Wrapped in Red (Colors of Scandal, #4) Read online

  “Reading is so pedestrian,” Lady Eaton clucked as she maneuvered behind him. “This will be good for you.”

  Amelia frowned. She rather adored a well-read man.

  Lady Eaton put the makeshift blindfold about his face and over his eyes then tied it behind his head. “Can you see, Lord Winchester?” Now there was a purr in her voice as she slid a not-so-subtle hand along his back.

  “I cannot.” It sounded as if he’d uttered the reply from around gritted teeth.

  “Good.” The widow kept a hand on his arm as she turned him about. She went so far as to squeeze her fingers, where his muscles no doubt flexed.

  A stab of something went through Amelia’s chest. Surely it wasn’t jealousy. He was nothing to her, but she narrowed her eyes anyway.

  Lady Eaton pulled the marquess into the middle of the circle. “Everyone, change seats. And no talking, remember.”

  The players did as asked with an awful lot of talking and laughing. Amelia took one of the last open chairs.

  With another blatant pet of his arm, Lady Eaton let the marquess go and claimed a vacant chair. “You may proceed, my lord.”

  “I can only hope this goes quickly,” he muttered. Cornelius didn’t move for a few seconds. Instead, he cocked his head as if listening to every little sound throughout the room.

  Amelia held her breath in anticipation. The man had been a celebrated spy in his heyday, before he’d been injured. What skills would he employ to win at this game? A rush of excitement flowed over her to see him in action. She shifted slightly, and the rasp of her carnelian satin skirts echoed loudly in her ears.

  He cocked his head to the other side, and then he moved.

  First, he lurched to the left side of the circle. Men and women pulled their feet away from his path. He extended a hand and cocked his head once more. What the deuce was he listening for? Two seconds later, he went toward the right side of the circle. There, he paused again. Amelia held her breath even as her heartbeat pounded out an erratic rhythm. Cornelius approached her location. He stopped in front of her and a tiny smile curved his sensuous lips.

  Did he know she was there, or was he simply enjoying the guessing game?

  She couldn’t help staring at his mouth, and her thoughts turned scandalous. Would he kiss with the same passion as he had all those years ago? He used to have this way of giving her long, drugging kisses that made her forget her own name. If they were alone together right now, would he take claim of her body with all-consuming desire as he had back then? Dear God, her body tingled while she imagined what it would feel like to have his arms around her and enjoy the press of his body against hers.

  At the last second, she remembered to stifle the moan that lodged in her throat.

  When Cornelius dropped to one knee before her—his other leg straightened stiffly behind him—Amelia tamped down on the urge to gasp. As he laid a hand on her satin-covered leg, she trembled. Heat twined through her body from the point of contact. She hardly dared to breathe, for that would give away the game. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lightly danced his fingers upward, over her knee, along her thigh. Was it her imagination, or did he pause a second too long? Then those fingers walked with a feather-light touch upward over her chest until they made a barely-there path that followed the curve of her bodice.

  Awareness of him pulsed through her body. Gooseflesh popped over her skin. She could do nothing except watch him and his blindfolded face as he continued to explore.

  With that maddening smile curving his lips, he moved his fingers along her left shoulder. Then he delved upward until he cupped her cheek.

  I can’t breathe! Not when it was agony knowing his touch but not able to do anything about it, to remember what those hands, those fingers, were capable of and not having the freedom or the courage to ask him to go further. Stop it, Amelia. You already know why you can’t invite him to do anything of that nature.

  “Most remarkable,” he said, and the rumble of his voice released butterflies into the pit of her stomach. “I can’t yet identify this person, but I’m quite certain it is not my son.”

  Low laughter circled about the game players.

  Amelia’s full attention was trained on the man kneeling before her. She resisted the impulse to snuggle into his palm. The warmth of him, the scent of him—crisp Alpine air before the snow flew—worked together to set her at sixes and sevens. Oh, it was madness to sit motionless and remember!

  She froze while he dared to draw the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. Wild sensation streaked through her body. The hunger for him that she’d never quite managed to banish ramped. One of the game players gasped, for what he’d done really was scandalous. A sharp lance of need speared her chest. An echoing tingle made itself known between her thighs. Her breathing accelerated. Surely, he could hear.

  “Ah ha.” Cornelius surged to his feet but bent close to her. He touched his nose to her hair and took a sniff. Once more he drew gentle fingers down the side of her face. His was so near to hers now the heat of him seeped into her skin. “Lilacs, I’ll wager.” As he spoke, his lips brushed the curve of her cheek. “Very nice indeed.”

  Amelia fairly vibrated in her chair. If this nonsense continued for too much longer, she’d surely embarrass herself. When she inhaled a breath in preparation for calling off the game, Cornelius stood upright.

  He backed away from her and clasped his hands behind his back. “I believe that person to be none other than Lady Amelia.”

  “Well done, Lord Winchester,” Lady Eaton called over the laughter and approval of the players. “Let me relieve you of that blindfold.”

  Amelia’s heart pounded hard. She wilted slightly now that the anticipation had faded. As the cravat fell away from his face, she met his twinkling gaze. A knowing gleam appeared in those stormy blue-gray eyes. A decided smirk curved his mouth that had her once more hating him and herself for her wicked reaction. “Bravo, Lord Winchester. It seems such games are far beneath you.”

  But there was no denying it to herself now. He’s like a drug—my own form of morphine. Whenever I have his attention and his regard, I’m deliriously happy for a time. No one exists except him and me. But when I don’t or he’s gone, it’s as if the world is falling apart, and I’m desolate and alone, tossed into the deepest of depressions, desperate for my next dose of his kind of madness. For only with him can I fly.

  Dear God, what was she going to do?

  Chapter Six

  December 22, 1818

  Cornelius rose at his customary time, sent his valet belowstairs, and then proceeded to dress himself. Morrow was all about efficiency and the man knew how to select clothing to advantage, but occasionally, Cornelius enjoyed doing the small tasks himself without commentary from his gentleman’s gentleman.

  Across the large room, his son slept flat on his back and snoring as if he hadn’t a care in the world while fully dressed and missing a boot. Obviously, Edward had stayed late at the first night of festivities, whereas Cornelius had quit the company shortly after his rather scandalous display in Blind Man’s Bluff.

  He couldn’t halt the smug grin that tugged at his lips. Of course, he’d taken full advantage of the game, but he’d had no recourse. As soon as Amelia had come into the room, his senses went on alert and he could do nothing else but concentrate on the woman in red satin.

  It was the second outfit he’d seen her in that stuck to the red color family. Had it been an accident, or did she favor the shade? And if so, why?

  One thing was certain, the attraction he’d had for her all those years ago lingered like the embers of a dying fire. Could he stoke them into flame again? Did he want to?

  That remained to be seen. First, he needed to determine why the deuce she continued to harbor anger against him. Surely, it was more than him being the one to tell her Peter had perished all those years ago. Why the devil would she maintain a grudge that long? It hadn’t been his fault, and he’d done it because he wanted to soften the blow as a
friend instead of letting an unknown officer show up at her door.

  There was much to think about. A rumble in his belly recalled his attention to immediate needs.

  After twisting his cravat into an intricate knot, he checked his reflection and then exited the room. None of the other guests stirred in the halls, but he hadn’t expected them to rise early. At a tick past nine in the morning, most of them wouldn’t rouse until midday. They were from London, after all, and not accustomed to country hours. Eventually, they’d acclimate to the intricacies of the house party.

  The second Cornelius set foot into the breakfast room, he realized his mistake. Amelia was also an early riser. She sat calm and composed in a chair with a fiction novel in one hand and fork in the other. For a few seconds, he froze, undecided as his pulse skittered through his veins.

  Bloody hell.

  There was nothing for it except to continue as he was. She’d already seen him. “Good morning,” she said with an arched eyebrow.

  “Good morning.” As quickly as he could with his cane and stiff knee, he went to the sideboard where various breakfast foods were displayed. “Did you partake of the festivities long into the wee small hours last night?”

  “No.” She took a delicate bite of toast and chewed. “I retired shortly after you did, but I believe Charles challenged a few of the young men to cards after that.” A shrug lifted only one shoulder. She wore a dress of lightweight wool, this one a vibrant cranberry color. “Most of the company drifted upstairs once that occurred.”

  “Ah, then you haven’t kept them busy enough.” He plied his plate with all his favorite foods and then brought it to the table and took a place opposite her position.

  Before either of them could continue the conversation, the butler swooped in while Cornelius rested his cane against his chair. “Tea or coffee, my lord?”

  “Tea, please.”

  Amelia leveled her gaze upon him. She set down her novel, no doubt a fiction with romance woven into it. He couldn’t tell from the upside-down cover. “Yesterday was arrival day for many of the guests, but the rest of the time I do have scheduled.” Her words were clipped and residing on this side of icy. “I didn’t wish to overwhelm them, especially if they were already fatigued by their journeys.”

  Had she always been so rigid about her time? He couldn’t remember, but he swore she’d been much of a free spirit the last time he’d met her. After thanking the butler for the tea, Cornelius tucked into his food. “Ah, please tell Cook she hasn’t lost her touch in culinary matters.”

  A tiny smile curved her mouth. “Thank you. I’m sure Mr. Jessup can relay your compliments when next he visits the kitchens.”

  Cornelius nodded. “What happens when factions of guests wish to amuse themselves outside of your confines?” He appreciated order like any other ex-military man, but he rather doubted holiday festivities should operate on a schedule. It took away the chances for spontaneity or the opportunity for magic.

  Or some such fustian if one believed that Christmastide ushered in miracles.

  She gave another shrug and once more took a bite of toast. A tiny glob of orange marmalade clung to her bottom lip, and he fixated upon that dollop of sweetness. What would she do if he climbed over the table to lick it from her mouth? His body tightened, but before he could make a decision, she licked it away. “My guests are free to choose how they spend their time, of course. The library here at Trenton Park is well-stocked, and the grounds are inviting to walk or ride through. I merely wish for everyone to enjoy themselves.”

  “But you’d rather they follow your will.” It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t resist baiting her, for verbal sparring made him feel more alive than he had in years.

  “Perhaps, but as I said, I have their happiness in mind. The holidays should echo with laughter and gaiety.” As she sipped from her own teacup, her gaze never left his face. Speculation and a hint of annoyance mixed in those mossy green depths.

  “I see.” Yet, from all accounts, she didn’t take her own happiness into account. Why? Perhaps it was time to change the subject. “How goes the matchmaking effort? Charles told me you wish to settle your niece during the house party.”

  “Too early to tell. I haven’t talked to Rebecca yet to find out if she likes one gentleman over the others. Plus, she hasn’t seen the stock the local gentry will bring to the Christmas Eve ball yet.” A faint blush spread over her pale cheeks. “It’s sounds rather like choosing livestock, doesn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I hadn’t given the issue such branding.” Cornelius continued to eat, but that nagging thought became too curious to resist. “Why do you try so hard to see everyone around you happy and in love, yet you shun it for yourself?”

  Her eyes narrowed briefly. “Why do you assume I do?”

  “You haven’t remarried.”

  “Neither have you.”

  “Touché.” He nodded, conceding the point to her favor. “Neither do you flirt like most merry widows do. Your looks haven’t faded, yet you hide here in the country. That alone indicates you’d rather not have male attention focused upon you.”

  Amelia fidgeted in her chair. The space between her eyebrows developed a slight crease—a sure sign she had either lied or intended to. He’d trained too well and for too long not to look for the signs and read body language. And she refused to look him in the eye. What secrets did she keep? Then her cheeks flushed. Her eyes flashed. Was she angry at him, or annoyed from something else? A memory perhaps? Treatment from a man? But upon closer inspection, he noted the veriest trace of tears in those eyes and the hard swallows she made in an effort to fight off the emotion.

  Finally, she spoke. “I have tempted fate too many times, I think, and thus have had my happiness taken away every time I grasp it.” She met his gaze and there was sorrow deep in those green depths. “I won’t marry again.”

  Now that was interesting. And somewhat disturbing. His chest tightened. What would this mean for any campaign he might wish to wage with her? “Won’t or can’t?” he asked with his fork paused halfway to his mouth.

  “Does it matter?” There was a note of finality in the question.

  “Of course, it does.” When her focus slipped briefly to his mouth, swift heat slid through him. Would she consider an affair if she didn’t wish for a permanent arrangement? Then he quickly dismissed the thought. He didn’t want that. It was too much work at his age to keep a mistress, and now that he was back in England, he wished to enjoy a wife if that opportunity should come his way.

  Cornelius nearly choked on his next bite of eggs. When did this realization happen, and why did he feel that the only way he’d take another wife was if Amelia agreed to the scheme?

  I am the biggest bacon-brained idiot.

  “Perhaps it only matters to gentlemen on the prowl.” She fiddled with her bread crust but didn’t bring the half-eaten toast slice to her mouth. “Regardless, I make it a point not to call attention to myself, so I won’t need to make that decision.”

  “Then your stance on not wishing to wed again can be altered?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “On that, I will not sway.”

  “Not even if the right man came along and swept you off your feet?”

  Amelia eyed him with a hearty dose of wariness. “I’ve had that before in my life. No matter how great the man is, death is an exacting master. I couldn’t survive it again.” A shuddering sigh came from her. “Can we please change the subject?”

  Cornelius happened to catch the butler’s gaze. That austere man merely shrugged, but there was no mistaking the light of interest in his eye. Then a bell rang close by, and Mr. Jessup left the room. “Of course, yet I do have another observation to make.”

  With an expression akin to resignation, she nodded. “I had forgotten how relentless you could be. Go on.”

  “Thank you.” He thought carefully on his next words. “You said you dislike calling attention to yourself, but you insist on wear
ing some shade of red daily, and not only for evening clothes.” He finished the last of his breakfast and debated going up for a second round. “A woman who chooses red has scandal on her mind. Surely even you can see that.”

  “Or perhaps that same woman merely adores the color,” she snapped with a flush infusing her cheeks. “Don’t think you know me merely because we enjoyed a prior connection years ago. That right has faded, and if you wish it back, you’ll need to earn it.”

  So much information and angst rested in that statement he didn’t know where to start. However, there was also a tiny grain of hope, and he wished to nurture that into bloom. “Fair enough.” He took refuge behind his teacup while he studied her. She fussed with the remains of her own breakfast, of which she hadn’t eaten much. No longer would she meet his eyes, and from her attitude, she either hadn’t made peace with the past or she kept something back, and from him. He’d wager all the coin behind his title she’d not let herself heal or even grieve from everything that had happened to her, but why? There’d been ample time. Why the deuce was she so guarded? Discovering that reason was his next mission. “By the by,” he began in a conversational tone. “I must offer my apologies for last night during Blind Man’s Bluff. I was carried away in the moment.”

  Even now the floral scent of her, the silkiness of her skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of her as he’d been so close to her haunted him.

  A genuine, if fleeting, smile curved her kissable mouth, and he was temporarily lost. What would it take to make her do that more often? He rather doubted she did so. That gesture was the adventurous, hopeful young woman he’d known years before. “It was rather fun. I forget, at times, that I’m young—comparatively speaking—if only at heart. Why should the children have all the excitement?”

  “Indeed.” Did she secretly wish to reclaim youth or a time that meant innocence? Or did she merely want to remember how life used to be before care and concern and death came knocking upon her door? Protection welled into his chest. He wanted to bundle her into his arms and keep the world from her, prevent her from knowing any more pain. But he didn’t have that right, as she’d alluded to. “Folks like you and me have living yet to do. I think you’ve forgotten that in recent days.”