Persuasion

Lloyd shook his head. “I do not believe he has seen the children since the funeral, Miss Greystone.”

Amelia stared at him, appalled. Then, “How is he?”

Lloyd lowered his voice. “I do not believe he is feeling very well today.”

And she knew she could not leave yet. “Where is he?”

Lloyd was alarmed. “He is dining, Miss Greystone, but he was very specific—”

“I will manage his lordship,” she said, hurrying into the corridor. Determination filled her. He was probably suffering from the effects of his binge. Well, no matter how poorly he felt, it was time for him to step up and be a father to his children.

If she remembered correctly, the dining chamber was a vast room paneled in dark wood with a timbered ceiling, several oil paintings on the walls and a long oak table with two dozen stately burgundy-velvet chairs. Two ebony doors guarded the chamber. Both were closed. A liveried servant stood outside the doors, as still and unblinking as a statue. Amelia did not hesitate and she did not knock. She pushed open both doors and stepped over the threshold.

Grenville sat at the head of the long table at the other end of the room, facing the doors. The table was set beautifully with linen and crystal for one. Tall white candles formed a centerpiece. He was eating, seeming preoccupied, when she barged inside.

He looked up; she halted. Staring from across the great room, he laid his utensils down.

Amelia hesitated, then turned and closed the doors. The ensuing conversation should probably remain private. She hoped that cornering him now was not a huge mistake.

Turning, she was aware of some dread—was she baiting the lion yet again in his den? It certainly felt that way. She started grimly forward, straining to make out his expression.

Grenville continued to stare as she approached. Only a short distance separated them when he finally laid a gold cloth napkin on the table and stood up. “You could not stay away, I see.” He did not smile.

She paused when two chairs separated them, grasping the back of one. He did not look well. He had shaved, but there were shadows under his bloodshot eyes. He was pale, in spite of his olive complexion. He was impeccably dressed in a navy blue coat, his shirt frothing lace at the throat and cuffs, his breeches fawn, his stockings white. But his hair had been pulled carelessly back into a queue. He looked as if he had spent a very long night carousing, which, for all intents and purposes, he had. “I remain concerned about the children.”

“But your concern does not extend to me?”

She decided to ignore the taunt. “Are you feeling better today?”

“I feel exactly the way I look—like hell.”

She bit back a smile. “One must pay the piper,” she said tartly.

“Hmm, I think you are pleased to see me suffering so.”

“You could hardly think that you would escape the consequences of such a binge unscathed?” She lifted her brows. “But I am not pleased if you are feeling ill.”

“I do not believe,” he said slowly, his gaze unwavering upon her face, “that I was thinking at all.”

A silence fell. No, he had not been thinking, he had been feeling—he had been angry and grief-stricken. He had also been very, very suggestive. Amelia glanced away, finally breaking the stare they shared.

He gestured at the chair she was grasping. Amelia saw the gesture from the corner of her eye and shook her head, glancing at him again. “I am not staying long.”

“Ah, yes, your mother awaits.”

She tensed. Had there been mockery in his tone? But clearly, he remembered their encounter.

Abruptly, he said, “Why are you here...Amelia?”

Her heart lurched. He did not sound pleased. “I told you, I wish to make certain the children are well. And, yes, some concern extends to you.”

“I am touched.”

She stared closely at him, but if he was mocking her now, she could not tell. His expression was hard.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said, staring down at the edge of the table. Then he looked up, his gaze dark. “I was thinking about the encounter we shared last night.”

There was so much tension, of course there was. Amelia waited, uncertain of where he meant to go.

His gaze held hers. “My recollection is patchy. But I believe I owe you an apology.”

She inhaled. Hopefully he did not recall very much! “You do.”

“Was I very rude?”

She hesitated, because he had been far more than rude—he had been bold, he had referred to their past affair several times, and he had been entirely seductive. “It doesn’t matter, your apology is accepted.” She was final.

But he was not. “I tried to seduce you.”

She stiffened, wondering if she could deny it.

“I happen to remember holding you in my arms. Did I seduce you?” he asked, almost casually.

She exhaled. He did not remember the extent of their exchange? “No, you did not.”

He glanced aside, and she had no clue as to what he was thinking. Then, very softly, his gaze frighteningly direct again, he said, “But we kissed.”

She was almost speechless now. She wasn’t sure whether his mouth had brushed her cheek, but that wasn’t what he meant. Then she whispered, “No, Simon, we did not kiss.”

His eyes widened.

She was surprised by his surprise. And there was so much tension in the room, between them, that it was hard to breathe. Or was all the tension coming from her? “I’d like to see the children,” she said, hoping to rapidly change the subject.

“Are you certain?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard her.

She bit her lip. “Yes, I am certain.” She knew she must end this subject now. “You were entirely foxed. I do not believe you were responsible for most of your behavior. You said some strange things as well, which I did not understand.”

“Such as?” He came around his chair toward her.

Oh, she did not want to be trapped in that small space between the table and the wall! She hoped he would not reach out and touch her! Of course, she could simply turn and run down the length of the table and out of the room—which was exactly what she felt like doing. Instead, she did not move.

“Such as?” he said again, but his tone was demanding, and he stood within reach of her.

What she would not do was tell him that he had wanted to discuss the past, that he had raised the subject several times. “You sounded as if you had been to France, or had been involved in the war.”

He made a dismissive sound. “Really? I have not been abroad in years. What else did I say?”

“We talked about Lady Grenville.”