An Unconventional Affair: Forever Yours Series Page 11

  “There is no need for such a consideration, lady Rebecca,” Max murmured smoothly, dipping into a brief bow. “I am sure my sisters would take pleasure in your company. They are by the lake. I do have some business with my brother. I shall see you at dinner.”

  Civility obligated her to nod her head in agreement, but there was a definite flounce in her steps when she hurried away.

  Harry had observed this byplay, and now hurried over, his dog taking the lead. Max lowered to his haunches and greeted the enthusiastic pup by scratching behind its ear.

  “You do not seem to enjoy the company of your intended,” Harry said, eyeing Max critically.

  He stood and arched a brow. “My intended?”

  “I heard Mother speaking with Lizzie earlier. Mother was certain an offer would be made by you at dinner this evening.”

  “Good God!” Then Max laughed. “She is determined to try and force me to her will. I love her but our mother is outrageous.”

  Harry shrugged. “It is normal for her to be concerned and she does have a discerning eye. She knew Lizzie would have been a perfect match for me, and look at that, we are perfect for each other. I love my wife more than how I would have thought ever possible. So do not dismiss mother’s matchmaking efforts so readily.”

  Max walked toward the lake, Harry keeping pace beside him.

  “What are your objections to the lady?” Harry demanded. “Only last month you told me you were restless...that you were thinking of taking a wife and then hope for children soon.”

  “I would not be faithful to her,” Max murmured with a grimace. “She... every lady deserves to have the full loving attention of her husband.”

  Harry scoffed. “You cannot be certain you would be unfaithful—”

  “I know it,” Max said a bit forcefully, cutting off his brother, “because lady Rebecca isn’t her.”

  Harry grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, and Max turned to face him. Harry’s eyes were dark with concern. “It is normal, perhaps even expected that a man of your stature to have a mistress.”

  Everything inside of Max recoiled at the very notion. “Do you have a mistress, Harry?”

  His brother sighed. “No, but I love Lizzie. I cannot say the same for you.”

  Max cannot say what showed on his face, but his brother froze, a startle question in his eyes.

  “Do you love Lady Weatherston?”

  The question sent a pounding ache through Max’s heart. Do I love her? He scrubbed a hand over his face. Christ. “I do not know what I feel.” Liar. He damn well knew. For her...for her he felt everything. And he was a damn fool to even think of letting her slip from him again.

  It had been three weeks since he last saw Amalie, and every night he went to bed with the smell and taste of her haunting him. It was as he expected. Like their first parting, a dark feeling of loss rolled through him in chilly waves. Being with her for those several days had ruined all other women for him. The remembered pain and shame in her eyes gutted him each time he recalled it to mind.

  He had made her feel like that, when she deserved the world. The time apart had only revealed to his heart that he was still hopelessly in love with her, and there was no one else he wanted by his side but her.

  “I can see what you are thinking, Max,” Harry said tightly.

  “What am I thinking?”

  “That you’ll not let her go.”

  “I cannot,” he admitted gruffly. “I’ve loved her for years. When I sleep in the nights, she is there beside me. I smell her, hell, I can feel her. And when I turn to draw her into my arms, and she is not there...I cannot express the loss I feel. There is a damn hole in my chest, and I know it cannot be filled with anything but Amalie.”

  Harry glanced away, as if he were mortified at the turn in their conversation.

  “And does she feel the same way about you?”

  I love you, Max, I ardently love you.

  God, how he must have shattered her heart and hopes with his silence.

  “She loves me,” he said. “And I was a damn fool for hurting her with my silence when she told me. Even if I had been uncertain about everything else, I should have been honest about that. I already learned a painful lesson in the past about keeping my feelings to myself. If I had declared for her then, just maybe all these years we would have been together. She is forever mine, Harry. Always will be.”

  Harry nodded, smiling. “You sound like a man caught in the painful throes of love. What are you going to do about it? There is nothing wrong with setting her up as your Cher Amie. You have a duty to discharge to your family and the title, never forget that.”

  “And I can see you believe that this duty to my family who had been allowed to choose their own happiness must be more important than Amalie’s honor. Such a notion is repugnant to me.”

  Harry winced, but before he could speak, Max held up his hand.

  “Say no more. If I cannot take Amalie to be my wife, I’ll not dishonor her by making her my mistress while I give everything that she deserves and more to a wife whom I do not love. Such rubbish! I have business to attend, if you will excuse me.”

  Then he walked away from his brother, ignoring the stare he could feel boring into his back. They were all damn fools, judging someone as sweet and wonderful as Amalie because she dared to run away from a rapist.

  And had he been any better? Allowing her to walk away from him with pain in her eyes and heart when no other could complete him? He paused and lifted his head to the sky. Wait for me, my Amalie. Wait for me.

  When he lowered his head, it was to see his mother marching to him, battle determination evident in every line in her body.

  When she drew close, he surprised her by drawing her close and hugging her.

  “Max!” she gasped in admonishment, but he realized her cheeks had pinkened and her eyes glittered with pleasure.

  “I will not be marrying Lady Rebecca,” he said firmly. “Or any other young lady.”

  His mother’s hand fluttered to his chest as she stared at him in ill-concealed alarm.

  “You have a duty—”

  “Mother, I have a duty to the title and to uncle’s memory and legacy. That includes managing the estates profitably and marrying a lady of quality and honor. That is what I will do.”

  A frown of confusion puckered her brow. “I do not understand, Max.”

  “That lady of quality and honor is, Amalie, Viscountess Weatherston. I would not be deserving of the earldom or of my honor if I turn away from her because of society’s pettiness. My heart is unfortunately small, and it has all been taken up by her.”

  His mother’s eyes teared up. “Society will not forgive you!”

  “I do not give a damn!”

  “Maximilian!” she wailed. “You must not do this!”

  “I expected more from you mother, your prejudices have sorely disappointed me. Father did not give a damn when he married you, Mother, or have you forgotten that he defied his family and expectations to marry you because he loved you? It is astonishing that you would dare expect me to relinquish the woman I love and marry another whom I can barely tolerate.”

  She paled alarmingly. “That is different. I might have come from a simple family, but I had my honor!”

  “Amalie never lost hers. Never. And it is I who will no longer tolerate those who judge and condemn her because of their own spiteful prejudices. And that includes anyone in my family.”

  At his mother silence, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I bid you good evening, mamma.” Then he walked away.

  “And where are you headed to?” she cried. “Lady Rebecca and her mother are your guests!”

  “I am traveling to London immediately, I shall leave the care of your guests in your artful hands, mother.”

  “Why are you going to London?” she stridently demanded, still in a ripe mood for arguing.

  To her. And he hoped she would be there, even though his gut felt heavy with a dark pres
s of doubt. His Amalie had always run whenever she was hurt or scared. The last time, again because of his idiocy he had lost her for over five years.

  This time... he couldn’t bear contemplating the idea in the weeks it had taken him to pull his head from his arse she had ran and had disappeared like ashes in the wind.

  What a damn fool I’ve been.

  Chapter 12

  Being away from Max felt unbearable. Thankfully, her menses had arrived, and she had wept with the relief that she was not pregnant. Amalie tried to busy herself with embroidery, long walks in the park, and even accepting the scattered invitations which came her way. Her darling friends tried to cheer her, and she did a credible job in appearing happy. Inside she bled, at nights she cried for the emptiness looming in her heart feeling as if it would never be filled.

  She had penned a letter with one single line:

  Dear Max,

  I am not with child. I trust this news will relieve your heart and mind from any worries.

  Yours, A

  And he had replied even more succinctly with:

  Dear A,

  Thank you for letting me know,

  Max.

  Thea kept one of her sought after ball, and Amalie had attended with some trepidation beating in her heart. She did not want to encounter Max, especially given that upon returning to town, she had learned there had been speculation about their joint absence from town. Many pointed glares had been aimed her way yesterday when she had strolled in Hyde Park with her other scandalous widow friends. Amalie had lifted her chin high and paid them little heed.

  “Oh Amalie, are you very certain?” Bess asked, staring at her fretfully.

  She gripped her dearest friend gloved hands between hers. “Do not appear so stricken. I only mean to travel for a few years. Italy, Paris, Constantinople! I daresay it will be a grand adventure.”

  “But you are going alone, that is what I am worried about.”

  A flash of wild grief and pain gripped her, and Amalie did her best to appear indifferent. “Pffs!” She waved aside her friend’s concern. “I shall be well.”

  Her voice cracked on that last bit, and she tried to shore up herself with a smile that wobbled alarmingly.

  Unexpectedly the crowd tittered and surged, and she glanced up to see Max descending the wide staircase into the heart of the ballroom. He was garbed in a navy blue trousers, matching jacket, and a silver waistcoat. Each of his steps seemed infused with coiled elegance, and his popular set rushed to greet him.

  “I heard that Lady Rebecca, and the marchioness went down to Hertfordshire at Lord Kentwood’s mother’s invitation! It seems an alliance would soon be announced.”

  She was conscious of a low, moan of denial slipping from her. Amalie tried to hide her misery at Bess’s probing stare. Filled with a terrible vulnerability, she clasped her gloved hands tightly before her. “Bess,” she whispered, her throat aching, “I must leave now. I cannot... I simply cannot bear to stay!” Tears trembled on her eyelids and she would die should they spill over in such a public setting for the worst gossipers to witness.

  “Do not,” Bess urged, wonder in her tone. “I think.... Good heavens! I think the earl is coming directly to you!”

  Amalie snapped her head up, shocked to see the lazy, almost predatory grace with which her lover... no! not her lover, Lord Kentwood moved with through the crowd. He did seem to head in her direction, but Amalie couldn’t be so certain. The closer he drew to her, the louder the whispers behind the fans came. “What is he doing?” she gasped. “Is he really coming to me?”

  Then he was upon her. Everyone in her immediate vicinity had gone frightfully quiet.

  “Lady Weatherston,” he greeted smoothly, dipping into a bow. “I see the quadrille is about to start. Will you be my partner?”

  Someone close by gasped dramatically.

  Amalie just stared at him. “No one has asked me to dance in...in years,” she said inanely.

  “I am astonished at their idiocy,” he said, holding out his hand. “If you would do me the honor, I would be in your debt.”

  Her heart hammered. What are you doing, Max? Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked around, painfully aware that everyone stared at them, waiting to see if she accepted his invitation. She lifted her chin, smiled, and dipped into a small curtsy. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

  She rested her hand on his arm as he led her to the dancefloor to join the other three couples gathered for the dance. Amalie’s heart pounded so furiously, and she could only imagine how flushed she appeared. He stood by her side, held her elbows as they waited for the lively melodies to start. Amalie felt breathless, and they hadn’t started moving yet. She could feel the intense scrutiny of the ton and of the other pair of dances in their square formation.

  The orchestra started to play, and she glided with him, past another couple, then he spun her into a twirl before she faced her other partner. The lively dance lasted for several minutes, and to her amusement and equal discomfort, everyone was overly invested in watching them.

  The dance ended, and he led her back to Bess without speaking. Then he bowed and departed to speak with his friend George.

  “What was that about?” Bess murmured, flicking open her fan.

  “I...I do not know,” Amalie whispered, still breathless. “He said nothing, and I was too out of sorts to ask.”

  There were still several murmurs but the attention they had just garnered dwindled. She snagged a flute of champagne from a passing footman and took several sips, truly at a loss why he had danced with her. After their parting she hadn’t expected to meet him socially, or for him to ever approach her in public. She glanced at him discreetly, and he paid her no mind, thoroughly engaged in a discussion with his friends.

  Was this his way of offering an apology? Because surely society will not forget that he had chosen to dance with her when she had been snubbed for so many years. An ache blossomed through her heart, and she wished she could march over to where he stood and thank him. His actions just now truly showed that he was not afraid for their name to be publicly linked nor was he ashamed of her. Mortification clawed through her at how easily she had judged his actions base on her own experiences with the ton over the years. I should have known you were not like them.

  Regret curled through her like acid. Please look at me, she silently beseeched.

  But he did not turn to face her, and she could only look away so as not to embarrass herself by wearing her sleeves on her shoulders. “I must send him a note tomorrow, thanking him,” she said huskily.

  “He has done much tonight to help in restoring your reputation, but surely he should see that a dance is not enough,” Bess said tartly. “At least some conversation would make it more evident that he does not sit in judgement like the other crows.”

  Amalie smiled, her heart warming at her friend’s unwavering support. “It is not his job to restore my reputation. What he just did was a great kindness, and it is sufficient.”

  Except her heart was still hurting from wanting him so much. How can I bear to let you go again when you are the only man I’ve ever loved? Yet what exactly should she do? Amalie only knew she could not run. She had done that once and five years and miles of heartache separated them. Even if she needed to swallow her pride and fears and have one last conversation with him, that she would do. And if they must part forever, the last conversation to linger in their memories would not be the bitter and painful one she had left in Derbyshire.

  A waltz was announced, and the eager couples took to the dance floor.

  “Oh my,” Bess said breathlessly, now fanning herself vigorously.

  Amalie cast a quick glance at her friend. “What is the matter with—”

  “Lady Weatherston,” a smooth voice drawled. “May I ask you to do me the honor of partnering me for this dance?”

  Amalie snapped her head around and stared at Max with ill-concealed shock. He was dancing with her twice in one eveni
ng. Good heavens! She could not find her tongue to ask him anything, nor could she gather her scattered wits to protest when he stepped forward, placed her hand upon his arm and led her to the dancefloor.

  The waves of murmurs that crested through the room surpassed the crowd’s earlier response. Even those already on the dancefloor gawked shamelessly. If she weren’t so anxious about what he was doing, Amalie would have been amused by their reactions. Instead, she stared at him helplessly, so many feelings writhing inside she was unable to separate them into any semblance of clarity.

  The violins leaped to life and the beautiful strains filled the door. He took her into his arms as they soared together. Just being held in his arms was sinfully delicious. The way he stared at her. Do you want to start a scandal? she wanted to ask, but her tongue remained tied. He swung her, and she swiveled, and the heat of his hands on her lower back burned through her gown. The rest of society faded as they stared in each other’s gazes, never once breaking that connection for the duration of the dance. Once again when it ended, he led her to the sidelines, and dipped into a bow. His lips curved into his beloved crooked smile, and he drifted away.

  When she glanced at Bess, her friend was smiling widely behind her fan.

  “I daresay your man has come to his senses.”

  “Has he?” she cried, not understanding the anxiety pounding through her. “Oh, Bess what is he doing? Everyone is looking at me. Why has he danced with me twice and render no explanation? What...what is he saying? Is he just trying to give his stamp of approval or...or does he mean more? I am so afraid to hope!”

  “Dancing twice in one evening is more than an approval, and three times is a declaration.”

  “Three times? I—”

  “Lady Weatherston, may I have your hand for the second waltz?”

  Amalie faltered into remarkable stillness.

  He gave her an unreadable look. “Are you going to leave my hand hanging, my Amalie?” he asked tenderly.

  Filled with a terrible vulnerability she lowered her gaze to the hand he held out. Her heart began to hammer wildly, and her cheeks grew flushed. Placing her hand into his, she went on the dance floor with him. Those in Thea’s townhouse appeared more confused than Amalie.