Persuasion

His smile was filled with skepticism. “I think you are here for several reasons.” He sipped from his glass. “I think that you are a woman of compassion, and you currently harbor a great deal of compassion for me.”

He wasn’t as foxed as she had thought. “You are grieving. You have lost your wife. Of course I feel sympathy for you. You have not seen your children since the funeral. It is time to sober up, Grenville.”

His lashes lowered and she could feel him thinking. “Send up for supper. I will stop drinking if you join me.” And he smiled at her. “I am enjoying your company, Amelia.”

She was in disbelief. “First you flirt, then you fly into several rages, and now you are bribing me in order to have me dine with you?”

“Why not?”

Trembling, she finally marched to him. His brows lifted. She snatched the glass from his hand, spilling whiskey on them both. He seemed amused, which only angered her even further. Flushing, she cried tersely, “I will not be bribed. If you want to behave like a common drunk, then so be it. I know you are grieving for Elizabeth, but your grief does not entitle you to this bout of self-destruction, not when your children are in this house.”

“I am not grieving for Elizabeth,” he said flatly.

She knew she had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

His face had become dark with anger again. “I hardly knew her. She was a stranger. I am sorry she is deceased, as my sons adored her. And she certainly did not deserve to die at the age of twenty-seven. But let us cease all pretense. I am not grieving for her.”

Was it true, then, what the nurse had said? That the marriage had been troubled?

He was staring. “You seem so surprised.”

She did not know what to say to him now. Finally, “Perhaps you are not being entirely honest with yourself. She was gracious, elegant, beautiful—”

He laughed harshly then, interrupting her. “I am being entirely honest, Amelia.”

She hesitated because he was so obviously anguished. She did not know what to believe or think. “This is a terrible time,” she finally said. “How can I help?”

He slowly smiled, and his dark eyes smoldered. Suddenly he brushed some hair from her face, and his fingertips fluttered over her jaw and cheek. Desire fisted and Amelia froze.

Very seductively, he said, “I need you, Amelia. I have always needed you.”

For one more moment, she could not move. The urge to go into his arms was overwhelming. Simon needed her. She believed that.

“And somehow,” he said, slowly reaching for her, “I think that you need me, too.” His hand closed over her wrist.

In another moment, if she did not defy him, he would pull her into his embrace! He was poised to do so—and he was watching her so carefully. Amelia braced against him but did not move away. There was no denying the wild attraction that she still felt for him.

But it didn’t matter. She must never allow him any liberties again! Still, the panic she had felt earlier was far less intense now.

“Isn’t that why you are here? To comfort me?” He leaned closer, still holding her arm.

Amelia felt as if she were in a whirlwind of mixed emotions—confusion, fear, panic, but also a fierce, complicated desire.

“Please let me go,” she whispered, and tears arose. She wasn’t sure what they signified.

He started, and released her.

She managed, “I am here to help if I can, but not in the way that you suggest.”

He shook his head. “I did not think so.” Then he walked past her to the sofa and collapsed upon it.

Amelia realized she was trembling, taut with tension and desire. She closed her eyes, seeking some small degree of composure.

And then she took a breath and opened her eyes. Simon hadn’t moved.

He lay on his back, one arm over his head, and she realized that he had fallen into a deep, drunken stupor.

Amelia stared, shaken to the core of her being. A long moment passed. Then she found a throw and covered him with it.

CHAPTER FOUR

AMELIA HESITATED, POISED to go up the front steps of St. Just Hall.

It was the next afternoon, and the sun was trying to break through the overcast skies. Small buds had appeared on the tall black trees surrounding the house. Even the lawns seemed to be turning a bit green. Spring was on its way, but she was not cheered.

She had not been able to sleep at all last night. That terrible encounter with Grenville had replayed over and over in her mind. His image had haunted her, at times mocking, at times anguished, and so terribly seductive.

He was grieving and angry, and an attraction still raged between them. She did not know what to do.

She had gone to visit the children after leaving him sleeping in his rooms. The boys had been thrilled to see her, but she had instantly noticed how out-of-sorts they were. John had broken a china horse model and showed no remorse. William had scribbled blackly in one of his schoolbooks. The boys had been smiling and happy to see her, but she knew they were suffering over the loss of their mother and that their misbehavior was a cry for help.

She had gone to visit the little girl, too. Mrs. Murdock had been out, which had been a relief of sorts, and a housemaid had allowed her to hold and feed the infant. Afterward, she had thought about checking upon Grenville. Instead, she had decided that the wisest course of action was to flee his house.

But she had worried about him and his children ever since.

“I will give the mare water, miss,” the groom said, interrupting her thoughts.

Amelia half turned. A stableman had taken hold of the mare in the traces of the curricle she had used to drive over. She thanked him, summoned up her courage—no easy task—and started up the steps to the house.

Was she afraid of him? She was far more nervous now than she had been yesterday. Or was it her own reaction to him that frightened her?

In any case, she prayed he was doing better that day. She hoped, fervently, that she had imagined the attraction that had arisen between them yesterday. And if she had not, she must fight her own feelings.

A wiser woman would have stayed away, she thought, knocking nervously on the front door. But he had been so devastated yesterday. Ignoring his pain was simply impossible.

A liveried doorman allowed her inside, and a moment later, Lloyd had entered the front hall. Amelia smiled brightly and falsely at him as she removed her coat. “Good afternoon. I was hoping to call upon his lordship.” Their gazes met and held. She continued to sound cheerful. “Is he up and about today?”

“He has just come downstairs,” Lloyd said. “But he was very adamant, Miss Greystone, he is not receiving callers today.”

Her relief was instantaneous and huge. Grenville had come out of his rooms! She was so thankful. Surely she did not need to seek him out, if that was the case. She could simply return home—that would be so much safer than actually calling upon him! “Then I should go. But first, how are the children?”

Lloyd’s eyes flickered with concern. “Lord William seems very distraught today, Miss Greystone. This morning he locked himself in his rooms, and it took Signor Barelli several hours to convince him to come out.”

Her relief vanished. She would expect such behavior of John, not his older brother. “And where was his lordship at the time?”

“He had yet to come down, Miss Greystone. I do not believe he has been told of the incident.”

Her tension spiraled. “But he has seen the children since coming down?”