Chapter Nine
Blood surged through his veins, though reason told him Amanda merely wanted to sleep, not sleep with him. He made her walk some more.
"Do you not have town gossip to talk of?" he asked her.
She frowned. "I detest gossip. One does not mind so much sharing good news, but would you not dislike your misfortunes being someone else's entertainment?"
He glanced at her, almost wishing she'd not revealed this more complex side of herself. It made her that much harder to resist. He continued walking her around the room, while she asked him questions about himself. About growing up with sisters. About attending school. About the war.
"A soldier's life is not a fit topic for a lady," he said.
"Was it very bad?" Her face tilted to his, sympathy glistening in her eyes. With her finger she reached up and traced the scar on his temple. "How did you get this?"
He stared into her beautiful eyes, trying to use them to block the memory. "A French chasseur slashed me with his sabre."
Her lips parted. Her finger touched the scar again.
Ram kept his hands on her waist, but, with effort, held her at a careful distance. "We must walk," he said, guiding her back to their path. "And talk of other things."
Somehow, she got him talking about his family, about his uncle's lack of generosity, about how his mother and sisters so often went without new dresses, how his uncle sent him to school, but never with enough funds so that he often went hungry. He told her how his father, a good man, forgave his uncle, though Ram never would. He told her how he would rather remain a soldier than accept his uncle's life, though he owed it to his sisters to make sure the estate prospered. So he would give up soldiering and make certain his sisters were launched successfully and his parents cared for. But he intended to never set foot in town, if he could help it.
He'd given her his coat to keep her warm as the night's chill found its way through cracks in the windows. The fire died down, and he left her side to tend it. When he turned back to her, she had collapsed in the chair.
"Oh, no, you don't." Ramsford pulled her upright.
She put her hand to her forehead. "Truly, I am a little fatigued. Must we walk?"
He brought his own hand to cover hers at her brow. "Is your head still aching?"
She gave a wan smile. "The pain is not so bad."
He cupped her cheek, wishing he could remove all her pain. "Perhaps you might eat a little." They had not touched the food.
She sat on the bed and he on the chair, the table between them. It was so companionable he'd forgotten she was the glittering Diamond of London ballrooms. Here in this inn, she was soft and warm and belonged to him alone. He pulled the cork from the bottle of wine and drank, hoping to dampen his raging desire for her.
When they finished eating, he said, "Time to walk again."
He pulled her to her feet, but she collapsed against him. "I'm sorry, Captain. My legs do not seem to operate properly."
"Back to the bed, then, but you must remain awake." He lifted her onto the bed.
She immediately burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes.
"Oh, no," he said. "Sit up and talk to me." He joined her on the bed so that he could jostle her awake if she dozed.
She nestled against him. "Tell me of your sisters."
So he talked of his sisters, until his eyes grew heavy and he had to force them open again. He told her every funny thing they'd ever done, all the silly things they'd said. She laughed, sounding more like a little girl herself.
But, as she leaned against him, he was reminded of just how much woman she was, and of how much he liked having her all to himself. Dawn could not be more than an hour or two away. He'd soon be forced to part from her, to watch her again across crowded ballrooms amidst admiring gentlemen, like a diamond on velvet.
14-05-07, 03:28 AM
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