The maid grasped Miss Glenville’s hand in both of hers. ‘Oh, thank you, miss! Thank you so much.’
The maid pulled on the infantryman’s arm. The young man bowed quickly to Edmund, and the couple disappeared into the park.
‘He is, I believe, an old friend of Sally’s,’ she said, as if she owed Edmund an explanation. ‘Amazing that they met here in Brussels with all the soldiers here, but, then, your sister and I met my brother in this park the first hour we arrived. And a friend of yours with him, as I recall. And a friend from London, as well.’ Now she was babbling.
‘Such lucky happenstance,’ he remarked.
Not as lucky as she had been that Edmund had happened to be across the street when that horrible creature attacked her. She could still feel the man’s hands gripping her, smell his unwashed skin—
She buried her nose in Edmund’s red coat. Its scent—his scent—banished the memory.
‘You were very kind to your maid,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘How could I refuse her? It was her one chance, perhaps.’
It was a chance she would never have. When Fowler first paid her court, she had woven joyous dreams of living happily ever after in her very own fairy story, but she learned that real life was not a fairy tale. It was more often filled with lies, deception, painful words and grave disappointments.
At least Sally might be able to capture a few moments of joy. Amelie hoped the girl would have many such happy moments.
Amelie would not.
‘I commend your liberal attitude,’ Edmund said.
She was startled. She’d been lost in her own miseries.
He grinned.
She blinked and really looked at him for the first time this night.
He was taller than Fowler. More muscular, easy to see now that he was without his coat. The hair beneath his shako was as dark as night, his thick brows the same hue. His lips were finely formed as if some master sculptor had created them; his chin, strong and shadowed by what was probably a day’s growth of beard that made him appear more like the rake he claimed to be. His smile robbed her of breath.
When she’d met him two days ago, she’d immediately felt taken with him. He’d appeared so handsome in his regimentals, the bright sunlight from the windows making his red coat even more vibrant, his smile even more dazzling. He’d looked then like a fine man, a strong soldier, a brother Tess could be proud of. Even with her head full of Captain Fowler as it had been, she’d thought how nice it would be to know Edmund Summerfield better and how sad it was that his birth made him even less acceptable to society than her own family.
What did birth matter, though? Fowler’s was as respectable as one could be, but he’d behaved abominably, walking away without a second glance, leaving her utterly alone just because—
Edmund’s smile faded. ‘Your Captain Fowler must not have appreciated you.’
Tears stung her eyes. ‘No, he did not. Not at all.’
To her surprise, he put his arms around her. She knew he meant only to be comforting, but, his strong arms wrapped around her, his muscular body flush with hers, other emotions were stirred. It gave her a hint as to what she so desired, what she could never have. She knew that now.
She did not pull away from him. This might be the only time a man’s arms held her.
Edmund released her and they resumed walking.
‘So what was it that caused the words between you and Captain Fowler?’ he persisted. ‘If it was not him propositioning you.’
‘I do not wish to say,’ she responded. ‘Not to you.’
She felt him bristle. ‘I forgot. One must not confide in a bastard.’
‘It is not because you are a bastard,’ she shot back. ‘It is because you are a man.’
He nodded, and an amused look came into his eyes for a moment but vanished as quickly. He lowered his voice. ‘That is precisely why you should talk to me. I am a man. I may be able to explain the actions of another man, perhaps explain the actions of both of the men who hurt you tonight. It may ease your mind.’
She felt the tears threaten again. ‘Nothing will ease my mind.’
They reached the entrance of the hotel just as a throng of Belgians, obviously full of drink, filled the pavement, blocking their way. One of the men seized Amelie’s arm, jabbering in French, and tried to pull her away from Edmund. His uniform coat fell off her shoulders and her heart raced in fright.
It was happening again.
But Edmund grabbed the man’s clothing and shook him. The man lost his grip on Amelie. Edmund lifted him off the ground and thrust him into the crowd, knocking several other men down. They jumped back to their feet and came after Edmund, who took hold of Amelie, picked up his coat and charged into the hotel in one swift movement.
The men did not follow them into the hotel.
‘There,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe in here.’
She was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel safe again. Napoleon could be knocking at the door by morning. Men in the street seemed to feel entitled to do as they pleased, and even men who had once professed love could speak words that wounded more grievously than a sword.
‘Will—will you escort me to my room?’ she asked.
He put an arm around her, but, again, it was meant only in sympathy. ‘Directly to your room, and I will see you safe inside.’
Under ordinary circumstances it would be scandalous for Edmund to walk a young, unmarried woman up hotel stairs in the wee hours of the morning, but this night no one would pay them any heed. Even if someone noticed them, it would not change what he must do. He must escort her all the way to her room. She’d had two brushes with danger and that was quite enough. He would see her to safety or be damned.
‘Do you object to me calling you Edmund?’ she asked as they climbed the stairs. ‘It is how Tess refers to you, so I think of you as Edmund.’
To hear her speak his name felt intimate to him. They’d spent mere minutes together, not more than an hour, certainly, but, somehow, it seemed right that she call him by his Christian name.
Besides, all this hour he’d been thinking of her as Amelie.
He smiled again. ‘I do not object, but that means I must call you Amelie, you know.’
‘Would that be so hard to do?’ she countered, somewhat uncertainly, he thought.
He pretended to need to think about it. ‘I suppose I could manage it. We are somewhat related, one could say. By marriage.’
They reached the upper floor where her hotel room was located.
‘Since we are now so familiar, Amelie,’ he emphasised Amelie, ‘there is no reason not to tell me why you and Captain Fowler quarrelled.’
‘Would you stop pressing me on the subject?’ she snapped. ‘I have no intention of telling you. It is very private.’
‘But we are somewhat related.’ He added, ‘Amelie.’
She lifted a finger to her lips, and he fell silent. They were near her parents’ rooms, where he’d breakfasted with her two days before.
She knocked softly. ‘Maman, Papa, I am back.’