‘It is more than just passion and you know it!’ He looked more handsome than she had ever seen him. His hair was delightfully tousled from her touch, all evidence of his formality and stuffiness gone; his eyes were burning with lust for her. The man. Who happened to be a duke.
‘It makes no difference what we feel, Ben. The barriers that stand between us are too great.’
His broad shoulders slumped in defeat and he hastily turned and rested his hands on the impregnable castle walls, staring out at the stars. ‘So it is hopeless, then?’
Amelia came behind him and rested her head on his shoulder, felt the strength in him, the warmth and the goodness one last time. ‘Of course it is hopeless. It always was. You are a wealthy and powerful duke and I am your aunt’s companion who has lived in a workhouse and begged for scraps in a soup kitchen.’
‘I never had you pegged as a coward, Amelia. At least I am prepared to try to find a way for us to be together.’
‘I am not a coward.’ Perhaps she was? Her feelings for Bennett Montague terrified her. ‘I am a realist. We come from two vastly different worlds. Soon I shall head back to Bath with Lady Worsted and you shall head back to Parliament, and by the time we visit again next year, all of these odd emotions will have faded.’ Another lie. Bennett Montague would always have a special place in her heart. She would not come next year, or any other. Lady Worsted would give her leave and she would spend those weeks in Seven Dials, where she belonged. It would be too painful to see him again, especially if he was married to one of his Potentials and happy.
‘I don’t need to be Prime Minister.’
Amelia sighed and stroked his back tenderly. ‘Of course you do. Being a politician is who you are and the electorate are fickle. I understand that too. The very last woman you should choose is one who has lived the life I have. I am a scandal just waiting to happen. The moment the press or the opposition found out about me, which they would eventually, my past would be dredged up and you would be judged as a result. I will not be held responsible for that.’
Nor did she want to suffer the backlash of his inevitable reaction to that, but she did not say it. He would dismiss her fears as ridiculous, although Amelia knew that if it came to it he would have no choice but to use his power to curtail her activities and try to mould her into the type of wife that society expected her to be. She had seen her father chip away at everything unique and rebellious about her mother, leaving her an empty shell with no real identity of her own aside from being an aristocrat’s wife. She did not want to resent Bennett for that. ‘I cannot stop campaigning for change or consorting with so-called Radicals because that is who I am also. So we will always be at odds with each other.’
He glanced up at the sky and she felt him inhale slowly. Acceptance. ‘It is apt that we should be here under the stars discussing this. If ever there were a pair of star-crossed lovers, it is surely us.’
‘In the grand scheme of things, none of this matters. We both have things that we must do, causes that drive us and beliefs that we both hold too strong to simply ignore. Anything else would be too great a compromise. You might not see it now, but you would come to resent me for damaging your political career and I would resent you for having the power to control me. In time, we will both realise that things are as they should be and this is all for the best.’ Even if that made them both miserable. A tiny piece of her heart died, the rest simply ached for all that could not be.
They stood in silence for several minutes, both staring out at the infinite blackness of the night sky, two small, insignificant specks in the universe. There really was nothing else to say. Eventually, she dropped her hand and stood back.
‘Goodnight, Your Grace.’
The fact that he let her go without another word somehow said it all.
* * *
Bennett sat holding a cup of tea he did not want, surrounded by a growing sea of people he definitely did not want to be with, and glared across the room at his mother. Once again, her definition of a few people over for afternoon tea was vastly different from his. At least seven laden carriages had arrived so far and, by the looks of things, several more were expected and it was not yet noon. Like her definition of ‘a few’, his mother’s idea of ‘afternoon tea’ was apparently also quite different to everyone else’s. These people were here for luncheon first, then afternoon tea followed by whatever ‘fun’ activity she was going to rope them all into, and Bennett had been effectively held hostage for the duration.
He now knew, thanks to Uncle George, who had also conveniently been kept in the dark, that his mother was doing all this to further his political ambitions. Apparently, she was worried that he was neglecting his supporters because he was always too busy to entertain; therefore, whilst he was here resting, and thus not busy, it would be the perfect opportunity to extend some hospitality and strengthen some alliances. It was the very last thing he wanted right now. In reality, all he wanted to do was gallop across the frozen fields hereabouts and lick his wounds in private. Heaven only knew what irritating sycophants and social climbers he would now have to socialise with. His mother’s grasp of who his most ardent supporters were, like her definitions of ‘few’ and ‘afternoon tea’, left a lot to be desired.
The Potentials were all there and, to his great irritation, so were their mothers and their powerful fathers. The five men all regarded him in accusation, no doubt all thoroughly fed up with the fact that he had still not made a decision and chosen their daughter to be his duchess. His head very well might sympathise, but his heart was aching at the thought. Not one of those young ladies held a candle to Amelia. They were not as intelligent, or as interesting, or as passionate or as irritating as the diminutive dark-haired temptress who sat quietly in the furthest corner of the room, doing her level best not to notice him.
He knew that she had been irritatingly right about their unfortunate situation, but knowing she was right certainly did not make him feel any better about it. He was still in two minds as to whether he should have acquiesced quite so easily. Perhaps there was still hope for them?
‘Stop mooning after the chit and talk to her,’ Uncle George hissed from behind his own teacup. ‘You know that you want to.’
Of course Bennett wanted to. He wanted to march over there, grab her hand and drag her outside. He wanted to kiss her until his head spun, make mad passionate love to her and force her to fight for them. He wanted to tell her that he did not care about the difference in their stations or that she consorted with potential Revolutionaries or that he might lose momentum in Parliament; none of that mattered because he only wanted to be with her. Which, of course, would mean political suicide. Decades of political manoeuvring, diplomacy and holding his tongue would have all been for naught. All his father’s hopes would be dashed and his legacy would be lost. And she was definitely right about his not being able to help the poor from the back benches. His presence in the government was now more important than ever if he was going to be the one to champion their cause.
‘I am not sure why you think that you have the right to give me romantic advice when you have never been married, Uncle.’ Uncle George blinked rapidly and Bennett instantly regretted being so curt. It was hardly his uncle’s fault that he was now imprisoned by towering, insurmountable, invisible brick walls. ‘I am sorry, Uncle. That was uncalled for.’
Uncle George smiled kindly in that way he always had when Bennett had made a hash of something and he had to rescue his nephew. ‘I might never have married, Bennett, but I know the pain of being in love with someone when the circumstances make it seem worse than hopeless.’
Now that was an interesting snippet Bennett had never heard before. He had not realised that his uncle had once been in love. Perhaps hearing the plight of another star-crossed lover might make him feel better. ‘Why was it hopeless?’
Uncle George’s eyes dropped to his hands and his expression became guarded while he considered what he should say. ‘The young lady in question was betrothed to another, better prospect than a second son. She had to do her duty for the sake of her family. But never mind that. It all turned out for the best.’ Something about the older man’s expression told Bennett that his uncle did not really believe that at all, which made him think about Amelia’s same assertion last night.In time, we will both realise that things are as they should be and this is all for the best.Perhaps she was wrong too.
‘You could have moved on and married someone else.’ As he must.
‘What? And make an innocent woman’s life a misery because my heart would always belong to another. That would not have been fair. Love is very powerful, Bennett. It shouldn’t be ignored.’
Why was he talking about love? Unless his uncle mistakenly thought that the lust and attraction Bennett felt for his aunt’s companion was something more than it was. ‘I am not in love with Miss Mansfield!’ The very notion was ridiculous. He had scarcely known the girl for a few weeks. Love was something that blossomed slowly, perhaps taking years to develop. It was born out of mutual goals and beliefs, shared experiences, familiarity—much as it had for his own parents. Theirs had been a quiet, comfortable emotion. There was nothing comfortable and quiet about the feelings he had for Amelia.
‘Do you think about her constantly?’
‘Well...yes, but...’
