doubted it very strongly, but, if he left, she would be alone—and likely alone for the rest of her life. Why not tell him?
Courage was necessary. Her trust in men had been shredded this night, and Edmund Summerfield was certainly a man.
‘You will not tell anyone? No matter what?’ she asked.
He looked directly into her eyes, his expression serious. ‘Upon my honour.’
His words resonated inside her. From her brother she knew men did not say such words lightly. At least, honourable men did not.
Edmund delayed his duty to his regiment to bring her safely off the streets of Brussels. There was honour in that.
She was stalling and he was waiting patiently, no longer pressuring her to speak, no longer using humour to cajole her.
But to speak it aloud meant facing it, did it not? Facing what she had done. Facing the truth she had learned in return. Opening her bleak future to herself.
He sipped his sherry.
She tossed him a defiant look and poured herself a third glass, but this time she did not gulp it down.
She took a breath and took the risk. ‘You know, of course, that Captain Fowler and I had just become betrothed—’
He nodded.
She could not sit still and speak of this. She stood and paced in front of him. ‘My brother procured invitations to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, you know, my first ball given by a duchess. I was in raptures about it. Captain Fowler was my escort. I thought nothing could be better, especially when Wellington himself arrived! Wellington! At the same ball.’
Even though Amelie’s father was a viscount, it did not mean they were invited everywhere. Because of her mother. Not only was her mother French, her mother was also a commoner and, after the Revolution, her family had become active in the Terror, beheading friends and relatives of the British aristocrats.
Consequently Amelie and her parents were barely tolerated by the ton. It was only because of Edmund’s sister, the one who’d married an elderly earl, that she’d been invited anywhere last Season. That was how she met Captain Fowler. She thought he had not minded about her scandalous family. At least he’d told her so.
Edmund broke into her reverie. ‘The ball ended early, I heard.’
She collected herself. ‘Yes. I was much affected when Wellington announced that Napoleon was marching towards Brussels. I—I knew it meant Captain Fowler would ride into battle. I knew it meant I might never see him again. I begged my parents to allow him to walk me back to the hotel instead of riding in their carriage. I wanted to be alone with him.’
She glanced at Edmund, who continued to watch her from his chair with eyes that merely waited for more but showed nothing of what he thought.
She turned away from his gaze. ‘You thought he propositioned me. You thought he might have taken advantage, saying, give me something to remember you by, or something like that.’
‘Men think about last chances when they know they will go into battle,’ he said in a quiet voice.
She swung back to him. ‘Not only men! I thought of last chances, too! I begged the captain to come to this room and make love to me.’
His brows rose.
‘Are you shocked?’ she asked.
‘Surprised. Not shocked.’ He lifted his glass to his lips.
Her voice turned shrill. ‘Does that make me wanton? Does that bring shame on me, on my family? Is it so very bad that I spoke those words to him? That—that I wanted...the lovemaking?’
He placed his glass on the side table and rose, 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
