His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance) (2 page)

She took a deep calming breath and
slid open the drawer. Reaching her hand inside, she felt around.
She scowled. Loose cigars and whisky flasks seemed to be what Lord
Nigel considered so important that he had to lock them up?
Ridiculous. For as long as she lived, she'd never understand the
opposite sex and what they found to be of greatest
importance.

Her fingers brushed something that
felt unmistakably like paper and her heart pounded. This had to be
it. Slowly she brought the bundle of papers out from the back of
the drawer and unfolded it. She walked to the window and held the
stack of papers up in the moonlight and blushed. This couldn't be
what Philip was talking about. These were...were...sketches.
Sketches of an unclothed lady, to be precise.

She shook her head and walked the
papers back to his desk. She'd always thought Lord Nigel to be a
lecher. Now she didn't just have to think it, she had
confirmation.

Amelia shoved the naughty pictures
back into the drawer then shut it with a soft thud. There was only
one unexplored drawer left and after that... She didn't even want
to think of what would come if she didn't find what she was looking
for in the last drawer.

She pulled out the leather chair that
was in front of the large oak desk to give her enough room to open
the skinny drawer that was below the desk's writing
surface.

Amelia ran her hand along the front of
the drawer and frowned. There wasn't a handle. She curled her
fingers under the edge of the wood and pulled. Nothing. Falling
into the chair, she put her other hand under the edge of the drawer
and pulled again. It didn't budge.

She moved her hand under the drawer
and frowned when her fingers collided with the support beam that
ran down the center of the desk. There was certainly a drawer here.
She just didn't know how to get it open.

Biting her lip so not to groan in
frustration, she blindly groped for some sort of release latch on
the bottom of the drawer.

Nothing.

Sighing in frustration, Amelia
finished off the glass of punch she'd brought with her then pulled
the five-candle candelabra that sat at the far edge of the desk
toward her. She'd been reluctant to light any candles, lest the
hint of light was seen under the door and she was discovered. But
she could no longer avoid it. The moon was falling behind a
neighboring house, stealing her light, and this blasted drawer had
to have some sort of trick release and she was helpless to find it
in the dark.

She quickly lit a single candle,
snuffed the match, and froze.

In the low glow the candle had given
off, she could see the outline of a decidedly male form sitting on
the settee not fifteen feet away.

Panic pounded in her chest, but she
was too terrified to move, much less speak or think.

A moment stretched into two, the
silence of the room growing louder than the din just outside the
room.

Wordlessly, the man stood and began to
walk in her direction while she sat still frozen behind the desk.
Her eyes stayed focused on his face, which was ridiculous since,
like her, he wore a mask that concealed everything except his
eyes.

Unlike most men she knew, his boots
made no noise as he made his way over to her, then just as quietly,
he reached a single hand in front of her and pushed the section of
wood directly in front of her that marked the front of the drawer
that she knew had to be there. As soon as he moved his fingers, the
drawer popped open.

“
As you were,” he said in a deep voice that sent a shiver down
her spine and woke her from her fog.

Amelia licked her lips, feeling
somewhat naked and vulnerable in this stranger's presence. “How
long?” she heard herself ask.

“
How long have I been here?” the man asked. His voice so low
and soft it was a miracle she'd heard him over the blood roaring in
her ears.

She nodded. It was all she could
do.

“
Long enough.” He walked back over to the spot he'd vacated on
the settee and took a seat. “Don't let me stop you.”

Amelia's blood turned to ice. When
Philip brought her to their cousin's costume party tonight, he told
her that everyone would be too interested in the activities going
on in the drawing room to notice her exit and she'd have as much
time as she needed to locate the papers as long as she did nothing
to attract attention to her whereabouts.

But somehow she'd attracted attention.
But whose and how, she didn't know.

“
You do plan to continue, do you not?”

Amelia stiffened. “Just who are you to
inquire about my intentions?” she asked, inwardly congratulating
herself on her frosty tone that didn't falter once.

“
And who are you to go through a man's desk?”

“
How is that your concern?” she countered. “Did you attend
tonight's party with the same intent?”

“
I don't know,” he said slowly. “Why don't you tell me exactly
what you're doing and I'll tell you if my intentions are the
same?”

Amelia's mind raced. Whoever this man
was, he was a master in turning the conversation around on
her.

“
Don't let my presence interrupt you,” he said again a few
minutes later.

Who was this man? He wasn't her
cousin, she was certain of that. She'd recognize his loud voice and
even louder footsteps anywhere. Besides, he wouldn't be half this
calm if he'd found someone digging around in his desk. And then
there was the way her skin tingled and her stomach became uneasy
each time he spoke...

Or perhaps those responses could be
because she was nervous. That was actually a very logical
explanation, and likely the right one.

“
And what of my presence? Why are you letting it keep
you
from
your
task?” she asked
with a sudden urge to giggle.

The man didn't respond, or if he did,
Amelia couldn't hear his soft voice because just at that moment,
she opened her mouth to ask him yet another giggled question, but
instead of words coming past her lips, she belched. Then she
giggled. “Oh dear,” she said, covering her mouth. What was wrong
with her? A minute ago she was able to form a coherent thought and
now... Now she was giggling and making the most unladylike
noises.

She'd have been embarrassed by her
sudden outbursts, to be sure, if only she could stop
giggling.

Just then, something appeared in front
of her. It was like a circle made up of dozens of shades of every
color she'd ever seen and it was swirling.

She grabbed for it, giggling. But she
couldn't reach it.

She reached again, this time
standing—or trying to, at least. But just as she half-stood to grab
it, it moved out of her reach, and for some reason, this made her
laugh all the more.

“
Madam?”

Amelia turned to where the voice had
come from right beside her. When had he gotten so close? And when
had that wheel of vivid and vibrant colors joined him? She reached
forward again in an attempt to grab it and her hand collided with
something hard, his chest, perhaps. Or possibly even his shoulder.
She really couldn't tell because her big ball of spinning colors
was blocking her view of him.

Her subsequent endeavor was halted by
two strong hands that clasped onto her wrists and didn't let her
go. He pulled her to a standing position and before she knew what
she was doing, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“
Hullo,” she trilled, tipping her face up to his.

“
Did you have something to drink?” His voice reminded her of
when she was younger and she and the Banks twins would go
underwater in their creek and one of them would say something then
when they came up, everyone would guess what it was.

“
Perhaps,” she said, giggling as if it were the most humorous
thing she'd ever heard. “You're tall.”

“
What did you drink?”

“
Some punch,” she said on another peal of uncontrollable
giggles. She let go of her hold around his neck and bent backwards
at the waist, spreading her arms as if she were falling backwards
into an endless pit behind her.

His hands kept their firm grasp on her
hips and didn't let her fall despite the way she swayed and arched
against him. “You need to go lie down.” He pulled her back into a
standing position and her breasts pressed against his
chest.

Her skin prickled and tingled as he
slid his hands up toward her arms, exciting her in ways she'd never
known existed until now. Her blood pumped and her body sang with a
need she couldn't comprehend.

“
Come,” he said; his lips so close to hers she could almost
feel them against her heated skin as he said the word.

She couldn't come. Or go. In fact, she
couldn't move at all. Her legs felt as if they'd suddenly turned to
lava. Two hot, tingling, burning columns of immovable
lava.

As if sensing her inability to leave
the room on her own accord, the stranger scooped her into his arms
and carried her across the room.

She opened her mouth to ask where he
was taking her; but doubted the correct words came out because he
didn't respond.

The steady rhythm of his footsteps was
reminiscent of a lullaby; a very upbeat and strangely lively
lullaby with his heartbeat now joining in the harmony. She closed
her eyes and her circle of color returned, bursting with each
“beat” she heard.

The sounds of boot heels on rock soon
added to the music. She had the strangest sensation she was being
carried up stairs, but couldn't pry her eyes open to confirm her
suspicion.

Suddenly she felt cold and realized
the stranger was moving her away from his body and
down...down...down she went to fall against a soft feather
mattress.

Exhaustion—or perhaps a strange
hallucination—took over and suddenly she was transported back to a
game of chase she'd played with Elijah Banks where she'd threatened
to kiss him if he didn't play. “Wait,” she called—whether in her
dream or in real life, she'd never really know.

There was a response, but what it was,
or who said it—eight year old Elijah or the stranger who'd found
her in Nigel's study—she may never know.

She reached forward, trying to grab
Elijah by the suspenders, or the twin shirttails flying behind him,
or any part of him she could get her hands on really. Fabric. So
many times she'd reached for him and never gained purchase. But
this time she held fabric.

Amelia clenched her fingers into a
fist so not to let him get away and gave a hearty tug to pull him
to a stop. “I got you, Elijah Banks,” she declared proudly before
yanking him closer to her and planting her lips squarely on
his.

This was the moment in which Elijah's
hands usually found her shoulders and threw her off, no matter who
was watching or how undignified it made them both look. But this
time it was different. His hands came to her shoulders, but instead
of pushing her way, he held her in place and the strangest thing
happened: he kissed her back.

Soft yet firm, demanding yet gentle,
his lips moved with hers in a kiss far more intoxicating than she'd
ever dreamed possible.

Chapter Two

The Next
Morning

Amelia's head was about to
explode.

Or would that be implode?

No matter, she could worry about the
difference between explode and implode later. Right now she just
needed something to relieve the intense pressure she felt behind
her eyes.

She lifted her hand to block the sun
streaming in through the nearby window that only served to make her
head throb more. Where was she? None of the furniture in the room
was hers. It was all vaguely familiar, mind you, but she couldn't
place where she'd seen it before.

She moved to sit up in the bed and
frowned in discomfort. She was still wearing her blasted corset.
Part of it anyway, she amended when she glanced down and glimpsed
almost her entire bosom. She gasped and placed her hand on her
chest to cover herself. How had her dress gotten that way? And why
had she gone to bed wearing her gown in the first place? And at a
strange place, no less. Something wasn't right, but
what?

Amelia pushed to her unsteady feet and
immediately wished she hadn't when a wave of nausea unlike anything
she'd ever experienced before engulfed her as the room spun in fast
circles around her. The need to retch was overwhelming. She grabbed
the nightstand next to her to regain her balance.

She took a deep breath in through her
mouth—something a proper young lady should never do—then exhaled.
Then again. She'd do it as many times necessary if it'd settle her
stomach without the need to shoot the cat. Whatever it was she'd
ingested last night was not agreeing with her. But for the life of
her she couldn't remember anything she'd eaten for dinner. Or where
she'd eaten it.