest?”
Instead she reached for him, pulled him down, began to kiss his neck, his ear, and then began to nip at his shoulder, her hand moving slowly down his chest and stomach.
His breathing stopped. Concern fought with lust as he gathered her tightly into his embrace. “Amanda, you’re trembling.” His voice sounded rough. She had been through so much, and this boldness was very unlike her. He smoothed the hair from her face, sighing and confused. She had so many different moods, this new wife of his, with so many mercurial emotions concerning sex that they baffled him. Sometimes, when she seemed the most amorous, it was actually just a plea for comforting. Sometimes it was simply from insecurity, sometimes lust. There were preferences for how and where, preferring curtains pulled tightly and total darkness, clean sheets, a tidy room. Certain positions took a little coaxing, but with enough prior notice could be accommodated.
On the other hand, he knew that men needed absolutely no excuse for sex nor did they care a whit where or when or how. It was all to the good and very basic.
Her hand continued its achingly slow descent.
The South of France saluted.
Responding immediately, Fitzwilliam moved her body beneath his, gently drawing her long, silky legs about his waist. He grasped her bottom, and his breathing quickly turned to panting. She whispered his name over and over, reverently, like a prayer between kisses that rapidly became fierce and savage and hungry.
He rose up on his elbows to take some of his weight from her, but she urgently shook her head. “Come back,” she whispered.
“Amanda,” he said hoarsely, “I’m too big… the baby. I’ll smother you both. Let me at least support myself a little.”
She grabbed at him, clutching and pulling until his beautiful mouth was again on hers, and then he was inside her again and carefully pressing her deeply, rhythmically into the bed, but she wanted to feel covered, protected, possessed. She grabbed at him desperately, moving her hips until it rendered him helpless and unthinking, and he soon forgot his much larger size and weight, forgot her delicate condition, forgot the boy and nurse in the next room, forgot that he was a guest in his cousin’s home or that there were innocent people living in respectable homes outside their window. He growled and yelled, and his body soon trembled its release. Finally, they lay there, breathing as one.