He moved faster and she moved with him, seeking more.
Suddenly the sensations exploded inside her, flooding her with waves and waves of pleasure, over and above all she’d experienced so far. He thrust one more time and tensed inside her. Was he spilling his seed? It must be so.
He relaxed on top of her, covering her with his body and his weight. How had she suddenly turned to butter, melting beneath him, with no will to move?
He rolled to her side, breathing hard, an arm flung over his face.
‘I—I did not know it could feel like that,’ she murmured.
He turned to face her. ‘It doesn’t always.’
She furrowed her brow. ‘Did I disappoint you?’
He reached over and toyed with a lock of her hair. ‘No, Amelie. You did not disappoint. Anything but.’
She released a breath. ‘Good, because it did not disappoint me either. It was quite the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced. I shall remember it always.’
His expression softened, then turned sad. ‘A memory,’ he murmured. ‘A fine memory.’
She smiled. ‘Yes. And I thank you, Edmund. You have given me more than I knew to desire.’
He turned his head away, and it felt as though he’d run a far distance from her.
Amelie rose on to her elbow. ‘What is wrong, Edmund?’ Why leave me now? she wanted to add.
He sat up and the lamp illuminated his bare chest crisscrossed with scars. He’d soon be in battle again, she remembered.
‘It was not well done of me,’ he said.
She blinked in surprise. ‘Not well done?’ Nothing could have been better.
He looked down on her. ‘Do not let this stop you from seeking a proper marriage, Amelie. No matter what people say, men cannot tell who is a virgin and who is not. This need not spoil your future.’
She sat up. ‘I told you. There will be no marriage for me. This was my only chance—to—to feel that.’ Only now, how was she to bear that she would never feel such sensations again?
‘You will find a man worthy of you, I am certain,’ he said. ‘Do not let this one night stop you.’
She did not care about the rest of her life, only of this moment with him. She was glad he’d been the one to show her such delight. She could not imagine making love to any other man. How had she ever believed she’d want this with Fowler?
She did not wish to argue with Edmund about it though, not when he was bound for battle. ‘I am glad I shared this with you, Edmund. Truly I am.’
He seemed to wince in pain with her words. He rubbed his face and glanced around the room before meeting her eye again.
‘Do you know how to take care of yourself?’ he asked.
She had no idea what he meant. ‘Of course.’
He relaxed. ‘Good.’
She peered at him. ‘Are you regretting this, Edmund?’ She did not want him to regret it. She wanted it to be a lovely memory for both of them.
He stared into her eyes. ‘I am not regretting it for me.’
She flushed with happiness. ‘Then might we do it again? Just one more time before you must leave?’ And face Napoleon’s army.
One more time could not hurt, could it? It would still be like the first time, would it not? No consequences?
He pulled her down on top of him for a kiss that sent the sensation surging through her again and sent any doubts about consequences scattering in the wind.
* * *
Edmund felt no reluctance in making love to Amelie this second time. His guilt belonged solely to the first event, did it not? At least he told himself so. Told himself to savour this unexpected opportunity to experience again the pleasure of her body, the sweetness of her spirit.
Whoever finally won her love would be fortunate indeed.
But to Hades with that man, tonight she belonged to him and this sweet memory of her would always be his alone. When he left here, he’d go to where his horse was stabled. He’d ride hard to where his regiment was billeted and then, when dawn came, they would march toward Napoleon’s army.
To battle.
Edmund had cheated death many a time before. If this was the time luck would fail him, at least he’d die knowing this lovely creature had wanted him.
Had loved him.
He pressed into memory the feel of her skin under his hands, the luxury of her breasts, the taste of her kiss. He rejoiced in her unschooled but sensuous response under his touch. When he entered her again, she felt familiar, as if they’d belonged together for an eternity.
It was a gratifying illusion when the eternity of death was a distinct possibility.
Each moment of lovemaking drove the thought of death from his mind. To Edmund, Amelie represented life. With each stroke his resolve grew. He would live. He must live.
Life was full of possibilities.
His spirits soared as she moved with him, building their need, anticipating their release. He rode the passion to its culmination and, just as if they’d had an eternity to attune themselves to each other, they reached the heights together.
Edmund burst with joy. This was life! He would live for this!
When he lay in languor with Amelie in his arms, they did not speak. He simply enjoyed the comfort of lying next to her, the warmth of her body warming him. Her breathing turned soft and even. She slept the deep satisfied sleep of a woman well loved.
He slipped out of the bed and dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could. It must be nearing three in the morning. He’d need the rest of the night to ride to his regiment. He folded her clothing and searched the room for paper and pen, finding both on a small writing table in the corner.
Dear Amelie,
I shall remember this night with great fondness and gratitude. I hope you remember it without regret. Do not lose heart. Do not let one night or one man take away your dreams. You possess everything any man could desire. One day you will make some lucky gentleman a wonderful wife.
Best regards always,
E.
He folded the paper and placed it next to her on the bed. Then he moved quietly around the room extinguishing the lamps.
All except one candle. By the light of that candle, he took one last look at her. One last image to burn in his memory.
He picked up his bag, blew out the candle and walked out the door.
Three months later, September 1815—London
‘Edmund? Edmund Summerfield?’
Edmund, just stepping out of Horse Guards onto the parade, turned.
Marc Glenville quickened his step to catch up to him. ‘I thought that was you.’ He extended his hand to shake. ‘How are you, Edmund? What a surprise to see you in London.’
Edmund was surprised as well. It was September. He thought everyone would be in the country hunting birds, not in London. He’d not written to any of his sisters that he would be in England, because he expected to return to Brussels in a week or two, and he assumed they would not be in town. Who could have thought he would run into his half-sister Tess’s husband?
Amelie’s brother.
He accepted the