coming to her and holding her by the shoulders. ‘This is what the quarrel was about?’
She nodded.
He guided her back to her chair and sat her down.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. ‘He said that no respectable woman would ever think such a thing. That I was wanton. Shameful. That I was no better than Haymarket ware. That I must have more of my mother’s common French blood in me than he had supposed.’
She burned with anger all over again. True, her mother was the daughter of French merchants who had worked to guillotine aristocrats, but her mother had no part in that. Her mother was the dearest creature in creation. Amelie tried to slap Fowler across the face for speaking of her so.
It had enraged him.
Her throat tightened with the memory. ‘Fowler said he was finished with me and that he was certain some man on the street would pay me for what I was offering.’ He’d said more, as well.
‘Damned prig.’ Edmund said.
She looked up into his face. ‘Is it not I who deserves censure?’
She was not well bred, obviously, she thought to herself. Otherwise she would not have made such a proposition to Fowler. Or maybe she’d merely been a silly romantic, who believed love conquers all. Amor vincit omnia. She’d learned the phrase in Latin.
He reached over and put his hand on her chin and made her look at him. ‘What you felt was the most natural thing in the world.’
She averted her gaze. ‘Other young women like me do not say such things to men.’
Perhaps it was her mother’s blood that made her crave a man’s touch. Even Edmund’s hand heightened her senses.
Edmund shook his head. ‘Do you not suppose other young ladies at the ball said the same to the men leaving them?’
‘The captain said not.’
He leaned back. ‘The captain is a fool.’
She reached for her glass of sherry again and drank the remainder.
He pointed to the glass. ‘What else are you not telling me?’
She was feeling a bit giddy. ‘Nothing.’ Except what was hardest to face. She picked up the bottle. ‘There is just a little more left. You may have it.’ She refilled his glass and tried to summon her courage to continue speaking.
‘Fowler broke the betrothal,’ she finally said.
‘Fortunate for you,’ he countered.
She bristled. ‘Fortunate? Fortunate?’ She jumped to her feet and strode over to the window. ‘It is easy for you to say such a thing, but it shows your complete lack of understanding!’
‘Enlighten me, then,’ he said.
She could not even listen to him. Her voice rose. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He said he had made a terrible mistake asking me to marry him, that he’d done so only because of my dowry.’ She’d never guessed that fact. ‘He said his parents were against me, but he’d learned that too late. He’d thought himself trapped, he said.’
‘Heed me, Amelie.’ His voice turned low and firm. ‘You are exceedingly lucky not to have married him.’
She knew that now. The thing was, she’d thought Fowler loved her. She’d been convinced of it. She’d seen nothing in him to suggest he was not head over ears in love with her.
‘He threatened me,’ she went on. ‘He said that if I told anyone that he broke the betrothal, he would spread the news about what a wanton hoyden I was.’
Edmund’s countenance darkened. ‘The blackguard!’
His outrage surprised her. And warmed her.
But he still did not comprehend. She’d been fooled. So easily fooled. That was the most distressing part. One moment she’d believed Fowler blissfully in love with her; the next he had abandoned her on the dangerous streets of Brussels.
Amelie leaned her head against the cool pane of the window. ‘What is the use to talk about this? It does not change anything.’
‘What would you change?’ he asked. ‘Surely you do not want him now.’
‘No.’ The sadness crept in to her voice. ‘I do not want him.’
Again he did not understand. The moment she realised she had been utterly misled by Fowler, she also realised she could never trust any man. How could she know if a man truly loved her? She could never marry without knowing.
‘But—you see—’ she tried to explain. ‘It is unlikely now I shall ever marry.’
He rose and walked over to lean against the wall next to the window. ‘You are spouting nonsense.’
She lifted her chin. It was not nonsense. ‘I must face the reality of my situation. I am too scandalous—my family is too scandalous. Who would wish to marry me? Except, perhaps, for my dowry. If I can be fooled so easily, how would I ever know if what a man wanted was me or simply my dowry?’
‘Ah, I see.’ Edmund nodded. ‘Fowler wanted your money.’
‘I do not want a man who only wants my money!’
‘Of course you do not,’ he said soothingly.
She swung away from him. ‘Oh, stop it!’
‘Stop what?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Stop speaking platitudes.’ She huffed. ‘I knew talking to you would do nothing for me!’
He seemed to ignore her outburst. ‘Did you not have several suitors before Fowler?’
‘I did not!’ Only Fowler.
He’d been the perfect suitor, she’d thought. The man she’d dreamed of finding, she’d thought. So respectable. The younger son of an earl. In a fashionable cavalry regiment. She’d fancied herself so in love with him, when his regiment was sent to Brussels, she convinced her parents to follow him here. He’d seemed happy she’d come. Their betrothal made her parents happy. Made her happy.
Edmund took a step closer. ‘Forget Fowler. Do not let what happened with him decide the rest of your life. You will find a man worthy of you.’
‘Worthy of me,’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘I shudder at the thought. What sort of man is worthy of a hoydenish ninnyhammer with a family who is accepted nowhere?’
He touched her chin again and made her look into his eyes. ‘I see only a beautiful woman with pretty manners, who, I suspect, thinks more deeply than anyone gives her credit for.’
He was so close to her now she could see the individual hairs on the stubble of his beard. She felt her face flush, but she was unsure if it was because he was so close or because of his words. ‘Now who is talking nonsense?’
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Be truthful, Amelie. You know you are beautiful, do you not?’
She used to think so. At least her family said so. Her maid said so. And men on the street sometimes looked at her, but Fowler had also said she was beautiful. Was that another lie? ‘How do I know if being told I was beautiful was simply empty flattery?’
He leaned close again. ‘I have no reason to flatter you, and I say you are beautiful.’
This time it felt as if all her skin had blushed.
She dared to meet his eye. ‘Do you truly think so?’
He came even closer, so close his lips were an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her face and the heat of his body.
‘I truly think so,’ he murmured.