Page 12 of An Earl's Christmas Seduction
“Quo usque tandem abutere, Catilina, patientia nostra? Quam diu etiam furor iste tuus nos eludet? Quem ad finem sese effrenata iactabit audacia?”Nicholas heard Edgar reciting, and he paused at his young friend’s door, listening to the youth declaring the famous oration of Cicero.
“When, O Catiline, do you mean to cease abusing our patience? How long is that madness of yours still to mock us? When is there to be an end to that unbridled audacity of yours, swaggering about as it does now?”Nicholas said to himself, pleased to think his Latin was far from forgotten, and reminded somewhat of Constance’s arrival.
Edmund was a strange youth who possessed an intensity in learning, though he had certainly lived up to Nicholas’ father’s expectations. For a few moments, Nicholas listened as the Latin continued to pour forth in a passionate outburst, before moving hurriedly along the corridor at the sound of the clock in the hallway below striking seven.
He was about to enter his own bedroom when the sight of the door nearest caused him to pause. This was Amelia’s bedroom. He knew it because he and the housekeeper, Mrs. Sheppard, had decided on the allocation of the rooms together. He paused, a sudden thought occurring to him, even as he dismissed it immediately.
“No, you can’t,”he told himself, but despite himself, he reached out to try the handle of the door.
Seized by a sudden desire of overwhelming intensity, he opened the door, peering cautiously inside. The fire was still burning brightly, and the candles had not yet guttered in the sconces around the room. Amelia’s bags stood by the window and on the bed. Discarded in the haste of changing lay the dress she had arrived in.
Nicholas’ heart skipped a beat. He knew he should not be there, even as he felt drawn to step into the room, closing the door behind him, and breathing in the same scent he had found so intoxicating in the corridor as Amelia had passed by. Stepping forward, he gazed down at the dress, imagining it enfolding Amelia’s sleek form, the slightness of her curves modestly concealed.
“Stop it,”he told himself, but he could hardly resist, and now he reached out, taking the dress in his hands, allowing the material to run through his fingers.
His desire was heightened, even as he was taken aback by its strength. The thought of her stepping from the dress with the fronds and furls falling to the ground, wearing nothing but her undergarments was overwhelming. He raised the material to his face, breathing in the scent, aroused by the thought of it caressing her body.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my Lord,” a voice behind him said, and Nicholas spun around, finding Amelia’s maid standing in the doorway.
He dropped the dress immediately, his face flushed with embarrassment. There could be no excuse, no explanation for his presence. He had been caught, filled now with a sense of utter humiliation. Only Amelia’s gaze itself could have been worse, and he stared at the maid, hardly able to find the words to offer rhyme or reason for the act she had caught him in.
“The… the dress… I…” he stammered, and the maid smiled.
“I thought it was dirty, too, my Lord. After Lady Amelia’s ordeal in the snow, the hem was all muddy. I was going to take it downstairs and see if one of your maids might help me clean it. I haven’t brought anything to do it with myself,” she said.
Nicholas knew what she was doing, and he was grateful for it, hoping the maid would extend her understanding to silence when it came to recounting his presence in Amelia’s bedroom.
“Oh… they’ll help you. Tell them I insisted on it,” he said, and the maid nodded, stooping to pick up the dress from the floor, where Nicholas had dropped it.
He slipped past her, wanting to get away as quickly as possible.
“Goodnight, my Lord,” the maid said, and Nicholas nodded to her.
“Goodnight,” he replied, before scurrying to his bedroom.
Closing the door behind him, Nicholas breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was a moment of embarrassment he would never forget for as long as he lived. What did she really think? Servants were used to the foibles of their masters, but there was no doubt in Nicholas’ mind at the charity the maid had displayed.
“You fool,”he said to himself, pulling off his own shirt and standing in just his breeches in front of the mirror.
His valet had brought in hot water, and his evening clothes were laid out on the bed. Nicholas washed, shaving his afternoon stubble, before changing into tails and frock coat. He doused himself in cologne, still reeling with embarrassment as to what had occurred in Amelia’s bedroom. He had been gripped by a sudden and overwhelming desire, one he had found impossible to control.
“And for what? To touch her dress? To be humiliated by her maid? What if she finds out?”Nicholas said to himself, knowing a lady’s maid’s first loyalty would be to her mistress.
It made him shudder to think of it, but there was nothing he could do but compose himself for the evening ahead. There would be drinks and dinner was to be served from the sideboard in the dining room, rather than at the table. Nicholas wanted the opportunity to mix with his guests, and he would not be able to do so if he were confined to a single seat.
Having washed, dressed, and scented, he checked his appearance for a final time in the mirror before taking a deep breath and making his way downstairs. He could hear chatter and laughter coming from the drawing room, and it seemed Harry had already done an admirable job of making introductions. Some of the guests knew one another, of course, while others were strangers, or only casually connected.
“Ah, here you are,” Harry said as Nicholas stepped into the room.
He looked across to where Amelia was talking with Clara and Isobel, catching her eye with a nervous smile. The way she looked at him suggested she knew nothing of what had transpired upstairs. Nicholas feared the moment could still come.
“Ah, yes… I’m here. I was… distracted,” Nicholas replied, and Harry smiled.
“Yes, well… make yourself known. Everyone’s here, I think,” he said, glancing around the room.
At that moment, Constance came striding up to him, carrying a glass of mulled wine. She had changed into a green dress, her shoulders wrapped in a shawl, and she slipped her arm into his as she spoke.
“I was wondering where you were. Come and get a drink. We can talk,” she said, pulling him away from Harry, even as Nicholas’ gaze was held by Amelia.
